Chapter Text
Ivan glared forcefully at the bearded man reclining against the shimmering throne. "I do not believe war is necessary, father," he said coldly. "The Germans would be more than willing to negotiate."
"Nonsense," the king's voice boomed and echoed throughout the empty audience room as he adjusted his sweeping red robes. "I will not strike deals with barbarians. Give them a little taste of the land they could have, and they'll want all of it."
A dark scowl crossed Ivan's face. "But father," he protested.
"No buts!" Winter's powerful command cut off the younger blonde.
Quiet for but a few moments, Ivan thought quickly. "But wouldn't you rather avoid war?" he began to speak quickly, taking care to not stumble over his words. "Men and money and resources lost. Surely a small piece of land is worth not sacrificing all of that?"
Winter stroked his greying beard, tapping his foot against the side of his chair in thought. Ivan winced at the metallic pinging noises reverberating through the room, but did not protest.
"Very well," the king concluded. "If you are so eager for peace, then you may banter about with the Germans." He curled his lip in distaste.
Sweeping a deep bow, Ivan resisted a grin at his small victory, keeping a polite poker face.
"But," it seemed Winter was not finished, for a cruel, knowing smile spread across his cold-cracked lips, "You must negotiate with the elder prince. Not the king. The both of you need to learn responsibility."
Ivan paled and whispered his next words. "....The one who used to try to shove books up my nose?" His fingers drifted to the bridge of his nose as he spoke, unconsciously cupping his hand over it as he remembered certain childhood years, spent playing under the war room table with foreign delegation's sons.
"Yes, him." Winter cackled menacingly. "Good luck with your...negotiations."
Ivan bowed mechanically at the waist again and swiftly exited, white as a sheet as he cursed his terrible, terrible luck.
*
Gilbert started his day like any other; dressing in flamboyant but not-particularly fashionable clothing, groping a young maid, eating a fancy breakfast cooked by the most talented chefs, groping another young, pretty looking maid, then, taking his bow and arrow, ran away from his princely duties, taking a trusty horse and his beloved canary with him.
It wasn't unusual for the great ruler of the Germanic states to summon Gilbert after his daily routine of running out, so Gilbert was not fazed at the slightest when a servant informed him that his father had asked for him. Strolling grandly into his father's chamber, where he usually received his scoldings, the albino prince flashed the king his signature grin as he closed the door.
"You called for me, Father?" He asked lightly, as how the conversation usually went in this room. However, something was different that day, the way his father was not holding a contained fury in his expression, how he was looking more concerned- Gilbert did not notice until the Germanic king opened his mouth.
"Yes, I have. I wished to inform you that Prince Ivan from the North is coming today to discuss...our /matters/ with you." He said slowly, sighing deeply soon after. The prince stood still with a blank expression, trying to remember just who this 'Prince Ivan' was out of the many princes he knew. His blood-red eyes sparkled when he recalled his childhood memories soon after, smirking rather deviously.
"Is he now? Well, I am questioning why he would rather speak to me rather than to you, Father, but I'll make sure he has a..../memorable/ time here." Gilbert chuckled, already entertained at the idea of torturing the big-nosed child he remembered. They exchanged a few more words, then Gilbert walked out of the room before his father remembered to scold him for going out again. Humming cheerfully, he slapped another poor servant-girl's bottom playfully as he made his way to the castle's entrance to greet the foreign prince.