A Night That Blood Ran Red

To say that Arthur Kirkland had been having a bad night would be an understatement. The dragon, a beautiful jade color with glimmering scales had been sleeping in his humble abode that overlooked the green fields of England and the roaring sea when it happened.

Rather they happened.

Humans.

Vile, disgusting creatures that seemed to go out of their way to annoy him. For beings so unimpressive and tiny, they had numbers on their side.

And apparently the mob with pitchforks and torches and other such weapons had come to try and remove him from his cavern which was admittedly close to their village.

A few miles down, but nonetheless not too far off.

Obviously they thought that they would kill him or chase him away. The sad thing for the annoying blighters however was that Arthur didn't plan on going anywhere.

While Arthur was not the largest dragon, he had been around for a while now. Close to a time span of two thousand years or more. And this home of his had been around far longer than any of these people could even fathom to think back.

He had been around before even their bloody ancestors were a mere idea.

He was in truth about ten times larger than any of them and their simple beasts of burden. And his temper already not longer than a candle with a very short fuse was pretty much shot to hell when he couldn't even finish his nap due to their incessant noise.

Maybe they thought they were being stealthy, being quiet, but they most certainly did not know that he could hear up to a few miles away.

He'd known they were on their way more than an hour ago. And maybe some small part of him had wished that these foolish people would get it through their exceedingly thick skulls that he'd not been much of threat to them and that it'd be more than a brilliant idea for them to turn back around and march back off to their village.

However they had obviously chosen to ignore common sense.

From within the twisting caverns inside the heart of the mountain, Arthur could hear them nearing. He could feel them disturbing the peace that he so dearly enjoyed about his keep.

And he could feel the anger starting to burn within his belly.

How dare they presume that they could just waltz up to him and send him running from a home that he'd inhabited after finding it more than a millennium ago!

How dare they believe that their paranoia gave them the right to chase off the so called "Jade Dragon of England"!

How presumptuous of them to believe they even had the ability within their frail and minute bodies.

Finally having had enough of this nonsense, Arthur decided to grace them with his presence. He wasn't a particularly violent sort so he'd give them a chance.

One small moment of leniency.

He'd give them an option to be off and if they decided to ignore his small bit of mercy…well…he'd char their bones to ash.

Although not particularly bloodthirsty, he wasn't one to deal for long with mind numbing stupidity.

~.

The storm that had been brewing steadily for the last few days had turned the sky dark and completely blocked out the sun. The clouds themselves seemed almost ready to burst from the heavy burden of the water they carried.

The threat of oncoming storm and harsh weather however had not been enough to stop the angry mob of villagers.

There was probably nothing that could calm down their madness and violence other than the death of the being that seemed to torment them.

The dread "Jade Dragon of England".

The beast was said to be fearsome. Was said to be calculating and not the kind to be messed with, however the injustices that these villagers had faced had made them bold.

The dragon was destroying their village.

For the past few months, in the dead of night their village had been ransacked and animals stolen. The forest was no longer safe for hunting.

The land was full of fear that at any given moment the horrible dragon would swoop in and set the village ablaze.

It hadn't happened yet, but it was only a matter of time.

The head of the church had declared the beast the one who had devastated their lands. The very fact that the thing lived, breathed, that its very heart beat was a sin, but now it presumed that it could suck the life out of their village.

While the villagers had not gotten a clear glimpse at the beast due to its night time attacks, it was the most known beast in the area.

The head of the church had declared that they must destroy the evil creature. They must stab it through its beating heart and set its foul body ablaze.

These monsters presumed to think they could walk this earth and do as they pleased, but they were wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

The man declared that they had the will of the lord on their side and that with his guidance they would surely triumph.

All it would take was a few…valuables…to show God that they were sincere of course. Not for him, but for the church. He only had their best interest at heart.

And the people, despite their inherent poorness and the fact that very little profit could be made with the destruction of their property, had scrounged and searched and put together a small but hefty sum of valuables.

It was all they had.

And he'd gladly accepted it all with open arms. And with their small donation he'd been gifted with the way their small village would be assured victory.

They must travel to the keep of the beast before the darkness of night had completely fallen and slay it.

They must stab it through its beating heart with a sharpened blade.

Any and all treasures that it horded, as the despicable beasts were privy to do, were to be confiscated and returned to the church.

And in order to completely do this all, in order to hold the beast's attention for a small amount of time that this bloody deed may be accomplished…

They must sacrifice a new born babe.

It's pure and innocent blood would certainly lure the evil monster out to them and hopefully it would be swift work from then on.

Of course, none of them wanted to snuff out the life of a new born babe. Noneof them particularly desired to kill this innocent, blue eyed babe with cheeks like a cherub, but sometimes …sacrifices must be made to win wars.

The blood of one innocent who would surely not even comprehend his saint like sacrifice for the lives of many more.

Surely God would turn a blind eye this time.

For numbers and preachers do not lie.

~.

"Stop it! Stop it! Release him this instant!",the thin woman screamed as she struggled to hold on to her precious cargo. Hands grabbed at her and tugged from every direction and the poor seamstress had tried her best to keep a tight grip on the swaddle of blankets within her arms, but she was only one.

One of her size, one who had only given birth to a set of twins just a little more than a fortnight ago could not hope to match the combined brute strength of a raging crowd.

She never saw it coming as someone hit her over the head from behind.

The poor woman saw stars and in the millisecond that her grip waned, her precious babe, was snatched from her loving embrace.

The fallen seamstress struggled to fight off the dizziness and the blackness that seemed to be invading the edges of her vision.

She lifted a hand to try and combat the pain that hovered behind her eyes and then a cold spike of fear and realization seemed to hit her.

Her hands were empty.

The very hands that not but a second ago had held one of babes.

The seamstress looked up face full of distress to the cold and indifferent eyes of the preacher.

"I'm very sorry for your distress, my dear. But the lord has asked that one of his children be returned to him this very grim night of ours. It is not my choice, but one of the heavens."

He leaned down beady eyes boring into her own and reached out a hand to touch her bruised cheek. She shivered not from his very holiness, or cold, but from the absolute feeling of revulsion that seemed to poison her blood in that moment.

He smiles as he feels her frail body trembling and says in a voice so…understanding, so soothing, so holier than thou and demeaning, "My dear child, I know that it seems hard right now …and that you feel distress because your understanding is so …limited, but we must do as the lord asks of us. Even though this sacrifice must seem very great now, you must learn that we all have a purpose in the grand scheme of things. Do not deny your child his divine destiny. His death serves to free us all. Who could see his existence as anything but…noble?"

With those last words he turns holding the small wriggling babe for all to see and turns to leave.

The crowd cheers and celebrates and despite her every effort to try and fight her way forward, to grab onto the preacher's habit, to make them see reason…the seamstress is left crying and screaming hysterically.

Unheard and now with only one child left alive.

For surely, the "Jade Dragon of England" cannot find mercy for one mere babe if her own countrymen cannot.

Her babe, one of the only things left after the death of her husband, is as good as dead.

~.

Red eyes watched from the safety of the forest as a loud crowd of people marched away from the village with fire and weapons. At the front of the crowd, a large man carries a small bundle above his head.

The serpentine eyes glittered with hunger as they watched all the villagers seeming to leave off towards the mountains and cliffs.

A forked tongue flickered out from between sharp fang sand the small wyvern sniffed the air to see of any at all remained within the village.

After all, it had been careful to avoid large amounts of people for this long. The wyvern was small and unimpressive, it had already been injured to many times to count and its wings were weak and did not carry it for long amounts of time.

Instead it was forced to live mostly on the ground and scavenge for food and remains left by others. By luck it had found this village and ever since, it had picked and picked and found itself a steady food source.

It had been careful to evade large crowds certain that it would be cornered.

However, while the crowd had left, perhaps by chance the young and weak had been left behind?

With none to protect them, the wyvern would have a very satisfying meal.

It listened and after hearing no indications that the crowd was near, it slithered out of its hiding place among the foliage and dragging its tattered wings, made its way to the village entrance.

~.

"Dear seamstress you've forgotten your place."

"You are not a man of God! You are but a demon in disguise!"

~.

The wyvern hears cries of outrage emanating from a large building and sniffs the air gauging how many it might feed upon.

~.

"Release me! You have already sent my son to his death would you try and take me here in a church, your so called house of God? Have you no shame!"

~.

The wyvern watches with unbridled glee as it its eyes narrow in on a very large man fighting a smaller female.

The female is not but skin and bones, but the man… the man has a wide girth and a stomach that hangs heavy forcing him to bend down.

The wyvern has seen its next meal.

~.

The seamstress freezes as she sees the wyvern climbing through the window. Its eyes glitter with hunger and drool falls from its mouth.

She feels the scream bubbling in her and wishes that now….now of all times she could make her fear known.

The preacher whose hands are choking her smiles with malicious intent as the woman who he planned to make his all those months ago finally stops fighting and finally submits to his will.

He reaches down to release his grip on her neck and bends down to gloat.

"Finally lost your fighting spirit my dear?"

She is white with fear, but her wide blue eyes look not at him, but past him. She raises a shaky hand and points and rasps out "B-be-behind y-you.."

He looks back and it is the last thing he can do before the beast behind him jumps upon him and sinks its teeth into his fat neck.

The cross which he wore falls to the ground, cord severed, and brilliant gold sullied by red, red blood.

~.

By now the sky which has been forced to witness so many deaths, so many injustices, had had quite enough. The sky darkens and then flashes as lightning flashes and crackles. Thunder booms as if the heavens are decreeing a death sentence for all who dare to sin and then use the name of God as a defense.

~.

The villagers have made it to the mountain in which resides the very blight upon their society. These people have finally lost it.

Their humanity.

Their minds.

Any semblance of a soul.

They cheer as their leader holds up the innocent babe. It cries and wriggles searching for the warm and caring embrace from its mother.

Though it is too young to understand the world around it, it has become accustomed to a soft touch and warm arms. It vaguely remembers another face, small like its own with eyes that are amethyst.

It can't articulate these things or string it together into complete thoughts yet, but it vaguely remembers these things that it had just begun to see.

It is frightened and in pain from the tight grasp on its tiny limbs and from the loud noises around it. The babe cries hoping to be returned to the warm embrace it had come from.

The poor babe's cries only seem to rile the crowd up more.

~.

Francis, a French nobleman hoping to return home after a long journey, freezes as he hears screams coming from within the village he had begun to pass through. He'd intended to walk on, despite the storm, due to how empty and eerie the place seems. Despite his wish to keep moving, he runs towards the desperate screams instead.

In no time at all he comes upon a poor maiden with a wyvern sinking its teeth into her side. Her pained eyes look to him and although he cannot hear her voice, he can see the words on her lips.

Help me. Please.

~.

Arthur has had it. Rage begin to fill his mind, he skillfully navigates through the confusing twists and turns of the caves in the mountain. He can hear them approaching. Can smell the smoke from the torches they no doubt carry in troves.

Another scent, much more entrancing, with a slight metallic tang, is also there in the undercurrents of all these foreign scents.

Subtle and almost being trampled to death by the rank mixture of their sweat and uncleanliness.

Blood.

Despite how part of him wonders what has been killed and the stirrings of his stomach Arthur continues on.

As he approaches the front of the crowd his sharp eyes see something sitting near the entrance. Something wrapped in tatty blankets.

Something alive.

Something screaming.

He almost forgets the raging crowd below as he inches forward and his emerald eyes meet hazy and pained baby blue ones.

Shock and revulsion fills Arthur as he finds himself face to face with a babe probably no more than a fortnight old.

Mingling with its newborn scent is that same metallic and tangy scent.

The scent of blood.

Arthur finds blood covering his muzzle as he pushes back part of the blankets revealing how the childs arm has cruelly been sliced.

The poor babe is probably bleeding out.

That is when all thoughts of clemency leave him.

All he can feel is pure primal rage. He doesn't want to give them a second chance. All he wishes to do is hear the no doubt delightful sound of their necks snapping and to smell the no doubt tantalizing smell of their searing flesh.

It as the pregnant sky finally releases it burden as though crying for all the blood shed that night, that Arthur finally unleashes an unholy roar that echoes in the cavern and strikes fear into the crowd that dared to ever come this far.

That dared to try and sacrifice a babe to him.

Upon that night much blood was shed, but none was more undeserving and sad than that of the newborn babe and his mother.

~.

Francis stabs the wyvern a final time and watches as its evil red eyes finally close for the last time. It was not a very formidable beast, slow from a previous meal and clearly unable to fend for itself without picking at an undefended village and maybe small animals around it.

The beast 's desperation however did lend it strength and Francis turns hoping that he has not spent too much time killing the horrid thing to find help for the maiden.

Eyes searching frantically, he finally sees a trail of blood leading to her body. She can barley move and yet something makes her continue to drag her limp and broken body forward. She gasps and her arms finally give out near the front of a small house.

Francis rushes forward and tries to lift her while being careful of her obvious wounds.

"Mon cher, you need help! What iz it zat makes you continue, while injured so?"

She tries to speak but instead her body racks with painful coughs and blood begins to trickle form her mouth. She trembles and lifting a shaky hand she points into the house.

Knowing that she most probably does not have much time left, Francis tries to hurry inside to see what she is trying to make him understand without jostling the poor woman too much.

He looks around the darkened room, nit quite certain until she again points forward to a small corner with as much urgency as she can muster.

Walking forward Francis finally sees what she has been trying to tell him.

Lying in the corner is a small but well made crib. Inside lies a small bundle. Francis tries carefully to set the woman down on the small cot beside it and reaches inside, pulling back the covers to fins soft amethyst eyes looking into his own.

The small babe makes a gurgling noise and Francis lifts it and tries to be gentle.

"Please…please…t-take c-care of him." Her words are soft and halting, as soft as a whisper, but Francis hears them clearly.

By the time the Frenchman turns around the seamstress is dead. Her soft features are pale from blood loss and her brilliant blue eyes devoid of life.

Francis gently shuts them and turns back to the child staring up at him.

Somehow Francis has become a father.

He can do no more right now than to hold the child close and say a small prayer for the woman who'd brought this babe to life.

As he leaves that night, Francis never knows that the other blanket that lay in the crib was not an extra, but belonged to another.

~.

Arthur hardly notices as the blades of the weapons bounce off of his shimmering scales. The time when he would have given them a warning is long gone. Now he's taken to releasing viscous flames. The crowd once so certain that they would win have long abandoned that thought.

They now throw their weapons and try to flee, but Arthur doesn't intend to release them.

It's a fight they wanted and it's a fight they'll get. With no sympathy in his emerald eyes he hits aman so hard that he's certain some of his brain leaks out on his talons.

Flames burst forth from his mouth and the scent of burning flesh reaches his nostrils.

In no time at all the tides have turned and the majority of the villagers lay dead or dying. Arthur is covered in blood that's quite clearly not his own and while the majority of the villagers weapons were too pathetic to have even scratched him, Arthur senses he's not alone.

He turns and watches as a large man with a sword steps forward. He huffs anf puffs as he staggers forward. The rain has long since soaked his clothes and blood seeps from a large gash across his stomach.

He holds out the sword as though he has a chance.

Inferior armor.

Already wounded.

Most certainly bleeding out as they stare at one another.

The fight barely lasts a minute he runs forward and Arthur swipes at him. He catches the man in the abdomen again but even Arthur has to flinch back as the sword catches him across his underside where his scales are not as hard. He hisses feeling his anger increase over the lucky swipe, throws out his talons straight toward the man's heart.

The man stands pinned.

Blood runs in rivulets from his mouth as Arthur finally pulls his talons from his chest.

The man is dead before he hits the ground.

~.

As Arthur approaches the entrance of the cave, he reminds himself that he must dispose of the corpses that litter his yard.

The disgusting things will stink to high heaven if left out too long and they leave a distinctly rotten taste just from the smell.

However he had much more important things to deal with. Stepping carefully the dragon makes sure not to jar the small bundle he'd pushed further into his abode.

Knowing that his talons will make it almost impossible to help the babe without further injuring, Arthur decides that it's time to tap into the numerous years of knowledge he'd accumulated.

He mutters strange words which would be almost impossible for a human mouth to copy and his magnificent form is covered with a strange glowing light.

By the time the glow fades he is no longer a dragon but a man. Slender and not very tall, he had messy blonde hair and bushy eyebrows. His pale skin is a far cry from his beautiful jade scales, but despite all that has changed his eyes remain the same.

Reaching out with gentle hands Arthur looks at the small and unexpected visitor he had received on this truly dreadful night.

His sharp eyes examine the babe's arm and he feels himself worry when the babe doesn't respond. He listens still hearing a faint heartbeat and his own hear calms as he realizes that the wound is not life threatening yet. He utters yet more words and holds the babe close as the wound itself glows and fades away leaving nothing but a faint scar.

Holding the child close, Arthur searches for any more injuries. He feels satisfaction when he realizes that the child is fine for now.

"My dear, what shall I do with you? You've come as quite a surprise." He tries to make his hold on the child more gently. Arthur has never held a babe before. He has to remind himself that this babe is delicate.

"What ever shall I do? You cannot return to that bloody village. For one thing, I'm quite pleased to say that its population has quite decreased and if they were willing to sacrifice you, then I'm certain there is no home there left for you.

He looks down as he feels small fingers wrap around his one. There he finally stops to just take in the small face of the babe wrapped in the blankets.

A small face like a cherub with a head of soft hair the color of hay, Arthur looks into the most brilliant blue eyes he's ever seen on a human. It seems to rival even those of the dragons.

To Arthur they seem to be the same shade of the boundless sky he's so use to flying through.

He smiles down at the small face, hoping not to instill fear in the child as his kind seem to instinctually do to humans. Instead the child stares confused and then with no small amount of effort copies what he has just seen Arthur do.

He smiles up at Arthur and his little eyes, his face and even his scent seem to say that he is unafraid. Rather he feels comforted.

That warm embrace that the babe had been torn from seems to have been returned.

His gaze turns sleepy and he seems to try and get close to the warmth Arthur gives off.

It is in that moment as the child is lulled to sleep within Arthur's arms to the steady beating of his heart that Arthur decides that not all humans all foul, vile creatures.

It is in that moment that Arthur decides it's not as though his abode isn't spacious enough to accommodate one so small.

"I find myself becoming quite fond of you little one. I don't think you'd object to staying with old Arthur would you? That's my name, Arthur Kirkland."

He wraps the child a little tighter to keep out the chill and realizes that he has no idea what to call this small bundle of life now under his care.

He racks his brain searching for something wonderful to give this child. A name. His very first gift in what seems was a very harsh life.

"How about…Alfred? I think it's a very suitable name."

The small babe snuggles closer to Arthur as though comforted by the quiet tones of his voice. Arthur can only smile and take that as the babe…no, Alfred's agreement.

"Very well then Alfred. I'm you're big brother Arthur. It's very nice to meet you."

For one of the first times in his life, Arthur feels the stirring of care in his heart. He feels as though he has something much more important than himself to care about.

Alfred needs him now.

Perhaps, the dragon thinks to himself, this night was not as awful as he'd previously thought.

A/N: So quite honestly, I did not plan on writing this. I was just doing nothing when BAM! Inspiration decided to bitch slap me. She hits really hard. I started writing and tada…12 pages of a story I never intended were born. About 4,500 words is pretty good considering I had no intention of even writing so…XD. Enjoy I guess. There is a bunch of stuff going on in this chapter. Sort of like 5 different stories that all sort of crash together or something. Please don't take offense at the whole preacher thing. I have nothing against religion or preachers. Rather I learned that a long time ago, a lot of dirt used to go down when preachers were the only ones who could read the bible and that after a lot of injustices, the Reformation happened. So please don't throw any holy water at me or something. I'd be scared I'd melt. O.o I have no idea where all of this is going…it just sort of wrote itself. Like a movie! I'd really appreciate it if you reviewed or criticized or just generally critique it. This is like my second Hetalia thing ever written and I'm still working on getting a feel for how to write the characters so speak up! And this monstrosity of an A/N ends. Pat yourself on the back cuz it was freaking long! ;D