![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhTitle: The Romans Call It Stoicism
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG; vague illusions to sex, war.
Summary: Friendship in hard times.
Notes: This assumes the anime takes place in 1935, which I'm not sure is canon or fanon, though I've seen it several places. Also, France actually won the silver in the 1936 Summer Olympics, but I assumed they might not mind sharing with a fictional country. The line Naoji quotes in the last section is, of course, from the Buddha. Written for White Aster as part of Yuletide 2007.
March 1936
The day was normal; Ludwig sat at a table by himself, holding a book that he seemed to be absorbed in. Younger students were massed at the borders of the room, talking to one another of classes and gossip and politics, all in the same tone of interesting argument; Ludwig's name came up often. Naoji stood at a window and saw nothing outside of it; he supposed others must feel at odds, as he did, but no one seemed to show it.
"Naoji." Ludwig spoke softly but distinctly, enough to catch Naoji's attention without announcing himself to the rest of the room. He had turned only slightly from his book; his hair spilled over his upper arm, but was kept back by his elbow.
"Forgive me, Lui," Naoji said, looking down. "My thoughts were elsewhere."
"I can tell. It's intolerable, to have you dreaming about far off things, things which can be of no profit to us. If you want to be useful, you had better pay attention to where you are now." Ludwig's eyes were gray and piercing, but his gaze had never frightened Naoji the way it did some. "You need to become the best you can, before you can hope to follow me."
Naoji didn't quite smile, but he nodded. Ludwig looked at his book again. "Good. Orpherus was so confused the last time you thought you should leave, after all. It's quite unkind to make the boy struggle."
August 1936
Some of the younger students were crowded around a radio perched on the edge of the fountain; the occasional hiss of static blended with the susurrus of the falling water. There were books and notebooks scattered on the grass and paving but, Naoji noted, very little studying taking place. Laughter and gossip were loud, if not truly relaxed. Ludwig seemed to be the only one who was looking at text and not the dull gray of the radio's speaker, the face of a friend, the painfully clear blue of the sky.
Eduard, walking by, saw them and raised a hand in lazy greeting. Naoji nodded, giving up his own pretense at studying, and he headed over. "Has Kuchen won any gold medals yet?" Eduard asked, leaning on the back of Ludwig's chair.
There was a pause, and since Ludwig did not seem likely to answer, Naoji replied. "I am sorry, but I'm not sure. I haven't been paying much attention."
Eduard grinned, lopsidedly. "I always used to follow the games. Orpherus yells at me when I try to listen this year. He thinks we should have boycotted them, you know."
"Does he, really?"
Eduard made a strange expression, not quite rolling his eyes. "Of course not. Orpherus never yells at his friends. He just gets very earnest, and serious, and you get the impression that if only the world lived up to his expectations, everyone would be very happy and puppies would live forever and so on."
"Ah," said Naoji, not quite sure how to respond.
Ludwig closed his book purposefully, and looked at Eduard's arm on the back of his chair until Eduard moved. "He still hasn't changed his mind? It's obvious that sports are the most important scene of political propaganda right now. How foolish to withdraw from the battlefield before the fight's begun."
Cheers broke out; something had happened on the radio, and the younger students shouted wordlessly, applauding. Naoji waited, silent, as the noise died down, and then said, "Silver in fencing for Kuchen. Orpherus could be proud of that."
Eduard shrugged one shoulder, looking distracted. "You tell him, then."
December 1937
The break between classes was brief; normally he wouldn't return to his room, but today he had forgotten a book. His windows faced east, so his room was always dim in the afternoon, filled with a diffuse yellow light that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. It made the stack of books on his desk indistinguishable: five volumes of nearly equal height and width, all covered with the thick cloth the library used, turned a deep, dull blue in this light.
Wind hummed, blowing through the courtyard outside as he leaned on his desk, scanning the titles of the books; his curtains swayed, but the wind strengthened abruptly and caught them, pulling them straight out with a noise like a shot. Naoji looked up; the sound was normal, utterly so, but it had bothered him. Outside the window, an airship hung over the town, moving so slowly that it seemed like a blotch on the sky. That had been the source of the hum, not the wind. Naoji turned away, leaving the books.
One of his pillows had fallen on the floor, and he restored it to its place, then straightened the cover. There was a hair curled on the white sheets, lighter and much longer than his own. He stared at that too for a moment, as calmly as he had watched the airship, his professors, his friends, everything in this place. He knew his face revealed nothing that was not honorable, but that was not hard; no one had asked him to explain, and when they talked about Japan around him he could see how carefully words were chosen.
He watched the hair for a moment more, then fetched the book from his desk and went back to class.
January 1938
They were layered against the cold, all of them, but it was late in the day and early in the year, and air crept in between buttons and at the edges of sleeves and pants. The sun was huge on the horizon, gilding the snow red and glittering along the edges on the long, sharp icicles that hung from the branches of the trees over their heads, looking rather like a moral anecdote in action, if Naoji remembered his classics course correctly.
Ludwig and Orpherus circled one another, swords held out like warnings. Their bulky winter clothing obscured the clean lines of their lunges, and the frosted ground made footwork difficult, but Naoji still noted how much they had improved since the first duel he had witnessed. They knew each other so well that the exchanges came quickly, without breaks for gauging the opponent's strategy. Steam rose off of their heads and shoulders and their breath turned white in the cold; Ludwig's cheeks were strongly red against his pale skin. Naoji watched without cheer or worry, listening to the swords clatter loudly in the stillness.
Eduard cupped his hands against his mouth and breathed on them. "This is ridiculous. It's not that hard to find space indoors. What are they fighting about this time?"
"Politics," Naoji said. "What else is there?"
November 1938
It was after dark when they finally sat down to the tea, and the room was full of shadows, blues and purples from the twilight outside. It was not so dark that Naoji couldn't see the teapot, though, or the cups, or Ludwig, motionless at the table, and so he left the lights off.
Ludwig accepted a cup with a nod of thanks. Naoji merely held his own, feeling the tea's warmth through the thin porcelain, the scent of it rising up, reminding him of other days, ones past. It seemed strange to be able to think of Ludwig in the terms of years, to know that he had been that long in Kuchen. Tea was still the same, though perhaps that would not always be true; there might be a boycott on Japanese goods, or the fields might be left fallow if farmers were needed elsewhere. 'Everything changes, nothing remains without change', he thought, and smiled at himself.
"Still thinking of other places," Ludwig said, but he didn't put enough harshness unto his voice to make it a true criticism.
"Of course." Naoji sipped his tea. "Shouldn't I be? You always said I should first focus on improving myself, and then would be the time to worry about places outside of Rosenstolz. We are outside now."
"One can always be better. You should see that clearly, with the problems we have dealt with." Ludwig set his cup down on the table with a clink. "Do you still think you would be happier elsewhere?"
Naoji let the argument die unsaid. "Not happier."
***
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG; vague illusions to sex, war.
Summary: Friendship in hard times.
Notes: This assumes the anime takes place in 1935, which I'm not sure is canon or fanon, though I've seen it several places. Also, France actually won the silver in the 1936 Summer Olympics, but I assumed they might not mind sharing with a fictional country. The line Naoji quotes in the last section is, of course, from the Buddha. Written for White Aster as part of Yuletide 2007.
March 1936
The day was normal; Ludwig sat at a table by himself, holding a book that he seemed to be absorbed in. Younger students were massed at the borders of the room, talking to one another of classes and gossip and politics, all in the same tone of interesting argument; Ludwig's name came up often. Naoji stood at a window and saw nothing outside of it; he supposed others must feel at odds, as he did, but no one seemed to show it.
"Naoji." Ludwig spoke softly but distinctly, enough to catch Naoji's attention without announcing himself to the rest of the room. He had turned only slightly from his book; his hair spilled over his upper arm, but was kept back by his elbow.
"Forgive me, Lui," Naoji said, looking down. "My thoughts were elsewhere."
"I can tell. It's intolerable, to have you dreaming about far off things, things which can be of no profit to us. If you want to be useful, you had better pay attention to where you are now." Ludwig's eyes were gray and piercing, but his gaze had never frightened Naoji the way it did some. "You need to become the best you can, before you can hope to follow me."
Naoji didn't quite smile, but he nodded. Ludwig looked at his book again. "Good. Orpherus was so confused the last time you thought you should leave, after all. It's quite unkind to make the boy struggle."
August 1936
Some of the younger students were crowded around a radio perched on the edge of the fountain; the occasional hiss of static blended with the susurrus of the falling water. There were books and notebooks scattered on the grass and paving but, Naoji noted, very little studying taking place. Laughter and gossip were loud, if not truly relaxed. Ludwig seemed to be the only one who was looking at text and not the dull gray of the radio's speaker, the face of a friend, the painfully clear blue of the sky.
Eduard, walking by, saw them and raised a hand in lazy greeting. Naoji nodded, giving up his own pretense at studying, and he headed over. "Has Kuchen won any gold medals yet?" Eduard asked, leaning on the back of Ludwig's chair.
There was a pause, and since Ludwig did not seem likely to answer, Naoji replied. "I am sorry, but I'm not sure. I haven't been paying much attention."
Eduard grinned, lopsidedly. "I always used to follow the games. Orpherus yells at me when I try to listen this year. He thinks we should have boycotted them, you know."
"Does he, really?"
Eduard made a strange expression, not quite rolling his eyes. "Of course not. Orpherus never yells at his friends. He just gets very earnest, and serious, and you get the impression that if only the world lived up to his expectations, everyone would be very happy and puppies would live forever and so on."
"Ah," said Naoji, not quite sure how to respond.
Ludwig closed his book purposefully, and looked at Eduard's arm on the back of his chair until Eduard moved. "He still hasn't changed his mind? It's obvious that sports are the most important scene of political propaganda right now. How foolish to withdraw from the battlefield before the fight's begun."
Cheers broke out; something had happened on the radio, and the younger students shouted wordlessly, applauding. Naoji waited, silent, as the noise died down, and then said, "Silver in fencing for Kuchen. Orpherus could be proud of that."
Eduard shrugged one shoulder, looking distracted. "You tell him, then."
December 1937
The break between classes was brief; normally he wouldn't return to his room, but today he had forgotten a book. His windows faced east, so his room was always dim in the afternoon, filled with a diffuse yellow light that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. It made the stack of books on his desk indistinguishable: five volumes of nearly equal height and width, all covered with the thick cloth the library used, turned a deep, dull blue in this light.
Wind hummed, blowing through the courtyard outside as he leaned on his desk, scanning the titles of the books; his curtains swayed, but the wind strengthened abruptly and caught them, pulling them straight out with a noise like a shot. Naoji looked up; the sound was normal, utterly so, but it had bothered him. Outside the window, an airship hung over the town, moving so slowly that it seemed like a blotch on the sky. That had been the source of the hum, not the wind. Naoji turned away, leaving the books.
One of his pillows had fallen on the floor, and he restored it to its place, then straightened the cover. There was a hair curled on the white sheets, lighter and much longer than his own. He stared at that too for a moment, as calmly as he had watched the airship, his professors, his friends, everything in this place. He knew his face revealed nothing that was not honorable, but that was not hard; no one had asked him to explain, and when they talked about Japan around him he could see how carefully words were chosen.
He watched the hair for a moment more, then fetched the book from his desk and went back to class.
January 1938
They were layered against the cold, all of them, but it was late in the day and early in the year, and air crept in between buttons and at the edges of sleeves and pants. The sun was huge on the horizon, gilding the snow red and glittering along the edges on the long, sharp icicles that hung from the branches of the trees over their heads, looking rather like a moral anecdote in action, if Naoji remembered his classics course correctly.
Ludwig and Orpherus circled one another, swords held out like warnings. Their bulky winter clothing obscured the clean lines of their lunges, and the frosted ground made footwork difficult, but Naoji still noted how much they had improved since the first duel he had witnessed. They knew each other so well that the exchanges came quickly, without breaks for gauging the opponent's strategy. Steam rose off of their heads and shoulders and their breath turned white in the cold; Ludwig's cheeks were strongly red against his pale skin. Naoji watched without cheer or worry, listening to the swords clatter loudly in the stillness.
Eduard cupped his hands against his mouth and breathed on them. "This is ridiculous. It's not that hard to find space indoors. What are they fighting about this time?"
"Politics," Naoji said. "What else is there?"
November 1938
It was after dark when they finally sat down to the tea, and the room was full of shadows, blues and purples from the twilight outside. It was not so dark that Naoji couldn't see the teapot, though, or the cups, or Ludwig, motionless at the table, and so he left the lights off.
Ludwig accepted a cup with a nod of thanks. Naoji merely held his own, feeling the tea's warmth through the thin porcelain, the scent of it rising up, reminding him of other days, ones past. It seemed strange to be able to think of Ludwig in the terms of years, to know that he had been that long in Kuchen. Tea was still the same, though perhaps that would not always be true; there might be a boycott on Japanese goods, or the fields might be left fallow if farmers were needed elsewhere. 'Everything changes, nothing remains without change', he thought, and smiled at himself.
"Still thinking of other places," Ludwig said, but he didn't put enough harshness unto his voice to make it a true criticism.
"Of course." Naoji sipped his tea. "Shouldn't I be? You always said I should first focus on improving myself, and then would be the time to worry about places outside of Rosenstolz. We are outside now."
"One can always be better. You should see that clearly, with the problems we have dealt with." Ludwig set his cup down on the table with a clink. "Do you still think you would be happier elsewhere?"
Naoji let the argument die unsaid. "Not happier."
