APH - Amor Vincit Omnia [2]

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Previous Chapter: maeneth13.deviantart.com/art/A…

Chapter: 2/?

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the banter between England and France in the previous chapter. It was my first time portraying these two characters and I hope I did well. Now we're going to meet characters that I'm more familiar with. Let's see how well countries can behave when forced to attend human events, and each other. Enjoy your read!

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Chapter 2

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They were now only a few feet away from reaching their destination. A small cluster of noblemen and -women was the only obstacle that stood between them. England inhaled deeply to try and subdue the fluttering sensation in his stomach, and walked swiftly passed his gathered nobility.

"Arthur!"

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He was greeted by a smile so radiant, England wished there would come a time where he could wake up to that smile ever day.

But that thought evaporated quickly as he saw her dainty hand resting casually atop a red-cladded elbow that was not his own. So instead of returning her smile, he lowered his eyes and bowed, greeting her with a formal and almost solemn, "Marie."

Greeting the other countries in the same fashion, England saw out of the corner of his eyes how Belgae's smile morphed into a frown at his greeting and back towards a polite, unsuspicious expression in two seconds flat.

Well, it was crystal clear she could act.

"Congratulations England," Austria's drawl snapped him back to attention. "Your new queen seems... charming."

England did not like the Austrian's patronizing tone, but decided it was better to bite his tongue instead of calling him a wanker with a stick so far up his arse— Well, that would not be a very comfortable conversation, nor would it be seen as cordial either.

"Thank you," England answered curtly. "She's her father's daughter."

Austria sniffed. "Her father? Wasn't that the one who jumped from one wife to the next? Not exactly a role-model now, is he?"

"And since when do we judge our kings' and queens' capability to lead by the vices or virtues of matrimony?" England bit back, his eyes smouldering dangerously.

If possible, Austria stuck up his nose even higher in the air.

"Ugh," came France's sigh. "What an utterly boring subject to talk about."

"Quoi?" Belgae smirked, happy to see her southern brother as he revealed himself to their gathered party, and relieved that someone was going to direct this conversation in less heated waters. "The subject of our royals?"

France shook his head, "Mais non, Marie. The subject of marriage! l'Horreur!"

Spain chuckled at his friend's involuntary shudder. "Francia could not bear promising himself to one single person, sí?"

"Of course not," France said. "Think how disappointed the rest of the world would be!"

Belgae's laughter sounded like an array of silver bells. It was so contagious that aside from France and Spain, even Austria's lips lifted towards the sky. England couldn't stop a small smile from forming himself, though it was more due to the fact that Marie's eyes sparkled like emeralds and her nose crinkled in that cute way when she laughed. He only knew he had been staring when France nudged him in the side, hard.

He groaned inwardly. He was going to kill that frog-faced excuse of a country the next time they were alone together...

The uncomfortable silence that followed these few seconds of merriment should have been broken by himself, England knew this, but he had a hard time trying to be polite towards these Habsburg threats, silently mingling with his countrymen, leaving whispers and spies everywhere. The only one he wanted to see was most likely the one person he would not be able to talk to separately.

"Now, Antonio, Roderich," France interrupted whatever weak attempt England was going to spew as a form of social interaction. "You both must be dying to know how I am fairing on the main land, non?"

The two addressed nations looked at each other curiously. They would have asked France about his intentions if said nation had not already hooked both his arms through one of their own and started to lead them towards the back of the room.

"Let me invite you to a seat and a glass of red wine and I will tell you all about my latest victories. Allons-y!"

Spain just had time to take a hold of Belgae's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Are you coming, querida?"

Marie gave him a smile. "Thank you for the offer, Antonio, but..." She looked straight at Arthur, "I won't be alone."

Spain's brow lifted at her words and he followed her gaze, looking at England with a warning behind that lazy smile of his. "Bueno," he said and he pulled Belgae close to his chest so he could kiss her full on the lips. "If you get bored, just come and find me."

"I will," Belgae smiled and held on to his hand for as long as she could, while France pulled him and Austria away.

England wanted to punch the wall. And one particular tanned nose as well.

The moment Belgae's focus was back on him, she rolled her eyes. "Why, Arthur," she cooed, "you look practically homicidal."

Not in the mood for teasing —seeing Spain kiss her like that had felt as though someone had stabbed him through the heart, repeatedly— England scowled and turned his back on her, ready to walk away.

"Oh Arthur, don't be like that." She took a hold of his hand before he had the chance to disappear into the crowd. "Don't walk away from me."

"And why shouldn't I?" he snapped, eyes not entirely meeting hers. "You seem quite at ease with your new companions. Why not join them and leave me to my countrymen?"

Her hand had loosened its grip when he had hissed out the word 'companions' and as England forced himself to look up from the floor he saw the pain in her eyes. He instantly regretted his outburst. Small though as it had been.

"Please," her voice sounded hoarse, "it's been so long since we last met and had a chance to talk."

He did not trust himself to speak yet.

"I looked for you the minute we stepped foot into this courtroom," Belgae continued, sounding somewhat afraid that England would not believe her. "I so longed to see you."

So... she had been searching for me?

England felt all his previous anger and resentment melt away in an instant. It had been too long indeed, and he would never forgive himself if he pushed her away, now that they finally had a few moments to themselves. He had never cared for the friendship of other countries. They had ignored him or even tried to hurt him when he was still young, unimportant. He did not need their outstretched hands and hypocrite smiles now that he was growing stronger, making a name for himself.

There was only one country who had never disappointed him. Who had never changed the way she acted around him for the sake of personal enrichment. Who had never commanded her guilds to stop trading with him, even though it got her into trouble more times than not. Who had never tried to trick him in signing forced alliances.

Only her.

And he would be a fool if he threw her friendship away.

Even if, deep down, the realisation began to form that he wanted more than her friendship.

He could not say so out loud though, so he just took her hand and started to lead her away from the crowd, from unwanted ears.

He let out a sigh of relief when she understood his meaning instantly. "You're right," he could hear the smile in her voice, "we should go somewhere more private for such a rare occasion as this. I'd prefer it if we weren't interrupted prematurely."

She knew him too well.

He took her to one of the more modest rooms the castle had to offer, adjacent to the courtroom but far enough so that the versatile clamour of music, talk and laughter was veiled by the heavy curtain separating the two rooms. The dull grey of the walls was broken by a variety of tapestries, candles and flowers, splashing the room with vibrant colours, and there were several comfortable, cushioned chairs to pick from if you wanted to rest your legs. There was even a storage of wine and ale caskets aligning one particular wall and when he noticed this, England awkwardly broke the silence by asking Belgae if she preferred wine or beer.

"Beer, of course," she said, "I drink enough wine as it is now. Antonio finds beer is for the people who cannot afford wine, you see."

England clenched his jaw as he handed a goblet filled to the brim with —what he thought should be its official name— liquid gold to her, "he hasn't tasted your beers then, has he?"

Belgae gratefully took the offered drink and grinned as she knew perfectly well that was probably the most polite thing her fellow country could think off to say on the subject. "No," she hummed, "he hasn't. Doesn't even want any of it brought to his house, if you can imagine."

"Well, then he's an idiot," England scowled, "he doesn't know what he's missing out on."

Belgae's grin turned almost feline. "More for us then, niet waar?"

"More for us," he agreed and they touched their goblets together before taking a big gulp each.

Looking over the brim of his cup, England took in Belgae's whole appearance for the first time that evening. She looked breathtaking in her floor-length, fitted gown with narrow sleeves lined in white and silver. The forepart of her petticoat was made of an even richer fabric then the brocade of her French gown, making it look almost like starlight as it absorbed all the flecks of light the several candles in the room emitted. Above, she wore a boned, heavy corset, compressing her torso into a small triangular shape ending in a V, held together by crossed laces at the side-back seam, and a broad, low, square neckline in front that showed just how much Marie had grown over the past few centuries. (England had to quickly avert his eyes when he realised what he had just been thinking, a redness spreading from his neck to the very tips of his ears.)
Resting atop her chest was a necklace in beaded gold with a golden-ringed ruby hanging down the centre. And just above it was another golden chain, a pure golden cross hanging heavy at the height of her collarbone.
Her hair was long, as it was custom for women in that day and age, and parted in the centre. The frontal locks of hair were pulled back so all attention was directed towards the rosiness of her cheekbones, the kohl-framed pools of green that were her eyes and her red, red lips. The remainder of her dark golden hair fell like a waterfall of tumbling curls down her back.

England felt like a peasant in his forest-green long-sleeved, stiff doublet and matching trunk hose; and his hair was an even greater mess than his appearance.

"You're staring," Marie's amused voice shook him out of his reverie.

England felt his cheeks warm up as he realised her mild accusation to be true, and he apologized in a barely audible mumble.

Marie looked herself over. "I look like a peacock don't I?" she laughed, not aware of the fact that Arthur had been admiring her appearance, instead of silently mocking it. "The fashion of this century is nothing short of ridiculous."

"It is rather extravagant," England had to agree.

Though I bet you would look beautiful even in nothing more than a felted bag.

He did not say it out loud.

Belgae smiled, turned around and made herself as comfortable as she could with a skirt that big in one of the cushioned chairs. "Before either of us start up a conversation about the weather...," she waved her hand to the chair diagonally in front of her, silently inviting Arthur to sit. (Even though courtesy would have had it the other way around.) "Francis can only give us so long..."

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Translation:

Quoi = What (Fr.)
Mais non, Marie = (But) no, Marie (Fr.)
l'Horreur = the horror (Fr.)
Francia = France (Sp.)
Sì = yes (Sp.)
Non = no (Fr.)
Allons-y = Let's go (Fr.)
Querida = (my) darling (Sp.)
Bueno = okay/good (Sp.)
Niet waar = is it not/right (Dutch)

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Historical Info:

Belgae: The name I use to represent Belgium from, approximately, the 5th century until 1830 (the year where she gained her independence and officially named herself) is Belgae. During Celtic and Roman times the inhabitants of Belgium, northwestern France, and the German Rhineland were known as the Belgae and they were considered to be the northern part of Gaul. (The Romans, according to Julius Caesar's 'De Bello Gallico', had made her land a Roman province, calling it Gallia Belgica.) Modern day Belgium was named after the Belgae, which is the main reason why I chose that name for her during those centuries. This is by no means a correct name for the several duchies, counties and bishoprics that made up Belgium at that time. I simply picked a name for her that she had already worn in her previous history, a name that she would be proud off —seeing as the great Rome had been in awe at the warlike nature and strength of her people during the Roman conquest, calling the Belgians the bravest of all the Gauls.
A name that other countries knew her by, simply because of the reputation it had given her, even though she evolved into a more peace-loving country later on and her interests turned to trade instead of war.

Languages: For those of you who are confused by Belgium speaking both French and Dutch. Those are her two official languages. They might be called differently (Walloon and Flemish) and have a different dialect than the authentic French and Dutch, but they are basically the same. (A very small part of Belgium also speaks German, so actually she has three official languages, but I found two would already be more than confusing.)

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