Knight
10
The night engaged his mistress in the latest hour, her chromatic glow swirling through the black and blue sky. Her steps were soft and gliding, forever second to the boisterous and flashy sun; her light went unappreciated. Even so, she danced; nevertheless, she danced, the purest of white light dripping onto the surface of the ungrateful Earth.
It was in this somber light that the Spades Kingdom trio traveled in, the humidity in the air pinching at the lantern flame. The tails of the moon's dress licked the trickling shadow river, swift and black upstream.
Hooves clambered along, their masters following the river blindly and desperately hoping that the map would soon prove useful again.
England gripped the leather reins of America's horse and led its every step with her own. She shot a flimsy glance behind her shoulder, America's swinging leg catching her eye. Cold iron seared the princess's palm; the handle rubbed soft skin, its burning body dangling about. Her clutching fingers secretly whispered to the fire, keeping it lively enough to light their way.
The fire suddenly hissed in objection. Its orange light weakened and fizzled slightly for a second, and then burst back into its original form. Puzzled, England stared through the glass window at the rebellious flame, but a cool drop of water splashed into her hair and the problem became instantly clear to her.
She jerked her gaze to Australia, who was looking up at the sky just as confused. He had clearly felt something too, the fire bouncing off of the strained contours of his face.
"Australia…" England hummed worriedly.
The knight's brown eyes met the Princess'. His gaze soothed England, the knight clearly undaunted by the now lightly falling rain.
"Don't worry about it, Princess, it won't hold us up for a minute." His smile faintly reminisced America's same self-confident, bright grin. England pursed her lips slightly.
"Not with your magic, right?" England's back straightened in shock.
Both of them? Both of these knights were this unaware of the extent of a magician's powers? Unbelievable!
"No! No, magic cannot influence the weather! Not any legal kind of magic, anyhow! I can't practice something like that because it could tear the very fabric of the universe!" England growled.
Australia wasn't like America, no matter how bright his smile was, and he wasn't well accepting of England's misdirected anger. "Sod off, England." Australia hissed. His smile bent into a condemning sneer.
'Oh, I've gone too far again…' England bit her lip to suppress the unhappiness resounding in her now knotting stomach.
Stammers plowed forth from her frowning lips. "I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… explode…"
"You've been talking to America too much." Australia returned kindly. Avoiding eye contact, he pointed at England, a raindrop sliding down his cheek. "Don't be too harsh on him now."
Relieved that Australia wasn't angry with her, England smiled softly.
"Being cordial to that boy is a task in and of itself." She whispered, turning her eyes back to the sleeping, recovering knight. He slept so soundly; that is to say without a sound. Beautiful long eyelashes, light blush on tan cheeks, rain droplets dotting golden hair in pretty silence, all graced with a loose peacefulness.
Suddenly, she felt warm and breathless and overwhelmed. Her heart skipped a beat, and the uncomfortable Princess locked her eyes on the road in front of her. It crept so obviously on her face, spreading its long red legs from cheek to cheek.
What was this?
Was she… attracted to this idiot?
The thought squeezed at her heart with an electric hand.
'It's only because he's sleeping. Definitely. If he were awake and his mouth were open…' England visibly relaxed. He may be beautiful, but there was no way England could possibly think of Alfred as anything more than a bodyguard. Simply no way.
"Mornin'," America yawned cheerfully.
"It's still nighttime, Alfred," Australia called.
"Oh… well then, good night!"
"You idiot…" England sighed. She slowed walking alongside the horse to look at America. "How are you feeling?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm kind of cold and really hungry, but other than that I'm fine." America's sky blue gaze fell on England's slumping posture. Groggy eyes met his under blonde eyelashes, pale and shivering with fatigue. A note of concern rang in America's voice. "You, on the other hand, look like you're about to pass out."
"N-no, I'm alright, I can fare a few …more… miles…" England struggled to say, exhaustion finally settling on her by the mention, the slight implication, of resting. And though she pressed on and tried to shrug it off, the weight was realized, strapped to her back, and far too heavy to carry.
"England," America frowned. "Here." He gestured the Princess closer and patted the saddle.
England tensed.
"Wh-what?" The princess scrambled for an excuse. "Y-You can't get up from there, you'll reopen the wound!" She insisted.
"That doesn't mean you should just keep going when there's no way you can make it another mile! Come here, England, you can sleep here."
The blanket hollow under his right arm, America made a cave inviting in his arms. It was clear that he expected her to mount and crawl in it shamelessly, a warm and sweet embrace she couldn't recognize. The Princess blushed.
"Wh-h-how, how is the horse…?" England faltered, swallowing the erupting butterflies and turning away. Just in case one escaped.
Rudest of words wedged themselves into England's sentence. "Let me worry about it. Shut up and get up here." A tempting sugary grin beckoned. What could make her weaker? Kindness was kryptonite. America unleashed his left hand to reach for England.
Every centimeter robbed a bit of her breath.
The water level rose rapidly, the ceiling not too far from England's head. America loosened the faucet valve as far as it would go, spilling as much water as possible into the room. Protesting was futile, the sadism of water's master too overpowering to influence. As soon as America's arm snaked around England's waist, she could feel herself drowning. Immersed in nothing but sweet, uncompromising, deadly blue, England could not move, could not breathe.
"Alfred, th-this isn't p-proper!" England cried shakily, free of all inhibition, for America ripped the lines connecting her to her self-control.
But America ignored England's wavering, underwater shrieks, knowing that if he siphoned them she would eventually silence.
Her body slipped perfectly into the curve of the warm saddle. Wool softly wrapped around her back. Pressed into the firm chest of the young knight, England stiffened with embarrassment and stomach ached from the overindulgence. Shudders erupted from her sprinting heart.
America felt her tighten and loosen in his arms, and with a pensive mouth asked, "Are you warm enough?"
He pulled away slightly to look into her shivering green eyes.
"I-I… yes…" She gave up speech, having already suffocated. The eyes were a reminder, the pace of her heart quickening when that shade of blue hit her mind full force. The same color of the water she drowned in, owned by the same lovely face.
America retracted his arms, noticing the Princess' trembling uncertainty and discomfort. He knew if she was fully conscious, not a bit of her would agree to this intimate contact, but she was under languor's influence. Soothing, calming, rich and sweet words glazed America's tongue, and even from a distance England could taste them, just by hearing them England's mouth could water. She became like a child who'd never felt sweetness on the tip of her tongue, but was now face to face with an apple pie waiting for permission to eat.
He ran a hand through her hair, making her stiffer than ever.
"It's okay, England, I'm trained for this stuff. Why are you worrying? You're safe with me."
Those intoxicating whispers. Her heart dipped into America's chocolate words.
Was it strange to want to drown again?
"Good night your majesty."
England's breathing slowed. Curled up around America, her leg laid on top of the knight's hip, England finally slept, finally lax in her discomforting proximity to America. For good measure, America touched the Princess' back tenderly.
Then, he slipped out from under her body. No longer held on his back by the sleeping princess, America reached for the reins of his horse and turned to Australia. The older knight nodded and galloped in front of him.
Night and time fled by them in clattering neighs and winds. Trees and animals flit past and the hills were on the horizon.
However, once the limestone echo of horseshoes hit the knight's eardrums, they knew something was wrong. Rock crumbled slightly under Carrie's foot and America's brow furrowed instantly.
"Shit."
A drop-off point.
Australia pulled out the map with a grimace.
"What do we do now?" America asked.
An exasperated sigh slid out from under Australia's lungs. "We'll follow it until it levels out," he shrugged. "Hopefully it won't be too far, but who knows. The map doesn't note this one. It could run all the way to the Diamonds' border."
America's eyes widened. "Fuck, the border?! You're kidding!" he cried, and whipped his head around in rigid disbelief. "That's almost two weeks from the Capitol!"
"A week and five days, yeah." The older knight responded, and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "That depends on whether or not we can even go the fast route. If worse comes to worse, we may have to go island hopping. I can't imagine what would happen to us that would force us to do that though."
"For God's sake, no more sailing. I don't think Carrie and Bartholomew can take it." The younger returned, rubbing the side of his horse in sympathy. Set back by the space England possessed on Carrie's back, America couldn't quite reach his horse's mane, or behind her ears where he knew she liked to be petted. Carrie's heavy breathing and occasional whines tensed her owner. He knew she was being worked fairly hard, and he knew she needed food and water and rest, but he feared that they just did not have the time to stop whenever they were hungry.
His stomach growled just by thinking of food.
"Don't worry girl," he whispered, "When we get back to the castle, you and I will have a feast. Just hold on for now."
Australia did his own observing while America mumbled to his horse. Propped up on his friend's cotton and muscle chest slept a normally prudent princess. She seemed to fit perfectly in the crevice between America's body in the horse, half-lying down, half-sitting up, her arms wrapped around the knight's lower back. If she knew what she was doing right now, if they told her how she had slept when she woke up… he knew America wouldn't be able to resist her inevitable reaction.
Australia chuckled. "She's clinging to you like you're an overgrown teddybear."
America frowned playfully. "Am I not an overgrown teddybear? I'm cute and cuddly!"
"And childish and you look stuffed all the time, so yes." Australia smirked.
"Wha-a-t?" America whined. "I'm fit!"
"You mean fat." A finger accused.
America pouted. "England's rubbing off on you."
With a smile, his friend turned back to the road and mused, "I wonder when she'll realize you're America?"
The playful pout morphed into a disconcerted frown. "I hope she doesn't. I want to tell her myself."
"If you do, she'll kill you." Australia remarked cynically, his eyes like brown bugs crawling only partly towards his friend.
"I have a feeling getting killed is unavoidable. I'm just postponing it for now." The younger laughed nervously.
The princess fidgeted in America's lap, bothered by the loud noise.
"Ha, we might want to hush now, England's getting restless," Australia cautioned with a grin.
"Yeah." America nodded in agreement.
"But Australia?" He called soon thereafter.
"Hm?" The older knight grunted, falling back to America's side.
Happiness sedated his blue eyes as he stared down at England's sleeping form. "I think she likes me."
Australia scoffed. "Oh please. She hardly knows you." He pulled the reins of his horse to the side, gesturing for America to follow suit. "You're sexy, she knows that." He drenched the sentence with sarcasm.
America was unfazed. "But I know her, so I know exactly what to say to reach her heart!" He responded enthusiastically, tapping his own heart.
Australia was unimpressed. "Do you now?"
"Huurr, what do you know about love?" America replied snarkily.
But the older knight didn't take the comment lightly. His head snapped around on his neck.
"Are you trying to romance the Princess?" Australia's apprehensive voice shredded like rubber. "You do realize she's obligated to marriage?"
America jolted in shock. "I'm not trying to, uh, woo anyone!" America squeaked defensively. He turned his gaze to England's head, avoiding Australia's reproachful stare and mumbled, "I care about her, though, you know, I care about her happiness."
"Hm." His friend grumbled, his head ticking to the front like the minute hand on a clock.
Then, America looked up.
"Wait a second, I'm sexy?" He asked bewilderingly.
Australia smirked. "I'm sexier."
"…Shuuuuut up!"
The friends had to muffle their laughter after an agitated England twitched and groaned and twisted around further into America's chest.
"Shh! Shh! No reason to get riled up over the obvious!" Australia snickered.
"We, we should be quiet for England now." America hushed.
"Yeah." Australia nodded, and continued on to lead his friend with a grin.
"Oh, wait, Australia!" America called.
"Again?" The knight swiveled around. "What?"
"Take the lantern." The fire swung in the air, and Australia reached out to accept its guidance. The boys shared an understanding, friendly, flickering smile, its beam contesting the light of the flame. Then, the orange glow fled from America's face and once again he was alone with his horse's clicking gallops and England's soft breathing.
Peals of early morning sun paled the dark gray clouds with thin watercolors.
Raindrops drummed the leaves, chorusing into a symphony of setbacks for the disgruntled knights. America ran a hand through his wet hair, and sighed, echoing the grumbling coming from his poor, tired horse.
Taking refuge under a train of shadowing trees, the knights plowed on as far as they could go, especially before the ground became too muddy to ride on and with the clouds stretching the way they were, Australia predicted that would be soon.
England was still asleep, and remained so through the start of the downpour and the following stream of shouts and curse words. Her sleeping form began to tremble though, chilly from the wind and the dampened blanket. America cradled the princess in the crook of his arm, protecting her Majesty from the rain. He was amazed at how deeply she slept, and whispered so.
Rock fell upon rock, carving out the curve in the cliff. Rainwater dripped and drifted upon their stony faces, ghosting a waterfall on the stationary rocks. The cracked ground sent the blond horse and her party stumbling in a wave of buttery mane. The Princess jolted from her slumber and, with a groan, sent her eyelashes aflutter.
The first hit of handsome honey blond and blue struck her like her first drink of wine. A chill ran down her back. She gasped, and felt as if she were enduring a spike to the stomach.
"Mornin' again!" America sang.
"Now it really is morning though," Australia added, removing his bag of nuts from his pack again.
"Did you sleep well?" America asked, getting his horse closer to Australia's so he could steal some of his food.
England stared up at the knight blankly as he went about his cheerful gait. The longer she went without responding, the denser her American protectorate proved himself to be, bending and twisting, all with a smile.
At last, the Princess snapped, "What are you doing sitting up like that? Didn't I say you'd reopen your wounds?"
America didn't even spare her a glance. "Yeah, whatever, are you hungry? Thirsty?" His voice clicked up an octave at the questions, Australia extending the bag to his friend.
England sat up and turned to face America. "Alfred, if my sleeping here jeopardizes your health, then you should have just let me keep walking! I would have fared just fine!" She scolded with an incriminating mouth, but her eyes piqued with concern.
The oblivious remained so, ignorance tugging at the corners of his mouth.
England's shoulders dropped.
"Ah, speaking of sleeping, our friend Australia needs a little bit of that right about now, wouldn't you say?" America prompted his friend, turning his head towards the brunette on his left.
A sigh slid from Australia's mouth. "Yeah, looong night…"
America nodded considerately. "And that's just the truth. Let's settle down for a while." He turned to his disgruntled princess, whose fingernails dipped into America's arm.
England pursed her lips.
"Fine, if you want to drop it, fine, but you aren't going to ride a horse again." She glanced away, growling, "If your wounds bust open, I'm not healing you, stupid."
Wishing to give the horses a rest, the knights slid off of their backs and allowed them to near the streaming waterfall to drink. America rocked England out of his hold and onto the floor, seeing her apparent discomfort at their closeness. Just as the flustered Princess staggered to her feet, America announced his intention to go hunting for the group during Australia's nap. England grappled at the ends of her dress, and felt around the packs for her bow, mumbling about what she would do if it had broken, if it had been lost. Through muffled words and apathetic pats, she tried to avoid any suspicion by America that she might accompany him on his escapade.
It wasn't that she really wanted to follow him, she mused, defending herself in front of an imaginary prosecutor.
She just felt obliged to make sure that the likelihood of him dying was slim, she reasoned to an invisible jury.
Because Lord knows what that stupid knight would do to himself if he were all alone in the woods, she concluded, staring deeply into the face of the make-believe judge, who raised her gavel to deliver her orders.
The jurors were unconvinced, smiling among themselves, as they were all too aware of what the defendant was not.
"Looking for something?" Australia chimed, pulling England from her reeling thoughts. A shake of the wrist brought to England's attention her most precious and invested creation.
"Oh, my bow!" She caught a breath she didn't know was missing. "Thank you, Australia."
"Have fun!" Australia encouraged, receiving a tiny smile from his princess. "But don't make out!"
At this both of Australia's companions tightened. Shock bloomed embarrassing red bouquets on each cheek, leading to flustered defensive stammers from England, and standoffish evading gazes from America.
Australia laughed heartily and advised his friends to loosen up. With an exhausted wave and steps in opposite directions, Australia was to bed and the pair was off to harvest dinner.
The white wind and the burning orange sun tumbled around in an endless red black sky, kissing the stained glass men receiving its light. Inside the hearts of stone and fire, the pale glasses and vibrant colors that bled with stains covered the indescribable space, bathing Gothic brimstone in elements foreign to its grisly façade. This eerie environment creaked on its hinges, iron tendrils coiling into and out of the ceiling animatedly. It was as if every moving atom was visible in the palace detached from reality, where cats colored purple and red and green walked upon the ceiling and answered to no master. In a swirling universe drifted this enigmatic phantasma in which potential energy had physical form, and invisibility did not constitute something as non-existent. In fact, creatures desired invisibility, and wore it like a fashionable cloak.
A mouse of strange shape ran up an ornate grandfather clock embedded into the wall. It ticked to time unbeknownst to humans, numbers of foreign shape scratched onto its rounded surface. But the hands continuously twitched and ticked, waiting for their chance to sing the hour to those they served.
In the center of the room lay a boy troubled with boredom and idleness, blue eyes wishing to explore a world beyond, brown hair aching to feel winds of unimaginable colors run hands through it. He sighed and scratched his eyebrow.
Legends warn wayward boys that if they do not behave they shall be forever cursed and banished to live in this peculiar hell by the devil himself, and this particular boy knew those legends to be false.
However, there were exceptions.
If you were born to an insufferable family and answered to an insurmountably repugnant witch for a sister, it was very hard to keep your nose out of trouble. It was even harder to accurately predict how exactly every antic or mischief you got into would play out. And you probably could never imagine just what terrible effect your trouble-making could have on an entire country, your sister, and how dishonored your family would be. How insecure your mother would become, how hateful your father would act would just be the falling action speeding towards the absolute worst possible conclusion for you.
You would lay eyes on your sister, heir to the throne.
Reputed witch, civil servant; she must take action against her kingdom's public enemy number one.
In what seems so brief and so trivial as a wave of the hand, the world will stop around you. A blue light will encompass your presence and you have no choice but to stand still and listen to your sister's somber chanting, cold eyes digging deep into your soul. All you wish for is to run, to hide, to cry and apologize, or turn back time, but you cannot; you can only listen to your eardrums reciprocate your heartbeats in a tempo no mortal can physically perform.
Then, the awful, beating, hounding light would form a horrifying, bony hand and reach into you, relieving you of the one thing all humans hold dearest: mortality.
And you would see it held out to you, floating there, so pure and innocent and perfect, staring back at you as if it does not quite understand what is happening, or why. Why are you leaving it? Are you coming back for it?
Your sister will begin speaking as you stare at your humanity, your life straight in the face, and every ominous word will wash you in lemon juice until your entire body stings from the acid.
She will detail your crime; relive it for you, to generously provide you with the reason you are being banished and receiving the utmost in punishment. She will forever strip you of your royal title, affirm you disgraced, and finally, the witch will grab your mortality by the neck and whisk it away from you, rendering you senseless and immortally undead.
And then in a minute, before you even catch a tear fall from her eye, you are thrown in here, in the cascading cathedral where the outside swirls in cards and impossibilities and tendrils of iron trees that sprout sideways. Frivolities and companionship are nonexistent in this new world, and you find that it is designed to be inescapable.
All you wish to do is go home.
You ask questions. Like why your magically inept sister was the one to exile you rather than your more powerful mother. You can't help but feel that your mother still wants you, and your sister had no legal strength to banish you. You wish you could ask, you want to scream, and you grow to vehemently hate your sister.
Years go by and you are finally made to realize that you will never return home.
But at the same time, you discover two things that will turn your new-found remorse and distraught into sparkling enthusiasm you were conditioned to forget: Another man banished and with him, a way into the living world.
"What the hell, Alfred!?"
"Hm?" Mouth full, deer steak brandished, America merrily pulled large tears of meat, bubbles of berries and the rare vegetable around him. The food piled atop one another in a sandwiching display never before seen by the Princess, who was aptly horrified by the knight consistently shoveling food into mouth to temporarily satisfy his bottomless pit of a stomach.
"Do you understand just how much you're eating?!" she exclaimed, rather bewildered and disgusted, "We all need to eat, you know!"
Azure eyes settled on her vacantly. Staring, America swallowed and reached slowly for another strip of meat. Waiting until England blinked, he pounced, quickly snatching up the rabbit and rocketing his hand to his mouth. Senses alerted, England struck America's hand, causing him to drop the meat. Gasping, the opponents lashed out to save the rabbit, but ended up tangling their limbs instead, their food bouncing into the grass.
The group just stared at it.
Then, America's hand broke the silence, swooping down and reclaiming the tainted product as its own, thrusting it wholeheartedly into America's mouth. England, repulsed and terrified, looked on.
"Calm down, England, he needs to regain blood." Australia observed, returning to his own loud chewing, snatching a few choice items from America's stack.
America smiled, energetically resurged by his supporter. "Yeah, England." He reiterated.
England ignored America's cocky prods, turning to Australia, "I understand, but this is just ridiculous!"
As usual, the oblivious knight paid no mind to England's ignoring him, declaring with a mouth half-full, "I can share if you're hungry, England! At a price of course, but at least I'm offering!"
England growled. "Price! The nerve…" Eyes narrowed, she glanced off to the side, mouth puckered in distaste. "Alright, what do you want?"
"Hmm," A high-pitched hum left America's throat, quickly replaced by a swig of water. Australia shoved his hand into America's arm, gesturing for the canteen. With a drop and a push the exchange was over, Australia downing the water in mere seconds in a show that put England to thinking that perhaps America and Australia were equally obnoxious when it came to eating. Entranced with thought, the blue-eyed knight stared pensively at Australia. Swiping his mouth with his hand, the older knight glanced upon America and met his stare. Exaggeratedly, he jumped back and raised a large eyebrow to the golden-haired knight. Trance broken, America couldn't help but laugh, and all of a sudden the overcrowded train of thought released all of its passengers. Turning back to a frowning England, America offered apologetically, "I actually can't think of anything right now. So how about an IOU, then?" The proceeding grin gave his words a strange texture.
England writhed, avoiding his gaze.
"That unnerves me a bit…"
"That's the right reaction." Australia hummed solemnly, much to America's disbelief.
Young hands flung to their master's defense. "What? My favors aren't that bad!" America croaked, but his companion just laughed.
"'Australiaaaa! Australia, help me! My ankle's ca-ug-ht in th-is stir-rup a-nd I ca-n't get out, Carrie's dr-agging me, help you ass!" Australia mocked; stuttering appropriately each time America's chest hit the ground.
Unhappy by this exploit of his lesser charming moments, America punched his friend in the arm. Australia warbled in hyperbolic pain, and then returned the favor, shoving America forcefully.
"And then! And then, 'I can do it, go away Australia', when you jumped into the climbing pit all by yourself and couldn't climb back out! You were too damn stubborn and it was a whole day before I walked by and heard your stomach growl. Knowing you, I accepted that as a surrender, and threw you down a rope. You were so flushed in the face!"
England smiled as the two knights began to roughhouse, doused in laughter.
"That reminds me of a day when I was younger and America got stuck in a tree and he was so scared of jumping down and hurting himself that he refused to get off of it." His name paralyzed. America ceased playing, now burdened by recollections of memories long gone, the shared past of two people who had grown so differently, and so deeply apart that resurfacing the events just made the knight realize how far detached he had become from what once was, and what England still suspected as truth.
Also, he wasn't eager to risk any suspicion about his true identity. He had to remain wary, lest he be forced to tell England the truth.
Australia's eyes lit up, picking up on America's tension. "Oh, really, tell me more," He taunted, looking mischievously at the younger knight.
"Shut up, or I'll hit you," America hissed with a pouting mouth and narrow gaze.
Australia just grinned and settled on England to begin her story.
"Alright, so America is in the tree for about four hours now. He isn't budging, no matter what I bribe him with or send to bother with him, and I'm starting to get irritated. I leave him alone for about ten minutes to do some work, but then I hear him crying, and I can't just leave the child sobbing like that," England recalled, sparkling and animated with a lively interest absent from her normative speech.
'I wasn't sobbing…' America's thoughts moped, sulkiness repressed only by will from possessing his features as well.
"So I went to retrieve him," England continued, "I held out my arms to him and called for him to jump and assured that I would definitely catch him. He was still afraid, worried that I wouldn't be strong enough or my arms would slip, things of that sort. But I eventually coaxed him out with the promise of food." A chuckle fled her lips. "The minute I said 'beef', he hit the ground running."
Guffaws reverberated in Australia's lungs, making America giggle alongside him at his own expense.
"Seriously, I'm not a pig," America whispered to Australia. The older knight shot him a disbelieving look and his lips curled into a smirk.
"Haha! I'm sure there's another story, right?" The smirk egged on, leaving America struggling for composure. "Let's keep going!"
"Well, there was that time that America jumped in a pond and almost drowned, and-"
The pressure was becoming unbearable. The younger knight had to interject. "Ah, uh, quick question? Why are all of these stories um, about America?"
Stammers in speech made the heart stammer as well. England's face flushed pink, scrambling for a white response. "…Oh. Well, I… I… A-are you implying something?" She resorted to accusing, unsure of how to stop her affections from seeping into her words.
America blushed as well, taken aback with the affront, and not sure how to respond to how badly the question was received. "What? No! It was a totally innocent question, why are you reacting this way?" He bristled, confused and thirsting for clarification.
Deadlocked in tense, pursing eye contact with the knight, England could do nothing but try to offer a half-hearted answer, giving a thirsted man no more than a dropper full of water. "I-I'm sorry, I just… I don't… There's no particular reason, really, I mean, it's not like he's any more special than… w-wait, no, that's not right! I mean," She stuttered and stumbled weakly.
The thickness of the atmosphere could only be matched in the thickness of a knight's head, it seems, as Australia interrupted in familiar fashion, "I want to hear about how America can't swim."
Fire flickered off of America's scowl. "Shut up Australia, you aren't seeing my, I mean his, err our side here."
Curses reverberated in the knight's head, shaking and stumbling to recover the ground he hoped England didn't notice he lost. If there was no suspicion before, this American-made hole tore right through any potential blockage to England's doubtful nature.
America glanced frailly at the Princess, whose face etched apprehension.
"What do you mean by 'our'? Are you seriously saying you can't swim?" She asked incredulously, very intrigued by the thought of a knight who couldn't wade.
America huffed, annoyed. "N-no! I mean as kids! I mean! Ah, forget it. Australia, you should get some sleep."
The older knight beat a hand to his chest in a show of incredulity. "What, I just took a nap!" He cried in protest.
"And a nap it was, now go to sleep, we've got to get moving early tomorrow morning." England supplied. Wool and fleece met rugged tan face by the hands of a laughing America.
"And I hope we run till late tomorrow night. Let's make the most progress we can, Mr. Navigator," America added, and proceeded to do everything to get Australia into bed besides tuck him in and read him a bedtime story.
After a relentless pursuit, Australia gave in to his friend's demands out of sheer annoyance and found himself asleep in less than ten minutes.
Alone with the damp evening, America and England fled the campsite to leave Australia in peace. Against the humid, biting air dashed the man-made wind, the two clipping their heels on the rocky cliff. The waterfall beneath them still trickled on wearily, wet jagged rocks dropping to a gravelly, muddy landing down below. America spun down them with a gazelle's grace, easily and swiftly, landing at the bottom with no problem. For the Princess, however, just looking down made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The chasm corkscrewed into an abyss, fearful eyes playing games and distorting reality.
"O-oh, Alfred, I can't…" She called nervously, but America's beaming smile cut through the foggy sunset darkness, and beckoned her to slide down with him.
"Would you like me to come get you, your Majesty?" He asked, and plastered a condescending smile on his face. "I thought that you would at least be able to climb down some rocks by yourself, talking about how powerful you are-"
England flushed with anger, and furrowed her eyebrows.
Indignation achieved.
"What, you think I'm not good enough to get down these rocks? I'll show you the power of the Monarchy!" England blistered furiously, pinching up the pleats of her dress.
Her slippers padded down the rocks, slipping and sliding around as she fumblingly descended to the riverbed. Near the last rock she collapsed to her knees, and all but slid to her stomach, green fabric stretching as she gripped the end of the rock for balance, her knuckles white with exertion. A whimper wedged out of her trembling mouth, but she grit her teeth and scrambled to her feet, only to slip down and crash onto the final rock. America rushed to England's side, the Princess laying on her back and seething in pain.
"Aw, England," America crooned, falling to her side, but he was met with a searing glare.
"D-on't pity me, Alfred," the Princess snarled, propping herself up on her elbows. From the gravel and mud she rose like a ragged, dirt-covered phoenix. America smiled and walked onto the riverbed, removing his boots for the first time in a while and soaking his feet in its body. He assigned hand call for England to sit with him, and hesitantly she did, stripping her feet and dipping her own toes into the icy water.
"Wow, this is cold, oh my." A minnow nibbled at her toes, and the princess was quick to splash her feet from its mouth, making America laugh.
Her nose found her knee and her head tilted to the side avoiding the knight's laughter. Along with it her gaze substituted the deep green vines and pink tufting blossoms along the side of the cliff, the smooth waterfall whispering its flow into the stream. The reds and pinks and oranges of the sunset highlighted every flowers proud beauty, dancing to and fro through cracks of rocks, crannies in which the ferns had been too ditzy to find. Even the humidity seemed little to bear with in the presence of such natural beauty.
"It's pretty, huh?" America calmly broke the trickling silence.
England rolled over her shoulder, a joyful glint in her green eyes. "That is an understatement. The fairies have really outdone themselves with this." She replied softly, skepticism registering on America's face.
"Fairies, again, England?" He asked, eyebrow raised, and as if she had been prodded with a stick in the back, the princess shot up and wrenched around to look at her companion with pressing brows.
"What are you implying?!"
Ignoring the question with the same facetiousness as usual, America joked, "Actually, England, I think I may have come in contact with a fairy."
"Really?" England looked pleasantly surprised that she had supposedly misread his doubt. "Where?"
"The other day, I was eavesdropping on you and Australia talking about m… America, and something soft brushed across my face." America gestured to his cheek animatedly, and his eyes were so bright and full of unreasonable naïveté that it was hard for England to take him seriously.
"Sure that wasn't just a spider?" The Princess tried not to chuckle at her companion's unawareness, only to be enlightened to her own. "Wait a second you were eavesdropping!?" She pointed, but as usual, her question was completely disregarded as America went on cheerfully.
"Haha, I thought of that too but want to know what? I smacked my face right after that and there was nothing there." He pointed to his hand with a smile.
England's eyelids dropped. "Why am I not surprised that you just ignored me. Or eavesdropped, for that matter." She muttered taunting losing its entertainment value. "I bet it felt like a kiss on the cheek, too, eh."
America's eyes widened in childish wonder. "Oh my god, how'd you know? It was totally like that!"
Contagious childish wonder invaded England's face as well, and for minutes of excitable conversation, it filled the air like an aroma, its enthusiastic side effects bouncing to and from America and England. "R-really?! Oh my god, Alfred, that was a fairy encounter! Only the luckiest people have fairy encounters, you know."
"Oh please, it was probably just waiting for you." He shrugged, but England's shaking head refuted.
"Or pollinating the berries!" The Princess exclaimed, but America continued to challenge the possibility of a fairy encounter.
"Isn't that bees' job?"
"Bees are fairy pets, Alfred." England informed lightly, "This is so cool, Alfred, usually it's only magicians who have the privilege of coming across fairies." She began to gesture as wildly as America.
"I know a song about fairies, actually," England proclaimed with a proud wag of her finger, and in the spirit of the conversation, America asked the unwanted question.
"Sing it to me." Or rather, ordered the undesired command.
England's mouth crashed into a dubious smirk, her musical words souring, "And why would I entertain such a request?"
America frowned. "Because the most I know about fairies is… nothing actually. And I may tell some completely uninformed story to tons of children someday about a girl and her fairy godmother and make it all up as I go. For what I know, the Fairy Godmother would sing and dance and say 'Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo' waving around sparkly magic stick. And I know how hard that would grind your gears, England. So do yourself a favor and show me up this once while I'm asking for it."
The loosely justifying monologue burned England's arrogant eyes. The princess nodded, recognizing her own reluctance to have her fairies portrayed ridiculously.
"Touché. All right, as you wish." And her agreement rang into a soothing melody that slipped into the curvaceous song of the softly clattering waterfall.
At the end of the song, America laid upon the ground serenely, a soft smile on his face. Green eyes opened again and fixated upon this tiny, mischievous smile warily until it began to move.
"Oh, you didn't hear my other reason for wanting to hear you sing." America lilted as if it were any other perfectly normal sentence, but England's stomach knotted anxiously.
"Other reason? And what would that be? To play some dirty trick on me to make me look foolish?" She accused with taut lips, but seized completely upon having her heart squeezed by America's incomparable charm.
"Your voice is beautiful." He cajoled.
England's mouth went dry. This scene barreled straight from a romance novel, pretending it had a place in reality, and that England was destined to be its heroine, but the Princess could not even formulate a sentence to satisfy even the weakest romance enthusiast or the likes of a dreaming child. Instead, she went clammy at the sudden flattery.
"Wh-what?" She stammered, the hammer of her heart beating on her throat.
"Your voice is beautiful." America repeated.
Cement peeled apart at the pale strong hands of a sighing man. Starry vortex behind his boot, white hair and red eyes hung disappointedly on the German's head. He zipped up the wormhole and flicked his hood from his head, revealing the tagging horns bestowed upon the banished Cards, the troublesome taunters left without game, the Jokers.
"Ahhh, another failed day at trying to make the King of Hearts scream…" he sighed, stained glass shimmering above his head. The brown-haired boy on the ground suspended his chess game with the green-dotted cat, turning to look upon the albino.
"Prussia, as his brother you should just how difficult it is to make Germany scream. Unless it's at Italy." The boy pointed with a black pawn in his hand.
Prussia's face fell into a pitying frown. "I know, poor Italy! He doesn't deserve to be treated so badly. At least I can take West's energy from far away." He noted, musing to himself
"Kissy, kissy, kissy!" The child taunted, queening his pawn, much to the cat's shock and dismay.
"Ah, shut your trap." Prussia shot back, kicking his other boot across the room and sliding with a rubbery squeak to the East wall. Placing his ear onto the wall, he tapped its face and upon hearing a ring, the Joker reached into its surface and unzipped a kitchen. He grumbled and resealed the wall, knocking on its face again.
"I know. Everyone knows it's Hungary you like." The boy grinned teasingly, but exclaimed in remorse when the cat tapped his rook with the seat of her bishop.
"Sealand!" Prussia spat angrily, but the child just laughed. The albino now begrudgingly reached into the cement wall once more and with the swipe of his hand, revealed a laboratory. He groaned.
"Why do you have such luck with these portals but I don't? All I want to do is get into the pure energy safe!"
"Why don't you just call it the pantry?" Sealand responded with a particular aversion, rising from his spot and coming to his elder's assistance. Two taps and a swipe revealed a large orange stone door. A pale hand grasped its lever and slammed it open, cloudy refrigeration slithering outside.
"There you are, pure energy, reaped right from the throats of humans." Sealand announced, and swiveled around to resume his chess match.
Jars sat in zigzagging shelves, glowing red and green and blue and yellow, their labels only readable in their own light and their own tongue. Snatched first was a bright green jar, energy spiraling and jumping to its own humming rendition of Beethoven. Prussia grinned contentedly, seeming to almost salivate as he unscrewed the jar. "If anyone's screams could taste as delightful as Austria's, I'd be surprised." The older Joker called from the refrigerator, sucking in the pianist's energy straight from the jar in a more than self-satisfactory manner.
He ate these so quickly that Sealand hardly ever tasted Austria's screams, not that he had a taste for them. He didn't exactly understand what sadistic thrill Prussia got from harvesting the Jack of Clubs' shrieks and pain, but he did not question it, as he had to admit to having his own favorite flavors of mortal energy.
"You have strange taste. I've always wished to taste England's screams."
Screams were the easiest harvest, so fear lined their shelves. Labeled by kingdom sat the shrieks of the countries of the Deck from ones to Kings, only combated by the extremely rare delicacy of heavy laughter and the bitter root flavor of angry shouts. Unsurprisingly, Germany filled those shelves with red jars.
Prussia inspected a blue pot, tasting a rather thin and flaky Chinese scream. He dipped into a Diamonds container; not bothering to read the label as he figured it could only be France's, and returned to conversing with Sealand.
"…Do you have a thing for him or something? I mean, I get that the whole sorcery thing leaves him practically oozing with energy-" Prussia asked uneasily, a commonplace Italian scream on his thumb.
"Didn't I tell you that I want revenge on him?" Sealand shrieked, knocking a pawn to the board with his bishop. "I find it especially delightful that that arse doesn't know he's a guy!"
"Unobtainable energy, as a matter of fact… wait, what?" Shock slammed the brakes on Prussia's speech. "Whoa, whoa, little buddy, maybe 'ass' is too far?" He entreated, sliding from the pantry with three jars.
Sealand glared at the chessboard.
"I will make him so miserable and so terrified that he'll ripen so well that when I suck all of the energy out of him, he'll shrivel up and there will be nothing left. No energy even to make energy! Absolute Zero!" He howled, gripping his queen until his knuckles paled in exertion. His anger and betrayal swirled in his throat and cascaded into the pit of his stomach, becoming an abysmal intensity from which he could not claw out. He was lost to his desire for revenge, a child's bright-eyed eager innocence corrupting and eroding by the horns that poked from his head.
"Just fire isn't enough. I want his sadness, his fear; every emotion that can be extreme must be extreme! I want his absolute demise!"
A snap of wood sent the neck of the queen into splinters, the crown flying and sliding into the floor without stopping. Ebony cascaded into the darkness at the mercy of the never-ending vortex of the Joker universe; without physics, without laws, the queen fell endlessly, endlessly, never to resurface.
End Chapter Ten.
Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday dear Sam~! Happy birthday to me! Hooooraaaay!
Went to a debate tournament last weekend, so this update is a lil' late, but thank you for your patience and sweetness, you guys rock. I'll be at another tournament next weekend, so don't expect updates. Not that you can expect a periodical update time with me.
Wow, 20 pages in Microsoft Word. I applaud you for getting through this one. This particular chapter is rather peculiar, as it takes the form of two chapters in one: Outlining the condition of the Jokers, and America/England/Australia travel (and of course, character and romance development.) I miss France, and I want to wedge France in somewhere, so expect a little l'amour et savoir-faire in the next chapter.
England singing to America clearly didn't change a damn thing; he and Disney still had their fun with fairies. Shout-out to Disney Classic Cinderella, which comes out for the first time on Blu-Ray soon.
And now a close to this extremely long chapter after a long wait with an equally long Author's Note. Goodbye, and thank you so much for reviewing! ~Sam