Opening notes;

First, I still don't own Hetalia. Hidekaz does. And this is not an accurate representation of actual countries, presidents or armed forces.

Second, I realized that even though the story is supposed to be about England AND France, Iggy is going to turn out to be the main character... why? Because I know next to nothing about French history. Sorry, France fans!

On to the story!


After the delightful visit from his neighbor, England was unfortunate enough to find himself plagued with many more visits – not just from France, who seemed to be coming around a lot more often lately, but by a much more familiar face.

Denmark too was older than England – older than France even, but not by much. Whenever he came around, he wore the proud face and armor of the conqueror he was. It wasn't like the viking hadn't been to the isle before – because he had, not even a few hundred years ago, but every time he stepped foot on England's shore he would grin like he was taking it all over again.

England's shore. Because he wasn't just a group of tribes for the Jutes and Scots and Danes to kick around anymore – he was England!

…and, even if he needed a little aid now and then in fighting off Denmark and his accursed Sweyn, he'd be damned if he'd admit it.


And damned he was.

France was over again, strolling around England's new, fixed-up lodgings. The Witan were out, aiding the King. Something which England himself should've been doing – but his countrymen needed him to be hospitable for once.

England was still small, still preferred his wildernesses and paganism to the civilized life that Rome taught and France often boasted of; but he was growing steadily. And now, at least, he was able to speak with his annoying neighbor – as much as he disliked the very notion of it.

"I…" he began, catching the other blonde's attention. England stared coldly at the ground while France turned to look at him, head cocked. He was silently coaxing the smaller nation on with a catty grin. England knew it, but couldn't bring himself to look.

"I need…" England paused again, taking the time to grit his teeth and ball his fingers into tiny fists. "We… we could use your help.

"Against the Danes," he added reluctantly when no answer greeted him.

"Oh," France mused.

England looked up quickly, confused and frustrated. "Oh?" he mimicked, "Oh? What do you mean, oh?"

"Just oh," the older country said with sly grin. After a moment he added, "Perhaps if you'd said please you would be more inclined to a lengthier reply."

"I'm not going to beg for your help," England snarled, fed up with the whole thing already. He was red-faced from anger and embarrassment. His eyes, though, reflected a subtle worry.

France ignored it for the most part.

"You want the Danes gone?" he asked, watching amused as England nodded vigorously. "…well, I suppose I could help you out with that. At least this once, mon cher."

He snickered as England's face slowly melted from one of indignation to surprise. Honestly the little blonde had thought he'd have to try a little harder. "Really?" he asked, voice higher than he would've liked. He flushed again, and France chuckled.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

Now this was a surprise. England blinked up at the honest face of his neighbor. "Really?" he repeated, blushing darker. Had he known France thought this way… would he have treated him so badly? Probably, he thought, but at least he wouldn't have felt bad about it. France nodded, and in return England smiled shyly at him.

By the time France had left, guilt was already eating away at the older nation's insides.


The fight was hard won, but it was well worth it. Denmark and his back-up were retreating. Godwinson hollered a victorious cry, raising the defeated Harald III's shield over his head. His devoted soldiers followed suit. Little England, battered and exhausted, pumped both of his fists into the air as well. He and his countrymen had done it! All on their own, too.

On the trek back home, there were smiles all around. England spotted a familiar blonde head of hair on the distant hill, and broke away from the group. He hurried over, out of breath, clutching his bow to his chest.

"France! France!"

France turned to him with a solemn smile, but England didn't notice just yet. He stopped in front of his neighbor, doubling over to catch his breath before looking up at him with a broad grin.

"You're late!" The still-tiny nation exclaimed, "But I didn't need your help after all, I – "

France shut out the younger boy's voice and, steeling his resolve, struck. So fresh from battle, England neither saw it coming nor resisted the blackness that greeted him.

Still too naïve, France thought, looking away from the tiny form. England appeared asleep instead of unconscious – and although the older blonde wasn't sorry in the slightest, it made watching his own men of Normandy a little easier, as they advanced into the island's countryside.


Author's Notes: W-what's with all of these terrible feel-bad endings? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But cliffhangers get you to want to read more, right...?

This marks the beginning of the "Norman Conquest" arc! Yaaay! This is the event that really cements England and France as rivals.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the second chapter of "Kinship," be sure to leave a review and have a nice day~!