Chapter Text
June 28th, 1914
Roderich Edelstein looked up from his sheet music. The melodic sounds of his piano drifted away in the persistent wind, the wind that now picked up the music off his stand and carried it across the floor. He sighed and stood up, extending his arms to the ceiling as he stretched. He rolled his wrists a bit as he went to the window, prepared to rid himself of this weather that interrupted his music. Really, couldn't the wind simply wait until he was done? Beethoven's symphonies transcend the fleeting whims of the atmosphere, doesn't the damn wind understand that?
His expensive leather shoes tap against the marble floor as he walks toward the window. The ache in his back is starting to go away, from being hunched over the black and white keys for so long. Though the crick in his fingers will certainly persist for another hour or so. No more piano for him today. Roderich was content with that revelation, there was evening tea to be had and a book he'd been dying to finish. But he couldn't read when the wind blew his pages every which way.
His fingers curled around the cold wooden window frame to shut out the wind. Roderich took a second to admire Vienna's tapering rooftops, seeming to glow in the setting sun. Clouds peppered the bruised purple sky, skipping leisurely across it at the behest of the wind. Leaves float through the air, also carried by the wind. Summer is drawing to a close on the Austrian capital, it's warmth beginning to recede as yellow starts to tinge the trees. The citizens enjoy themselves despite this, taking long walks in the parks or meeting each other for tea in outdoor cafes.
Roderich sighs once more, although this time one of content, not exasperation. He truly loves the life he was born into. Sure, he's had his fair share of struggle, but what country hasn't? Right now, he's rich and powerful and sitting at the heart of a great empire. He wastes his time playing piano and violin while leaving the messes to everyone else. Definitely the life he's suited to.
The year is 1914, June 29th. Roderich currently sat at the official capitol of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and alliance formed in 1867 to settle a larger-than-usual argument between the royals of Austria and Hungary. He and Elizabeta had no choice but to just go along with it. Their empire was going through a turbulent time, as some of the states under their control felt their rule unfair, even though Roderich did his best to try and settle all disputes Serbia had with the Empire. The Serbs had grown complacent, shouting about their independence even though they didn't have the guts to do anything with their anger. But the tension had been high lately, higher than usual. With Archduke Franz Ferdinand's visit to Bosnia and Herzegovnia on a sacred day for Serbian nationalists, the whole country had been buzzing with silent worry. Not excluding Roderich himself.
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, starting to close the window, but he stops. He straightens at the pounding of hooves. The bridge of his nose pinches as he leans out the window to try and determine who in their right mind would be riding so fast at such an hour. The clattering sound grows louder as the rider approaches. Roderich squints more, as if narrowing his eyes would make them come into view faster.
Eventually, though, Roderich saw the black horse whip around the corner of a stone building, racing through the open gates of the Hapsburg Imperial Palace. The person- no, woman, sitting on its back was someone who Roderich knew well. After sharing rule with her for a decent fifty years now, and living together for God knows how long before that, Roderich should be familiar with Hungary.
Elizabeta slowed her horse and lept off its back, cloak billowing from both the movement and the wind. She glanced up, her green eyes meeting Roderich's dark violet.
"What are you doing just standing there?!" she called between breaths. She must have been riding hard. Roderich's eyes widen slightly behind his glasses, both from shock and slight annoyance.
"Well, I was playing music, but then you barged into my house without any warning!"
Elizabeta rolled her eyes at Roderich's haughty tone, turning away from his perch at the window and moving to open the great doors of the Hapsburg mansion.
"I didn't have time! Are the nobles still awake?"
Roderich's eyes narrowed again. Are the nobles still awake? Yes, of course they are, why would she need to know that? And her disheveled hair, how hard she was riding, something very good or very bad must have happened. And Roderich, after catching Elizabeta's steely gaze, had a sinking feeling that it was the latter.
He tilted himself further out the window to keep eyes on Elizabeta as she climbed the steps.
"Of course they are, why wouldn't they be? And why do you need them?" Roderich asked incessantly. He could see Elizabeta sigh and turn away before she opened the door.
"Just- come down here. I'll tell you."
Roderich's eyes widened. He gasped in surprise at Elizabeta's almost defeated tone. She never gave up an argument, especially with Roderich. And she certainly never resigned like that, all sad and mopey. And the tiny crack in her voice? Something must have gone horribly wrong.
He shot away from the window, long coat flaring behind him as he near sprinted through the halls. He took deep breaths, trying not to let his mind run wild and imagine all the terrible things that could've happened. Elizabeta wouldn't ride all this way if she didn't have vital information. God, what the hell happened? Was there a rebellion? Did something happen in the Balkans? Was the Archduke alright? His long, gloved fingers began to shake as he entered the foyer where Elizabeta was standing, ordering servants to retrieve nobles for an "emergency council of utmost importance," whatever that meant.
Elizabeta turned to see Roderich staring at her, wide-eyed. Her brows pinched in silent apology. She knew how worried he could get, especially with an unknown he had to toy with. He took a second to collect himself, taking a few deep breaths and running a shaky hand through his hair. She offered him the brightest smile she could muster, but it didn't satisfy the Austrian.
"What happened?" Roderich asked, his voice shaky as he searched Elizabeta's face for a clue that told him more than 'something bad.'
She sighed, moving closer to Roderich to stare him in the eyes. They were wide behind his glasses, quietly begging her to just let it slip already.
"Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot yesterday. He's dead."
Roderich's gasp was sharp enough to cut steel. His mouth dropped open as he continued to stare at Elizabeta, replaying her words in his mind to hope against hope that he misheard.
"What?" he squeaked, taking a second to clear his throat.
"I'm sorry, what?" Roderich asked again. Elizabeta would've laughed had the situation not been so serious.
"The Archduke is dead. We need to have a war council immediately."
The word "war" pulled Roderich out of his shock. He tensed and began to argue, tone clipped and stern as it gets when he compartmentalizes. When he doesn't allow himself to feel because there are more important things that demand his attention.
"What? Why would we declare war?"
Elizabeta was losing her patience. She'd just ridden nearly all day to get this message to the capitol, and she was exhausted. The only thing that kept her going at this point was fury. Fury aimed at the Serbs, for daring to kill the heir to the throne. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Austria-Hungary should go to war with Serbia, Russian alliance or no. She was determined to begin the course to war and then go to sleep. But Roderich had to fight her every step of the way, like he always does.
Elizabeta whirled on Roderich, who stepped back in wake of her rage now pointed at him.
"Because the Archduke was shot, that's why! The Serbs have already caused us enough problems, it's time we deal with them once and for all!" she shouted, her words echoing off the high ceiling decorated with murals of angels and Biblical figures.
Roderich shook his head. "No. If we declare war we drag Ludwig and Gilbert down with us. And Serbia is allied with Russia, who is in turn allied with France, who is also allied with Britain, allied with Italy, allied with America, and long story short, Elizabeta, if we declare war, we plunge all of Europe into war. Do you want to deal with having to fight all of Europe, not just the Serbs?" he reasoned, looking at her with smug condescension that didn't show at all on his face.
Elizabeta stepped away from Roderich, throwing her hands up into the air. He stayed calm despite her outburst. He's used to being the level-headed one, the reasonable side of the empire. But Elizabeta is determined. And Roderich can only do so much against her when public sympathy will most likely also be on her side.
"Alliances don't matter, this is too big to let go! We can't tolerate this anymore! You and I both know we can't keep letting them get away with this!"
Roderich closed his eyes for a second to calm his rising anger.
"That is true, but-"
"See! Then you agree!" Elizabeta quipped, interrupting Roderich's train of thought with the smile of someone who thinks they've won an argument.
"But," he repeats again, stronger. "We don't have to go to war over it. I agree that they can't be forgiven for this, but I don't think it's enough for us to go to war."
Elizabeta opened her mouth to counter Roderich's point, but he held a finger up to stop her.
"And if we are going to war, we need some sort of strategy. Time to mobilize, get more weapons, grow our army, things like that. We can't just rush into this."
Elizabeta stutters for a second, Roderich's calm tone throwing her off. She regains composure quickly as servants rush through the palace, gathering noblemen who give the two countries wary glances and plenty of space.
"If we give them time we lose our chance! We have to strike now, while they're unprepared!" she reasons, beginning to turn away from Roderich to join the emergency war council. He sighs and starts after her, still trying to argue his trivial side of peace.
"We're the unprepared ones! And they know this is coming, why give them the satisfaction of correctly anticipating our next move?" he asks, his glasses catching the light of the glass chandeliers.
Elizabeta turned back to look at him, her green eyes narrowed by anger. She huffs and turns back around, muttering something under her breath that Roderich's musically adept ears can't catch.
"What was that?"
"The Archduke was murdered-" He flinches at the word murdered. "-yesterday, Roderich, we don't have time to wait! We have to teach the Serbs a lesson now, while Ferdinand's death is still new!"
Roderich nods gently, arms crossed over his chest. "Yes, I understand that we have to take action, but it can't be war yet. We need to wait."
He waves his hand around the palace, still shaking slightly. The walls are decorated with intricate carvings and beautiful murals that almost hide the darkness of what's being discussed within them. The growing sound of chatter echoes from the meeting room as more nobles stream in, patiently waiting for Roderich and Elizabeta to show before they begin their discussions. He cuts her off, sensing that she is going to try and argue again.
"But we can work this out with the others. Right now it's just a petty fight, we need to get more opinions. Can you at least be satisfied with that?" Roderich asks, looking away from Elizabeta to avoid her scathing glare. She stares at him for a moment before reluctantly accepting his proposal, placing her hands on the doors of the meeting room.
"Fine." she mutters sharply, pushing the dark wooden doors open.
She reveals a grand room, paneled with mahogany and lit by light from the setting sun. A large table sits at the center of the room, adorned with a red tablecloth scattered with papers. Men sit around it, murmuring with worried glances at each other and the doors. All the talking stops when Elizabeta enters the room, followed by Roderich. The Austro-Hungarians watch intently as Elizabeta clears her throat to start speaking, expressions ranging from anger to fear to feigned calm.
"I apologize for calling this meeting so late, but it was necessary. As you all hopefully know by now, Archduke Franz Ferdinand has been shot in Sarajevo. His death was orchestrated by Serbian nationalists who wish to rebel against us. I cannot change the facts. But I can help influence what we do next," she lets her words hang in the air for a moment before speaking again.
"I believe the best course of action is to declare war now, while the Serbs are celebrating their perceived victory. This assassination is the latest event in a long string of plots against the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and it is the last straw. We must avenge the Archduke's death quickly and without hesitation."
The men in attendance nod, eyes turning to Roderich to hear his argument. Everyone heard the two of them fighting in the foyer, they know what side they took. Now they just want to hear them defend their positions.
He smiles gently at Elizabeta before he begins.
"While I agree that action should be taken as soon as possible, I don't think that war is the best option. I believe that there is still a way to resolve this problem diplomatically, even if not all of us see eye-to-eye in this. In addition, going to war with Serbia would pull most of Europe into war along with us, as they are tangled in alliances that would pit the greater part of Europe against us. If we must resort to war after all diplomacy fails, I would not go against it, but I think we should try to avoid war with all our power."
He glances around the room, eyes landing on the faces of the contemplating nobles.
"Does anyone have another stance?" he asks, surveying them as they shake their heads.
Elizabeta interjects as soon as she's satisfied with them.
"Good! Then we can vote! Unless someone has some sort of compromise they want to suggest."
There is silence for a few seconds, the only sound the rustle of the trees through the barely-open windows. Roderich nods, glancing over at Elizabeta, who nods back.
"Well then." Roderich begins, his voice ringing with more purpose than before. "We vote. Majority rules, as always." His violet eyes wander over the faces of the important men in the room, feeling the weight of history pressing down on him. He knows that if they declare war, it could very well turn the course of history.
"Raise your hand if you wish to declare war with Serbia for the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand."
Nearly everyone in the room puts their hand up, including Elizabeta. She smirks at Roderich, having won their agrument before. But his expression doesn't shift, he just tallies the votes and sighs.
He's been outvoted. He's not entirely surprised. He knew, somewhere, that it was futile to try and advocate for peace in the face of such an event. He knew that he would be dragged along to the front lines. And he knows that his empire is much too unprepared for this newly-waged war, and he grieves for the blood he knows is going to be shed.
"Very well then. We go to war."