Disclaimer: No matter how much I would love to, I honestly don't own Hetalia - Axis Powers, it was solely created by Himaruya Hidekazu.
The only sounds in his dark, dank cell were the occasional drip drip of rainwater that had made it's way down to the dungeons, the scurry of rats running across the floor, their claws scratching unpleasantly into the stone floor, and the pull of Arthur's chains as he moved around. There were no other prisoners down here - in fact, there weren't even any other prisoners in the whole prison complex; it was just him.
Arthur Kirkland, feared pirate captain of the seven seas, pillager and plunderer of the world.
Well, not so feared anymore, now that he was locked up and all.
Admittedly, he'd had a good run as a pirate. He wasn't disappointed with how his life had turned out, not at all. He had made a significant impact on the world, so much so that he was a legend that would, more than likely, live on for generations, which was all he'd ever really wanted anyway. He even had a prison made especially for him because General-what's-his-name (who wasn't worth remembering, as opposed to Arthur) was too scared to house him with other criminals, in fear that he'd conspire with them and lead an escape.
Arthur prided himself on his brilliance. It was, after all, a feat that he could have pulled off with supporters. Alas, he was alone, and would likely die so.
At least, that was what he thought until they brought Alfred F. Jones to room with him.
According to what he'd overheard the guards gossiping about, Alfred was a special case. What that meant, Arthur still had yet to find out. His companion hadn't even woken up yet - they'd brought him in unconscious, likely drugged for some reason or another. Arthur didn't even know why Alfred was in his cell anyway, out of the millions of others in the prison.
The ex-pirate would never pretend to understand the mind of Naval officers. They were confusing as hell and nothing like his own.
A slight groan from the corner of the room had Arthur turning his head to look at Alfred, who was now struggling to sit up.
"So what's your story, lad?" Arthur asked gruffly, turning to look at his companion better, resting his head in one of his hands, placing it strategically on his knee.
Alfred blinked at him drowsily and wiped his eyes tiredly, almost reminding Arthur of a child. "My... story?" Alfred questioned in reply (Arthur noted that he had a slight American accent), looking around the cell, the frown on his face giving away that he had no idea where he was. He looked back at Arthur, rubbing his forehead. "Where the hell am I?"
"I'll be the first to tell you that I don't know where we are - they took me here blindfolded so that if I ever tried to escape, I wouldn't know the way back to civilisation, which brings me to the only thing that I do know - well, apart from the fact that this is a prison-fortress that was apparently built for me or something," Arthur waved his hand in dismissal after this, and continued on "Anyway, my point is that we are no where near any form of civilisation whatsoever, so get used to seeing the same old people everyday for... practically the rest of your life if you're anything like me, staying here until the day you die. But then... you don't seem anything like me at all." The ex-pirate took a moment to look the boy over again, noting exactly how young he looked.
"What are you even here for, boy?" It was a valid question - Alfred didn't look like a pirate or any of the other regular criminals or murderers out there. Arthur suspected that the only crime he would ever commit would be stealing bread for a starving family. He had that look about him, that never-ending happiness ever-present in his eyes.
Finally making eye contact with Arthur again after having looked around the room for a while, Alfred gave Alfred a funny look, a mixture between a smirk and a smile, and simply said, completely seriously, "Oh, you know, the usual. Mass murder and genocide."
Perhaps there was hope for this boy yet.
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