I Remember
                              (As Usual I own nothing but the Story)


I’ll never forget the day he kneeled before me and kissed my hand, this young idiot who tried to run away from me not so long ago, kneeled before me and kissed my hand. He smiled then, the king looked up at me and smiled and surprisingly enough I smiled back. His blue eyes lit up like torches in battle then, with a passion for me and only me and let’s face it; I’ve always been a selfish bastard.

I could never forget the way he played his flute in his study. I watched from the doorway, hidden of course, I’d rather have died then let anyone know how much I liked it. But he knew I was there and he invited me in and played. I heard birds, the cute little yellow kind that sing, I heard tears falling to the ground, and I heard victory in each note. When he asked me what I thought I just looked away, I didn’t want him to see it affected me at all. But of course, he knew.

I could never forget reading with him. Hell he was the one who taught me how to read more than just the basics, sitting in his arm chair and listening to him read stories or philosophers…I wasn’t really interested, I just liked hearing his voice and the tones it made when he read words that he didn’t care about or words that made him passionate. I loved watching his face but I’d have never admitted to that, if he didn’t give me those looks that meant he knew.

I’ll never forget the day he became taller than me, before he was king when I would just baby-sit him. He was so tall, his shoulders strong and truly a man then and I grinned, telling him that he could give piggyback rides now. And he did. He picked me right up and started laughing at my indignant sputtering and cursing. Then he just carried me around, humming one of those sissy tunes he’d play on his flute when he thought I wasn’t sneaking any peeks.

I’ll never forget the first time he kissed me for real. I was ranting and raving about victory, about becoming great and he just kissed me. It wasn’t deep or drawn out, not even long enough by any standards, but I stopped talking (I STOPPED TALKING) and he smiled. He said I was so cute and how happy he was that he was able to make me strong and happy. I think I started blushing, as dumb as that is and totally not like the awesome me at all but I was. He let me go then went back to writing a letter to his sissy French friend.

As much as I’ll never forget the first, it’s the second kiss that’s burnt into my memory. We were just sitting in his study again, silent save for his flute, he was getting older, no longer the twenty-eight year old who kissed my hand and told me he was my servant but no less passionate, no less…whatever. I remember noticing the wrinkles at his eyes and lips for the first time, that’s when I pushed his flute away as he smiled amusedly. I kissed him this time and he kissed me hard, holding me around the waist and holding me so close I thought he was trying to invade me. The kiss was like a war in and of itself but once again ended all too soon, but I found his ring on my finger. It was a promise, it was ownership, it was a sign that I owned him, I had his ring.

My mind and body will never forget the first time he took me as a lover. It was different from being with another nation like me, it wasn’t the experience only eons of life could bring, it was like being a virgin all over again. All quiet breaths and moans and so intense I could never have any experiences after without thinking on it. All the while, he kissed me, my hands tangling in slowly graying hair that I never get to see under his stupid wig. He was still strong, still broad shouldered, still powerful and for once, I could serve the man who served me.

I’ll never forget when he first said, outright, that he loved me. I said it back. I meant it and I had never meant it before.

I’ll never forget our first dance in that crowded ballroom, or fighting in his name and by his side, all six times his horse was shot from beneath him, or when he left cornflowers in my room.

I’ll never forget his taste, his music, his smile as he kissed my hand.

I’ll never forget his eyes.

I want to forget the day he died. It was quiet…poetic. He was sitting in his chair, the one we always shared and he just slipped away, hand on my head with my head in his lap. For the first time in centuries of life I cried, I cried into his pants and begged a God I’m still not sure exists for my Old Fritz back. I cried and wept like a widow, until we buried him, quietly and at night just like he wanted. I went home, and took care of my new little brother.

Now I’m here, laying a kiss on his headstone. “Gilbert! It’s getting dark!” Ludwig calls and I stand, leaving the cornflowers for him. I don’t cry for him anymore, I’m too awesome for that and West doesn’t know everything really. I smile like he would have wanted and walk out to my little brother. “You still won’t tell me why you keep that ring on will you?” Ludwig asks and I shrug. “Doesn’t matter right now.” Is all I’ll say, because it doesn’t matter right now. It doesn’t because I’ll never forget.