I’ll Be Praying For You
I’ll Be Praying For You [FF.NET]
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from Axis Powers Hetalia
Summary: India visits, as she does every year. England struggles to understand why.
Setting aside his already read newspaper, Arthur rose from his armchair to answer the door. He was not particularly surprised by his visitor’s identity; she usually paid him a visit at this time of year…
“It’s been a while…” was the quiet greeting he received, and his response is a small nod of agreement as he ushered his guest into the house.
The two forgo formalities, long forgotten by the ingrained routine from years of the same, heading straight for the kitchen.
He offered her a mug of the tea he is so famed for drinking, and couldn’t quite smother a sheepish smile at the thought of the irony of offering her the produce of her own home.
They made small talk, discussing everything and anything; topics ranging from the Queen to crops, sharing a rueful grin as the conversation moved to the Cricket World Cup and she quipped, “Overconfidence was the downfall of both teams in the end,” and he enquired about the strikes recently causing upheaval in her film industry.
Their mugs become empty. India turns to England, not as a nation, but as a sister.
The tray with which she arrived, previously laying forgotten on his kitchen counter, was carefully brought to the dining table at which they sat. Arthur rose and was still struck by the fact that they now stood at the same height.
She dipped her right ring finger into one of the tiny pots upon the tray, coating her fingertip in a runny, deep red dye. She giggled a little as he voiced a request but complied as she lightly touched the finger between his thick brows, careful to keep the resulting mark as small as she could.
Next, her fingers wondered to the next compartment of the tray, pinching a couple of grains of the uncooked rice to stick them to the small dot of red decorating his forehead.
Familiar with the following step of the ritual, Arthur offered his right wrist as India’s hand dove into her pocket to retrieve her hand-made rakhi (sporting the colours of the Union Jack as they always did) which she swiftly secured.
The old one, still on his wrist from last year, was snipped off with a pair of scissors.
She turned away from him, and he knew exactly what came next - there she was, struggling to open her steel container as usual.
Smirking in amusement, Arthur took the container from her and attempted to open it in her stead. The lid was almost flung across the room from the force he had to use to dislodge it in the first place, but past experience had taught him that nothing less would do the trick.
“Am I your last stop? Or have you anywhere else to stop by after we’re done?”
“Just Russia, actually. I managed to get through the others in the commonwealth this morning, and I came here from America…” she replied, her voice fading into a confused silence as she studied Arthur’s expression. “What?”
“I don’t really understand why you bother going to Russia every year as well…”
She rolled her eyes at him as she explained patiently, “He’s stepped in to help me like a brother might a number of times; that time in 1955 with Kashmir, and during the Indo-China wars he gave my house the upper hand… and then that one time when he was a peace-broker between Pakistan and I. It’s the same as me coming here to England every year. That, and he’s always so surprised and delighted when I show up every year…”
She took the container from him and he put up no resistance - just continued to stare at her in silence. Arthur moved only to stop her hand, which had taken a small cut of his favourite Indian sweetmeat and was raised to his lips to finish off the ceremony.
“That’s just the thing. I don’t understand why you come to me every year on the day you pray for your brothers’ well being - I was the one who charged into your house and took over; I was the reason your mother ceased to exist and it’s my fault that you and your brother Pakistan are still at odds-“
Arthur had no choice but to stop as India shoved the sweetmeat between his lips, looking as though she was stifling the urge to roll her eyes again. “You may have barged into my house, but you also improved it while you were here - like education policy. Pakistan and I did used to be close, but the differences in our opinions were still present.” Arthur, still chewing his treat, looked unconvinced. She ploughed on. “And besides, Mother India would not want us to dwell in the past.”
This last part had been delivered in such a stern but still gentle tone, that Arthur had to blink to be certain that it wasn’t Mother India standing before him. The same, glittering eyes stared back at him in a face similar, yet so much younger than Mother India’s had been.
“So, big brother, where’s my present?”
Arthur raised a brow at her, as the question cut off his reverie. “So this is why you go around praying for your ‘brothers’’ prosperity - so that they can continue to give you gifts.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, childishly, and he shook his head in response as he led her to his lounge. Once through the door, he handed her a package and muttered, “Don’t open it until you get home.”
She nodded affirmative, and gave him a hug - which was what he had been trying to avoid, but oh well. The package contained a sari that Japan had helped him choose.
“…Did you go to Pakistan this year?” Arthur asked tentatively. The arms around his neck did not loosen, but he heard her sigh.
“Things are still a little tense since November last year… I did send him his rakhi in the post though. It’s up to him whether he wears it or not.” She pulled away a little to look Arthur in the eye. “And you? You and America have such good outward relations yet you still insist on skipping around each other.” Arthur’s jaw dropped. India grinned and extracted herself from his arms. When she had retrieved her possessions from the kitchen and had returned to find Arthur exactly as she’s left him, she winked at him and snickered, “I’ll be praying for you!” and left before he could react.
-Hollyrose-
~Raksha Bandhan - the festival/occasion being celebrated in this fic. It's explained pretty well on Wikipedia if you want to find out more. I went with 'rakhi' as it is the most common pronunciation since it's in Hindi but as a Gujarati person I usually call it a 'rakhdi' :/
~Cricket World Cup - it was held in England this year (and I still didn't get to see any live... oh well), and both England and India were knocked out sooner than either expected.
~Bollywood strikes - There was a two month strike which ended in June 2009 held by the producers in Bollywood (and supported by some well known actors) about the revenue they received from cinemas.
~Home-made rakhis - I don't know how common they are, but my sister and I make ours every year, and our cousins wear them for the whole year because of this; I thought it might be a nice idea to incorporate with the characters in question being nations and all.
~India-Russia relations:
- 1955 Russia supports Indian Sovereignty over disputed territory in Kashmir
- 1960 Russia provide more support to India than China in the Indo-China War
- 1965 Russia acts as a Peace-broker between India and Pakistan in the Indian-Pakistani Boarder War
~The way I see it, India before partition was who England and India in the fic refer to as Mother India (India is often referred to as 'Bharat Mata' which literally translates as Mother India), who ceased to exist when she was split into the India and Pakistan (who are siblings like Prussia and Germany or the Italy Brothers, for example). But the humans refer to both India's as Bharat Mata. If that makes sense.
~India-Japan relations:
India and Japan have had close relations for a long time due to Buddhism, and continue to have close relations to this day; the partnership between Maruti and Suzuki being one example, and also that the year 2007 was declared as "India-Japan Friendship Year."
A/N: Phew! Sorry for all of those notes - I hope they were helpful/interesting to at least someone!
I thought of the idea for this fic whilst making my own rakhis, and whilst I didn't manage to get this posted for Raksha Bandhan (which was on 5th August this year) I managed it for India's Independance Day (Happy Birthday India!!!)
It's pretty late now so I'm going to post up my other fic and then go to sleep since I have to go to a wedding tomorrow, but I will come back to edit this - please bear with any mistakes for the time being (I'd be grateful if you could point them out in reviews) and thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!
Edit: Ok, I've been through and picked out the mistakes I could find (spell check on word isn't working for some reason and Lj's spell check confuses me. And uses American spellings), but if you spot any more, please don't hesitate to point them out!
Again, thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from Axis Powers Hetalia
Summary: India visits, as she does every year. England struggles to understand why.
Setting aside his already read newspaper, Arthur rose from his armchair to answer the door. He was not particularly surprised by his visitor’s identity; she usually paid him a visit at this time of year…
“It’s been a while…” was the quiet greeting he received, and his response is a small nod of agreement as he ushered his guest into the house.
The two forgo formalities, long forgotten by the ingrained routine from years of the same, heading straight for the kitchen.
He offered her a mug of the tea he is so famed for drinking, and couldn’t quite smother a sheepish smile at the thought of the irony of offering her the produce of her own home.
They made small talk, discussing everything and anything; topics ranging from the Queen to crops, sharing a rueful grin as the conversation moved to the Cricket World Cup and she quipped, “Overconfidence was the downfall of both teams in the end,” and he enquired about the strikes recently causing upheaval in her film industry.
Their mugs become empty. India turns to England, not as a nation, but as a sister.
The tray with which she arrived, previously laying forgotten on his kitchen counter, was carefully brought to the dining table at which they sat. Arthur rose and was still struck by the fact that they now stood at the same height.
She dipped her right ring finger into one of the tiny pots upon the tray, coating her fingertip in a runny, deep red dye. She giggled a little as he voiced a request but complied as she lightly touched the finger between his thick brows, careful to keep the resulting mark as small as she could.
Next, her fingers wondered to the next compartment of the tray, pinching a couple of grains of the uncooked rice to stick them to the small dot of red decorating his forehead.
Familiar with the following step of the ritual, Arthur offered his right wrist as India’s hand dove into her pocket to retrieve her hand-made rakhi (sporting the colours of the Union Jack as they always did) which she swiftly secured.
The old one, still on his wrist from last year, was snipped off with a pair of scissors.
She turned away from him, and he knew exactly what came next - there she was, struggling to open her steel container as usual.
Smirking in amusement, Arthur took the container from her and attempted to open it in her stead. The lid was almost flung across the room from the force he had to use to dislodge it in the first place, but past experience had taught him that nothing less would do the trick.
“Am I your last stop? Or have you anywhere else to stop by after we’re done?”
“Just Russia, actually. I managed to get through the others in the commonwealth this morning, and I came here from America…” she replied, her voice fading into a confused silence as she studied Arthur’s expression. “What?”
“I don’t really understand why you bother going to Russia every year as well…”
She rolled her eyes at him as she explained patiently, “He’s stepped in to help me like a brother might a number of times; that time in 1955 with Kashmir, and during the Indo-China wars he gave my house the upper hand… and then that one time when he was a peace-broker between Pakistan and I. It’s the same as me coming here to England every year. That, and he’s always so surprised and delighted when I show up every year…”
She took the container from him and he put up no resistance - just continued to stare at her in silence. Arthur moved only to stop her hand, which had taken a small cut of his favourite Indian sweetmeat and was raised to his lips to finish off the ceremony.
“That’s just the thing. I don’t understand why you come to me every year on the day you pray for your brothers’ well being - I was the one who charged into your house and took over; I was the reason your mother ceased to exist and it’s my fault that you and your brother Pakistan are still at odds-“
Arthur had no choice but to stop as India shoved the sweetmeat between his lips, looking as though she was stifling the urge to roll her eyes again. “You may have barged into my house, but you also improved it while you were here - like education policy. Pakistan and I did used to be close, but the differences in our opinions were still present.” Arthur, still chewing his treat, looked unconvinced. She ploughed on. “And besides, Mother India would not want us to dwell in the past.”
This last part had been delivered in such a stern but still gentle tone, that Arthur had to blink to be certain that it wasn’t Mother India standing before him. The same, glittering eyes stared back at him in a face similar, yet so much younger than Mother India’s had been.
“So, big brother, where’s my present?”
Arthur raised a brow at her, as the question cut off his reverie. “So this is why you go around praying for your ‘brothers’’ prosperity - so that they can continue to give you gifts.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, childishly, and he shook his head in response as he led her to his lounge. Once through the door, he handed her a package and muttered, “Don’t open it until you get home.”
She nodded affirmative, and gave him a hug - which was what he had been trying to avoid, but oh well. The package contained a sari that Japan had helped him choose.
“…Did you go to Pakistan this year?” Arthur asked tentatively. The arms around his neck did not loosen, but he heard her sigh.
“Things are still a little tense since November last year… I did send him his rakhi in the post though. It’s up to him whether he wears it or not.” She pulled away a little to look Arthur in the eye. “And you? You and America have such good outward relations yet you still insist on skipping around each other.” Arthur’s jaw dropped. India grinned and extracted herself from his arms. When she had retrieved her possessions from the kitchen and had returned to find Arthur exactly as she’s left him, she winked at him and snickered, “I’ll be praying for you!” and left before he could react.
-Hollyrose-
~Raksha Bandhan - the festival/occasion being celebrated in this fic. It's explained pretty well on Wikipedia if you want to find out more. I went with 'rakhi' as it is the most common pronunciation since it's in Hindi but as a Gujarati person I usually call it a 'rakhdi' :/
~Cricket World Cup - it was held in England this year (and I still didn't get to see any live... oh well), and both England and India were knocked out sooner than either expected.
~Bollywood strikes - There was a two month strike which ended in June 2009 held by the producers in Bollywood (and supported by some well known actors) about the revenue they received from cinemas.
~Home-made rakhis - I don't know how common they are, but my sister and I make ours every year, and our cousins wear them for the whole year because of this; I thought it might be a nice idea to incorporate with the characters in question being nations and all.
~India-Russia relations:
- 1955 Russia supports Indian Sovereignty over disputed territory in Kashmir
- 1960 Russia provide more support to India than China in the Indo-China War
- 1965 Russia acts as a Peace-broker between India and Pakistan in the Indian-Pakistani Boarder War
~The way I see it, India before partition was who England and India in the fic refer to as Mother India (India is often referred to as 'Bharat Mata' which literally translates as Mother India), who ceased to exist when she was split into the India and Pakistan (who are siblings like Prussia and Germany or the Italy Brothers, for example). But the humans refer to both India's as Bharat Mata. If that makes sense.
~India-Japan relations:
India and Japan have had close relations for a long time due to Buddhism, and continue to have close relations to this day; the partnership between Maruti and Suzuki being one example, and also that the year 2007 was declared as "India-Japan Friendship Year."
A/N: Phew! Sorry for all of those notes - I hope they were helpful/interesting to at least someone!
I thought of the idea for this fic whilst making my own rakhis, and whilst I didn't manage to get this posted for Raksha Bandhan (which was on 5th August this year) I managed it for India's Independance Day (Happy Birthday India!!!)
It's pretty late now so I'm going to post up my other fic and then go to sleep since I have to go to a wedding tomorrow, but I will come back to edit this - please bear with any mistakes for the time being (I'd be grateful if you could point them out in reviews) and thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!
Edit: Ok, I've been through and picked out the mistakes I could find (spell check on word isn't working for some reason and Lj's spell check confuses me. And uses American spellings), but if you spot any more, please don't hesitate to point them out!
Again, thanks for reading!