Mourning in Exile (Germany + Lithuania)

[Lithuania]

5th of December, 1941

”Veni, veni Emmanuel...”

The first week of Advent. The first dusting of frost appearing crisply on the ground outside of Ludwig's home, the first bite of chill in the air. And traditionally, the first little surge of hope as the Christmas season dawned, a conditioned reaction to winter despite the fact that, for years, Advent had never held anything of particular joy for Toris Lorinaitis. Communists didn't celebrate Christmas, and he wasn't certain that Nazis were much different.

”...captivum solve Israel...”

He sang the Catholic hymn to himself softly as he swept the floor of Ludwig's hallway and tried to ignore how desperately his chest hurt. There was something in the air that he could feel, even shut away here in the middle of the German countryside, with little to no contact with the outside world. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew that the ache in his heart had crescendoed into a physically unbearable stabbing pain. It was the kind of pain that kept him awake at night, that left him wide eyed and sleepless until dawn, freezing cold and cheeks streaked with salt water. It wasn't just war, it was something much more tainted with sadness than even the harshness of combat, something which had no name but hung like a spectre in the air that he breathed.

“...qui gemit in exilio...”

His voice faltered as he set down the broom and sat on the stairs for a moment, observing the immaculately clean floor with dull, listless eyes. He should be happier here. Ludwig was gone more often and, when he was here, the German was calm, reasonable and rarely raised a hand to the brunette, if at all. If he did his chores and kept his mouth shut, then he had the luxury of being left alone here. He almost...almost...felt as though he'd chosen the right side. Not that there had been a whole lot of choice in the matter.

“...privatus Dei Filio...”

Noticing a streak of polish residue on the mahogany of the bannister, he pulled out a cloth from the pocket of his apron and wiped it clean with an absent diligence, before getting to his feet again. The house was cold, empty and pristine. Russia's ramshackle house, filled with horrors as it sometimes was, had felt like a home, in its own perverse way. Germany's abode seemed hostile and empty, lacking in any comfort in the same way that it lacked any other source of emotion, for better or worse.

“...Gaude..g..gaude...”

Like a caged bird, he kept singing the haunting little melody, his heart quietly constricting and the words tasting empty on his tongue as he stood and made his way to the kitchen to where the kettle screeched at the edges of his hearing. The sound was welcome, a blessed interruption to the almost funeral-like hush that had descended over Ludwig's house in his absence, a gravity which was only intensified by the Lithuanian's inexplicable mourning for some horror which had had not yet unearthed, some atrocity which only existed to him, for now, as a cold little nameless worm of anxiety and unease and regret which coiled up in his stomach and disrupted his sleep.


“...Emmanuel...nascetur pro te...Israel....”

He was in the kitchen now, his voice echoing clear and mournful in the cold room. He paused in song for a moment to blow on his hands, the warmth of his own breath momentarily warming his hands. He still didn't dare to use a fraction more of Ludwig's coal than was necessary for the bare essentials. He still didn't dare to do a lot of things. But the prospect of a warm cup of tea was like a siren's call to the haunted, miserable little brunette.

He hummed the melody as he poured the steaming water into the china cup, his hands shaking slightly. The green eyed little nation glanced out over the expanse of German landscape that stretched out beyond the window, the ground hard with frost and the blades of grass crisp with the first hint of starchy, frozen white.

Sighing, he clasped the cup to his chest and inhaled the weak vapours of the tea, having only used enough leaves to taste and no more. It was really the warmth that he craved.

Desperately forlorn, without quite being able to explain exactly why he felt so utterly lost, he found himself sinking quietly to the floor, still humming the hymn like a mantra. Bringing his knees to his chest, he curled himself up in his favourite corner of the kitchen, shrinking into the corner like a mouse. Satisfied that he was alone with the ache in his chest, he clutched the tea as though it might afford him some desperate comfort for a moment.

Eyes wide with a vacant sadness which did not yet have a name, he barely heard the soft hitch of the latch being opened at the front door.


-----

((OOC: This is set after Ludwig's fic, The Lies My Boss Told Me. The advent hymn is, of course, "Veni, Veni, Emmanuel". Most of you will surely know Latin, but here's a rough translation.

"Come, Come Emmanuel,
Free captive Israel,
Who mourns in exile
deprived of the son of God.

Rejoice, rejoice.
Emmanuel is born for you, Israel."))

[Germany]

There was a bitter chill in the air. It bit sharply at Ludwig’s nose and ears, stung his cheeks and lips and snuck under his coat collar to nip at his neck. When he breathed in it rushed up his nose like a thousand tiny, icy knives, intent on driving all the heat out of him.

December.

The end of the year. The beginning of winter, as well as the holiday season. Tomorrow was St. Nikolaus Day and Christmas was right around the corner. In towns and cities bright, festive decorations cheerfully announced this fact from the insides of many a shop and house, even outside and on street corners. Decorated trees. Pretty candles. Scenes of snow and winter painted on windows and worked into dioramas; most depicted children — and sometimes their parents — laughing and playing in a joyous wonderland full of glittering snowflakes and friendly animals where delicious treats were abundant and the very air itself hung heavy with magic.

It was a time to celebrate and make merry; a time for giving, loving, and miracles.

On Christmas Eve, it was said, the purest of heart would look on in wonder as the rivers turned to wine, animals started to speak to one another, trees burst into fruit, and mountains opened up to reveal their rarest and most beautiful treasures. They would hear church bells ringing up from the depths of the ocean and experience an unfathomable level of peace and joy. For them and them alone, Heaven would truly come to Earth.

Germany knew with absolute certainty that, just like every other year in the past going as far back as he could remember, he wasn’t going to be seeing or hearing any of these miracles this Christmas Eve. Nor would ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine percent of his adult population, most likely. Perhaps none of them. The smallest children…now they might have a chance. If they had not already been corrupted by their parents or der Führer’s hate propaganda.

Tonight, according to traditional holiday legend, St. Nikolaus would come visit the houses where children dwelled, and his book of sins would tell him which children had been good and which hadn’t. The good children would receive delicious holiday treats in the boot they had left out by the fireplace. The bad children would wake up to find twigs in their boots.

St. Nikolaus didn’t give treats to adults whether or not they were crazy enough to leave a boot out, but Ludwig imagined that if he did, he would be extremely lucky if he found coal in his. More than likely it would be something far less pleasant and smellier originating from a barnyard.

And he would thoroughly deserve it.

Actually, he deserved far, far worse.

“Please! Please don’t!” The words haunted him like ghosts, echoing forever in his memory, replaying without warning whether he was awake or asleep, “We’ll run away! No one will ever know! God, Ludwig, please! You’re not like them! You’re better than this!”

Damn, why did they have to do that? Why?!

For the last two days Ludwig had been trying to take his mind off it, been trying like crazy to forget and focus on other things. His job. His duties. Looking out for the wellbeing of his citizens. But everywhere he looked he saw them: desperate and terrified, they would be crouched in the corners of houses and buildings, or lying on the floor dressed in scarlet. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of the top of a small head sporting neatly-combed black hair right before it ducked behind a countertop. His breath hitching and his heart beating faster, he would go over to investigate only to find nothing.

Always nothing.

It was always the worst at night, when the phantom pangs that had been gradually increasing in frequency and severity for the past two years or so were more prone to striking. At bedtime he usually had too much on his mind to go to sleep right away, and that’s when the images loved to come to him. They would appear in more vivid detail than in the day, adding mental pain to physical. Last night they had even crept into his dreams.

Walking briskly, Ludwig tried again to focus on his beautiful countryside: how pretty the ground and flora looked frozen over with an extremely fine white dusting of frost, how the crisp stalks of yellow-tan grass crunched under his boots. The sun was low and shot like blood on the horizon; it would be dipping behind the western hills within the hour, taking its warmth with it. Venus shone like a white-hot ember in the glow. It was a picturesque, albeit icy, evening.

Usually an uninterrupted, quiet walk through nature in scenic conditions such as these had a relaxing, mood-enhancing effect on Ludwig. But this time even the setting sun’s gorgeous fiery display and the way it glistened off white frost accompanied by the sounds of the wilderness could not lift his sprits. Never before had he felt so depressed, angry, guilty, frustrated, and powerless: so utterly shaken to the core. Never before had he questioned himself or his people.

Over the last week he had begun to question everything, and the more he did, the worse he felt.

The more he learned, the more he wished he didn’t know. Ignorance really was bliss — that was why he couldn’t be happy these days. He knew too much, and it was crushing. So many families would have cause only to mourn this holiday season. Because of his Führer, the Nazis, and him. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if it only involved Russians, or Poles, or a group more deserving. But it affected a relatively innocent, harmless group that also happened to include quite a few Germans — his people. And not only the Jews, though they were by far the main feature.

He could see his house now, and the shed not far from it where he kept a fair number of weapons, explosives, tools, machine parts, and other things of that nature.

His house…it would be warmer in there.

Or maybe not, if his suspicions were confirmed and Toris did in fact turn out to be a closet-masochist.

Ah, but he could always build up the fire. A warm drink — perhaps spiced cider, hot chocolate with rum, or tea — sounded really good right now. He broke into a full-tilt run, eager to put the cold behind him, blotting all else from his mind.

Faster, faster…

The door unlatched easily enough. He was at a loss to explain why he almost stumbled in as though he expected it to be locked: perhaps he hadn’t done as good a job as usual killing his momentum.

The very first thing he noticed was that inside wasn’t much warmer than outside. He could tell the difference, but it didn’t seem to be much. Certainly not as big a difference as he would have liked to have come home to.

Toris, you masochist. he thought with a subdued inward sigh, swiftly shutting the door behind him. The outer part of his gray SS uniform was as frost-bitten as the outdoors, but taking it off when then the house felt like this did not at all seem like a comfortable option. After pulling his hat down a little more over his head, he nonetheless took his gloves off and began rubbing his hands together for warmth, pausing every few moments to breath into them.

Where was that Baltic of his? It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

The Lithuanian had been here recently — of that there was sound evidence. His house was spic and span. The kind of spic and span that told him the other country had only recently finished cleaning.

“Toris!” A glance into the living room told him his servant wasn’t in there, so he strode into the kitchen, figuring it to be the next most logical choice, and where he needed to go anyway to make his drink.

There was Toris, sitting up with his knees in front of him curled into a corner like a little mouse, a fresh cup of hot liquid in his hands.

“There you are,” Ludwig was aware with a twinge of embarrassment that his tone lacked its usual commanding quality — his relief at having discovered his Baltic safe and sound right when he needed him was paper-thin. He quickly regained himself. “What are you drinking?” he came over and peered down into the cup. It looked — and smelled — like some kind of tea.

A sharp pain flared up in his left shoulder, causing him to wince and take a sharp breath. I’m not even going to think about that.

Instead, he kept his attention on the smaller nation before him. “Why is it freezing in here? You know that I almost can’t tell the difference between inside and outside? It’s great that you’re okay with being a living icicle, but I’m not. Build the fire up!”

__________________________________________

A/N: Turns out the Christmas Tree originated in Germany. Who knew? ^^ Yay for Google for helping me out with the details of German holidays and how/when they are celebrated. It’s really not like in the U.S. ( We tend to throw St. Nicholas Day into Christmas Eve, and the way we celebrate and when we put trees up is noticeably different, too. ) I learned something new. ^_^

0.00001% translates into about 4 in every 40 million people, for the curious. [/color]

[Lithuania]

“Toris!”

He looked up with a nervous start and a few drops of hot tea splashed onto his lap as Ludwig's voice suddenly and unexpectedly echoed through the house. His head swam with a reflex panic for a moment. Were all of his chores done? The house was spotless, at least. Would the German be expecting dinner to be on the table? He hadn't been expecting him home from the front so soon! Oh God, did they even have anything in the house for a proper dinner? Toris himself had been eating like a bird, his normally tiny appetite diminished even further by the feeling of unrest which plagued him.

He squeezed his eyes closed momentarily as Germany marched into the kitchen. The brunette couldn't help but brace himself guiltily for a blow or some tirade over him sitting around drinking tea instead of making himself useful. And even though he knew objectively that there probably wasn't one coming, the stark lack of authority in Ludwig's tone when he spoke still took him by surprise.

“There you are.” Toris opened one eye, then the other and offered the tall blonde a nod and a timid, apologetic little smile. “What are you drinking?”

“Black tea...” he faltered guiltily, looking up at Ludwig and noticing a flash of pain mar the other man's face as he inhaled sharply. The Lithuanian uncurled himself slowly and stood up, still clinging to the mug as the only source of warmth in the room. He studied Ludwig carefully, holding his breath as he quickly and cautiously tried to assess the dominant nation's mood before he dared speak. It was an old habit from living with Ivan, from a life of constantly second guessing and, while it was probably unfair to apply the same fear to the German, who was objectively much more reasonable, he couldn't quite shake the survival instincts he'd developed.

“Why is it freezing in here? You know that I almost can’t tell the difference between inside and outside? It’s great that you’re okay with being a living icicle, but I’m not. Build the fire up!”

“Sorry, sir...I...” he set the tea down on the kitchen counter with a start and shoved his hands, red and chapped with cold, into the pocket of his apron. “I wasn't sure if I was allowed to use up your coal and...and I didn't know that you'd be home or I would have...” The smaller man trailed off and mumbled another embarrassed apology under his breath, before grabbing the empty coal bucket which stood beside the furnace. He disappeared out of the kitchen door and into the garden where the coal bunker stood. Ludwig was right, he realised. It really was hardly any warmer inside than out. Grabbing the frost-coated handle of the shovel, he filled the container to the brim, coughing in a cloud of black dust, before returning to the kitchen, his small frame struggling under the weight of the bucket.

“The kettle's just boiled if you want tea,” he said quietly as he set the bucket down and began to stoke up the boiler in the kitchen with a nervous haste. “I'll see to the fires straight away and then bring some through, if you want to have a seat in the living room?” He realised that he was babbling a little as he wrinkled his soot-smudged nose ruefully and stifled a sneeze. “Mind you, it's probably a little cold in there, though.”

Barely pausing for breath, he grabbed the bucket again and made for the kitchen door. “I'll get it warm in no time,” he said over his shoulder, before heading for the sitting room and kneeling down in front of the fireplace, deftly working at coaxing a blaze to life. When he was satisfied that the flames would sustain themselves, he replaced the fireguard and scrambled to his feet again.

Why couldn't Germany have warned him that he was coming home? He frowned to himself anxiously. Being of a naturally jumpy disposition at the best of times, Toris did not particularly enjoy being taken by surprise, and years of walking on eggshells around Ivan had taken that particular trait and amplified it until the Baltic nation seemed to be constantly one step away from a nervous breakdown.

He reappeared in the kitchen doorframe, hastily wiping his blackened hands on his apron and clasping them in front of him anxiously as he studied the blue eyed German. He looked tired...no...exhausted. Perhaps it was just the light, but Toris thought he could see the outline of dark circles under his eyes, a tell-tale sleeplessness and weariness which he knew all too well, because he saw the same signs in the mirror every day.

“Are you alright, Ludwig?” he enquired softly, a genuine concern eclipsing his panic at being caught off guard by the other nation's return. He didn't want to risk offending the German's pride by point out how dreadful he looked, so he respectfully held his tongue and bit his bottom lip. “I mean...that is...can I get you anything?”

[Germany]

Ludwig watched with mild disbelief as his meek servant set his tea down on the counter and shoved hands that looked as cold as his into his apron.

The house wasn’t pre-warmed because he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to use the coal, he said. He apologized for not knowing in advance that Ludwig was going to be home — even though the German had not contacted him with this information, making his possession of this prior knowledge quite impossible — and apologized yet again, his quiet voice rife with embarrassment. With an almost fearful air, he readily picked up the coal bucket and rushed to carry out his orders at once.

If he had been in a better frame of mind, a thin smile would have graced Ludwig’s face. That’s what I like about you, Toris. You’re so agreeable. However, recent events had made it all but impossible for him to smile, even halfheartedly. Every time the smallest bit of comfort or happiness would flutter towards him, it was shot down with negativity.

Guilt.

Anger.

Frustration.

Regret.

Sorrow.

He just couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop remembering…

“You have ME to thank for your power and thriving economy! I gave your citizens jobs, a reason to be proud of themselves, and of you! Under my leadership you’re taking back lands that were wrongfully taken from you — even taking new lands! And this is how you repay me, by whining about the Jews, who are your real enemy?!”

Hitler had been furious.

Ludwig squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply once more, grimacing as though he felt a fresh stab of pain in his shoulder. He’d tried so hard to put some sense into his Führer and gotten nothing but misery for his efforts.

“He’s delusional. Damn Jewish Bolsheviks — look how they’re corrupting our beloved Deutschland! He will never be right in the head until we eliminate the cause of his disease!”

Explaining that nation-spirits had their own unique personalities and were more than just the mean average of the thoughts, feelings, and souls of all their citizens hadn’t helped. Nor had pointing out that not all Jews were, in fact, communists, or recounting his personal, positive experiences with them. Der Führer didn’t give a rat’s ass about cruelty, either: for him the ends always justified the means. He was certain that the personification of his country was sick in the head because of all the Jewish Bolsheviks and other “unfit” and “impure” that lived within his borders, and Ludwig had not been able to convince him otherwise.

In fact, he had only made things worse.

The more he had tried to defend his Jews, the angrier his boss and some of the other German high-command that had also been present had gotten.

In the end everything had gone straight to Hell, and Goebbels had come up with the cruelest punishment imaginable for him; a punishment that was far worse than any kind of beating or loss of privileges or rank. A punishment that Göring, who alone in the entire room had been the closest thing Ludwig had had to a friend and ally, and who was marginally sympathetic to his cause, had gently and unsuccessfully tried to talk Hitler out of.

Ludwig opened his eyes, set the slightly damp, frost-covered black woolen gloves he had been wearing on the counter, right next to Toris’s tea. It was still steaming — the water Toris had boiled must still be pretty hot. His suspicions were confirmed when he went over to the stove and felt the heat emanating from the kettle, even without touching it. Mechanically, he reached into the cupboard where he kept his cups, glasses, and steins, and retrieved a big, thick, white mug. It was different from every other mug in his cupboard, and not for the first time as he held it, he wondered a little at where it had come from and how it had ended up in his possession.

“The kettle's just boiled if you want tea,”

Although he heard them just fine, the words barely registered in Ludwig’s mind. He was aware that his Baltic servant had returned to the kitchen and was moving in a rush behind and around him to fulfill his order, but his actions blurred into triviality in the background. He was just there.

With a slow nod that Toris likely hadn’t seen, Ludwig reached into an adjacent cupboard and found his stash of teas. He was not, by any stretch, a heavy tea-drinker, but he did like a nice, steaming cup every now and then, when the mood struck him. At the moment, black tea or green tea were his only options. He decided to go with Toris’s choice and grabbed a bag of black.

Ludwig listened halfheartedly as Toris went on about warming the living room up for his comfort while he poured his water and steeped the teabag. The brunette was trying to be pleasing and helpful, and he really did appreciate it, but he had too much on his mind to attempt friendly conversation or even make small talk.

If only I had kept my mouth shut, he thought, then mentally chastised himself for thinking that yet again. He had leveled that same criticism against himself many, many times within the last 48 hours. Reflecting on what he might have said and done differently never helped, and inevitably only made him feel worse in the end.

For a few minutes he merely stood frozen in the corner where two countertops met, staring into his tea like a zombie, trying and failing to push unwanted thoughts and memories from his mind.

Perhaps if I just focus on the present…

Focus on the present.

Yes.

That was what he would do.

He could hear Toris working at the fireplace in the other room. It would probably be best to move into there, where he could at least sit down.

Tea in hand, he turned around in time to see the other nation pause in the kitchen doorframe, his face, hands, and apron dusted over with s fine powdering of soot. He looked terrible: like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Odd, considering that Ludwig was almost never home and did not impose unrealistic time-limits on his chore-lists.

Or perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all, considering the present state of his home and people. There was much unrest, carnage, despair, misery, and hatefulness in Lithuania these days. Ludwig wondered how much of it Toris knew about. Being a nation the ills of his people would manifest on him just as they did on Germany, and he wouldn’t necessarily have to know what was causing them to feel them.

“Are you alright, Ludwig?” Toris inquired amiably, his tone and mannerisms reminding Ludwig strongly of a nervous little mouse, “I mean...that is...can I get you anything?”

Ludwig shook his head slowly, his face touched with a sorrow he couldn’t express. Didn’t want to express. “No,” he said wryly, “I’m not alright. And thanks, but this tea is enough. At least, for now.”

He swept past his servant into the living room. A fledgling fire was just starting to grow in size and heat in the fireplace, and the nearby armchair looked rather inviting. It was still too cold in here, but Ludwig had done a fine job with the insulation in his house, and he knew that soon it would be quite cozy.

Still uncomfortable with the idea of taking off his trenchcoat, he sat down in his chair and wrapped both hands around his cup of tea, enjoying the way the warmth shot through his fingers and palms. After a few moments it became too hot, and he switched to gripping the mug by the handle and resting it on his leg.

For a few long seconds he stared off blankly into the fire as though hypnotized by the dancing hot-orange flames, his expression vacant.

So many thoughts racing through his mind…

His eyes shifted to Toris. The smaller, more effeminate man was a pathetic slip of a nation. He was weak in every sense of the word, submissive, cowardly, and more than slightly insane where Ivan and pain of any kind were concerned. But he was also kind, polite, nonthreatening, and usually — from what Ludwig could tell — honest. He and Ludwig weren’t exactly friends in the traditional sense of the word, but he was, for the most part, good company. And he was in no position to be judgmental. None at all.

“Toris?” He took a sip of tea while he tried to think of a good way to phrase the questions he was about to ask. “Have you ever done anything so horrible that the guilt from it ate away at you from the inside, haunted you both in your dreams and while you were awake? Have you ever doubted yourself or your people?” His tone was solemn, his face heavy with sadness and fatigue. “I’m very concerned about my future,” he continued softly, and his gaze fell to the floor, “I’m going to either win or lose this war. And right now —and I hate myself for this — I’m not sure which I want.”

[Lithuania]

“No,...I’m not alright. And thanks, but this tea is enough. At least, for now.”

Toris blinked once or twice at Ludwig's frankness. It didn't take a master detective to see that something was horribly wrong with the tall nation, but he hadn't expected him to be so honest about it. At best, he'd been expecting a curt “I'm fine” and a request for dinner.

As Ludwig made his way into the living room, Toris followed him hesitantly, unsure of what to do with himself. He hovered a little in the doorway, watching the German get comfortable in his armchair and eyeing the blonde with an open look of concern as he bit down absently on his bottom lip and rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief.

His hands closed around a scrap of material and he looked at it ruefully. He had a vague idea that it had once belonged to Ivan. Certainly, it had been in his pocket the day that Germany had dragged him out of the Russian's kitchen. Swallowing hard, he began to clean some of the soot from his hands and face, but stopped abruptly when Ludwig spoke again.

“Toris?”

He looked up expectantly, waiting for an order. But none came. Instead the blonde stared at him contemplatively and looked as though he was struggling with his next words.

“Have you ever done anything so horrible that the guilt from it ate away at you from the inside, haunted you both in your dreams and while you were awake? Have you ever doubted yourself or your people?”

The Baltic nation looked at Ludwig in slight disbelief as he spoke. Never had he heard anything so frank and vulnerable come from the tall, dominant nation. Germany was a man of military precision; proud and powerful and self-restrained and utterly unyielding in most aspects of life. Unsure of how to respond, he let the other man continue.

“I’m very concerned about my future...I’m going to either win or lose this war. And right now —and I hate myself for this — I’m not sure which I want.”

Toris' mouth was slightly open as he looked at Germany, until he realised that he was blatantly staring at the other nation and closed it again hastily. He felt a rush of compassion for the other nation, whose unfaltering belief in his justifications for war had always seemed so very sound.

And the answer to his question was yes. Toris had done things he'd bitterly regretted, and he had felt on so many occasions that he'd let his people down, especially by letting Russia walk all over him. And while he'd never consciously doubted his own people – although why was there a whispering voice in his head telling him that wasn't true, especially now? – he had certain doubted himself. In reality, there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't doubt himself. But he suspected that Ludwig's question was rhetorical, that Germany didn't want to hear all the intimate details of his own inferiority complex and messed up history.

Still slightly lost for words, he approached Ludwig and perched himself awkwardly on the edge of the settee beside the armchair. There was a long silence as he fumbled for the right thing to say.

“Terrible things happen in war,” he said quietly. And although he always thought of the other nation as his elder, based on his physical appearance and mannerisms, it occurred to him then how young Ludwig really was in comparison to himself. “Horrific things. It's partly why I don't like to fight any more. But you're not a bad person, Ludwig. You're a born soldier, but I don't believe that you're cruel with it. Whatever you've done...whatever's eating away at you...I find it hard to believe that it's irredeemable. I just don't think you have that side to you.”

Hesitantly, he leaned forward, fixing the German with an earnest gaze, two bright, tired green eyes filled with gentle concern. “You don't normally talk like this.” Toris kept his head slightly bowed and his body language deferential, in a shy attempt to make it clear that he was not trying to overstep any boundaries. “It sounds like something really bad has happened. And...um...maybe it's not my place to say, and I really apologise if that's the case, but...sometimes it can help to tell someone.” He cleared his throat softly and blinked away his own exhaustion. “And you can talk to me if you like.”

[Germany]

The revelation surprised Toris; for a few moments, all he could do was stand and gawk at Ludwig, disbelieving, a soot-coated handkerchief in one hand and his face only partially wiped clean.

Ludwig averted his eyes down to his tea, more than a little embarrassed at having crumbled enough under the pressure of strong emotions to relent and spill out a piece of his heart to someone. The iron mask of unyielding austerity he usually wore over his face had slipped down a little, exposing a fragment of his soul, and now he felt vulnerable, even though he knew, rationally, that Lithuania’s opinion of him was inconsequential and not worth caring about, that the other nation was in no position to judge, and that he would be crazy — and hypocritical, whether or not he knew it yet — to do so under these circumstances.

Yet the insecurities were there, gnawing away inside the deepest part of him like ravenous, evil rats, and no amount of logic or rational thinking could chase them away.

He looked up as Toris approached and seated himself casually on the arm of the nearby settee. The brunette appeared to be deep in thought as well, and Ludwig could only guess at what he was thinking.

Was he contemplating the questions, or trying to find the answers he thought Ludwig was looking for for the sake of pushing himself further on the German’s “good side”?

Hard to say.

Toris was undeniably a suck-up, and this was the side of him that usually showed. Yet every now and then he could be amazingly defiant and true-spoken for a country of his size and strength that had somehow managed to live through the hardships he had. That time a couple of years back when Germany had arrived at his house with the intent of snatching him away and forcing him to be his servant came to mind. Despite being overwhelming outpowered and outmatched, the little Baltic had nonetheless tried to fend him off and cling to his independence. He had failed miserably, but he had tried. To this day he still occasionally dared to let his true feelings show, even now when Germany was at the height of his power.

Toris took so long to reply that for several seconds Ludwig thought he wasn’t going to.

“Terrible things happen in war,” he finally relinquished, his voice quiet and sincere, “Horrific things. It's partly why I don't like to fight any more. But you're not a bad person, Ludwig. You're a born soldier, but I don't believe that you're cruel with it. Whatever you've done...whatever's eating away at you...I find it hard to believe that it's irredeemable. I just don't think you have that side to you.”

Ludwig sighed wearily, his once fierce and lively eyes solemn and dull under the weight of the secrets he carried with him. “You’d be surprised.” he said slowly, raising the mug to his lips and taking another sip of the hot liquid within.

He was a little surprised when Toris leaned forward and gazed at him intently. On the surface it appeared as though he were concerned, but no, he couldn’t possibly be. In Toris’s eyes he was the bad guy. He always had been. True, he had rescued the weaker nation from appallingly insane and demanding working conditions and Ivan’s boundless and profound cruelty, but he still would not grant the Baltic the freedom and independence which he knew he craved. There was no way Toris didn’t resent that. Any country in his position would, even the insane ones.

And the war, well…he knew where the other nation stood there, too. The brunette wasn’t saying anything, but if he wasn’t already on the Allies’ side, he would be soon enough.

“You don't normally talk like this.”

It struck him again just how tired Toris looked…there were dark circles under his eyes, betraying the fact that he was not sleeping well either.

Not for the first time in the past two years, Ludwig felt a flood of compassion for his servant: he was definitely feeling the ills of his people.

“It sounds like something really bad has happened. And...um...maybe it's not my place to say, and I really apologise if that's the case, but...sometimes it can help to tell someone….And you can talk to me if you like.”

It can help to tell to someone. Ludwig turned his head and stared once again into the fire, mulling this bit of advice over. He had never been keen to discuss his own personal problems and insecurities with anyone if he could help it, even for the sake of lifting a weight off his chest. Sometimes he would vent a little to Prussia, but only when the situation built up to the point where he could no longer endure it anymore, and even then he didn’t reveal every detail. How could he, when all his life he had strove to always be the strong one, to never show weakness or vulnerability? Opening up to people left one vulnerable. He couldn’t bare for his brother to see him vulnerable: Gilbert thought too highly of him, and he didn’t want to disappoint him. They were in the midst of a very difficult, painful, and stressful war and mass-genocide, and his brother needed him to be strong now more than ever.

For much the same reason there was a lot he didn’t openly share with Italy, although he knew Felciano would empathize with him. As the leader and main feature of the Axis, it was his responsibility to keep up morale, to do the hard stuff that no one else would do, could do.

To be stalwart. Unstoppable. Unconquerable.

Usually he handled it well enough; he was not by nature a very open or emotional person/nation, and there was a lot he kept bottled up, suffering in silence because he preferred it that way if nothing else.

But this…this was something he had not experienced before. It was utterly crushing and demoralizing to the point where he honestly didn’t know how he was going to handle it, how he was going to continue going out on the frontlines and fighting for a boss he hated while so many Germans were either killed or irredeemably corrupted; while so many of them cruelly tortured and slaughtered helpless innocents in his name. He would have to do it, of course. The alternative was far, far worse. But having no choice in the matter didn’t ease his suffering.

A full minute or two slipped by in silence as he sipped at his tea and stared as though enchanted into the flickering, primordial flames.

Perhaps it would do him good to talk to Toris. If nothing else, it always felt good to vent, and Toris wasn’t an active part of the war effort, so he didn’t need to worry about staying strong for his sake. Besides, he realized, he and Toris actually had probably quite a lot in common right now.

His decision made, he settled his tea securely on his lap and reached into the right-hand pocket of his trenchcoat. The silvery piece of metal he retrieved was only very slightly warmed from having been outside, and it stung his fingers with its chill, but he held it out anyway in front of Toris. “You see this? This is the badge of an accomplished Russian sniper.” he began to play with it, rubbing his fingers along the edges and turning it over a couple of times. “This particular man killed many of my men and shot me twice; one of those shots sent me to Hitler. For five months I hunted him down whenever I could. I finally caught up with him and killed him a couple of weeks ago.” He paused, staring thoughtfully off into space.

“I enjoyed it.” He continued in a quieter voice, his tone calm and factual, “Both the hunting and making the kill. He was pretty challenging for a regular human.” He stared deep into green, tired eyes. “It’s not the war itself I have a problem with. I’m a war nation. The challenges, the thrill, constantly being on the move…conquering new lands and people, the strategy involved…I enjoy it. If it weren’t for war, I wouldn’t even exist. I was born from one of Prussia’s victories, and I’m proud of that fact.” He took a quick breath. “A lot of bad things do happen during wars yes. People die. Even innocent people, if they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Civilian casualties happen — I’ve learned to accept it. But what’s happening right now…” he shut his eyes, tried to think of how in the world he was going to break this to Toris. “What’s happening now is something I can’t accept.”

There they were again, trembling and pleading…

Ludwig’s eyes snapped open. Haunted shadows fled across his blue irises. He shoved the Russian badge back into his pocket. “Toris…my boss doesn’t want to just relocate all the Jews, he wants them dead. My people have been mass-murdering them for several months now in staggering numbers — hundreds of thousands have already been killed. German Jews, Polish Jews, Lithuanian Jews…it makes no difference. We have entire task-forces dedicated just to that purpose: they sweep into a secured area and ruthlessly hunt down and shoot almost every Jew they see, even infants and small children.”

[Lithuania]

He waited patiently for an answer, half-expecting a dismissal. And when he finally began to speak, Toris stared with wide eyes at Ludwig's morbid little trophy, and the story that went along with it. He couldn't help but feel a measure of disgust at the tale of the Russian sniper, and he bit his lower lip and fought to keep his expression neutral as the German went off on a cold, hard lecture about the realities of war and how emotionally distant he was from it all. Perhaps it was the ache in his chest, or the lack of sleep, but the other nation's calm, matter-of-fact tone slightly angered the pacifist Lithuanian.

Yes, Ludwig. You've made your point. You're callous.

And the Lithuanian had expected him to close the matter at that, when the blonde finished his story with a hesitant statement that utterly took him aback.

“What’s happening now is something I can’t accept.”

The Baltic narrowed his green eyes and furrowed his brow slightly in trepidation. If Ludwig was happy to kill in cold blood, if he was reconciled to the inevitability of civilian causalities, and if he was so proud of being a nation forced in blood and battle...what could possibly be so awful that even such a hardened soldier would find it morally repulsive?

“Toris…my boss doesn’t want to just relocate all the Jews, he wants them dead.”

Eyes wide, he felt a sudden, cold lurch of dread in his stomach. His lips slightly parted, he stared at the other man in shock.

But I have so many Jews...even Vilnius alone...so many...

He wanted to cover his ears as Ludwig continued. “My people have been mass-murdering them for several months now in staggering numbers — hundreds of thousands have already been killed. German Jews, Polish Jews, Lithuanian Jews…it makes no difference. We have entire task-forces dedicated just to that purpose: they sweep into a secured area and ruthlessly hunt down and shoot almost every Jew they see, even infants and small children.”

What little colour had been in Toris' face utterly drained as he stared at the German in sick disbelief. The revelation hung in the air between them with a horrific, heavy silence. His lips were pale and bloodless as he parted them slightly and eventually managed to whisper.

“Hundreds...of thousands...?”

He wrapped his arms around himself and bit down hard on his lower lip, green eyes large and vacant as he slowly, miserably began to understand what the thing was that had been keeping him awake at night, stabbing at his chest and pulling him down into despair.

“You're...killing them?” he whispered slowly. “My people...Feliks' people...” His voice grew slightly louder in pitch as a slight hysteria began to set in. “Your own people...?!”

He covered his mouth with his hand and stared at the German for the longest time, sick and mute with horror. “Why...?” he demanded, his voice muffled. He had the strongest feeling that if he took his hand away from his own mouth, he might start screaming and not be able to stop. It took a series of deep, measured breaths to finally be able to grasp the side of the armchair instead.

“Vilnius,” he blurted out urgently. “There are two hundred and sixty thousand Jews in Vilnius alone. Families...civilians...” He sucked in a deep, laboured breath and shook his head. “Oh God...” he mumbled to himself. “Oh God I think I'm going to be sick...”

Sliding from his precarious position on the arm of the chair to the floor in front of Ludwig, he reached up and grabbed the other nation's hand tightly, his expression wild and desperate.

“Is it true? Is this why it hurts so badly? Because you're killing my children?!” he demanded, clutching Ludwig's hand so hard that his own knuckles were white and pressing it to his own chest, to where his pain was so acute that it was physically unbearable. “They're not even your enemy. They have nothing to do with your war. I have nothing to do with your war!”

He had a strong, desperate urge to lash out at the blonde, to swing in blind anger for the only available person nearby to blame. But he choked it down abruptly, because Ludwig had said German Jews too, and because when he looked up at the other nation accusingly, he couldn't help but falter in the face of how utterly harrowed and haunted he looked.

He let go of his grip on Ludwig's hand and sank back on the floor, his back against the settee. He brought his knees up to his chin again, fixing the German with sorrowful, sleepless eyes.

“He's making you kill your own people too...” he whispered in quiet horror as he stared at the fire, suddenly aware of how deathly cold the room seemed. “Not just mine. Yours too. You don't have a choice...do you?”

[Germany]

Sure enough, the revelation shook Toris to the core, drained all the color from his face — his lips, cheeks, everything. A stunned, sick disbelief swept him, manifesting itself in his eyes, his expression, and indeed almost every aspect of his visage.

It was a reaction that Ludwig knew all too well, as it was much the same way he had felt upon first learning. He also had been struck with a sick, intense dread coupled with shock, outrage, and — in his case, at least — guilt. He doubted he’d gone as pale as Toris in the face, and he certainly didn’t have the other man’s nervous habits and mannerisms, but he hadn’t taken the news in stride either.

Predictably for one so empathetic, caring, and anti-bloodshed, Toris was having a hard time coming to terms with such large-scale, senseless slaughter. He repeated the death-toll in a low whisper, wrapping himself up in his arms and staring ahead as though paralyzed. His voice rose in emotion, pitch, and volume as he expressed his shock and horror that Ludwig was killing everyone’s people, including his own.

Rather than reply, Ludwig merely turned his head and looked away, back to the fire. Best to give Toris some time to absorb that information. But his eyes weren’t focusing on anything in particular: he appeared to be gazing past the flames, rather than at them, and, in a sense, he was. For a few blessed moments, the chill of the house, the insanely cruel treatment and murder of innocent people, his boss’s punishment, Toris’s reaction…all of it was dulled in his sensory. The fire crackled like primordial magic, spreading heat and comfort.

Calming.

Soothing.

It was short-lived.

So cruelly, mercilessly short-lived.

Inevitably, Toris asked the question he knew he would ask, and Ludwig was snapped back to the present with a muffled “Why..?”

Again, he turned his head, gave the Baltic his full attention. The Lithuanian was a sad sight; he was breathing too heavily, and it turned out to be the hand he held almost religiously in front of his mouth which had stifled his question.

Ludwig surrendered a soft, weary sigh. “That was my-”

He was cut off abruptly by Toris’s panicked outburst. “Vilnius. There are two hundred and sixty thousand Jews in Vilnius alone. Families...civilians...” He had removed his hand from his mouth, and now he sucked in a deep, labored breath. “Oh God…Oh God I think I'm going to be sick...”

Though his countenance and posture remained fixed in the likeness of subdued solemnity, inside Ludwig winced. Toris was reliving his own reaction down to many of the same thoughts in a more extreme, less authoritative fashion.


Without warning, the Baltic slid from his perch on the arm of the settee and went down on his knees in front of him. Ludwig had no time to react or even think before the smaller man seized his right hand with a strength that was startling. “Is it true? Is this why it hurts so badly? Because you're killing my children?!” He shoved Ludwig’s hand against his chest with the same vigor Ludwig would put into striking the head of a deadly-venomous serpent, surprising the German with how much his grip hurt.

Ludwig felt the heat radiating from beneath the cool fiber of Toris’s shirt: felt the other nation’s heart pumping wildly within his chest. He chose to ignore the sharp pain biting into his hand where the Lithuanian clutched it too tightly, fixing it to his chest as though doing so were the only prayer he had at getting his master to understand the severe, aching agony he was feeling with every pulse of life.

He didn’t have to. The haunted, depressed country sitting before him already understood, because he had been feeling the same pangs himself. Not so much in his own heart, Berlin — every now and then ills of that city would indeed flare up to make the organ they were connected to beat irregularly, stabbing him with pain that was not quite intense enough to cause a heart-attack, but hell to remain conscious through nonetheless — but all throughout his body, mind, and soul.

So no, Toris didn’t have to tell him. He knew.

“They're not even your enemy.” Toris went on frantically, “They have nothing to do with your war. I have nothing to do with your war!”

The outburst carried the stench of truth. Ludwig lowered his head and stared at the floor, his expression approaching stoic resignation with guilt-ladden, helpless sorrow shading the edges of his mouth and eyes. “I know.” he said calmly, the words heavy on his tongue.

Toris released his death-grip on his hand and shrank back against the settee. At last, the realization broke on him, and, in a much quieter, calmer voice than he had used moments before, he correctly identified the biggest root of Ludwig’s misery.

“No, I don’t.” the German answered flatly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Toris’s gaze. He drew his right hand into his lap and pressed it up against his half-drunk tea, siphoning what warmth he could out of the cooling mug. “I know perfectly well that the Jews are not my enemy.” he said, his voice again strong and confrontational, “More so than everyone thinks. I’ve had Jewish friends. I’ve seen firsthand how wrong my boss is about them. They’re not subhuman. Not wicked. Not trying to destroy me, tear me down, or turn me communist. That’s all a load of bullshit Hitler’s been selling to unite my people in hatred against a scapegoat ‘enemy’, securing his power and being seen as my savior in one stroke. Unfortunately, too many of my people didn’t ask questions when it was still early enough to do something, and by the time I did it was too late. His power over me was absolute.” He paused to draw a breath. Cast his eyes again thoughtfully to the fire.

“At first, I thought he was going to be a great boss. Not perfect, but just what I needed. Sure, he had some stupid ideas about the Jews and some other harmless minority groups, and his sanity was at times questionable even back then, but I liked so many of his ideas and proposals, especially where my armed forces, economy, and that ridiculous Treaty of Versailles were concerned. I thought he would make me great — that the good he would do would by far offset any bad. I supported him in his bid for power. When he did away with my former government and installed his own, I welcomed the changes. Mostly. I never did like the way he treated my Jews, even before I knew how bad they really had it. But I figured it was a small price to pay for greatness, so I kept quiet and obediently did whatever he commanded of me, the way a good country should.”

He took another quick sip of tea, then shifted his gaze back to Toris. “Everything was fine until last week when I stopped by Ponary on the way home. There had been an explosion in the underground tunnels, so I took the lead of an armed expedition to discover the cause and secure the area. That’s where I found a friend of mine dying. She’d been shot at least once, and smashed under some rubble that had fallen in the explosion.” He paused briefly, then continued, his voice taking on a slightly mechanical tone. “I didn’t know she was a Jew until she told me. She also told me what was happening to the Jews: how Ponary had turned into a mass-killing site where the SS task forces — killing squads, that’s their primary task — rounded up Jews from Vilnius and other regions — but mostly Vilnius — and brought them there. How they made hundreds at a time march to massive pits, remove all their clothing, and line up along the edges where they were shot in.” He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head, disgusted with those men, his Führer, and the whole situation. “My reaction wasn’t too different from yours. Her dying wish was for me to go into the Vilnius ghetto and rescue her two young children.” He let out an incredibly brief, utterly humorless chuckle, “She must have been desperate to trust me. We didn’t even know each other that well — I call her a friend, but really she was more of an acquaintance.”

[Lithuania]

Toris listened quietly to Ludwig's tale of Hitler's rise to power. He closed his eyes in sorrow and shook his head. Wasn't that how all dictators came to government? Stalin had promised Russia so many of the same things. And Toris had seen how badly Ludwig had been hit after the Great War. He could see how desperate the prideful young nation must have been to get back into his feet, to get fighting fit again. It was tragic, but he could see all too well why the blonde nation had been prepared to overlook the odd unsavoury incident in favour of what he thought was the majority good.

“Everything was fine until last week...”

He looked up at Ludwig quizzically, because everything hadn't been fine and he couldn't help but wonder how it was possible that he hadn't felt how bad the situation was. But then, he was the dominant nation, his power was going from strength to strength despite (or perhaps even because of) the mass killings and he was so very single minded in his quest for power. Toris, on the other hand, had plenty of time to realise that something was hideously wrong. Because he didn't have that heady surge of conquest to offset any dread. He only had the pain of knowing that something terrible was happening within his borders.

His tearful green eyes grew wider and wider as he listened to Ludwig recount the impossibly grim story of what had happened Toris' own country. Sick with horror and sheet white with nausea, part of him wanted to shove his hands over his ears and block out the German's words. When his horrendous tale came to a close, Lithuania sat for a few moments, staring up at him and trying to let the reality of the situation sink in, the morbid images flashing through his mind, wholly at odds with all his memories of the place.

“Paneriai...” he mumbled, stressing the Lithuanian word for the city, gritting his teeth and refusing to acknowledge the Polish word. His boundary dispute with Feliks' people was arguably the last thing on his mind at the moment...not that any of it mattered anyway, but it reflexly upset him to hear the region referred to as “Ponary”. It was his land, and now it was being used as one large execution ground.

“Oh God...it's true...?” he drew his knees up further and shook his head, over and over again. “Why aren't my people stopping them? Why is there no resistance?” He looked up at Ludwig desperately. “The Lithuanian people are resisting against your men, against the murders...aren't they? Tell me they're not letting this happen...”

His people were so very run down, from years of Russian oppression, from poverty and exhaustion and an impotent puppet government. And he knew that they'd welcomed the Nazis at first with open arms...but surely...surely...

He felt horribly small and lost and ineffectual and unable to even begin to cope with the shattering magnitude of what he'd just learned. The right thing to do would be to declare a resistance against the Nazi occupation, to call his men to arms and fight against such a horrendous violation of human rights. But this wasn't the 15th century any more and anything he did in his present state would be crushed almost instantly. Russia had taken away so much of his ability to fight back.

Perhaps he should go running back to Ivan, then? Russia might have had its labour camps, might have had the horrors of Siberia and the Gulags, but at least there were no mass genocides on this kind of scale. It would be worth any thrashing he'd take from his former lover, if it meant putting a stop to this. But no, Lithuania was, and always would be neutral. An alliance with the Soviets would mean actively declaring war on Germany, and that would be suicide with the present state of occupation. Besides, he had no real government of his own. Hitler had taken that away too, had turned his lands into nothing more than a German-owned district.

He was so very, desperately weak, so utterly helpless to do anything these days other than wrap his arms about his chest and close his eyes and will the pain to stop for long enough to let him snatch an hour or two of sleep. He was a walking wreck, his physical condition mirroring the state of his homeland.

He squeezed his eyes closed and hugged himself miserably. “Did you find them?” he blurted out. “The woman's children? Did you go to Vilnius? What's happening there?”

The Lithuanian looked up at his current captor and his youthful features were marred with a sorrowful, pleading desperation. Ludwig was so much stronger, and so much more capable of wartime heroics than he was and he found himself suddenly, irrationally placing all his remaining hope in the fact that maybe the blonde had been able to save two small children who weren't even Lithuanians.

“You saved them, though?” he asked in a tiny voice, with all the scared hopefulness of a child listening to a frightening story and waiting for the fates to turn in favour of the hero. “You saved them?”

[Germany]

Predictably, each new tidbit of information made Toris visibly sicker. He uttered something in Lithuanian — a word which Ludwig had heard before, in Vilnius, but the meaning of which presently escaped him — before succumbing to what the German had begun to recognize as a nervous habit of his of hunching himself up into the smallest package possible.

“Oh God...it's true...?”

Was that a question? It kind of sounded like one, but no, it couldn’t be. Even for as short a time as they had known each other on a more personal level, Toris definitely knew better than to think he was playing some kind of elaborate head game with him. Or, at least, he should.

Toris kept shaking his head, still in a state of shock and confusion. “Why aren't my people stopping them? Why is there no resistance?” He looked directly into Ludwig’s eyes right then, and the German could see the desperation, the despair and utter confusion that swam inside those green irises. “The Lithuanian people are resisting against your men, against the murders...aren't they? Tell me they're not letting this happen...”

Toris, you’re not going to like the answer to that. The truth was so much worse than the Lithuanians simply letting tens of thousands of their own people die.

“Lithuania-”

The smaller nation interrupted him with a string of questions. “Did you find them? The woman's children? Did you go to Vilnius? What's happening there?”

Ludwig blinked. Three of those questions were essentially asking the same thing: had he saved the children?

Figured that Toris would be the type to have a soft spot for kids. Not only did he kind of look like a woman, he tended to act like one, too: always so submissive, emotional, tender, caring. He did all of a woman’s household chores, and Ludwig suspected that he would continue to do so even if he were in his own house and had ready access to his own maids and servants. Even his mannerisms were womanly. And hadn’t he called his people his children a minute ago?

Sometimes it was hard to think of him as male. Apart from his anatomy, not much about him was masculine. No wonder Poland had worn the pants in the commonwealth the two had shared centuries back. Not that Poland was a shining example of masculinity either, but he made a slightly more believable male than Lithuania.

Anyway, right now all that was beside the point.

Ludwig studied him for a moment. Worry was written all over that soot-dusted face as plain as the dark circles under his eyes. He looked as tired, dispirited, and weary as Ludwig felt. As full of anxiety about the future and what it may hold.

His mind swimming with thoughts, the German finished up the last of his tea, setting the cup down on the floor next to the side of his chair. “The Vilnius I visited isn’t a place you would remember, or ever want to see. All of your Jews are being forced to live in a single boarded-off ghetto with only one way in and one way out, both of them tightly guarded. They work there as slave-labor in terrible conditions. The ghetto is overcrowded and filthy. Everyone’s starving and miserable, living in a state of constant fear.” He shook his head slowly, shoving the memories aside. “It’s bad. It was bad even for me, and I wasn’t even in for half an hour looking for those children.”

“You saved them, though?” Toris’s voice was so small, tinged with a worried hopefulness. “You saved them?”

Ludwig sighed and reached up to lightly massage his temple. “Yes, I saved them. I found them right as they were about to get on the train to Ponary along with a load of other Jews. I had to rescue the five-year-old from a Lithuanian who was going to beat him to death. Then I had to make up a story about why I needed them. Thankfully the only people with the nerve and authority to question me weren’t there.” He brought his hand back down and gazed at Toris wistfully, his expression softening. “I hadn’t planned on staying overnight in Vilnius, but I couldn’t take a pair of children with me to see the Führer. So I got a room and let them stay with me. I had them wash up. Fed them. Bought them new clothes. I arranged for them to go live with their aunt in America and stayed with them right up until they got on the boat. I don’t know what became of them after that.” He looked away. “I…I hope they’re doing alright,” he said awkwardly, his voice much quieter, as though he were admitting to something shameful, “I kind of like them.”

Arik and Nessa…he’d never forget them, even though they’d known each other such a short time. At least he’d managed to get them out of Europe, which on the whole was very unsafe for orphans right now, even the ones who were lucky enough not to be Jewish or look Jewish.

But rescuing the children was the one glittering story in a sea of black tragedies. Even the good he felt now reflecting on it did almost nothing to improve his mood.

The fire had grown bigger now. Warmer. The heat from it had already begun to melt the ice on his coat and hat. He turned back towards it, not caring to see Toris’s reaction to his next words.

“The Lithuanians are not resisting for two main reasons. One is because they know it would be suicide. My people have complete control over the area. Any non-German who sets a foot out of line is shot. The other is because, ever since occupation began, they’ve been all too eager and willing to cooperate with every demand we make. All the Lithuanian Jews that have been killed so far? We couldn’t have done so many so quickly without help from the local militia.” Throughout all of this, his tone had been very candid — almost emotionless. Now it took on a muted but unmistakable tenor of sadness. “It’s not just Nazis who are brutally attacking, beating, and murdering Jews. Your people are doing it too.”

[Lithuania]

The description of the ghetto was stark and hideous. More so, from Ludwig's lips and told in that flat, drained voice. He struggled to picture his capital, his beautiful homeland and his heart, filled with something so awful. He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind flashing with images of home, of how the city streets had looked the last time he'd been free to walk them. He remembered the churches and the synagogues in peaceful co-existence, thought about how his heart was widely and fondly known as the “Jerusalem of Lithuania”, about how famed the city had become for its Jewish scholars.

Toris himself was Catholic, at least privately so. Ivan's conversion to communism, and the subsequent rise of Stalin to power, had lead to a forced abandonment of any religious worship and it had been years since he'd set foot in a church. But he still prayed the same Latin prayers that he'd learned when he'd first converted, still whispered furtively to his forbidden God.

But it didn't matter for one single second that he wasn't Jewish, or even that the majority of his people were not Jewish. Regardless of their faith, of their religious allegiance or political allegiance, they were all still his children. And they were dying in horrific numbers.

Ludwig's story of the children should have warmed him a little. Toris had always been the type to cling to whatever tiny scrap of hope or comfort was available, even in the most dire situations. But this was different; this pain wasn't caused by Ivan's abuse, or by anything else that was personal to him. This was his people who were suffering, and nothing in the world would make that pain stop, save for an end to what was happening.

“....I had to rescue the five-year-old from a Lithuanian who was going to beat him to death ...”

His eyebrows flew up at this statement, and he shook his head. Clearly, the blonde had made some slip of the tongue. Clearly he was talking about the Nazis. He went to correct the other man anxiously, but Ludwig carried on talking, so he let it slide. He tried his best to listen, tried to take some solace in the fact that two children were still alive and well, that their mother hadn't died in vain, and in the fact that Ludwig really did have his truly admirable moments. But his mind kept slipping back to the dark, ugly, painful knowledge of what was happening in his homeland.

“I…I hope they’re doing alright...I kind of like them.”

Toris was faintly surprised at the awkwardness on Germany's expressio. Was Ludwig so austere that he considered it some sort of weakness to care for the well-being of others? Was he actually half embarassed about his own kindness?

Tentatively and quietly he reached up from his position on the floor and placed one small, cold hand over Ludwig's larger one, and managed a bare, almost imperceptible effort of a smile, and a tiny little reassuring nod.

But then the German looked away and began to talk again and his words made Toris feel as though his own blood ran freezing cold.

“....ever since occupation began, they’ve been all too eager and willing to cooperate with every demand we make. All the Lithuanian Jews that have been killed so far? We couldn’t have done so many so quickly without help from the local militia.”

The way he spoke, brisk, factual, with no hint of malice, was the worst part of it. Because the Lithuanian's first thought was that maybe, just maybe, the German might be fucking with his head. Because there couldn't be any other explanation. Because Ludwig simply could not be telling the truth. The brunette had a vague idea that he was shaking his head over and over again but he couldn't be sure, because everything had taken on a surreal, lifeless quality, as though he was watching himself drown. It was his tone, that note of sadness in his voice that was unmistakeable and which screamed to Toris that Ludwig really wasn't lying.

“It’s not just Nazis who are brutally attacking, beating, and murdering Jews. Your people are doing it too.”

“Užsikišk..!” He bit his lip and stared at Ludwig, desperately willing the other man to look him in the eye, so that he could find some hint of a lie in his countenance. Two large, bright green eyes filled up with ice-cold tears and the fingers which still lightly rested against the German's hand began to tremble so violently that he withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around himself again.

“Please, Germany,” he begged, a tiny little note of hysteria in his voice beginning to rise to fever pitch. “Why are you saying all these things? Did I do something wrong? Are you punishing me?” His voice was small and breathless, his pale, effeminate features miserable and haunted. He reverted to begging and pleading and apologising, clinging to such a brutally learned behavioural pattern like it was some kind of security blanket now, as though he'd somehow momentarily forgotten that the whole world didn't work like it did in Ivan's house.

“Please, please tell me you made it all up! My children wouldn't...they're...”

But they would... A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. You know they would because they're desperate and starving and unhappy and oppressed and they hate the Soviets and the Bolsheviks and Communism...

Marx was Jewish.

Trotsky was Jewish. Lenin was part Jewish.

Zinoviev...Uritsky...Sokolnikov....

He blinked and swallowed. How easy it would be for clever propaganda to turn his people into anti-Semites. How easy it would be to exploit the tenuous, almost non-existent link between Judaism and Bolshevism and to exaggerate it to a largely desperately and poorly educated population.

How many times had he himself resented the loss of his Christianity, of his right to practice his own faith? How many of his citizens, so much younger and angrier than him, would jump at the chance to free themselves of Soviet oppression, at any and all costs?

No. Ludwig wasn't lying, wasn't trying to play some elaborate game with him.

“Oh God...m..mano vaikai ...” he whispered, utterly heartbroken. He became aware of the fact that, at some point during the course of the conversation, he'd begun to shiver violently. Glassy eyed and blankly miserable, he stared at the other nation with a quiet despair.

“What do I do?” he asked quietly, hoarsely, so very, very lost. “You're good at giving orders. C...couldn't you tell me what to do?”


-------------------------Užsikišk = Shut up
mano vaikai = my children

[Germany]

Ludwig had no idea what Toris cried out right then, but whatever it was, it sounded almost as though he’d been shot. The cold hand that rested on his trembled violently, then pulled away.

I know. he thought sadly, keeping his eyes on the fire, not wanting to look back, not wanting to see the sadness, horror, and despair on the other man’s face. No nation liked to hear that his people were killing each other, especially on such a grand scale. It was brutal and ugly, an incredibly painful and psychologically harrowing experience. Even strong nations such as himself who had a powerful government, thriving economy, and the military might to go with it were not immune to the effects: to the phantom aches; sleepless nights; night terrors; unexplained anxiety; and sinister, foreboding feeling that something was just not right.

“Please, Germany,”

Ludwig shut his eyes, braced himself for the onslaught of strong emotion that the trembling, pleading pitch in those two words warned of.

“Why are you saying all these things? Did I do something wrong? Are you punishing me?”

What?! How could you think that? The innocent questions, carried by such a tiny, heartbroken voice, flew past all of Ludwig’s iron defenses and pierced his heart with a stinging arrow of guilt. His eyelids shot open and he turned to face Toris at once, his conscience forcing him to look, to take in the sight of a horrified, colorless face wrought with grief and hopelessness.

“No! No, I’m not punishing you!” he said quickly, his voice rising in volume and taking on a slightly frantic, awkwardly apologetic quality.

Toris began shivering violently, as though the temperature in the house had dropped below zero, and for once Ludwig wished he had not been so brutally honest with him; that he had blamed the lack of Lithuanian resistance solely on the superiority and ubiquity of the German military and had left it at that, that he had let Toris go on thinking that only Nazis did terrible things to Jews. But how could he lie to Toris when he was in the exact same predicament as him, when his own people were persecuting and murdering each other as well as the innocents of other nationalities? It was true that he had far fewer Jews than Lithuania, that his lands and cities had never been as famous for them. But that didn’t make the situation any less horrendous.

Ludwig wasn’t in the habit of lying to spare people’s feelings in the first place, but he had to admit that pointing out to Toris that he was in the same situation as he was had, in a very small way, made him feel a little better about himself: his people weren’t the only ones out there ruthlessly mass-murdering innocent, harmless civilians. He felt less alone in his misery.

“Please, please tell me you made it all up! My children wouldn't...they're...”

Ludwig shook his head, his expression firm, but with a hint of gentle concern playing about the corners of his mouth. Sorrowful, weary blue eyes met tearful green ones. “You asked a question and I answered it. I answered honestly. Not because you were bad, but because I thought you wanted the truth. That is why you asked, right?”

Toris blinked, his face ashen with an eerie blank misery. He whispered something in Lithuanian and continued to shiver like a hairless dog out in a Siberian snowstorm, looking utterly lost and dejected.

Ludwig could stand it no longer. He had experienced a hell of lot of emotionally-charged moments in the past seven days — more than he had in the entire past seventy-some-odd years of his life, he’d be willing to bet — and seeing Lithuania like this now threatened to break his heart even more than it already was. He had to do something. Rising out of his seat, he started for the other nation.

“What do I do?” Toris asked, his voice hoarse and ghastly quiet, “You're good at giving orders. C...couldn't you tell me what to do?”

Ludwig knelt down on one knee in front of him. Awkwardness fluttered about his features as he laid a hand on the brunette’s shoulder.

This sensation…it felt strange and a little uncomfortable, but in an oddly nice way, the way comforting the children had felt.

“I can’t,” he said softly, “There’s nothing either of us can do. What’s happening now…I hate it as much as you. It’s heartbreaking. Cruel. I don’t even like to see my enemies suffer like that — it’s hard for me to stand by and watch my own people act so monstrous, knowing that I can’t command them to stop without being branded a traitor and severely punished.” He gave Toris’s shoulder a couple of gentle pats. The Baltic had laid his icy hand on his earlier, so he was probably the type to take comfort in a bit of friendly physical contact. “Your people are just scared, Toris. Scared enough to do anything to ensure their families’ survival. Nazis have a pretty frightening reputation, especially the SS that stay behind when most of the Wehrmacht clears out. We…” He hesitated.

No, that word wasn't right.

He began again. “they…look for any excuse to kill. Some of them really get off on the beatings and killings, the thrill of the hunt, on playing God and deciding who lives and dies. The others do it out of hatred and fear. And…” his voice hitched, and he exhaled a soft sigh, closing his eyes momentarily, “I know that probably wasn’t very comforting. Sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

Abruptly, he pulled his hand away and stood up. The tiniest, saddest smile appeared on his face as he nodded his head towards the settee. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the settee? I’ve got something that will help.” His voice was a little warmer than before, slightly more upbeat. Turning quickly, he headed for his bedroom with hurried, striding steps.

I have just the thing to help with that shivering. Entering the frigid icebox that was his room, he pulled open his closet and grabbed the big white blanket sitting on top of all his other bedding. It was a feather blanket, very thick, warm, and soft. It was a permanent feature on his bed during the winter, when he was home. When he wasn’t he liked to keep it put up, just in case something somehow jumped up onto his bed and ruined it.

Okay, so maybe that was a slightly unfounded fear since his dogs hadn’t lived here in a while and weren’t due to move back anytime real soon, but better safe than sorry, right?

Blanket in-hand, he exited his room, closing the door solidly behind him to seal out the Artic chill. As soon as he reached the settee, he tossed his neatly-folded bundle onto it and moved to stand by the fire.

[Lithuania]

Toris had resumed staring down uncertainly at his knees, barely even realising how badly he was shaking any more. The heavy hand on his shoulder made him look up with a start and he looked at Ludwig with large, hunted eyes. His posture was tense but, on finding no trace of anger in the other man's countenance, the Lithuanian relaxed slightly, even as he was told that there was nothing that could be done.

“Your people are just scared, Toris. Scared enough to do anything to ensure their families’ survival. Nazis have a pretty frightening reputation, especially the SS that stay behind when most of the Wehrmacht clears out.”

He looked at Ludwig with a kind of wretchedly hopeful expression. Of course his children must have been doing what they were doing out of fear, out of desperation and uncertainty. There was no other alternative. He continued to listen to the German as though in a trance, gratefully accepting his awkward attempt at comfort. In truth, his words made him feel worse, rather than better, but the fact that he was at least trying to absolve the Lithuanian people of some of the blame made Toris feel fractionally better.

“Sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

Toris nodded silently, gratefully and reached up to where the hand still rested on his shoulder, but Ludwig had already pulled away curtly and was getting to his feet. Presuming that the taller nation was simply going to leave and take care of his own affairs, the Baltic stared at the fire and wondered when he would be expected to get back to work, when Ludwig's next words surprised him somewhat.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the settee? I’ve got something that will help.”

Staring at the blonde dumbly, Toris watched him as he exited the room, wondering what Ludwig could possibly have that would help anything now. Teeth chattering and tears drying freezing cold on his ashen cheeks, he didn't move from the floor initially, staring mutely at the door that had closed behind his German captor. Had that been an order? Would Ludwig be cross if he came in and found him still on the floor?

Eventually, he decided that he didn't care any more and, with much forced effort, he staggered to his feet and slumped onto the couch, kicking his shoes off haphazardly and drawing his knees back up to his chin, a tiny little ball in the corner of the large settee. His head was swimming with images of his capital turned into a killing ground, of his own children turning on one another, of death and destruction and violence on an unprecedented level. Hadn't German occupation seemed so hopeful at first? Hadn't even Toris himself thought that maybe, just maybe, things would be better as a servant in Ludwig's house than in Ivan's.

Ivan... Toris was so very ashamed to admit that he missed the Russian terribly, that he would have given anything at that moment to be pulled into the Soviet nation's heavy, tight embrace, to have his hair ruffled and to hear that soft laugh, to hear him sigh and say “Oh...Toryshka...” in that gently chiding voice he'd use when he thought that the Baltic was being too neurotic. Because when things had been good with Ivan, they'd been worth all the pain. And somehow, it seemed like the violet eyed blonde was the only person in the world who might be able to make things bearable right now, as perverse as that was.

But then, Ivan was going to outright murder him next time he saw him, his capital city was a haven for genocide and his people were all slaughtering each other, so things really couldn't get any worse.

Another crippling pain ran through his stomach and he hunched up tighter as the door opened and he looked at Ludwig in fright. He flinched as the Nazi threw something at him. It landed at his feet and he stared at it in uncomprehending silence for a moment. Slowly, silently, he reached out and found it soft and, if not warm, then warmer to the touch than his own fingers were at least.

He looked up at Ludwig for a few long moments, genuinely struggling to understand why the tall blonde had thrown a duvet at him. Did he want him to do something with it? Was he giving him some kind of chore in the hope that keeping busy would take his mind off the situation?

“Do you need me to wash it?” he blurted out, struggling to read Ludwig's expression from where he stood at the fire. Still tearful and shivering, he couldn't help but bury his face in his forearms despairingly. “I thought I'd already laundered all of your bedclothes,” he mumbled. “I must have missed this. I'm sorry.”

But it was clean, wasn't it? Looking down at it, it seemed immaculate. And warm, and inviting.

”Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the settee?”

Was it meant for him? Confused and anxious, Toris stared down at the blanket as though it might be scalding to the touch, genuinely struggling to comprehend whether or not Ludwig wanted him to use it for himself to keep warm, or do something else with it.

“Sir, I'm sorry...” his voice cracked with tearful anxiety as he looked at the German searchingly. Was their conversation over? Was he supposed to get back to work? Was the blanket some sort of sign that he had overlooked some outstanding chores? Or was Ludwig being genuinely kind in giving him something that might stop him shivering so violently? The more he thought about it, it seemed like the latter, but years of watching Ivan's mental health degenerate had told him that such assumptions were never safe to make, that no matter how gentle someone's voice was, or how soft their expression might be, there were still no guarantees about their intentions.

“What do you want me to do with it?” he asked eventually, lost, uncertain and embarrassed.

[Germany]

“Do you need me to wash it?”

What an odd question. Obviously, if Ludwig had told Toris that he had something that could help and had suggested that he make himself comfortable, he didn’t have housework in mind. He may have been a clean-freak, but he wouldn’t describe the activity as comforting: just necessary. Unless Toris were a complete germaphobe who was having a strong reaction to something disgusting on the blanket, he wouldn’t suggest laundering for comfort.

Besides, the blanket was immaculate.

He studied his servant inquisitively, trying to figure him out.

Toris was hunched into his trademark scared-mouse position in the corner of the settee, pale, trembling, teeth-chattering, barefoot, and looking quite terrified. He ducked his face into his arms and swore that he thought he’d already laundered all of the bedclothes, that he must have overlooked the blanket.

Toris, you don’t have to…

But the Baltic was already apologizing. Lifting his head back up from his arms, his tragically-nervous eyes focused on the blanket as though he expected it to come to life, sprout teeth, and bite him. “Sir, I'm sorry...” His gaze shifted to Ludwig, and the German was surprised by how utterly lost he appeared, “What do you want me to do with it?”

Ludwig’s lips parted a little, his eyebrows rising slightly.

Did Ivan’s cruelty know no bounds? He’d long since discovered the Russian’s darker nature, but damn, he was even more of a sadistic, mindgame-loving sonuvabitch than he had previously thought to have his own servant afraid of covering up with a blanket that had been freely offered to him by someone else when he was freezing cold.

Did he play these head games with you? he wondered silently, his expression softening as he took in the fragile, shivering form on the settee, Did he offer you objects, and then make you guess what to do with them? And if you got it wrong, was that how you received most of your whippings?

The concept was frightening; Ivan was certifiably insane. Back when Ludwig had stayed over at his house to go over the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, he’d seen him engage in a variety of questionable behavior, including seemingly having stare-downs with birds and flowers. He also had the oddest ideas on any given topic, and his logic wasn’t logical — after receiving the facts he tended to jump to a lot of weird-ass conclusions, drawing connections, correlations, and parallels where none existed, and where most people would never think to.

Not to mention that low, repetitious chant he did when he got really upset.

And the perpetual smile he wore, which Ludwig found unnerving.

Perhaps Toris couldn’t help but to be nervous. If it had been Ivan giving him the blanket, there was no telling what he would be expected to do. Judging by his reaction, it varied. Either that or he would be expected to wash it, and he was only hesitating because he realized that Ludwig was not Ivan, and he was hoping that he might be allowed to cuddle up under it.

“I know this is only your sixth month with me, Toris,” Ludwig said amicably, approaching the settee, “but I’m not Ivan. I don’t play headgames with my servants. If I tell you to make yourself comfortable and toss you a blanket, it’s safe to assume you can use it for that. If I need you to do something, I’ll tell you to do it. I won’t make you guess. Not only is that cruel, it’s a very inefficient system.” Grabbing the feather-blanket, he held it up to his chest and unfolded it in front of Toris. Then he put it over the Lithuanian, gently tucking him in. “Here.” A sad smile graced his lips, a subdued warmth radiating from his eyes as he met Toris’s gaze. “Feel free to do whatever you want with it — it’s yours now. I’m giving it to you as an early Christmas present. And before you ask, yes, I mean it, and yes, this is real. I’m not secretly waiting to hurt you the moment you start using it.”

His hat was starting to get a bit uncomfortable now; he’d been wearing it far too long. He took it off and shook his head, running a hand through his honey-blonde hair and smoothing it down. It had been a while since he’d had the chance to gel his hair, and it was due for another cut, so it was pretty wild and all over the place. He wasn’t in the mood to be brushing it just now, though, so too bad. Hat in hand, he took up his empty mug.

“I’m heading into the kitchen now to make another drink.” He fumbled a bit with his next words, not quite used to playing host, but feeling a strong urge to show more kindness to the teary-eyed little country whose world he’d just shattered. “Uh…don’t be afraid to ask if you want anything. Do I have any hot cocoa or rum? I can’t remember.”

[Lithuania]

He looked up miserably and noticed the way that Ludwig's lips parted in a kind of pitying shock which suddenly made him feel so very ashamed. He was faintly aware of a nagging, uncomfortable feeling which told him that he had somehow forgotten how to behave normally, how to react normally to situations. That something inside him had snapped somewhere along the line. It was telling that, the more distressed he felt, the more he took refuge in behaviours he'd learned at Ivan's house, the more tiny and frightened he became.

“If I tell you to make yourself comfortable and toss you a blanket, it’s safe to assume you can use it for that.”

And why wasn't that immediately obvious? It would have been to anybody else in the world, surely. Anybody who had not lived with Ivan. His cheeks darkened in shame as the German continued to talk to him as though he was a frightened child, reassuring him that here, everything would be so much more simple, that there would be no games, no constant walking on eggshells.

He looked at Ludwig mutely as the taller nation tucked the duvet around his shivering form and he gratefully accepted the warmth, even as he blushed furiously.

“Feel free to do whatever you want with it — it’s yours now. I’m giving it to you as an early Christmas present. And before you ask, yes, I mean it, and yes, this is real. I’m not secretly waiting to hurt you the moment you start using it.”

Toris couldn't remember the last time anyone had openly given him a Christmas present. Actually, he couldn't really remember the last time he'd actually owned something. He bit his lip and stared and stared at Ludwig and tried so very hard not to look utterly pathetic as his eyes shone with barely suppressed gratitude.

“Thank you..?” he said quietly, still a little uncertain, as Ludwig began to talk about getting a drink. He seemed uncomfortable, and Toris wondered if he was just making an excuse to get out of the room and away from his embarrassing, emotional servant.

“Uh…don’t be afraid to ask if you want anything. Do I have any hot cocoa or rum? I can’t remember.”

“You have both, sir,” he said quickly, an anxious note still in his voice. “I haven't really touched anything in your cupboard while you've been away.”

He drew his knees tighter up to his chest and pulled the duvet around him tightly, wrapping it around his shoulders and clutching it tightly. His shivering was starting to subside, the warmth from the fire and the heavy, soft fabric enveloping him proving some small comfort, even as his heart was still sitting in the pit of his stomach and his pulse fluttered erratically every time he turned over Ludwig's revelation in his head.

Part of him wanted to ask Ludwig if he could be excused, if he could go and curl up in his bare little room and ball his fist into his mouth and cry until he was exhausted enough to sleep.

He waited for the other nation to return, staring at his blanket-covered knees, his breath coming in shaky little sighs as he fought back tears. When he heard a noise at the door, he didn't look up before he spoke quietly.

“Wars can't last forever. Even World Wars. Something has to give...at some point.” He raised his eyes towards the door frame. “Things will give...change...” He shook his head. “I wish I wasn't so helpless...I wish I could take charge of my own affairs and fix things and...” He looked miserably towards the fire.

“But no. I think that's the worst part. There's nothing I can do.” His voice was soft and even, that clear, eerie calmness that follows hysteria. “I love him, but I know that Ivan ruined all my chances of being able to take care of myself. The longer I spend occupied by other nations, the more years go by without me having any real government of my own, then the weaker I get.” He bit his lip and wiped his tear-streaked cheeks on his sleeve. “Realistically, whether I end up incorporated into the Soviet Union, or whether it's the Third Reich, the outcome will eventually be the same.” He shrugged slightly, his expression blank for a moment. “You know what happens to countries when they stop being countries.”

Forlornly, he looked at Ludwig. “It wouldn't be so bad, you know. Any of it. I can cope with living like this...even cope with the way things were at Ivan's, even cope with the idea that I'll probably die.” He had a vague idea that he was talking too much, and that Ludwig probably didn't especially care about what was going on in his head, but the words kept tumbling out. “But I can't bear the thought of anything happening to my children. And maybe it's just selfish, because I know that whether I'm around or not, I can't actually do anything to protect them...I can't even don a uniform and fight alongside them the way you can...I can't even go and visit them...but I still can't help but want to know that they're mine. Not yours, or Russia's or Poland's. I love them desperately...the ones that are dying, and the ones who are doing the killing...all of them. Is that so awful?” He pressed his hand over his mouth and mumbled into the palm of my hand.
“You once told me, a few years ago, that conquering me was scarcely worth the effort. Sometimes, I can see why you said that.”