A/N: Your girl stopped pussy footing around and finally put her man into a fic as a real character. If there's any questions, any questions at all, about Frederick the Great you can make my day in the comments or as oldfritz on tumblr. Happy reading!
Potsdam, April 1786.
Boot heels clicked across polished marble halls. Gilbert's head swiveled around the room, a slip of paper crumbled in his hand. He'd awoken to a note on his dresser, ordering him to meet with the king. The summons felt utterly pointless; he would have been in Frederick's hair by breakfast anyway. But, he supposed, humans tended to accumulate eccentricities with age. Perhaps this was yet another.
Through wide-open windows, the sun gleamed. Gilbert was forced to squint as it reflected off the pillars and chandeliers. He hated this room, hated the way it heated and glistened. It was the most unbearable spot in the palace. Its only mercy was that it served as a waystation to better places, a transitional point and nothing more.
He stumbled forward, muscle memory guiding him towards the backdoor. Blind hands groped for the doorknob, found it, and twisted. The gardens had never been such a relief. The cool morning air banished the memory of the claustrophobic heat on his skin. Once again able to see, his gaze rested on the fountain down the stairs and its rhythmic expulsions of water. Toes twitched to sit there for a while, to sink into the lush grass and remember the stillness of youth.
A dog barked and bolted in front of him. Alcmene, all spindly legs, performed an excited trot around Gilbert before rushing off to play with her companions. Not too far from the gaggle of greyhounds sat Frederick at a little table, the morning's paper and coffee forgotten in front of him.
"Wanted a change of scenery?" Gilbert asked as he strolled over. Diana darted between his legs, whimpering for attention. He gave her head an affectionate pat before she dashed off.
"I didn't want to waste a beautiful day," Frederick proffered with a tilt of his head. His eyes slid to his beloved dogs, who were chasing each other in the grass now. A small smile escaped him. "Nor did they, it seems."
Gilbert leaned over. He skimmed the papers before the king and collapsed back into his seat. Personal correspondence, each and every bit of it. What did he care about Henry's latest gripe or how Amalia's abbey faired?
Frederick cleared his throat. His blue eyes were frigid. "Could the vultures have the decency to wait till I'm dead before rifling through my things?"
"I thought that was what you wanted to see me about. I figured if you were being so formal, there was something exciting going on. So, what is it? Silesia again? Poland? I just hope it's not Bavaria; that was a real waste of everyone's time."
"Nothing of the sort, thankfully. No, Gilbert, our years of living one foot in the saddle are at their end. What a mercy that is. And what a shame that it's only in the twilight of a man's life he can begin to enjoy the fruits of his labors."
Gilbert grabbed an especially rotund orange, sitting on a pile of fruits on the table. He jabbed his thumb through the skin, peeling it with cruel abandon. The task done, he shrugged and tossed the skin over his shoulder. "Because when you're young, you have nothing. All you've got is Vatti's discarded toys. Carve your name in blood or be another of Europe's forgotten princelings; I would've done the same." He plucked off a piece and plopped it into his mouth. "They all would've, and they know it. You're the only one who had the balls to try."
Frederick watched him and sighed, turning his head. "You don't need to justify actions I've already taken."
"I'm not. I'm admiring them, like every other blowhard that's come sweeping in here the last few years." Gilbert leaned forward, a conspiratorial look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, a laugh wanting to break free. "Which, I have to say, I'm getting jealous. All these foreigners, seeing you and sucking you off. You need to let them know I won't have my job taken from me while you're still breathing!"
This exuberant performance won him a smile and a pat on the knee. "Come now. You know there's no replacing you."
Still, there was something that gnawed at Gilbert. An uneasy feeling that lurked in the spot between his ribs. Frederick clinked his spoon against his mug and Gilbert felt every collision in his teeth. The toes in his boots began to bounce. Even the dogs, he suspected, were in on it. They played too close to the table to not be aware.
"Are you dying?" Gilbert blurted out, surprising himself as much as his king.
"No more than yesterday," Frederick's smile turned wry. He paused, allowing himself a chortle. "Is time so meaningless to you that my age is something you fail to comprehend?"
"Of course not!" Gilbert could scarcely suppress his insult. How could he not when he'd noticed every greying hair, every wrinkle, every new ache and pain that Frederick complained of. Each day he felt the sand slip further down the hour-glass and the incessant eulogizing would ring through his skull. He had grasped the ephemeral, only to lose it so soon. "You just seem…different this morning. I can't help being a little on edge."
"Different? Really?" Frederick's eyes darted to the clouds. A finger tapped rhythmically against the top of his thigh. Gilbert recognized the beat; it was one of the king's own compositions. "I feel no different, only at peace. There is nothing left to fight for."
"There always is."
"Mm, for those with an eternity to waste, I'm sure. The rest of are not so lucky." Frederick tilted his head down. He studied his aged hand, where once plush skin had sunken into bone and vein. "The rest of us, the best of us, know when our time is up."
Gilbert exhaled through his teeth. So, this was the conversation. This was always the conversation. He had yet to meet a man who didn't reach this point. Staring down the barrel of decrepitude, hearing Death's chariot approaching. And besides them sat ever-youthful Gilbert, not a day older than when they met. He knew how they stared and how they thought. What a waste immortality was on men of his kind! Violent hedonists with no concern for country beyond survival. Why, the things these kings could do if they could only siphon some eternity for themselves…
The lines floated out of his mouth without thought. "Of course, who wouldn't be jealous? There's so much that you won't get to see. It's cruel, I suppose, but you will have left everything behind in good hands. If not the prince, then Georg and I will…" he cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong?"
Frederick's top lip curled and his nostrils flared. He stared at Gilbert as if he'd suggested they return Silesia. "You think I'm jealous?"
Gilbert blinked. "You're not?"
"No! I want to die, Gilbert! I'm so tired of living. The thought of another year is intolerable. If my hands were steady, I wouldn't be waiting on nature to do what I once was capable of."
"But there's so much more you could do-"
"Like what? I can barely read by candlelight. I haven't been able to play my flute in years. My wrist cramps as soon as I begin to write. My sense of taste begins to depreciate. Never mind these hemorrhoids that make sitting as quarrelsome as standing!" Frederick's tone rose, but his body remained unchanging. It was his eyes that showed how outrageous he truly found the notion. They glowed with the old fury of youth. "What pleasures do I have to live for? To govern? To rule? A jackass would serve you just as well!"
Gilbert swallowed, though his mouth was dry. "There's always something."
"You blithering fool. Do you not understand what I'm telling you? There is nothing, not anymore." Frederick sighed, crushed beneath the weight of seventy long years. "You can't understand. How could you know what it's like to be the last one left? My friends, dropping off the vine one-by-one. My sister, exiting before she'd begun to wither. And here I am, with my dogs and my sycophants, wondering when it will be my turn."
"You could do more with yourself than wonder," Gilbert's voice had turned hard. His hands were balled to fists in his lap, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. "You want to go out pitying yourself? Why? Fine, congratulations, you'll die. To roll over and accept it – it's unconscionable! Do something with yourself, with whatever time you have left!"
"Like envying you?" Frederick held his gaze, his haughtiness colliding with Gilbert's impotence. "There's a dignity in dying, Gilbert. In knowing when the end is nigh, the stage lights begin to dim, and accepting it. Readying yourself for whatever is next. I have fought all my life. Fought my father, fought his ministers, fought my wars. Now, as the curtains close, I wish to bow out with the grace a young man lacks. There's nothing you could say to change that. I've been ready to die for years. It's only now that the body agrees."
"If I could, I would – I would-!"
Frederick placed a hand on Gilbert's own with a tender firmness. He smiled at him, like a father comforting his hysterical son. "I wouldn't want it. What would I do with immortality? What would any of us do with it? How many more wars would I wage for one scrap of land? I would waste an eternity like I wasted so many decades."
"You get used to it," Gilbert offered through shallow breath, "after the first century or two."
Frederick shook his head. "That's barely a life. I did the least of my living on campaign. I read little, wrote little, and my hours were dictated by necessity. Such an existence is servitude to mere bloodlust. To settle for such a state…I couldn't subject my soul to it."
Gilbert's jaw twitched with weak defenses. That it was more than bloodlust; that so what if it was? Ego rattled in his chest, thrashing against its prison. He could depend on humanity for two things: their blood and their jealousy. A centuries old ritual he'd come to rely upon was being ripped apart by the man he admired most. And what could he do? Defend his curse? Frederick would know his lies before he'd finished them.
He shook his head and strands of hair fell before his face. "How you're talking, it's like you expect to keel over in a matter of weeks. You could have so much more. Let me help you! I can't give you – I know you wouldn't want it, I get it! – but we could be doing so much more! I'll be your hands, your legs, your eyes, whatever you need. Please, Fritz," his breathing hitched, "don't give up now."
"Do you know how many men have tried for immortality? The elixirs they've concocted, the torture they've endured. Failures, one and all of them. To be human, Gilbert, is to be born knowing you will die. Our time, my time, is finite. Struggle against that truth all you like, but it is as inescapable as the air we breathe." Frederick paused, looking up at the clear blue skies above them. The faintest of smiles began to form. "To put it in a language you might understand: not every war is one you can win. In my mind, I only truly lose if I debase myself in a vainglorious quest for life. The end is nigh, and I intend to embrace it with open arms."
"How can you? Be so willing, I mean. There's nothing waiting for any of us, or at least that's what-"
Gilbert was interrupted by Frederick's wearied sigh. His eyes were heavy, weighed down from seventy-years of dealing with this petulant nation. "More than anyone else, it's you who holds the words of my younger self against me. What could I know about what comes after? About God, about the order of the universe? A philosopher's job is to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks. And, Gilbert, I have flung more than my fair share." A chuckle escaped him. It was warm, like he was sharing an in-joke with somebody who wasn't there. "Though, I will say, your feelings begin to change once you're staring down a loaded gun. It would be nice to see Wilhelmine and Biche again. Whatever happens, I shall certainly find out."
Once again, the swirling feeling built up within Gilbert. The former zealot wanted to revel in his hero's coming around to this point of view. This childlike figure had a pocketful of Hail Mary's ready, wanted to blow kisses up at the sky in Jesus' name amen. The cynic – the adolescent who had done the Vatican's dirty work only to kiss its flames – was repulsed at this ambivalence. At an acceptance of the possibility of religion, of holiness, being woven into the fabric of reality. Wise men falling prey to charlatans yet again.
"I suppose you will," Gilbert muttered. The adult, molded by one man's enthusiastic Enlightenment, had won out. Two juvenile falsehoods would not lead to a truth. And, anyways, he was tired. His appetite for grandstanding had been stolen from him.
The two sat in peaceable silence. The dogs rolled in the grass, barking and yelping at one another in good spirits. Birds sung to each other above as they went about their busy days of foraging and flying. A sweet scent wafted in, the fruits from the orchard in ripened bloom.
"What are your plans for once I'm gone?" Frederick's voice was as casual as if he'd asked about the weather.
Gilbert flipped the palms of his hands up. "I'll be here. Doing whatever errands the new king asks of me. What I always do." His gaze lingered on Diana and Alcmene. Pity tugged at his heart. "I suppose I'll take care of the dogs too. Unless you plan on giving them to the queen or someone else."
Frederick snorted. "No, they wouldn't mean anything to her. You take them. They've always adored you." A thick sullenness remained over Gilbert. How could it not? False hope ripped to shreds by the man himself. Still, realism did not render a man heartless. He placed a warm hand on Gilbert's knee and gave it a squeeze. "I'll arrange it so Georg and you have a couple months' holiday afterwards. You two have labored so loyally on my behalf, it seems only fair. In any event, I can't see my nephew making fair use of your abilities."
"And avoid all the paperwork a new leader brings? When I'm in Vienna chasing skirt, I'll make sure to toast your name every night."
A tongue clucked in disapproval. "Must your social life be a perpetual battle too?"
"You have no room to judge! Your father, Wilhelmine, Henry, Augustus, Voltaire, all your friends honestly-"
"Perhaps that's why I see it fit to speak," Frederick spoke with eyes of hardened steel. "It's not enough to rely upon magnetism and spite. How long can you stalk one another with growing animosity as the sole force? There are some people in life who you are, for some ungodly reason, desperate to have around. But, eventually, you will need to ask yourself if desperation is enough. What it is you really want from one another."
"What I really want…" Gilbert's gaze dropped to his scarred and calloused hands. The nails were worn to the nub, shorn to that length through use rather than habit. They felt cold.
He jolted up onto his feet, so suddenly that his hip sent the table rocking. He sturdied it with his left hand. "I think I'm going to head inside."
He was gone before Frederick could even respond. His mind drowned in a singular thought.
What the hell did he want?