Some engbel that no one asked for but which fulfils my self indulgent wishes. For @maelerie ❤
Summary: England and Belgium enjoy a chilly walk about town.
.....
'How long do we have have left out here?'
England sighed through his nose and discreetly glanced down to his watch, arm immediately moving behind his back once more, 'An hour and a half till we go in for lunch.'
'Ugh.'
'Come now, Marie. You're not that old, what's a little walking compared to what we've had to do before.'
'You're not in heels.'
'I have been before.'
'Not stilettos.'
'God no.'
'And you're not now.'
England sighed, 'Alright, fine. Although, you didn't have to wear them today either.'
'How else will I be able to see anything? That one security giant your PM like blocks my view whenever we stand for photos otherwise.'
England snorted and covered the sound by clearing his throat. Ahead with Belgium's President, his Prime Minister looked backwards with a curious raised eyebrow. The speaker they were currently listening to continued their droning speech about the Roman wall they were supposed to be admiring and she returned her attention to them, letting her nation be.
'Besides,' Belgium continued in a whisper, 'I entirely forgot we were going down these roads for so long; the cobbles.'
'Not your greatest idea, admittedly.'
A few very long minutes later, wherein Belgium continuously shifted her weight from foot to foot to ease the pinching, the speaker finished and then it was time to move on. England offered her his elbow which Belgium gratefully took and the group set off, this time bound towards the centre of town.
Belgium pulled down England's sleeve to cover him better and he tutted as she brushed against his skin, taking her hand to rub it quickly between his gloved own, 'Your hands are freezing.'
'I didn't think it would turn this cold.'
'It's November. What on earth were you hoping for?'
'Optimism, apparently.'
England dropped her hand to take off his gloves, gesturing for her to take them, 'I need these ones back this time. They're Rhys'.'
Belgium smiled and slipped them on, 'Does he know that you have them?'
'He won't need to if you give them back.'
She flexed her hand, the very tips of the large gloves empty on her fingers, and took hold of his arm once again, 'Stolen goods, hmm? How like you.'
'Found,' England emphasised, 'haphazardly abandoned on my sofa, in fact. And are well looked after until their happy return.'
'Which will be?'
'Currently undecided.'
Belgium laughed.
The group continued onwards along the old wall, roads cleared and security checked for their progress. Belgium glanced up at the crumbling brick and England followed her gaze upwards.
'Rome hated that wall,' she said, 'Or, maybe not hated. But he didn't like it. "Too blocky", he'd said when he saw it finished.'
England nodded consideringly, 'I can see him saying that. That original Mediterranean flair.'
'It's funny isn't it. Something built on a whim, or with little consideration to asthetic, and now it's held up as a marvel in memory of a history just because it's survived. Pieces of our culture that maybe held no real part in it now looked upon with romanticised wonder, or picked apart for meaning.'
England made a noise that Belgium couldn't decide whether was agreement, or just to show he'd heard her.
'He'd have hated that. All of his great buildings that he left with me and people are just as interested in this terrible old wall.'
'It is a decent wall.'
'It is nothing more than old brick.' England said nothing and Belgium gave his arm a gentle tug to keep him moving, 'Do you remember much of him?'
'Rome?' A small crease appeared in between his eyebrows, 'Sometimes too much. But the older I get and the more I think of it, the more I feel like I never really knew him at all.'
'I don't think we were meant to.'
England gave a dry laugh, a small exhalation that sounded slightly bitter, 'It depends on who you were. Or, what he thought you could be.'
Belgium stayed silent. Her own feelings and memories of Rome were strange and subject to change. Oftentimes that part of her life was vague and hard to recall, although memories would occasionally hit her with a brilliant vibrancy that knocked her right back. The smells of his homes, woody incense and fish oil. The taste of certain figs if she bought them from a particular shop in Italy. The catch of light on a broach in candle light, the glint of metal in the sun. She would dream about being swung to sit on Rome's shoulders, then her body pressed against doors and tense with fear as he raged and crashed on the other side.
She wanted to ask more of what England remembered of that time. Whether he too knew Rome as two different men with one name. But their childhoods were long ago, distant things, a life that was intimate and raw before nationhood truly took them. They were all large eyes and souls of wet clay then, nothing more than potential and the bitter deathtoll to those who came before.
The hurts of a lonely youth imprinted upon them all, and Arthur never liked to share those particular ghosts.
Belgium took hold of his hand and entwined them together, smoothing her gloved thumb over his bare skin.
'Speaking of who we think we should be, do you think yourself a scoundrel?'
England looked confused, 'What?'
'Let's escape,' she said, giving his hand a squeeze, 'a nice coffee somewhere sounds a lot more fun than sticking about here looking at old stones.'
England blinked and then a slow smile grew across his face, crooked with the hint of teeth, 'Only if you promise not to try and seduce me with talk of Roman architecture.'
'Ah! How on earth did you know?'
'Familiarity with your methods.'
'I wouldn't dream of it, darling. How about the role of cobbles in influencing modern footwear instead?'
England bent and kissed her cheek, 'That will have to do.'
....
AN:
England has worn heels before. They were men's fashion before women and were once all the fashionable rage.
Is this my way of paying homage to the great fic 'love amongst the ruins' in a teeny tiny way?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: It's the sight of her dainty hand casually resting atop the Spanish Empire's arm that makes England’s blood boil.
"Careful, Angleterre. Spain as he is now is not someone you want as your enemy."
England roughly shrugged France's hand away and gritted his teeth. "There is a difference between conquering child-colonies and battling a seasoned nation like myself, Frog."
"Marie is almost as old as you," France pointed out, "and as experienced in the ways of the world. As is her brother. And yet, they had not the strength nor the means to stop Spain from collecting them into his empire."
England was about to snap at France's words when he saw Belgae dusting of Spain's doublet, trailing the palms of her hands down his chest and laying them to rest there for far longer then propriety would allow. His snark reply died on the tip of his tongue, seeing green now instead of red.
"She doesn't seem to mind belonging to him, does she?"
France chuckled. "You are so easily fooled, Angleterre. As, no doubt, most men would be. She's merely playing the part of subordinate nation. She may not have the physical strength, but chère Marie has her wits and her charms to get what she wants."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem pleased with yourself when you say that."
"Well, I might have taught her a trick or two," France said cheerfully.
Chapters: 2/?
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Belgium/England, Belgium/Spain
Characters: England, France, Belgium, Spain, Austria
Additional Tags: Historical Hetalia, 16th Century CE, Elizabethan, The Habsburg Empire, Friendship, Alliances, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Tension, Grumpy England, Sly Belgium, France Being France, Conquistador Spain, Stuck-up Austria, Childhood Friends, Crushes, Internal Conflict
