Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (1/3)
anonymous
March 25 2009, 09:01:00 UTC
I went with a fairly young America for this, seeing as the trials took place in 1692. It's fairly serious. Maybe another anon can try a lighter response? Anyway, I hope you like, OP!
"Tell me a story, England!" America begged him. "Please, just one?"
England sighed inwardly. It had been a long trip across the ocean and over the frozen roads to America's house. He normally would have been in his own home this time of year, safe and warm inside, but news of some religious unrest in the Massachusetts Bay Colony had sent him off to check on America. He'd arrived to find the boy perfectly well, if a tad overly energetic - but then he always was when England came around.
"You should really be going to bed," he told his ward sternly, only to melt inside as America looked up at him with big blue eyes.
"Please?" the boy asked again. "I promise I'll go right to sleep afterwards."
England gave in. A quick story to put the boy to sleep, and then off to bed himself. "All right," he relented, and sat down on the couch. He patted the seat next to him, and America eagerly climbed up and laid his head upon his lap. England smiled faintly and stroked the boy's hair. "What do you want to hear a story about?"
"A scary one!" America asserted. He peeked up at England. "Can it be about about a witch?"
England tapped his chin thoughtfully. "A witch, hm? I think I can manage that." America cheered and curled up against him. England thought for a moment, trying to decide what to tell to America. Witches...well, he really needn't look outside his own family if America wanted a tale of black magic. God only knew how many spells Scotland in particular had cast at him over the years. Ah, the one he'd sent over the affair with Bess's cousin should do.
"Once upon a time..." he started, and weaved the tale of treachery by Scotland's queen, and of Bess's perfectly justifiable response. America paid attention quietly to the story. When England got to Scotland's retaliation, however...
"He hexed you?" America gasped.
England winced. "Yes," he replied, a little tersely. Maybe this hadn't been the best story to tell after all.
"So your brother was a witch," America said thoughtfully. He blinked up at England. "Did you hang him?"
"I- what? No!" England sputtered at that.
"Burn him?"
"No, not that either!" England stared down at his ward, shocked to hear something so vicious out of the normally sweet boy's mouth.
"I didn't kill him, America."
"Oh." England couldn't tell if America was happy or disappointed to hear that. "Then what did you do?"
Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (2/3)
anonymous
March 25 2009, 09:03:51 UTC
"I gave him a taste of his own medicine," England smirked. Oh yes, this was the part that made the story palatable. "The stupid git forgot I knew where he lived too. So I figured out the spell he made, made one up three times as strong, and sent him it right back." He stroked America's hair again, not immediately noticing how the boy had stilled under his hand.
"You...you cursed him?" America asked softly.
England snorted. "Served him right." He looked down at the boy with a smile, only to have it slip away as he saw the look of absolute horror on America's face. "America...?"
"You're a witch?!" America shrieked up at him, sitting straight up.
England looked at him in confusion, not at all sure of what was happening. "Wizard would be the more correct term." He reached his hand down to gently grasp America's shoulder...
...only to have it flung away hard as America vaulted from the couch, running to the opposite side of the room as far from England as possible. "Witch!" he yelled, his eyes staring at England accusingly. "Stay away, witch!"
Standing up from the couch, England headed over to the colony to calm him down, only to have America pick up a chair of all things and throw it at him. England ducked just in time, wincing as he heard the thunderous crash behind him as chair met wall. It was easy to forget how ridiculously strong his tiny America was most of the time, until he was forcibly reminded of the fact.
Still, England was an adult nation, and was not going to be chased away by a colony not even old enough to wear trousers yet, no matter how many chairs he threw. He strode over and grabbed America's arm, preventing the boy from hurling any more furniture. "America, what is the meaning of this?" he uttered sternly.
Now that he was caught, America's anger seemed to disappear, leaving him shaking in England's grasp. "You're a witch!" he wailed, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. "England, I trusted you! How could you?"
England looked down at him, his own anger fleeing just as quickly. He'd scared America? His fearless child, who'd wrestle with buffalo and never lose a smile, was scared of him? "America..." he started, not sure what to say. He sighed and knelt down, looking America in the eyes. "America, you know I'd never hurt you, right?"
America didn't seem certain of this at all. "But Reverend Mather said-"
"America, look at me." But America wouldn't. England sighed again and reached out to tilt the boy's face towards him. "America. Have I ever given you cause to be afraid of me?"
"...no," America muttered, and finally looked at him with red eyes. "But I didn't know you consorted with the Devil either."
"The Devil? When did I mention consorting with the Devil?" England tried his best to stay patient. Yelling at the boy now would only make things worse.
"You're a witch, and that's what they do," America stated with the matter-of-fact certainty of a child. "Reverend Mather and some of the other preachers have been telling us about it. Witches go out at night and sign their names in the Devil's book and then they send their spirits out to plague good Christians." He bit his lip and looked at England accusingly. "Are you gonna plague me?"
"Do you even know what that means?" England asked, exasperated. America's face fell and he tried to pull away, causing England to soften again. He cupped the boy's cheek in his hand, and looked him in the eyes "America, I may practice magic, but I would never use it to harm you."
"Reverend Mather says witches are liars."
"And what else does your Reverend Mather say?" England tried to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. It wasn't likely to do any good on America even in the best of times.
"He said that...that thou shalt not suffer a witch to...to..." The boy's face crumpled. "...to live..." And suddenly America threw himself in England's arms, sobbing hard. Startled, England fell back on his heels, letting out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him by the flying child. Recovering quickly, he wrapped his arms around the boy, who was muttering through his sniffles, "please don't die, England! I don't want you to die, even if you are bad!"
"I'm not going to die," England chided America gently, holding him tightly against his chest.
Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (3/3 and notes)
anonymous
March 25 2009, 09:07:00 UTC
"You will!" America sobbed, muffled against him. "They've been hanging witches, England! Over in Salem Town, and now they're starting in Ipswich and Boston." He pulled his face away from England's chest and looked up at him with determination. "You have to confess and recant your sins, England. That's the only way to save you."
England sighed. If it would give his ward peace of mind, then surely there was no harm in it. "All right. I'll confess to you." America nodded, already brightening up at the thought of England's salvation being at hand. England picked the boy up and brought them back over to the couch. America sat next to him, watching him intently. England looked back at him. "What do you want to know?"
"Um..." America's face scrunched up as he thought. "First, you've got to tell me how you met the Devil."
England nodded. "He came to me on midnight on the darkest day of the year, wanting my name for his book," he invented, watching America's eyes grow wide at the thought. "He forced the quill in my fingers, wouldn't take no for an answer."
"What did he look like?" America asked quietly.
England cast about in his head. What would the devil look like? Ah, of course. "He had long smooth blond hair, and a scraggly beard," he told the boy. "He wore ridiculously flashy clothes, and carried a rose-"
"England! That's France!" the little colony scolded. England would have laughed, if not for how close to tears America looked. "Please, England, you can't lie about this! It's your soul at stake!"
England sobered quickly. "All right, not France. He...he had long horns, and cloven hooves for feet," he tried. America seemed to accept this, and gestured for him to continue. "He made me sign my name in his book, and then sent me out to...plague others."
"Was anyone else there?" America asked. "You have to tell so we can find them too."
England's lip twitched. "France."
"England!"
"Remember, he's a papist, America," he added quickly. "His kind are only one step from the devil to start with." More to the point, he was a disgusting pervert, but that wasn't something he felt like explaining to America right now.
America chewed this over. "Okay," he admitted. "Anyone else?"
"Ah...just Scotland and Wales." They were wizards too, so it was barely even a lie.
America nodded. He stood up, tugging England up with him. "Now you gotta sign your name to the confession," he declared. He dragged England by the hand to the desk in the corner, taking pen and ink to paper and printing "I CONFESS" in large letters before handing it to England. "Just sign it and you're saved!"
England looked at the paper. Telling America stories was all well and good, but putting his good name to the lie... England frowned slightly, wondering how many in Salem were having to make up names and stories like him.
"England?" America was looking up at him with concern at his hesitation.
To hell with it. He'd give up more then his good name to keep America.
He put the paper on the desk and signed his name on it in large looping cursive, "Arthur Kirkland." He handed the paper and pen to America. "Your witness?"
America nodded eagerly. He signed his own name in messy script, "Alfred Jones," beneath England's, then wrote the date on it. He put it back on the desk and threw himself at England again. "There!" he cried out happily, wrapping his arms tightly around England's legs. "You're saved."
"I'm saved," England echoed, picking up America and holding him tightly. Such a small thing for his boy's sake...then why did it lay so heavily on him? "I'm saved."
Notes -The affair with Bess's cousin: back in 1587, Queen Elizabeth I put her cousin and Scotland's Queen Mary to death in order to protect her throne. Considering Arthur's brothers seem fairly curse-happy in his flashback in the strip, this would certainly seem to be enough provocation for Scotland to have sent one at him. -Reverend Cotton Mather was a well-known Puritan minister who was largely involved in the witch hunt that led to the trials in Salem and other villages. -Puritans, like many forms of Protestantism, weren't fond of Catholics or the Pope, so England using France's Catholicism to convince America of his evil ways makes sense.
Re: Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (3/3 and notes)
anonymous
March 25 2009, 14:36:37 UTC
That was brilliant. You managed to get a good balance between cute and creepy, and between historical and personal. That line about England being ready to give up his good name to keep america= so much win! And sort of true as well.
Re: Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (3/3 and notes)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 22:15:17 UTC
Loved it! I went to Salem, oh... 5 years ago--brilliant place. This was wonderfully written and had a brilliant plot--the religious themes were handled really well.
Only tiny nitpick that this history geek would have (and granted the era in question is not my specialty) is this: Mary Queen of Scots had in fact been kicked out of Scotland 20 years previous to her execution for--among other things--murdering her husband, and while she did have her supporters Scotland had pretty much washed his hands of her. Elizabeth actually wrote to her son James VI asking if he'd be willing to take her back so Elizabeth wouldn't have to execute her (the idea of a queen being executed didn't sit too well with old Bess) But he didn't seem to care either so ironically, that period was one of the higher points of Anglo-Scottish relationships.
There are of course, many other periods in which the curses were probably flying faster than speeding bullets, so other than that--brilliant little ficlet!
Re: Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch (3/3 and notes)
anonymous
September 1 2010, 01:45:36 UTC
I second that. That was soooooo ADORABLE, and it totally made my day, but England was none too kind to his witches. And what about IRELAND!? *pouts* sorry, that was brilliant, anon.
"Tell me a story, England!" America begged him. "Please, just one?"
England sighed inwardly. It had been a long trip across the ocean and over the frozen roads to America's house. He normally would have been in his own home this time of year, safe and warm inside, but news of some religious unrest in the Massachusetts Bay Colony had sent him off to check on America. He'd arrived to find the boy perfectly well, if a tad overly energetic - but then he always was when England came around.
"You should really be going to bed," he told his ward sternly, only to melt inside as America looked up at him with big blue eyes.
"Please?" the boy asked again. "I promise I'll go right to sleep afterwards."
England gave in. A quick story to put the boy to sleep, and then off to bed himself. "All right," he relented, and sat down on the couch. He patted the seat next to him, and America eagerly climbed up and laid his head upon his lap. England smiled faintly and stroked the boy's hair. "What do you want to hear a story about?"
"A scary one!" America asserted. He peeked up at England. "Can it be about about a witch?"
England tapped his chin thoughtfully. "A witch, hm? I think I can manage that." America cheered and curled up against him. England thought for a moment, trying to decide what to tell to America. Witches...well, he really needn't look outside his own family if America wanted a tale of black magic. God only knew how many spells Scotland in particular had cast at him over the years. Ah, the one he'd sent over the affair with Bess's cousin should do.
"Once upon a time..." he started, and weaved the tale of treachery by Scotland's queen, and of Bess's perfectly justifiable response. America paid attention quietly to the story. When England got to Scotland's retaliation, however...
"He hexed you?" America gasped.
England winced. "Yes," he replied, a little tersely. Maybe this hadn't been the best story to tell after all.
"So your brother was a witch," America said thoughtfully. He blinked up at England. "Did you hang him?"
"I- what? No!" England sputtered at that.
"Burn him?"
"No, not that either!" England stared down at his ward, shocked to hear something so vicious out of the normally sweet boy's mouth.
"I didn't kill him, America."
"Oh." England couldn't tell if America was happy or disappointed to hear that. "Then what did you do?"
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"You...you cursed him?" America asked softly.
England snorted. "Served him right." He looked down at the boy with a smile, only to have it slip away as he saw the look of absolute horror on America's face. "America...?"
"You're a witch?!" America shrieked up at him, sitting straight up.
England looked at him in confusion, not at all sure of what was happening. "Wizard would be the more correct term." He reached his hand down to gently grasp America's shoulder...
...only to have it flung away hard as America vaulted from the couch, running to the opposite side of the room as far from England as possible. "Witch!" he yelled, his eyes staring at England accusingly. "Stay away, witch!"
Standing up from the couch, England headed over to the colony to calm him down, only to have America pick up a chair of all things and throw it at him. England ducked just in time, wincing as he heard the thunderous crash behind him as chair met wall. It was easy to forget how ridiculously strong his tiny America was most of the time, until he was forcibly reminded of the fact.
Still, England was an adult nation, and was not going to be chased away by a colony not even old enough to wear trousers yet, no matter how many chairs he threw. He strode over and grabbed America's arm, preventing the boy from hurling any more furniture. "America, what is the meaning of this?" he uttered sternly.
Now that he was caught, America's anger seemed to disappear, leaving him shaking in England's grasp. "You're a witch!" he wailed, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. "England, I trusted you! How could you?"
England looked down at him, his own anger fleeing just as quickly. He'd scared America? His fearless child, who'd wrestle with buffalo and never lose a smile, was scared of him? "America..." he started, not sure what to say. He sighed and knelt down, looking America in the eyes. "America, you know I'd never hurt you, right?"
America didn't seem certain of this at all. "But Reverend Mather said-"
"America, look at me." But America wouldn't. England sighed again and reached out to tilt the boy's face towards him. "America. Have I ever given you cause to be afraid of me?"
"...no," America muttered, and finally looked at him with red eyes. "But I didn't know you consorted with the Devil either."
"The Devil? When did I mention consorting with the Devil?" England tried his best to stay patient. Yelling at the boy now would only make things worse.
"You're a witch, and that's what they do," America stated with the matter-of-fact certainty of a child. "Reverend Mather and some of the other preachers have been telling us about it. Witches go out at night and sign their names in the Devil's book and then they send their spirits out to plague good Christians." He bit his lip and looked at England accusingly. "Are you gonna plague me?"
"Do you even know what that means?" England asked, exasperated. America's face fell and he tried to pull away, causing England to soften again. He cupped the boy's cheek in his hand, and looked him in the eyes "America, I may practice magic, but I would never use it to harm you."
"Reverend Mather says witches are liars."
"And what else does your Reverend Mather say?" England tried to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. It wasn't likely to do any good on America even in the best of times.
"He said that...that thou shalt not suffer a witch to...to..." The boy's face crumpled. "...to live..." And suddenly America threw himself in England's arms, sobbing hard. Startled, England fell back on his heels, letting out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him by the flying child. Recovering quickly, he wrapped his arms around the boy, who was muttering through his sniffles, "please don't die, England! I don't want you to die, even if you are bad!"
"I'm not going to die," England chided America gently, holding him tightly against his chest.
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England sighed. If it would give his ward peace of mind, then surely there was no harm in it. "All right. I'll confess to you." America nodded, already brightening up at the thought of England's salvation being at hand. England picked the boy up and brought them back over to the couch. America sat next to him, watching him intently. England looked back at him. "What do you want to know?"
"Um..." America's face scrunched up as he thought. "First, you've got to tell me how you met the Devil."
England nodded. "He came to me on midnight on the darkest day of the year, wanting my name for his book," he invented, watching America's eyes grow wide at the thought. "He forced the quill in my fingers, wouldn't take no for an answer."
"What did he look like?" America asked quietly.
England cast about in his head. What would the devil look like? Ah, of course. "He had long smooth blond hair, and a scraggly beard," he told the boy. "He wore ridiculously flashy clothes, and carried a rose-"
"England! That's France!" the little colony scolded. England would have laughed, if not for how close to tears America looked. "Please, England, you can't lie about this! It's your soul at stake!"
England sobered quickly. "All right, not France. He...he had long horns, and cloven hooves for feet," he tried. America seemed to accept this, and gestured for him to continue. "He made me sign my name in his book, and then sent me out to...plague others."
"Was anyone else there?" America asked. "You have to tell so we can find them too."
England's lip twitched. "France."
"England!"
"Remember, he's a papist, America," he added quickly. "His kind are only one step from the devil to start with." More to the point, he was a disgusting pervert, but that wasn't something he felt like explaining to America right now.
America chewed this over. "Okay," he admitted. "Anyone else?"
"Ah...just Scotland and Wales." They were wizards too, so it was barely even a lie.
America nodded. He stood up, tugging England up with him. "Now you gotta sign your name to the confession," he declared. He dragged England by the hand to the desk in the corner, taking pen and ink to paper and printing "I CONFESS" in large letters before handing it to England. "Just sign it and you're saved!"
England looked at the paper. Telling America stories was all well and good, but putting his good name to the lie... England frowned slightly, wondering how many in Salem were having to make up names and stories like him.
"England?" America was looking up at him with concern at his hesitation.
To hell with it. He'd give up more then his good name to keep America.
He put the paper on the desk and signed his name on it in large looping cursive, "Arthur Kirkland." He handed the paper and pen to America. "Your witness?"
America nodded eagerly. He signed his own name in messy script, "Alfred Jones," beneath England's, then wrote the date on it. He put it back on the desk and threw himself at England again. "There!" he cried out happily, wrapping his arms tightly around England's legs. "You're saved."
"I'm saved," England echoed, picking up America and holding him tightly. Such a small thing for his boy's sake...then why did it lay so heavily on him? "I'm saved."
Notes
-The affair with Bess's cousin: back in 1587, Queen Elizabeth I put her cousin and Scotland's Queen Mary to death in order to protect her throne. Considering Arthur's brothers seem fairly curse-happy in his flashback in the strip, this would certainly seem to be enough provocation for Scotland to have sent one at him.
-Reverend Cotton Mather was a well-known Puritan minister who was largely involved in the witch hunt that led to the trials in Salem and other villages.
-Puritans, like many forms of Protestantism, weren't fond of Catholics or the Pope, so England using France's Catholicism to convince America of his evil ways makes sense.
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lol france
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this is perfect :D! best thing to wake up to.
"Remember, he's a papist, America," he added quickly. "His kind are only one step from the devil to start with."
oh england.
captcha = Brown Louise
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(...a brown louise sounds like something that people would request on the kinkmeme. I don't wanna know what it would actually be!)
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They're so touching together. :)
Another fact about the Salem Witch Trials was that no ONE who was hanged ever confessed to being a witch. Those who confessed, however, was spared.
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Only tiny nitpick that this history geek would have (and granted the era in question is not my specialty) is this: Mary Queen of Scots had in fact been kicked out of Scotland 20 years previous to her execution for--among other things--murdering her husband, and while she did have her supporters Scotland had pretty much washed his hands of her. Elizabeth actually wrote to her son James VI asking if he'd be willing to take her back so Elizabeth wouldn't have to execute her (the idea of a queen being executed didn't sit too well with old Bess) But he didn't seem to care either so ironically, that period was one of the higher points of Anglo-Scottish relationships.
There are of course, many other periods in which the curses were probably flying faster than speeding bullets, so other than that--brilliant little ficlet!
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Although England burned witches... *sweatdrops*
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And what about IRELAND!?
*pouts*
sorry, that was brilliant, anon.
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Poor man
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