A/n - This fic shouldn't exist. It's a genre I never write, a pairing I don't support, and I gender-flipped someone (admittedly it's an OC, but it still violates my headcanon). And yet here it is! It was one of those instances where the plot bunny gets you and won't let go, and it's all TS Eliot's fault.
Note: this is decidedly not related to any other British Isles-related fic I have ever written (or will most likely ever write), unless Ireland somehow became a girl.
Disclaimer - I don't own Hetalia, though my Volume 1 is supposed to be coming in the mail tomorrow. I'M SO EXCITED YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. I do own Ireland and Brandenburg, however.
Thanks to Rhiannon Aurorafai for reading this over, despite her lack of knowledge when it comes to all things Hetalia.
EDIT: Also thanks to Emily, Risn N, and Sile Authoress (stupid site won't let me put your correct penname) for correcting my various language fails. Someday I will actually write characters who speak the same languages I do. Someday.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind
Wo weilest du?
-TS Eliot, "The Wasteland," 31-34 (quoting Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde")
Prussia hated the ocean. He cursed every salty-smelling league even as he scanned the horizon for the merest hint of land. It wasn't that he was scared of the ocean. No, he was too awesome for something like fear. Hatred wasn't the same as fear. But he was in English waters, and England was a fairly formidable foe on the open sea. Prussia had a healthy respect for the English navy; it was hard not to, in this day and age. He would love to face him in naval combat someday, one he and Brandenburg built up their own navy. But as for right now, Prussia really didn't want to have a run-in with an English vessel.
It wasn't that he was scared, because he wasn't. Prussia wasn't scared of anything. It would just be in bad form to return France's ship with damage, especially after repairing their professional relationship. Brandenburg would kill him if he screwed that up.
Not that he was scared of Brandenburg, either. She handled all of the political stuff, leaving him all the fun of fighting and war and seizing vital regions. Keeping her happy meant he could have free reign, which Prussia valued a lot. He wasn't scared of her.
Just like he wasn't scared of the English Navy.
Still, Brandenburg could have let him use one of the ships. It was humiliating to have to borrow one of France's.
"This is très imbécile," France had said, when Prussia turned up demanding the use of a ship. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, mon cher."
Prussia had called him a pussy and made off with one of France's ships. Prussia guessed that, by this point, France had probably gotten in touch with Brandenburg and learned what the whole thing was about. After all, he hadn't tried pursuing Prussia.
Of course, France was utterly terrified of the English navy and wouldn't venture into English waters for one little ship. But unlike France, Prussia wasn't scared of England and his boats. Not one bit.
One of the crew – which Prussia had also stolen from France – began shouting something from the crow's nest. Prussia's French was admittedly sub-par, but he thought he could hear the word "terre." Land.
Prussia gave what decidedly wasn't a relieved sigh as he dropped his hand from his sword. While he was sure he'd be awesome at naval battles, he preferred to fight on land. He could definitely take Eyebrows' men on land… not that he couldn't take their navy as well, of course. Because Prussia (and Brandenburg, but mostly Prussia) was the greatest and most awesome nation in the world, and he wasn't about to let something like England's navy stop him.
After all, he was sailing through England's waters right now! And England couldn't do a damn thing about it! Prussia allowed himself a wide grin as he scanned the horizon again in a manner he refused to call "nervously." He was just looking for the land that the sailor spotted. That was it.
It wasn't long before Prussia was able to make out the green rises on the horizon. He grinned, the wind ruffling his hair. It was blowing eastward; not really the best direction for his route, but the crew made do. The ship still managed to move at a fairly quick clip, bringing them closer to the land. The closer they got, the better Prussia felt. England hadn't caught on to his presence yet.
Hours later his ship was finally pulling into port. There were ships everywhere, most of them bearing the English flag. Prussia had managed to convince his nervous crew to fly an English flag as well. He would see to it that the harbormaster didn't question his ship too closely – especially considering the fact that the French name of the ship was a bit of a giveaway, Union Jack or no Union Jack.
Regardless, the ship was able to secure a place to dock. Prussia was first to disembark, mostly so he could deal with the harbormaster. It wasn't a long explanation, since it consisted mostly of intimidation and bullying. The fact that Prussia was so obviously Prussian, rather than the expected French, helped. The fact that the harbormaster was a British official certainly didn't.
Even so, it didn't take long for Prussia to more or less browbeat the man into submission. He knew he wouldn't have long before the man reported to some more higher-ranking British officials, but he also knew that the Irish would serve as a retardant to any retaliation. After all, Ireland and her people weren't particularly well-known for liking their positions within the United Kingdom, and they liked the British government officials (even one as low-ranking as the harbormaster of Kinsale) even less.
There was only one person that Prussia would allow to say anything about his ship, and she appeared to be heading right for him. Prussia's heart leapt as he watched the furious redhead storm down the dock with clenched fists and murder in her eyes. It quailed, too – only she had the ability to terrify and arouse him at the same time. She was so beautiful when she was angry, though he would never tell her that. It wasn't a very awesome thought, for one. Secondly, there was halfway decent chance that she'd beat him down with that club-thing she had a tendency to carry around.
"Prúise! What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she asked. She poked him in the chest. Prussia had the distinctly un-awesome desire to grab that hand and kiss it. Only Ireland could ever make him even think of such a thing.
"I'm not going to let a short man with anger management problems tell me where to go," Prussia replied with a wry smirk. He let the 'short' comment linger, just to incense her further. He was quite a few inches taller than she was – in fact, she was one of the shorter nations. It annoyed her to no end. And if there was anything Prussia was good (dare he say awesome?) at, it was being annoying. All anyone had to do was ask Austria, or Hungary, or the Holy Roman Empire, or Poland and Lithuania, or Brandenburg…
"Doesn't that ship belong to An Fhrainc?" Ireland asked, now jabbing a finger towards the ship. "Do you have any idea what Sasana is going to think if he sees that? You're damn lucky you didn't run into him out in the ocean."
"Fuck 'im," Prussia replied with a shrug.
Ireland mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "you'd better not be." Prussia snickered. Ireland glared.
"Now then. Is this some piss-poor attempt at conquering my vital regions, or is it an equally piss-poor attempt at building a Brandenburg-Prussian navy?" Ireland asked, hands on her hips. Prussia couldn't help but notice the subtle shift of position that brought her… tracts of land to the forefront. Something that might have been a decidedly un-awesome blush might have flooded his face. Ireland's anger melted into a sly smirk.
"I think it's a completely awesome attempt at seizing vital regions," Prussia replied, jokingly affronted. As if anything Prussia ever did was anywhere near 'piss-poor.' He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to hers. He half closed his eyes and matched her smirk. There was a flush to Ireland's cheeks now, though whether it was from anger or arousal or embarrassment, Prussia couldn't be sure. But he didn't care; he would take any and all of the above.
"Well then, I think I ought to be the judge of that," Ireland laughed, her sly smile shifting into something undeniably sexy. She moved quickly, enough so that she could catch Prussia's lips in hers. A quick peck turned into a teasing nibble on his lower lip, light enough to be playful but sharp enough to make Ireland's intentions entirely clear. But before Prussia could even register the action, before he could try to deepen the kiss, Ireland turned on her heel and raced down the dock. Prussia's brain, still fuzzy from the kiss, wasn't able to catch up before she was already disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the Kinsale harbor.
"You know where to find me!" Ireland's voice lilted over the hubbub. "I'll be waiting!"
Prussia was already in hot pursuit. The chase was half the fun – both of them knew that.
As for the other half… after all, there was a reason Prussia decided to brave the ocean, which he hated, with a ship from France, whom England hated.
That reason was currently shouting "Tá ghrá agam duit, tú asal!" over the crowds.
Even if Prussia didn't speak Gaelic, he could guess the meaning. And even if he didn't want to admit it, he loved her too.
Translations
Frisch weht der Wind / Der Heimat zu / Mein Irisch Kind / Wo weilest du?: Fresh wind blows the wind to the homeland; my Irish child, where are you waiting? (German; translation comes from Eliot's footnotes)
très imbécile: very stupid (French)
mon cher: my dear (French)
Prúise: Prussia (Irish)
An Fhrainc: France (Irish)
Sasana: England (Irish)
Tá ghrá agam duit, tú asal!: I love you, you ass! (Irish)
Please let me know if my translations are wrong - I don't actually speak any of the languages involved. I really need to write some Spain or Russia fics, just so I can finally have some confidence in using other languages. Seriously.
I really hope this isn't awful. Would you like to leave me a review and let me know?
Thanks for reading!
Craic