Because I'm not sure if I'll ever finish the whole thing... [FANFIC... preview? Idek guys]
So yes, because I'm crazy and trying to keep my mind off results day tomorrow, I'm trying to write a Hetalia fic about the Anglo-Portuguese alliance. The research and stuff has been great fun, I've learned a lot while doing it, but trying to cover roughly 700 years of history in a Hetalia way while not making it too much of an infodump is difficullllt. Especially when one of the characters involved is an OC, sob. Anyway, I'm slowly working my way through finishing it all (I've divided it up into dates/events to make it easier for myself, lol) but I have no idea if I ever will, me being me, and since I finished the first part and I quite like it I thought I'd post it here. >.>;
Title: no title yet, because I'm a dork :B
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: England, Portugal [OC]
Summary: June 1147 - the siege of Lisbon, and how England and Portugal first met.
Rating: So, so G. For now.
Word Count: 888
June 1147
The Siege of Lisbon
Really, it was an accident, the first time they met.
England stood near the back of the group as everyone listened to the man in front of them speak. He had been introduced as King Afonso of Portugal (Of where? England had never even heard of a nation called Portugal) and while England had kneeled with the rest, because if the man truly was a king then he deserved the proper respect, he couldn’t help feeling both impatient and annoyed. From what he could make out, the king wanted the help of their band of crusaders to help lay siege to and recapture a city.
They weren’t mercenaries, they were crusaders, England thought churlishly to himself, they weren’t there to be bought. Even if, as it happened, they weren’t being lead by a King - his own king was far too caught up in trying to keep a hold of his throne to be able to come with them all the way to the Holy Land himself. He felt a stab of bitterness at the thought. Stephen was a good man, and personally England quite liked him, but the unrest of his people was crawling under his skin and pounding inside his skull, like it had been for years now.
He hated civil wars.
He was so caught up in his own gloomy thoughts that he almost didn’t notice that he was being watched until the person watching him coughed politely, making him jump about a foot into the air.
“Sorry, sorry!” the newcomer said in a hushed voice, while England recovered from his shock. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
Scared? Him? “You didn’t scare me,” England scowled, taking a proper look at the other person. He looked to be in his mid-teens, with brown eyes and wavy brown hair - but that wasn’t what caught England’s attention. It was the unmistakable pull that came when he talked to Wales or France or Scotland - this person was a nation, the same as him.
“Are you Portugal?” he blurted out without thinking. The other nation’s face broke out into a wide smile that took England by surprise with the way that it seemed to light up his entire face.
“Oh, so you are one of our kind after all! I thought that you were, but I wasn’t sure, and you don’t look anything like Galicia or León…” Portugal trailed off thoughtfully, then continued. “So who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”
England stiffened slightly, drew himself up without even realising he was doing so, and said “I’m the Kingdom of England.” And if there was a note of pride in his voice when he said it, then he thought it was well-deserved, considering how long he’d had to fight to be able to say that much.
“So am I,” said Portugal, and his smile, although it didn’t waver for a second, looked a little nervous now. “A Kingdom, I mean. Or I will be, when we’ve taken Lisbon and I get recognised properly.”
“Aren’t you recognised already, then?” England asked tentatively, curious in spite of himself. It wasn’t often that he’d been able to have a conversation with another nation without their respective peoples being at daggers with each other (or, more often, with his own people being on the receiving end of the daggers), and since Portugal didn’t seem disposed to declare either war or invasion on him at the moment, England didn’t see the harm in continuing to talk to him. Besides, he didn’t think he’d ever talked to someone who smiled that much. Apart from France, and as France was an idiot and a pervert, he didn’t count.
“Not really,” Portugal said vaguely, his eyes straying over to where his king was negotiating with the captains. “They know I’m independent now but the Pope doesn’t recognise my king.”
England followed Portugal’s gaze to where his own people were now furiously conferring among themselves. He knew why Portugal seemed worried now - the Pope’s word was above and beyond the law, and without any real, official recognition...
“Are your people going to help us?” Portugal asked, scratching the back of his neck.
“Not all of them are my people,” England corrected him. But before either of them could say any more, the groups of Portuguese and crusaders had separated to confer among themselves.
The two nations exchanged glances. “We should go and find out what’s happening,” England suggested, and Portugal nodded.
“Sim, we should. It was good meeting you, England,” he said, with a smile that seemed completely genuine, and rushed off to talk rapidly to his king in what England assumed must be his own language.
England had made it about four paces back to the unorganised group of crusaders before he realised that there was a small smile threatening to play around his own lips and he stopped himself. It wasn’t as if that little chat with Portugal had meant anything. England wasn’t here in any official capacity, there hadn’t been any real negotiations (or at least, he thought acidly, not ones of any note), he didn’t even have his king with him.
The chances were, he thought with a small pang, that it was more likely that he wouldn’t see the Iberian nation again.
[Historical Notes:
- The Siege of Lisbon, a turning point in Portugal's history and in the Reconquista of the Iberian Peninsular in general. A group of Crusaders of mixed nationality, including some Englishmen, helped Afonso I of Portugal to recapture the city from the ruling Moors. The crusaders were later allowed to settle in Portugal and most of them ended up settling in the captured city itself.
- England at this point was in the middle of the Anarchy, a period of civil war and a succession crisis between the supporters of Stephen of Blois (te king at the time) and his cousin Matilda. I chose to have England go with the crusaders in this fic because after a while, Stephen really had no control over his nobles at all, so it was really just my artistic-license way of trying to reflect just how much anarchy and chaos there was. XD;
- Galicia and León - Two other Iberian kingdoms at this time, Portugal used to be pretty much dependent on Leon and at one point was united with Galicia as the Kingdom of Galicia and Portugal. Actually, Galicia is still an autonomous community in modern-day Spain. León still exists, sort of, as part of the autonomous region of Castilla y León. (For the record, I think Spain was probably Castilla back in these days, mostly because the Spanish I learned in school was called Castellano, or Castilian Spanish.)]
Title: no title yet, because I'm a dork :B
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: England, Portugal [OC]
Summary: June 1147 - the siege of Lisbon, and how England and Portugal first met.
Rating: So, so G. For now.
Word Count: 888
June 1147
The Siege of Lisbon
Really, it was an accident, the first time they met.
England stood near the back of the group as everyone listened to the man in front of them speak. He had been introduced as King Afonso of Portugal (Of where? England had never even heard of a nation called Portugal) and while England had kneeled with the rest, because if the man truly was a king then he deserved the proper respect, he couldn’t help feeling both impatient and annoyed. From what he could make out, the king wanted the help of their band of crusaders to help lay siege to and recapture a city.
They weren’t mercenaries, they were crusaders, England thought churlishly to himself, they weren’t there to be bought. Even if, as it happened, they weren’t being lead by a King - his own king was far too caught up in trying to keep a hold of his throne to be able to come with them all the way to the Holy Land himself. He felt a stab of bitterness at the thought. Stephen was a good man, and personally England quite liked him, but the unrest of his people was crawling under his skin and pounding inside his skull, like it had been for years now.
He hated civil wars.
He was so caught up in his own gloomy thoughts that he almost didn’t notice that he was being watched until the person watching him coughed politely, making him jump about a foot into the air.
“Sorry, sorry!” the newcomer said in a hushed voice, while England recovered from his shock. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
Scared? Him? “You didn’t scare me,” England scowled, taking a proper look at the other person. He looked to be in his mid-teens, with brown eyes and wavy brown hair - but that wasn’t what caught England’s attention. It was the unmistakable pull that came when he talked to Wales or France or Scotland - this person was a nation, the same as him.
“Are you Portugal?” he blurted out without thinking. The other nation’s face broke out into a wide smile that took England by surprise with the way that it seemed to light up his entire face.
“Oh, so you are one of our kind after all! I thought that you were, but I wasn’t sure, and you don’t look anything like Galicia or León…” Portugal trailed off thoughtfully, then continued. “So who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”
England stiffened slightly, drew himself up without even realising he was doing so, and said “I’m the Kingdom of England.” And if there was a note of pride in his voice when he said it, then he thought it was well-deserved, considering how long he’d had to fight to be able to say that much.
“So am I,” said Portugal, and his smile, although it didn’t waver for a second, looked a little nervous now. “A Kingdom, I mean. Or I will be, when we’ve taken Lisbon and I get recognised properly.”
“Aren’t you recognised already, then?” England asked tentatively, curious in spite of himself. It wasn’t often that he’d been able to have a conversation with another nation without their respective peoples being at daggers with each other (or, more often, with his own people being on the receiving end of the daggers), and since Portugal didn’t seem disposed to declare either war or invasion on him at the moment, England didn’t see the harm in continuing to talk to him. Besides, he didn’t think he’d ever talked to someone who smiled that much. Apart from France, and as France was an idiot and a pervert, he didn’t count.
“Not really,” Portugal said vaguely, his eyes straying over to where his king was negotiating with the captains. “They know I’m independent now but the Pope doesn’t recognise my king.”
England followed Portugal’s gaze to where his own people were now furiously conferring among themselves. He knew why Portugal seemed worried now - the Pope’s word was above and beyond the law, and without any real, official recognition...
“Are your people going to help us?” Portugal asked, scratching the back of his neck.
“Not all of them are my people,” England corrected him. But before either of them could say any more, the groups of Portuguese and crusaders had separated to confer among themselves.
The two nations exchanged glances. “We should go and find out what’s happening,” England suggested, and Portugal nodded.
“Sim, we should. It was good meeting you, England,” he said, with a smile that seemed completely genuine, and rushed off to talk rapidly to his king in what England assumed must be his own language.
England had made it about four paces back to the unorganised group of crusaders before he realised that there was a small smile threatening to play around his own lips and he stopped himself. It wasn’t as if that little chat with Portugal had meant anything. England wasn’t here in any official capacity, there hadn’t been any real negotiations (or at least, he thought acidly, not ones of any note), he didn’t even have his king with him.
The chances were, he thought with a small pang, that it was more likely that he wouldn’t see the Iberian nation again.
[Historical Notes:
- The Siege of Lisbon, a turning point in Portugal's history and in the Reconquista of the Iberian Peninsular in general. A group of Crusaders of mixed nationality, including some Englishmen, helped Afonso I of Portugal to recapture the city from the ruling Moors. The crusaders were later allowed to settle in Portugal and most of them ended up settling in the captured city itself.
- England at this point was in the middle of the Anarchy, a period of civil war and a succession crisis between the supporters of Stephen of Blois (te king at the time) and his cousin Matilda. I chose to have England go with the crusaders in this fic because after a while, Stephen really had no control over his nobles at all, so it was really just my artistic-license way of trying to reflect just how much anarchy and chaos there was. XD;
- Galicia and León - Two other Iberian kingdoms at this time, Portugal used to be pretty much dependent on Leon and at one point was united with Galicia as the Kingdom of Galicia and Portugal. Actually, Galicia is still an autonomous community in modern-day Spain. León still exists, sort of, as part of the autonomous region of Castilla y León. (For the record, I think Spain was probably Castilla back in these days, mostly because the Spanish I learned in school was called Castellano, or Castilian Spanish.)]