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Who\'s Afraid of Roderich Edelstein	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1826 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of it's characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Note: This was a kink meme de-anon that I thought would benefit heavily from a beta and some more rewrite for clarity so it will be continued off meme. On that note much thanks to my initial beta doomy_slasher on lj and my current beta, Jazz. Massive amounts of characters appearing and pairings. C&C is always welcome. The pairings in this will include the following: Germany/Austria/Prussia as the main with the following in some varying degree (some more minor than others). Austria/Hungary, Poland/Hungary, Germany/North Italy, Germany/South Italy, America/Canada, Russia/Belarus, Prussia/Hungary, Russia/Prussia, Greece/America and Switzerland/Austria. If any others arise I'll note it.

Now this fic is going to encompass primarily the period from WW2 to the present but there will be other time periods addressed and featured. This will also be a very heavy and dark story dealing with a lot of the nastier parts of history and the human psyche so I ask you to keep that in mind. There will also be sex, violence, and absolutely offensive language.

Who’s Afraid of Roderich Edelstein

By Cyrelia J

1

"Do I Dare Disturb?"

Once upon a time there were three handsome princes. The first two were brothers, strong and fair. They were known far and wide for their fighting prowess and bravery. And yet they harbored a dark secret between them, for the elder desired the younger as he never should.
Acre, Kingdom of Jerusalem

City Outskirts

March, 1191

They’d heard that Leopold was coming to relieve their soldiers until France and England arrived. Gilbert Beilschmidt had heard from Albert that God was sending them to aid in their holy crusade against the infidels holding the city. Friends since Albert was a child, the knight, now an old man, lies on a straw cot breathing heavily, the wound in his side still fresh from the skirmish earlier in the week. Gilbert continues to carefully place the leeches so they can purge the bad blood, a frown on his eternal child’s face. Is this my fate then, Ludwig? To age and die like this now that you’ve sent me away?

“Idiot,” he says and if his voice is a touch more ragged than it should be neither of them says anything. “I told you that you were getting too old.” He stares at the gray of the man’s hair and the deep sun worn wrinkles of his face and looks back down quickly, not sure what the cold feeling in his chest is.

It occurs to him as he works that fifty years isn’t a terribly long time to live. His expression is grim as he sets the bucket aside, and, as if sensing the change in mood, Albert replies with a confidence to mirror Gilbert’s own.

“Too old? Pfah! Wait til this heals, Gil, I’ll still run circles around you in the practice yard. You’ve probably gotten soft spending all your time sparring with Ludwig.” Gilbert tenses briefly at the mention of his brother’s name, but snorts and tosses his head.

“Hah! You’re one to talk. I heard some kid did this to you with a practice sword.” He ignores the protest, and rosary in hand he says a prayer as Albert splutters his own protest and so help him if he keeps that attitude up when Leopold arrives. Gilbert’s eyes are fixated on the small child’s hands, wondering what they’ll look like with wrinkles and scars, wondering if Ludwig truly means for him to-.

Wait, I should know that name.

“Leopold?” he scoffs putting the expensive beads back into the leather pouch at his side trying hard to recall why it sounds so close to him. He continues to consider the question as he moves to the bedside of a man with an infected gash in his leg. Maggots are used this time to eat the dead flesh and help him heal. Sometimes he watches them crawl over his own skin, wondering how the creatures view him. “What kind of name is that for a king?” Gilbert presses combatively, as something tickles the edge of his consciousness. “What banner does he serve beside the Lord’s? Is he strong like Richard or clever like Phillip?” Is he...?

The old man laughs and shakes his head.

“The way you talk, Gil, it’s no wonder they sent us both out here. “‘Course I made it worth it, the duchess never saw that one coming. You must’ve finally tried Henry’s last nerve.” Gilbert pauses in his ministrations to swat his other patient’s hands away, annoyed. He doesn’t answer the comment immediately. After all, that’s not the only reason they sent him out here. He won’t trouble his old friend however and instead resumes the treatment, forcing a cocksure grin back onto his face and throwing his response over his shoulder.

“Ha! Those stupid nobles always hanging around court finally realized my awesome skills would be far more useful here on the front lines fighting for God and avenging our king.” Focusing again on the maggots, he tries to forget his brother, his old friend, aging, dying...

“What do you mean you don’t need me?” he asked looking at Ludwig, confusion on his face. He turned on the large bed, seeming so small in the white nightshirt as they faced each other. Ludwig sighed and looked at him determined to stand up to his older brother. His child’s face was hard as he stood on the wooden stool at the side of the bed.

“I mean that you have your own room, Gil. I mean that... that you know there’s always been talking, but since the king passed it’s... it’s worse. He used to keep them quiet but with Henry it’s...” He looked away after all with a sigh.

Gilbert sat up, legs kicking over the side. Him seated, his brother on the stool they were at the same height. His expression was troubled and as he spoke his voice held only a child’s earnest bewilderment.

“But if I’m not here, Ludi, who’ll keep the monsters away?” Who’ll protect you? He wanted to ask. He was the only one who could look out for his younger brother. He was the only one his brother could cling to when he was afraid. Their other brothers never understood the bond between them and if the stupid humans couldn’t either then who cared? Gilbert didn’t understand why after so long Ludwig didn’t want to sleep with him anymore. Could it be that-

“I have this now,” Ludwig said holding up the dark cross with a small smile. The onyx piece glinted faintly in the moonlight and Gilbert seized it, holding it in his shaking hand, looking down as if it were the most hated thing he’d ever beheld. He looked up into those blue eyes even as his baby brother dug the knife in further with his damn innocent “reassurance”.

“Roderich gave it to me, remember?” Smiling, always smiling anymore. Ludwig only ever used to smile for him. Ludwig used to only love him best of all their brothers. His grip on the cross tightened, the sharp corners digging into his small hand as he looked into his brother’s eyes, guileless, trusting, and forced himself to release the charm lest he break it or throw it out the window.

“Yeah... I remember,” he replied, his voice thick. His legs kicked helplessly against the wooden sideboard of the bed as he remember Ludwig telling him about the cousin of theirs who’d become Austria. “Perfect Roderich right? The one who ascended when Barbarosa cut off Jo- Bavaria’s left hand.” He ignored the frown on Ludwig’s face. He hadn’t there to redress the hand that never seemed to stop bleeding until it finally rotted off when the king named the stupid margrave an independent duchy. Gilbert had never before heard their eldest brother scream like that, like he was being murdered over and over, and it still kept him up some nights like the cry of a phantom spirit.

“It grew back, Gil,” Ludwig said softly taking his hands. “He told me it doesn’t hurt anymore and that wasn’t Roderich’s fault. He was called just like the rest of us were. Like you will be someday. Maybe... maybe if we weren’t together so much you-”

“Don’t say that!” Gilbert interrupted, pulling his hands back violently. His heart felt about to pound out of his chest and he shoved his brother back, his eyes wide as he watched him totter, reach out towards him, and then fall backwards. Gilbert grabbed for him, his hands reaching for any part that he could touch, only to catch around the cross hanging from its silver chain. The delicate loops held for just a fraction of a second before they snapped, and like quicksilver he felt Ludwig slip through his fingers and fall backwards. Their eyes met in that instant, as he held the cross in his hand, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe at the look of betrayal in his brother’s eyes.

Ludwig crashed to the floor with a pained cry, landing on his shoulder, and Gilbert was at his side before he could think, kneeling down in concern.

“Ludi?’ Even knowing they couldn’t die, he worried. It was he who sat by Ludwig’s bedside changing the cloth on his forehead two hundred years ago when the fever gripped him and they all thought he’d die. Even when Bavaria had scoffed and said that he needed to leave him to ascend with dignity like a man with none to bear witness Gilbert never left his side, terrified that he truly would die, begging any of their brothers to give him the kiss of life; they all refused. Gilbert still vowed that someday he’d get every last one of the callous jerks back. He didn’t care that old man Germania had touched them all and blessed them before he passed, Gilbert believed in nothing but God’s power and his own. Filthy false idol worshippers, how dare they put their faith in one who’d started out as a human same as they had?

“Ludi are you?..”

He never forgot the boy who had drowned in the well when they truly were children because of the gales from the gathering storm. and only that one day had Gilbert volunteered to fetch the water because he was such an awesome older brother to do all of Ludwig’s chores as a birthday present… and sometimes even now when he awoke in the middle of the night he found himself staring at his brother’s lips to reassure himself they weren’t blue, and sometimes he put his ear to his brother’s chest to make sure the eternal heart was truly still beating, and sometimes he’d hold the polished looking glass underneath his brother’s nose to make sure he was still breathing because Ludwig was the only one who hadn’t written him off and still believed in him and until that wretched Austria had come along with his harp and his falcons, and he was all that Ludwig ever wanted to talk about when Gilbert was supposed to be the only one that he loved and-

“Why?” Those were the first words his brother had spoken, getting to his knees, shoving at Gilbert’s hands. He stared at the ground as if to hide his tears, refusing to look up and when Gilbert reached out, cross in hand he slapped it away, fingers digging into the woven rug beneath him. ”Why!? Why do you have to ruin things?!” His voice was sharp, with a child’s shrill anguish and Gilbert found his mouth opening and shutting with a million damn false starts as Ludwig shoved him back, head still down as he screamed “Why can’t you ever let me have anything?! You always take everything I love and break it!” His voice caught and Gilbert couldn’t help but think of the girl who liked Ludwig whose hair he used to pull, who he used to call names until she stopped talking to them. He thought of the damn dog that Ludwig used to love who hated him until it finally learned to be afraid of them both and Ludwig had come to him in tears, his beloved brother who he comforted, told him it would be okay as they lay in theie small bed.

Two years separated them in body, and for reasons they’d never understood there were five between himself and the next. But that was the will of God, him and Ludwig together against the world, even if his brother was the Holy Roman Empire, as Barbarosa had taken to calling it, even if Gilbert was only still alive because his brother was the only one willing to breathe the very essence of the German people into his body and give him life, and even though he hated the child’s body as his brother did he’d do any damn thing to be with him so why was Ludwig pushing him away, why didn’t Ludwig understand that-

“Get out.”

Gilbert blinked and looked at him as if he couldn’t understand. He still held the cross, gripping it tight until it hurt and he thought that he’d cut himself. He didn’t know how to say he was sorry and he didn’t know how to apologize for screwing up because Ludwig was the one person he never needed to apologize to and-

“Get out!” Ludwig screamed again as he stood up and stormed over to the door.

“B-but Ludi you… we… look I didn’t mean it, I mean it’s just a stupid-“

“Go away!” And now Gilbert knew he was crying and he didn’t know what to do but his room was dark and cold and he couldn’t mean anymore than that. Please, please don’t say that. It’s just a stupid necklace from a stupid jerk who isn’t me. “I can’t do this anymore, Gil. I can’t keep doing this and you can’t keep clinging to me-“

“You can’t,” he choked out getting to his feet, the cold gripping him. “You can’t banish me Ludi, you know without you I’ll-“

“Get old and die,” Ludwig finished looking away the metal ring of the door clutched in his small hand. “But you never should’ve lived this long and you know it. Roderich says that-“

“I’ll leave,” Gilbert said, an odd expression on his face as his bare feet shuffled to the door. He felt sick, he felt as if he were dying, like he’d fucking throw up but he supposed that must be what dying felt like. Christ, he was tired and he didn’t want to hear anymore about the one who’d turned his brother against him. He couldn’t think but maybe in the morning when the shadows and the darkness weren’t closing around his heart he could make Ludwig change his mind but he wasn’t going to beg like some weakling. He wasn’t going to say sorry and he wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Ludwig; never in front of Ludwig.

He’d been sent along with the merchants from Lübeck the next day and he’s been chafing ever since he got here, wanting to fight. He isn’t a damn priest like these men determined to set up a field hospital here. He’s a warrior even if they refuse to acknowledge it and so help him if he can do one thing right it’ll be to finish what Barbarosa started in the name of God. He looks down at his child’s hands once again with a sigh as he rinses them in a bucket of tepid water.

“Your time will come, brother,” Ludwig had said to him that morning, taking his hands and pressing their mouths softly together, breathing life back into him one more time in front of God and everyone else. Keeping that fleeting fond memory close, the short sword that he set down by the open tent flap calls to him and he takes it up with a cocky grin.

“Your stance has improved,” his old friend says as he looks over. “And Leopold leads the great Kingdom of Austria so you’d better hold your tongue. They’re probably running out of places to send you.” Austria. Oh he definitely knows that name. Great kingdom? He’ll see it burn like Sodom. He’ll bury that kid’s face in the dirt and end him for taking his brother away.

“Pfah! I bet I could lick some loser named Leopold in a fight.” He jabs at an invisible foe. “If they’d let me out there I’d take on a hundred infidels! A thousand!” He ignores the indulgent chuckle as he turns and slashes. But they don’t know. They have no idea the ruin he’ll bring when he has the power. All of them, every last one of them especially that Austria, will fall before him. “If they’d let me at Saladin I’d cut him like this!” He turns again and lets out a rather manly cry of surprise- Gilbert never screams like a girl- when his strike is caught by the friar’s ladle and the thin soup spills out onto the ground.

A cry goes up from those who’d seen and flushing, Gilbert beats a steady retreat out of the tent before Friar Peter can take the ladle to his backside. They’ll take it out of his rations later but right now, his rounds finished, he runs through the sand twirling the short blade as if he were the greatest hero ever crowned. His brown hair and tanned skin blend in almost seamlessly with the desert around him. The sun is warm even as the chill ocean air hits him and he follows the breeze closer to the coast careful to remain behind their lines. If the reports are correct then King Leopold’s ship should be arriving sometime today. He grins wide as he imagines the ships pulling onto the beach in the distance and the fanfare that the trumpets will surely provide. He’s always loved the brass. Now those are far more worthy instruments than some girly harp.

He sits and waits in the dunes and low lying brush, imagining the others in the encampment falling all over themselves to welcome even the lowliest of lackeys as they disembark. Gilbert stretches, knowing it could be hours before Leopold himself makes an appearance but he’s excited nonetheless. He wonders if the man would reject his challenge if he threw the gauntlet down. Gilbert sighs, laying back and watching the clouds floating in the clear sky. His pupils dance faintly as he imagines cutting down that miserable Austria and his stupid boss. And then it’ll be him leading the armies, him leading the charge against the heathens holding the holy city and-

He shuts his eyes and behind them he sees his brother’s serious countenance staring back at him, those blue eyes cold, disapproving but oh for him behind that they’ve always held affection and admiration that makes Gilbert feel as if he could do anything. He sees Ludwig’s adorable little face screwed up and red as if he’s standing right there about to protest such a reckless action. He smiles thinking of how cute his little brother is when he’s embarrassed and angry and he can’t help but think of how strange it will be to be a man while Ludwig is still a child.

Gilbert feels the coolness of a shadow over him suddenly and is on his feet in an instant, eyes open to take in the silhouette on the sand. That heathen with the turban- kefi-something he thought someone had called it once- sometimes creeps around their encampment at night and he’s taken to sleeping with one eye open because of it. He pirouettes quickly, whirling to face the intruder, sword coming to rest at her throat- Her? Eyes wide, he almost drops it as he steps back, face scarlet. The thought of being so familiar with a woman both excites and terrifies him. Albert likes to bandy about a lot of bawdy tripe but he’d never paid much mind to it. He swallows and stares, not even realizing how lost he is as he looks at her.

The third prince was scorned for he was neither powerful nor a strong fighter. But he held in his possession a magic which transformed him into a beautiful princess. Even his most hated enemies fell madly and hopelessly in love; powerless before him.
He watches the waves crashing against the rocks from where they sit close to the shore. It’s still warmer than it would be if he were at home, but he’s managed not to think of home as often as he had been. He looks over out of the corner of his eye to where she sits next to him with her legs folded artfully underneath her and he can see the leather of her boots peeking out coyly from beneath her dark blue skirts. She looks up from the book she’s reading, seemingly at the same moment, with that perpetually annoyed expression on her face.

“You keep looking at me,” she says to him with a frown as she quickly looks down and readjusts the heavy skirts. The breeze from the ocean musses her hair- her unbound hair- and Gilbert scribbles a hasty note about that as well in case some day his memory fails so he can remember that about her as well. She hasn’t changed that from the day they first met; she hasn’t changed anything but her shoes.

She hardly looked any older than him as she stood there nervously staring at the weapon in his hand. The first thing he noticed about her was her eyes. They were the most brilliant violet that he’d ever seen, and he swore he could see the mountains of Carinthia when he looked into them. The dress she wore was thoroughly impractical for the area, long skirts and sleeves blowing in the desert wind. She tucked an errant strand of long brown hair behind her ear as she made a study of him as well. He’d straightened up automatically making sure that she was suitably impressed; and of course she had been.

He couldn’t believe that her hair was uncovered, thick auburn ringlets framed her face, the rest of it pulled back and pinned up. He’d never seen the likes before; even the noble women of the court didn’t go about exposing themselves in such a provocative manner- except perhaps in France. Her skin was pale like his, but polished and creamy like a porcelain doll’s, and he forced his traitorous gaze back to her face not even daring to imagine the under bodice that lay beneath the blue surcoat and shapeless kirtle. He quashed that sinful though immediately, angry with himself and angry with her for causing it. He’d said fifty Hail Mary’s that night.

“Are you crazy?!” he yelled as he lowered the sword. “What are you doing wandering around out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous, you idiot?!” She glared at him, those eyes glittering like amethyst and just as hard; her small mouth, beauty mark dotting the corner, turned downward in displeasure.

“I’m sorry I find it hard to understand the barking of dog.” Her voice wasn’t as high pitched as he would’ve thought but it was just as arrogant. She drew herself up but still managed to stand no taller than him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be with his highness.” She stormed past him headed further into the desert.

“Hey! That’s the wrong way, stupid!” he called running after her. She seemed disinclined to stop and he reluctantly grabbed her hand. Her palm was warm and soft- he’d always remember what it felt like to hold her hand- and as soon as she stopped he let go. She looked away with a harsh breath, crossing her arms.

“Well… anywhere away from a rude little child such as yourself is better than here.”

He glared annoyed that a woman would dare talk to him like that. Silly noblewoman- what was she even doing here?

“Fine, get yourself lost then. See if I care!” He huffed and started to walk away, but couldn’t make himself go more than a few steps. Even if she was a complete harpy he couldn’t just leave a woman alone in the desert, especially during a time of war. What sort of knight would he be then? Gilbert swore to himself that when he was a powerful nation he’d never humble himself like this again. She seemed bound and determined to go the wrong way as he sighed and went back to her. “Alright, alright look.” He felt almost pained as he forced out the rest in a halfway civil tone. “I’ll take you back to the encampment, m-milady.”

She looked at him as if she hadn’t expected any differently.

“Thank you, good sir.” She answered demurely, still managing to sound condescending. She offered him a hand, lifting the heavy skirts with the other to walk easier through the sand. The pointed shoes were likewise a thoroughly ridiculous indulgence. “If you will be so kind…” He took her hand and looked away quickly, before he could catch sight of her ankles and sin even further.

“Ttch. You really oughta be more careful.” He pulled her along and didn’t reply when he heard her hiss at him to slow down. Even so, he lessened his strides to match her own.

“It’s dangerous here, y’know? This ain’t a little royal ball.” Again he wonders what she’s doing here. This kind of woman should at least have someone with her to keep her safe.

“It’s nothing I wasn’t born to handle,” she had said cryptically, and before he could ask her what on earth she meant by that, she tripped.

They both ended up rolling down the dune, and Gilbert had just barely managed to hold back the string of curses as they landed in a tangle at the bottom. Stupid clumsy girl! He spit sand out of his mouth and stood back up. He was sore as he turned around and was about to yell when he saw her pushing herself to her knees with a quiet dignity, as if she’d done so a thousand times before. He was uncharacteristically silent as he helped her back to her feet.

He’s written down everything, every day since Bavaria “died”. The volumes are housed at the castle with Ludwig and he only hopes that if he’s to die before ascending that his younger brother will forgive him enough to let him read them again before that time comes. But Ludwig always forgives him eventually so... He doesn’t look up as he writes, the quill gliding over the rough pages of the book.

“Don’t be stupid, why on earth would anyone want to stare at you all day?” He doesn’t know why he can’t help but goad her; the words come out of his mouth thoughtlessly, yet offended as she always seems, she’s never left. He still doesn’t know her name, but it somehow seems unnecessary. She doesn’t know his either; she’s never asked.

“Boorish pig,” she murmurs in her usual haughty voice turning another page in the novel she’s reading.

“I can’t believe that stupid coward Austria has yet to show his face,” Gilbert says as he continues to dash off more of his private thoughts. “I guess what they say is true about his weakness in battle. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s hiding out under Leopold’s bedroll in the tent.” He laughs at his own joke and as he writes he doesn’t see the way she stiffens and crinkles the costly pages beneath her hands.

“Only ignorant fools speak with such familiarity of strangers.” She answers at last in a clipped voice and shuts her book, turning as if to leave. Gilbert looks over and realizes he holds her wrist before she can rise and he silently vows to do penance this evening.

“Hey, relax! I wasn’t trying to offend you or nothin’... You’d think you liked the guy or something the way you talk about him.” He grumbles, setting the diary down between them and looking at the ground awkwardly as if he doesn’t quite know how to let go or go further.

She looks down at where he holds her wrist and speaks softly, sadly.

“I hate him,” she says with a quiet condemnation and pulls away. “The same as you do.” Because he told her how Austria ruined his life and she listened so intently, so anguished when he told her how he was going to cut him down and kill him that he felt as if she’d taken his sadness as her own. He picks the book back up and dusts if off, dipping the quill back in the inkwell and making a few curious notes as she continues. “He ruined my life... that man...” She trails off and toys with the hem of her skirt in a nervous gesture that he doesn’t see. So he hurt her too, huh? Bastard. Forgive me lord but with him... I just can’t forgive him.

He looks over and realizes she’s speaking again. His paused quill is still pressed to write, quickly forming a dark blot on the page.

“You know... one time I saw the most fascinating thing...” She looks out over the water and it seems as if today’s conversation won’t be filled with nearly as much levity as usual: not that there had been much on the day that she had proclaimed she would only marry a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t find it all that interesting. There was a boy that I knew. He wasn’t terribly strong or brave and one day I saw him fall down into a puddle in in the middle of the street. He did that a lot... he was rather clumsy.” Gilbert is about to laugh at the imbecile she must be describing but stops when she leans over and rests her head on his shoulder and all at once his heart starts racing. When she continues on, she speaks so softly that if her lips weren’t almost at his ear he wouldn’t hear her over the roar of the sea. “And he cried. He cried because he was clumsy and weak and because it was his favorite outfit. And he cried until a man came along and told him to get up and stop crying because he was a man, wasn’t he, and men don’t cry.”

And Gilbert opens his mouth to speak. To say “Of course that’s how it is and that’s how it’s supposed to be” and she puts a hand over his mouth, her nails digging into the side of his face and he’s about to protest when he feels the wetness on his collar and remains silent because she can’t be crying if he doesn’t acknowledge her tears.

“And would you know... when I fell over in that same spot... when I sat there soaking wet and needing someone to help me up... because once... just once it would be nice to...” He can feel her hand shaking and God he doesn’t want to have to say anything. And yet when she speaks next, when she says: “He picked me up. He picked me up and asked me if I was alright and wiped the tears from my eyes.” Her eyes are clear and her hands are steady and he wonders if he hadn’t imagined it all. “As if it was okay to be weak. As if he didn’t expect me to be strong...” She sighs. “But I would like to fight. I want to stand up there with Leopold when Richard and Phillip arrive and we break Saladin’s hold on the holy lands.”

He’s quiet for a long while, unusual for him as he thinks of the man he’s never met, the brother he’s been banished from, and the woman he holds. He thinks of that little weasel lying ruined in the puddle and he can’t help the sinful thoughts. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the lord... He shakes his head as he watches the sun trying to break through the clouds of the overcast sky. The book lays open on his lip and unbeknownst to him she’s reading over it even as he snorts and declares,

“You? If you can even hold a sword I’d be surprised. And I don’t know how you expect to fight without...” He looks down and sees her reading and she answers him without her eyes ever leaving the page.

“Christ, our savior was the most valiant crusader ever to live without ever taking up arms... do you really think that I’m-”

“D-don’t read that!” he exclaims as he holds it tightly to his chest and she pulls back red faced and angry, her violet eyes flashing as they’re wont to do before she hauls off and slaps him, and she looks away.

“As if I would ever want to read the words of a sophomoric dullard like yourself!” She takes her book and makes as if to leave but instead remains seated, looking anywhere but at him as Gilbert looks over to where the fighting is- to where he should be, not sitting with some stupid woman- and wonders just what the hell he’s doing. He’s in a child’s body and even if he weren’t she’s a... No... no she can’t be the child she looks because her eyes are just like Ludwig’s, they don’t age. And she knows Austria. She knows him somehow and she acts just like us so if- What if Austria’d breathed his life into her? What if that stupid loser had kissed her and-

He kisses her. He’s never kissed anyone but Ludwig before and he’s not sure that he really knows how a man and a woman are supposed to kiss, and he feels her hands clutching at his shoulders but she doesn’t push him off. He hears her squeak and feels her dig at him and his eyes go wide when he hears her keep doing it and her face is red right now and she’s gasping and opens her mouth and so does he and-

She goes still. Perfectly still as if petrified and he’s not quite sure what happened, only that she tastes so familiar as if he should know her and she’s shoving at him violently looking confused and terrified and he’s calling after her even as she runs from him as if the devil himself were chasing her and somehow he knows he’s committed a grievous sin.

He says the rosary that night until the iron cross clutched tightly between his fingers makes them bleed.

But it wasn’t just his enemies who fell beneath the spell; it was his own blood who also desired him in the most forbidden of sins. Even as the second prince lay mortally wounded in battle he never knew that his greatest love and his greatest foe were one in the same.
He never thought dying would hurt so much. And he’s seen men die. He’s seen them bleed out. He’s seen his own brothers die before him and revive and yet it’s always such a peaceful ascension for them that he knows he has to be dying for real as he falls to his knees with an arrow through his heart. And even as they press on to finish retaking the city and the sun sinks down into the sea and he can’t lift his head to watch the stars dot the night sky he prays. Gilbert’s prayed for a lot of things, but even as he feels his body light and lifeless he prays to continue living. Because he can’t die alone in the sand with the rest of the bodies as if he were nobody. He’s not nobody. I’m me. I’m Gilbert Beilschmidt and I want to live! Don’t do this to me, God! Don’t abandon me! I’ve never abandoned you so please don’t let me die. I’m sorry. For everything I’ve ever done wrong I’m so damn sorry and I’ll never sin again and I’m just-

“I’m sorry.” He hears the voice that isn’t his and as he gasps at the decay-stained air as if it is poison itself he feels soft hands on his face and sees in the darkness the silhouette of a slender figure with eyes as violet now as thy had been that first time. “Sleep, child sleep...” He hears the voice singing and yet it’s not a woman’s voice that sings to him but a boy’s... almost like his own. He blinks and tries to focus but instead finds soft familiar hands over his eyes as the darkness comes and it’s cold and warm all at once. “The father takes care of the sheep. The mother shakes the tree.” The familiar words are comforting, and he thinks as arms close around him that perhaps dying isn’t so bad if it’s like this. “There falls down a dream.” And yet as he closes his eyes and prepares to meet the parents he left behind hundreds of years ago in death and that old man Germania who gifted and cursed them all he realizes that his heart has started beating again and there’s a gasp and a hitch in that voice that sings a final, “sleep, child sleep...”

As as he hears the voice beginning fade away, his eyes suddenly open wide and blink away the now snow white strands falling across his face, and he realizes that he has, in fact, ascended. His time has come.

Notes:

Acre during this time was under siege during the third crusade. The Teutonic Knights were founded at this time at a field hospital- the one where Gilbert is now.

Leopold V was the duke of Austria during the time of the Third crusade. After the siege was won, Leopold’s flag was raised along with Phillip’s and Richard’s. Richard removed Leopold’s flag however and Leopold, furious left for home.

Richard I and Phillip II were the kings of England and France respectively during this time period.

Lübeck was an imperial city in what was the Holy Roman Empire. Merchants from Lübeck and Bremen were the ones to travel to Acre and set up the field hospital which eventually created the Teutonic Knights.

Otto I was the first king of what would later be known as the Holy Roman Empire. In this story Germany and HRE are one in the same but this is a bit of my own headcannon on how they became nations.

Barbarossa “Red Beard” in italian AKA Frederick I was Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire from 1155-1190

Saladin AKA Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb was proclaimed Sultan of Egypt and Syria and led the muslim resistance against the crusaders from the 3rd crusade.
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