Taking Aim

Summary: Nyotalia Austria, Hungary; historic


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"Herr Hedervary."


Hungary took a deep breath of the delicately floral-scented air as he straightened and turned toward the speaker. Despite the somewhat imperious summons, he smiled. It was a voice to be admired: commanding when need be, gentle in rare moments, and never anything less than, well, musical. That should come as a surprise to no one.


Nor did it surprise him that Austria was approaching with a determined step, as though she meant to get her way. It was also amusing. Didn't she always? She was mistress of the house, after all. But, Hungary reminded himself, she was too accustomed to ruling; she had been an aristocrat for some time, now, and doubtless had learned never to drop the facade lest others consider it a sign of weakness. Certainly Hungary had, in his time, when they were both children -- and, once the nature of the relationship had changed, had stepped up to intervene when others did the same.


"Guten Morgen." The brown-haired noblewoman had drawn closer during Hungary's tangential thoughts, and accorded her ally -- and servant -- a brief nod.


"Csokolom," Hungary answered, and had the satisfaction of seeing Austria start a little at the reply. He hid his chuckle, and busied himself with brushing dirt off his hands. The gesture drew Austria's attention, and she struggled with well-bred dismay upon noticing the dirt under Hungary's fingernails. It couldn't be helped, of course. He'd been busy digging, raking, weeding...


Well, perhaps he could have worn gloves.


Austria restrained herself to a vague sniff of disdain, and then addressed him again. "Will you be busy this afternoon? I should like to go hunting."


That had surprised him. Hunting? Austria? Since when? That was his job, and for good reason. Even beyond that, however, he knew the larders were well-stocked.


"If you trust Italy to tend the gardens and scrub the floors, certainly, we can go hunting." After a moment he added, "I would recommend wearing something that wouldn't catch on the underbrush." Austria's gowns were beautiful, but not very practical for woods-work.


Looking toward the house -- more of a palatial mansion, really -- Austria pushed up her glasses. She wasn't fully successful at concealing a small grimace. "We will see how she fares."


Once again Hungary was amused, but he wasn't about to ruin Italy's little secret. Hadn't he himself done much the same as a child?



"Very good. I will..." He was going to say 'meet you in the stables,' but supposed Austria would not prefer it. "..saddle two horses and bring them around." Hungary couldn't help but tilt his head and give voice to his curiosity, though. "Why?" he wondered. "Why hunting? And why with me?"

"That," the aristocrat snapped, "is not for you to question!"


Hungary wisely took this as a dismissal. He held up his hands as though to fend off the other's temper, then stooped to collect his gardening tools.


Austria, looking down at him for a long moment, sighed. Then she closed her eyes as though to master herself -- or steel herself.


"Because I need your help," she said, making the effort to regain her calm. She opened those eyes to regard Hungary with a steady violet gaze, silently daring him to laugh at her. Switzerland, she knew, would have. But when Hungary did not, she continued with her difficult admission. "I... I must learn to shoot -- and use a bayonet, and a sword, and more -- much better than I do now. I have been too preoccupied with my art. If I hire mercenaries, other countries will know I cannot stand on my own."


Done packing the tools, Hungary turned his face toward Austria, and looked back at her measuredly. He, however, was not struggling with a temper. He was choosing which words to say. It was easy to spook Austria into stiff-necked arrogance. It came naturally, after all.


"You would never stand alone," he decided on. He straightened once more, this time with a rough bag of tools over his shoulder and a blossom in the other hand. He offered the flower to the other country, but a startled gesture declined it. He absently tucked it behind his ear.


Austria didn't seem to know what to say, so Hungary spoke again as he began walking to the distant shed. The gardens were extensive. "I'd be happy to instruct you. Remember: practical clothing."


-----


She wore white.


At first Hungary didn't know whether to groan or laugh. The fastidious Austria, wearing white to the woods. The jacket and trousers might not remain that way for very long! But he chose a third option: remaining silent, and at least mentally commending Austria for wearing a uniform if she was going to try to be soldierly. If nothing else, she certainly looked quite striking.


She usually did.


Perhaps she caught his admiring glance, since she averted her eyes quickly and merely went to her horse -- also spotlessly white. She swung up into the saddle. Side-saddle, of course. Nothing else would do for her.


They rode out to the forests bordering the estate. Hungary sat easily; this -- riding, hunting -- was what he had been born to do. Was famed for, even now. Austria was best known as an accomplished musician, yet claimed to have been born for fighting. That was a cruel joke on Fate's part. Fight she would, but without firm alliances such as this one, she would be crushed. The thought reminded Hungary that this was not a pleasure jaunt; it wasn't even hunting for the joy of hunting. The rifles he had brought with him would likely one day be used to kill men rather than bring down game. That day would come sooner rather than later, if he was any judge of Austria's unspoken words. Her tension betrayed her.


~


Austria's thoughts did in fact stray toward upcoming warfare. Certainly, she was worried about it, but there was a more immediate reason for her unease: she hated the woods. Hated any sort of wilderness, really: rolling hills, endless valleys, jagged mountains, even though these things made a territory grand and beautiful. She was a civilized being and preferred the manicured gardens, elegant architecture, philosophical salons and breathtaking patterns of music and dance that beautified her largest cities. The trees made her feel claustrophobic. A thousand fierce predators lurked to ambush her. The mist swirling about the horse's hooves and the drip of water from the canopy added to her misery. That she was out here at all was testament to her confidence in Hungary and her need for instruction. She was proud of herself for overcoming her distaste of the woods, though, and she thought Hungary might be proud of her, too.


Why that thought mattered just now, she wasn't sure.


They dismounted, and Hungary tended the horses as Austria inspected and loaded the guns. This much she knew how to do; it was her aim that was terrible. She knew that if her skill increased, so would her confidence. As her confidence increased, so would that of her troops. A demoralized army was an army half-defeated, even before a single bullet was fired or command was given. She knew this well, too. Both she and Hungary had given up on the notion of actual hunting; it was a half-lie at best, and she silently chided herself for her pride. If there was anyone she could trust, it was Hungary. If she humiliated herself with her lack of skill, well, there was only one to see her, and Hungary was -- thank God -- nothing like Prussia.


Instruction began.


~


Hungary had her line up and take several shots, arms folded as he silently took note of all she did well -- and all that she did not. Her target was a certain knot on a certain tree -- a certain large tree. Yet she could not even hit the trunk, let alone the specific target, more than once out of three times. Her frustration mounted.


Hungary knew the signs, and moved before Austria's infamous temper could explode. He swiftly stepped behind her, and gently seized her arms to reposition them, adjusting the height of the gun and her hold on it, explaining all he did in a patient tone. Patient, and somewhat apologetic, since he had touched her without so much as a by-your-leave. It was something he never would have done, normally, but they were all alone out here.


He would never actually apologize, though. He didn't want to. The very fact Austria didn't shake him off, didn't even give him a quelling look, was something that bore thinking about.


~


Austria was blushing; she could feel it. How dare he! But it was a necessary evil. Or perhaps, not evil. If she was honest with herself, it was a comfort. Maybe it bore thinking abou--


No. It was simply the closeness of the forest, the chill in the air that made the body wish to warm itself, and the fatigue in arm and hand that made her feel so flustered. Nothing more.


She thought, however, she might need a great many lessons.


Maybe she would even come to enjoy them.