Hetalia | Netherlands, Belgium | The Royal We (1/?)
(Circa June 2010)
Title: The Royal We (1/?)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: EUROPEAN HISTORY and random Dutch swears. Also rain is cruise control for angst
Summary/Description: Days before the Belgian Revolution begins, Belgium and Netherlands discuss the French revolutions, which eventually leads to an argument between the two nations. Yep, I am a total pro at this summary business
Jan and Margot are my headcanon names for Netherlands and Belgium respectively.
Dutch ~lingo~: Verdomme means damn or dammit (thank you littlelazylass for the correction!). Zus is short for zuster, meaning sister. I'm not Dutch by any means, so I am basically going off Google Translate and other websites for this information :'3c
Also, I'd like to preface this with the disclaimer that I am not a history buff /at all/, nor am I any sort of Dutch or Belgian, lol. I did a ridiculous amount of research for this fic before, during, and even after writing it, though, and I tried my best to be as historically accurate as possible, but I apologize to any Dutch or Belgians out there if I unintentionally fucked up your history in any way, haha. I pretty much have never written a historical fic before, so this was definitely a learning experience.
Also also, the title and lyrics at the beginning of the story are from the song "The Royal We" by Silversun Pickups.
The Royal We
We can laugh about it now
We hope everything works out
Be careful how you lick your wounds
Believe that change is coming soon
"So what do you think?" Belgium asks idly as she hands her brother another mug of beer to go with their dinner, she herself sitting down with her second round, not feeling the least bit affected by the alcohol. The late summer rain pours steadily down upon Netherlands' house, creating a soundtrack of white noise to accompany their meal. Belgium feels strangely alone as she listens to the drops of water spattering on the windows.
"Think about what?" Netherlands replies, looking thoroughly uninterested. He tips his chair back slightly, away from the dinner table, gazing into his full mug with bored scrutiny before taking a drink. Belgium rolls her eyes as she takes a bite of meat, prying it from the fork with her fingers and sucking the juice off her thumb and index finger. She can see Netherlands raising his eyebrows questionably from behind his mug before he puts it back down on the table and snorts.
"Some lady you are," he quips as he leans across his plate to grab a piece of bread from the basket that is currently doubling as a centerpiece. Belgium ignores his comment as she pointedly takes another bite of meat in the same manner.
"Oh, so now you're paying attention to me?" she retorts in between chews.
"Knock it off, zus."
She sighs irritably and wipes her fingers on her napkin. "I asked what you thought about the revolutions in France." Netherlands shrugs carelessly.
"Serves him right, the prissy asshole." A sliver of a smirk crosses his face as he takes another gulp of beer. "'Charles is a blowhard anyway, let 'em wreck themselves from the inside out, I say." Belgium chews at the inside of her cheek and nods quietly. Netherlands frowns and narrows his eyes in her direction. "Oi, Margot, that's a pretty pansy-ass reaction from someone who was just fucking annexed, don'tcha think?" Belgium sighs again, tiredly this time as she rests her elbow on the end of the table and leans her cheek against her closed fist.
"I know. I just... think it's gotta be hard for him," she says slowly, carefully, refusing to look up at her brother whose rising frustration she can already sense. He stops pulling the bread apart and stares at her.
"What?" Netherlands makes no effort to hide the disbelief in his voice. This, coming from someone who's just spent the last 20 years getting the shit oppressed out of her by France? Belgium doesn't respond. She picks at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt, then looks back up, startled, as she hears Netherlands' chair suddenly scraping angrily across the wooden floorboards. She cringes slightly as it topples to the floor. Netherlands leans over the table, slamming his hands down against the wooden frame, and scowls at her.
"Whose fucking side are you on, Margot?" Belgium's temper flares at this and she shoves her own chair away from the table, rising to her feet.
"I'm on my own side, Jan! For once! What's wrong with that?" Her green eyes flash and she doesn't mention that she's been secretly receiving financial support from France. Who knows what he would do to France-- to her-- if he found out.
"And what about everything I did for you?!" Netherlands shoots back angrily. "Everything I went through to save you from Francis, and this is the thanks I get?"
"Yeah," Belgium snaps, "thanks for burning my churches, leaving Wallonia destitute, taxing me to Hell and back--" Netherlands frowns and begins shifting uncomfortably "--should I go on?" Belgium glares. Netherlands casts his eyes to the side as he tries to think of a comeback worthy of his usual snarky demeanor, but today he can only draw a blank. A long silence settles over them. Belgium continues: "I've got no say in the government--"
"Because your stupid Catholics don't want anything to do with William!" Netherlands cuts in defensively, working up his frustration once more.
"Can you blame them?!" Belgium curses herself for the way her voice cracks; the sudden swell in her throat is making it difficult for her to speak properly. Netherlands opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it. He could boast about having been the most powerful nation in the world, but for whatever damning reason, he never had the heart to be cruel to his sister when she was upset. Fucking women. He runs his tongue over his teeth and looks around the room, annoyed at himself for mentally conceding that no, he can't blame them; he can, however, blame Spain and France for influencing his sister's religious affiliation, and he does, cursing them over and over, verdomme verdomme verdomme. Belgium folds her arms across her chest and feigns smugness in lieu of the uncertainty she feels towards standing up to her brother. Netherlands sighs, finally breaking the tense silence.
"Zus," he begins, exasperated (Just get over it, is what he wants to tell her), "just listen, okay?" But Belgium is shaking her head even before he can finish his sentence.
"Jan, I've listened to you for over a thousand years. This union wasn't even my idea. I'm tired, okay? I'm tired of--" she breathes in slowly, and out shakily "--of being stuck, being someone's... property. I can't do it anymore, Jan." Netherlands straightens his posture, runs a restless hand through his hair.
"Margot," he says quietly, seriously, "no offense, but the last time you tried that, you didn't even last a year." Belgium reddens slightly and looks away.
"Yeah, well, you live and learn." Netherlands' mouth quirks up into a small grin and he raises his arms lazily over his head, lacing his fingers behind his neck.
"So you should have learned by now that your best bet is to just stay with me!" He grins wider, half-joking, half-serious, and half-desperate. Belgium glares, all business.
"I'm serious, Jan."
"So am I!"
"You are not, I can tell!" By now, the lump in her throat returns and Belgium can feel her cheeks getting hot. "I knew this wasn't going to go anywhere," she mutters as she gathers her pocketbook from the table and quickly heads for the front door. Netherlands' arms drop to his sides and his grin fades and he strides over to where his sister is already turning the doorknob.
"Margot, come on," he chides, half-tired, half-desperate.
"No," Belgium replies, her words muffled by frustration, exhaustion, defeat. Netherlands places a hand on her shoulder but she shrugs it off, throwing open the door and slamming it behind her in his face. Netherlands reels for a moment, then comes to his senses and rolls his eyes, grabbing the umbrella settled against the wall and runs out after his sister, all desperate. She's made it about 40 feet from the house, walking briskly and already soaked. She freezes when she realizes her brother is standing behind her, holding the umbrella up over both of them. "Go away," she mumbles over her shoulder.
"Oh yeah, sure," Netherlands replies mockingly and tugs her by the shoulder, attempting to get her to face him. He's not surprised at all when she stubbornly resists, but he's always been stronger than her. Belgium doesn't look at him once he forces her to turn around, keeping her head turned to the side. The rain's mixed with angry tears on her cheeks, dripping down onto her her blouse. Netherlands frowns.
"Zus, look at me." No response. Of course, he thinks with a sigh. "Zus, seriously." He reaches out a hand to cup her chin but she forces his arm away and deepens her scowl. Netherlands utters a frustrated growl. "Verdomme, Margot, do it!" He grips her chin and forces her to turn her head towards him. She glares hotly, eyes and nose and cheeks red and goddammit, there's that guilty pang in his chest again.
One thousand, two thousand raindrops fall around them as they face each other in a stagnant staring contest. Finally Netherlands softens his grip and waits for her to bolt, but she surprises him and stays put. He surprises even himself as his hand goes from her chin to around her shoulders and he pulls her in and hugs her close. Belgium's arms hang limply at her sides but he can (barely) hear her sniffing. He sighs and adjusts his grip on the umbrella he's holding above them. "Don't cry, zus, you know I can't deal with that kind of thing."
"'M not crying," she huffs indignantly and inconspicuously tries to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. Netherlands smirks to himself and rolls his eyes.
"Right, right." There's a few moments of silence between them as they consider what to say next. "Anyway, let's go back home, ja?" Belgium stops mid-wipe. Goes rigid, pushes away from her brother and shoots him a deadpan stare.
"I thought it was pretty obvious that when I walked out and slammed the door in your face, I wasn't planning on going back, Jan." She gazes at him for a few seconds more, then turns around and picks up where she left off, walking back out into the rain, down the dirt path away from Netherlands' house. This time, for some reason, he doesn't go after her. What would be the point? He watches her fade into the distance, three, four, five minutes later, not like time matters anymore anyway, until she's gone completely. After a few more silent minutes between himself and the rain, Netherlands walks back up to his house, throws the soaked umbrella on the floor, and heads back into the kitchen. He falls back into his chair, sighing tiredly, glances sideways at the mug of beer sitting next to him on the table. He picks it up and polishes it off in one gulp. He refills the mug twice, thrice, and finally a fourth time, for good measure.
Notes
Belgian Revolution
Battle of Waterloo: The battle that ended Napoleon's rule in France and led to Belgium being returned to the Netherlands
Congress of Vienna: Conference that united the Netherlands and Belgium in a constitutional monarchy and also made Luxembourg a part of the Netherlands
Title: The Royal We (1/?)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: EUROPEAN HISTORY and random Dutch swears. Also rain is cruise control for angst
Summary/Description: Days before the Belgian Revolution begins, Belgium and Netherlands discuss the French revolutions, which eventually leads to an argument between the two nations. Yep, I am a total pro at this summary business
Jan and Margot are my headcanon names for Netherlands and Belgium respectively.
Dutch ~lingo~: Verdomme means damn or dammit (thank you littlelazylass for the correction!). Zus is short for zuster, meaning sister. I'm not Dutch by any means, so I am basically going off Google Translate and other websites for this information :'3c
Also, I'd like to preface this with the disclaimer that I am not a history buff /at all/, nor am I any sort of Dutch or Belgian, lol. I did a ridiculous amount of research for this fic before, during, and even after writing it, though, and I tried my best to be as historically accurate as possible, but I apologize to any Dutch or Belgians out there if I unintentionally fucked up your history in any way, haha. I pretty much have never written a historical fic before, so this was definitely a learning experience.
Also also, the title and lyrics at the beginning of the story are from the song "The Royal We" by Silversun Pickups.
The Royal We
We can laugh about it now
We hope everything works out
Be careful how you lick your wounds
Believe that change is coming soon
"So what do you think?" Belgium asks idly as she hands her brother another mug of beer to go with their dinner, she herself sitting down with her second round, not feeling the least bit affected by the alcohol. The late summer rain pours steadily down upon Netherlands' house, creating a soundtrack of white noise to accompany their meal. Belgium feels strangely alone as she listens to the drops of water spattering on the windows.
"Think about what?" Netherlands replies, looking thoroughly uninterested. He tips his chair back slightly, away from the dinner table, gazing into his full mug with bored scrutiny before taking a drink. Belgium rolls her eyes as she takes a bite of meat, prying it from the fork with her fingers and sucking the juice off her thumb and index finger. She can see Netherlands raising his eyebrows questionably from behind his mug before he puts it back down on the table and snorts.
"Some lady you are," he quips as he leans across his plate to grab a piece of bread from the basket that is currently doubling as a centerpiece. Belgium ignores his comment as she pointedly takes another bite of meat in the same manner.
"Oh, so now you're paying attention to me?" she retorts in between chews.
"Knock it off, zus."
She sighs irritably and wipes her fingers on her napkin. "I asked what you thought about the revolutions in France." Netherlands shrugs carelessly.
"Serves him right, the prissy asshole." A sliver of a smirk crosses his face as he takes another gulp of beer. "'Charles is a blowhard anyway, let 'em wreck themselves from the inside out, I say." Belgium chews at the inside of her cheek and nods quietly. Netherlands frowns and narrows his eyes in her direction. "Oi, Margot, that's a pretty pansy-ass reaction from someone who was just fucking annexed, don'tcha think?" Belgium sighs again, tiredly this time as she rests her elbow on the end of the table and leans her cheek against her closed fist.
"I know. I just... think it's gotta be hard for him," she says slowly, carefully, refusing to look up at her brother whose rising frustration she can already sense. He stops pulling the bread apart and stares at her.
"What?" Netherlands makes no effort to hide the disbelief in his voice. This, coming from someone who's just spent the last 20 years getting the shit oppressed out of her by France? Belgium doesn't respond. She picks at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt, then looks back up, startled, as she hears Netherlands' chair suddenly scraping angrily across the wooden floorboards. She cringes slightly as it topples to the floor. Netherlands leans over the table, slamming his hands down against the wooden frame, and scowls at her.
"Whose fucking side are you on, Margot?" Belgium's temper flares at this and she shoves her own chair away from the table, rising to her feet.
"I'm on my own side, Jan! For once! What's wrong with that?" Her green eyes flash and she doesn't mention that she's been secretly receiving financial support from France. Who knows what he would do to France-- to her-- if he found out.
"And what about everything I did for you?!" Netherlands shoots back angrily. "Everything I went through to save you from Francis, and this is the thanks I get?"
"Yeah," Belgium snaps, "thanks for burning my churches, leaving Wallonia destitute, taxing me to Hell and back--" Netherlands frowns and begins shifting uncomfortably "--should I go on?" Belgium glares. Netherlands casts his eyes to the side as he tries to think of a comeback worthy of his usual snarky demeanor, but today he can only draw a blank. A long silence settles over them. Belgium continues: "I've got no say in the government--"
"Because your stupid Catholics don't want anything to do with William!" Netherlands cuts in defensively, working up his frustration once more.
"Can you blame them?!" Belgium curses herself for the way her voice cracks; the sudden swell in her throat is making it difficult for her to speak properly. Netherlands opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it. He could boast about having been the most powerful nation in the world, but for whatever damning reason, he never had the heart to be cruel to his sister when she was upset. Fucking women. He runs his tongue over his teeth and looks around the room, annoyed at himself for mentally conceding that no, he can't blame them; he can, however, blame Spain and France for influencing his sister's religious affiliation, and he does, cursing them over and over, verdomme verdomme verdomme. Belgium folds her arms across her chest and feigns smugness in lieu of the uncertainty she feels towards standing up to her brother. Netherlands sighs, finally breaking the tense silence.
"Zus," he begins, exasperated (Just get over it, is what he wants to tell her), "just listen, okay?" But Belgium is shaking her head even before he can finish his sentence.
"Jan, I've listened to you for over a thousand years. This union wasn't even my idea. I'm tired, okay? I'm tired of--" she breathes in slowly, and out shakily "--of being stuck, being someone's... property. I can't do it anymore, Jan." Netherlands straightens his posture, runs a restless hand through his hair.
"Margot," he says quietly, seriously, "no offense, but the last time you tried that, you didn't even last a year." Belgium reddens slightly and looks away.
"Yeah, well, you live and learn." Netherlands' mouth quirks up into a small grin and he raises his arms lazily over his head, lacing his fingers behind his neck.
"So you should have learned by now that your best bet is to just stay with me!" He grins wider, half-joking, half-serious, and half-desperate. Belgium glares, all business.
"I'm serious, Jan."
"So am I!"
"You are not, I can tell!" By now, the lump in her throat returns and Belgium can feel her cheeks getting hot. "I knew this wasn't going to go anywhere," she mutters as she gathers her pocketbook from the table and quickly heads for the front door. Netherlands' arms drop to his sides and his grin fades and he strides over to where his sister is already turning the doorknob.
"Margot, come on," he chides, half-tired, half-desperate.
"No," Belgium replies, her words muffled by frustration, exhaustion, defeat. Netherlands places a hand on her shoulder but she shrugs it off, throwing open the door and slamming it behind her in his face. Netherlands reels for a moment, then comes to his senses and rolls his eyes, grabbing the umbrella settled against the wall and runs out after his sister, all desperate. She's made it about 40 feet from the house, walking briskly and already soaked. She freezes when she realizes her brother is standing behind her, holding the umbrella up over both of them. "Go away," she mumbles over her shoulder.
"Oh yeah, sure," Netherlands replies mockingly and tugs her by the shoulder, attempting to get her to face him. He's not surprised at all when she stubbornly resists, but he's always been stronger than her. Belgium doesn't look at him once he forces her to turn around, keeping her head turned to the side. The rain's mixed with angry tears on her cheeks, dripping down onto her her blouse. Netherlands frowns.
"Zus, look at me." No response. Of course, he thinks with a sigh. "Zus, seriously." He reaches out a hand to cup her chin but she forces his arm away and deepens her scowl. Netherlands utters a frustrated growl. "Verdomme, Margot, do it!" He grips her chin and forces her to turn her head towards him. She glares hotly, eyes and nose and cheeks red and goddammit, there's that guilty pang in his chest again.
One thousand, two thousand raindrops fall around them as they face each other in a stagnant staring contest. Finally Netherlands softens his grip and waits for her to bolt, but she surprises him and stays put. He surprises even himself as his hand goes from her chin to around her shoulders and he pulls her in and hugs her close. Belgium's arms hang limply at her sides but he can (barely) hear her sniffing. He sighs and adjusts his grip on the umbrella he's holding above them. "Don't cry, zus, you know I can't deal with that kind of thing."
"'M not crying," she huffs indignantly and inconspicuously tries to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. Netherlands smirks to himself and rolls his eyes.
"Right, right." There's a few moments of silence between them as they consider what to say next. "Anyway, let's go back home, ja?" Belgium stops mid-wipe. Goes rigid, pushes away from her brother and shoots him a deadpan stare.
"I thought it was pretty obvious that when I walked out and slammed the door in your face, I wasn't planning on going back, Jan." She gazes at him for a few seconds more, then turns around and picks up where she left off, walking back out into the rain, down the dirt path away from Netherlands' house. This time, for some reason, he doesn't go after her. What would be the point? He watches her fade into the distance, three, four, five minutes later, not like time matters anymore anyway, until she's gone completely. After a few more silent minutes between himself and the rain, Netherlands walks back up to his house, throws the soaked umbrella on the floor, and heads back into the kitchen. He falls back into his chair, sighing tiredly, glances sideways at the mug of beer sitting next to him on the table. He picks it up and polishes it off in one gulp. He refills the mug twice, thrice, and finally a fourth time, for good measure.
Notes
Belgian Revolution
Battle of Waterloo: The battle that ended Napoleon's rule in France and led to Belgium being returned to the Netherlands
Congress of Vienna: Conference that united the Netherlands and Belgium in a constitutional monarchy and also made Luxembourg a part of the Netherlands