hetalia_kink

original prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33253445#t33253445

An AU where Nation-tans are even more bound to their countries. That is, they can't physically leave their homelands. They are alone, isolated, but still drawn to each other even though Nation can only meet Nation at the very edges of their borders. Nations exist that they know about, but have never met because they don't share borders. They pass word around the world by mouth-to-mouth, trying to have some form of connection, some bond with others like themselves. This isolation is also the cause of wars and imperialism. The Nation-tans are so desperate for contact with each other, to be able to talk to someone who understands, that they're constantly trying to invade each other. After all, 'No Man's Land' on a battlefield technically doesn't belong to either warring country...

Semi-researched; apologies for any historical errors. By necessity to meet the prompt, this fic reinterprets a lot of historical events and depicts the personfications' opinions being wildly, wildly diffferent from the way their people felt. This is AU even for Hetalia, and is not meant offensively. Hope you enjoy it.

Captcha says, 'state various' - which reminds me, that's a problem here, state vs. nation. For the record, I interpret France at the opening as a Carolingan Empire, and generally claim all the nations in an empire can move about the whole empire.

---

The borders were a little fuzzy. Always had been. There ere always uninhabited areas. Woods where people could say this villiage belonged to this country, this villiage on the other side belonged to this other country, but ownership of the woods themelves is hard to pinpoint. Mountains, too jagged and rough for humans to bother drawing lines on. And lakes, and the sea. Who can draw a border on water? This land is Francia, this land is England, but the Channel belongs too both of them.

That fact is what keeps them sane.

---

Francia loves England. He takes a boat out as far as he can sometimes, just a little rowboat, because they have not been able to spend all the time they want together since the Roman Empire fell. Sometimes England comes to meet him. He's a pale and serious child, and he always touches Francia's face, as if to make sure that he's still there. England complains about his kings, and his bad weather, and his brothers. Francia complains about his kings, and sings little lullabies. They kiss sometimes, and they always end up wrapped in each other's arms, and let the waves rock them to sleep. Nothing more - England is still a child - but that closeness is something they cannot feel with any human.

It's almost enough to make him jealous, when Danemark invades. Francia has something like an empire of his own, but he does not have England. England is happy to meet Danemark, but Francia thinks he must be a bad influence.

He's walked on England's green hills, back when they were Roman provinces, back when the Roman Empire seemed like it covered the whole world. He wants to go back. He wants to have more than a few stolen nights on a boat with his dear, sweet England.

Eventually, he does.

England's people fight bitterly. That is inevitable. At Hastings he breaks England's ribs and tears open the muscles of his arm, and afterwards he wraps him up in bandages and blankets and whipsers apologies, but England only clings to him, half-sobbing, and whispers thank you, thank you, please, just stay.

--

This looks promising so far, anon. It's really too short to say anything much about how the story is going to shape up, but you have a good grasp of the prose, and the way you paint the characters is intriguing. I look forward to seeing more ♥

*interested* What about disputed land like Machias Seal Island (between Maine and New Brunswick) and such? Land (not water) that even today is argued over/belongs to both?

*griiiin* I love it when my readers anticipate me. Keep reading.

YES FRUK ♥

This look super interesting so far, am looking forward to moar!

asipheinbgsui I'm so excited I almost forgot to anon this comment! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I really had high hopes for this prompt when I posted it, I'm so excited to see it being filled, and so beautifully at that!

The tone so far, the bittersweet angst, is exactly what I wanted! ♥ I literally cannot give you enough love, and I eagerly await more. Keep it up!

Seriously though, do you read minds? FrUK is my OTP. ♥

Oh, god, that broke my heart ;_;
That was lovely and gorgeous and guh, I have no words. FrUK is my favourite...pairing, I guess, but interaction works as well, and so I enjoyed this immensely. I like the emotions they feel, how they naturally fight the stranger but the nation is grateful afterwards...oh, god, they are so lovely ♥

That mention of the Roman Empire...I hadn't even thought about that! Supranational states. Yes, they keep invading and conquering for centuries and centuries, till they finally learn that giving up willingly some control can achieve the same end. Really, the EU? ^^ I still feel bad for America and Canada, though, so incredibly isolated, except from Mexico and each other...kinda gives another perspective on America's reasons to buy Alaska, mmm? *yeah, shameless AmeRu shipper is shamlessXD*

This anon is wondering about the EU too...

But, but, that means that jealous!/lonely!America purchasing Alaska denies Canada any contact with other nations but himself = Canada is "invisible"!!!

Oh damn, this looks like such an interesting concept, and that last paragraph was just perfect. Looking forward to more of this. <3

I find this interesting so far. Looking forward to reading more.

Omg. O__O This idea is just so interesting I can't even begin to tell you...

kjghlkdjfghfjh I love the contrast in the end. >__< They fight and hurt each other just to be able to be together.

Vladimir-Suzdal is scared. He's scared when he thinks how Rus' was wheezing, the last time they spoke, because what happens to a principality without a soveirgn state? He's scared when he no longer knows where his sisters and brother are. He's scared when his city burns, and runs east, until the Golden Horde leans down from her saddle and picks him up, laughing. "What have we here, hmm?" she says, and grabs his wrists, grinding the bones together. They are both grimy and flecked with ash and worse. He isn't scared then, because he isn't alone anymore.

She closes an iron collar around his neck, and carries him further east than he has ever been or could have gone, all the way to Karakorum. Her family laugh at him and take turns hitting him over the head. Then they let him loose and, more or less, leave him alone. He does not know what to think of the Golden Horde. Her people are horribly cruel to his, sometimes - but if nations thought of each other as their people do, they should go mad with hatred. But he loves Karakorum, and he loves the steppes; they are windswept and bright and Vladimir-Suzdal can walk all day and never find their borders.

She must care for him, or she wouldn't have brought him home. The Golden Horde lets him follow her around like a favorite dog. His collar chafes and burns when her people go raiding; he grows thinner and wounds appear without reason. He bears it uncomplaining. Better this than to live alone.

It feels like the next day when the Golden Horde shakes him out of a sound sleep at the foot of her bedroll, and throws a coat at his head. "Come on," she hisses, while he struggles free of its folds - it's hers, a little too big for him, but she's already wearing one that looks like the Mongol Empire's - a little too big for her. "Come on, let's go, it's almost moonset."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm sick of my family," she says, which isn't an answer and doesn't make sense, anyway. Who could ever be sick of their family? "The Mongol Empire is a jerk. Let's not waste any time, hmm?"

They ride west, as fast as an örtege message, considerably outpacing the wind.

Vladimir-Suzdal never sees Karakorum again.

---

Nations could be in two places at once; they did it all the time. But to be in two countries at once - that hurt. When the Kings of England were the Dukes of half France, crossing the Channel was no harder than crossing the Seine. When all they had was some bits of Gascony -

France cheers for Louis when he goes to war against King John. At the end of it, he can make it to London for an hour or two, but his bones ache with it. He buys a bakery in Gascony, and for most of a century, England spends his days in his own lands and his nights in France's bed, making love with the desperation of youth and inevitable ending. He grows brooding; he says the sorts of things France likes to think he'll regret, later. He vanishes, for long stretches.

There comes a time when France and England have not seen each other for months. When they do, it's over the gap between two warships. And when later France is shivering and coughing up seawater and England is stroking his hair, he does not say aloud which king he hopes will be his, but he doesn't have to.

---

Of course Lithuania isn't at the wedding. Not close enough, not yet; he could have ridden in at the head of an army, but diplomatic delegations aren't quite the same. Even delegations that bring a new king with them. Poland gives Jadwiga a hug and an assurance that Jogaila is a good man and everything will be fine, and watches alone from the back of the chapel. It all used to be so much fuzzier, he thinks.

He doesn't know if this is enough. He hopes it will.

Poland falls asleep in his chair, waiting for Lithuania. When he wakes up it's morning and there's a crick in his neck and he's alone. His bedroom feels colder than it should. He rubs his neck, wanders downstairs, still in his festive clothes from the wedding.

The two Russian girls are solemnly nibbling on pieces of cheese. Lithuania is cutting up a loaf of bread with his dagger. When he sees Poland, he drops it and pulls him into his arms. Poland breathes against his hair, and all he can think is it worked, it worked, this was meant to be.

--

Finland wasn't used to having borders, until he shared them with Sweden. It could have been a lot worse. He had never spent much time in the north, and there was hardly anyone to talk to there, anyway. There were places to the south that he couldn't go, and he never gave them much thought. It was not until Sweden came that he even knew what he was, and why he never grew older, and why he never felt quite at ease, talking to these - these humans, who smiled at him like he meant something and never knew exactly what to say. He had never been able to cross the sea, before. He watched Sweden's coast grow closer, and felt Sweden's hands warm and reassuring on his shoulder, and thought that even if it wasn't his land, this was where he wanted to be. He had never not been lonely before.

They see Sweden's brother sometimes, on the edge of Scania. He tells them about the Øresund, and how pretty it is in the summer, with the white sails of merchant ships billowing in the wind. He tells them about the Holy Roman Empire, too. Sometimes he brings them souvenirs, wine from France - Denmark says the Holy Roman Empire says he's a poseur and a sex maniac and his wines are still the best in Christendom - or amber beads from Lithuania - Denmark says the Holy Roman Empire says Poland says he's very brave, but very old-fashioned. It makes Finland's head hurt, thinking of all the nations the message passed through. He thinks he'd like to meet Lithuania, and he wonders just how far across the Baltic he and Sweden could sail, before they ran into their border. Once Denmark brings them a box of dried figs all the way from Cyrpus. He doesn't know anything about Cyprus, except that it's warm and south of Greece. The figs are delicious.

One day he comes with a roll of parchment and says he's taking them home.

Finland has never known so many nations. He likes Iceland, who is small and ill-tempered and makes the most amazing food, and he likes Greenland, who he doesn't understand at all. He even gets to meet the Holy Roman Empire, on Denmark's southern border. The Empire is small and nervous, and Finland babbles a lot, trying to put him at ease. He wishes Denmark had a little more land, enough to touch Holland or the Ordenstaat. Now that he's not lonely he wants to meet everyone. But Finland knows it will never happen.

--

Austria and Hungary fall in love in 1485, in June with flowers blooming, when she comes up the Danube with her Black Army and conquers his capital.

The battle leaves him exhausted and battered, as such things must. While her king is installing himself in the palace, she goes to find Austria and patch him up, as nations always do. (They must be kinder to each other than their people are, than their rulers are, than their armies are. They will be neighbors for a thousand years, and there is an unspoken rule between them, that no atrocity of war is unforgivable, that no crime should be punished by lonliness.) He meets her with a smile. She takes his clothes off to bandage his wounds, but the clothes do not go back on until the following morning. Austria is dismayed at how disheveled he's become. Hungary thinks it's cute.

They are neither of them lonely, not so deeply lonely as some of their kind are. Hungary has Slovakia and Croatia and Bosnia; Austria had all the lands of the Holy Roman Empire, until Hungary snatched him away. "I got the better of the trade," he tells Hungary in all earnestness, and she plucks the broom from his fingers and presses him up against the wall, showering him with kisses. "I would rather be your servant than the king of all of Germany. Hungary, let's never be parted again."

There is another unspoken rule: do not admit the other rules to your kings. Hungary's king barters away Austria, back to the Empire. She argues, but she cannot give true reasons. They hold hands so tightly it leaves marks and shiver at the thought of meeting on the border again, of hasty kisses in the middle of battle or cold kisses in the deserted hills, of never having the certainty of waking up together.

--

this is one of the most amazing fills i have seen here in a long time. writer!anon, please please please please keep going. i don't know--i would say which one i liked the most, but this entire trio has been outstanding.

This is a really fascinating take on the nation-tans' longing to know their own kind with these additional restrictions placed on them. Please do continue!

Have I mentioned how much I love you? I do. Have some cookies and internets. ♥

I think what I love most of all is that you're including the entire world. You're not just focusing on one area, you're including everyone, and I find myself looking forward to seeing Asia and NA and everything. You're epic and awesome, I love you. ♥

I loved the part with Poland, waiting for Lithuania. And Austria and Hungary, so beautiful and bittersweet. And I loved Finland's thoughts, that section so far I think has summed up best what I was thinking of when I made the prompt. I can't wait to see more. I seriously cannot get enough heart marks to show my love. ♥♥♥♥

Oh man, this is one of the most moving fills I've ever read. The snippets alone brought me to tears from the sheer implications of this plot.

S-sorry, I don't know what to say. Just.

♥

I agree with OP, I especially loved the part with Finland, it just showed exactly what this is all about... How all they can have is rumours about each other. And I love how this is slowly moving forward in history, leaving me excited and expecting the next parts.

The request is unique, your fill made it even more outstanding. Totally argeed with other anons - it has been a long time I seen such a beautiful, well-written, moving fill like this (and believe me, I read a lot).

The best part is, the story is getting better and better with each part. The part with Finland especially made me want to cry. Please continue, author anon, you can get my first born, my heart, my love, the internet, or all of them, whatever you like!

Fun facts! 1: 'Formosa' is actually a Portuguese term, not Dutch. They saw the island first, but didn't land. 2: Despite losing all French territory except Calais in the Hundred Years' War, and eventually losing Calais, the Kings of England continued to use the title 'King of France' until 1802.

--

They see it coming in enough time to say their goodbyes, at least. Denmark falls into a rage and goes to chop wood. When he comes back he's gushing blood from his left hand, and laughs hysterically as he begs Finland to bandage it for him. Finland bandages the axe-wound, just as he bandaged Sweden when his noblemen were slaughtered - the Stockholm Bloodbath, people are calling it, although most of it was hangings. He knows how these things work. They like each other better than their noblemen do.

He could have stayed for a few months, after Sweden left. He didn't. Denmark had Norway and Iceland and Greenland still, and without him Sweden would be all alone.

Finland doesn't want Sweden to be left alone.

--

France has been very grateful for the Pale of Calais, not that he would ever admit as much to his rulers. To them it is a bitter reminder that their victory was not complete. To him, despite the pain of the long war, it is the one bit of England he has left.

England's rulers don't ask why he keeps a house in Calais, of all places. They don't know.

The night his forces retake the town (France had argued, but he couldn't give true reasons) he lies twined in England's arms, listening to his heartbeat, both shivering as the defenders are chased down. They know this is the end. "I'll meet you on the Channel," France promises. "I can tell you how everyone is. Why do you never ask how everyone is?"

"I don't care about them," England says, arm thrown over his eyes. "Only you."

--

"They were right," is the first thing he says to her. "You are beautiful." He's tall and pale and nothing like the people who fill up her land, or the people who come from across the sea somtimes - just a little way, they tell her, a little further than her island is wide. He looks like the men who came on a big ship and and said they were from the other side of the world.

She doesn't have a name, but he calls her beautiful, so that's what she calls herself - Formosa. He's called Netherlands. She knows that he's like her, timeless and ageless and part of the land, but she is his land now and she feels every tread of his boot in her bones. It's almost terrifying not to be the only one like her in the world.

The Netherlands laughs, and tells her there are hundreds of them. Hundreds. And maybe someday soon, she'll get to meet the rest of his empire.

In fact, the next on she meets is Spain. Spain is dark-skinned like her, maybe a little darker, but his eyes are the wrong shape, like Netherlands'. He builds a fort in the north of her island and claims the town around it - just a town, but, he tells her with bright eyes, it's enough! He can visit! And she's beautiful, sure enough, but he's not going to make her part of his empire. But he'll bring her to his room and feed her strange things made from tomatoes, and tell her about all the bits of the world that Netherlands didn't.

When she tells Netherlands about it, he twitches. It's funny. Then he goes to the edge of Spain's town and yells a lot, and Spain comes out and yells back. Then they have a swordfight, which ends in them rolling on the ground, twisted together and laughing. They sit up and call her over and wrap her up in the embrace.

"It's funny," Spain says. "A hundred years ago we'd never seen each other, and France told us the funniest things! But then my kings inherited his land, and it turned out we were nothing like he'd said! We liked each other."

"Your king's still a bastard," Nethrlands says, squinting. "And we're still at war."

"Not much of one." He kisses Formosa's hair.

A generation later, they are both gone. But her brother - her brother! She never knew she had a brother - takes her across the sea, a little way, about as far as her island is wide. He tells Formosa she is beautiful, but shouldn't trust foreigners, shouldn't think about them. They didnt deserve her.

She misses them anyway.

--

This fic is so fucking splendid, really. I adore how they end up fighting each other in grief and fear of loneliness, or turning fights into playful rolling around just because it's an excuse for meetings and contact. France and England are breaking my heart. They are, like, this big star-crossed romance destined to never be together, or worse, be sligthly together but never fully, never completely. Man, I can't wait for the EU, if only for them to be finally together *sob*

the Kings of England continued to use the title 'King of France' until 1802.

THIS MADE MY DAY AND THE FIC HADN'T EVEN STARTED. OMG ENGLAND, ONLY YOU XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Yay!!! You updated!!!

You killed me when Spain talked about France. Of course he would do that.

I agree with the other anon, France and England are like an ongoing tragedy.

I looked up US relations and I was all POOR AL D:

Wow! I guess I am really kind of stupid--I didn't realize Spain managed to make it all the way to Taiwan. Jeezus, history fail...
Moving, on, the "Formosa" bit really was touching. My favorite part? It's hard to say, because everything is so good...but if I did have such a thing, for this installment, it would be that.
What I love about Margins is that all the characters still have their original personalities, but they're so much more fragile and vulnerable. Well, obviously, but that's the thing that gets me. But because of that vulnerability, they seem so much more human, easier to empathize with.
Keep going, please!

Fun Facts! From 1609 to 1879 (when it joined Japan as Okinawa Prefecture), the Ryukyu Kingdom actually was simultaineously a Chinese tributary and a Japanese vassal. The tributary relationship went back to 1372. The lords of Satsuma Domain invaded Ryukyu in 1609; however, due to Chinese trade policies favoring Ryukyu and forbidding trade with Japan, they allowed it to maintain the trappings of an independent kingdom, and hid the conquest from the outside world. History: could we make this stuff up?

--

There are letters, of course, in his brother's elegant calligraphy on expensive paper. Japan files them neatly away in a wooden box, unread. He made his decision, at the same time as his government did; they are not their governments, that's one of the unspoken rules, but he is an island and he does not think that he should forget it again. It's easier this way.

He hires a human maid, whose main duty is going to the market, so that he does not have to leave the house. Most days he does not leave his bed. He's not sick; he only feels safer under a pile of blankets. The longing to get up, get on a boat and go talk to someone, dulls as he ignores it. He has heard nothing of the world for years. His rulers leave him alone, and he leaves them alone. What does he care for humans?

Eventually the Middle Kingdom's letters stop. He gets one from the Netherlands, in careful quill pen, expressing concern; Japan does not know why he should be concerned. Then there is one from Ryukyu, brushed in bold, hasty hiragana. He does not answer.

A few months later Ryukyu herself arrives, while he naps away the afternoon. Japan goes for his sword, but his reflexes are dulled by inactivity, and she does something he can't quite follow that leaves the sword in the opposite corner of the room, and Ryukyu kneeling on his thighs and pinning his hands to the matress. "You're losing it, Japan," she says.

"Why are you here? You shouldn't be able to visit Edo! You're an independant kingdom!" His voice cracks, and he shivers.

"A Middle Kingdom tributary with Japanese bosses. Remember?" Her grin gleams like the moon. "There's a lot of slack in the margins. The Netherlands was telling me about it! He took over that big island east of Fujian - you didn't even know that, did you? He did, and he sailed up close enough to say hello. Big brother's worried sick about you," she adds, and sits back, releasing his hands.

"He shouldn't care. We've never even spoken face to face."

"Well, you're going to."

Okinawa Island is warm and sunny and Ryukyu's people greet them with smiles, and it all makes Japan feel sick. He dosn't know how he manages it, even though there's none of the closed-throat panic he gets sailing too close to Joseon. Ryukyu's house is within view of the ocean, and the Middle Kingdom is waiting there, playing fetch with her shisas.

Japan doesn't know what to expect. Most of what he knows of the Middle Kingdom is secondhand from Joseon. They saw each other once, over the deck of a Mongol warship, but the Middle Kingdom looked bigger then, vast and angry, with a wild face that Japan could not reconcile with the letters in elegant calligraphy, full of thoughtful advice on government and education and the best way to cook fish. Japan had been too terrified to speak to him. Now, in civilian clothes, the Middle Kingdom is amazingly small. His clothes fit loosely, and the bone juts out of his thin wrists; even tied in a bun his hair seems like more than his neck should be able to support. He rises at their approach, and bows. That agrees with Joseon's description. Then he grabs Japan's hands and grins, and that does not accord.