I'd have Followed you Anywhere (2/4)
anonymous
May 6 2011, 02:20:42 UTC
“Are you okay?” He asked, eyebrows knit.
“Bloody Hell, I’m not okay!” England yelled.
The boy backed up and stared at him wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” England said, curling up.
“Nah, it was a dumb question,” He shrugged, “What’s your name?”
England got to his feet, Of all the impudent- “We’ve just met and you assume that I would tell you my name?!”
“Woah, relax!” The boy said holding out his hands, “I didn’t think you’d flip out.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” England stood and crossed his arms, “One of those people who think that magic is nothing but a load of bollocks.”
“Well, yeah,” The boy said, “It doesn’t work.”
“Why I ought to curse you until you see purple!”
“Awesome! I’m Arthur, by the way.”
“Wonderful, that will let me curse you all the more easily!”
"Arthur" laughed and England felt himself deflate. He didn’t want to fight right now. He just sat back on the ground, “Just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, “About that, you’re kinda sitting in front of it.”
“I’m what?”
“I’ll show ya.”
England didn’t really want to, but he decided that he might as well play along, at least until his unicorn came back.
Arthur took a hold of one of the ancient knots in the tree, then another, then pulled himself up to grab new ones. England followed him out of curiosity. Eventually, when they had climbed what was probably about ten feet, Arthur shimmied around the trunk. When England followed him, he wound up on a thick tree branch.
“Woah!” Arthur said, “You actually came,” He frowned, “Ya know, even if you don’t want to tell me your real name, I gotta call you something.”
England sighed, “Well, the fae call my brother and me Myrddin, so if you’d like-“
“Okay, Myrd! Come on!” He grabbed England’s wrist and dragged him along the branch. They were approaching a cliff. England was about to point this out until he saw a crack in the wall.
“You really do live in a hole,” England marveled.
“Yeah, I got nowhere else to go. The Angles killed my mom and dad, and the bugs are better company than my sisters. Stupid Elaine, stupid Morgause, and especially stupid Morgan.”
“Wait a moment,” England said, stopping in his tracks, “You’re Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon.”
“’S right. Not like it’s going to help me.”
“But you’re a prince!”
“So? The Angles don’t care. They killed dad, didn’t they?” His eyes flashed angrily.
“I wouldn’t know,” England said, kicking at the bark, pretending it was Germania’s face.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Just… let’s be friends, okay, Myrd? We’ll make it through, okay? Now come on,” He yanked on England’s arm, “I got some day-old rabbit soup in there and I can tell you stories about monsters from the sky.”
England rolled his eyes. Well, this boy could be interesting for a while.
Later that night, as he and Arthur cuddled with one soft wolf pelt to lie upon and another to keep them warm, England realized that the unicorn hadn’t come back. When he called her to ask why, she had said that she’d never seen him smile so brightly before. - The years passed for England and Arthur. England tried to teach him magic and failed on a regular basis since Arthur preferred fighting with the sword England had stolen from a water nymph. Arthur tried to show England how someday his people would reach the moon and failed since England always snapped that he had better keep England’s people from reaching Camelot. They grew closer and closer. England came to the point where he could barely imagine or recall life without Arthur. He gave the boy his all: the best equipment, the best magical aid, the best advice. It wasn’t easy, though. Every victory Arthur made, the weaker England felt.
Still, it was worth it. It was all worth it to see the way that Arthur woke up every morning, positively radiant. And he had become quite radiant. He’d kept that same golden hair, but now it was fairly clean and would gleam in the candlelight. He’d grown tall and broad, with skin just darkened by the sun. However, his face was just a bit round, just a bit boyish. He was lovely to look at. Even though England was barely seven by human reckoning, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling in love.
I'd have Followed you Anywhere (3/4)
anonymous
May 6 2011, 02:21:27 UTC
And then one day, when Arthur was nearing his fortieth birthday and starting to show his age, the unimaginable happened: England awoke, and he felt wonderful. There was no weariness in his bones, no soreness in his muscles, no mysterious bruises or cuts coming from the ills of his people. He enjoyed it momentarily, but then he had a realization: there had been a battle last night. The Britons should have turned the Angles back. He should have scarcely been able to move, and he felt as though he could run a marathon. He leapt from his bed, barely bothering to get dressed, and called his dearest unicorn.
“Take me to him,” He said. The unicorn nodded, knowing exactly who “he” was. England mounted her and in the blink of an eye found himself at a blood soaked battlefield. He saw Lancelot standing outside of a tent, looking carefully blank.
“He’s in there, isn’t he?” England asked.
“Alright,” He opened the flap, “Don’t make too much noise and be quick. No one knows how much time he has.”
England nodded and took two steps into the tent.
Arthur was laying upon a makeshift bed of straw and a few pelts. His chest was bound with bandages that were slowly turning red. His breaths were shallow and labored. There was sweat upon his face. It was clear to see that the king was not long for this world.
It took England all he had not to throw himself at the man. Instead, he approached and placed a hand on his cheek. Arthur opened one eye. They were still so blue, but they were bleary now.
“Myrd,” he asked, “’S that you?”
“Yes, dear king,” England said.
“You came to save me, didn’t ya?”
England swallowed, “No. I-I can’t.”
“Too bad even for your magic, huh?”
England debated how to answer. He could lie to the man. He could say that was it. But on the other hand, could he really say anything untrue to Arthur right then? The king looked at him, expecting an answer. Expecting England to be open.
“No… It’s not that, I just… I’m just not the right person.”
“What do you mean? You’re the kingdom, aren’t you?”
England shook his head, “No… no I’m not.”
He looked puzzled, “Then what are you?”
“I- I-“
“It’s alright, Myrd.”
“You don’t need to comfort me. I’m not the one that’s dying.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not your nation. I’m them. I’m the Angles. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I mislead you all these years.”
Arthur sighed, “Oh, Myrd, I wish you would have told me sooner. I’d have switched sides.”
“You’d what?”
“Listen,” Arthur said, smiling, “You’re the one I care about. I’d have followed you anywhere.”
“Arthur…”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I never got to take care of you. I helped so many of my people, but it’s always hurt you. I thought I was helping you, but instead…”
“No! Don’t worry. I was fine. It was what I wanted. You were perfect, Arthur.”
“Myrd, all these years I wanted to be your hero.”
England smiled, “Don’t worry, you are.”
“I mean it. Some day I’ll be back. When you really need me, I’ll be there.”
England smiled, “Don’t be daft.”
“Hey, I got by guts cut open. I can be as daft as I want.”
In spite of everything, England found himself laughing, “Alright, but if you want to help me, you need to know my real name.”
“You mean that thing you wouldn’t let me hear the day we met?”
“The same,” He leaned down, “Arthur, son of Uther, my name is Engla land. Come find me.”
I'd have Followed you Anywhere (4/4)
anonymous
May 6 2011, 02:22:42 UTC
Centuries passed, not decades. England still thought of the promise occasionally. He’d think back to it, sometimes sadly, sometimes fondly. It wasn’t a rational promise, dead men did not return, but it was just so Arthur that it was hard to ignore. He took the fool’s name for his own and wore it proudly, a sign of his first love and only real hero.
One day, he set out on a voyage. He met another boy with hair golden as grain and eyes blue as the sea, who comforted him when he cried. He was obsessed with heroes too. He said that he wanted to be just like King Arthur when he grew up and England would smile sadly at him. Every now and then, the boy would call him Engla instead of England and his heart would soar.
However, he wasn’t a prince: he was a colony, England’s colony. The only reason he was like that, the Empire assured himself, was that he had taken his form from England’s memories. That was it. He wasn’t Arthur, he was America.
But every day that passed, he seemed more and more like the king. Too soon, England had to let go. Like no time before, he had prayed that Arthur would come and prove that he was different from America.
It wasn’t to be. The wounds of the Revolution faded, and America became England’s friend in his own right. England considered many times telling America about his connection to the great king he had once loved, but never actually did.
Then it was the ‘40’s. If England had a darkest hour, it was now. He had been blitzed to pieces. There were deep cuts all over his chest, especially over his heart. For the first time he could remember, England felt like he was going to die. Really die.
One day, there was a knock on his door. He managed to get out of his chair and go to the door. Maybe it was America, finally getting his head out of his arse and giving him more than guns. Maybe it was Arthur, finally returning to give him his all.
It was Germany, coming to give him a beating. England fought with all he had, but it wasn’t much. The bombings had taken too much out of him, and Germany was much bigger and stronger on a good day. He found himself on the ground.
“I’ve been ordered to take you prisoner,” Germany said, “Please do not resist further.”
“You’re never taking me, kraut bastard!” England tried to push himself onto his hands and knees but failed.
Then there was a loud bang. Germany collapsed to the floor. England looked to his doorway. America was standing there, looking as sheepish as one could while holding a smoking pistol.
“Dammit you’re a mess, England; let’s get you out of here.” He lifted the smaller nation, and England felt too weak to resist.
America, in his typical way, never stopped babbling. England may have just been making things up, but he could swear he heard, “I came, didn’t I, Myrd?”
England wondered if it was finally time that he told America what he thought to be the truth.
Then he wondered if he even needed to.
Historical background: If there is a Wales and there is a Scotland, England is not British in origin. The word England (originally Engla land, hence the name used) is taken from the name of an invading Germanic tribe, the Angles (Who were actually from Denmark. Hey, neither can get their hair to sit down). This means that all those loving stories about England and King Arthur, yeah, England is the reason he died. Arthur was a Briton trying to protect his homeland from the invaders. And yet, England still seems to have a strong affinity for him. England killed his only childhood friend, and I don’t know if he ever quite got over it… England goes here by the name of Myrddin, a figure in Welsh mythology thought to be a person Merlin was based off of, and as England takes Merlin’s role here, I thought it was appropriate. He was said to have gone crazy after a battle and fled into the woods to chill with the animals and learned magic. His name means “Sea Hill” (The fae call all island nations this as a term of endearment) And, well, since I had just written about England running off into the woods to be alone with his magical friends and meeting a child Arthur… Now someone get this woman(?) a real fill.
Re: I'd have Followed you Anywhere (4/4)
anonymous
May 6 2011, 04:43:09 UTC
Author-non, I don't know about OP or anyone else but I LOVED this. I mean, I especially love how you had the historical twist. I think the Arthurian mythos has been VERY romanticized to the point that the stories can hardly be connected to the historical figures within them.
I adored this story. The nickname Myrd is just like America's 'Iggy' often seen in fics (and I think a few in canon). The unicorn was a lovely addition, America's "Engla" being brushed aside (baby nations talk funny, yes?)...only for England to discover the truth was great. This whole fill was great! It fit my prompt well and you managed to connect it, in a realistic way, to history. Nice head canon you got going on there too. It was both heart warming and sad because they were such close friends (just friends? I got the vibe of just friends/great admiration but idk if you were going for more) and even though they were always trying to kill one another they never resented each other for it, even at the end.
I'm now more interested in finding the story of England. :)
I have two things. There really small though (and I just wanted to point them out in case you liked critic...if you don't just ignore them): “Oh, you’re one of those,” England stood and crossed his arms, “One of those people who think that magic is nothing but a load of bollocks.”
The above sentenced made me wonder "How is the name related to magic?" Because I know about the whole (XXXHolic) thing of knowing ones name controls that person but...is it also some ancient Engla land myth? That sentence kinda seemed just...there
Also, I might have read it wrong but the time skip between when he was weak and when the king was dieing and he wasn't was rough and a bit of the ending too.
I am HONESTLY not complaining about the fics quality though! I enjoyed the tale you weaved~
The knowing-someone's-name-gives-you-power-over-them is a fairly standard idea in magic. I'm not entirely sure if it's true for Briton magic or not, but I guess that I'm so used to it being included that I didn't think tqice about it (heh, heh)
And it probably was rough. I wrote this all to quickly two nights ago because I needed to go to bed (major test the next day) and it wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't think you'd like it either, so I didn't really bother.
I'm considering revamping this and putting it on my FF. net. If I do, I'll link this to the better version
aww how could you think I wouldn't like such a cool story?? It was great!
A small suggestion:
Perhaps, if you do revamp it you could add a little more confusion or make it more clear why Alfred isn't confused about the names? Preferable in the story or if not than in the notes? That would make more sense.
“Bloody Hell, I’m not okay!” England yelled.
The boy backed up and stared at him wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” England said, curling up.
“Nah, it was a dumb question,” He shrugged, “What’s your name?”
England got to his feet, Of all the impudent- “We’ve just met and you assume that I would tell you my name?!”
“Woah, relax!” The boy said holding out his hands, “I didn’t think you’d flip out.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” England stood and crossed his arms, “One of those people who think that magic is nothing but a load of bollocks.”
“Well, yeah,” The boy said, “It doesn’t work.”
“Why I ought to curse you until you see purple!”
“Awesome! I’m Arthur, by the way.”
“Wonderful, that will let me curse you all the more easily!”
"Arthur" laughed and England felt himself deflate. He didn’t want to fight right now. He just sat back on the ground, “Just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, “About that, you’re kinda sitting in front of it.”
“I’m what?”
“I’ll show ya.”
England didn’t really want to, but he decided that he might as well play along, at least until his unicorn came back.
Arthur took a hold of one of the ancient knots in the tree, then another, then pulled himself up to grab new ones. England followed him out of curiosity. Eventually, when they had climbed what was probably about ten feet, Arthur shimmied around the trunk. When England followed him, he wound up on a thick tree branch.
“Woah!” Arthur said, “You actually came,” He frowned, “Ya know, even if you don’t want to tell me your real name, I gotta call you something.”
England sighed, “Well, the fae call my brother and me Myrddin, so if you’d like-“
“Okay, Myrd! Come on!” He grabbed England’s wrist and dragged him along the branch. They were approaching a cliff. England was about to point this out until he saw a crack in the wall.
“You really do live in a hole,” England marveled.
“Yeah, I got nowhere else to go. The Angles killed my mom and dad, and the bugs are better company than my sisters. Stupid Elaine, stupid Morgause, and especially stupid Morgan.”
“Wait a moment,” England said, stopping in his tracks, “You’re Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon.”
“’S right. Not like it’s going to help me.”
“But you’re a prince!”
“So? The Angles don’t care. They killed dad, didn’t they?” His eyes flashed angrily.
“I wouldn’t know,” England said, kicking at the bark, pretending it was Germania’s face.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Just… let’s be friends, okay, Myrd? We’ll make it through, okay? Now come on,” He yanked on England’s arm, “I got some day-old rabbit soup in there and I can tell you stories about monsters from the sky.”
England rolled his eyes. Well, this boy could be interesting for a while.
Later that night, as he and Arthur cuddled with one soft wolf pelt to lie upon and another to keep them warm, England realized that the unicorn hadn’t come back. When he called her to ask why, she had said that she’d never seen him smile so brightly before.
-
The years passed for England and Arthur. England tried to teach him magic and failed on a regular basis since Arthur preferred fighting with the sword England had stolen from a water nymph. Arthur tried to show England how someday his people would reach the moon and failed since England always snapped that he had better keep England’s people from reaching Camelot. They grew closer and closer. England came to the point where he could barely imagine or recall life without Arthur. He gave the boy his all: the best equipment, the best magical aid, the best advice. It wasn’t easy, though. Every victory Arthur made, the weaker England felt.
Still, it was worth it. It was all worth it to see the way that Arthur woke up every morning, positively radiant. And he had become quite radiant. He’d kept that same golden hair, but now it was fairly clean and would gleam in the candlelight. He’d grown tall and broad, with skin just darkened by the sun. However, his face was just a bit round, just a bit boyish. He was lovely to look at. Even though England was barely seven by human reckoning, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling in love.
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“Take me to him,” He said.
The unicorn nodded, knowing exactly who “he” was. England mounted her and in the blink of an eye found himself at a blood soaked battlefield. He saw Lancelot standing outside of a tent, looking carefully blank.
“He’s in there, isn’t he?” England asked.
“Alright,” He opened the flap, “Don’t make too much noise and be quick. No one knows how much time he has.”
England nodded and took two steps into the tent.
Arthur was laying upon a makeshift bed of straw and a few pelts. His chest was bound with bandages that were slowly turning red. His breaths were shallow and labored. There was sweat upon his face. It was clear to see that the king was not long for this world.
It took England all he had not to throw himself at the man. Instead, he approached and placed a hand on his cheek. Arthur opened one eye. They were still so blue, but they were bleary now.
“Myrd,” he asked, “’S that you?”
“Yes, dear king,” England said.
“You came to save me, didn’t ya?”
England swallowed, “No. I-I can’t.”
“Too bad even for your magic, huh?”
England debated how to answer. He could lie to the man. He could say that was it. But on the other hand, could he really say anything untrue to Arthur right then? The king looked at him, expecting an answer. Expecting England to be open.
“No… It’s not that, I just… I’m just not the right person.”
“What do you mean? You’re the kingdom, aren’t you?”
England shook his head, “No… no I’m not.”
He looked puzzled, “Then what are you?”
“I- I-“
“It’s alright, Myrd.”
“You don’t need to comfort me. I’m not the one that’s dying.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not your nation. I’m them. I’m the Angles. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I mislead you all these years.”
Arthur sighed, “Oh, Myrd, I wish you would have told me sooner. I’d have switched sides.”
“You’d what?”
“Listen,” Arthur said, smiling, “You’re the one I care about. I’d have followed you anywhere.”
“Arthur…”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I never got to take care of you. I helped so many of my people, but it’s always hurt you. I thought I was helping you, but instead…”
“No! Don’t worry. I was fine. It was what I wanted. You were perfect, Arthur.”
“Myrd, all these years I wanted to be your hero.”
England smiled, “Don’t worry, you are.”
“I mean it. Some day I’ll be back. When you really need me, I’ll be there.”
England smiled, “Don’t be daft.”
“Hey, I got by guts cut open. I can be as daft as I want.”
In spite of everything, England found himself laughing, “Alright, but if you want to help me, you need to know my real name.”
“You mean that thing you wouldn’t let me hear the day we met?”
“The same,” He leaned down, “Arthur, son of Uther, my name is Engla land. Come find me.”
Arthur laughed, “See ya round, Myrd… Engla.”
And the great king breathed no more.
-
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One day, he set out on a voyage. He met another boy with hair golden as grain and eyes blue as the sea, who comforted him when he cried. He was obsessed with heroes too. He said that he wanted to be just like King Arthur when he grew up and England would smile sadly at him. Every now and then, the boy would call him Engla instead of England and his heart would soar.
However, he wasn’t a prince: he was a colony, England’s colony. The only reason he was like that, the Empire assured himself, was that he had taken his form from England’s memories. That was it. He wasn’t Arthur, he was America.
But every day that passed, he seemed more and more like the king. Too soon, England had to let go. Like no time before, he had prayed that Arthur would come and prove that he was different from America.
It wasn’t to be. The wounds of the Revolution faded, and America became England’s friend in his own right. England considered many times telling America about his connection to the great king he had once loved, but never actually did.
Then it was the ‘40’s. If England had a darkest hour, it was now. He had been blitzed to pieces. There were deep cuts all over his chest, especially over his heart. For the first time he could remember, England felt like he was going to die. Really die.
One day, there was a knock on his door. He managed to get out of his chair and go to the door. Maybe it was America, finally getting his head out of his arse and giving him more than guns. Maybe it was Arthur, finally returning to give him his all.
It was Germany, coming to give him a beating. England fought with all he had, but it wasn’t much. The bombings had taken too much out of him, and Germany was much bigger and stronger on a good day. He found himself on the ground.
“I’ve been ordered to take you prisoner,” Germany said, “Please do not resist further.”
“You’re never taking me, kraut bastard!” England tried to push himself onto his hands and knees but failed.
Then there was a loud bang. Germany collapsed to the floor. England looked to his doorway. America was standing there, looking as sheepish as one could while holding a smoking pistol.
“Dammit you’re a mess, England; let’s get you out of here.” He lifted the smaller nation, and England felt too weak to resist.
America, in his typical way, never stopped babbling. England may have just been making things up, but he could swear he heard, “I came, didn’t I, Myrd?”
England wondered if it was finally time that he told America what he thought to be the truth.
Then he wondered if he even needed to.
Historical background: If there is a Wales and there is a Scotland, England is not British in origin. The word England (originally Engla land, hence the name used) is taken from the name of an invading Germanic tribe, the Angles (Who were actually from Denmark. Hey, neither can get their hair to sit down). This means that all those loving stories about England and King Arthur, yeah, England is the reason he died. Arthur was a Briton trying to protect his homeland from the invaders. And yet, England still seems to have a strong affinity for him. England killed his only childhood friend, and I don’t know if he ever quite got over it…
England goes here by the name of Myrddin, a figure in Welsh mythology thought to be a person Merlin was based off of, and as England takes Merlin’s role here, I thought it was appropriate. He was said to have gone crazy after a battle and fled into the woods to chill with the animals and learned magic. His name means “Sea Hill” (The fae call all island nations this as a term of endearment) And, well, since I had just written about England running off into the woods to be alone with his magical friends and meeting a child Arthur…
Now someone get this woman(?) a real fill.
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Good job! <3
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I'm now more interested in finding the story of England. :)
I have two things. There really small though (and I just wanted to point them out in case you liked critic...if you don't just ignore them):
“Oh, you’re one of those,” England stood and crossed his arms, “One of those people who think that magic is nothing but a load of bollocks.”
The above sentenced made me wonder "How is the name related to magic?" Because I know about the whole (XXXHolic) thing of knowing ones name controls that person but...is it also some ancient Engla land myth? That sentence kinda seemed just...there
Also, I might have read it wrong but the time skip between when he was weak and when the king was dieing and he wasn't was rough and a bit of the ending too.
I am HONESTLY not complaining about the fics quality though! I enjoyed the tale you weaved~
Reply
The knowing-someone's-name-gives-you-power-over-them is a fairly standard idea in magic. I'm not entirely sure if it's true for Briton magic or not, but I guess that I'm so used to it being included that I didn't think tqice about it (heh, heh)
And it probably was rough. I wrote this all to quickly two nights ago because I needed to go to bed (major test the next day) and it wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't think you'd like it either, so I didn't really bother.
I'm considering revamping this and putting it on my FF. net. If I do, I'll link this to the better version
Reply
A small suggestion:
Perhaps, if you do revamp it you could add a little more confusion or make it more clear why Alfred isn't confused about the names? Preferable in the story or if not than in the notes? That would make more sense.
Reply
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