The Flaws of Loyalty

IMPORTANT: Time frames will be royally screwed up. I wanted Prussia to have just won his three big wars under Bismarck, which happened in the late 1800's. Why? He would have power and the whole conflict with his best friend Francis then. It'll be important to the plot.

And I wanted Spain and England to be pirates and fighting. PIRATE STORY ALL THE WAY!

Pirate England and Prussia will be the main two people!

So mostly consider this set in pirate age.

-Another note. I don't ever write in accents with the German brothers, so for this I will not write pirate Arthur's accent either.

That is all of major importance, thank you and please enjoy.

Chapter 1

The sun was setting over a war torn field. The wheat was a burned mess, still smoking on the ground. The grass was torn up and turned muddy with blood, bodies lay strewn across the vast field along with weapons and horses. Then, miles apart were the two armies, one a glorious victor, the other a shamed loser.

These two armies were the Prussians and the French, and it was the French heading home with heads hung.

In the command tent, a dusty and muddy soldier stood. He was five nine, with snowy white hair, and just as pale complexion. He was General Gilbert Bielschdmit, the representation of Prussia. He had starling red eyes that seemed to bore deep into men's souls. He was a demon on the battle field; he was a master of the blade and a sharpshooter with his rifle. He was a fantastic horseman and an even better commander. He terrified his opponents, the French had always feared him, and the great Napoleon was wary of him. He was a demon of war. His great black eagle was a sign of death and doom. War was his game, and all the land was his arena. He was the master of strategy, the king of commanders. He was the Lord of War. No one could beat him at his game; he had power, fame, and glory.

Yet for this night, he had requested to be alone and dine alone. He would not join in the joyous celebration's that came with winning wars, even if he was the reason they won.

He sat in a chair, leaned back. He was tired from fighting; he had taken Schleswig and Holstein, then defeated Austria, and now he had beaten France.

The Prussian empire was strong, and soon he would unite the German kingdoms into a solid unified country. One that his charge, and adopted brother, Ludwig would become in charge of.

This massive power he held didn't truly mean much to him. War was war, a cold and cruel game that killed good men and ended long friendships. Gil was a man of power but he never abused it. He treated every one of his soldiers like he would treat his beloved brother.

He served his king and country with a passion...even if he hated his orders. He had been a Teutonic knight; in fact he had always been a soldier of some sort. He had commanders he hated and commanders he loved, but all the same he carried out his orders. It was what a soldier did. It was what was right.

It pained him though; pained him and his own morals. He never would have fought France if he hadn't been ordered. He would have rather gotten in a fist fight with Francis than wage an all-out war. Francis was his friend. And he protected his friends. A man who betrayed his friends was lowliest kind of rat in his eyes. Yet he had, betrayed his friend, under orders for his king.

Morals and war never mixed well, it caused his heart great pain. Loyalty had many flaws is so seemed.

It didn't matter though, now it was over and he could go home. He could see Ludwig take power over the German kingdoms and he could watch with pride as the boy he raised grew into a good man. No one ever thought he was a good role model. Well this would prove everyone wrong.

He could finally go home, be home with his small family, of just his brother, who surely missed him. He had no big plans and Bismarck had promised no more big fights. Now it was just going to be boring and verbal fights in court.

Just as Gil rose to go to bed, a messenger come flying into the tent and nearly right into Gil. The man was covered in dirt and sweat; he was wide eyed and shaking. Gil was alarmed, thinking things must have gone bad back home. His mind flashed to Ludwig.

He might be an egotistical bastard who charmed every woman he met and acted like a macho idiot off the battle field, but he loved his brother and homeland with a fierce and true passion, so true no fool even dared insult him over it.

The messenger stood at attention and said quickly "Master Bielschdmit, terrible news! The English have assaulted the Armada, and won. But Sir Antonio...the pirate...the pirate man beat him past the extent needed for war! It was a personal insult...and Sir Antonio is looking very bad, very bad sir!"

Gil got a bad feeling in his stomach, a sickening feeling. He hadn't touched Francis all this war. He didn't take him like most countries did once they bested another. No, they were friends.

This man, the pirate man, must have been a country. Only a country could have destroyed the Armada and beat up Antonio. But who? Many a coastal country had a navy and went as pirates.

He nodded and waved off the messenger. His brow was set in a frown and his weary bones managed to start fidgeting. He started to pace.

Antonio was his friend, one of his best friends. He had to go and see him...in case anything happened. Even more than that, he had to find this pirate man.

He would be damned if he didn't defend his friend. Already sore over his issues with Francis, he would be hell-bent on preserving the idea that he was a loyal man to his friends.

Whoever hurt Antonio, was about to find themselves begging for hell, because Gil would be a force worse than hell.

All thoughts of going home vanished as he stalked out of his tent, tying his sword belt. He ran into one of his inferior commanders and stopped him.

"Take charge, go home. Tell Bismarck I had to go to Spain for personal reasons. Tell Ludwig I miss him and I'll be home soon." His words came out sharp and fast. It was his commanding tone.

The officer nodded, not a fool. He knew that tone, he knew better than to argue. "Yes sir, take care."

Gil was already walking off by then. He packed quickly, taking food, a blanket, and his weapons. He favored his sword over his rifle and his bow over the rifle. Guns were good in battle, but they were to slow for one man fighting many. He took all the supplies he needed and swung on his warhorse, and charged out of camp, heading at a breakneck pace for Spain. Being in France already, his travel time was cut down.

He did not have much of a plan. All he knew was Spain. He had to get to Spain and he had to kill this pirate man. He'd figure the rest out later.

Little did he know, this new quest and battle, may be his hardest yet.

So, thoughts to chapter one? Comments are encourament!