Title:Blood tinted water (Prompt #13: We all float on)
Characters/Pairings: England, Austria, France, Spain, HRE
Rating: PG13
Warning: Shallow history.
Summary: The Armada Invencible. Not so invincible, after all.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. No profit is made of this fic. Just having fun.
Notes: First Hetaliafic ever. Sorry if it sucks. I don't have a beta but I'd love to find one. All concrit is appreciated. This fic describes the attempted disembark on England's coast in 1588 by the Spanish Great Armada, usually called Armada Invencible. I'm completely aware that the English triumph is, in large part, a consequence of the weather and specific conditions of the English Channel as well as the poor organisation and lack of experience of Medina Sidonia. I don't think one can underestimate the importance of Drake's strategy and the superior manoeuvrability of the smaller and faster English ships, though. Anyhow, this is a very inaccurate story based on a real event. Don't hate me for my blatant Anglophilia and errors. Thank you for reading!
Screaming and cursing. French, Spanish and German melting together in a single cry of anguish, horror and disbelief. Waves hitting mercilessly, splints flying trough the air, fire and petrol, salt and blood. And above all if it, a roaring laughter and bright green eyes. England unharmed, England triumphant! The Armada is over. La Armada Invencible, Spain's pride, the Catholic sword against the heretic Elizabeth and her island of pirates is destroyed. Thousands upon thousands of doubloons drown in the English Channel.
In Prague [1], the Holy Roman Empire screams in pain and anger while his boss drinks yet another bottle and curses his cousin and his ambition. The Emperor drags himself from crowded room to crowded room and counts the golden coins he has lost in that wretched island.
France stands in Calais, dumbstruck, unable to understand whathappened, why God protects England and forsakes France. He hears England's victorious cries and curses, ready to go back to Paris and lick his wounds.
Spain drowns with his men. Salty and cold water fills his lungs and he feels himself die. He will not, of course, but that does not lessen the pain, the hurt, the loss. He has been defeated. God has let him fail and put England out of reach. England the heretic, England the pirate, the island ruled by a bastard, by a woman who dares to mock the Catholic King. He closes his eyes and lets himself be dragged to the rocky bottom of the English Channel where his men lie side by side with the cannons and his hopes.
Spain drowns in a stormy August and knows -and he knows that the enemy knows- that nothing will be the same again.
Austria simply watches and mentally goes trough the still single archdukes and archduchesses trying to find one to offer. Bella gerant alii, tu felix Austria nube! Nam quse Mars aliis, dat tibi regna Venus [2]
Austria dreams of winning in bed what Spain lost in the sea.
England stands on the Dover cliffs, listening to the songs from the camp, his heart fluttering as London is informed of the victory and his Queen drinks to the greatness of the nation, to hisgreatness. He watches the chunks of wood that float on the waters like the bodies of the invaders will do, soon. He smells blood, gunpowder and sweet, salt and fear, grass and courage and he knows that is the perfume of a glory to come.
He drinks in the Spanish anguish and French fury and feels his soul soar above the cliffs and meadows, over the churches and palaces, the huts and shops. He feels his people boast about the English strength and he basks in their love. He feels them and the wonders past and to come. He can see, veiled sill, the time when his ships will travel the seas and conquer the world, when his flags will be planted around the globe, nations kneeling at his feet.
He laughs, his face turned to that Europe that so often treated him like a foreigner and that now watches, uncomprehending, the Spanish defeat. Soon he will go to his men and get drunk with them before joining his Queen, who loves him with all the unstoppable passion of her Tudor heart and who calls him her husband. That will come later. Now, right now, England stands, eyes fixed in the continent and laughs, laughs and laughs.
[1] In 1588 the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nations was Rudolf II of Hapsburg. He had moved the capital from Vienna to Prague in 1583 and remained there until his death in 1612. The reference to Rudolf's drinking is based on true events.
[2] Let others wage war, but thou, O happy Austria, marry; for those kingdoms which Mars gives to others, Venus gives to thee. This motto is super famous but I don't think it hurts to translate it.