A/N: Ohohoho, what do we have here? Two stories in one day? Well, it's the day that Daylight Savings Time ends where I am, so I got some extra sleep and I'm raring to write! Woohoo!
Soooo, if you really want to get the full effect of this story, you wonderful readers are going to have to do something before you start. First, go to YouTube and pull up a video of "Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Faron Woods Music" and listen to that while reading the first part of the story. This is what I was listening to when I started this. Then, when you get to the part in this story where it says "Almost immediately, he realized…" (this is at the beginning of a new paragraph), pause the music and search "PMD2 Remix: 'A Hiding Place Between Stitches in Time'" and listen to that as you continue reading. This is the song the fairy is playing and it's what I listened to as I wrote that part. This isn't totally necessary but trust me, you will be moved.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own the aforementioned songs. The first belongs to Nintendo and the second belongs to 'TheGuitahHeroe'. Also, I will only put disclaimers if I use anything other than the characters from whatever I am writing about. This is Fanfiction, of course I don't own the characters. Enjoy ;D
Under the viridian-hued foliage, in an unnamed forest, there was one. Alone, perhaps, but only to the naked eye. He may not have the purest of hearts, for that purity had been stolen and crushed the moment he learned of war. Something must still be there, however, since he was most certainly not alone, and he would only be alone if there wasn't any purity to begin with.
He wandered the forest in the company of fairies. Yes, fairies. Dressed in the elements they were born from, they danced around his head, his feet, in front of him, and behind. They couldn't speak the "funny pebble-like tongue" that the man could, but that didn't mean they couldn't communicate. They would giggle their twinkling laughs and flutter their stain-glass wings, illuminated by the small spots of light that managed to filter to the forest floor. The man smiled contentedly, happy that these creatures were able to live without a care, away from the bustle and hustle of the city, or any civilization for that matter.
As they continued on their journey with no meaning, they came across a clearing in the midst of the pathless forest. The fairies, excited about their discovery of the open space, zipped and zoomed ahead. They began to perform an acrobatic show, twisting their tiny bodies in mid-air and making winding, twisting trails of dust that marked where they flew.
The man, whom we now know to be England, sat down and played the part of the spectator for their performance. He marveled at their speed and flexibility, entranced by the spell they seemed to weave into the crisp forest air.
The sound of boots crunching on the fallen leaves broke his trance, and the Brit quickly shot up, looking wildly for the intruder. The fairies noticed his sudden change from peace to anxiety, and stopped their performance. They, however, were able to identify their new guest, and giggled endlessly at the Brit's naïvety. They knew that the guest wasn't a threat, but merely another spectator, even if he wouldn't be able to truly see them, he would be able to hear their laughing and see the dust that fell from their wings as they flew. They continued with their fun, blissfully unaware of the confused looks that England sent their way.
When the new arrival made his presence known to England with a mirthful honhonhonhon~, England groaned aloud, cursing every deity ever recorded for casting the perverted curse that was France onto him. Slumping down to the ground with an irritable 'humph', he glared at the trees on the far end of the clearing, crossing his arms and legs to show that he really did not want France to be there.
"Oh, mon amour, don't act like you aren't happy to see me~", France exclaimed, arms outstretched as he sauntered toward the grumbling country.
"I'm not acting, Frog.", came the laconic reply.
Letting his arms fall to his sides, France stooped down and sat next to England, his left leg bent as though sitting Indian Style, his right leg propped up. He leaned back on his hands and proceeded to watch the fairies show. He tried to determine how many there were by the number of dust trails he could see.
England turned his head ever so slightly, just enough to see France in his peripheral vision, gracefully sprawled out on the clearing floor. He noticed the content smile on his face, his relaxed breathing, the soft glow of his golden hair. He noticed the way his hair framed his face perfectly. He noticed the glow that seemed to come from the depths of his cerulean irises. He noticed the perfectly manicured nails shining in the filtered sunlight.
He was doing a lot of noticing.
"Like what you see?", France asked, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, a playful smirk formed on his lips. England could feel his face get slightly warmer and promptly looked away. Not from embarrassment, but because he was afraid of getting carried away.
He thought France was beautiful.
That's why he didn't want him here.
Almost immediately, he realized that the fairies weren't doing their spectacular stunts anymore. They were now hovering in a circle around a single fairy, one with long brown hair tied in a single braid that rested on her left shoulder. She was dressed in a dark green leafy dress that looked as though it was made from the healthy leaves of a grand tree in the summer. She was in a sitting position, one leg crossed over the other, hands poised in front of her as though she was going to play an invisible flute. She closed her eyes and began to play a long note that dropped slightly, escalated, and then dropped again. The notes were filled with a sadness that would've made the most steeled hearts vulnerable. The melancholy tune told a tale of a forgotten something, a something that used to be protected from time, but was now slowly starting to crumble. The other fairies continued to hover around her, heads bowed and eyes closed, their wings the only moving part of their bodies.
England tried not to cry, but failed miserably. His eyes flooded over with tears that spilled down over his face in thin, wet trails. It was the most vulnerable he had ever felt in his life. No war, no death, no plague had ever made him feel this way, and he vaguely wondered whether or not this song was for the world and any one on it that would listen, or if this song was for him specifically. Either way, he cried silently, not a single noise coming from him.
The final note faded off into the distance, and the fairies all opened their eyes and looked at him and France. Then, one by one, they flew away into the forest, dust trails following.
England wiped the tear tracks from his face and turned to France. The Frenchman had changed to an upright Indian Style position, hands in his lap. His eyes were closed and his face was unreadable. He took a deep breath and exhaled, eyes opening slowly. Though his face betrayed nothing, his eyes looked the same as England felt, vulnerable and full of sorrow. He turned to England and said, out of the blue:
"Don't ever think that I don't care. Don't ever think that I will turn away from you and abandon you, because I won't. Don't ever think that I don't really love you, because I do."
Abandoning all pride, England flung himself at France, throwing his arms around him and kissing him deeply. There were no tongues involved, no touching aside from the warm embrace, just lips pushing on lips with the force of a thousand raw emotions. It lasted for only a short moment, yet it spoke for a thousand eternities. Once it was broken, England buried his face into France's shoulder and cried. He cried for the forgotten people in this world. He cried for the lost opportunities. He cried for the fairy that played the tune, and whatever made her know of such loneliness. And, all the while, France rocked him back and forth, rubbing warm circles on his back. He made no move to stop England's crying, for he knew that there was too much hurt for him to stop. But he did make him a promise that he would keep for another thousand eternities.
"I love you, Angleterre, and I always will."
Ehhh, sappy ending is sappy, but whatever :P
Sooooo? Were you moved? Leave me a review and let me know!
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated, as well as letting me know about grammatical errors such as comma splice, awkward sentences, tense changes, and just how you felt about the story. And sending flames is called "being rude", my dear children, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies.