1806

"Mother!" The hoarse cry was weak, barely audible, as a small child of no more than nine years old once more expelled the contents of his stomach, blood tainting the vomit as he once more stained the warm quilt mother had so lovingly and worriedly tucked him under. Tears poured down soft, round cheeks, not yet hardened by age, although no sobs fell. As much as the boy ached to sob, Father had told him to be a big strong boy for him, to be brave. Emmerich didn't want to disappoint him. Anyone but father, and so he tried his best, put on the best mask a scared, sick child could.

"I'm here, Emmerich darling, mother is here." Despite a young face, his mother had signs of worry to her. Lines that had started to appear in her otherwise flawless complexion, dark bags had appeared under her eyes in these past weeks. Not that that was altogether unexpected. Father had seemed to age as well, but then, being told your only child was not long for this world would do that. Tuberculosis, the doctor had told the boys devastated parents. All they could do was try to keep Emmerich comfortable, keep him calm in the pain.

Mother sat on the edge of the bed, dipping a rag into the bucket of cool water she had collected from the river, dabbing at his forehead and cheeks gingerly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. If they could get the fever to break… then perhaps her child would be alright! Ah, but it was a hollow hope, one she knew would only bring her heartbreak, but she couldn't bear to accept the truth. Not yet.

"Mother, it hurts!" Blonde locks stuck to the boys wet forehead, blue eyes hazy and unclear. Adalene felt her heart further break in her chest, as she carefully scooped Emmerich onto her lap, cradling the small boy in her arms, rocking him soothingly.

"I know, my little angel. I know. It's alright, Hasi. Mother is here. Close your eyes and sleep, little one. I'll protect you." She whispered. Even still- she feared if her little one closed his eyes, he may not open them again. With that in mind, she held him just a little closer to her chest, fingers combing through blonde locks soothingly. He had gotten so small as of late, the illness having turned him from a healthy child his age, to unhealthily scrawny. He was so sickeningly pale, and those blue eyes that had always held such twinkle were dull and lifeless. It pained her.

A small groan escaped Emmerichs lips, as he began yet another violent coughing fit, leaving his throat raw, and him exhausted, his fingers curling into his mothers dress as he felt his eyes growing heavy. "Mother… will you sing to me?" He questioned, his voice no more than a mere whisper now.

"Of course, Hasi…. you just rest in Mothers arms. I'll sing for you." She murmured, burying her face in once golden locks, now dulled to lifeless straw, before beginning to quietly sing to him. It was the song she had sung to him when he was a mere infant in her arms, the song her mother had sung to her when she was small. It hurt. Her voice was forced, and she ached to break down, to weep in despair at the state of her child. But she forced herself to continue. Even when she felt him grow limp in her arms, his quiet breath halting and his skin growing cold, she simply gathered him a little closer, continuing her song. Only when she was finished his lullaby did she call her husband. Only then did she cry.

1808

It was dark, and cold. That was the first thing the child noticed upon waking. Not the darkness of a room with closed curtains either, but a blackness he had no memory of experiencing before. It was terrifying, the boy finding his heart seizing up slightly in his chest with panic. Where was he? More so than that- who was he? Air came in short, stale gasps. That was his second observation. Small feet tried to kick out into the darkness, to seek some kind of stable purchase to give him insight into where he was. Clearly by the pressure on his back, he was lying somewhere.

At first there was nothing, and then a quiet thud, as his foot connected with something solid- but not altogether hard- above him. That didn't make sense. If he was laying down, why was there a hardened barrier above him? The boy began to kick in earnest, letting out shaky short breaths before pausing, hearing a crack in the bottom of whatever this casing that entrapped him was, near those desperate feet. It hurt, he noted with every kick, although right now, his desire to get out of the darkness was far more compelling than the pain.

He didn't expect the heavy weight that soon fell on his lower half, shifting around him like- dirt? Was that dirt!? One by one the pieces began to fall into place, the child's fear only growing. He was in the ground! Why was he in the ground, he had to get out!

Small nails began to claw and shove, pushing up shattering, worn pieces of rickety wood, pushing and kicking dirt out of his way. He squirmed almost desperately, managing to get himself somewhat upright, tugging the tattered cloth that lay around his torso over his face as he began to stomp and step on the dirt, trying to continually push it underneath of him. Finally, he could begin to see the beginnings of light pouring through, pushing his way through until finally, his first breath of fresh air-

A scream tore from his lips. It was soon followed by another, and another, until the child's throat was raw. Blue eyes looked around in terror, hazed and glossy with shock, before landing on one solitary grey stone- a headstone. He took no time to read it. He didn't need to. It was perfectly clear it was his own. He thought not of his lack of knowledge as to who he was- who he had been- or how he had ended up in the ground. Instead, he acted on fear, and fear alone. He began to run, into the thick shroud of trees that lay ahead, an unknown forest. He didn't look back. He just kept running.

Something didn't feel right that day. The air was particularly biting, although Gilbert couldn't honestly say that it was cold. The wind rustled through his silver locks as he rode through the forest, his mare picking up speeds as he directed it through the brush. It was unsettling, to say the least. A sickening feeling sat in the pit of the Prussians stomach, not unlike the normal guilt in nature, but far more intense. Troublesome, as though something big were going to happen.

Gilbert tried to push those thoughts back, tried to enjoy his morning ride. How rarely he got them these days. Since his younger brother had fallen, days had been chaotic.

His King was a good one, King Frederick Wilhelm the third and his wife were loved by the people, but it was hard, as all things were with the fall of a great empire one was tied so closely to. And Gilberts patience had been short these past two years, his temper flaring even easier than it had before. He was morose, and guilt ridden, with no true interest in affairs of state. As such, these morning rides were his only real escape, his one chance at peace and quiet.

The screams, bloodcurdling in volume and nature, broke through the silence of the early morning, sending a shiver down the Prussians spine. It wasn't a sound he was unused to- in fact, it was one he heard often, on the battlefields and in villages and towns ravaged by soldiers, sometimes his, sometimes the enemies. A childs voice, there was no mistaking it. He wanted to turn away, to ride back to the castle and pretend he had never heard it. But something compelled him forward, as he urged his horse on towards the sound. He wasn't expecting what he found stumbling lost and shivering through the forest.

A small child. He was covered from head to toe in dirt and mud, hair color indistinguishable through the brown filth. Maggots crawled through his hair, and his bare feet and hands were bloody nails torn and broken. But those eyes… those blue eyes that, even glossed over with fear, were so reminiscent of… Gilbert sucked in a sharp breath. No. There was no point in thinking about such things at a time like this. The boy was scrawny, too scrawny, and the crimson eyed man almost found himself scoffing at the fear in the child's eyes as he stared up in terror at the silver haired man.

Rolling his eyes, Gilbert slid from his horse. Already he had his suspicions of who this child was. What he was. The sickening feeling in his stomach only grew, and he found himself biting back the urge to purge his stomach of its breakfast as he kneeled to the boys level, eyes cold. "Boy." He spoke harshly, no sympathy or compassion in his tone. "What is your name and where do you come from? What are you doing wandering these woods?" He questioned.

He really ought not to be quite so harsh with the child, he scolded himself quietly, it was clear the boy, who could be no more than nine, was terrified, and rightfully so. Even still, there was no keeping the bitter anger from his voice. If he was right… if this scrawny pathetic child was the replacement for the one who had been lost… lost because of him… no. Right now he had more important things to worry about than his self-loathing.

The blonde boy shivered and shook, but didn't speak. He wanted to- truly he did, so afraid this man, so clearly stronger than him, nobility he'd reckon, would strike him down. But he was unable to, mute from fear or the trauma of crawling out of his own grave, he knew not. Instead, he simply pointed, before timidly reaching out to grab the strange mans hand, tugging him towards the edge of the woods. His lip quivered, the shaking only growing worse as he pointed out into the clearing where the small graveyard sat.

"Why do you not answer me, damned brat?" Gilbert growled out in irritation. Already he hated this boy, whether it was reasonable of him or not, the anxiety in his stomach growing and knotting, heating until it was a burning fury. "If you are truly this impudent, I swear I will-" He raised a hand to strike the child, before pausing at the small, bloodied and mangled hand that hesitantly grasped onto his own. The touch made his skin crawl, but still, he indulged the boy, following behind him, and beginning to walk to the graveyard the child pointed to. All of this was only adding more to his suspicions, but he had to know… had to know for sure. To see for himself that this strange welp was what he thought he was. He glanced back over his shoulder as he realized the hand had slipped from his own. The boy wasn't following, clutching onto a tree as though it were his only lifeline, his eyes shimmering with pure unadulterated terror.

Gilbert rolled his eyes once more, continuing forward on his own.

It wasn't hard to find the grave- after all, it was a mess of dirt and shattered wood, the only disturbed plot in the otherwise quiet cemetery. So it was true. This was to be his brothers replacement. And so the ball of hatred in his stomach grew, even as he crouched in front of the cool tablet, brushing off some stray dirt to read the inscription.

"Here lies Emmerich Romary Kaltenbach, nine years of age. A loving son, taken far too soon. Rest with angels."

At that, Gilbert did snort. At least this child- Emmerich, the stone had called him, had people who cared enough to give him a proper burial. Gilbert had simply woken up in a pile of bones in a long since destroyed village. But he supposed crawling out of your own grave could perhaps be a far more terrifying experience; so with immense reluctance, he could understand the child's fear and silence.

The Prussian turned away from the stone, walking back to the boy, roughly grabbing the boys injured hand, ignoring the wince on his face. Fuck. This frightened welp would never replace his brother. Never.

It was no secret how much Gilbert had hated Dieter when he was alive. He could count the number of times he'd called his brother by name on one hand, far more often referring to him only as little master, a term that at the time had only hold bitter jealousy and ill will. But the boy had still been his brother, and a child the same this. And he hadn't protected him, not like he was supposed to.

And even through the contempt for this child whose hand he held as he roughly dragged him back to his horse, he swore that this one would not meet the same fate. He could at least provide that. But he would never call this fearful urchin brother. Not like he had Dieter. Not like the child he had all at once despised and adored, hurt and protected. "Come along." He growled quietly, not looking at the boy beside him.

The child stumbled along beside him silently, big blue eyes staring up at him questioningly, as though asking where he was being taken, even as his lip continued to quiver, his bare feet on the rough forest floor causing him to stumble.

With a low groan, Gilbert eyed the boy- he really was far too slow!- before deciding to hoist him onto his hip, not in move of compassion or care, but one of impatience. "Oh, don't look at me like that!" He bit out as he sat the child on the horse, mounting it behind him and holding the reins around the child's stomach. "I'm taking you home."