This is War


A Cardverse Hetalia story.

Summary: A declaration of war comes when the King of Clubs, a power hungry man by the name of Ivan murders the Queen of Spades, Arthur. Alfred seeks revenge for his lover's death, and in the process will murder the other three Queens to prevent a replacement. A story of love, loss, and war within the Four Kingdoms of the Cards.

Warning: Rated M for language, lemon-ish encounters, character death, and heavy sadness. Pairings included at the moment are USUK, GerIta, LietPol, a one-sided AustriaHungary and PrussiaHungary, and RussiaChina if you squint and tilt your head. Possible future pairings. Human names are used.

Note: While some character remains the same, I have changed a few positions while adding my own. You don't have to have prior knowledge of Cardverse to read this Fanfiction.


Chapter One: The Contents of the Coffin


The procession marches solemnly through the condensation assaulting their faces; their helmets do little to protect their vision, causing the world to be a distorted mess of bleak colors running together. Somber clouds roll in, darkening the sky like a sheet over the sun. The ashy grey that occasionally staggers into a slate color swirls together with a midnight blue that could only originate from one place.

The King.

Shadows stretch across the land, expanding themselves from the feet of the marching soldiers. Each thump stomps against the ground like the armor that hardly fits anymore. It is a depressing sound, accompanied by the occasional sigh or grunt when their feet cannot find purchase on the ground. All their faces are gaunt, as if they are skeletons in human skin. They have no expression, even when their armor pinches their skin or their helmets thunk the back of their neck. The air permeates with sadness, as if it is a tangible thing. Along with the heavy flow of rainwater pouring down from the heavens, it is a combination that twists and curls the weak stomachs of the younger soldiers.

An ebony black begins to coil in the sky along with the blues and greys, making the ground appear as one flat obsidian surface: Endless in both directions. No one dares to speak, not even cough when the chill of the rain rattles their bones. Each precise step is right behind the other, the two lines in perfect synchronization. It is imperative that they are.

They are carrying a coffin after all.

Holding the open casket at hip level, the nine soldiers responsible for the transportation could feel their wrists straining from maintaining such a position. Some soldiers turn to watch their wrists quiver, while others sadly admire the beautifully crafted box. It is handcrafted, the intricate lines weaving in and out of each other to form that symbol, the symbol that decorates the entire funeral procession. The dark wood contrasts against the ground, making it the most noticeable thing in the turmoil of the storm. Ten other soldiers follow closely behind, flanked by another parade of guards; these are totting the extravagant lid where the image of the deceased is etched into the wood.

It would be strange to say nine people are carrying a filled coffin while ten are carting a weightless slab of wood. The reason behind this is simple. The tenth soldier, who isn't even a soldier at all, is walking close to the coffin—not to help tote it, but to rest his hand on the folded pair of the dead. His glasses are speckled with the rain water, hindering his vision only slightly. His dark cobalt jacket weakly clings to the remainder of his clothes, making him appear shrunken in his own attire. His hair is plastered to his face, emphasizing the upmost grief present in the furrow of his eyebrows and the quiver of his lip. He has been out in the rain longer than any of the other souls marching with him to the grave site.

His pale blue eyes are clouded, no longer graced with a quality that he had compared to the waters and the skies. At the very thought, his heart shatters even more, making him grasp the lifeless fingers tightly. In this world, it is only him and the contents of the coffin, and no one else. Everybody loved the man in the casket, but not as much as him. Their relationship is so much more, more than a simple King and Queen appearance. There is a true spark of love that in the wake of his death has abruptly been extinguished. The King still loves his Queen, but now it is under different circumstances, because he can't hold his beloved Queen when they danced the night away. He couldn't kiss him good night or tell him how much he loved him. That right was taken away from him.

The contents of the box are even more distressing than the world is, as if it is succumbing to the King's grief as well. In perfect stillness lies a man, his pale skin smooth and unblemished. Dark blue roses surround him, their petals softly caressing him in his eternal slumber. If the white material of his bow had not been guarding his neck, the King knows what he would find; yet he wishes he did not.

His dull blond hair halos around him, a small top hat cocked on one corner of his head. His face is slack, as emotionless as the soldiers, bearing no signs of pain during death. The King reaches up to caress his jaw lovingly, whispering they have almost arrived to their destination. He wishes for nothing more than for life to jump back into him, so he could see those magnificent emerald eyes again.

Just one more time. He pleads.

It never happens.

His hand settles back on the folded pair of his Queen's, tracing the tattoo found there. It is their symbol, the symbol of the Kingdom they built together. It encompasses the entire back side of his hand, from knuckle to wrist with a soft black ink threading in and over itself.

The King bares a similar mark, a mirrored image of his Queen's; only on a different location on his body.

The rainwater seems gentler as it drips onto his face, clumping his eyelashes together to make them darker. The King thinks about how even in death, his Queen could look so poised and beautiful. He almost laughs at the memory of him constantly nagging his posture and sloppy tendencies. How he misses it already. Nevertheless a strangled chuckle leaves his lips as he reaches up to rid his eyes of the tears collecting there.

A soldier rushes up to the King, softly tapping his shoulder.

"The Jack has arrived, sir." Is all he says before falling back in line.

The King sees the flash of the emblem they all bare before he sees the person acclaimed as the Jack. His brown hair is pulled into a disheveled mess, darker in some places due to the rain. His outfit is hastily thrown on, as if he was rushed out of the bed in order to attend.

"What in the world happened, aru?!" The Jack demands, casting his frightened gaze on the dead Queen amongst the flowers.

His eyes connect with the blue eyes of the King, practically dead in their sockets. He doesn't provide an explanation at first.

The King could see the flashes, the pulsation of memories before his eyes. It dances across his vision like it is mocking him.

"He tried to protect me…"

"Try to protect you from what?" The Jack clasps the King's shoulder in his hand, forcing him to face him.

He has to know who is responsible. It couldn't be…

"Ivan. Ivan was trying to get me." His eyes widen.

"No…" He breaths.

Not Ivan. It couldn't have been Ivan that killed their queen. It is practically a declaration of war. The Jack did not want to do that. His mind is reeling, not wanting to accept the information given to him.

"What will you do…?"

"I'm going to bury my lover." The King bluntly states.

The Jack opens his mouth, prepared to correct his question, before he closes it again. He nods his head once, before bowing in respect as he lets the caravan pass him. His eyes locate the sky, watching the heavens cry at such a bitter loss. The Jack's eyes flutter to a close, the rainwater gently kissing the exposed skin of his face.

"What will become of us now…" He whispers, seeking answers from the grimy clouds, "With the Queen dead, a terrible war is lurking nearby."

He clasps his hands together in prayer, whispering in a foreign language uncommon in those parts before speaking again, "It will be the end of both our kingdoms…"

When the procession reaches the pre-dug grave, the weary soldiers lower the casket beside the soon to be resting place, stepping back to allow their King the room he needs. The King lowers himself to his knees, staining his well-made clothes with the sticky mud, causing goose bumps to rise along his skin. He gently pulls the hand with the tattoo on it, pressing his lips against the inked skin lovingly. He intertwines his fingers with the lifeless one, feeling the cold nip that death brought. He leans over him, blocking the rain from his Queen as he kisses him one last time, trying to make up for the kisses he never got to steal. He brushes a few strands of hair from his face, stroking the soft skin as if it is a piece of fragile glass. The soldiers wait patiently as their King stands up, and removing his jacket, places it over the corpse of his deceased lover. He tucks the Queen in, pulling a few flowers to sit on top of the fabric.

"I love you…" He whispers softly, stealing one last caress of his face before stepping back completely.

The soldiers lower the lid, nailing it shut before more rainwater could dampen it. The King watches as they lift the coffin and dip it down into the grave, marking the place where the Queen will eternally rest.

"Good night." The military personal begin to fill the grave, covering up the dark wood in seconds.

"You will live on in my heart… forever and ever… even in death do we part." The King repeats the wedding vow he took that day; that beautiful day he took the Queen to be his and his alone. A bitter laugh escapes him at the thought of it. That is today isn't it?

Time is cruel, he decides. Too cruel.

Casting one last glance at the fresh grave, he looks at the commander of the regime of men that dutifully carried their Queen. The commander salutes even when his hand protests with cramps.

"I want you to gather everyone. Every soldier, every man over the age of sixteen." The soldier is taken a back by the dark aura slowly creeping around their beloved King, "We are going to Ivan's country soon."

"W-what are you planning to do when we head out for his country?" He coughs at his stutter, awaiting further orders rather nervously.

"Burn it to the ground."

Fearing repercussion, the commander barks his order to the rest of the soldiers. They quickly retreat the way they came, intent on pleasing their King and avenging their Queen as well.

The King runs his fingers through his hair, sighing shakingly as his knees buckle underneath him. He falls onto the grave, feeling every last bit of his strength being sapped from his body. Now, in the presence of himself alone, he breaks down, digging his hands into the mud like he hopes he could reach his Queen. His tears run freely down his face, mixing with the rainwater as his glasses begin to slip down his nose. His fists retract from the ground before going back as he repeatedly punches the ground in anguish.

"Come back!" He cries, his vision bobbling until everything is a blurred mess, "You swore you wouldn't leave me! Come back!"

He lays his head against the ground, feeling his heartbeat feverishly pounding in his chest as he brokenly whispers, "I love you…"

The King stays just like this, even when the rain has long since passed and the pale rays of the sun came to shine. He does not move an inch away from the grave. Not even with the Jack came to pay his respects, he did not move. People came and went, but the King didn't have the dignity to get up. Not until a voice rings in his ears like nails on a chalkboard, grating his emotions.

"So he finally got himself killed, eh?" The King snaps up, feeling his blood boil the instant he recognizes the voice.

He turns to the symboless Joker, despising that smirk the moment he spots it.

"What the hell do you want?" He growls, clenching his fists.

"I was just wondering if the rumors were true. You have my brother's condolences. It's not very often a Queen dies so brutally."

The King grits his teeth, refraining himself from speaking as the Joker continues.

"What are you going to do about it? The replacement I mean?"

"No one replaces my Queen."

The Joker laughs at such a comment, "You don't get a choice my dear King. The spade chooses who it wants."

"I don't want another queen. I want my queen!"

"Too bad I'm afraid. You are getting a replacement whether you like it or not. It'll be interesting who it'll choose."

"I don't want another queen." He repeats angrily.

"You are getting one~" The King launches a fist at him but the Joker is quick to dodge. He mockingly pokes the fist when it stops, just short of his face.

"They are sending the Aces over. You better get prepped for it or they won't decide in your favor."

The King is getting fed up with the sick and twisted way the Joker is attempting to help him. Casting a heated glance his way, he jabs a finger hard into his chest.

"Get out of my Kingdom." He mutters darkly.

With a laugh, the Joker answers his demand and suddenly disappears. The King rubs his eyes, feeling the burn of fatigue and the rush of reappearing emotions sting his eyes. No matter how much he hated the albino Joker, he knew he is right. He has to prepare for the arrival of the Aces.

The castle is dark and gloomy the moment its ruler returns home queenless. It truly feels empty now without his Queen's presence to lighten the atmosphere. Maids rush to his aid, attempting to help their King, but he simply brushes them off. He has one maid start him a bath, which he is quick to peel his clothes off and dip into. It is warm, blazing his skin to a healthy temperature than what nature had maintained. He lets his head rest on the rim of the tub as the rest of his body sinks underneath the bubbles. His whole body aches but not as much as his heart. He is hurting so much just imagining he would never see that beautiful smile again. He could never feel the warmth against his skin or the lips against his own. He could never hear the 'I love you's from his perfect mouth. He has lost his other half. Someone will pay for it; he is sure of that.

He sinks his head under water several times, glasses and all, not only to wake him up, but to rid him of the mud clumping his hair. He runs his fingers over his strained muscles, scrubbing his skin of the dirt that managed to worm its way into his clothes. He feels numb, as if this is only a bad dream and nothing more.

No matter how many times he splashes his face with water however, he would not wake up.

When he finally decides to get out, clothes are already waiting for him. He pulls them onto his body, half expecting a certain someone to come up behind him, helping him to get ready for an important meeting. It never happens. No pair of hands come up to help him button his clothes or guide his jacket over his shoulders. No one reaches out to take his glasses and clean them, and then after gently pecks his cheek with a kiss. He already misses every little thing his Queen did for him to show how much he loved him. He could just imagine the svelte body leaning into his arms—

His fantasy is cut short when there is a rap at the door.

"What?" He asks, hastily pulling on his shoes.

"The Aces request your presence sir. The Jack is currently speaking with them."

"Alright… I'll be there in a moment." Shaking his head, he gives himself a once over. If anything, right now is the time to control himself, and his emotions.

He leaves the bathroom, walking down the elegant grand staircase that sweeps the entry way with an expansion of dark marble floor. There, awaiting his arrival at the oak door bearing the symbol of a Spade, are the four Aces.

"Alfred…?" The Ace of Hearts is quick to correct himself, "I mean King Alfred… how are you?"

The King manages a pitiful smile at the sight of his brother Matthew. The Aces are the people that would take no side in war. His brother does not let this fact separate them. The same would go for the Ace of Spades. He and his… former Queen were best friends.

"I am fine." Alfred lies, something Matthew picks up on instantly.

"We have reason to believe you want to start a war." The Ace of Spades cuts to the chase, "Is it so?"

"By war do you mean brutally massacring the Club country? Then ya, I do." The Jack is alarmed to hear his King saying such a thing with a calm demeanor.

"Do you have justification for said war?"

The four Aces are all about balance. They maintain it in order for other countries to be unable to annihilate others. In special cases however, they would consider a battle to decide the fate of the two Kingdoms. Whether or not they accept it, the King decides, he would advance into the Club's country nonetheless.

Raising his head to meet the challenging gaze of the Ace, he responds, "The King of Clubs, Ivan Braginsky murdered my Queen before my eyes. I have justification."

For a moment, Alfred could see a flash of surprise in his frozen eyes. He hadn't been expecting such an answer.

"H-he killed A-Arthur?" The Ace of Clubs stutters, staring at the King with wide eyes as if he is some broke object.

"You can see him in his grave."

The Ace of Clubs takes a step forward, wanting to provide comfort but forces himself to remain neutral. Sometimes being an Ace is harder than being a King.

"I am sorry for your loss." The Ace of Spades consoles, "I can imagine the loss is unbearable."

"Unbearable indeed."

"Who will be the new Queen?" The Ace of Diamonds inquires.

"We do not know." The Jack answers.

"Why can't I just have no Queen? I don't want another one." Alfred says bitterly.

His only explanation comes from the Ace of Spades. It is such a textbook answer that it angers him.

"It'll upset the balance."

"Alright how about I go and murder all the other Queens."

"Then the balance will be partially restored."

"Good enough for me."

"You can't be serious my King. You can't just slaughter the other Queens. And besides don't you have good relations with the Queen of Hearts?" The Jack is related to the Queen, not only that, but it is his King's best friend. He couldn't just allow his King to murder him in his anger.

"I refuse to replace my Queen." He plainly states.

"Discuss these plots later." The Ace of Spades snaps, "You have a war to prepare for don't you?"

Alfred numbly nods his head. The Aces accept the declaration of war.

"Good luck. And may your queen rest in peace."

Once the Aces left, the Jack grasps his King by the arm, bewildered with his sudden change in character.

"You can't really be plotting to do this Alfred! You are the King of Spades because you don't let the mass amount of power go to your head. Arthur would not want you to murder his friends just because you can't accept another Queen!"

"Arthur's dead, Wang Yao. It doesn't matter what he wants."

The Jack gasps. His King has gone insane. Alfred starts to walk away.

"As your Jack," He regrips his arm again, "And your friend, I wouldn't recommend you do this." Alfred yanks his arm away, "You're upset right now. It's understandable. But if you do anything now, you'll regret it later and you can never take it back."

"I am King. My word is absolute. Obey me, or you'll be dead like Arthur."

Wang Yao snaps. He slaps his King across the cheek, satisfied only when he hears a loud pop and a hand shape welt appears on his face. The King is frozen for a moment or two, reaching up to gently touch the tender skin before he lowers his hand again. It would seem as if the Jack has finally knocked some reasoning back into him.

How wrong he is.

"Guards!" Armored men come to his aid, weapons drawn for a possible enemy to be about. Instead, the only people they see are the King and his loyal Jack.

"Arrest the Jack." The guards hesitate briefly, wondering if they had heard him right.

"ARREST HIM!" He roars, causing the guards to scramble to latch onto the Jack.

He struggles, all in vein.

"Don't do this Alfred! You'll regret it! Don't!" Wang Yao's reasoning is lost on the King. He shows no emotions as they drag the Jack away, intending to lock him up for Alfred's sake.

Pacing back and forth across the threshold, Alfred's thoughts jumble into a huge mess within his mind. Only a few things come crystal clear to him:

His queen is dead.

The King of Clubs is behind it.

This is war.


How is it so far?

-Soul Spirit-