Author's Note: Yay, more Hetalia stuff! However, the inspiration for this story comes my AWESOME writing partner known simply as Alfie. You're amazing, girl~!

Anyway, this may be a little out-of-character for Arthur, but the idea was just too good to ignore, and I'm pretty proud of how it came out. Alfie said she got inspired by Macbeth, and there are definitely some similarities here if you know about the "Bloody Play".

And I had a line break towards the end, and I apologize for how annoyingly distracting it is.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or (to be safe) Macbeth.

I also wish not to offend anyone with any content in this story. I apologize if I did so.

-Fanta

Arthur didn't know where he was, or why he was here, but despite that he couldn't get a horrible feeling out of his gut.

It was dark all around the room, except for what seemed to be a single spotlight shining down on him. His wrists and feet were chained to the dirtied floor, and he was covered in cuts and bruises that he couldn't recall from where he had gotten them.

It was cold. And he was alone.

The two things he hated the most.

He assumed he was in a dungeon of some sort, but the idea of someone being able to capture a powerful empire such as himself was unheard of. No, it should have been completely impossible for such a thing to happen.

Yet here he was. In chains, at whoever had brought him here's mercy.

He didn't have the strength to tug at the chains, so he just stayed still, staring at the ground while gritting his teeth. His breathing was deep, his chest heaving, as if he were trying to hide that he was on the verge of panic. He would much rather have been in complete darkness. That stupid light shining down on him seemed to make things worse.

His head snapped up when he heard a loud screech of metal from a little ways in front of him, like a door opening. The sound was followed by soft footsteps, and the Briton braced himself, emerald eyes already narrowed into a glare at whoever it was that was approaching.

But the glare evaporated into a look of pure shock when the newcomer stepped into the light, and Arthur recognized the smirking figure walking towards him.

"M-M-Matthew?!"

Sure enough, the newcomer had those unmistakable violet eyes, the ridiculous hair curl, and on that red sweatshirt that had always been a little bit too big on him. But the Canadian's lips were curved up in a dangerous smirk, nothing like his usual soft, kind smile.

"Look at you..." Matthew halted in front of Arthur, staring down at him, hands behind his back as he almost casually rocked on his heels. "The great British Empire...finally defeated."

The horribly familiar quietness of his former colony's voice sent a small shudder down Arthur's spine, but he found it extremely hard to believe that Matthew had been the one to actually succeed in capturing him. "M-Matthew, lad, y-you aren't thinking—"

Matthew interrupted him with a gentle, mocking laugh. "No, Arthur...I'm thinking perfectly fine. You've had this coming." He began to slowly circle the Briton, his footsteps echoing softly around the room. Arthur kept his gaze down on the floor and gritted his teeth once more, unable no matter how hard he tried to block out the Canadian's voice. "Had it coming for so, so long...And we finally decided it was time you learned. You've hurt us...and in turn we will hurt you." Matthew's voice had gotten gradually stronger and louder as he walked, and Arthur finally dared to look up again, to meet the other's shimmering blue gaze.

Wait...blue?

Arthur blinked, eyes widening again when he realized the person in front of him was no longer Matthew. Now the young man had on a proud brown bomber jacket, the hair curl gone and replaced by a small cowlick on top of light brown hair.

The only thing that remained the same was that godawful smirk, nothing like the goofy "hero" grin Arthur had come to expect from this individual.

"A-Alfred?!"

"You've caused war, broken hearts, and destroyed dreams," Alfred continued from where his brother had left off. He gazed down at his former ruler with those ever bright sapphire eyes. "You never thought about the consequences of your actions...You never thought about the people you've stepped on to reach your own goals."

Images of the American Revolution flashed through Arthur's mind, and he felt inevitable tears come to his eyes as he watched Alfred rock back and forth on his heels. He opened his mouth to speak, but soon closed it again when he realized he had no words that could fix this.

Alfred's smirk widened, and he turned his back to Arthur for a moment, almost as if he were going to walk back to the door. Arthur blinked the tears out of his blurring vision and almost did a double take when the bomber jacket morphed into a blue cloak. "You could have had friends, allies, Arthur..." Alfred turned around again, his voice taking on a clear French accent. The blue eyes and that same smirk were still there, but now he had shoulder length blond locks and a small bit of facial hair on his chin.

"Francis..."

Francis walked back over and knelt down so he could be at eye-level with Arthur. His voice was soft, calm: "You could have been admired, loved...But instead you chose to make the world your enemy, the earth nothing more than a plastic globe for you to pinpoint targets on...Your selfishness has come back to haunt you, Arthur..."

And with every word, Arthur began to realize more and more that the other nation was right. Tears pricked the corners of his dull emerald eyes again, a few falling down his cheeks. Francis's smirk softened into that generous smile Arthur knew the Frenchman had.

"Oh, don't cry..." Francis reached out and gently wiped away the Briton's tears. Arthur let out a pitiful sniffle as Francis continued, "Maybe they'll forget..."

Arthur winced when the touch suddenly became rougher on his cheek, and he blinked his eyes for a moment. When he looked back up at Francis, he let out a strained gasp as he met the gleaming lime gaze.

He was looking at...himself, only without all the injuries. The same messy blond hair, thick eyebrows, and even the same green military jacket. But Francis's smile was gone, replaced by a smirk Arthur knew he himself was quite notorious for wearing.

"Maybe they'll forget?" the clone repeated Francis's words, and hearing his own taunting voice sent another chill down Arthur's spine. The clone let out a snort. "No...Maybe pity you. And save you one day." He chuckled, once again wiping away at Arthur's tears, the soft gesture being anything but comforting to Arthur. The Briton swallowed thickly as he found himself trapped in the other's gaze. It slowly became darker around them until all he could see were the two mocking emerald eyes and the brilliant white teeth of the smirk.

"...Don't count on it..."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

And when Arthur woke up, he woke up in tears, hating how the darkness had truly consumed him all throughout his history.

Oh, the terrible ills of being such a great empire...