Disclaimer: The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 日丸屋 秀和

What Not to do if You are a Knight by Gilbert Beilschmidt:

59.) Do not execute escape plans without fully planning out your escape plans.

Prisoners

Before Elizaveta could even begin to grasp the fact that cruel fate had smitten her once again, she was callously thrown into a damp, lurid dungeon cell in the north wing of the castle. It was a grotesque and spectral chamber; she found herself encased by four eerily silent stone walls, trapped in a hollow void of all light... of all hope. She half-expected Lovina to come, to say this was all a lie, that she had forgiven her and that all was well in the world, that Elizaveta could go free. But not one visitor graced her presence. Darkness, silence, and fear were her only companions, and remained so for the entirety of her imprisonment. As it came to pass, the convalescent girl remained locked in isolation for nearly two and a half days; the only sounds to penetrate the asphyxiating crypt were the echoes of her own pitiable sobs.

She was broken.

She was no longer a hero,

nor was she a noble woman,

nor was she even the servant of a noble woman.

She was a prisoner: her labels were now 'traitor', 'witch', and 'whore'.

She sat still in her abandoned state, unable to move, trying unsuccessfully to shoo away the rats who boldly sniffed at her ankles.

Though she knew the weeks of rain had finally ceased outside, that somewhere beyond the stone walls of the dungeon block there were fertile fields of green vegetation sprouting anew, a storm still raged within her cell. Bitter screams erupted from her lungs as thunder. Tears poured forth from her eyes as rain. Her heart cracked as though a jagged stroke of lightning had severed it in two.

She sat in a hellish whirlwind of fear, worry, betrayal, anger, pain, confusion,

and relief.

Because, as lamentable as her situation was... the people she cared about most were alive. This kingdom was alive. A larger tragedy had been prevented and two souls had been bonded in matrimony because of her actions.

...She was a hero. She had been scorned and outcast, but she was a hero nonetheless. And she had promised someone that she would never forget that.

After two and a half days, a hooded guard came and forcefully pried open the door to her cell. For a moment, Elizaveta's grim expression changed to that of petrified fear and she thought the queen had changed her mind about second chances, deciding instead to simply have Elizaveta sent to the ax.

But no.

After the towering man had jerked her up by the arm and dragged her to the top of the chipped, stone steps, he unhanded her at once.

Following this, however, (in a process that had become worryingly familiar to her as of late) they proceeded to bind her hands with rope.

It was tightened until the fibers cut into her wrists.

Elizaveta could see, just beyond the arching doorway of the grand hall where she now stood, the castle's gates splayed ajar.

Beyond them, she saw a train of carriages being loaded with many guards and many horses. All persons scurried about like ants. She knew they were prepping for her mandated departure.

Luggage, food, weapons, and fabrics were all stacked in rapid, orderly procession on the backs of horse carts. Elizaveta watched as servants and lackeys tripped along in organized succession.

But, though she searched and searched, Elizaveta could not find her red-eyed knight anywhere.

She forced herself to acknowledge the fact that she likely would not see him at all, but she had a habit of clinging to wild hopes.

The next person to affront her eyes was the prin-...queen dressed in elegant robes which were carried above the ground by an entourage of servants, walking toward the carriages.

Eliza soon realized with a delayed reaction that she, herself, was being prodded forward by yet another castle guard and was pressed inside the very same cart as the queen.

It was more than slightly cramped between the carriage's canvas wall, Lovina's bloated dress, and the two guardsmen sitting across from her.

With unsettling semblance, the scene reminded her of the day she left the tournament five years ago. Just as she had done then, she now found herself muddled and compressed in a tiny horse cart... Lovina and the guards became Irunya and the two men. Once more, Elizaveta was being taken away from her friends and the only home she knew. There were no good-byes, and she knew not whether Gilbert was alive or dead.

As the castle personnel bid them leave and the caravan began to roll out, Elizaveta maintained her scowl, staring fixedly at the empty space before her. However, she could not hide the hot tears which began slipping down her cheeks as the castle gates closed behind them.

After just a couple days of incarceration, Gilbert was awoken early one morning by the sound of Elizaveta's cries of protest across the dungeon. As much as her distressed vociferations made him want to pound his fists against the door and utter a string of curses against whomever fell within earshot, he knew that such an action would do nothing to aid in either his or Elizaveta's situation. He lie back down on the meager pile of straw, staring pensively at the ceiling above him. Tell-tale lines creased his forehead; he laced his hands behind his neck and released an agitated sigh as he contemplated his options. He needed to plot his next move now if he wanted to do anything to help Liz.

He cast a glance upward at the hanging birdcage just outside his cell. "Well, don't just sit there; think of something!" he snapped at Gilbird. The little chick only squawked at him in response. "You know, if all these years you were just waiting to evolve into some kick-ass phoenix or something... now would be a really convenient time!"

Alright, so he knew that was a long shot...

but he had learned that wild hopes were sometimes worth clinging to.

When the guard arrived later that morning to allow the demon-hued prisoner some food, he found that Gilbert was nowhere in his cell! Rapidly unbolting the iron lock and stepping inside to investigate, the guard was met only with a hard, wooden object striking him forcefully on the top of the head. The man saw a flash of white sprint by him before his vision was overtaken by blackness.

Of course, Antonio being the king, had anticipated Gilbert trying a stunt exactly like this, and so had eight more men stationed just around the corner of the southern cell block.

Gilbert involuntarily ran smack-dab into this exact pack of men. Then, with panicked desperation, he immediately tried to change the direction of his sprint. It was no use, however; they had been advised to fully expect this kind of attempted escape and surrounded him easily. Gilbert tried to fight and tried to thrash, but realized quickly that there were simply too many men to feasibly overtake.

Therefore, before he knew it, he was bound in chains and led away.

The prison guards did not bring Gilbert back to his little hovel, however, as he had expected them to. No, he was promptly dragged back to the lighted surface world and deposited on the castle's main entrance floor.

Thus he stood in a rare bout of silence, listening attentively in an attempt to determine the details of his present situation. He heard the turning of wheels and snorting of horses outside being loaded for a trip. Before anything else was explained to him, Gilbert was thrown roughly into a rickety horse cart; three guards sat in front of him and were accompanied by the newly-christened king at his right. A pretty heavy-duty prison transfer, if he did say so himself.

In light of his relentless kicks and curses, despite his raising hell in that carriage for all those inside to suffer through, Gilbert was still forced to watch the castle disappear out of sight behind him. He began to grow hopeless.

"I'll find her!" he proclaimed with strained vigor to the other passengers in the small cabin. No one paid him any mind. Antonio looked at the floor. "I'll find her," he said again as he looked out the side window.

In reality, however, his heart was growing heavy with the weight of promises he wasn't sure he would be able to keep.