Sealand was so bored waiting for England to come home from the meeting. No one saw him as a country besides Germany and that was for war issues. He groaned in exasperation as he wandered through the two-story, Victorian era house. So old, there must be a lot of things that Arthur kept hidden in locked rooms and hidden passages. He smiled at the thought. Yeah right. The gentleman known as the United Kingdom had nothing hidden. Why would he? He had nothing to hide, well besides his secret fairy friends. But Peter couldn't see them, even when his older brother held them in front of his face.
The young blonde opened door after door before running face first into one that wouldn't budge. Come to think of it, where was he? He looked around himself, but the hall wasn't lit and the same off white color of the house. It was charcoal grey with stained glass windows towering so high above that the colored light didn't reach him. Was this . . . really part of the house! He looked back to the large, oak double doors. The key hole was so old fashioned, like in the 1400's, maybe even farther back.
Peter grinned and pulled out his skeleton key that fit into all these old doors. He pushed it in softly and turned. The lock clicked back so loud that it made him jump back and land on his rear. He grimaced at the contact with the stone floor, rubbing his tailbone. A resounding creak of the door made him look up in surprise, grateful he was already on the ground or he would have fallen again.
The door swung inward, though not invitingly. The hinges were reddish with rust and looked as though they had been slammed shut so many times, they were falling apart. There were candles inside, maybe another spell room? It seemed creepy enough, but something was shining in there. Something gold, a lot of something too. The boy stood slowly and walked in, his nose itching from dust. This room was old and hadn't been used in so very long centuries had passed since someone walked in. The candles were odd, they didn't drip wax and had spiral designs dancing along the sides; probably made by Arthur's magic skills.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dimness and left him in shock. Peter's mouth hung open in awe; there was no way this room belonged to the house! A giant throne made of solid gold, fitted with crimson, velvet cushions on the straight back and bottom. Mountains of gold – SOLID GOLD! – coins lined the three walls. More than coins! Crowns, jewels, sabers, and the beauty of wealth glimmered in the flame light. Some came from France, others from Spain, Netherlands, even the countries along the coast of Africa. The island nation turned and gasped in surprise. An old outfit was hung neatly upon a manikin: A knee length burgundy coat with a deep oak pistol holder crossing the chest from underneath. The pearl-handled gun still inside dating so far back, Peter could only fathom and wondered if it still worked. Under the Jacket was a white shirt with ruffles down the front, giving it a proper guise. Around the waist was a belt holding a sheath with a saber safely tucked inside. A black Captain's hat with a large white feather rested on the head, an eye patch over where the left eye would have been.
"No way," the boy gawked in shock, "He was a pirate? Arthur! Arthur Kirkland!" The small blonde lightly fingered the coarse fabric of the outer garment as though to ensure it was real. Perfectly preserved in this dark room, perhaps surrounded by magic of some kind to keep it fresh, the gold buttons had an old Latin inscription that he couldn't read. He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of it before looking at his watch. England would be coming home any minute now!
He closed the door as silently as the rustic hinges would allow him and locked it with his key before finding the door he had come out of. As though he had never been there, Sealand left without a sound.
"Arthur?" Sealand asked as he ate the lunch his brother made for him and sipped the tea.
The young man didn't look up from the South London Press, "What is it Peter?"
"Did you ever do something that you regret with your whole being and wish you could do over?"
"What did you do now?" UK asked exasperated. There had to be a reason for his younger brother to be asking such ridiculous questions.
"Nothing!" the island snapped, "I mean you. You're immortal and all, so you must have done a lot of things, right? Anything you regret more than, well, anything?"
"Of course not! Everything I've done has helped move my country and people to be one of the most feared military powers for centuries and I've fought against evil of many forms! What should I regret!" he demanded.
Peter raised his voice as well, "I'm not talking about the United Kingdom! I'm talking about YOU Arthur! Isn't there something your country side has done that torments your human side? Anything?"
"I don't let human thoughts deviate from what needs to be done."
The small boy sighed and finished his tea before getting up to leave. He made his way out into the garden and looked around. It was beautiful such a deep green that was hidden in thick fog in the wee morning hours. Perhaps they hid the dew of tears unshed until the sun came out to dry them all away. Or maybe he was doing the impossible and growing up too fast. He looked at himself, nope, still just a kid.
Arthur looked out the window at the small boy as he ran off to play somewhere. The much, much older nation sighed as he felt the hollow beating of his heart that should have died so long ago. It had been put through what no human body should undergo so many times over. It had all seemed like fun and games when he was little, but he never had a choice. He was kept by the king and church to ensure they had domain over everything, including the land.
What was Peter thinking when he asked such a stupid question! Of course he had regrets! Of course. He felt the beating quicken and the empty spot filled out to his stomach. A lump in his throat signaled that he needed to be alone. Slowly, he made his way to the dark hall where all his memories lay for the rest of eternity.
He pulled out the old key and placed it in the lock, it opened easier than he would have expected. It had been so long since he had opened these doors. He pushed them in with both hands and stood upon the threshold of his own history. It wasn't like it was in the history books where the reader felt distanced from the events since they happened so long ago. Looking around at all the spoils he had taken under the name of the queen as a privateer, it felt like yesterday.
He stood tall and proud upon the bow of his ship as he sailed towards a Spanish treasury huller on its way home from the New World of America. She was beautiful; the ocean moved her like a dream as the wind filled her vast sails. He took a deep breath to smell that gunpowder mixed with the sweet ocean air. He was getting some gold today and not without the roar of the cannons. The water suddenly exploded as a shot rang out. Spain had spotted them.
"Man the Cannons boys! We're getting some blood gold tonight!" he called out with his wicked grin.
He gazed distantly at the uniform he once wore; the brilliant scarlet of his coat and the welcomed weight of a saber at his side. But that was another him, another life all together that he couldn't let touch him now; a part of him he buried to continue living. He sighed and softly ran a hand over the gold buttons.
Hodie nos imbibo , pro cras nos intereo.
"Would I have changed," he said to the manikin, "If I had known I would live to see so much blood and stain my hands so deep inside?"
Peter knocked on the door; he hoped the guy could give him some answers. He had been older than England when all this was going on, so he should know quite a bit, right? The door opened slowly, "Hello, qui est elle ~?" a sing-song voice called out. The tall blonde nation looked around, "Quoi! No one is here!"
Peter cleared his throat loudly before France even thought of looking down. He smiled, "Oh, Sealand! What a surprise! Entrez, come in!" The tall nation herded the boy inside and sat him in a chair placing French sweets in front of him. "So what brings you here young man?"
On cue, Sealand pulls out his cell phone and shows France the picture of the button. It was a little blurry, but still legible. France's eyes widened, "How did you get this mon petit ami?"
"I got lost and found an old room; can you tell me what it says?"
"Hodie nos imbibo, pro cras nos intereo," Francis stated fluently, "It's an old pirate thing. 'Today we drink, for tomorrow we die'. Live like you won't see the sun come morning, tu sais? It seems you found our dear UK's secret."
Peter nodded thoughtfully to himself, "Francis. Do you regret anything you've done as a nation?"
"Huh?" the older man looked confused, "Why would-?"
"As a person, do you regret anything you've done as a nation; even if you absolutely HAD to do it? Wasn't there anything you wish you could do again and make better?" the small boy pushed.
The man looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling before closing his eyes in reminisce and sighing sadly, "There isn't one nation who could truthfully say no to that I'm sure. Not even Or dear sweet Arthur."
"I can!" Sealand chimed happily that he was the only nation not to have the weight on his head.
Francis smiled with bitterness in his eyes, "Then be glad you haven't lived long enough to see the agony of a nation."
Arthur opened another door farther down the dark corridor. His old military uniform of brilliant red stood at attention, waiting for another war. It would never see the horror of warfare again in its existence. The one memory that stood out was the Revolutionary war. He felt the tears prick the back of his eyes. The one who left him crumpled in the mud and rain as he sobbed his heart out, the only one who could make him break. He left that day. He left vowing to never return. No matter how hard he tried, Arthur knew it to be true.
The one person he loved more than himself and anything land, conquest, and money could bring. That one person left him to suffer alone in this world.
The doors were shut behind him; he had no fear of anyone finding him now. He let the tears trickle down his cheeks as he shut his eyes to the harsh reality. He was utterly alone in this world, no one truly wanting him around, not anymore. The one he loved used to look up to him for protection, and he fought so hard to do so. Then he was stabbed in the back and through the heart when he felt he had no need of turning around.
A little Alfred lay on the floor drawing pictures with colored wax. He was so young and full of life, but growing at a good rate. Arthur smiled and sipped his tea, savoring the moment. Suddenly a sharp tug on his sleeve made him open his eyes quickly, ready for anything; only little Alfie holding a piece of paper to his chest.
"Hm?"the blonde man questioned with his eyes, "What is it?"
The small colony slipped a piece of paper in front of Arthur. It was a very well done picture of the two of them strolling through the forest. Alfred rested on the other's shoulders and they both were laughing as two butterflies chased each other through the trees. That had been last month.
Arthur picked up the picture happily, "That's great Alfred! How long did you work on this?"
"Since you left the last time. I wanted to make you something so you wouldn't forget me," the boy said softly with a blush.
"I would never forget you, silly boy," the island nation laughed as he hoisted the small boy on his lap.
Arthur gazed longingly through glossy eyes at the picture framed on the wall. "I never forgot you Alfred. I haven't forgotten."
Francis closed the door after Peter as the boy left with a happy wave. When they were so young, they were the same way; him and England, just as naïve. He felt the weights of the past crushing him from his chest down. It took a moment for him to realize that it was his heart. As hollow and empty as ever. He leaned against the door and slid down, holding the space where the beating originated.
'Just stop, please,' he begged it, 'I've already lived too long.'