Work-In-Progress: Part One

[historize]

Title:
Author/Artist: historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): primarily Prussia and bitty!Germany and some Brandenburg; implied Prussia/Brandenburg and a hint of Prussia/Denmark
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, war and some suggestive dialog

Notes: Haven't come up with a title yet. I'll try and think of one while I work through editing this. This ended up so long that I had to cut it in two. I haven't finished the second part yet.

posted here




Prussia watched Francis the Second. The bastard had created an empire just a couple years back. Which meant that persnickety fop, Austria, now was feeling a little too big for his trousers. He was always like that though. Not a big deal. Prussia enjoyed being a pain in his side. Especially after Silesia.

Francis the Second though. He always had that little child with him. The Holy Roman Empire, they called him—who knew his given, human name. It wasn’t often that their humans used them.

(Prussia smirked at the old parchment. Except Old Fritz. Now there had been a true Prussian.)

But then France had to come and ruin everything.

“Per usual,” he muttered, smirking a little.

Well, not entirely. France had beaten him too—amazingly—but he’d smacked Austria around and that was enough to make him feel better. He’d heard about what France had done to Russia too—but Russia was a willy bastard. Prussia may have sneered at the kind-faced, round, boyish tower of man but he knew better than to underestimate him.

He and Russia weren’t so different, after all. Russia was childlike where Prussia was bloodthirsty. Not a bad trade. Their names even rhymed.

France had been a fool to think Russia would just allow him to take them.

Anyway.

Prussia smiled a little, tapping a cigarette against the table. “Where was I?”

Ukraine smiled, sweetly. She adjusted her glove. “Francis the Second.”

“You hated Francis the Second,” said Hungary. “Because he was Austrian.”

“No, I hated him because he was a twit. And he was a fop. Just like Austria.”

Hungary rolled her eyes. “Austria is not a fop.”

“Oh-ho, you used to call him ‘Roderich’ when you were married to the fop. What’s happened?”

She raised her eyebrows at Prussia and lifted the table knife.

He laughed.

“So, Francis the Second and the Holy Roman Empire,” Ukraine gently reminded him.

“What are you doing here, anyway? You know this story,” said Prussia. “We all do.”

“For older nations, it’s nice to reminiscence. Now. Hurry up.”

“Oh, well, forgive me. Didn’t realize I was so young.”

“Gilbert, get on with it.”



Austria shot the child. Prussia had not flinched. He just watched. Austria raised his pistol and fired into the child’s chest.

The boy’s little hat fell off and he hit the ground. Just a soft rustle of fabric and he was down. He stared at the ceiling and bled, quietly. The boy didn’t cry out. He didn’t scream or sob. His hair came out of its mold and stuck to his face. To the blood and sweat.

Prussia watched the boy reach up, touching the wound. He licked his bloody fingers, panting a little. His glazed blue eyes settled on them. “Italy…is…”

The voice was somehow impossibly young and yet far, far older than it should have been. Austria said, “Italy is of no concern to you.”

Prussia watched.

Austria folded his arms and then searched his pockets for a handkerchief. “What do you suppose will happen when he dies?”

Prussia snickered. “Who cares. The Thirty Years War is long over.”

“Are you sure Denmark isn’t around?”

“Things would be much more exciting if he was. I wouldn’t be sitting here watching you kill a child, if he were here to drink with.”

“It needed to be done—what with Napoleon making a nuisance of himself. To say nothing of France.”

“France?” Prussia laughed aloud. “What? He’s always been a nuisance. You only just noticed?”

“Well, he’d never bothered to go and get himself an empire before!”

“We all did—it’s fashionable right now, isn’t it?”

Austrian leveled his eyes at him.

“Are you going to clear the body?”

“I don’t touch the dead like that. And he’s one of us.” Austria looked at the child, who was still gazing up at him. “Stubborn he may be. But time will do its work. He will die soon.”

“And then?”

The other rolled his eyes. “You already know. Why do you ask me these things you already know the answers?”

Prussia laughed at him and went to Austria’s display of decanters, pouring himself a glass.

“You were humiliated by France. Don’t test me, Prussia.”

“Oh, well, I am certainly fearful now.”

Austria ignored the body on the floor, his little chest fluttering. He smirked, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “How is Brandenburg doing--as she's been mostly forgotten?”

Prussia’s eyes flashed but he only smiled. “I assure you that she is as bossy as ever.”

“Does she drink as much as you, yet?”

“She lives with me, remember—not you.”

The little boy on the floor—his chest rattled. It was a sick, bubbling sort of sound that made Austria glance back. Prussia’s eyes lifted and he said, “Austria, let’s leave the brat. He’s not really one of us. Do we really need to bother watching him die?” He walked over and knelt, leaning over and looking the Holy Roman Empire in the eyes. “I want some potatoes.”

Austria watched, suspicious. “I suppose. The Holy Roman Empire was never truly a nation…”

They left.



When they left, the child cried. The tears mixed with blood and matted down his hair but. But. He could not stay here. Not die like this. That man, his red eyes had gleamed down at him. Interested. Promising. Something there that he didn’t know how to interpret. Austria had never looked at him that way. It was just. He didn’t know.

All he saw was Italy as his vision tinged in darkness.



He awoke. And that was surprising in and of itself. He put his hand on his little uniform, only to find it gone. He blinked and looked down. He was in a little dressing gown. He started to sit up.

“Please, young master,” said Hunga—no, it wasn’t. It was. It was, a servant. She was tall, with clever-looking eyes. “You are to stay in bed.” She sat next to him, putting a hand on his chest.

“Where am I? I was abolished,” he told her.

He had no idea how young he looked. His hair was mussed and he looked gaunt. Too thin for a young boy.

She nodded. “You were, young master.”

“Who has taken me?!” he surged up regardless. “I was tricked and have been captured! How dare you, servant girl! Do you know who I am—“

She slapped him.

His hand flew to his face, stunned. “Y-you--!”

“The Master told me not to take any cheek off of you, young master.”

The little former empire drew himself up. “And who is such a master that he thinks he can—“

She struck him again.

He actually yelped, scooting back against the headboard.

“I will not hear a word against Master Beilschmidt. If you dare say another when he has shown such kindness—unexpected at that—towards such a wretch as you, boy—I shall box your ears. I am well aware of who and what you are—as I am well aware of what Master Beilschmidt is.”

His lip wibbled. She could see he was shaking.

“Now, child—you will get dressed and make yourself smart before the Master arrives. If you give him the impudence you’ve given me—you’ll taste more than the back of his glove. Do you understand?”

The child looked down and then up and nodded, sniffling. His cheek was bright red.

“You must speak up, young master.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I understand.”

She stood and went to a wardrobe, opening it up and pulling out a little suit. She beckoned him and he edged forward on the bed. “Come, young master. Don’t be timid.”

He stood up on the bed and she whisked off his dressing gown. “Who is Master Beilschmidt? Is he from France? Or Austria?”

The servant tsked. “He would box your ears if he heard that. Arms up.” She drew on his shirt and started on the buttons. “The Master is like you. He is Prussia.”

The boy stopped, stilled. “P-Prussia?”

“Yes,” she said, briskly, pushing on a blue vest and coupling the silver buttons together.

“I have never met Prussia.”

“You’re probably lucky then.”

“What does he want with me?”

“I don’t presume to know what the Master wants with you.”

The child reached up, touching his chest. “Austria shot me. Because I’ve been…abolished. Am I being reinstated?”

“Not likely.”

“Am I going back to my house?”

She held up gloves and started stuffing his fingers into them. Her eyes met his.

That was answer enough. He helped her get the gloves on silently.

Once he was dressed, the girl led him to a small nook and served him breakfast. Sausage, bacon and a heavy honey cake with a large stein of scalding hot tea. Simple and hearty. He ate gratefully and fast.

But when she came at him with a comb, he attempted to duck away from her.

“Stay still, young master.”

“I don’t need my hair combed.” He lifted his hands, clamping his fingers into his hair. “It’s fine.”

“Of course you do. I won’t have the Master thinking I let you run me around. Now put your hands down. “

“I can’t!” He stared at the table, hands on his hair. “I can’t do th—“

“Rizi,” said a voice and hands suddenly clamped down on the former empire’s hands and pinned them to the table.

The servant flustered. “Ah, Master Beilschmidt. Good morning, sir.” Her eyes were downcast. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t hear you enter. I—“

“It’s our nature to have unnatural strength, even for the abolished. You would not have been able to force his hand. Comb his hair.”

“N-no, wait—stop--!”

Rizi pinched his ear. “Now, young man, the Master is here. Show respect to your benefactor. You’d be dead if not for him.” She combed his hair brutally. Not slicked back like before but simply aside.

That strong hand left one of his wrists and curled around his jaw, forcing his head back. The abolished empire looked back, forced to look back, into those fierce red eyes. “You are giving my lady some trouble, Abolished One.”

“Don’t call me that!” The child wrenched to the side but the grip was firm. “I am—“

“You were an empire. You were more a political idea, really. You were divided and adorable Switzerland and little Belgium and the rest are now independent. You went into decline after the Thirty Years War. Religion was not on your side—“

“Stop it!” The child, again, tried to tear away. "I was right! God is--"

"God loves whomever sucks His cock longest."

The child's face screwed up. "You can't say things like that!"

Prussia snickered. "I did, though. Just don't tell anyone." He winked.

Rizi stepped away, laying the comb down and retreating to the doorway. She looked back and shivered a little. Prussia was looking right at her. He smiled and it was full and lit up his face—but was wrong. Unpleasant. It made his eyes glimmer. She left the room.

As soon as she was gone, Prussia grabbed the boy by his shoulders and lifted him right from his chair, flipped him around and shoved him on the table. “Now, boy. I am Prussia and I’m going to adopt you.”

The boy froze.

“Oh, you look surprised? Well, everyone else is running about picking up little brothers and sisters. I kind of want one too. So, from now on, I am your older brother. And it’s thanks to me that you aren’t dead. So, no more cheek from you or I’ll make you regret it.”

The child drew himself up. “What if I don’t want to--!”

Prussia cuffed him. “I don’t care whether you want it or not, ungrateful wretch. You are my brother now.” He watched the boy rub the side of his head. “I’m going to call you ‘Ludwig’. At least until I figure out what to do with you.”

The boy sniffled but didn’t object. “Where am I going to represent?”

“No where,” he informed him, turning the child back around to his plate and whacking him, very lightly on the head. “Finish your breakfast. Don’t you ever give Rizi an empty plate or I’ll know the reason why. You are just going to belong to me until I find a use for you.”

“But then—“

“Better to belong to me than to be dead, yes?”

The boy looked down and shifted. “I—yes—maybe?”

“Follow orders,” came the voice in the child’s ear as two hands laid down on his shoulders. “Follow orders and I will take care of you.” The child shuddered.

But only a little.




“Back straight, Ludwig. You are accompanying me today.”

“Where, elder brother?”

“To the field. Austria and I are going to go finish France.”

“Isn’t he in Russia, elder brother?”

“He was. Napoleon suffered in Russia. The winter. Keep it in mind, boy. Russian winters are hard on a man. Now, bring me gloves and boots.”

“White or leather?” asked the child, slightly taller now.

“Going to a battlefield, boy, not a damn conference table. The leather, of course.”

Ludwig nodded and went to Prussia’s wardrobe. It was not a richly furnished room. Very little of Prussia’s house was richly. He certainly wasn’t as stingy or rigid as some but Prussia enjoyed warfare more than luxury. Prussia liked his capes thick and his hats pointy but he had no use for delicate silks. He was not like England, who ripped apart his enemies with his bare hands but still went home and wore expensive cravats.

That was the difference between them. England was a monster in hiding. He was the sweet-faced devil. The gentleman who helps old women across the road but wore gloves to hide the stains on his hands. But Prussia. Haha, he loved it. Prussia didn’t bother to hide it. He was monstrous. But he was good at it and that’s all he cared about. And he loved both fighting England and being allied with England. He wished Austria were more like England.

Oh yes, England would be there too, wouldn’t he?

Ludwig brought Prussia his leather gloves and he put them on. The boy didn’t need other instructions. He turned automatically and brought Prussia’s boots and then his sword. Then he stood, waiting quietly.

Prussia smirked. The boy had been stubborn, at first. It had taken a surprising amount of punishments for the boy to listen to him. Prussia had not been soft. He had cuffed the boy soundly when he refused to an order to help in the kitchens. And then Prussia had gone fire-eyed and evil when the boy struck Rizi when she'd tried to comb his hair again.

He’d had to break the boy’s spirit and then build him back up, just like he did with new troops. He wasn’t quite there yet. He still got that look in his eye when he didn’t agree for some stupid, silly reason. Prussia had managed to scare most of his rebelliousness out of him. He had told no one that he’d kept the child. Now would be the first time anyone in Europe would see him. He couldn’t wait to see Austria’s face when he laid eyes on the boy. It had been a very difficult secret to keep.

But now! Now, the child was ready. He beckoned and dressed Ludwig himself in a miniature version of his own dark blue uniform but without the flashy cape and hat.

Ludwig stood, clenching his fists--he’s nervous--and watching.

“You will have a sword and flintlock. You will use neither unless I direct you. Understand?”

“But, sir, I—“

Prussia whacked him on the head. “Don’t argue with me. You are sufficient. You are to follow orders and to trust my judgment and be confident enough in yourself because I have confidence in you.”

Ludwig looked up at him when Prussia stood. “You have confidence in me, brother?”

Prussia paused and looked down at him. He smirked. “Don’t call me ‘brother’ when we get there.” He mussed his hair. “Call me Prussia. But.” He knelt again. “Brandenburg will also be there. You are to be upmost respectful to her. It is to her credit that I stand before anyone today.”

“Why doesn’t she live with you?”

“She does. She is my core.” He looked uncharacteristically fond for a moment and Ludwig felt a surprising surge of jealousy. “But I don’t keep her here. She travels on her own.”

“To conquer and make war?”

Prussia grinned and stood. He turned away, retrieving a sword he’d worn in childhood. He tested the edge, saying, as he looked at himself in the steel. “We are nations, Ludwig—but not everything we do is political. We are able to do things for very personal reasons.”

“But you like to make war.”

Prussia sheathed the weapon. “I, too, am guilty of doing things for personal reasons.”

“You go to war for personal reasons?”

Prussia brought the sword over and knelt to belt it to him. “Hardly ever. I save the personal things for more important things.”

“Like what?”

Prussia’s eyes flitted up and then went back to the weapon. He said nothing. He cinched the belt and stood again. “Let’s go, boy.”

“Wait--what about when Sweden invaded Prussia and tried to take—“

“No idle chatter, boy.”

Ludwig’s hands steadied and he fell silent. He watched Prussia’s broad shoulders head out the door without another word. He fidgeted, waiting for Prussia to tell him to follow. But Prussia didn’t. Maybe he isn’t going to take me? I asked the wrong question.

He almost stepped forward, watching Prussia head down the long hallway. But—last time he had hurried to follow, Prussia had struck him, ordered him to go back and wait until he gave him the go-ahead to move. He had waited for almost an entire day.

Please. I’m sorry. What did I say that was wrong?

He bit his lip, fists shaking.

Prussia paused as Rizi came up the stairwell. He touched her hand and smiled at her. She must have said something about Ludwig because Prussia turned back and looked at him, standing still and staring out the door. Prussia crossed his arms, grinning. “What is it, boy? Why are you just standing there!”

He didn’t dare run forward. “Please, Prussia! I await your command!”

Prussia’s arms fell and he laughed. He had a booming, infectious laugh. “Come to me! Now, boy!”

He turned away, cape snapping and Ludwig ran. He ran to him and followed just behind his left arm.




Austria froze when they entered the tent.

Prussia’s smirk was especially for him. “Austria. Good afternoon.”

Austria was lifting his hand, pointing. “Where did you--!”

Prussia looked down. “Oh, you mean him? Goodness. You don’t know?”

“I shot him!”

“I retrieved him.”

Austria swore. “You evil son of a bitch. You got me to leave and then retrieved him so you could raise—“

“I don’t raise children. I just thought he was interesting.”

“You lured me away so you could take him! Where does he represent!”

“No where, of course. As I said. He’s just interesting.”

“Why—“

“You two are arguing already.”

Prussia grinned. Ah, yes. “Why, good afternoon, England.”

England didn’t crack a smile as he stepped fully into the tent. His green eyes were stony.

“Oh, what’s wrong? You don’t have hard feelings because of the Revolution do you?”

“Of course not,” England said, voice acidic; his eyes lingered on Ludwig, studying him. “That damn brat won’t leave it be.”

Prussia reached down and snapped his fingers. Ludwig took his hand and Prussia led him over. “He sort of looks like your boy, doesn’t he?”

England’s eyes flashed. “No, actually, not at all.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not at all.”

“Didn’t he declare war on you?”

England was starting to stiffen, tensing up. “Prussia.” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Prussia, stop.” Austria agreed. “We’re all on the same side against France.”

“Ah, forgive me,” said Prussia. He looked down at the child. “Ludwig, I’m sure you remember Austria and England.”

The child finally raised his eyes to England and Austria. He twitched a little, recalling the burn of the bullet in his chest. What was I suppose to say? I can’t remember. I can’t…what was—

He felt a light squeeze on the hand encased in Prussia’s glove and then he breathed again. He gave the two nations a bow. “My highest regards to the mighty British Empire and the opulent, everlasting tastelessness of the—of the—“ he stumbled on his words, unable to look Austria in the face, “—music and culture of Austria, who is pedantic and—“

Austria glared at Prussia. “Your words out of that boy’s mouth. I suppose you told him to say all that.”

Prussia laughed. He squeezed Ludwig’s hand again in approval and sensed more than felt him rally again, straightening his little shoulders. “My little ward here will be a very good boy.”

England’s eyes were still on the child. “Unlike some of ours, is what you mean to say, right?”

Prussia reached up, touching his hat. “Of course. Mine can actually follow orders.” He leaned towards England. “Well, yours learned how to do that too—especially once France and I—“

England struck him. His hat flew off and he staggered, letting go of Ludwig, but England had him by the collar, dragging his ear to England’s mouth. “Do not mock me, young Prussia, or I will make short work of you and your boy.”

Prussia shook with laughter—though he did not doubt it. “Of course, elder England.”

“Wipe that smirk off.”

Prussia turned his head to look at him. He let his smile grow, maddeningly and then let it drop completely. “Well, let’s go, shall we. We’ve got a war to win. All of us losing to France is just embarrassing.”

He stepped back from England and turned to Ludwig. He saw how the boy had tensed, hand hovering just above the hilt of his sword. Prussia smiled. Truly, this boy was his. He picked up his hat. “Come, Ludwig. You will be at my right hand.”

“You’re taking him into battle?” Austria blinked, arms crossed. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am. He’s mine. He’ll be fine.”

“And if he isn’t?”

Prussia laughed. “Then I’ve lost nothing!”



Ludwig had been out of the battlefield for a very long time. He found that sitting astride the horse though, was familiar and he liked it. He especially liked being next to Prussia. He was a dashing figure in and of himself. His horse was white, like his hair. He looked ridiculously excited.

Across the way, Ludwig could see France, blond-haired and strikingly blue-eyed at the front of his command. He was on a horse next to his short commander, Napoleon.

“Follow my lead, Ludwig. If you get into trouble, get yourself out of it. You are free to use your sword but save your flintlock. Don’t waste shots.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, gazing up at him.

“Eyes front, Ludwig.”

The boy jerked his eyes forward and drew his sword.



The commanders of the Sixth Coalition were Russia, Austria, Sweden and Prussia and so these four rode on ahead of the others. France did the same, heading into the dead zone to face them. Italy and Poland were behind France, circling nervously. Switzerland, tiny and awkward on his too-large of a horse, looked ready to defect. Denmark was looking eager—just as much as Prussia was.

“Where is England! Is he not in command?” France called, laughing.

“England is doing many things at once. As is Spain. Perhaps, you have other things to worry about.” Russia’s horse cantered to the side slightly, his vice grip swiftly brought it forward. “You are aware of what happened in Spain?”

France smirked and tossed his hair. “Minor set-back. I will return it to Spain a thousand times over.”

“Oh, France. This will be a good time.”

France’s smirk lifted. His eyes narrowed at Prussia. “We had a good time in America, didn’t we?”

“With him, as well.”

“C’n we ge’ on with this?”

“Lame!” called Poland. He rode in a circle around Italy, who was looking terrified. “I want to go get some new boots. Let’s hurry this up.”

“You’ll get what you want soon enough,” said Russia. And they all looked at his eerie smile.

“You bastards talk too much!” Denmark suddenly rode forward, whirling his battle axe. Sweden and Austria jerked their horses back. Russia stayed absolutely still but Prussia drew his sword and leapt forward to meet him.

France bolted, running his horse past them.

At the line, England bristled. “Mine.”

Ludwig looked at him. “England?”

The empire looked at the child. “Go to your brother, boy.” England slammed down his reigns and the horse surged forward. He and France crashed together. Their horses screamed and both jumped off, drawing swords.

The army heaved around him. Ludwig pushed forward.




Tiny Italy was screaming on his horse. Switzerland rode past him, mutinous and scowling. People were fighting and screaming and dying around them. France and England, in particular, were wailing on each other in the middle, without regard to anyone or anything else. England’s face was twisted in rage. France was grinning, bloody and yelling.

Russia was in the thick of French troops. Denmark was running wild and Prussia was—where was Prussia? Ludwig slowed the horse, dodging a sword and automatically flicking his own. Austria rushed past him, yelling something and then he vanished in the thick of bodies.

Where was Prussia? Ludwig strained his neck, looking for his brother.

And then a horse swept in front of him, a flash of color and—

Ludwig choked.

Italy froze. “Holy Roman Empire!”

Ludwig stared. “I-I-Italy…what are you doing here…”

The battle suddenly seemed muted around them.

“B-big brother France…he…” Italy sniffled. “He--!”

Ludwig’s fists clenched. “We’re going to beat France!”

Italy wibbled, biting his lip. “I-I think you will! You—you--!”

And then an axe swept between them. Denmark was laughing, pulling back and swung.

Italy screamed. Ludwig raised his sword and barely withstood the strike. It knocked him right off his horse. “Get out of here!” He slapped Italy’s horse.

Italy was weeping, he screamed again when the horse reared and shot away.

“Oh, c’mere you little bastard!” Denmark turned his horse.

Ludwig ran. Smaller than every soldier and horse, he managed to dodge between them. He heard Denmark yell and laugh behind him and the way before him suddenly parted. He scrambled for his flintlock as he ran. He wasn’t a bad shot. He would just—

The ground exploded beside him. He was suddenly tumbling head over heels in the dirt. He heard the raucous laughter behind him. He’s coming! Get up! He managed to scramble up and he fired his flintlock.

It didn’t fire.

He blinked at it stupidly for half a second and then looked up. Denmark was bearing down on him. “You’re supposed to be dead!” he called. He jumped off his horse, whirling his axe. “You’ll be weak, kid! You shouldn’t come to wars that don’t involve you!”

Ludwig raised his sword as Denmark struck down. His arms trembled, struggling to hold him and Denmark’s hand flashed out, grabbing him by the collar. He jerked him up off his feet. “What’s this?” Denmark asked, looking at the sword. “That’s Prussia’s! How did you steal that from him, lad?”

“I didn’t! Let go, wretch!” Ludwig swung the sword.

Denmark let it bite into his uniform. “Oh, child. It’s a pity. Truly.” He raised his axe and threw Ludwig to the ground.

“Denmark!”

Ludwig struggled up from the dirt, grabbing up his sword again. Denmark looked up at the yell and then laughed. “Ahhaha! Here comes trouble.”

He swung at Ludwig—and then a mass of blue and red slammed into him. Denmark and his attacker rolled over the dirt. Ludwig’s heart jumped, even while his stomach sank. “Brother!”

Prussia did not turn to him. “I told you not to fire!” He had his sword locked with Denmark’s axe. “And you,” he said to Denmark, “that sword is his. Not mine. You’d best remember it.” He cuffed Denmark and the two of them fell together, laughing and fighting and tackling each other.

Ludwig ran and suddenly he was fighting. Fighting and fighting and yelling and—and he never saw Italy again but—he knew Italy was there somewhere and he had to beat France so he could free Italy!

He—

Something struck him. And the world went dark.



France and England were still fighting long after the battle was over and the sides were collecting their dead. Their uniforms were in tatters, England’s eyes reflected madness, obsession. He was soaked in blood. They had abandoned their swords and guns and were relying on their fists. What they were screaming at each other, Austria didn’t know. But he had to get England off the field. The man had lost his mind when faced with France—and while Austria understood—it still wasn’t something he could just sit by and watch.

He and Russia went to get him, advancing on the pair. Austria managed to grab on to England and Russia stood in front of France, practically daring him with a smile.

England swore, eyes rolling and he struck at Austria.

“We are taking him back for the day. Your side has lost, France. Go and lick your wounds.”

“I’ve not lost. I won’t lose to all of you.” He was panting, doubled-over. “Hey, England—see you next time.”

“Fucking—“ he surged but jerked to a stop when Austria yanked back. “I’ll kill you for good before this is over!”

“Haha, say hallo to America for me.”

A roar of rage was cut short when Russia turned around and clouted England across the face. The other staggered and slumped against Austria.


Denmark and Prussia fought into the evening too. It only ended when Prussia pinned Denmark beneath him. He wedged a thigh between Denmark’s and pushed against him. “What are you doing, fighting alongside France? Will be a mess for you.”

Denmark laughed. “Can’t be helped. Poland hates it too.” He arched his back and bit Prussia’s throat.

“You should defect. Switzerland looks ready too.” Prussia choked at the bite and tore back and kissed Denmark, brutally biting his lip.

“He do—“ he breathed into Prussia’s mouth. “What is the Roman Empire doing here? Is he yours?”

“Yes. Not the Holy Roman Empire anymore, obviously.” He grinned, feeling Denmark thrust up.

“Prussia!”

Denmark sagged. “Ah, they’re calling you.”

Prussia laughed and got up. “Well, another day then?”

“Aye,” he said, standing up too. “Whack Sweden over the head for me.”

“Of course.”

They parted on the field and Prussia waved to Austria. “What do you want?”

“Where’s the boy?”

Prussia crossed his arms. “Did you kill him?”

Austria scowled. “Russia and I just had to haul England off the field. I’ve had no time to kill the brat again.”

Prussia frowned and turned around to gaze at the field. “He’s been in war before. He should be fine.” But he didn’t move.

Austria turned away.



Ludwig was lying under something heavy. It reeked. He knew it was blood. He was covered in a couple dead bodies. His head was hurting. Something. It hurt. And the smell was overpowering. He gagged, pushing, pushing—but…

His eyes were swimming, but there was light and a voice and…



“Ludwig! Ludwig!” Prussia threw the bodies off. His fingers were shaking, teeth clenched. He had seen his little boot, sticking out from a tangle of bodies. And suddenly, his gut turned to ice and he found himself running towards the pile. He saw a glove and a mess of blond hair. He swept the child up to his shoulder and stood, grabbing up the edge of his red cape and wiping the blood off of the boy’s face. “Ludwig, are you all right?”

Those little blue eyes opened and, unconsciously, Prussia relaxed.

“Brother,” the boy breathed. “I am sorry that I failed you.”

Prussia blinked. He shifted and looked away, carrying Ludwig towards the camp. “Mmm,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no, brother.” He blinked and stirred. “I mean, Prussia.”

Prussia, out on the bloody battlefield, carrying his adopted brother, suddenly felt something very, very different. He had never felt…

He looked at Ludwig and suddenly couldn’t think of what to say. He scowled and shifted and snorted. But he didn’t allow anyone else to take the boy. He carried him to his own tent and cleaned him up and put him to bed in his own cot. Only when the boy fell asleep did he leave.

He went to the main tent, where England and the others were sitting. “England,” he called. “Let me borrow one of your women.”

England started, almost choking on his mug. “What!”

“One of your servant women. And no, not for that.”

“What do you need one for?”

“I didn't bring any of my personal servants to the battlefield. I want someone to be around the boy when he wakes up.”

“You found him then,” sniffed Austria, sliding a mug of beer down the table.

Prussia snatched it up and drank. “Obviously. So.” He lifted his eyebrows at England. “Allow me one of your women. Just until the boy wakes.”

“You’re not to touch her.”

Prussia laughed. “Your women are too delicate. Don’t worry. I won’t be staying there while the woman is present.”

England was eyeballing him and Prussia ignored it, not wanting to exam why too closely.

“All right,” England said finally and looked away to grab a guard, giving him instructions to get one of the women from his section of camp. When he brought her, England went with Prussia when he led the girl to his tent.

He gestured to the sleeping child. “Just keep an eye on him, missy.”

On their way back, England said, “The boy has come to mean something to you, has he?”

Prussia smirked and removed his leather gloves. “Don’t press your depression on me. Get drunk and cry it out. You’ll feel better and you’ll quit bothering me.”

England smiled. “May you have better luck.”



Prussia stayed up with the rest (except Austria, who toddled off to bed like an old man), drinking and telling stories and watching England cry. He stayed there long after the entire camp went quiet, taking off his cape and hat and unbuttoning his uniform. He smoked tobacco with Russia and drank a few beers with Sweden, whacking him over the head by request of Denmark. He was there when the child came into the tent, followed by England’s woman.

He blinked at the table and looked at the girl. “What’s the problem?”

“He awoke, milord, and wanted to see you.”

“I am sorry for my impertinence.”

Prussia dismissed the girl with a flick of his eyes.

Ludwig came to his side but didn’t look up. “I am sorry again for my failure, brother.”

Prussia mock-yawned and grabbed Ludwig, hauling him up to the table and pushing his mug in front of the child. “Have a drink.”

“Are you going to sleep soon?”

Prussia rubbed his jaw. “Sure, boy.”

Ludwig took a sip of the beer, made a face but then choked the rest of it down—not wanting to give Prussia an empty glass.

His eagerness made Prussia laugh quietly and he threaded his fingers in Ludwig’s hair.

The boy looked up into the lamps. “What—“

“Just making sure your brain isn’t leaking.”

Ludwig accepted this explanation and he reached for a wedge of hard bread. Prussia gave the boy a once over, eyeing him and gently touching him to make sure he wasn’t hurt. When he took him back to bed, he, at first, resolved to simply stay awake but when he went to walk away, the boy grabbed his sleeve.

Prussia looked down but the child said nothing. He peered up at him until Prussia sighed. “All right. All right.”

When he lay down on his cot, Ludwig didn’t quite curl up to him. He was still careful about how close he was to Prussia. But when Prussia woke up the next morning, he found the boy burrowed into his chest. He blinked blearily at him and half-smiled. He relaxed again, brushing his mouth against the blond hairline—

“Well, well, well.”

Prussia jumped, grabbing his dagger from under the pillow. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet and he couldn’t see around the room. In a flash, he was kneeling on the bed, crouching in front of the boy.

“Gilbert, it’s only me!”

And then his eyes adjusted. “Ah, for—Brandenburg.”

She smiled and approached him before he could get off the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’ve become protective of the boy.”

Prussia snorted but didn’t lean back from her hands. “He’s done me no wrong,” he said, shrugging.

“It’s unlike you, Gilbert.”

He hopped off the bed, looking down at her. “It was unlike you as well.”

“Fair enough. And good God, man, get dressed. Your uniform—“ she was already reaching up before he could escape, straightening his clothes and buttoning his uniform. “It’s only been a little while since I was left off and you can hardly take care of yourself.”

“God, woman, leave it be,” but his tone was fond and he let her have her way. He reached up, touching her hands. “I told the boy he would finally be able to meet you.”

She smiled at him. Her eyes were a deep purple-gray. “I will get to see what happens when you discipline and look after a child.”

“And on a different scale than England’s little brat.”

“Indeed.” She brushed her knuckles against his jaw. “How did he do in battle yesterday?”

“About as good as I expected. Italy distracted him and it almost got him a neck full of Danish steel.”

“Italy? Still? It’s been a long time since then.”

“Well, can’t force Italy out. It will take time.” He put a hand on her waist, fingers drinking in the texture of her uniform.

“Brother…” came a soft murmur from the bed.

Prussia looked over. “I’m here, Ludwig. As is Brandenburg. Get your uniform on.”

The boy pushed back the blanket and kept his eyes down while he changed into his bloody uniform. He took up his belt and strapped it on.

“Leave your pistol here.”

Ludwig paused, hesitated and then spoke. “Prussia, when I fired at Denmark—“

“It wasn’t loaded. I told you not to fire. I don’t want you depending on your flintlock.”

Ludwig understood. He took the bullets out.

“Haha, you took the bullets out and sent the boy into battle?” Brandenburg laughed; she had a cheerful, booming laugh.

“You did it to me,” Prussia replied. “Only I wasn’t allowed a sword either. You made me go out with nothing but my fists.”

“And you did well.”

They smiled at each other.

Ludwig looked between them, not sure if he should speak. The fond, soft expression was unfamiliar, it somehow made Prussia’s eyes less fiery, made his mouth less sharp.

“Well,” said Prussia, lifting his nose. And the moment was gone. “Ludwig, greet Brandenburg properly and go get some breakfast. I’m going to go to the main tent to make sure England isn’t too hung over to fight.” He lightly touched her hip and then stepped away, sweeping up his hat and cape and put them both on.

Ludwig’s eyes followed him until he vanished through the door and then he straightened his back and bowed to Brandenburg very deeply. “I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, my lady, Brandenburg.”

She was dressed in black. Her cuffs were cinched with silver buttons and her coat swept all the way down to her knees. She wore thick, black trousers under the long coat and thick, leather boots. Her gloves were black leather and worn with use. The sword at her hip had her coat of arms engraved into the hilt. Her hair was pinned back, silvery blond. She still looked young and when she laughed, she seemed even younger. Her eyes crinkled up and she said, “My word, child. No need to be so formal with me. I live with that hellion brother of yours.”

He looked up at her. “May I ask a question, my lady?”

“You just did. But ask me another.”

“Did you really raise Prussia?”

She laughed. “In a matter of speaking. His people were mercenaries that grew into a powerful military force and eventually, he became bigger than me and I was forgotten.”

“Do you die when you’re forgotten?”

She smirked down at him. “Sometimes. I know you have an unusual case. Sometimes we die when completely forgotten. Sometimes we simply fade away.”

“Will I—“

“Prussia ordered you to get your breakfast, didn’t he?”

He stiffened a little. “Ah, yes, ma’am. I apologize.” He did a swift about-face and hurried out of the tent.



When night fell, the fighting went on. Russia latched onto France before England could become too occupied with him and cheerfully held him down and pummeled him. England bypassed the other nations on the field and went after troops. Taking out his rage and frustration, he tore them apart like paper dolls.

The moon was high when France escaped from Russia and slammed right into Prussia. Sweden was scuffling with Denmark so Prussia, tired but pleased, had started back for the lines. Then France slammed into him and he staggered.

“Gilbert,” said France, chuckling. “Forgive me. I’m just on my way out.”

“Of course, Francis,” said Prussia. He punched France across the face.

France slammed the butt of a pole-arm into Prussia’s throat. He choked and staggered, fingers faltering on his sword. France hit him in the back of the head.

“Dammit,” Prussia choked out. He wheezed. “You won’t humiliate me like that again, you fucking shit.” He whirled around, grabbing his sword and ran at him.

They fought. Prussia slammed his sword through France’s pole-arm. He jumped back, whirling both ends and swung them. Prussia ducked and tackled him.

France grinned up at him. “Oh, Gilbert. Must we fight? We had such fun in America.”

Prussia smirked, dripping blood on France’s face. “Oh, c’mon, Francis. You don’t really think you’re a better fuck than England, do you? He’s way more fun than you.”

France jerked against the ground as if Prussia had struck him and actually looked quite insulted. “You bastard! That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Can’t wait to divide you up when you lose.” Prussia brought down the hilt of his sword on France’s face, smiling at the crunch his fine, pointed nose made.



He staggered into the main tent.

England was wheezing at the table. He was absolutely covered in gore. He stared at the table, gripping tightly into a bottle.

Sweden, on the contrary, was looking neat, if tired. He was quietly drinking a mug of beer. Russia was bloody but not quite as soaked as England. Austria wasn’t in the tent, he had already retired. Prussia sat down heavily next to England.

“Don’t start with me, Gilbert.”

Prussia grinned and got himself a mug of beer. “Hey, don’t worry. I told France you were a better fuck than him.”

As he thought it might, the line made England crack a smile. It looked awful amidst all the blood caked to him. “Where’s your boy?”

The tension between them was gone and Prussia drank from his mug. “I sent him back to the line around twilight. He was looking haggard.”

“So now you know what it’s like?”

Prussia looked over. England was smiling faintly at his bottle. Prussia chuckled. “You need to clean up and go to bed, England. You look fucking ridiculous.”

“Who the fuck asked you?”

“You reek. You smell like blood and shit. Get the hell out of here. Go to one of your women or something.”

England’s fist shook on the bottle. “I haven’t forgotten what this war is about. I just—“

“England. Don’t pour your heart out to me.” He swirled the liquid in his mug. “You’re fucking drunk.”

England stood up, unsteady. “I. Am not going to indulge him.” Prussia had no question of who him referred to. “I’m going to stay here in Europe.” He staggered. “I will war here—“

“Fucking shut up and go away, England.”

England slammed down the rest of his mug and then let it drop from his fingers. It clattered heavily on the table. He shuddered and turned away, lurching out of the tent.

Prussia chuckled to himself. “Hey, Russia—why don’t you go show England a good time? Make him forget for awhile?”

“Me?” said Russia but he smiled. “That is an interesting idea you have. I am surprised you didn’t go yourself.”

“I’m tired.” He looked at the table as he stood. He left without another word.



In his tent, there was the boy. The boy, who had cleaned all his clothes and sword and unloaded pistol and then had cleaned Prussia’s things as well. He gazed up as Prussia entered.

“Brother, I—“

“Go to sleep, boy.”

Ludwig tensed and seemed to think this was a correction. “Prussia. I—“

“I see. Don’t do things just to hunt for attention. I don’t care about things like that. I’m not going to reward you each time you identify your left hand from your right. Go to your tent.”

Ludwig stood, face suddenly a mask. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed up his things and left the tent, heading for his own.

Prussia rubbed his forehead. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “Damn you, boy.”

I care about the boy. What the hell?

“Gilbert?”

He turned and looked at Brandenburg as she entered his tent. “You’re still here, eh.”

“Clearly.” Her smile was half-mocking. “You are preoccupied.” About the boy she didn't say, but Prussia heard it.

He shrugged and took off his hat, laying it down on the table. “You might say that.”

“So I say many things.” She approached, putting her hands on the front of his uniform and started to uncouple the buttons. “And usually I’m right.”

Prussia turned down the lantern. “That you are…”



Ludwig sat in his tent and bit his lip. Something was obviously bothering Prussia. Maybe he had seen something disturbing on the battlefield?

“It was something I couldn’t help with,” he murmured to the lantern. “Maybe one day, when I am older, I will be able to help him.” Like Brandenburg.

He twitched a little. There was something strange between Prussia and Brandenburg. Something he and Prussia didn’t share. She was to Prussia as Prussia was to him, at least—that’s how he understood it. But the way they interacted was very, very different. Maybe it was because she was older and bigger? Maybe when he was bigger, he would have similar relationship with Prussia?

This was different than wanting Italy to come live in his house. This was different than those sorts of tantrums. This meant something else. When Prussia had looked so fond, he’d felt the hot twist of jealousy. She was his core. But, she had been dropped like he had.

I wonder if Prussia only befriends those who may die?

He looked at his hands for a moment and then dismissed the idea. Prussia was friends with the other nations, right?

“Brother cares about Brandenburg, so it’s okay. She’s okay. I like her.”

Saying it out loud almost made it seem like he could make peace with the idea but she had been heading for Prussia’s tent as he had been leaving…he knew that she would not be sent away.

He shook himself and turned down the lantern, going to his cot fully clothed.



In 1815 at the Battle of Waterloo--it was a three day affair where France attempted, one final time, to attain power. England and Prussia led the coalition against him. It was the two of them, Netherlands, Brunswick, Hanover and Nassau.

The English began fighting first until Prussia swept through and destroyed France’s right flank. And then, together, England and Prussia sent France’s army into chaos. It was a disastrous defeat for France and Prussia was kind enough to give him over to England to take his own brand of revenge. There wasn’t a smile left on France’s face when England unbelted his sword and drew his knives, smiling.

Prussia raised his hand and summoned for Ludwig to join him. He said, “Ludwig, this is a truly horrific battlefield. You can smell the death.” He said it as if he were talking about a newly budded spring flower. “You can hear the screams of death and of those who take revenge for the fallen. Don’t forget this smell.”

“I won’t, brother.”

“You will,” said Prussia, eyes dancing over the burning field. “But that’s natural. Whenever I forget, I go and find a war to poke into.”

Ludwig stared over the field. I can’t be as Prussia is—I can’t love battle like he does but I can appreciate what it is and what it accomplishes.

“The beauty of discipline and unity.” There was a gleam in his eye and he put his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Oh, hahaha!” He grinned, gleeful. “You’re taller, Ludwig.”

Ludwig blinked. “Can I get taller? Even if I don’t represent anywhere?”

Prussia grinned. “Sometimes.”

"How?"

"I suppose you'll understand when you're older."

Prussia had plans for Ludwig, after all.



At the Congress of Vienna, the German Confederation was created to succeed the Holy Roman Empire. Prussia and Austria sat as central figures. But that didn’t bother Prussia at all. Unification was nearly in his grasp. He looked to his right, at Ludwig.

He smiled.



Brandenburg had been dropped from Prussia’s name long before the Holy Roman Empire had been dissolved but she had existed for generations after and then died one terrible day in December. She had come home the night before and spent the day with Prussia and Ludwig. The next, she was dead.

That was the first and only time that Ludwig ever saw his brother cry.

Prussia never wept for his troops. He never cried over his wounds. He never let the world see him that way. He just smiled, even when he was sad. So when he went still as stone in the kitchen, Ludwig had looked up. Prussia looked as he had never seen him. Eyes wide and fingers still, even his breathing had paused.

“B-brother, are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Prussia looked down at him and then up at the ceiling. “It's late. Why isn’t Brandenburg down here yet?”

Ludwig jumped down (it wasn’t as far anymore). “I will go and check—“

“No.”

Ludwig looked up. “Brother?”

Those red eyes, always so fierce and proud were uncertain. His hands were white-knuckled and stiff. “I will go and see. Stay here.” He forced himself to put the knife down.

The hallways suddenly seemed long and dark but Prussia forced himself on. Call it a premonition, perhaps, but he’d been struck with a terrible coldness in the kitchen. There was no other time in his entire being that he wanted so desperately to be wrong.

He opened her door. “Brandenburg?”

She did not answer. She was lying on her bed in full military dress. He approached her and bit his lip, hard. She was pale in death but no less beautiful. Prussia swallowed hard and swore quietly. “You could have at least died abroad.”

A little hand touched his own and he nearly jumped but his eyes fell upon Ludwig. He might have beat him for his insubordination but…

Those blue eyes of his were older than they should be.

Prussia looked away but his fingers seemed to curl around Ludwig’s hand of their own accord.

“Brother?”

Prussia’s eyes fixed on her. “What?”

“Is she dead?”

Prussia’s hands clenched. He took a deep breath. “She is.”

“Why? She has lived long after her name was dropped from yours.”

“I don’t know.”

“Brother…are you okay?”

Prussia’s eyes flicked down. “I—“ and then he stopped and looked back at the body. Ludwig had never seen his eyes so dim. “I don’t know.”

Ludwig bit his lip and tugged of Prussia’s sleeve. “I am still here, Brother.” Please, look at me.

Ludwig saw Prussia’s throat bob. “I know, Ludwig. You are my brother.” He turned to face him and Ludwig burrowed his nose into Prussia’s ribs. He could feel Prussia’s hands, one on his shoulder and one in his blond hair. “You need a trim, Ludwig.”

His voice was wrong. All wrong. It was too soft, too harsh. When Ludwig looked up, Prussia was looking away from him, blinking too much. His lips were tightly pressed together.

“Brother.”

Prussia gazed down at him for a very long moment before he looked away and put his hands under Ludwig’s arms. He lifted the boy to his hip and Ludwig latched onto his shoulders. Prussia turned away from the body, stepping into the hall and shutting the door. He went back to the kitchen.

He didn’t start cutting vegetables again. Prussia just stood in the kitchen and looked out the window in silence, holding Ludwig in his arms. The boy laid his head on Prussia’s shoulder.

“Master Beilschmidt! Master Beilschmidt!” Rizi came running into the kitchen. She was older now, wisps of blond hair turning silver. “Master, the Lady Brandenburg--!”

“I know,” Prussia interrupted. His tone was still all wrong, solemn and heavy.

Rizi shifted, wringing her apron in her hands. “Shall I arrange for remo—“

“Don’t touch her.”

Rizi was looking at his back, sensing the danger. “Yes, Sir. I will leave it to you, Master Beilschmidt.” She backed out of the kitchen.

Ludwig could feel the slight shake in Prussia’s hands. He lifted his head from his shoulder and looked into his face. Prussia seemed to feel his eyes but he did not look over. Ludwig put his little hands on Prussia’s temples and pushed them back into his white hair. An attempt to comfort him, mimicking the silent touches that Prussia used.

Prussia visibly hesitated and then looked at him.

Ludwig bit his lip. “Brother…”

Prussia looked down and then up and he gave a slight nod. He leaned forward and his forehead met Ludwig’s. The child moved his hands from Prussia’s hair and touched his face. His older brother’s eyes were closed but he could feel the dampness on his thumbs under them.

He said nothing of it but his own throat closed up. Somehow, Prussia’s despair was the saddest thing he’d ever seen.




But Prussia said nothing of that. He only said, “And then Brandenburg died—that was after the war with France was over.”

Hungary stretched. “How come I never met Brandenburg?”

“You did, you just weren’t paying attention. She was around when we were little and you thought you were a boy.”

“Shut up!” She shoved Prussia’s shoulder. “So was she the woman in the black uniform? Haha! The one who you clung to when I’d beat you up!”

Prussia burst out laughing and shoved her back. “That’s right.”

“She sounds very pleasant,” said Ukraine.

Prussia looked at Ukraine and shrugged. “I suppose.” Then he snickered. “She was a little bit like Hungary though she had no soft spot for fops and pansies.”

“Shut it,” snapped Hungary. “I’ll beat you with your own belt.”

“Promise~?”

The door opened with a loud, “Dude, seriously, you—“ The one at the door paused, clearly not opening to what he thought it would.

“Poland,” greeted Ukraine.

“Hey, Ukraine—where’s Lithuania? I totally need him to help me get my boots on.”

“Not here,” said Hungary. “Prussia’s telling us a story.”

“Omigod, no way!” Poland stepped in and let the door shut. “What’s it about? That time when you dressed up as a woman to scare the hell out of—“

“What?!” Hungary almost knocked her beer off the table. “What are you talking about?”

Prussia was laughing. “No, not that one.”

“Wait, you dressed up as a woman? When! What time period? What clothes? I want to see!”

“God, Hungary, you are sick.” Prussia put his feet on the table. “I’m not telling that story, you crazy girl.”

“But, your boots were killer, Gil. You were hot~!”

Prussia choked, laughing. “I’m not telling that story! I’m telling about the nineteenth century!”

“Oh,” said Poland. He slumped into a chair. “That’s way less fun.”

“You don’t have to listen."

“No, no, Poland, stay here.” Hungary beckoned him. “Sit next to me. I want to hear this story later.”

Ukraine smiled. “Let’s take a break. I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Oh, oh, Ukraine, bring back some of those Pączki. Do you have any?” Poland perked. “And coffee!”

Ukraine lifted an eyebrow at him.

Poland blinked and then giggled nervously. “I. Well. I mean. I could also order some. I mean. Hahahaa! Nevermind. Gawd, Ukraine, you look good today. Did anyone tell you? Your uniforms are so hot.”

Ukraine stiffened a little and rolled her eyes. “I’ll bring back tea and a torte.”

She left.

“God, Poland, you’re fucking stupid.” Prussia laughed.

“Hey, shut up. I, like, just have to—“

“Okay, okay. Get your train of thought back,” Hungary said. “I want to hear more.”

“You already know this story.”

“I don’t!” exclaimed Poland.

“Holy shit, you were there for most of it!” Prussia took his feet off the table.

“Well, yeah but—dude, I don’t remember all that stuff!” Poland tossed his hair. “Way too long ago for me to remember.”

When Ukraine returned, Latvia was tailing her. He shifted awkwardly in front of the others.

“Come along, Latvia. There’s plenty of room in here.”

“Hey, Lat, hey!” sang Poland. “Come sit next to me~!”

Latvia quivered but did so. “Thank you, Ukraine. Um, and Poland.”

Ukraine cut into the torte and passed plates around and Latvia helped her pour all the tea.

They settled into their chairs again.

“Please continue, Prussia,” Ukraine prompted.

Prussia grumbled a little but stretched and yawned and began with, “And then Napoleon’s nephew took over France.”





1. Brandenburg is the core in independent Prussia, who began as a mercenary crew of badasses. For a long time, the state was called Brandenburg-Prussia but Brandenburg was dropped after awhile.

2. Sixth Coalition was a collection of countries in Europe against Napoleon's forces (which included the Dutchy of Warsaw, the Swiss Confederation, and Denmark. And the Battle of Waterloo

3. German Confederation

4. Paczki--is also eaten in Ukraine but it's called Pampushky.