The Real Enemy?

Chapter Ten

France had to carefully consider his options. It was quite possible Britain might throw him in the dungeon at this point, but if he hadn't done so now, he might wait a little while longer. There wasn't any way Britain might know that he had gone to Finland, and if he didn't find the little Italian, he'd lose his best friend. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pressed down the wrinkles in his shirt, ensured the tears had mostly dried, and stepped into the long hall. Britain, so certain of Spain's compliance, hadn't even bothered to set a guard. As if he hadn't a care in the world, France placed both hands behind his back and casually made his way to the banquet hall. Where many use to sit and enjoy dinner with the King and Queen, Britain sat alone, a cross in his pale fingers.

What did he say? How did he say it? And was there even a point to all of this? France should have seen this a long time ago; they all should have, but as young as they all were, it was next to impossible to recognize the signs of madness before it was far too late. In a human, they had the possibility of locking them way, but when it was the nation itself, it swept across the land like a terrible plague. It wouldn't stop with Britain, but spill over into the other countries like France and possibly Spain. "I was told that it was necessary to punish the sinners, Francis... that's what I did, so why are some of my people mad at me?" At least he didn't have to worry about being noticed, pretending that he was calm and understanding. "They aren't obeying... those that break the law... I had to punish that man, make an example of him... His son was just like him! Why can't anyone understand that?!"

A small part of Britain knew that what he was doing was wrong, but too many of his people thrived in this madness, and he had no possible way to fight it. How old was he when this had started? What had started it? The last good memory France had was of Britain running from the pope, desperate to grow out his hair. It had looked horrible, but after that, Britain didn't see him again until he was the man he saw before him now. Very carefully, France made his way to the mumbling Brit, reaching with his arms to encircle him, providing the one thing he was certain no one had ever given to him without force or threats. "Mon ami... you use to confide in me, non?" At first Britain said nothing, his eyes glazed and unblinking as he stared at the mirror across the room, and at the sad eyes of France. Why was he sad? France never looked at him that way, like... like... "Arthur... we are friends, at least we use to be."

They rarely used each other's human names, it was a vulnerability, but France wanted to think that there was still a sliver of humanity still left inside of Britain that he might find and latch on to. It was there, he knew he saw it as his green eyes sparkled for a moment, a flicker of hope before it vanished behind despair and rage. "I don't 'have' any friends..." he hissed, slapping France away and standing. "I still recall 'your' invasion upon my shores not even five years ago. Let's face it Francis; our only purpose is to conquer or be conquered, to kill or be killed. If the people refuse to comply, you smother their will to disobey. It was great... you should have seen how easy it was to crush Spain's will to fight, to utterly smash any hope he had of finding or rescuing that insufferable brat. Who'd want him anyway?"

Giggling, he turned and patted France on the cheek, his moment of sanity already gone. A nation had the ability to tap into the heart of all his subjects, and it was perhaps the peasants that he was slowly killing through taxation and starvation that had managed to get through to him. However, the nobility far outnumbered them, and the stronger the grip became, the harder it would be to break Arthur from the mental hold they had over him. Were they even aware of what they were doing to him? The church had a very strong influence in Britain, and their decisions often over ruled the king's law. It took a strong nation to keep them in line, but what chances did a child have over them? "I was wondering, may I attend the church while I am here?"

Britain froze, eyes wide in shocked surprise. "Are you wanting to convert?"

"That is what you wanted, non?"

"I don't think..." he stammered, that look of vulnerability back in his green eyes. "No... you can't! You have to stay away from the church!" There was real fear in his eyes now, as if remembering something that he'd rather forget. "You're not familiar with it... if you say or do something wrong, I'll have to enforce the law and execute you! I don't want you to go! I don't want to execute you! He'll make me do it!" Very quickly France moved, taking the young nation and hugging him as close as he could get him.

"You are a good 'friend' to worry for me, Arthur. If you think it's not safe, I will do as you ask."

"No... no... you have to stay far away. Promise me, you'll do it?"

"Arthur, did you accidentally make them mad?" France hoped he wasn't wording the question wrong; he had to figure out where the madness had started, to find a way to save this nation before it was too late.

He jerked away, looking left and right as if they were being watched. Grabbing France's hand, he pulled him into an empty room and locked the door. "Do you remember when I tried to grow my hair out," he whispered, his voice sounding small and frightened. "The pope was so mad... and they told him." Confused, seeing the raw fear in Britain's green eyes, France could only watch as he paced back and forth... His gaze would fly to the door, then the windows... "Do you remember?" he whispered again, sitting down and wrapping his slender arms around his knees.

"Mais oui," he encouraged, saying nothing more. He wanted Britain to open up to him, to fight past the madness that had such a terrible grip on him. Standing, he very slowly, as if each button he released and pulled away, was a grave sin, Arthur revealed the pale skin beneath. As he shrugged off his heavy coat and dropped it to the heavily carpeted floor, he bit his lip, as if afraid to reveal the horrible truth, and turned, France stumbling and falling over his own two feet. His back was covered in scars, as if the people that beat him had decided to leave nothing untouched.

"They said I enraged god, that my defiance wasn't good for the people. The church said that I wasn't above my own laws, and so... they went to 'him.' I knew he didn't really like me, but he had never really cared what I did up to that point, so long as I complied to what ever he wanted. He gave them his permission to string me up, in that same exact court yard, and they hit me until not a single piece of skin was left unmarked. It hurt... Francis... really really bad... and then they left me to hang there for weeks, saying as a nation, I wouldn't die. Every time someone broke a rule, I was the one they punished, stating that it was because of my disobedience that others thought they could do the same. I'm not afraid of the pope or the church... I'm afraid of 'him.' He says the church is necessary to instill law and order."

Francis couldn't stop the torrent of tears that fell down his face... they had done this to him, to a small child... and it was because of them that people were dying. Arthur didn't even know what was truly right or wrong, under the full grip of whoever sanctioned and controlled the church. Did they know... how would they have figured out that the people and their state of mind was directly influenced through the nation? If this individual had purposely driven Britain mad, then it would have a devastating impact on the rest of the nation. Rising to his feet, Arthur flinching away, his eyes filled with shame and fear. He had to find out, and with a gentleness he hadn't realized that he possessed, Francis brushed his fingers against the younger nation's cheeks, struggling to see through his tears. "It's okay..." Arthur said, a rare and bright smile spreading from ear to ear. "So long as I follow my own laws and enforce them, he won't have them punish me. That's the only time they're allowed to do that, you know."

He realized that Arthur hadn't grown up, his mind trapped between the child and the madness that had taken control of him. There was no other way for the boy to have survived what had been done to him. Could they possibly save him if they destroyed who ever was controlling him? Was the church even the real enemy here? Who was this 'he' that Arthur spoke of? "I will protect you, mon ami."

"You'll fight Denmark for me?"

"I'll fight for 'you', mon ami, nothing more and nothing less." Arthur didn't see the difference with that statement. Putting his jacket back on, he quickly left Francis alone, his emotions torn literally to shreds in a matter of hours.

France gaped, quickly letting her into his room, and shutting the door. "Ma cherie! You should not be here!" he protested, his voice a whisper of exasperation. As if she had nothing to fear, not that he didn't himself, she moved to his bed and sat, tucking her tiny feet beneath her. Normally he wouldn't have minded such a beautiful woman in his chambers, but he knew she wasn't here for pleasure; not to mention he'd have an extremely enraged Finland if he tried. "What if he decides to come here?"

"I'm not afraid of a mere child," she countered.

"A child no, but one that controls the child, yes." He knew he had her then... a flicker of fear in her eyes that she quickly blinked away. Perhaps she was not as brave as she liked to portray, her gaze moving towards the window. "I have tried to understand this place, traveling from village to village. They are suffering, starving, persecuted, and wrongly executed."

France tiredly sat as far away from her as possible, determined that his intentions would remain honorable. Was this woman testing him? It must be that... those eyes... they were so hard to resist, so he did the only sane thing possible and turned around. Her chuckle made him want to question himself as a man... Was he not the nation of love? He had taken more lovers, men and women alike, and yet he feared what might happen if he dared to make such an attempt with her. "Land nations baffle me; do not all men have a desire for beautiful women."

"I believe you are better admired from afar than up close."

Suddenly he felt like he can breathe, and when he risked a glance at her, he didn't feel so intent on jumping across the room and pinning her down, and sating himself. "Perhaps you are not as weak as I first assumed," she admitted.

"I am still a man... why are you here, anyway?" He knew she had made his desire for her less painful; and until now, he had never thought a nation that alluring or tempting, at least not to other nations.

"The situation in this nation baffles me."

"It's a lot worse than you think," France agreed. Turning back around, he took a deep breath and met her gaze. It was still hard, but if he concentrated on the recent discoveries he had made, he'd force himself to endure however long it took to tell her what she needed to know, and make her leave. This was borderline painful for him, and after tonight, one should put him on the list for saint hood. No one should have those beautiful eyes, long hair... "Zut alors!" he swore, clearly agitated that a woman had the ability to make him feel like a young lad again. He was a grown man... supposedly in control of his more basic urges.

As if amused, she took the hood of her cloak and pulled it over her head, and suddenly he could breathe again. "Better?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

Scowling, he crossed his arms, wondering why the gods were taunting him. "I need you to ask Finland something... I'd go... but there's no guarantee that I'm not being watched." There was a clear reprimand in his voice, as if to tell her that coming here was stupid and reckless.

"Ask your question."

"Is it possible to manipulate one of us?"

She went very still, tossing back her hood, and moving so close that he thought he'd die from lack of oxygen to his brain instantly. Her eyes were a storm of anger, fear, sorrow... so many emotions, and he couldn't look away. Very gently, she reached for his chin, turning his head from side to side, as if she were searching for something. With a sigh of relief, she released him and pulled back, ensuring to pull her hood back into place.

"Yes, it's possible. I have a feeling you wouldn't have asked such a question, or have the knowledge to ask it if you hadn't stumbled across someone in such a predicament."

France remembered the scars... a child trapped in madness and fear. He had promised, and he'd gladly give his life to keep it. "How is it done?"

"There's a couple of ways, both forbidden. My memories are still locked away, slowly returning, and I'm afraid I cannot give you all the answers that are needed. I can tell you this... a nation that's under the control of another is extremely dangerous."

"I think I've already figured that out."

"Nations like Finland, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden... they had ancients like Scandinavia helping them to mature and develop. Some nations are not so fortunate... They are vulnerable, easily invaded and destroyed without ever realizing what they are, or who they are. It was before your time, and Finland despite being old enough, would not have the answers you are wanting. A nation is born to the land itself, a child, innocent, and with no real need or desire other than that he or she is connected to it. If the land itself dies, so does the child. There is a misconception that if the people die, the nation will die. That is not entirely true, but it does greatly influence that decision. A nation can still exist without a people."

She spoke as if she had endured such a thing... and France wasn't sure if he should pity or respect her for it. How does a nation find the will to live without its people? A young nation, to truly thrive, relies on the older ones."

"So nations like South and North Italy... the older nations, instead of destroying and taking their lands, choose to take them in until they're able to rule their nations without assistance?"

"Exactly. It's not saying that the older nations will not retain some measure of control over them, but for the most part, the decisions made are their own. That is how alliances are made; at times they weaken and break, but reform and strengthen."

"What happens to a nation that is terrorized, tortured, and badly abused?"

"The entire nation will suffer."

"Britain... He's who I speak of." Atlantis stood, moving to the window, stared at the full moon. It was breath taking, shining peacefully on the water below. She had brief memories of her time before the Great War, but not how her city fell, or why she was suddenly so afraid. "There are scars on his back, and he flips back and forth between a frightened little boy, to a nation that sounds too much like the church."

"And you do not think it is the church controlling him?"

"Yes... and no... Britain never said his name, but he made it quite clear that he wasn't afraid of the church, but the man giving them their orders."

"A human is not capable of controlling your kind; however, if enough of them become violent or corrupted; the nation can turn as well." Atlantis knew it wasn't the latter... not enough of the people were consumed with a mad lust for power, only a small portion. "I'm afraid we're dealing with an extremely powerful ancient; one that none of us remember or know of."

"Are you an ancient?"

"I was..." Turning around, she gave him an apologetic smile... "I'm afraid I'm not exactly what my brother had hoped... I will inform Finland and the others."

"Thank you."

Making her way to the door, she hesitated, her fingers brushing against the brass handle... "France... this situation is very dangerous... please take care. I will do my best to find Italy, but... there's a possibility we might have to destroy Britain in order to save the rest of Europe."

"Won't this ancient just find another target?" She felt helpless, as if everything was starting all over again... and her mind was too broken for her to help them in the way that they needed. She was ancient... one of the strongest... and yet she could do nothing except stare back at France with regret and shame. This was her fault...

Finland looked over his charts, trying to figure out the best landing points into Britain when he sensed her... Unlike the other land nations that had never seen her before, he was relatively immune to a lot of her more alluring traits. Then again, he had known her kind longer, and he just had a lot more tolerance than the younger nations did. He had to admit, he hadn't expected her to return as an adult, had considered asking how that had happened, but refrained. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered, her voice uncertain. Thankfully he was alone right now, Russia and Prussia on guard. They rarely took the day shifts, feeling that an attack most often occurred when guards fell asleep.

"You don't ever have to ask for permission; in all honesty, as old as I am, I'm still a child in comparison."

She wanted to smile, but what she had to ask, would he really answer her? The brothers were very secretive when it came to her, and never spoke of where she came from or how? "Have you ever come across a nation controlling another?"

Finland froze, putting aside his maps, and giving her his complete and undivided attention. "The only ones capable of doing that were water nations and you're the last."

"Am I?" she insisted.

"Oceanonis had no reason to lie about that; and he should have known if there was another."

"How did I end up on your shores, Finland?"

"No... ask any other question, but not that one!" He knew she had the abilities to force his answer, but he trusted her not to. "Listening to you screaming every night for a century is enough reason to keep your past where it belongs; in the past."

"Even if doing so might mean the destruction of the land nations?"

"Atlantis..."

"Finland, I don't want to relive my past, but I don't think we have a choice in the matter! Please, I need to know what happened."

"Why? Tell me why and I might consider it," he shouted, startling her at the ferocity of his rage. "You have no idea how long it took for just your minor burns to heal... the gaping wounds took even longer... that was a century! Even though your an adult now, your memories are fragmented, and we had to take turns, helping you sleep. You woke... every damn night, screaming and clawing at your flesh... begging for us to kill you. You couldn't remember who we were, who you were... As I said... your past belongs exactly where it's at; in the past!"

"I don't have a choice, Finland!"

"We all have a choice!" he roared back. "I'm choosing not to tell you!" Opening the door, he stormed out. She had been with them for a long time now, and until that moment, she had never seen Finland lose it. Behind that anger, however, there was fear. He had answers to some of her questions, but unless she forced him, she'd have to find another way to get them. An hour later, Prussia found her on the docks, her gaze stuck on the moon's reflection in the water.

"I'm not even sure if I want to know how you set him off... he's tearing through Sweden's stronger warriors as if they were little boys." Atlantis closed her eyes... trying to remember... trying to understand. Why was Finland so angry? "France believes that our real enemy isn't Britain, but the one manipulating and controlling him."

"Is that possible?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I..." She didn't want to admit that her memories kept the answers locked away; were they so bad that even Finland didn't want to give her the key to unlocking them?

"It's okay... if you feel that we should investigate further, we will."

"Can we afford to wait?"

"For now, we need to focus on finding Italy and getting him out of there."

"I know, but..." Atlantis couldn't explain the terrible fear that she had; Finland refused to believe there was another water nation, but she wasn't so certain. Why would Oceanonis lie? That was simple... to protect her. If Finland and the others had known... Oceanonis risked them forsaking her when she needed their strength the most. For that alone, she felt resentment and anger towards her brother, when in the past she had simply accepted his decisions.

"Hey..." She glanced at those red-eyes, the ones that reminded her of what she had lost. "The awesome Prussia is yours to command. All I need is a location and an enemy... the rest is easy."

She wanted to believe him, but Atlantis already knew that if she found Italy, she'd rescue him alone. Her brother's decisions had possibly endangered the Scandinavian brothers, and if that were true, she'd never forgive him or herself if they should die as a result. "I should go." With a sad smile, she brushed aside one of his pale locks, amazed at how similar, yet different her nephew was compared to his father.

"Wait..." just as he reached for her, she was gone.