The day is bleak, with a slow drizzle soaking into the German Confederation's wool jacket and beading on his Raupenhelm to drip cold water down the back of his neck. He ignores it: the new Bavarian uniform for his week-long visit with Bavaria needs to be broken in so he won't focus on the unfamiliar cut or the way the Raupenhelm feels more top-heavy than than the Pickelhaube he's been wearing when he's in Prussia's uniform - which is most of the time, since Prussia has control of him.

Prussia himself wears a battered, much-repaired Royal Guard uniform, and shows no sign of discomfort despite the miserable weather. The German Confederation can't help but wonder how Prussia can make cloth repaired so many times look immaculate, but he does. It's one of the many ways his older brother leaves the young Confederation feeling inadequate - even though Prussia himself never so much as hints that his young charge might possibly not meet his expectations.

"Good!" That single word means much more to the German Confederation than any fulsome praise: from Prussia, that 'good' is highest praise the German Confederation has ever received, and second only to the coveted 'awesome'.

They study each other for a moment, the old nation's body relaxed, poised, while the younger - gawky and awkward in a uniform with too much space in the shoulders and chest, to allow for muscle growth - breathes heavily, his body weakened by the slow, difficult process of Germanic unification. If Austria was not disagreeing with Prussia over the direction the Germanic nations should take, it was Bavaria, or Hesse, or Saxony, or... any of them, really. They will unite behind their Confederation, or at least provide a semblance of unity, but they all hate and distrust each other. The Confederation often wonders how he is not torn apart by their continual bickering.

Prussia, as always, wears a hint of a mischievous smile - when that smile disappears and Prussia looks serious everyone looks for cover. When Prussia hides his emotions beneath a smile and sarcastic words he controls that endless thirst for death, for blood. "You're doing well, little brother."

The Confederation stands at parade rest, waiting for the next command, all the while filing away the warm glow from his brother's praise to help him through the times when no matter how he tries he simply can't meet the demands Prussia makes of him. He will give everything to please his brother, the brother who nursed him to health and drove away the nightmares of being hunted down and killed, of a blue-eyed, golden-haired demon pinning him to the ground with a sword. He hardly ever has those dreams now, and he remembers little of the time before, although Prussia tells him he was an Empire until France destroyed him.

Prussia tilts his head, silently evaluating the Confederation's condition. He will push the younger nation to his limits, and always demands that the German Confederation give only his best, but he is never abusive, never cruel. A harsh taskmaster, but a just one, and the Confederation knows this is the same kind of training all Prussian officers receive. They must know their limits, know how far they can push themselves, and having learned this, learned to push past them and learned to command and to take control on the field, they must constantly strive to keep finding new strengths, new limits, because there are men who depend on them, men whose lives are in their hands, and those men have families that wait for their return. To give them less than everything is to dishonor oneself and betray one's subordinates, and if there is one thing the young Confederation knows it is that Prussia will never betray anyone in his care.

"Sword drill," Prussia decides, and the Confederation knows then that his mentor dislikes the chill damp as much as he and longs for something to warm him. He draws his sword, stance shifting to ready, and waits.

They move through the standard point and counterpoint moves for saber, not quite fencing drill, but close enough that the Confederation can see the similarities. As always they train with live steel: they are nations, a mortal wound will not end them, and the German Confederation must learn to fight without flinching from possible injury. If he is to fight alongside his people, he will be injured and suffer more pain than a human could, and must fight through.

Prussia unleashes a lightning-fast barrage of slashes and stabs, any of which would end a human. It is impossible that a nation as young as the Confederation could counter them all, and he doesn't, but the light sting of pain from his cheek and his left arm tell him that despite the speed Prussia is pulling his blows. The German Confederation doesn't complain, doesn't do more than tighten his lips and focus until his awareness narrows to Prussia and the swords. He may never need to battle another nation like this, but he still needs to know how to protect himself.

They spar until the German Confederation is stumbling, too exhausted to lift his sword even one more time. Prussia ruffles the younger nation's pale blond hair, grinning. "That's enough for today," he says. "Which one is giving you problems this time? Austria?"

The Confederation shakes his head, not wanting to send his mentor off on another bloody war. There have been too many of those already. "Just... the usual," he says instead. "The bickering and sniping and all."

Despite their soaked, sweaty uniforms, Prussia pulls him into a hug. The older nation is warm, and smells faintly of blood and iron. That smell is always there, and the young Confederation thinks his brother will always smell like that. He wonders sometimes if it's a bad thing that he finds the scent so comforting.

They return to their home, the German Confederation stumbling where Prussia's footsteps are sure and steady, his presence a tower of strength for his charge. Of all his brothers, Prussia is the one the Confederation trusts, the only one he is sure will never betray him, for Prussia is his protector and will always be, even when the Confederation has grown strong enough to stand alone.

The German Confederation can only hope he will become a nation worthy of Prussia's regard.