A/N: This is my first fanfic ever so please excuse the crapiness in which some of you may read. I will say that it is up to you to enjoy it and any injuries, insults, loss of blood and off-puttings created by said story means that I either suck at this or you are jumping all over the walls in an attempt to do something…. In that case, I claim no responsibility to your injuries.
This happens sometime before the Seven Years' War and the location is in today's Newfoundland. From what I can recall from grade 8 social studies (which by the way, isn't a lot), the place was under British control. I wasn't trying to be too historically inaccurate but I didn't want to try to be too specific either in this chapter.
Warnings: Language, historical inaccuracy, potential OOCness (taste the Colonial!England but I doubt that any of you can eat him), England being a pedophile and a jerk, weirdness, Canadian spelling, France's spectacular hobbies, updates at random times, etc…
Characters: Fem!Canada, Colonial!UK. Mentions of France and USA in this chapter.
Pairings: Slight Fem!CanUK (fem!Canada x England) if you want to see it. There is nothing stopping me from having you do so. Pairing moments will differ from chapter to chapter.
Word count: 1971
Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia. This is probably a good thing.
Awkward First Encounters and the Musings of a Cynical Man
You could practically call him insane and no one would question you!
The personification of England was a man (and no we are not questioning his gender or his… err hobbies). He took pride in and boasted about his gentlemanly manners to the point where one could say he crossed the line of gentlemanly modesty and profusely beat the point in at times. England, or Arthur as he liked to call himself, was well aware of this fact. But that was not the only thing he relentlessly touched upon. Of course it wasn't. This is the Arthur Kirkland we're talking about. It wasn't enough to delightedly shove that one small trait repeatedly into their faces; he had to bring light all of them to those who were (and eventually will be) under his foot. It was in his, and the majority of Europe's, nature. Who were they to question him?
When it came down to it, you could practically strip and melt down Arthur's personality and get pure eurocentrism – or Arthurcentrism, as he liked to coin his as (that made him seem better and different than those other Europeans. God forbid Arthur be bunched with the likes of them). It was a cold ideal that many of the European countries held at that time. The urge to conquer. The need to explore. The desire to be rich. All of those qualities were found inside him, and the voices of insanity simply tempted him far too much. He had no choice but to listen.
It was an instinct now.
Those voices were the ones that lulled him to sleep. They fed him. They provided for him. They fulfilled all his dreams. He was above all.
That was until he ran face-first into a major roadblock.
How could that pompous, old Frog-face beat him to the vast riches of the New World's north?
Obtaining his sweet, dear America was simple. A few visits here, some tears there, and voilà, you got yourself an adorable, young, loyal colony. That and driving off those dreadfully weak fools who dared to obtain the boy first worked wonders.
This was incomprehensible. Not the Frog, but I should have the North. But it seemed as if it was never meant to be.
Whatever Arthur managed to obtain was simply not enough. The sphere of influence he had over Rupert's Land was, by no means, enough. It. Was. Not. Enough.
He needed more. More.
While that wine bastard was raking in the riches (and doing many dirty and unspeakable things to the Indians), Arthur was barely getting by attempting to colonize the North.
Sure, some of the Northern locals were nice, but if they aligned with the French then any fighting between himself and the Frog's Indians were a waste of supplies and time.
The terrain there was different from that of his own home, but he could manage. The chance to explore was too much for him to resist. It was always a fond hobby of his ever since his more rebellious days as a pirate.
It was the winter that drove Arthur practically beyond the realms of sanity. It was as if General Winter had a vendetta against him. What had England done to make him angry?
It was too cruel.
It was a lack of time (and awareness) caused the Briton to lose a valuable piece – the personification of the North himself. The poor thing. Living under the pervert's control, speaking that ugly language and being called that God awful name Novelle-France.
Despicable.
With a great deal of luck (and an ample amount of surprise), the Englishman had coincidentally stumbled upon the personification of the north. The young child was in his jurisdiction!
Arthur could only find himself relishing and savouring the sight before him.
The child was innocently picking wildflowers with his strange white animal friend acting as some sort of parental watch. As England approached the colony, the bear let out a low growl like a mother of his species would. This appeared to have shocked the child as he spun around, his white nightgown daintily swaying with the quick movement. The child stared at Arthur and became uneasy while Arthur would only match said stare at the diminutive child.
He had skin as white as the snow that rained down from above on the lands for much of the year.
Want.
His eyes were a deep purple – like the colour of the purple pansies that flourished across Arthur's land. Yet, upon closer examination, they flickered to other gorgeous colours within that one deep mauve.
Desire.
His curly hair, worn long, simply cascaded down from his shoulders. It was too long for a normal boy but that did not distract Arthur - nothing a pair of scissors couldn't fix.
Need.
The swirls of temptation were building up in Arthur's stomach and his feet yearned to move, to be closer to the boy, and his skin felt prickly from the excitement. He prepared his mouth to use whatever means possible to coax the child nearer to him. To truly pluck him from the land and take back what is his. But the desire is firmly held back as he pierces his gums with his teeth to prevent his lips from moving out of their own accord, and the copper taste of blood slowly brings Arthur back to reality. Now simply was not the time to claim him. It was too soon.
Obviously the Frog would have to fight (and hopefully suffer) before he could bask in the boy's mysterious riches. France's head was asking to be under his boot for taking what's rightfully his.
The young country before the foreigner grows increasingly wary and drops the flowers held earlier for the bear. The child begins to tear up as the man begins his musings and drinks in the nation before him with his stare all while letting out a lengthy, low, dark chuckle.
Unable to take it anymore, the child attempts to break off whatever the thoughts the man has by speaking to him in a long ago tongue. The response from him was of that of a horrified look. Not good.
The colony panics and begins babbling garbled French, of which some is caught by the odd fellow. The child's words are responded to by the man as he tries to begin a simple conversation.
The colony's tongue had sent had sent shivers down his spine.
Where in blazes did this child learn to speak that language? It's filthier than the language spoken by those who live here!
Arthur soon notices that his response was not what the child desired and earned him a reply in rapid French. Arthur sighs and tries to shut the bloody little thing up (in any other occasion, Arthur would never acknowledge that vile language). The last thing Arthur wanted was for French to be spoken across this land and by the one who represented it.
"Do you speak English?" Arthur asks. The lack of emotion is chilling.
The response is slow as the child mulls over their answer. This comes off as mildly rude, but Arthur can't scold the child now for two reasons: 1. He is not his yet, and 2. Arthur will eventually have to teach the damn thing about true, proper, English manners.
Who knows what that lascivious bastard taught him? It certainly would not match the Empire's standards.
"Y-yes!" the young colony squeaks, face as red as an apple. "W-who are you? You're n-not and inhabitant of this island."
Stuttering too? Oh, how the work piles up. At least he knows English, but that awful accent will have to change. I'll only have to populate this place with more of my people. Always does the trick. If not then... well that toad will realise the extent of my true power.
"It is rude to not properly introduce yourself when you ask for another's name."
He braced his ears for he was indeed quite ready to hear a sweet, high-pitch voice state his name and Arthur would only take it as to one hearing a curse from a child.
"Je m'a- oops… you don't speak French. My name is New France!" the child beamed proudly until the child saw the man before give a look of disgust. Her face fell. "Uh… you can call me Madison like Francis does..."
Oh, the Lord and above, that swine gave the kid a girl's name when he- wait what?
"You're a girl?"
"Yes?"
"Surely you jest."
"Are youa girl?"
"No but that is besides the point-"
"If you're not a girl then I am. You're a funny mister" she giggled.
Arthur finds himself dragged back into his thoughts. Greed clouds his mind thickly, and he begins to plot. He always did want a girl. They were always easier to tame and ever so obedient and meek in this day and age.
His thoughts are cut short as a sharp pain stabs his leg and his eyes snap to see that filthy animal the girl had been holding gnawing at his leg. What a waste! His cotton pants were of the highest quality cotton from America's plantations, and now they were ruined.
The girl quickly scurries over to an unimpressed Arthur and slowly pries her animal off. She quickly apologizes in that hideous language of hers before her big, round eyes firmly capture the emerald green ones of the man before her.
"You didn't answer my question after I said my name!" Her lips form an adorable pout. "Who are you?"
Arthur tenses slightly. He could lie to the child so that he can stay here longer and forage for any scrap of trust he can, but that is a waste of time, and cowardly nonetheless. He was no animal who ate from the scraps of a grand feast. He wanted the banquet and besides, lying never did any justice, so playing straightforward will just have to do.
"I am England."
The young nation tenses.
That Frog probably told her monstrous lies about himself. Another thing he will have to fix, he supposes. All will be settled in due time.
Madison slowly backs away before she stumbles on her gown and falls backwards onto her back. She drags herself back like an adorably scared and trapped animal, not taking the time to stand back upon her feet.
England glares at the child. His green eyes pierce her soul and he uses that opportunity to command her, without words, to carry on with her petty flower-picking activities. To his dismay, she does not. Arthur blamed it on her French part. They never were good listeners.
Unable to quell the burning desire anymore, Arthur darkly chuckles once more to the shuddering child, "please do carry on with picky flowers for your dear, sweetFrancis."
He knew that the Frenchman would be less than thrilled to discover his sweet, defenceless colony had been fraternizing with the enemy, and using any means to calm the Frenchie down from his anger at their interaction would be favourable (and Arthur couldn't stand the fact of the frog disciplining what is his for any longer. That and the ungrateful fool should be proud she is conversing with better folks).
"Oh, and do tell him that I send him my regards and may the best win."
The girl nods back, slightly confused, and bites down on the question she wishes to ask but can't. If she does, the fear of whatever threads that were keeping her in her position as a country representation with France at her side would immediately snap.
Arthur simply turns his back to the young colony and walks away, laughing darkly under the clear blue sky of the vast lands. His lands.
A/N: And done chapter 1. Why yes England is indeed a jerk and a creeper. Those who did not read my warnings must have been disturbed and that means I have succeeded in something.
I'll try to clear some things here if it wasn't too obvious from the story:
1. Arthurcentrism – the belief that Arthur is better than everyone and therefore he does not fall into the lines of eurocentrism. This is not to be confused with Alfredcentrism which will be touched upon in later chapters.
2. I wanted Canada to be picking some of Newfoundland's provincial flower but that would be one disturbing bouquet. I can just imagine the delight on France's face when he receives a bunch of pitcher plants.
3. Canada is referred to as a male by England as he believes that he can safely assume that the nation is a male. There are like 8 females nations so it must be a nation-thing per se for guys to be more common than girls.
4. England assumes female nations to be weak and that they really have no say of what they do. My thoughts on this are different, but I digress.
5. The spine tingling language Canada spoke in was Old Norse. The Vikings did discover Newfoundland first.
6. Canada can speak English because there are English settlers in her land. Sure these lands are owned by England at the time but I feel that if a country feels a connection to that land, then they can speak the language of the inhabitants. The only reason her accent is messed up is because she isn't used to speaking the language and cannot firmly grasp a proper English accent. That and France owns her officially. Is this messed up? Sure but hey, it works.
Comments, questions and criticisms are welcome. If you wish to flame me, nothing is stopping you there but at least make it good. Nothing brightens my day than some good flames.
