Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

(March 12-14, 1938)

March 12th was the day Gilbert had dreaded the most. Propaganda had been spreading for months, creating unease and discontent within the Austrian population. It didn’t take much artificial doubt before Hitler had his excuse to march into Austria and take it.

He watched their backs standing out on the balcony, Hitler’s body shaking and jerking with his abrasive motions and Ludwig standing at his side, shoulders square and posture proud. The sight made Gilbert feel ill.

His entire life, Gilbert had tried to instill into Ludwig what leaders should be. Leaders should be genius men with a certain compassion for their people; they stood with confidence and strong, even words that inspired the masses. They didn’t yell about and swing their arms around like a lunatic on meth; they didn’t base their entire nationalism off of the hatred of a minority, inspiring the people through lies and deception. And yet, Ludwig stands beside that madman, while Gilbert can only look on and watch it unfold from behind.

Warmth bubbled in his throat, forcing him to swallow it down and look away before he lost his composure. He gripped his hands tighter behind his back and glanced to his left. Roderich’s gaze was already on his, uncharacteristically downturned. Gilbert’s stomach lurched at the sight. Roderich had already lost so much; Gilbert couldn’t imagine how it felt to be forced to assimilate with the devil.

“I’m so sorry,” he wanted to say, knowing it would never be enough. Roderich’s face softened the slightest bit.

“It’s alright,” his eyes seemed to say. “It was inevitable.”

Roderich’s face became blurry. The red of the carpet and the dark oak of the walls began closing in. Gilbert closed his eyes, willing the burning to go away lest he wanted to make a fool of himself in front of the militia of Nazis talking about in the room around him. He waited until his stomach settled, until his head stopped spinning, then opened his eyes once more. An officer was walking towards them.

“Preparations are being made at St. Stephen’s Cathedral. The ceremony is a go for early tomorrow afternoon, so I suggest you two begin getting ready as soon as possible.”

Gilbert glanced at Roderich, who looked just as confused.

“Pardon?” the Austrian asked. “What ceremony?”

The officer raised a brow. Gilbert wanted to punch that smug look off his face. “Anschluss? Your wedding?” A jolt shocked through the Prussian's body, igniting anger.

“What?” Gilbert growled, stepping into the man’s personal space. “To Hell with that!”

“The Führer has already made all of the preparations, you don’t exactly have a choice, Herr Prussia.”

“Why does there have to be a marriage!? I thought this shit was outdated.” Gilbert couldn’t contain the rage. First, they strip Roderich of any pride he had left following the Great War and now they’re going to force him into a marriage? Force Gilbert into a marriage, after centuries of avoiding them? Gilbert was going to raise hell before he let that happen.

“This is a very serious debacle. Despite the peaceful transition, there are resistance groups of Austrian nationalists that could try to dissuade our movement. This needs publicity, this needs a high-profile marriage. Austria was married to Hungary not long ago; this is the same matter.”

“We’re both men!” Gilbert yelled, trying anything to halt the ceremony. “You want the face of your Anschluss to be headed by a gay marriage?”

“This is a political match, not a love match. The public will see it the same way they saw the marriages between France and Great Britain, or the kiss between Russia and France at Tilsit. Stop making this more difficult than it needs to be. Herr Hitler has decided it. It’s happening.” The officer glanced between them, nose twitching. “Maybe it’ll help strengthen your loyalties to the Third Reich, since you clearly don’t know how to follow orders from your Fuhrer with confidence. Fix that quickly, Herr Prussia. It will not work out for you the way you wish.”

The officer passed between them, knocking into Gilbert’s shoulder. The anger felt was enough to make Gilbert want to implode, but the complete and utter helplessness that he felt physically hurt. He could feel the blood thrumming through his veins, knew he was grinding his teeth, felt the sweat on his palms—

“Gilbert,” Roderich’s voice broke through the roar. Gilbert snapped his gaze to him, expecting to find disgust, but only finding concern in his dark purple eyes. “You’re bleeding.”

Gilbert blinked, then looked down to the hands Roderich had grabbed. He unfurled his fists, finding bloody indentions from where his fingernails cut into the skin. He huffed and stuck his hands back to his sides.

"They can't just do this–!"

"It's alright," Roderich interrupted. Gilbert wasn't having it.

"No! It's not! Stripping away your independence isn't enough but now they're making you marry me as if you're nothing more than a trophy to be claimed–!"

"And what is there for you to do about it? Nothing. This may be your first go around, Gilbert, but I have done this three times already. There's nothing personal about it and there is nothing you can do to stop it." Roderich's eyes were pleading and tired. "I'm saying it's alright. Stop fighting this. Please, Gilbert."

Gilbert glanced between his eyes, desperately looking for any fight left in them. As much shit as Gilbert had always given him in the past about marrying all his problems away, it was unlike Roderich to look so defeated. It only made the ache in his heart worse, made the acid in his stomach threaten to come up his throat.

Finally, he nodded. As furious as it made him, he knew Roderich was right. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to stop this arrangement, especially if Hitler had seen to it personally.

Turning back to the balcony, he glared a hole into the back of Hitler's neck and wished that looks could kill.

—

"Does he really have to go all out with the black?" Erzsébet lifted the coat off the hanger. "I mean, seriously. I think this is the shittiest uniform I've ever seen. And there have been some real tragedies in history."

"Fucking tell me about it," Gilbert grumbled, pulling the coat on over his white undershirt. "I miss my blues."

"Blue is expensive." Ludwig reminded him, moving Gilbert's hands aside to do his buttons for him. Gilbert swatted his hands away and resumed fussing with the coat on his own accord. Ludwig rolled his eyes, but moved aside nonetheless. "Be glad it isn't the typical brown. Besides, black makes us look stronger. It's intimidating; shows our authority."

"Black isn't Gilbert's color. Too much of a contrast." Erzsébet scanned his person. "You don't look like you."

"I look way too monochrome. Like those villains in American cinemas."

"Or a mob boss."

"Would you two cut it out?" Ludwig hissed. "You're not funny."

"You are the least humorous of all of us, Ludwig." Ludwig narrowed his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. Gilbert glared and elbowed him right back. "Hey! Don't get angry with me. I'm allowed to complain, and I don't care what Hugo Boss has to say, black is the worst fucking color to be put on my white-ass fucking features."

"You've worn black before."

"Barely."

"Weren't you a priest?"

Gilbert raised a brow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You wore black robes."

"No, that was different," Erzsébet said. "It was layered on white, and it was a softer black. This is just… harsh. It's too black."

"Black is black!" Ludwig's voice was growing exasperated. Gilbert snorted. Erzsébet only looked at Gilbert, a small bit of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Your kid is a big baby when he knows he's wrong."

"Too much like me, huh?"

Erzsébet hummed while Ludwig grumbled and turned away to grab Gilbert's uniform accessories. Once his back was turned, her lips pulled down, her brows furrowed. Gilbert shared her sorrow.

"You should go see Roderich," he said, careful to keep his voice even. "I'm sure he needs more help than I do."

"As nostalgic as I am about my own wedding day, I don't think he wants to see me."

"What, you think the memory of a failed marriage is going to make him feel worse than he possibly does right now?" Erzsébet thought for a moment. Gilbert continued. "Come on, Erzsi, you should know him better than that. You're… his comfort person. I think out of everyone, he needs to see you the most. A failed marriage would never hinder that."

Erzsébet looked at him with sparkling green eyes, conflicting themselves over and over as she thought of his words. It didn't take much convincing, and before long she stood straighter.

"You're right."

"When am I not?"

"Easy there. I'm not trying to inflate your already massive ego."

Gilbert snorted in amusement. He was happy to see the same smile grace her own features. She took a step towards him and took his face in her hands, hands just as small as Gilbert remembered them.

"Will you be alright?" she whispered. Gilbert only smiled down at her.

"Three's a crowd, Erzsi." She pinched his cheek, making him yelp. Okay, joking was probably a bit inappropriate, but Gilbert never did know how to react when she was so clearly worried like this. "I'll be fine. I have company."

Erzsébet glanced over at Ludwig, who seemed to have busied himself with knick knacks. She looked back at Gilbert, eyes unbelieving, but conceded nonetheless. She lifted herself onto her toes and pulled Gilbert's face down to meet her. He closed his eyes as her lips pressed warm against his forehead. She lingered, then pulled away and gave a pat to his cheek. He missed her proximity the moment she stepped back.

"I'll see you at the altar."

He smirked and gave a wink. "Yes, ma'am."

She gave a half-hearted smile, then brushed past him. It wasn't until he heard the door close that he finally let his face drop. Without his best friend, the room truly felt suffocating. As palpable as the silence was now, he didn't know what to say to the other. Ludwig obviously didn't know either, as he was avoiding Gilbert's gaze and looking down to the floor like an admonished child. Gilbert wanted to crack another joke, tell him Beilschmidts don't point their chin to the floor, but he somehow doubted his efforts would produce breathable air. To keep himself busy, he began putting his medals and badges onto his uniform. The sound of metal clanging was almost deafening, and he could practically feel Ludwig shifting uncomfortably in his clothes, swaying from left to right foot as he tried to stand with the fact that Gilbert was obviously upset with him.

After a few minutes, Gilbert had run out of medals to situate. He finally looked in the mirror in disdain. The abundance of metals did little to brighten up the void of black Gilbert seemed to be wearing. They had looked so much nicer against his Prussian blue. He'd worn them with pride, glad to show his accomplishments he'd made for his country.

Now all he felt was shame. Like a ghost standing in the shadow of what once was. His culture didn't exist anymore, he knew that—he knew that the moment he unified Germany, but the black made him feel as if he were reliving his own funeral every single day.

Ludwig finally approached him, red sash in hand. Gilbert looked down at it in the mirror. His anger for all he'd lost only roared louder at the sight of it. Stubbornly, he wouldn't be the one to put it on. He huffed and held out his arm. Carefully, Ludwig rolled the red up to situate it snug on his upper left arm. He repeated with the other side, situating it in place with hidden pins.

The red was too much. Gilbert understood that that was the point, that was the fucking point: to have void-black uniforms so that the red swastika stuck out like a fucking sore thumb, but Gilbert still thought it was the stupidest fashion choice ever, fascism or not. He almost preferred the shit-brown uniforms: they distracted more from the patch.

He was tired of having more excuses to hate the color red.

"I'm sorry."

Caught off guard, Gilbert looked at his son through the mirror. He still didn't look at Gilbert. In a way, that only made Gilbert even angrier with him. He was about to voice his thoughts, but somehow doubted they would say any more than what Ludwig already knew, more than Gilbert had already said considering they almost couldn't speak to each other anymore unless through argument.

And Ludwig looked so young. He was so young. Too young. Gilbert recalled a moment when Ludwig was a child, when he'd broken one of the vases in their home because he was roughhousing after he was told to be careful. Gilbert remembered feeling angry then, too, because it was one of the only vases Bavaria had made him. But, Ludwig had looked so hurt, so fearful of Gilbert's admonishment. Despite no longer being that young child, Ludwig looked the exact same now. And, as angry as he currently was with him, Gilbert never could hold up long to his child's sadness. He sighed and offered an olive branch.

"It's alright. It's not like you knew this would happen, nor did you choose for it to."

"I could have tried harder to change his mind. He was just so firm on it, and I don't understand why. Political marriages just aren't modern anymore."

"Hitler likes modernity, but he likes a show of power more. Especially if it's something to keep us in line. We both know they only see us as pawns at this point."

And while that was true, Gilbert knew this decision was made not from politics, but from the man's near pathetic desperation to keep Gilbert in line, to show who's really in charge.

"I could have tried harder. Maybe convince him to let me marry Roderich instead of you."

That got his attention. Gilbert finally turned from the mirror and grabbed the blonde's chin. Ludwig looked up at him with dejected baby blue eyes.

"You listen to me," Gilbert made sure his voice was stern, "do not start blaming yourself for this. That benefits no one and I have not taught you to be wasteful with your words, have I?"

God, it was like looking at a scolded dog. "But, you've always hated the idea of getting married, especially in a political sense." Even his voice was small. This kid really did know how to pull on Gilbert's heart strings, even when he was angry as all hell with him. Slowly but surely, he felt his anger dissipate; or, rather, get swept under the rug as it always seemed to these days with Ludwig. 

"Yeah, well." He tried to think of what to say, anything to take that look off his face. "We take whatever life throws at us, right? It's not that big a deal."

Ludwig sighed, but nodded nonetheless. Gilbert tapped his finger under his chin so he would look back towards his eyes.

"Don't look so down, Ludwig. We both know if either of us had to marry Roderich, I'm the better choice. You're much too young. It'd be kinda creepy."

Ludwig finally chuckled, lips pulling up into a smile. Gilbert smiled back, then gave a pat to his shoulder.

"Now, come on. Let's get this over with."

—

Three times, Roderich had already been married.

The first time was to Antonio in the 16th century. It had been his longest marriage, spanning just short of two centuries. Roderich recalled the grand riches of it all; only the best of the best was prepared for the union of the most grand dynasties in Europe. He remembered walking down the long, marble floors of the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, nobles and kings alike spanning the venue. He remembered learning to love the Spaniard quite quickly and, despite the complications that arose from their long marriage, being heartbroken when their divorce inevitably came in 1700.

After that, Napoleon had forced him into a quick marriage with Francis following his defeat at Austerlitz. The "ceremony" had been quick, humiliating, and almost amounted to nothing other than French propaganda purposes. Despite the legality, Roderich had barely seen Francis outside of battle until the divorce in 1814. He’d known it wouldn’t be his last marriage.

Then, he'd married Erzsébet in 1867. Unlike his other marriages, he’d loved her before she even walked down the aisle. Aside from her obvious distaste for him, and the centuries of her and Gilbert roughing him up and picking on him almost constantly, he’d always thought she was unique. She was beautiful, a force of nature that rebelled and picked on him even when he was the one with the superiority over her. He’d found himself drawn to her in ways no one else had ever made him feel. However, the marriage was rocky at best. He’d realized he didn’t love her in the way he should have and he saw her obvious inability to love him in that same regard. When he’d signed the divorce papers from his wheelchair in 1918, he genuinely thought he’d never be married again.

Once again, he was proved wrong. Oh, how he hated to be wrong.

And he was scared. He was scared because the Great War had torn Europe apart and left him with so little; he thought he was going to die. Then, Gilbert swooped in like an unknown savior and bargained for Roderich’s life, for his culture and his people to be spared at the expense of himself and his kingdom. He was scared because Hitler had planned this for years and now he’s taken claim to what Roderich had managed to salvage, and the other countries let him. They let him. And now, for whatever unknown reason, Roderich was being forced into a marriage with Gilbert.

Gilbert, the man who’d always captured Roderich’s eye with his odd yet ethereal beauty. Gilbert, who had always been such an immature asshole, but also such a loyal and valiant knight towards Roderich and the other Holy Roman vassalages. Gilbert, who had always teased so heavily and made Roderich’s heart flip and flutter in ways that almost hurt. Gilbert, who had given him so many painful wounds and horrible scars, and yet protected Roderich so fiercely through it all that Roderich had finally understood what it was to be loved unconditionally, to be laid bare in all his flaws and mistakes and agonies and yet still be accepted behind bickering arguments and hateful words.

A long and tumultuous road made up Gilbert and Roderich’s history. They’d almost been married once before, and Roderich and Gilbert alike would have rather died than gone through with it. And then, two centuries too late, Roderich had realized he loved him, that he, in same way or another, always had through everything they'd ever been through together: wars and alliances and marriages alike.

And now, knowing he was set to marry Gilbert within the hour, Roderich didn’t know what to feel.

Should he feel hopeless considering the Nazis are taking everything he has once more? Should he feel scared because he doesn’t know if he’ll survive this time? Should he selfishly feel happy that he is marrying the man his heart has been drawn to for the past millennia, or should he feel upset knowing that Gilbert is purely marrying him because he doesn’t have a choice?

He was lost in the most gruesome symphony his mind had ever composed. 

A hand touched his shoulder, jerking him from his own head. He quickly turned around to see Erzsébet, her olive-green eyes shimmering with concern, with pity.

“Oh," he said, straightening his posture. "Apologies. You startled me.”

“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” she explained. “So, I opened the door, but you seemed to be too much in a trance.”

“I was making sure I look presentable enough.”

“Roderich, you never don’t look perfect.”

Roderich nodded, too preoccupied with his own emotions to decipher if she was genuinely complimenting him or just teasing him. She took the comb from the vanity and held it to his hair.

“May I?”

Roderich nodded once more. Gently, she began to run the silver accessory through his hair. He watched her through the mirror. Her untamable hair was pulled back into a loose, braided bun, with only a few light brown strands framing her face. Her corset didn’t hug her as tight as it used to, and he watched her chest move up and down softly as she breathed. The green fabric of her dress skirt brushed against his arm as she swayed back in forth to straighten his hair.

He wondered how she had felt on her wedding day. Her situation had been quite similar to his; being forced into a wedding she didn’t want, to a larger country that only wished to assimilate her people into his to gain power. At the time, he had been quite annoyed by the varying revolts and attempted revolutions the Hungarian people seemed to always be participating in against him, and he remembered getting rather frustrated with her as well for wishing the same as her nationalists did. Now, he wanted to slap his former self. He’d never thought to step back and try to look from her point of view. As punishment to his arrogance, it seems fitting he should get the same fate.

“Stop it,” she said, not looking away from his hair.

Roderich frowned. “I am not doing anything.”

“You’re beating yourself up for our marriage.” She looked at his eyes. “And you have no reason to. Stop it.”

“I did not treat you fairly, least of all the way you deserved.”

“You were an arrogant asshole with nothing to lose. Happens to the best of us.”

“It never happened to you.”

Erzsébet shrugged. “Maybe not in marriage, but I was a bully in every other way. War gave me my arrogance.”

Roderich sighed, knowing she wouldn’t accept an apology even if he could give her one. He waited a minute while she began gelling his hair back, then asked:

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Marry me. Love me. How did you function after feeling so… so…” Frustratingly enough, Roderich couldn’t find the proper word for what he was feeling, he just wanted to know how she grappled with the same situation. He wanted answers, he wanted guidance. “How did you act with the grace and level head that you did?”

“I love you, Roderich. That was enough to keep my spirits high, knowing that I had someone to love and to support me.”

“I forced you into a marriage you wanted no part in.”

“And in doing so, you saved us both from crumbling into political turmoil. With Prussia’s growing power, it was the best move both of us could have made to keep up with the asshole.”

Roderich huffed in frustration. Erzsébet continued.

“Besides, even if your guilt prevents you from seeing it, our marriage was not the same as what the Nazis are doing to you here. And it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling without any strings attached.”

Roderich didn’t respond.

“How are you feeling, Roderich?”

How was he supposed to answer that? There was too much, how was he supposed to just put one word to it? He looked up and met her eyes through the mirror. Her hands had halted, waiting for an answer.

“I feel…” he began. His throat caught while he debated various words inside of various languages. None of them seemed to be enough. Finally, he settled on: “violated.” It was a massive understatement, but it got the point across.

She nodded and continued combing the last of the gel through his hair. A peaceful silence fell between them, and Roderich was glad she didn’t pursue his emotions further. A moment later, she placed the comb up and then took his accessories. He stood up and let her pin on his medals, watching her as she did so.

“Thank you,” he said, voice quiet.

“For?”

“Being here.”

She smiled softly at him. “I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me.”

“Why would I not?”

Erzsébet sighed. “Quite a number of reasons, actually. The first one being nostalgia towards our wedding. Another reason pertaining to my unknowing of how to be of support to you at this moment.”

“You’re the best comfort to me right now. You help more than you know.” Erzsébet scoffed in amusement. “And the other reasons?”

She looked at him with a guilty smile. “Gilbert.”

Abruptly, Roderich's chest squeezed. He nodded, unsure of how to approach that topic. She sighed and placed his iron cross between his collar. He couldn’t help but ask, “Do you still have feelings for him?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “But that doesn’t matter. It changes nothing; not this marriage, not our relationship, and not your relationship with Gilbert.”

“I don’t wish to-”

“Hurt me?” She gave a humorless laugh. “You can’t hurt me, Roderich. Gilbert and I broke up on our own terms. And I never should have pursued my feelings for him when I knew how you feel about him.”

Roderich took her hand and held it. “I understand why you did. Loving Gilbert Beilschmidt is… quite easy to do.”

“Easy isn’t the word I would use. He’s quite troublesome.”

Roderich let himself chuckle at that. “Natural, then. I cannot blame you for doing something that I would have done all the same if I were lucky enough to have the chance.”

Her smile turned sorrowful at that. “Oh, Roderich–”

“I did not say that for your pity.” She closed her mouth. “And, either way, it all amasses to nothing.”

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked. He paused, debating on which answer to give, as he didn’t even know himself.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. She seemed to appreciate it, as her thumb graced gently over the back of his hand. “But I will make it through no matter what happens.”

“I’m here if you need me, nonetheless. Maybe, I can be the middleman between your marital spouts.”

“You did the same even when it was you and I that were married.”

“And I’ve accepted that role as my life’s purpose.”

Roderich chuckled. Then, he kissed her hand. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“Always, darling.” She then held out her arm. “Shall we? You know how Gilbert feels about punctuality.”

Roderich took her arm. “Lead the way.”

Sparing one last glance towards the mirror, he let himself be pulled throughout the various halls of the Cathedral. Already, he could hear the cacophony of people from the main abbey, the clicking of cameras. His heart rose higher and higher the closer they got, until they finally stopped behind the wall before the abbey gate. Schuschnigg moved toward him, two red sashes in hand. Bile made its way to Roderich’s mouth at the sight. He swallowed it down and released Erzsébet’s arm.

“My, you look as strong as ever,” Schuschnigg said. His voice was joyful, but his face tried too hard to hide the defeat he was clearly feeling.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel my best.”

“None of us do.” He raised the sashes to Roderich. The Austrian eyed them, then slowly raised his arms, allowing them to be put on and pinned in place. His Chancellor looked at them, then back to Roderich. “I am sorry to have failed you, Great Austria.”

Roderich shook his head. “There was nothing to be done. We’d known this when Dollfuss was killed.”

“Bless his soul,” Schuschnigg murmured. The man then straightened with a feigned smile. “I will not see you after today, I fear. Hold strong for me, will you?”

A pang of helplessness struck Roderich. “Of course.” He knew the man would be sent to an internment camp the moment this tirade was over. 

The man nodded once more, then held out his arm. Roderich looked behind him, only to find Erzsébet gone, likely to take her place beside Gilbert. He looked back forward and let Schuschnigg take the first step around the wall. As they opened the gate, Wagner’s “Treulich geführt” began playing and all conversations ceased. Cameras sounded off left and right, but Roderich only focused on making his way down the pews, towards the altar. It wasn’t until he was halfway there that he finally mustered the courage to look up at Gilbert.

The sight nearly made him trip.

Damn swastikas aside, Gilbert looked stunning. The black uniform called attention to his pale skin, making him look as if he were truly carved from marble. It showcased his long, slender neck and the perfectly cut jaw connected to it. His white hair was slicked back, exposing his forehead and drawing stark attention to his eyes. They shone a beautiful mural of pinks, and they gazed at him with such an intensity, Roderich felt his skin flush. The Prussian looked… astounded, his eyes not straying from Roderich even once while he walked and his throat taunt, as if he had trouble swallowing.

Time stretched too long before Roderich was finally at the steps. Gilbert extended a hand, which Roderich took and didn’t let go of until he’d made his way in front of him. Gilbert’s eyes refused to leave his.

The music came to its end and the priest began speaking, but Roderich couldn’t pay attention to his German. Now that he was this close, with the sunlight encasing them perfectly atop the altar, Roderich could see the flecks of purple and blue reflecting in the light of Gilbert’s eyes, mixing beautifully against the pinks and reds like the most magnificent sunset Roderich had ever seen. Gilbert’s gaze flickered between his, but Roderich couldn’t read him the way he thought he would be able to. It seemed as if he were trying to say something, but his face stayed too masked to read.

Slowly, the cameras clicking away faded to a mute, and all of the people in the church, from the Austrian officials to the Nazi officers, to Erzsébet—every single one of them disappeared, and it was just Roderich and Gilbert. He found comfort in the Prussian’s presence, found calm in the way his chest moved ever so steadily under his uniform, making his medallions and his iron cross shift in the sunlight with every breath. He relished in the first feeling of calm he'd had all week.

Soon enough, Gilbert finally removed his gaze to pick up a ring from the priest’s pillow, a small and modest yellow gold band. With a jolt, Roderich realized they were exchanging their vows, and he’d completely forgotten to even think of what he was going to recite. Cursing himself, he quickly tried to think of what he would say (God, what could he say?), but then, Gilbert was looking into his eyes again and all thoughts died on Roderich’s tongue with his soft-drawn expression. He’d never seen such a look on the man’s face.

“With this union,” he began, voice even and resounding through the abbey, “I promise to love and to protect your people as my own. I promise to cherish you, for you are my partner in life, in relations, and in heart.”

Gilbert’s hand encased Roderich’s, his palm against his as his other hand gently brushes against his fingertips. Roderich’s heart stops. Slowly, the albino slips the ring up his left ring finger before resting it at home near his knuckle. Every brush of contact is electric, and Roderich takes the effort to feel every callous, every scar that slides against his own soft hands. Roderich could not find himself able to look away from Gilbert’s face; he looked so regal, so focused, so… caring.

“With this ring, my promise to you is solidified, as deep and as true as my heart is to my home country. You are my equal, you are my strength, you are… my hope.”

Gilbert meets Roderich’s eyes once more. They are intense with promise, overflowing with a deeper meaning that he is seemingly begging Roderich to understand through glassy eyes and profound words.

“I will do everything in my power, God willing, to embrace the Austrian people with the adoration and protection that they so truly deserve. You and your people will see no misfortune, no plight, that I do not wish upon my own self and country." He hesitated, as if he wanted to be done, but added one more comment, although Roderich could feel the tension from the words he almost grit through his teeth. "German and Austrian, different we have always stood, but united today, we are now one, unified Germany.”

A small tear fell from his eye, which he quickly blinked to rid himself of. Roderich just stared, the emotion rocking him to his very core in a way he didn’t think was possible. If not for the entire world watching, Roderich would throw all doubt to the wind and kiss him stupid. He’d tell Gilbert that he loves him, that he trusts him, that he is willing to follow Gilbert to the ends of the Earth, that he would if he only just asked him.

But, he can say none of that. He can only take a deep, shaky breath and regain his composure. He can only wrench his eyes away from Gilbert’s trembling bottom lip and take the larger ring from the pillow.

He takes Gilbert’s left hand, running his fingers along the jagged scar across his palm, along the callouses painting rough across his skin.

“With this ring,” he begins, then pauses. For once in his life, Roderich doesn’t know what to say. His mind is blank, running on pure unbridled emotions that could never possibly be expressed through words. To buy his time, he gently pushes the ring up Gilbert’s finger, lingering as it catches on his middle knuckle before finally sliding over it and fitting beautifully against his skin. He has run out of time, so he does something he has never done; he speaks spontaneously. “I give you my whole heart. And, with my people, I give you my loyalty, my devotion, and my trust. To stand beside you against all else, united together as one… it is the greatest action I shall ever see to doing.”

Gilbert’s eyes tear up again, just briefly, before he blinks it away with the priests’ final blessings. Roderich grips Gilbert’s hands, hoping he understood what Roderich was trying to tell him as directly as possible. Gilbert squeezes back and Roderich knows he did.

And with that, the priest sealed the sacrament.

Roderich’s heart fluttered into his throat when Gilbert leaned in, eyes closing the nearer he drew. Softly, their lips met, and the room burst into a roar of chaos, but even the loud sound emitting from St. Stephen’s twenty-two bells all dulled to white noise against the moment that Gilbert held his lips in his.

He’d only ever dreamed of kissing Gilbert; what he would feel like, what he would taste like. Gilbert kissed like he meant it, as chaste and public as even this small kiss was. His lips were surprisingly soft, and they tasted just the way he smelled, such a familiar smoky, clean taste that could only ever be described as completely and intoxicatingly Gilbert.

All too quickly, the second of paradise ended, and Roderich opened his eyes to find Gilbert farther than he wanted him. However, just as quickly as his disappointment had come, it vanished. His legs almost buckled out from under him when Gilbert’s tongue came out to lick his bottom lip, just subtly enough to where Roderich doesn’t think he was supposed to even see it, especially when Gilbert bit his lip afterward and turned away from him. In a daze, Roderich turned with Gilbert and held his arm as they posed for portraits.

Maybe he had lied, after all. He wasn’t going to be alright in a one-sided marriage with Gilbert.

He was in way over his head.

Festivities moved from the Cathedral to the Parliament building, almost as if Hitler were trying to add insult to injury as he roamed around Austria’s main government building. Roderich quickly took up a glass of wine, refusing to let himself fall farther into the despair he was feeling deep within.

“Is that not your third glass?” a deep voice asked from behind him. Roderich’s eye twitched, and he turned around to face the German.

“I don’t know, Ludwig. Is this not your third try at your own government?”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. “It’s going well so far.”

“And so is my alcohol tolerance. Leave me be.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you–”

“You have a very twisted way of showing it.” As kind as he knew Ludwig truly was at heart, Roderich did not have the patience to make himself remember it. Especially not so soon after he’d marched into Austria just yesterday and demanded he give himself up to the Third Reich. Ludwig only looked annoyed at Roderich’s hostility.

“No wonder all your marriages have failed.”

“For your sake, you better hope this one doesn’t. Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know, He’s your husband, you go and find him.”

Roderich’s lip curled, anger bubbling over in his chest. Losing his patience on Ludwig could not only get him in trouble with his new superiors, but with his new husband as well. So, as hard as it was, Roderich simply shut his mouth and brushed past him. Grumbling to himself in Hungarian, he quickly sought out a head of white hair. As easy as he should be to spot, Roderich wasn’t finding Gilbert anywhere in the sea of black, red, and blonde. Anticipation replaced his anger and began to eat away at his composure. He really didn’t want to be alone at the moment. He took another drink from his glass to calm his amplifying nerves, but it wasn’t strong enough. Already, his breath was becoming shaky and difficult to pull. Suddenly overwhelmed, he pulled from the crowd and aimed for walking to the edge of the room, anywhere away from all of these horrible men who had killed his pride and intended to massacre his entire culture into their own sick and twisted ambitions for-

“Woah, woah, woah. Hey, take it easy.” Roderich whipped around to face who had just grabbed his glass from his hand, only to find Gilbert’s handsome features looking down on him in concern. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and he finally breathed out his tension. However, a different annoyance surged forward just as quick.

“Where the hell were you?” Roderich demanded, angry at him for leaving when he needed him most. Gilbert turned and placed Roderich’s glass onto a table.

“I had to take a leak.”

“You were gone for almost an hour!”

The Prussian sighed and raised his hands to straighten Roderich’s cross. He spoke quietly. “Papen needed to speak with me.”

The anger melted away to concern. “Are you alright?"

“I’m fine,” he assured quickly. Roderich didn't buy it, considering they were talking about the man who abolished Prussia's independence in 1932, paving the way for the very men who controlled over them today. “He’s leaving for Turkey soon enough and I felt the need to pound his face in a little. Took me a bit too long to wash the blood off my fists.”

Roderich glanced down at his hands, only able to see the faintest stain of red across his knuckles.

“Curse my white skin, huh?”

“It does make your hobbies quite troublesome to clean.” Gilbert laughed and Roderich found himself giving way to a better mood as well.

“Well, I’m sorry for leaving for so long, but I'm here now. How can I be of assistance?’

“Don’t leave me to a room full of Nazis, firstly.” Gilbert smirked at his boldness, but Roderich couldn’t care less if these men heard of his disdain for them. “And secondly, you could get your child to leave me alone. He tried to take my wine.”

“I took your wine.”

“He did it purely to antagonize me.”

“Come on, Roderich, you know he was probably just trying to help you–”

“I do not need his help,” Roderich snapped. “And I do not need his intervention. Nor do I need yours either.”

Gilbert’s eyes twinkled. “How about a dance then? Is that an intervention?”

Roderich looked at him with a pointed expression, lips pursed. “Depends on why you’re asking.”

“You are my husband now—God, I have to get used to using that word—and I figure dancing is a better way to calm your nerves than wine.”

“Wine does the job just well enough, thank you.”

“So, is that a no?”

“You never asked me.”

Gilbert blinked, taken aback. Then, he threw his head back into a full-bellied laugh. Roderich watched him, feeling his heart set aflutter. When Gilbert gazed at him again, his eyes were teasing. He took a step back and gave a bow, holding out his hand.

“Roderich Habsburg Edelstein, would you do me the honor?” His voice was as smooth as silk, brimming with mischievous confidence. Merriment graced itself into Roderich and he took the Prussian’s hand.

“Of course, Herr Beilschmidt.”

Gilbert grimaced playfully. “Please don’t.”

“What?” Roderich asked with feign innocence. “I thought you liked superiority.”

“It feels wrong coming from you.”

“Dance with me, you idiot.”

Gilbert laughed once more and pulled him towards the floor while the string quartet played a waltz to Strauss’s “Wiener Blut”. Gingerly, Gilbert took Roderich’s hands and led them through the steps. Despite the circumstances and the people making up the venue of the room, Roderich let Gilbert’s infectious smile and lively energy pull him into the light. He mirrored his partner’s joy and moved his feet alongside his in a dance they’d performed a thousand times over. Roderich felt light, dancing quick and graceful on his feet. The wind rushing past his flushed skin felt electric, felt freeing. Gilbert’s chest against his felt warm and comforting, like he was finally coming home. Roderich lost himself into the music, even as the waltz had begun to decrescendo into a more legato one. He grounded himself in the chords swimming like angels in his head, in the rough fingers that caught and scratched along his skin in the most sinful of ways, making the Austrian want to melt to his knees and never get back up unless he were to be pulled into Gilbert’s arms.

He was pulled back to reality when his foot knocked against Gilbert’s. Pink crept up the albino’s face as they continued to dance, but he stumbled once more. Roderich didn’t mind; it was the most Gilbert thing in the world to step the exact steps of a dance with no room for passion to change it up.

“Goodness,” he teased, “you really still are the most inelegant when you dance.”

“Shut up.” Gilbert huffed, pink spreading to his ears as his embarrassment worsened. “I have never understood how you’re supposed to put emotions into steps, no matter how many times people tell me.” He growled in frustration whenever Roderich moved his feet wider on purpose this time to mess with him. Roderich laughed and eased up his movements, allowing Gilbert to set his bearings straight again. He looked back into Roderich’s eyes, a bit bashful. “Is this a deal breaker?”

“Even if it was, it seems you’re stuck with me all the same.” Gilbert gave a small laugh at that, making a strand of hair fall loose on his forehead. Gently, Roderich moved it back. “Let that be something you get out of this marriage. I’ll show you how to properly dance, though, I fear I am centuries too late.”

“Bah. Dancing was never one of my attributes anyways. Country of war never was known for his etiquette.”

“I quite remember Friedrich the Great having impeccable manners, for a Prussian at least.”

Gilbert’s face grew soft with nostalgia, and he gave a bittersweet laugh. “Yeah, well, if he couldn’t soften me up, I doubt you’ll be able to.”

Roderich lit up. “I accept that challenge. There is no brute I have yet to tame.”

Suddenly, Gilbert’s smile is gone and his brows are furrowed. “I wish you could, Roderich. But I fear I’m far past redemption.”

Roderich became unnerved at this sudden shift in the man. He had the feeling this conversation was no longer about his etiquette. “Well, with that attitude…”

“I don’t think attitude has anything to do with it.” Gilbert’s voice is quieter, his eyes distant as they held just under Roderich’s, unblinking. Roderich gripped his hands a bit tighter, then moved one to grip his upper arm when that proved unsuccessful. He gave a small shake.

“Come back to me, Gilbert. This is no place to lose yourself.”

After a moment, red eyes finally met his once more. He gave a small nod, but Roderich could feel the wall Gilbert always has around himself had risen once again, and he knew there was no getting through to him once it did. Roderich deflated, unease creeping back in now that he didn’t have the Prussian’s playful banter to elevate his mood. Gilbert’s eyes moved to scan around the room. He releases Roderich from their dance once they seem to have found their target, and he pulls Roderich across the room by hand, towards Erzsébet. Her eyes elate at the sight of them, then fall just as quickly when they draw near. Gilbert releases Roderich’s hand and avoids eye contact.

“Excuse me,” he says, then quickly leaves through a side corridor nearby, taking a glass of liquor on his way out. Roderich watches him leave with sorrowful eyes.

“I’m sure it’s nothing you did,” Erzsébet assured him with a comforting hand on his arm. “Gilbert never has been much for the party scene.”

Roderich only sighs.

“You looked like you were having fun, though. I haven’t seen you smile like that in… years.”

Roderich glanced at her. “Yes… then I mentioned Friedrich.”

Erzsébet snapped her fingers. “Yup, that’ll do it. You know he gets sensitive about old Friedrich. Don’t take it to heart.”

Roderich knew that, but it seemed to be so much more than that. He was bittersweet over the mention of his beloved friend, yes, but became depressed from an entirely separate topic, one that Gilbert seemed to have come to entirely on his own. Roderich worried for him; he’d been on a downward spiral since his dissolution and Roderich was worried that he truly found himself to be a failure, that he truly believes himself to be only a helpless shell of the man he once was. Roderich wished he could get through to him, wished he could tell him those assertions are not true and that he has always been too hard on himself, that he has support and people who understand and love him.

Perhaps in time.

“Do you still need a dance partner?” Erzsébet cut into his thoughts. He looked at her. “You don’t leave for Berlin for another few hours, and I’d hate to just stand here and stew in shitty emotions before I don’t see you for a long while.”

A small smile made its way back to Roderich. “You truly are a marvel of a woman.”

“Please, continue.” She smirked and held out her hand, which he then took and led her out to the dance floor after only one more glance towards where Gilbert had disappeared.

The five-hour train ride back to Berlin was an awkward one. The three of them had their own car just behind the other officers. Ludwig sat near the entrance, occasionally leaving to and from the other cart, but otherwise doing paperwork at the table. Gilbert sat in one of the window seats, beginning the first few hours of the journey with an unlabeled book, then eventually opted for staring out the window, cornflower twirling between his fingers as he thought. Roderich sat at the window seat parallel to him, attempting to busy himself with the composition he’d been working on, but that task quickly fell through to him flipping through the various German newspapers piled on the table. All in all, the silence was stifling, and it was well after nightfall when they’d finally reached Berlin. Much to Roderich’s surprise, Gilbert and Ludwig both assisted Roderich with carrying the majority of his luggage to their residence, which was another half-hour car drive on Gilbert’s behalf. Once finally inside the house, Roderich was hit with the fact that this was his place of residence now, no longer his Viennese Estate. 

There were no marble floors or towering ceilings, only clean wooden floors and dark oak walls accompanied by the red accent carpet that lined the doorway, living room, and stairwell. He glanced to the modest, but spotless kitchen and then the hallway on the far-right side.

Not grand, like Roderich was so accustomed to, but homey, nonetheless. Minimalistic and welcoming, congenial to Gilbert himself. It made sense that this was the home he raised Ludwig in.

He could make do with this so long as he thought of it that way. This was not a prison he was forced into; it was a warm environment, one that Gilbert had built with love with his own two hands for his blooming family.

“Feel free to explore as you wish,” Ludwig said, voice unsure. Roderich looked to him, finding him standoffish and awkward. He assumed that was due to his own hostility earlier. Forcing himself to be the bigger person, he gave a gentle pat to the blonde’s arm.

“Thank you. And for carrying my luggage, as well.”

Ludwig visibly relaxed at Roderich’s easy tone. It was almost innocent the way he changed once he had the slightest bit of reassurance. He truly was still such a child.

“I can show you around, if you’d like, while Gilbert cooks us a quick dinner?” he offered. “I know there isn’t much, but it’d still be nice to know.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Ludwig picked up his bags and began to the right side of the house, past the living room and towards the parallel hallway. “The layout is simple and it's the same both downstairs and upstairs. Right side of the house is for leisure: personal rooms and music room are upstairs, gym and storage are downstairs. Each door is labeled accordingly.”

Roderich almost scoffed. Of course, Gilbert labeled the rooms of his own home.

“Then, you have work to the west: two offices and a library downstairs. Upstairs, there's a few extra rooms that we don’t truly have a use for at the moment, but Gilbert had always planned for expansion, even if only for storage. We could set one of them up as your office?”

“I suppose so.”

“You can have your pick and I’ll make the label for it when you do.” He led them up the stairs and opened the third door down the hall, then stood back for Roderich to enter first. The Austrian was puzzled for a moment at the odd way the door opened, but quickly moved past it once he remembered Gilbert was left-handed and likely wanted more comfortable accessibility. He stepped inside the room, finding it already filled with furniture.

The walls were lined with a pristine white wallpaper, which glimmered in golden flecks against the light. The bed was a king, with four intrinsically carved posts reminding him of the ones that held his bed when he was a vassal under Holy Rome. Its dark oak paired well with the deep purple comforter and canopy. Two nightstands, a dresser, and a vanity lay around the room, as well as a trunk at the foot of the bed. Two large closets stood in the right-side wall and a private bathroom connected between.

“We had ordered all of it about a week before yesterday, so we weren’t actually able to ask you. Gilbert had the choice for most of it, considering I don’t know you as well.” Ludwig placed the last bag inside the room. “How do you like it...?”

It was wonderful, in its own way. Roderich truly wasn’t expecting this much thought to be put into his room, least of all his room at the minimalistic Beilschmidt household. To say he was taken was a vast understatement.

“It’s... quite nice.” He looked back at Ludwig. “Thank you.”

The German rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “It was… the least we could do, knowing what would happen.”

Roderich breathed slowly, unsure how to speak to Ludwig alone. He decided to just be blunt with his words. “Did you know?”

“About the Anschluss? Yes. About the wedding?” He shook his head. “If I had, I would have had more time to change Hitler’s mind, and I may have actually succeeded, but… I found out after you two did, apparently.”

Roderich nodded. He believed him. Ludwig didn’t know Roderich too well, but he loved his father. He would have stopped anything that put Gilbert in a detriment, had he known.

“Why Gilbert?” he found himself asking. “Why not you?”

Ludwig frowned. “I wish I had that answer. Hitler was adamant that it was Gilbert to marry you; I can only assume it’s because of Gilbert being the face of unification in the first place and Hitler wants to restore that old Prussian militarism way of tradition. He wouldn’t tell me for sure or hear my suggestions otherwise. Often, I find myself just doing as I’m told without knowing why.”

“That’s a dangerous game to be playing.”

“You sound like Gilbert.”

“We know that better than anyone,” Roderich stated firmly. “It’s important that you do, too.”

“Please do not lecture me. I already have Gilbert constantly nagging me and I feel as though he lectures me daily about this. I don’t need you, too.”

Roderich rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of a suitcase, laying it on the trunk to begin unpacking. Ludwig took hold of the door handle.

“Dinner should be done shortly.” And then he left, closing the door after him. Roderich took that moment to brace himself against the edge of the bed, eyes closed and chest aching as he just took hold of his situation for a minute. He could feel the room closing in on him rather quickly, so he took a deep breath and busied himself with putting away his silk shirts and dress pants before they wrinkled. Once those were all situated on hangers and in the closets, he placed his shoes in an array and then stored his cases beside them. He made his way to the bathroom, finding a large basin tub.

On the counter, toiletries were already set up, including lily scented shampoo and conditioner, as well as a Claus Porto bar soap. Roderich smiled softly at the amount of thought put into his room. He knew Gilbert often remembered even the most miniscule of details—it was part of what made him such a formidable enemy—but he never expected Gilbert to be thoughtful, let alone romantic in his thoughtfulness. He’d always figured Gilbert’s brain worked for nothing more than war; it was endearing to be proven otherwise every once in a while.

After using the facilities and splashing his face with some cold water, he made his way back to the middle of the bedroom. Taking his coat from where he’d discarded it on the floor, he went to place it inside the chest, only to find it already full. Dropping the coat back to the ground, Roderich pulled out the large blanket within; a large Russian quilt that looked to be hand-crocheted. He recognized the rubix pattern, various shades of pink coinciding with purples and whites. The one folded under it was also handmade, but it was a much more complicated medallion pattern, consisting of various warm, autumn shades. Roderich gazed over them, deciding they were charming despite their likely maker, then folded the quilt back up into the chest.

The smell of potatoes wafted into the air, drawing Roderich to make his way towards the kitchen. Ludwig already sat at the attached dining room, bowl in front of him and spoon in hand.

“I hope neither of you expect me to do the cooking," Roderich tried, meaning for his tone to come across as light, although it ended up being dry. He mentally cringed at himself and attempted to fix his blunder. "You know I am an utter fool when it comes to the stove.”

Gilbert looked up from the pot, a bit startled. He relaxed at the sight of him, but his face remained withdrawn all the same, tone flat compared to his usual way of speaking.

“No, I do most of the cooking anyways.” He poured a few ladles full of potato stew into a white bowl, then handed it to Roderich. “Think of us as your maids, considering you’ve been here less than an hour and you’ve already managed to track dirt into the house.”

Roderich narrowed his eyes. “You’re neurotic.”

“I’m teasing. Partially.” He cocked his head to the table. “Feel free.”

Roderich rolled his eyes and made his way to the table. Upon sitting down and taking his first few bites—the stew was delicious—Roderich quickly noticed a yellow blob near Ludwig, just atop his shoulder and blending in with his hair. Abruptly, he recognized the mass as Gilbert’s bird. Ludwig looked up.

“Oh, yes. Hope you aren’t allergic to Gilbird.”

Roderich eyed the canary. “I’m more of wondering how on Earth you’re able to keep it so close to you. Gilbert, I’m used to, but I didn’t figure you would enjoy it being right up in your face.”

Ludwig smiled and rubbed the animal's head. “He’s actually pretty good about personal space, we’ve just been gone a few days and he missed us. He’s not allowed in the kitchen, so I’m sure he’ll move once Gilbert sits down.”

“But you let it perch on you.”

“Of course. He’s family.”

“A bird.” Roderich just didn’t understand, never had. He didn’t understand how Gilbert, the clean-freak as he was, let that disgusting animal go wherever it wanted. He didn’t understand how Gilbert understood it, nor did he understand how it was even still alive after a thousand years.

“Yes, a bird. An immortal bird that’s been around me my whole life.” He shrugged. “Plus, Gilbert won’t let me get more dogs because he claims a war is on the way.”

“I don’t claim, I know.” Gilbert sat down with his food, apron and overcoat off, leaving him in his white button up. Just as soon as he sat down, the bird was atop his shoulder, nuzzling into his hair and making odd purring sounds. Gilbert smiled and rubbed his head with his finger. Roderich watched him and wondered how the hell Gilbert liked it.

“You don’t know anything, you assume. Falsely, if I must add.”

“Iron is my blood, Ludwig. I know when a war is brewing.”

“Whatever." Ludwig picked up his spoon. "You’ll see Hitler has no means to throw us into another war so soon, not while we’re finally rebuilding our pride. We'll take Russia in time. And, if anything, Britain and France will help us.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and ate his soup. A tense quiet fell across the table. Roderich quickly ate to escape it. No other words were said even after dinner was finished and Gilbert had retreated to the kitchen to clean up. Ludwig rubbed on Gilbird’s head before following. Roderich watched them with curious eyes.

Ludwig began the dishes while Gilbert placed the leftovers away. The older asked if Ludwig was sure about doing the dishes, to which Germany only nodded and said it was the least he could do. Although his face showed his exhaustion and every other encounter showed how rocky things were between the two, Gilbert still reached forward and mussed up the hair atop Ludwig’s head. He smiled and ducked from the albino’s hand, flicking water onto him while he stepped away. A small smile graced the Prussian’s lips, and he patted his son on the back, telling him goodnight. Ludwig said it back while he left the kitchen. Gilbert hesitated in front of Roderich, finger tapping nervously against his leg.

“Is your bedroom comfortable enough?” he asked. Roderich nodded.

“More than enough,” he assured. He pushed his glasses up his nose, anything to distract from the awkward air. “I… appreciate it.”

“It was no trouble.” He swayed on his feet momentarily, then said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Roderich replied. Gilbert turned back towards the hallway and whistled a quick E sharp, followed quickly by his bird perching on his shoulder. Roderich watched him disappear up the stairs, then decided to go to bed himself. He contemplated saying something to Ludwig, then decided against it and made his way to his room.

His nightly routine, though simplified, helped bring some sort of comfort to him. He didn't have his vast assortment of creams or lotions, but what he did have helped rid him of the horrible wrinkles he could feel attempting to befall his skin. He rinsed his hair, sighing as the gel parted from his hair and the cold water soothed his thoughts. Gently, he scrunched the water from his hair into a cotton towel, then left it to fall around his face in dark brown waves. He pulled on his night robe and lifted the duvet, feeling the satin soft and cool against his skin. He turned off the lamp and laid down, closing his eyes.

As exhausted as he felt, sleep refused to take him. His eyes burned; his chest felt clenched. The silence seemed to be deafening, even when Roderich turned onto his back and tried to sleep that way. Still, an eternity later, God would not grant him rest. Roderich couldn't stand it.

Growling, he lifted the duvet from his body and walked across the cold hardwood. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was leaving his bedroom and quietly walking down the dark hallway to Gilbert's door. Anticipation bit at his body once he realized what he'd done. But, as embarrassed as he felt coming to Gilbert's door like this, he couldn't bear the thought of going back to the suffocating lonesome that was his bedroom. Besides, it wasn't like they'd never shared a room before. He had no reason to feel nervous...

He hesitated, then raised his fist to give a single knock.

Just as he did, the door pulled in from his knuckles and a hard chest hit Roderich’s fist instead. The Austrian felt his neck flush with heat, and he looked up to Gilbert’s startled eyes only a few inches from his. Swallowing, Roderich stepped back and quickly pulled his hand back down to his side.

“You– quite startled me.”

“What are you doing at my door?” Gilbert’s voice did not whisper, but it was low, nonetheless.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he countered, feigning off his embarrassment. Gilbert faltered and Roderich heard the swift taps of his finger against the doorframe.

“I was… um…” Roderich could barely see Gilbert through the dark, but he heard the man shift and fidget. Finally, his hand fell from the doorframe, and he stepped back into the room. Roderich was perplexed but saw the offering for what it was. He stepped past the man and into his room while Gilbert closed the door behind him. He heard Gilbert’s steps while he went for his bedside lamp, and squinted his eyes when Gilbert turned it on. In the newfound light, he finally saw the man in his blue bed clothes and pillow-ruffled hair. Roderich was suddenly aware of his own appearance; in his improper silk pajamas and natural, unstyled hair. Goodness, he didn’t even have his glasses on. Although, he supposed it didn’t matter. They’d each seen each other in much worse states. All the same, being covered in blood, sweat, and dirt did not feel as intimate as standing before the man in his relaxed pajamas and plain appearance.

Gilbert patted beside himself on the bed, tearing him from his concerns, and Roderich sat down. Despite the awkward air, Roderich felt comfortable enough to drop his shoulders.

“You have quite a lot of these,” he noted, running his hand along the handmade quilt beneath them. Gilbert glanced down.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh… They’re warmer than other blankets and I’ve taken to them most my life so…”

“I don’t suppose you made them?” he pondered, knowing the answer already but finding amusement in the way Gilbert shook his head.

“God, no. I don’t think I could make a solid blanket if I tried, let alone one like this.” Gilbert ran a hand gently along the woven stands, face soft. “No. Ah… Someone very special to me made these.”

Special, of course. Roderich almost scoffed aloud. Nevertheless, the Austrian refused to even think of the unforthcoming nature that surrounded Gilbert's relationship with the Russian nation. Roderich only nodded, looking forward again.

He busied himself with identifying the various medallions and artifacts lining Gilbert’s wall, eyes catching onto the section where swords were showcased. Nostalgia bit into him at the sight of one sword in particular, an old iron longsword with a silver handle and inscribed gold writing to say Proverbs 22. He remembered that sword more than the others; it was the size of Gilbert when he first wielded it as a child, and Roderich quite remembered how clumsy he was with it. Of course, he quickly adapted and used it as if it were another limb, although it took him decades longer to actually grow into it. He missed those days; when he, Gilbert, Erzsébet, and Armin would sit around and spar and debate religion.

“I was going to your room,” Gilbert suddenly said. Roderich looked at him, surprised. The albino avoided his gaze. “I figured you deserved an… apology... for the way I’ve been acting. This is all a whirlwind for you and my cold shoulder on top of it was cruel and uncalled for.”

Roderich sighed. “It was difficult to maneuver around, but also not entirely unlike you. It’s not like I expected to be invited to your bed as if this were any previous wedding of mine.”

Gilbert just groaned and rubbed his face. Roderich watched his anguish with a raised brow but said nothing else. Gilbert didn’t either, only faced away from him with a slouched back and a bouncing leg. Roderich looked down to his slippers against the hardwood floor.

He’d truly hoped this marriage would not adhere to the development they’d had in the past thirty years. This awkward air, this inability to speak to the man, this is what Roderich had feared would come. The positive route their relationship had been heading down, lost through a marriage forced upon them and now Roderich felt as though he had lost the friend he’d created. And without Erzsébet, he felt alone. He needed Gilbert at his side; not this fear of saying the wrong thing and this uncertainty in speaking to the Prussian today.

Slowly, as if his thoughts were heard, a calloused hand graced across his fingers on the bed before finally resting on and gripping his hand firmly. Roderich looked over to see Gilbert’s eyes on his, brows knit and expression soft. He licked his lips and gave a squeeze to Roderich’s hand, all uncertainty seemingly melted from his body while he shifted closer to Roderich.

“I don’t want this marriage to change the way we are with each other. Not now, not after... everything that's happened in the past few decades.”

Roderich felt too breathless to respond. Instead, he nodded, letting the albino read his relief. Gilbert gazed over him, then his face fell.

“I’m sorry… for what we have done to your country. To you.” His thumb rubbed softly, his rough skin catching as it caressed the back of his hand. His words hit Roderich right in the heart. Gilbert did not apologize easily. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

His eyes burned. He shook his head, as it seemed his voice could not muster anything through the lump in his throat. This same agony he’d been shoveling down all day–week—year, it finally overflowed. Before he knew it, his cheeks were wet and, like a gun, all the anger, the terror, the hurt, it all exploded. He didn’t stop the slouch of his back, the quivering of his lips. He couldn’t. Roderich had been clinging to his composure, to his elegance, to the burying of emotions, all in a desperate plea to not register what was happening, to not recognize that Roderich was losing everything all over again.

A strong-arm wraps around Roderich’s shoulders and it's so comforting that Roderich finally lets out a sob and surrenders. He surrenders to Gilbert’s chest and to his hold and to his own emotions because he no longer has the courage to fight anymore. He surrenders to the idea that his independence, his culture, his hope; it's all gone, and soon he will be, too. He surrenders his composure to finally grieve what he has lost, to the life he’d once known.

He should feel shameful in the pathetic sobs muffling into Gilbert’s chest, he should feel horrified at the wet stains now pooling on Gilbert’s shirt, but, God, all he can find himself able to care about is the fact that he isn’t alone. He isn’t isolated in some room, drowning his cries into his hand; he’s here with Gilbert, surrounded by loving arms and the smoky, clean scent that is Gilbert and Gilbert only, and he’s crying unabashedly.

And it feels good. It feels good to finally… finally let it all out.

Composure be damned. Roderich is in grief. He lets himself succumb to the agony overflowing the dam in his heart and the firm hold of Gilbert. He loses himself in the suffocation that is his snotty nose and hoarse throat, and the peaceful ruffling of Gilbert’s breaths through his hair.

///

Gilbert had only ever seen Roderich cry once before, and that was 1918. It’d broken his heart then, and it broke his heart now. He’d hoped he would never see Roderich cry again, and now here he was, making Roderich cry harder than he thought the man was capable of. The guilt ate him alive, so he clutched the man close in an attempt to show how apologetic he truly was. The helpless heartbreak had him hiding a few tears in the Austrian’s wavy brown hair, though he hoped he censored himself enough to where he wouldn’t notice.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there holding Roderich, nor did he really care. He’d stay up all night if he had to, anything to make Roderich feel better. After a while, though, Roderich began to grow quieter. Still, Gilbert didn’t move, only situated them differently to let the Austrian lean more into his body while he grew more and more limp. Slowly, the gentler cries fell into whimpers, which then gradually became even breathing and silence. Gilbert waited another while past the newfound silence, but the strain of his back became too much under their combined weight.

As slowly as he could, Gilbert lifted Roderich’s chin. His face was blotched red and covered with tear tracks. His hair was ruffled and frizzy and messy, and his lips were bright red. The sight made Gilbert’s heart twinge in an odd way. As gently as he knew how, he moved Roderich’s hair away from his face and began to reposition their bodies. He cradled Roderich’s head and torso, guiding him slowly onto the mattress while Gilbert stood up. He positioned a pillow underneath his head and then took another one of Ivan’s quilts from off his reading chair, laying it over Roderich’s body after he removed his slippers. An urge suddenly came over him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning over to press his lips against Roderich’s forehead. He felt heat wash over his ears, especially when he heard a small chirp from Gilbird, who sat watching them from his bed on the dresser. He rolled his eyes at the bird and turned to leave for another place to sleep, but halted in his tracks when a warm hand grabbed his wrist. Gilbert looked back to see Roderich’s eyes tired and barely open. His hand drifted down to hold Gilbert’s, their fingers interlocking while the man gently pulled him nearer once more.

“Stay…” Roderich’s voice was hoarse and barely audible, but it felt deafening to Gilbert’s ears. “Lay with me, just for tonight.”

The words cut a certain soft spot in Gilbert’s heart. He hesitated, but Roderich’s eyes stayed on his, hopeful and oh so exhausted. He felt his chest flutter and his head flush.

“Okay,” he whispered. He moved the blanket up and climbed beside the Austrian, laying on his back. Roderich settled into his chest, body curled against his side while Gilbert wrapped an arm around him and hugged him closer. It wasn’t the first time he’d cuddled Roderich in bed, but, God, this time felt…

Gilbert didn’t know how to describe it. He didn’t even know how to describe anything that happened with Roderich at this point. He’d known him for so long and yet the past thirty years have seemed to place them into an entirely different light. He cared for Roderich, almost as fervently as he did Ludwig, or Ivan–

Ivan.

Realization struck through him like lightning. God, he’d been thinking on the train to Berlin about how in the hell he was going to tell Ivan—to which he still didn’t have an answer for. But, now it was finally hitting him that this relationship with Roderich… it’s nothing personally romantic but, they’re married. They’re married and… Gilbert can’t bear the idea of a relationship with Ivan behind Roderich’s back, even if his relationship with Ivan spanned centuries. Anyone else, perhaps, Gilbert would shove his ideals of marriage and infidelity aside for Ivan, but, for some reason, the idea of hiding something behind Roderich’s back made Gilbert feel horrible.

Perhaps, he thought he could have before, but feeling the vulnerability of the man on his arm right now, Gilbert refused to risk another reason for Roderich to become upset. Gilbert wanted to be there for him, wanted to support him and be a sigil of trust and protection.

He could not do that and be in a relationship with Ivan. As much as it broke his heart, he just couldn’t.

He was going to lose Ivan yet again, so soon after finally getting him back after the turmoil following the revolution. The thought made his eyes burn, so he blinked the tears away and forced himself steady.

No, he wasn’t… losing him. Ivan is still there, still loves him, still knows that Gilbert loves him. This will not be a separation; it will only be… a break.

It still felt wrong.

He didn’t know what to do.

Groaning to himself, Gilbert pushed his head back into the pillow, damning the situation and his stupid heart. Oh, how he missed the days when he couldn't give a damn about others' feelings.

The next morning came quickly. His head throbbed and his eyes burned, but what made him open his eyes was the tickling of hair against his nose. Roderich stayed nestled into the crook of his neck, his breaths even and hot against Gilbert’s neck, making it damp. He laid there for a while, breathing in the clean lily scent of his hair and calming himself in the man’s warmth. Unfortunately, he became antsy after a while and even the sight of Roderich’s sleeping face wasn’t enough to make him remain in bed. He carefully pulled himself from Roderich’s embrace, repositioned the sheets and pillows, then made his way to the bathroom to get ready. A quick shower energized himself enough, so he didn’t feel completely dead when he made his way out of the room.

“Roderich wasn’t in his room this morning.”

Gilbert was almost ashamed of the annoyance Ludwig’s voice gave him. Almost.

He turned around and gave the other a pointed look. “You’re spying on him now?”

“Spying? No, I just wanted to check in on him–”

“So, you looked in my room?” He could feel his eye begin to twitch. Ludwig looked at him with exasperation.

“I just wanted to account for where he was. Why are you so defensive? It’s not like I’m–”

“I am not defensive–”

“That is literally a defensive statement.”

“You’re a little shit,” Gilbert growled.

“Like father, like son.” Ludwig glared. Gilbert just scoffed and snatched a glass from the cabinet to fill with water. He heard the clinking of Ludwig’s silverware against his bowl and was glad he wasn’t going to give another comment. He debated getting food himself, although he quickly denounced the idea as he felt sick enough as is. A grain bar probably wouldn’t hurt though, lest he forget to eat the whole day. He pulled out the drawer and grabbed a bar, but a white tablet loose in the compartment caught his eye.

Pervitin.

His hand faltered over it, then picked it up carefully. Light in his fingers. Simple, yet powerful in the way it lured him in. It’d take this pounding migraine away, do wonders to how dead he feels. He’d about give anything for that amount of energy again, to actually feel like he was worth something, to be productive and aware enough so that he could maybe see something like this coming the next time it does–

He closed his eyes.

No.

The euphoria was temporary, then he’d be swallowing more pills. He needed to remind himself of that. He was miserable because of drugs, and made everyone else miserable, too. Erzsébet left him because of what these tablets did to him, and Ludwig resented him for them. They blinded him to the coup and made him dependent—No, he wouldn’t give in again.

Swiftly, he threw the tablet in the trash can and went to sit at the table beside Ludwig. He unwrapped his bar, the crinkling filling the silence, before Ludwig’s voice broke it.

“How is he?” Ludwig asked, sitting back from his empty bowl. Gilbert took a bite.

“Heartbroken.”

Ludwig’s face flashed with a glimpse of pity. “He has no reason to be. It’s no different than unification. He’s still Austrian, still alive.”

“This is nothing like unification and you know it,” Gilbert snapped. Ludwig scoffed.

“Sure, like you didn’t force more than a couple German states into assimilation–”

“German unification was a goal among all of the German states long before I stepped in. And they offered me the crown. Austria has never wanted to be a part of Germany.”

“Times change. There is almost unanimous support from the Austrians—”

“God, you’re annoying with the whole ‘Times change’ bullshit.”

“It’s true. I may not be a thousand years old, but even I can see it,” Ludwig sniped. “And I’m not the one standing in the way, you are. Therefore, you are the annoying one, not me.”

Annoyance made his face twitch. Gilbert put his hands together in prayer. “Lord, throw some brains from the heavens—”

“Hey!” The younger hit at his hands. “Stop being a nuisance!”

Gilbert only moved out of his reach and continued. “Or stones as long as He hits the mark.”

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. “Real mature. Which one of us is the elder?”

“I am.”

“Then, act like it.” Ludwig stood, making his chair legs squeal against the floor with his abruptness. He took his bowl to the sink and Gilbert bit into his grain bar with frustration. It was a struggle to recall when his precious baby boy had turned into a real fucking brat. It wasn’t long before he sat back down, his own ration bar in hand. Gilbert just sat in his chair, arms and legs crossed with the annoyance he felt. Ludwig sighed and eased his tone in an attempt to calm the air. “Are you getting accustomed to married life, at least? It’s never something I thought I’d see you in, especially with Roderich of all people; I’m curious to see where it will lead.”

The Prussian raised a brow. It only pissed Gilbert off even more when he did this shit, as if he thought just because he put on a level head it would make his arrogance more bearable. Well, Gilbert was mature, but he was petty too, dammit. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ludwig think this shit was okay to be swept under the rug.

“Yes, well, I didn’t get much choice in the matter, did I?”

Ludwig’s hand clenched his wrapper. “Must you make everything so difficult?”

“What? Because I won’t let you dominate the conversation like everyone else will? Because I won’t cower to your words like they’re gospel? Because I don’t lighten up when you deem the mood needs to be more comfortable? No, you’re not gonna roll over me with your bullshit. You want to make me feel like I’m in the wrong? You’re going to get my anger with your accusations and you’re gonna have to face them, Ludwig. Life isn’t just a game that you can back out of once the air is a bit hostile—”

“You’re one to talk!” Ludwig growled, standing from his chair once more to loom over Gilbert. “Life got hard after the Great War, and you took to drugs to make you feel better. You took to pill popping and you ran. When the air got hostile, I stayed, and I bent with it without your help!"

"What, and you think you're showing how big and strong and independent you are while you go along mirroring everyone else? You're unoriginal, Ludwig, right down to the fucking facial hair—"

Ludwig threw his hands up in exasperation. "And here you go again with the fucking facial hair—"

"Would you fucking shave it?" Gilbert raised his voice as well but stayed sitting solely because he knew it pissed Ludwig off more. "You look like a prepubescent boy, and you know how I feel about mustaches, Ludwig—"

"You're just envious you can't grow facial hair." Gilbert narrowed his eyes. Real fucking mature there, fucker. "Besides, what I do with my appearance has nothing to do with you any longer."

"Yes," he scoffed. "I'm aware. When I dressed you, you looked like a proper man. Like yourself, before you started dressing like how these other men want you to be—"

Ludwig's eyes went livid. "Like myself!? You mean like how you wanted me to be? You mean like how you dressed me in your image and overshadowed me-?"

"Overshadowed?" Gilbert gave a sarcastic laugh. "You were a child. How can I overshadow a child, Ludwig?"

"Every fucking thing was about you and how you were the Great Uniter! I wasn't my own person, but just an extension of you!!"

"Jesus fucking Christ. Now who's being difficult?"

"Still you, picking fights and talking back to me under my own roof!"

That made Gilbert jump to his feet, face twisting while he shoved himself into Ludwig's face. "Your roof!? I built this house—!!"

"And it is mine now!!" Ludwig roared. His face was red and he was panting angrily. Gilbert wanted nothing more than to grab his collar and slap some fucking sense into him, but he didn't. Because, unlike Ludwig thinks, Gilbert is mature, and he's not going to hit his child, no matter how much of an arrogant, ungrateful brat he's being. He simply matched Ludwig's intense glare in silence, tense with unspoken words. Finally, Gilbert regained his composure enough to get out an even sentence, keeping his voice firm.

"You are nothing like them, nor will you ever be. Shave or don't shave, you're nothing more than an ignorant child trying to play God."

He saw the clenching of his jaw before he felt Ludwig's hands grabbing his shirt. He felt his feet lift from the ground and his back slam against the wall before he realized that Ludwig just put his fucking hands on him.

Gilbert gave up on trying to play nice. If Ludwig wanted a fight so bad, Gilbert was gonna give him what he wanted.

He ducked from the younger's grip and shouldered him away. Ludwig brought his arm up for a punch, but he was too predictable. Gilbert ducked around him and kicked the back of his knee. Ludwig let out another pathetic roar and threw another punch towards Gilbert's stomach, which he easily caught and twisted his arm before yanking him towards the floor. Ludwig twisted around to face up, but by then Gilbert was just annoyed and done with this rebelliousness. He deflected another punch and put his foot on his chest to keep him in place, leaning down to snatch his collar in his fist. Ludwig glared up at him, but didn't make another move.

"You can pretend to own me all you want, Ludwig Friedrich Beilschmidt, but you should be smart enough not to make me your enemy. No matter whatever lies they put in your head."

"They don't lie to me," he said, face hard and unrecognizable. "They only made me realize you're far from perfect."

Gilbert refused to give Ludwig the satisfaction of seeing it, but those words ripped his heart out of his chest. Instead, he only narrowed his glare and grinded his teeth against the agony. Gilbert removed his foot and yanked the German up by the collar, shoving him away once he was standing.

"Go on, then. Run and play with the other Nazis. See what else they can tell you."

Ludwig stared at him for a moment, breathing hard. Then, he shoved past him and grabbed his hat and bag. Gilbert watched him leave the house and slam the door behind him. Only then, did he finally feel himself shake.

Anger dissipated, leaving nothing but an aching heart and failing legs. He sat back down on the chair, feeling his eyes burn with every painful beat of his heart in his chest. He hid his face in his hands, truly unknowing of what to do.

He never meant to let Ludwig become this. He never meant for his own mistakes to drag Ludwig into a place of resentment. He never meant to be so absent from his life because of his kingdom's dissolution and his relationship problems that Ludwig took to support through the Nazis.

And, God, as much as Gilbert hated those men, he hated himself more for giving them the chance to corrupt his family.

It broke his heart more than anything to see Ludwig act so desperately like someone who is not himself. It hurt him more than any wound ever could to watch Ludwig lose himself in the very violence that Gilbert swore he would never let him succumb to.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Gilbert knew it was Roderich. He didn't turn around to face him, he couldn't. He just bit his lip, trying desperately to hold back the sobs that barraged his throat like an army pushing past enemy front lines. Hot tears fell down his face and he felt them hit his pant legs, but he was too weak to stop them. He'd never felt so hopeless.

"They've turned my own child against me," he whispered. The words did nothing to ease the agony he felt.