A five year old Albion grabs onto the end of his ten year old brother Alba's cloak, refusing to let go.
"Don't go." He pleads uselessly. Knowing that there was nothing he could say to convince his eldest brother not to go into battle with his people. The red head turned and looked at him with hard eyes the same emerald shade as his own before sighing and kneeling down to the younger's eyelevel. Albion clings to him, tears forming in his eyes as he begs for the elder to stay but to no avail. Alba separates himself from his youngest brother and holds him at arm's length, staring into the wet emeralds before him with loving eyes that won't reach the five year old.
The years since the Roman Empire had captured their mother had left little time for the caring, fun, laughter filled relationship that had once existed between them. It had been so long since anyone had time for the youngest Kirkland child.
So long since there had been someone there to dry his tears and bandage him up when he falls.
So long since someone had reminded him that his name was Albion, not Runt or Brat or any number of the insults that had suddenly become the only things he was left identify himself with.
So long since he had heard anyone say that he was loved.
"I'll be back, don't worry." Alba says, though it does little to soothe the fears that had built up over time in the little one's mind.
"Promise?" Albion asks, desperate for some kind of anchor to hold their destroyed family together.
The question rings in the air unanswered for a minute before Alba answers…
"… Promise … "
But it was too late. That minute was one minute too long…
… And the damage it had brought to the blonde's mental state was irreversible…
… Not that anyone noticed.
- PAGE BREAK -
Albion, still in the body of a five year old, struggles uselessly to free himself from the Roman soldier holding him there. Not caring that the monster was clamping down on his arms with a force strong enough that bruises are already forming on his arms.
He doesn't mind the pain.
At this point it is something of a constant in his life…
…. Something he deserves.
Not six feet from his mother and he can do nothing to save her from that man.
He is forced to watch. Not even allowed to divert his eyes as that man plunges his sword through her heart and she coughs up blood for a moment before slumping over…
… Dead…
And left alone with her corpse there was no one around to notice his tears.
-Let's take a break to sob our hearts out -
A six year old Britannia stands at the top of a hill looking down at the blood bath around him. His eyes focusing when he sees them…
His royal family…
… Boadicea and her daughters…
Dead. Lying there in the rain and a pool made of their own blood. His heart breaks and he falls to his knees sobbing until he passes out from the battle beginning to effect his body.
Later he will wake up in his bed at that man's castle.
Later he will decide to never again become attached to a human.
And that is exactly what he does…
… Locking away his emotions so well he will never again truly know the experience of such things.
But it doesn't matter as once again…
… No one noticed.
- Page break anyone? -
A thirteen year old Arthur Kirkland sits in the shadows of the inquisition's courtroom watching with dread in his eyes…
… He already knew her fate.
And though he hated her for being what he could not…
… Loved, human, French, mortal, female, beautiful, full of emotion, HIS…
He couldn't bring himself to wish her fiery demise; even he could see how special she was.
And he loathed her for it. But burning her as a witch wasn't something he wanted. He wanted to hate her from afar…
… Just as he loved him.
The entire day she was to burn he was missing.
When she died he was on his knees at the church begging for forgiveness from France and a God he would later claim to belong only to humans.
Both of them withheld it from him.
Once the fire had cooled and everyone had gone away two white roses appeared on her pile of ashes.
The existence of which were about as noticed as the one who placed them there…
… Important to no one…
-See the page break? -
He should have never trusted him. Never opened up to another being.
Hadn't he learned his lesson before? Doesn't everyone he allows close to him die or disappear?
Apparently he hadn't learned it yet.
The rain poured down mercilessly on them.
And everyone knows the story from there it seems. How big bad England tried to kill poor defenseless America and failed…
… But does anyone remember England after the colony he put his heart and soul into rising abandons him alone there on the battlefield? Does anyone notice just how badly this whole war has affected him, not just as a country, but as Arthur Kirkland?
Nope.
- page break? -
Four years of fighting and still his "Imaginary Kingdom", as everyone is so keen on calling it now, was in dangerous peril.
It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down around him.
The bloody battles left both sides at a loss as to who was truly winning. Most were unsure of why they were even still fighting each other.
Eighteen year old England shoots at anything that moves now. The saying 'Kill first ask later' having become his entire world back in World War One.
When he shoots his older brother in the leg while they find themselves alone together in the woods he can't help but think everyone is right…
…The time for Kingdoms have come and gone…
He was no longer needed and NEVER had he been wanted.
Without really thinking about his actions he offers Ireland a cease fire. Not even bothering to put up his mask enough to feign an ounce of caring about anything going on around them.
The last thing that flashed on Ireland's face before England shoots him through the heart without remorse or hesitation was surprised shock at the look of complete indifference on the face of his youngest brother as he looked at him straight in the eyes with cold yet uncruel guarded emerald eyes and pulled the trigger.
His insanity goes on seemingly unnoticed and definitely untreated.
After all…
… Who would Ireland tell that would believe him?
No one…
-I'm a pretty pretty Page Break -
The last straw was in 2012 when Scotland declared he was preparing for a referendum.
Scotland hadn't even had the courage to tell his younger brother in person…
… Not after England's history of reactions to similar news. Instead he simply called the house at a time he knew it would be empty and left a message on the machine.
Thus when Arthur collapsed to his office floor there was no one around to stop him from taking the knife Scotland had attacked him with during his last 'visit' out of a desk drawer and take a slash at his wrist viciously.
Trying and failing to feel any emotion at all.
Later that day France shows up at the house and England realizes…
He truly feels absolutely nothing.
Even the numb feeling he felt whenever he saw the French since Francis had proposed to him simply to get his country out of debt had disappeared.
He truly felt nothing at all.
Emotion, temperature, hunger, when basic human needs had been left unmet, pain…
… Nothing.
And though England could tell France was looking for something he couldn't bring himself to care at all.
In the end France went home seemingly satisfied with their encounter and England sat up burying himself in paperwork he couldn't personally connect to the contence of all night.
For the next two years Arthur could tell everyone around him was watching him like he was a quality piece of prey. Waiting for him to crack. To fall apart. If he had been able to leave his vacant shell for even just a moment, though he rather liked the blissful feeling of the nothingness, he would have laughed at them for it…
…Hadn't they noticed he was already broken beyond repair?
No, of course not…
…. And the scars on his wrist kept getting worse…
-Last Page break for now-
Twenty-one year old Arthur Elizabeth Kirkland stands in his favorite study wearing his regular green military uniform scratching at already heavily bleeding forearms. His emerald eyes roam around the office, taking in the pictures around him. Smiling expectant faces stare at him and his eyes come to rest on a painting of him standing in front of one of the many forests that reside in the Isles. But it isn't his smiling form that captures him…
… Standing behind the painted version of himself is Scotland, his arms wrapped around the painted Arthur accusing him of ruining their perfect world, smirking at the artist with his usual dangerous and wild air about him.
Arthur hold the Scott's painted emerald gaze full of amusement with his own emotionless blank stare. Raising the old hunter's knife that had once upon a time belonged to a ten year old red head that had loved a five year old blonde unconditionally, he drives it through his heart without breaking eye contact. For a moment he remains on his feet before coughing up blood and dropping to the ground.
And at 3:00 AM on Thursday September 18th, 2014 the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland dies. Leaving behind the brothers of a five year old boy to be free from the monster this world had created once and for all.
And for one final time…
…. No one notices.
For life is only a fairy tale and everything is black and white. Good is good, evil is evil, the victory is won by the hero and the enemy is destroyed. But does every fairy tale truly end in happily ever after?
Is everything TRULY black and white?
Hello everyone!
Sorry that it's taken me so long to write another Hetalia fic. Would you believe me if I said that it was because I can't get Spain's personality right? Well I don't seem to be getting any closer to getting it right so I'll probably give up soon and use the piece of junk that I did manage to create for him. Silver lining to this block though is what you just read. I have an idea for a follow up for this if any of you tell me you're actually interested in this.
Until next time,
Bye!