Work Text:
They were classmates, they were comrades, they were friends, but Georg was never his lover.
Their first encounter as classmates was on a sunny winter afternoon when he first met his prince. The prince was shy, four years his junior, with blond hair sticking back, and didn't know what to do with a math problem.
"You must be very good at it," said Prince Georg softly, "Mr. Vieth von Golßenau."
"I'm afraid I prefer literature, Your Royal Highness," admitted Arnold. "and my father have disliked that."
"All of them, I'm afraid," said the prince. His blue eyes sparkled, "My father always thought I wasn't brave enough."
Maybe talking about the king behind his back was just a prince's prerogative, but Arnold found himself laughing.
Their first encounter as army officers was at 1. Leib-Grenadier-Regiment Nr. 100 der Sächsischen Armee, where they arranged to meet. The Crown prince's blond hair darkened.
"You are here, my friend." The Crown prince said. He was wearing the same uniform as the other officers, but the Crown prince still had those melancholy blue eyes to located him among the others.
the Crown prince was still a child with his younger brother by the side.
"Yes." Arnold said, smiling involuntarily. He stared at his friend.
"Then go into the military, not University."
"Since you are not going to University either, Your Royal Highness."
"One day, my friend," the Crown prince chuckled.
Their first encounter as a policeman and a goded man was at a small house in Lusatia, which belonged to Arnold's family for many generations.
'So...Priest.'
"Since I will never be a king," said Georg, "what about you? I never thought you would become a policeman, Arnold."
"I'm afraid not," he admitted. "Now that you're no longer the Crown Prince, there's no point in me becoming a policeman. Maybe I'll study law."
"You should," said his friend, blond hair falling from his fair forehead. "Wouldn't literature suit you better, or art?"
“The war probably changed us forever,” he admitted. “So, what is the University of Breslau?”
"Oh, yes," said Georg, his blue eyes turning almost black in the night, "full of Silesians and Prussians, apparently. Maybe you should go to Göttingen instead."
"Perhaps by the next time we meet, I would be a doctor of law and you would be Father Georg. Or perhaps you would have another name?"
"Louis?" Georg smiled, "Maybe."
"You do look like a Ludwig."Arnold found himself smiling for the first time since a long time.
Their last encounter as friends never occurs.
Father Georg has been dead for three years. He was a brave man, rumor had said he was fighting secretly agiainst the Nazis and therefore got himself killed by the Gestapo. Although Georg von Sachsen never became King of Saxony, his body was still buried under the cathedral in Dresden, along with his father, grandfather, and many rulers before them of the house of Wettin.
Ludwig Renn was a professor at the Technical University of Dresden and an honorable member of the Communist Party. He should not have appeared here.
"Are you okay?" his boyfriend Max Hunger asked him. "Maybe we should go in and take a look?" Max, like Ludwig and the people under six feet, shared a childhood in Dresden.
The city was in ruins, just like his dead friend. After the dust, even the remains were desecrated. Many years from now, people will forget the kingdom that once was here, and the kings that once ruled the kingdom.
He shook his head.
"We shall go to Berlin."
Berlin. That's where Georg died.