FIC: The Great King: Chapter 2

[dorkery]

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The Great King

Chapter 2
Length: 1,900
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Genre: Gen
Characters, Pairings: Frederick the Great, fem!Prussia, Germany, Russia || Frederick the Great/fem!Prussia
Summary: The life and times of King Frederick II of Prussia.

Notes: Ahhhh this took so long I APOLOGISE.

Chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]



The silence that lingered throughout the halls of the palace seemed all too loud now that the raucous Russians had moved on. The palace felt emptier, though it could likely be attributed to the lack of things due to the rather impressive property damage that had occurred in all of four days. It was hardly surprising, considering the 300 ladies-in-waiting nearly all with their own children, but all the same, it was rather ridiculous. The queen had been livid and demanded that the miser of a king fund the redecoration. Prussia had stayed out of that argument.

She rather missed Russia now that he was gone. At the mention of the Tsar’s noteworthy fertility, with reference to his 300-something children, Russia had merely smiled at Prussia and poured her another glass of wine. That had led to a conversation about participating in similar activities but he had respectfully accepted her turndown. She liked that about Russia. He was reasonable, provided you knew not to let him get away with anything. The ensuing conversations had been commiseration about Sweden and his situation with Denmark.

There had been a loud series of booms that shook the ground. Russia had looked at Prussia’s lack of reaction in confusion.

“Are we under attack?”

“Naw.”

“Sounds like cannons.”

“That’s because it is. Drills. You know the sort of thing.”

“Oh my,” Russia said, “Your Wilhelm’s quite the military man, isn’t he?”

“Was that never clear?”

“You know how royals are. Rumours, reputations. But he’s actually serious. I don’t think I’ve seen such zeal since Prince Eugene.”

“On the topic of cannons, he gave one to the crown prince as a gift.”

“… Isn’t the crown prince six?”

“Soon.”

“Well, at least it isn’t like he has his own little army to order about, eh?”

“…”

“No.”

“The king thinks next year, maybe.”

“My goodness,” Russia delicately covered his mouth, “And this is just one son!”

“He is the heir apparent,” Prussia pointed out.

“Poor boy.”

The conversation came to a halt when Russia noticed a small head of golden hair by the doorway. When he called out for the boy to come over, Little West hid himself completely. It was Prussia who had to coax him to approach, impatient but gentle, and he mustered the courage to emerge from the shadows. When he got close enough, he dove into Prussia’s lap and buried his face in the front of her jacket.

“Westling,” Prussia said in an exasperated tone as she ran a hand up and down his back soothingly, “Could you not sleep?”

“Westling,” Russia echoed in surprise, “He is not a human?”

“I found him wandering in the Westerwald. He has haunted it for a time, so says my brother, Hesse. The wolves never touched him.”

“You call him Little West.”

“Seemed appropriate, considering his origin.”

Russia thought on this, “He has no name?”

“He has no name,” she affirmed, settling back into her seat with Little West in her arms, “But for the human name the nursemaid gave him. Ludwig.”

“A king’s name.”

“In my very bones, I feel that he will bear a king one day. That name is a good omen.”

Russia eyed the child hesitantly, “May that omen not come at a cost you cannot pay.”

“Nonsense,” Prussia scoffed, “My little Western boy will stay with me, close as my ribcage to my heart. England has the wrong of it. No, I will raise him to be a fighter and my right hand, and I will teach him to obey me as a prince would his king.”

“Oh?” Russia’s face softened with the lightest smile, “You’d best strike fear into his heart, and soon. I fear he obeys you as a babe would its mother.”

Prussia’s face reddened, all too aware of how Little West nestled closer to her, “He is still new to this palace. He stays close to me because I am familiar. That is all.”

“Mmhmm. And do you plan on weaning him from your teat?”

“Wh-what-”

“Or is that the way to your ribcage, I wonder.”

“Russia.”

Despite the salacious look in his eyes, Russia promised to behave himself with a laugh when Little West let out a tired huff and burrowed himself deeper in Prussia’s arms. She glared at Russia warningly and proceeded to gently pat Little West’s back and rock him to sleep. What other exchanges they had were spoken soft and low, well into first light. His next day was spent in Prussia’s company, exchanging intelligence and gossip as Little West finally warmed up to Russia. He clung to Prussia’s breeches as he shyly waved their guests goodbye. Prussia was pleased to see this development, slow though it may have been. The boy had been altogether too flighty and terrified the first time he had been introduced to Fritzchen. Besides which, it was always nice to get a visitor, particularly Russia, whose looks she was rather partial to.

“All right,” she said with a huff, tugging the boy off her by the collar, “Stop your clinging and wash for dinner, Westling.”

* * *

“Jesus Christ,” Prussia muttered, “If it’s not one, it’s the other.”

The Crown Prince had disappeared and the palace was in an uproar. Little West had himself gone missing a few days prior, but that was because he had wandered off by himself and gotten lost in the deep of the forest. Prussia had felt almost bad for the tears on his face following her sharp and long-winded rebuke, but she felt it was a worthy exchange for the heart-gripping terror she’d felt at his absence. He was a good child, however. This was not a lesson he would soon forget.

On the other hand, Prussia was not at all worried about the Crown Prince - he had enough sense in him to avoid the wilderness - and she found herself lacking in motivation whenever it came to Frederich Wilhelm’s personal endeavours. At times she wished the man would suffer deeper punishment for his shortcomings, but a royal bastard was still a royal. Despite his... misconduct those years ago, she still rallied to his call because damn it all, he was a fine commander.

Friedrich was seated on the steps of a long forgotten pavilion deep in the woods within the palace walls. He was tired and aching. He had done his prayers small and big, learnt history, geography, theology, moral instruction, letter-writing and then the king had decided to come unto him during one of his lessons, flying into such a rage that he almost hadn’t been able to escape it. He had only a few hours left to himself before the day ended and the king would undoubtedly set the dogs on him to put him to bed. He took a pebble and tossed it against the marble of the pavilion foundation, watching it bounce and skitter away into the brush.

There was a soft whinnying and Friedrich raised his head. Prussia trotted her horse towards him, hopping down from the saddle and tying the reins to the balustrade of the pavilion. She leaned against a column, looking down at him with a slightly pinched expression.

“Fritzchen, what are you doing all alone out here?”

Friedrich buried his face in his knees.

“Hiding.”

“Oh? Who from?”

“My lord father.”

“Ah,” she sounded unsurprised, “What’s he gone and done now?”

“He beat me,” Friedrich responded angrily, grabbing another pebble and hurling it against the ground. “He beat me for being taught Latin. He hit the teacher and the teacher ran away and then he turned on me.”

“Oh, Fritzchen,” Prussia sighed, sitting by him and hesitantly putting an arm around him, “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Friedrich lied, “It doesn’t hurt at all. I’m the Crown Prince of Prussia.”

“And your father’s the King. Kings are used to having their way. And their ways often hurt,” Prussia pulled him up gently by the chin and wiped his face with the end of her sleeve. He sniffed, watching her as she carefully avoided his blackened eye and bruised mouth.

“He doesn’t get his way with you.”

Prussia faltered.

“That’s because he has no choice. It’s not his desire to bend to my will.”

“But he does anyway,” Friedrich said with hope, “He listens to what you say.”

“Listening and heeding are two things entirely. Now stop this. Princes do not speak like this of their Kings,” she reproached, finishing up. Friedrich fell into a morose silence, staring at his feet guiltily at the dark thoughts he harboured towards his father. Prussia watched him for a moment before heaving a sigh. She pulled him close and enveloped him in a hug. Friedrich crawled into her lap, wrapping his arms around her and sniffling into her shoulder. She rubbed his back gently to help calm him down.

“Gilbert,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Talk like what?”

“Like that.”

“I can’t even begin to fathom what you mean, Fritzchen. Speak properly.”

“Well… you’re a woman, aren’t you?”

Prussia stilled for only a moment, but the boy caught the surprise. Friedrich pulled back a little to look at her face, arms still around her.

“And why do you dress like a man? And go to war? And drill the soldiers?”

He glanced a little lower.

“Do you even have breasts? And why does my lord father call you ‘Prussia’?”

Prussia was at a loss. She searched his face, trying to come up with a convincing enough lie, but he was all of nine years and fresh from a beating. Her eyes lingered on his cut lip and his swollen cheek. She sighed heavily, stroking his hair as she thought of the words to say.

"All right," she said after a long silence, "Damn it all."

Prussia spoke. Her speech was halting but she no longer affected the gravelly tone she was often associated with. Friedrich was surprised by how young she sounded.

“Listen closely, Fritzchen, I will tell you this only once. Am I woman? I never wished to be. There is no place for woman in this world, Fritzchen. She cannot be intelligent, she cannot be valiant and she cannot inspire. Her heart may be as full of love for justice and blood as the bravest of all soldiers, but she can never join him in arms. What kings or princes obey women, Fritzchen? I would sooner be a man, live my life’s purpose in disguise and deceit and dishonour if it meant I did not have to beg for favours as a woman.”

She looked at him.

“You understand, don’t you? Even a little?”

Friedrich nodded slowly. Prussia smiled tightly and brushed away a lock of hair from his face.

“You must keep this a secret, all right? Nothing means more to me in the world than this.”

“I promise,” he said breathlessly, “I won’t ever tell a soul.”

“Good boy,” she said, unable to help the slight chuckle, “Now forget that I’m a woman. Life will be easier that way.”