[fanfic] There Are Actually Historical Notes At The End
Title: There Are Actually Historical Notes At The End
Author/Artist: kahlanaisling
Character(s) or Pairing(s): PruHun
Rating: G
Warnings: No religious tolerance, since this is the Teutonic Knights, but it's really really minor.
Summary: Hungary and Gilbert hang out and beat each other up. Just as friends, really. They also kiss, but that's for sissies, so they won't tell you anything about that. Chibi!PruHun, almost pointless fluff.
A/N Semi-historical kind of? De-anon from the kink meme; request was chibi!PruHun based on this pic (source not found). I wrote this. . . wow, probably a year ago. Look at me posting old writing. |D Really lame Prussia because he's a kid and dorky.
---
Transylvania, 1211
Gilbert thinks he could drop dead right about now -- he's certainly tired enough, his sword and shield are too heavy, and the padding is sticking to his skin even though he was smart and wore a shirt underneath it today. He doesn't like carrying all of this at all. It's just too much for someone his size to handle. But he's sucking it up and dealing with it, because he's the Teutonic Knights and they're just awesome like that.
Although, it's kind of hard to feel awesome and badass when a man two feet taller than you is ruffling your hair and making your dead legs buckle under the pathetic weight. "Good show out there, Gilbert!" the komtur says, laughing boisterously. " 'F I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been doing this your whole life."
It's a lame joke. Really lame, because this is Gilbert's life and that's far from an exaggeration. But Gilbert smirks and laughs and says, "Longer than you, anyway," then pulls himself up to his full height (annoyingly short) and looks as important as possible. Even though he's the best at what he does, it still feels good to get a compliment from a man as prominent as the komtur. He isn't entirely sure why he tries to get everyone else's approval, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that he looks a lot younger than he is -- he's come across women who've assumed he's twelve, simply because he's short, prepubescent and pale as snow. Literally.
Standing as tall as he is now is the quickest way to overbalance, apparently. He promptly drops his helmet, sword, shield and everything else and is left standing in the middle of the mess, his face turning as red as his eyes in shame.
The komtur laughs again. "Who'd've thought," he says, "that the same boy who faced armies of pagans in the holy city, waving a knife and shouting with a tongue and expression that would shame the Devil, would drop his gear the instant he gets back from a day of training?"
"Kesese," Gilbert retorts, hands on his hips and feet spread apart to appear more intimidating. "I'm just so awesome, the gear felt the need to bow down and bask in my glory." Really? That's the best he can come up with? Not one of his best lines.
"Of course it did," the komtur says. Then he glances up at the sky, where the sun looks like it's just about to set. "Supper's soon. Clean this up and be back to help set the table." Then he turns and walks back toward his tent.
Gilbert lets his self-important smile fade away instantly as he mutters to himself, bending to retrieve the heavy metal blade. "Like I'm a fucking kid," he says. "Shouldn't be able to tell me what to do. Screw this 'honor thy father and mother' crap, I'm the entire reason his power exists!"
(Gilbert is fully aware that if the Teutonic Knights hadn't found a reason to keep existing, keep fighting, keep taking out filthy pagans in the name of the Lord, there's no way he'd still be around. So he is grateful, on some level, for the komtur -- after all the man ensures that he comes along on every campaign, has his own gear, does more than just water horses. Which is what he was doing before, and did that job ever suck. So he should probably be thanking the Virgin that he's landed where he is now; Hungary has tons of issues with his own regiment.)
And then, as usual, the simple thought of Hungary makes Gilbert's heart warm and his stomach knot. He doesn't know why he gets like this whenever he thinks of the other nation; it's weird and uncomfortable and always makes him blush, which isn't good because his skin is too white to hide even the tiniest bit of blood.
And yet, thinking of him is pleasant for some reason. Hungary is a boy who takes no nonsense, a brilliant fighter, easy to argue with and damn fun to annoy. He wears his hair too long too, almost like a girl's, which Gilbert thinks is a little weird but hey. He has white skin and red eyes. He's not one to judge.
But Hungary is still nice to think about; he's slender, and only a little taller than Gilbert, and he kind of looks like a girl even though he could beat up an entire army on his own if he wanted to. He knows it, too -- he's not all that different from Gilbert himself, actually, which makes him both infuriating and easy to relate to.
Gilbert manages to precariously balance his sword, shield, helmet and everything else that he's dropped and stagger through the camp with it, heading to his (tiny) tent nearer the center. Only the komtur is aware of what he is, exactly, so it annoys all of the other knights that he tends to be first when they assess their priorities. Gilbert learned long ago not to antagonize them too much, especially because most of them are war-hardened and believe that a good smack will straighten a kid right out. It won't, though; Gilbert's too awesome to be beaten down like that.
(Then again, if they've hit him and he's decided to stop with the insults, has it worked? Have they won? Must look into that.)
He shoves the loose cloth open with his foot and dumps the gear on the ground; it's already fallen once, it can handle once more. Sure, the coif has dirt in it now and yeah, cleaning the gauntlets is going to suck, but now he just wants to fall onto his cot and sleep for the next couple of centuries. And he would do that, except that he's still wearing the hauberk and leather underthings and that would be uncomfortable.
Hauberk comes off; gets nicely laid across the shield. Leathers are removed too and tossed on top of the hauberk. Finally he's standing in just thin trousers and a shirt, both of them sticking to his skin with sweat and dirt and feel really awesome when he peels them off.
He's just finished struggling into a fresh pair of pants when light suddenly falls into the dim tent, opening it up to a view of the rest of the camp. Gilbert yells, "Hey!" and scrambles for a shirt.
"Relax, it's just me."
Gilbert looks up at the intruder and feels himself turn more red than ever. His stomach twists painfully and he really does want to sink into the ground right now.
It's Hungary, arms crossed and his sword buckled at his side, but otherwise unarmed. His hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, expression clearly bored. "Wanna go do something?" he asks.
Gilbert wants to look away, but there's something about Hungary's green eyes that are mesmerizing. So instead he says, "I know that I'm awesome, but can't you let a guy change before you worship him?"
"I'm not worshipping anybody," Hungary retorts. Sweet, he's irked. "I'm bored. Stealing Wallachia's crops is only fun for so long."
Gilbert smirks outwardly, but inside he wants Hungary to go away already. Kind of an embarrassing situation here, which is weird because he's been naked in front of the other men tons of times; why does it matter now? He begins to pull on his shirt. "Are you sure? You didn't just get scared that he was going to call the forces of Hell on you?"
" 'Course not," Hungary says, voice rising an octave. His eyes flash at the insinuation that anything short of Satan himself could defeat him. Funny, but when Gilbert riles him like this he starts to sound and act a lot like a girl. "That guy's bluffing. He can't really work any black magic, I've never seen him do it."
"Then how do you know he can't?" Gilbert reaches for his boots and slides into them. His feet protest because they fucking ache, and he'd really rather go barefoot, but even though Hungary believes Wallachia can't do any damage Gilbert is not so close-minded. He'd rather be safe than sorry. Second thoughts, and he reaches for his sword and scabbard, too.
"He would've done it by now," Hungary says with finality. He's far from the stupidest nation around, and Gilbert is far from the smartest, but he finds it amusing (and freakishly adorable) to think that Hungary believes he's tough enough to warrant the worst attacks. Maybe that's the difference between growing up as a nation and growing up as a military; Gilbert's pretty sure he knows how enemies think, and if he was in Wallachia's shoes, then he certainly wouldn't use it on Hungary.
He'd use it against the Teutonic Knights. What, he's awesome enough.
"Sure, sure," Gilbert replies, standing up straight and ignoring the muscles that scream in protest. (Shut up body, I'm gonna go spend time with Hungary
hungary!
and if you don't like it then too bad.) "So what are we doing?"
Hungary shrugs and fingers his sword absently, avoiding Gilbert's gaze. "Dunno," he says.
"Well, you're gonna have to think of something," Gilbert says, "because you live around here. I'm just gracing you with my presence."
Hungary looks annoyed at that, which makes Gilbert kind of, well, happy. The boy's paying attention to him! (Why does he care about that?)
As they walk out, ignoring the men that are working and scowling at them for their laziness, Hungary suddenly asks, "Isn't pride one of the sins?"
Gilbert's startled by the odd question, but replies, "Yeah."
"Thank the Lord," Hungary says, then claps him on the back. Gilbert wonders if it's weird that he likes the touch. "You're gonna burn in Hell, Teutonic."
Hungary cackles when Gilbert punches him. It's a strange punch, because on one hand Gilbert doesn't want to hurt the boy and it just feels weird to touch him, but at the same time it's his usual reaction to being insulted. He laughs, though. "Then you're going to doubly so," he retorts, "because I'm a holy order dedicated to converting the non-believers and you're just a nation that likes killing people."
"Hey," Hungary says, and shoves him. It hits a bruise and hurts way more than it's supposed to, so Gilbert reaches over to yank the boy's hair. He yells, voice rising an octave again, and it's like that for the next twenty minutes.
After twenty minutes, they're too far away for the camp to see it clearly and the sun's gone down a lot further. Gilbert is covered in bruises, on his arms and side and one on his cheekbone that's going to turn a nasty shade of purple in the morning, but that's fine because Hungary has them everywhere, too. They're both smiling and laughing and it feels good to just pummel someone without trying to kill them. Because, you know, killing Hungary wouldn't make him like Gilbert. It would just make him dead.
(And there's a tiny part of Gilbert -- really tiny, mind you, so tiny he doesn't even pay attention to it most days -- that wants Hungary to like him a lot.)
They've stopped fighting now; Gilbert's lying on his back on the ground, covered in dirt and grass stains, with his arms pinned too far away to be of any use. Hungary is straddled on top of him, smiling widely and eyes glittering. Both are panting, just sitting there and breathing, laughing every so often. Somewhere nearby their weapons are lying in a heap, but he doesn't care. He doesn't need to care.
Suddenly Gilbert realizes that Hungary is literally this close to him, so close his green eyes blend between two and three and even one as Gilbert's try to focus, and he's torn between wanting him either closer or as far away as possible. Closer is kind of winning out, actually. That's not good though, that's sissy, he's a man and cuddling is for girls.
Hungary turns red in the same instant and stands up quickly, dusting himself off and avoiding Gilbert's gaze. "I win," he says hastily.
Gilbert gets to his feet and stretches; the ground is too hard to really be comfortable on. "You do not," he retorts, also pointedly avoiding looking at the other nation. "The sun was in my eyes."
"I still won."
"Well, whaddya want me to do, block out the sun?! I may be awesome, but there's only so much I can do."
Hungary tosses his head. His hair is falling out of the ponytail, obscuring his eyes and making him look oh-so-adorable. "Oh," he says bitterly, "so there is something the great Teutonic Knights can't accomplish. I knew you weren't invincible!"
"Hey, I am invincible as shit, dummkompf!" Gilbert retorts.
"Is that supposed to be intimidating? Because it isn't. It's just sad."
"It is not," Gilbert says to be contrary. Because Hungary's right. It really is sad.
"It so is."
"Is not."
"Is!"
"Is not!" he shouts, shoving Hungary's chest. The other nation staggers backward and instinctively clutches the area, crying out in pain. Gilbert's first thought is, I can shove that hard? Awesome! and his second is, Shit, did I hurt him?
He rushes over to the other nation, trying to remember years of medical training and what exactly would be called for in this situation. He pretends not to notice that he's stammering when he says, "H-hey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, dammit," Hungary retorts, but his eyes are glistening.
Gilbert doesn't have time to register that the other is rearing back and aiming before pain explodes in his shoulder, deepening a bruise he'd gotten earlier. He clutches at it and bites his lip to keep from yelling. "Ow," he grunts.
Then he notices that Hungary is running off in a huff, disappearing into the line of trees that Gilbert will never admit to being a little frightened of.
"Hey," he says too quietly, then begins to chase after. "Hey, Hungary! Wait up!"
(It's embarrassing that he runs for ten minutes before he remembers to retrieve the blades, so he doesn't tell anyone that.)
---
He finds the other nation what feels like hours but what must be minutes later, sitting against the bank on the edge of a creek and tossing pebbles into the water, watching the splash and the creatures that scamper away from the sudden projectile in their homes. It's fairly quiet, but there are still noises coming from the smaller animals that talk to each other during the night, discussing everything that happened that day. And somewhere there's a distinctly loud cheeping sound, but Gilbert can't exactly place it.
The sun has disappeared now, even though it's not quite dark. He can only tell that Hungary is sitting where he is thanks to the other nation's movement.
Gilbert stands on the bank above him, thumbs in his belt and heart racing fast because Hungary is right there. He opens his mouth to say something. Anything.
Can't think of anything to say, though, and after five minutes he closes his mouth and hopes Hungary didn't see him standing there like an idiot.
"What do you want," he demands.
Gilbert scratches the back of his head, thinking, and says, "What the hell was that all about?"
"I won. You lost. You can't just attack someone after they've won, idiot," Hungary tells him.
"Yeah you can," Gilbert retorts, but his heart isn't in it this time. At least he doesn't have to apologize; that would make him look weak, and he can't afford that. Not after getting beaten up by a skinny, effeminate welp like Hungary (not that doesn't completely appreciate his effeminate looks). "It's called attacking while they can't see you coming. I do it all the time." He laughs, once, and puts his hands on his hips. "Ha! You should've seen those pagans back in Jerusalem. Saw me coming and ran for their goddamned lives."
"Probably because they knew you'd talk their ears off," Hungary mutters.
Gilbert's smile disappears, and suddenly he feels distinctly less awesome. It's odd, that; normally when people insult him he just shrugs it off and shows them who's boss. Doesn't matter who it is, or what they say, or why they say it. Gilbert is the most brilliant person around and he knows it too, and even though Hungary has made his own opinion clear from the beginning (specifically: that he's a weak, spineless kid who plays knight-in-shining-armor but can't do shit). It shouldn't make him feel bad to hear it again.
Gilbert decides immediately that he doesn't like feeling yucky like this, and resolves to remedy it as soon as possible.
This resolve does not work.
Gilbert leaps down beside Hungary, then bends his knees and leans against the bank beside him, settling in for a long while. (damn it feels good to be sitting here, why does it feel good to be sitting here next to hungary
hungary!)
Hungary doesn't acknowledge that he's there. "Hey," Gilbert says.
"What?"
"You never actually answered my question."
"What question?" It's obviously a lie; Hungary knows what he's talking about. But Gilbert tells him anyway.
"Why'd you run off like that? I didn't even do anything."
"You were yourself," Hungary retorts. "That's enough to scare off any honest man."
Half of Gilbert wants to take advantage of the "scare off" phrasing, but the other half is enjoying just sitting amiably. And then there's another half that is trembling like crazy because he has no clue what he's doing, but that's the half he tells to go die in a hole. Instead, he focuses on the creek (that has stopped being terrorized by pebbles) and just breathes.
Just breathes. Slowly, in and out, and Hungary's breathing next to him, slightly faster and shallower. Gilbert's left side is getting warm from the other's body heat, and it's uncomfortable, but it isn't unpleasant. Not entirely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hungary's lips still pursed in a pout and briefly wonders what it'd be like to kiss him.
(Almost immediately the part of him that's a pious, devout Christian comes out and yells you're not supposed to be kissing boys, and that's enough to make him stop and seriously consider his actions for a minute.)
(Then he realizes that the thought of kissing Hungary has made him blush again.)
(But that doesn't help. He still wants to kiss Hungary.)
(You know what? Screw this.)
"Hey," he says, turning to face the other nation.
"What?" Hungary asks. Amazingly enough, it looks like he's actually gotten over... whatever it was he was mad about earlier. And even though the pout is gone, his mousy hair is still messily falling out of his ponytail and his eyes are still shining in the half-light, and he still looks just like a girl.
Gilbert takes advantage of his innocence, leans forward, and presses his lips against the other's.
Hungary's lips are chapped and dry, and that might bother him if he didn't already know that his are even more so. They're also warm, and it makes his stomach turn little somersaults in a not-entirely-unpleasant way to be this close and what the hell why am I kissing Hungary and enjoying it and --
"OW!" he yells, doubling over instinctively to protect his gut from the pain that just exploded inside. In doing so, he bangs his forehead against Hungary's chin and ends up hurting there, too.
Hungary backs away from him. "What did you do?!" he demands. "You kissed me, didn't you? Why would you kiss me? That was gross!"
"That was painful," Gilbert moans in reply, trying to find a happy medium between nursing his stomach and rubbing his head. This is a bad time not to be ambidextrous.
"Exactly!"
Gilbert glances up at Hungary's startled face, which has turned very, very dark. He doesn't think it's with anger though; he just doesn't look angry. Only surprised. And maybe embarrassed? Gilbert can't tell; the pain in his stomach is too great.
Which reminds him. His stomach is empty, and he's hungry.
In fact, food sounds really good.
"Well?" Hungary demands.
But in addition to hunger, Gilbert also feels a little disappointed, and doesn't quite know why -- in fact, he doesn't know why he's feeling half of the feelings he does around Hungary, like what possessed him to kiss the other nation or to feel guilty about hurting him or any of that extremely unawesome stuff. But he doesn't need to feel disappointed -- he's the Teutonic Knights! He lives with no regrets. Yeah, that's it. Go with that. He doesn't need any of those feelings after all; he's not some girl (which is something he's strongly starting to suspect Hungary might be. Has the mood swings, anyway).
"Aren't you going to tell me why you would do that?"
Gilbert sighs and grabs the bank, getting a grip so he can stand. "I'm hungry," he says, avoiding Hungary's gaze for absolutely no reason. He could look at the nation if he wanted. He just doesn't want to. Really. "You wanna come back to camp and get dinner? If you're there I won't get told off for forgetting to set the table."
If possible, Hungary turns even redder and is reduced to stammering mess. "Wha- wait, huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Food." He smiles weakly. "Food sounds good."
"Great!" Gilbert stretches and begins to climb out. He's still a little giddy from having kissed Hungary, even though that weird pit feeling in his stomach is still there. The one that he's calling disappointment. Disappointment from what?
(And also a little bit of fear. He's not gonna go to Hell, is he? He's a nation, sort of, so he can't exactly die... but what about if the Teutonic Knights disbands?)
(Heh, as if the Teutonic Knights could disband. And even if they could, he'd still be around -- he's just too awesome to die, right?)
(Right?)
"You know," Hungary says, "I'm still gonna make you explain why you kissed me. Guys aren't supposed to kiss other guys."
"Well, you're not a guy are you?" Gilbert retorts, striding off in the direction he came from.
"I am!" Hungary yells. "I'm just as much of a guy as you!"
"Uh-huh, sure."
Silence for a little while, then Hungary scoffs. "Heh. At least I have a sense of direction."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
An evil smirk crosses the other nation's face. "You're going the wrong way," he says. "That's where Wallachia says he keeps the souls of all the people who couldn't die properly."
Gilbert is not afraid of ghosts. He's too awesome to be. He just turns around and walks faster in the opposite direction because he wants food.
Really.
---
In 1211, the Teutonic Knights were stationed in Transylvania -- then a province of Hungary -- to help them with the rising Kripchak threat. In return, Hungary agreed to let them sleep on the couch.
"Komtur" -- title of a regimental superior in the Teutonic Knights. Generally in charge of 8-12 men who had their own miniature convents when the TK finally settled down.
"Doing this your whole life" -- Pretty much literally, actually; around this time the TK had been an official militaristic order for about twelve years: or, how old I've decided Gilbert and Hungary are physically.
"Army of pagans in the holy city" -- Laconically: the Muslims in Jerusalem. The TK were technically the Knights Hospitaller back then and didn't do much more than patch up wounds and amputate limbs, but I think Gilbert would have thought himself awesome enough to chase down Turks.
Male!Hungary -- It's canon that Hungary thought she was a boy when she was younger. Well, after watching the episodes where Gilbert figures out she's a girl several times, and any episode with Chibiprussia and Chibihungary, I have deduced that she knew by the time Gilbert became Prussia (which, for the record, was sometime in the early 16th century). So, since Prussia is the TK at this time, and they're technically still chibis, Hungary (and everybody else) believes she's a boy. Does that make this story slash? O_o
"Stealing Wallachia's hats" -- You all know Wallachia as our friendly neighborhood vampire Romania; Hungary knows him as the annoying boy next-door who provides reliable target practice. They still hate each other even when they're not at war -- and Romania still wants Transylvania. It's one of my favorite running gags that doesn't actually exist.
"Dummkompf" -- Honestly, I think we all know what it means by now.
"Guys can't kiss other guys" -- I see Gilbert as being a very devout person in general, mostly because it contrasts so much with his canonical personality. XD However, I also think that if it doesn't match up with what he wants, he pretty much doesn't care.
I meant to work Gilbird into this. Really I did. But it just didn't happen for some reason... >:( I also didn't mean for it to get past one thousand words! Where was this productivity during NaNoWriMo?!
Also, fail story is fail. I wrote this in literally two hours. Wish I could spend more time on it, but the pic was so adorable and the idea just wouldn't leave me alone. Hope somebody enjoyed it.
Author/Artist: kahlanaisling
Character(s) or Pairing(s): PruHun
Rating: G
Warnings: No religious tolerance, since this is the Teutonic Knights, but it's really really minor.
Summary: Hungary and Gilbert hang out and beat each other up. Just as friends, really. They also kiss, but that's for sissies, so they won't tell you anything about that. Chibi!PruHun, almost pointless fluff.
A/N Semi-historical kind of? De-anon from the kink meme; request was chibi!PruHun based on this pic (source not found). I wrote this. . . wow, probably a year ago. Look at me posting old writing. |D Really lame Prussia because he's a kid and dorky.
---
Transylvania, 1211
Gilbert thinks he could drop dead right about now -- he's certainly tired enough, his sword and shield are too heavy, and the padding is sticking to his skin even though he was smart and wore a shirt underneath it today. He doesn't like carrying all of this at all. It's just too much for someone his size to handle. But he's sucking it up and dealing with it, because he's the Teutonic Knights and they're just awesome like that.
Although, it's kind of hard to feel awesome and badass when a man two feet taller than you is ruffling your hair and making your dead legs buckle under the pathetic weight. "Good show out there, Gilbert!" the komtur says, laughing boisterously. " 'F I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been doing this your whole life."
It's a lame joke. Really lame, because this is Gilbert's life and that's far from an exaggeration. But Gilbert smirks and laughs and says, "Longer than you, anyway," then pulls himself up to his full height (annoyingly short) and looks as important as possible. Even though he's the best at what he does, it still feels good to get a compliment from a man as prominent as the komtur. He isn't entirely sure why he tries to get everyone else's approval, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that he looks a lot younger than he is -- he's come across women who've assumed he's twelve, simply because he's short, prepubescent and pale as snow. Literally.
Standing as tall as he is now is the quickest way to overbalance, apparently. He promptly drops his helmet, sword, shield and everything else and is left standing in the middle of the mess, his face turning as red as his eyes in shame.
The komtur laughs again. "Who'd've thought," he says, "that the same boy who faced armies of pagans in the holy city, waving a knife and shouting with a tongue and expression that would shame the Devil, would drop his gear the instant he gets back from a day of training?"
"Kesese," Gilbert retorts, hands on his hips and feet spread apart to appear more intimidating. "I'm just so awesome, the gear felt the need to bow down and bask in my glory." Really? That's the best he can come up with? Not one of his best lines.
"Of course it did," the komtur says. Then he glances up at the sky, where the sun looks like it's just about to set. "Supper's soon. Clean this up and be back to help set the table." Then he turns and walks back toward his tent.
Gilbert lets his self-important smile fade away instantly as he mutters to himself, bending to retrieve the heavy metal blade. "Like I'm a fucking kid," he says. "Shouldn't be able to tell me what to do. Screw this 'honor thy father and mother' crap, I'm the entire reason his power exists!"
(Gilbert is fully aware that if the Teutonic Knights hadn't found a reason to keep existing, keep fighting, keep taking out filthy pagans in the name of the Lord, there's no way he'd still be around. So he is grateful, on some level, for the komtur -- after all the man ensures that he comes along on every campaign, has his own gear, does more than just water horses. Which is what he was doing before, and did that job ever suck. So he should probably be thanking the Virgin that he's landed where he is now; Hungary has tons of issues with his own regiment.)
And then, as usual, the simple thought of Hungary makes Gilbert's heart warm and his stomach knot. He doesn't know why he gets like this whenever he thinks of the other nation; it's weird and uncomfortable and always makes him blush, which isn't good because his skin is too white to hide even the tiniest bit of blood.
And yet, thinking of him is pleasant for some reason. Hungary is a boy who takes no nonsense, a brilliant fighter, easy to argue with and damn fun to annoy. He wears his hair too long too, almost like a girl's, which Gilbert thinks is a little weird but hey. He has white skin and red eyes. He's not one to judge.
But Hungary is still nice to think about; he's slender, and only a little taller than Gilbert, and he kind of looks like a girl even though he could beat up an entire army on his own if he wanted to. He knows it, too -- he's not all that different from Gilbert himself, actually, which makes him both infuriating and easy to relate to.
Gilbert manages to precariously balance his sword, shield, helmet and everything else that he's dropped and stagger through the camp with it, heading to his (tiny) tent nearer the center. Only the komtur is aware of what he is, exactly, so it annoys all of the other knights that he tends to be first when they assess their priorities. Gilbert learned long ago not to antagonize them too much, especially because most of them are war-hardened and believe that a good smack will straighten a kid right out. It won't, though; Gilbert's too awesome to be beaten down like that.
(Then again, if they've hit him and he's decided to stop with the insults, has it worked? Have they won? Must look into that.)
He shoves the loose cloth open with his foot and dumps the gear on the ground; it's already fallen once, it can handle once more. Sure, the coif has dirt in it now and yeah, cleaning the gauntlets is going to suck, but now he just wants to fall onto his cot and sleep for the next couple of centuries. And he would do that, except that he's still wearing the hauberk and leather underthings and that would be uncomfortable.
Hauberk comes off; gets nicely laid across the shield. Leathers are removed too and tossed on top of the hauberk. Finally he's standing in just thin trousers and a shirt, both of them sticking to his skin with sweat and dirt and feel really awesome when he peels them off.
He's just finished struggling into a fresh pair of pants when light suddenly falls into the dim tent, opening it up to a view of the rest of the camp. Gilbert yells, "Hey!" and scrambles for a shirt.
"Relax, it's just me."
Gilbert looks up at the intruder and feels himself turn more red than ever. His stomach twists painfully and he really does want to sink into the ground right now.
It's Hungary, arms crossed and his sword buckled at his side, but otherwise unarmed. His hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, expression clearly bored. "Wanna go do something?" he asks.
Gilbert wants to look away, but there's something about Hungary's green eyes that are mesmerizing. So instead he says, "I know that I'm awesome, but can't you let a guy change before you worship him?"
"I'm not worshipping anybody," Hungary retorts. Sweet, he's irked. "I'm bored. Stealing Wallachia's crops is only fun for so long."
Gilbert smirks outwardly, but inside he wants Hungary to go away already. Kind of an embarrassing situation here, which is weird because he's been naked in front of the other men tons of times; why does it matter now? He begins to pull on his shirt. "Are you sure? You didn't just get scared that he was going to call the forces of Hell on you?"
" 'Course not," Hungary says, voice rising an octave. His eyes flash at the insinuation that anything short of Satan himself could defeat him. Funny, but when Gilbert riles him like this he starts to sound and act a lot like a girl. "That guy's bluffing. He can't really work any black magic, I've never seen him do it."
"Then how do you know he can't?" Gilbert reaches for his boots and slides into them. His feet protest because they fucking ache, and he'd really rather go barefoot, but even though Hungary believes Wallachia can't do any damage Gilbert is not so close-minded. He'd rather be safe than sorry. Second thoughts, and he reaches for his sword and scabbard, too.
"He would've done it by now," Hungary says with finality. He's far from the stupidest nation around, and Gilbert is far from the smartest, but he finds it amusing (and freakishly adorable) to think that Hungary believes he's tough enough to warrant the worst attacks. Maybe that's the difference between growing up as a nation and growing up as a military; Gilbert's pretty sure he knows how enemies think, and if he was in Wallachia's shoes, then he certainly wouldn't use it on Hungary.
He'd use it against the Teutonic Knights. What, he's awesome enough.
"Sure, sure," Gilbert replies, standing up straight and ignoring the muscles that scream in protest. (Shut up body, I'm gonna go spend time with Hungary
hungary!
and if you don't like it then too bad.) "So what are we doing?"
Hungary shrugs and fingers his sword absently, avoiding Gilbert's gaze. "Dunno," he says.
"Well, you're gonna have to think of something," Gilbert says, "because you live around here. I'm just gracing you with my presence."
Hungary looks annoyed at that, which makes Gilbert kind of, well, happy. The boy's paying attention to him! (Why does he care about that?)
As they walk out, ignoring the men that are working and scowling at them for their laziness, Hungary suddenly asks, "Isn't pride one of the sins?"
Gilbert's startled by the odd question, but replies, "Yeah."
"Thank the Lord," Hungary says, then claps him on the back. Gilbert wonders if it's weird that he likes the touch. "You're gonna burn in Hell, Teutonic."
Hungary cackles when Gilbert punches him. It's a strange punch, because on one hand Gilbert doesn't want to hurt the boy and it just feels weird to touch him, but at the same time it's his usual reaction to being insulted. He laughs, though. "Then you're going to doubly so," he retorts, "because I'm a holy order dedicated to converting the non-believers and you're just a nation that likes killing people."
"Hey," Hungary says, and shoves him. It hits a bruise and hurts way more than it's supposed to, so Gilbert reaches over to yank the boy's hair. He yells, voice rising an octave again, and it's like that for the next twenty minutes.
After twenty minutes, they're too far away for the camp to see it clearly and the sun's gone down a lot further. Gilbert is covered in bruises, on his arms and side and one on his cheekbone that's going to turn a nasty shade of purple in the morning, but that's fine because Hungary has them everywhere, too. They're both smiling and laughing and it feels good to just pummel someone without trying to kill them. Because, you know, killing Hungary wouldn't make him like Gilbert. It would just make him dead.
(And there's a tiny part of Gilbert -- really tiny, mind you, so tiny he doesn't even pay attention to it most days -- that wants Hungary to like him a lot.)
They've stopped fighting now; Gilbert's lying on his back on the ground, covered in dirt and grass stains, with his arms pinned too far away to be of any use. Hungary is straddled on top of him, smiling widely and eyes glittering. Both are panting, just sitting there and breathing, laughing every so often. Somewhere nearby their weapons are lying in a heap, but he doesn't care. He doesn't need to care.
Suddenly Gilbert realizes that Hungary is literally this close to him, so close his green eyes blend between two and three and even one as Gilbert's try to focus, and he's torn between wanting him either closer or as far away as possible. Closer is kind of winning out, actually. That's not good though, that's sissy, he's a man and cuddling is for girls.
Hungary turns red in the same instant and stands up quickly, dusting himself off and avoiding Gilbert's gaze. "I win," he says hastily.
Gilbert gets to his feet and stretches; the ground is too hard to really be comfortable on. "You do not," he retorts, also pointedly avoiding looking at the other nation. "The sun was in my eyes."
"I still won."
"Well, whaddya want me to do, block out the sun?! I may be awesome, but there's only so much I can do."
Hungary tosses his head. His hair is falling out of the ponytail, obscuring his eyes and making him look oh-so-adorable. "Oh," he says bitterly, "so there is something the great Teutonic Knights can't accomplish. I knew you weren't invincible!"
"Hey, I am invincible as shit, dummkompf!" Gilbert retorts.
"Is that supposed to be intimidating? Because it isn't. It's just sad."
"It is not," Gilbert says to be contrary. Because Hungary's right. It really is sad.
"It so is."
"Is not."
"Is!"
"Is not!" he shouts, shoving Hungary's chest. The other nation staggers backward and instinctively clutches the area, crying out in pain. Gilbert's first thought is, I can shove that hard? Awesome! and his second is, Shit, did I hurt him?
He rushes over to the other nation, trying to remember years of medical training and what exactly would be called for in this situation. He pretends not to notice that he's stammering when he says, "H-hey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, dammit," Hungary retorts, but his eyes are glistening.
Gilbert doesn't have time to register that the other is rearing back and aiming before pain explodes in his shoulder, deepening a bruise he'd gotten earlier. He clutches at it and bites his lip to keep from yelling. "Ow," he grunts.
Then he notices that Hungary is running off in a huff, disappearing into the line of trees that Gilbert will never admit to being a little frightened of.
"Hey," he says too quietly, then begins to chase after. "Hey, Hungary! Wait up!"
(It's embarrassing that he runs for ten minutes before he remembers to retrieve the blades, so he doesn't tell anyone that.)
---
He finds the other nation what feels like hours but what must be minutes later, sitting against the bank on the edge of a creek and tossing pebbles into the water, watching the splash and the creatures that scamper away from the sudden projectile in their homes. It's fairly quiet, but there are still noises coming from the smaller animals that talk to each other during the night, discussing everything that happened that day. And somewhere there's a distinctly loud cheeping sound, but Gilbert can't exactly place it.
The sun has disappeared now, even though it's not quite dark. He can only tell that Hungary is sitting where he is thanks to the other nation's movement.
Gilbert stands on the bank above him, thumbs in his belt and heart racing fast because Hungary is right there. He opens his mouth to say something. Anything.
Can't think of anything to say, though, and after five minutes he closes his mouth and hopes Hungary didn't see him standing there like an idiot.
"What do you want," he demands.
Gilbert scratches the back of his head, thinking, and says, "What the hell was that all about?"
"I won. You lost. You can't just attack someone after they've won, idiot," Hungary tells him.
"Yeah you can," Gilbert retorts, but his heart isn't in it this time. At least he doesn't have to apologize; that would make him look weak, and he can't afford that. Not after getting beaten up by a skinny, effeminate welp like Hungary (not that doesn't completely appreciate his effeminate looks). "It's called attacking while they can't see you coming. I do it all the time." He laughs, once, and puts his hands on his hips. "Ha! You should've seen those pagans back in Jerusalem. Saw me coming and ran for their goddamned lives."
"Probably because they knew you'd talk their ears off," Hungary mutters.
Gilbert's smile disappears, and suddenly he feels distinctly less awesome. It's odd, that; normally when people insult him he just shrugs it off and shows them who's boss. Doesn't matter who it is, or what they say, or why they say it. Gilbert is the most brilliant person around and he knows it too, and even though Hungary has made his own opinion clear from the beginning (specifically: that he's a weak, spineless kid who plays knight-in-shining-armor but can't do shit). It shouldn't make him feel bad to hear it again.
Gilbert decides immediately that he doesn't like feeling yucky like this, and resolves to remedy it as soon as possible.
This resolve does not work.
Gilbert leaps down beside Hungary, then bends his knees and leans against the bank beside him, settling in for a long while. (damn it feels good to be sitting here, why does it feel good to be sitting here next to hungary
hungary!)
Hungary doesn't acknowledge that he's there. "Hey," Gilbert says.
"What?"
"You never actually answered my question."
"What question?" It's obviously a lie; Hungary knows what he's talking about. But Gilbert tells him anyway.
"Why'd you run off like that? I didn't even do anything."
"You were yourself," Hungary retorts. "That's enough to scare off any honest man."
Half of Gilbert wants to take advantage of the "scare off" phrasing, but the other half is enjoying just sitting amiably. And then there's another half that is trembling like crazy because he has no clue what he's doing, but that's the half he tells to go die in a hole. Instead, he focuses on the creek (that has stopped being terrorized by pebbles) and just breathes.
Just breathes. Slowly, in and out, and Hungary's breathing next to him, slightly faster and shallower. Gilbert's left side is getting warm from the other's body heat, and it's uncomfortable, but it isn't unpleasant. Not entirely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hungary's lips still pursed in a pout and briefly wonders what it'd be like to kiss him.
(Almost immediately the part of him that's a pious, devout Christian comes out and yells you're not supposed to be kissing boys, and that's enough to make him stop and seriously consider his actions for a minute.)
(Then he realizes that the thought of kissing Hungary has made him blush again.)
(But that doesn't help. He still wants to kiss Hungary.)
(You know what? Screw this.)
"Hey," he says, turning to face the other nation.
"What?" Hungary asks. Amazingly enough, it looks like he's actually gotten over... whatever it was he was mad about earlier. And even though the pout is gone, his mousy hair is still messily falling out of his ponytail and his eyes are still shining in the half-light, and he still looks just like a girl.
Gilbert takes advantage of his innocence, leans forward, and presses his lips against the other's.
Hungary's lips are chapped and dry, and that might bother him if he didn't already know that his are even more so. They're also warm, and it makes his stomach turn little somersaults in a not-entirely-unpleasant way to be this close and what the hell why am I kissing Hungary and enjoying it and --
"OW!" he yells, doubling over instinctively to protect his gut from the pain that just exploded inside. In doing so, he bangs his forehead against Hungary's chin and ends up hurting there, too.
Hungary backs away from him. "What did you do?!" he demands. "You kissed me, didn't you? Why would you kiss me? That was gross!"
"That was painful," Gilbert moans in reply, trying to find a happy medium between nursing his stomach and rubbing his head. This is a bad time not to be ambidextrous.
"Exactly!"
Gilbert glances up at Hungary's startled face, which has turned very, very dark. He doesn't think it's with anger though; he just doesn't look angry. Only surprised. And maybe embarrassed? Gilbert can't tell; the pain in his stomach is too great.
Which reminds him. His stomach is empty, and he's hungry.
In fact, food sounds really good.
"Well?" Hungary demands.
But in addition to hunger, Gilbert also feels a little disappointed, and doesn't quite know why -- in fact, he doesn't know why he's feeling half of the feelings he does around Hungary, like what possessed him to kiss the other nation or to feel guilty about hurting him or any of that extremely unawesome stuff. But he doesn't need to feel disappointed -- he's the Teutonic Knights! He lives with no regrets. Yeah, that's it. Go with that. He doesn't need any of those feelings after all; he's not some girl (which is something he's strongly starting to suspect Hungary might be. Has the mood swings, anyway).
"Aren't you going to tell me why you would do that?"
Gilbert sighs and grabs the bank, getting a grip so he can stand. "I'm hungry," he says, avoiding Hungary's gaze for absolutely no reason. He could look at the nation if he wanted. He just doesn't want to. Really. "You wanna come back to camp and get dinner? If you're there I won't get told off for forgetting to set the table."
If possible, Hungary turns even redder and is reduced to stammering mess. "Wha- wait, huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Food." He smiles weakly. "Food sounds good."
"Great!" Gilbert stretches and begins to climb out. He's still a little giddy from having kissed Hungary, even though that weird pit feeling in his stomach is still there. The one that he's calling disappointment. Disappointment from what?
(And also a little bit of fear. He's not gonna go to Hell, is he? He's a nation, sort of, so he can't exactly die... but what about if the Teutonic Knights disbands?)
(Heh, as if the Teutonic Knights could disband. And even if they could, he'd still be around -- he's just too awesome to die, right?)
(Right?)
"You know," Hungary says, "I'm still gonna make you explain why you kissed me. Guys aren't supposed to kiss other guys."
"Well, you're not a guy are you?" Gilbert retorts, striding off in the direction he came from.
"I am!" Hungary yells. "I'm just as much of a guy as you!"
"Uh-huh, sure."
Silence for a little while, then Hungary scoffs. "Heh. At least I have a sense of direction."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
An evil smirk crosses the other nation's face. "You're going the wrong way," he says. "That's where Wallachia says he keeps the souls of all the people who couldn't die properly."
Gilbert is not afraid of ghosts. He's too awesome to be. He just turns around and walks faster in the opposite direction because he wants food.
Really.
---
In 1211, the Teutonic Knights were stationed in Transylvania -- then a province of Hungary -- to help them with the rising Kripchak threat. In return, Hungary agreed to let them sleep on the couch.
"Komtur" -- title of a regimental superior in the Teutonic Knights. Generally in charge of 8-12 men who had their own miniature convents when the TK finally settled down.
"Doing this your whole life" -- Pretty much literally, actually; around this time the TK had been an official militaristic order for about twelve years: or, how old I've decided Gilbert and Hungary are physically.
"Army of pagans in the holy city" -- Laconically: the Muslims in Jerusalem. The TK were technically the Knights Hospitaller back then and didn't do much more than patch up wounds and amputate limbs, but I think Gilbert would have thought himself awesome enough to chase down Turks.
Male!Hungary -- It's canon that Hungary thought she was a boy when she was younger. Well, after watching the episodes where Gilbert figures out she's a girl several times, and any episode with Chibiprussia and Chibihungary, I have deduced that she knew by the time Gilbert became Prussia (which, for the record, was sometime in the early 16th century). So, since Prussia is the TK at this time, and they're technically still chibis, Hungary (and everybody else) believes she's a boy. Does that make this story slash? O_o
"Stealing Wallachia's hats" -- You all know Wallachia as our friendly neighborhood vampire Romania; Hungary knows him as the annoying boy next-door who provides reliable target practice. They still hate each other even when they're not at war -- and Romania still wants Transylvania. It's one of my favorite running gags that doesn't actually exist.
"Dummkompf" -- Honestly, I think we all know what it means by now.
"Guys can't kiss other guys" -- I see Gilbert as being a very devout person in general, mostly because it contrasts so much with his canonical personality. XD However, I also think that if it doesn't match up with what he wants, he pretty much doesn't care.
I meant to work Gilbird into this. Really I did. But it just didn't happen for some reason... >:( I also didn't mean for it to get past one thousand words! Where was this productivity during NaNoWriMo?!
Also, fail story is fail. I wrote this in literally two hours. Wish I could spend more time on it, but the pic was so adorable and the idea just wouldn't leave me alone. Hope somebody enjoyed it.