This was written for a kinkmeme request asking for an alternate universe version of WWII.
Some quick backstory: Columbus never discovered the Americas, no from Europe or Asia did. Then, during WWII, Japan found Hawaii and thought it would be a great base. The American nations were not pleased by this....
Now, on to the story!
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-Walk on the Wind-
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"It's hard to imagine Japan being driven out by a bunch of savages like these..." England narrowed his eyes, clutching his weapon close against his chest as he scanned the trees, alert for any signs of movement. He wasn't sure why they'd decided this was a good idea. Well, no... that was a lie, he knew why. Whether it was a good idea or not, it was their only idea. They were losing this war - and if that damn Russia would just abandon his non-aggression pact with the Axis, then they might actually stand a chance. Damn Germany and his war!
"Savages they may be, Angleterre," France murmured to him, "But I have never seen Japan so vexed before. They could be of great help to us."
"If we can even find them." They'd been wandering for three bloody days and not a sign of anyone in this humid hellhole. England paused to wipe sweat from his brow, his skin clammy from the humid heat. He reached for his canteen with the other hand, raising it to his lips and tilting his head back to get the last of the liquid inside. He almost choked as he caught a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes glinting down at him from the treetops. "Francis!"
"Quiet, Angleterre. You were the one who was insistent on the importance of this mission. Surely you aren't changing your mind now?"
"Francis!"
A sigh that was just theatrical enough to make it clear that France was amused at his flailing, then the other nation turned to look at him. The smirk on France's face disappeared as he caught a glimpse of the figure moving in the branches, as quick and silent as a cat. There was a faint rustle, at last, then a form dropped from the canopy to land in a crouch in front of them.
England had never seen anyone quite like this - skin earthy dark, eyes even darker, burning straight through him. As the man straightened up, England caught a glimpse of a spreading tattoo across his back and shoulders, partially concealed as the stranger tossed his head, the long dark strands of his hair covering the black marks.
"S-say something," France's fingers were digging into his arm and for the first time it occurred to England that maybe they'd been a bit hasty in their decision to come here. Because never, at any point, had they discussed just how they were going to communicate with these natives.
"What am I supposed to say?!" England hissed back, trying to keep his voice low and edge away at the same time. He was already calculating what it would take to put France between himself and their unexpected 'guest', but a strangled yelp from France heralded the arrival of a second assailant. They were surrounded.
While the man closest to England was dressed minimally, a tanned pelt wrapped around his hips and leaving his legs and the rest of his body unimpeded, the one on the other side of France was clad in trappings that would have had the European nations keeling over in this heat. Leathers were sewn into pants that seemed surprisingly well worked for so unsophisticated a society, and though he wore no shirt, there was a white bear pelt draped around his shoulders, the head almost covering his face, like a hood.
He swore under his breath - this was not going as he'd anticipated it. "We have to convince them that we're not here to attack them..."
"And how do you propose we do that, Angleterre?" France hissed back, not taking his eyes away from the bear-pelted man.
England swallowed, took a step toward the man in front of him, holding out one hand in what he hoped was a clear gesture of friendship. The native tensed, dropped to a crouch, and England froze, not daring to pull his hand back, in case the move startled the man into attacking.
A glance to his outstretched hand, then to him, then back to his hand. Then the man held out his own hand, slowly, mimicking the gesture, but not actually touching England. So... monkey see, monkey do? Perhaps this could be useful...?
"Don't be afraid. We're friends." England gestured at himself and France. "Friends. We've come to help." Well, to ask for help, but they could explore the nuances of their reasons for being here later - once they weren't in danger of being eviscerated by angry savages. He pointed to France. "This is Francis. And I'm Arthur." He pointed to himself. Then he repeated the gesture, and their names. "Francis. Arthur." England pointed to the man with the tattoo, "And you?"
Dark eyes staring at him, then a finger pointing to him, then to France. Okay... maybe not the progress he was hoping for. England tried again. "Arthur. I'm Arthur. Who are you?"
A long, considering look, then the man pointed to himself and England silently cheered at this apparent progress. His celebration at having successfully communicated with these uncivilized barbarians was short lived, as the man just pointed back at him again.
Right. Of course.
"Arthur. Arrr-thurr" He tried saying it more slowly as he jabbed himself in the chest impatiently with his finger. Damn it, they'd finally found what they were looking for and they were going to be held up by something as ridiculous as the inability to communicate? "Oh, damn it all! You don't understand a single blasted word I'm saying, do you?"
Silence, for just a second, and then the stranger's lips curled upward in an expression that would have been a smirk, if these people were capable of it. It certainly looked like one... Then the man threw his head back and let out a peal of what was unmistakably laughter. The tense, aggressive stance melted away as he straightened up, giving his head a slight shake. While the long strands of his hair settled back across his shoulders, a dark and flowing ebony, there was a single shorter strand that refused to settle so easily into place and stuck up like a little black feather.
"What...?" England sputtered, trying to wrap his head around what was so funny. It was then that the other one, the one flanking them on Francis's side, pushed the pelt upward a little, shifting the bear-headed hood away to show a face that was remarkably similar - no... as England looked from one to the other, he could see that their faces were exactly alike - to the one who was still making ringing noises of amusement.
"I apologise," The bear-clad man said, his English accented, but perfectly understandable. "The foolish one is my brother. We speak your language... well enough." There was something about his stance that was more wary than his brother, but England didn't have much attention to spare to that little detail when he was still struggling to absorb the fact that he was actually talking with these strange barbarians - and they could talk back!
"H-how did you?"
France cut in smoothly, somehow less perturbed than England at this oddity. "What Angleterre is trying to ask, is how it is that you know his language."
"Je parle français." The laughing man managed to quell his humour long enough to call out. "We know many languages... there have been many who have stumbled across our land over the years. None of them have been allowed to leave, of course." And it was about then that England felt the fear that had mostly been dissipating at the apparent friendly behaviour from these two, make a sudden reappearance.
"Not allowed-?" He swallowed, wondering just what 'not allowed' to leave might entail.
"We have to protect ourselves, don't we?" The other one spoke, reaching up to tug the bear head back down over his face. "You understand."
"Oui! Of course we do!" England stiffened as France's arm slid around his shoulders, the other nation's tone too cheerful to be genuine. "Well, do not let us disturb you, my friends. We'll be on our way."
England yelped as he felt the sharp point of a spear against his belly, France stumbling to a halt before either of them were impaled. The one with the tattoo wasn't laughing anymore. His smile was full of a certain dark amusement. "No, 'my friends'. I'm afraid you'll have to stay for a while longer." He gave them a grin that would have been charming if it hadn't been backed up by a weapon. "At least until we decide what we're going to do with you."
The two brothers' eyes met, something communicated between them without words, then England and France were herded further into the trees.
They weren't sure how far they were forced to trek - their captors kept altering the route through the winding undergrowth until a sense of direction was no longer possible. When they emerged from the brush, England had no clue where they were or how they could possibly return to camp from here. In hindsight, this had to be a deliberate tactic on the part of the two natives holding them hostage... who were apparently more canny than England would have given them credit for if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He was starting to have his suspicions about just how these savages could have driven off Japan...
The clearing they arrived at showed signs of some struggle - a village, once, perhaps not even that long ago, but most of the huts were in ruins. The one in the bear fur approached a standing structure, the entryway blocked off by a black pelt. As they approached, England could see the light reflecting off a spotted pattern in the fur, black on glistening black. It was held aside, a gesture for them to enter.
And so they did, with the tattooed man quick on their heels, slinking past them like a cat and padding to the bed of soft grasses and pelts. Laid out among these was a girl, barely into her teens - her skin swarthy dark, torn and gashed. Blood matted the ebony of her hair.
She blinked as the man knelt beside her, the two of them exchanging soft words, a gentle hand petting the girl's tresses before the one with the tattoo turned to look at them again.
"Aloha," The girl called to them in her own language, then coughed, breath coming hard and raspy. England knew that sound - it didn't bode well. Her eyes went to him, "My brothers say you come from the lands across the water."
Brothers? Another one like these men they'd already found? How many of these savages were there? "I do. I am Arthur. This frog is Francis."
"Frog?" All of their gazes went to France, who merely raised his chin haughtily.
"I am Kalei." She reached out to take the hand of the one crouched beside her, and from this vantage point, England could see the tattoo more clearly - it was in the stylized form of a massive bird, the wings spreading across the length of the man's back with their tips touching each shoulder. "This is Kwahu." A smile pulled at her lips, "The quiet one is Ataneq." England jolted for a second, looking at the one standing beside the entrance - he'd almost forgotten the man was there.
"The other outsider who came here," Ataneq pushed his bear hood up. "-he destroyed many of Kalei's people and left her wounded."
Uh oh... He wasn't liking the sound of that. "That was Japan. He and our people are at war."
"Oui!" France hastened to add. "He and the Axis have been conquering territory all across Europe."
"The Axis." This voice came from behind them, low and dangerous. England almost jumped out of his skin, whirling around to see another man. His eyes widened at the sight of the gold collar, the cuffs, the jewels dangling from his ears. There was a fortune here in the metal alone, and he couldn't help the surge of greed from the part of himself that had once been a pirate. Of course, trying anything here would have been the height of foolishness, and he gave France a swift - if not entirely subtle - kick in the shins when he noticed the way the other nation was sidling forward with that bright gleam in his eyes.
It wasn't necessary, not when France drew up short with a sick, strangled noise, backpedalling until he was almost hiding behind England. It was then that England's eyes saw past the glitter of gold, to the blood smeared across the man's chest and arms. In one hand, he was dragging a struggling Japanese soldier, leaving a long trail of red off past the entryway.
"Nahuatl..." The one with the bird tattoo began, pushing past England, only to be shoved firmly aside.
"Speak more of this Axis, stranger. And be swift, I have no more patience for these games."
England struggled to keep his wits about him, willing his legs to stop their trembling. He was a nation, by all the gods - once the British Empire - and he would be damned if he let himself be cowed by a bunch of barbarians wearing animal skins! And they did need the help - though he was loathe to admit it. These people could very well be the key to winning this war, if their numbers were sufficient and they could be swayed to join. Japan had already laid out the groundwork for a potential alliance for them, England had only to capitalize on this.
"The Axis powers." Where to begin? Would they even grasp the concept?" The morality? Perhaps not, but those were not the only cards England could choose to play. "They are an alliance of nations who seek to control all of the world through force."
A startled bark of laughter, and though Kwahu was unaffected by England's glare, a sharp glance from the one called Nahuatl silenced any further outbursts.
"If they come to rule us, we will subdue them, like all the others before them." Nahuatl moved to kneel beside the wounded girl, tracing fingers through the dark silk of her hair. " And that is not why you've come."
Surprisingly perceptive... England glanced over his shoulder at France, who was ignoring him in favour of watching their captors with a mixture of wariness and fascination. "They are powerful and will stop at nothing to further their plans to this end. Japan's visit was the first of many to come, now that they know you're here. They will keep coming until they absorb your people." Come now, even savages had to have a rudimentary sense of self preservation.
"And you have no concern for our freedom, nor should you. Otherwise you would not have tried so hard to find us. Be frank or be silent. You want our help, but we have no interest in your wars, stranger."
Idiot! "It won't stay our war if Japan and the Axis claim victory in Europe!" He was almost yelling, frustrated by the thick-headedness of these natives. "There will be a lot they'll want and once they can come in force, there is little you can do to stop them." A silence, a look that was narrow eyed and thoughtful, bolstering England's confidence. "If you agree to help us now, we will agree to assist you if their eye should turn to you later!" He could feel more than see the look of surprise and horror that France was shooting him. If he hadn't been desperate - and with the suspicion that a treaty of some kind might actually be the only way they would even get out of this in one piece - he would have agreed with the other nation's sentiment.
Nahuatl tipped his chin a little, regarding England with a steady stare. Then he turned his head to his 'brothers' and said something in a rapid, tongue-twisting language that England could make neither heads nor tails of.
The one closest to England, Kwahu, tensed, called something back, low and urgent. England stumbled backward as he was pushed aside, the two conferring in sharp tones. Kwahu's voice rose as he spoke - whatever it was he was saying - and Nahuatl's eyes narrowed. Then he said something back,short, succinct. A nod of the head and Kwahu glanced to where England was standing, gestured. Inwardly, England was cringing a little as he nudged closer.
"The stranger has some points." Nahuatl rumbled, a voice like thunder. "We will consider these. For now, there is much to do. You-" He pointed to England.
"He is called Arthur," Kwahu cut in.
A twist of the lips. "Arthur. You will accompany Kwahu. Appraise him more of this Axis, so we may be prepared. And you-" A gesture to France, who had thus far been successful at not having the native's attention focused on him.
"Poloka." The girl chimed in, startling both of the European nations, as well as her own relatives. Kwahu and Ataneq exchanged a look and both of them gave soft snorts, like laughter.
"What did she call me?" France hissed to England, whisper soft. Like he would know?
"You did say he was a frog?" Kwahu smirked. "Be honoured - being given a name in her tongue means she must like you."
There was a curl to Nahuatl's lips, but the look in his eyes was dark. "Poloka, as my sister calls you. You and Ataneq will remain here until I return." The one in the bear skin made a noise that might have been a sigh - or else it was just a bit of wind outside. France jumped a litle at the sound and England did not feel so bad that he'd again forgotten the man was even there.
"Where are you going?" England asked, not expecting an answer.
"That is none of your concern." Nahuatl looked at him, a piercing stare. "Keep your word, stranger, and you will have no need to worry. But be warned: if anything should happen to my family because of any untruth or omission, you will know my anger." And that is something you don't want, the rest of the words rang out in the silence, unspoken but clear. The flap across the entryway rustled as he left, and England felt he could breathe again, finally. His body quivered, despite himself, a weakness he would not have shown otherwise.
A hand brushed his elbow and made him jump, whirling to see Kwahu standing beside him. "Don't be afraid. If you're telling the truth, then there's nothing to worry about. Come on, it is a long trip to the mainland."
"M-mainland?" Wait... "What mainland?!"
Kwahu was already a few steps ahead of him, beside the door. The tattoo across his back now clear in all of its intricate detail, catching the eye - England had a sudden dizzy moment of thinking it was looking at him and he stumbled trying to take a step. Hands steadied him, and he looked up at the dark-skinned man in surprise, feeling a moment of faint gratitude trying to assert itself. Then Kwahu opened his mouth. "Hey, don't be so clumsy! I can't always be rescuing you, you know." There was a light tone to his words, teasing, but England bristled.
"I didn't ask you to help me! Git!" His anger rolled off of Kwahu's back like water off a duck, the man just laughing softly and gesturing for him to follow. And after a few more seconds of glaring daggers at the back of the idiot's head, England did.
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Author's Notes: This is another one that's been up for a while on the meme and I just never brought over. The update rate on this is spaced a bit further apart - I write it when I'm not occupied writing Bealtaine or Ocean, so I can't guarantee how often I'll have new chapters up, especially considering it takes a fair bit of research. Just giving readers a heads up - I am working on this, just not quickly.