A/N: I got the urge to do a Hetalia Cardverse story (Though I'd say it's more Cardverse "inspired," than anything) quite a while back, but I never had the opportunity to write it because I really wanted to finish my other story first along with certain time constraints I've had. This is probably bad timing on my part, but I got sick of letting this thing just rot on my computer, and actually posting a story is quite motivating for continuing it. So please enjoy, and criticism most welcome!

Prologue

Matthew's body was weighed with the urge to collapse. His horse fared no better, slogging its way up the rocky slope with a sluggishness that was unthinkable back during its willful days as a colt. The armor he wore seemed unusually heavy and caused him to overheat despite the briskly cool evening settling over the shallow valley. He had even taken off his helmet and tucked it under his arm to gain some relief, his head now quite safe from enemy marksmen as the battle had been long over.

Once at the top of the hill, Matthew looked down, his position perfect for seeing right over the body strewn battlefield and out toward the army encampments. He could hear the distant barking of dogs and shouts of men carry over to him, as well as smell the billows of black smoke curling upwards like a disease from several fires. Suddenly a strong wind kicked up, and his face was so covered in grime that he barely felt it rip past as it whisked away the sounds of the living and the stench of the dead. He took in the oddly festive sight of the colorful banners among the tents straighten out and ripple with movement, mocking the solemn atmosphere. The cloak draped over his shoulders, heavy with mud and blood, made its own half-hearted attempt to imitate the flags, but only succeeded in falling to the side with the hem snagging on the end of the buckle fastening on his saddle.

Taking a moment to rest in the soft glow of dusk, Matthew spotted an archer running up toward him and waving his hands. He was about to draw his sword until he spotted the familiar orange of the Mountain Kingdom under the rusted red caked onto the soldier's clothes.

"Seigneur Williams?" the archer huffed, eyes wandering to Matthew's shield and the decoration of a white bear painted on it to make sure that he had indeed approached the right man.

"Aye," Matthew answered with as much authority he could muster, feeling as tired as the archer looked.

"His Majesty requests your presence at his tent."

Matthew internally sighed. He could see on the archer's face how strange he found it that a knight, especially one of Matthew's lowly station, was being asked for personally by the king. He flirted with the idea of explaining the strange relationship he had with the king. That his mother used to lend a confidential ear to the previous king and that their current one had a bad habit of playing favorites and had picked Matthew as 'it.' He could have explained that not only were they something of close friends, but that he also held the same special position as his mother before him and that he was due more formality and respect than the archer was willing to show. But Matthew was in no mood to revel in his own clout, all too eager to hear some news after the hard fought battle.

Giving his thanks, Matthew set off down the hill at a quick but careful trot, picking his way around the bodies still unattended to. He approached the bustling campsite of the Mountain Kingdom, passing under an orange banner with the kingdom's diamond symbol, representing the great mountain Léon and its reflection in the large lake at its base.

He quickly dismounted before the mouth of the only moderately sized tent in the sloppily assembled campsite, taking a moment to undo his cloak that was now caught in his horse's bit. Once free, he entered without announcing himself, striding over to a man bedecked in unadorned armor covered with a colorful tabard and a long cloak made of finer fabric than most, muttering quietly over a cramped table filled with scrolls.

His king looked up at the sound of clinking spurs, forming a welcoming and gentle smile for his guest. Matthew frowned at the smile, noting how similar it made them look. He already had a hard time fighting off the rumors of his bastardization, sharing the same dark blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and even same pale skin as his king. He was sure the overt friendliness between them and his family's history in the Royal Court didn't help those rumors either.

"Your Majesty," he greeted with a formal bow, mind stuck on how unusually plain the famously extravagant King Francis looked at that moment.

"Ah, Matthew, I was wondering where you had disappeared to," Francis responded absently, adjusting his once amber colored cloak, now worn and used to the point of appearing brown.

"Have the peace talks not begun?" Matthew asked, watching Francis swallow from a goblet he loftily held.

"Begun? My dear boy, they are done and the ink on the parchment dried," he informed, licking his lips and aging five years with the stress showing on his face.

"You do not seem to be in a celebratory mood," Matthew said measuredly, his insides twisting and rioting with anxiousness.

"I'm tired. It was a long war," Francis answered, taking another unapologetic drink.

"Sire…" Matthew pleaded, Francis' gloom worrying him.

"We are at peace with the Tundra and the River," Francis sighed, picking up on Matthew's mood, "We are broke, without allies, our army decimated and burning through our resources, but we are at peace."

"We…" Matthew started, wanting to say something of comfort but not sure what. No longer having to face the possibility of death the next day should have brought relief, but Matthew knew better. They were completely laid bare to the other kingdoms now, and it was only a matter of time until someone moved against them.

His primary worry was the Tundra, a kingdom having long lusted after the Mountain's boon of valuable metals rife inside the protective mountain range between the two territories. The current Tundran king, a man great in both size and power, made no secret of the fact that any truce with him and his people was very temporary, especially when it came to Francis' kingdom.

Then there was the River Kingdom, having instigated the current conflict three years prior. They had attempted to claim legal rights to the land surrounding a fork in the Warren River, a body of water that cut through the entirety of the small continent the three kingdoms occupied. This wouldn't have been much of an issue had the fork not been inside the Mountain Kingdom's territory as well as being a high traffic area for transport of goods. The ambassadors they sent claimed that the land had originally been theirs and that the Mountain had been illegally occupying it for over a century. Though the two kingdoms were not allies, the stunt still stung and the arguments were quickly rejected and the ambassadors sent packing. Matthew was particularly troubled during this period, his family's lands not too far removed from the disputed territory. The problem inevitably ended up snowballing into war between the two kingdoms, with the Tundra jumping in like an opportunistic vulture later on.

The Mountain Kingdom soon found itself in a dire situation. Though Francis' kingdom had resources for weapons and supplies in abundance where the other kingdoms had little, they were lacking in one important area: magicians. Both the River and the Tundra had several clans and houses that could claim hundreds of years of a magical lineage, their royal lines boasting the most impressive skill. Magic was even found among the lower classes quite often, though not as strongly, both countries able to function and conquer with little effort. The Mountain, on the other hand, had Matthew.

Legend held that something about the mountains prevented magic "resonating from the earth." Matthew never dwelled on the 'why,' too preoccupied by the responsibilities of being the official Court Magician. He had been heavily relied on the entire war, his skill thankfully unique: he could move and invoke the wind and air, the River and Tundra only having command of water and fire respectively. Francis, being more cunning than tactical, had Matthew exert himself to conceal a squadron from view of the enemy troops until they mounted a charge down the very hill Matthew had just traversed on his way back to camp.

Nearly killing Matthew from the expense was well worth it, though, if it meant that the Mountain Kingdom had just bought itself some time to ready its defenses. Matthew could not bring himself to be overly bitter about having to unsteadily crawl to his horse and make his return while barely conscious.

"We..." Matthew finally tried again, after Francis had started staring at him expectantly, "We still have time. There are the mining projects in the lesser mountain area, and we still control the Warren Fork."

"We do," Francis agreed, looking at Matthew pityingly as he readied to deliver the bad news, "But I have had my arm twisted into allowing the River Kingdom to freely take the Warren north into the Tundra and trade to them as much as they wish."

"You cannot tax them for passing through?" Matthew asked, seeing the potential trouble that the unchecked passage of foreigners through their territory would cause.

"Not unless I want another war on my hands," Francis sighed, sitting down heavily on a small stool by the table. "In fact, they are trying to get me to agree to have the land around the fork declared as international territory."

"Surely they do not think you are stupid enough to agree on signing over your own land to them after they started a war with you?" Matthew couldn't keep the shock out of his voice, feeling the urge to take a drink of whatever alcohol Francis had been nursing as he thought of home.

"No, but they are going to attempt to maneuver me into a corner. We do not have much time to reinvigorate our forces and make them back off."

Matthew felt such a wave of exhaustion that he was tempted to sleep just out of sight of the tent mouth. "I… am at your disposal, my liege. Whatever you need, I will help you."

Francis merely nodded, waving Matthew away and throwing himself back into the scrolls before him with a grim expression that was alien to the usually smiling king.

The young knight took his leave and clumsily rounded his horse up from the small patch of grass he had taken to chewing as he waited for his master. Matthew led him back toward one of the many fires that his fellow cavalrymen had gathered around, already knowing he wasn't going to get the rest he desired that night as his thoughts were plagued with the future.