England stared silently out of the window of number 10 Downing Street, waiting for the new Prime Minister. He was scheduled to arrive momentarily. England smirked as he pictured the portly Winston Churchill climbing out of a fancy limousine instead of that small Austin 8 he drove before he became Prime Minister.
"Speak of the devil," he muttered to himself as the pristine Rolls-Royce limo pulled up to the house. England watched as the newly appointed Prime Minister climbed from the car and strode purposefully towards the door. With a curt noise of approval, England stepped away from the window and walked towards the door.
He always loved this part. It was like revealing a grand present to a child. Whenever meeting the new Prime Minister or even a new monarch, England would always try to subtly make the meeting as climactic as possible.
He found Churchill in the main hall and waited for him to remove his coat and hat before stepping forward to begin the introductions. The man looked at him as he stepped forward, inclined his head, and extended his hand.
"Prime Minister," he began. "My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I have the pleasure of informing you that we are going to be working very closely for these next several years."
England noted that Churchill made no point of hiding his scrutiny. He looked England over once, turned to the man who had followed him inside waiting for orders or to be dismissed, and dismissed him. When he turned back to England, his mouth lifted into a naturally crooked smile, and he firmly grasped England's hand.
"I have heard of you," he said and England noted a slight nasally quality to the sound of Churchill's words that belied his previous image of the Prime Minister. "A man worth admiring and one of the few whom many have met and can all agree to respect. It is a privilege to meet you." Absently, England noticed a slight lisp of Churchill's words that softened his tone in a most unusual way. England smiled.
"Thank you, Prime Minister," he replied. "If you don't mind, sir, might I invite you to take tea upstairs?" Churchill gave a small nod and a short wave of his hand. England led on.
Once the two reached what was now Churchill's private study, England turned to the Prime Minister, prepared to speak – and drop the bomb that he happened to be a human manifestation of a country.
"I had heard I would be meeting you rather soon, Mr. Kirkland." However, Churchill beat him to it. Slightly surprised by his initiative, England nodded.
"Yes, Prime Minister, that is indeed the case," he replied. "As I now have something rather important to tell you." Churchill nodded and waited with what must have been an expressionless face. England opened his mouth to continue and paused.
"Have you been made aware of this ahead of time, Mr. Prime Minister?" he asked suddenly. Churchill looked at him and that small smile was back on his face.
"His Majesty might have mentioned something," he said easily. England resisted his own grin and continued.
"Very well," he said. "Then I shall be blunt. You don't seem like the type of man who likes beating around the bush. I am a physical manifestation of this country." There it was. Churchill was looking at him with that same expressionless face but England had the feeling that there was probably more scrutinizing going on.
"Do you have any questions?" England asked when Churchill said nothing. Churchill remained silent for a moment.
"Are all other nations like this?" he inquired. England nodded.
"Yes," he said. "Most of us were born many hundreds of years ago and have grown and matured as our country has. Some are older than others and we, all of us, have quite a history together. We have human given names, for obvious reasons, I believe – I was not lying when I said that my name is Arthur Kirkland – however, primarily we are referred to as our respective country. Many of my peers call me 'England', however some call me 'Arthur'. You may call me whichever you like, or 'Mr. Kirkland' should that be most amenable to you." Churchill moved to the desk facing away from the window, where the tray of brandy was waiting for him.
"Is there any significance to this state of being?" Churchill asked after a sip of brandy. England gave him a wry and slightly boyish shrug.
"I have no idea," he replied. "I've always believed it was some cruel prank of Providence that abstract concepts are given human emotions and forms. It all seems rather unfair at times.
"But, as of now, the only significance I have to offer you is that of another government official. Which I hope is sufficient, given the amount of time I've had to work at it." Churchill chuckled into his glass as he took another drink. He reached out to the second glass and filled it. England thanked him when he offered it and the two toasted their mutual political success in the years to come.
10 May 1940. – Today Winston Churchill has become our new Prime Minister and, as is regular, has been informed of my status and condition in regards to the country and the government. He took it rather well. Unfortunately, all of my fun in revealing my "condition" was completely sucked away when he told me His Majesty had informed him ahead of time.
Of course the oaths have been sworn and now I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. I must confess I was pushing rather hard for Winston Churchill to be made Prime Minister. I don't feel that any others would be capable of making up for Chamberlain's incredible blunder.
More importantly in regards to current matters, I feel that Churchill is more than capable of orchestrating the defeat of the German forces which have been haranguing Europe long enough now. Our military strength, combined with that of France's (odd though that may sound) should be more than adequate for restoring peace to this continent before the start of another so-called "Great War." So long as France can hold the Germans at bay (which is simple enough, as he has the benefit of the Maginot Line) the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force can bombard and blockade as support. Germany will be stopped here or so help me God I will kill France.
Takes place at the start of World War II. Sorry I didn't specify that in the summary... there wasn't enough room...
Yay historical fic! Woo. This is an experiment for me, and I'm kind of just putting it out there for people to see and decide if they like or don't like. If I continue this, the basic format will be as it is in this first chptr (although this might change a bit); that is with the narration of the story followed by a journal entry or document written by or somehow involving England. Not everything in the narration before the document (usually a journal entry) will happen on the same day that document was written, though. Just a heads up. But it will always occur before and/or on the day the document was written, never after. For obvious reasons.
Inspiration for this: I was watching a very interesting documentary the other day and decided to try my hand at a fic based around it. If you're interested in the documentary, it was a PBS one called "Secrets of the Dead: Winston Churchill's Deadly Decision." I loved it, it made me cry, and I thought of England and France. No pairings. No implied feelings of love, please. Just the story about something between them that was irreparably damaged (or almost irreparably damaged) by this decision.
I own nothing Hetalia (except the wallscrolls in my room), and this is the only time I will ever give a disclaimer, because it should be obvious.