Disclaimer: No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story.
As always, a million "thank you"'s for the feedback and enjoy the chapter.
Chapter Seven: Respite
"How did you get in here, thief?"
Matthew usually wasn't this lenient. If he had found that this man was stealing from him anywhere but his room, he would have killed him in an instant. But this room was special. He had Warded it himself against any intruders, so when this thief made a move for the vase (that he made himself) right after encountering him in a moment of weakness, his curiosity as to how he even got in the room overpowered his willingness to kill him.
For now.
As for this man, he had a mild look of exasperation at his situation. No doubt that he had been in these circumstances before. He got a better view of him and noticed that the thief somewhat looked like him in a few years' time. The Ice Mage was very puzzled as to who the intruder was. He was snapped out of his thoughts as the man in question brought his hands up along with the vase.
"The door was unlocked," the thief replied.
"Really." The younger blond was now even more intrigued. He usually never left the door unlocked unless he was too concerned about something else. And even then the guards would come to lock it. "You would think that the guards would lock the door..."
"I wouldn't know the reason, but my informants told me that nobody ever came down your hallway. Obviously there wouldn't be anybody to lock it."
"I see."
Matthew supposed that made sense. With how much the other Northerners feared him, they wouldn't dare go near him unless it was necessary. Now that the mystery was solved, he was more than ready to kill the man who got lucky enough to enter his room and to see him at his most vulnerable.
The thief seemed to have noticed his detached expression and hastily excused himself, saying, "Well, it was nice talking to you but it seems that I've overstayed my welcome."
As General Winter, the greatest assassin of the North named after a legend, he knew that he couldn't just let the thief get away - which is why he had already started forming ice around the man's ankles from the moment he noticed the thief in his room.
"Not so fast," Matthew said in his usual impassive tone. The older blond finally noticed the ice surrounding his feet and started wildly looking around for exits. Matthew highly doubted that the man heard him say, "As rare as intruders have been in these parts recently, it is still my job to eliminate them should everyone else fail."
The man tried to open the door, only to find that the door was also frozen shut – in the natural panic, as far as Matthew was concerned. What really surprised him was how quickly the man gave up and faced him as best he could. The thief had wore a strained smile as if he had nothing to lose before taking a deep breath and asking him a question in the Westerian language as coolly as he was able.
"You really wouldn't want to hurt me, would you, Matthew?"
The Ice Mage stopped. When he was brought to the North and made to be General Winter, he was expected to abandon his name to avoid the various troublesome scenarios that came with someone learning his identity. He didn't have to kill anyone who knew his background information, but he could safely say that no one from the North besides his Master knew his name. The name and the language it was spoken in tipped him off – this man knew who he used to be. The conclusion stopped him completely, his dangerous indifference turning into an expression of shock.
"How," the boy started hoarsely. "How did you know my name?"
The thief visibly sighed in relief before reverting back to the language of the north. "I have questions for you as well. Let's stop this murder attempt and have a quick information exchange."
He bent down and pointed at the ice restraining his feet. "Right after you get me out of this ice, though." He added.
Matthew knew he shouldn't have been conflicted, and yet he was. He should have killed him on sight, but he needed to know how this man knew his identity before he killed him. He had a good look at the thief. People like him were crafty and wouldn't tell him what he knew unless they were given what they wanted first. The ice user thought about his options for a few more moments before he finally relented and made his way to free the thief from the ice, but he made sure that any of the other exits were still sealed. He then proceeded to his study desk to take a seat. The man opted not to take a seat and instead stood by a window.
"So?" the Ice Mage was impatient as he started to feel the fatigue that came with waking in the middle of the night. "Where and how did you learn my name?"
"Now, now young Matthew. If we cut to the chase, you and I both know that you'd kill me soon after, right?" he winked. Matthew inwardly cursed as the thief read his mind. "That being said, I'll make the first move. First of all – introductions. Hello, my name is Francis, Thief Lord extraordinaire and you are…?"
"Matthew," the ice user coolly responded. "Though I am better known as the Ice Mage of the hordes of the North, and right hand of the Master – but most people know me as General Winter."
Matthew felt the oddest spike of amusement upon seeing the thief's face pale in increasing speed as he started to list off his titles. The older man started wildly looking for exits again before staring at Matthew, who simply met his panicked blue gaze with his usual lack of emotion. The thief didn't make a comment on his identity and gave up on escaping.
"Alright then. Question number one – the last time I saw you, you were with your father as a prince of Westerius. Why are you in Vechnaya Zima?"
The young mage didn't answer, unconsciously picking at his slave-spell markings. Being reminded of his past always infuriated him – not that anyone could tell these days. Not reacting to obvious goading was a matter of survival, after all. Besides, he couldn't really talk about it anyway. It was an Order, and it would always be that way.
But on the other hand, he couldn't afford to not know how he knew his identity. There was a possibility that the thief might have already spread his name to other people upon hearing the news about Matthew's so-called family. And as an assassin who was trying to stay in hiding, drawing attention was probably the worst thing to do. Rumours and reputation were fine when it came to the assassination business, but real identities weren't. The thief seemed to have used the moment to interrupt.
"Wait," the man pointed at his neck, which made the mage finally notice that he was picking at his Slave Spell markings again. He cursed in his head at his stupid habit. "Is that a…?"
Before he could answer, the guards interrupted with their heavy fists drumming loudly on his door. "General! Sir, is there a problem? We heard voices."
"Return to your posts. It was just a bird," Matthew said to placate the guards as he pushed Francis away from the window to open it.
"I advise you to put more value on your life, thief. Luck like yours doesn't happen twice," he whispered quickly as he grabbed Francis by the back of his coat and threw him out the window. A few seconds later there was a soft thump. Somewhat satisfied, he closed the window and got himself in bed again, only to notice the vase that the thief was after on the floor near the window. He sighed and placed it back onto his side table.
And as he settled into his bed yet again, he inwardly swore at the fact that he kind of enjoyed the thief's visit.
After Alfred found a suitable tree to "do his business", he whistled a tune on his way back to the clearing, swinging his sword casually and ready for another round with Gilbert. But all of that changed when he heard the sounds of battle coming from the direction of where his camp used to be.
Fearing the worst, he ran to the clearing, cutting down anything that was in his way. What he saw – he really should have seen coming. Gilbert was kneeling on one knee, both hands grabbing on to his prized weapon for support. His clothing was tattered, and maybe a little singed. He was out of breath but the wide grin on his face made it obvious that he won the battle. He looked to see what he was grinning at and found the Westerian king in a disheveled state of unconsciousness. The clearing was covered in burnt wood that was still smoking quite a bit.
"Arthur!"
He opened his satchel and took out a scone – one of Arthur's creations that he insisted was rations. The fire user pried open Arthur's mouth with one hand and stuffed the rock hard scone into the mouth with his other hand. A few seconds later, Arthur's leaf green eyes snapped open as he abruptly got up and started sputtering, spitting out the scone and coughing.
"Works every time," Alfred slyly told a highly amused Gilbert over Arthur's coughs. It took a few minutes for Arthur to calm down and look at his surroundings to find – Gilbert, again.
"Alfred! Get – get away from him!" He backed away yet again and started panicking. "He's from the North! An assassin! He's going to kill us!"
Just to be safe, Alfred walked over to be between the king and Gilbert. "Calm down, old man! He's with me!" Alfred explained the situation as he tried to calm the fire magician, now kneeling beside the Implacable Man of the North. Realizing what his father had said, he turned to Gilbert. "Wait, you're from the North?"
"Yes, he's from the North- he was known for being a bloodthirsty warrior! Their best soldier!" His father pointed at Gilbert, whose blank expression was directed at the king.
"The key to that sentence is was, King Eyebrows!" Gilbert bluntly pointed out, effectively cutting Arthur off. His face finally showed emotion – anger. "I was a citizen of the North. I was their best soldier. I'm none of that anymore – not after I realized the truth."
"Oh?" the kind raised an eyebrow. "And what is this truth?"
"That whatever that 'Master' is doing to the North is infinitely much worse than anything I've ever done!" For the first time in years, Gilbert couldn't help but spill his story to the unknowing Westerians.
"I may be a killer, but at least I'm not a tyrant! At least I didn't aim for innocents! That so-called Master doesn't spare anyone. At the rate he was going, that bastard was pulling off so much bullshit to get his way that the last ones standing in the North were either going to be fuckwits or just fucking insane. And when I realized that, I tried to find people to revolt with me. You know what they did? They ratted me out so they could save themselves!"
"So you ran away?" Arthur snorted. "Quite the cowardly Implacable Man you turned out to be."
Alfred winced as the anger in Gilbert's eyes turned cold once again, like earlier that day. "Cowardly?"
There was one thing to know about Gilbert Beilschmidt – he hated, absolutely hated being called a coward, as Alfred found out earlier during one of their spars. He said it as a taunt and ended up unconscious more quickly and harshly than usual; he even had the bruises to prove it. He cringed at the thought of what was to come as he watched the blood-eyed warrior stand up to his full height and look at the king dead straight into his eyes.
"If I'm cowardly," he started walking towards him, passing Alfred, who let him pass knowing that Gilbert wouldn't take that lying down and that his father could take care of himself. "What does that make the rest of them? That fur-coated bastard may be the cause of all this, but he wouldn't have gotten this far if it hadn't been for those cowards."
"You're just as bad as them." Arthur refused to be intimidated. "Going ahead and assuming that they're unreasonable for fearing for their lives. Yes, they have to stand up at one point or another but not everyone is as powerful as you! Maybe there is something holding them back. You should've at least been a leader to them."
"Don't you think I've already tried that?! We kept losing anyway – and they deserted me. They kept trying to convince me to quit, that I was just one man and that we were stupid to think we could win! It was either abandonment or they sold me out to make themselves look good when they turned themselves in.
"Time after time. I told them that they should be ashamed at their cowardice. They told me that they were proud of it." The harshness in his voice lessened as he took a breath to calm himself. "I left the North because if they weren't willing to fight for their freedom, then they obviously didn't want it hard enough."
It was a quiet pause after that. The only thing that could be heard was the wind blowing through the trees. The Westerian King finally began to calm down. He was still skeptical though and a little curious as well. "If that's the case, then why do you want to join us? They're a lost cause, aren't they?"
"Yeah, they're a lost cause – from the inside, at least that's what I think," Alfred finally put his input. "But the way I think about it is that we have a fighting chance if we attack it from the outside." He got between them again and pushed the two apart. "Which is why we shouldn't be arguing right now!"
Both the well-reputed men gave Alfred a quick glare before Alfred started talking again, only addressing the king. The harsh expression on Alfred's face calmed before he continued.
"We got off on the wrong foot when we left, and I know that won't get us anywhere if we keep doing that. So I swear I won't pick a fight if you don't. That being said, let's stop ripping each others' heads off and start putting them together! We need to get moving, like it or not!"
Arthur glowered at his son before focusing on Gilbert, who showed no reaction to his son's lecture. After a few seconds of silence, Arthur gave a defeated sigh. "Mr. Beilschmidt, I am actually quite grateful that a soldier like you would consider joining our forces," Arthur then took his hand out in front of Gilbert. "So will you join our group?"
Gilbert stared at Arthur's hand for a bit before he smirked. He then followed the Westerian King's motion. "The name's Gilbert."
Arthur smiled as they both shook hands for their new alliance. Alfred ruined the moment and said, "Well! Now all that emotional baggage is out of the way, would you mind telling me what happened at Windrose, Arthur?"
Arthur jumped a little from his place as he remembered. He then cleared his throat and began to explain, "They aren't giving us troops."
"What?! All that traveling and fighting and getting lost – that was all for nothing?!"
Arthur silenced his son with a look. "You didn't let me finish. They said that they would give us soldiers if we gather more support from other lands. Don't give me that look, boy, it's for insurance. They're very sorry that they can't provide troops right now, so they've given our men as much supplies as they need."
"Where are they now?"
"I told them to meet us here. We'll be heading to the Eastern Empire now. But since Yao took it from me, that insufferable man's named it En."
"East?" Alfred groaned. "On foot?"
"Unless you know some other method of undetected transportation, then yes," Arthur stiffly replied. From beside him, Gilbert cleared his throat to catch their attention.
"Guys," he said with a roguish smirk. "I'm going to show you exactly why they call me the Bird Keeper nowadays."
A man approached the site where he had been led to. A campsite consisting of a burnt out fire and something that vaguely resembled a scone. His dogs quickly stopped to sniff the food and wood, and then barked furiously to alert their owner. The man bent down to give the canines their commending pat and praise, the dogs licking their owner affectionately for the act.
The assassin then refocused his attention to the site. He held the substance in his hand, feeling it as if it would lead him to their bodies. Those corrupt royals of the Western Lands betrayed their own kingdom by promising to sell it to us. They had even sold their own kin away to us. Worse even, they had broken their word to us and are coming back with an army.
"I will," he crushed the scone into dust with his fist, "kill them. No matter the cost." The man loosened his grip, allowing the fine powder to dance itself away into the wind.
