(no subject)
Title: Knittin' kitten.
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Historic/fluff.
Pairing(s): Alfred/Arthur.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Wordcount: 1275.
Summary: Silly historic story with added fluff.
Alfred peered at the weird thing Arthur had pulled out of his briefcase when the meeting had stopped for lunch. He occasionally sipped at the cup of tea resting at his elbow, but most of Arthur's attention was on the... thing in his hands.
Alfred sat enraptured as Arthur arranged a triangle of three metal sticks to his satisfaction and produced a fourth one, stabbing it into the woolly thing hanging off the triangle and looped some string about the stick and pulled one of the loops off the triangle sticks and onto the one in his hand. Alfred had seen his own people knitting before, but not this weird, oddly violent and confusing variant. The pins alone looked like they could do some serious damage.
'Dude, whatcha knitting?' He asked, not letting his voce betray his curiosity. Instead he sunk his teeth into his big mac, rolling his eyes in delight at the burger's awesomeness.
'A sock of course.' Arthur replied, giving Alfred one of those looks that Canada swore blind meant that Arthur was trying to remember if he'd dropped Alfred on his head when he'd been a young colony.
'It looks kinda weird, Iggy.' Alfred pointed out patiently (for him).
Arthur sighed and began to speak to Alfred, not bothering to look at his hands as they continued to knit on the sock unsupervised. He began to tell a tale of a time long-past.
Arthur tried to smooth down his hair with one hand as he fastened his finest doublet with the other. It had been a while since the king had summoned him and automatically the nation was trying to think if he'd done anything wrong. H didn't think he'd got completely drunk and started a fight with too many people lately....
'Your Majesty.' He bowed deeply with real affection for the first Tudor king - not least because of his gratitude to the man for ending the Wars of the Roses, civil war was one of the most painful things that could befall a nation.
Arthur straightened and obediantly trotted over to his monarch's side, looking down at London with him. London, their beautiful, befouled capital.
'Sir Kirkland, I know you are aware of my extensive spy network.' The modestly dressed monarch began and Arthur made a noise of agreement as he recalled a previous mission to check on the northern lords he'd undertaken for him. 'Unfortunately I do not have spies in all of the guilds at present. My contact within the spinners' guild has advised me that the knitters guild have been secretive of late.'
Arthur nodded, knowing exactly where this was going.
'I charge you with the task of infiltrating the guild of knitters and ensuring that if they are plotting against me, their plans come to naught. You look young enough to get yourself apprentied to one of the guild members.' At that King Henry the seventh turned his intense dark eyes on his country and a spark of kinship flew between the pair, warming them in a moment of understanding.
'Yes my liege. I shall keep you apprised of events by letter.' Arthur accepted his mission wholeheartedly, affection for his king colouring his voice.
On returning home Arthur changed out of his fine quality court clothes and into a homespun jerkin and hose, fastening a cheap dagger and pouch to his belt. He rummaged in an old chest for a set of knitting pins and left his housekeeper to take care of his house as he rented a bed at one of the many boarding houses open to house single men from the country coming to London to seek their fortune.
'You're a long way from Yorkshire, lad.' The guild secretary remarked to the scruffy potential new young member.
'Aye, were too much stife twixt ' lords back 'ome an' too many mouths t'feed in' village.' Arthur explained gruffly, his Yorkshire accent thick, but understandable to a Londoner.
'Well.' The secretary peered at the stockings and mittens Arthur had brought as proof of his ability. 'Master Woolsthorpe's apprentice left the other day. His father died of plague so he's had to go back to the farm.' Arthur knew that, he'd been the one to send the message and bribe the family to play along. Woolsthorpe was one of the bigger players in guild politics. 'I'll let him see you, you'd best impress him if you want a place in the guild.'
Arthur trotted along to meet his potential new master, the other guild-members accepting his presence without question. It was one of the powers of being the nation - his countrymen accepted his presence anywhere and found a sense of cameraderie and calm in his company.
'Strewth boy! Where did you learn to knit?' Woolsthorpe asked in shock as he examined the provided stockings and watched Arthur start on another. 'No one's turned a heel like that since King John was on the throne!' Nonetheless he couldn't deny the lad's skill and so Arthur was apprenticed to him.
As Masters went Woolsthorpe wasn't bad. Arthur only felt a rod across his back a couple of times and while his fingers ached terribly from constantly knitting up to twenty hours a day Woolsthorpe kept Arthur with him almost constantly, forcing the young nation to constantly observe his superior, modern technique. He tended to do business with the other high-ups within the guild at the same time.
'It's alright.' Woolsthorpe reassured the other two Masters airily. 'The boy never leaves my side. He won't betray us to those women.' His lip curled at the word 'women' and Arthur looked up at all three Masters in bafflement from where he sat at Woolsthorpe's feet, before ducking his head to check his gusset increases.
'Here it is.' Stonely said, drawing a stocking out of his bag and passing it around for inspection.
The small group gasped as they took in the details of the clever heel shaping and the almost invisible toe seam.
'You really found a way to do it! Zounds, Stonely, I did not truly expect your secret project to come to aught.'
'The heel! You've picked up the stitches on the bend of the decreases differently. Surely these must be the most comfortable and well-fitting stockings in Christendom!' Even the dour Master Niddy had to exclaim in awe at the cleverness of Stonely's innovation.
Master Woolsthorpe rubbed his hands together in glee. 'How long will it take to learn these new techniques? Those non-guild imposters won't know what's hit them! We'll completely sink their profits with this!'
'And so I reported back to King Henry that the Knitters' Guild presented no danger to him. I begged that he not ask too many questions about the new techniques Master Stonely had devised as I was sworn to secrecy as a guild member. In honour of the passion, skill and innovation of the men of the guild I have never knitted a different heel style since.' Arthur concluded his story, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 'Oh.' Alfred was snoring loudly, collapsed forward into the remains of his big mac meal. Arthur sniffed and began binding off his stitches at the ankle cuff.
That settled it. If that tosser wanted any handknitted special comfy socks in the future he'd have to whistle for them, he huffed. Then he glanced over at the younger nation's tousled hair and observed the curve of his fair eyelashes shading sleep-blushed cheeks and coloured slightly himself. Well, maybe if Alfred asked nicely....
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Historic/fluff.
Pairing(s): Alfred/Arthur.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Wordcount: 1275.
Summary: Silly historic story with added fluff.
Alfred peered at the weird thing Arthur had pulled out of his briefcase when the meeting had stopped for lunch. He occasionally sipped at the cup of tea resting at his elbow, but most of Arthur's attention was on the... thing in his hands.
Alfred sat enraptured as Arthur arranged a triangle of three metal sticks to his satisfaction and produced a fourth one, stabbing it into the woolly thing hanging off the triangle and looped some string about the stick and pulled one of the loops off the triangle sticks and onto the one in his hand. Alfred had seen his own people knitting before, but not this weird, oddly violent and confusing variant. The pins alone looked like they could do some serious damage.
'Dude, whatcha knitting?' He asked, not letting his voce betray his curiosity. Instead he sunk his teeth into his big mac, rolling his eyes in delight at the burger's awesomeness.
'A sock of course.' Arthur replied, giving Alfred one of those looks that Canada swore blind meant that Arthur was trying to remember if he'd dropped Alfred on his head when he'd been a young colony.
'It looks kinda weird, Iggy.' Alfred pointed out patiently (for him).
Arthur sighed and began to speak to Alfred, not bothering to look at his hands as they continued to knit on the sock unsupervised. He began to tell a tale of a time long-past.
Arthur tried to smooth down his hair with one hand as he fastened his finest doublet with the other. It had been a while since the king had summoned him and automatically the nation was trying to think if he'd done anything wrong. H didn't think he'd got completely drunk and started a fight with too many people lately....
'Your Majesty.' He bowed deeply with real affection for the first Tudor king - not least because of his gratitude to the man for ending the Wars of the Roses, civil war was one of the most painful things that could befall a nation.
Arthur straightened and obediantly trotted over to his monarch's side, looking down at London with him. London, their beautiful, befouled capital.
'Sir Kirkland, I know you are aware of my extensive spy network.' The modestly dressed monarch began and Arthur made a noise of agreement as he recalled a previous mission to check on the northern lords he'd undertaken for him. 'Unfortunately I do not have spies in all of the guilds at present. My contact within the spinners' guild has advised me that the knitters guild have been secretive of late.'
Arthur nodded, knowing exactly where this was going.
'I charge you with the task of infiltrating the guild of knitters and ensuring that if they are plotting against me, their plans come to naught. You look young enough to get yourself apprentied to one of the guild members.' At that King Henry the seventh turned his intense dark eyes on his country and a spark of kinship flew between the pair, warming them in a moment of understanding.
'Yes my liege. I shall keep you apprised of events by letter.' Arthur accepted his mission wholeheartedly, affection for his king colouring his voice.
On returning home Arthur changed out of his fine quality court clothes and into a homespun jerkin and hose, fastening a cheap dagger and pouch to his belt. He rummaged in an old chest for a set of knitting pins and left his housekeeper to take care of his house as he rented a bed at one of the many boarding houses open to house single men from the country coming to London to seek their fortune.
'You're a long way from Yorkshire, lad.' The guild secretary remarked to the scruffy potential new young member.
'Aye, were too much stife twixt ' lords back 'ome an' too many mouths t'feed in' village.' Arthur explained gruffly, his Yorkshire accent thick, but understandable to a Londoner.
'Well.' The secretary peered at the stockings and mittens Arthur had brought as proof of his ability. 'Master Woolsthorpe's apprentice left the other day. His father died of plague so he's had to go back to the farm.' Arthur knew that, he'd been the one to send the message and bribe the family to play along. Woolsthorpe was one of the bigger players in guild politics. 'I'll let him see you, you'd best impress him if you want a place in the guild.'
Arthur trotted along to meet his potential new master, the other guild-members accepting his presence without question. It was one of the powers of being the nation - his countrymen accepted his presence anywhere and found a sense of cameraderie and calm in his company.
'Strewth boy! Where did you learn to knit?' Woolsthorpe asked in shock as he examined the provided stockings and watched Arthur start on another. 'No one's turned a heel like that since King John was on the throne!' Nonetheless he couldn't deny the lad's skill and so Arthur was apprenticed to him.
As Masters went Woolsthorpe wasn't bad. Arthur only felt a rod across his back a couple of times and while his fingers ached terribly from constantly knitting up to twenty hours a day Woolsthorpe kept Arthur with him almost constantly, forcing the young nation to constantly observe his superior, modern technique. He tended to do business with the other high-ups within the guild at the same time.
'It's alright.' Woolsthorpe reassured the other two Masters airily. 'The boy never leaves my side. He won't betray us to those women.' His lip curled at the word 'women' and Arthur looked up at all three Masters in bafflement from where he sat at Woolsthorpe's feet, before ducking his head to check his gusset increases.
'Here it is.' Stonely said, drawing a stocking out of his bag and passing it around for inspection.
The small group gasped as they took in the details of the clever heel shaping and the almost invisible toe seam.
'You really found a way to do it! Zounds, Stonely, I did not truly expect your secret project to come to aught.'
'The heel! You've picked up the stitches on the bend of the decreases differently. Surely these must be the most comfortable and well-fitting stockings in Christendom!' Even the dour Master Niddy had to exclaim in awe at the cleverness of Stonely's innovation.
Master Woolsthorpe rubbed his hands together in glee. 'How long will it take to learn these new techniques? Those non-guild imposters won't know what's hit them! We'll completely sink their profits with this!'
'And so I reported back to King Henry that the Knitters' Guild presented no danger to him. I begged that he not ask too many questions about the new techniques Master Stonely had devised as I was sworn to secrecy as a guild member. In honour of the passion, skill and innovation of the men of the guild I have never knitted a different heel style since.' Arthur concluded his story, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 'Oh.' Alfred was snoring loudly, collapsed forward into the remains of his big mac meal. Arthur sniffed and began binding off his stitches at the ankle cuff.
That settled it. If that tosser wanted any handknitted special comfy socks in the future he'd have to whistle for them, he huffed. Then he glanced over at the younger nation's tousled hair and observed the curve of his fair eyelashes shading sleep-blushed cheeks and coloured slightly himself. Well, maybe if Alfred asked nicely....