FIC: For the Glory of Prussia, WK, gen
au_bingo time! For the "Historical: Napoleonic Europe" square. A world of love to
daegaer, who dug me from the pit of historyfail and caught some other errors as well; all the remaining ones are mine alone.
Frau Nilsson was strict, brilliant, and possibly insane. All three were important to keep in mind if you wanted to remain on her good side. Her sole goal in life was to strengthen glorious Prussia, such as it was, and bring it to greater glory under the reign of Friedrich Wilhelm III. Their seers had seen what would come, and Frau Nilsson encouraged her students to be ready, to keep their nation safe from the traitorous boot of Napoleon.
The boys shivered in the spring air. Every morning they were gathered for what, essentially, was the same assembly, with the same dull lecture. Frau Nilsson seemed to think it important that they have a shared sense of purpose, and lacked the imagination to impart the message in any other way. Crawford found he'd usually heard the lecture in his dreams the night before, which left him free to let his mind wander. Today, he spent much of his time wondering why, if the Schloss Rosenkreuz was as important to Prussia's security as Frau Nilsson claimed, their uniforms were so thin and useless against the cold.
"Your skills are vital to this mission," Frau Nilsson continued, her breath showing in great puffs. Legend had it she’d assassinated her way up to her position, but no one dared ask. She was certainly capable of it. "You have been recruited from across our glorious nation to strengthen our intelligence network. Our military might is strong--"
"Is it?" Schuldig hissed, under his breath. Crawford elbowed him hard in the ribs. The last time they’d been caught, the cuts took a week to heal.
"But even the strongest force is as nothing without good intelligence. Good intelligence strengthens negotiations, keeps countries honest, and will keep that bastard Napoleon from battering down the doors of our mothers and grandmothers."
"My grandmother's in Dublin," Franz whispered. Crawford kicked him.
"It is vital that you remain entirely focused during the remainder of your training," Frau Nilsson continued. "The safety and security of Prussia deserves no less."
She doesn't care about Prussia at all anyway, Schuldig said. They've got some other goal in mind.
"Not where they can hear," Crawford muttered, and was rewarded with a glare from Frau Nilsson. After all, everyone in the Schloss had some level of power.
"Master Crawford? Did you have something to say?"
Crawford drew himself up and painted on his most respectful expression. "Could you repeat the last? I didn't hear."
"Of course," she said. "But do pay better attention in the future."
"I will," he said, with the utmost sincerity.
"But if she doesn't believe it," Franz asked, as they walked to the mess hall, "why does she say it?"
"Because they believe it," Schuldig said, gesturing out to the other boys. "Most of them are hers with a simple appeal to the glorious nation. The rest she gets by hating Napoleon. Everyone hates Napoleon."
"I don't hate Napoleon," Franz said.
"That's because you're Irish," Schuldig said logically. "You're too busy hating the English."
"I do hate the English," Franz agreed, thoughtfully. He was, technically, only half-Irish, but he'd been raised by his Irish mother and her family of exiles, his father having died of influenza when Franz was only two. He didn't mind the cold as the other boys did, or the hot in summer, and cheerfully explained to the others once that once his training was over, he'd return to his native land, replace his German name with a better Irish one, and use his skills for the good of Ireland.
Frau Nilsson didn't have this in mind, of course, but Crawford knew there were a lot of things Frau Nilsson had in mind that would never come to pass, and a lot of things she didn't expect that would, so he didn't worry about it. His chief concern was keeping his classmates out of trouble.
It kept him busy. Schuldig had a sharp tongue and was quite possibly insane; Franz was almost certainly insane and lacked any sense of discretion. Still, they were formidable allies in the Schloss, and, if pressed, Crawford might confess a certain level of affection for the young men. (They were, after all, the only ones who would help him find his spectacles when they'd been knocked off-- by accident or deliberate action-- during Calisthenics.)
They were also the only ones who believed in him, and in return he shared his dreams; dreams where they were the heroes of the tale, where the Schloss and Glorious Prussia-- and even the bastard Napoleon-- had been forgotten in favor of other, more interesting forces. There will be a war, Crawford's dreams had told him, and you will be at the heart of it. "We're going to rule the world someday," Crawford told Schuldig one morning, as the dream faded, and Schuldig had blinked with surprise.
"You really believe it," he'd said.
"It's the truth."
"I'll be content just to survive here," Franz had answered, and they all agreed.