"To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub."
- Hamlet (III, i, 65-68)
"Burn it to the ground!" a man cried out. "Burn the savages alive be it children or men!" A roar of cheers followed the orders. Torches were lit long ago but only recently were used for far worse than lighting the way.
"Damn it! You can't do this! Ikke alle af dem hjalp!" another man cried from the back of the group of armed men. He pushed his way desperately to the front. It was far too late by the time he reached his destination. Anything flammable was already engulfed in the crimson flames. The light teased the stones as the wood of the building cried and cracked as it gave into the flames' tricks.
"Go to hell barbaric viking!" men hissedat the wild, blond haired man as he swung his axeat those who dream near. His blue eyes were glazed with pain and hatred.
"You call me barbaric, you gamble stodder? What do you call this?" the man shouted. "Jeglslaar dig ihjel!"
A man in the front lines grabbed his head as his legs gave out. He cried in agony. "Fuck! Why do I return to my mistakes and bloodshed!" he sobbed but no one noticed him. They didn't even bat an eye as he fell. They merely went on yelling and fight with the Dane.
"Hold kaeft! There are women and children in there, noevhul! Are you telling me they helped?"
"We're done with you raids!" men cried in response.
"Jeg er pissed lig eglad!"
"Go home and leave our shores alone! We've lost enough because of you and this is your doing."
"Stop this! Please god!" the man on the ground cried. His enchanting green eyes watered as he tried to grab at the clothes of men round him. It was hopeless. His hand could not stop them; his words could not reach them. He retreated backward and watched as the blessed ground went up in flames.
"Time's running out! Come along, come along!" a small voice called out to the man on the ground who couldn't take his eyes off the building. Pleads escaped the fire and the terrified young faces appeared in the windows. It was awful. Words couldn't describe it. "Take your eyes off of it!"
"I..."
"Time's running out! Come along mister! Come along!" the voice sang and ordered as the man was tugged gently to his feet. "Hurry! Hurry!" Still, he could not find the effort to avert his eyes from the scene. The massacre of so many engraved itself into his mind, into his eyes. How could he escape? He would just be greeted with more of his misfortune. Yet, he was pulled along, away from the scene.
"Please..."
"M-Mr. America, M-Mr. France, please excuse my intrusion but I'm not sure else to discuss this with," the nervous Japanese man said as he fumbled with the key to the door. It had not been long since he found its hiding place. Certainly knowing the owner of it, as much as he did helped in the small key's discovery, that and the owner wasn't much taller than him so height was not a problem.
"Don't worry yourself so much, mon ami. From the expression on your face, it looks urgent," Francis said, excusing the Japanese man from any sort of fault in the matter. Honestly, how could he say no when Japan had come so frantically to him and America after the meeting? The poor nation looked ready to faint as he told them the news.
"So what's up, Kiku?" Alfred asked. The younger nation showed the least amount of concern. He had followed willingly with curiosity and not worries on his face.
"W-well, you know how he hasn't shown up to meetings for the last month, right?" Kiku asked. Both nodded as they stepped inside. "I c-came personally to see if he was alright. Y-you can guess what I found…"
"What's so strange about an empty house?" Alfred blurted out. The house was indeed empty. It looked like the guardian of it had simply gotten up and left. A tray with a teapot and a teacup rested on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. The ruminants of a log were left forgotten in the fireplace along with the still opened spanComplete Collection of Shakespeare/span on the cushion of the armchair.
"It is a surprise to find he hasn't finished reading Hamlet this time," Francis observed as he lifted the delicate book from its ghastly spot. "And he usually takes such good care of his precious livre."
"Y-yes, and there's dust everywhere. He hasn't been here for awhile from the looks of it," Kiku commented.
"It's not like Angleterre to leave his house is such a mess either."
"So what's this all about? I'm confused. Isn't Iggy always a mess?" Alfred asked. The two other nations exchanged a look and heaved a sigh at the American's blank face. Next time, they must remember to take someone with them that could show they understood the clues.
"N-no, Mr. America, he isn't usually like this. I've been to his house on several occasions and there's not a spot of dust or a thing left out when I venture over," Kiku explained. He gestured the two to continue to follow him. The Japanese man led them further into the house. Though the Briton's house was small on the outside, it concealed a lower level, a basement. Down a flight of stairs, the trio was faced with walnut door. The door itself looked burnt and suffered years of wear and tear. The hinges that attached it to the house contrasted with the old door; they were fresh. It couldn't have been more than a month since they were installed; yet the house appeared as if no work had been done anytime during the last cycle of the moon.
"Hey, what's this? Is this Iggy's drawings?" Alfred asked, running his finger along some of the carvings in the walnut.
"That's Latin. Leave to Angleterre to keep up with a dead language," Francis replied, though even he still remembered how to read, write, and speak the language.
"Why is it on the door though?" His answer awaited him on the other side of the door. Kiku pushed the door open tenderly as the American spoke his question. Inside, the lighting was awful. No electricity ran to the lower level of the house so only small candles that sat in specific locations could reveal the room's contents. The furthest back wall had a single shelf attached to the bricks with a candle on both ends. Stacked neatly in the center of the shelf were several books over every size and shape, new and old. Two more candles - the wax was on the last hour's worth - stood high on metal poles near the bookcase. One pole had fallen over at an unknown time to the trio. They were not observing the poor lighting in the room nor were they looking at the rare collection of books but rather the corpse in the middle of the room.
A deathly pale body rested in the center of a hand drawn, chalk and wax circle. The cold stone on the floor was burnt around the body but there was no evidence of a fire on the body itself. "Mon dieu, qu'est-ce a fait?" Francis muttered in grave astonishment.
"I…I found him like this, this morning when I arrived before our meeting," Kiku explained, allowing the two to examine the corpse.
"He's not dead at least," Francis said. "There's a faint heart beat and he is still breathing."
"How did this happen?" Alfred asked as he poked the Briton's cheek out of habit. The body was cold and only the forest green cloak seemed to keep the body from freezing while the mind and health dwindled. The two carefully turned the body over to find it was still clinging tight to an old spell book.
"He was playing with his magic again. Oh Angleterre…"
"I…I think he…went somewhere in his mind. This candle caught fire to our means of waking h-him up though," Kiku announced to the two. He was knelt over the fallen candle stand and the ashes of a book. His hands were black from digging through the residue but he had pulled out the destroyed spell book, the twin of the one England clung to.
"What are we suppose to do? A hero can't just leave him like this!" Alfred proclaimed.
"I…I looked at the book h-he is hold, and well, we can still get into his mind l-like he did," Kiku explained. "There are risks."
"What are they?" Francis inquired.
"Well, I don't know how much Arthur's mind can hold. All of us going into his subconscious mind might harm it severely and there's a possibility that he may not even recall how to escape the depths of his mind, meaning we'll be stuck in there as well."
"Well…it's our only option, so I say we should go for it!" Alfred said. Francis nodded in agreement. It was their only choice and the Frenchman had to agree – there was no way he would leave his long-time foe like this. He wouldn't wish anyone to be confined to their own mind.
Well, this idea originally came from LifeInABox66's fanfiction FreeFall. I really liked the idea of an adventure not in reality but in the mind so with words of encouragement, I started writing this. It will be different, I promise. I planned to tell a different story but through the same means. I hope you do enjoy it. Let me know what you think too (and I'll keep up with my other stories, I swear).
P.S. I haven't read Hamlet yet but the quote seems to fit, not to mention England was reading Hamlet earlier in the story.
Please Review my story and tell me what you think. Thank you!