Past-Part Fills Part 7

[hetalia_kink]

Past-Part Fills Part Seven

Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part MUST go in that part's post until it is full.

Include a link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).

The 'Anything Goes' request is here if you need it.

Then, don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index and under the original request.

Keep yourself up to date: check out the news.
Comments and Suggestions go here.

Past-Part Fills 1 | Past-Part Fills 2 | Past-Part Fills 3 | Past-Part Fills 4 | Past-Part Fills 5 | Past-Part Fills 6

Comments

Wasta Est (2b/2v)

[(Anonymous)]

The next morning, England's burgeoning hope that the Bastard would concentrate on other things from here on out was duly crushed. England was to have lessons. He was to learn how to act, how to speak and all the rules that would govern his life.

England remembered his first 'lesson' with terrifying clarity. He broke out in a cold sweat to think of them as a daily occurrence. The Bastard assured him, with the same emotionless disdain he had for all things relating to England, that so long as England was a quick learner, they wouldn't have to have a repeat performance. It did not calm England one bit.

With his belly full of the most vicious kind of butterflies, England found himself unable to tolerate France's chatter.

Not that France cared.

Everywhere England went, France trailed behind, spouting little pieces of wisdom and inane observations. France, in turn, was trailed by his suddenly persistent minder and together they made a truly absurd procession.

England held his tongue when the nobles and dignitaries were present, or replied politely with such a faint sheen of sarcasm that it could've been imagined. In the few moments they had alone together, he snapped and snarled. France continued providing, with his platitudes, enough false cheer for the both of them.

By the evening England had been worn down by pain, fear and France's never-ending narration of every single tiny thing that went through his head. He sat listlessly at dinner, far from the Bastard's side, but still under his watchful eye. The food provided a welcome distraction and gave France something else to do with his mouth.

England ate with gusto, his appetite having returned fully, despite the emotional drain.

France steered him to bed the moment they were dismissed. England didn't have it in him to protest and went willingly enough. He settled into his bed and France perched beside him, then started to sing.

Quite certain that he would go mad if he had to listen to France's voice much more, England curled into his blankets and pretended to fall asleep. He had to force himself not to fidget when France took a moment to sit in silence and run his fingers through England's hair.

Eventually, France left and England was left to face his thoughts alone.

The next day England rose early. He had slept fitfully when he'd slept at all, his mind constantly churning over what his lessons might entail and his dreams helpfully providing some graphic depictions.

He stifled a yawn as he slipped out of his room and quietly past France's door.

England paused at the bottom of the stairs and listened for sounds. There was nothing. England grinned, congratulating himself for successfully escaping France. He finally had some time to himself.

Firstly, he would explore the castle keep further. Then maybe he could scout out the surrounding area and, if not escape, then at least find a gnome or something to talk to. None of his friends had dared follow him into the castle and England found he couldn't wholly blame them, even though he desperately wanted to talk to them. To at least have someone wholly on his side.

Then, perhaps, he could throw himself from the battlements or otherwise incapacitate himself so the Bastard wouldn't get the opportunity to teach him any lessons. If he was lucky, the Bastard could be convinced that he'd died and while being buried would not be at all enjoyable, he would at least be free afterwards.

Then again, the Bastard had made it clear he knew England could survive more than the average child.

England shook his head free of his wild and desperate plans. Even if he shattered every bone in his body, the Bastard probably wouldn't let that get in the way of what he wanted. Instead, England resolved himself to some exploration and he would meet the rest of the day as it came.

England pushed open the door to the Great Hall. In all his wandering the previous day he hadn't been down to see the kitchens and servant's area as France had consistently steered him away. Perhaps France thought menial labour was catching. Either way, with the sun just barely risen, it was too early for anyone he cared about to be up and the servants would most likely be too busy with getting the day underway to bother with him, so long as he didn't get underfoot.