"Do I have your attention now?"
It takes a few minutes for England to get his breath back after having the wind so thoroughly knocked out of him.
"Undivided...only because I'm too dazed to make an escape."
Is that his voice? It's horribly gruff.
"You stubborn jackass! I told you not to leave America alone in that tower for so long! Had you listened to me, he wouldn't have rebuffed you!"
"Is that right?" England opens his eyes to Hungary's stern face hovering above him. The thorn bushes he landed in are newly abloom with beautiful red roses which outline his perspective like a cheesy shoujo manga. "Did America tell you this himself? I distinctly remember him being quite adamant."
"Ok, he didn't tell me anything, but the reason behind his actions are obvious!"
England mutters something unintelligible. He brings an arm up to his face to scratch an itch on his nose but stills at the shape of his hand. "I must say...I'm torn between being pleased about not crushing my own prized roses and disappointed at being held hostage in yet another fairy tale."
"The curse will continue until a certain someone kisses a certain someone; however, there are a few rules we must all abide by."
"Enlighten me."
"I cannot force you and America to kiss, and Prussia doesn't have to wear anything he doesn't want to." Hungary makes a fruitless effort to help pull him upright. The white dress she's wearing has a slight shimmer to it. "Finally, each tale will have additional rules unique to their plot."
"Let me guess." He finally gets to his feet and stretches his sore back and limbs. "I'm stuck looking like this."
"Yes and America will not remember this fairy tale. No one -not even you- can tell him what you've become."
~##~
"Why am I not surprised?"
America's dress is laden with pink fabric and white frills. The hoop skirt fans out at least twice the diameter of his hips, giving off the impression that he's either going to float away or is trying to rob a church of its bell. He eyes Prussia's crowned eagle shirt and jeans with jealousy and longing.
"You shouldn't be. You didn't kiss England, and I gave you back your freedom as I said I would."
"I'm in another room made of stone walls!"
The bedroom is gaudy. There is so much overly embellished decor, elaborate tapestries, and pretentious furniture. The room's only saving grace is a very comfortable looking four-poster.
"It has a door," Prussia says pointedly.
"Am I never to open it?"
"You can leave whenever you want and go wherever you please."
"I want to leave this place."
"As a loving and concerned father, I encourage you to do so!" Prussia looks around suspiciously and whispers, "They say this chateau is cursed after all: haunted even."
"Ghost?" America needlessly whispers back.
"Worse I'm told. I hope England didn't come across anything wicked when he went looking for you."
"You're lying through your teeth again!"
Prussia strolls past him and opens the door. "Well here's your chance to prove me wrong. Oh, and don't forget these."
He produces America's glasses from seemingly out of nowhere. America angrily snatches them away, returns them to their rightful place, and peers around the threshold. The spiraling stairwell on the other side is dimly lit by candles.
"What about you?"
America turns to find Prussia gone. Figures. This is exactly what Prussia did in the Rapunzel story. He'd show up for two minutes to make sure America didn't starve to death then disappear as quickly as he arrived.
America grips the front of his dress and takes his first tentative step out into the landing. Emboldened when nothing supernatural attacks him, he puts on his brave face and makes the descent.
The chateau is enormous with its impossibly high ceilings, numerous windows and endless corridors, but it's as silent as a graveyard. Where are all the people? Oh God, this is so damn creepy! America picks up his pace to find an exit, but he jogs past something on the wall which makes him halt and backtrack.
It's an oil painting in a gilded frame: a portrait of England with a perfectly neutral expression as he gazes off somewhere behind the viewer. He's standing ramrod straight in a black, double-breasted ceremonial tailcoat worn by admirals or royalty in the British navy. There's a Victoria Cross at his neck and various medallions strung across his chest. His left hand rests on the hilt of a sword at his side.
This is England's chateau? Aren't chateaus French?
He'd dwell on this topic longer, but he is distracted again by the smell of food drifting in his direction. Where there's food, there's people! America follows his nose to the dining room where he finds a table set with gold candelabras and roses, and a roasted pig served with a variety of fruits, vegetables and desserts.
No people.
He tries to wait a few minutes to see if anyone arrives, but his stomach is impatient so he sits down and helps himself to a meal fit for a king.
Halfway through dinner someone does show up, but it's not England.
America chokes on his drink when a huge Kodiak bear suddenly ambles into the room.
If there is one thing America learned whilst alone in that Rapunzel tower, it is that he can hardly bend a spoon with his hands (sadly, nor with his mind). He very slowly reaches for a carving knife, keenly aware it isn't going to stop a full grown Alaskan grizzly from munching on his head like a grape.
~##~
England comfortably situates himself into an oversize chair, temporarily ignoring the tense man holding a knife at the other end of the table.
It looks like Hungary as already prepared some tea for him. If this is her way of trying to make up for past wrongs, it's a very small start. Now to figure out the most gentlemanly way to drink from a teacup with bear paws -a feat he'd attempt to accomplish even if he had hooves.
"I knew I'd find you here, America. When it comes to food you are about as predictable as the sun."
America is so surprised he relents the white-knuckled grip he has on the knife. "You can talk!"
"Very observant of you."
"How do you know my name?"
England opens his mouth to explain exactly who he is, but the only sound which comes out is growled nonsense. Hungary was serious about that rule after all. "I know a lot about you: more than I care to know."
"Ah. You must have met Prussia then. That man is such a gossiper!"
"No, I-"
"What's your name?"
England sighs. "Mr. Bear is fine."
"I can't call you Mr. Bear."
"Why not?"
"It's too formal!"
"Then give me a name if you're going to be annoying about it!"
America thinks real hard for a moment. "I shall call you Paddington."
"The talking Peruvian bear found in a London station?"
"Yes! How did you know that?"
"It was written by one of my own, so why wouldn't I know it?" He stares intently down his muzzle at America and America blinks back at him. England can almost see the gears turning and the little light bulb spark to life.
"Wow! I didn't know the UK could train bears to write stories! Was the author of Winnie the Pooh a bear also?"
…
England is not going to flip this fucking table. What he is going to do is take a deep, calming breath and ever-so-gently set down this teacup with its woefully undisturbed contents.
"I think it's about time I get some sleep, or perhaps take a long hibernation," he says dryly. "Promise me that you will not leave the palace grounds. Nasty bit of winter weather out there. The last thing I need is for you to come down with something and spread it to me."
America nods once. It's not an outright promise, but it'll have to do.
Before England leaves it occurs to him that this is the perfect opportunity to ask a question with his newfound identity.
"By the way...Is there...someone you love?"
America reacts like a deer in headlights. "That's a rather personal question from way out of left field!"
"If you insist on eating a free meal, the least you can do is answer my question."
"Ummm. No. There is no one."
"I see. Well. Goodnight America."
"Goodnight Paddington."
~##~
So it was that America found himself having dinner ('supper' Paddington had corrected) every day with a Kodiak bear. It's a wonder how he had gotten so used to such company. It had come to the point where whenever Paddington entered the room, America would pause for a second to say hello with a mouthful of food before continuing to shovel his meal into his face. He would then proceed to tune out the bear droning on about whatever it is that bears in chateaus find interesting to drone on about. At the end of dinner ('supper' Paddington had corrected) the bear would always ask the same awkward question regarding America's love-life.
Paddington is so much like England. Maybe the two of them should exchange phone numbers or something when this is all over.
America opens the door to a massive library with an intricately painted harpsichord sitting in the middle. It's the kind of boring room England would hang out in, but he's either not here or he has been crushed by an avalanche of books.
He idly plucks a bound volume off the shelf and reads the first page.
Welcome, America, banish fear,
You are queen and mistress here;
Speak your wishes, speak your will,
Swift obedience meets them still.
Huh…
Oh what the hell.
"I want to know what my brother is up to. He better not be going around claiming he's the default winner of our annual North American Pancake Eating Contest just because I failed to show at the scheduled date!"
~##~
England impatiently drums his claws upon the wooden table.
A week has gone by since America had come down to supper in distress, panicking over something he'd seen in a looking glass. Unbeknownst to England, Canada had fallen victim to both this fairy tale and some sort of illness. He had been holed up in a country house in the middle of nowhere for God only knows how long whilst the winter weather worsened.
America hadn't ask to go, but rather matter-of-factly stated that he was leaving to find and take care of his brother. He didn't have to ask anyway. England wasn't going to be a right arse and tell him no. He gave America a magic ring (courtesy of Hungary) to get where he needed to be and at least made him promise to return within a week.
He hasn't returned.
England took to avoiding the dining room altogether in favor of the palace gardens.
"Don't look so dour. This isn't over yet," Hungary had persisted, but England brushed her off.
How much more proof did she need?
On the tenth day he felt rather ill himself. Well it's no wonder. When was the last time he had properly eaten anything?
When he lays down upon a grassy plot to sleep, England has a dream that America is at his side crying like a baby. Well he deserves to cry! England reproaches him for all his ingratitude, his inability to look beyond appearances and read the atmosphere, and any other shortcomings he can lob at the other for good measure.
When he awakens he finds America exactly as he had left him in his dream.
"You look absolutely hideous when you cry," England says weakly.
America's eyes are red and puffy, and he uses the sleeve of his dress to wipe away the snot running from his nose. "I was taking care of Canada, and then he got better, but then he begged me not to go, and then we had fun building snow forts and snowball fights, and then there was hot chocolate...and then...and then I had a dream that your were dieing, so I rushed back here to find it all true! I didn't mean to forget!" He sobs through a tidal wave tears. "I'm going to be responsible for the death of a talking bear! You aren't endangered too are you!"
...
"America, do you love me?"
"This isn't the time for that kind of questio~n!"
"Do you love me?"
"I like you as a friend, Paddington! Please don't die!"
England laughs, and with his last dying breath he utters the one thing he knows America needs to hear or he'll never fully understand his rightful place in England's world.
"You're one of the biggest idiots I know."
~##~
The quiet solitude of the country house is broken by the sound of a dainty foot kicking down the door.
Canada nearly drops his mug.
"Hello Hungary," he smiles sweetly. "It's so nice to see you again! Would you like some hot cocoa?"
"You manipulative little snake!"
"I'm sorry...What exactly did I do?"
"Cut the crap, Prussia. That look on you is disturbing on so many hellish levels."
"Well that's rude. It's not my fault America didn't wish for England. Your bitching at me isn't going to solve anything." One corner of Canada's mouth lifts two notches higher than the other. "Are you starting to have doubts about your faith, sweet pea?"
A/N
Chapter title explanation = "Trouver un mari" is French for "To find a husband".
Beauty and the Beast was written by the French author Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve in 1740. It is very long, very detailed and geared toward an adult audience. In 1757 Madame Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont shortened the story considerably and made it kid friendly. Her version became the most popular, remains so to this day, and is the guideline I used for this hetalia twist.
Beast's description = I saw a story illustration done by Tine van Berken (published by H.J.W. Becht ca 1900) where Beast is portrayed as an actual brown bear without all the inconvenience of clothing. I rather liked that portrayal. Brown bears are extinct on the British Isles and the Eurasian brown bear is nearly extinct in France. I went with a Kodiak mostly for the intimidation factor, and I rather like them too!
Hungary is the good fairy lady if you couldn't guess.