The sunset over the ocean was one of the sights that the Pirate would never forget. He admired the water as much as he had feared it. It was a cruel and harsh mistress that could not be tamed. It had both saved him and doomed him on numerous accounts. And each time he would craved even more of it the precious freedom it granted him.
Freedom from the slavery he was forced to endure of being a nation. Freedom from the pain of knowing he could never love another like he did her. Freedom to be himself at complete ease and never wonder about the growing amount of wars he had to face. It was his saviour. He wanted nothing more than to be left on the waters for the rest of his life.
"Captain England?"
"Kirkland, my dear boy, Kirkland. I was never one for the nation status..."
Sealand decided against making sense of that. "We're heading for a straight line to Spain. We should be there in five hours."
"Perfect."
Peter stood there beside him and gazed out across the ocean. Neither of them spoke as they admired the sights around them. The only sounds were of the ocean lapping against the sides of the fort and the grunts of the men at work behind them. This was something that no amount of money or power could ever change. It was a blessing to be able to be surrounded by this and nothing felt richer just then.
The peace didn't last.
Moving from the horizon, appearing like dots at first, several helicopters appeared. It didn't take a genius to know where they were heading. Sealand's eyes grew wide as he gazed up at the pirate who merely smiled at the sight. This was not part of the deal. Sealand did not want any of the pirate's friends on here since it was his fort and, at the same time, did not want any trouble that would delay his chances of full nation status.
"Peter, be a dear and launch a missile at them," the Pirate said in a light tone without even looking away.
"What?!"
There were a lot of things Peter would be willing to do in order to gain full membership to be a nation but starting a battle with the UK was not one of them, regardless of who told him to do it. There were mortals in those helicopters and he was not going to bring about his own end because of England's orders.
"Peter, I do not like asking twice," the Pirate said sternly. "Aim for the front one and it should spread its remains onto the others."
Sealand looked behind him to his men who were frozen and at a lost on what to do. None of them were willing to do what the pirate asked and since he was not their boss... They shook their heads and folded their arms over his chest. His people gave Sealand the confidence to do the same.
"No," Peter said coolly. "We're not listening to you anymore."
The pirate turned around and stared down at the boy with a murderous look in his eyes. "Is this a mutiny?" he whispered in a harsh voice. "Do you know what happens to mutineers on board my vessel?!"
Peter flinched and stepped back as the pirate took a few steps towards him with his voice raising. He was spared whatever ruthless punishment the pirate had in store for him when a loud voice shouted across the skies by microphone.
"Keep away from the wee lad!"
The pirate placed a hand over his hat to stop is blowing off when the helicopters got closer. He cursed under his breath and moved back as the vehicle descended down.
A figure leapt out of the helicopter and landed smartly onto the fort. The men looked relieved and Sealand darted over to where his back up was. All these people against England... Sealand was highly looking forward to see this battle.
The Pirate placed his hand into his pocket and grasped tightly onto the device inside as he stood face to face with his older brother: the one that he felt the most hatred towards for beginning about the end of his time. He forced an unpleasant smile. "How foolish of you to come after me with nothing to defend yourself with..."
Scotland grunted and flicked out the cigarette from his mouth. "Who said I'm unarmed?"
"Come now, you know as well as I do that you can do nothing to harm me without harming the other..." The Pirate laughed. "I fought back against that seal! I knew what the risks were! I studied the powers before making my move."
"Then ya should know you got to come back with me," Scotland said impatiently. "Before I make ya."
"Make me? You and what navy? Oh right, you can't defeat me unless you have them to back you up!" The Pirate said in a sickly sweet tone. "If only they were here now to save your skin..."
Scotland stood upon the crushed cigarette and pulled his gloves further down his wrists before cracking one fist into the palm of his hand. "Why don't ya come here and we'll settle it one on one?"
Only a fool would start a fistfight with someone who threw cabers for fun and the Pirate was certainly not a fool. He stepped back again so he was only a metre away from the edge and then removed his hand from his pocket just as Scotland advanced towards him. The pirate held it up with his finger lingering on the button.
"Careful now... You wouldn't want me to set this off..."
Scotland stopped and growled angrily as he narrowed his eyes.
The anger coming off the other made the Pirate feel very smug. He tilted his head slightly to the side and said in a taunting tone, "You see, I planned for this to happen and planted various explosives around the fort. If you lay just one finger on me, I'll blow this place to pieces! What's the matter? Can't sacrifice one useless fort for the brother who caused you so much hell?"
"Ya cowardly bastard!"
"Tell me something new, please ~" The Pirate smirked.
Unknown to him, Alfred had managed to climb up the side of the fort and had been lingering on the edge of it for wait for the perfect moment to strike. With the pirate now close enough and clearly distracted, Alfred seized the chance and pulled himself up before roughly tackling the pirate down on the platform. The device went flying out across the air.
Sealand dived down onto the steel ground and caught it. He and the men breathed in relief before looking over at the violent fight that had broken out. Blood was spilt and bones were cracked in only a few seconds of the fight beginning.
The Pirate wasn't easy to hold down, Alfred soon found out. He would bite, punch, and use every dirty trick he could to break away. He striked for the wound on Alfred's arm and kick him viciously in the groin with those heeled boots. Alfred was almost deafened by the insults but he did not stop wrestling with the other as they rolled across the fort. The others moved out of their way, refusing to get involved with the two pissed off nations.
"BRITANNIA KICK!"
Alfred found himself flung off the pirate. He rolled across the platform and barely grasped hold of the side in time before he dropped down over the edge. Fuck, he swore as he tried to heave himself back up. He swung up his damaged arm till his hands were able to grasp on firmly. That fucker... he cursed as he tried to swing a leg up.
The Pirate had noticed the struggle and smirked once more. He stood up and wiped the blood away from his mouth before he approached America and looked down at him in a scornful manner.
The heel of his boot dug into Alfred's fingers until the American was forced to remove them to avoid losing them. The pirate's expression changed to one of great smugness. "You pitiful excuse of a country," he sneered as he ruthlessly stamped down on Alfred's other hand. "Why don't you do the world a favour and stay under the waves?"
"Sure..." Alfred replied with his own smirk forming. "But only if you join me!" Using his upper body strength, he heaved himself up high enough to grasp hold of the pirate's ankle.
The pirate's eyes widened in alarm at once. "What?! No! No, you fool!" The pirate yelled as Alfred tugged hard and brought the pirate down over the edge with him. The guards and nations dashed over to the edge in time to see them both hit the water with a huge splash.
Alfred released his grip and began to swim up to the surface. He held his breath and soon saw streaks of the sunset breaking through the waters but he didn't get far when an arm suddenly snared itself around his neck. The fucker was still trying to end him? Alfred was having none of that! He elbowed the pirate sharply in the stomach until the other let go and then quickly ascended back to the surface.
He broke through and swallowed a hungry gasp of air. With the sea water in his eyes, and the distance fallen, he could just make out a few blurred faces peering over the edge of the fort.
"I'm all right!" he yelled up to them as he waved his good arm wildly in the air. "Toss down a ladder or something, kay?"
"YA DAMN TOSSER! WHERE IS THE PIRATE?!"
Alfred blinked and wiped some of the water from his face before looking around. There were no signs of the pirate emerging from below. What was he doing down there? Surely Britain knew how to swim right?
"Maybe he's fishing?" Alfred answered cheekily only to have something hard hit him on top of the head from above. "Ow! What was that –"
"YA BLEEDIN' NUMPTY! HE CAN'T SWIM! GET HIM OUT NOW OR I'LL –"
Alfred didn't bother to listen to what painfully sick and twisted tortures the Scot would put him through. He was already diving back under the water. He placed Texas back onto his face to help improve his vision and scanned the murky water around him.
How was he meant to know that Britain couldn't swim? Yes, he knew the nation for most of his life but he was hardly in a situation where they would need to swim. Maybe the pirate hadn't been trying to suffocate him earlier. Damn it, what kind of person pushes away a drowning person?! Certainly not a hero... He had messed up again.
A hat drifted in front of him. It was large and feathered. Alfred swam down further from where it was drifting from. Bubbles were forming in front of his face but he could do without air for a few extra minutes.
Finally, there in the dark where little light could reach, he could barely make out a form of a body. Alfred swam down and linked an arm around the pirate's waist. The other wasn't moving. He didn't fight back or held out. Alfred began to panic but forced himself to remain calm as he carried the pirate up to the surface.
Drowning wouldn't end a nation, he told himself mentally, so he couldn't possibly get in trouble for this. Britain wouldn't die from this. Not a chance.
They broke through to the surface for a second time that day. Alfred frantically waved his free arm around and watched as they finished lowering the ladder down to their level.
He grasped hold of one of the rings and placed the pirate over his shoulder. Britain felt like a dead weight and there was no gasps of air coming from him either. Alfred gritted his teeth and quickly began to climb up the ladder. "HURRY!" he yelled up at them, "HE'S NOT BREATHING!"
Francis was growing bored. He had given Arthur a dose of the mixture and made sure the other three had eaten dinner. Now he had nothing to do but remain watch over Arthur and, quite frankly, he was getting restless. What he wouldn't do for a glass – no – a bottle of wine just then! In a bubble bath that held his favourite fragrance and soft music playing from the radio...
"Be careful with the powdered root!" the Knight said as he reached out and caught hold of the child's wrist. "You shouldn't add it right after the blood! You don't know what it could do!"
"I thought that you didn't know anything about this 'dark art' stuff?" Francis said smugly as he snapped out of his fantasy to gaze upon the younger two. The usual Arthur wasn't around to torment so he would have to put up with this one. "The good stuff got dull or did you realise it wasn't working?"
"Listen here, you bloody toad!" the Knight snapped back, "Magic isn't something that you can play around with! It has to be taken seriously or you'll risk-"
Francis yawned loudly to drown out the rant. This further annoyed the Knight who stood up and placed his hand on the handle of his sword. "Pick your weapon, you pox-ridden arse!"
The child looked up excitedly. Francis eyed the sword and decided it was probably best not to torment any of the Arthurs – they were still capable of throwing violent tantrums and he only had a gun which he foolishly left downstairs after dinner.
A loud bang from the cauldron broke up the fight before it could happen and smoke filled the room. They all jumped in alarm and waved their hands in front of their faces to move the smoke away. The child began to cry. His hand had been over the pot when he dropped in the root by accident and it was now covered in nasty green boils.
"You see what you done?!" The Knight and France shouted at each other in accusation.
"MOI/ME?! It was you!"
The two glared at each other before dropping down beside the sobbing child to fuss over the injury. But the child shook his head and held his hand close to his chest so neither of them could examine it.
"Come to me, mon lapin!"
"Don't! He knows nothing about magical injuries!"
"Excuse-moi?!"
Somehow, the two older ones were still able to bicker with each other whilst trying to encourage the child to let them and not the other look at the injury until the bedroom door slammed open and a highly irritable Arthur with a red coat stood there in the doorway with his gun pointing towards them. After taking in the scene in front of them, he lowered his gun and frowned.
He walked over and picked up the crying child into his arms and rubbed his back in a soothing manner. The child's cries began to die down.
"Clean up this mess!" The Revolution!War Arthur ordered to the Knight. "You should have known better than to let a child play around with the leftovers of a potion! Have you grown thick?! And you!" his glared rounded onto Francis who flinched. "If you so much as mutter a word I shall throw you out of this window head first!"
Francis frowned but the latest Arthur had stormed out to tend to the child. Francis stuck out his tongue as the door slammed closed and then went back to sit on the bed. Maybe having a child to fuss over would keep the War Arthur sane – or as sane as he ever was.
"Honestly, Angleterre," Francis spoke to the sleeping Arthur. "You should have never grown up."
The Knight was about to fling a handful of soggy muck from the bottom of the cauldron when the sleeping Arthur suddenly began to cough. Not just cough, but spray water over the surprised Francis and gasp heavily for air.
The two acted quickly. Francis pulled Arthur up into sitting position and striked him firmly on the back to clear his lungs. It changed nothing and Arthur's hands were tensed over the blanket. Water was still being sprayed across the quilt by a unpleasant mix of coughing and throwing up.
"Breath!" Francis panicked as he kept hitting him. "Breath!"
Arthur's gasps were steadily growing weaker and his body were slouching down against France as it lost the energy to remain still.
"Call L'Ecosse!" he ordered to the Knight who stood there feeling the hell was happening? He had no warning of this! How could you save something who appeared to be drowning but wasn't?! The Knight picked up the phone left on top of the drawers and nervously fidgeted with the mobile phone.
"Call! Now! Hurry!"