Hetalia - The Cold of War

Chapter 31! I Liiivveeeee! Exams are finally over and it's time for the final chapter of Hetalia- The Cold of War! I'd just like to thank everyone who has stuck with this series and you gems that have been sending in lovely reviews that make posting worth it.

Not only have I have the next story in the series lined up, Hetalia - Turn of the Tide, but I have another short story that I will post that follows one of adventures of the Kirkland brothers when they were teenagers called Hetalia - The Kirklands and the Vorpal Blade. I won't say to much, but I will say that certain familiar angelic faces will be making an appearance. Be sure to follow me as a writer so you can be alerted when I post the new stories.

Also I light of my country's new referendum, I posted a one-shot story themed around it featuring some Fruk. It's called Hetalia - Black Sheep of Europe and if it gets attention, I may continue it.

Now without further delay, I present the last chapter of Hetalia - The Cold of War,

Enjoy!

The Capital's Red light Distinct, Madam Cat's Pleasure House, Seven years into the Past

Francis Bonnefoy was bored. Maddeningly so. They were closed, and yet Madam had still insisted that Francis work the front desk until the last of the customers had left. Francis hated it. Not only was his presence there completely unnecessary, but the desperate need for a smoke spoiled his hospitable work ethic. Francis groaned in annoyance and lifted his head up slightly from his pillow arms. The reception area wasn't much to look at, rectangular in shape with a narrow staircase on the front desk' left and a corridor on the right that led backwards into the building to the guest rooms. The gas lighting was a dim orange and the air was held a perfumed husk to it. Hammering raindrops pelted against the window stutters and mercifully drowned out the usual nightly noises that came with working in the business. They were not, however, loud enough to cover the descending clip clop of Madam's signature stilettos.

The mistress of the pleasure house came to the bottom of the stairs and leaned on her side against the stairway, a lit cigarette held between her long, slender fingers. She was a woman in her early forties with the body of a former ballerina instructor, tall and too skinny to look healthy. Her styled black bob was partly hidden by a draping silk headscarf and a beauty mark was printed beneath her left eye.

Francis had been working with her for a long time. It had all started at her private dance studio where she had hired and trained him to perform in competitions (with waltz and foxtrot being his forte), for cash prizes. They had led a quaint life, but as times became tiring, Madam had been forced to close the studio and Francis had followed her when she moved into the sex industry. The rest was history. Back in the present, Madam curled her red lips at Francis in amusement.

"How are you feeling, darling?" She purred and Francis dropped his head back down on his arms in protest.

"I need a smoke" He gruffly replied and his frown deepened when he heard her gave a disapproving tut.

"You know boy, this is going to turn into a habit if you're not careful" She scorned with a wave of her own cigarette. Francis fully lifted his head and gave her his most pissed off look, making it clear that he was not in the mood to play their usual games. She narrowed her eyes at the attitude but surrendered with a sigh. On her part, he had come to be like a son, moody and disrespectful at times sure, but she'd be secretly devastated if anything were to happen to him. She knew how things were one sided though, Francis treated her as his employer and no more.

"I hid your stash behind the first aid kit. Five minutes around the back, darling. I don't pay you to smoke" She finally relented and threw Francis her golden vintage lighter. Francis caught the lighter in a smooth movement as he rose and headed for the kitchen.

"You 'ardly pay me at all" He muttered as he retrieved a pack from his stash's hiding place and strode back out into the corridor to get to the backdoor. He threw open the door and stepped out into the dark thin alley as the humid summer rain continued to fall down. Francis bit down on a cigarette between his teeth as he struggled to ignite the expensive lighter with both hands. It took him three attempts to get a flame and once the cigarette end was lit, he took a long drag and rested his head back against the brick wall. His clothes and hair were beginning to soak but he couldn't care in that moment. He was just finally happy to taste the calming nicotine effects.

He was about to take another deep inhale when a loud noise caused Francis' head to turn sideways and see a way off dark figure that stumbled and collapsed to the ground. Francis huffed a laugh and went back to his light. Lurkers, they were always trying to get a peek at the girls. Damn perverts.

"Probably drunk off 'is ass" Francis hummed to himself with another glance over and felt a prick of worry sting him when he saw that the figure hadn't moved an inch. They didn't even seem to be breathing as they lay soaking in the mud. Francis scoffed and tried to ignore the prickling feeling that ached him. Instead the feeling only worsened and Francis was forced to throw his cigarette down in frustration.

"Zalut" He cursed at himself as he stamped out the end and trudged towards the downed figure. As Francis drew closer, he gasped when he saw that the figure was not one of the usual suspects, but instead a young boy only three years younger than he. The boy wore a deep green cloak that was caked in mud and drowned to the bone, his blonde hair plastered to his head and he was ghostly pale with no colour. A bag was clutched under one of his arms and his other fist was clenched suspiciously tight. Two comically thick eyebrows crowned the screwed shut eyes. Francis darted forward and dropped to his knees, posing his head above the boy's gaping mouth and was relieved to find that the boy still breathed; though the breaths were worryingly shallow. Francis gulped and, with great difficulty, hoisted one of the boy's arms over his shoulder and proceeded to half carry, half drag him back towards the backdoor.

They left a trail of water after them as Francis took him towards the desk. Madam cried out when she saw the two.

"Who is he?" She demanded in a shill voice and Francis could barely shrug his shoulder from under the boy's weight.

"I do not know. I found 'im collapsed in the alley" Francis explained. Madam gave him a reluctant look and motioned to the staircase with her head.

"Take him up to my quarters and run a bath while I sort things out here". Francis gave a nod of thanks and roughly dragged the boy up to the second floor. Madam's quarters and bathroom was right at the end of the hallway and it took Francis some time to reach it before he could finally kick the door open. The room was the largest of all bedrooms in the building, split into two halves with the door actually opening to the bedroom itself while an open en suite coupled on the side. As gently as he could, Francis propped the boy against the mosaic-tiled wall and jogged over to turn on the taps on full blast to fill the foot claw tub. Turning back to the limp boy, Francis realised with embarrassment, that he would have to strip the boy of his clothing.

"Sorry about this" He murmured as he began to take off the boy's wet clothing, stiffly prying the bag out of his grasp and the clenched fingers from the item that the boy stubbornly clutched. He was surprised to find that the item was some kind of large fang on a cord, too large to have could from any animal. He set it aside with the bag with care, aware that the fang must have significance to the boy for him to clutch onto it so strongly. When all that was left to do was remove the cotton underpants, Francis pointedly kept his eyes directed away from the boy's southern end. He felt it wasn't right to look when he didn't even know his name, his morales did however, allow him to appreciate the lean muscles that lined the boy's slight frame. With a faint blush, he lowered the boy's form into the steaming water.

The blonde head rolled back against the smooth edge and Francis leaned over to the brass taps to grab the sponge placed there and stop the flowing water as it's level came to chest height. After applying a generous amount of body lotion, Francis kneeled beside the tub and got to work scrubbing away the layers of mud and dirt away from the boy's skin. He started at the toes and worked his way up, finishing up by wiping away the splatters of soil across the boy's cheek; admiring the fairness of his complex as he did.

Done with the body, Francis leaned back to grab a bucket and filled it with water. He poured it over the boy's head, grabbed the Madam's favourite bottle of shampoo that smelt of roses and gleefully tipped half of it over his hands and began to work in his fingers as though he were giving a massage. There was a knock on the door and Madam strode in with the usual finesse of a peacock.

"Is he awake?" She asked as she walked over with a dart of her eyes to look at the set aside pile of clothing. Francis continued to rub in the shampoo and answered with looking away.

"Non, he 'asn't even stirred" He replied in a neutral tone and smirked when she gave a sudden cry of outrage.

"Francis, you brute! You used my imported stuff. Purposefully to I imagine, knowing you!". Francis shrugged.

"It was what was closest" He justified with his poker face, silently chuckling at her disapproval. Madam glared him before she spun on her heel.

"I'll just have to subtract the funds out of your wage to replace it then, won't I?" She huffed and strode for the door. Francis choked on nothing and craned his neck back to look at her.

"What?! Thats 'ardly fair! Oi! what am I supposed to do with 'im?" He cried as she placed a hand on the doorknob.

"Dry him off and put him to bed. I'll question him in the morning". Francis frowned at her.

"But all the beds are taken. Mine is the only one free" He complained as she walked out and down the corridor.

"Pity!" Her sarcastic answer echoed back and Francis could only accept defeat.

"Fantastic" He sighed as he refilled the bucket to rinse away the soapy lather in the boy's hair. He pulled out the tub's stopper and as the water drained, he got up to reach the Madam's white towel so that he could dry the boy off. After finishing, the boy looked in vastly better health than when he had been half an hour ago, his choppy hair a fluffy golden halo around his head. Francis stole the Madam's silk dressing gown off it's peg and robed the boy in it before he lifted him into his arms and staggeringly carried him to his broom cupboard of a room. He laid down his patient and tucked him under the patchwork cover, doubling back to bring in his stuff and dump the foiled clothes in the wash basket with the girls' things. Back in his room, Francis slumped down on the stuffy armchair that Chloé had shoved into his room and rested his head back exhausted.

"This was not 'ow I envisioned tonight ending" Francis thought as he drifted off, exhausted of an evening of taking care of a stranger.

Time passed…

Francis snapped awake the moment he heard the screaming. His startled eyes darted about the room before they focused on his bed, whose occupant thrashed about in a night terror.

"Seamus! Ah, All-istor. Dylan! Dylan no!" He screamed out in a mangled voice with his unseeing eyes wide open with terror. Francis clambered to his feet and leant down to still the boy's erratic movements. As he held down the limbs that threatened to slap him across the face, Francis felt that his skin was hot to the touch and when he tested the boy's forehead, his dreaded suspicions were confirmed. The boy had a raging fever. A knock resounded outside Francis' door and he groaned that the screams had woken up the girls.

"Are you alright, Francis?," A musical voice spoke out, "We heard screaming and were worried". The door creaked open and Francis saw that all the girls had crowded outside his door to peek in. He inwardly groaned again. Madam would have his head for causing the girls to wake early. The speaker was a young woman with pretty bluebell eyes and blue-black pigtails. Francis gave her his most reassuring smile.

"I am well, thank you Marionette. It is our guest 'ere. He 'as a fever. Would you fetch me a wetted cloth and a glass of water? Merci" Francis replied and nodded his head in thanks when Marionette agreed and went off. Another girl around the same age as Marionette, with tanned skin and sandy hair leaned in to get a better look.

"So who is he?"

"That's what I would like to know" Madam's voice rung out and caused all the girls to jump in surprise. The mistress marched into Francis' room as the girls parted like water for her. She looked the ill boy's flushed sweating face and sighed.

"Have you found out anything at all?" She quizzed and Francis shook his head.

"Only that he 'as a bad fever. Ah, thank you Marionette" He said as said girl returned and handed him his requested items. He raised the cool glass to the boy's chapped lips and slowly trickled the icy liquid in as Madam watched and pouted her lips. After a moment of consideration, she clapped her hands for attention.

"Seeing as everyone is already awake, we start business early today girls. Chloé, you will be covering for Francis while he looks after our guest," the girl moaned at the assignment and Madam clapped her hands again with greater urgency.

"Come on girls. We are running a business here. Charlotte, Nicole, you are on laundry. Marionette, you are on supply run and Lola, you are with me today" Madam dished out her orders and girls all nodded in response before they trailed off to complete them. Marionette gave Francis a sweet little wave before she headed back to her room to change. Madam turned her sights back on Francis.

"Medicine is behind the mirror in the washroom" She stated and abruptly left, leaving Francis alone with his guest. The man groaned and had the fevered boy finish the last of his water. It took awhile but he eventually did find fever relief behind the mirror and on returning to his room with the brown bottle in hand, Francis heard the waking stirs of the boy and saw the flutter of his eyelids.

When his eyes did open, Francis found himself holding his breath tensely. As dazed as they were from the fever, Francis saw how beautifully green the boy's eyes were, framed by long fair lashes. The boy's breaths hitched frantically as he weakly looked about his surroundings and didn't recognise them. He tried to raise himself up on shaking limbs but grunted when his fragile strength gave out on him. His heart hammered in his chest as he made distressed whimpers like that of a frightened animal. Francis went to him while making the same comforting shushing noises his mother used to make for him as a child, and gently applied pressure on the boy's shoulder to settle him.

"Sh, sh. Calm yourself. You are alright" He comforted and smiled when he saw the boy's panic partly come down, his eyes having trouble on focusing on his face.

"Where am I? Who are you?" He wobbly asked and Francis smiled at the charming accent he spoke with. It sounded so much more pleasant when it wasn't screamed.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. We are in Madam Cat's pleasure 'ouse in the red light district of the Capital. I found you collapsed around the back alley in the rain last night. Try to save your strength, you 'ave a nasty fever" Francis soothingly explained as he rested a hand on top of the boy's only to retract it when the boy pulled away. He scowled and looked down, his irises shrank when he realised he was wearing only a thin robe.

"Where's my stuff" He attempted to demand, only for it to come out weak and drained. Francis motioned to the bag behind him.

"There. As for your clothes, they were filthy that they 'ave to be washed. Seeing as you know my name, may I know yours?". The boy frowned suspiciously at Francis and pulled the covers up over himself higher.

"John. John Smith" 'John' answered and didn't meet Francis' eyes.

"Liar," Francis thought as he looked at the boy with intrigue. He knew all about false names, the sign in book on the desk downstairs had over hundred 'John Smith's and 'Mr. X'. But, if 'John' was going to be this way, he might as well play along. After all, it was the only name Francis had to go off.

"Well then, John. Tell me how you came to collapse in the back alley?" He asked aloud and saw something like a shadow move behind John's eyes. The same terror that had quaked him in his night terror came back to haunt him. John's eyes bulged as the blood emptied from his face. His lips shook and his tongue grew thick and useless.

"I ran…" John's quivering voice cracked and his whole face contorted with agony. Francis watched hopelessly as the youth laying in his bed cracked. He began with an empty sob, as though he didn't have enough air to complete it, and then he began to wail ribcage shaking weeps, half choked cries. Thick hot tears ran down from his screwed shut eyes and nose, and he curled in on himself as he howled like the wounded animal he was.

Francis went to the sobbing boy, and drew him into his arms, pulling the boy's blonde halo close and rested it on his collarbone. He held the embrace even as John didn't move to reciprocate it; his tears slowly soaking through Francis' shirt. The french man's heart clenched torturously for the soul he knew in his heart, but not in his mind. A connection was there that Francis did not understand. This boy's pain was his pain. His heart was his heart, and they were both broken.

Tenderly, Francis brought his hand up to cup the back of John's head, faint tears of his own in under his lids. Pity, sorrow and heartbreak whelmed up in Francis. Part him did not understand, but the other half did, the one that ruled his heart. He felt for this boy so profusely, so completely, that it would not surprise him if his existence, was to exist for him. Francis pressed John closer, their heart beats, their every souls resonating within each other. Francis knew, he understood that he was in love, and he understood that it couldn't be restricted, nor confined to simply one form. It wasn't just the romantic Eros, it was Philia, it was Ludus and it was Pragma. Francis felt every type, every intangible form of love that could be conceptualised for this boy. And he knew that it would never change.

"I am here, John. I am here" Francis softly soothed and carded his fingers through the boy's golden globe, his locks silk to the touch. The fragrance of roses from last night was light and the boy's natural scent could be detected under it.

"Arthur," John's voice quietly hiccuped, the volume muffled by Francis' shirt, "My name…is Arthur". Francis sighed at the wholly rightness of the name. It fitting, so well that the idea that he could of ever been called anything else was laughable.

"Arthur" Francis breathed and reality shifted. Francis was no longer sitting on the bed with Arthur in his arms. He was his real age, watching the memory proceed as an outsider observer. The scene continued as Francis watched his younger self hold the younger Arthur. A second joined him, a presence stepped in existence behind him.

"What happened then?" The presence's voice vibrated through the dream, causing it to ripple like a pebble thrown into a pond. Francis took in a cleansing breath and watched the scene fondly.

"It was slow but he recovered. He learnt 'ow to be himself again, stubborn and 'ot-headed. He used money he had saved in the bank to buy an apartment, and when he asked if I wanted to live with him, I said yes. We converted the first floor into a shop to make a living, and we did just that. We lived… It took him three years to tell me the truth. About his magic and his brothers"

"It took you seven"

"That was different" Francis defensively snapped, biting his lip as he thought back on the contents of the letter he sent to Arthur.

"Was it?," The presence pushed and received no reply, "You want to see him?" it continued as though reading Francis' thoughts. Francis looked over to the younger Arthur.

"I haven't 'eard anything since the day I sent that letter. I miss 'im". There was a pause.

"What would you say then, if I told you that Arthur needed your help right now?". Francis thought and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

"I would say, take me there now" He replied and heard a loud snap as the scene rippled into a different one. The younger Francis and Arthur dissolved and were replaced with a location Francis had never seen before. They were in a rounded low building of sorts, made of red clay and wood. A large section of the wall was open to the elements and had a porch that stretched out over a calm lake body. On the porch were two figures, one was lying down and the other hid them from view with their bulky frame. Francis could see in the mid-morning light that the larger of the man had a wild long mane of copper and impressive back muscles that rolled under the midnight blue tattoos that decorated them. There was a filled bowl beside them and the man ritualistically dipped a wet cloth into it, before stretching it towards the other man.

"This is where Arthur is?" Francis asked puzzled, not able to spy the indivisible smile that the presence harboured.

"Look closer. He is right in front of you" The presence revealed and Francis felt his heart skip a beat when he finally saw who the other one was. Arthur was lying on his side, naked save for his simple pants. Two huge snow-white wings lay next to him, attached to his shoulder blades. Francis took a step back and opened and closed his mouth repeatably in shock.

"C'est impossible!" He stammered and yelped when the fiery haired man snapped his head around as if he had heard him. The man had a fierce intimating face, with dominating predator eyes like that of a jaguar guarding it's young.

"Who is there?" He growled and unsheathed the knife strapped to his lower back as he rose, wielding it in the icepick grip. His hawk eyes scanned the room for the indivisible presence. Francis realised that he had been holding his breath and forcibly released it. The presence behind him laughed at Francis' needless unease.

"Easy, he cannot see nor hear us. He is merely more psychically sensitive than I anticipated"

"That is not what concerns me" Francis corrected with his eyes returned to Arthur and found that he could not look away. The presence him radiated a chill, Francis' answer had not pleased him.

"Are you afraid of him?" It asked slowly, inviting Francis to be careful with his answer.

Francis shook his head,"Not afraid. Just…confused. 'ow could he have wings?" he replied, feeling lost in it all.

"His mother is an Angel and his father stands in front of you," The presence explained, a warmth to it's voice as it wanted Francis to understand. "Arthur's mother had placed a seal on his Angel's grace which had kept the signs of his angelic nature hidden. It was only until recently that the seal broke and Arthur's grace was reawakened". Francis shivered but oddly, no great dread nor shock came over him. He felt strangely understanding. Akin to that moment where a secret was whispered to you, but you already possessed that sweet secretive feeling of already knowing it. The presence made a musing sound.

"Most would be in denial over this revelation, and yet you are are not?" It questioned aloud, aware of the answer before Francis was.

"My desire to help him, is stronger than my fear… How? What can I do, that 'is father, a powerful sorcerer, can not?" Francis pleaded with a real need, his voice shaking by the last two words. The presence chuckled lightly and closed the distance between them so that it stood only a few inches from his shoulder.

"When you wake, you will have an ability that will be essential to waking Arthur. You will have a charmed tongue, one with the power to sway other's will to your's. Your words will become silver, and those who hear them will submit to your influence" The presence spoke and Francis finally found the strength to turn around and look at the presence.

The presence. He was everyone, and no one. He was meaning and he was infinite. Beautiful and ugly, straight and twisted simultaneously. He was disease and he was the cure. Francis stood face to face with Love given form, and he had never felt so complete in himself. So wonderfully whole that tears pricked his eyes.

"You" Francis uttered.

"Me" He confirmed.

"Us" They echoed and dually smiled at each other. Francis felt a sob build in his chest and escape as Eros only smiled brighter.

"Hello again Francis," He gently spoke and Francis felt himself shiver at it's harmonising pitch, the feeling comparable to having a stung cord struck inside of him. "one born under my star, and my human self". Francis closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. There was no discord, no confusion. No lies or half truths. Something clicked inside Francis spiritually, slid into the void he wasn't aware he had. He was a god, a god in human form. He was the piece that Eros had separated from himself, the piece he had reincarnated into a human. Yes, Francis was Eros, but he was equally his own person. Separate, but not from himself…When Eros spoke again, a warning guarded his words.

"I wish that we had time to talk on lighter topics, but there is no time for that. Tonight I give you a warning. There are dark times ahead for our beloved sister's world and her men. Brother Tartus lies patiently as he has his demonic underlings do his work, with his chosen, Haldis at the helm. That fallen one… he is impatient now. His hunger has corroded to famine, and as we speak, he has learnt that his puppet has failed him.

He will not make the mistake of relying on men again. Haldis will send a demon, a wickedly bloody one, to pursue Arthur. Be wary, the demon is as relentless as it is unpredictable, using mirrors and any other reflection available to teleport from location to location. The demon is deadly, with venom will paralyse you and a knife that can cut through metal like paper…You know what you must?". Francis steeled his resolved and nodded.

"Be the sage but play the fool. I will protect Arthur, but not on the front line. I will become his support, his guide," It amazed Francis where these words were freely coming from, and yet they told from heart and they were the truth.

"The pieces are coming together," Eros stated and winked at Francis, "Never fear, petit moi. My intuition will steer you on the right path, trust it. Now, are you ready to wake? Travel to Capital and reunite with your love?". The dream rippled once again as it's light grew so that nothing else could be seen. Francis smiled as he felt himself returning to the mortal realm, and turned to look back to his other self to give his answer. But Eros was already gone.

The Astral Plane, Unknown, Unknown

Somewhere, unreachable by any human hand, two immortal gods sat opposite to one another. A vast galactic chessboard spanned between the titanic beings, and was incomplete in it's sets. Pieces from each were missing, notably the black queen next to it's lonely king. The two players however, did not seem to care for the absences. In fact, they had hardly touched any of their pieces, instead favouring to observe the board. It was a game of foresight see, each scanning into the future to read the other's move, which would then in turn be changed when the other foresaw how to counter it. This cycle went on to repeat itself, over and over again, with neither player actually lifting a finger to make a move. Truly, the most frustrating, most boring game to watch in existence. The two, as ever, sat and thought, when there was a change.

A miniature comet combusted into being, whistling as it dove. It collided with the board with a great CRACK! The exploding supernova shrank, and then crystallised to form a new white bishop. A new piece had entered the board. The figure, the white bishop, was craved from the whitest, purest concentration of stardust, with impossibly delicate features. Fashioned so lifelike, that it was though the man it was stylised after, was there in frozen form.

The two gods awoke from their trancelike stillness, their gazes blinked and pondered the new piece. It's owner reached out to pluck it up.

"Brother has been busy" The goddess mused with a soft pout of her lips, lightly amused by her new addition. She turned the white bishop over and watched how the light played off her piece's handsome face that shared it's shape with her brother's human self. Hmmm, Eros had been extremely clever to find such a loophole on their board.

A grunt echoed from against a distance and caused the goddess to look up minimally. The god, her brother, the one she hated and loved the most, grunted another laugh.

"We agreed. No interference. Throw it away" His voice reverberated through space, it's magnitude rattling the stars that winked as they watched the great game.

"There are no official rules against it," Gaia returned airily as she returned the piece to it's proper place, "and brother did work so hard to find a way to include himself. I will keep it"

Tartus huffed another mocking laugh, "It may be brother's, but it has no real power. One of my pawns could look at it and it'd crumble".

"I see that it's strength lies elsewhere," She countered and tutted at her brother "careful. You always do this. You always underestimate my men".

Tartus snickered. "Why should I fear them? Why should any god fear a being less than them? Your little mud monkeys are worse than weak. They're pathetic, because they do not understand nor accept their absolute powerlessness" Tartus growled and Gaia laughed loudly, full in his face.

"Hah! Were you asleep when mother taught us how to play the game? A wise player covers all their bases and plans several moves ahead. Knowledge is power, brother dear, that was what we were taught" She spat and felt satisfied when her brother's face screwed up in anger.

"Power is power, sister. That was what father taught"

"You are not father," Gaia hissed through her teeth, "you will never be him". The board quaked as Gaia's mood turned foul, the watching stars screamed in their silent tongue and dimmed their light fearfully. Tartus closed his eyes with a smug smile and danced his finger over the place of his missing back queen.

"So hypocritical. You accuse me of imitating father, and yet, which of the two of us is really trying to be our parents? I imagine mother is smiling down on you as we speak. Her darling dotting daughter, trying to fill her footsteps". Gaia ignored the bait and instead narrowed her eyes at Tartus' dancing finger.

"What game are you playing, brother. I took my queen a hundred years ago, I had expected you've of done the same. Why have you rejected all the queens that have come to you? There were plenty suitable for selection" She asked as she picked up her own, her favourite piece on the whole board. It was beautifully sculptured, and shone with a pearly glow that boasted it's baby new immortality. Her queen, held a special place in her heart. After all he was, by blood, her little grandson. Her white queen was sculptured with his wings raised upward for flight, blade poised raised ready for battle. Gaia wished that the piece had colour to it so that she could marvel the precious gold that was his hair and the emerald green that was his eyes. She cradled the piece before closing her fingers protectively around it. Why did Tartus not take a queen? Her brother slyly smiled that coy smile of his.

"None are worthy of the crown," Tartus answered simply, pleased to see his sister unnerved, unsure of herself. It thrilled him to know that he had shaken her, she who thought she was so above him. "I have particular taste. You will see…Shall we?". Gaia huffed and replaced her queen. The galaxies orbiting them continued to beautifully swirl, milky dust particles of violet, blue and silver. The Astral plane seemed to breathe and sigh as the two host gods settled back into their previous trance state, closing their eyes that saw the present and opened them to the future. They weren't on the same plane anymore, each had retreated inside their own mind; theorising, planning, and then replaying all the possible futures. The cyclic dance resumed.

Gaia secretly smiled as she breathed evenly and re-reviewed her last strategy. Brother was cunningly playing the long game with her. And that was fine, because she was doing exactly the same with him.

That's a wrap everyone! Again, I'd like to thank everyone who has been following this tale and your continued reviews. This story would of never have gotten this far if not for all you and your reviews. Any so from here now, I promise to answer every single review with a PM. Something I should have been doing a long time ago.

I am so excited for the next story, we're going to be introducing new characters, new locations, see the return of old faces and dive into explorations of their backgrounds. The stakes are building and I hope you are all as psyched as I am.

The short story about the Kirkland brothers, Hetalia - The Kirklands and the Vorpal Blade will be posted shortly after this chapter so be sure to follow me as a writer to be alerted when I post! I'll see you all in the next one and as always,

Until next time folks!