APH USUK Longing
Alfred climbed up the narrow rocky path that led to the cliffs over looking the ocean. It was a fantastic spot towering high above the surf with gnarled ancient trees whose roots clung to the cliff like giant earthbound sentinels clawing at the rock face to challenge the great expanse of water before them. The crisp scent of salt tingled the nose, carried on the breezes and winds the came in off across the sea. The world before the small nation seemed brighter here the sun reflected sharply back off of pebble beaches, white capped peaks of foamy surf, and sheer bold rock cliffs.
Alfred loved it here, not for the wide beauty though. It was the best place to wait and watch. He loved to climb those huge gangly trees to the top most branches, that threatened to yield under his growing weight now, a concern he had not had before.
Alfred did this now as he kicked off his hated shoes(seriously why did England make him wear those. His bare feet were way more efficient) and swung himself up with sure handholds and quick nimble feet until his golden head popped out above the canopy, scaring some unsuspecting birds who scolded him noisily as they flew away. Alfred turned his sky blue eyes toward the sea to view the wind torn brine that lay expansively before him, the white capped waves rolling on and on until they were lost to the endless horizon. They were the bars to his unseen cage.
Alfred knew somewhere across the dizzying expanse of undrinkable water was England, someplace so very far away in his own land. He knew England came from somewhere, the elder being like him, a country as well though much, much older than him. It was just the thought of other lands lying beyond the water besides his own was almost too surreal for Alfred to handle or think about…..like magic almost, or a fairytale. He would try hard to imagine it especially late at night when he knew he should be asleep. Alfred would try to piece images of it together in his mind based solely on descriptions from stories England had told him and pictures he had seen in story books. He always found the vision he came up with disappointing…..lacking something. Alfred knew England came from somewhere apparently very wet, rich, and green, very green. He would get to that part of the description and flake out though, enamored with thoughts of England's eyes, the color of life itself. Alfred had never seen eyes like England's before, their color, their depth, their clarity, the was they shifted color based on his moods. The dark green of sorrow broke Alfred' s heart, made him want to comfort his mentor, do anything for him. The acid green of his anger chilled him though it was rarely ever directed at him…..well, maybe once or twice over the loss of a favorite tea cup or embroidery project. The color Alfred lived for though was the sparkling mixture of spring greens and emeralds of joy that made the younger nation's heart leap and his skin tingle in a way he didn't understand yet.
Alfred's summer eyes scanned the water carefully. He tried to come here everyday, ever since he had met England. He came here to look for his ship, to catch first sight of him so that he could be the first thing Arthur saw when he docked at port. He did this so that he could welcome his beloved keeper with open arms that never wanted to let him go. Alfred continued to watch the water, eyes traveling across the length of it, searching, hoping for anything. After an insurmountable amount of time(especially for a small boy) the little country sighed in disappointed, seeing nothing.
Alfred missed England, missed him painfully, with every fiber of his small being it seemed. Alfred understood, at least tried to anyway, that he had to go, but it didn't mean he had to like it though. It was so lonely and boring here without England. The people he had left here in his lands were nice enough, a little weird, but nice and took care of him, but it wasn't the same. No one here could cook as well as England, and Alfred was quite put out for some scones and other delicious foods.
Alfred leaned back against the tree pouting at his lack of burnt baked goods, glaring at the ocean as if it was to blame, his own personal prison guard. He could faintly hear them now if he tried, those people buzzing softly in his head, replacing some of the ones that had been there before. England's people were slowly becoming his people…..more and more every time a ship came here. People looking for something…..something England could not give them. Alfred mouthed a word, breathed it out but gave it no sound or form. He needed to understand it more, what they wanted from him, what they were seeking. Alfred liked how the word tasted though, how it sat on his tongue. It made his head feel light and his heart beat fast. He didn't know why, but it made him excited.
It wasn't just England people either. It was all different sorts of strangers who spoke in odd tongues, making their way in and settling down in his lands as well. It made other parts on Alfred's body itch and twitch, letting him know that more and more people, newcomers from all over it seemed, were arriving, wanting to become part of him, their hopes, dreams, and desired gleaming in the night sky of his mind like brilliant stars. Alfred had been particular aware of movements in Florida for a while now, much to his own personal embarrassment. He had gotten into the habit of carrying a book around with him or a hat.
Alfred had been growing for a while now though, constantly getting bigger. He had found himself one day, seemingly overnight, unable to fit into his dressing gown and had to outfitted with new(and very uncomfortable in his opinion)clothing and even worse, shoes. Alfred could not understand why as a baby he had been allowed to run around the wilderness completely barefoot, but now had to wear those infernal toe pinching contraptions that were more hindrance that help. It was ridiculously unfair. Alfred missed his comfortable, airy, easy-to-move-in dressing gown as well. The small nation was currently sporting knee breeches(too tight-Florida needed to breathe), a button down blue cotton shirt(too itchy), a black vest and thin silk black tie(seriously, what purpose did those serve) and of course his ultimate nemesis, shoes(which were currently at the base of the tree and even then rarely worn, much to the despair of his keepers).
Since he was older now, Alfred was trying to stay out of trouble to make England happy, but there was just so much to do and explore. There were animals to play with, caves to discover, and wide plains of land just begging to be traveled beyond the mountains. After England would leave and he was confident he would not be back for a while, Alfred would disappear into those dark woods to walk across flower filled fields, sparkling streams, mist filled valleys, and rolling hills, becoming more and more familiar with himself. It was fun and excited, but at the same time, incredibly lonely. Alfred always found himself returning to the edge of the sea, toeing the water.
Alfred stood up on the branches precariously, bouncing from the sudden action. He balled up his little fists, holding them tightly to his quaking sides. It was happen every once in a while. A huge wave of loneliness would cave and crash upon the shore of his calm, engulfing him in a chilling embrace of trembling solidarity, leaving him feeling weak, crying, and frightened. His fear, his greatest fear that lurked in his heart of hearts, was that England would forget about him, the country far across the sea and never return to him…..out of sight, out of mind…forever gone.
Alfred could feel his narrow chest tighten up as his head grew hot and fuzzy. His eyes hurt now from him squinting back tears that threaten to blind his sight. "England! England! Come back!", Alfred yelled loudly, having the sudden strange idea that if he somehow yelled loud enough, England would hear him all the way from across his watery cell walls, all the way to the mysterious green island itself.
"England, please come back! You have to come back!"
Alfred yelled himself out, until his head hurt and his throat was hoarse, staring back onto a cold and empty sea. Alfred sat back against the branches crying, his tears picked up and carried back out to the ocean on the wind.
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Arthur hated them, hated them all, the other nations. The slender blonde island nation huffed angrily to himself as he walked down the streets of London toward the port, people scurrying out of his way quickly, unnoticed in his personal rage.
All the other nations did was make fun of him, fight with him, and hate him. It seemed to Arthur that they like nothing more than to team up on him, especially that wine bastard, France. That disgusting pervert was a constant thorn in his side, simply for the sheer joy of it.
Arthur had been having numerous problems with his brothers as well and that bitch Ireland wasn't helping matters any. It seemed his own family was out to get him, but that was business as usual. Arthur simply wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't receive curses on a regular basis from them. Fuck all, he was sick of it, sick of every mangy twat that irritated his very existence. He was starting to feel ground down, like too little butter spread out over too much bread.
The nation moved wearily toward his waiting ship, his ultimate goal presently, his salvation almost in sight, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the busy port. Arthur longed to see America again, his precious treasure, his sweet child. America was always so kind to him, greeting him with warm smiles, tight hugs, and endless adoration. It was like a healing balm to Arthur's battered soul…..or a drug, the darker parts of his mind whispered. He had done nothing to merit this love, but now it seemed could not live without it, the very idea of returning to America was already lifting his spirits. Arthur wanted nothing more that to bury himself in that love, cover himself in it from head to toe until it left his being numb with bliss. He knew it was wrong to put so many of his needs on this small unsuspecting country. He even admitted to himself it was selfish and stupid to expect so much for one being especially one so young and innocent, but Arthur needed him, wanted all of him, all of his endless love. He felt like he couldn't breathe without it. Arthur's presence was still greatly required here, but he couldn't take it anymore, wanted to escape on silver sails and wide open waters with a good wind at his back like he had done so often in the past.
Arthur decided in his haste to return to America to take his most beloved ship, the Bloody Rose, which had at one time been the most feared pirate ship to ever sail the seven seas. She was still a beautiful vessel, made all of polished black wood with a weeping angel as its figure head, though her crimson sails had been changed out long ago for white. Arthur's pirating day were long over and done with, him being a gentleman now and had to set an example for his young charge. He loved being on this ship though, the energy it brought back to him, the memories of him being a pirate king, the unofficial ruler of the sea and all those who dare travel upon it.
Though the Rose was small, she was as fast and agile as a rapier and had been the bane of Spanish brigeons for decades, cutting a path of blood, gunpowder and fire through the armada itself. She was still a legend in ports and taverns, the rich and bloody tales still told about the nightmare ship with scarlet sails said to be dyed in the blood of her victims, and piloted by a merciless captain who many claimed had ice water for blood and a soul blacker than the depths of the ocean. A man so vile that it was whispered he could not die and that Old Hob had kicked him out of hell himself for fear the pirate would take over. Arthur personally liked the tale of where he married a mermaid, fought with Poseidon himself to a standstill, and captured a typhoon to keep as a pet…all in one day.
Arthur chuckled to himself over the absurd notions, though part of him was sad, knowing that one day the stories, all of them, would fade and pass from the minds and memories of mortal men eventually. If any did survive, they would become so warped they would be unrecognizable to him, much like the legends about his poor king, Arthur and his old friend and mentor, Merlin. Arthur still grew wistful though at a particularly passionate telling of his adventures and conquests, always preferring to listen instead of adding to them. People did that enough on their own.
Arthur took his position at the wheel, and gave the final orders to his crew to depart. He took a deep cleansing breathe of salt sir, enjoying the tingle and burn of the mineral on his nose, reveling in the scent of the ocean, his long time friend and companion. It was the smell of freedom to him, of adventure.
It was time to return.
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Alfred sat in his tree for a long time afterward, until his tears dried up and his head started to feel clear and normal again. He distracted himself further by imagining he was an eagle, chasing after some very put out squirrels as he jumped gracelessly from branch to branch after them. The squirrel mocked him loudly in his failed attempts, pelting Alfred with acorns for his efforts.
Something caught his attention though out of the corner of his eyes, making the little country scramble back to the top of the tree. It was a ship, definitely a ship. Alfred felt a wave of intense excitement as he bounced haphazardly up and down on the thin branches. Something was bothering him about the ship though. Alfred stilled himself, to get a better look. The ship….appeared…wrong. It was bigger that anything Alfred had seen England ever sail in. It looked like a fat cow on the water, the vessel large and bulky. England's ships fairly skipped over the water. This vessel seemed to trudge. Also….it was coming from the wrong direction. England's boats always came from the east. This boat was sailing up from the south. Lastly the flag was all wrong. It was red and white like England's but instead of a centered red cross on a white background, it had two jagged red diagonal line crisscrossed upon a white field. Alfred didn't know a lot of countries, so he certainly didn't recognize this one. He was pretty sure it wasn't France though. England had repeated warned him about the dangers of other nations, and had firmly told him to avoid them, but curiosity won out over caution as he watched the strange ship dock below, strangely enough not at port.
The little nation climbed down the tree, ignoring to put on his shoes, and made his way down quickly to investigate who had come to his shores so unexpectedly.