1619
"Ferdinand II." the sigh throbbed dully about the towering bookshelves and wheezing fireplace in the hearth.
"Pardon?"
"Oh excuse me." England apologized looking up and across the long wooden table that stood smack dab in the middle of the study. Down the table from the nation sat James I/6.
"I said Ferdinand II," Shaking the document dully as he continued on as if a nasty taste had settled on his tongue, "has officially taken the position of the Holy Roman Emperor and shall hereby be known as the King of Bohemia and Hungary, Archduke of Austria" England couldn't help but roll his eyes as he dropped the document to the table.
"Well that is a tad on the pompous side of him isn't it?"
James snorted. The pair fell silent briefly as the bleating of sheep floated in through the window.
"As if you can say much James." Getting to his feet England gestured dramatically, his voice taking on a tone most would consider blanketed mockery, "Oh, James I of England and Ireland and James the VI of Scotland!"
"Honestly! I didn't choose that title it was shoved upon me Arthur and you know that!" James exclaimed with slight mortification, only relaxing when he saw the glint of humor in the nation's eye. The nation, indeed. Personally James preferred to call him Arthur. It came about one day when James was complaining about the long title and Arthur had argued back that they both had the same burden to bear now. The two males had decided that day that England would just call him James and that they both took a liking to the name Arthur. This meant the two could converse in semi-public with the looks from those that did not know who England really was. An inside joke between the two.
"Times are changing quickly, are they not?" asked England. It was the King's turn to sigh as he opened up a log book.
"One moment we are here farming on strips and then everything is shoved into plots and there are sheep everywhere. Wool is our main export now." James replied
"Aye." England agreed settling back into his own stiff backed chair. He tugged at his collar absentmindedly as the heat of the room became uncomfortable. Here in London, he could hear the bustle of people and the bleating of sheep. Yet what he longed for was the crashing of the waves and the cries of the seagull. A ship's sweet groan as she was rocked about in the fingers of the ocean, spraying her with salt and wet. Although it was custom, for those in mourning to wear black, it was not the most comfortable.
Glancing back at James, he noted the man flipping absentmindedly through the logs, eyes glazed over in thought. He was probably thinking about Anne again. England sighed silently, his heart aching for his King. Earlier that March, Anne of Denmark, James' wife had passed away. James had been distraught, as well as their two surviving children, Charles and Elizabeth.
There was the sudden creek of the door opening. Speak of the devil. Leaning backwards, his chin found its way to the palm of his hand as his mind once again traveled across the the sea. He missed America, he missed his little brother. Staring out the window he kicked his legs aimlessly.
"I take it that we are done for the day." James' voice broke through his daydreaming. The English nation looked up in a mesh of embarrassment and surprise.
"Forgive me, my mind seems to have wandered."
"A rather common occurrence since your return." James commented with a smirk of amusement. "If I didn't know you better I would have said that you were heartsick for a woman."
"Honestly!" Flushing, England scowled at the human.
"Ah come now! Don't get hot, I know it's not a woman. Your are missing that small child are you not?" James propped his chin upon his arm as he folded them upon the table.
"Of course I am. Do you not miss the children in your life" England questioned back with a raised brow. "By the way, when do we get to see little Elizabeth once again." he sighed, running his fingers along the edge of the table, "It's been six years since her marriage"
"Perhaps if her husband needs an entreaty of some sort." James shrugged, the heavy weight of too many nights over paper beginning to display its toll.
"James, I suggest that you turn in for the night." Arthur frowned as he got to his feet. "It would be quite unseemly if you were to collapse from exhaustion. Do turn in early." He stepped to his rulers side and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder in farewell.
"Arthur, where are you off to?"
"I had an agreement with young Charles. I told him that I would go riding with him this afternoon." the nation responded, looking over his shoulder, "I have not spent much time with the lad since my return."
"Ah I see. Well do have a jolly time."
"Of course, James. And you head for a rest, if you would." Arthur looked at the human man he had come to know as friend. Pushing the door open he stopped for a split second as he found himself face to face with bright eyes of green and bloody red hair.
"Alistair." Arthur grunted allowing the door shut behind him. The older male stared down at him with a look of distaste.
"Oy, snot nosed brat." Scotland replied.
"Really! Honestly I-" Arthur fumed angering flaming alive in his chest, it sputtered out as Scotland waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, eyes of blue training on the door.
"How is he?" The question hung in the air above them, heavy with implication.
"Tired." The tension that had risen to to his shoulders in a defensive nature crawled away in haste as he too looked towards the door. "He was thinking of Anne earlier...and of the work over in the colonies...I told him that he should retire early for the evening." He turned to look at the older nation "Perhaps persuasion from more than one front would be beneficial." Arthur suggested with a sigh.
The tension, lined with hostility hung between them, though littered with holes as concern for the human man in the other room brought about a sense of unity. A balm for the anger between them.
"Of course, Arthur." Alistair turned to look at him briefly, a hand squeezing at his shoulder. "If there is one thing we can agree on...it is that James needs to be taken care of right now."
With that he opened the door and moved into the room, tone changing from serious to rambunctious within the beat of sparrows heart.
1630
"That was 11 years ago." England sighed looking up the brush that slid through mahogany hair. Henrietta turned to look at him with a soft smile upon her face.
"Eleven years ago, you say?" she turned back around, hands caressing the bulge of her stomach, heavy with child.
"Yes, it was six years later that Charles took the throne." England resumed brushing the woman's hair. Henrietta Maria of France, the Queen of England through marriage of Charles the First. The relationship between the King and his Queen hadn't been easy until two years ago, when Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, passed away. England felt his lip curl in distaste at the thought of the man. At first the Duke had seemed alright at first, but when he became a wedge of anger and strife between his two beloved monarchs. Guilt and shame was something that he should have been feeling upon thoughts of the Duke's death, assassination. He could not will himself to feel anything but anger mixed with a heavy dose of triumph at the bastard's death. He would be damned, however, if the connection between the assassination and him was ever made. It was not like he himself held the murderous blade. And no one had proof that it was England himself that greased the palm of John Felton, a man who needed no more motivation against VIlliers but money to hasten his actions. That name brought a tinge of guilt to him, the poor sod never should have attempted the feat if he hadn't planned his escape. He was hung that November. Looking back at Henrietta any doubts or concerns vanished as he watched the Queen hold her belly gently as she hummed.
"Arthur?" She said.
"Hmm?"
"What do you think? A boy or a girl?" She tilted her head back to look at him, eyes wide with questioning, "Charles says that the...nations" her nose wrinkled at the word before she continued "are usually rather good at guessing the sex of a child."
"Ah..yes." His hand stilled as he smiled down at the woman. Leaning forward his hand joined hers upon her belly. He couldn't help the smile that lightened his features from his previous thoughts. "I have told you my thoughts before though." He laughed.
"Oh please?! Do tell me, Arthur!"
"All right, All right." He laughed, smiling "I am almost certain that the babe is going to be a boy." He pressed his cheek along her hairline briefly before pulling back and resuming his previous task.
"I do so hope that you are correct." the Queen murmured. The knock on the door was brief and the wait for it to open was even quicker.
"Ah Francis." The door opened up, revealing the French nation. His clothes were rich and England couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy. Not that he would copy the Frog in anything… France approached the Queen and knelt down, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers. She smiled at him and he perched on the edge of the dressing table by her side.
"As lovely as ever, mon belle Henrietta." He gave England a sideways glance, "Made even more beautiful in present company."
"What do you need Francis?" The question was followed by a noise that came from deep in the Englishman's throat. One of the few habits Arthur seemed to have picked up from his new house guest. It seemed as if having Alistair around was effecting more than just England's economy.
France raised an eyebrow at England's humpf of disapproval, but the incredulous look soon slid into a smile at Henrietta. "Must I have an excuse to visit a princess of mine?" he replied, "I have to make sure she is taken care of in this savage land after all."
"Savage! You bloody f-" insults dried up immediately as a disapproving glare was turned his way. "Forgive me Henrietta" he murmured ears coloring. Despite the embarrassment, a smug smirk crossed his features as the woman's glare turned to the blond country lounging upon the furniture.
"Francis, do remove yourself from my dressing table and sit somewhere proper. And please do stop with the arguing, the both of you! Honestly." the Queen sighed as she looked between the two males.
"Whatever you wish, Princess." France replied, "And I will try to be more civil." Before finding a chair he leaned over to kiss her cheek. His blue eyes turned on the English nation and before England had a chance to react he had pulled England close and planted a kiss on his cheek as well. Before England could catch hold of him, France had sauntered to the other side of the room to pick up one of the delicate chairs to come and place near the Queen.
"Queen" England bit out glaring at France "She is the Queen of England Francis get it right"
"Arthur!" Henrietta smacked at the nations knee, "Did I not say that, that was enough?!"
England could see France smirking at him from the other side of Henrietta's person. He tried to keep his face still. A knock came on the door, soon admitting a servant. Charles wanted his Queen. Henrietta got up quickly from her chair, taking one last glance in the gilded mirror. She turned to the two nations.
"Do not fight." She looked at them pleadingly and pulled each close for kiss on the cheek. Soon she floated out of the room leaving behind only the smell of her perfume. France leaned back in his chair. England was looking after her. France waited patiently, watching him.
"The pregnancy is becoming more difficult" he turned to look at the french nation, mouth drawing into a thin line "She took a fall the other day after she nearly fainted."
France's eyes widened at the news. "You should watch out for her more carefully. You should be more grateful for my sharing my monarchs. They give you legitimacy after all."
"Would you sod off!" England snapped jumping to his feet "Stop being so bloody self centered! This isn't about us at all dammit! This is about Henrietta! Enough with trying to goad me you arse! Grow the fuck up will you!" the stream of profanities rolled off of the english nations tongue without falter, anger being the fuel. Eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep, mouth lined with worry "If you are going to be such a prat than get the bloody fuck out of my kingdom!"
France watched him, letting him run through his tirade. "Good. You have grown up a bit." he stood up and walked closer to England. "I did not come just to check on Henrietta."
"Stay the bloody hell away from me FROG" England sniffed stepping back "who knows what you are carrying"
France laughed. "I'm afraid I don't have time for such frivolity this time." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small round frame. "I actually came to bring you this." England almost didn't reach for it, but curiosity got the better of him. He pulled it from France's fingers and looked down at the portrait of a face he had missed so deeply.
"You've seen them?" he asked of the other nation. France smiled now.
"They are growing quite well, although America just seems to attract trouble!" he paused for a moment, then continued, "You must be a horrible influence!"
"You bloody bastard!" England snapped, however the retort lacked passion behind it, eyes trained on the portrait. "I have been gone for quiet awhile...I have been speaking with James about making a return trip but...we just do not have the time" he muttered.
"I had snuck away myself. I smell more war on the horizon for me. Perhaps you and I will be allies again."
Another grunt was his response "If God himself has a sense of humor than we will be"
"Must be." France brushed past him, heading for the door out of the room. He paused, "You know, my dear Angleterre I could help you sleep." He gave a suggestive, although teasing grin.
"Bloody Hell!" A look of horror crossed over the Englishman's face as he stepped back, a flush rising up his cheeks.
France gave a theatrical sigh. "Perhaps I should just go and find your charming elder brother..." Within seconds England had managed to secure a pillow and chuck it after the Frenchman with as much force as he could muster. He missed, although with satisfaction he saw that he had dislodged some dust from a tapestry that fell on the sleeves of France's jacket. France paused in the doorway, frowning as he dusted it. He glanced up and England tried to turn his back before the other could see his still flushed face. "You know where to find me, Arthur."
As Francis closed the door amidst laughter a more subtle response was uttered, "You know where my chambers are too, Frog."
August 1665
"Do take care Henrietta" England pleaded. His pace was slow, walking arm in arm with Queen who coughed violently into her handkerchief.
"Bronchitis it seems." Henrietta coughed "Pardon me dear, but this bloody damp English weather never did suite my lungs" another round of coughing overtook her. Moments later when it seems as if the fits would give her a moment's relief she withdrew the cloth and tucked it into her pocket. She looked about the green that surrounded them, her eyes turning towards an inevitable stormy sky. "Its always raining here, always cloudy. Do you know how much I wish to see the sun more than one day out of the year"
"I do wish that you didn't have to leave Mother" another male voice piped up from the Queen Consort's other side. Charles II had his mother's right arm and was looking on with concern that matched the personified nations expression.
"Are we ready to depart?" another voice interrupted the trio. At the end of walk stood a carriage, France standing tall beside it. It was he, that was going to personally escort Henrietta back to the land of France. The two nations exchanged a look, both heavy with implication and challenge.
"I will see you once again Charles, do take care" the Queen Mother, for this moment was a mother alone. She hugged the King, for this moment only a child, tightly to her.
"Of course I will mother" he murmured hugging her back tightly.
"Make sure he eats properly and sleeps" Henrietta pulled back to stare England down. "promise me Arthur?"
"I promise you my Queen" he murmured. She may not be the Queen of the country anymore but like every monarch ever in his country she held a special place in his heart. He returned the hug that was given to him.
"And Charles I expect you to do the same in regards of Arthur"
"Milady" France's voice came once again "We need to depart soon"
"Of course, of course Francis, don't get your knickers in a knot" she waved her hand absentmindedly. Pulling back she looked at the two boys standing next to eachother. "Alright you two, if I hear that you have been misbehaving I have no problem traveling back to strap your behinds" she threatened. Smiling when two fervent nods were her response. It was the waving of a gloved hand from the carriage. That had been four years ago, now being the year 1669. England turned away from the giant portrait of Charles 1 and his wife Henrietta Maria of France.
"Arthur!" the summon was loud and annoyed. It seems as if Charles had exited Parliaments chambers. Time for a ranting spell.
"Coming Charles" he sighed…..
Late Spring of 1714…
"A lot on your mind sir?"
"Aye" Arthur straightened, pushing himself up from the railing of the ship. "Lots to think about lad" his gaze found himself looking down at a boy that could be no more than fourteen years of age, gangly with growth. The sting of the salty ocean had been ignored until he had been pulled from the depths of his minds personal waters.
"Can I fetch anything for you sir?"
"Ah, nothing. I be doing quite fine" he tousled the boys brown hair. "Now run off and find your mam" he pushed the boy along. Watching the boy toddle off and run into a man that had to be his grandfather he smiled turning back to the ocean. The boat moaned and murmured as it rocked inside of the waves, a forever pull and tug relationship between the pair. There had been a lot going on even in the fourteen years of life that boy had been alive, especially his grandfather. Roughly sixty years of that mans life…..The Great Fire of London, The Glorious Revolution, the 1701 Act of Settlement… the list could go on and on forever. It was seven years ago to this day. He blinked rapidly in surprise. It as seven years ago on May 1, 2014 that he had officially become The Kingdom of Great Britain...His mind spun over the seven years that had transpired since then, the most recent being the death of Anne. Heaving a sigh he leaned back against the railing a ache once again in his chest. But he searched for happier thoughts, the picture of the small child that he was gonna be seeing soon.
