(no subject)
Title: Return to grace.
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Friendship.
Wordcount: 1705.
Characters: Ludwig and Arthu.
Rating/Warnings: None.
Ludwig found him alone in a quiet antechamber sat in a comfortable leather-upholstered armchair with a teaservice and ash-tray on the table beside him. He crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and looked up, noticing Ludwig's presence in the doorway. He nodded Ludwig over to the other chair in the small room and reached into his suit jacket pulling out his cigarette case and taking one before offering it to Ludwig. They lit up from Ludwig's engraved pewter lighter.
'How do you do it?' He asked, startling Arthur, who looked at him intently for a long moment before his thick eyebrows contracted into a frown. England was silent for a long moment before he tilted his head back and exhaled a plume of smoke at the high roccoco ceiling.
'Are you asking because like you I don't have friends so much as surviving victims?' He drawled calmly, none of the ridiculous, defensive anger that so often drove his interactions with other nations, nor the iron arrogance that comprised the other half of his interactions. Today he was the perfectly polite English gentleman.
'Yes.' Ludwig replied honestly. He lived alone in a world that hated him, separated from his beloved (deeply exasperating) brother and with Feliciano being kept away from him. He stood alone in a world sickened by the last six years. He shared their horror and hatred for himself and languished alone.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Ludwig shrewdly, then something in his hard green eyes relaxed fractionally. 'I think things will pan out differently between our two cases. You lie at the heart of the European landmass, the victim of one evil boss who twisted you, your lands, your people for his own sick ends. I'm an island nation with little power or resources left, not since India left me, and with two thousand years of fighting everything that moved.' He gave a crooked smile. 'I've committed atrocities you can't even imagine, lad.' He looked away and sighed. 'What's done is done. We've both done some utterly wretched things in our histories.' His eyes stared blindly into the past with an expression of pain and regret Ludwig hadn't thought the arrogant, odd little nation was capable of before he snapped at the younger nation impatiently. 'If you're sincere about this then do something about it!'
'What?' Ludwig asked. he couldn't see a way out of this, couldn't stand the way the others looked at him any more.
'Start small, I don't know... ask Austria out for coffee, buy France a nice bottle of wine. Show your remorse without turning the whole affair into a damn' confessional.' Arthur the perpetual outsider was quick to throw out a suggestion. 'At home make sure this can never happen again. Never forget this - as if anyone'll let you - but don't turn it into a masochistic rod for your own back, make it an incentive to excellence.' His mouth pulled down into a miserable line as he remembered something from the past. He inhaled with remembered pain then jolted backing into the present, dropping ash down his trousers. 'Right lad, you've had your time, now bugger off!'
Despite the brusque dismissal Ludwig realised it wasn't meant as harshly as it sounded. 'Ja,ja, danke schon.' England just waved him away testily, his sudden attitude at odds with the help he'd given - he's embarrassed and upset because he doesn't think his own isolation can be fixed, Ludwig realised with a start.
France had looked at him suspiciously when Ludwig had arrived at his door in casual civilian clothes with a bottle of wine in hand, but had grudgingly stepped back to let him in. When Ludwig returned the next month with another bottle Frances had poured out two glasses of it. After six months Frances pulled out a bottle of his own when they'd finished Ludwig's together. Halfway down that bottle he'd sighed and admitted that as a collaborator he could barely meet his own eye in the mirror some mornings. Vichy would remain an open wound in his heart for a long time yet. He'd shown Ludwig out with the concession to let Ludwig prove himself as being better than that. He'd then threatened to dismantle Ludwig with his own two hands if he tried anything.
Christmas Eve 1951 found the world nations finishing up the end of year conference, most desperately hurrying to get home in time for their respective christmas celebrations. As they said their goodbyes Ludwig realised that several nations had made the effort to come to him to wish him a happy Christmas. It was taking time, but after six years people were starting to heal, Germany was pulling itself out of exile and working alongside other nations towards a brighter future.
Eventually though the place emptied and Ludwig sighed - another Christmas alone, his brother still in Ivan's clutches and Feliciano spending the day with his brother and Antonio. 'Oh, hello Ludwig.' Arthur's quiet exclamation interrupted his self-pitying thoughts.
Ludwig accepted the cigarette - a slightly nicer brand than last time, albeit not by much - and surveyed his companion. Earlier Arthur had got into a blazing row with Alfred and Frances about fruitcake, of all things, but here in the empty foyer he was calm and steady. He'd lost weight - rationing was still in force in England after all - but clear green eyes took in every detail of Ludwig's lonely posture.
'Right lad, this is no time of the year to be alone. Let's get back to your house and get a brew on.'
With that Arthur had invited himself over to Ludwig's house for Christmas, not even contemplating the possibility of Ludwig refusing - old habits died hard and it wasn't so long ago that Arthur had owned a quarter of the planet. As Ludwig prepared a simple version of the traditional carp dinner he shook his head in grudging amusement at the older nation, who'd appointed himself to be in charge of decorating the house. He could hear Arthur clattering around in the next room, arranging the greenery he'd bought in town on the way here. Arthur was muttering about poor Prince Albert and how disappointed he would be in such a poor display of Christmas gemutlichkeit. They ate together and Ludwig was impressed at the warmth the home-cooked meal and hastily arranged decorations brought to his empty house.
The next morning they exchanged improvised gifts, smiling wryly as they both opened their eyes to find they'd merely swapped lighters, Ludwig's engraved lighter not going with Arthur's cigarette case in the same way the ivory-chased one now in his own pocket had. It was a queer day, the pair of them ending up sipping gluhwein and listening to Christmas carols on the gramophone together; damp-eyed, but together.
They fell into an occasional routine, sharing a smoke or pot of tea after meetings, experiencing a tacit companionship that bore no explanations. Once Arthur invited Ludwig over to admire his newly re-established rose-garden, a replacement to the one that had been converted to allotments in the war. Ludwig had returned the favour with tickets to see Macbeth - he'd guessed at which of Shakespeare's plays would captivate the older nation and had been vindicated when Arthur spent the whole play on the edge of his seat, leaning forwards as if he could topple into the midst of the drama.
Another four years passed before Ludwig received an invitation to Alfred's annual birthday party. He stood looking around with a small smile - precious little changed at this event. There were Brazil and Portugal showing off on the improvised dancefloor while a lively jazz record played, Hungary and Poland were in the depths of an animated conversation about fashion and Taiwan and New Zealand were trying to get Liechtenstein and Samoa to join them in a game of cards. It was chaos as usual. Someone tackled him from the side in an energetic hug and Ludwig caught Feliciano easily, giving him a quick squeeze before gently depositing him on his feet again. His face didn't show the warm feeling in his chest, but Feli seemed to undeerstand it anyway, giving him another quick hug before his brother started shouting. Ludwig took that as his cue to head for the kitchen in search of any food Alfred hadn't already eaten. He found Arthur in there, drunk as a lord and weeping into his whisky.
This time Ludwig broke with tradition. It had been easy to ignore him when all he'd seen of Arthur were his fiery temper, smug arrogance or the soggy druk before him. Now he knew there was more to the little country than a larger than life fool who couldn't control his temper it didn't seem right to leave him to the mercy of the oblivious fool who put him through this every year. He sighed and carefully picked up his... sometime ally and carried him out to his car, gently depositing the now asleep man on the back seat, away from pranksters and France. He went back in to bask in the feeling of inclusion for a while longer, before France started suggesting parlour games and he beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel, taking Arthur up with him.
'Well I've gone and made an arse of myself again haven't I?' Arthur grimaced, 'I feel as rough as a badger's arse.' He caught the expression and attempted a translation. 'Ick habe eine katzenjammer.'
Ludwig nodded at the mangled German. 'You did not make more of a fool of yourself that usual, though.'
Arthur managed a smile at that. 'We are all of us lying in the gutter, lad, but some of us are looking at the stars.' He quoted softly.
Ludwig smiled softly at that. It was the sort of thing he'd come to expect from the man during his calm moments. 'Yes, but for now, breakfast.'
Arthur returned the smile with a genuinely fond look. 'alright then lad.'
They headed off together in search of bacon in an amicable silence.
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Friendship.
Wordcount: 1705.
Characters: Ludwig and Arthu.
Rating/Warnings: None.
Ludwig found him alone in a quiet antechamber sat in a comfortable leather-upholstered armchair with a teaservice and ash-tray on the table beside him. He crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and looked up, noticing Ludwig's presence in the doorway. He nodded Ludwig over to the other chair in the small room and reached into his suit jacket pulling out his cigarette case and taking one before offering it to Ludwig. They lit up from Ludwig's engraved pewter lighter.
'How do you do it?' He asked, startling Arthur, who looked at him intently for a long moment before his thick eyebrows contracted into a frown. England was silent for a long moment before he tilted his head back and exhaled a plume of smoke at the high roccoco ceiling.
'Are you asking because like you I don't have friends so much as surviving victims?' He drawled calmly, none of the ridiculous, defensive anger that so often drove his interactions with other nations, nor the iron arrogance that comprised the other half of his interactions. Today he was the perfectly polite English gentleman.
'Yes.' Ludwig replied honestly. He lived alone in a world that hated him, separated from his beloved (deeply exasperating) brother and with Feliciano being kept away from him. He stood alone in a world sickened by the last six years. He shared their horror and hatred for himself and languished alone.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Ludwig shrewdly, then something in his hard green eyes relaxed fractionally. 'I think things will pan out differently between our two cases. You lie at the heart of the European landmass, the victim of one evil boss who twisted you, your lands, your people for his own sick ends. I'm an island nation with little power or resources left, not since India left me, and with two thousand years of fighting everything that moved.' He gave a crooked smile. 'I've committed atrocities you can't even imagine, lad.' He looked away and sighed. 'What's done is done. We've both done some utterly wretched things in our histories.' His eyes stared blindly into the past with an expression of pain and regret Ludwig hadn't thought the arrogant, odd little nation was capable of before he snapped at the younger nation impatiently. 'If you're sincere about this then do something about it!'
'What?' Ludwig asked. he couldn't see a way out of this, couldn't stand the way the others looked at him any more.
'Start small, I don't know... ask Austria out for coffee, buy France a nice bottle of wine. Show your remorse without turning the whole affair into a damn' confessional.' Arthur the perpetual outsider was quick to throw out a suggestion. 'At home make sure this can never happen again. Never forget this - as if anyone'll let you - but don't turn it into a masochistic rod for your own back, make it an incentive to excellence.' His mouth pulled down into a miserable line as he remembered something from the past. He inhaled with remembered pain then jolted backing into the present, dropping ash down his trousers. 'Right lad, you've had your time, now bugger off!'
Despite the brusque dismissal Ludwig realised it wasn't meant as harshly as it sounded. 'Ja,ja, danke schon.' England just waved him away testily, his sudden attitude at odds with the help he'd given - he's embarrassed and upset because he doesn't think his own isolation can be fixed, Ludwig realised with a start.
France had looked at him suspiciously when Ludwig had arrived at his door in casual civilian clothes with a bottle of wine in hand, but had grudgingly stepped back to let him in. When Ludwig returned the next month with another bottle Frances had poured out two glasses of it. After six months Frances pulled out a bottle of his own when they'd finished Ludwig's together. Halfway down that bottle he'd sighed and admitted that as a collaborator he could barely meet his own eye in the mirror some mornings. Vichy would remain an open wound in his heart for a long time yet. He'd shown Ludwig out with the concession to let Ludwig prove himself as being better than that. He'd then threatened to dismantle Ludwig with his own two hands if he tried anything.
Christmas Eve 1951 found the world nations finishing up the end of year conference, most desperately hurrying to get home in time for their respective christmas celebrations. As they said their goodbyes Ludwig realised that several nations had made the effort to come to him to wish him a happy Christmas. It was taking time, but after six years people were starting to heal, Germany was pulling itself out of exile and working alongside other nations towards a brighter future.
Eventually though the place emptied and Ludwig sighed - another Christmas alone, his brother still in Ivan's clutches and Feliciano spending the day with his brother and Antonio. 'Oh, hello Ludwig.' Arthur's quiet exclamation interrupted his self-pitying thoughts.
Ludwig accepted the cigarette - a slightly nicer brand than last time, albeit not by much - and surveyed his companion. Earlier Arthur had got into a blazing row with Alfred and Frances about fruitcake, of all things, but here in the empty foyer he was calm and steady. He'd lost weight - rationing was still in force in England after all - but clear green eyes took in every detail of Ludwig's lonely posture.
'Right lad, this is no time of the year to be alone. Let's get back to your house and get a brew on.'
With that Arthur had invited himself over to Ludwig's house for Christmas, not even contemplating the possibility of Ludwig refusing - old habits died hard and it wasn't so long ago that Arthur had owned a quarter of the planet. As Ludwig prepared a simple version of the traditional carp dinner he shook his head in grudging amusement at the older nation, who'd appointed himself to be in charge of decorating the house. He could hear Arthur clattering around in the next room, arranging the greenery he'd bought in town on the way here. Arthur was muttering about poor Prince Albert and how disappointed he would be in such a poor display of Christmas gemutlichkeit. They ate together and Ludwig was impressed at the warmth the home-cooked meal and hastily arranged decorations brought to his empty house.
The next morning they exchanged improvised gifts, smiling wryly as they both opened their eyes to find they'd merely swapped lighters, Ludwig's engraved lighter not going with Arthur's cigarette case in the same way the ivory-chased one now in his own pocket had. It was a queer day, the pair of them ending up sipping gluhwein and listening to Christmas carols on the gramophone together; damp-eyed, but together.
They fell into an occasional routine, sharing a smoke or pot of tea after meetings, experiencing a tacit companionship that bore no explanations. Once Arthur invited Ludwig over to admire his newly re-established rose-garden, a replacement to the one that had been converted to allotments in the war. Ludwig had returned the favour with tickets to see Macbeth - he'd guessed at which of Shakespeare's plays would captivate the older nation and had been vindicated when Arthur spent the whole play on the edge of his seat, leaning forwards as if he could topple into the midst of the drama.
Another four years passed before Ludwig received an invitation to Alfred's annual birthday party. He stood looking around with a small smile - precious little changed at this event. There were Brazil and Portugal showing off on the improvised dancefloor while a lively jazz record played, Hungary and Poland were in the depths of an animated conversation about fashion and Taiwan and New Zealand were trying to get Liechtenstein and Samoa to join them in a game of cards. It was chaos as usual. Someone tackled him from the side in an energetic hug and Ludwig caught Feliciano easily, giving him a quick squeeze before gently depositing him on his feet again. His face didn't show the warm feeling in his chest, but Feli seemed to undeerstand it anyway, giving him another quick hug before his brother started shouting. Ludwig took that as his cue to head for the kitchen in search of any food Alfred hadn't already eaten. He found Arthur in there, drunk as a lord and weeping into his whisky.
This time Ludwig broke with tradition. It had been easy to ignore him when all he'd seen of Arthur were his fiery temper, smug arrogance or the soggy druk before him. Now he knew there was more to the little country than a larger than life fool who couldn't control his temper it didn't seem right to leave him to the mercy of the oblivious fool who put him through this every year. He sighed and carefully picked up his... sometime ally and carried him out to his car, gently depositing the now asleep man on the back seat, away from pranksters and France. He went back in to bask in the feeling of inclusion for a while longer, before France started suggesting parlour games and he beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel, taking Arthur up with him.
'Well I've gone and made an arse of myself again haven't I?' Arthur grimaced, 'I feel as rough as a badger's arse.' He caught the expression and attempted a translation. 'Ick habe eine katzenjammer.'
Ludwig nodded at the mangled German. 'You did not make more of a fool of yourself that usual, though.'
Arthur managed a smile at that. 'We are all of us lying in the gutter, lad, but some of us are looking at the stars.' He quoted softly.
Ludwig smiled softly at that. It was the sort of thing he'd come to expect from the man during his calm moments. 'Yes, but for now, breakfast.'
Arthur returned the smile with a genuinely fond look. 'alright then lad.'
They headed off together in search of bacon in an amicable silence.