(APH Fic) The Curious and Terrible Tale of General Winter 3/7
Pairing: USUK
Rating: It's probably fine for everyone. (Look away from Romano's dirty mouth...)
Summary: Hans Christian Anderson's The Snow Queen retold. When Alfred vanishes into a cold storm of snow, Arthur begins a journey that will last his whole childhood in order to bring his best friend home. USUK Secret Santa gift for eat_my_shoes661Many thanks to my wonderful beta-reader yaoishadow66613
Warnings: Language, butchery of a beautiful fairy tale.
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I claim to. I do not own The Snow Queen either. The following is a work of fiction. No harm intended.
Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third: The Sunflower Garden
Now, even though Alfred had, ever since the summer, been so rude and cruel to his friend, Arthur still missed him very much indeed. And so he sat on the doorstep of his house, wearing a thick sweater, and a woolly hat and mittens, day after day after day, and waited for Alfred to return home. But Alfred did not come back. Nobody knew where he had gone. The boys and girls who had glimpsed him on that day when he’d gone sledging in the town square and vanished into the snow said that the last they had seen of him was when he’d tied his sledge to the back of a big white carriage - the finest any of them had ever seen - but the grown-ups said that was stuff and nonsense, and Arthur overheard his brothers saying that Alfred must have fallen into the deep, cold river that ran past the town, and he was so very sad he thought his heart might split in two.
His brothers, and Antonio, and Grandmano, and some of the other grown-ups went out looking for Alfred every day. But every day they came back with sad eyes and cold hands and downturned smiles, and Arthur began to wonder if it really was true - if his best friend really had been taken by the wild river.
Arthur was too young to go out looking for his friend, but each day he took out the little embroidery set Alfred had given him for his birthday one year and sewed a little more into it, until at last it was a small, beautiful picture of a bunch of bright red roses, with both their names embroidered along the bottom. And, one day, when nobody was looking, Arthur took his finished embroidery and ran out of his house, and all the way to the edge of town, where the river ran.
“River!” he called, holding out the gift, “Have you taken Alfred? You may have this if you give him back!” And he flung the embroidery into the water.
But the waves turned and seemed to shift from side to side, as though they were saying “no, no, Alfred is not here!” and suddenly the picture of the roses with Alfred and Arthur stitched along the bottom was on the shore at Arthur’s feet.
“I mustn’t have thrown it in far enough,” Arthur said to himself, hardly daring to believe that Alfred could be alive and so he waded into the river, curling his hands into tight fists, for he was terribly afraid of water. But he was brave enough to do this for Alfred, and so, screwing up all his courage, he took a few more steps forwards, still holding his embroidery, and -
Splash!
The current was dreadfully strong, and Arthur could do nothing but cry out in fright as he was swept off his feet and dragged along with the water. It flowed very fast, and every so often he would sink beneath the surface before popping back up like a cork, gasping and spluttering and coughing, before at long last catching sight of a large rock in the middle of the river, and so he fixed his eyes upon it and reached out desperately with his hands. As the water dragged him past, he kicked out terrifically hard with his legs, and just managed to grab onto the rock, and so he heaved himself up on top of it.
It was horribly cold, made worse by the fact that he was soaking wet, and so Arthur pushed his stitched picture into the pocket of his trousers, and hugged his chest tightly, and was terribly miserable for a very long time.
At last the sun began to set, and Arthur became certain he was about to freeze to death.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, and gazed up into the sky, wondering sadly if one of the stars above him, which were only just starting to become visible, was Alfred. This thought only made him feel worse, and so he looked away across the river - which he knew he had no chance of swimming across - and, in the distance, he could just see a tall man with light brown hair and a long, pink scarf walking across through the grass.
Arthur’s little heart leapt with joy, and he held his hand up into the hair, waving it back and forth as quickly as he could, crying out, “Help! Help! Please, help me!”
The man stopped and turned to peer out towards him.
Arthur waved his hand faster still. “Help!” he cried, “Come on, help me!”
The man held a hand above his eyes and squinted at him before, finally, taking a few slow steps towards the river.
“Get a bloody move on!” Arthur cried, for he was most anxious to be away from the water, and somewhere warm.
At last, the man reached the edge of the river and smiled and waved back.
“Help me!” Arthur called again.
The man’s smile grew even wider, and from behind his back he produced a long, silver pipe that Arthur saw would just be able to reach across the raging torrent of water. “If you promise to be my friend,” he said, “I’ll help you to safety.”
“Yes, yes!” said Arthur, impatiently, “Yes, I’ll be your friend! Please, just -”
And the man held his pipe out across the river, and Arthur grabbed the end of it and, as though the boy had weighed no more than a robin’s feather, the man with the pink scarf lifted him onto the bank.
“Poor, poor child,” said the man, and he took off his scarf and wrapped it securely around Arthur’s neck. “Heehee, you’re really small, aren’t you? Why is that?”
Arthur simply scowled - he was often picked on for being small. Usually, Alfred would stand up for him when this happened; but ever since that day in the garden, when he had kicked the roses over, it had been Alfred doing the teasing.
“Come on, then!” said the man, cheerfully. “My name is Ivan. We shall go back to my house, da? And we shall live there together forever and ever!” And he took Arthur’s hand and led him away from the river, and across the fields, until they reached a pretty, colourful cottage with a big, fenced garden filled with tall sunflowers. “Aren’t they nice?” Ivan said. “Come along, little one. Oh! You are all wet! I will find you some dry clothes, because I am such a wonderful friend!”
“Thank you,” Arthur murmured.
Ivan opened the door. “After you!” he said, cheerfully, and Arthur stepped inside.
Unbeknown to him, the picture he had stitched for Alfred slipped from his pocket and landed on the doorstep with a wet slap. Ivan noticed, and bent over to pick it up.
“Oh, dear,” he said to himself, “Arthur has another friend?” And he began to worry, because he did not want Arthur to leave. And so he folded the embroidered square up and slipped it into his own pocket, and followed the boy inside, closing the door behind him.
The next day, after Arthur had slept, and his clothes had dried, and he had eaten breakfast, Ivan took him by the hand and led him out into the garden.
“You must see my lovely sunflowers!” he said.
“No!” said Arthur, because by now he was desperate to see his beloved friend again. “I need to go now, Ivan. I’ve lost my best friend, Alfred, and -”
“I have not seen any Alfreds passing this way,” Ivan said, “and in any case, it does not matter. We are friends now, da? Come, see my sunflowers!”
“But -”
“Just quickly,” said Ivan, sadly, “please. And then you may do as you wish, Little One.”
“Oh, alright,” said Arthur quickly, as he thought it wouldn’t take too much time to look at the flowers.
And so they walked down the path together and into the biggest patch of sunflowers, and Arthur closed his eyes and leant forward to sniff one - and by the time he pulled back, he had quite forgotten about his desire to leave, and to find Alfred - and even about Alfred himself!
“My,” he said, stepping back, “they are very lovely.”
“Yes,” said Ivan, happily, “and you may come outside and play here whenever you want!”
And Arthur was very happy; because he did not know about Alfred any more, and he did not know why he was with Ivan, but he liked the flowers a great deal. And so Arthur lived with Ivan - whether it was for a matter of days, weeks, months, or years, he could not have said; but he was very happy, because every day he could sit outside in the garden and admire the sunflowers, and recite poetry that he couldn’t quite recall learning. Ivan was also happy for he was no longer alone.
One day, sometime later - but how much later, I cannot say, for even Arthur himself could not tell - when Ivan was hanging freshly laundered clothes out on the washing line, and Arthur was sitting with his back to the garden’s white fence, something fell from a pocket of one of the items of clothing and landed in the dirt beside the sunflowers. Arthur glanced up, but Ivan did not notice; he simply smiled at Arthur, and headed back into the house. Quickly, Arthur crawled over to the thing on the ground and unfolded it.
It was his embroidery; the embroidery with the roses that he had stitched so carefully, and the words Alfred and Arthur beneath them.
“Oh!” Arthur gasped, horrified. “Alfred!”
And he suddenly remembered everything - how Alfred had disappeared into the snow, and how he had fallen into the river, and how all the grown-ups at home had thought Alfred was dead...
“Alfred!” Arthur cried, again, and he was furious with himself when he felt warm, salty tears begin to leak down his cheeks. “He must be dead,” he sobbed, “it’s not fair! Alfred!”
“Pardon us,” said a voice, and Arthur started, and looked around. But there was nobody there. Nobody, except him and the sunflowers -
“Pardon us,” said another voice, and Arthur looked up and saw the sunflowers bent over, their big, yellow petals curled towards him, “but your friend Alfred is not dead.”
Arthur’s tears stopped at once.
“H-he’s not?”
“No,” said a different flower, and another one added, “we live in the earth, and we never get up and leave, and we have not seen Alfred down here.”
Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing. “A-are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure,” said the sunflower closest to him, “Your friend is not dead.”
“Thank you!” Arthur said, and he didn’t think he had smiled so much in a long time. “Thank you so, so much!”
“It is nothing,” said one of the flowers, “now - you must run, go, and find your friend,” and another, further back, called, “Good luck!”
“Thank you!” Arthur cried again. “Thank you!”
And before his bravery could falter, he stood up, stuffing his embroidery into his pocket, and ran for the gate, and through the fields, and on.
Part the Fourth
Rating: It's probably fine for everyone. (Look away from Romano's dirty mouth...)
Summary: Hans Christian Anderson's The Snow Queen retold. When Alfred vanishes into a cold storm of snow, Arthur begins a journey that will last his whole childhood in order to bring his best friend home. USUK Secret Santa gift for eat_my_shoes661Many thanks to my wonderful beta-reader yaoishadow66613
Warnings: Language, butchery of a beautiful fairy tale.
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I claim to. I do not own The Snow Queen either. The following is a work of fiction. No harm intended.
Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third: The Sunflower Garden
Now, even though Alfred had, ever since the summer, been so rude and cruel to his friend, Arthur still missed him very much indeed. And so he sat on the doorstep of his house, wearing a thick sweater, and a woolly hat and mittens, day after day after day, and waited for Alfred to return home. But Alfred did not come back. Nobody knew where he had gone. The boys and girls who had glimpsed him on that day when he’d gone sledging in the town square and vanished into the snow said that the last they had seen of him was when he’d tied his sledge to the back of a big white carriage - the finest any of them had ever seen - but the grown-ups said that was stuff and nonsense, and Arthur overheard his brothers saying that Alfred must have fallen into the deep, cold river that ran past the town, and he was so very sad he thought his heart might split in two.
His brothers, and Antonio, and Grandmano, and some of the other grown-ups went out looking for Alfred every day. But every day they came back with sad eyes and cold hands and downturned smiles, and Arthur began to wonder if it really was true - if his best friend really had been taken by the wild river.
Arthur was too young to go out looking for his friend, but each day he took out the little embroidery set Alfred had given him for his birthday one year and sewed a little more into it, until at last it was a small, beautiful picture of a bunch of bright red roses, with both their names embroidered along the bottom. And, one day, when nobody was looking, Arthur took his finished embroidery and ran out of his house, and all the way to the edge of town, where the river ran.
“River!” he called, holding out the gift, “Have you taken Alfred? You may have this if you give him back!” And he flung the embroidery into the water.
But the waves turned and seemed to shift from side to side, as though they were saying “no, no, Alfred is not here!” and suddenly the picture of the roses with Alfred and Arthur stitched along the bottom was on the shore at Arthur’s feet.
“I mustn’t have thrown it in far enough,” Arthur said to himself, hardly daring to believe that Alfred could be alive and so he waded into the river, curling his hands into tight fists, for he was terribly afraid of water. But he was brave enough to do this for Alfred, and so, screwing up all his courage, he took a few more steps forwards, still holding his embroidery, and -
Splash!
The current was dreadfully strong, and Arthur could do nothing but cry out in fright as he was swept off his feet and dragged along with the water. It flowed very fast, and every so often he would sink beneath the surface before popping back up like a cork, gasping and spluttering and coughing, before at long last catching sight of a large rock in the middle of the river, and so he fixed his eyes upon it and reached out desperately with his hands. As the water dragged him past, he kicked out terrifically hard with his legs, and just managed to grab onto the rock, and so he heaved himself up on top of it.
It was horribly cold, made worse by the fact that he was soaking wet, and so Arthur pushed his stitched picture into the pocket of his trousers, and hugged his chest tightly, and was terribly miserable for a very long time.
At last the sun began to set, and Arthur became certain he was about to freeze to death.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, and gazed up into the sky, wondering sadly if one of the stars above him, which were only just starting to become visible, was Alfred. This thought only made him feel worse, and so he looked away across the river - which he knew he had no chance of swimming across - and, in the distance, he could just see a tall man with light brown hair and a long, pink scarf walking across through the grass.
Arthur’s little heart leapt with joy, and he held his hand up into the hair, waving it back and forth as quickly as he could, crying out, “Help! Help! Please, help me!”
The man stopped and turned to peer out towards him.
Arthur waved his hand faster still. “Help!” he cried, “Come on, help me!”
The man held a hand above his eyes and squinted at him before, finally, taking a few slow steps towards the river.
“Get a bloody move on!” Arthur cried, for he was most anxious to be away from the water, and somewhere warm.
At last, the man reached the edge of the river and smiled and waved back.
“Help me!” Arthur called again.
The man’s smile grew even wider, and from behind his back he produced a long, silver pipe that Arthur saw would just be able to reach across the raging torrent of water. “If you promise to be my friend,” he said, “I’ll help you to safety.”
“Yes, yes!” said Arthur, impatiently, “Yes, I’ll be your friend! Please, just -”
And the man held his pipe out across the river, and Arthur grabbed the end of it and, as though the boy had weighed no more than a robin’s feather, the man with the pink scarf lifted him onto the bank.
“Poor, poor child,” said the man, and he took off his scarf and wrapped it securely around Arthur’s neck. “Heehee, you’re really small, aren’t you? Why is that?”
Arthur simply scowled - he was often picked on for being small. Usually, Alfred would stand up for him when this happened; but ever since that day in the garden, when he had kicked the roses over, it had been Alfred doing the teasing.
“Come on, then!” said the man, cheerfully. “My name is Ivan. We shall go back to my house, da? And we shall live there together forever and ever!” And he took Arthur’s hand and led him away from the river, and across the fields, until they reached a pretty, colourful cottage with a big, fenced garden filled with tall sunflowers. “Aren’t they nice?” Ivan said. “Come along, little one. Oh! You are all wet! I will find you some dry clothes, because I am such a wonderful friend!”
“Thank you,” Arthur murmured.
Ivan opened the door. “After you!” he said, cheerfully, and Arthur stepped inside.
Unbeknown to him, the picture he had stitched for Alfred slipped from his pocket and landed on the doorstep with a wet slap. Ivan noticed, and bent over to pick it up.
“Oh, dear,” he said to himself, “Arthur has another friend?” And he began to worry, because he did not want Arthur to leave. And so he folded the embroidered square up and slipped it into his own pocket, and followed the boy inside, closing the door behind him.
The next day, after Arthur had slept, and his clothes had dried, and he had eaten breakfast, Ivan took him by the hand and led him out into the garden.
“You must see my lovely sunflowers!” he said.
“No!” said Arthur, because by now he was desperate to see his beloved friend again. “I need to go now, Ivan. I’ve lost my best friend, Alfred, and -”
“I have not seen any Alfreds passing this way,” Ivan said, “and in any case, it does not matter. We are friends now, da? Come, see my sunflowers!”
“But -”
“Just quickly,” said Ivan, sadly, “please. And then you may do as you wish, Little One.”
“Oh, alright,” said Arthur quickly, as he thought it wouldn’t take too much time to look at the flowers.
And so they walked down the path together and into the biggest patch of sunflowers, and Arthur closed his eyes and leant forward to sniff one - and by the time he pulled back, he had quite forgotten about his desire to leave, and to find Alfred - and even about Alfred himself!
“My,” he said, stepping back, “they are very lovely.”
“Yes,” said Ivan, happily, “and you may come outside and play here whenever you want!”
And Arthur was very happy; because he did not know about Alfred any more, and he did not know why he was with Ivan, but he liked the flowers a great deal. And so Arthur lived with Ivan - whether it was for a matter of days, weeks, months, or years, he could not have said; but he was very happy, because every day he could sit outside in the garden and admire the sunflowers, and recite poetry that he couldn’t quite recall learning. Ivan was also happy for he was no longer alone.
One day, sometime later - but how much later, I cannot say, for even Arthur himself could not tell - when Ivan was hanging freshly laundered clothes out on the washing line, and Arthur was sitting with his back to the garden’s white fence, something fell from a pocket of one of the items of clothing and landed in the dirt beside the sunflowers. Arthur glanced up, but Ivan did not notice; he simply smiled at Arthur, and headed back into the house. Quickly, Arthur crawled over to the thing on the ground and unfolded it.
It was his embroidery; the embroidery with the roses that he had stitched so carefully, and the words Alfred and Arthur beneath them.
“Oh!” Arthur gasped, horrified. “Alfred!”
And he suddenly remembered everything - how Alfred had disappeared into the snow, and how he had fallen into the river, and how all the grown-ups at home had thought Alfred was dead...
“Alfred!” Arthur cried, again, and he was furious with himself when he felt warm, salty tears begin to leak down his cheeks. “He must be dead,” he sobbed, “it’s not fair! Alfred!”
“Pardon us,” said a voice, and Arthur started, and looked around. But there was nobody there. Nobody, except him and the sunflowers -
“Pardon us,” said another voice, and Arthur looked up and saw the sunflowers bent over, their big, yellow petals curled towards him, “but your friend Alfred is not dead.”
Arthur’s tears stopped at once.
“H-he’s not?”
“No,” said a different flower, and another one added, “we live in the earth, and we never get up and leave, and we have not seen Alfred down here.”
Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing. “A-are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure,” said the sunflower closest to him, “Your friend is not dead.”
“Thank you!” Arthur said, and he didn’t think he had smiled so much in a long time. “Thank you so, so much!”
“It is nothing,” said one of the flowers, “now - you must run, go, and find your friend,” and another, further back, called, “Good luck!”
“Thank you!” Arthur cried again. “Thank you!”
And before his bravery could falter, he stood up, stuffing his embroidery into his pocket, and ran for the gate, and through the fields, and on.
Part the Fourth