Fic: Destiny is Funny that Way
Title: Destiny is Funny that Way
Genre: Angst, fluff, happy ending
Pairing(s): USUK
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/angst
Length: 2473 words
Summary: Don’t kill me. King Arthur gave up on England after his wife left him for his best friend and his son usurped his throne. But England did not give up on him. America is King Arthur. Apologies to every King Arthur enthusiast in the world.
Note: The names in this fic can get confusing. Except where it is made clear that Arthur refers to England, it refers to King Arthur/America. The countries go by their names, America and England.
England liked his house. It was a small, unassuming building a short distance outside Camelot. He did not like the current political situation, but there was little he could do to stop the fighting. He suspected that the king, Arthur, would not be able to hold out much longer against the forces of his son. And how that son had come to exist, that was a horrifying tale, and England knew that the king hated himself for that, though he had not known at the time what he was doing.
He felt saddened at the thought that when Arthur was defeated he would likely t be killed, to cement Mordred’s place on the throne. England had rather liked King Arthur, who had finally brought some peace to England’s country. But all rulers passed, and however fond of Arthur England might be, however glorious he had made this land, he was human, and England was not.
England was pondering these sad thoughts when there was a knock at the door. He supposed that it was some traveler, for he rarely got visitors, and stood, walking to open it.
When he did so, he was surprised to see that the man standing before him was King Arthur himself. He was bloody, and England suspected he had been wounded in the fighting, but he could not understand what could possibly draw the king away from the fighting. Regardless, he beckoned Arthur in, and the man moved in to sit at the kitchen table with heavy steps.
When they were both seated, England simply looked at the king, unsure how to proceed. Finally, Arthur spoke for him, his face troubled. “England. You have told me that it is my destiny to protect England in all ages, from many forms of wickedness. You have told me that even after the end of my rule, I will one day return to this land in its time of need, and aid it. I tell you now, no. I will not do this. This land no longer wants me, and I am ready to leave. I cannot stand the thought of that wait, perhaps of thousands of years of waiting. I will not do it. I will not help this land, which no longer wishes for my aid.”
“England. I have been loyal to you, have I not? I have done as you bade me, and I hope that I have done you some small aid in my time as king. But I cannot fulfill this destiny you have ordained for me. You told me that after I appeared to die, I would wait for many years, hidden from the sight of my people. I ask you to let me simply die, to allow me to leave this world, a world where all who were once dear to me have betrayed every trust I placed in them, for reasons I cannot fully fault. Guinevere, my Queen, and Lancelot, my closest friend, my best knight, they both are now lost to me. My son now sits upon my throne, a son born of my sister, a sin for which I can never repent. I ask you, let me die as men do, let me leave England now, and go to another land, where I can forget my pain. Surely I have earned this small reward, if such a banishment may be called.”
Looking at the king in that moment, Arthur felt great sorrow. This man had done so much for a country which would not love him, would not protect him, could not save him. But, “I cannot give you death. I do not write your destiny, it is not in my hands. I am no god, merely a land, a good land, a beautiful, glorious land, but not a god. But I will do what I can.”
England was still a land of magic, and as he stood, he called on the power running through his veins, through the waterways of his country, the forests, the fields. When he spoke again, it was not with the voice of his human body, but with the voice of England, a great and terrible sound to living human is ever meant to hear. “I banish thee, King Arthur of Camelot, and name thee no more an Englishman, no longer of this place or of these people. No longer are you bound here, and no longer do you have a duty to me, though once your duty overruled the natural laws of life. I love thee as I love my children, and never shall this land forget thy name, so long as I exist. I banish thee.” At the final word, the man who had once been King Arthur disappeared, and England knew not where he went.
~~~~~~
In the years that followed it became customary for the human forms of countries to give themselves human names. Some of them struggled with them, trying to pick something that fit their countries well enough. Arthur knew his instantly, had known it since the day he banished the best king his country had ever had. “Arthur.” It wasn’t much, but it was a way for him to always remember the golden haired king, and the glory of his reign, and the price he paid for that glory.
Arthur had been true to his word, and now the people of his land told of the great king Arthur, his court at Camelot, and his Knights of the Round Table with respect, and with hope. Though England had tried to eradicate it, knowing it to be false, the story that one day king Arthur would return and save them, when England was truly in peril persisted, refusing to die. A part of England was glad of this, for a part of him hoped, that if Arthur still lived, as England was sure he must, he might one day be persuaded to return. Perhaps it was a foolish hope, but even nations were allowed a little foolishness upon occasion.
~~~~~~
Years passed, and a new world, as the people called it, was discovered. Eventually England himself went to visit it, and what he found there shocked him. In a field, surrounded by grass taller than he was, sat a small child. But this was not any child. His face was familiar, a face England had started to fear he would never see again. It was far younger than it had been the last time England had seen it, but he recognized it instantly. “Arthur” he breathed the word, so quiet the boy did not hear him, then carefully walked forward.
~~~~~~
King Arthur, or America, as he called himself and his land, did not seem to remember his past life. England was, nonetheless, certain that this was the Arthur he remembered. He would have sworn it, and his personality was rather similar, still terribly excitable, but wanting to always do the right thing, to save people.
England had been sure from the moment he met the boy that he would grow up into a fine man, a fine land, and he had been glad that he had found Arthur, that he was able to guide him once again. Further, he now felt sure that this was the way fate had decided things would go. Arthur would not be truly English any longer, not of the original land, but he would embody her colony, her best, brightest colony, and in that way would protect the people of England. It seemed to him, that in spite of all the trials leading to this point, this might well be the way things were always intended to go.
Then America asked him, “Who is Guinevere? Why do I remember her? Was she my mother?”
England looked at the child, now taller, more teenagerish in appearance, his mouth hanging open. “She was a queen long ago, in my kingdom, England. It doesn’t matter very much. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I keep having dreams about her. She hurt me, even though I loved her.” The boy’s eyes were wide and sad.
“Don’t worry about it, silly America. They are only dreams, and you need not fear her. She died long ago, and any harm she did you is long since passed. Now, let me see your letters.”
Dutifully, America nodded, handing the slate he’d been copying words onto to England. He let the topic go, but England was worried now.
Until this moment America had shown no signs of remembering anything that had happened when he had been human. If he remembered Guinevere then there was no reason to think that he might not remember the rest. There was nothing England could do about that, however, so he tried to put it out of his mind. For a time he succeeded.
~~~~~~
It was war. It was war, and England did not understand why, did not know where he had gone wrong. He had loved Arthur for centuries, and now, after all that, America was rebelling, rejecting England once again. He did not understand. He wanted to scream in agony. Instead, here he was, facing America, begging him not to fight, to stop, to give in, and come back to England.
The two stood, facing each other and England had to struggle not to flinch at the anger in America’s eyes. He had grown, and now looked exactly like the king England remembered so well. He spoke. “I remember. You promised me that I would no longer be English, but now you enslave me to your will, refusing me even this. Let me go, and your men will not die. Refuse, and I will fight this bloody war against you, and you will be forced out, and I will be free. I will have the freedom you promised me, the only question to be answered is how. You tell me.”
“I was trying to help you. I am still trying to help you. I love you as I did when you were my king. Arthur, please, don’t do this.” England could do nothing but beg.
“No. That name isn’t mine anymore. I am Alfred, and I am America. I am not English, and you will not bind me. We will fight.” Arthur, America, Alfred turned and left, leaving England, Arthur, to stand where he was, crying for a man he had loved, a country he loved, a dream he had refused to abandon for hundreds of years.
King Arthur was no longer his.
~~~~~~
Over the years the relationship between the two nations improved. America kept up his policy of not getting involved overseas, but he no longer seemed to hate England, and that, England supposed, was enough to be getting on with.
His people still remembered king Arthur, and they still thought he would one day return. England doubted it.
~~~~~~
Then came an age of war. The War to End All Wars had not ended them, and once again England found himself fighting Germany, and others. His people were being bombed, and he felt helpless. America had ultimately gotten involved in the war whose name now seemed horrific, and England hoped that he might do so again. When he went to the younger country, he did not know what to say, but he knew that if he did not try, he would never be able to look his people in the face. They were dying, and even if this was hard, there was nothing he would not do to save them.
“America. Greetings.” England smiled.
“England. Or do you prefer Arthur. It is a nice name.” Alfred, a name which still felt like a slap every time England was reminded of its existence, replied.
“England will do. You need not mock me. You know why I am here. I can’t- I just. They’re dying. They’re dying and I can’t save them. We need your help. Please.”
“I understand your plight, but I do not control my people any more than you do yours. You know that. They remember the last war, and they don’t want to be involved. I can’t make them change their minds. You should know that. You had Chamberlain.”
Chamberlain. The name made England fume just thinking of it. If that idiot hadn’t insisted that they sit by idly while Germany grew strong they might not be in this position right now. “Quite. But, Ar- Sorry. Alfred. They are calling for you. They still think king Arthur will come and save them. We need you. Please try. For me. I miss you.”
America looked torn, be he hardened his face. “You must understand, I too am hesitant to get involved in yet another war. I am not their king anymore. You know that. You made me a promise, and I have ensured that you have kept it. And you don’t miss me, do you? Not really. You miss controlling me. You were never even sure who I was, not after. You can’t tell if I’m the same person.”
“No. I miss the king. I miss the little boy who loved the rabbits. I miss the soldier who came to Europe’s aid once before. I miss seeing you every day. I have told you many times, in many ways that I love you. You know this. But I am not here for that. My people are dying, Alfred. Please. Any influence you have, I beg you to use it. I must go. We will keep fighting, even if you do not join us. Goodbye, my friend.” This time England was the one to turn and leave, but somehow he still felt nearly as empty as he had the last time.
~~~~~~
America did not join the war until his own land was attacked, but England knew that he had tried to change the minds of his lawmakers, had gotten them to do something to help, even if it wasn’t as good as he might have hoped. When America entered the war, England wondered at the strange ways fate worked itself out.
~~~~~
After that America and England became close once more. And if the two of them, now Alfred and Arthur, occasionally stole kisses while their bosses were meeting, and talking about the ‘special relationship’ their countries shared, well, no one needed to know that.
Not all love stories have happy endings, but this one does. England waited for years for his king to return to him, to realize that he ought to be English. In the end, it turned out that it was better for everyone involved if they were not the same nation, but two, separate, strong, partners.
He might never admit it aloud, but there was something about this man, this Alfred, with all his freedom, that shone even more brightly than the king of Camelot ever had.