blood_winged (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blood_winged) wrote2010-02-16 09:02 pm
blood_winged) wrote2010-02-16 09:02 pm
Entry tags:
[Fanfic] Black Magic: Pt. 2/2 [Fanfic]
Title: Black Magic.
Genre: General.
Characters: England, Little!America, 'Gaho', 'Nidawi'.
Rating: U
Warnings: None
Summary: Alfred has always been told not to go into the basement, but when a thunderstorm drives him to seek Arthur out, he sees something which will change his life forever.
He set out the following morning, relying on a small fae he had befriended to guide him. Arthur knew better than anyone that fae were not to be trusted, but he was usually wise to their ways and they could rarely fool him anymore.
Three days later, he was beginning to become irritated, though the fae continued to protest that they were heading in the right direction.
“He could not have come this far unaided, Nidawi,” he murmured, watching the tiny dark-skinned girl give a shrug and swoop down to sit on his shoulder. He sighed. “If anything has happened to him...”
Arthur was exhausted. He had not slept since leaving the house and his water was running low. The man was barely able to disguise his relief when he came upon a small stream, dropping to his knees beside it and filling his canteen, scooping some of the cold liquid into his hand and drinking, before running his hand through his hair. On his shoulder, Nidawi whispered in his ear, and he froze, slowly turning and finding a woman standing behind him. Starting to his feet, he looked her up and down. She seemed to be one of the natives, but-
“Hail, Britannia,” she said. Arthur’s lips parted in shock, a quiet clunk-splash as his canteen slipped from his fingers and fell into the stream.
“H-how do you know that name?” he demanded.
“I know many things,” the woman replied cryptically. “You are weary. Come with me.”
“I…” Arthur watched helplessly as the woman turned away, noting how easily she moved despite her apparent age, following her with a bewildered expression on his face. It wasn’t long before they came upon a small camp, and she offered him a place by the fire, sitting across from him. He was struck with the uncomfortable feeling that she was appraising him, examining him, and he suddenly felt very much as if he would like the ground to swallow him up.
“Who are you?” he asked eventually, and she smiled.
“My name is Gaho.”
“I am Arthur… Arthur Kirkland.”
“I know who you are. You have come here searching.”
“I… Yes. How did you know that..?”
She simply smiled again, and there was something peaceful about that smile, that despite Arthur’s concerns put him entirely at ease.
“Kwahu,” she called, turning to the small hut a short distance away. “Come out and greet our guest.”
For a moment, nothing happened, and then a head popped out of the doorway, feathers braided into the blonde hair and skin marked with red, white and blue paints. Wide blue eyes found Arthur, then Alfred squeaked, and disappeared back inside the hut. Arthur almost got to his feet, stopped by a small gesture from the woman, which seemed to compel him to sit down. She watched him until he began to shift uncomfortably, and then finally she spoke.
“Kwahu has told me what he saw. I will not return him to a place where such evil is committed.”
“No!” Arthur stood, and she stood with him, her chin tilting determinedly. He faltered, glancing to the hut, then he sighed and his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I… I never meant for him to see that. I never wanted him to… That does not make it right, I know. I… What would you have me do?”
“Nothing,” she said simply, continuing while Arthur looked at her in disbelief. “I will not return him to you. A place where such things are allowed is no place for one such as him.”
Arthur stood for a moment, hearing his heartbeat thundering in his ears, then he looked at her, and dropped to his knees, taking one of her hands in both of his.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, I will do anything you ask. He means everything to me. I beg of you…”
“I would have an oath from you, Britannia,” Gaho murmured.
“Name it.”
“Never perform that ritual again, or any other like it.”
“I swear. In the name of God and my nation, I swear. Never again.”
“Very well.” Gaho placed her hand gently atop Arthur’s head for a moment, then drew away from him, leaving him gazing blankly at the ground. He listened to her speaking in a native dialect to the little boy in the tent, and then a pair of small feet appeared in front of him, and he looked up. Alfred was looking at him, and Arthur said nothing, the two of them like statues for what felt like hours before the child stepped forwards and put his arms around Arthur’s neck, and Arthur held him tightly, biting his lip hard to hold back the tears.
“Can we go home now, Arfur..?” Alfred said in a small voice. Arthur let out a breathless laugh, picking the little nation up.
“Yes, we can go home now.”
***
That was why it was his fault.
“Arthur.”
That was why Alfred hated thunderstorms, why he was afraid of the dark, and why his storage room was on the first floor, not in the basement.
“Arthur?”
That was why Alfred couldn’t watch horror movies, and why ghosts terrified him, and why every time a storm passed over the house, Alfred would press as close as he could to Arthur and whimper in his sleep.
“Oi, Arthur!”
Arthur looked up, and found Alfred grinning at him. He blinked, and then took the American’s offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. As they walked, he glanced at his left hand, closing his fingers over the faint scar that still marked his palm.
“Alfred?”
“Huh?”
“What does ‘kwahu’ mean?”
Alfred blinked at him, tilted his head to one side and used his free hand to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
“Kwahu? Eagle, I think.”
“What about ‘gaho’?”
“Uh… Mother. Why are you asking?”
“Oh, no reason.”
“You’re weird, Artie.”
That was why, and Arthur knew that he could never tell him. Alfred had forgotten about it. He’d buried the memories deep inside himself because it was something that he didn’t want to remember. Alfred didn’t mock Arthur’s beliefs because he was ignorant, or out of spite. Alfred didn’t believe in magic because of Arthur.
Genre: General.
Characters: England, Little!America, 'Gaho', 'Nidawi'.
Rating: U
Warnings: None
Summary: Alfred has always been told not to go into the basement, but when a thunderstorm drives him to seek Arthur out, he sees something which will change his life forever.
***
He set out the following morning, relying on a small fae he had befriended to guide him. Arthur knew better than anyone that fae were not to be trusted, but he was usually wise to their ways and they could rarely fool him anymore.
Three days later, he was beginning to become irritated, though the fae continued to protest that they were heading in the right direction.
“He could not have come this far unaided, Nidawi,” he murmured, watching the tiny dark-skinned girl give a shrug and swoop down to sit on his shoulder. He sighed. “If anything has happened to him...”
Arthur was exhausted. He had not slept since leaving the house and his water was running low. The man was barely able to disguise his relief when he came upon a small stream, dropping to his knees beside it and filling his canteen, scooping some of the cold liquid into his hand and drinking, before running his hand through his hair. On his shoulder, Nidawi whispered in his ear, and he froze, slowly turning and finding a woman standing behind him. Starting to his feet, he looked her up and down. She seemed to be one of the natives, but-
“Hail, Britannia,” she said. Arthur’s lips parted in shock, a quiet clunk-splash as his canteen slipped from his fingers and fell into the stream.
“H-how do you know that name?” he demanded.
“I know many things,” the woman replied cryptically. “You are weary. Come with me.”
“I…” Arthur watched helplessly as the woman turned away, noting how easily she moved despite her apparent age, following her with a bewildered expression on his face. It wasn’t long before they came upon a small camp, and she offered him a place by the fire, sitting across from him. He was struck with the uncomfortable feeling that she was appraising him, examining him, and he suddenly felt very much as if he would like the ground to swallow him up.
“Who are you?” he asked eventually, and she smiled.
“My name is Gaho.”
“I am Arthur… Arthur Kirkland.”
“I know who you are. You have come here searching.”
“I… Yes. How did you know that..?”
She simply smiled again, and there was something peaceful about that smile, that despite Arthur’s concerns put him entirely at ease.
“Kwahu,” she called, turning to the small hut a short distance away. “Come out and greet our guest.”
For a moment, nothing happened, and then a head popped out of the doorway, feathers braided into the blonde hair and skin marked with red, white and blue paints. Wide blue eyes found Arthur, then Alfred squeaked, and disappeared back inside the hut. Arthur almost got to his feet, stopped by a small gesture from the woman, which seemed to compel him to sit down. She watched him until he began to shift uncomfortably, and then finally she spoke.
“Kwahu has told me what he saw. I will not return him to a place where such evil is committed.”
“No!” Arthur stood, and she stood with him, her chin tilting determinedly. He faltered, glancing to the hut, then he sighed and his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I… I never meant for him to see that. I never wanted him to… That does not make it right, I know. I… What would you have me do?”
“Nothing,” she said simply, continuing while Arthur looked at her in disbelief. “I will not return him to you. A place where such things are allowed is no place for one such as him.”
Arthur stood for a moment, hearing his heartbeat thundering in his ears, then he looked at her, and dropped to his knees, taking one of her hands in both of his.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, I will do anything you ask. He means everything to me. I beg of you…”
“I would have an oath from you, Britannia,” Gaho murmured.
“Name it.”
“Never perform that ritual again, or any other like it.”
“I swear. In the name of God and my nation, I swear. Never again.”
“Very well.” Gaho placed her hand gently atop Arthur’s head for a moment, then drew away from him, leaving him gazing blankly at the ground. He listened to her speaking in a native dialect to the little boy in the tent, and then a pair of small feet appeared in front of him, and he looked up. Alfred was looking at him, and Arthur said nothing, the two of them like statues for what felt like hours before the child stepped forwards and put his arms around Arthur’s neck, and Arthur held him tightly, biting his lip hard to hold back the tears.
“Can we go home now, Arfur..?” Alfred said in a small voice. Arthur let out a breathless laugh, picking the little nation up.
“Yes, we can go home now.”
***
That was why it was his fault.
“Arthur.”
That was why Alfred hated thunderstorms, why he was afraid of the dark, and why his storage room was on the first floor, not in the basement.
“Arthur?”
That was why Alfred couldn’t watch horror movies, and why ghosts terrified him, and why every time a storm passed over the house, Alfred would press as close as he could to Arthur and whimper in his sleep.
“Oi, Arthur!”
Arthur looked up, and found Alfred grinning at him. He blinked, and then took the American’s offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. As they walked, he glanced at his left hand, closing his fingers over the faint scar that still marked his palm.
“Alfred?”
“Huh?”
“What does ‘kwahu’ mean?”
Alfred blinked at him, tilted his head to one side and used his free hand to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
“Kwahu? Eagle, I think.”
“What about ‘gaho’?”
“Uh… Mother. Why are you asking?”
“Oh, no reason.”
“You’re weird, Artie.”
That was why, and Arthur knew that he could never tell him. Alfred had forgotten about it. He’d buried the memories deep inside himself because it was something that he didn’t want to remember. Alfred didn’t mock Arthur’s beliefs because he was ignorant, or out of spite. Alfred didn’t believe in magic because of Arthur.