[fanfiction] What The Heart Forgets - Scrambled Eggs
Title: Scrambled Eggs
Author/Artist: twilightrose2
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK-centric
Rating: T
Summary: Arthur remembers everything. It was only a matter of time before he fell to the madness that plagues him.
Note: Random drabble-thing I wrote while looking over halflight007 's timeline for her "What the Heart Forgets" AUverse.
Scrambled Eggs
“How is ‘e doctor?”
Arthur can hear them talking. His husband and the Austrian (he doesn’t remember either, no, not at all and Arthur is glad.) discuss him. He is the mad one. Crazed, deluded, insane, deranged. A March hare. Why is he the mad one? Because he remembers. His guilt is not a thousand years, but all history. Everyone else has forgotten history, left it behind as is. A History. But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is mad.
“He’s suffering from advanced psychosis, at least that is my best diagnosis, I am having another expert flown in from Germany to have another look at him.”
Cackling madly, Arthur leans further into his corner. It’s soft, safe, but he can still remember. His heart aches with the memories and as the Austrian mentions a German his giggles only increase. Knowing his luck, it is the blue-eyed devil that haunted him for years even after they had forgotten and forgiven. But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is unforgiven.
“Is there anything you can do? Please, ‘e was fine until yesterday…”
Yesterday… oh, when Arthur’s troubles were not near far enough away. How finding a single toy soldier. A single one, with one of his sons (the loud sunshine one) in the attic can only be the final straw. The blue eyes look at him, innocent, free and still his. Arthur can only remember how long he had loathed those eyes and even when he thought he was free how they came to haunt (to love, to adore, to respect) him again. How the blue has forgotten. But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is guilty.
“If you could tell me exactly what seemed to bring on this state… Mr. Kirkland has yet to talk to me without apologizing for joining ‘the red-eyed devil’ against me.”
Falling to his side, Arthur squirms against the bonds they have placed him in, laughing even more loudly, but it is a pained and broken sound. That of a madman? This only makes Arthur laugh harder. Prussia would’ve laughed with him. Does Prussia remember? He bets that Prussia remembers. Remembers loathing Francis with him, remembers drunken nights where both cheat on themselves with each other and remembers everything. But Gilbert is gone. His history is no more. Arthur has to remember him to, not let the empire fade away to words and nothing more than ink in a page. Everyone is dedicated to forget. But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is repenting.
“Papa… what is wrong with Dad?”
There it is. His stolen little child. Adopted from his home, stolen from another. But the soft eyes remember as they sit on his lap and stare up at him, enraptured in a story of two brothers forced apart and brought together through history. The light blue eyes of his son (the quiet snowy one) have fallen for their own story. Arthur tells it to him and feels guilty when he sees flashes of a burning capital or a mixed people’s persecution in his son’s innocent face. Perhaps Matthew remembers. Arthur hates himself for telling the young one these stories, hates himself for trying to purge his own mind by speaking, hates himself for making Matthew remember. His youngest son never mentions it, stays quiet and watches, like he always has. But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is narrating.
“Shh… Arthur is fine, do not worry yourself mon petit. Go play with Alfred, d’accord?”
By now he wishes anything but to be in the room. Arthur fails, his laughter long having turned into broken sobs that made him twitch as the memories clenched tighter around his heart, squeezing it until it was fit to burst with the years of happiness, sadness and togetherness he had shared with Francis. That he banished. With only a few words, he had given him up, to protect him? No, Arthur has always been the selfish one. He did it for himself, to protect the others from their memoirs so as to go on with their lives without him there to bother them. To enforce his own isolation. To let him die and be forgotten with history as it should’ve been while they lived on and were remembered. Francis is with him, in his half-life. They were together once. This Francis has forgotten and weakly attempts to rekindle a love that they once had. This Francis has forgotten and tries to cover his own memories with wine and broken smiles. This Francis has forgotten and hides it well.
But not Arthur. He remembers; therefore he is alone.
Author's Note
I have my own personal headcanon for her verse and in my mind, Arthur eventually just breaks and can't handle it anymore. I also think that Matthew would also start remembering parts of his history... idk, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing...