A/N: Creative Writing strikes again-this time the prompt was, write about an unusual romance of your choosing, so I chose a sovereign and her nation. This is England/Elizabeth I in all their true, unadulterated glory. This doesn't really follow exact historical timelines, but just a general time and year, etc. Feel free to call me out on historical inaccuracy or something.
England/Arthur Kirkland belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Warning: tiny implicative US/UK sprinkled in at the very end.
It was no secret that Arthur was in love with Elizabeth. It was apparent in the way he watched her from afar or up close, the way he kissed her hand or touched her hair. It was a very subtle type of love, a very constant, warming, reassuring type of love; a love that neither withers nor dies; a love that reflects its recipient most deeply. The love of a nation.
It was also no secret that Elizabeth had sworn herself to no man. She had promised herself to her country, a most improper love. A most challenging, intriguing, invigorating type of love. A love that is admittedly to be expected of a ruler—no connection, no bond was stronger than theirs—the bond made by a sovereign.
It was the best-kept secret of the Empire that Arthur was, in fact, the physical representation of England itself. He was a steeple of the Queen's Court, about thirty years old (or so); his presence unquestioned by the citizens. He was given the title of Lord, and his supposed heritage spanned back many centuries. His ash blonde hair, jade green eyes, and shorter-than-average stance were unique among his peers, and it was hard to decide what the Court recognized him by the most: his eternally bushy eyebrows or his undeniably explosive temper. Never in the Queen's presence, of course, but it could be heard in sharp shouts all the way down those terribly long corridors, met with either laughs or grimaces according to one's preference.
He was also Elizabeth's best friend—a most unheard of, unusual, enticing sort of friendship that amused her advisors and pleased the Court.
Of course, no one was more privy to this than one Bess Throckmorton, who was both a trusted advisor of the Queen and a known maiden of the court. And who was secretly trying to get Arthur and Elizabeth together.
She knew there was some sort of secret about Arthur that no one but Elizabeth knew. Eliza had tried to explain it to Bess once, but Bess didn't really understand it; since it didn't really affect him at all in her eyes, Bess chose to ignore it in favor of watching him flirt with Eliza most unabashedly.
She smiled slightly from her place across the room as Arthur courted Eliza with words. Her demure smiles and typical pleasantry were nothing compared to the long laughs and girlish giggles she would give if they were alone.
And alone, Bess thinks, is where she would get them.
Eliza had so terribly many suitors, all more awkward and worse than before. And even if she did take a liking to them, not one could ever compare to Lord Kirkland. It was always nice to have someone like Arthur around, even if she had sworn she would never marry. Bess knows that Eliza believes this with all her heart, but clearly, Arthur was a special case. They had a connection that no one could deny, and Bess was going to make them realize it.
Arthur smiled slightly around his glass of wine as he watched Bess put her "plan" into action.
"I do think Bess is plotting against us," he leaned down to the Queen informally.
She gave a small smile as her eyes locked with Bess' currently busy form.
"I do believe you are right," she said.
What neither Bess nor Eliza really knew was that Arthur, if he tried, could sort of predict where Bess might be headed to next, a sort of numbed feeling of awareness, like watching a person's shadow through a frosted glass door. Try as he might, however, he could not possibly predict what her end goal might be, though Eliza could probably guess.
Ah, Eliza. His favorite sovereign, without a doubt. He knew it was wrong to favor one more than another, but it was also considered wrong for Elizabeth to refuse to marry—and he would defend her right to do such until his dying breath, so he supposed that, while Elizabeth lived, he would enjoy his time with her as it came—however revolutionary a time it might be.
And after such harrowing times of instability and insecurity from the rules of her father and siblings, it was nice to have such guaranteed stability, and he thought Eliza felt that as well.
To be honest, he didn't really know how Eliza felt about much of anything—the emotion she showed most often was cold anger, mainly towards Phillip and his Armada. In fact, most of the world felt that she was just a coldly angry person, but it wasn't all her fault that she became what they'd forced her to be. Because that's what it was, a façade—she had more emotion than her public or political faces—that at least while she seemed angry, she ardently proclaimed her love for her nation—more often than not, Arthur warmed slightly—and that the goal of everything she said or did was for the good of the people, her children. She would forever slip into her role of a "worldly mother" to her Empire, and the people—at least in England—did love her for it.
Because it was hard to remember that, whenever she gave speeches to her people, saying England itself was her only requited suitor, that she wasn't speaking directly about him, he, Arthur Kirkland, as a person…most undoubtedly.
She caught him staring aimlessly at the ballroom proceedings and coaxed his eyes back to hers, giving him a small, knowing smile.
He blinked and smiled back. Ah, Eliza…
"…see? That's why they belong together!" Bess hissed furiously at her fellow maidens of the court. Some blinked, others giggled, and one asked, "…but why, Bess?"
"!" Bess rolled her eyes and spun around to watch Arthur and Eliza from her post more carefully.
"Because, Katherine," she said determinedly. "I am going to get Eliza to recognize him in some fashion or another—" She stopped at the audible gasps. "—not in marriage!" she added quickly. "Just…oh, I don't know, something to keep her life occupied. Having so many suitors is a terrible burden," she continued sadly, eyes trained on Eliza as Kitty came up to rest her head on Bess' shoulder.
"I just want her to be happy with Arthur. They must be so unsure, not knowing, always having to wonder…" The assembled ladies gave a collective sigh of sympathy.
"It must be awful to be stuck in the in-between…"
"Arthur?"
"Elizabeth! Have you any idea what's gotten into your maidens' heads?"
She sighed as the door closed behind her to girlish giggling and abstract orders to the guards. "Leave them alone!" they'd stressed, trying to give Eliza a "night off" from her Queenly duties.
"Be kind to them, Arthur," she answered wearily. "They must understand that one simply cannot take a 'night off' from being Queen."
His mostly permanent scowl turned into a placid frown at her tone and the age in her voice. She had been through so much already, and was nearing that time when nature prevailed nurture—but she was still the most beautiful Queen he could ever set sights upon.
"Well, then," he said and immediately strode to take her hands in his. "Shall we walk?"
She acquiesced easily to his hands and tilted her head slightly, lips curving upwards. "We shall."
"…I do wonder, Arthur," Eliza stated genially in that knowing voice of hers, "…what you plan to do to the Duke of Anjou, or your lovely Francis, when they return." She smiled when he grumbled and prepared herself for the inevitable comical tirade of his against the French.
He gave a wry smile at her amused reaction to his speech, letting her laugh and linking her arm with his. No other was permitted to touch the Queen in any way; nor now was she Gloriana, or Good Queen Bess; to him, she was simply Eliza.
He would kill to have her like this more often. Alone at night, walking through her well-kept garden along the Palace walls, no guards watching or suitors asking for her hand. No big dresses or wigs (which she acted like she loved, but he knew she hated), just a plain white gown, her mile-long hair streaming like flame behind her. The light from the oil lamp showed her calm complexion, the fluid, easy grace with which she laughed and talked amicably with her oldest and closest of friends.
"Because you are my closest friend, you know that, Arthur," she breathed into the night, his face inches away from hers. Her expression faltered to something akin to wistfulness as she raised a marble hand to stroke his face, push back his hair. His eyes mirrored her expression as she poured all she could not, would not say into his understanding gaze, their hearts beating the same tune, breathing the same breath. Whether it was her choice as a woman or his strength as a nation, their souls were baring the same accusation—this is wrong, just as much as it is right. Because she was in love with him, so it seemed—she loved England the country, but she also loved England the man, and it would ultimately be his ruin.
Because Eliza never did marry, but when she returned to her quarters that night, to Bess she had whispered, "Consider him acknowledged," and that was more than any of them could have hoped for. But when the time came and she said she had the "heart of a king, and of a king of England, too" she didn't know how right she was.
And so, when Arthur falls in love with Alfred 200 years later, or wakes up and meets his daughter by him 200 years after that, he is able to love solely in the moment, and they are good moments, too. After all his hardships, wars and troubled times both with and against Alfred, it is good to know that now, there is someone who will endlessly love him at the end of the day. And no matter how many questions he's asked, or compliments they receive for their daughter, Alfred knows he cannot change this one thing. Arthur's first love—real, true love—is and will always be, Eliza.
A/N: Thanks for reading, and as always, please review!