Author: Cyhirae

Notes: Okay, I did some pretty silly stuff in "Ivan goes Surfin' USSR"; time to get back to my serious side. And yet for some reason I'm still writing for Hetalia. This is in first person style, using country names. First section is Prussia, then Austria will have his say. No, this is not a romance. This was very loosely inspired by the Kamelot song "Glory".

This should probably be labeled a slight AU since I admittedly toyed with some circumstances and made assumptions on other matters. I have made no attempt to be genuinely historically accurate beyond using some dates.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. If it were, Prussia would be in it a lot more often. Rated mature for Prussia's not exactly polite way of talking.

I used to tell my men, back in the day, that one of the best things about war- aside from fighting and winning them- was resting up afterward and enjoying the afterglow of victory. I am Prussia, after all; I was born solely to fight and I did it damned well. Sure, I lost a few battles here and there- but it wasn't anything I couldn't come back from.

It felt like those days would last forever; that pansy Austria kept saying that it wouldn't, but what did he know? He had been born to fight, just like me- but he forgot that before he was even a real country. He got all artsy and weak; if Hungary hadn't taken up with him, he would have been mowed under ages ago. Grand pianos didn't win wars; Austria hadn't even bothered to fight them anymore. His bosses were hopping more marital beds than a two mark whore; the end result was a house full of cards, a pissed off Switzerland and me periodically reminding them they were the laughing stock of Europe.

These days, I wonder who's laughing now. I stir myself up from my thoughts to grab a beer, letting the taste flow over my tongue. I used to think just sitting around and having a good drink after a few years hard at war was the best thing ever; well, next to fighting and winning them, anyway.

I've lost wars before; that cross dresser Poland and his pet berserker Lithuania were no slouches on the battlefield, even if they did look pretty dumb with those stupid wing banners. Hungary was nothing to turn your back on either. I'd faced them all; won some, lost some- others were really more of a draw because they got distracted by other things than fighting. I always laughed about that. But in the end, they're all still around. I wouldn't say they're going strong, but they're holding steady.

In a world where there wasn't even room left for colonies and new discoveries, where every speck of land looks like it had been mapped, named and claimed…well, holding steady isn't half bad at all. Even Austria had finally picked a spot and settled down with his people.

It's a sick, sick joke that the only one without even a county to call his is me. That first world war was a real mess; but I'd been right there along with Germany, doing what I do best. I just didn't do it good enough. No loss though, eh? I could come back from it, I always did.

Then it was announced- The Kingdom of Prussia would be 'dissolved' or the like. I couldn't believe it; who the hell did they think they were, demanding that as part of that stupid treaty? If it even was; I didn't bother to learn all the details. I'd never needed to know them. Still, after some fighting and grousing; 'Prussia' came back- as a state. I had gone from an empire to a kingdom…to a state. Humiliated? Hell yes I was! Me, a state! Poland was getting a hell of a laugh out of that one. Frilly little bastard certainly didn't hesitate to lay claim to what he liked of my homeland and then dared to say I couldn't even contact my brother without his permission. The 'Polish Corridor' or some garbage.

I really hadn't thought it could get any worse. I hadn't realized just how wrong I was. The beer suddenly tastes sour against my tongue; I set the bottle aside, glowering at it in disappointment. German, of course; everything was German in this region now. But I couldn't hate him for it; none of this was West's fault.

It was all that crazy bastard's fault; that boss of his that got World War II going. I could still remember the day West had come to me, to hell with that 'no contact' bull. I'd been thrilled at first- little brother was finally breaking some rules instead of doing what he was told! The joy didn't last too long, however. He wasn't there to visit.

It's hard to believe, looking back, that the nation that had come to me that day had been my little brother. He had been earnest of course; not so harsh and cold as other countries had been. But even then I hadn't been able to give him the answer he wanted. Maybe I should have. But I hadn't; it had been a war and I couldn't deny that part of me was cheering at the thought; to go out and fight again? I nearly said yes just for that, the hell with what my boss wanted.

The knight in me was hardly dead, however; and that whispered that there was something wrong with what West's boss wanted. I'd fought wars for reasons some would call pretty petty- power, glory, fame, land- all of that had been in the prizes and they were what I fought for; that and just having a hell of a good time out in the battlefield.

Germany's war wasn't for any of that. It had been to murder, plain and simple. People died in the wars I fought, of course…but it had always been a by product. It just happened when you fought; someone got unlucky and died. I hadn't realized it until then, that important difference. I fought just to fight and for the rewards; I didn't fight to kill.

My boss had shared my thoughts on that one. The 'state' of Prussia had refused; but that didn't stop those bastards from simply coming in and taking over. West had apologized profusely of course; it hadn't been what he wanted when he came to me that day. But it was what we got; and for good or bad, my homeland died a second time. If the people hadn't still considered themselves Prussians, I probably would have died with it.

I push the beer away and get up to walk around my room; not my 'house', just my room. I didn't have a house anymore. I hadn't had a proper one since my Kingdom fell. Poland had tried to make me fall into line under his roof; I had made do with a perfectly mundane, shitty apartment instead. Damned if I was going out of reach of my boss. When the state had been taken by the Nazis, I had moved in with West; there wasn't any reason not to then. If I'd known how brief that particular stay was going to be, maybe I would have tried to enjoy it more.

My people hadn't been enjoying themselves, however; so neither had I. Then it was over; the crazy boss of my brother was dead and the Allies were dividing our lands up like pieces of cake.

I shudder and try not to think about that aftermath, but the memories come anyway. Some stupid Brit had gotten it into his head that for some reason, my homeland was the root of the trouble with Germany. It didn't even really exist anymore; and they made damned sure it never would again. 'East Germany' is what they started calling it and me- and then they gave us over to Russia.

The Wall, those long years spent learning just how adept the Nazis hadn't been at crushing the spirit out of people compared to what we endured then; if I had a hard time recognizing West during the war, I could barely recognize my own self at that time. I had been near feral with the hunger and despair of my people; skulking around my own alley ways to avoid being found and drug off by Russia. My people hadn't accepted it, that was the only reason why I think he never quite managed to corner me…but in the end, I suppose even he got a laugh at my expense.

The Iron Curtain came down; West and East Germany became just Germany. Just like that, 'my people' didn't exist anymore. It was a good thing he had been hugging me at the time, embarrassing as it was. It had been like a physical blow to suddenly lose that connection, to realize the truth.

I wasn't a nation. I wasn't a kingdom, a country or even a fricken state. I was nothing; just a left over remnant of a bygone era that was only around because Germany refused to let me go. I was living as part of their history and culture; but I was not them. For the first time in my life, I had no idea what to do.

Safe to say the modern era hasn't fixed it either. I still live with Germany; he won't give me up and much as I'm ashamed to say it, I'm terrified to let go. If I tried to go my own way- would I just disappear? Nations could die; we knew this already from what happened to Rome and our own father, Germania. If I tried to stand on my own, would I be next?

For someone who used to be one of the best damned warrior nations you could ask for, it was humiliating to live on just by clinging to my brother's hand like a child. And this new era wasn't making me feel as if my circumstances would ever change.

Wars were still fought; but they were different now. The glory of the old days was gone; it was all about politics and who had the shinier technology. And of course that was that stupid 'MAD' policy: Mutually Assured Destruction. Just to make sure no one else thought firing off a few nuclear missiles was a good idea after seeing what happened in Japan.

And now I realize what I'm feeling. It isn't bitterness or even hate; it's a kind of despair. I have to wonder if this is how blacksmiths felt as their swords and plate armor were replaced by guns and Kevlar; to realize you were outdated and unnecessary. And I was the only one. Everyone else from the old days, they'd adapted.

I was the only left over who couldn't change. I'd never say it to his face, but Austria was right. Those days hadn't lasted forever; looking back in history, they were just a few notes on Europe's page. I was barely a foot note anymore; hell, they didn't even call my color 'Prussian blue' anymore…because hardly anyone but a few old timers and historians even remembered Prussia existed.

Did I even have a right to still be here? I couldn't fight in these wars now; and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to. Germany had stayed out of them so far, but as tensions began rising in the Middle-East and Asia, I had to wonder how long it would last. Wasn't this how it had always begun? When war came to my brother, was cheering him on going to be the only thing I was good for?

The beer on the table has gotten stale by the time I drop back down in my chair and snatch it up; I drink it anyway. The days when no one dared let even half rotten food and tainted water go to waste weren't that far behind me. They felt more real than those glory days of the Kingdom of Prussia, honestly.

The glass is emptied and set aside; I could get another, better tasting one to wash the foul taste away but it seems pointless. I had to get my act back together before my brother came home; he didn't deserve to see this kind of ingratitude. Neither of us wanted me to die, after all, and he felt damned guilty about the fact I was even in this shape. It wasn't his fault, but he felt guilty anyway.

But why did living have to be so god damned painful and pitiful…?

~To be continued.