The Trent Affair was an incident in 1861 involving a Union capture of two Confederate agents trying to sneak to Europe aboard a British mail ship, the Trent. America viewed it as a legal act for wartime, while Britain viewed it as an affront to their honor. You can read more about it on Wikipedia.

Second Hetalia fic. Review please?


There is silence for a long while. It's a tad disarming, as America had always been loud, rubust naton, but today the burdens hang heavy on him, and it shows as his whole frame sags under the weight of the threat--the threat of splitting in two.

England waits for the child-nation to gather his thoughts, patient for the burden but impatient for his disrespect. Not even a hundred years old, he thinks, and already he wants independence from himself. He is about to interrupt when the younger finally speaks.

"You must not acknowledge them," he says in a low, thick voice that covers the room, almost stealing England's breath, but when he opens his mouth again America reiterates: "You must not acknowledge them!" His fist pounds the table, but England does not recoil; does not lose an ounce of composure. He is not here to discuss America's incompetence; he is here to defend his own honor.

"I am making no such move," he says calmly, idly smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in his overcoat, "I am simply demanding that you treat my people with respect--"

"It is war out there!" America persists, standing in his passion, "Wilkes had every right--"

"Wilkes had no right whatsoever to fire on my ship. Injure my men, insult my honor. You think we would harbor those who mean to do harm?"

"But you were!" There is thick, tense silence for a few moments, punctuated by the younger's harsh breaths. England's eyes grow dark.

"You have enough on your plate. You do not want this too," he is deathly serious, America knows, but he cannot stop himself.

"You would not," he insists. England scoffs.

"I have already given order to deploy troops to Canada and reinforce our presence in the Atlantic," he states matter-of-factly, "You do not want this."

Again there is silence, different from the last. They stare each other down, waiting for one to break. England is bluffing, not about the troops, but the threat of war. America is right, he would not; his country has become too dependent on America's grains to risk it. Cotton can be sacrificed now that his colony in India had begun to cultivate it but he would rather swallow his pride than let his people starve.

But America doesn't need to know this, and he breaks, looking away first.

"Release them," England says flatly; he does not relish this victory. His satisfaction at seeing the once-petulant child brought down is lessened by the attachment he still feels to him, though he does not dare pity him. Try as he might, he fears he may never lose his admiration of the wild blond.

America closes his eyes, sighing. "They will be released in the morning," he says at last, and defeat is heavy in his features. He wants to fight, but he knows he cannot afford, least of all when he can barely keep himself together. England takes this as his cue to leave. The negotiations are over, and he is no longer needed.

Though America calls to him anyway. "Is it true, what they say?" he says hesitantly, and his words are met by an inquisitive stare, "Do you mean to see me fall? Do you... hate me?"

England's whole body goes stiff for a second--his one moment of lost composure, but that is all he lets the younger nation see before he leaves the room at last.

Mason and Slidell are released the next day and make their journeys to Europe.

Neither France nor England agree to diplomatic recognition of the Confederacy.