In the Shadow of Albion

by Lady of Pride

Meddling with the darker arts, England unwittingly unleashes a side of himself that he thought was good and dead. It's really too bad Italy seems to be the only one that notices anything's wrong with the old Empire...

2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for all the beautiful reviews and/or adding me to your favourite/alert list. I'm glad to see you're enjoying this.

Title: In the Shadow of Albion
Rating: T to M — it should be important to note that if I do *coughprobablyeventuallycough* up the ante, I'll put a big flashing light over the chapter(s) in question.
Pairing(s): I'm leaving this open with a 'multiple pairings' sign (because it's true), but I guess it also has an odd element of England/Italy that should be pointed out. The usual suspects are also present: Germany/Italy, US/UK, , etc...
Warnings: dark!England, romance, violence, a smidgen of language, innuendos, and smex (though I don't know what to level of detail just yet)
Fun Facts: I'll try to explain everything along the way through the characters themselves, but if I sneak any jokes into the mix I'll point them out at the bottom of the page.
Translations: Again, any of the garble I insult your senses with will be translated at the bottom of the page (with a special thanks to Red Hot Holly Berries for providing me with the Italian!)
Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs entirely to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Critique? Welcomed.
Summary: Meddling with the darker arts, England unwittingly unleashes a side of himself he thought was good and dead. And it's really too bad Italy's the only one that seems to notice anything's wrong with the old Empire...

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"Feliciano~," Antonio sang, and it was said with such a melodious trill that he was tempted to give it a try. As it would turn out, though, all he could manage was something that was more of a grimace than anything else. "...You remind me too much of my little tomato, Feli. Do you need a drink?"

A glass of wine sounded nice right about now, but Italy was never the sort of person to get drunk in the middle of the day, whether he was fulfilling his quota of business hours or doing something a little more entertaining. Besides, inebriation was never conducive with hiding from one's enemies, especially those who took pride in a long history of espionage...

Italy didn't want to risk it.

"Grazie, Antonio, but no." He bowed his head a little and tried to hide his anxiety behind his good manners as he sat down beside the man on the lobby bench. It worked most of the time, at least when he was a child. "I'm... looking for Romano."

"He ate your pasta, you know," the man murmured absently. "I told him it was rude, but he said you forgot to wake him up on time this morning. 'Fair is fair,' but I honestly wonder how he could tell..."

Italy bristled a little (—he was hungry, for goodness sake, and there was no way Ludwig was going to let him run off to make a new batch. Never mind that they were in London of all places, which meant no one here knew how to make it properly—) but he had something bigger to worry about at the moment, and he didn't relish the thought of being alone long enough to have to deal with 'it' without someone to back him up. So he decided he would simply sit there with Spain and listen to him talk, and after the meeting he would tag along with Ludwig back to the hotel room and forget that anything ever happened—

Only that Prussia was here when he shouldn't have been (—not since Ludwig put him under house arrest after the last, little fiasco—). Italy could practically feel the trouble stirring in the air as he waltzed through the door

"Hey, Gorgeous~," Prussia whistled with a cordial little bow and a flourish of his hand. He leaned down to give Italy a quick peck on the cheek and winked at him when he pulled back. "Don't tell West, okay? Or he'll have my head."

"Don't tell him that you're here?" Spain inquired, "Or that you kissed Feliciano?"

"Couldn't have kissed him if I wasn't here, right?"

"I see..."

"Of course, you do." Prussia winked again, but this time it was for Spain. "You have a moment? We need to talk..."

'...Oh,' Italy thought, because that was the cue for him to leave. To 'leave'—alone—because Prussia was up to something that was so much more than simply wandering across Europe when he should be back in Berlin. Italy understood, of course—he had a tendency to tattle on the albino whenever his heists were targeted at Ludwig—but Ludwig was still in the boardroom arguing with America, and Italy had only wandered out of the room because he'd been following Romano (who was where exactly, because Italy hadn't seen him since). And now he had to go all the way back up to the eighth floor by himself, and how was he supposed to know if England was—

Prussia snapped his fingers and Feliciano's focus narrowed back onto the 'here' and 'now'. "You look ill, kiddo."

"Pasta withdrawal," Spain smiled.

"You Italian's are addicts."

"Are not," Feliciano murmured, but really he wasn't feeling too good. "Where's Romano?"

"Hiding from you," Spain sighed as he gave the illustrated dome above their heads a good look. The picture wasn't too bad actually—Feliciano could've painted a 'sky' a lot better than that, but could give praise where it was due. "Like I said, he stole your pasta."

"Tell me, please~... I promise I'm not angry. I'm just...lonely."

"Lonely how?" Prussia asked.

Which was answered by a swift kick to the shins from Spain. "If you're not careful, amigo, your brother's going to cut off more than just your head. And when you're nothing more than a lonely, little eunuch, Francis and I will have a good laugh at your expense."

"...My offer still stands."

"Estúpido, go ahead and die, see if I care. I won't save you if my Romanito and his mafia ever find out."

Prussia winced a little. But worry was always fleeting with him and he plopped down on the bench between the two of them with a smile. "Fair enough. But seriously, Feli, just give us ten minutes. This isn't for your virgin ears." After a beat, he gave the Italian a curious look. "Are you a—?"

"I'm leaving," Feliciano sighed. He was bound to bump into someone else sooner or later on the way back, so there was really no reason for him to linger. England didn't have a vendetta against him, anyway, and the likelihood of running into him in the next twenty minutes or so was pretty slim...

Right?

"Such a darling~!" Prussia swooned. "I'll buy you a drink sometime, okay? Anything you want."

"Grazie."

"And I'll let you hold Gilbird, too. You like Gilbird, right? Because I know he likes you."

He—...okay, yeah, he did. A lot, actually, because he was just so small, and soft, and incredibly adorable, how could anyone resist?

"...Okay," he said. Then he stood up and excused himself for the time being, wondering why Ludwig never seemed to be enthralled by Gilbird the same way everyone else was. Maybe it was because he was a dog person—not that Italy didn't like dogs (—he adored them, in fact!—), but Ludwig's were rather large and just a tad frightening when they all tried to greet him at once. They'd never bitten him, of course, but any one of them weighed almost as much as he did, and that was a lot of weight to deal with when they were barrelling toward the door to see him. Not that he was really complaining, of course, because he loved them, but it—

"I'm sorry!"

Italy froze.

At first he was too afraid to move (—it wasn't every day you were affronted by a bodiless voice—), but then two things occurred to him: one was that said voice sounded nothing like England, and the second was that the voice had been apologizing to him, not threatening him or shrieking like a banshee, in a way that was actually rather polite for something that could've been potentially terrifying.

Having convinced himself that any kind of doom, whatsoever, was not impending, Feliciano blinked a little and realized, suddenly, that his visitor wasn't really invisible at all.

He was...

Well...not America (though the resemblance was uncanny), but he was Caucasian, at least, and his dialect was from the West... He was probably one of France's, then, because he didn't have England's bushy eyebrows. 'New France' wasn't it, or was that someone else?

Feliciano opened his mouth to speak, and very nearly outright said 'NewFrance' until he recognized the sleeping bear in the nation's arms and remembered that France had lost that colony a long, long time ago...

"Canada," Feliciano greeted. "Mi dispiace. I didn't see you."

"I understand," he mumbled. And then he smiled a little, even though Feliciano could tell it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you."

"No worries."

"Thank you. I guess...I guess I'll see you in the boardroom—"

"Canada," he interjected, just as the man was about to leave. Despite what he tried to tell himself, Feliciano was still afraid. "Y-you...you look sad."

The Canadian stared at him for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, almost as though he hadn't really expected Feliciano to want to speak to him beyond their salutations. But then his shoulders relaxed a little and he adjusted the weight of the bear in his arms, and Italy smiled one of his most charming smiles because he knew it was something few people could resist.

"...Can I tell you something?"

"Per favore, anything~."

"Well, I..." the Canadian glanced over his shoulder quickly to check for company, and then lowered his voice. "I've been fighting with both Ivan and Alfred for a while now, and you know how they get sometimes..."

Oddly enough, he did. He'd fought against them in the past, after all, and he didn't ever want to go toe-to-toe with either of the two superpowers again. It made him wonder, then, how Canada of all nations had managed to peeve both of them off at the same time.

"Sì," he agreed. "But why?"

"Well, the UN wants us to finalize the extent of our sovereignty over the sea by the end of the year, and as it so happens, Russia and I are separated by the Bering Strait. The farther either of us can claim use over the ocean stretches out to about the end of the continental shelf, and now Ivan is trying to claim that that border between us should shift farther in my direction." Canada paused long enough to scan the hallway a second time. Spain and Prussia were still in the lobby just around the corner, but they were still too far to eavesdrop on the conversation, experts that they were... "As for Alfred, he won't accept the fact that the Archipelago is my territory and that he just can't sail through the Northwest Passage without permission. So then what does he do? He cruises on through with a nuclear submarine! I mean, I understand that Alaska touches the Arctic, but if anything happens up there, I have to deal with the mess, you know?"

Italy blinked. And then he blinked again. Of course, he knew that they all had their own problems and that, perhaps, Canada had always been pushed around a little by the others, but Feliciano had always thought Alfred was closer to his northern counterpart than just...well, whatever this was. Brothers were supposed to be kind to each other, weren't there? Honestly, what other reason would Ludwig have not to strangle Gilbert after all the grief he'd caused him?

...Then again, Romano still tended to shout at him every once in a while (not to mention the hail of fury his brother had called down from the heavens above when he found out Feliciano and Ludwig were doing a little more than just sleeping together in the same a bed. Honestly, though, Feliciano thought Romano would've figured it out sooner than that...)

"What do you think is going to happen now?" Feliciano inquired, not because he expected Canada to already have a solution to his problem, but because his mind was beginning to wander somewhere rather inappropriate. He didn't want to have to explain to the man why he was blushing if said mind chose now of all times to run away with him.

"No clue, but I told Belarus that Russia was gradually expanding away from her, and I think he might forget the whole ordeal when she gets her hands on him. And if that doesn't work, we'll probably settle it over hockey somehow; I'm not too worried about Ivan. Alfred, on the other hand...well, what can I say? At least Arthur understands what I'm up against. I'm actually kind of surprised he wanted to talk to me."

Arthur...?

As in England-Arthur?

Italy opened his mouth—and then closed it again. Part of him didn't want to get himself tied up in England's business (or anyone's business, for that matter, because he barely had enough time to deal with his own problems), but there was a nagging little voice in the back of his head that told him that this tidbit of information was probably important. It might even give him a hint as to why England was looking as smug as he did, and not just in an 'I-got-a-leg-up-on-France' way either.

"That's nice." Italy tried to smile. It probably worked, because Canada looked none-the-wiser "What did he say?"

"Oh, well, that Alfred's got a good 'whipping' heading his way, and that, if I wanted, Arthur would be more than happy to troll through the Passage to hunt down any intruders, American or otherwise, so long as I promised never to become 'French' again..." Canada frowned. "...whatever that means. He already knows about my French-Canadians, and I can't see him forgetting about Quebec."

"But he doesn't remember you often, no?"

"Not my name, no, although he seemed to have no problem with that today. Strangely enough, though, he's never forgotten my birthday, so at the very least I know he's always remembered I was a colony."

Italy wanted to flinch. That sounded kind of horrible, actually, because, really, who forgot about their own colony? Granted, England had lorded over at least a quarter of the world's population by the 19th century, but even Spain had managed to remember all of his underlings during his rule as an Empire, and that was while trying to take care of Romano, of all people...

Feliciano really had to applaud the man for his patience.

"Anyhow, do you want to head back?" Canada nodded at the elevator at the end of the hall. "I want to see if I maybe can catch Alfred before the end of the break."

'Maybe'. And that was a pretty big maybe. Alfred was stubborn in his ways, and Germany didn't particularly enjoy buckling to anyone, so their argument could very well carry on until the end of the day. And that was usually what happened on a good day. Last year, Ivan and Alfred had very nearly bludgeoned each other to death while arguing over who-still-had-what with respect to their nuclear missiles.

Italy didn't say as much, but trailed after the Canadian quietly into the elevator anyway. Once they were inside, though, something else occurred to him.

"...What was England like?"

"Hm?" Canada pressed the eight and stood back as the doors swung shut. His ahoge bobbed as the carriage proceeded to carry them up. "You mean when I was a colony?"

"Sì. When he was an empire."

"Arthur was an 'empire' for a while, you know, but I suppose...I suppose he was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He could be charming when he wanted to be, but he enjoyed his power, I think, and maybe..." Canada paused here, blushing in embarrassment as though he hadn't ever meant to tell anyone about this. "...maybe he enjoyed it a little too much. I mean, he still has the Commonwealth, but losing America probably left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the years of Alfred's revolution were probably the bleakest of my life. But what do I know, right? Arthur grew up in a time where you killed or were killed. You probably remember what it was like."

And he did.

He remembered being small and weak, and not yet a nation; merely something his 'brothers' fought over for his inheritance from Rome. He remembered talking to Romano about the Spanish Inquisition and of Francis when he tried to take his brother away from Antonio. He could even remember the feeling of Ludwig's men raping his lands after 'Italy' signed an armistice with the Allies...

They were bitter memories, all of them, and he didn't particularly enjoy reminiscing over them—not when he closed his eyes and could easily remember the good times, the days he spent painting, and cooking, and listening to Austria's music. He was never powerful in the way his friends were, but he was happy at least, and that would never change.

He wondered then, why anyone would want to go back to those days...

"Why do you ask?" Canada inquired.

"No reason. I was just curious..."

"Thank you, then," the man continued. "It's nice having a conversation with someone that isn't looking for a fight."

"Sì," he said.

Because he knew exactly how that felt.

A/N: I know this chapter was surprisingly Arthur-less, but have no fear! I just needed to give Italy a moment or two to prepare himself. After all, he is up against the British Empire...

Translations: (As I mentioned before, Red Hot Holly Berries is my wonderful Italian/French translator, but since I used one-worded phrases this chapter, I decided not to bother her. Having said that, if I managed to screw anything up, I apologize...)

"Grazie" ~ 'Thank you' (Italian)

"Mi dispiace" ~ 'I'm sorry/My apologies' (Italian)

"Per favore" ~ 'Please' (Italian)

"Estúpido" ~ should mean 'Stupid' (Spanish) in the vocative form. Feel free to correct me if it's not.

Fun Facts: (I've got quite the list today...)

1) Prussia... ~Believe or it not, I have German friends who tell me that they and their ancestors are 'Prussian'. I think, perhaps, having people that still identify so strongly with that culture is part of why he's lasted as long as he has without being a 'country'. I guess he really is just that awesome...

2) New France...~we were France's first (hence why we have Quebec), but then England, more or less, took over a handful of France's colony and told him he could only take back a few. To sum things up, France chose its sugar colonies, Martinique and Guadeloupe, over Canada...*sad face*

3) The Northwest Passage/the Bering Strait...~this is actually a hot topic for Canada right now because we really do only have a year left to claim our limit of the sea! (*cue pirate cackle*) Honestly, though, we're only a little mad at Russia, because they started dropping proverbial flags on the ocean floor before we completed all our research—this little fiasco is going to be over and done with soon, so we're not too worried about it. But as for the Northwest Passage, well...sorry, America, but this is a rather stressful situation for us. The Archipelago really is a cluster of islands that belong to Canada, and braided between these islands is the 'Northwest Passage'. And since we're the first response for anything that happens up there, we just appreciate knowing who plans on going through there and when. So, pretty please...? (But don't get me wrong—we love the Americans, really. They're like a fun-and-occasionally-annoying bigger brother. Having said that, we, as Canadians, are pretty annoying too, so it's all good...)

4) "Oh, well, that Alfred's got a good 'whipping' heading his way, and that, if I wanted, Arthur would be more than happy to troll back and forth through the Passage to hunt down any intruders, American or otherwise, so long as I promised never to become 'French' again..." ~I can totally imagine Arthur figuring out a way to withstand the cold just so he could go pirate on somebody's a** again. As for the 'French' comment, we're having our federal elections on May the 2nd, and since I know England didn't like Trudeau back when he was alive (God bless that man), I think Arthur would want us to have a Prime Minister that wasn't born in Quebec. I think Canada is aware of this, but because we have such delicate ties with the province, he wouldn't outright say that to anyone, even Feli.

5) "Arthur was an 'empire' for a while, you know, but I suppose...I suppose he was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He could be charming when he wanted to be, but he enjoyed his power, I think, and maybe..." ~honestly, the British Empire was the largest empire to date, and Arthur really did rule over about a quarter of the world's population at one point. Just look at how many countries speak English.

6) "He remembered being small and weak..." ~this is a loaded paragraph. The Spanish Inquisition was established on September 27, 1480, and was disbanded on March 9, 1820 (and South Italy would've been under his control at least for part of the long tribunal...). It was a sordid little thing, so I'm not going to go into too much detail about it. The comment about Francis fighting Antonio over Romano was already talked about in the show, but just as a recap, they really did have about four battles before France gave up. And as for Ludwig...well, the old Germany wasn't too happy when Italy bailed (which, really, I guess he didn't, because even Italy's people were confused as to what was happening). This little story really deserves its own multi-chaptered fic, so I'll just say that the Nazi's tore their way through the country on the way out. And it wasn't pretty...