Totally went over my 1,000 word limit with this one. I regret nothing.

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Challenge: sense challenge

Prompt: hearing

Fic(s) involved: Brutal

Main character (and Hetalia counterpart): Austria Edel, District 8 (Austria)

Other characters (and Hetalia counterparts): Veta Ungar, District 8 (Hungary), Woof, District 8 mentor (canon Hunger Games character), implied mention of Gil Prus, District 10 (Prussia)

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It has been said that, as the human body succumbs to death, the last sense to expire is hearing.

Austria Edel hopes that is true.

A twig snaps, loud and clear as a gunshot in the jungle's silence. The crackling of its brethren and a rushed staccato of footsteps signal the presence of an intruder.

What occurs next is in almost complete silence, but should it be expressed in sound, Austria feels it would be nothing less than a violent sforzando. The cold metal bites at his throat, swift and unforgiving as the conductor's baton extinguishing an unworthy piece.

Almost at once, blackness rushes to obscure his vision, but his other sense – that ally which singled out tunes amidst the babble of the orphanage, which guided the piece he played on the day he met Veta, which numbed in shock at the calling of both their names – has not yet abandoned him. He hears a sickening crunch as their assailant is incapacitated, then a thud and another flurry of footsteps. The piece proceeds at too swift a tempo; losing his balance, he begins to fall. A familiar voice cries out as gentle arms interrupt his descent.

"H-Hey! Are you okay? What…"

He grasps at a breath, but it comes out ragged and searing with pain. How cruelly ironic, that the musician should be eliminated by the loss of his most fundamental instrument.

"A-Austria! H-Hang on, okay?"

If only he could speak, he thinks. There is so much he still has to tell her. So much that needs, now more than ever, to be said.

Memories of his last conversation with his mentor, the night before the Games, sweep through his mind.

"Have you thought any more about-" Woof's gaze dropped uncomfortably to the ground. The gesture was unnecessary; Austria already knew what the older man was talking about. The topic had not left his mind since the moment of the reaping.

"About how either myself or my fiancée will be dead in a month?" The harshness in his own tone surprised him. Attempting to release some of the tension – a laughably futile thought, really – he exhaled. "Veta's still convinced she's going to bring the both of us through somehow. I know that's just false hope. If the Capitol had heart enough to be swayed by a love story, they wouldn't have created the Games in the first place."

He had known all along that he wasn't going to make it out of the arena. As hard as he had tried for the both of them, his four in training had spelt his doom. Veta had always been the optimist; he, the realist. Even now, as he felt himself pulled upright and leaned against the rough bark of a tree, he both admired and cursed her determination. There's nothing you can do. Don't hurt yourself by dragging this out longer than it needs to be.

Her voice remerges through the descending gloom, and what pains him more than anything is how clearly he can hear her, his Veta, breaking amidst the frantic tears.

"I'll give you some time alone," said his mentor, abandoning the pretense that a heart-to-heart farewell would do anything but heighten the pain of the next day. The sliver of light from the adjacent room vanished as he closed the door. "Some time to think about what we discussed."

It had been Woof's plan for Austria to leave Veta some final message, in case he should perish without being able to say his goodbyes. More than that, Austria felt, it must be something she could hold to in the days afterward, so that his chapter in the pages of her life would not only be one of grief. For he was certain, both objectively and emotionally, that she was going to survive these dark days. She was strong, she was brave, she was everything that he only wished he could be. And, as painful as the thought was, she had only him to weigh her down. Without him there, nothing could stand between her and victory.

Trying not to dwell too deeply on the implications of that thought, the young musician turned to the papers stacked upon his bedside table. What to write? What could possibly make up for all they had suffered; all they had yet to suffer? He had always been a person of few words, especially as a boy. The orphanage had not lent itself to many interesting topics of conversation. Not even Veta had brought him fully out of his shell.

Shakily, his thin, fussy handwriting began to edge along the page.

"My dearest Veta,

If you are reading this, it means that I am dead."

He scratched this out in disgust. She would know very well what had happened to him by the time she read the letter. Why be so cruel as to remind her?

No, he would have to try again.

"To my dear fiancée,

I am grievously sorry I cannot be by your side. It pains my heart to write these words, for they mean we shall never be together, but with them comes the joy of knowing you are safe."

How very like him! How typical, to throw together fancy words in the hopes that their product might have more significance than its parts. This sort of formality would do nothing to ease Veta's pain. She had found his affected speech amusing, but not meaningful. It was not the sort of thing that had first drawn her to him…

He trailed his gaze over his ebony writing, the ivory page, and, in a surge of understanding, he knew what he would do.

Woof had dragged the keyboard into Austria's bedroom to prevent him from going mad during the long, sleepless nights. He had shown him how to record one's performances and even how to transfer the files to the pianos in the tribute train. The young musician had taken interest, but not until now had he realized just what a blessing the gift was.

Spreading out his hands and closing his eyes, he surrendered to emotion. What swept through him and into the music was the very story of their love. The gentle, tinkling strands of its beginning slowly melded into harmony; two separate souls intertwining as one. They rose, as an amorous crescendo, before dying in abrupt silence. Into the next section he poured all that had threatened to overwhelm him throughout the past week – shock, fear, grief, love, passion, rage. Everything built to a final fortepiano, more powerful and terrible than the first. Then, from the deafening silence, climbed one of the initial melodies, repeated with sadness and yet undeniable strength. Veta, alive and unconquered, just as he hoped for her to be…

Darkness has completely overtaken his sight now, and he can barely feel her hands against his shoulders. Even his hearing is beginning to fade. A thrill of fear goes over him, not only for her, but – he doesn't believe it to be selfish – for himself, as well. What lies beyond this? He's not sure what he believes. They'd never discussed it much. The prospect of their future, so near and bright and full of blessings, had seemed much more important than life's eventual decrescendo.

He tries, in vain, to talk to her one last time, but by now even the pain of the attempt has numbed. The finale has come, the curtain descended; all that remains is for him to retreat into the backstage shadows. The memory of his last great composition gives him some comfort. He has done all he can. It is enough.

Austria Edel hopes that is true.

Al niente.

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Some notes about musical terms used in this chapter:

Staccato – an abrupt, disconnected series of notes

Sforzando – a very sudden, forceful note

Tempo – the speed of a piece of music

Crescendo – gradually growing louder

Fortepiano – a sudden change in volume, from very loud to very quiet

Decrescendo – gradually growing quieter

Al niente – to nothing; fade to silence

Also, the fact at the beginning is not just something I made up – it is widely believed that hearing is the last sense to go before one dies. Makes Katniss' lullaby to Rue in The Hunger Games all the more meaningful, in my opinion.