[September 21, 2006]

When his secretary announces that the former nation of Prussia wishes to meet immediately, Austria is slightly surprised but not overly disturbed. After all, few know better than he what an impulsive personality Prussia possesses.

He gathers his papers, requests tea and goes to join his former foe and sometime friend in the second piano room. Austria frequently feels the need of calming influences when he meets with Prussia. At the same time, he does not wish to take the risk that anything unforeseen happens to his favourite piano.

"Good afternoon, Herr Beilschmidt," Austria says for the benefit of the too curious young aide that stands with Prussia.

There is a tacit understanding among most nations not to draw notice to the fact that a dead (twice over!) nation is still walking around. Considering the repeated conflicts in former Jugoslavia, Austria feels it prudent to be more careful than ever.

"It has been quite some time since we last took tea together, hasn't it?"

"Mm? Yeah, tea," Prussia mumbles. "You don't think you have a spot of beer instead?"

"Of course. German, I presume?" Austria nods to his secretary who hastens off to call for beer. "What can I do for you then, Herr Beilschmidt?"

"For one, you can stop calling me that, Herr Stuck-up. I'm Pr-"

"Why, but you have not given me permission to call me by your given name, Herr Beilschmidt," Austria interrupts and gives the hovering aide a pointed glance. The hint is too discrete of course.

"What? Since when have I used Sie towards you? That's, that's the stupidest thing I've heard in years! That'd be something, brawling all day long and Sie-ing each other in the evening, hahaha!"

Prussia cackles. There really is no other word for it, and Austria feels the beginnings of a headache. It is not exactly that he dislikes Prussia, but the man can be oh-so-tiring.

"Then would you prefer if I called you Gilbert instead?" he asks.

"Whatever you want, my deee~earest Roderich." Now Prussia is positively leering, though he probably believes that he looks ironically suave. "We're all quite chummy now, aren't we?"

Finally, the beer arrives and so Austria is spared from answering. As soon as everything is laid out for them, he dismisses the humans with orders that they are not to be disturbed unless there is a national crisis.

"Prussia, really," he scolds while pouring his tea, "you know we do not want your, ahem, station to be known for a multitude of reasons!"

"Eh, whatever."

Prussia opens the bottle (against his teeth!) and leans back in the chair, looking quite ready to put up his feet Austria's antique furniture. Fortunately for him, the forbidding gleam in Austria's glasses dissuades him.

"It's not like we kept it a secret during the war and since I'm still around... You know, with this whole internet thing, people really can keep amazing track of all kinds of crap."

"Oh? I did not know that you were very technologically minded."

"Hell yeah! It's full of porn and home-made bomb instructions, we're like, a match made in heaven."

Austria hides a smile behind his tea cup. "Yes, I can certainly see what you mean."

They are both rude and unwanted, but won't go away.

"The guilty pleasure appeal, I think," he murmurs sotto voice.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Did you come here to discuss modern information technology with me, perhaps?"

For a moment Prussia looks nervous, before he hoots with laughter again, though this time there is a tinge of mania to it. Austria raises an eyebrow in polite surprise. He did not expect that simple question to make the other nation this nervous. Perhaps old Prussia is merely lonely again, but afraid to ask for company?

"Nah, it's more... You know, I was just thinking of music the other day," Prussia says in a firm voice, nodding as if he must convince himself that he is about to do a good thing. This, in Austria's experience, is never a favourable sign.

"That classical shit you like."

"You eloquence is stunning as ever."

"Yeah, um, it was something West said." Prussia drinks some more beer, then rises and begins to pace. He has always been very restless. It is almost comforting to have him walk around in Austria's home again, always tilting his bottle a little too much but not spilling a drop.

"He's practically tone-deaf, that one," Prussia confides, "but anyway he's gotten into his head that he wants to become more cultural. Probably your pansy-ass influence."

He throws Austria a crooked grin to show that this isn't one of the real insults, so Austria does what is expected of him in such cases; sniffs aristocratically and raises his nose at the uncouth barbarian invading his home.

It is probably due to the tea, but Austria feels himself relax as he watches Prussia walk around and sneer at his piano, play with the beautiful earth globe on the windowsill and stick his tongue out at a portrait of Francis Joseph. Somehow, no matter what time and changing luck might do to him, Prussia remains Prussia.

"What's the name of that song you're people are so fond of?" Prussia asks with his back to Austria, while looking at an apparently fascinating fin-de-siècle painting of Salzburg. "The dirty grey Danube?"

"An der schönen blauen Donau. Actually." Though he to control his voice, Austria knows that his stress is showing through a slight tick beneath his eye. Point to Prussia then, though he will dispute it. The dirty grey... if that is not a blow below the belt, he doesn't know what is!

"Hahaha! Oh, don't look so pissy," Prussia says, though he has still not turned around and so is merely acting out his own little delusional fantasy of how the world ought to be, "of course I knew that one! Pretty much inspired it, didn't I?"

"Yes, one could say your presence had a certain influence on the first text," Austria admits, "though the original lyrics are of course lost and not widely looked for today. They were, after all, rather mediocre from all accounts."

This time, Prussia does turn around and there is an ugly flush of anger on his usually pale cheeks. Austria sips his tea and does not acknowledge the fuming nation. He will not instigate a fight, but neither will he back down.

For a moment, it seems as if the former nation will insult him in his usual coarse way. Austria even wonders if Prussia has forgotten the rules of conduct and intends some violent action. After a few tense moments when Prussia's heavy breathing is the only sound in the room, he appears to find himself again and he merely flicks his head at Austria.

"You know what?" Prussia says. "Screw this. Hah, screw you, you waltzing pussy!"

Then, to Austria's great surprise, he slams the now empty bottle on the table, grabs his jacket and leaves without a further word.

"Well," Austria says to the portrait of Francis Joseph, "that was unexpected. I do not suppose you have any further idea as to what set him off? No, I did not think so."

[September 22, 2006]

"And then Gilbert simply left?"

"Yes, I have not heard of word from him since." He needs both hands to polish the viola, so Austria is slowly developing a crick in his neck from where he cradles the phone. Speaking to Hungary, however, overcomes whatever discomfort he is feeling and he has long found that it is the best way to finish a day.

"What did you say, specifically? I know Gilbo is... impulsive." Though he can not see her, Austria knows that they currently wear similar smiles at the memory of some of Prussia's less well-planned actions through history. "But why would he even care about the lyrics to the blue Danube waltz?"

Exactly what words did he use? Austria thinks back to the day before and... oh dear. Oh dear.

In hindsight it is so obvious that he ought to have bitten his tongue off rather than saying those words to a nation who has lost his territory, whom no one wants to revive.

...lost and not widely looked for today...

"I can not quite recall, that is, the wording has lost me. I mean, I have lost the wording!" Austria soldiers on before Hungary has a chance to ask what he means. "But never mind that. I must have involuntarily hurt him in some way, I shall just have to make good again."

There is a moment of baffled silence from Hungary, probably while she considers asking why in the world he even called her to complain about Prussia's unfathomable actions if he just wants to apologize anyway. Today, thankfully, she decides to be merciful on her socially inept ex-husband and allows him the clumsy change of topic.

"If I do not misremember, both the Germans are rather fond of sweets, are they not?" he continues in a hurried tone.

"Yes," Hungary answers, "though Gilbert less so than Ludwig. But when he came over to visit, he was very enthusiastic about this Nutella thing, so he probably likes chocolate."

"Then I shall send them a box of my finest Mozartkugeln," Austria says.

He puts the viola down and finds a piece of paper which has only been written on at the one side, where he puts down a large order to be express delivered to Germany.

"I believe that today is also the day that their great opera, Das Rheingold, premiered," Austria says and adds a note to include a greeting concerning this fact.

"Yes...?"

"Why, I am certain that Ludwig will not mind a small gift to commemorate such an important cultural event! Gilbert even mentioned how he is trying to improve his appreciation of the fine arts. And all politics aside, Wagner was a very fine artist. Don't you agree, my dear?"

"Hmm, you really don't want Pr- ah, Gilbert, to tell him what was so upsetting, do you?"

They are usually too mindful of the potential of tapped phone wires to allow themselves to slip up in their conversations, but lately Hungary has relaxed slightly, especially if she is amused or upset.

That his plight is entertaining her is perhaps not too flattering, but to hear that she is beginning to return to the more carefree days from before their forced split is as much a balm to his soul as the soothing tones of a classical piece.

To hold the phone hurts his neck, but he can speak to Hungary again through it, without all the tedium and forms of a state visit. In her voice lives a whisper of old love, which may grow forgotten by their people but never rusts in their own hearts.

After he's practiced at the piano for hours, his back feels stiff, but the passionate emotions he can creates more than makes up for it and nothing, nothing in the world sooths his heart like music.

Teasing Prussia, laughing gently at Prussia; it all makes him remember finer days. The beautiful time when his glittering Vienna was the heart of culture, his people the crème of gracefulness. So that too it is a fond pastime, even if it means that he must accept the barbs that come with the company.

However, when they are not merely being jokingly "too paranoid, ahaha" about even speaking Prussia's name on the phone, he can hear the casual apathy about spying and scrutinizing on a nation-wide scale in her voice. It is sickening.

If Prussia's overconfident grin turns into a mask of fury, when his eyes promise bloody death to all who oppose him...

Then, the mocking voice brings back a familiar, hurtful contempt from when he was looked at only as an enemy, a corrupt blemish on the face of Europe.

When the shadows in their voices appear, Austria remembers other bygone days, days that smell of iron and pain.

Austria will soon play the piano and lose himself in the calming sea of music, but before that... before that, he will do what he can for his ragtag little family.

Even if it means wasting fine delicacies on a lout and his brother (really, as if Nutella can even be classified as chocolate!). For old enemies, that have been around until they became friends, it is a small thing to sacrifice his handcrafted delicacies.

[September 24, 2006]

It is well after ten o'clock in the evening when Prussia comes by again, somewhat more subdued than before. Without a word, he hands over a thank-you note from Germany.

Austria politely invites him into the salon and this time, the lout even accepts the offered coffee. Though, Prussia being Prussia, he slurps from his cup in a most unbecoming way and scatters crumbs all over.

They enjoy their coffee in silence, only interrupted by the squeaking of Prussia's chair when he leans back and balances dangerously on two legs.

Well, that, and the occasional grinding sounds from Austria's teeth, who can't help himself because the poor tortured antique will surely break beneath Prussia any minute now and would you please sit up straight, Gilbert!?

For being them, though, this is unusually mellow. The odd mood remains until the household staff have accepted that, really, Prussia does want salami sandwiches with his Wiener melange and thank you, your services are not needed any more.

"You should just get rid of the whole lot of them," Prussia scoffs when the door at last closes. "What's the need for servants if they can't obey instantly?" He has finally given up on leaning the chair and now hangs over the table with his elbows taking up far too much space on the table - that is, in Austria's opinion, any at all.

"Things are different now. I think at least half my staff are actually from the department of security," Austria says and congratulates himself that he has so far resisted Prussia's blatant rudeness. He will make good last time's faux if it so kills him... provided, that is, Prussia doesn't begin insulting his music again.

"I had to teach them all how to clean and make afternoon tea in the proper way, imagine that!"

His fellow (former) nation just rolls his eyes. "Clean, why the hell do you need humans to clean for you? Just conquer someone to do that crap. You've managed that before..."

"Quite so. Although honestly, even the most inept bodyguard makes a better maid than Italy ever did," Austria confesses.

"They're a lot less cute, though!"

"True." He smiles. Those were the days... His lively little family all under one roof, laughing and bickering and loving. If only they had not ended in such darkness, if only young Italy had not left them with a broken heart and heavy memories.

"Still, I am touched that they worry so about me," Austria continues. "It was different before, when we were all expected to be warriors. Now..." He flounders for the words for a moment, while Prussia stays uncharacteristically silent. "My children know me, are part of me, more than ever. Yet they want to change us all the time. For the better, they claim, though they rarely agree on what is better or worse."

"Yeah, that's really different lately, how everyone has an opinion." Prussia nods in thoughtful agreement. "Most of the brats never really cared about us before, did they?"

No, Austria thinks, they did not. He has always tried to keep a cultural connection with his people, from a sense of propriety and a vague realisation that it is important for him to stay whole.

But it was so difficult to visit every mountain village, to try and see things as those who barely considered themselves Austrian would. Easier to stay in his beautiful Vienna and watch the dancers.

Many of their kind stayed, by necessity and habit, almost exclusively with their rulers and their soldiers. So, of course, only those would truly come to know their country while their countries knew little besides the military or nobility, depending on their nature.

Perhaps that is why so many of them are still struggling with their instinct to bow before their masters too easily, are ready to take up arms at the first hint of a threat?

"Never really got to try out proper democracy, you know," Prussia says, oddly sombre. "Can't say I see the fascination... I mean, with a good king you had their whole lifetime to get to know them."

Austria can see easily the shadow of love and pain in Prussia's face as he remembers his dearest Fritz, and raises his cup in a silent toast. The crimson-eyed nation accepts with a nod and does the same.

"Now, they are replaced so quickly and sometimes, I think they are all the same." Prussia shakes his head. "West is always telling me how bloody awesome this whole government of the people shit is, but I dunno..."

"If you had a bad master, you also had to endure them for a lifetime," he tries to remind him.

"Heh, that still hasn't change a damn! The bad ones, the madmen, they bite hold of us and won't let go until we pry them off. That's one damn thing the French bastard did right, at least!"

Did you ever try...? The question is on the tip of his tongue, but Austria stops himself from asking it again.

He suspects, as he knows Germany does too, that Prussia and his ragtag remains of nobility did try back then. More than once, even.

However, there are things concerning betrayal and regicide that gentlenations just do not ask of each other, even if the revealing light of history would probably cast such actions as a heroic.

No, they do not ask. Especially not when he also knows that Prussia wore the black uniform and the corrupted cross to spare his still naïve brother. With it, he accepted all the less savoury duties of the German state a time when they were simply too many to count.

This, which is yet another thing neither Austria nor any other nation mentions, is at least half the reason they all try to pretend that the white-haired brawler in their midst is nothing more than the plain human "Gilbert Beilschmidt". As luck would have it, the few governments in the know seem to agree with them that this is the best course of action.

"Is there any reason in particular that you have come here, Prussia?" Austria asks instead, deciding that since tact did not give him much the last time, he may have more success with brutal directness.

His old enemy fidgets. Austria waits and hides a smile behind his coffee cup when Prussia gets up to pace again. So predictable...

"Well, uhm," he begins and chews his dirty thumbnail in a way that makes Austria long for the days when they all wore gloves, "you know, I gotta admit that some of the bosses are a bit different from each other. Yeah, some..."

"Yes, certainly," Austria agrees. "I have rarely seen England wax poetic about anyone as he does whenever the topic of Churchill comes up."

"Mhm, that too. But I was thinking more- Ow, shit!" Prussia winces and glares at his finger.

"What happened?" Austria asks and hurries over. Oh dear, he thinks when he sees the way half the nail is torn off from Prussia's over-enthusiastic chewing, and here I thought he would only break a chair or two.

"Let me get you a plaster," he offers, but Prussia's hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Nevermind, it's nothing!"

"Really, Prussia, you don't need to pretend-"

"I'm not pretending, you aristo twat!" he snaps. "Look, I gotta- I gotta talk about this and it's bloody embarrassing so would you please just sit down, shut up and ignore my damn finger? Not like I haven't bled often enough before!"

With an exasperated sigh, Austria obeys. At least he will finally find out about what has been bothering his friend enough to make him come here and, considering his usual mode of asking for things, practically beg for help.

"If you are certain it does not disturb you, please, by all means continue."

"Yeah. Right, fine." Prussa takes a few moments to chew off the nail piece sticking out, which makes Austria avert his eyes with a small shudder. How can someone who is several hundred years old still act so much like a bratty little boy?

"This thing with politicians is that they're not kings, you know?"

"Yes...?"

"And I'm pretty much used to kings. Well, and dukes, generals, princes and all that other crap but it's, basically, the same shit. At least in the pants department." He gives Austria a meaningful glance. "You're more used to this frilly stuff, aren't you?"

For a few moments, Austria can only blink in open confusion, before he manages to untangle the erratic thread of Prussia's thoughts. "Is this perhaps an allusion to your Bundeskanzlerin Merkel?"

Prussia nods sharply and then begins to chew on the nail of his index finger.

"Please refrain from doing that, before you hurt yourself more," Austria chides while he takes down his glasses to polish.

So... Prussia is having a hard time adjusting to the latest Chancellor of Germany being a woman? It feels strangely disappointing, especially considering his long association with Hungary - not to mention the fact that this one has been in power for several months now.

But then he did have some rather strong opinions of Maria Theresia, didn't he? Although Austria always thought most of that was just his usual wartime bluster.

"Before you start calling me a sexist old pig," Prussia interrupts his thoughts, "I'm not complaining that she is a woman. Hell, she's almost more of a man than you, with your bows and pianos..." he trails off at Austria's icy glare. "'Kay, low shot, sorry!"

"Then wherein lays the problem?"

Red eyes roll in exaggerated tedium. "I thought that you of all people would remember, since this whole waltzing thing is pretty much your fault!"

"Excuse me...?"

And then, finally, it dawns on him. Of course Austria was invited to join the celebrations and he has already written his dinner speech. Why, he even spoke to Hungary about it yesterday, inquired what colour dress she was planning to wear so that he could match his corsage with it!

She is a guest of honour due to her actions he, who always felt that Hungary did not receive enough recognition for her bravery during that overwhelming time, wanted to do everything to make the evening as perfect as possible. The happiness in her voice, that he cared to ask, warms Austria. It also made him wish he could do more than offer this small symbol of love and support.

"It's the ball, isn't it?" he asks. There are only nine days left. He really can't believe that he did not connect the clues until now. How Hungary will laugh at him!

"You are worried about the commemorative feast for the Tag der Deutschen Einheit, aren't you, Prussia?" he prompts when the other still does not speak.

Finally, the other nation stops pacing and throws himself back onto his chair.

"Yep," he admits, "because it's not enough that we just all go out and get drunk like usual! Oh no, suddenly they want to have a fancy-schamncy party!"

In retrospect, there is not much else that would make Prussia breach the topic of waltzing, is there? But he has always been so worried about appearing weak, that it is almost adorable.

"And you believe you may have to dance with your Bundeskanzlerin, am I correct?"

Prussia shakes his head in desolation. "Even worse," he admits, "I could handle that without crushing her feet at least. No, they want me to open the ball with her."

Oh.

"First dance, before I don't know how many cameras! Although," he puts on a brave grin, "of course I'll look a lot more awesome than West, so I can kinda see why they want to switch us!"

"How unexpected."

How foolhardy, he would like to say, except that Prussia, no matter what denials he may spout, is beaming with pride. Austria doesn't even want to imagine the consequences if he were to rain on this parade.

"If, if I may be so bold," Austria begins carefully, "what about your brother?"

"He doesn't admit it, but I'm starting to think it was his idea."

Though he makes a face and does his best to sound disgusted, there is a definite warmth in Prussia's voice. Austria remembers that both Germanies have rather sentimental sides to them, much as they strain to hide it.

"The official explanation is that I'm just some government lackey, representing the East. They want to unite the country more, make us old Ossies feel that we too are a real part of Germany." He shrugs with fake indifference. "I think it's just West feeling guilty because they're all pretending I don't exist, but whatever..."

"So." Austria adjusts his glasses and doesn't even try to hide his amusement, "I guess this means that you want to take dance lessons?"

"If you're planning to be a jerk about it, you can forget it all," Prussia replies immediately.

"Of course not, my dear Prussia. Whenever would I be so petty?" Austria says and means it, almost. "Although, you must admit, such an easy opportunity does not come often, no?"

"Bleeeh," is Prussia's most mature response.

"Consider it your payment for my services," Austria laughs and rises to take Prussia's hand. "Now then, let us proceed to the dance studio so we can estimate how dire your predicament is!"

"Before you get too stuck-up about this," Prussia threatens while he follows Austria, "remember that I will soon hold your toes hostage!"

"Ah, but I hold your dignity before the world, do I not?"

Austria's dancing studio would, in any other household, be described as a ball room. There is pink marble, crystal crowns and gilded angels that adorn the roof. At his orders, his favourite gramophone is brought in, the body of finest teak and a relief of the Austrian eagle enveloping the horn.

"They have CD's nowadays, you have caught on to that little fact, right?" Prussia says as he pokes at the gold inlays.

"I prefer this more robust sound," Austria says simply, "although naturally, there is nothing that compares to a live orchestra."

"Yeah, you just forget about that... Bad enough that I have to dance without you, I can live without an audience thanks!"

"I know, I know."

Austria removes his tie and suit jacket, smiling encouragingly when Prussia follows his lead and takes off the baggy hooded sweater he is wearing. His t-shirt and slacks are not what Austria would consider proper dancing wear, but they will have time for a dress rehearsal before the big day.

He puts on his gloves to handle the disc and then decides to leave them on, so as to make Prussia feel a little less awkward about holding his hand. Then, as the disc spins and the gramophone begins to sound its low susurrus, he takes Prussia's hand in his and pulls him out on the empty floor.

"Shall we dance, then?"

"Might as well," Prussia mutters, an adorable blush staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

When the first, sweet tones of An der schönen blauen Donau swell in the room, Austria begins moving slowly and gently pulls Prussia along.

He is not too surprised but much relieved, when he realises that Prussia does know the basics, although his posture is far too stiff and - how sweet! - his mouth moves, as he counts the steps soundlessly.

The music picks up and Prussia begins to look a bit wild around the eyes as Austria sweeps him along faster and attempts a few minor variations of the steps. True to form, he refuses to give up and only grasps Austria's hands harder, stomping along the best he can.

"Not so rough," Austria murmurs, "flow with the music."

"Easy for you to say," Prussia snaps and tenses even more.

They finish the song, although Prussia breaks off almost before the last tone has finished completely.

"Shit," he curses, "this is gonna be a fucking disaster!"

"Nonsense," Austria consoles him, "you have the basics and, believe me, I have made wonderful dancers from plenty of students far worse!"

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you think I would lie about waltzing?"

"Well... I hope not. Because if I do manage to trip the Bundeskanzlerin, I'm going to tell the whole world that you were my teacher!"

"It is not so difficult. By the way, I must ask you to bring better attire tomorrow; ballroom dancing requires a specific state of mind and as such tee-shirts are not conductive to the proper mood."

Austria has become quite good at ignoring Prussia and the faces he makes when he thinks he, Austria, is being 'foppish'. Something that is certainly coming to use right now.

"Now then..." Austria says and prepares to go into true lecture mode. "I think the first problem is that you hold yourself too stiffly."

"I'm not used to being led, 'specially not by you," Prussia protests. "And couldn't you have picked a little less, uh, shiny training hall? This is definitely not my style."

"You are a good rider, I know," Austria continues his lecture, ignoring Prussia's complaint. "Imagine how you act when on horseback, how you and the beast move together and take your cues from each other. Dancing is much the same; whether you are leading or not, the most important thing is to feel your partner and convey your own wishes to them."

He watches Prussia consider this with a perplexed frown for a moment, before adding another simile. "Imagine this then - an army. The soldiers must know that they can trust the commander, correct?"

"Well, yeah... or you just put someone with a gun at the back to shoot deserters."

"Ah," Austria winces a bit, "that is not quite the image I am going for here. Besides, surely you must agree that a motivated, spirited army always outperforms one that is merely forced to be there and would rather escape at once?"

"Well, sure. I just mean that you don't have to have-"

"I know, I know." He pats Prussia's hand. "Try to think a bit "foppishly" for once in your life, okay? I think that will make things a lot easier."

"Hmpf. You're the one who began talking about armies!"

"I am merely trying to put things in terms familiar to you... Here, let me put on the music again." He does so, and they listen to the opening tones, before Austria adjusts the volume and continues his attempts at explaining.

"With a good commander, the men do not try and second-guess or hesitate when an order arrives," he says. "They know in their hearts that even if they can not anticipate what will come, their commander can and so, it is surely the best possible order the have just received. In the same way, if the follower trusts the leader, they can flow together so much more easily."

"So what you're trying to say is that I should stop going my own way and just follow you, huh?"

"Not quite... After all, with the Kanzlerin you will lead. Here, let me show you." He puts on a different record. "This time, I want you to lead. Try to show me where to go, but allow my body to follow on its own!"

It becomes very obvious that even if Prussia has been a very efficient commander of men, he is far from being a great dancer; in fact, he can barely be classed as a decent one.

Instead of showing the way and allowing Austria to move with him, he pulls and wrangles the slighter man, sometimes changing direction mid-step and becoming confused when Austria tries to finish his own move.

Halfway through the song, Prussia tears loose his hand and stomps away in frustration. "That fucking sucked," he mutters once Austria has silenced the music. "Damn!"

"Come now," Austria begins, "consider my earlier words."

"What? The part where I'm supposed to ride you or the part where we're supposed to fight the other dancers?" He is chewing his lip in frustration and refuses to meet Austria's eyes.

"No, you dunce," he says after having cleared his mind of the very disturbing image of Prussia 'riding' him.

"The part where I said that trust is important... Look." Austria waltzes a few rounds with his hand around an imaginary partner. "Did you see me tug or push there?"

"Of course not," Prussia mutters, "but then you usually don't have to do that when you dance with air. Except maybe if you are England."

"Would you shut your mouth and at least try and listen?" Austria snaps and, wonder above wonders! Prussia actually obeys him and falls silent.

"If the one who leads acts as if they know where they are going, the follower can trust. If you have to push me to go anywhere, I will feel in my body that you don't really expect me to follow and then I can not confide in your leadership. If that happens, we will both strain in different direction and so, we can not properly dance."

Red eyes look thoughtful. "So, you mean, it's basically all about appearing confident?"

"No, it is about being competent and appearing confident at the same time. But really, Prussia, you already know the steps even if you are a bit rusty. It is just this feel for the music and your partner you lack. Who taught you to dance, by the way?"

"One of the princesses," Prussia says, still apparently mulling over Austria's explanation. "She said it was sad that I never got to dance. Not that her training helped much..."

"Why not?" Austria can't help but ask. After all, Prussia looks quite dashing in formal wear and he can't be rude and obnoxious all the time. Not all the time, right?

"Eh, the girls back then didn't see much use dancing with someone they couldn't marry anyway." He shrugs. "Although we did some folk dancing after battles sometimes... if there were enough people around who didn't need stitches, that is."

This all sounds absolutely terribly to Austria, but since his partner doesn't seem to care, he decides to leave the matter for now.

"But you know... I think I kind of get your point," he continues and nods slowly. "Gotta inspire confidence or you don't deserve to receive confidence, right?" He grins at Austria. "Hah, I can do that!"

Of course he can. Austria smiles encouragingly. They have some days to smooth out the actual steps; as long as he can teach this man what dancing is all about, he has no doubt that the rest will come as easy as a new sword drill.

"Let's try again, with the Danube. I really gotta nail my own song properly, eh?" Prussia says and winks.

"Indeed."

Austria starts the music and, after a moment's hesitation, removes his gloves. It is, after all, better for Prussia to encourage all stressful situations in training, he reasons.

Their hands grasp and this time, when Austria takes the lead, Prussia follows easily. Perhaps he is still clumsy, certainly he misses a step now and then...

But now he allows his confidence to soar and tries to follow the music, instead of his own stiff count.

After so many years, Prussia lets Austria lead the way without struggling to march to his own beat and soon they are dancing together, all old quarrels forgotten as the music carries them away.

/End

Note: I have no idea if they have a fancy party with waltzing at the "Tag der Deutschen Einhet". Probably not, so just pretend they do in Hetalia-world

Useful words:
Sie - The polite German form of "you", which is used towards people who are not close friends or family. I don't think that Prussia uses Sie towards Austria, but what do I know?

An der schönen blauen Donau - On the beautiful blue Danube, the most famous waltz of them all. Composed by Johann Strauss II.
The English name of this waltz by is simply The blue Danube.

Mozartkugeln - Austrian candy, named after Mozart. A ball of marzipan covered in nougat and chocolate, usually

Das Rheingold - The first part of the classic opera The Ring of the Nibelung.

Bundeskanzler/in - Federal Chancellor, the head of government in Germany. This is currently Angela Merkel. The -in ending shows feminine form in German

Tag der Deutschen Einhet - German unity day. October third when East and West Germany officially became one again.

Ossie - "Easterner", someone from East Germany