The young boy was laying on the ground. He was cold, beaten, and bleeding. Gilbert looked down at the boy, and felt bad for him. But what could he do? Gilbert turned around to leave. The boy was probably already dead by now…

"F-Feliciano…" Gilbert faced the boy again, who had let out a small raspy moan. Gilbert bent over to check for a pulse. It was tiny and faint, but still there. Gilbert cradled the boy in his arms, and dashed back home.

"I'm not letting you die, kid!"

XXXXXXXXXX

The boy had been ill for a week now. His wounds had healed somewhat, but he picked up a bad case of the fever. Gilbert was worried about the boy. "If he's going to die, at least make it quick! This is too much…" he thought. "…I just hope something happens soon." And so, Gilbert visited the boy every day. No matter what his chores were, he came without fail.

The boy had was usually asleep, mumbling the same thing over and over, "Feliciano…since the 900's…always loved you…always…" or sometimes, just that same name, "Feliciano". Gilbert never really knew who that was, but he assumed it was someone very important. Why else would he keep talking about her?

XXXXXXXXXX

Three weeks. Three weeks of checking up on the boy, watching his nightmares continue in the same, horrible pattern every day. Today Gilbert came in, a little earlier than usual, but the boy was sleeping quietly. At first he wondered if God had finally taken him…but then a miracle happened.

The boy's eyes opened.

He turned to look at Gilbert, clearly exhausted, and asked, "Where am I?"

"This is my house. You looked pretty bad so I got some of the servants to look after you until you were better," Gilbert said, fairly casual. "My name's Gilbert, but you'll probably hear a lot of people call me Prussia. What's your name?"

The boy had to think for a while about. "Maybe his mind is just a bit foggy from the fever," Gilbert thought to himself. The boy's answer shocked him.

"I don't know."