[APH] Ridiculous romantics, I am judging you silently
Title: Ridiculous romantics, I am judging you silently
Author: Kanon @ winters18
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: UK/Arthur-centric mostly, Edward VIII, various other politicians / USUK/AlfredArthur
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I'd own the entire world. I don't. Title and subheadings taken from 31_days
Summary: "Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it. Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
Timeline: 1936 Edward VIII abdication crisis & 2005 Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles marriage
Warning: Grossly wrong depiction of Edward VIII because based on Wiki, he doesn't sound like a particularly nice chap despite the century's fairy-tale romance he whipped up.
A/N:
All historical notes are at the bottom. I've taken a slightly different approach to the personified nations and the real nations where while what happens to the real nation makes up the personified nations, the personified ones in fact have their own feelings as well, except they cannot simply act on them as they please due to the nature of their beings. I know, I do ridiculous things.
:::::Ridiculous romantics, I am judging you silently by Kanon:::::
13 November 1936
Expect to be valued accordingly
Hardinge's tense gaze is hard to ignore but Arthur keeps his expression schooled. He has the turbulent history and long experience of this great country behind him; it is no difficult feat when he tries for it.
"What do you think?" The King's secretary asks anxiously, his eyes never leaving the Nation. Arthur's eyes flick at the letter he has just finished reading then towards the outside of the cold conservatory they sit in. Being the time of the year, dull monochrome drapes the land, the temperature beyond what can be called 'cool'. The rough sea wind whips at the bare trees, the windows weeping. Arthur adjusts the old quilt over his legs. Hardinge waits; but not for long.
"Sir?"
"Hardinge," Arthur starts, the green eyes stoic and poised, "I am but a Nation. What constitutes me and has always done so is the people, their voices and their choices; not those of mine."
"But surely, you must have at least advice or such for His Majesty. Should this go on, the effect will be calamitous," Hardgine pleads. A jeering sneer flits across the Nation's face for the briefest of moments. What the man wants is not a suggestion; only a powerful leverage to steer the King to their wish.
"I have watched many rising to the power and many falling. Among them are many that would have taken different paths, for better or for worse, should I have intervened. Such is the case for all of us, the Nations."
And hence, gains and losses come regardless of our desires. Blood, tears, constitution, revolution; each other.
Arthur lowers his eyes to the untouched cup of tea in front of him. His tone is starting to betray the bitterness inside him.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The glass rooftop of the conservatory thunders under the downpour.
"...I understand," Hardinge states. Arthur doubts his words but keeps it to himself. "Would I be relaying your stance correctly to the Prime Minister by the words of 'the Nation leaves the decision to the government.'?"
Arthur meets the secretary's gaze straight, firm and unrelenting.
"Tell the Prime Minister, 'the Nation leaves the decision to the people of this great country.'"
Arthur is apathetic at the visible flinch from Hardinge. When the man leaves and he is left alone in the grey pitter-patter, Arthur lifts the cup to his lips and tips it.
The tea is ice cold, not a trace of soothing scent left.
Arthur glimpses down at the rippled surface then drains it in one gulp.
-
16 November 1936
Raison d'etre
“I wish to marry Wallis.”
The words are final. Arthur hears, rather than sees, Baldwin gasping. He keeps his eyes on the King. The King looks back at him steadily. But the green eyes are not of reprimand nor anger and the hard glare relaxes a little.
“Your Majesty,” Baldwin chokes out at last, “such will not be acceptable to the people. I believe that you are aware of the outrage already brewing in our Dominions.”
Silence is the King’s answer. In the thinned lips Arthur reads the unspoken words.
David, Arthur thinks, you’ve grown strong.
“Your Majesty, please re-consider, the Queen becomes the Queen of the country,” Baldwin sounds ill and he turns to the Nation who, despite agreeing to accompany him, is yet to say a word. Arthur heeds no attention to it, frankly speaking, rather amused at the constant ignorance of Baldwin's presence from the King.
“Prime Minster,” Arthur says at last, the title something more of a command, “please give us some privacy.”
-
Against all reasons
“Thank you,” the King says, his words truly sincere. Not many would have heard such a humble tone from a Royal Family but Arthur is no ordinary being. Lifting the cup of the finest tea freshly brewed to his lips at the window side, he simply nods.
“Baldwin is merely doing his job.”
“I understand. But I will not give her up.”
The china clinks as the teacup comes back to rest on the saucer. Arthur looks down at the brown liquid. Two eyes stare back at him but in the hue of the blue sky. A small jerk of his wrist, and they're gone, washed away in the ripples.
“You are aware of the cost, I assume.”
Reflected on the window, Arthur sees the King nodding. Silence drips in thick.
“…You will not bless our union either?”
The long practice of aristocratic elegance covers the tired and faintly pleading tone in the King’s voice. Arthur lifts up his gaze without a word. In a distance, the Victoria Memorial glints in its golden glory as precious sunlight peeks out from the mass of thick clouds. It used to be one of the King’s - David, back then - favourites in his younger days. In the sunny days, he would insist dragging Arthur to the statue at his every visit to the Royal Family, excitedly chirping about new scratches and curls he had found about since their last meeting.
Just like-
Vaguely, Arthur wonders if he is destined to simply let those he had watched over slip away from him.
“I am but a Nation,” Arthur repeats, the same words he had said to Hardinge, but no more after them. The King understands the unsaid words. Arthur knows he does. The Nation does not prompt its land and people of the path it should pave; the people do and thus, shape the Nation. The Nation and the monarchy; perhaps their fates do no differ much.
“But,” Arthur murmurs, his stoic gaze dampening for a moment in the privacy they share. The King is listening; perhaps he is hanging on his words. Arthur doesn’t look back. “I wish you be happy, David.”
For, even though the price is great, you can still chase after your love.
The King lets the words sink in, and it’s marred, it’s mellow, but nevertheless, it’s a smile that adorns his face, and once more, he says, “Thank you.”
Arthur nods, takes a last sip of the lukewarm tea, and leaves.
-
5 December 1936
beLIEve
“They have rejected morganatic marriage.”
“Are you surprised?”
Sitting in the couch, his personal guards all refused to the outside of the Nation’s mansion, the King takes a moment before shaking his head. Arthur places a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea with two cups on the table. It will not surprise him if they still remained as they are by the end of the night.
“Still, I had hoped.”
Arthur takes his place opposite of the King in the old armchair. It has been a part of this place for longer than the King has lived; it’s not too unlike the one that perhaps, Alfred might remember from his childhood. Arthur’s fingers brush across the shawl draped over the armrest, of pastel blue. The shade is somewhat out of place in the browns and greens of his house. Only the master of the household knows of its significance.
“Yet you will not change your mind.”
“No.”
The answer comes promptly, even before Arthur’s last word has wholly come out. Somehow, it comforts Arthur despite the aches of the constitutional crisis that have been haunting his weary body.
"Arthur."
Arthur looks at the King. He blinks at the scrutinising gaze but waits in patience. He has a feeling that their next meeting will not provide the luxury of casual conversation.
"Do Nations also love?"
The green eyes widen at the unforeseen question. Arthur's fingers curl around the soft-looking shawl.
"...We are but Nations," Arthur manages to breathe out.
"It is not an answer to my question," the King states without contempt.
Arthur speaks no more. The King does not ask again.
-
Hearts have a past that must be reckoned
The King leaves in due hours, his farewell too ominous for Arthur's liking. Back in the lounge, Arthur sees that as he had expected, the confectioneries have not been touched. He knows he should clean the white porcelains of the tea before it stains but against his better judgement, plops himself down in the armchair.
"Do Nations also love?"
A soft sigh escapes him and after a glance at the tea pot, Arthur gets up, loosening the collar of his shirt. After a few clinks, he returns with a glass of whiskey, blocks of ice making it sweat. Arthur gazes down at the worn-out shawl, his eyes indecipherable. He take a sip of the alcohol, feels it burning down his throat, and slowly unfolds it over his lap.
At the last fold, he stops; hesitates.
"...We are but Nations."
"It is not an answer to my question."
Another tipping of the cold glass, and from beneath the last layer appears a small drawing, old but obviously cherished, of his 200-years or so younger self smiling fondly as Alfred, back then without any glasses ageing his bright face, perches himself on the armrest of the chair Arthur's occupying. Arthur's fingertips traces the line of Alfred's face in the portrait, the touch lighter than that of a ghost. Arthur brings up the hand holding the glass and rests his forehead on the wrist.
"We are but Nations," Arthur mumbles to the cold silence, "yet we love, and thus torment ourselves over the vainness of it."
It is an answer far too late.
-
12 December 1936
Plausible impossibilities
The winter in England barely sees any sun and Arthur walks over to the runway under the large black umbrella. He is the last to arrive; the Prime Minister and the three brothers of now the Prince Edward greet him sombrely.
"Where is the Prince?"
"I am here," comes the reply from behind him and Arthur turns around to find the very man dressed in a simple suit. A small smile blooms on Arthur's face; the months have been calamitous indeed, as Hadinge had warned, but the Prince's eyes are shining brightly like beacons.
"I see you're ready."
The Prince nods then after a look around the others, pulls the Nation away. Everyone, including Arthur himself, is confused by the sudden action, but before Arthur can question it, the Prince whispers in a hushed voice so that others may not hear.
"I know that I do not have enough experience or knowledge to give you any advice," the Prince says, pushing Arthur into deeper puzzlement, "but I wished to tell you this before I go."
Arthur furrows his brows. The Prince looks over at the plane waiting for him then turns back.
"Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it."
"!! What-?!"
The Prince merely chuckles at the deep blush dying the Nation's face.
"Though you did not answer me, I had already gathered it myself. I do not know who it is that have stolen your heart, my great Nation, and what hardship you are going through because of it, but remember this."
Arthur clicks his gaping jaw shut and waits for the last words of the hopeless romantic in the peppering of raindrops. The Prince reaches out for Arthur's hand, the one not gripping the umbrella, and it is not just a mere handshake but a transfer of candid emotion that warms Arthur's heart, regardless of the extremity he has caused.
"Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
It is only when the plane to Austria disappears behind the clouds that Arthur lets the bitter smile mar his face.
"Thank you, David," he murmurs, barely audible in the pelting rain, his gratitude as sincere as the King's had been, "but your wish is nigh possible, I believe."
-
9 April 2005
Lemon-flavoured kisses
Turning the TV on and fixing the channel to BBC One, Arthur burrows into his couch, nursing a cup of freshly brewed tea. England's April still carries a chill that should not be ignored and his current attire, which doesn't in fact consist of much other than the ridiculously large quilt firmly wrapped around him, doesn't provide much of protection against the cool air in the lounge. Though he would have not normally masqueraded around the house in such despicable state, he has woken up late due to certain reasons and could not afford any more delay than freshening himself up before rushing down from his bedroom.
Thankfully, the coverage for the Service of Prayer and Dedication has only just begun, the presenters still introducing the program. Arthur smiles in relief as he sips the warm beverage and wiggles to settle himself down in the most comfortable position. Having turned down the Royal Family's invitation to the wedding ceremony, he has no excuse to miss even the TV coverage.
Before the actual Service begins, the program shows some scenes from the civil wedding of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles, and Arthur cannot help but feel somewhat amused and strange at the large crowd gathered around Windsor. Though the course is different and it is no longer 1936, many had recalled what was now referred as Edward VIII abdication crisis from the romance of the couple, yet the response from the people is almost polar-opposite. Arthur watches on the cheering of the crowd, resorting to enjoying his tea against the mixed emotions. Indeed, many has-
"Changed a lot, hasn't it?"
Arthur jumps at the voice still shrouded in sleep from behind him but before he can turn around, two arms wrap around him, the quilt and all, and warm breaths flits over his exposed nape.
"Good morning, Arthur."
A shiver runs down Arthur's spine and he grips the porcelain hard, blushing as ferociously as his clutch. He can feel his treacherous body reacting to the lips hovering above his thoroughly abused neck. Arthur sinks deeper into the couch, trying to hide his mortification.
"Good morning, Alfred," Arthur manages, then comes out of his quilt-shell again in puzzlement. "What has?"
"Huh?" is the intellectual reply and Arthur rolls his eyes. The American had been asleep when he was rushing down the stairs so he is most likely still not out of the fog of drowsiness.
"What has changed a lot?"
"You know, this and that," Alfred shrugs nonchalantly - Arthur wonders if the idiot even knows the things the vague answer could be referring to - and plants a kiss on Arthur's neck. Arthur flinches with a sharp gasp then smacks the blonde tuft when he feels a grin spreading across the face buried at his nape.
"Bloody git."
"Wasn't what you said last night," Alfred chimes mockingly and dodges Arthur's flying ammunitions of cushions. In the commotion, the tea cup topples over and instantly stains the pale quilt.
"Shit!" Arthur curses, instantly forgetting about the other. Alfred grabs the chance and tilting the flushed face up, dives down for their morning kiss. Arthur fights it out of reflex than anything else, but soon, the flailing ceases and the arms that had been hiding under the cover come up to wrap around Alfred's neck. The cold air lapping at his bare skin makes Arthur shiver, though the hand caressing the small of his back is not completely free of charge, and Arthur pulls down the warm, bare chest of Alfred against his, the growing heat driving the chill out of the lounge-
"Wa-wait! Stop!"
"Huh? Why?" Alfred whines, the blue eyes hazy with remnant of sleep and re-awakening lust. Frankly, Arthur is in no better state, and yes, he does want to continue, but he had come down for a reason, for a duty.
"I need to watch that. I didn't even attend, it's the least I should do as the Nation."
The pout on the American's face says enough of what Alfred thinks of the sudden cessation but Arthur cannot give in again. Instead, he reaches up and presses his wet lips against Alfred's.
"After the coverage. I promise."
"Really?"
Arthur rolls eyes.
"Yes, really, you sodding wanker."
Alfred eyes him, those striking blues regaining their brightness, then loses all the creases between his brows in a blink of an eye. "OK!" he chirps and heads for the kitchen, no doubt looking for coffee. It's one of Alfred's favourite morning activities, this treasure hunting for coffee, because he knows the English keeps some for whenever he comes but hides it so that no one - including himself - sees it.
When Alfred disappears around the corner, Arthur returns to his previous position and gathers the quilt back around him. The brown stain stands out like a sore thumb but Arthur overlooks it contently for now. His attention back on the coverage, Arthur recalls the words he remembers more clearly than the last speech of Prince Edward to the people.
"Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it. Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
A felicitous smile curls Arthur's lips. Indeed, he thinks, watching the newly wed couple emerging, smiles on their faces. Quietly under his breath, Arthur murmurs, "Thank you, David."
A/N:
*Edward VIII abdication crisis: King Edward VIII wished to marry a twice-divorced American socialite, Wallis Simpson. It raised objections in many aspects and eventually led to constitutional crisis. Hardinge, the King's secretary, had written a letter to Edward to warn about the outcome should he continue his relationship with Simpson then the following Monday, Edward called in Baldwin, then PM, and stated that he wished to marry Simpson. When mornganatic marriage was rejected by the government, Edward chose to abdicate. After his famous last speech, then reverted to Prince, Edward left Britain to Austria and later did marry Simpson.
During the inter-war times when this happened, the relationship between Britain and America was strained, or so says Wiki, which is why Arthur's being so angsty and Alfred doesn't show up during the crisis time.
*Edward VIII: Although I have depicted him here quite romantic and all, it appears he was rather a problematic Prince/King. He was usually called David by the close family members and friends.
*Victoria Memorial: It's the golden statue of Queen Victoria in front of the Buckingham Palace that was placed in 1911. How the hell would I know whether Edward VIII liked it or not, I just made it up.
*In 1700s, there were no photography yet, so there would have been no photos of the two before American Revolutionary War; hence the portrait instead.
*The wedding of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles: It was somewhat controversial, especially with the popularity of Diana and many rumours that floated about with regards to the car accident that led to Diana's death, conspiracies of Royal Family and such. In some ways, it is modern parallel of Edward VIII abdication crisis though the result was obviously significantly different. Currently, Prince Charles remain as the heir to the throne.
I didn't watch the coverage so to be honest, I don't know what actually was shown.
Author: Kanon @ winters18
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: UK/Arthur-centric mostly, Edward VIII, various other politicians / USUK/AlfredArthur
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I'd own the entire world. I don't. Title and subheadings taken from 31_days
Summary: "Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it. Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
Timeline: 1936 Edward VIII abdication crisis & 2005 Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles marriage
Warning: Grossly wrong depiction of Edward VIII because based on Wiki, he doesn't sound like a particularly nice chap despite the century's fairy-tale romance he whipped up.
A/N:
All historical notes are at the bottom. I've taken a slightly different approach to the personified nations and the real nations where while what happens to the real nation makes up the personified nations, the personified ones in fact have their own feelings as well, except they cannot simply act on them as they please due to the nature of their beings. I know, I do ridiculous things.
:::::Ridiculous romantics, I am judging you silently by Kanon:::::
13 November 1936
Expect to be valued accordingly
Hardinge's tense gaze is hard to ignore but Arthur keeps his expression schooled. He has the turbulent history and long experience of this great country behind him; it is no difficult feat when he tries for it.
"What do you think?" The King's secretary asks anxiously, his eyes never leaving the Nation. Arthur's eyes flick at the letter he has just finished reading then towards the outside of the cold conservatory they sit in. Being the time of the year, dull monochrome drapes the land, the temperature beyond what can be called 'cool'. The rough sea wind whips at the bare trees, the windows weeping. Arthur adjusts the old quilt over his legs. Hardinge waits; but not for long.
"Sir?"
"Hardinge," Arthur starts, the green eyes stoic and poised, "I am but a Nation. What constitutes me and has always done so is the people, their voices and their choices; not those of mine."
"But surely, you must have at least advice or such for His Majesty. Should this go on, the effect will be calamitous," Hardgine pleads. A jeering sneer flits across the Nation's face for the briefest of moments. What the man wants is not a suggestion; only a powerful leverage to steer the King to their wish.
"I have watched many rising to the power and many falling. Among them are many that would have taken different paths, for better or for worse, should I have intervened. Such is the case for all of us, the Nations."
And hence, gains and losses come regardless of our desires. Blood, tears, constitution, revolution; each other.
Arthur lowers his eyes to the untouched cup of tea in front of him. His tone is starting to betray the bitterness inside him.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The glass rooftop of the conservatory thunders under the downpour.
"...I understand," Hardinge states. Arthur doubts his words but keeps it to himself. "Would I be relaying your stance correctly to the Prime Minister by the words of 'the Nation leaves the decision to the government.'?"
Arthur meets the secretary's gaze straight, firm and unrelenting.
"Tell the Prime Minister, 'the Nation leaves the decision to the people of this great country.'"
Arthur is apathetic at the visible flinch from Hardinge. When the man leaves and he is left alone in the grey pitter-patter, Arthur lifts the cup to his lips and tips it.
The tea is ice cold, not a trace of soothing scent left.
Arthur glimpses down at the rippled surface then drains it in one gulp.
-
16 November 1936
Raison d'etre
“I wish to marry Wallis.”
The words are final. Arthur hears, rather than sees, Baldwin gasping. He keeps his eyes on the King. The King looks back at him steadily. But the green eyes are not of reprimand nor anger and the hard glare relaxes a little.
“Your Majesty,” Baldwin chokes out at last, “such will not be acceptable to the people. I believe that you are aware of the outrage already brewing in our Dominions.”
Silence is the King’s answer. In the thinned lips Arthur reads the unspoken words.
David, Arthur thinks, you’ve grown strong.
“Your Majesty, please re-consider, the Queen becomes the Queen of the country,” Baldwin sounds ill and he turns to the Nation who, despite agreeing to accompany him, is yet to say a word. Arthur heeds no attention to it, frankly speaking, rather amused at the constant ignorance of Baldwin's presence from the King.
“Prime Minster,” Arthur says at last, the title something more of a command, “please give us some privacy.”
-
Against all reasons
“Thank you,” the King says, his words truly sincere. Not many would have heard such a humble tone from a Royal Family but Arthur is no ordinary being. Lifting the cup of the finest tea freshly brewed to his lips at the window side, he simply nods.
“Baldwin is merely doing his job.”
“I understand. But I will not give her up.”
The china clinks as the teacup comes back to rest on the saucer. Arthur looks down at the brown liquid. Two eyes stare back at him but in the hue of the blue sky. A small jerk of his wrist, and they're gone, washed away in the ripples.
“You are aware of the cost, I assume.”
Reflected on the window, Arthur sees the King nodding. Silence drips in thick.
“…You will not bless our union either?”
The long practice of aristocratic elegance covers the tired and faintly pleading tone in the King’s voice. Arthur lifts up his gaze without a word. In a distance, the Victoria Memorial glints in its golden glory as precious sunlight peeks out from the mass of thick clouds. It used to be one of the King’s - David, back then - favourites in his younger days. In the sunny days, he would insist dragging Arthur to the statue at his every visit to the Royal Family, excitedly chirping about new scratches and curls he had found about since their last meeting.
Just like-
Vaguely, Arthur wonders if he is destined to simply let those he had watched over slip away from him.
“I am but a Nation,” Arthur repeats, the same words he had said to Hardinge, but no more after them. The King understands the unsaid words. Arthur knows he does. The Nation does not prompt its land and people of the path it should pave; the people do and thus, shape the Nation. The Nation and the monarchy; perhaps their fates do no differ much.
“But,” Arthur murmurs, his stoic gaze dampening for a moment in the privacy they share. The King is listening; perhaps he is hanging on his words. Arthur doesn’t look back. “I wish you be happy, David.”
For, even though the price is great, you can still chase after your love.
The King lets the words sink in, and it’s marred, it’s mellow, but nevertheless, it’s a smile that adorns his face, and once more, he says, “Thank you.”
Arthur nods, takes a last sip of the lukewarm tea, and leaves.
-
5 December 1936
beLIEve
“They have rejected morganatic marriage.”
“Are you surprised?”
Sitting in the couch, his personal guards all refused to the outside of the Nation’s mansion, the King takes a moment before shaking his head. Arthur places a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea with two cups on the table. It will not surprise him if they still remained as they are by the end of the night.
“Still, I had hoped.”
Arthur takes his place opposite of the King in the old armchair. It has been a part of this place for longer than the King has lived; it’s not too unlike the one that perhaps, Alfred might remember from his childhood. Arthur’s fingers brush across the shawl draped over the armrest, of pastel blue. The shade is somewhat out of place in the browns and greens of his house. Only the master of the household knows of its significance.
“Yet you will not change your mind.”
“No.”
The answer comes promptly, even before Arthur’s last word has wholly come out. Somehow, it comforts Arthur despite the aches of the constitutional crisis that have been haunting his weary body.
"Arthur."
Arthur looks at the King. He blinks at the scrutinising gaze but waits in patience. He has a feeling that their next meeting will not provide the luxury of casual conversation.
"Do Nations also love?"
The green eyes widen at the unforeseen question. Arthur's fingers curl around the soft-looking shawl.
"...We are but Nations," Arthur manages to breathe out.
"It is not an answer to my question," the King states without contempt.
Arthur speaks no more. The King does not ask again.
-
Hearts have a past that must be reckoned
The King leaves in due hours, his farewell too ominous for Arthur's liking. Back in the lounge, Arthur sees that as he had expected, the confectioneries have not been touched. He knows he should clean the white porcelains of the tea before it stains but against his better judgement, plops himself down in the armchair.
"Do Nations also love?"
A soft sigh escapes him and after a glance at the tea pot, Arthur gets up, loosening the collar of his shirt. After a few clinks, he returns with a glass of whiskey, blocks of ice making it sweat. Arthur gazes down at the worn-out shawl, his eyes indecipherable. He take a sip of the alcohol, feels it burning down his throat, and slowly unfolds it over his lap.
At the last fold, he stops; hesitates.
"...We are but Nations."
"It is not an answer to my question."
Another tipping of the cold glass, and from beneath the last layer appears a small drawing, old but obviously cherished, of his 200-years or so younger self smiling fondly as Alfred, back then without any glasses ageing his bright face, perches himself on the armrest of the chair Arthur's occupying. Arthur's fingertips traces the line of Alfred's face in the portrait, the touch lighter than that of a ghost. Arthur brings up the hand holding the glass and rests his forehead on the wrist.
"We are but Nations," Arthur mumbles to the cold silence, "yet we love, and thus torment ourselves over the vainness of it."
It is an answer far too late.
-
12 December 1936
Plausible impossibilities
The winter in England barely sees any sun and Arthur walks over to the runway under the large black umbrella. He is the last to arrive; the Prime Minister and the three brothers of now the Prince Edward greet him sombrely.
"Where is the Prince?"
"I am here," comes the reply from behind him and Arthur turns around to find the very man dressed in a simple suit. A small smile blooms on Arthur's face; the months have been calamitous indeed, as Hadinge had warned, but the Prince's eyes are shining brightly like beacons.
"I see you're ready."
The Prince nods then after a look around the others, pulls the Nation away. Everyone, including Arthur himself, is confused by the sudden action, but before Arthur can question it, the Prince whispers in a hushed voice so that others may not hear.
"I know that I do not have enough experience or knowledge to give you any advice," the Prince says, pushing Arthur into deeper puzzlement, "but I wished to tell you this before I go."
Arthur furrows his brows. The Prince looks over at the plane waiting for him then turns back.
"Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it."
"!! What-?!"
The Prince merely chuckles at the deep blush dying the Nation's face.
"Though you did not answer me, I had already gathered it myself. I do not know who it is that have stolen your heart, my great Nation, and what hardship you are going through because of it, but remember this."
Arthur clicks his gaping jaw shut and waits for the last words of the hopeless romantic in the peppering of raindrops. The Prince reaches out for Arthur's hand, the one not gripping the umbrella, and it is not just a mere handshake but a transfer of candid emotion that warms Arthur's heart, regardless of the extremity he has caused.
"Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
It is only when the plane to Austria disappears behind the clouds that Arthur lets the bitter smile mar his face.
"Thank you, David," he murmurs, barely audible in the pelting rain, his gratitude as sincere as the King's had been, "but your wish is nigh possible, I believe."
-
9 April 2005
Lemon-flavoured kisses
Turning the TV on and fixing the channel to BBC One, Arthur burrows into his couch, nursing a cup of freshly brewed tea. England's April still carries a chill that should not be ignored and his current attire, which doesn't in fact consist of much other than the ridiculously large quilt firmly wrapped around him, doesn't provide much of protection against the cool air in the lounge. Though he would have not normally masqueraded around the house in such despicable state, he has woken up late due to certain reasons and could not afford any more delay than freshening himself up before rushing down from his bedroom.
Thankfully, the coverage for the Service of Prayer and Dedication has only just begun, the presenters still introducing the program. Arthur smiles in relief as he sips the warm beverage and wiggles to settle himself down in the most comfortable position. Having turned down the Royal Family's invitation to the wedding ceremony, he has no excuse to miss even the TV coverage.
Before the actual Service begins, the program shows some scenes from the civil wedding of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles, and Arthur cannot help but feel somewhat amused and strange at the large crowd gathered around Windsor. Though the course is different and it is no longer 1936, many had recalled what was now referred as Edward VIII abdication crisis from the romance of the couple, yet the response from the people is almost polar-opposite. Arthur watches on the cheering of the crowd, resorting to enjoying his tea against the mixed emotions. Indeed, many has-
"Changed a lot, hasn't it?"
Arthur jumps at the voice still shrouded in sleep from behind him but before he can turn around, two arms wrap around him, the quilt and all, and warm breaths flits over his exposed nape.
"Good morning, Arthur."
A shiver runs down Arthur's spine and he grips the porcelain hard, blushing as ferociously as his clutch. He can feel his treacherous body reacting to the lips hovering above his thoroughly abused neck. Arthur sinks deeper into the couch, trying to hide his mortification.
"Good morning, Alfred," Arthur manages, then comes out of his quilt-shell again in puzzlement. "What has?"
"Huh?" is the intellectual reply and Arthur rolls his eyes. The American had been asleep when he was rushing down the stairs so he is most likely still not out of the fog of drowsiness.
"What has changed a lot?"
"You know, this and that," Alfred shrugs nonchalantly - Arthur wonders if the idiot even knows the things the vague answer could be referring to - and plants a kiss on Arthur's neck. Arthur flinches with a sharp gasp then smacks the blonde tuft when he feels a grin spreading across the face buried at his nape.
"Bloody git."
"Wasn't what you said last night," Alfred chimes mockingly and dodges Arthur's flying ammunitions of cushions. In the commotion, the tea cup topples over and instantly stains the pale quilt.
"Shit!" Arthur curses, instantly forgetting about the other. Alfred grabs the chance and tilting the flushed face up, dives down for their morning kiss. Arthur fights it out of reflex than anything else, but soon, the flailing ceases and the arms that had been hiding under the cover come up to wrap around Alfred's neck. The cold air lapping at his bare skin makes Arthur shiver, though the hand caressing the small of his back is not completely free of charge, and Arthur pulls down the warm, bare chest of Alfred against his, the growing heat driving the chill out of the lounge-
"Wa-wait! Stop!"
"Huh? Why?" Alfred whines, the blue eyes hazy with remnant of sleep and re-awakening lust. Frankly, Arthur is in no better state, and yes, he does want to continue, but he had come down for a reason, for a duty.
"I need to watch that. I didn't even attend, it's the least I should do as the Nation."
The pout on the American's face says enough of what Alfred thinks of the sudden cessation but Arthur cannot give in again. Instead, he reaches up and presses his wet lips against Alfred's.
"After the coverage. I promise."
"Really?"
Arthur rolls eyes.
"Yes, really, you sodding wanker."
Alfred eyes him, those striking blues regaining their brightness, then loses all the creases between his brows in a blink of an eye. "OK!" he chirps and heads for the kitchen, no doubt looking for coffee. It's one of Alfred's favourite morning activities, this treasure hunting for coffee, because he knows the English keeps some for whenever he comes but hides it so that no one - including himself - sees it.
When Alfred disappears around the corner, Arthur returns to his previous position and gathers the quilt back around him. The brown stain stands out like a sore thumb but Arthur overlooks it contently for now. His attention back on the coverage, Arthur recalls the words he remembers more clearly than the last speech of Prince Edward to the people.
"Love may be painful, Arthur, but only love will heal you of it. Just as much as you wished me be happy, I wish you be happy too and that you will find your forever with the one that you love."
A felicitous smile curls Arthur's lips. Indeed, he thinks, watching the newly wed couple emerging, smiles on their faces. Quietly under his breath, Arthur murmurs, "Thank you, David."
A/N:
*Edward VIII abdication crisis: King Edward VIII wished to marry a twice-divorced American socialite, Wallis Simpson. It raised objections in many aspects and eventually led to constitutional crisis. Hardinge, the King's secretary, had written a letter to Edward to warn about the outcome should he continue his relationship with Simpson then the following Monday, Edward called in Baldwin, then PM, and stated that he wished to marry Simpson. When mornganatic marriage was rejected by the government, Edward chose to abdicate. After his famous last speech, then reverted to Prince, Edward left Britain to Austria and later did marry Simpson.
During the inter-war times when this happened, the relationship between Britain and America was strained, or so says Wiki, which is why Arthur's being so angsty and Alfred doesn't show up during the crisis time.
*Edward VIII: Although I have depicted him here quite romantic and all, it appears he was rather a problematic Prince/King. He was usually called David by the close family members and friends.
*Victoria Memorial: It's the golden statue of Queen Victoria in front of the Buckingham Palace that was placed in 1911. How the hell would I know whether Edward VIII liked it or not, I just made it up.
*In 1700s, there were no photography yet, so there would have been no photos of the two before American Revolutionary War; hence the portrait instead.
*The wedding of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles: It was somewhat controversial, especially with the popularity of Diana and many rumours that floated about with regards to the car accident that led to Diana's death, conspiracies of Royal Family and such. In some ways, it is modern parallel of Edward VIII abdication crisis though the result was obviously significantly different. Currently, Prince Charles remain as the heir to the throne.
I didn't watch the coverage so to be honest, I don't know what actually was shown.