ext_25754 ([identity profile] equivalent-t.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] hetalia2008-07-13 04:56 am

Ficlet ahoy

Hi~ I just came back from my vacation, and in doing so, I bring fic. Ficlet, actually, and it's a bit rambling. This is the first thing I've ever did, though, that contains even the remotest hints of slash, and I hope it can provide a modicum of enjoyment!
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Title: Reconciling Life, and Life-Not
Author/Artist: ET
Character(s) or Pairing(s): US, UK, not necessarily a pairing, not necessarily not.
Rating: G
Summary: Vignette, angst maybe? Is about the Revolutionary War, and was originally meant for Independence Day celebrations. What Alfred might've been thinking, and the pitfalls of living practically forever.
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The first time Alfred knew he existed was a long time ago, older than his best and worst memories, older than his first words, the first time he saw others like himself. Perhaps he was not even fully formed, merely the shadow of an idea living under the shapes of darkness in the forest, watching the older ones---not like the others as he knew now, and not like himself---dancing by the fire, whispering from tree to tree. Other things that happened at the time, he no longer remembered. He had neither name nor memory, nothing to mark him as different from the gods of deers and eagles, except they existed in the flow of living things and he merely sat aside in the shadows, watching, waiting. At the time he did not know for what. For a long time. Perhaps hundreds and thousands of years, until he realized he was simply waiting to be born.

He did not remember much of it, merely the principal things : the smells, the heat, the terror of something being killed. Perhaps it was a deer and a cougar. Perhaps it was one man and another. A beast and its prey. A man and his enemy. It didn't matter. What made it the first time, despite him having seen such things for hundreds of times, was how it was the first time he noticed. The smell of blood. The heat of killing. The terror of knowing that these things was not one with the world, that he was not one of the dead. Of knowing there were barriers between everything, that he, and the world, were mortal and immortal. It was something he could not remember and could not forget.

And if before then he did not live, then afterwards, he was living in stillbirth. Knowing every ragged breath was his, that he also was separated, that unlike the dead things in his bosom he was meaningless and immaterial for reasons unknown. He alternated from watching how things die and weeping, to glancing by like a ghost with no care in the affairs of those fated to be alive, and always in the shadows, crying, watching, walking, wandering every inch of the forest and trampling over every grave made by the older things. Things he did not remember and could only be reminded by digging up old bones and old stories. Prairie winds that he did not recognize, decayed coffins in trees that hosted families of crows, which stared at him like an unwelcome stranger. These things he did not know, but it must have happened because he could feel the history in his bones. He merely knew he existed, and how could such an existence be called 'alive'?

The second time was the first, all over again.

Like the first, the most visceral things about it were simple : the smells, the sounds, the horror of things dying. What was different was that he remembered this vividly, knew he would remember it to the end of his days, would grasp this moment again thousands of times over, this viscous thing, relive it and try to understand it like mud that slips through the fingers. The smell of blood turned to ruddy water with the rain, of gunpowder and greasy bodies. The sound of the rain itself drowning out everything except what mattered. The horror of realizing his own acceptance of how much he'd lost and how much he's going to lose, of reveling in the bitterness of it all. Of knowing that sadness can turn into happiness and vice versa, and that there was no way to be saved from such things.

He knew what he was, now, and who he was. Like the others, he'd had many names. Ones he was given before he could remember a thing, merely a passing rustle of the grass now, and ones given with love or greed, and ones he didn't care for. Sometimes a name could be all of these. He'd never liked the name America, since it was also the name of this land and not him, and he'd never liked the name Alfred because he hated names given in memory of anything but the object of the name itself.

And he also hated it because it was given out of love and made things so much messier.

The figure in front of him, the person who gave him his name, not his secret true name but the one that meant him as a thinking being, had stopped trying to speak. No noise escaped from his throat but strangled sobs, and he realized like he never before and would never again, how much this hurt them. The men behind him was silent and still, like a funeral, or perhaps they were speaking and gossiping like all soldiers do when they were not busy trying to kill other soldiers, but the rain all drowned them out. A funeral then for lifetimes of peace and quiet and happiness, with a dirge sung by the rain. Rain, this thing Arthur always used to talk about with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, would give them peace. Give them a moment in a world of their own, with no distractions, no strangers, no laws, for their farewell. He could live with that. He could live with anything, as long as he was living.

"You asked me why, and I'll tell you," he said quietly. He didn't know whether this man, who was the only person to mean a damn in this whole sorry business, could hear a word he was saying, but it didn't matter. They were things that needed to be said, and it didn't matter who heard it or not. That man happened to be Arthur. This fact, which he would never forget, will never mean a thing.

The second time would only come just once, and he needed to be alive.

"I need this freedom. I want it. Maybe it's your fault, but even if you were a saint I'll still say I deserve it."

Francis said, Arthur had always been an island among a crowd, no matter how much fire and brimstone they threw at him. But he'd always had a crowd, always had that from day one, knew what he was, the possibilities of his destiny. If this was why he wanted to be sad, Alfred would want to laugh. It would be hollow and bitter, but a laugh all the same. He'd had a thousand years of knowing he existed, but without meaning, without purpose, without all the struggles and pride and everything that makes a person alive. And, if one turn truly deserves another, wasn't it damned time he gets to live?

"I'm sorry, England."

And if he wanted to get down on his knees and put his arms around this miserable thing who used to love him so much, who taught him letters and how to ride horses and how to slide down haystacks and all those things that was how a person learned to really exist and really laugh like a living thing, he clamped that desire down and swallowed what remained of it whole. What really lasted about them, after all, was not what passed between them, but that Arthur had wanted this and deserved it, too. Only because he'd never been alone, he'd never known it.

"I made a choice. I want to be free."

And if, in saying this, triumph against time and fate caught in his throat and threatened to choke his words, or if the heart he swallowed tied itself into a knot in his chest and made him want to strangle the air until it gave him what he really wanted, if that thing was something else but this---this bittersweet victory of it all---he ignored it. Pretended it never meant a thing, not for a thousand years. Not until the third time, which may or may not come.

There are always prices, and this was what he paid to live.






[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 08:55 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, oh wow. This is quite a fascinating take on the nature of the personified nations, which I've always been a little confused about.

A comprehensible review is apparently beyond me, but seriously nice job
♥♥♥

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Hm, in my mind I've always considered the personifications the 'soul', I suppose, of the countries since apparently the government/politicians are a separate entity entirely?
Then again, I don't see how the government can be separated from the personification of a country in some cases, particularly in the case of America where the constitution pretty much defines the nation. Really I wonder when 'America' in Hetalia could even be considered to exist at all, since prior to the Declaration it was not a country at all but 13 loosely connected colonies?


....I just try not to think about it too hard gegegefef

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 02:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Well, in any other nation then US(in theory at least hahah) the people don't have 'natural rights' so much as rights granted by the pleasure of the government. So in a sense I suppose Germany-tan didn't really have a choice in the matter? IDK it's hard to say because the nature of the personifications are pretty(and probably intentionally) vague.

The corporeal bodies of a concept of a nation is an interesting idea, but then again I'm confused in the instances where nation-tans are depicted in their own nations or with their nations army?
I suppose alternatively you could interpret the nations as a corporeal manifestations of the nation's culture and morality?

Hmm well while physically it seems US-kun bares no resemblance to the native american tribes, I'm actually of the opinion that the indian people actually had a more influence on the forming of the constitution(and thusly, a large part of us-kun). Ever heard of The Great Law of Peace?

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 02:58 pm (UTC)(link)

Well, the 'corporeality of a concept' idea doesn't disallow the physical presence of that body in the world of their cells? Instead of walking around being part of the world, you're walking around with the world being part of you instead.


Ah I see what you're saying. Interesting!

This article (http://www.backwoodshome.com/articles2/silveira108lw.html) probably explains what I'm trying to say more clearly then I ever could hahaha. Sadly, I'd sat my understanding of the hetalia!US-kun is pretty weak atm, so I'm basing most of my speculations on actual US history.

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Haha, I'm glad you don't find it boring.
You know, and this is a little off topic, I've always wondered if it was a coincidence that US-kuns name is 'Alfred', which is also the name of the first United States navy ship(purchased from the British, humorously enough, at the onset of the revolutionary war)

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)

clearly us/uk were made for each other anyway you look at it



Oh, I suppose that would make quite a bit of sense too, if you operate under the theory that the name 'Arthur' came from King Arthur as well.

[identity profile] uber-burger.livejournal.com 2008-07-13 04:06 pm (UTC)(link)
really it's the only hetalia pairing I ship with even the slightest bit of seriousness.


W-WELL
Wales is currently a part of the UK, so I guess it wouldn't matter?
Unless Wales actually has it's character, which I didn't think it did.

Oh god my brain would just shut down if 'Arthur' was that Arthur.