Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, this isn't canon and I'm not making a penny from it.
The real story
Alfred, King of Wessex was on the march to defend his kingdom against the marauding Danes who'd stormed through Mercia already and were harrying his forces, driving them further and further back. The nobleman had seen his brother, Aethelred fall to Ivar the Boneless' assault and the young king was constantly travelling and fighting the invaders.
It wasn't going well, the young ruler thought gloomily. A young man rode alongside him, the only one of his companions who'd been able to stay by his side as they'd escaped the latest rout. Both men were exhausted and bloodied, the swords at their belts still bearing the dried blood of their enemies.
'Cheer up sire, it could be worse.' The untidy youth tried to cheer the harassed monarch up as they made their way through the southwesterly marshes, pushing on at a trot as fast as they dared through an area of the kingdom Alfred was less familiar with.
Alfred sent a quelling glance at the lad, but it didn't seem to bother him as much as the expression usually did his subjects. 'This is naught but a set-back, how can a king with the blessing of the Pope himself lose against pagan savages?' He grinned with a comfortable assurance that Alfred wished more of his soldier had. 'It is absolutely worth it if I can bloody Mikkel's nose.' The strange lad mumbled under his breath.
Alfred gave the stranger a peculiar look - he seemed to be an odd sort. 'What is your name, anyway? I can't carry on calling you 'lad'.'
The lad seemed to stop his tongue from spilling the first reply it wanted to and answered carefully. 'I am honoured, Sire. My name is Arthur.'
That didn't seem to be his real name, but he was the only ally Alfred had until they could regroup with his army and so the king let it slide. Instead he frowned and let the lad lead them through the marsh, his mind returning to battle plans. Darkness began to draw in and Alfred pulled his cloak more tightly around himself against the chilly fog.
'Hmmm, thought as much. Oi, Sire, there's a hut up ahead, hopefully the person there will give us shelter for the night. This place is lethal at night when you don't know the paths well.'
They both dismounted and Arthur held the horses while Alfred humbled himself to beg for sanctuary, all too aware that his clothes were stained with blood and the blood caked over with mud. He cleared his throat against the humiliating feeling and checked over his shoulder. The lad was busy checking the horses over and rubbing them down with a scrap of fabric.
'What do you want?' The door opened a sliver and a suspicious face peered up at him.
King Alfred swallowed his pride. 'I'm sorry madam, but I am a weary traveller lost in these marshes and I beg you for sanctuary for the night.'
Beady eyes looked him up and down, then flicked over his shoulder to take in the tired horses and the scrubby looking youth. 'You'd best come in then, and the lad too.'
The old crone added more wood to the fire and carefully placed the cakes she'd just finished kneading onto the hearthstones surrounding the fireplace. 'There's a little bread left if you're hungry.' She informed them and poured out two beakers of small beer from the pitcher. 'All I ask in return is that you watch my cakes and pull them off the stones when they're cooked.'
Alfred had to nod his acceptance of such generous terms and the generosity of an old widow woman who clearly had so little to share. He pulled of his cloak and set it in front of the fire to dry, sitting down by the hearthstones to watch the cakes.
With that she shuffled creakily in the direction of her bed and clambered in, falling asleep within moments. With the quiet both men relaxed and staring into the flames Alfred's brooding thoughts gave way to yawns.
A warm hand on his shoulder roused Alfred and he looked into the face of his companion. 'Rest yourself Sire, the country depends on your leadership. I can watch the cakes for you, 'tis an easy enough task.'
Alfred couldn't really argue with that logic and curled up, falling asleep so rapidly he barely remembered resting his head on the floor. Arthur smirked in tired triumph at getting his king to rest and settled down cross-legged to mind the cakes. It took a while, with twin snores punctuating the otherwise quiet night, but at last the cakes were done, all nice and crisp and dark on the outside, not like those pale insipid little things the inns kept trying to serve him! He carefully plucked them from the stones and placed them on a plate, ready for the next day.
The old crone's shouting woke him up the next morning and the two of them barely made it out of the hut with their hides intact. The old lady was a surprisingly powerful shot with that rolling pin! Alfred didn't speak to him for the rest of the day, another fool with no sense of decent cooking!
End
A/N - Mikkel is one of the names Hidekaz tossed out as ones he liked for Denmark, but he doesn't officially have a name, so I picked the one I liked best.