1915. December 20th.

All 3 of the Royal men stood in the meeting room - some sort of.. peaceful meeting, for once in their lives. As children, their meetings were never peaceful. Wilhelm, being the eldest and most crude of them all (making dirty jokes and pushing poor Nicholas around) was the hot head of the three, and caused most of their meetings to go.. sour.

“Well?„

Wilhelm spat, looking at the two, younger men. Now that they were all older men (of course Nicholas being 47, George being 50 and 56), they could say and do much more horrible things now. Wilhelm didn't hold back when.. it came to insults, or backhanded comments he'd mutter to his advisors and generals about his cousins.

George and Nicholas were silent at first, but George than gruffly spoke up. His voice was firm, a bit deep, but his accent would seep in at times.

“Well what, Wilhelm? This war is.. ruining us. Our countries. We must come to some agreement here.„

His eyes were cold - but held some sadness within them. Though a strong and usually stern man, he sometimes felt bad for Wilhelm, and Nicholas as well. He knew Wilhelm's mother did not love him as much as she did with his siblings, because of his crippled and shorter arm. He knew Nicholas' father was harsh, and how Nicholas was the youngest and how the sensitive man never truly wanted to be king.

Wilhelm scowled, looking down at the table. He felt George's eyes on him, but not Nicholas' eyes. He knew Nicholas hated to look at the man who had called him 'weak-willed' and 'too sensitive for a man'. He knew that Nicholas would cry to his mother when Wilhelm bullied him and pushed him around. Finally, the Tsar spoke up softly. His voice was.. uncertain. All three of them were uncertain.

“Wilhelm we.. we will loose our people. They will loose faith in the crown.„

Nicholas was always the peaceful one, though he loved the military. He never wanted to be the Tsar - he never wanted his father to verbally abuse him or make him sleep on an iron bed.