A/N: I was really actually debating on whether I wanted to post this or not. Not only because I couldn't even think of a decent title, but I know that Fritz wouldn't be so talkitive during his last hours, even joking none-the-less. It kills me to have to write something about someone I hardly even know but adore anyways. I've read a lot about Frederick, but I still can never quite figure out how he would handle his last days. I actually feel guilty about writing this, believe it or not, because I hate to think that I'm making him something he's not. But, with much self-encouragement, i decided I might as well so here it is. (: I hope you all can enjoy this.

xXxXx

Alone

The windows to the study were open. A light breeze passed through, ruffling the curtains and disturbing the muggy night air. There was a clock against the wall that read half-past midnight ticking mechanically by its lonesome in the semi-darkness. A single lit candle set upon the floor, flickering in the soft breezes and casting gruesome shadows against the walls of the study. A tin washing basin set nearby it, a damp washcloth resting on the rim.

All was silent except for the ticking of a clock, and the heavy, labored breathing of an ancient king.

Frederick the Great sat in his chair, head tilted back and mouth slightly agape as he tried to bring in air to his needy lungs.

"Fritz…"

Grey eyes slipped open, gazing wearily through the darkness until they fell on the familiar ruby ones he was looking for. "Yes?" His voice was deep and gravelly, not at all like Gilbert was used to hearing.

"I do not want you to go…"

There was a raw sounding wheeze, meant to be a laugh but painful for the ears and chest. "Do not be foolish," The old king chuckled. "You are acting like a child, Gilbert."

"But I do not want you to die…"

"If the gods demand my death, then so be it. I would be damned if I said I wasn't ready."

Gilbert sat on a small wooden stool next to his king. His smirk was gone, ruby eyes dull and sad as he gazed at the old, wizened face. He fingered the small iron cross hanging loosely over his sleeping shirt, running his thumb over the sides of the pendant. "Why…?" Was the only thing that fell off his lips.

"I have lived a long life," Frederick said slowly, breathing still heavy and making it rather hard to talk. "I have been through war. Through victory and defeat. I've written many books, composed many songs…" Frederick let his eyes slip closed, a hint of a smile pulling at his old lips. "I am happy, Gilbert."

"I am not…"

"All men must suffer loss. All men must die." He anticipated Gilbert's inquiry of "why?" and went on before the knight had a chance to respond. "We were born into this world for different reasons: You to represent your country, I to represent our people. We live our lives and then die in the end. There is no true answer as to 'why', other than to simply live out our purpose."

"Then why is it that I'm still alive after all this time…?"

"Because your purpose has yet to be fulfilled. Prussia still lives, as do you. Until this country is gone, you will still remain."

"But I should have already died then."

"And why is that?"

"I started off as a Knight of the Teutonic Order." Gilbert murmured. "But the order was disbanded* and I still existed. I should have died then, right? A new nations-person should have taken over but I remained still."

"You are absolutely right."

"So why am I still here?"

"Perhaps it is because of fate. Or perhaps not. No one really understands the sole purpose of you nation-people." Frederick shifted, letting out a rather pained series of coughs as he did. Gilbert reached for the damp cloth, dipping it in the water and wringing it before he carefully began to dab the cloth along his king's forehead. "Do you remember John Calvin?"

"Yes."

"Predestination." Frederick said, relaxing into his chair once more. "Perhaps it is that you were predestined to be here."

"By whom?"

"God, Buddha. For all we know it could be the Egyptian gods or some holy bowl of pasta*."

"Pasta…" Gilbert said slowly, brows furrowing together as he briefly wondered if the fever had finally gotten to him.

"Just an example," Frederick said with a wry smile. "It is rather hard to think in this position after all."

"Sorry…" Gilbert mumbled, tossing the washcloth into the basin. Some of the water sloshed over the sides, but the Albino made no move to clean it. His King never made a move to reprimand him either, so the mess stayed on the floor to be cleaned later.

They both fell silent for quite some time, Frederick finding it too hard to talk with his heavy breathing. The only sounds heard were that of the soft breezes from outside and the mechanical ticking the resumed its pace. The candle would flicker every now and then, distorting the shadows into what looked like monsters and even the Grim Reaper himself before settling back into their shapes.

The clock ticked, gears turning and the sound of something winding echoed throughout the room. There were a series of musical chimes, followed a few seconds later by one single note.

One o'clock in the morning.

For quite some time, there wasn't much exchanged between the old colleagues. Frederick nodded off a few times, only to be awoken by a coughing fit. Gilbert stayed unusually quiet as well, eyes trained on his old decaying master. He used the wash cloth several more times, wiping the king's face when dribble would slide down his chin or sweat beaded across his forehead.

One of the servants poked his head in at one point, but before he could ask if they needed help, Gilbert had ordered the young man out.

Steadily, as time passed and the clock chimed again at two o'clock, Frederick's condition began to worsen.

"Water," The old man croaked, and Prussia obediently went to pour him a glass. When Gilbert returned with the goblet of water in hand, his ruby eyes fell onto the pained expression on his master's face. The Albino became all the more distraught, setting the goblet down in favour of grasping his king's hand.

"Fritz," The knight murmured, but the king had found it impossible to talk. "Fritz, do not leave me, please."

A ragged intake of air.

"I do not want to be alone…"

A painful exhale.

"Please, Fritz…"

Gilbert buried his face into his hand, mussing up his hair and rubbing at his throbbing eyes as he watched his King die. Tears budded at the corner of his eyes, slipping down his face freely as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Frederick, I love you." Gilbert's voice cracked. "Please, do not leave me here alone, please."

Gilbert was greeted with nothing more than the sound of a mechanical ticking in the distance.

"F-fritz…"

A harsh breeze sifted through the open window, the candle flickering and shadows' dancing menacingly about the room until the small flame was snuffed out.

"Fritz, no…"

Silence.

"Fritz!"

Everything was so terribly silent.

Gilbert let out a choked sob, slipping his hand out from his kings as he stumbled back. Tears streamed down his cheeks non-stop and he found it damn near impossible to remember how to breathe. He gasped sharply, tumbling back as he tripped over the wash basin, knocking over the candle. Water splashed everywhere but he couldn't bring himself to call for a servant. He couldn't bring himself to move at all.

He was numb.

So terribly numb and he could not get himself to tear his gaze away from the corpse sitting in the chair in front of him. From the king whom he had honestly loved with all of his heart.

He was alone…

"F-FREDERICK!"

A gut wrenching scream echoed throughout the study as Gilbert erupted into frantic yells and sobs.

He was so terribly empty…

xXxXx

Note 1: The Teutonic Order, in reality, was disbanded several times. Once by a Hohenzollern descendent named Albert. The idea of disbanding the knights was proposed by, of all people, Martin Luther. Essentially, Albert had betrayed the very Order that had formed the basis of his own country. The Order still existed, however, and was never truly dismantled. As a matter of fact, it's military history lasts clear up until the Napoleonic wars. It was converted back to its original religious organization. Even then, however, it was abolished during World War II by Hitler in 1938. The Order still exists today. As a matter of fact, they even have their own website. (:

Note 2: Why yes indeed. I think I did just imply the Old Fritz was the first to think up pastaferianism. Dontshootmeplease

Bonus Note: I would like to mention now that even after all the books I've read, I have no idea if Fritz was every truly happy about dying. Or if he would even be capable to have a conversation with the problems he was dealing with. After what I have read though, I can probably tell you that he wasn't too happy with his life in the end. Yes, he accomplished much, but he had lost many people that he loved dearly and was left rather alone. I'd write more on this, but I'd end up writing a whole other story if I did so.

I've yet to pin down the "Wise Old Man" personality, as I'm used to writing about egotistical albino's and invisible blondes, so I hope you guys don't mind Fritz's rather comical one. I took rather fierce artistic license on this story in case you couldn't tell.

Fritz died on 17th of August, 1786 in Sanssouci Palace, Potsdam at 2:22am.

I didn't get to visit the room where he died, but Sanssouci really truly is a beautiful place. (: If you're ever in Germany, I suggest visiting it.