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Chapter Text

Once there were 3 brothers, Lech, Czech, and Rus. They were on a hunting trip and split up as they chased their prey. Rus traveled to the northeast and, seeing the land was bountiful, settled and founded the land of Russia. Czech traveled to the west and also found the land to be plentiful so he founded the land of Czechia. Lech traveled to the northwest and on his travels he came across a white eagle. Seeing it as a sign, he followed the eagle to its nest. When it reached its destination, the sun was setting and seeing the white eagle against the red sunset, he took this as a sign to settle in this land and named it Poland.

Snow. That was his earliest memory. Waking up in a field of snow. It was so quiet. It was beautiful. The boy sat up and looked around. There was a poppy growing out of the snow, much like him. It was beautiful. Was he beautiful as well? Like the snow? Like the poppy?

Am I alone in this world?' The boy wondered and approached the poppy. He carefully picked it before tucking the flower in his hair, 'There. Now we're not alone.'

The boy wandered his surroundings, learning about this foreign land, living among the animals. The flower wilted quickly so he found another one to replace it. Days and nights passed. The snow melted and the forest and field became green. Then the green shifted to brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows before the snow returned. The boy passed his days learning how to live among the nature. He tended to plants and animals. He learned to give back when he took and only took what he needed. The land changed around him but he barely noticed. It was just how the land was.

A single poppy became an endless field of red. Animals came with the green and left with the snow and the boy remained. The only unchanging thing in this place.

They came on a green day. A man and a woman were riding large animals together through the forest. The boy looked up as they approached and the two stopped, looking at him. "Boy, where are you parents?"

"Parents?" He looked up at the two with confusion. "It's just me. Who are you?"

"I am King of Poland, Mieszko the first. And you are?" The man answers.

"I am . . . " the boy pauses for a bit. Who was he? The man had said it himself. That word. It felt right. "I am Poland."

"What do you mean you are Poland, boy?" The king demanded.

"I am Poland. I am the land. The soul of the people. Poland is me and I am Poland." He wasn't sure where the words came from. Where had he heard those words before?

The man and women look at each other. The man spoke first in a somewhat hushed voice, "It's a sign from God."

The woman nodded and got off from the tall, four legged beast. "Have you been by yourself all this time?"

Poland nods, looking up at the woman. She was very pretty. She smiled kindly at him, "Why don't you come home with us?"

"But my friends. The animals. The plants."

"We can visit anytime."

"You promise?"

She looked up at the man and nodded, "I promise. Now how about a name? We can't be calling you Poland all the time. How about . . . Feliks?"

Feliks. He liked it. He smiles at her and nodded excitedly. "I like it."

"I'm glad. Now, lets get you home." She helped lift him onto the animal that the man was riding before getting onto her own.

They were off in the blink of the eye, the animals running swiftly through the woods. Greens passed before his eyes and soon they approached a place Feliks had never been before. Strange blocks rose from the ground between plants but there were people. So many people.

The foreign place was amazing in its own way. So different but lively. A different sort of life from what he experienced before. Strange structures held a sort of ware and people seemed to be yelling about something at them. Children ran around as women and men talked. It was all quite exciting. "What is all of this?"

"We shall teach you. There is much to learn."

Poland nodded and they approached a larger structure. The man and woman got off their beasts. They had informed him that they were called horses. They helped Poland off of the horse before leading him inside the structure. It was large and cozy. He had never seen anything like it. As he was admiring the space, the women got some other women before leading them over, "Lets bathe you and change your clothes. Then, I believe we shall see about having our evening meal."

Poland nodded and let them lead him away. He was introduced to a warm bath, which took a lot of work, and then was dressed in a heavy garment. He didn't bother learning the name of such a thing or the explanation that it would help keep him warm when the fabric was so beautiful and the stitching was so clean. Feliks found himself wanting to know everything about this place. About his people. He was them and they were him.

He decided that as long as the spirit of Poland burned within the people, he would remain. He would be strong for them.

The first major difference he noticed between himself and these people was that they needed to sleep nightly. He never really felt and urge to sleep. He also didn't get hungry like them. However, he still joined them for meals and ate. It was the polite thing to do. He also noticed that time didn't seem to move for him. His days were so full learning about Christianity and culture and politics that he didn't notice the people around him aging. Yet he remained the same small boy. The city expanded, people grew, and yet he stayed the same. That didn't stop them from teaching him how to fight.

Feliks didn't complain though. He needed to protect himself, his people, his land. It didn't matter if he could only weild a dagger at the moment, he still held onto that fire in himself. However, he was told that he was still much to young and small to fight in battles so instead he joined the king with his diplomacy. He learned about territories and the neighboring countries. The Holy Roman Empire to the west, the Teutonic Order to the north, and so on.

Mieszko's son grew up along side him but Poland never grew. If it bothered Feliks, he never let anyone know. It was his burden to bear alone. He never told anyone that he felt pains in his limbs when his borders expanded. Or when forests burned that he would find burns on him too. When there was floods he found himself struggling to breathe a little. But it got lonely having so much change around him as he was always stagnant. But these pains were his burden alone.

The hardest realization of the passage of time came when the queen died. How fragile people are. Here one moment and gone the next. Everyday someone was born and everyday someone died. That was the cycle of life, but not his cycle. And all around him there was fighting too. So much fighting. All for land? Power? This supposed god that everyone followed? Poland didn't understand the reason to fight. It seemed like a thing that petty mortals longed for but he did not.

Time moved on past him and Mieszko's reign transferred to his son. Bolesław wasn't the same sort of ruler as his father. He wanted to expand and thats when Poland was forced to face battle for the first time, looking like a child or not. And there, in the battlefield, was the first time he met someone like himself. Holy Roman Empire. He looked like he was simply a child like himself but he fought as fiercely as any of the men with him. It was truly beautiful to watch. He felt a weird flutter in his stomach. A pain in his chest. He had never felt a sensation like it before.

But in his awe of this godly being, he got injured for the first time as well.

Poland didn't bleed out and die like any mere mortal. But he was still shocked to have been run through with a blade. It didn't hurt really? It felt dull-ish. A faint sting. The soldier left him to die as Poland was frozen in shock. He held a hand to the wound in his stomach and when he pulled his hand away, he stared at the red that covered his palm. Holy Rome seemed to notice him and came over to him. He touched Poland's cheek and smiled sadly. Poland looked up at him in confusion. Why did he look so sad?

He spoke in a tongue that was so foreign and yet Poland understood every word. "Stand up and fight. You have a lot of life yet and I look forward to our next fight on the battlefield. May god smile upon you and your nation, Poland."

The kisses laid on his cheeks were so soft he wasn't even sure it happened. And almost as fast as it all happened, he was gone. Like an angel in the stories of Christianity. And Poland found that it was just what he needed to continue on with the battle. He promised himself that he would grow strong for his people, right? The fire in him burned brighter.

Bolesław's reign seemed to end as abruptly as it started and Poland felt the growing pains of his rule. Literally. His reign lead to a great expanse of land. And with this expanse, Poland actually grew more noticeably. Taller, older. He now resembled a teenager or young adult more. However, this expanse of land and lack of heir lead to fighting among the people with who was to be the leader. His future was uncertain and he felt that instability. It left him weak and bed bound some days. He heard the whispers among the servants. People saying that the Polish land wasn't as strong as they were lead to believe. That he was false. Don't they see that that uncertainty is what's causing his weakness? That their fighting weakened him as much as the very kingdom they lived in?

A few days though he found that mixed in with all the gossip, there were whispers of a restorer. Promises, restoration, unity, Poland had started feeling stronger. Then on a fateful day when he was strong enough to take a walk in the gardens, he showed up and met him in the gardens. He said his name was Casimir. Poland felt shocked that a mortal would come to meet him willingly. Especially after everything people were saying about him. And especially as weak as he was. He even said so and Casimir just smiled before responding, "I intend to bring you strength and power. Poland will not be beaten so easily."

Those words stuck with Poland and he found that he believed him. And in the end, Casimir did not lie. The monarchy was restored and yet he only remained a duke. With this rule, was more fighting for more land but they gained stability and power with it. Poland gained strength and the people prospered. There was no more of the weakness from before. He was even given a capital that was named Kraków. Feudalism was introduced to Poland and its people and Feliks couldn't believe how fast things had changed and how fast he began to prosper. But in this whirlwind of change, Poland didn't realize how old Casimir had gotten until one day he was attending his funeral.

Human life was so fragile.

Thats where he actually got introduced to Bolesław the second, Casimir's son. He kept his fathers promise and continued on with the countries prosperity. Poland was dragged around with him as he founded monasteries and churches and created treaties with other countries and battles. Poland got to meet Holy Rome again as Bolesław sought to make allies.

Holy Rome was truly a wonderful person and he brought along a little country with him to one of their meetings named Italy. Oh if only you can see how Holy Rome boasted about his little Italy. Poland had never experienced that feeling of love but he believed those two were truly in love. You'd have to be blind not to see it. And how he craved something like that. He so selfishly wanted something like that.

Poland also got to meet another country in this time named Hungary. Now that was a fierce woman. Strong and powerful. The strength of a man and even more beautiful. He looked up to her. Wanted to be like her. She seemed to have taken a shine to him as well and they had what Poland would consider and brother and sister friendship.

However, in the process of strengthening relations with their neighbors, they also lost land to the North. And Poland felt it. Felt the pains of the land and people. It left him bed bound a couple of days and Bolesław would visit, bringing gifts along with him.

Poland was sure thats when it started. The longing looks and lingering touches. But it was when Bolesław was made king that they began their sinful love affair. It was the first time Poland ever felt like he should repent or go to confession. But how could such feelings be sinful? He knew that he was a Jezebel corrupting his king though. The dark, corrupt, pagan part of him thrived on the attention. A fire burned within him that no one could tame and the kings attention on him only made that flame burn stronger.

He was corrupt. His king was corrupt. The church was corrupt. The bible said that women were made for men. But if that's true, why then did he crave the touch of men? Their affections? Women were truly beautiful. Works of art touched by the gods, but the feeling of men? Its all he wanted. Those moments could only be described as worship and Poland felt like he had reached heaven. But then it came crashing around them when a bishop was accused of treason. In his retaliation he called the king an adulterer and there was a pit in Poland's stomach.

He was an ugly beast. Dark, ugly, pagan. He corrupted his king and the bishop knew.

The bishop knew.
The bishop knew.
The bishop knew.

So Feliks closed himself off. Oh how Bolesław begged him not to. Promised that everything would be alright. But he couldn't. He was a Jezebel. He lead them to sin. Lead him to be unfaithful. This thing they had wasn't pure like Rome and Italy. It was sinful and ugly. It only hurt more when the king was poisoned after fleeing to Hungary. And Poland only blamed himself. He should've joined him to meet the Hungarians.

He was only over 100 years old and he felt so much regret over something so foolish. He wasn't sure if this regret would follow him either. The pain he felt was almost worse than his growing pains. Worse than feeling villages being burnt and plundered. Worse than when water filled his lungs. He felt like he had plummeted straight to hell and was burning in the eternal flames.

Time wouldn't let him mourn though. The longer he spent in self pity, the more it felt like the world around changed in the blink of an eye. So he built up his walls to block out the pain. He needed to be strong. He needed to move past this. He needed to be in the moment. And so he did, not letting anyone get that close again. He couldn't let himself slip.

The next leader, Bolesław the 3rd sought a more militaristic reign. Which turned out to be a good distraction for Poland. Relations with Hungary remained good and she eventually convinced him to spill his affair and consoled him as he poured out his soul. He knew he was in the wrong for not denying him and he even said so. Letting someone know did help a bit of the pain. He would get over it. It was only a spec in the greater timeline of things.

Along with the constant fighting, relations grew with another neighboring country, Kievan Rus. Rus was very attractive to Poland. His hair was so blonde it almost looked like snow and his eyes were an unnatural shade of purple that he'd never seen before. Tall and muscular as well. He felt like he was looking at a sculpture of a god he once heard Italy describe. However Poland quickly put up a wall against that line of thought because he wouldn't dare cross that line again. But, nonetheless, he enjoyed their companionship and was glad for the marriages that united their countries in friendship.

Bolesław's greatest aspiration though was to take over Pomerania once and for all. One battle faded into another and another and another. And with each battle, Poland felt like he was aging. It didn't matter much to him how he looked though. He was immortal. He did like it though when Hungary said he was turning into a handsome young man but she would still dress him up like a doll. Who cared if she was having him wearing dresses. Only her fawning over him mattered. She taught him braids and other ways to keep his hair back and out of his face. And if he saw Rus blushing one time when Feliks had flowers braided into his hair, then that was their little secret.

Good moments like that cannot last though. Bolesław the 3rd divided up his land between his 3 sons, and as if the further fractioning wasn't rough, this was seemed even more so. He was constantly tugged back and forth from one battle to another. From one side of the country to the other. It was like standing in a room with people constantly arguing what the future should look like and Poland had no control or say even when he was the country. The passage of time didn't seem to matter and he was vaguely aware of the leaders changing out. But like the lands, his memories felt fragmented and he honestly couldn't separate the web of thoughts and memories when everything bled together.

A few bits stood out here and there. Like when the Mongols tried to invade. It was a brutal battle and the first battle was lost. But they managed to hold them off and defeat them. Poland had never felt so powerful. Especially against foes like this. It filled him with pride.

Another event that stood out was meeting the Teutonic Order for the first time. They were believed to be touched by God and the angels themselves and were sworn to celibacy to honor that. Poland couldn't help but almost swoon like the ladies especially when he locked eyes with one with red eyes and hair as white as freshly fallen snow. He was truly captivating. The air seemed to disappear from his lungs and his heart pounded in his ears. He was supposed to make allies right? And they were called in for assistance in battles.

So he let himself mingle with the knight. And to his surprise, it turned out that his knight was like him. Oh gods, why were all the countries surrounding him so attractive?

Poland however, quickly found out that this princely knight was actually a self serving jerk.

Off they went to battle. And at the end when they were compensated, the Order went back on their word and kept the territory they captured for themselves. There were no words to describe the wrath be felt. It shouldn't matter to him, and yet it did.

Poland learned in thst moment that he shouldn't trust so easily.

One good thing about being fragmented was the increase of settlers and infrastructure. More settlements were created and named. Jewish people also began to see Poland as their new home and he took that chance to mingle and learn about them and their culture. Sometimes he'd be walking around town and hear music coming from a building and he would just listen. It was nice and they were lovely people too.

They brought a life to Poland that he didn't know he needed. The stress of being fragmented slowly went away as the leaders tried once more to unify and a duke by the name of Przemysł the 2nd became king of the reunified Poland and Poland strengthened. But as Poland learned, with more strength, the more people want to tear you down. The first king and the next king went in quick succession due to being killed fairly soon after getting the crown. It wasn't until a short man named Władysław got into leadership that unification was completed.

However, what Władysław lacked in height he made up with being a skilled leader in both the military and politics. His greatest folly though, in Poland's opinion, was that he trusted the Teutonic Order to help him conquer Gdańsk and Pomerelia. Much to Polands dislike, the Knights were very skilled and, for a lack of better words, fought with a fierceness comparable to the might of the Gods. The man like him, the man with red eyes, was indeed a sight to behold when he fought. He imagined that this is what the angel Michael looked like in battle. He felt that same strange feeling as when he'd seen Holy Rome in battle that one time and he fought against the strange feeling.

However much like before, they couldn't be trusted to give the land back. Gods, he was starting to sound like the mortals in the matters of land borders.

Władysław's greatest achievement came though when he was crowned king and oh how there was a celebration. But the passage of time and the nature of humanity is cruel. Once again a son was replacing a father. Casimir the 3rd took a land that was struggling and gained more riches and land and increased their military force. The judicial system was also improved. There were social reforms and he solidified Jewish rights. Poland watched his land, his country, his people, change all around him and change for the better. Poland was once again a formidable country and he looked forward to this newfound prosperity as he went into a new dynasty with a female king.

Chapter Text

In the over 400 years of his existence, Poland had never gotten used to or enjoyed politics. Casimir's death left the nobles reeling, especially when he named the Hungarian king as his successor. He didn't mind it. He liked Hungary. The nobles on the other hand . . . This was turning into an absolute headache. Louis the 1st named his daughter Jadwiga the king of Poland and everything blew up.

Feliks wished that was an over-exaggeration.

This announcement sent shockwaves through the monarchy and some started trying to name someone else their king. There were negotiations, so many negotiations, about when to crown her, where to crown her, could she live in Hungary still or would she be forced to remain in Poland. After a lengthy process, the new King finally came to Poland.

Poland waited for her carriage in his best clothing. He wanted to make a good first impression. Especially since they were coming from a distance. Hungary didn't tell him a lot about the king in her letters, probably because she was also in negotiation hell as well, but she promised that he would like them. Very vague.

He shook his head and looked up in time to see the carriage close and he approached to meet the king. It came to a stop, the driver got out, the door was opened, and . . . It was a child. He shook himself out of the shock before bowing a little. "Greetings my lady. I welcome you to my country. I am Poland."

The child was helped down from the carriage abd went over to him. "Oh! You must be like Ms. Elizabeta. Shes told me some about you. And assured me that I can rely on you no matter what. If you're all like she described then I'm sure we'll get on splendidly."

Poland smiled, "You may call me Feliks."

"Well Feliks, I'm Jadwiga."

Poland held his arm out to her and she took it. He lead her down the line of clerics, noblemen, and the bourgeoisie who had also come to greet her, introducing them to her before escorting her into her new home. "I'm sure this is quite a shock. But I'll help however I can." Poland says.

She nods, "Yes. Well, it would be nice to have someone else who knows what its like to be constantly jerked around and not regarded."

That shocked Poland a little. "I guess you're right."

"Tell me Feliks, in your lifetime until this point, have you ever been asked your opinion? Have you ever been your own person? Or were you just expected to follow whatever the current leader says."

"I never thought about it like that, but no. Never. From my understanding, my existence, I am the land itself. The peoples hearts, their spirit keep me alive. I do not feel physical pain like anyone else but I can be hurt. But the pain I feel . . . I feel when the people are suffering. I feel when a village is pillaged and burned. I felt when I was fragmented and it left me weak. I don't think the gain or loss of land affects me as much as it used to because of how often its happened. But in all my years I've never been asked for my experiences."

She nods, "I thought so. Ms. Elizabeta is the same way. She's a very brave woman. I cannot promise to be the perfect leader, but I intend to be as good as I can. And I hope we could be friends and allies."

That tugged at Feliks' heartstrings and he stopped to kneel in front of her, suddenly overcome with devotion. She looked shocked at the display. He placed his hand over his heart as he looked at her in reverence, "I trust your rule my king. I will be your sword and shield. I will follow you into battle. You can rely on me as well. For anything."

She scoffed and walked past him, "I don't need such devotions."

"It doesn't mean it isn't true." Poland scrambled up and followed after.

"True or not, I only wish for you to be at equal standing as me."

"Very well, Jadwiga."

Poland had a feeling that she would not disappoint him either.

She was crowned the next day. The 16th of October of the year of our lord 1384. This 10 year old child, ripped away from everything she knew, was now a king. And the monarchs made sure that when she married, that she would remain a queen regnant and wouldn't have that power stripped from her just because she was married. It seems that they cared about this girl.

She named a council of advisors. Some said that they were using her as their tool while others deny that. But as he had promised, Poland remained by her side. And sometimes she'd even ask him for advice, which he gave willingly.

It was a wonderful system they had. But there was one glaring issue. Everyone was worried about who she would marry. She was already engaged to William of Hapsburg but nobody approved of him. They considered him too young and inexperienced, which was funny to Feliks considering that their king was 10 while William was 14. Some lords suggested the King of Lithuania, which was a fine choice, but people were worried since he was pagan. Honestly, also a foolish worry considering the age difference.

Honestly, why did she even have to marry. Women are more than just stock to be sold off!

As much as he tried to hide his displeasure about this topic, it doesn't seem like he did a good enough job. After a very heated meeting in particular, in which he remained silent with his opinions, he escorted her back to her chambers. She giggled a little before speaking up. "It seems like you dislike these matters as much as I."

"I thought I was hiding my displeasure better."

"Oh not at all, but I would like to hear your opinion. It does seem to be really eating at you."

"Well firstly, I don't understand why you have to marry in the first place. Especially at your age. You're so young and you were just displaced and forced to rule over a people you know nothing about."

She sighs, "I agree. Tell me more?"

"Personally, I don't know much about Austria. I've never had the pleasure of meeting them. I don't know their politics or beliefs. Or how they run things. However, even though he is inbred, William is closer to you in age."

"And Lithuania?"

"I also don't know much about them besides that they have a great amount of land and they're pagan. I believe the king is also more than twice your age. I haven't met Lithuania either so I don't have much to gauge there. And the paganism doesn't bother me. Religion is certainly confusing for me. Politically, Lithuania is a better match in many ways. As uncomfortable as an old man marrying a child makes me, it is smart in terms of a strong future. However, with Austria, you're closer in age but more vulnerable to people using you two as puppets. Either way, there doesn't seem to be a great option. Politically, however . . ."

"You have very interesting views Feliks. I like hearing them. And I agree. However, I believe the decision will fall to my mother. If the King of Lithuania agrees to convert, she'd probably snatch him up in an instant."

Poland nods, "I agree. I believe the eastward expansion is better too. Holy Rome and the Teutonic Order are . . . Testy sometimes. I feel bad for Hungary."

"I agree. May I ask a question?"

"You may."

"If I was to elope with William and run away, what would you do in such a situation?"

"That is difficult. If its consensual and your decision I would still probably follow. A union between Austria and Poland . . . I'm afraid I really don't have much to go on. I've never actually united with anyone before past friendships."

"Oh surely you must've felt love before!"

At that point they reached her room. She strode in and hopped onto the bed. Poland paused at the door. "I thought I had once."

"You must tell me."

"Its . . . I'm not sure if it'll change your view of me."

“What do you mean?”

Feliks takes a breath before speaking, “I’m attracted to men.”

Jadwiga seems taken back and is silent for a minute before nodding, “That makes sense actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always analyze men more and are a lot more critical about them than women. Also you’re more protective over me. Like I’m a younger sister you’re devoted to. Men normally want to protect women and control them, but you want me to make my own decisions and your protection is more of a brotherly kind, you know?”

“I guess that analysis makes sense too.”

“So, tell me about your loves.” She pats the bed next to her.

Poland chuckles and closes the door behind him. “You’re not disgusted?”

“Not at all. Not like I can even judge an immortal being such as yourself. Who knows. Maybe you’ll be able to marry a man in the future too.”

Poland laughs as he sits next to her, “Well, if you get married to either William or the King of Lithuania, I’ll be unifying with them. Which I guess will be like a marriage? I know Austria is a man. I’m not sure about Lithuania but I believe its a man too. So I guess I will have my marriage after all.”

“Enough about current issues. I want to hear about your loves.”

“Fine, fine you pushy king.” He chuckles. “Well, I guess if I start from the beginning, you could maybe count when I first met Holy Rome. We fought each other and I got stabbed. I was just in shock and he came over to get me back on my feet. I wouldn’t consider it love but it felt like a godly experience. He was just so . . . I’m not sure how to describe it. He was like an angel that gave me the boost I needed. When I met the Teutonic Order for the first time, I thought he was handsome too. But that opinion quickly changed when I found out he and his order couldn’t be trusted anywhere else or with anything else besides battle. I met Rus around the same time I met Hungary and I found him quite handsome as well. Besides that, the only love affair I had was with . . . One of the past monarchs.”

She gasps and leans in, “How scandalous. Tell me more.”

“Well . . . Bolesław the second. Son of Casimir the Restorer.”

She gasps, “So the rumors of him having an affair were true?”

He nods, “It was unfortunately true. I’m still not entirely sure how it started. I knew that I should’ve denied him. He was married after all. I know I should’ve told him no. Shouldn’t have been tempted in such a way. But . . . He was very convincing. But I think that was when it really sunk in that I feel this way towards men. But I’ve closed myself off. I’m not longer young and naïve anymore. Plus playing with mortals in such a way is unnecessarily cruel.”

“So you haven’t been with anyone since?”

“I have not.”

“How was it? Being with him?”

“I don’t think I should tell you that information.”

She groans, exasperated, “How did it feel emotionally then?”

“It was . . . It felt absolutely heavenly. I felt wanted. Needed. But then reality would come crashing back down and I felt dirty. Because he was not mine. Could never be all mine. But I was all his. It wasn’t a pure love on his part. It was a greedy and dirty love. But for me, it was everything. And I realized that when the Bishop started the rumor that he was having an affair, little did he know that he was actually correct. But if the Bishop knew to the extent, I probably would’ve been burned like a pagan even if I cannot die to physical things like that.”

“That does sound really messy . . . Well, for your sake, I hope whatever the future brings, it’ll work out for you. You deserve a good partner.”

“Thank you. I’ll call your maid.”

He gets up and leaves, thinking over the words she told him. He wished for that too. It would be nice not to be alone.

With the snow came envoys from Lithuania. The nobles very rudely didn’t want Poland to join Jadwiga for the meeting. Which was honestly rude because how else was he supposed to meet the people he would possibly help represent. Well whatever. If they didn’t want him then fine. He entered the garden that was now just snow and froze in his tracks seeing a man. Long brown hair braided over his shoulder. Soft looking. Like a fairy. He seemed to notice Poland an turn towards him, “Oh sorry is this a private area? I was dismissed and got a little lost. This garden is beautiful.”

“Oh no not at all. It’s public to those in the castle. May I ask who you are?”

“Oh! Of course. I’m Lithuania. But you can call me Tolys.”

“How convinient. I was wanting to meet you. I’m Poland. But you can call me Feliks.”

“You’re like me!”

Poland startled a little when he gets rushed by the man but smiles, “Shall we wander and talk while we’re excluded?”

“I would like that a lot.”

Tolys holds out his arm for Feliks to take which causes a little flutter in his chest. Being escorted like a lady? What a gentleman. He shook that thought away and took his arm. They wandered and chatted and Poland felt himself falling for a man he had just met. Gods, please let him remain by this mans side forever. He was so sweet and soft.

For such a powerful nation, Lithuania was very soft spoken, which suited Poland fine since he was the loud one of the two. He was still very much Pagan, not that that bothered him, but he enjoyed learning about that side of him too. And in turn, he explained a bit of Catholicism. They talked most of the day away and retreated inside when it became dark. Something clicked for Poland when he was around Lithuania. Like with Hungary, how they just genuinely enjoyed each others company. Even if they were not destined to become allies, they promised to remain friendly.

Unfortunately, their visit seemed to be way too short. Jadwiga's mother announced that, “She would allow whatever was advantageous to Poland” and that they “would consider what would best benefit Christianity and their kingdom”.

And so, this uncertainty continued. Honestly the drama between this poor girls marriage was nothing but exhausting. So Poland spent the days by her side, hoping he was shielding her from the unnecessary drama.

In August, Jadwiga got correspondence from William to meet him at a nearby convent because he wasn’t allowed at the Castle. She confided in Feliks and he decided to join her in this forbidden meeting. It seemed that William had the same idea to bring Austria with him too. Was this a way to distract Feliks or did Jadwiga ask him to?

Austria, Roderich, was a nice man. He seemed more strict and serious like a "proper royal". That didn’t mean though that he didn’t like him. It was nice to hear him talk so excitedly about music and his other interests. It seemed like the only time he actually had a sort of life to him. A light in his eyes. If they were to have a union though, he think they would clash more than anything. It would be good to remain friendly though. However, if Feliks was to compare him to Tolys, he’d probably chose Tolys. However, this was not his decision in the end. If he found himself linked with Austria, he might be able to make it work.

It seemed like the meeting between Jadwiga and William went well and when they left she babbled on. He’d give input when needed but it was cute. Ah young love.

Or so he thought.

William came to argue with the monarchs to go through with his engagement with Jadwiga. Saying how her hand was already promised to him and a bunch of other arguments that Poland honestly tuned out. It wasn’t his decision. It wasn't his decision. It wasn't his decision. Things like this were never his decision. To him, William seemed like a spoilt brat having a toy taken from him. It was completely different to their forbidden meeting. His king deserved better. Unfortunately for William, the argument did not go in his favor. Fortunate for his king. They dismissed for the night and gave him a room. Even that was too good of a treatment for him.

He felt bad for Austria having such a person as his king.

In the middle of the night, a scream broke out. Poland felt his blood go cold and he immediately rushed to Jadwiga’s room. Righteous fury filled him when he threw open the door and took in the scene before him. William was forcing himself upon Jadwiga who struggled fiercely against him. He acted before he thought, throwing William off of her and wrapped her in a blanket. By that time, more guards entered and chased off the disgusting beast. His king, this child, shook like a leaf in his arms and shame filled him because he didn’t protect her better. Sobs racked her little body and Feliks just held her tight and rocked her. “I have you now.”

She clung to him and refused to let him go. Maids came but she dismissed them all, only wanting Poland. Eventually she calmed enough to talk. He didn’t get far with her, luckily, but Poland swore to kill the pathetic worm. Unfortunately for him, the worm had fled the kingdom so he wouldn’t feel Feliks’ righteous fury. If he ever saw him again he definitely would though. He had no quarrel with Austria, but William would feel his wrath. He swore it.

Poland remained close to Jadwiga, mainly on her order and his own guilt. Good news came a day or so later when they received correspondence from Jogaila saying that he would convert to Catholicism. It seemed like things would turn around. At least thats what Poland would tell himself as his oh so very young king clung to him as she slept curled up in his arms, too terrified to be on her own.

He escorted her to the cathedral shortly after for her to pray. He stood close, watching as sobs racked her body once again as she asked for repentance and guidance. By the end of their time, she seemed to have come to an acceptance about what happened and use it as something to learn and grow from. She told him that she had recieved heavenly guidance. He could only hope so.

Dates were made and Jogaila came to Poland to be baptized on the 15th of February 1386 and was renamed Władysław - Jogaila. 3 days later, he was married to Jadwiga. She looked so beautiful in her wedding dress. His heart hurt for his young king, only still a child. She was dwarfed next to her husband, looking so small and delicate. Lithuania seemed to feel the same way as he grasped Poland's hand, holding it tight through the ceremony, the only thin betraying his nerves.

In early March, almost a month later, Jogaila was named King. Poland watched happily as they created a strong diarchy between their countries. This union did please Poland as he got to spend more time with the soft spoken Lithuania. They actually ended up spending a lot of time together as the new couple toured the lands. The nobles wanted Władysław to gain the respect he was deserved. And in this time of appeasing the nobles, they also appeased to their peasants. The couple found themselves truly becoming the peoples champions.

However not everyone seemed as pleased with this union as Poland and the people were. The Teutonic Order decided to invade Lithuania and started posting propaganda to oppose them. Hungary had also fallen into anarchy and they were distressed to hear that Jadwiga’s mother and sister were captured by the rebels. Filled with a righteous fury, Jadwiga roused an army and marched into her homeland. They didn’t arrive in time to save her mother, but the governors gave up without opposition when they saw their forces.

This union should’ve been the end of all the drama. But there was a never-ending cycle of one thing to the next. Tensions remained high in Hungary and tensions were also high in their own countries. Honestly, Poland couldn’t keep track of everything that had happened. Even Lithuania seemed very unsettled by the drama. And it was all petty family drama with Hungary. Poor Hungary. He wished he could spare her some of the things that happened in all the anarchy.

The Teutonic Order also still took great offense to Lithuania. Poland found himself protecting Lithuania the same how Jadwiga protected her husband. New negotiations were opened, which turned out to be doomed to fail from the start. With some tedious work arounds though, they managed to get Hungary to be their mediator. And after many sleepless nights and negotiations and so on, there was finally a peace treaty signed but there was still disproval of the Lithuanian king.

With all this pettiness and drama and tension, Poland didn’t realize that a decade had passed. All this tension seemed to really drain Lithuania and in the end, it wasn't shocking when the Teutonic Order sieged. Poland made the same promise to himself that he made about Jadwiga. He would protect Lithuania. He would be his sword, his shield. If he could ever make this declaration out loud to him, he would never know.

However, the worst thing that could’ve happened did and it shook Poland to his core. Jadwiga had become very sick in her pregnancy and died shortly after, after giving birth to her daughter. Her daughter also died shortly after. Feliks was absolutely devastated. He had watched her grow, mature into an even more strong and capable leader. She deserved the world and more. Feliks wasn’t sure he ever mourned for a mortal like how he mourned for Jadwiga. This was a different kind of mourning than what had happened with Bolesław.

He watched his king be lowered into the cold ground with her child. He watched the land be filled in. A headstone with her name was placed and Poland wished to be in the ground as well He cursed his immortality. It wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse placed upon him. Forced to watch life cycle after life cycle pass all around him while he remained stagnant. If only he could give her some of his immortality. Aged 25 and in the 15 years of her reign she created such an impact. 15 years was a blink of the eye for Poland, but for her it was her entire lifetime. It was tragic. The first person who treated Poland actually like a person and included him in the actual ruling over his own country. He knew he would never find a purpose like that again with another ruler. Jadwiga was one in a million.

Poland wasn’t sure how long he was frozen in front of that grave before Lithuania came to collect him. Poland let him be taken care of by his partner. Lithuania let him mourn without judgement. Poland clung to him as he fell apart in his arms. Lithuania was his rock. So sturdy and comforting. His heart hurt.

Lithuania became his reason.

Lithuania became his everything.

Poland fell and fell harder than he did before for this gentle yet strong being that cared for him so. That spark turned into a flame once more and it burned brightly for his Lithuania. He didn’t tell him though. He didn’t know how. So he let it remain as it was. Just partners. Just two countries united together.

It was cruelly ironic when a box came in the mail after Jadwiga's burial. Lithuania was with him, supported him. His hands shook as he carefully opened the box. Inside was a sword. The pommel was shaped like an eagles head. The guard was like wings. Poland slowly lifted it out of the box, tears starting anew. It was beautiful. Lithuania grabbed a rolled up piece of parchment and slowly unrolled it, reading aloud, "My dear Feliks, I'm sorry I couldn't present you this sword myself. Nevertheless, I hope you use it and treasure it. Take care of yourself, my knight, my nation, and my friend."

Poland placed it back into the box and clung to Lithuania as he cried more. Lithuania comforted him. And there they stayed until the tears dried up once more. Poland glanced over at the box, holding on tighter to Lithuania, 'I will use your sword Jadwiga. I'll use it to protect those that I love.'

Chapter Text

Jadwiga's husband, continued his rule of Poland without her by his side but even without her presence, he seemed to remain strong. The dam finally broke with the Teutonic Order and war was declared. Poland felt it before anyone else. He felt the siege. It caught him by surprise as he felt the pain and stumbled. Lithuania noticed and helped steady him, asking what happened.

So he told him. And then he was brought to tell the king. Forces were organized and they fought back but nobody was prepared for the war they were about to face.

A treaty was signed while they prepared for war. Alliances were made. Land was given to one side or the other. War plans were drawn up. And he prepared to fight with Lithuania. They would fight together, unified. And at the end of the day, Poland was fighting for Lithuania. The treaty's end date approached and the armies gathered. They set their destination as the Prussian Capital and started the trek. He followed Władysław II Jagiełło and swore to fight along side Lithuania.

It took almost a week before they came face to face with the Order. The Polish-Lithuanian forces formed their positions. He joined the Polish heavy cavalry on the left flank and Lithuania joined the light cavalry the right flank. And there, they waited, staring back at the Teutonic Knights. They waited. And they waited. The hot summer sun pounded down on them. The Teutonic Knights shifted uncomfortably in the hot sun and Poland smirked a little at them for being so impatient and itching for the battle. Seemingly fed up and wanting to provoke a battle, a couple of knights brought a couple of swords for the king, presenting them to him.

The Order got what they wanted in the end and their armies charged together with a thunderous cry. The armies clashed and fought with red and white clashing together. Poland lost track of Lithuania on the left flank but he knew he could fight for himself. Instead, Poland focused on his side on the battle, searching for one man in particular. Knights fell to his sword as he pushed through their ranks and then, he finally saw him. He gripped his sword tighter and rushed towards him as he slayed a red knight. With a cry, Poland swung his sword at the Teutonic Order. He was blocked easily and, finally seeing who his knew attacker was, the knight smirked. "So we meet again."

Poland didn't respond, he just frowned as their swords clashed. This was the part he loved about their deadly dance. One of the times he truly felt alive. He loved the rivalry he had begun to have with the knight. He was ruthless. He was fierce. He was honestly one hell of a fighter. Poland had compared him to the angel Michael before and only when they fought head on like this, he could really see it.

The world seemed to still around him whenever they fougt. Locked in battle, swords clashing, but everything was silent for him. And then they were locked. The knight looked mad, crazed. He glanced to the side, seeing the Lithuanians retreating. "Looks like your boyfriend is retreating like the weakling he is."

Poland took the chance to look over. Indeed the Lithuanians were retreating. The knight used this distraction to his advantage and stole his sword from Poland and tripping him. Poland fell back, the wind being knocked out of him. He coughed and propped himself onto his arms, looking up at the white haired man only to have a sword pointed at his neck. The knight was admiring his sword, "I'll take this as my prize. Do you yield?"

"I'll never yield to the likes of you." Poland growls and maneuvers off his back and onto his feet. "I would like my sword back now."

"Then come and get it." The knight laughed and tucked the sword into his belt before lunging at him.

Poland dodged out of the way and pulled a sword from the grip of a dead man. The fight was back on and Poland was furious. To hell with mortal affairs of land, treaties, and religion. The Order pissed him off, stole his sword, and disrespected Lithuania. He would not let this stand. The red eyed knight seemed thrown off by his anger and at times seemed to struggle to keep up.

He wasn't sure how long the fight went on. He wasn't sure how many fell around them. The battle around him was meaningless. His eyes were only on his enemy and the knight seemed to be losing the battle. He actually looked panicked. Normally he wouldn’t let his anger out of control like this but this one time he’d allow it. It was helping him this time instead of making him reckless.

Poland smirked as he got the upper hand, pulling the knight's sword from his hand. Red eyes met green with shock before Poland thrusted the sword into the knights chest. The knight stumbled back a little, sinking to his knees. All fight seemed to leave Poland in that moment as the reality of what he did sunk in and he just stared at the knight. Then he started . . . Laughing? His red eyes looked crazed. It completely caught Poland off guard. He just stood there, watching. When he calmed down, the Order drew his sword from his belt and held out to him.

Poland slowly approached and took the sword from him. His throat was dry and he couldn't say anything. He just stared down at him before turning and running. He had to find Lithuania. Somehow, he spotted him through the crowd and rushed towards him. He fought through people to reach him and when he did he pulled him into a hug. "Are you okay?"

Lithuania fought back at first until he realized it was Poland and relaxed. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Poland pulled away a little and pressed their foreheads together. Right then, a cheer seemed to ring out through the crowd. A shout of, "The Grand Master is dead." and the fighting came to a stop. The Teutonic Order began their hasty retreat. The Polish-Lithuanian army cheered in victory.

Poland slowly moved away from Lithuania, "We won."

Lithuania nods with a smile, "We did."

Poland looked around before deciding, "I'll continue with the army. You stay here and help the wounded and go home."

"Are you sure?" He sounded unsure.

Poland nodded, "I'm positive. I think it'll be better if one of us stays home while the other fights. Plus your forces were the hardest hit."

"We're not weak." Lithuania sounded offended.

Poland shook his head, "I'm not saying you are. I'm just saying that you were the hardest hit. It might lower their moral if you're not with them."

Lithuania frowned but seemed to begrudgingly agree. And with that decision made, they began to help the injured to be cared for. They stayed there for the next 3 days, taking care of the dead and injured before they parted ways and he continued onto the city. It was a slow march, much slower than it should've been. Forces were also split off from each other to attack other fortresses before they finally reached Marienburg.

The siege on the city was a battle of attrition from the start and after almost 2 months of just throwing themselves at the fortress, they left with no results.

Beaten and bruised they returned home but the proved their might. Poland was a little surprised when Lithuania rushed to greet him. He let Lithuania tend to him as he seemed to like doing. Even let him bathe him which normally Poland didn't like being helped with. Tolys didn't question his scars. His hands were soft. Oh so soft and caring. Feliks wasn't sure what possessed him but he took one of Tolys' hands and gently kissed his wrist. A display of gratitude? Affection? He wasn't sure what.

Then Poland actually slept. Maybe exhaustion for battle? He wasn't sure but he slept.

Almost as soon as they returned, the king ordered a new army be raised and they were off to battle once more. Unlike the siege against the fortress, this campaign resulted in a Polish victory. He had proven their might against the mighty Teutonic Order and he returned home to Lithuania.

February came and they joined King of Poland and Duke of Lithuania to Thorn where a treaty was signed with the Teutonic Order. The deal was for the Order to pay them War Reparations but even both Poland and Lithuania were taken back by the steep cost they agreed to. The Hungarian mediators also saw no problem with the deal and it all all signed off. It was a silent ride back home.

Tensions remained high regarding the territory. It was quite a headache in Poland's opinion and in just 3 short years, they were back to fighting. A short campaign was attempted on the Teutonic Order's side and even though talks were suggested, in the end he was donned in armour again and marching into the Teutonic Order's territory once more.

It ended up being a one sided battle with the Knights remaining in their castle. For months they threw themselves at the unyielding walls of the castle while the knights destroyed the land around them. The troops were ravaged by plague and starvation until finally, finally, they decided that they weren’t willing to seek a decisive military victory by taking the fort. This angered Poland. Why were they fighting to begin with? What was the point of this siege if it ultimately was for nothing? A truce was made and they headed back home. Poland took a chance to look back at the impenetrable fortress and swore that he felt those familiar red eyes looking back.

Lithuania greeted him as always and Poland wished that he could tell of a victory, but he was just tired from the months of absolutely nothing. Lithuania didn’t seem to mind much though and their ritual continued. Lithuania would care for him and help him. He couldn’t have asked for a better partner in all of this. Existing was exhausting. Wars and battles were exhausting.

Life continued onward around them while they remained. If the passage of time and their lack of it ever bothered Lithuania, he’d never know. He never seemed to mention anything about it. They just existed. Word came to them that Hungary was at war with the Ottomans and Poland decided he would help her. If this decision bothered Lithuania, he didn’t say. And so, Poland rode into battle once again, this time to help defend his long time friend and deliver the Hungarians to victory.

The disputes with the Teutonic Order was yet to be over though. The Teutonic Knights were busy dealing with the Hussites threat and the king decided that that was the prefect time to strike against their foe while they were preoccupied with this threat. It didn’t feel honorable to Poland to attack while their back was turned, but his opinion wasn’t asked for and he didn’t offer it. Instead, he followed his orders and suited up for yet another battle.

Predictably, it was a victory for them after a 2 month campaign. Of course it was a victory because the whole army wasn’t there to defend themselves. His red eyed foe wasn’t even in the crowd either and Poland really felt like it was a hollow victory. But the leaders decided that it was a victory nonetheless and a treaty was signed at the end of September and officially brought and end to these silly territory disputes. Or at least it should’ve. The terms ended up being perfectly reasonable for Lithuania. However, from the reactions of his king and the Grand Master, he ended up having the short side of the deal. Poland risked a glance at the Order and their eyes met. There was a fury in those red eyes but he couldn’t determine if that fury was held for him or their leaders for creating these rifts.

If only they knew the real rift all of this would actually make on them.

Fighting seemed to be the way of the humans and Poland was just caught in the middle of it. And war seemed to magnetize to them. Helping allies fend off one foe, fighting the same common enemies, infighting that tried to cause a rift between him and Lithuania. He wouldn’t let it stand. Lithuania wouldn’t stand it either, right? Poland wasn’t sure because he decided to sacrifice himself to the battles so he could protect Lithuania. After that first battle together, he was terrified to lose him, so instead he urged him to stay home. It seemed though that a purposeful rift was created between them and the Lithuanians fell into a Civil War sparked by the Teutonic Knights. Poland began to keep an eye out for that familiar head of white hair and those piercing red eyes but he didn’t see them. It was probably good that he didn’t or he had a feeling that he might lose Lithuania.

Right after, he was shipped to yet another war against the Ottomans with Hungary. Back to back fighting for 7 years and Poland was exhausted. Oh so exhausted. How he wished he could just live in blissful ignorance to the cruelty of this world. But he was doing this for Lithuania. It was all for Lithuania. He would bear the horrors so he wouldn’t have to. He would be his sword and shield. He would fight until his dying breath, if he was to ever die that is.

There was a brief time of rest. It was actually quite heavenly to Poland. Any day where he could just spend it alone with Lithuania was a good day. One where they could just relax. One where they could share in hobbies and games and culture was a good day. In the in between times of wars, Poland had begun to create a routine for himself to keep up his sword training. Sometimes Lithuania would offer to spar with him and other times he’d just watch as Poland went through drill after drill, refining his technique.

He had grown used to having Lithuania’s eyes on him, just watching him. It was comforting in an odd sort of way. He’d even grown used to sometimes having others watch while they pass by. He wasn’t sure why he was so fascinating to watch but it didn’t bother him much. However, today he felt uncomfortable when he felt like he was being watched by someone else as well. He finished running through his drill and chanced a glance back only to see . . . “Why are you here?” He made sure that his voice was laced with poison. He didn’t want him to think that he was being hospitable to the damned knight.

The Teutonic Order just smiled innocently, “I came along on official business, but they dismissed me from the meeting. I was bored and you’re interesting to watch.”

Poland scowled at the red eyed knight. “Let you watch and allow you to defeat me? I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on Poland. We’re about to become allies.”

That not only seemed to shock him but also Lithuania. “What are you talking about?” Lithuania beat him to the question.

The knight sighed and went over to the weapons to find a training sword. He swung it a few times to get used to the feel. “While he was off helping Hungary with the Ottoman threat, I’ve been experiencing a sort of split myself. I am now both the Teutonic Order and the Prussian Confederation. The Prussians are trying to find someone to back our existence and the Polish crown is the first and only to accept us. If all goes well, we will become a part of Poland.”

Poland was frozen at this, absolutely reeling. Lithuania seemed to be having a similar reaction. The Knight, or Prussia now, walked in front of Poland, “So, since we are now future allies, how about I take that sword from your hands.”

Poland was only given a split second to react as Prussia attacked him. He quickly blocked the attack and they fell into a very similar fight. They’ve had this same fight how many times now? They almost knew each other too well. They could practically predict each others moves and Prussia made the same mistake that he always did that lead Poland to having the upper hand. Poland reacted on pure instinct and Prussia was left on the ground. Poland pointed the training sword at his throat, “If you are to win it then you have to do better than that. The only way you’ll get it is if you kill me. I don’t care if you are to become a territory of my country or not. I won’t trust you so easily. And if this union is to cause a war, I hope you choose which side you are on carefully. Chose your master, dog.”

Poland returned the training sword to the rack and walked off with Lithuania close behind. He was absolutely fuming. “You could’ve been a little nicer.” Lithuania scolded gently.

Poland scoffed, “To him? Unlikely.”

“Why?”

“Do you really need an answer to that?” Poland grumbled.

“I do.” Lithuania deadpanned.

Poland sighed, “Him and his leaders cannot be trusted with anything besides throwing themselves into battle. They have went back on more deals than I can count and not to mention their general dislike of you. Do you also forget how they backed the coup in your country? I don’t trust them.”

Lithuania sighed, “Well, you might have to.”

“Unlikely.”

Unfortunately, it had become a very real reality. Poland looked on with distaste as his king declared that Prussia was to become a part of Poland and that Poland has declared war on the Teutonic Order. Poland stared at Prussia and their eyes met as he stood. A chill ran down his spine at the look in his eyes and then he was gone, sweeping out of the room. Poland wasn’t aware that he was frozen on the spot and breathless until Lithuania placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him in concern.

He jolted and looked over at him and seeing the confused look on his face, answered the unspoken question, “I think he’s going to fight on the Teutonic side.”

Chapter Text

Never in his life had Poland felt so absolutely humiliated by having an absolutely clueless leader than now. He tried to never speak ill of his kings but Casimir was absolutely hopeless as a tactician and they suffered humiliating defeat after humiliating defeat. 6 years of constant loss after loss wore at Poland’s nerves and he was close to strangling his own king himself. It was an instant relief when for once the nobility did something and an actual army was raised, commanded by an actually competent leader. Money could only solve so much, especially when you had so little of it, and any sort of negotiation had also failed. The only place they were successful in any battle so far was in the ports where privateers were hired to prevent the Dutch from giving the Teutonic Order supplies.

Now though, where they were previously annihilated, they were now winning their battles and started to crush the Teutonics. He suspected that it was due in part to them also suffering from lack of money and seemed to not be able to keep running to the Holy Roman Empire for assistance. He had hoped when getting into this war from the start that he could see the absolute humiliation on Prussia’s face and all he ended up getting was his own humiliation. But now, at the negotiation table, Prussia looked absolutely furious with the results of this war and even less at the final deal. Western Prussia remained a part of Poland and Eastern Prussia remained the Teutonic Order’s.

Poland wanted to do anything, say anything to the knight but he found himself frozen and mute. What could he actually say to him? How could he console the proud nation? Finding no answer he instead resorted to leaving him to simmer. He was absolutely exhausted and didn’t have the energy. Frustration and embarrassment still plagued him and he just wanted to rest. War was exhausting and he just wanted to rest and be watched over by his kind and caring Lithuania.

The world turned on and the unforgiving march of time did not stop the petty fighting among the humans. Wars waged on. War after war. Some wars overlapping others and others sparking right after. Bouncing back and forth from Moscow and the Ottomans and experiencing more loss than victory. He was tired. So very tired. He hurt. Everything was a blur. Colors blurred together. Who was he supposed to even be fighting? He wished for it to end. He just wanted it to end. He could barely lift his sword as the exhaustion overtook him. It was all white with a splash of red. And then it was black.

Poland woke up with a gasp, sitting up and quickly checking over himself for injuries before taking in his surroundings. It was a bedroom, obviously, but not one he recognized. He door opened and he instinctually reached for his sword, only to find it wasn’t there. He looked up to see who the visitor was and it definitely didn’t calm him. “You. What am I doing here?”

Prussia looked up, carrying a tray of food and water, "Oh good, you're awake." Prussia approached and Poland scooted back into the corner. Prussia sighed and stopped walking. "You fainted in the middle of battle so I dragged you away. You're in one of my castles."

Poland frowned but motioned that he could approach. Prussia did and set down the tray. "You still look absolutely exhausted."

"I think thats what happens when you bounce from war to war. I'll get used to it though."

"Even we need our breaks. You can't fight in everything."

"I can damn well try. Its my responsibility."

Prussia frowned, "Well if it makes you feel any better, you won. The Teutonic Order is crumbling and I'm reduced to a mere Duchy. You have bested me."

Poland didn't respond and reached towards the bread roll on the tray before picking at it and eating. "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what else could be said.

It was definitely not the right thing to say.

"Thats all you can say?" Prussia snapped.

"What do you want me to say?" Poland snapped right back. "I'm sorry that you're reduced to being a fief of mine? I'm sorry that we caused crippling debt? I'm sorry that the world spins around us? I'm sorry that I fainted and now you feel responsible to take care of me? You could've left me there among the dead and yet you didn't. Why?"

"It . . . wouldn't be honorable."

He seemed at a loss of words like Poland. He sighed before speaking up, "For what it's worth, I really am sorry. Thank you for taking care of me."

Prussia nods and sits at the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, "How is one supposed to feel? Can’t say I’ve ever just . . . Passed out like that before."

"I almost thought you were losing your touch at the beginning of all this. It was quite embarrassing to see how bad you guys were losing. I almost felt sorry."

Poland groans. "I try not to speak ill of my kings but Casimir is absolutely incompetent as a military leader.”

Prussia laughs, "I agree with you on that. I was surprised when you guys started winning."

Poland chuckles and picks at the roll, “Well for once the nobility were useful and we got an actual military.”

Prussia chuckled slightly and sat on the edge of the bed, “Listen Poland.”

“Feliks.” Poland cut him off. “If you’re about to say something about not pledging allegiance or something I could honestly care less. You can pledge yourself to whoever or whatever. I don’t expect you to remain a Duchy for too long. Honestly, if you were to bring my end, I wouldn’t be surprised. Just . . . All I ask is that you watch over Lithuania for me. I suspect that this isn’t the last of me bouncing from war to war. I can feel it.”

“And if I want to fight with you?”

“Do whatever you like.” Poland finishes eating the roll before standing, holding out his hand. “Give me back my sword please.”

Prussia sighs but goes to retrieve it from the corner of the room before handing it to Poland. Poland grabs it but Prussia holds onto the sheath. Poland raised an eyebrow and Prussia speaks. “I, Gilbert, Prussia, swear to be your downfall one day.”

“I’d like to see you try. But I trust you to keep that promise.” He smirks and pulls the sword out of Prussia’s grip before securing it to his belt. “Shall we make our leave then?”

Returning home filled him with a sort of happiness he hasn’t had in a while. Lithuania rushed to greet him and he jumped off his horse to rush to his partner who fretted over him. Oh his sweet Lithuania. He could feel Prussia’s eyes on them but he paid him no mind. Not when he had Lithuania. This is what he fought for. Who he fought for.

And he indeed continued fighting. Win or loss, he fought. The Ottomans continued to be a huge pain in his neck but a couple new enemies showed their face. The Grand Duchy of Moscow reminded him so much of Rus but he shoved that thought to the side. The man was very powerful and showed his strength in winning several victories, even when they became the Tsardom of Russia. He was a different sort of enemy than Prussia. Powerful, terrifying, dangerous. That danger tempted Poland though. If Prussia was like Michael when he fought then Russia was a demon. Beautiful and alluring and oh so very sinful.

Another reoccurring enemy became Sweden. He was also quite an opposing man and had multiple victories. Sweden didn’t have the same sort of allure to him though. He was just cold. Vicious. His face always a mask of stone. He fought with no pleasure in it and it fascinated Poland a little but he began trying to prevent going into a one on one battle with him.

War bled into war. Battle bled into battle. He existed to fight and nothing more. When one war ended another began, some overlapping. It was exhausting but indeed he got used to it. He ran on pure instinct at this point and his mind blurred. His Lithuania, his Tolys was all he had to drag him out of the blur and to reality. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t return covered in the blood of his enemies and with a new wound that he never even noticed or felt. Sometimes he’d return and felt those red eyes watching from afar but he only had eyes on Tolys.

If it meant keeping him safe, if it meant keeping him home, he would take it. Poland would to anything for Lithuania. Even if it meant walking through fire and hell itself, he would do it for Lithuania. Changing to the Commonwealth only reinforced Poland’s beliefs. Whether this thing was returned by Lithuania or not, he didn’t care. This was enough. Just being cared for by him was enough. Just having this time was enough.

War came once more with Russia as they began to invade their lands. Sweden took advantage of this and invaded them as well. So, Poland donned his armour once more. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wear regular clothes at this point. He was practically living in this. He walked out in his armour and the look on Tolys’ face crushed him. He looked so sad. “Must you go to war again?”

“If I don’t, who will?”

“The people of course!”

“And then what? What will happen when all of our people lay down our lives for us. We die with them. They are us. If I save even one life by fighting along side everyone, isn’t that enough? I cannot sit by and watch the future of my country possibly crumble because I did nothing to help. I will not die without a fight!”

“And you might die if you fight!”

Feliks never thought of it like that. He was fighting to show his power. His might. He was fighting to protect his people, to protect Tolys. He knew sometimes the wars left him weak, left him beaten and bruised and covered in scars but he knew that he needed to still fight. “I’m fighting so you don’t have to.” That sounded weak.

Tolys let out an unbelieving laugh, “I don’t need you to fight my wars for me Feliks. I fought wars before I even knew you. Do you forget how large my land was? Do you forget how powerful my people were. That wasn’t just given to me.”

“I know. I know. But . . .”

“But what? Do you think I’m weak? Do you think I can’t fight my own wars. We’re supposed to be partners Feliks. We’re supposed to support each other. Be equally yoked. I see you leave and when you return you’re half a man. I have seen your scars. Why don’t you let me help you?”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re weak Tolys.”

“Then what is it?! What is it that drives you to throw yourself onto your enemies swords at the chance to win against them?! What is it the drives you into these battles? To follow your “kings”? What is it that makes you think I am not capable to help? What is it that makes you so willing to die for me? Because I’m terrified Feliks. I’m terrified that one of these battles will be your last. That I will find out that Poland lost the fight and all there was left was me. Tell me what it is.”

Tolys was crying and Poland pulled him into his arms. It should’ve been comforting. It should’ve been warm. He shouldn’t be holding him in this cold unyielding armour. He gently wiped away Tolys’ tears and before he lost his nerve, he gently lifted Tolys’ chin and kissed him. He tried pouring all of his emotions into it. All his feelings. All his reasons. He needed him to know. He needed to understand this fire that burned inside him for Lithuania.

But then he was pushed away.

He looked up at Lithuania. He couldn’t understand the emotion that crossed his face. Disgust? Anger? Disappointment? He felt his world crumble around him, his heart breaking. This pain was nothing compared to Bolesław, nothing compared to Jadwiga. He felt hollow. He knew. He knew. He knew. This is why he kept it locked away. This is why he never acted openly on it. This is why he settled for closeness. And yet the rejection changed nothing.

He would still burn the world down for Tolys. He would willingly die for him. He would do whatever it took to ensure his survival, even if that meant he wasn’t there.

Tears blurred his vision and a bitter laugh escaped him, “I expected that . . . But I will fight for you. Always.”

Feliks didn’t look back and he didn’t know if Lithuania chased after him.

The invasions from both Sweden and Russia hurt but he was numb. So numb. He couldn’t even feel betrayal when he found out that Prussia had turned against him. He should’ve expected it really. The great kingdom of Poland. That was a laugh. The commonwealth? His partner hated him. Everyone hated him. Was he really worth it? Did he really deserve to even exist? What was there even left for him. War followed war followed war. Wars on top of wars. Nations invading from all directions. Poland barely had any fight left in him. Maybe Lithuania would really be better off without him. War never got easier but he was numb to it. He fought, because thats all he knew how to do. Isn’t it was he was taught to do from a young age? To slaughter anyone that faced him. He was hollow. There was nothing for him but the battle.

Numbness. Pain. Injury. He just wanted to lay on the ground and let himself be stabbed over and over again but he wouldn’t let himself. Only because of Lithuania. Because Lithuania was his everything. But he had very little strength for any more of this crushing defeat. Battle loss after battle loss took a toll on him. He sank to his knees as his allies fell around him and stared up to the sky. He knew that if there was a god he wouldn’t answer for these crimes. He wouldn’t answer for why there was this hate for him. God didn’t care about any of them.

But he still cried out to the heavens in agony. What was the point to all of this? He screamed, releasing all the pain and torment he felt. He screamed at his own heartbreak and betrayal. He screamed until his throat hurt but it didn’t fix anything. He wanted to lay down and die. He wanted this to be the end of him. But whoever had other plans for him.

A fist collided with his face and he fell back in shock before looking up to see who his aggressor was. He was only a little surprised to see Prussia standing over him looking absolutely furious. “What are you doing groveling in your own self pity?! Snap out of it Poland! You’re better than this! Get on your feet and fight!”

Poland couldn’t react before Prussia grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up before a punch was sent straight to his gut. Poland coughed and Prussia kept up his assault and Poland just took it. “You’re supposed to be so great! Where is the nation that beat me into the ground multiple times?! Where is the nation that destroyed me?! Where is your fight?! Why are you just rolling over and taking it?!”

Poland laid limply on the ground. Prussia lifted Poland by his hair and Poland managed to cough out, “End me.”

That seemed to catch Prussia off guard and he let go of his hair, letting Poland just fall to the ground like a puppet cut from his strings. Poland pleaded. “Please just end me already. I can’t keep fighting like this. I can’t keep losing. I can’t keep disappointing Lithuania. He’s all that I have.”

Prussia clenched his fist, “You’re so pathetic.”

Poland laughed bitterly at that. “I am. I’m absolutely pathetic.”

Prussia frowned before helping him up. He draped Poland’s arm over his shoulders and helped him walk. Poland let him take most of his weight. He was tired. Oh so tired. He was guided to a field tent and Prussia helped him to a bed before sitting next to him. “Why are you helping me?”

Prussia didn’t look at him, just crossed his arms. “Your leaders promised us sovereignty over our Duchy so we’re on your side now. And probably a good thing too. You looked absolutely pathetic out there.”

“I know.” He rolled away from Prussia. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this. Wars on top of wars on top of wars. Everything is blurring together. Wars start before another ends. I’m surrounded on all sides by enemies and I can’t keep fighting.”

“Why don’t you ask Lithuania for help?”

“I can’t.” He said it too quickly and instead changed his answer. “I don’t want him to be out here. I don’t want him to see this. If there is a god then I’m sure he’s laughing at me. Laughing at my misery and how pathetic I am.”

Prussia sighed. “Come on, lets get you out of that armour and at least toweled down. Then you’re going to rest. Win or loss, you need to be at your best.”

Poland didn’t say anything. He just submitted. He sat up and Prussia helped him out of his armour and blood and sweat drenched clothes before grabbing a towel and bucket of water. The water was cold but he didn’t say anything, just letting Prussia methodically clean him. Tears filled his eyes but Poland didn’t let any of them fall. Prussia gently wiped off his face last, taking care of the bloody nose and split lip from his personal assault.

When Prussia finished cleaning him he helped him dress again. “Promise me something Poland. Win or lose in any of these wars, you’ll do it with your head held high. If I find you in such a state again I’ll make good of my promise.”

Poland flinched and closed his eyes when Prussia’s hand came up and wiped away his unshed tears. It was surprisingly gentle. “I wish you’d hurry up on your promise.”

“I’m sure that you still have plenty of fight in you. This is just a low point for you. Now rest. Tomorrow is another day.”

Prussia pulled a wool blanket over him and Poland found himself falling asleep faster than he would’ve liked.

As expected, the war was a loss for him on all fronts. He didn’t see Lithuania whenever he would return home. He missed their little ritual. He missed being looked after. But he had brought this upon himself. There was a wedge between them that could never be fixed. Poland was left to take care of himself after the long war. He ignored how his heart seemed to flutter when thinking about how Prussia helped him at his low point, even if he did beat him up at first.

He didn’t like to admit it but Prussia’s “pep talk” seemed to actually help him. He found that fight within himself once again and began winning once more. When he did have time not in war, he began trying to fix his relationship with Lithuania. He knew that he didn’t feel the same but Poland needed him to know that he didn’t care. He would find gifts for him, little things he thought Lithuania would like. An olive branch. He would leave them outside his door and they were gone later. Poland only hoped that mean that Lithuania was keeping them and not throwing or giving them away. War still seemed to take up most of his time though but he hoped that Lithuania was alright. He could only hope.

After a particularly violent election, the new king decided he wanted to show off his power and wanted to fight Sweden in hopes to regain their land. Of course, after finally having neutrality with Sweden his king wanted to mess all that up. However, unsurprisingly to Poland, they found support from Russia. He of course didn’t trust Russia, but he was a powerful ally. Especially if they were to fight Sweden once more. Even Prussia was reached out to in hopes of gaining his backing but it was refused as they had signed a non-aggression pact. This didn’t shock Poland. He really didn’t want to fight Sweden again after having peace for so long.

Expectedly though, a rift was created between the Swedish supporting nobility and the king. The king had a rough time gathering supporters and Poland honestly couldn’t blame the people for not wanting to back the violent king. Unexpectedly, or expectedly, Civil War struck and Poland elected to remain out of it. In the end, he found himself on Sweden’s side. He really didn’t want to fight in this coming war though. He honestly wished to maintain neutrality like Prussia had. And Poland realized that he actually could. In all his years, decided not to personally fight in a conflict. He said a silent prayer for Holy Rome because he wouldn’t be coming to his aid in Saxony but ultimately, he couldn’t back either side.

“Not going?” Lithuania asked softly, approaching where Poland was standing on the balcony, watching as the army marched away.

“I can’t.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Poland leaned on the railing, thinking through how to form his emotions into words. “I’m just . . . Tired. I can’t even tell you what year it is. How long it’s been since I last fought Sweden. I don’t think I’ve ever actually won against him. And to ally myself with Russia as well? It feels like a personal war for the two of them and they’re dragging anyone they can into it and I don’t want to get involved. Prussia even signed a non-aggression pact. And I feel sorry for not coming to Holy Rome’s aid either but it just . . . It doesn’t feel right to be on either side.”

“I think this is the first time you’ve actually figured out your emotions when it came to a conflict instead of just charging in at an order.”

Poland weakly chuckled at that. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I think I also feel like theres going to be something else I should give my energy to here. But I guess we shall see how this all ends.”

“I missed you Feliks.”

Poland looked over, taken back a little but feeling happy. “I missed you too Tolys.”

Chapter Text

Life grew more complicated. It was honestly so exhausting. Life was exhausting. Because of what was being dubbed the “Great Northern War”, relations were actually civil between him and Russia, even if Poland elected not to fight himself. Or at least he would say they were good relations if it wasn’t for the fact that the Russian Empire had begun to pull the strings from behind the scenes. Poland didn’t see it though, at first that was.

Poland hadn't bothered remembering names of any of his leaders or significant people for a while, but he did now. Stanisław Antoni Poniatowski. A politician with way too many family connections in politics, but he seemed actually pretty good at what he did. He would say that with more genuine emotion if only he wasn't being dragged along on an ambassadorial trip. Apparently he was asked for personally too. It was to be a long trip and Poland didn't like that feeling. He'd never been out of his country like this before. At least peacefully that is. They headed to St. Petersburg and Poland had to admit that the country of Russia was beautiful. He wasn’t sure that the man would be as pleasant. He’d only met him in conflicts and his power was genuinely terrifying, but also beautiful.

Feliks hadn't worn his fancy clothes like this in a while and by the time they arrived, he was greatly uncomfortable. He was too used to his armours at this point. He was very pleased when he no longer had to be formal and could be alone in his room. He stripped down to some more casual clothes and breathed a sigh of relief. This trip would probably be the end of him if he had to constantly be in those stuffy clothes. Feeling free from his restrictions now, he decided to sneak out to wander the building they were left in. The place was absolutely massive and it felt a bit exotic, ever so slightly different than his own home.

After effectively getting lost, he wandered into a room that turned out to be the library and browsed the books. He stopped after a bit and grabbed one before opening it to see a strange language. Some of the letters he recognized. Others were the same but reversed. Then some were just entirely different in general.

"It's Russian. The script is called Cyrillic."

Feliks jumped and turned to see who just talked, ready to fight and was surprised to see a familiar face. Silver hair and purple eyes. Russia. He gave an entertained smirk. In his shock, Poland could only breathe out the word, "You."

"I’ve been looking forward to having you here. I hope we can strengthen our friendship. I’ve admired you since our first battle actually. You’re quite a skilled fighter. It would please me if you called me Ivan, at least when we’re in private."

Poland takes a second to process what was said, “Thank you for having me in your home then. I hope to get to know you off the battlefield too. You could call me Feliks.”

Ivan smiles softly. But it doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes. There was a hardness there. Unyielding. It might be poetic to compare his eyes to ice. But Feliks is intrigued in this dangerous person nonetheless. Ivan seemed interesting and different to the Rus of the past. At least a bit. Maybe more battle hardened? "Well, Ivan, since I'm going to be here for a bit, would you mind showing me around?"

"Of course. Can't have you getting lost."

Russia held out an arm to him, like a gentleman, and Poland gratefully took it. The rest of the afternoon was spent being toured around. Feliks admired and marveled at his surroundings and asked questions while they went, which Russia answered. He had a feeling he'd enjoy his time here.

Much like in his own home, the leaders didn't involve Russia in their decisions but they would be allowed in for negotiations and political matters. Not that it bothered him too much. He instead spent the time to get to know this place and Russia. After one such session he watched as his ambassador chatted with Russia's future empress. He leaned over and whispered to Russia, "It looks like my Sir Poniatowski has an eye on your Lady Catherine."

Russia chuckled and whispered back, "I don't blame them for having an eye on each other. I find myself in a similar situation."

Feliks was at a loss for words as he looks up at Ivan, honestly shocked at the confession. He searches his eyes, his face, looking for any sign that its a lie before softly responding, "As am I."

The confession confused and hurt more than he wanted to admit. He felt torn between his love for Tolys and this new found . . . Something with Ivan. At least this one was returned. Is it so wrong to let himself be swept up in it? He was caught in the danger and intrigue like his previous battles. Maybe he was right to compare Ivan to a demon the first time.

It felt unholy.

It felt dangerous.

Poland wanted nothing more to be corrupted.

His heart pounded as Ivan just smiled before getting up and dismissing himself. Almost hypnotized, Feliks felt himself do the same a second later, following after the Russian. However when he walked into the hall, he couldn't find a trace of the man. Feeling dumb he moved to return to his room before strong hands were placed on his waist. He jolted a little before there was a warm chuckle in his ear. It sent a shiver down his spine. "Join me in my room?"

Feliks could only nod, not trusting his voice. Russia let him go before taking his hand and guiding him. This was bad. This was a terrible idea. He was meant to be creating good relations with this country not whoring himself. The mental insults kept coming and he froze when they came to the door. Ivan looked confused and went over to Feliks, lifting his face. "What is it?"

"I shouldn't. I can't."

"I won't force anything on you. Do you trust me?"

Poland looked up. Looked into his eyes. He saw sincerity there in those purple eyes. Oh how he wanted to drown in those depths. Not trusting his voice, he only nodded. The logical side of his brain screamed, drawing comparisons to his first wrongful act but Poland wanted to sin. Feliks wanted to be corrupted by this ice cold demon. Feliks wanted to be destroyed. Whether he wanted to be destroyed in a metaphorical sense or not, he wasn’t sure, but Ivan took his hands and lead him in. Feliks found himself hypnotized by him. Curse his weakness.

The room was almost as magnificent as the man in front of him as he looked around in awe as he was led to a lounge in front of a fire place. The light that came from it surrounded Ivan in a heavily aura, making him look both dangerous and holy at once. He was directed to sit and he did while Ivan made them drinks. When he came back, he held out a glass with a clear liquid in it. Feliks took it and sipped while Ivan sat. Feliks recoiled the moment the drink hit his tongue and he coughed and spluttered. "What is that? Its absolutely foul."

Ivan laughed and downed all of his without even flinching, "Vodka. Alcohol made from potatoes. It’s very strong and warming."

Feliks tried to take another sip but it burned. His throat felt like it was on fire. He set the drink to the side. Instead of admitting that he had never drunk he instead said, "I haven't had alcohol in a while. Especially something so strong."

"I understand. Tell me Feliks. What do you like to do when you're not in war?"

Feliks stared into the fire as he thought. What did he like? "Astrology. I love the stars. The stories they tell. I love art. And architecture. I can't remember when I was able to do something so . . . Mundane. I think I've been fighting most of my existence. I’ve been taking up practicing my sword skills a lot when I’m at home. At least trying to make a routine. It doesn’t seem to help though whenever I fight with stronger opponents such as yourself."

"I’ve been wondering why doesn't Lithuania help in your battles? I only ever see you. Never him. It doesn't seem fair that you always fight while he stays home at peace."

"Mainly because I want to protect him. I don’t want him facing the horrors."

"Most of your enemies are also his enemies. Why not let him fight his own battles? In my opinion, a partner who doesn't help you fight your battles isn't a good partner. Whether you wanted him to fight or not, he should've done so anyway. He should've fought by your side. Instead he left you alone to take care of things. That feels as selfish of him as it does for you."

Feliks was frozen. He hated how Ivan’s words twisted his feelings. He hated that there was some sort of truth in them. His mind came crashing to a halt as warm hands cupped his cheeks and he was pulled into an even warmer tender kiss. Tears fell from Feliks' eyes as the weight of everything crashed down around him and soon he was being held oh so tenderly as he cried. Feliks couldn't turn on Tolys like that. He still loved him oh so deeply. But there was truth in Ivan's words and he hated it. He hated the warm, strong arms that held him. He hated the soft lips on his own. He hated how he smelt like cinnamon. He hated the deep soothing voice. The hair the color of snow. The eyes the color of lilacs in the spring and ice.

And yet Feliks was drawn to him. Ivan drew him in. He spoke his mind. He was both ruthless and tender. And Feliks wanted it. He wanted all of it. He wanted to become tarnished by this man. He wanted both that wrath he's seen in battle and the tender softness of being held like he was now. He wanted what Tolys could never give him. He wanted the sweet lies. He wanted the corruption and manipulation. He wanted to be brought to his own demise. To hell with Prussia’s promise to him, Russia might bring it to him sooner and he wanted it.

Maybe it was him being touch starved and desperate and maybe even a little suicidal but he wanted it.

Feliks wiped at his ugly tears and desperately pulled Ivan down by his scarf into another messy kiss. "Show me. Please show me."

Ivan smiled that smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, seeming more amused than anything else. "Show you what?"

"Show me that I’m desired. Corrupt me. Bring my destruction.”

Ivan still looked amused and spurred on by his words he made his move. Feliks clung to him when he suddenly got lifted and carried to the bed. He was gently laid down before Ivan crawled on top of him. He looked at those eyes and they kissed again. It was tender and claiming all at once. It made Feliks melt and as he moved to wrap his arms around Ivan's neck they were instead pinned down. When they finally separated, Ivan left biting kisses down his neck. He commands Feliks to keep his arms up before going to work slowly undoing Feliks' shirt. He shivered a little at the cooler air when it was lifted up and over his head and soon Ivan's lips where everywhere. Feliks was putty, absolutely swept away by the sensations. Ivan's mouth worshipped every scar that littered Feliks and he felt so much.

He was gone. Swept away in the sensations. With the emotions. Even if it was only temporary, he would let himself be swept away by Ivan. He would let himself be destroyed. Being with Ivan was intense. Not in a bad way that is. He felt alive. It was everything he wanted. He wanted the pain with the pleasure. He wanted this destruction. He wanted, no, needed it. Ivan took what he wanted and Feliks wanted to give him everything.

Stolen moments were spent together. They had nights of passion that would end with comfort. Or sometimes he’d ask Ivan to let him still feel the pain, not wanting the after care and he would comply. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal. Feliks ended up sleeping in Ivan's bed more than his own. They spent some nights talking about where they got their scars. Others were hot and feverish. No matter what the previous night what like, Feliks woke up, cuddled up to Ivan. Sometimes using his bare chest as a pillow.

A few times in the fire light, those purple eyes turned red and Ivan’s already pale hair looked more white and Feliks felt wrong. Feliks felt ashamed of himself to imagine someone else's face. He felt confused and his emotions were all jumbled. He felt confused for imagining Prussia. He felt guilty for not imagining Lithuania. He felt dirty for wishing Russia was someone else. He had never thought he’d want the angel Michael over the demon Asmodeus. Those where the nights when he asked for it to be rough the most. He wanted the punishment. He couldn’t have the pure. He couldn’t have the angel. He deserved the demon that would bring his destruction.

When he received the news that they would be leaving the next morning, it felt way too sudden and abrupt. When he told Ivan, he didn’t look happy at all. He looked ready to kill someone. Frankly, the look scared Feliks a little. It reminded him what kind of being he was actually involved with. He hated to admit that it thrilled him. It caused him to think about home for the first time in a while. How would Tolys react when he came home? How would he react if he knew what he was really like? Would he be able to see his sins on him? Ivan’s fury was taken out on him. It was painful. It was frenzied. It was bruising. But he wanted it all, begged for more, and Ivan delivered. He was absolute putty when Ivan was finished with him but he let himself float in that blissful haze. He wasn’t sure if he received after care this time. He wasn’t sure he wanted it anyway.

He didn't remember falling asleep but he woke up alone in a cold bed for the first time. He glanced around before seeing Russia standing by the window. He took a second to admire his figure, his muscular back, all those scars. He felt a flare of emotion, another sort of love very different from anything else he's felt. Ignoring the soreness in his body, he got up, dragging the blanket with him. He gently hugged Ivan from behind. Ivan startled a little before relaxing, "You should be getting ready to leave soon."

"May I ask a favor?"

"Anything."

"Promise me . . . Promise that whatever happens to me that Lithuania will stay safe."

"Where is this coming from?"

"Just promise me Ivan. Please. No matter what happens to me, I want him safe."

He looks apprehensive before nodding, “As you wish. But only because you asked. It won’t be some form of mercy.”

Feliks nods and hugged him a little tighter before deciding that it won’t do any good to linger any longer. He hesitantly pulls away before quietly getting dressed. With a final glance back at Ivan and checking that his uniform looked fine, he heads out to pack up the few things he was able to bring on the last minute trip and goes to find the ambassador. They say their farewells and Poland looks out the window as the carriage drives away.

He could feel that an ending was coming.

Coming home wasn’t the sort of quiet reunion he was hoping for. The people seemed to growing angry day by day. The many wars killed too many. Since they held elections, the people felt like too many foreign nations took over and was manipulating the government for their own gains. All of these grievances held weight. Poland just hoped they could remedy it.

Lithuania met him when the carriage pulled up, but he also didn’t look too happy. Poland still smiled though when he exited the carriage. “Miss me?”

Lithuania chuckled at that, “At least a bit. But the civil unrest makes things a little hard.”

“I noticed that. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? We’ve been at constant war since we united. That’s what’s happening. And other countries are manipulating our government.”

“I know I know. I didn’t mean it seriously . . .”

“I fear that they’re just going to . . . Tear it all down.”

Poland placed a hand on Lithuania’s shoulder, “I’ll take the fall when it does. I don’t want to drag you down anymore than I already have. Just . . . Survive. Okay?”

“What’s happening Feliks? You never talk like this.”

Feliks gave him a bitter smile. “I just . . . Have a feeling. You’ll be okay. This has mostly all been my fault at the end of the day. I should’ve been a better partner. We should’ve worked together more.”

“Okay, now you’re really scaring me. What happened while you were gone?”

Poland sighed and motioned for him to follow him inside and to his room. When they arrived, he flopped on his bed. Lithuania awkwardly sat on the edge, waiting for Poland to speak. It took him a bit to get the nerve to. But finally he did. “I . . . Russia and I . . . I fear I have sealed my doom.”

“Oh Gods Feliks what did you do?!”

“It just . . . We just . . . Call it me being suicidal but I gave myself to a demon. I’m tired Tolys. I’m so tired. I can’t keep fighting. I can’t keep losing but being allowed to continue. I want to end. I want it all to end. I don’t deserve better.”

“Stop sacrificing yourself on my behalf Feliks! You deserve so much more than this. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else. It hurts me more than you know to see you so self destructive.”

“I just can’t stop Tolys. I’m not sure how to show my love any other way. Even if it’ll never be returned, this is how I can show you. I need to pay for my sins. And I would do anything you’d ask. I’m your servant. Your slave. When I first met you, I was so head over heels and I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be your sword and shield. I wanted to protect your light. I wanted to sacrifice myself if it meant that you would thrive in my place. And if that means that I give myself to the demon then I will. I won’t drag you down into my darkness.”

Tolys shook his head, squeezing his hands. “You speak utter nonsense Feliks. But I think I can understand what you mean. I still hate that you decided all of this for me. You’ve never let me choose to help you. But I guess I’ve also made the selfish decision to just let you. I should’ve done more.”

“If I could go back in time and fix things, I would. You’re very important to me Tolys. But I need to face my judgement. Just promise me to live on. No matter what happens, we will meet again one day. And I will be better than I am now when that day comes. I won’t be a knight in shining armour trying to sweep you off your feet anymore. I’ll become someone you could possibly love. Whether platonically or otherwise.”

“I’ll hold you to it . . . I’m sorry that I couldn’t be your love. I’m also at fault for letting you bear my burdens without help. I should’ve helped from the beginning. I should’ve been at your side charging into battle. I should’ve been the one to pull you to your feet on the battlefield instead of just patching you up afterwards. I should’ve been the one whose arms you ran into.”

He wasn’t sure when the crying began but soon they just held each other and cried. Cried for what could’ve been. For what wasn’t. For what they could’ve been. But here they were at the end picking up the pieces that were shattered beyond recognition.

Poland stopped keeping up with the politics. He no longer fought. Instead he took in the beautiful land around him. He admired their beautiful countries. Walked through the countries hand in hand with Lithuania. How it should’ve been. Lithuania was too kind for Poland’s wicked soul. But here they were together letting the end sweep them along. The humans tried to fix their broken countries but they both knew that this union had been doomed from the start and there wasn’t any hope to fix it back to its previous glory. To when they were the country many moved to. The country with beautiful engineering and architecture. With arts and science.

Poland knew it was the beginning of the end when Austria, Prussia, and Russia came to bargain. They would take some land and give the countries 20 years to try to fix their countries. Poland agreed easily, only asking that Lithuania would be safe. That was Polands goal from the very beginning after all. Keeping his Lithuania safe. The pain he felt before was nothing compared to when he was partitioned. He felt shattered like a porcelain doll. Not even a lot of land was taken by the 3 superior countries but yet it hurt. Is this death? Is this what the humans felt when they fell onto his sword in battle? It made Poland smile.

He felt like a burden on Lithuania as he stood by his side with that tender smile, keeping him company on bad days on days where he was bed bound and walking by his side when he could get up. They walked through forests and poppy fields. Tolys told him stories and Feliks would just listen. They did all the things they were supposed to years ago and didn’t. At night, Poland would mourn for what could’ve been. For what should’ve been. But there was still that nagging voice in the back of his mind. He knew this was all his fault. He could never blame Tolys for his own downfall. No matter what Ivan told him, it was mainly his own fault at the end of the day.

Feliks could care less at the unrest and uprisings and war that continued on. He was dying. Day by pitiful day he waited until the 20 years were up and the 3 countries returned and took even more land. He tried to force down the pain with limited success. His end was coming. He knew it. And he would greet death with a smile. He knew it was coming probably even before Tolys. Before Russia, Prussia, and Austria. And he smiled.

For almost 800 years he lived on but he felt ready for this death. Did the others feel the same? Could they feel their death coming? Did they greet it like an old friend? Maybe he’d find out when he passed. He said a prayer for everyone he was leaving behind, hoped that they would easily move on from his death.

He decided it would be best to leave without a word. He didn’t wish to draw anything out. Feliks changed to some death clothes. A simple white dress with red embroidery on the neck, cuffs, and hem. He’d done the embroidery himself over the past years when Lithuania wasn’t at his side. He departed, floating away like a spirit. He smiled though. He smiled as he walked through poppy fields feeling the nature call to him, call him home. He stops at a flower that seems to call to him and after gentle words and asking permission, he plucks it. He repeats this with 2 more flowers. One for each of the countries coming to kill him. And yet he still smiled.

He knew they would find him and it felt fitting when he walked into the same field where he woke up. It had been almost 800 years and he still recognized it like an old friend. He was ending where he started.

Crunching of leaves signified the approach of the 3 countries. And he turned to greet them as if they were old friends. Maybe they were

In their hands were swords. 3 swords. How fitting. The image of a heart being stabbed by 3 swords came to his mind. He’d remembered seeing it when he passed by a tarot reader. He remembered the woman telling them that it represented heartbreak, sorrow, and grief. Tears stung his eyes and he held out the flowers to the bringers of death. Poppies, his nations flower. They represented sleep, peace, death, consolation, and remembrance. Once again, how fitting.

The 3 figures seemed a little shocked at his peace and each took a flower from him. All seemed to have a different reaction to being the bringers of his death. Prussia was hard to read and seemed maybe conflicted as he set the flower in his breast pocket. Austria seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing but also took great care in placing the flower in his breast pocket. Russia looked greatly pleased with himself as he took a deep breath of the flower before tucking it in his hair behind his ear.

And just like that, the peace was broken.

Prussia charged forward with blade raised and plunged it into Poland’s chest, similar to his own actions oh so long ago. It punctured his lung and Poland took a gasp of air as he struggled to breathe overwhelmed by pain he’d never felt before. He couldn’t read Prussia’s face at all but tears welled in those eyes and it confused him. He reached a hand up and gently wiped away some tears that fell from the angel Michael’s face. It was in that moment when he wondered if he ever actually hated the man and he smiled as tears blurred his own vision. “You kept your promise.”

Prussia nodded once and slowly backed up. Poland gasped for air before meeting Austria’s eyes. The uncomfortableness on his face switched to disgust, as if Poland was below him. Perhaps he was. He couldn’t still be angry for Poland being united with Lithuania, right? It wasn’t his decision. Besides, he has Hungary. And she’s lovely. Austria shook himself out of his uncertainty and raised his sword. Poland gasped in pain as the sword went through his abdomen. He stumbled back falling to his knees. Austria backed away quickly.

Next was Russia, who smiled cruelly as he approached. Poland looked up at him before starting to weakly speak. “Remember-”

“Yes, Lithuania will be under my care. Now, it’s time for you to sleep.”

Without hesitation, the sword plunged into his heart and Poland fell back. It hurt. It hurt so much. He smiled even though tears flowed from his eyes as the sound around him grew silent. His vision was filled with red as the sun began to set before fading to black. And he last thing he heard was the screech of an eagle in the distance.

Poland was dead.

He floated in limbo. It seemed the mortal realm still wanted his existence. He could feel the Polish pride of his people. Even with a sword in his heart, it beat slowly. Air still filled his lungs. But he floated in a blackness. He walked the fine line between life and death. But he was at peace.

He was vaguely aware of the elements changing around him. It was more like he was dreaming than conscious. Sometimes he would get flashes of Russia, Austria, and Prussia in his dream. Other times he would get visions of walking in his fields. It was a strange sensation.

He appeared to Prussia once, watching him dress in a uniform. After a moment, Prussia seemed to notice him in the mirror and whirled around. Poland was back to floating in that dark abyss again. He couldn't grasp at anything, couldn't stay in those areas of the living. He was confused as to why he could to begin with.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been until he started hearing French voices. This wasn't a vision, it was at his person. It carried on the wind almost like it was fading in and out. But then a voice seemed to rise above the others. It was a heavy, thick accent. “I found you! Come now. Wake up Mon Cher.”

He faintly felt warm hands cup his face before they continued talking. “Lets get these swords out of you hm? Poland will rise again and I, France, will help.”

The sword was removed from his lung and a pressure started to leave. Then the one in his abdomen. Then finally the one pierced through his heart. Consciousness didn’t return though. Strong arms carried him and there was more French before he was laid on something soft and warm.

Everything passed around him in a blur of colors and shapes like he was fading in and out of consciousness.

He grasped at an image again and clung to it. He walked through a field. He could feel the plants brushing his fingers. He heard the birds chirping away. He heard someone walking and he turned around to see Prussia. He ran and knew that Prissia followed. He felt a tugging in his gut, guiding him. Conciousness slipped away as he was about to collide with someone.

He felt a kiss gently placed on his forehead and a soft mumble of a voice that seemed all too familiar but slipped through his fingers like smoke. He wanted to wake and grab it but he couldn't.

The voice from before spoke again with that heavy French accent. “I hope you wake soon. We claimed land for you. In the name of Poland. Your peoples pride burns bright. The fact that you survived proves that.” His hand was being held and a kiss was pressed to his knuckles as the figure kept speaking. “We’re going to attack Russia now. I hope when we return you will have risen like the Phoenix you are Mon Cher.”

Another kiss was placed to his forehead before the figure swept out of the room.

Blurs.

Blurs.

Consciousness was like water and kept slipping through his fingers. What was happening? How long had it been? When would France return?

As if summoned, return he did. However he wept, voice full of sorrow. “I’m sorry Mon Cher. We failed. Russia has come for you. I hope my failure doesn’t reflect back on your future thoughts of me.”

Poland tried to summon words but it felt so far away from him like everything else. He was merely an observer. Another kiss was pressed to his forehead.

Everything shifted once again. The feeling of being carried. Warm arms. Then cold against his back. Lips pressed to his briefly. Then a blazing pain in his chest once more as a familiar voice came to his ears.

“You live when I say so.”

When he was able to walk as a ghost among the living, he was in a new place. He couldn't leave the building. He couldn't walk through the fields. He could no longer see Austria or Prussia. He floated in nothingness, accepting his bleak existance of being between worlds.

Sometimes he could feel a calling but it was too far to reach. Being able to experience his surroundings was difficult too. And so, he existed. Just existed. Concious enough to know he wasn't dead but too weak to do anything more. He didn't try anymore and just felt frustrated.

Sensations to his body felt far away. He wasn't sure he even reacted or even could.

Every now and then he could feel whatever control there was over him slip but he waited. Waited. Waited until he could make it worth it. He felt a pull and followed the thread. It felt like deja vu seeing Prussia dressing in uniform again. It was a different uniform than he had seen before.

His eyes searched over his form before their eyes met in the mirror. Prussia didn't startle this time. Poland smiled and forced his mouth to move, to form words, "Good luck."

No sound came from him but Prussia understood anyway. He watched as tears came to Prussia's eyes, which he quickly wiped away. Then, he nodded and left the room. Poland let himself fade away, back to that darkness, and bid his time.

Chapter Text

Prussia stared down at the poppy in his hand, twisting the stem and watching the petals twirl. It was bright red like blood. All he could see in his mind was the blood seeping onto Poland's death gown from the swords. So much blood, red and blooming forth like this poppy. His smile haunted him. He never could've imagined that someone as mighty as him would accept death so easily. It made him sick to his stomach.

Austria sat next to him in the carriage and was scratching at the back of his hand. Prussia knew Austria wasn't the fighting type, but he also knew why he elected to come rather than trying to convince Hungary or someone else to come in his place. Prussia set the flower back into his breast pocket before placing a hand over Austria's, stopping him from scratching more. Austria jumped a little before relaxing slightly.

Austria was the one to break the silence, "We were supposed to unite you know . . . His king Jadwiga was engaged to a Hapsburg before they turned to Lithuania instead."

Prussia nodded, "I know."

Austria leans his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I didn't know what to make of him at first honestly. I don't think we would've made a good pair, at least at the time. But he was actually really interested in listening to me talk, especially about my music . . . He had this look on his face like . . . Like nothing mattered in the world at that moment besides me . . . And it makes me wonder, if the marriage had gone through, if what happened didn't, if we unified instead, could we have made it work? Would he be dead now?"

Prussia sighs, "I think you could've made it work. It might've been an even stronger union. Him fronting the army and you being the politics at home, it might've been an interesting but powerful union."

Austria nods and rests his head on Prussia's shoulder. "He shouldn't have looked so peaceful at such a brutal end."

Prussia hummed, "I know."

The carriage ride was quiet. Prussia should've felt relief. He should've felt victorious. But he just felt empty. Hollow. Poland had been a pain in his ass for years. But everything felt dull and off. He had that same pit in his stomach that he did when he saw the blonde pass out on the battlefield. Or the time when he fell to his knees and cried out to the heavens. He expected Poland to fight back. He expected him to act like there was no pain, to act like there was nothing wrong. That pained gasp as the sword pierced his chest, that cold hand wiping away his tears.

It was all too surreal. He didn't want to accept that the Polish angel was gone. Prussia closed his eyes in silent prayer, wishing for the blonde to pass on. But Prussia felt no peace. The scene replayed and replayed and he could still hear his soft voice, full of reverence, "You kept your promise."

He felt more hollow. He felt his heart breaking. There had been many times he'd wish for death, and now all he wanted to do was to join Poland in death. The thought of holding Poland and dying in each other arms was tempting. It almost seemed romantic in a macabre way. How would he live now when his greatest enemy was dead? Their battles seemed so meaningless now. He never imagined how empty a victory like this would feel.

When they made it home, he called upon an artisan and handed him the poppy to be preserved. It felt important to hold onto.

Days passed in a blur, blending into weeks, months, years. Word reached them of France having a revolution shortly after helping America with theirs and Prussia was called upon to fight. He donned his uniform but it felt wrong. It felt too stiff and suffocating. His eyes wandered over to the crystal dome that housed the poppy.

The growing pains had come and went physically. Politically, theres still been difficulties integrating the portion of the nation they had gotten. It seemed like even in his death, Poland was being a pain in his ass. He couldn't place his feelings, his emotions. Austria still had his own difficulties. It wasn't too long until he noticed Austria had taken to wearing gloves a majority of the time. He expected it a small mercy from Hungary.

Prussia shook the unnecessary thoughts from his head and turned back to look at himself in the mirror just to see Poland standing next to him, red blooming from his chest like a poppy. He jumped and whirled around in search of the phantom only to see nothing and nothing in the mirror either. Thoroughly spooked, he quickly left his room. He had a battle with France after all. The possible ghost of Poland had to wait until later.

The Battle was an embarrassing and painful loss. Prussia silently fumed as their leaders shook hands and signed a treaty. France stood next to him looking smug. He would tolerate the man for now. "Waiting to go back to your lover?" France teases.

"I don't have a lover." Prussia crosses his arms.

"Oh? Thats surprising. You have a look on your face as if you can't wait to be somewhere else so I assumed you had someone waiting for you at home. My mistake."

Prussia huffed and rolled his eyes. This caused France to smirk more, "You are an open book. There is someone on your mind." And when Prussia refused to answer France smiled. "You can't hide from me."

Prussia growled, "There is no one."

"I won't judge mon cherie if thats what you're worried about. I like beautiful people too." Prussia stared forward, ignoring the annoying Frenchman. Like someone? Don't be ridiculous. He didn't like anyone . . . Right? But he was distracted. That he would admit. France ignored his silence and kept talking, "So if a lover isn't on your mind, may I ask what is? You were fighting like you wanted to lose."

Prussia sighed. He hit the nail right on the head. "Don't laugh."

"I would never." France makes an offended sound.

He loosens up a little, "Truth be told I've been . . . Struggling since the loss of Poland."

"Go on." France encourages. He sounded genuine.

"I feel like I'm being haunted. I see him everywhere. I expect him to still be there even though I know he isn't, that he can't be. He was my enemy for so long, who I fought and was bested by many times and he just . . . laid down and accepted his death. And, and I don't know. I dreamed of the day I'd best him. I wanted to see the look on his face when I actually beat him and now I have and all I want is for him to miraculously return so I can beat him properly."

France still had that smirk plastered on his face and it aggravated Prussia. "What?!" He snapped.

France laughs, "You are absolutely smitten."

"What?" Prussia looked at him wide eyed.

France pats his shoulder. "Tell me, when you used to see him, did your heart pound? Was your breath taken away? Did you look forward to seeing him constantly no matter the reason?"

Prussia slowly nodded. "I did. I loved watching him fight. He was breath taking in battle. Quick with his tongue. He hated being seen as weak."

France gently smiles, "I think you're in love mon cher." He holds a hand up to stop him from speaking. "Its a wonderful thing, to be in love. I'm just sorry that it was realized now . . . But don't get too down. I believe a part of Napoleon's plan is to revive Poland. If it works out, he'll be back."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I'll still hold out hope. The Polish are proud people. Their hearts and spirit still beat for him, and as long as they have that, I don't believe he will truly ever die."

"I wish I could have that same faith." Prussia sighed.

The French soon left after that and left Prussia with a lot to think about. Him? In love? Absolutely ridiculous. It was wrong. But . . . Maybe he was right. Those thoughts plagued him and followed him to his dreams. He hated how right France was.

The world began to blur around him and Napoleon continued his conquest of Europe and the Prussians followed his orders obediently to switching and being against him. Holy Rome fell slowly but fell none the less and the pain returned. First he lost Poland and now he lost Holy Rome and was expected to take his place. He felt wholly unworthy, inadequate.

Rage and sadness filled him more than anything else. He wanted to destroy, to be destroyed. He could no longer contain the tidal wave of emotions so he turned to the bottle. It didn't help at all though. In some cases it made him worse, especially the dreams.

He passed from poor coping mechanism to even worse coping mechanism. Over training, heavy drinking, denying himself sleep or food, not that he needed it much anyway but he couldn't stand it anyway. It was all a mess. He was a mess.

Word reached him of France successfully establishing a Duchy of Warsaw and his blood boiled. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, but he was. He grabbed his mount and made the trip, fighting with himself the whole way. He felt that small sliver of hope of seeing Poland alive and well but it was mixed with and almost crushed with the rage of disturbing his death.

The Duchy seemed to be establishing itself well but all that ran through Prussia's mind was to kill France and find Poland, conflicting feelings be damned. He wanted to see the country alive and well, but he also didn't want to ever see him again. He didn't want to accept his feelings. He couldn't.

He eventually found the house where France was keeping Poland and he hesitated by the doorway, looking in at the still figure. Prussia shook himself out of it and slowly approached. Poland looked like he was sleeping. It seemed like France took the liberty to change and clean him up as well. He looked so angelic. Prussia's heart was in his throat.

He reached out to touch him and immediately withdrew when he heard the door open. He swung around to see who it was and frowned, seeing it was France. "Oh Prussia. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

"I wanted to see . . ."

"He hasn't woken up at all but I think he's still somewhat aware. I think its akin to a deep sleep."

"I see . . ." Prussia steps back and turns to exit.

"You don't want to say something? Or do something? Who knows. True loves kiss might wake him." France teases and winks at him.

"Theres no point unless he's awake to allow it." Prussia huffs and shoulders past him.

He needed to walk. He needed to clear his mind so he did. Now that he thought about it, he never took the time to just admire the land. It was quite a stunning landscape much like the man who shared a name with it. He looked around the city, at the buildings, people, stalls, he took it all in before wandering out of town and into the wilds. He just wandered. Maybe for a day? He wasn't sure.

Prussia had refused to survey the lands he had gotten from the partitions. It felt wrong to have it. It didn't quite fit together with him. Like stitching two different fabrics together. He could almost feel a second heart with his own at times but was convinced it was his mind playing tricks on him. He doubted Austria and Russia felt the same thing. He doubted even more that they were also seeing his ghost.

He looked out over the field he stopped in. It felt like it was wrong to be here. Prussia felt like he should leave. He felt like he was trespassing but he couldn't will his limbs to move. He just stared out at the field, watched the tall grass sway with the breeze. He heard a hum in the wind and looked around for the source of the noise.

And then he saw him. Poland. Feliks. Alive and well. Slowly walking through the field and brushing his hands along the grass as he passed. No, it was impossible. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. But he was standing right there. Prussia broke into a run after the figure. Poland glanced back at the sudden noise and smiled before breaking into a run as well.

Prussia, chased and chased but he felt like he wasn't gaining on him. His lungs strained, his heart pounded. He felt alive. It was a strange feeling to have after, well, everything. A laugh ripped out of him as he continued to chase the figure. He gained on him finally and reached out a hand.

His hand landed on solid flesh and he abruptly stopped, harshly turning the figure around. But it wasn't Poland. It was France.

Prussia yanked his hand back as if he was burned and stared in shock and confusion. France looked back at him in confusion. "Prussia? Where did you come from? What is it?"

Prussia opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Then he took in France's appearance, immediately locking in on what he was carrying. His shock turned into anger. How did France have Poland's sword. Why did he have his sword? "Where did you get that?"

France looked down at what he was carrying, "I found it among his things and I thought he'd want it when he wakes up."

"Give it to me. You don't deserve to even touch it." He growls out.

France backs up but Prussia reacts faster. He lunges forward and grabs the sword, yanking it hard and kicking France back. Prussia stared at the sword with reverence and held it close before staring down at France.

He hesitated before turning back around and returning the way he came. Poland's spirit lead him to France. To his sword. His heart hurt. Why would he want him to have this? He didn't deserve it.

But nonetheless, he would take care of it.

He took his time returning and stopped by to see Poland before he left. He had carefully tucked the sword in with his belt like he used to and held onto it tightly. He stood in the doorway to Poland's room once again before slowly approaching. He hesitated before gently kissing his forehead and spoke softly, "Wake up soon."

Prussia returned home feeling lighter in general. He carefully cleaned Poland's sword before carefully setting it up on the mantle above where the poppy rested. The ghosts seemed to leave him be now as well. He wasn't okay, but he was feeling better. He felt like existing once again.

Word reached them that France was going to fight Russia. He felt completely neutral on the matter but after the humiliating loss to French troops, the armies were reformed to become the once intimidating and effecting fighting force that they once were.

In the end, they were called upon for one final push on Napoleon and their troops became crucial to the final Battle of Waterloo. He didn't necessarily feel happy but it was better than nothing he decided. Treaties were signed and land was regained. He normally could care less about regaining everything, but he did feel a little annoyed that Russia refused to give their portion of Poland back. He wanted to wipe that smug look off of Russia's face, even more so when the man invited him to his house.

He visited anyway, against his better judgement. He stared at the door in front of him before raising his hand to knock. He's just see what he wanted and leave. Russia answered the door soon after and smiled cheerfully at the German. "Good, good, you came. Come on in."

He held the door open and Prussia stepped in a little hesitantly. "What is it you wanted?"

Russia clicked his tongue, "Ah straight to the point? Very well then. I'd like to show you something."

Russia motioned for Prussia to follow before walking further into the house. He opened a door that led to the basement. Without waiting to see if Prussia was indeed following, he walked into the depths without a word, forcing Prussia to follow whether he wanted to or not.

It was significantly colder down here. And normally cold temperatures didn't bother him too much but even this made him shiver. It was pure blackness too but a candle was lit at the bottom of the stairs. The way it illuminated Russia's face made him look sinister and Prussia tried not to recoil. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched as Russia lit candles around the room. Then, his eyes landed on the figure laying in the middle of the room and couldn't suppress the gasp that came out of him.

There, on a slab of stone and a sword sticking out of his chest, was Poland. He still just looked like he was sleeping. The blood surrounding his wound seemed minuscule but was still there. Prussia stumbled forwards, legs almost working on their own, and stopped next to the blonde. He gently grasped his hand and looked him over.

Russia hummed, "My, my, I didn't think you were this fond over him. What was it you told me? That he's an overconfident brat that needs to be put in his place? And here you are now. I bet it just kills you to know he's mine now."

Prussia growls and faces Russia. "Shut up. You know nothing."

Russia just smirked, looking as disarming as ever. "Oh but I do. He was the one to confide in me. He asked me, begged for me, wanted me to destroy him. What did you ever do?"

Prussia clenched his fist and gripped Poland's hand tighter. How was he supposed to respond. He glared at Ivan who gently stroked Poland's cheek. "He of course isn't as much fun unresponsive but I'm more than pleased to have him. I shouldn't have left him in that field. I'm sure you felt it too when you had him, right?"

"Felt what?"

"Like two hearts beat at times. I've never felt anything like it before and now I never want to be without."

The hair on Prussia's neck stood up as everything began to sink in. Poland wanted this man? Why? He's obviously insane. Why would the angel be tempted by something, someone, so sinister? What had Poland seen in him? Prussia refused to believe it but the proof was right in front of him wasn't it? Why would Russia want to have all of Poland's territory if it was a lie? Why would he steal the body and desecrate it if it was a lie?

But then a different string of thought slammed into him and made his stomach flip more with discomfort. Why had Poland never come to him? Was he really so awful in comparison to Russia? In all the years he was a Duchy, at Poland's beck and call, he was never called upon. He never trusted him. And yet Poland yielded to this man?!

But . . . Poland appeared to him. He lead him to his sword. That had to mean something, right? His angel appeared to him and not to this devil. That gave Prussia a little sliver of pride and he decided that that was enough for him. He refused to answer Russia and stared down at the dead country and swore that the hand in his grasp twitched a little.

A look of shock must've crossed his face because Russia hummed in curiosity. "Interesting, isn't it? He's dead and yet theres something still there. Well, doesn't matter anymore. He's mine and mine alone. I'll let you say your goodbyes and then I request that you leave immediately."

Russia left and Prussia immediately relaxed when he heard the man gone. He stared down at the dead country unsure of what to do. What words could be said? What actions could be done? He was dead. His skin was cold and pale. There was no more radiance to him.

Fresh guilt filled him. Once again he felt only despair. What was his reason for living? The age of knights, kings, and religious wars that filled their history was a time in the past. He wished once again to follow Poland into death. He felt purposeless with a meaningless future ahead.

Prussia let out a shaky breath and gently kissed the back of his hand, "Wait for me in death. And I hope to be greeted by you with open arms."

Chapter Text

Darkness consumed Prussia. Days, weeks, months, years even passed by in a drunken blur. Life was meaningless. The politics surrounding his nation was a headache. He didn't want to exist. There was simply no point to his existence anymore. He was no longer a knight. He was no longer a soldier. He had no purpose. He was born to fight. Most of his existence was battle. What was he without it?

He downed another bottle, watching as the room swirled around him from his sitting position. His eyes landed on the poppy and sword on his mantle. He had tried killing himself a few times in the past with no success so he knew it would be pointless to try now. He could only waste away until this cruel world decided that his suffering could end.

Dreams plagued him, almost made worse by the alcohol but it didn't matter anymore. They were all the same. Tender moments that would never happen between him and Poland would twist into the horrific and he let himself be dragged down. He lived a cursed existence.

The empty bottle slipped from his hand and rolled away. Dreams merged with reality and he couldn't separate when the dream started and the world ended. But the dreams were a better reality. The world had no purpose. The world had no purpose. The world had no purpose. He just wanted to waste his life away until the point where the world no longer needed him and he could die. Maybe Poland would welcome him with open arms.

There was a knock at his door and he ignored it. Unfortunately, they were determined. They kept knocking until they slammed open the door. He glances in the direction of the door and there stood Hungary with Austria behind her. Hungary looked furious, Austria as timid as ever. Hungary's nose wrinkled in disgust, "Ugh, it absolutely reeks in here. Take him to the bathroom and clean him up. I'll clean up the room."

Austria sighed but still did what she said, yanking Prussia up and out of his chair, towards the bathroom. It seemed like whatever rage Hungary felt, Austria began to feel as well. It was much more internalized but Prussia could feel it. Austria quickly stripped him down and shoved Prussia into the tub before taking away the clothing. He then returned with soaps and began scrubbing away Prussia's filth. He wanted his sins to be scrubbed away as well but he knew it was impossible.

"How could you just let yourself waste away like that? Don't you have any shame? Don't you have any pride? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Prussia bitterly chuckled, "Frankly, I don't want to live anymore. My life has no purpose. I have lived for much too long."

"You're too dramatic, wanting to follow him into death. You know he never gave you the time of day. Why are you pursuing someone like that? Why do you want someone like that?"

"I don't know but I do. Every fight was always him. If I bowed to anyone, it was only him. It's absolutely pathetic, I know, but I want him. Since he died, nothing has been the same. It sounds crazy but his spirit appeared to me a couple of times and I felt haunted. I was terrified of seeing specters at every corner but mixed in with the fear was . . . Excitement to see him again. When Napoleon founded the Duchy, he lead me to his sword. I know it sounds insane but it's true."

Austria sighed and stopped scrubbing at Prussia for a second, "How can you say you loved him? How can you say anything for sure?"

"Because when we fought it was a dance. My heart pounded at the thought of seeing him. I could watch him for hours. His skill was unmatched. At first I thought I was insane, that I just admired him as an adversary. But since his death, I've been consumed. Days blur past without him. There is nothing I look forward to. Everything is bleak and dull and I just want to embrace him in death."

"You're so dramatic." Austria smacks him over the head. "Honestly, pull yourself together. It's quite embarrassing. Besides you have a younger brother you need to take care of now. We will not tolerate you making a fool out of yourself."

"What?" Prussia looked up at him confused. Brother? He could feel himself quickly sobering.

"While you were trying to drink yourself to death, the Germanics were fighting to unify. It was all quite messy and political based. There was a small fight with Denmark, and then an Austro-Prussian war that lead to me losing land and uniting with Hungary. And now you're a part of the German Empire, consisting of two thirds of the territory and three fifths of the population, but now you also have a young, new nation to take care of. So pull yourself together. You're a disgusting mess right now. I don't care if you feel like the world has no use for you but it clearly still does. With or without Poland, you must move on. Now finish cleaning yourself up. I'll bring a change of clothes."

And Prussia was left. How many years passed him by? He moved mechanically and did as Austria instructed. Austria returned and helped him into a set of clothes before fussing over his still damp hair. "What am I to do? I can't raise a child."

Austria scoffed. "You can and you will."

Once Austria finished fussing over him, he pushed him out and Hungary started fussing over him as well. His room was clean now and he felt grateful, for both of them. "I'm sorry for being a pain. Thank you, you two."

"For what?" Hungary asks.

"For . . . This. For helping me snap out of it."

"Of course. We'll always be here to get you going in the right direction. Now, lets go meet your younger brother." Hungary motions for him to follow and the group walks out.

"Who found him?" Prussia asks as they walk.

"A guard patrol." Austria answers. "They called us because you were being unresponsive to anyone else."

Prussia slouches a little, feeling like a scolded kid. Hungary takes pity on him a little though and places a hand on his arm. "I know its hard without him. But I don't think he'd want anyone to waste their life like this. I'm not saying to forget him but keep living for him."

Prussia nods and takes a breath before they walk into the foyer. Theres a couple of guards and a little blonde boy. The kid looks back at them and Prussia feels his chest tighten. He looked like Holy Rome. Prussia lowered to a knee and forced a smile on his face.

The kid, Germany, looked at him nervously. "Who are you?"

"I'm Prussia . . . Your big brother." He slowly stretched out his arms to the kid, opening himself to a hug.

The kid looked at him before rushing over to his arms and hugging him. Prussia let out a breath and held the boy. From that point forward, he swore he would protect him with his life.

Going forward, it never got easier, but it got better. He had something to watch over and care for so it took his mind off of a lot. But in the times where he wasn't caring for the boy, the sadness would creep in. Prussia stared at the fire from where he sat on the couch. How much time had passed? He was stirred from his thoughts when a small body curled into his side and he looked over. "I thought I tucked you into bed."

Germany yawns, "Couldn't sleep . . . Why do you look so sad when you think no one is watching?"

Prussia stiffens a little before sighing, relaxing slightly. "I lost someone . . . It wasn't recent but I still find my thoughts wandering to them."

"Who was it?"

"A great country called Poland."

"What's so special about them? If they died, then they must not have been strong."

Prussia chuckles, "On the contrary, Poland was a very strong nation. His death was brought on by instability and tampering in the government. But most of the times when we fought, he won."

"Oh . . . Tell me more about them?"

So Prussia did. It actually felt good to talk about it when he'd been avoiding it for so long. And when he started, he couldn't stop. Even when Germany had fallen asleep tucked against him, Prussia couldn't stop the words from spilling from his mouth. And he didn't stop until the end, watching Poland fall with 3 swords piercing his chest. Tears streamed from his face but he actually felt relief for once. He'd been avoiding so much when it came to Poland. He still mourned but not like before. He laid his head back and just let himself feel for the first time in a while.

Germany asked for more stories about Poland and it became routine. Every bedtime story became a story about a battle with Poland, most of the time a little over exaggerated. With every story told, he felt a crack in his walls like his defenses were breaking. It hurt less to talk about him.

Prussia tried to ignore the events happening around him, which wasn't too hard since he pretty much was focused completely on raising Germany. He hoped he was doing well with the boy. Not like he had experience with children either, but he hoped he was doing a good job.

No matter how hard he tried to hide away from it all, the real world still managed to sneak in through the cracks. Talks and panic about the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand spread like wild fire and Prussia could feel the anticipation of war. He had no idea at that point how big the war would get. Countries that were once allies were split. The assassination was the spark needed to set the flame of war rushing through the entirety of Europe. It was no longer a fight of territories, of knights and kings, of resources. It was all out war, a world war that would change the coarse of history as they knew it.

Prussia stared at his reflection as he donned his uniform. It felt . . . Familiar. The buttons where shined to perfection and shined back at him as he carefully tucked and secured everything. One last glimpse of himself and he could barely recognize himself. It was odd to prepare for war again but he knew there was no choice now. His eyes wandered from the mirror to the poppy and sword on his mantle and for the first time, he was glad that Poland wasn't alive to see this. He took a breath and prayed for his protection, for this war to be over soon.

When he opened his eyes again and looked back into the mirror, he let out a shaky breath at the sight of Poland next to him. It had been so long since he saw the blonde and his vision blurred with tears. He quickly wiped at them and the ghost smiled before mouthing two words. Good luck.

Prussia nods and turns away, taking a breath to center himself again. He wasn't sure how long its been since he's been haunted by ghosts but he decided to take it as a sign. Hopefully one of good luck. He took a deep breath and spoke, hoping his words would reach the deceased country in the beyond. "Watch over me and help deliver us to victory."

Prussia exited the room and walked down the hall. Little legs ran towards him and he braced himself as the young boy hit him at full speed with a hug. Prussia chuckled and held him back a little, "Don't worry too much Germany. I'll be back in no time."

"You're still leaving me though."

He could hear the pout in Germany's voice and chuckled, "Well I gotta protect you so you can become a big, strong nation."

"You'll be careful?"

Prussia smiles, "I will be. I got an angel watching over me."

Germany nods and slowly pulls away from the hug. Prussia ruffled the boys hair. "You be good while I'm gone."

Germany nods, "I will."

Prussia stares at the young boy filled with even more determination. He would come back to his brother. With one more quick hug, he was off, completely unaware of the horrors and the challenges they would face. Of the terrifying human ingenuity that would escalate everything from calvary charges to trench warfare and dog fights.

The War to End All Wars had begun. If only it did end all wars.

Chapter Text

Gilbert Beilschmidt was bored. Completely, irrevocably, mind numbingly bored. He hadn't seen a single ounce of action in the last 3 months besides being a reconnaissance officer. He longed for the days of warfare when he was on the front lines, charging into battle without a care. Now, warfare changed. If you had status at all, you were kept out of action or promoted to ranks you had no business being. Gilbert would've at least preferred being in an officer position, at least then he wouldn't feel as useless.

While he sat there being useless, he watched the war transform around him. They started with calvary charges and now they were digging trenches. Artillery sounded and shook the ground at all hours. It was bad enough that sometimes men would crack from the sounds alone. It was quite horrific.

The trenches were constantly muddy so they were perpetually soaked. Rats came quickly and were fat, feasting on the rotting corpses surrounding them. The men weren't as lucky as rations quickly depleted. Trying to hold onto hope, men would talk about how this war would be over in no time. They'd be home by Christmas. But as days ticked by, that no longer seemed to be the case. This war would continue until there was no more men to throw at each other. They would run out of men before they'd run out of bullets.

Gilbert placed a hand over his breast pocket where he kept a photo of him and Ludwig. It was already wearing at the edges but it was his only prized possession in this desolate wasteland. They weren't allowed possessions. They weren't allowed journals to keep themselves sane by writing out their feelings. Some men were able to keep decks of cards because they'd tell superiors that it was their bible. Men would trade cigarettes for rations. And if a man died, the others would surround him like the rats living among them and strip them of everything. The boots were especially valuable.

Gilbert had been on battlefields that were absolute blood baths, such as Grunwald, and that didn't compare to what they experienced in those trenches. Theres a difference about fighting blade against blade to sitting in a hole a waiting for your death. At least at Grunwald, you'd only die to a blade. Here . . . Well, anything could kill you. Being shot down during a trench run, being shot at by a sniper, catching a disease, or the enemy getting lucky and being able to correctly launch their artillery at you.

Gilbert tensed up when he realized that they were suddenly in silence. It was never a good thing when it went completely silent. "Think they finally gave up?" the boy next to him asked even though they both knew the answer.

"Not a chance." Gilbert shook his head and glanced over at the boy. Just then, the trench shook as artillery sounded again and started hitting its mark. Next thing Gilbert knew, he was being slammed into the wall from a blast.

Gilbert awoke with a start, gasping. His ears were ringing, his eyes were caked with dirt and blood. He coughed, checking himself over before quickly searching for the boy that was next to him. He knew the chances of a mortal surviving a hit like that was slim but if he could at least save one boy, just one, this whole thing wouldn't feel as pointless. The ringing in his ears slowly went away and he heard gasping breaths. He dragged himself over to the boy and gently cradled his head in his lap.

Gilbert tried not to let his eyes linger on the fact that the boy had half of his body missing. "Hey, stay with me."

The boy coughed and reached up to take out the tags he was given. "Give these to my family for me?"

"You'll give them to them yourself. Stay with me."

The life in the boys eyes faded and he went limp and Gilbert felt himself tearing up. He gently took off the tags and looked at the name. Manfred von Richthofen. He was only 22.

Gilbert held the tags close before pulling them on. He then pulled off his own tags and put them on the body. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was in poor taste to take the boys identity. But Gilbert wanted this boy that he knew for a short period of time to be remembered for something. He wanted him to be remembered as something. He wanted the boys family to be proud of him. Gilbert wanted to do this for everyone that died. He didn't want them to just be names on a list. Casualties. Pieces of meat.

Gilbert collected the body into his arms and slowly struggled up before blindly making his way through the trenches to where he could bring the dead boy. He hoped Ludwig could forgive him for this stunt. It seemed to take forever before he stumbled out to where the med tents were. The dead body was torn from his arms and he was ushered into a tent and tended to. Gilbert stared unseeing out of the tent, towards the sky.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was dead. He was Manfred von Richthofen. He would make himself something. And to do that, he couldn't be stuck in a meaningless position. So, he decided he would join the newly formed Air Force.

Gilbert looked through his file as he was driven to the air field. He needed to know who he was. It seemed ironic that Manfred was born in Poland. Oh how it seemed like he loved to continue affecting Prussia while he was still dead. Gilbert shook off those thoughts and continued reading through the file until the car pulled to a stop. He closed the file and got out of the truck, looking around. He was absolutely in awe of the flying machines, great big birds. It was heart breaking that such an amazing innovation was being used in such a barbaric way.

Gilbert made his way over to the commanders tent and walked in, waiting to be addressed. After a bit, he seemed to finally be noticed and he handed over his file. "Manfred von Richthofen. I'm wanting to transfer."

The officer looked at him skeptically. "Why?"

Prussia shrugged. "I was serving as a reconnaissance officer and I got bored with not seeing any action. I was hoping I'd get more action in the air force."

The officer nods and closes the file. "Very well. We'll start you off as an observer. We're on the Eastern Front at the moment but if you prove yourself, you might just get yourself transferred to the Western Front."

"Thank you sir."

The officer stood and lead him around, introducing him to the pilots he'd be working with and lead him to the bunks. Gilbert still wasn't happy necessarily with the new position he was given but he decided that it was still better than nothing.

For the next two months, he served as an observer over the Eastern Front. He really wanted to prove himself, show that he could do more, and felt that he finally accomplished that when he was transferred to Belgium. He became quick friends with his pilot and in off times, he began teaching Gilbert how to fly solo. He was very clumsy at first when it came to piloting. It was all so foreign to him but that didn't stop his determination with it all. He would become a pilot. He swore it.

One more transfer later and he was finally given the chance to enter pilot training. Flying was dangerous. People were dying often and they needed more bodies to supply everything. Gilbert was more than happy to help. The developments and improvements of planes kept changing and he needed to adapt fast. He could feel the instructor's embarrassment with him after he crashed a plane. But he proved to be a quick learner and was a main pilot in no time.

By April of 1915, Gilbert was flying missions. Flying was amazing. Exhilarating. There was no sensation that could ever compare. It was freedom in a way he never knew possible. They flew like the birds in the sky. Nothing in the world could ever compare to the feeling.

Dog fights on the other hand were absolutely brutal. You didn't have time to think and your instincts screamed at you in full volume. Move, maneuver, don't get shot. Hit them before they could hit you. This was the feeling he missed. The feeling he needed and hasn't felt in so long. That rush of adrenaline he got when he was a knight. He felt crazed and laughed. Oh how he had missed this.

Could Poland see him? Was he just as in awe as Gilbert was. He shook his head, willing that thought away. He couldn't get distracted with pointless thoughts like that.

He was feeling reckless, dangerous. He wanted to test his metal. Maybe it was him needing a taste of danger again, maybe it was him still feeling suicidal, but he wanted to do something risky. He watched storm clouds near on the horizon, felt the electricity in the air. He wanted to laugh in the face of death. He wanted that feeling of danger he only got when fighting one man. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And he wanted it.

He could hear his superior yelling at him to turn around and he refused, tightening his grip on the handle. He let out a breath, steadying himself, and flew into the storm. It was stupid, it was challenging, it was absolutely terrifying. He felt small against this great force of nature. It was . . . Everything he needed. Prussia wasn't sure how he made it out of the storm in one piece but he swore he would never do it again.

When he landed, he still felt on edge. He felt like he was burning from the inside, like he needed to destroy something, or someone. He didn't normally seek out companionship to take the edge off. He actually avoided it. It was probably left over feeling of disgust of committing a sexual act that came from being a Teutonic Knight.

He wanted something dangerous. He needed something dangerous. He needed something dangerous, like how it felt flying through that storm. He needed something dangerous, like how it felt to be locked in battle. He needed something dangerous. He needed someone dangerous.

Gilbert got into a jeep and left the base, into the city. He needed to find a bar or tavern or something. Maybe he’d drink himself silly. Maybe he’d play some cards, get into a fight, something. He drove to one of the few he knew that mostly men frequented. Homosexuality was still highly illegal. He knew he could lose everything if he got caught, but Gilbert didn’t care. He needed to scratch the itch, chase the feeling into the deepest depths until there was no turning back. He walked into the bar when he arrived and glanced around, looking at all the customers and workers, scouting the place out. His heart pounded as his eyes feel onto one of the patrons. It wasn’t him, he knew that, but it was close. The spot at the bar next to him happened to be open and he took it quickly before anyone else could.

Drinks were ordered, conversation was started. The man seemed as drawn to him as he was to him. A part of Gilbert felt gross for even thinking of doing something like this, but to hell with it. Light brown hair instead of blonde and eyes the color of honey instead of grass, but it was enough. Similar build, similar voice even if there was a heavy french accent. It was enough. At some point a hand gripped his thigh and Gilbert had to use all of his self restraint to hold back. He paid his tab and left the building. He was doubting, he was debating if he should continue this affair. He was about to think better of it and just head back to the base but the man followed, grabbing his sleeve and leading Gilbert away.

He stayed vaguely aware of his surroundings and the directions they were taking but his eyes were mainly on the man. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and was shaking in anticipation. If they were found out, he could be court marshaled, imprisoned, killed, anything. But Gilbert wanted the danger. He was pulled into an apartment and the moment they were behind closed doors, their lips met in heated passion. They both tasted like alcohol but it didn’t matter. If he pretended, the man could be someone else. The building they were in could be somewhere else. It could all be something else.

Clothes were lost quickly and Gilbert took what he wanted, not that the man was complaining. Gilbert took and took and the man took what he wanted from Gilbert too. At some point, their positions were changed and Gilbert was watching the man above him. If he was a little less drunk, he would feel disgusting doing this, but in his head he could pretend that he was watching Poland ride him, that it was Poland being the moaning mess above him.

Then the disgust set in as they finished. Gilbert stared up at the ceiling as the warm body curled up against his side. It wasn’t him. He knew it wasn’t him. He was lusting after a dead man after all. Gilbert sat up and the man followed suit, “You’re thinking about someone else.”

It shocked Gilbert a little. It was the first time they had really spoken all evening besides making simple conversation and passes at each other. He bit the inside of his cheek before nodding. The man nodded and stood up before starting to clean everything else as if they hadn't just thoroughly destroyed his body. “I assumed so.”

“I’m sorry I just-” Gilbert started and the man held up his hand.

“You don’t have to explain anything. Men like us that need to hide . . . We want things, people, that we can never outwardly express ourselves to. Tell me about them?” He set Gilbert’s clothes on the bed before sitting next to him.

Gilbert sighed. “We . . . Were enemies.” It was hard to put things into words, especially to a stranger he’d probably never talk to again. How was he supposed to explain things to a complete mortal like this. “But he was beautiful and strong. Absolutely stubborn. Barely spared me a glance honestly. I didn’t realize my feelings until it was already too late. He’s been gone for a while now but . . . I keep finding him in so many different things and, well, I guess tonight it just all boiled over and I needed to get it out.”

The man nodded, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Gilbert shrugged and slowly got up, slowly dressing, “It was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t make the hurt any less. But I guess this means we won’t be meeting again.”

Gilbert shook his head. “No we won’t. I did enjoy our time though.”

The man nods, “I won’t bother asking your name. If you don't mind a little unsolicited advice though, don’t forget about your love. We need more love in the world. I’m sorry that you lost yours but don’t let it go. It’ll strengthen you.”

Gilbert smiles a little as he finishes dressing. “I won’t. I hope you find someone good as well.”

The man chuckles and Gilbert left, stomach twisting in confusion at the events that happened. Guilt still consumed him but it was less. He did feel better though, which was something. He stepped out of the building and looked up into the night sky. Hold onto love. Never forget it. If only that all was easier said than done and his heart didn’t want something it could never have again.

The war continued and with it came his victories. He started a tradition of getting silver cups smithed for his victories. It was dumb and vain and he knew it but there was a sort of sick pleasure from it. He reached 60 cups before the silver supply began diminishing so he stopped. He was earning a reputation though and was being called an ace pilot at that time. He wasn’t considered acrobatic in any way but his tactics were second to none and he was considered a skilled marksman.

With a new year, he gained a new plane and decided to paint it bright red. It was a statement. It made him visible to enemies and allies alike but that wasn’t what he was worried about. He started being called the Red Baron. Prussia quite liked the name, the reputation it gave him. He sometimes had to remember though that it wasn’t technically him, Gilbert Beilschmidt, that was the Red Baron. He had to remind himself that it was the boy whose identity he had taken on that was the Red Baron. He felt slightly conflicted about all of it but he remembered why he was doing it.

The war was taking its toll on him. Flying was taking it’s toll on him. The few injuries he’d taken, even though he wasn’t a regular man, took it’s toll on him. He had to remain strong. At night, he’d stare up at the stars. He longed to be with Ludwig again. He longed to be dead. He longed for things out of reach. He longed for this foolish war to end. There was so much he wanted and couldn’t have. He wanted to be able to actually tell Poland how he felt. He wanted to hold the country. His heart hurt for things he could never have. He tried to remember the words that that man had told him what felt like a century before and all he could feel was completely stricken by the loneliness and pain that he once felt.

The world was shifting, changing. He felt himself fading. He felt an end drawing near once again. It was similar to how he felt existing as a Duchy. So he came up with a plan. The Red Baron would die. He began flying more recklessly. It was blamed on a head-wound he had sustained previously. They said it was making him make less rational decisions. He let them think what they wanted.

It was turning into a beautiful April. Gilbert stepped onto the flight field and took a deep breath in. He could feel his time coming. He understood now. He understood why Poland could accept his death so easily because he felt it too. He felt the peace.

He wrapped his scarf on and took a deep breath before getting into his plane. Their planes were started and they were off. The feeling of excitement that came with flying never went away and this time was no different. The air was cool and stung his face but he felt alive. He felt excited. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. There was nothing that could compare to this feeling. He wanted to laugh in defiance of everything but restrained.

Into battle they flew, diving and twisting. Bullets flew everywhere and Gilbert quickly found his target, a Canadian Ace. He gave chase and the Canadian fled. Volleys of bullets were exchanged as they made passes at each other. The Canadian was a risky flyer and kept diving low across the battle fields below and Gilbert followed. He knew it was risky but he wanted the risk. He wanted the thrill. He was always chasing that fix. Since day one he’d been chasing that feeling again. Nothing could compare though. No one was as thrilling. No one could even compare. But it was fine because he’d be joining him at long last.

Gilbert made one last dive after his enemy. He knew it was low, too low. Anti-aircraft guns shot at them but Gilbert pursued. He lined up his shot and was about to pull the trigger when a sharp pain went through his chest. Gilbert gasped and glanced down at himself. His chest was painted red. It hurt. It hurt to breathe. He gripped his chest. He was ready for this but at the same time wasn’t. His brain switched between the acceptance and the refusal of what was happening. He struggled to think, to see, to function. He didn’t realize he was going down until the ground came up too fast. He crashed into the ground hard, slamming forward into the front panel. He laid there like a broken doll before he closed his eyes with a smile.

He let out a few more shuddering breaths before he felt himself slip away.

The Red Baron was dead.