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Chapter Text

Weimar was the second son of the almighty Prussia. Unlike his older brother, he had more of an interest in reading and writing books rather than engaging in combat. Ever since he was small, he knew he was only a spare in case something terrible happened to German Empire. Now that he had a family and all, there was no chance Weimar would be able to achieve the crown. Instead of plotting anything sinister, he decided to stay shut and try and find something he can get into, which was writing. Having a creative and eloquent mind, his writings became a hit. Every word and sentence he wrote on ink would be a literary melody, and the deep words he added would make it so.

Despite all the praise and achievements he'd get, he was, still embarrassed on where he was standing on. Weimar was already a grown ass man who was still living in his parents house. As someone who is considered royalty, Weimar felt like he was looked down upon for that fact. Prussia didn't let this fact slide from his mind. He tried setting up Weimar with someone formidable, someone capable of ruling a nation.

Weimar sat on his chair, reading a book from the palace library with a cup of tea on the side. His eyes followed the words, as if he himself had a connection. It was a snowy day, perfectly quiet to read a book. Until that silence was broken by a knock. Weimar groaned, who could it be? He fixed his glasses and walked towards his door to open it, only to see his father standing there with a neutral expression. He smiled, only for his father to tell him that he arranged a marriage for him and Soviet Union.

Weimar's smiled immediately faltered as his father walked away. He shut the door and started freaking out. He was getting married to Soviet Union, the same man who reportedly killed his own father. He knew he had to move out at some point, but not like this. There was no way he was going to get married to a psycho, and yet there was nothing he can do. His father had already arranged it. All he can hope for is that, Soviet Union won't be cruel to him. In less than a month, he was already expected to live with the Soviet. Weimar was simply not ready, especially for the non-stop cold weather.

The day came. It was time for Weimar to visit Soviet Union. He packed all his belongings and put them inside the carriage. He was still a bit nervous about this entire, situation he was put in, but nonetheless he kept his spirit up. "If you even want to call us or your brother, just tell this bird to give the letter to us, alright?" Prussia then gave Weimar a crow in a birdcage, which he accepted and put into the carriage. He hugged both his parents before entering the carriage and leaving. He felt sad that he had to leave them, but he was an adult now. The trip was going to be long, so Weimar accepted himself by writing in his notebook.

After a long trip, Weimar had finally made it to St. Petersburg. It was a very long trip, took about three days at maximum. He had to stay in several hotels just to get some sleep and then leave the next day. Luckily, Prussia put some bird seeds inside the birdcage so that he didn't have to go out and purchase some. The streets of St. Petersburg were bustling full of people, and it was extremely cold. It was very hard to pass through the crowd, though Weimar didn't pay much attention to that. He looked through the window, Soviet's kingdom was... slightly eerie. An authoritarian kingdom. Very dystopian. One wrong move and execution it is. The people seemed to not know what joy or laughter was. Everyone had their lips shut tight, not a single spark of joy emitting from them. If these were the people, how was their "king"?

Weimar put all those thoughts aside as the carriage pulled over to the castle entrance. Surely his future lover wouldn't like those thoughts. He stepped out, puppets started flying and taking his luggage including the birdcage. "Wait!-" He yelled out, though that didn't stop them. He just assumed they were taking his luggage to the bedroom. Weimar took the time to gaze at the outside of the castle. It had many flowers and bushes nicely trimmed, having more life than the people itself. The castle... Very gothic. Weimar liked the aesthetic.

He walked inside the castle. It was silent and cold, the only warmth was from a chandelier hanging above. The interior was rather nice looking, as expected from a castle. Weimar continued to walk a long hall with his trusty notebook and pen as if he was going to include every possible detail this castle had to offer in his new story. There were paintings hanged up on the walls, mostly of the late Russian Empire. As he walked further, he saw the same puppets cleaning the windows and sweeping the floors. He assumed those were the servants, but then again, he remembered Soviet Union was notorious for using puppets for combat. It was a rather creative way of fighting.

Weimar opened a glass door, which led to a garden. The ground was covered in snow. Typical. There was a lake aswell, which was completely covered by thick ice. Weimar wasn't too interested in the garden, so he moved on. He kept walking and walking down the long corridor, which had an end. A door. Where could this lead to? Weimar's curiosity peaked. He opened the door, only to see shelved books upon thousands and thousands of rows. Weimar's jaw was on the floor. He rushed inside, seeing these many books widened his eyes. He immediately took a book from a nearby shelf and sat on a comfy sofa as he placed his pen and notebook down.

Weimar was immediately intrigued by what he was reading, so much so that he forgot time was moving past. He examined every single word and detail as much as his mind could comprehend. Everything felt right at home, even if he was far from it. The sounds of the harsh snow hitting the windows along with the droplets of rain, it felt comfortable to him. By how quiet this place was, Weimar could easily adjust to this life.

"I want him executed!"

A loud shout pierced Weimar's ear, he instantly placed the book on the smooth wooden table and took his pen and notebook as he dashed out of the soundless library to investigate the cause of the sound. He ran all the way to where the sound originated, only to see the puppets eavesdropping on the side. It was the throne room, the main hall. Soviet sat on the throne, while an Innocent-looking civilian on the ground was pleading for mercy, he was practically bowing down.

"Please! My king.... I-I did not try to hide any of my fresh crops! Please believe me...! I have a family!"

No matter how much the innocent civilian pled or cried, Soviet did not believe him. It was hard to sway the mind of someone as cruel as Soviet Union, so much so that many just accept their fate. "My mind does not change on how I look down at you. Perhaps you want your family to be executed aswell?" The innocent man started crying once more, he pleaded and pleaded, yet Soviet would not care. No one wanted to intervene, for they shall suffer the same as all the others who tried to defy the Soviet.

"That's going too far."

Weimar spoke up as he entered the throne room. He was defying the king, yes, but he was also supposed to be his future husband. To him, Soviet can execute anyone he wanted as long as they were proven guilty, but he crosses the line once the topic of family gets mixed into the mess. Weimar knew Soviet didn't mind bringing this up since he himself had little to no love for his father, that's why it was easy for him to kill him. Everyone in the room looked at Weimar, shocked to see someone withstand the king. Soviet locked his golden eyes onto Weimar's lightless eyes then back to the innocent man. This was a very bad first impression...

Soviet sighed. He ordered his knights to let the innocent man go. This is NOT how he wanted their first meet to be like. A few seconds passed and Soviet stood up from his throne. He looked at Weimar before turning and exiting the room. He must've felt ashamed. As Soviet left the throne room, all the puppets went back to what they were doing. Interesting. Weimar explored the throne room a bit. It was definitely the grandest room in the whole castle. The throne itself was sparkling like a star, covered in different gems. Weimar was interested in the castle, so he continued to explore it. He got to the dining room. Therein lied a long table and about 16 chairs. Soviet was the only one there, and Weimar doubted that he'd let anyone in.

Weimar decided not to think too deep about that. He still had to explore more rooms. He left the dining room and move on to the next room, which was Soviet's office. Yeah, he decided not to enter. Soviet was most likely inside there doing paperwork. He ignored that room and moved on to the next one, which was Soviet and supposedly his bedroom. He opened the door, only to see his luggage and the bird. Weimar let out a breath of relief. Thank god nothing happened to throw bird... His gaze turned over the bed, it looked very comfortable. Weimar turned his head to the window, which was covered by snow. He couldn't even get a good view. Weimar yawned, he turned his eyes to the clock, it was 4:41 already. He placed his notebook and pen down into the drawer and got into bed, Soviet wouldn't mind, right? After all, he was only going to take a nap.

Weimar woke up, he felt like he needed more. The room was pitch dark as he woke up, the only thing emitting light was a small candle. He grabbed it and looked at the clock. It was 10PM already, and yet Soviet wasn't beside him. He assumed he was either doing paperwork or went out for a walk. Weimar's stomach grumbled, right, he hasn't eaten since he got here. A light meal wouldn't hurt, right? Weimar opened the door, it was still bright through the hallways, odd.

He walked through the hallway that led to the dining room, hoping to atleast get some bread or anything that could satisfy his hunger.Weimar wasn't seeing the little puppets anymore, perhaps they went to sleep? He dismissed that thought. He was about to enter the dining room when he heard multiple voices.

"So... Father will be married to that newcomer?"

"Most likely."

"Well, how do you guys feel about it? For me, I guess it's alright."

"Eh, I don't really mind."

"Of course you don't, Belarus. Typical of you."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"However you see it."

What the hell? Weimar was slightly freaked out. The people inside the dining hall were taking about him... He took a quick glance at the people in the dining hall, there were 16 of them and they looked like the puppets from earlier, wait— Weimar adjusted his glasses. Were those people, the puppets? The same ones that usually fly around the castle? What the hell... No wonder there were 16 seats. 15 for the puppets and 1 for Soviet. All of the puppets were eating, it was impossible for Weimar to go unnoticed. He tried to stand, but his head hit an oval table, breaking a flower pot. "Shit." He muttered to himself. Weimar hid himself in the next-door bathroom. He was heavily breathing. "Hm? How'd this fall over...?" One if the puppets examined the broken flower pot. Soviet was not going to like this. They immediately began looking for the broom to clean this.

Weimar was suddenly feeling nauseous. He didn't know why, but his vision was starting to get blurry. Fuck, it's his first day here and so many has happened. He hasn't even had a proper talk with his own husband yet. He felt like there was a curse casted upon him as he entered the castle. He sat against the bathroom door, his vision was getting blurry and there's nothing he can do about it other than cry useless shards of tears.

Chapter Text

Weimar woke up from his nausea, he stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a fucking mess. His hair was messy, his eyes looked tired and the eyebags under them didn't help. He got out if the bathroom, the mess he made was no longer there. He breathed out as he made his way into the dining room. It was dark. The chandeliers weren't sparking light as they used to.

"Ah!—"

Weimar yelled out in pain. He accidentally tripped on the floor, my god was he a dumbass. The next thing he knew, there was blood coming out of his knee. Weimar knew he shouldn't cry, he was a grown man, but he couldn't help himself. He was in an entirely new place, he didn't know anyone. And the fact that his future partner hasn't even talked to him yet made it worse. He wanted warmth in this cold palace he would be in for the next years of his life. His thoughts took over him. What if Soviet didn't care for him? Was, he just going to be a prisoner in a cold palace for the rest of his life? He couldn't even realize his tears were falling onto the floor.

The door opened, one of the puppets saw Weimar and immediately dashed towards him. "Are you okay!?" They said in a rather panicked tone. Weimar snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the puppet that was in their humanoid form, who then saw blood from his pants. "...Hold on, I'll get bandages...!" Weimar tried to grab their hand, but they were swift. He didn't want to bother them. The puppet came back with a roll of bandages, they immediately started patching his bloodied knee up. Weimar looked at the puppet patching up his knee, he was different from his supposed "father". He wondered if Soviet even cared for them. "There we go, all done..." Weimar moved his leg slightly, it stung, of course. "Thanks." The puppet was somewhat curious. What was he trying to do at 11PM?

"If you don't mind me asking, what were you trying to do?" Weimar gazed at the puppet's humanoid form, he was slightly embarrassed. "I was trying to get food. I was hungry." Just then, a voice called out to the puppet. "Estonia! What are you doing?" The older puppet said as they approached the two. "Moldova! I was just trying to help him." Moldova gazed over at the blood on the floor and Weimar's bandanged knee. He didn't even try to question whatever happened. "He said he was hungry. Do we still have some bread?" Moldova put his hand on his chin, trying to remember something. "I think so, yeah. Try to help him sit on a chair. I'll search for bread." He walked away, searching for bread or anything edible. Estonia helped Weimar sit down. It was quite hard since his knee was still hurting, but they managed. Moldova swiftly came back with an open pack of bread in his hands. "Here." He muttered as he placed the pack on the table.

Weimar took a slice of bread, it was a bit cold but somewhat edible. Moldova and Estonia didn't leave yet, instead they had a conversation with their soon-to-be stepfather. They wanted to know more about him and the outside world since Soviet never permitted them to go outside, except for the small garden area.

Soviet was in his office. It was midnight, and yet there were still so many paperwork he had to sign. It was frustrating. First he made a terrible first impression to his future partner, now he has piles of paperwork to do. He was so close to just tearing them all apart. The office door opened, it was one of his puppets. Soviet groaned as he looked at them. What the hell were they there for anyways? "Father." They said in a rather concerned tone. Soviet looked extremely tired, which was the first thing they noticed. "... You should get to sleep." He scoffed. Ironic how his own puppet who was basically his child is telling him to sleep. "Georgia, I swear just one bottle of vodka will get me running normal again." Georgia wasn't buying his "father's" excuse. He knew very well he was close to falling asleep. "... Alright then." He exited the office room. No matter how much he'd sway, he wouldn't listen anyways. Georgia became more and more concerned for him. He wonders if this arranged marriage could maybe help his "father".

Morning came, Soviet had fallen asleep on the pile of paperwork, and yet the sun's godly rays could not wake him up. He was still heavily asleep as he hadn't entire slept peacefully in the past few days. Coincidentally, Weimar took a peek inside Soviet's office. Once he found out that he was heavily asleep, he fully opened the door and went inside. He took time time to fully look at the office. It looked rather gothic and cold, a bunch of contracts and papers all stocked in shelves. On the desk was a bunch of unsigned paper, a fancy pen and a lamp. The only thing that was keeping the room luminescent. He lightly touched Soviet's hand. "Soviet.... Wake up." He whispered.

After a few minutes or so, Soviet woke up. He still looked tired, Weimar wondered if waking him up was even a good idea. "... что?" Weimar looked at his future lover, god does he even sleep peacefully or ever leave his office? "... Do you want some tea?" Soviet thought about it. His "children" would usually make tea for him, but he thought he'd give Weimar a shot at it. "Sure." Weimar slightly smirked. He left Soviet's gloomy office and proceeded to go to the supply room, which wasn't too far considering the fact it was right beside the dining hall. He went inside, god they had a lot of food in stock. "Let's see... Green tea, white tea, oolong tea, black tea..." Weimar muttered himself the many varieties of tea before ultimately deciding on green tea. He grabbed a cup and added boiling hot water then added the tea bag itself. Weimar looked outside the dining hall's window, still very snowy. He sighed. Even from inside, he could still feel the bitter coldness that etched from these very walls. After 3 minutes, Weimar carefully and steadily delivered the green tea, only to be met with Soviet sleeping once more. He placed the tea on his desk and left. Maybe Soviet will wake up soon.

Weimar immediately went back to their bedroom. He wanted to send his father a letter. He ripped off a page from his notebook and took his pen to start writing.

"Dear Father,

I've just arrived here yesterday and yet I somehow haven't sent you a letter. I'm alright, though I have been experiencing some homesickness. Surely it will go away sooner or later. The kingdom of the man you set me up with is rather quiet, barely filled with joy or happiness, unlike yours where civilians are allowed to be happy. I'm really starting to question your decision on arranging me on a marriage with him. He hasn't harmed me yet, it's just how he acts or rules. I saved a man from execution yesterday, Soviet was trying to execute them due to the petty reasoning of apparently hiding freshly grown crops. If I hadn't intervened, then maybe his innocent relatives would've been brought into the point of execution as well. Besides that, we haven't talked to eachother formally yet. I made him some green tea earlier, but when I came back he was asleep. I'm not entirely sure on why of all nations you decided to arrange a marriage for him and I, but I hope your reasoning is worth my stay here.

—Sincerely, Weimar."

Weimar sighed as he ended the letter. He stared onto it for a bit until he stood up and walked over to the caged bird. He smirked as he let it out. "Take this letter to my father, alright?" Weimar put the letter in the birds mouth and opened the window. It was snowy even in the morning, and yet the bird flew off.
Weimar wondered if the bird knew where he was supposed to to go as he close the window. He guessed yes, since that bird was most likely trained to follow orders. Weimar's head was hurting, and unlike most people that would try to sleep, Weimar continued writing his novel. He was close to finishing it anyways, as he started writing it 3 weeks ago.

After 30 minutes or so, Weimar had finally finished his novel. He took a deep breath. Now all he needed to do was publish it and— Wait. How was he going to publish his new work? Soviet's kingdom was very strict, especially when it came to publishing works. Weimar thought of something, or a plan rather. It was an insane plan, yes, but just to publish his newest novel, Weimar would do it. Now to do this he'd have to cross the kingdom, into the neighboring kingdom of Finland. It was by far the closest kingdom to Soviet's. He knew he couldn't just go off at broad daylight. He needed to at least wait until the sun had gone down. Hopefully Soviet didn't have to go anywhere in the night.

Weimar was somewhat regretting his decision.
The cold winds began to push him back and the harsh snow was blocking his vision. He swears that the weather was calm a few minutes after he left the castle, does fate just not want him to go anywhere then? To keep him as a prisoner? Even all those thoughts, Weimar kept moving forward. It was dark and he could barely tell where to go, yet he still kept going. Weimar's wings were twitching from the cold. Yes, he could fly, but would that make a difference? If he had flown, the snow would've pushed him down eitherway.

He was where no buildings were to be seen, no fields of vegetables, only tall oak trees that were as dark as the night. Weimar was starting to get goosebumps. There was a high chance of him getting attacked by rabid wolves and bears, or even worse, getting caught. He wouldn't want that to happen.

Weimar stopped his walking as he heard a noise. A sound of a twig being stepped on. He looked down, oh, he was the one who had stepped on a twig. He was getting more paranoid and paranoid. He sighed and kept walking through the thick layers of snow. He was somewhat starting to feel uncomfortable around his surroundings, even if the snow had called down. He felt like something was following him from the distance, monitoring his every step. Weimar decided to push all those nonsense away.

Weimar thought he was just being paranoid, paranoid from the thought Soviet would catch him.

The rain started to settle in. Luckily, Weimar was wearing a hood so that he wouldn't get soaked. He continued to move forward, despite how eerie it was getting. The hoots of an owl above the tree and the crickets only increased Weimar's fear. Was there really no building nearby?

Weimar began to panic as he heard the sound of running heading towards him. He started to tread faster, to which he started to run. The howls of multiple wolves echoed throughout the silent night. Weimar looked back— there was a whole pack after him. He kept running. As much as he wanted to turn back to check how many wolves were after him, he knew he shouldn't.

"Ah!"

Weimar yelled out has he tripped on a large rock. He somehow didn't see it, and now he's paying the consequences. He tried to get up, but the hungry wolves wouldn't allow that. They gnawed and clawed him before he could even stand properly. He got up and yet he couldn't run properly. It felt like he was going to collapse at any moment. The wolves kept bringing him down as they bit the lower part of his cloak. Weimar's suffering didn't end there as the wolves bit through his wings. He screamed in pain as his blood left a mark on the snow. Weimar tried to get away from the wolves, so much so that he crawled all the way to an open road, hoping someone would help him. He was losing feathers and blood little by little to the point he wondered if this was going to be his end. Being eaten by wolves in a foreign land as the rain came pouring down the night sky. A tragic end, truly.

The sounds a galloping came near by. A loud "Neigh!" came out of nowhere in the dark night. Weimar had his eyes squinted, almost having them shut. He could see a blurry image of a black carriage, finally help was here. The wolves ran as the carriage had gotten close, thank god they stopped. Just as Weimar was about smile, he saw familiar black boots with belts come down the carriage. Shit.

Soviet looked at him with a cold stare. Weimar got up, he was a mess. His hair was rough and messy from running away from the wolves. His glasses had a small crack, overall he looked like he just came from a rough day at prison. Weimar knew he was in trouble. Soviet gestured for him to go inside, he looked tired as well. Weimar didn't question and just got inside. He didn't want to make Soviet frustrated by what was going on.

The silence inside the carriage was awkward. Soviet didn't speak to Weimar, but Weimar knew damn well it wasn't going to end well for his side. Weimar was embarrassed by this while situation. He literally got caught, though he probably needed to. He was literally bleeding. He could've died. Maybe he owes Soviet his life. Or fate.

The two reached the castle. Weimar got down first, he walked slowly inside. The puppets looked at Weimar. They were horrified. What happened to him? Why was he bleeding from his wings? Why was he bruised? Those were what was running in some of the puppets' head. Before they could even do anything to help the poor bird, Soviet gripped his arm and forced him to come with him. He was furious.

The next thing Weimar knew was that he was in their bedroom. Soviet locked the door before glancing at Weimar. He felt fear shiver down his throat. He didn't know what Soviet had planned to do with him. "Soviet, I can explain—" He said in a shaky tone, but Soviet wasn't having any of those petty excuses. He slapped Weimar on his right cheek, causing it to leave a red-ish mark. Weimar made a small noise of pain, not enough for Soviet to care anyways. He picked Weimar up by his neck and gripped it tight. "You think you can get away here so easily, huh? Remember that I have this whole nation monitored. You should consider yourself lucky that I find you somewhat amusing to not execute you off the spot."

Soviet let go of Weimar, dropping him on the floor. He took the bag Weimar had on his body and flipped it upside down, resulting in the novel Weimar had spent weeks on to drop. He picked it up and began flipping the pages to see the contents. Soviet immediately picked up on the fact this novel was the reason Weimar left the castle. Surely he can't have that happening anymore. Without a thought, Soviet began tearing each page one by one and stomping the remaining parts under his boots.

Weimar shed a tear. All those weeks of hard work, now gone due to a man with no heart. He was hurt. It was like a knife stabbed his heart. And for the first time ever, Weimar felt like he lost himself. His emotion shifted from sadness to anger. Weimar picked himself up. He lunged forward, trying to hit Soviet back, but that backfired terribly. Soviet's hit him on the other side of the cheek. He gritted his teeth and gripped the fibulae of Weimar's cloak. "Don't test your luck on me. Why did you think your father sent you away to marry me? That's right. Because you're simply weak—"

"ATLEAST I DIDN'T KILL MY FATHER!" Weimar shouted all the sudden. He hated being called weak. That was the final straw for Soviet. He hated it when someone mentioned that. He gripped his neck tightly. "DON'T YOU DARE BRING THAT UP AGAIN." Soviet was now losing his touch in reality. Weimar's tears started to slide down his cheeks. He felt like he was about to lose his life.

"...S-S-Soviet..." Weimar was losing oxygen rapidly. He could barely talk. He pleaded him to stop. It took Soviet a few minutes for him to finally let go of Weimar. He looked at his almost-dead body, then to his hands. He was shaking, yet it didn't erase the anger that boiled up inside him. He left Weimar's unconscious body on the floor. The puppets saw it as Soviet opened the door to leave. They wanted to help him. They wanted to comfort him after what they'd heard, yet Soviet won't allow them. "Get back to what you were doing." He ordered in an emotionless tone. "But Father—" Latvia tried to defy his order, but Soviet wouldn't allow that. "NOW." Out of fear, the puppets all got back to what they were doing without question.

"Brother?" Tajikistan asked as he swept the floor. "Yes?" Turkmenistan looked at him with a concerned look. He was still concerned for Weimar's current status. "Do you think dad is still mad?" Turkmenistan sighed. He knew his father wasn't the easiest to let go of something that happened. "... I guess so? But let's not worry about that. The weather is a bit colder than usual, surely his anger will disappear soon."
"Russia and Belarus will be talking to father." Armenia said as he entered the scene.

"Let's just wish them luck that nothing will go wrong, okay?" Armenia tried to reassure his siblings. He didn't want them to worry. Tajikistan kept a small smirk, wishing that nothing will go wrong with the talk.

Chapter Text

‎Soviet sat in his cold, rigid office. He was still blazing in flames. He was almost one step away from throwing a rampage across the entire castle. He took his pen. He was visible shaking in anger, almost destroying the pen and making a mess of ink around his desk. Soviet couldn't believe that his future husband did something as diabolical as that. He could've died if it wasn't for him, he should've thanked him for saving his ass, but NO. That motherfucker is the one who gets mad and all that bullshit. And he brings up THAT part of Soviet's life? Soviet swears that if Weimar wasn't Prussia's son, he would've already shot him with a million bullets, stabbed him a thousand times and—
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‎"Father?"
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‎A soft voice echoed throughout the silent room. Russia and Belarus stood at the doorway, looking at Soviet who was visibly shaking. He looked at both of them. He took a deep breath, hoping that would calm him down. Soviet gestured them to come closer. He wasn't sure what they wanted to say, but he wanted it to be worth his time. He still had dozens of paperwork waiting to be signed and read.
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‎"Come in."
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‎The two puppets walked in the icy room. Belarus was practically shaking. He had never been somewhere as cold as Soviet's office in his human form. The two sat in front of their "Father", a moment between puppets and their creator. They glared at eachother, until Russia spoke out first.
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‎"We'd... Like to talk about earlier. What happened between you and..."
‎Russia paused. He looked at his father's blazing eyes, then to his brother's slightly fazed eye.
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‎"B-between you and Weimar..."
‎Russia had to stop himself from calling Weimar his other parent. There was no way the two were going to be in good shape after that incident. He's seen it countless times before. What Weimar did, it wasn't common for locals of the kingdom to run away as soon as they were ordered execution. Either they get caught by the guards, or mother nature would. Weimar was different. Maybe nature itself was afraid of Germans.
‎Russia had to stop himself from laughing at that thought. Laughing in a kingdom as strict and watchful like this was prohibited.
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‎Soviet looked at them dead in the eye. That name. Weimar. An emotion swallowed him whole. Anger. He gritted his teeth, yet he still wanted to hear what the two had to say.
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‎Weimar woke up as the sun's divine light had touched his face. His vision was noneother than blurry. He looked over to his right wing. A bloody bandage attached to it. He sighed as he could only assume one of the puppet's helped him. Weimar got up from the icy floor, almost not being able to stand up. He looked over to his left, only to see the bird back in the cage, sleeping peacefully.
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‎Weimar forced himself to walk over there.  With each step, he felt an agony of  pain rush over him. Yet he didn't care. He just wanted to see what his father had written to him. He couldn't deny it anymore as the pitiful look on his face began showing itself. He missed his homeland, the only thing he could call home. He missed the warmth that radiated from it. He missed everyone. He missed everything.
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‎He let out a noise of pain as he finally reached the bird cage. Weimar opened the gate quietly and immediately took the white letter that was within. Weimar didn't know why, but he hoped his father wrote him an apology. In fact, he genuinely needed one. With his half-open eyes, Weimar opened the letter.
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‎"Dear Weimar,
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‎It's me, your father. Ive received your letter. I knew you'd do something such as this to inform you about your current life, and I know it hasn't been the best as you wrote it to be. I know you never wanted this. Yes, Soviet does seem to have a short temper... and maybe a madman at that. You must probably hate me for arranging a marriage between you two— and said marriage will be in three months. Until then, I hope the two of you are in good terms. I didn't want to write this in, but I think I'd let you know.
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‎Before you and your brother were born, let's just say I pretty much "signed off" on you and your brother's existences. I know I sound like a terrible person right now. But let me explain. Your brother is married to Austria-Hungary. As the Austro-Prussian War came to an end, me and Austrian Empire had an agreement. That agreement saying that our firstborns should marry eachother, to uphold an alliance. At first, I didn't want to agree. I didn't want to force your brother into a relationship even I wasn't sure would work out. And in the end, I still agreed to it. And look how the two of them turned out. I did the same thing to you with Soviet Union. Before Russian Empire had died, he wanted to have a pact with his son and you. Russian Empire was a great friend of mine, of course I couldn't decline. And those were the times when Soviet was still sane. I really hadn't expected him to become a madman.
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‎I really don't expect you to forgive me after this Weimar, I'm sorry that I've gotten you into this mess. But it was time to tell you the truth as to why you and Soviet have an arranged marriage. If you're mad at me, then I most certainly won't blame you."
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‎And just like that, the note had ended off in a cold tone. Weimar couldn't believe it. His parents had conceived him, and even his brother, just for the sake of an arranged marriage...? Weimar tore the paper to bits as he sobbed with anger in his veins.
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‎Weimar stumbled back onto the bed, his tears flowed softly on his cheeks. He knew that there truly was no way to escape the fate he had upholder ever since he was bought into this world. He wanted to scream, to break anything that was visible from his eyes. He wanted to write another letter, telling how he wished his father had died and burned in hell—
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‎But no. He could never do that. Not when the paper he needed most was nowhere in plain sight. He loved his father, but what he wrote changed his perspective on his own life. He had wondered for so long on why his parents insisted he'd live in luxury and in their palace, now he understood why. He was just a precious porcelain doll that was set to be sold at a certain time.
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‎And just when it all seemed hopeless, a soft knock sounded on the wooden door. Weimar's looked up towards it— he knew it wasn't Soviet. His knocks weren't that soft. With tired eyes, Weimar stood up and strode towards the door rather sluggish. He opened the door, a soft creak following after.
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‎There stood one of the puppets in their human forms. They had blue hair with a few streaks of yellow. Their eyes blue like the clear sky he had seen long ago. The two stared at eachother, before the puppet spoke up, "Ah, I see you're doing... " the puppet stopped, examining Weimar. Right, this wasn't really the time to say he was doing alright. They cleared their voice, "In between, I suppose." They muttered with uncertainty. Weimar gazed the puppet, "Why have you come here?" just then, a loud thump sounded throughout the walls. The gazed upon the direction where it could've started, yet gazed back at eachother.
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‎"Father— The king wants you to eat." Weimar felt disgusted at the words. He felt like his appetite had long disappeared ever since yesterday. "Tell him I'm not hungry." The puppet gazed, knowing Weimar would be in trouble for refusal. "But—" Just then, they saw Russia and Belarus down the hallway that lead to Soviet's office. Belarus was crying, and Russia was shaking violently. Something had clearly happened. The puppet rushed towards the two with concern. "What happened...?" The puppet knew something had happened between them and Soviet, yet they never knew it would go as far as to Belarus crying.
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‎"Ukraine..." Russia murmured, his gaze was focused on the velvet carpet. "Father is angry at us." Ukraine's gaze softened upon the two. He murmured something to the two, which Weimar couldn't hear. As Ukraine guided the two back to the other puppets, Weimar knew he had act fast. He needed to talk to Soviet personality. He rushed to Soviet's office, yet he was not there. Everything was still in order, the papers, the books on the shelf— and the tea, it had all been sipped.
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‎Weimar wouldn't wait for Soviet to return. He immediately went back to the bedroom, putting on a cloak for the harsh winter. It was a risky, yet he'd do anything just for him and Soviet to have a formal talk. With a cold sigh, he opened his dark wings and took off for flight into the heavy snow.
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‎Weimar couldn't keep his eyes open much longer. His glasses were being covered by the snow. He needed to land somewhere safe. He landed under a tree, letting his boots touch the snow on the ground. He shook, how could one live in this type of weather. He looked behind him, gazing upon a frozen lake— and there on the side, he saw him. He saw Soviet sitting on the ground, as if it wasn't cold at all.
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‎With all his courage left, Weimar walked over to Soviet. He was making noise as he walked over, yet Soviet did not flinch or turn his head. Weimar sat near Soviet, looking at his face. He looked as if he were mesmerized by the sight. It was calming to see Soviet in a peaceful state, not screaming or always enraged like the stories told. Weimar breathed in and out, finally putting the lingering silence upon them. "Soviet."
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‎Soviet looked at him, his glare still stone hard and cold. For a moment there was silence once more, until he spoke up, "What?" he whispered, as if he had done nothing to Russia and Belarus. Weimar felt enraged. How could Soviet act like that? Clearly he had done something to Belarus and Russia, maybe yell at them. "Why was Belarus crying? What did you do?" Soviet rolled his eyes. He could feel the rage already burning inside him, and something else. Guilt, rather. "It's none of your business." He carelessly said under his cold breath.
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‎"What do you mean none of my business? The two were obviously afraid, by what you had inflicted upon them! How could you be so heartless when you are the one they call their father!?" Weimar couldn't control his rage anymore, and he hated how Soviet was making him feel this way. He looked back at Soviet, he could see a soft tear came over his cheek. For a moment, the two didn't respond. Soviet didn't talk back like he usually does, as if he was recalling something in the past, before he became a feared being.
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‎"You know," Weimar glanced to Soviet, "This place, this lake..." Soviet tried hard to piece every memory back together. The ones he made before madness took over. "My father used to take me here before. Maybe during weekends." Soviet breathed in and out as he remembered those times when he was small and Russian Empire guided him here. It was a special place to him, even as his father died in his hands. If something was wrong or he was having a hard time, he'd find himself sitting here— trying to calm himself from the choices he made along the way.
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‎Weimar felt weird. He wasn't used to Soviet being so open, yet he spoke once again, "I never meant to scare nor hurt Belarus and Russia," he added as his focus turned to the snow below. "I was just consumed by my own rage. The same rage that lead to my father's death." Soviet's voice lowered as he admitted that last part. He remembered it too clearly. How he organized a coup to berid of Russian Empire, how he let him rot in a dungeon until he were only flesh and bones. Until he ordered his men to shoot his father. He could remember his blood soaked in the snow. Soviet knew deep down he was a terrible child, ruler and possibly a father to the puppets as well.
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‎Weimar knew that hope was not yet lost for Soviet, in fact he was starting to get gloomy from his confession. Yes, Soviet was a tyrant of a king, but he knew that it was only due to madness and rage consuming him whole. He firmly held Soviet's chin, making him look at him. "Look, I know you've done a lot of... sin, rather. I know you're guilty for the past you've done. But I know deep down you're still a human with regret deep inside." Soviet's eyes widened slightly, his gaze softened. For once, it seemed like someone was trying to help him, to reform. Something others would be afraid to do. He search Weimar's eyes, seeing no lies.
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‎Soviet felt like he didn't deserve this after what he'd done last night, yet it was a chance. A chance he could not refuse. To be a better person, something he dreamed to be when he was younger. Maybe dreams weren't impossible to achieve. "Thank you." He murmured softly as he took Weimar's hands into his own. Maybe Prussia's deal with his father was worth it after all. "Let's go home." He stood up, helping Weimar get on his feet.
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‎This time Weimar wouldn't go back to the castle freezing, and Soviet would go back with a heating mind that even the snow couldn't put out. They held eachother close, as if they were made for eachother like those tales old folks would tell to children.
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‎They were.

Chapter Text

‎Yesterday's warmth was not reduced since then. Weimar woke up, he yawned and stretched his arms. It looked quite different around this time. He looked at his right, and that's when he saw it—
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‎Soviet was sleeping in peace, this was the first time he slept in days- and for the first time Weimar got a chance to see what he looks like in sleep. He looked agonizingly handsome with his disheveled and messy hair, those closed eyelids gently making Weimar's loving heart flutter in sight.
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‎Weimar carefully shifted out the bed, making it sure that the sleeping king was not awakened. He opened the drawer and changed his clothes, aiming for a more formal target. And by that he meant white shirts and black suspenders. It was not much, but Weimar was a writer- not a fashion freak with a great taste. He adjusted his glasses and comb his hair neatly. He slowly opened to the door, making sure no sly creaks will awake Soviet.
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‎He was standing outside the hallway. It was calm, almost uncanny. The puppets were not yet awake. Weimar took a stroll, exploring the large royal hallways, while no one had risen yet. This time, it seemed that the snow had calmed down with its anger. He continued until he saw the wooden door on the side. Weimar was standing in front, he knocked. No answer. He knocked twice- no voice to be heard.
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‎Wimer knew that walking on and about and then entering a random room in the hallway was disrespectful, but he was eager. And he has experienced more disrespect in his life. He slowly opened the door— and then he saw that the beds were stacked on top of one another. He saw the puppets, sleeping warmly. Some in puppet form, some in human form. Even if the room was not very big, they still managed to fit all themselves.
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‎As Weimar closed the door, he thought to himself. The puppets were always doing everything, almost having no time to relax for themselves. They acted like little children, well— technically they were. Weimar strode to the dining room swiftly. Maybe he'd provide service to the puppets for their hard work of doing literally everything. He'd prepare a special breakfast for them. With a small smile, Weimar strolled towards the supply room, making whatever he could with what was left.
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‎The supply room was tidy and organized, having labels for the containers. It wasn't hard for Weimar to find what he needed— he returned back to the kitchen counter with eggs, salt, brown sugar, baking powder, milk, flour and butter— aiming to make a tranditional German pancakes. Weimar didn't exactly know how to make them BUT he would watch his papa prepare and make them when he was a young one. He was solely depending on his memory.
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‎Weimar began making pancakes. He added a pinch of salt to the egg whites and beat it until it stiffened. With a whisk, he mix together the egg yolks, brown sugar, salt, flour, baking powder, milk and mineral water precisely and elegantly. He folded the white eggs into the batter,  making sure the white streaks would not be seen anymore. He set the pancakes on the pan on medium heat and added a few bits of butter to a large skillet, pouring half of the batter and letting the pancakes warm up until it was a perfect shade of golden brown on both sides.
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‎He did this for a few more times, making about 20 pancakes. Weimar dusted the finishing products with powdered sugar. There were four plates— the pancakes where somewhat small. It was not Weimar's intention.
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‎With speed and careful organizing, he brought the plates out to the table of the dining room. Weimar looked at it from another angle. It felt empty, still. The sun had not yet risen. There was still time.
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‎Weimar rushed back to the supply room, wanting to make another German delight for them. He hovered through the boxes and signs, trying to find croissant dough. Hopefully they had some, otherwise he'd have to risk his life once more just to make Franzbrötchen. After searching for a few minutes, he found it. His eyes widened with delight. Weimar took a few blocks of butter, brown sugar, almonds, cinnamon and eggs.
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‎He set the other ingredients aside, grabbing a large bowl and then cracking the eggs. The yolk hovered down slowly. He continued this until the bowl was full of egg yolk. Weimar didn't waste time. He rolled out the croissant dough. He let the dough chill in the garden, thinking it would be cold enough anyways. When was the weather not below 5°C? He just hoped not feral animal will be villainous enough to nib on the dough.
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‎Weimar shifted back to the counter and began making the flavorful filling. He commbined the brown sugar, cinnamon and almond flour then set them aside. He brought the butter to room temperature and also set the aside. For this, Weimar wasn't too sure if what he was doing was correct. He was just testing his memory and cooking skills. Weimar went back to the open garden and took the dough back inside, spreading the room temperature butter onto the dough. Then he evenly distribute the brown sugar-cinnamon-almond flour mixture. Weimar rolled it up longwise.
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‎Weimar took a knife, he cut into 12 rolls at a slight angle, alternating the angle every time. He turned each roll with the wide side facing the bottom. The black bird dusted the tops with a bit of flour, using the stick of a cooking spoon, he push the narrow top side down, forcing the cut sides to tilt towards the top. Weimar turned— seeing an oven built on bricks— a testament to how old and ancient this castle was. He placed a few logs from the corner into the oven, lighting a match to let it warm. He took a peel from the side and placed it on a pizza stone that he found in the supply room earlier. He placed the rolls onto a baking sheet with parchment paper. He covered the rolls loosely with a kitchen towel. He gave the baking sheet a gentle jiggle, then brushed on an equal amount of egg yolk and water before ultimately putting it in the blazing oven.
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‎Weimar wiped his sweat using his black wings from the sides of his head. He left the Franzbrötchen in the steady bricked oven to let it cook for 15 minutes. He stepped outside to the garden, his cold breath mixing with the freezing air that went by. He lowered his gaze onto the pure snow that sat comfortably on the ground. As he baked those Franzbrötchen, he couldn't help but reflect back to the past— when he was a young bird who played along and fenced with German Empire. How he missed those days. He remembered wanting it to snow forever as he didn't like seeing the snowman he and German Empire melt from the blazing sun. He chuckled— now he truly was in a land where it snowed forever.
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‎As if being controlled by his child self, Weimar began rolling the snow from the ground. He made a large sphere of snow. And another. Weimar rolled up an even smaller sphere of snow— placing it as the head of the snowman that once smiled at  them in the past. He searched for stones throughout the garden, finding ones that were small enough to serve as the eyes and grin of the snowman. He picked up a fallen twig from the large oak tree that looked over the garden. Weimar looked at his creation, always the same one he and his older brother used to make. He was taken back to one fine morning— when he wanted to decorate the snowman with black wings like they did. Him and German Empire— along with Prussia searched for something in the forest that could serve as black wings. He remembered when Brandenburg was worried sick when he realized they weren't in the garden. Weimar laughed softly as he remembered crying over the fact he couldn't give the snowman wings as it melted in the sun. Both Prussia and Brandenburg had a hard time trying to cheer him up.
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‎With a smirk, Weimar left his grinning snowman out in the garden to scare off birds and such. He walked back into the castle, somewhat feeling that it was warmer than ever. He tended to his Franzbrötchen, letting them out the oven.  A shimmer of light passed through Weimar's eyes as the Franzbrötchen were exactly what Brandenburg had baked for him and German Empire back then— a golden brown color. He flapped his healing wings gently. He put out the fire and placed the Franzbrötchen on the plates carefully. Weimar took one of the rolls, it tasted almost exactly what Brandenburg had made back then. Almost though. He might need to borrow recipes from his papa once he meets him again. Or if he'll be able to, atleast.
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‎Weimar walked over to the table, setting the Franzbrötchen on it along with the pancakes. He looked at it with an angle— feeling as if the extravagant dining table was still so very empty on the surface. He thought back to the past— what did Brandenburg bake back then for them? He kept the bulb up, pacing around the room with soft footsteps. Suddenly, the bulb lit up with idea. Müslibrötchen. "Eurika." Weimar murmured under his breath, he snapped his fingers in triumph— as if he'd thought of the greatest invention in history.
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‎He rushed back to the supply room once more, trying to find the right ingredients that Brandenburg used back then. He saw him make those back then, how his papa prepared every ingredient neatly. Weimar opened the flour box, taking the all-purpose, dark lye and whole spelt flour. He opened the seed box— taking the small sunflower and pumpkin seeds packet. Weimar then arranged everything back to order and cleanliness after he went on a hunt to find the oats, salt and unsalted butter. He also took a packet of hazelnuts to the counter for the crisp.
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‎He prepared the dough— he toasted the seeds and hazelnuts then kneaded the dough until it combined. Weimar could feel the his hands getting sticky. He covered the bowl where the dough sat and let the dough rest at room temperature. After a few minutes, he turned the dough onto a lightly floured surface and pressed it into a 1-inch thick circle. Weimar took a knife and divided it into 8 triangular pieces, it was like slicing a pie to him. Weimar coated the rolls on one side and let them rest for a bit. He heated the oven with a baking dish filled with water on the bottom rack to create steam. He made a shallow cut from the pointed tip down the middle of each roll. Weimar removed the rolls and the baking dish from the oven. He lightly brushed the rolls with hot water, then returned them back onto the oven. He waited for five minutes until it was golden brown.
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‎He took out the Müslibrötchen and let them cool out for three minutes. Then he placed them onto two separate bowls, he clutched on a honey jar and took the breakfast rolls to the dining table. Just as Weimar placed down the honey jar, he turned to his left— only to sight Soviet looking clean unlike what he looked like in his sleep. "Morning," Weimar greeted as Soviet approached the dining table. The king gazed at him before saying "Morning" in a low grumble. "What are these?" Soviet questioned as he took in the German breakfast staples that Weimar had prepared, he hesitated to take a bite. "It's Pfannkuchen, Franzbrötchen and Müslibrötchen. They're part of a German breakfast." Soviet nodded slowly at Weimar's words. Right, Weimar probably hasn't eaten anything from his kingdom yet— it would make sense for him to make a hearty breakfast from his heritage. Soviet took a Franzbrötchen. He examined the roll carefully, taking in the aroma as it was newly baked.
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‎He took a bite, his eyes went wide as his tongue took in the flavor. He had never had a German-type breakfast, most of the stereotypical ones like that Rice Pudding would seize his appetite in an instant. But this one, is something Soviet instantly just made his appetite boom even more. Weimar watched as Soviet devoured the Franzbrötchen slowly, as if the king himself were a feral animal. Weimar adored this side of Soviet where he was so lost in doing something that he'd forget the world that watched him. He knew Soviet wouldn't care about the stares that caught up to him, especially when he had power among all. As Soviet finished the roll, he looked back at Weimar— shattering his thoughts. "Where did you learn the recipe for this?" Weimar flinched. "My father used to make them for me when I was younger." Soviet took in Weimar's words. Father. He gazed down onto the floor as he tried to remember what his father had made for him when he was still around.
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‎The king wasn't done just yet. He took a Müslibrötchen, the crispy exterior was perfect. Weimar observed with his four eyes how Soviet was thoroughly enjoying his creation. It seems the cruel king had gone soft overnight thanks to that talk. As Soviet finished his Müslibrötchen, he stood up from his chair and gazed at Weimar, "You should try making Russian dishes." Weimar couldn't believe it. Was his cooking really that good? The last 'compliment' he received from his cooking was when Prussia decided to taste his pretzels, bickering how they tasted like burnt pine cones. "If you'd like, you can borrow a recipe from the puppets. Specifically Lithuania." Weimar went back to reality as Soviet uttered those words. Lithuania, huh? He hasn't met that one before.
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‎He looked at Soviet, who was dressed in a warm cloak. Usually he'd be in isolation in his office by now, doing nothing but paperwork. "Are you going somewhere?" Soviet slightly smirked at the question. "Yes. We are going somewhere." Weimar didn't dare question Soviet's words. He strode off to their bedroom, putting on a black fuzzy cloak that he had prepared just incase he couldn't stand the disastrous freezing weather. He made his way back to the dining room where Soviet waited in silence, nodding in satisfaction as Weimar dressed up for the weather. The two walked to the entrance of the humongous castle, walking away into the distance as snow came around dropping to the ground. Soviet firmly held Weimar's cold hand, guiding him towards their location.
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‎The two men stopped at the frozen lake they had visited yesterday. They slumped on the freezing snow like childish souls rather than grown men. For a moment, they stayed like that— gazing upon the frozen lake and it's wintery surroundings. All of that broken by a soft murmur from the king himself. "It's a privilege to sit here once more," Weimar looked at him, confusion on his face. "Why so? Are you not the king?" Soviet let out a small chuckle. "Being royalty has it's ups and downs, one such to always be buried in the duty of paperwork." Weimar listened carefully, understanding Soviet more lightly now. He never really experienced that type of life, despite being born into a family of power. But sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder to himself, is that what happens to his father and brother sometimes? Surely not, German Empire has a family to keep him from being stressed— the same for Prussia. Maybe it was because Soviet didn't have anyone other than his puppets, up until now.
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‎"Tell me," Soviet spoke, his breath as cold as the land he was born in. "Have you ever walked on frozen ice?" Weimar took in Soviet's words and began to recall his past. He snickered softly as he finally found that memory buried within his mind, "Yes. But I fell into the frozen waters." Soviet smiled. "Thank God I'm not the only one who experienced that." Weimar smirked, atleast he and Soviet were startinh to form a bond now. A bond through shared experiences. "I remember when I first stood upon here," Soviet paused, trying to remember the distant past. "I sank in the freezing waters. My father panicked in fear I'd die early and of hypothermia." Soviet laughed to himself, he had the last laugh, didn't he? "I wasn't the healthiest child back then."
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‎Soviet turned his gaze to Weimar, who was listening intently. "Surely you have some stories to share, no?" His voice was calm, far from the rage that was binded in it. "Oh? Why are you so interested in knowing me now?" Weimar had expected an argument with the king, a yell maybe. But to his surprise, he just grinned back at him. "I want to make up for the past few days. My anger was getting the best of me." Weimar couldn't believe his ears, for once the king sounded in peace and was even apologizing to him. Was this really the same man his father sent him to? Well, since Soviet was being nice, Weimar wouldn't mind sharing a few stories from his early years.
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‎"Well, there was this one time," Weimar touched his chin, trying to remember the memory. "Me and my brother were playing hide and seek in the castle gardens. I hid swiftly in the aviary where the other birds lay chirping. My brother searched far and wide, even diving inside the fountain. Our parents were inside, unaware of the commotion. As my brother searched throughout the garden, I decided to get myself in a little danger. I flapped my little wings high to see the other birds. That is when I came across my father's crow— who isn't fond of both me and my brother." Weimar chuckled as he remembered the times the crow would peck them both. "And you could guess— cheeky little crow pecked me on my face, causing Mr to fall and cry. My older brother alerted my parents, they scolded me after and prohibited us from going inside there without permission."
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‎Soviet couldn't help but snicker little by little at how Weimar was so careless back then. "Didn't know you had such a carefree side," Soviet joked, Weimar nodded. It was technically true. Nobody knew besides his family that he used to be so energetic and full of energy. If anyone were to say his name, most folk would think of a quiet novelist, a shadow in the dark. "I stopped being like that when I grew older, and because my brother was getting more and more distant from me." Weimar sighed as he thought back to the times, when he begged German Empire to play with him— yet the only response he'd get was a cold stare and a mouth that was about to say it was busy. Soviet could see the growing unease within Weimar. He gently squeezed the other man's hand, trying to somewhat comfort him. "Let me guess, he was busy preparing to become a leader, a personification of the land he stood upon, no?" Weimar nodded silently.  His older brother became busy overtime to the point they couldn't bond anymore, to the point Weimar's only friends were the books in his room.
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‎"But, even so— you're still proud of him. How far he came to achieve his goal, and I'm sure without a doubt he's proud of you aswell." Soviet muttered. He had met up with German Empire before, and the man itself was well-trained for glory, an honorable figure to future rulers. Weimar softened at the words. Maybe, just maybe, German Empire still cared for him as his younger brother despite all the duties his new life gave to him. Then, everything went quiet between the two once more, not a word spoken again. The soft rustles of leaves and birds in the sky were the only things making noise that time, until Weimar spoke first. "Do you have any interesting stories to tell?" Soviet had a faint smirk on his face, he had a lot to tell— but he'd keep it short for now.
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‎"I fought a bear when I was in my adolescence." Weimar stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He's heard of people fighting wild animals such as lions and wolves, but bears were on another level. "Did your father know?" Soviet chuckled. "Of course not. Old man was in the castle whereas I was training to become a ruler." Weimar was even more stunned. Fighting a bear was considered princely training for Soviet Union? As far as he's seen, the only training his older brother got was sword fighting and occasional meetings with the state representatives. "In a more tame memory, I once ate snow." Weimar's brow went up. Prussia had always told him and German Empire to not eat snow, while the man he was sent off to literally ate snow back then. "I wonder," Weimar looked at Soviet straight in his golden eyes. "How high is your kill count?" With how innocent Soviet's confessions were, Weimar couldn't help but wonder how high it was. Soviet laughed like a crazed maniac. "In the twenty thousands if I remember. If not, definitely higher." He muttered with utmost confidence. "And... You don't feel bad to those you executed?" Soviet scoffed. When was the last time he felt remorse to a common folk? Maybe when he was a child. "I have my reasons. Either they pissed me off or what they did goes against my very word." Weimar nodded, his mind somewhat agreeing. Back at home, those executed were deemed guilty from the law. His father did not have mercy to those who turn against the written law.
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‎And then, silence once more. Neither the king nor his future consort spoke. Their memories were either embarrassing or too dull for a lively conversation of getting to know eachother. The two stared blankly at the lake infront of them, Soviet spoke first. "I've been thinking," Weimar eyes drifted onto Soviet's face, waiting for the rest of his statement. "Can you prance?" The bird's words were nowhere to be found. Dance? The last time he ever danced was at a royal ball, then nothing came afterwards. "I had a tutor for that. Though, I was never good at it for my feet are both left. The last time I waltzed was at a royal ball." Soviet nodded, his stern gaze kept a close eye at the frozen lake. "I suppose were the same then. I had a trainer for that as well, but I never really took much passion in it. I still remember some steps." His calloused hand firmly held Weimar's, and for a moment Weimar didn't get the idea— but he eventually did. "You want to... dance?" Soviet only nodded. Weimar hesitated, they were going to dance on the icey top of the lake? "We're going to waltz..." He stopped, pointing at the lake, "There?"
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‎"Of course." Soviet could see the hesitation in those black eyes, but he'd make that hesitation disappear in the haze of snow and ice. He stood up, helping Weimar get up from the snow that they had sat on. Soviet held Weimar's hand, leading him to the center of the still lake. It was dangerous for the ice could break at any given point— but they were in this together. The two held hands and began to waltz, spinning and twirling around with nothing but the sound of birds in the air. Weimar's wings fluttered behind him, making the dance even more beautiful. Soviet kept his stern gaze on Weimar, dancing further into the day. The two acted like all burdens were gone, as if they were all in their own world that showed no pain nor harm. The scene became even more beautiful as the snow started to fall from the white sky, casting a snowstorm on where they frolicked. Soviet kept twirling Weimar around, and as he almost fell on the ice hard surface— Soviet caught him. The snowstorm began to subside, marking the end of their private act. The two stared at eachother in the positions they got into, their breaths mingling with one another.
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‎"That was amazing." Weimar murmured softly, he almost lost his breath on how exquisite their performance was on the ice. Soviet could only smirk and nod. He looked up at the sky, realizing how it got lighter. "We should head back." He declared, holding Weimar's hand again. The two began to walk from their personal spot, though that would not be the last time they'd be there. It would be one of the most memorable memories they'd share.
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‎Soviet and Weimar had returned, they were in the middle of talking, which had the guards almost raising their eyebrows at the sudden change. For a moment, everything felt normal, the castle was tidy as always, no cobwebs to be seen in sight. That's when Soviet realized the puppets weren't in sight. Usually they were around during this fine, roaming the halls, like Kyrgyzstan or Kazakhstan. It was suspicious. The two began to search the castle, checking in every detail on where they went. They couldn't find them in their room, nor the hallways they were to be seen. Soviet panicked for the first time in so long. He couldn't think of losing the puppets, the ones he nurtured as his own.
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‎The two continued their search, until they entered the dining room. The plates, once full of food, had gone missing. Soviet soghed in relief, maybe he was just overreacting. "Look," Weimar pointed to the garden, they took a step closer, and heard the sounds of joy and happiness emitting from the garden. That's when the two of them saw the puppets playing happily in the snow, making snowmen and snow angels. Weimar saw his snowman that he made earlier the morning, the once plain snow man was decorated in accessories such as flowers. Soviet smiled warmly at the sight of the puppets being happy and acting like children, he couldn't remember the last time they played around like this. Everything was calm, until one of the puppets had began to throw snowballs. That is when it became a warzone.
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Soviet and Weimar could only chuckle and laugh as they watched the puppets play around and cause chaos. Soviet didn't interfere in their playtime, he let this moment to themselves. Realizing that he wasn't occupied today, he turned to face Weimar. "Do you have any other plans today?" Weimar thought, what else could they possibly do to spend the rest of the day? "Read books...?" Soviet could only snicker at the obvious. "Of course you'd say that." And yet, he didn't fight back. He let himself get dragged by Weimar into the quiet library, maybe just to keep himself at peace. He'll check on the puppets later, but for now he'd spend his time with Weimar.