Thank you for reading. Thank you my lovely reviewers! I am always so happy to see them. They make me want to update faster! :)
Rated M, I own nothing.
The Netherlands is sexy.
OoOoOo
She is a proper British colony, and will not allow herself to fail.
Even as every word the men speak is foreign to her ears. America cannot understand them, not so much as a single sentence. Her gaze wanders to the surrounding soldiers as they smile and greet her return. Not hers, she reminds herself grimly, but Belgium's. The guttural noises of their speech was a far cry from England's lyrical language.
America smiled demurely, opting to appear tried and worn. She felt it inside, so the effort to act was not terribly much. She had spent a night nearly frozen, and a morning terrified constantly that her ruse would be discovered.
If she were discovered, she would fail England.
The colony would find death preferable to disappointing her sovereign nation. In her heart, which quickened at the thought of him, America held a vast amount of affection for her protector. How could she not? He had given her everything and she was exceedingly grateful for his gallant nature.
The Netherlands watched her occasionally, his eyes narrowed a few times. America did her best to appear as a regal female nation should. Even if the nation she was disguised as was a savage, compared to England's grace, surely every lady nation must act with proper decorum. America already felt a tad out of place for she had not been able to seek her normal mass in nearly three days.
Surely she would pay for her sins, for the Lord God was unforgiving with those that shirked their Christian duties. However, America prayed that God would be lenient and merciful. She did all this for England, whom was blessed by the Lord.
America noted the parchment scattered around the make shift tables, perhaps the Netherlands was holding stratagem meetings? England had described such things to her once, years ago. It had enraptured the newly formed colony then. However, as she grew and aged, England was determined to educate her in all areas necessary for her to succeed. America had been trained to take England's place in his absence, though not permitted to see over anything past the home he expected her to care for, to settle farming disputes or the like.
However, to ease his burden, she had taken the task upon herself to check upon finances and learn of ways to make her people more profitable. She wished to please her protector. Though England was unaware for her hard efforts, yet, it was worth every moment of struggle if he was happy with her.
The men in front of her asked her a question, one she could not make out.
America froze, her head high, but her eyes downcast as she tried to think of a way out of answering. If she uttered one word, she would be doomed.
She was an English Colony. She did not speak Dutch. Nor, did she have any inclination to learn how until this moment.
In truth, she was rather frightened and overwhelmed, but she trusted the wisdom of England beyond a doubt. If he believed that she could accomplish this task, then she would.
No other option existed.
The silence dragged on, and the men exchanged glances, looking back toward the Netherlands.
America had to keep herself from jumping out of her skin when his heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Her spine stiffened and she drew a fortifying breath, careful not to make too much noise. Her heart was pulsing in her chest violently.
"Gaat het wel goed?" The male nation's deep voice rolled across her ears. He turned her toward him, and America tried to keep her gaze on the ground.
She gave a shaky smile, and touched cold fingers to her exposed throat lightly. She looked at him quickly, noticing that his eyes were rather extraordinary-though nowhere near as captivating as England's-, and then away once more.
"Wat deed dat Engels klootzak met je gedaan?"
Engels? America's mind could not help but believe that sounded like England or English. However, not knowing the meaning of the word, she could draw no true conclusions. However, 'Wat' did sound like 'What'.
She swallowed, and her mouth went dry. He was asking her a question. The nation was asking her a question directly, and she had no way to reply. Not in any way that wouldn't spell certain doom for herself or war for England.
Because, she knew that England would rescue her if anything should go amiss.
With that comforting thought clutched tightly to her, America gave a wan smile. Belgium loved the Netherlands, and had just been 'returned' after being held 'captive'. America licked her dry lips quickly, the feeling was strange and wrong as she knew as they were but were not her lips.
She nodded toward the Netherland's, feeling it was the safest course of action. She allowed her shoulders to droop, and did her best to draw attention to her obvious fatigue.
However, not a single word escaped her lips, nor a sound. The Netherlands watched her like a hawk about to tear apart an unsuspecting mouse.
"Ik zal een arts te krijgen," he grumbled with a few harsh words following his statement.
America did not need to understand his language to know that a lady such as herself should not hear such things.
A blush decorated her features, and she demurely looked back toward the men that eyed her worriedly. She was forced to admit that for being the enemies of England, they were a rather concerned lot. She had not expected such kindness toward her health, however, it was also not her they truly worried for. It was Belgium.
The enemy nation that England was holding while America completed the task that only she could. Her eyes flickered back toward the make-shift table, and she tried to recognized the drawings from a distance as well as upside down.
She made a gesture of tiredness, bringing her hand toward her mouth and discreetly hiding a yawn. Her eyelids drooped slightly, as she politely passed by the soldiers. They gave her a wide enough birth and did nothing to halt her advancement toward the parchments.
If she could but flitch some of these for England, then perhaps it would be enough to allow him a chance to gain the upper hand in the war for a single battle. However, England often said that wars were won or lost based on single battles. America stopped short of the edge of the table and peered down at the drawings.
It was several of her colonized towns, drawn in various angles. Where these areas they had searched for Belgium? Or plans for attack or assault upon her soils? She felt her face pale.
Did The Netherlands intend to pry her from England?
She nearly shook with rage, for she would never allow it. She would stand her ground and stay by England's side.
Pale fingers trembled as she moved some of the sheets. Many of them were landscapes she did not recognize. Was this the world? The places she'd never seen? Trees who bore fruit she had never seen? Reverently, she touched the sketch. What strange wonders.
Oceans, and animals that were not part of her world nor her people. America felt herself shiver, her eyes widened. Was this what England knew? She shifted more papers to the side, and her heart nearly stilled in her chest.
There were pictures of England's shores. America's lips parted in a silent gasp. She had only ever seen them when he had drawn them, yet they were not as magnificent as these. With shaking hands, she pulled one up closer to inspect it. A soft smile touched her lips.
She did not realize that a string of islands curved around one side... England had only ever mentioned one large one. Perhaps it was the one he favored? She looked at another, beneath it, where a bay was proudly displayed, and seagulls flocked overhead.
It almost looked as if it were drawn by someone desperately longing to head home.
America thought it strange. However, she did not know if such things were common for those that waged war to draw their enemies' land with reverence.
"Ik mis thuis ook."
She looked up suddenly with wide eyes. All she could see was the somber face of The Netherlands. America felt her face flush from embarrassment at having been caught snooping through his papers like a common thief.
She hastily, but gently, returned the parchment to the pile. Her gaze wandered to him more than once.
"We zullen er snel zijn." He told her in a manner she could only assume was meant to be soothing. He smiled at her fondly.
She had never had another nation, other than England, ever smile at her. She had not known a single one prior to England and his enemies. One of which was treating her with some semblance of affection.
America gave a weak smile, and stood stiffly before him.
"Kom nu," he said beckoning her to follow, "De arts is hier."
All she could gather was something about arts. America had not realized that art played such a vital role to the Netherlands. Puzzled, but wary, she followed after him. The colony was keen on getting to some sort of information she could pass back to England. So far, she had found naught but a few drawings.
However, she steeled herself for what was to come, and took note of the faces she passed, it reminded her that she was woefully out numbered. It prompted her to think she was in the proverbial lion's den. She glanced to her right, and saw off in the distance a few large ships.
Likely, she would board one of them and return to the old world, for England often teased her that she was the 'new'. She dearly missed his presence now.
The Netherland's led her to a cloth covered tent, make-shift and torn in a few places, and lifted a heavy flap. He disappeared inside. America swallowed, gathering up her courage as her palms sweated with effort.
She had long since passed the point of deciding against this rash plan. It was time to follow through. She straightened her already perfect posture and walked closer to the tent. The colony clamed herself as she lifted the flap and took a fateful step inside.
A short man with a molted nose and sour expression met her gaze. The man, looked her over with a shrewd eyes and motioned her forward with his pudgy fingers. America glanced at the Netherlands, almost seeking reassurance or permission to approach the stranger.
The Netherlands looked at her for a moment, his expression hidden.
She took a tentative step forward, forcing herself to act as a mature nation aught, Without fear. Like England.
America stared straight ahead as the man turned her head from side to side. He barked somethign at her in their throaty language. However, she did not understand his words. It could have been a command, and likely was.
When she did not react quickly enough, he pried her mouth open to inspect inside. The sour man made a decisive snort, and moved to inspecting her limbs. America reared back as the male reached to lift up the skirt of her dress. She slammed her hands down on her sides and flushed darkly.
She glanced between the males, rather horrified.
What sort of savages were these? Did England know that they freely tried to sneak peeks at a lady? Her virtue would be called into question were anyone to know! America clenched her fists in her skirt front, trying not to make a sound.
It would get her killed to voice her protest.
Her gaze locked with the Netherland's who cocked his head to the side, and smiled slowly. America trembled, afraid she'd been found out because she was not a heathen like these men. She met his gaze and lifted her chin defiantly. She readied herself for an attack that did not come.
The blonde male nation turned slowly around, but she saw the barest hints of a smile on his face as he did so. The short man reached for her skirt again and America slapped his hand away, rage plain on her features.
He shouted something at her, and she glared at him fiercely. She would not allow them to abscond with her virtue! She was a proper lady.
After a minute or two of fierce glares, the short man narrowed his eyes at her, and proceeded to come closer, yanking her head with both his hands. His thick fingers combed through her hair without gentleness but practiced ease.
He prodded a few spots on her scalp and she winced. He released her and turned her face from side to side once more. He stared at her, directly in her eyes. He poked her waist and stomach.
America felt fury and shame burning at her cheeks. What was the meaning of this? She glared at the man, and at the nation that turned back around when the short man snapped something out again.
They began talking as she tried in vain to understand what they were discussing.
OoOoOo
"She has suffered some trauma," The physician proclaimed to the Netherlands after a few more tense minutes.
"What sort of trauma?"
"A blow to the head most likely, or a fit of the vapors too strong to overcome as of yet. It appears that at some point she was exposed to the elements longer than she should have been. What has caused her change in behavior could be a multitude of things." The short man quipped with annoyance. "The weaker sex are very susceptible to ailments. You have seen this."
The Netherlands hummed in his throat softly.
"Is that why she is acting so strangely?"
"Yes, that is likely the reason. A few days of rest and food should have her sorted out."
"Why isn't she talking?" He ventured, half-curious.
The physician gave him a sour look. "You are complaining about a woman not chattering your ears off?"
The nation laughed, a deep and rich sound.
"Perhaps it seems odd to you-"
"Odd is a description I will accept because a lady is present." The physician argued back, without any venom. He gaze landing on a blushing Belgium, who refused to look at them.
"Still, she... can speak, can't she?"
The man looked troubled. HIs dark and beady eyes held a weight of unspoken words that caused a shiver of concern to rush down the nation's spine.
"There is no physical reason she should not speak." He replied, nearly grimly, "However, depending on what level of trauma her delicate constitution has suffered, it might take time for her to regain her voice. I have seen such things occur with soldiers that return from particularly harsh wars."
The Netherland's was quiet. He brooded over the honest response with no small amount of rage. His allied nation had been harmed by that bastard England.
However, just as he was readying to go hunt the other nation down and run him through, Belgium looked at him.
The flush on her cheeks and the glittering in her eyes were something he had never seen before. She seemed so... innocent in that moment that it gave him pause. The Netherlands had known her his whole life, but he had never felt an urge to truly protect her before now. Some strange feeling coiled in his chest as her brow knit together in worry or fear. Belgium gave him a shaky smile, and he had never known her to smile at him so often. The blush staining her features darkened, her eyes were wide but trained on his.
She looked away quickly, but her blush lingered.
How strange, but some part of him was inexplicably attracted to the vision of loveliness she presented. However, he squashed the thought down mercilessly. She was Belgium, a nation that had practically raised him.
They still had a war to wage against the blood thirst England and his quest to dominate the known world.
"It would be best," the physician interrupted in a gentle tone, "to have a woman look at her. Her ladies in waiting perhaps?"
The Netherland's nodded slowly. Yes, perhaps it was best to leave a female's healing to women. He thanked the physician, and paid him for his services. The human left without further comment and the Netherland's turned toward Belgium.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, vaguely concerned and bothered that she still hadn't said a word.
Belgium turned and only looked at him blankly.
OoOoOo
Translations:
Ik mis thuis ook: I miss home too.
We zullen er snel zijn: We will get there soon.
Wat deed dat Engels klootzak met je gedaan: What did that English Bastard do to you?
Ik zal een arts te krijgen: I'll go get the doctor/physician.
Gaat het wel goed?: Are you alright?
Kom nu, de arts is hier: Come now, the physician is here.
