Welp...here goes nothing? Writing this brings out a lot of forgotten feelings. I've been walking down memory lane too much lately. Maybe it was because it's close to this time...? Please review, review, review, and review. It'll keep me writing.
Oh and warning, there's a PLACE PARADOX in this chapter. Yes, as if time paradoxes aren't annoying, I SHALL ADD A PLACE PARADOX IN! You'll be notified of it when you see the three asterisks. (***)
MULTIPLE PARADOXES IN THIS CHAPTER. DEAL WITH IT. (And the pendulum wasn't even invented until the 16th century...) :D
Sorry if it seemed like I was rushing near the end. I just wanted to finish writing this already. AND SORRY IF IT TOOK SO LONG. ORZ I hope this long chapter makes up for it.
Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me.
He scrunched his face in confusion.
There was a moment of silence between the two blondes. England used this chance to ruminate about all the possible reasons (or insidious motives) of why France gave him this...creature...A prank maybe? Or was he just being "considerate"? Pfft- France being considerate to HIM? ! Nah, couldn't be. His head must be injured during one of his brothers' assaults to cause him to think this way.
After a few more tries at guessing France's enigmatic reason/motive without any luck, England gave up and decided to ask him directly.
"...And why exactly did you bring me this...'rabbit'? I don't remember asking you to," interrogated England. It was INCOHERENT no matter how you look at it!
Hearing this, the country in question couldn't help but laugh blatantly.
"...What's so funny?" demanded the smaller country.
France spent a good bout stifling his chuckles before replying, "O-oh, i-it's nothing! Just accept this! Think of it as a gift from your big brother, okay?"
England had lost track of how many incidents had occurred where France claims to be a "big brother" to him, but whatever that number is, the gentleman opened his mouth to insult France once again.
"Like I said, I'm not your brother, you frog! How many times are you going to make me say it? !"
"What are you going to name it?" inquired France, hoping to change the subject and avoid another brawl.
"N-name it? ! Y-you mean I'm going to keep this as my pet? !" Shock was written all over England's small face. It was as if it didn't cross his mind at all!
France smirked slyly. Yes! It distracted him. "Of course! Though I would really appreciate it if you name it after me! By the way, it's a boy."
"Hmph! Who'd name it after a wanker like you? !"
How uncute, Angleterre~
"Then what do you have in mind?"
"...I don't know yet."
The rabbit that France gifted him was a typical European rabbit. Though, it was a lot smaller than most of its kind. "Bunny" would be a more decorous term to describe it. The creature seemed to be rather demure and cordial, judging by its reaction to England cautiously petting it. The ears, eyes and the area surrounding the eyes were a dark shade of chocolate brown while the rest of its fragile body is pure snowy white. Its fur was more soft and comfortable than being wrapped in velvet and rolling in feathers. Overall, it was what you'd call "cute", not like England was going to admit that anytime soon.
Presently, England sat on the rugged grass with the rabbit in his lap. He was still in the same field where the box is at and was absently stroking its fur. France had left him on his own to "get used to him" or at least that's what he said. Right now, only one thought flooded his mind: What is he going to do with THIS? ! It's not like he has any hands- on experience dealing with pets!
What was that git thinking? ! He never think things through!
The rabbit, as if sensing his discomfort, shifted a little in his lap and turned his head to stare at the boy. Then he proceeded to tilt his head to the side, enough to give him an impression of "What's on your mind, lad?"
England stared back. He didn't want to abandon him like his brothers did...Oh what to do, what to do...
Sitting in absolute silence, the two continued their "staring contest".
"...What now?" asked the country, though it was meant as a rhetorical question.
The rabbit responded by placing both of his delicate, trimmed paws on England's chest.
Taken aback by the genial gesture, England fell backwards. "W-woah!-"
Bits and pieces of stray grass flew up in the air and landed on the duo shortly afterward.
"O-ow..." England lethargically brushed away the grass on his face and on the rabbit.
"Are you alright...?" The rabbit nodded and gave a flick of his ears.
The strange pair laid on the dirt. Neither moving because the position was too cozy. The rabbit was sprawled across England's stomach. One of its hind legs dangled freely over the ground. England himself was lying on his back, gazing at the now peachy orange sky. The sun was already setting. Did the trip take that long?
England thought about it. His eyes followed the clouds' movements while he debated inside. It didn't seem like he has a choice...
"I guess...I'll have to take care of you now, huh?"
The humble kit went wherever he went; to adventuring through the wild forest in the west to the hill tops and to the sun-splotched clearing where a capacious pond teeming with life is waiting to be splashed in. He was even fine with England clutching him close while climbing up a tree.
There were mornings where the two of them would go out to the broad clearing with the pond and there they would take walks. When England was feeling a bit disobedient, he would grab a thin branch and draw caricatures of his brothers out in the grainy sand. The drawings would look like those of a two year old, but that was the whole point. On the bottom, insults and mean names were spelt out. He would snicker and motion the rabbit to take a look. It would simply give a twitch of its ears.
There were afternoons where the pair ran around in the meadow. They would play "Tag" many times. England would chase the deft rabbit and when he caught him, he would exclaim, "I've got you!" and nuzzle the smaller creature. At noon, they would return to the pond and wash up. The rabbit would hop from patches of grass to nibble bits of it greedily. England would just pick and eat the jewel-like, ripe blueberries that were bundled together on branches.
For the rest of the day, they would explore the forest, pointing out spotted mushrooms and vivid butterflies. There were occasions where England made wreaths for both of them. Twisting the vines, he would tell the rabbit to be patient. When the products were done, he gently places one on the rabbit's ears and one on his own blonde head. He would declare that they were the rulers of the forest.
Or sometimes, England would call out his friends and introduce them to the rabbit one by one. The unicorns, fairies, dwarfs, and the flying mint bunny became acquainted with the amiable rabbit. They got along pretty well. As for the magical friends, they were overjoyed that England had found another pal.
There were nights where they would cuddle together at a nearby cavern on one of the many grassy hills. Sometimes they slept outside in the wilderness, admiring the illuminated stars that seem to twinkle more and more with each passing second. England would try to count how many stars there are, pointing at each and every one of them, but he would constantly fall asleep in the middle of it. Then, the rabbit would always, always snuggle onto his chest and neck until the first rays of the sun glaze over them, signaling the day to begin.
The days repeated all over again and soon, England found himself enjoying the extra company. He wasn't lonely anymore.
Well, there's France, but according to England, he didn't count.
There were also his atrocious brothers, but who cares about them? They would throw rocks that ALWAYS precisely hit him without fail and drive him away with creepy chain letters. England was pretty sure those letters are not facetious at all.
Before he had the bunny for company, he was alone. Only one can do so much with magical friends.
He wanted this feeling to last. The feeling of not being alone anymore.
So, on a special moon- lit night, he led the rabbit to one of the many hilltops that dotted the terrain. The rabbit swiftly followed him. Together, they hiked to the top and there, England beckoned the rabbit to sit besides him. The starry sky and the full moon were the only sources of light, but it was enough for them to see each other.
England started to say what's on his mind. "So...Um, you know, I've been really enjoying your company lately...It was actually a joy to have you by my side. Are you happy to be with me, too?" He nervously glanced towards the rabbit's direction.
Though it couldn't actually reply to him, the rabbit gave his approval by twitching its ears and hopping a bit closer to England.
Instantly, his face lit up. "That's great! I-I mean, I'm glad that you feel the same way as me...I-it's just...I've been thinking about things lately."
The country took a deep breath before continuing on tentatively.
"I'm not so sure how long rabbits live for, but your lifespan is definitely shorter than mine. S-so! Because you don't want to be alone without me, I have decided to lengthen your lifespan by casting magic that I've learnt from the fairies on you!" confessed England. Then he quickly added, "B-but it's not like because I wish to be in your company forever! Okay? Y-yea, I just don't want you to be lonely..."
In response, the rabbit tilted his head to the left and made a doubtful face at him.
"W-wha...? D-don't make that face at me! And this is a secret between you and me, okay? I don't think the folks at the church is going to approve of this, so this is something only between you and me! Got it?"
The rabbit nodded.
Looking relieved, England relaxed his taut shoulders. "A-and also, since I'm no vet and I do not know much information on rabbits, I want to give you this..."
The boy rummaged through his dilapidated cloak for a few seconds before revealing the gift: a handmade white collar embedded with a fair sized jet.
England proceeded to brandish his handicraft at his pet.
"I made it myself, you know! I weaved the collar part with some of my unicorn's mane! But don't worry, she doesn't mind! Plus, I searched everywhere for the perfect jet! I managed to get it inserted into the collar. Here, let me put it on you."
England scooted closer and tied the collar around his fragile neck.
"There! This collar here will let me know if your health is good or not! Once you wear it, in this case you already had, I can sort of 'feel' your life source. You'll have to thank my other friends later; they taught me this. If your healthy, the jet," he pointed at the dark stone in the center, "will be warm. See, it's warm right now."
The rabbit craned his neck downwards, successfully tickling England's finger with his whiskers in the process.
England smirked smugly. "This is quite altruistic of me, if I do say so myself! But that's only because that depraved France didn't seem to care for your welfare unlike me."
Realizing what he had just said, England tried to cover up his statement (and now his blush ever expanding so quickly). "I-I mean...Uh...J-just forget about i-"
His hasty explanation was cut off by no one other than the rabbit.
The rabbit had climbed onto him and clamped his mouth shut with his tiny paw. He seem to say, "Don't ruin this moment!"
"Umpgh!"
The country gripped the rabbit's sides and lifted him to the ground.
"G-give me a warning before you do that!"
The kit innocently blinked twice.
The duo sat in silence. England pulled his knees up and was resting his head on them.
"...I don't know how long your life will be extended. The fairies said that it will depend on my magic power. I...I just hope it will last for...well, you know...a long, long time from now," confessed the boy.
The rabbit glanced away from England.
"...Hey, you remember how I didn't give you a name before? I was thinking about that...Would you like a name...?"
His brown ears perked up, immediately taking interest.
"Okay...but first, you have to promise something to me before I give you one and cast my magic..."
Again, the rabbit took a few steps more to the left, slightly leaning on England's arm.
"...This sounds corny like one of France's horrid romance poems, but...can you promise to stay by my side forever?"
England could feel his whole body tense up. He wouldn't admit it, but he was really anxious to hear it's answer. He shut his eyes tightly, anticipating the better or the worst.
To his surprise, he felt a warm lick on his nose. At once, he opened his eyes to see white fur.
The rabbit had gotten on top of him for the second time today and had planted his paws on his thin shoulders for leverage. His dark brown orbs were staring at England's own radiant green ones.
Soon, England found himself smiling within seconds. "...I take it as a 'yes'"?
He zealously licked him in the same spot again as a response.
"...Okay...Then it's a promise...-"
The next three decades or so, was pure joy for the two. Sure, they only had each other, but that didn't deter their fun times together. France would sometimes stop by and see how they're doing. He was awed that the rabbit had survived for so long in an impeccable condition. He had suspected that the two were up to some hex; however, even he himself won't go that far to get information (for blackmailing, of course, what else?). He would merely sneer at his frienemy in a cynical way.
"So, England~ You sure like that bunny, huh?~ To have kept it for that long," mocked France, "I was quite sure that you would release it into the wild, leaving the poor bunny to defend for himself! I didn't know you had a soft side like that!"
"S-shut it! I was just feeling sorry that it was left behind by you," England spatted that last word for emphasis, "and I'm not that pessimistic!"
"Oh~ sure you did~" France winked knowingly at the end, adding more fuel to the fire.
"GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF HERE!"
The rest of the afternoon went as followed: England chasing France around the terrain, all the while continuing his tirade as he ran. The rabbit just observed afar, occasionally munching on grass.
Those were happy, peaceful days.
So why did they have to end?
A couple more years later, it begun.
The Hundred Years' War.
The war gave rise to the curtain that revealed the disclosed fate of the two countries for over a hundred years.
It started as a small bicker and soon, it escalated into a full- blown war.
Battles after battles, there were bodies; bodies of soldiers clad in stalwart armor or sometimes unfortunate peasants caught up in the war. All of them were thrown aside. But whose body it may be, there was always one detail similar between them: their faces were the very definition of 'macabre'. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that they're already dead...That or maybe their expressions forever etched with woe might tell a few stories...
Armies were clashing each other amidst the turmoil in Europe; each fighting for their own reasons, be it to reclaim their country's glory or to protect a special somebody. With their resolves in mind and weapon in hand, they deliberately march towards their imminent doom, entwined by invisible threads of inevitable fate.
It was like they were walking through a long tunnel. At the end was light. At the beginning was darkness. Those walking only hope for the worst or the better. They never dare to look back, for fear of losing themselves, for fear of being alone. The lost ones become stuck in time. They won't respond, so the bandwagon just moves on without sparing a last glance over their shoulders. Since what's the point of it? If they try to carry them along, they'll be the lost ones...the ones wondering blindly around in the tunnel... No point, no use after all. So why try?
This was war.
The Hundred Years' War.
***The wild forest where England and his pet used to explore in was now a suitable place to ambush. Blood stains most of the ground and the plants. There were no more butterflies.
The clearing where they played in was also discolored, if the red pond wasn't enough of a hint. There were no more branches to draw pictures on the sand.
The fields and the hills where they spent the day and night was dirtied, littered of lifeless bodies and the sorrow of war. There were no more happy times.
This was war.
The Hundred Years' War.
...After all.
Even though they were young, England and France had to wage war.
For their pride, for their people, for their land.
For their countries.
...Yes, they were busy fighting...for their countries...No, because they're countries.
...So what about the animals living there?
They fight.
They had to fight.
The war was too much for them. Their whole ecosystem changed.
Some fled to elsewhere.
Some hid.
Some were chased.
Some were hunted.
Some fought.
Some defended.
Others were lost...like England's pet.
England stepped into the battlefield. He walked some steps, proceeding prudently. His emerald eyes glanced left and right, half- anticipating a surprise brusque assault. He headed towards a nearby rock sticking out of the ground anomalously.
Lifting himself up onto the rock, he surveyed the area; stained red grass, arrows jutting out of the earth, dead bodies here and there, and shadows of clouds passing by nonchalantly, as if it didn't have a single care in the world.
England closed his eyes. He didn't particularly favor to see the scene days after a battle. So he closed them firmly, hoping to assuage the pain of seeing his people die. He was different, but life flashes by for humans. And for animals...
Speaking of animals, England wondered what happened to his pet. After searching for him for days after battles without any lick of luck, he'd wanted to give up. Every time he returned to the field where they'd last spent their time together, he would only find this sort scene- bloodied, inauspicious, and ghastly. He'd wanted to drop on his knees and just accept the truth- the rabbit is gone.
He could only hope- no wait, he could only wish that his pet is alive. Yes, alive...and preferably healthy.
So he left.
The sun had already set.
Meanwhile, a small rabbit with dark brown ears was running.
Running away.
He doesn't know how long it has been.
He only cares about getting away.
His deft hind legs pumped faster than when he played "Tag" with his owner. His round eyes were narrowed in front of him; he dared not to look back. Not when three wolves are chasing him.
The rabbit jumped over an old tree root deterring his escape route. The wolves followed suit.
His confidence about being able to outrun them dwindled as they attempt to surround him within a twenty feet radius. They were getting closer...closer to him and his imminent doom.
They couldn't help it; small prey like rabbits and hares are nothing to wolves. They're too bothersome to catch and provide too little meat. However, they were desperate. Very desperate.
By now, the tiny kit had doubts about his owner rescuing him. Questions like "Where is he?" and "Why isn't he here?" flooded his thoughts, but he doesn't have the luxury to deal with them. He just has to get away.
So he traveled another route. This time, he bolted through the dense foliage, hoping to throw the wolves off, hoping to finally be able to look for his owner as soon as possible. He lowered his body closer to the land and continued on. It was too late to hide now. He was targeted.
The furry creature turned sharply to the left, successfully hiding himself under a spacious leaf. He certainly anticipated the wolves to lose sight of him at this point. The thick, choking odor of blood should still be in the air; the pack won't be able to sniff him out. Not for a while, anyway.
England's vigilant pet glanced around, spending some moments spotting for enemies; they couldn't be found anywhere in sight. Good. This was very good for him.
This rabbit was no idiot. He had already saw the dangers of the wilderness some time ago.
He remembered a time where it was night and the two somehow can't start a fire properly. England was tired and his hands was blistered red, incapacitating him for the evening. His pet had eyed him worriedly, obviously concerned about his owner's well-being. The duo then decided to make do with the light the moon and the countless stars emitted.
The pair settled themselves on top of a hill and star-gazed. That was when they heard a strange rustle behind them. Not wanting to spoil the mood, they dismissed it. But it happened again, louder this time. Unable to ignore their feelings of anxiety anymore, they scouted the source of the noises. The rabbit, having the ability to hear better than his owner, heard a very distinctive growl, ensued by the sound of something being torn apart. Following his instinct, he pulled away England, knowing that predators were shredding away the remains of an unfortunate prey.
England of course, trusted his pet's judgment and the two picked another place to get through the nighttime.
That memory wasn't too far away; he recalls every little detail of it. That's because it was the first time he got terrified. Slowly, the memory ebbed to the back of his mind.
His eyelids closed and he stopped fidgeting to catch his breath. There was only one way to get of this situation: hiding. As soon as he calmed down, the kit's breathing slowed down. His memories of England flashed by; some of them good, others bad. It didn't matter though. He missed him.
Dearly.
Where had he gone?
…
The rabbit lifted his small paw to gingerly touch his collar. It was the one thing that still connected them. He felt the black stone.
It was hard to tell, although it was still warm.
He was fine.
At least for now.
Perhaps several feet to his right, he heard something. Whatever it was, it's closing the distance between with each hasty step.
He heard the same thing to his left.
And again in front of him.
He was cornered.
...Since he's a "prey" after all...
England snapped out of his mesmeric trance; blinking his eyes briskly, he found himself in a dim room. Glancing all over the room, he realized that he was not alone.
There were two other figures in the room; one of them was his king, Edward III, however, he didn't recognize the second body.
He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the unfamiliar man. The lack of proper lighting in the room did not help, either.
"...I see that your attention is focused again, Arthur..." started King Edward III. He nodded towards the said country.
England felt dumbfounded. What was he doing again? He can't recall at all...
"O-oh...I am truly sorry, my king..." England proceeded to bend one knee and bowed down to the respectful king.
"You seem a bit out of it...Is there something specific on your mind?" questioned the monarch. He studied England's face.
"E-err, no, my king, I do not have anything on my mind..."
"Good. Now then, I would like to introduce someone to you, Arthur. Stand up first."
England did as he was told and quietly observed the man clad in armor across the room.
Before he could say anything, the king advanced on, "This is Henry of Grosmont, otherwise known as the Earl of Derby," he then gestured towards the man, "he'll be helping us out in the war."
"Pleased to meet you."
King Edward coughed, signaling that he has something else to say.
"With him on our side, I am quite certain that the war is ours...with Henry commanding our troops...Isn't that right, Arthur?"
"..."
"...Arthur...?"
England was facing King Edward, but his emerald eyes gave away the fact that he was far from focusing on the current topic.
"...Please excuse me, my benevolent king."
And with that, he promptly left the two men alone and closed the mahogany double doors behind him with a thud.
He was cornered.
Or more accurately, he was trapped.
The pack approached him without hesitation. Their sharp eyes were fixated on their target.
The sound of leaves crumpling with each step seemed like a pendulum of death; never ending and fearfully progressing upon the inevitable fate for all life: death.
He had to think fast. Or else.
The one way to escape happens to be making a mad dash towards his back south.
He doubt it though.
Having three against one greatly reduces his chances already.
And add hungry wolves to the mix?
He was doomed.
He can't escape anymore.
But he tried.
He tried for England.
Whipping around with his resilient new found determination, the rabbit raced off.
Sensing that their prey had ran away, the wolves chased him almost instantly.
The little guy gave it his all.
His heart was pounding and his legs were tired but he didn't risk stopping for a millisecond. In fact, he was so determined that he did not notice his collar getting snagged by a thorny branch off to the side. The article hung onto the branch and remained there...
Forgotten...
It was early evening when the two fairies found the slightly torn collar, with the impeccable jet intact. They had decided not to bother England and went out for a flight in the woods. They had not expected to find this here...
The fairies immediately knew that it belonged to England's pet. After glancing to each other and nodding, the two then wasted no time in alerting England. Together, they flew back to the building, clutching the collar firmly.
"Hm? What did you say!"
England's eyes widened incredulously as he heard about the fairies' tale. Panic was evident on his handsome young face.
The supernatural beings handed him the collar to see for himself.
He accepted it and placed his thumb on the stone, gently stroking over it.
It was dead cold.
He was already too tired.
He was too hungry.
He was too cold.
He was too helpless.
He had reached his limit.
He felt as if he had hung onto a bleak dream.
What was the use of hoping that somehow, England will come to rescue him...?
He knew it.
He knew that he would not come as the first painful pricks of being stabbed in the neck throbbed his entire body.
He was caught.
It hurt.
Not just the pain that hurts...
His feelings.
They were the real source of the pain.
Why?
Why wasn't England coming to save his very own pet?...
He knew why.
Yet, as his last breaths were exhaled, he still hung on.
He hoped.
He hoped that England knew just how much he loved him.
He wished.
Oh, how desperately he wished England knew.
But he did.
He knew.
And he loves him just as much, if not, even more.
It was a fact he acknowledges in his heart.
But...
Even feelings won't be enough to revive the dead.
It only took minutes for England to make his decisive choice.
Clasping the collar, he sped off through the doors and off into the woods.
For some reason, he knew exactly where his rabbit is.
It was like the collar is a piece of his soul and now it's telling him where he is.
He was led to a hilltop. He recognized it as the place where the night of the promise had taken place.
It was also where he had named him.
Where they became destined to be together.
Forever.
Forever...
...So why?
Why was the promise broken?
Why was he dead...?
Wasn't he supposed to be by his side no matter what?
Weren't they supposed to laugh, cry, and smile together?
...Why?
-WHY?
…
Why did it have to be like this...?
He was led to a hilltop. He recognized it as the place where the night of the promise had taken place.
There he was.
He lay bloodied. Red had taken over his white and brown coat.
The wolves were satisfied. They approached the corpse eagerly, hoping to fight off the nagging hunger.
But England wouldn't let them.
No, he wouldn't...No matter what.
"STOP!"
The wolves were taken aback and stopped in their tracks. They hadn't expected someone to interrupt their hunt. The leader of the pack growled as both a form of protest and recognition.
Even England himself was surprised; he was surprised that a single word could hold that much emotion.
"S-stay back!" He moved in front of the rabbit, spreading his arms protectively. "Go away!"
The wolves in turn, attempted to scare him off by growling, but England refused to flinch.
The leader settled for a heated glaring contest with England. His fierce eyes clearly shows that he was not happy.
England glowered back with thrice as much anger. No one could have comprehended just how much wrath he felt at that moment.
The wolves winced and retreated slowly, then faster as they ran in the forest.
At first he didn't move, just stared back at his beloved rabbit. He was laid on his side.
Then it hit him; his feelings.
England dropped to his knees, facing the rabbit.
He let his emotions overwhelm him. Tears filled his eyes in a matter of seconds and dropped to the grass one after another. The tears just slid down the blades.
With one shaky hand, he cupped the right side of his face. The crying did not stop.
The sobs wracked his body, rendering him into a mess. He tried to take a deep breath to calm him down, but it wasn't possible.
He'd lost his best friend.
That conclusion made him sob more.
If only he got there earlier...
If only he searched for him harder...
If only...
He couldn't bear to continue the list.
He lifted his hand off his face and onto his pet, stroking his red fur. Using both his hands this time, he pulled the rabbit in for a tight embrace. The red ears made marks on his tear- stricken face as it brushed past, but that hardly meant anything to him now.
For a long time, the two stayed like that.
He hated himself for letting this happen.
"...I'm sorry" choked out England, now petting the rabbit's head softly.
"...I'm so, so...sorry..."
"..."
England looked up to the night sky brimming with stars. He tilted the rabbit's head up to gaze at it too.
"Hey, do you remember the promise that we made...?"
England paused to glance at him. A new wave of tears were forming in his eyes.
"I remembered it like it was just yesterday...Just yesterday that we became best friends...Just yesterday, before this whole war started."
By now, the tears rolled freely off his face and onto the rabbit's fur. Some of the red color was washed away by the drops.
"...Do you remember it too?..."
He didn't reply.
"...You liar."
Again, the rabbit remained silent.
"...I'm alone now..."
"Hey, why don't you wake up? Then we can be together once more...Hey, wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!"
England sobbed even harder.
"...Why won't you wake up already?..."
For the rest of the night, England poured out his anguish into the still dark sky.
"...I love you..."
"...I love you..."
That fact did not change even after a hundred years passed by. Currently, England was kneeling over a small gray tombstone on top of a grassy hilltop. The stone was worn out from the weather of a hundred years.
"...You know, even after the war ended, I...I'm always thinking of you..." started England. "You...were on my mind most of the time..."
England scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
"Oh, and if you want to know who won that war...France did." England spatted his name, regarding it with disgust. "I can't believe he pushed my troops so far back...I'll get him next time. I've grown, too..."
"...Do...you still remember that night? The night that we made the promise?"
England leaned against his forearm for support as he closed his eyes in reminiscence.
"I do...And I'll remember it forever..." England smiled at this statement.
"And once again...I'm sorry...I'm sorry that it took this long to give my proper respects to you...I was quite busy..."
The country stood up and walked closer to the tombstone; he placed one of his hands lovingly on the top. He then stared at the sky; it was blue, like on the many days where the two used to play in the fields.
"...Well, I suppose it's time for me to go...I'll visit you later, okay?"
England proceeded to reach in his pocket to take out the collar and rubbed the stone before laying it thoughtfully out right below the tombstone.
He straightened his back once he got up and looked at the collar longingly. England tug on the corners of his lips to form a smile then he turned around to leave.
As he walked off in the distance, the sun shone over the black stone in the collar, making it beam against the tombstone which read:
Here lies a loyal pet, even through his last moments...
He kept his best friend company for many years...
But he left for the sky, leaving his friend alone once again...
He's gone, but not forgotten.
Here lies-
Soon, England found himself smiling within seconds. "...I take it as a 'yes'"?
He zealously licked him in the same spot again as a response.
"...Okay...Then it's a promise...-
-Treasure..."
FIN.