Cross-posted from hetachallenge
Title: It’s Not Easy Being King
Author: kira
Claim: Prussia
Character(s): Prussia, Frederick II
Table/Prompt: Angst/ Prompt #5; Tears
Word Count: 1107
Rating: PG13
Summary: The newly crowned Frederick II discusses the taking of Silesia with Prussia amongst other things…
Author’s note: Thanks go out to my beta, Jen, for looking this over.
“I have no time for tears,” Frederick said, “nor does that bastard deserve them.” The newly crowned king poured over the maps spread out on the table in front of him. “Now, if you have something intelligent to say about Silesia, say it, Beilschmidt, otherwise shut up,” he said, letting his irritation bleed into his voice. He dismissed his former tutor and good friend with a wave of his hand.
Prussia stood his ground. “Very well, Sire, if you would rather go to war than mourn your bastard father then who am I to stop you?” He smirked, although, truthfully, while he was pleased the twenty-eight year monarch was taking to statecraft like a duck to water, he also felt Frederick needed to mourn his loss, even if he hated his father.
Frederick laughed. “That’s the spirit!” Growing more sober in his outlook, he said, “Seriously, I want to do what my father never thought to do.”
“And that being?”
“Conquer enough territory to unite my lands. Austria grows too self important for its own good and then there’s Poland… Russia…” He pointed them out on the map. “The way I see it, having Silesia would knock her down a peg, plus it might make the others think twice about annexing us.”
Prussia snorted in amusement.
“What?” Frederick frowned.
“You’re enjoying this. I remember a time when the thought of going to war made you wet yourself and run to hide in the library with your nose in a book.”
“I’ve grown up a lot since then.” The king felt his cheeks heating up.
“Indeed you have, Sire, and may I ask how the Queen is?”
Prussia’s abrupt change of subject had Frederick frowning. “How the hell would I know?” he demanded.
“I was just wondering…” Prussia walked over to the king’s writing desk and picked up an unopened letter from his wife. “I bet she misses you.”
“So?”
“So?” Prussia repeated as he set the letter back down.
“Beilschmidt, I have no time for her womanly nonsense and you know it!”
“But you have time for the Margravine Brandenburg-Bayreuth’s.”
“That’s different, Beilschmidt, she’s my sister.”
“If you say so, Sire,” Prussia said with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“As I was saying…” Frederick turned the conversation back to the subject at hand. They discussed Silesia long into the night, planning a battle strategy and writing letters to those who were in charge of loaning and mustering the troops needed. Frederick picked up his coffee cup and drank the cold bitter remains. Setting it down, he yawned.
“Tired, Sire?”
“Yes, and what’s with all this ‘Sire’ shit, Beilschmidt? I’ve know you for what feels like forever and aside from the occasional ‘Fritzchen’ when were alone when I was a child, that’s all you’ve ever called me.”
“You’ve forgotten ‘Your Highness’,” Prussia cheekily added.
“Beilschmidt! Honestly, when we’re alone, I want you to call me by my name, not my title.”
“You’re tired,” Prussia nearly uttered the dreaded title, but instead said, “Fritz. Perhaps you should sleep on this. We can always discuss it further in the morning.”
“It already is morning, Gilbert,” Frederick replied, giving Prussia’s first name a French lilt.
“Still busy with that sissy language, hunh?”
“Yes, if you must know.” Frederick sighed. “Verdammt!” he swore. “You’re right; it’s late and I’m tired and I should go to bed.” He rubbed his hands over his face.
“It’s not easy being king.”
“No, it isn’t, but…”
“What, Fritz?”
“You’re my confident, right?” Frederick said, sounding far younger than his twenty-eight years.
Prussia nodded.
“So if I want to pour my heart out to you in the middle of the night…?”
“Then I will be there to listen, Fritz. What’s troubling you?”
Frederick shrugged. “I guess I’m just being overly tired and foolish.”
“If you wish to retire to your bedchamber and continue this conversation there, you have only to say it and I shall obey.”
Frederick sighed irritably in reply. “I want a friend, not an arsche kisser.”
“Fair enough.”
They left the king’s study for his bedchamber. Once there, Prussia helped him dress for bed, instead of rousing a servant. While he took off his jacket, Frederick had climbed into bed, and Prussia dragged one of the room’s chairs closer to it. “I can sleep here, Fritz.”
“Don’t be silly, Gilbert.”
“What about the servants?” Prussia sat down on the chair.
“The hell with them!”
“Fritz…”
Frederick sighed. “I wish I was king back then, and then I could have married that Austrian bitch and not have to go to war to take what should be mine.”
Prussia raised an eyebrow as he pulled his boots off.
“Oh, don’t give me that look! You know as well as I do, that was politically a better match.”
“You’re right about that, but then you wouldn’t be king.”
“At the time that seemed like a better option; being Prince Consort.”
“True, but you were meant for better things, Fritz, I can feel it in my bones.”
Frederick snorted.
“It’s true.”
“That might very well be, Gilbert, but if I was king earlier…” He shot Prussia a pained look, “Maybe Hans Hermann would still be alive…”
“Not necessarily,” Prussia replied as he sat back and made himself comfortable in the chair.
“You don’t know that!”
“I’ll give you that, but you don’t know that he would still be alive. He could have been thrown from a horse and broken his neck, or gravely wounded in some battle, or shot by some angry husband,” Prussia smirked, “or angry wife.”
“Be serious, Beilschmidt!” Frederick’s eyes welled up with tears. “It’s been what? Ten years or so?” He closed his eyes and wiped at the tears. “And it still hurts just like it did the day he died…”
“I know…” Prussia got up and moved to sit next to him on the bed. Holding out his arms, Frederick snuggled into his embrace. He held the young king. “Sssh… liebschen,” Prussia murmured softly. “You did what you had to do at the time, and no one blames you for it. If your father was a different sort of man…”
“It never would have happened and that’s what hurts!”
“I know…” Prussia soothed.
Frederick clung to him as he cried himself out, occasionally muttering something incoherent in a mix of French and German. Somehow, without him even being consciously aware of it, Prussia had gotten into bed with him and he liked the feeling of his former tutor’s arms around him. Frederick felt comforted by his presence and after a while, he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Prussia’s warm embrace.
Author: kira
Claim: Prussia
Character(s): Prussia, Frederick II
Table/Prompt: Angst/ Prompt #5; Tears
Word Count: 1107
Rating: PG13
Summary: The newly crowned Frederick II discusses the taking of Silesia with Prussia amongst other things…
Author’s note: Thanks go out to my beta, Jen, for looking this over.
“I have no time for tears,” Frederick said, “nor does that bastard deserve them.” The newly crowned king poured over the maps spread out on the table in front of him. “Now, if you have something intelligent to say about Silesia, say it, Beilschmidt, otherwise shut up,” he said, letting his irritation bleed into his voice. He dismissed his former tutor and good friend with a wave of his hand.
Prussia stood his ground. “Very well, Sire, if you would rather go to war than mourn your bastard father then who am I to stop you?” He smirked, although, truthfully, while he was pleased the twenty-eight year monarch was taking to statecraft like a duck to water, he also felt Frederick needed to mourn his loss, even if he hated his father.
Frederick laughed. “That’s the spirit!” Growing more sober in his outlook, he said, “Seriously, I want to do what my father never thought to do.”
“And that being?”
“Conquer enough territory to unite my lands. Austria grows too self important for its own good and then there’s Poland… Russia…” He pointed them out on the map. “The way I see it, having Silesia would knock her down a peg, plus it might make the others think twice about annexing us.”
Prussia snorted in amusement.
“What?” Frederick frowned.
“You’re enjoying this. I remember a time when the thought of going to war made you wet yourself and run to hide in the library with your nose in a book.”
“I’ve grown up a lot since then.” The king felt his cheeks heating up.
“Indeed you have, Sire, and may I ask how the Queen is?”
Prussia’s abrupt change of subject had Frederick frowning. “How the hell would I know?” he demanded.
“I was just wondering…” Prussia walked over to the king’s writing desk and picked up an unopened letter from his wife. “I bet she misses you.”
“So?”
“So?” Prussia repeated as he set the letter back down.
“Beilschmidt, I have no time for her womanly nonsense and you know it!”
“But you have time for the Margravine Brandenburg-Bayreuth’s.”
“That’s different, Beilschmidt, she’s my sister.”
“If you say so, Sire,” Prussia said with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“As I was saying…” Frederick turned the conversation back to the subject at hand. They discussed Silesia long into the night, planning a battle strategy and writing letters to those who were in charge of loaning and mustering the troops needed. Frederick picked up his coffee cup and drank the cold bitter remains. Setting it down, he yawned.
“Tired, Sire?”
“Yes, and what’s with all this ‘Sire’ shit, Beilschmidt? I’ve know you for what feels like forever and aside from the occasional ‘Fritzchen’ when were alone when I was a child, that’s all you’ve ever called me.”
“You’ve forgotten ‘Your Highness’,” Prussia cheekily added.
“Beilschmidt! Honestly, when we’re alone, I want you to call me by my name, not my title.”
“You’re tired,” Prussia nearly uttered the dreaded title, but instead said, “Fritz. Perhaps you should sleep on this. We can always discuss it further in the morning.”
“It already is morning, Gilbert,” Frederick replied, giving Prussia’s first name a French lilt.
“Still busy with that sissy language, hunh?”
“Yes, if you must know.” Frederick sighed. “Verdammt!” he swore. “You’re right; it’s late and I’m tired and I should go to bed.” He rubbed his hands over his face.
“It’s not easy being king.”
“No, it isn’t, but…”
“What, Fritz?”
“You’re my confident, right?” Frederick said, sounding far younger than his twenty-eight years.
Prussia nodded.
“So if I want to pour my heart out to you in the middle of the night…?”
“Then I will be there to listen, Fritz. What’s troubling you?”
Frederick shrugged. “I guess I’m just being overly tired and foolish.”
“If you wish to retire to your bedchamber and continue this conversation there, you have only to say it and I shall obey.”
Frederick sighed irritably in reply. “I want a friend, not an arsche kisser.”
“Fair enough.”
They left the king’s study for his bedchamber. Once there, Prussia helped him dress for bed, instead of rousing a servant. While he took off his jacket, Frederick had climbed into bed, and Prussia dragged one of the room’s chairs closer to it. “I can sleep here, Fritz.”
“Don’t be silly, Gilbert.”
“What about the servants?” Prussia sat down on the chair.
“The hell with them!”
“Fritz…”
Frederick sighed. “I wish I was king back then, and then I could have married that Austrian bitch and not have to go to war to take what should be mine.”
Prussia raised an eyebrow as he pulled his boots off.
“Oh, don’t give me that look! You know as well as I do, that was politically a better match.”
“You’re right about that, but then you wouldn’t be king.”
“At the time that seemed like a better option; being Prince Consort.”
“True, but you were meant for better things, Fritz, I can feel it in my bones.”
Frederick snorted.
“It’s true.”
“That might very well be, Gilbert, but if I was king earlier…” He shot Prussia a pained look, “Maybe Hans Hermann would still be alive…”
“Not necessarily,” Prussia replied as he sat back and made himself comfortable in the chair.
“You don’t know that!”
“I’ll give you that, but you don’t know that he would still be alive. He could have been thrown from a horse and broken his neck, or gravely wounded in some battle, or shot by some angry husband,” Prussia smirked, “or angry wife.”
“Be serious, Beilschmidt!” Frederick’s eyes welled up with tears. “It’s been what? Ten years or so?” He closed his eyes and wiped at the tears. “And it still hurts just like it did the day he died…”
“I know…” Prussia got up and moved to sit next to him on the bed. Holding out his arms, Frederick snuggled into his embrace. He held the young king. “Sssh… liebschen,” Prussia murmured softly. “You did what you had to do at the time, and no one blames you for it. If your father was a different sort of man…”
“It never would have happened and that’s what hurts!”
“I know…” Prussia soothed.
Frederick clung to him as he cried himself out, occasionally muttering something incoherent in a mix of French and German. Somehow, without him even being consciously aware of it, Prussia had gotten into bed with him and he liked the feeling of his former tutor’s arms around him. Frederick felt comforted by his presence and after a while, he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Prussia’s warm embrace.