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Author's Note: De-anon from Minvasion.
England being charged as a practicer of witchcraft, essentially. This is one of my favourites (again) from the minvasion, as I rather like the personification of a nation interacting with their ruler. It borrows the same sort of characterization as Badb Catha, though England is older.
Uh, let's see James I (or IV) was superstitious and picked up witch hunting in Norway and Denmark. Agnes in this fiction is a notable witch who died in the first major Scottish hunt, which James witnessed. She apparently haunts a local castle.
In case you're wondering about the title, I'm not sure myself. I had a good idea when I made the title, but now I don't really want to embarrass myself by trying to explain it.
In all likelihood it's probably just not a very good title.
Antibodies.
England eyed James carefully between two darkened green eyes. "Agnes haunts Holyrood." James carefully pulled at England's hair, twisting it in his fingers, and England let the monarch stroke at his hair. England was not James' by birth, but a triviality, an extra. England smirked to himself, aware he was the superior of the nations James had. Perfectly aware to what depths a person would go, and what heights he would claw for England.
But he was not here to bask in his own glory, and England eventually pulled away from James' fingers. "You have killed peaceful practitioners of the ancient ways."
James reaches forward again, gripping England's hair tightly and yanks him forward. "Peaceful?"
"Unhand me." England murmured quietly.
"I possess you." James insisted, trying to sneer, and England performed the snarl perfectly. Disdainful and glorious.
"No, you are but a bearer." England flared his teeth with a twist of his lip, the sneer deepening into a ferocious grin. "The crown you hold has more power over me than you do." England shook his head, like a feline shedding water from its fur, sleek and slightly beautiful. James fingers fell away, and England stretched to his full height, slighter than perhaps it ought to be, but spine bow-arched, and taunt. "If anything, I possess you." England stepped close, hiding his teeth, and almost purred.
James grabbed England's face.
"Warlock." He stated primly.
"Of course." Green eyes gleamed. "I am everything. A good catholic, a good protestant, a good wiccan."
"Witchcraft Act 1563." James muttered. "You are not immune."
England shrugged. "I am immune to death." He pulled away, sauntering towards the door. He had only so much interest in the frippery of the upper-classes, when the guards reached out from the doors, pinning him by the arms. England could have shrugged it off, easily even, but he only eyed James curiously. "How far will you go with this?"
"You represent England, if you are killed as a witch, then England will be witch-free."
England doubled over, laughing so hard he actually cried. He allowed the men to take him away, spine still straight and head raised high, even past the laughter and half-tears. The King was insane, but then, that had happened before.
May your quills be ever sharp.