Wrote thise little drabble/Oneshot for my best friend, Nancy, who is the Hungary to my Prussia. ^L^
Now I know that in no part of the story was Lizzie in her green dress and Prussia in his white knight outfit, but hey, it's fanFICTION, AMIRIGHT? Xd
Rating: PG (For character death and boob-talk)
Pairings: PruHun and Germancest
Summary: Gilbert gives Lizzie one of the biggest wonders of her life in the smallest of packages, a gift that will follow her through her life, even after the Prussian Empire has fallen.
Every word they spoke seemed reason to spring into a debate, and neither of them wanted that in this sort of unbearable, sticky heat. They were reduced to sitting under a large tree, groggy and unaware of anything but the hum of the June bugs and the heat. Both of the them were barefoot and had taken precautions: Her with her long hair strung into a messy bun atop her head, her sleeves rolled back over her shoulders, her dress hiked up mid-thigh; she missed the days where she could have taken her shirt off when not in the presence of high society. When she could have lax manners and ride a horse normally, instead of side-saddle. Even now, when she was feeling expecially dangerous, she would dawn men's clothes and would sneak out to meet him, just because she missed the old adventure of being a boy.
Speaking of which, Gilbert had taken off the belt securing his white shirt; he let the fabric hang around his neck, too lathargic to finish the job. He wished he could shed his britches and jump into the nearby lake, but ever since Elizabeta had figured out something insanely important, that was impossible. Before, he would cannon-ball in buck naked and she would follow in her underclothes, claiming that she was smarter: if anyone showed up and saw him so wild, they'd be massacured.
"Cheep!" God damn, did he go anywhere without those things!?!?!?!
"Cheep!" She was gunna stab it in a minute!
Thens she felt something on her head. What the hell? She slowly looked up, but, unable to see anything of course, she reached up lathargically. She felt something fluffy and soft, and looked at Gilbert accusingly.
"His name is Otto. He's Gilbird's twin brother. I don't need two Gilbirds," he said simply. He smirked. "Have him. Maybe he can teach you how to be awesome?"
"Why would I want-" she began
"He's really cool," Gilbert went on, not to be denyed. "He'll never ever leave you. Plus, he's travel size!"
She was going to refuse him, but the Prussian seemed so intent on giving it to her, and she had to admit it was sorta cute. So she put the groggy, overheated little puffball on her head, and went itched her dress up a tad bit more.....not that it helped much.
Thank God for the air conditioner. She sat in front of it, her hair blowing back a little. Once, the little chick on her head was almost blown away, but she caught him and stuck him back in his place. He pecked at the flower in her hair a bit, but otherwise snuggled in comfortably.
She had figured out some years ago that Otto had been one of biggest wonders of her life stuffed into the smallest of packages. She finally knew why Prussia kept Gilbird around wherever he went: the little buggar wouldn't die! Not that she had tried to kill him, but he was over 400 years old! He'd even been chased down by Roderich's only dog (He was a German after all, and had a huge dog) and almost chewed to bits, and after some healing he was just like the day she had gotten him: Not a day past
chickhood, cheeping indignantly when it was too hot or cold and always snuggled into her hair.
She had ton say, she missed his stupidity. She missed his random comments, his tactless flattery ("You're boobs look amazing in that dress!") and the fact that he could be intriguingly smart and actually very intellectual when he wanted to be....but that was next to never. She missed going to his house with the excuse of having a question about Otto, and not leaving until they were both content with her doing so. She had no idea what they had been - Friends? Lovers? Siblings? or something else? - but she missed it.
He had died after there was no need for him anymore. The Berlin wall and, therefore, East Germany had fallen. She'd watched as both brothers had picked each other out of the crowd easily and raced into a tight embrace that could have easily broken backs. She watched as they kissed feverishly, Gilbert whispering sweet nothings to the person he was closest to in the whole world. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of both of them distraught, unsure of how much time they had left together.
Rome was remembered by millions, keeping him alive as a ghost in people's dreams.
The Prussian Empire was already hastily becoming something like an old wive's tale.
And that's when it happened: Gilbert pressed their foreheads together with a hand behind the blonde's head, murmuring something in German or Russian she couldn't lipread, though she guessed it was one of his random poems. In another time and place, Ludwig will tell her the synopsis: "We all end up in our coffins. Some people stagger toward it, some people walk with pride. But I will not die; I am immortal to you."
The Prussian took a moment to stare into the Aryan's blue eyes, both of them too caught up on emotions to cry. For a single moment they simply held each other like that, tightly, controllingly, and somehow Gilbert found the balls to flash one of those ironic, canine, evil smiles.
And then, in nothing magical or amazing or awe-inspiring, his hands went slack and he fell forward into Ludwig's arms, dead.
She had heard something somewhere....where she did not know, but she remembered it now: "When King Luther dies in Act 5, Shakespeare simply writes 'He Dies.' There is no brilliant final words, metaphors, or fanfare. Shakespeare doesn't beat around the bush. The culmination of the most famous playwrite is 'He Dies.' It takes no genious to understand or translate or create a line like 'He Dies.' It's universal in every resepct. That is all I ever want anyone to say when I die: 'He died'. It is natural to be sad upon hearing those words, because we knew the life that was written prior to the words, and that there is no continuation. I only want people to be happy about the life I was able to live, and not cry that my story was discontinued, because every story ends and there's always a better one. Even if I am the most Awesome thing to happen, ever!"
Who had said that? .....Oh yeah, you did, Gilbert. You'd flashed that grin at me, and said. "Lizzie, remember: Life is an occasion. Rise to it!"
She watched as Ludwig fell to his knees, defeated, with his brother in his arms. His brother, beaten and battered and bruised but who had smiled in the face of death. Who had smiled evily and practically snarled, "Bring it, Hell. Bring it on."
After a few moments, she felt it appropriate to find a way through the crowd and lay a hand on his shoulder softly, kneading his muscles a bit. He didn't look up at the woman whom he had practically called his mother, or Roderich, who had moved in from somewhere else. Softly, she leaned down, covering Ludwig's eyes with her small hands. Right beside his ear she murmured softly, "No tears, Ludwig. You will let no tears fall in the face of him. He would surely roll in his heavenly grave."
I guessed he was cold and took him up in my hands, snuggling him close to my heart for a long moment. Then I decided, on a whim, that it was time to make a needed visit to Ludwig and tease him for his childhood.
She could feel Gilbert smiling at her for that. He truely was immortal to those who will never forget him.
P.S: The quote about King Luther is from Mr. Magorium's Wonder Imporium. Oh, how I love that movie! WATCH ITTTT.