AN: Aaaand I'm back! Finally, after (checks and winces) oof, four years, the sequel that a fair number of you requested! Thanks to everyone who has read Do You Believe in Elves and asked for more – you let me know that there was still interest in my little bit of crack-taken-seriously, and are the reason this is getting posted. Oh, and if you haven't read Do You Believe in Elves, you might want to do this first, or it might be a touch confusing.
Disclaimer: Still don't own Hetalia. If I did, well, I think we're getting a look at what might have happened…
England was in a cross mood.
He'd told them that having a nations camping trip in his country was a bad idea, especially as they all knew he had terrible weather for this sort of thing.
He'd told them that if they insisted on using his country as a location to at least let him pick the site.
He'd told them that this was a bad place to go camping, but since their hearts seemed set on it, there was nothing he could do, so at least let him choose the day.
He'd told them it was a very bad idea to go camping by this particular hill, especially on midsummer's eve, but, since America was behind it and no one could stop a determined America, he wouldn't bother trying to dissuade them. And he had to come – both for damage control and because it was his country and it would look bad if he didn't. But please, he'd begged them, don't wear anything green. If you listen to nothing else, don't wear anything green. And if you meet anyone… unusual, be respectful.
America had worn his camouflage-print t-shirt and green safari vest. He claimed that this was what he always wore when he went camping, but England was pretty sure he was doing it to be contrary. The other nations probably just forgot, or possibly were also being contrary, because it seemed everyone was wearing green except for himself and Northern Italy. England was pretty sure it was more Germany's influence than his own that had gotten to Italy, and Germany was actually entitled to wear the colour, but, really, it was rather impressive that everyone was wearing it.
England had set up his tent out of the pathway and washed his hands of the lot of them, vowing to stay in his tent until midsummer.
Then a fuss had started a bit before sunset and, like an idiot, he'd gone out to investigate. It transpired that Germany had gone on a hike with a couple of the others and returned to discover that America had set up the campfire without consulting anyone. He'd put up a fuss, apparently, and wanted to move it. America didn't see the point, as the campfire was already lit and crackling happily in the pit he'd dug. England saw the location of the fire and had just rushed over to lend his aid to Germany's cause when the sun had set, the Hill had opened, and the Fair Folk had come riding out.
After a brief interlude - which included Spain trying to stop one of the riders to ask about their horses, America trying to pull the 'false ears' off one of the attendants and ask what movie they were doing, and Russia hitting one of them with his water-pipe for coming at America with a spear - they had all been hustled into the Hill by guards and locked into a plain-ish room lit by an unseen source, which England was pretty sure was a cell. They had spent most of the night there while the court went back to their midsummer ride. When they came back, England managed to talk the Lord and Lady of the Hill into releasing them. His argument had revolved mainly around the point that his companions were a bunch of morons who had refused to listen to what he had to say, along with profuse apologies and promises of remuneration, to be negotiated at a later date. But mostly that the rest of the nations were Sight-less morons.
Given that he'd used the part of the night not spent organizing his arguments for their release chewing out the rest of the nations for not listening to him in the first place, and that he'd trapped America in an array for two hours when he would not bloody shut up and let England think, the rest of the nations were rather inclined not to protest or interrupt.
And it had worked. Somehow or other, it had worked. The Fae had agreed to let them all go, and the nations had just been leaving the mound when the plan fell through in a way almost no one had considered.
On the green front: green was considered the colour of the faeries in some places in old times, and it was bad luck to wear it, as the faeries might be offended at you wearing their colour. France should have known better as well, what with his experiences in the last story. His reasons for wearing green were pure, however (for once) – he wore a green hair-ribbon that England got for him, in a little 'see, you got me something and I'm using it/like it' sort of way.
The Fair Folk: you never call them 'faeries' or 'fairies' or however you want to spell it – this can also offend them. Call them the Fair Folk, the Lords and Ladies, the Good Neighbors, things like this.
I have this fic all finished and typed up, and will be posting it about once a week until it's all up.
