Work Text:
Sometime in the 1880's
"Are you even supposed to be out here?"
Gilbert's tone was uncharacteristically soft. What had been his usual arrogant, loud way of speaking just mere minutes ago, was now sober and sensitive.
And it made Erzsébet feel worse than ever.
She cleared her throat, "Why can't I be out here?" As she spoke, she reloaded her Vierling shotgun. Unlatching its barrel in one swift motion, before reaching into the small, leather bullet bag that hung tightly around her hips.
"Well, for one," Gilbert started, "You're a woman." Erzsébet's face snapped towards him with a glare. "And two," he continued, ignoring the look of disdain, "I just figured you had a husband to take care of."
Erzsébet wondered if Gilbert did this on purpose. If he irritated her just so that she'd have to glare at his handsome, toothy grin. If he brought up Roderich just so that she'd have to confront his hurt, crimson eyes.
She snapped her barrel back into place.
"Well for one," Erzsébet began, "Hungarians are mighty hunters. We are descendants of Nimrod—"
"You are not descendants of Nimrod," Gilbert interjected. Stern and direct, appearing almost exactly like a Teutonic knight.
Erzsébet was not deterred. "We are descendants of Nimrod," she insisted, "And I am going to prove that today."
Gilbert shook his head. He was tall, now. Taller than Erzsébet, who found herself level with his neck. Red and flushed from sun, alabaster skin glowing as though he were an apparition. "And two?" he asked finally, pulling for Erzsébet's rebuttal to his second argument.
"And two…" Erzsébet emphasized, though she struggled to find an answer. "Two. Just because I am married, doesn't mean I am any less myself."
"And you believe that?"
His tone was soft again.
He did do this on purpose.
Gilbert insisted on being with Erzsébet as the hunting party split up. Insisted on Erzsébet having the better gun. Insisted on Erzsébet having to think about their situation.
"Stop it," she said, as stern and direct as the Teutonic knight before her was.
Gilbert took a quick moment to look around, his head on a swivel. Searching, perceivably, for any other members from their party. He then looked back to Erzsébet, dropping the volume in his voice.
"Erzsi—" he said breathlessly, crimson eyes wide as he stepped closer to her. Erzsébet couldn't bring herself to back up. Or push him away.
"Stop," she said instead. Her voice just as low and breathless. The pit in her stomach growing larger.
Gilbert did stop. He stopped before he could touch her. Whether for herself, or for him, Erzsébet didn't know. But she frowned without realizing.
"I love Roderich," she attempted to convince. Whether herself, or Gilbert, she didn't know.
To their side, somewhere past the trees, a twig snapped. Erzsébet's eyes immediately locked onto the movement, like a lion stalking its prey. She lifted her gun.
"Roderich isn't here with you."
The recoil of the gun sent Erzsébet's shoulder flying back. The bullet cut through the greenery, aimed at a deer in the distant brush. There sounded a small yelp, but then the fast rustling of leaves overtook the once still forest. And the rhythm of hooves hitting the dirt dissipated into the distance.
The deer got away.
Erzsébet threw her gun down and grabbed Gilbert by the shirt collar.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
Gilbert responded smoothly, "Hunting."
"No. You're not. What are you doing? Why are you bringing this up now?"
A surge of nostalgia coursed through her body. Too many times had she had Gilbert like this. By the scruff, like a feral cat. But Gilbert was tall, now. Taller than Erzsébet. And though she knew, logically, that he could easily free himself from her grip, he stayed.
"You've lost yourself in this… marriage," Gilbert spat the last word out, though Erzsébet was sure he had tried not too. It was merely a word unknown on his tongue.
"I've lost myself?" Erzsébet released his collar, "You're hardly even a nation anymore, Prussia."
"I've united the Germanic states!" Gilbert nearly yelled. He then inhaled sharply, taking a moment to adjust his shirt. Swallowing hard, he spoke again, quieter, "I'm not talking about Hungary. I'm talking about you, Erzsi."
Erzsébet knew. She knew that there was a difference. Between that of one's nation, and that of themself. But as time went on, it was getting harder to tell where the line frayed.
"I love Roderich," she repeated again. A mantra. A spell. One that, if she said enough times, would come true.
Gilbert dropped his gun, threw his arms into the air as though nothing were holding him to the Earth. "And I love you!" he laughed, exasperatedly.
"You don't."
"I do."
Gilbert's tone. That serious tone. That serious, uncharacteristic tone. The one that still surprised Erzsébet, even centuries on.
"I love you," he repeated, eyes ablaze, "You. You with a gun. You with dirt on your knees. With mud under your nails. Twigs in your hair. You. Nimrod's descendant, You."
"Gil—"
"And you in dresses! You with flowers! You dancing, and singing, and—"
"I'm terrible at singing," Erzsébet released a sad laugh.
"And I love you still."
There was something sweet about it all. Sweet, and honest, and true. Genuine within Gilbert, through these shared centuries of growth. Of gain and loss. Wars and alliances, and changes to their nations. Changes to themselves too. Because Gilbert was taller. And stronger. And Erzsébet began to love the feminine. Her hair in the sun. Floral scents on her skin. The curves of her body.
And even with the changes, parts of them stayed the same. Somehow. Through it all. They'd always be themselves. They couldn't escape that.
Erzsébet cupped her hands around Gilbert's face, running her thumbs over his cheekbones. "I know, Gil," she hummed.
They couldn't escape their situation either.
Erzsébet was married. And Gilbert was not.