[January-February, 1517]

"You will be taken from the palace, first by carriage, and then by boat. To the east. To Austria. Are you ready?"

Charles, a man of 17 by the 24th of February, nodded with some reluctance to his mother. He had been born in the Empire - true enough - but he had made his life in Spain. He knew a bit of German, but hardly enough to rule an Empire of them. (slight retcon, Charles does not know German) And yet here he was. His election to the Imperial throne pending, he was forced to go to the Empire and there he would be expected to consort with nearly exclusively Germans.

Most of all, Charles was filled with a great anxiety over seeing his grandfather. The two had never quite gotten along as well as they should. Charles was vaguely aware of the Emperor's displeasure at his upbringing, but was not sure how severe said displeasure truly was. From the stories his mother had told him, Maximilian had a tendency to be quite vicious when things did not go his way and in many ways, it could be said things had not gone his way for some time. With Charles, in Italy, even within the Empire did he see significant reductions in his centralized authority.

As noble Spain faded away into the horizon, Charles could only hope the time until he could return would pass quickly.

Charles stepped from the carriage towards the Kaiserliche Hofburg with as much confidence as he could muster. Though he would admit to himself that Innsbruck and the palace were impressive and beautiful indeed, it was certainly not Toledo. Charles was led on a short tour of the Palace before being taken to his grandfather who at this time resided in the dining hall - he was shown the various wings and the Imperial Apartments, where he noted immediately that his own quarters were far away from Maximilian's. Finalizing the tour, the servant guiding the soon-to-be King of the Romans opened the door of the dining hall, where the Emperor sat at the head of an ornate table, his now-customary coffin some feet beside him resting in a corner.

Charles moved through the doorway and began to move to remove his high cap, but before he could, Maximilian spoke; "Nimm diese spanische scheiße von deinem Kopf."

Charles stared blankly at his grandfather who glared back at him with an icy look. A moment of silence fell between the two, but Maximilian quickly broke it in French. "Did they not teach you German? As if you were not to run an Empire of Romans and Germans?"

Charles stuttered, taken aback by the seeming hostility right out of the gate. Maximilian waved his hand. "Just sit." and so Charles did.

"So boy," Maximilian gingerly poking at the food in front of him as he spoke, "why should I have you made King? There are others. Your brother. My, even that young lad from England would be a suitable candidate. So. Why you?"

"Well," Charles thought for a moment about asking for food of his own, but thought better of it. He wasn't sure he'd be able to eat now, even if he could ask. "I have been preparing my whole life for it. As the oldest son, it is my birthright."

Maximilian gave a short laugh. "He speaks of birthright to an elected Empire. You have no right to this Empire, but indeed it is true that you have prepared. Only time will tell if you succeeded, or failed. And in Spain. How do they treat you?"

Charles thought for a moment, but his growling stomach forced his attention to a servant. "Just a moment Grandfather - servant, have you any maize-"

Charles looked back at his grandfather to see a scowl cross his face.

"Answer my question."

"Y-yes, they treat me very well. Especially with the new goods flowing in from the New World - tobacco especially has been-"

"Tobacco." Maximilian slammed his palm on the table, standing up abruptly. "You travel all this way and and the first thing you can think of is tobacco. Are you truly your fathers son, because you seem to have damned my child in favor of Ferdinand." Maximilian growled, then pointed at the door.

"I've heard enough. Leave me, now."

Charles did not linger.