Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.
The silence stretched out between them, Matthew gaping in shock and the King waiting patiently. As more time passed, and Matthew wasn't set upon by guards ready to kill him, he slowly relaxed. It dawned on him that King Ivan had one foot bare, boot resting in his lap.
"Um..." Matthew swallowed. He knew that the people of Clubs were rather nervous, even afraid of their rulers, so at least his reaction would not be considered odd. "S-sorry. You startled me." He took a deep breath. "Can I help you? Are you hurt, Your Majesty?"
Ivan gestured to his foot. "I stumbled and hurt my ankle. Isn't that silly?"
"Oh. Um, no, no." Matthew scooted closer. "The ground around here is really uneven." Ivan really was as big as they said, tall and broad. But there was no malice in his violet eyes, and his expression was friendly enough as he watched Matthew.
"I'm sorry," Ivan said out of the blue.
Matthew looked up from the injured appendage in surprise. "For what?"
Ivan shrugged. "My foot."
"You don't have to apologize for your foot." Matthew looked it over, examining the ankle, gently rotating it. Ivan occasionally hissed slightly in pain.
"I don't think I broke it," Ivan said. "That would probably hurt more."
Matthew nodded absently. "Just a bit of a sprain, I think." He reached for the bandages. "I'll wrap it up. You should try and stay off of it for a while."
"Okay." Ivan leaned back on his hands. "Where are you from?"
Matthew froze, eyes widening. He was certain, then, that somebody had to suspect him. And now the King himself had come to investigate, and Matthew was dead... "You mean... originally?" Ivan nodded, and Matthew forced himself to act calm as he wound the bandage around his ankle. "Hearts. A town in the Rose region."
"Why didn't you stay there?"
He had originally thought it would be easier to just stick with half-truths, claim that his father had moved the family for better job opportunities as had actually happened. But that would put Matthew in Clubs from a much younger age, and that wouldn't do. He needed an excuse for his lack of fluency in the language, his lack of knowledge of the kingdom. "I just needed something new, after living in that little town. I wanted to see the world. I'd read about Clubs a lot, and wanted to go there first..."
"There were times when I wished I could do something like that," Ivan mused. "But the heir is kind of stuck."
"O-oh." Matthew carefully wrapped the bandages, sagging slightly. Was Ivan really just curious? But now that he thought about it, wouldn't the King have his own personal medic? "Uh, where would you have gone?"
"Somewhere that wasn't a palace."
Matthew felt a flicker of annoyance. Poor baby, stuck in the palace being given whatever he wanted as he was groomed to rule the kingdom. Life must have been hard.
"Ow."
"Sorry." Matthew loosened the bandage a bit. No need to take it out on Ivan's foot. He reminded himself that the King wasn't really complaining about his life. "There." He clipped the end of the bandage on, settling back and inspecting his work. "How is that?"
"Good. Thank you." Ivan attempted to stand, stumbling slightly until Matthew rose to help him. He winced at the pressure on his own injured limb, but helped Ivan steady himself. "I have things to do, but I suppose I will try and do them sitting for a while." Ivan looked at his boot, pondering, then just continued to hold it.
"Good idea." Matthew let out a sigh as Ivan hobbled toward the entrance to the medic tent. He couldn't believe that had gone as painlessly as it did.
He waited until the King had completely vacated before lowering himself back to the ground, running shaky hands through his hair. "What the hell just happened?"
By the time Tino returned, he had almost convinced himself it hadn't really happened. Matthew was eager to hear about the trip into town, and Tino spoke of the frightened but brave and determined citizens who had taken his message and provided him with medical supplies. Matthew would have to take the next letter to them, no matter how much quicker Tino could do it.
"So there was no trouble while I was gone?" Tino asked as he went over his inventory.
Matthew shook his head. "No trouble. The King stopped by for me to wrap his ankle, but he was nice enough..."
Tino's head jerked up. "What?"
Matthew smiled weakly at him. "He sprained his ankle."
"King Ivan?" Tino stared incredulously. "Some soldier has you fooled."
"I know what he looks like," Matthew said with a mock scowl.
Tino just nodded, setting bottles onto a shelf, and Matthew gave up.
But a couple days later Tino believed him when Ivan returned, limping into the tent with a friendly smile.
"It's him!" Tino gasped, jumping to his feet. He may not believe Matthew's description, but he knew the King when he saw him. He too had been schooled in the important details. "Wh-what is he doing here?"
"I thought I should have this checked on," Ivan said in their language, indicating his foot. Matthew felt a little thrill of shock, and was glad he had never said anything incriminating in his language, assuming Ivan wouldn't understand. But, he supposed, it was obvious that the rulers would be instructed in foreign tongues. Arthur hadn't, but...
Tino wasn't the only one surprised. The injured soldier Tino had been treating seemed to forget all about his wound as he scrambled out of the tent. He may have greeted his King as he ran from him, but Matthew missed it.
Ivan just watched him go with a blank expression, then turned back to Matthew.
"Oh." Matthew licked his lips. "Maybe James should look at it? He's the doctor."
"If you want." Ivan sat down, leg extended. Tino threw a look of panic toward Matthew before settling down beside the King and starting to unwrap his ankle.
"So he is from Hearts, too?" Ivan said, and Matthew's suspicions again rose that the Clubs soldiers were onto him.
"Yes." Matthew smiled, trying to ignore his pounding heart. "He's treated me since I was little."
"Oh yes? That's nice." Ivan smiled at Tino. "Off with your head," he said cheerfully, then laughed when Matthew gaped at him. "I'm kidding. It's funny, he can't understand us."
"O-oh..." They didn't have to execute Matthew. He was going to have a heart attack. "Yes, hilarious."
There really wasn't much for Tino to do. He looked the ankle over, and wrapped it back up. It wasn't like there was a wound that needed tending to. Matthew was once again certain that Ivan was simply investigating, that the other soldiers suspected them.
Or maybe, Matthew thought as he looked in the direction of the fled soldier, he just appreciated somebody who didn't run from him.
Arthur stared, lost in thought, occasionally running his fingers over the blue fabric. He rested his hand on the cool metal mail. He was so lost in his own little world he didn't even notice somebody approach until he spoke up.
"Going somewhere?" Yao asked.
Arthur shook himself, turning to face Yao's frown. "No."
"Get away from that." Yao picked up the soldier uniform. "Don't even think about it."
"I wasn't..."
Yao just looked at him for a long minute, then sighed. "Royals don't belong on the battlefield," he said to himself. "I don't know what Clubs is thinking, letting both of them fight."
"I feel like I'm not doing a damn thing," Arthur muttered, turning away.
Yao hurried around until they were facing each other again. "You have meetings about the war all the time! Your suggestions at today's were really good."
"I was just telling them what I knew they wanted to hear. They already know their plans and strategies. If I told them anything that went against their wishes, they'd just nudge me in the right direction. I'm not doing anything." Arthur made a face. "Just sitting in here waiting for my people to send the enemy away and save me. I'm like a fairytale princess."
"Of course you aren't," Yao said, patting his arm. "You'd look awful in a dress."
Arthur's lips curved slightly. "Probably so."
"Now I'm just going to go hide this." Yao turned to leave, uniform bundled in his arms.
Arthur rolled his eyes, watching him go. "You know, if I really wanted to join the fighting, there's plenty of other uniforms I could find. Or I could just announce I'm going. I'm still the Queen." Yao was looking vaguely horrified. "I'm not going to!"
"Okay." Yao finally smiled. "Are you hungry?" Always the mother hen.
"No."
"All right." Yao turned as if ready to leave again, but hesitated. "Let me know if you need anything."
Arthur wasn't entirely sure what Yao meant, but he had a feeling it wasn't food. "I will."
Yao nodded, still holding the uniform, and left Arthur alone.
The Clubs soldier must have learned to swordfight in a fancy noble fencing class. His footwork was precise while Alfred couldn't care less what his feet were up to and let them work on instinct. The soldier lunged, which Alfred easily dodged, and he was left wide open. Alfred ran his sword through the soldier's shoulder, putting his sword arm out of commission. Then he shoved the other man away, hoping he'd be quickly taken back to camp and given treatment rather than left to fester and die on the battlefield. He just had to hope his acts of mercy weren't dooming anyone to much slower deaths.
The more trained soldiers were taking the brunt of the attack, while the guards and newer soldiers protected the flanks.
Another enemy soldier was on him in an instant, and he was considerably better than his comrade. Alfred found himself being driven backward. But before he had time to find out who the better swordsman really was, the soldier stiffened and fell to the ground, courtesy of a young Spades soldier behind him. The boy – he couldn't have been much older than sixteen – and Alfred exchanged a brief nod before returning their full attention to the battle.
An officer barked at everyone for the infantry to fall back, and as one the soldiers turned and retreated, leaving the cavalry to take care of the rest of the battle. Of course, retreating was one of the most dangerous moves, and arrows occasionally rained down on them as Clubs tried to thin the herd a bit more as the soldiers moved out of the way. They too were letting their cavalry take charge, the real meat of the battle.
The young soldier who had helped Alfred went down with a cry. Alfred froze, looking down at him. The boy was still alive, so Alfred hauled him to his feet, ignoring pained protests. "Come on. Let's get back to camp."
The soldier didn't say anything. Alfred broke off part of the arrow to keep it from catching on anything, then hauled him along, heading back toward camp. More arrows landed near them, but no more found any living targets. Eventually, the arrows stopped.
They made their way back to camp, and Alfred delivered the soldier to the medic tent. He was no expert on anatomy and wasn't sure if the injury was fatal or not; hopefully not.
"Thanks," the pale, wide-eyed boy said as a medic began inspecting the wound.
Alfred nodded. "Thanks for the help."
As he returned to the tent his company used as their headquarters, the adrenaline of the battle faded, leaving Alfred feeling weary, and especially shaken. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it, like the experienced soldiers seemed to be. Or maybe they were just better at hiding it.
"You know what I wish?" a soldier was saying as Alfred walked in. Assorted soldiers rested on their cots and mats, and Gilbert sat in the corner with some papers. Alfred rather liked working under Gilbert. Insane training regiments aside, he was a good commanding officer. And he didn't give Alfred preferential treatment. Alfred occasionally heard other soldiers whispering among themselves about keeping Alfred safe, returning him to Arthur in one piece. He didn't like that, he was a hero but not better than everyone else! Arthur wouldn't be more sad than any other soldier's loved ones if he didn't return just because he was the Queen. And Gilbert did not take part in any of that sort of thing, Alfred was just one of his soldiers.
"What?" said another.
"That it was like in the old days, and we had a big fortified castle instead of a fancy palace."
Alfred gave a snort of laughter. "You wish this were a siege, then?"
The soldier nodded enthusiastically. "We'd still be inside, with real food and beds, our loved ones would be there, we wouldn't be doing as much fighting... We'd just have to hurl some arrows and boiling oil down on the enemy and send them on their way."
"Yeah, while they're battering our walls down," said another.
"Hence the big fortified walls and moat!"
Alfred settled down on his cot, stripping off some of his uniform until he was comfortable. He tiredly raked a hand through his grimy hair as he pictured it. Going to bed with Arthur every night, and tossing stuff down on the enemy in the morning didn't sound like a bad way to do battle, really.
"How'd everything go?" Gilbert asked, sounding distracted as he poured over his papers.
"So far so good." Alfred inspected one of his boots, cringed and set it aside. They needed more fresh boots.
"The rest of us have been summoned for tomorrow."
"Oh yeah?" Alfred said, but Gilbert was no longer paying attention to him. "What is it?" Alfred asked at the thoughtful 'hmm' sounds Gilbert was making as he read a letter. "Good news?" The other nearby soldiers paused to look at Gilbert and chime in with their curiosity.
Gilbert held the letter up. "Some information from the Clubs army."
Alfred's breath caught. Mattie? Was that info from Matt? He hurried closer. "Good news?" he repeated. Something useful? The thought of Matthew helping them win the war brought a smile to his face.
"We know where our captured men are being held." Gilbert strode over to the map of the Clubs camp, pointing to a large tent. "There."
Alfred stared down at the map, while the men around him buzzed with excitement. He absently scratched at the healing cut on his arm as the wheels in his head turned.
"Do we know what's become of them?" a soldier asked.
Gilbert nodded. "It's as we suspected. Clubs is looking to increase their army in their quest to take over the four kingdoms."
"Then they'll die," said another. "I know I would before I joined with the enemy."
"Then someone will have to rescue them, first." Alfred grinned at them, then swept out of the tent.
