APH Always Mine-Storytime
Arthur awoke to an odd warm sensation centered on his chest. While keenly honed survival instincts, hard won from centuries of general conflict and war, screamed for immediate action, other more conscious thoughts groaned inwardly. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the heavy lump wiggling him awake in its barely contained excitement.
Bloodshot, weary emerald eyes cracked open to meet sky blue eyes that sparkled with endless energy, Alfred's face so close to his guardian's own their noses were touching. "America…What is wrong with your own bed?", Arthur sighed, futilely trying to will his small colony back to his room.
"I can't sleep.", Alfred whispered back, under the impression that speaking in soft tones made waking up his keeper somehow better.
"That is not a good reason.", Arthur grumbled, making himself sit up to lean heavily back against the headboard, the tiny country perched on him sliding down into his lap.
"My toes are itchy?", Alfred offered, producing the little offending piggies for Arthur's viewing pleasure, wiggling them upon closer inspection.
"That is not better and is just ridiculous.", Arthur managed to say in serious tones, before catching the naughty toes to tickle them. Alfred squealed with surprised laughter, twisting away to dive under the covers in his escape, hiding in plain sight.
Arthur poked at the little lump until it produced a golden head from out under the edge of the blanket. "America, it is late and we have a lot of things to do tomorrow…", Arthur yawned, intent on getting some sort of sleep tonight, but his lecture was interrupted in more ways than one.
"Can't I stay with you?", Alfred pouted, jumping up to reclaim Arthur's lap, his beautiful eyes wide and pleading. Arthur dragged his hands down his face slowly at the hurt puppy dog expression, trying to shield himself from it. There was no escaping it though. Alfred could hold that look with all the resolve of a seasoned duelist.
"If you can refrain from butchering my language, I might consider it.", Arthur glared, the expression holding no real anger as he tried to buy himself a little wiggle room and some time. Alfred countered by scrunching his face up in adorable, determined concentration.
"May I stay….please?", America said in soft pleading tones, his azure eyes wavering with just a hint of barely suppressed tears. Arthur groaned, his heart and resolve melting under the ultimate assault of cute.
"Very well….but not one peep out of you, or it is straight back to your own bed lad, mark my words well.", Arthur said, flopping back down on the pillows in defeat. Alfred jumped up to cheer, slapping his little hands over his mouth just in time, his eyes wide in excitement. Crawling over, he burrowed in to Arthur's side until the British empire had an odd, uncomfortable lump wedged firmly between his arm and ribs. With some shifting, Arthur managed to get more comfortable, closing his eyes with a content, tired sigh.
Minutes ticked by with no relief from consciousness though. Arthur was not sure how the boy did it but his whole being just pulsed with awareness, his vibrant energy rolling off of his small body in almost tangible waves. Arthur wanted to cry. There was no way he could fall asleep like this, but he couldn't kick America out now either, not when he was making such a valiant effort to comply to his wishes. Arthur's eyes slitted open to see his colony staring at him, wide awake, his hands practically crammed into his mouth to keep from talking.
Arthur sat up again grumbling, which Alfred took instantly as a sign he could move and talk again. He started to sing to himself, playing with his fingers, acting out parts of his nonsensical song. Arthur stared at him, wondering where he got all of his energy. "England were you ever little?", Alfred asked suddenly, abandoning his song to sit up, studying his keeper.
Arthur blinked in surprise at the odd question. "Yes, of course I was. Mind you, it was a very long time ago though.", Arthur smiled, a touch sadly. His 'childhood' had not been a pleasant one, but for nations, it rarely was.
Alfred seemed to consider this information very seriously."Who took care of you?", he asked finally.
"Well….no one really….", Arthur told him, watching the small nation's face fall into obvious distress over this. "How about a tell you a story from when I was little and then we go to sleep?", Arthur said quickly, not liking to see the little one upset. Alfred perked up immediately at the word 'story'. Arthur let out a little breath of relief, thankful for once that Alfred was easily distracted in light of his favorite things, the top two currently being biscuits and bedtime stories.
While Alfred made himself more comfortable in the offered lap, Arthur thought of something to tell him, his past was turbulent but also very beautiful and varied. He toyed with the idea of telling him about the tower of London with all its many ghost, before remembering he wanted to actually go to sleep after this. Alfred had an irrational fear of ghosts and would keep him up all night trembling at every little sound the house made. Alfred tugged at his nightshirt impatiently, bringing the older nation out of his revelries.
"This is a story about my brother, Scotland, and I…..", Arthur began.
"You have a brother?", Alfred interrupted, squeaking in his surprise.
"Yes, I have several actual. We don't get on well. Now hush or I will not continue. As I was saying…."
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England sat by a shimmering lake hidden deep in his woods, its surface a silver mirror that perfectly reflected the sky above. The small country sat on its banks, kept company by his three closest friend- his hare, his robin and his green fairy, Mint, as he chatted with the Lady of the Lake. The tiny blonde gnawed on his apple intently as he listened to his wise fairy friend. The Lady stayed below the surface, a glittering translucent figure that shifted in and out of view before him. Her clear pure voice was easily heard though by the young nation as she informed him that his older brother, Scotland, was nearby and acting quite peculiar.
"That nob! Mucking about in my wood!? I'll toss that blighter out on his ear, I will!", England said more confidently that he actually felt. His fairy Mint shook her had sadly as hare and robin tried to look busy. Scotland was lot taller and stronger than England. Past conflicts had not gone well between the two, the end result being of England retreating under a shower of arrows and curses. The Lady of the Lake looked on in dismay as England stuffed the rest of the tart apples back into his little leather satchel. She mentally kicked herself for even saying anything at all, having meant her words to be a warning to avoid Scotland, not seek him out. England bowed to the lake before running off into the forest, his friends trailing forlornly behind him.
The Lady of the Lake settled back into her depth, elegant in her repose. "Aw bugger.", she muttered.
England made his way to where the Lady had said Scotland would be, sneaking silently through the underbrush, a mouse riding in his messy blonde hair, pretending to be camouflage. England crept up, peeking through the foliage to see his older brother, Scotland sitting in a small clearing beside a stream. The Scot was a tall youth with pale skin dusted generously with freckles especially across the bridge of his nose. He had bright red hair, a shock of scarlet, spiky and messy that hung a bit over his face. His eyes were a bright spring green, a shade lighter than England's own. His brows, while similar to his younger brother's face caterpillars, were dark red in color not black, and shaped slightly different. Scotland was dressed for hunting in a plain homespun blue tunic, dark pants and leather boots. A bow and quiver of arrows lay at his side while a dirk was strapped to his hip. The nation was currently pulling up blades of grass in idle boredom, watching the body of water before him with mild interest.
England snickered to himself, proudly confident in his own spying prowess. "Now all I have to do is move in behind him and…", he whispered to fairy Mint who nodded back enthusiastically. Before he could accomplish this or even move a further inch, a stick hit him squarely in the head. "Oi!", England snapped, rubbing his aching noggin, while also giving away his position.
"Wee bit, if ye dunna want people to know where ya are, ye need to shut it.", Scotland laughed, obviously not impressed by his kin.
"What are you doing on my land?!", England yelled back, his face flushed in embarrassment over his discovery.
"That's unda debation an' I was asked here be the clans cause ye are paira dafties", Scotland mocked, waving his hand dismissively at his smaller sibling.
"Why would anyone bother to ask you to do anything, you useless prat?", Arthur countered unconvinced.
"Cause lasses ha' gone missin', an' no one knows where they ha' gone to. They asked me to look into it, rescue the lasses if they need rescuing', an' kill whoever if they dinna.", Scotland finished, laying back against the soft green.
"Aye, and you're doing a fine job of that, I can see.", England snapped, moving out of the wood into the open.
"Ye dinna even know about it intil a minute ago. I am waitin' here cause this is where the lasses ha' been disappearin' from. I figure whoever is doin' it will show up sharpish.", Scotland growled, shooting a look at England who wandered over to sit by the river. He stared into the depths of it, drawing small strange symbols into the muddy shore.
Scotland tried to ignore him, but only succeeded in getting more irritated when the little one started to laugh, obviously at him. "What are ye goin' on aboot now?", he growled, leaning up on his forearms to view England standing over him with a smug look on his face.
"You are going to be here a while.", England fairly sang, his entire being thrumming with I-know-something-you-don't.
"An' why is that?", Scotland drawled, trying not to sound too eager to find out. England simply sniffed though, turning on his heel sharply to obviously leave. Scotland jumped up to catch the little one around the waist lifting him upside down.
"An' where do ye think ye are goin'?", Scotland asked, tossing the other nation over his shoulder as he walked down to the river to see what England had found out. The smaller country wiggled and kicked futilely to have his bottom smacked. "Stop it afore it goes very badly for ye.", Scotland told him, feel an intense sharp pain on his shoulder. He dropped England, cursing. Scotland had forgotten that the English nation was a biter. "Ye wee shite, I'm goin' to brain ya!", Scotland snapped, chasing after him along the bank, cursing himself for leaving his bow and arrows back in the glen. England kept running though he turned back to cheekily blow a raspberry at his pursuer. Scotland pushed himself to get an extra burst of speed, reaching for his brother when something suddenly caught his attention.
Bobbing in the water, twinkling brightly in the light, was a golden cup. It was a pretty thing, exquisite in fine floral detailing and bejeweled with tiny diamonds and sapphires that swirled outward from the base to the top. It floated tantalizing close to the shore, the treasure within arm's reach. Scotland abandoned his chase to reach down for the cup, his gaze caught in its glitter. Just as his finger wrapped around it, he heard England scream his name. It was the last thing he was aware of as his being was pulled forward into the water, with a force and speed that knocked Scotland's mind into blackness.
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Scotland woke up slowly, consciousness achingly seeping back to him. He smelled cold damp air, heavy with the scents of strange earth, slightly sore and oddly metallic. Cracking his eyes, he could only see white. Making himself sit up too quickly proved to be painful as he viewed a strange and twisted world around him. Mist surrounded Scotland, thick and low, making him an island in its midst as it blanketed the ground obscuring it from view. It seemed trapped with him in between rows of tall wild hedges.
Scotland stood up weakly, stumbling forward, shifting his arid company in his wake. The hedges, vaguely shaped like walls, were thick with rough greenery, dark in shade and rich with very sharp looking thorns. They towered over the Scot by several feet, leading his view upward into a fathomless night sky naked of any stars, illuminated solely by a strange blue moon, overly large and uncomfortably close. It looked as if he could just reach out and touch its icy surface. The orb cast weak sickly light that clung to surfaces sullenly, creating more shadows than illumination.
Scotland's stomach grew sore with fear. Goosebumps prickled up his pale skin, making his body shiver as he shuffled around awkwardly, tripping over hidden roots. Pin wheeling his arms uselessly, he fell backward hard, knocking the air painfully out of his lungs. Scotland lay there a moment, trying to collect himself. He was in trouble. This world….this world was not his own.
Scotland growled, berating himself. His own daft little brother had had the sense to figure out what was happening before him, by simply asking the river and the sprites who lived there. Scotland had spent too much time in the company of men not to have done that first. He could talk to the fae as well as any of his kin, but had forgotten them in his task, had even forgotten their ways and most basic tricks. The cup was an obvious ploy devised to pull its victim here, where ever here may be.
It was obviously a realm of fairy plains though Scotland did not recognize it. He had been to the fairy courts before but this was obviously no such place. It was a killing ground of some sort as far as Scotland could reason. He had to get out of here and soon, before its hunters came back.
The silence of it all was beginning to get to him. In the world of man that had been carved out of the realms with iron and pure will, countries could hear their people at all times, day and night. It was like constant white noise in the background. Even when they were alone, they were never truly by themselves. The wishes, needs, desires, wants, and ideas of a land always flowed through the mind of a country.
Here though….the only one Scotland could hear…was himself.
Scotland swallowed hard, blinking back tears. The emptiness of his own head was becoming deafening. He pulled himself up again, starting forward aimlessly, putting one foot in front of the other. His pace increased until Scotland found himself running, trying to escape the silence by filling it with hurried footsteps, lost breath, and a wild heartbeat that thundered in his ears. Every once in a while, he would run too close or clip the corner of a wall, loosing strips of clothing and skin to the needy hooked grasps of thorns. Blood streamed unchecked from multiple places, mingling with sweat and tears, panic welling up in the Scot.
Scotland froze at a crossroads of sorts when the still world was pierced by a loud howl. Panic turned terror passed though him like a cold wave, numbing the nation from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He wasn't alone here.
Answering howls sent swift speed back to Scotland's feet as he flew down corridors hitting multiple dead ends in the labyrinth, forcing him back and looping him some many times over, Scotland had no idea what direction he was even going in any more. All he was aware of was the sounds of the chase.
Paws dug deeply into earth kicking it up in thick chunks, the fanged steeds urged on by their riders with metal tips that dug deeply into bleeding sides and the stinging slaps of weathered leather. Gaping maws snapped, enamel clicking sharply together as bloody spittle flew from pointed teeth. Scotland caught glimpses of them through the greenery, the rider's livery garishly bright against the dark shrubberies, but then they were not trying to hide. He heard their signals like shrill bird calls that seemed somehow vulgar in their use. He could smell the rancid odor of their steeds, coiling sharp with the scents of musk and blood.
Scotland ran until his chest burned, his legs shook, and his breaths came out in ragged gulps for air. They were hunting him and when they caught him, he knew they would take their time having their…..fun. The worst part was, being what he was, they could do it over and over and over again tirelessly.
Scotland pounded down a narrow corridor, leaving behind a trail of bits and blood as he emerged into a clearing, dark and ominous, the mist in it illuminated by the blue moonlight so that it danced like spirits around him as he sought a desperate escape. "A door…there has to be a door. All lands in fairy ha' oots an' ins….Where the bloody hell is it? I canna find the way!", Scotland thought numbly, trying to stay focused and calm. This notion melted away like morning frost when the riders filed into the glen to circle their prize. Scotland let out a shaky breath, drawing his dirk. It was ultimately useless, but he would be damned if he did not go down fighting.
The riders wore blackened armor over brightly colored livery in all shades, their faces covered by strange helmets in the shapes of beasts and skulls. Some wore feathers in their wild pale hair, some wore tanned skin in it, while others wore bits of bone, all trophies taken from their past quarries and victims. They rode upon animals that looked like they may have at one time been wolves. Their once graceful lupine features were made huge and twisted by dark magic. The beasts were only malicious hungry monster now, bred with for the sole purpose of the hunt.
"Well come on then, ye motherless bastards! Let's be shortish aboot this.", Scotland spat, raising his weapon high over head. The riders surged forward, hungry for the Scot's flesh as the nation let out a battle cry. All the combatants froze though when a ring of golden light encircled the nation. It resolved itself further, becoming more intricate and brighter to the point of eye ache.
"Ofer hronrāde hȳran scolde gomban gyldan. Bīn nama ġehālgod.
AMBISAGRUS!"
A young voice called out, clear and full of powerful, old magic. Scotland turned in surprise to see England standing just behind him, the vortex of this power. A wind, born of spells, whipped around the small country, tearing from his form as it pushed outward and upward like a wall. As it got to the glowing edge of the circle it intensify greatly in force and speed, taking on a solid pearly glow as it passed the bounders of the incantation catching the retreating riders up easily. The gale winds formed a steep spiraling column high overhead above them till it touched the sky. Scotland stared, watching the former menaces being flung left and right far away to places unseen to a sympathy of breaking bones and wetter noises. England stood perfectly still, a glow outlining his slim form, a book of enchantments floating freely before him as he continued to chant.
Scotland could see the mist being sucked out of the clearing to reveal a killing ground full of murder and bones, some of them quite recent by the looks of it, pieces of familiar tartan among the remains. Scotland swallowed hard. He had found the lost women. They had almost had his company for their own.
The wind ceased as abruptly as it had started, leaving the dark maze in formidable silence again. England caught his book neatly midair, stowing the precious volume back into his satchel. He fell to his knees, clearly exhausted as his friends hovered around him concerned. Scotland move toward him, worried, to have a bit of bone smack him in the head. "You daft wanker! How stupid do you have to be to fall for such an obvious bit of fairy trick?!", England yelled, picking up some more bone to pelt Scotland with.
"Ach! I dinna do it on purpose, ya wee blighter!", Scotland growled, shielding himself from the onslaught. England stopped only because he was tired to sit back down panting. "Now if ye are done acting' like a right hinny, can we offski?", Scotland glared. England made an odd face, concentrating very carefully on a bit of dirt before him. Scotland felt his shoulder slump as he started to realize something. "Ye can get us home aye?", Scotland asked to no response. "Aye?!", he prompted a little more insistently.
"Of course I can. I just have to think about it for a tick.", England snapped back, blushing furiously.
"O brilliant! Well done! Please be takin' all the time ye need ya lordship. Dinna mind the fact we are trapped here until ye do.", Scotland said sarcastically, dropping a mock bow to his sibling.
"I should have never come.", England muttered bitterly, picking himself up off of the ground to kick at the bones.
"Then why the hell did ye?", Scotland glared, crossing his arms. England stared up in surprise at the Scot. He looked away, playing with the hem of his cloak awkwardly. "Well ya wee idjiot?….If ye think I owe ye anything'…", Scotland started.
"Cause you are my brother.", England said softly, the low tone cutting through the rant. Scotland stopped stunned as he watched England start to clear a space on the ground in the shape of a circle. Scotland shifted uncomfortable at a rare loss for words, unsure of what to do or say. They had had their difference for a long time now and came to blows more often than naught so Scotland had never thought of their relationship other than confrontational. He was having a rare moment of feeling guilty, so when England asked for his dirk, he numbly passed it to him without a word.
Scotland lost all feeling of that particular emotion when England started to draw in the dirt with it. "Ach! What are ye doin' bairn?! You'll ruin the blade.", he growled to be met with a withering emerald glare.
"I'm trying to get us out of here, you manky twat.", England said acidly, using the dirk to cut off a lock of his own pale hair. Placing it inside the circle, he passed his hands over it, muttering a spell. The circle took on a weak green outline before fading from view.
"That dunna look promising'.", Scotland murmured, his hopes falling again.
"It's not enough. I'm not strong enough yet.", England said angrily, hunching down in defeat. His fairy Mint flew to his side to alight on an offered palm lightly. In a bell like voice she talked with England, her language sounding like the rustling of plants and the cracking of bark to Scotland. He became concerned when England's expression turned from surprise to sorrow, his narrow shoulder sagging in defeat. His hare and robin sat close by as well adding their own comments and consents to the odd conversation. The three-hare, robin, and fairy-placed themselves in the magic circle, the little green fairy clutching at the lock of hair.
"What is goin' on?", Scotland asked warily, as England composed himself, drying his teary face off roughly with his sleeves. He ignored his brother's question to start chanting, the circle burning an intense fluorescent green color now. The tiny beings inside the circle seemed to absorb the light, their forms becoming shapeless and blurred as it merged together. Scotland shielded his eyes as the light burned brightly to end in blinding flash of hot pink sparkles.
"Are you alright….Mint?", Scotland heard England ask as his eyes regained their sight to see an odd creature nuzzle his younger brother's cheek affectionately.
"What the bleeding hell is that!?", Scotland yelped as the flying mint bunny flew up like a shot to circle high above them.
"He is a guide.", England said a touch sad, watching his new familiar look for the way out of this world. The winged animal flew down excitedly. "Just follow me!", it chirped in a very cheerful voice that set Scotland's nerves on edge.
"Tha wee beastie talks now?!", Scotland grumbled, watching the strange creature take on a bright green glow as it flew overhead. England sullenly ignored the comment to follow the odd bunny. Scotland followed, severely lacking options, uncertain of their path ahead.
The two nations walked slowly though the darkened maze, twisting and turning it seemed endlessly until slowly the hedges grew thinner giving way to an all encompassing void. Mint was a point of floating light, a lone star that guided them though the velvety darkness that grew colder with each step, their breathes coming out in little white puffs. "Where are we?", Scotland whispered. It seemed right to somehow. Anything louder just seemed wrong somehow in this place.
"We are in between right now. Just keep walking.", England whispered back, the tiredness in his voice apparent and heavy. Scotland looked down at him in annoyance, ready to lash a comment at him. He paused though, seeing England like it was the first time really.
The voices of the people were still silent in this place, their fears, thoughts, prejudices, and opinions absent. That left the land in their space and the earth knows no division. Boundaries and fences were a human concepts.
Scotland looked down with unbiased eyes and saw a little boy, not a adversary, an enemy, or, a rival. He was a tiny thing really, his evergreen cloak stained and patched, its tattered hem dragging on the ground. His tunic underneath was dirty and worn, the little leather satchel worn across his narrow chest his only decoration. Sandy pale hair messily hung over intense emerald eyes, a shade darker that Scotland's own, made all the more bright by the soft paleness of his skin. Despite the filth on it, England's face was beautiful and delicate, accented by strong dark brows that apparently were a family trait. The little one tripped over his own feet, obviously exhausted, the excessive use of magic making him weary. He stubbornly continued forward though, despite everything.
Scotland felt a pang of unfamiliar feeling as he further studied bruises, cuts, and more than a few scars on his kin, some of which he was very responsible for.
…..And yet, England had still come for him, had shown true courage and even a glimpse of the power he could potentially become one day.
Scotland reached down to catch his baby brother just as he stumbled again. The little one flinched at the touch, expecting pain of some sort. England looked on in shock as he held and carried close to Scotland's chest. Beyond tired, England relaxed into the hold, feeling a way he had not felt for a long time especially in the other's presence. He felt safe and warm, putting his thin arms tightly around his brother's neck. Soil can never truly be divided and where lochs turned into lakes and briers turned into clearings, boundaries were closed. Scotland licked his lips nervously, touched deep down by something unfelt for a long time as well. Not knowing what else to do, he remained silent, walking them though the darkness toward home and the light of a brand new day.
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Arthur trailed off, realizing his audience had drifted off to sleep, curled up tight in his lap. He chuckled softly, carefully moving the slumbering babe to his side. He laid down holding the little one protectively close as his thoughts lingered on memories of the long walk home and the sound of his brother's steady heartbeat. It was a moment that was never meant to last but it was secretly treasured by both, though neither would ever admit to it. Arthur closed his eyes, his dreams drifting to the past, replaying old scenes mislaid but never truly gone, of two brothers traveling out of the lost dark as one.