Knight

15

"A knight protects." The instructor began the words as rhythmic and absolute as ever.

"A knight serves." The children repeated, each line of their pledge more antsy than the first.

"Until he's a Card," The ruler harshly tapped a sleeping child's desk, and his black capped head sprung spryly.

"The Kingdom's Cards he preserves." The boys chimed together, lighthearted regardless of the unisons and dissolutions that would do away with many of them before they ever reached knighthood.

"The Domains can only," But who were they to carry something so heavy? They were only children.

"Survive under our trust." Some had been sheltered from humans all their lives, and had no prior knowledge of the world outside or the true meaning of holding a domain.

"So if we must sacrifice," The one born to human parents, however, he knew his condition.

"Sacrifice we must." He knew the peculiarity of his existence.

"When a nation dissolves," the children cadenced. The boy who jumped from amazing heights and fell to his knees without a scratch.

"A Knight will take reign," the teacher stared at him, frowning. The boy who watched his parents age, sicken, and die, his hands the same size in theirs since the age of two.

"When the world needs a hero," The boy who developed a new calendar to measure years by, and let only one other person in on his secret because maybe, if he counted the years differently, he could pretend they were normal years and he was a normal boy.

"A nation abstains," He knew of normal boys. He knew that they grew, and in what they call 'spurts', but they were nothing like the spurts his kind had. Not like countries.

"In place of the Knight," The ruler twisted itself around his cowlick; the frown untwisted itself on the teacher's mouth.

"Who will triumph to claim," The boy's hands rose to push the stick from his hair.

"Their sovereign statehood," The teacher hissed a warning at the small golden-haired self-proclaimed eight-year-old, and resumed his walk. A pout pressed into his mouth, the boy returned to his doodles.

"Their rightful domain!" The class finished with a flourish, and dreams of to be, could be, Cards or perpetual knighthood oozed out all over the margins of America's loose-leaf.

How strange that the bitter wind rushing through America's hair could carry these yellowed, hundred year old memories.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange. Every one of his memories was a lollipop dropped in a mesh of desolate, blackened branch and thrush. However, he believed the laborious hike would bring him to the Promised Land. Maybe magic brightened fingertips and monsters dotted forests; maybe the rituals England performed to ward off night creatures before bed had some merit and folklore had some truth to it, but he'd placed his faith in one power. Whether he'd live forever and why he was cursed with the possibility, he didn't know, but he believed that one day he'd eat the fruits of Eden.

A boy coated in ribbons left a trail of sugar in a desolate wasteland.

This chase in a dark forest was no different. Chasing the dream, every event a lesson meant to strip him of his ribbons, America clung to them. Even covered in dirt and dry and cracked, he was still able to stick the old lollipops in his mouth without a wince.

What a bittersweet existence indeed; chasing dreams that never come true.

Germany looked up.

Prussia eclipsed the moon's cloudless grimace with a toothy grin, and the commander shifted his gaze back to the path in front of him.

He must have been mistaken. He couldn't be blamed for being suspect; the temperature had dropped sharply, and as far as he'd read in the Biomes of the Four Kingdoms, Spades' environs harbored no such tendencies. Unfazed despite the goosebumps coating his arms, the Queen hacked away at the bushy overgrowth they'd been told to venture through by the Joker. Germany knew he didn't have to worry about Japan. The island nation could defend for himself, but the country lolling about beside him was a different situation entirely. Germany stole a glance at his underling; Italy shivered but smiled up at Germany in his usual manner.

The commander sighed and smiled back. As long as that demeanor remained ultimately cheerful, Germany could rest easily.

The frosty breeze was harmless.

"America who?" England murmured, "What happens to that insufferable brat is beyond my control or concern." He rose a finger to the air. "I don't need anyone or anything, nothing but you guys can really keep my company." He scratched the blue-black space in what Australia assumed was a gentle manner.

Large eyebrows couldn't help but rise as Australia stared bewilderingly. Was America aware of this nonsense?

England began to laugh at nothing in particular, conversed further with nothing in particular, and showered affection on nothing in particular, the saddle shifting underneath the duo's weight.

Australia's face slid steadily, his wonder turning to hopelessness. Was this hallucinating dag truly the sibling he'd come to save?

The string around his finger snapped. The man straightened. "England, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

For the first time since they'd left, the older eyebrows wearer turned to face the other knight. For the first time since he'd seen England, his emerald eyes were completely devoid of their gem quality and looked a flat common green.

Australia cringed with concern. Was it the right time to show him the note? Would telling England about his mother make him understand why he became a pirate? What would England say when Australia told him he'd gotten captured intentionally?

"I want to sail, Australia."

Australia furrowed his brow. "What?"

"I think, maybe I should become a criminal too, leave the monarchy behind. You could help me, and we could become pirates. Start our own crew." England's voice dipped as his head nodded, still slowly petting the air.

Now was a time as good as any. "England… I'm your brother." Australia ejected.

"Huh?" England, stunned, swung his head back to gaze upon Australia's serious face. And England saw his father.

Wide-eyed, he sputtered, "W-well. Well! That explains the eyebrows then, huh?"

His serious tone recited the story in cryptic cadence, "My mother was a pirate as well, the kind of lass that boarded ships, seduced the men, stole whatever she could get her hands on, and brought the loot back to her crew. Your father was one of these men when he was a young noble," England frowned.

"She twirled her skirt and her fingers and he was…netted, if you will. But then, when it came time to steal, she realized that she really liked our dad, a lot. When the hands from her mother ship paddled up to the boat to stash all of the gold, she insisted on staying another night and lied that she couldn't locate the real treasure yet. A week they came and went and a week she slept with your dad until she rummaged in dad's desk and discovered letters from your dad's other mistresses. Furious and heartbroken, my mom stole everything on the ship and gave up pirating only to find out a few months later that she was pregnant with his child." Australia gestured to himself. "She told me he'd become the king and ordered me to find him and steal all he had, exact her revenge and all, and I became a pirate. I let myself get captured to get to the Capital, but I didn't know he'd died at the time, and I definitely didn't know… I never thought that I'd be here."

England sat silent. He stared as blonde morphed back into brown, stray hairs reemerged, but the damning, burning brows remained. No matter what, he would always see his father in the faces of his brothers.

"When's your birthday, Australia?" He sliced the silence.

"January 26th, 51st year since the split." The answer just as concise.

England gritted his teeth and spat, "The filthy slut."

Australia tightened, his rage sharpened tongue screamed, "Don't you call my mother a slut!"

"No Australia, my father!" England cried. Hatred nipped at his insides. "Don't you realize that because you're younger than I am, my father cheated on my mother? I always hated that lady loving bastard! Good riddance to him and his Zeus-like attitude! Fucking player! Never saw him, and when he did come home all he did was kiss up on my mum and lo!" England yelled, and slapped the air. "A useless, classless man with no integrity! I'm glad that asshole was dissolving when he was, I'm glad that Gaul killed him, I'm glad he's dead!"

The fairies long spread themselves thin. Was it guilt or loneliness driving that pitiless abandonment? Somehow, in the hold of the chilly breeze and the wee hours of the new day, England felt like he was able to laugh at his perpetual anger. It seemed absurd, but there was his reality; everyone close to him were liars and cheaters and everyone else hated him indefinitely.

"I'm sorry, England." Australia apologized, but the prince shook his head.

"Don't be, you're the most sensible of my brothers to date." England laughed, and for a second, his eyes glinted.

"I'm almost sad to say I'm hardly surprised by anything that happens to me anymore." Then, it faded, in faint smiles and dejected heartbeats.

Australia opened his mouth to interject, but the wind blustered around them and blistered their arms with goosebumps.

Bartholomew's black mane tried to shake the frigid wind under him.

Suddenly, the moon didn't seem as bright.

"Lord, what is that chill?" England's teeth chattered. Clashing with the sound of tumbling brush, a cheerful voice shouted through the wind, "Hey, we're the Hearts and we've been wondering that, too!"

England's head jerked on its hinge, and his bow slipped from his arm. Germany slid from the drop-off, the rocky noise characterizing his strong steps. Wary glares bounced from brown to green to blue. Australia dismounted his horse and drew his sword. His advancing body thickened the tension, but in a burst of airheaded diplomacy, Italy erased the mounting pressure. "W-wah! I surrender, please don't kill me, I'm just a fun-loving guy who likes pasta! I don't even have any weapons, see?"

He threw up his hands in surrender.

Glacial eyes seared into Italy, and Germany confirmed, "That he doesn't, he abandoned the lot of them to bring-"

"Pasta! That's right!" The Jack lifted his pot gracefully from Germany's binding fingers. Producing a lofty thrush of pale sticks from the innards of his jacket, he placed them neatly in the pot, standing far straighter than the lot had seen him stand. Open-mouthed, Australia sheathed his sword. "By any chance do you have any tomatoes, because it's way better with sauce!" Italy energetically asked, gestures abound.

The Spades duo exchanged a dubious glance. But Australia saw in the Jack loudness, cheerfulness, and gluttony only rivaled by a member of the group whose presence was merely memory. A butterfly was more dangerous than this Jack: he ran right in front of a group of royal strangers who were certainly not on a friendly, defenseless walk weeks away from the palace and wielded nothing but a pot, some pasta, and a napkin tied to a twig. The knight smiled delightedly.

"...Anyone who's as airheaded as our America can't be that bad! C'mon and sit down folks." He beckoned cheerily, and the King of Hearts nodded the other Hearts on.

"Ah, arigato gozaimasu." Japan bowed; more surprised at how easily they were allowed into the Spades' group than at the fact the princess was wearing men's clothing and was indeed a man.

But perhaps he shouldn't have been so shocked. The group they'd been tracking was missing a very strong, very loud knight. From what he'd heard, it would take the entirety of a royal family, even with their abilities, to match that country's raw strength. Curious that no one had mentioned or noticed the hole yet, Japan opened his mouth to ask where exactly America-san was. But the Queen looked up into England's flat eyes, and suddenly, the atmosphere around him changed.

The words quickly redressed themselves. "Should we gather firewood for Italy-san's pasta?"

The King directed his Jack to assist eager volunteer Australia, but quickly rethought giving undependable Italy an actual task and told him to fill the pot with water instead. The horse found itself tied by the water source again, and upon leaving the caretaker gave thought to his dinner.

Once seated around the fire and surrounded by the bubbling smells of limp pasta, the Spades and Hearts cozied up to each other quite well. Getting along with Italy wasn't as much like getting along with his own idiot as Australia assumed it would be, but the Jack was interesting and charming in his dreamy ditziness. Japan would serve as a reasonable mediator when necessary but was more interested in the way the moon touched the treetops, a luxury much unappreciated by Prussia, who lay in the cradling branches unseen.

A chilling gust of wind blew through the circle and cooled the pot of pasta, much to Italy's dismay.

England gasped, wrapping his arms around his body. "Ah, this wind is oppressive! It wasn't like this earlier today..."

Germany glanced at the sky. "You're right, this is a recent development. As far as I know, not much of your Kingdom suffers from tumultuous weather." He pointed out.

England turned to the King cordially, albeit surprised."You're spot on. I haven't the foggiest what's going on, but I can't say that I like it." He looked to the moon too, the clouds creeping over its face giving him chills beyond the frigid flurries. His fingers tightened about his arms, and his expression did the same as he cocked his head and questioned, "But really, what are you doing in Spades?"

Germany linked their gazes. "We... originally wanted to learn what your plans for the impending war were."

England furrowed his brow. "War?"

Japan and Germany shot to attention, and swapped a pensive glance. "Oh, you don't know? This is very bad, indeed."

"I've been locked in a tower for the past fourteen years." England explained, excusing himself, but the Royals across from him shook their heads in disbelief.

"Fourteen?" Germany asked, and Japan answered with his full concern. "This war has been impending for over one hundred years!"

"What?" England shouted, and Australia and Italy ceased their merry-making. At first, a familiar wave of anger skimmed his torso and reddened his face, but as soon as it began, his memories finally pieced together. A coherent timeline. It finally made sense. "...No..."

He couldn't recognize time's familiar flitting form. What he remembered was truth and what made it hard to recognize an older America. But the older America was testing him, and if England had truly seen it and remembered him, he would have known it was his America all along.

"England?" Australia asked softly, but the Prince choked on his words.

"He told me fourteen, not because he was lying, but because he knew I'd forget..." England warbled, and some simple arithmetic dropped a weight of centuries onto his conscience.

But perhaps, he was finally realizing that being angry at America was him missing something else.

"Fifteen is a good number, wouldn't you say, England?"

"For what?" England closed her book and lowered her glasses, looking upon America's quivering fingers oily with crayon residue.

"My new calendar." He grinned and flattened his cowlick sheepishly. "See, um, remember when you taught me how to do multiclapation?" A powerful jump hoisted the child to the top of a decorative barrel by the wall. Small hands held the thick stack of paper to the wall.

"Multiplication, yes," England corrected and stood over the child, smiling as she looked at the colored sheets on the wall. She walked to the desk against the window and produced a roll of tape.

"I figured out how I can count our ages right. Wanna see?" America waved England over.

"Alright, what have you got?" She responded, and the boy took the tape from her hands.

"I figured if we just count our years by fifteens instead of ones then we don't have to look that old to be really old, you know?" He attempted to tape the stack of paper to the wall, but the gauze stuck to his fingers.

"Ah, I see." The pictures were far more telling than the child's explanation, the math hardly concealed under the layers of blue crayon. Fifteen multiplied itself by two and three and eight (to calculate America's own age correctly, surely) and pages behind the top one told of multiple digits multiplied by eight to get America's age. England giggled, looking at the difference between the date of his birth (what he presumed was the date of his birth, surely) and the current year. The smile turned sad.

Here was a boy that couldn't cope with being one-hundred-and-twenty, and refused to believe his parents could possibly have died sixty years ago when to him it had only been months. Her heart ached for America's wide smile. Gazing over at his tape bound fingers, she couldn't acquaint him with her sympathy, nor expect him to understand how bound he felt by years that rocketed by so fast that even he couldn't catch up.

England smeared the pink and purple flowers lacing the calendar edges. "I think it's perfect love."

"Really?" America beamed, the tape falling to the floor.

Colorful 2D people held hands in the center of the picture, one wearing a purple dress and a sour smile, the taller trying to flatten an all too familiar honey-colored cowlick. "Absolutely. I'll even count them with you if you want. Just like this, you and me." She turned to her charge and he ran into her jubilantly, explaining that he wanted to hug her but just couldn't with his fingers wrapped in tape.

She laughed.

"What?" Australia asked bewildered, and received a broken gaze from England. The wind blew about them, more bone-chilling than before, fizzling the fire, and when Australia recovered; he found England's eyes had been hollowed out completely. The life, gone.

"Who am I?!" He whispered, looking at his trembling hands and then tilted to receive the sky. But the shaving of moonlight that remained bled out, and the clouds devoured it entirely. The wind whistled around them, dark and icy, this time carrying flakes of snow.

"Snow?" Japan queried, raising his hand to the whitening wind.

Thump. The sound was jarring, perturbing, and adrenaline flicked through all five of the Cards, fear glistening in their eyes.

"What was that?!"

Thump. This time, it was close.

"Eeeeeyyyahhh! Germany!" Italy screamed, running behind the King who stood sword drawn. The ground quivered under the immense pressure of the next thump, and the blade shook in his hand. Not a bit of light shone on the party, all weapons brandished for whatever was to come from the woods.

The trees in front of them cracked. A blizzard of wind rushed at the five, who ducked to endure the biting cold.

Japan was the first to meet its eyes and the first to hear its roar.

A giant armored by ice, accompanied by a tornado of snow. It was a walking glacier, coated in solid spindles and spikes. A frost colossus.

"I can beat it with magic, don't worry!" England shouted, but as he channeled the energy around him into his body, he knew something was wrong. His body brimmed with chi and, pointing to the monster, he screamed, "Infernae!"

The wind whistled through his fingers. Then, silence. Nothing happened.

The cards behind England exchanged glances and together, brows equally furrowed in determination, the King and Queen of Hearts ran in opposite directions.

"W-wait, where are you goin-" Italy screamed, and began to cry as the monster noticed his particularly piercing scream.

"Italy, hush," Australia cried, alarmed. "The others are trying to find its blind spot." These men escaped the dropping fist by the skin of their teeth, screaming in terror and running to the trees.

England continued to stare at his hands and whisper the magic words, hoping for a spark. Why wasn't the spell working? He didn't understand, he'd summoned as much energy as he could from the surroundings…

Like the ice flying through the air, it hit him. The wind whipping around him disallowed any potential flames from festering. He smiled slyly. All he had to do was get into the heart of the tornado, reach the eye of the storm where no wind blew and his fire would be free to blaze and engulf the ice golem.

The Hearts, in the kind of sync exclusive to married royals, jumped on either side of the monster and began to slash against its thick ice calves. Each forceful slash left little to be desired, a tiny shave of ice at best shooting from each point of impact. Japan was the first to dart off, worry etched into his face. The way of the ninja had left nary a mark on the ice giant; a slender hand touched the chains in his pocket. Perhaps he could sling these about the monster's feet in a way that would cause him to topple over as the couple had intended to do?

Looking back at the roaring golem, he noticed the commander down and bruised indefinitely, the enormity of the foot that kicked him overwhelming for even a man of his stature. Eyes widened with fear, Japan couldn't be certain if a trick existed that would put this thing at a disadvantage. Did they stand a chance at defeating it?

England's creeping figure was no more than a reflection in the corner of his eye, but Japan noticed immediately his proximity to the creature. He wanted to shout in alarm, but couldn't make the words.

In panicked reprieve, Japan blew smoke into the monster's face, the wind whipping the gas around maniacally.

"Germany!" Italy cried, and Australia leapt from the tallest branch of the tree the two had climbed to attack. The monster was slow to react, and blinded by Japan's smoke, Australia was able to land on the golem's collar and stab it in the eye.

A scream decibels couldn't acquaint themselves with ripped through the air.

Australia lost his balance and to the wishes of the hand that met his body small in comparison, flew through the air and smashed into a tree.

England could see he'd have to hurry. Strict melee could not bring a monster of this size to its knees. Finally between its feet, England saw his chance.

The world silenced around him and the wind began to bend in his favor. He breathed deeply and rubbed his hands together, the energy pulsating through his body and grazing his fingers. The fire within him; betrayal, anger, lucidity, answered his magic's beck and call and from his hands he shouted a paralyzing, "Infernae!"

The fire blew to life and the monster began to drip. England jumped, and a victorious smile spread across his face. Fire fueled by anger and excitement, joy and pain, blazed through the flamethrower's fingers, and nipped at the monster.

The other Cards looked on in amazement; Germany in particular, who had never believed in magic, watched it happen before him in befuddlement. The method stemmed from fiction, and yet finally some damage was being done.

But it was short-lived. England did not notice the Golem's rising tantrum or the foot that rose with it, and Japan was not observant in time to save him from being crushed.

A quickly chanted protection spell enveloped England in a purple bubble. Though under the foot's pressure it burst, it bought England enough time to slip from its looming trap. In a swift swivel, he resumed his fire shooting in quick bursts, trying to keep from being too close to the monster while being close enough to produce flame.

He knew that somehow he would have to dispel the flurrying cyclone around them as well. It was only a matter of time before he felt too light-headed by the lack of oxygen to cast the spells anymore. The others were already hopelessly caught in this bout between magic and unable to do anything but suffer from the whipping ice winds.

Looking back at them and disregarding his fight for a moment, he only saw a flurry of smoke. Japan was trying to protect his family from getting caught in the monster's line of fire. England smiled, the energy coursing through his fire and heightening the flames.

The golem shrieked and in a sweeping kick it threw England to his back. The prince shouted, and tried to scramble to his feet to resume his spell but despite the monster's dripping legs; it stood fine and wrapped England in its fist.

"No!" He shouted and tried to struggle but the monster squeezed him in its fist, inducing a slow and agonizing pain. The monster intended to kill. His lungs squished and his body cracked and the prince didn't stop struggling against the monster's hold. But it was of little use, he was not as strong as America. He struggled to chant an anticharm on the tornado, hoping it would also dispel the golem, but as the cyclone of snow fell around them and the others cheered and caught their breath, England's was nowhere to be found. His anticharm was too weak.

In his miserable failure, the prince could only weep.

"America," he screamed through suppressed breaths, "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I …please… H-help…" Then, he gave up.

All of a sudden, a ball flipped past the other Cards and into the monster's position. Through the smoke, America jumped onto the monster's arm and in a familiar streak of silver and heavy combat wreckage, clipped the monster's thumb from his hand as if it were no more than a nail.

England slipped from the ice, gravity striking him with fear and realization piercing his beating heart. A familiar arm wrapped around his middle, and wide-eyed, he could see his tears falling around him. When everything started to happen in slow-motion, when everything seemed less real he couldn't put his finger on, but he had finally found something he was amazed by.

America.

A thin linen arm peeled itself from England's side, and in his eyes returned the cyan spark he'd been missing. "Please was enough for me! Geez England, for a guy, you're a real sap." America laughed, and looked back at the golem who roared in anger.

"You idiot, don't stand in the way of the monster!" England cried after America, who in his self-assurance ran right into the golem's path.

England stood up, sniffling. The emotion coursing through his body fruited into his fingers as he began his incantation, inhaling the energy of the environment. America was stupid; America was an idiot; did he really think he stood a chance to this ice giant that none of the others could even scratch? The rolling icicle that was the monster's thumb was the exception, not the rule. He had to protect him. More spirited than ever, the fire ignited at his fingertips and in a louder, more confident "Infernaeus!" England was able to melt an entire foot in one ball of fire.

The Hearts were amazed.

In a sweeping motion at the monster's softened ankle, America let his sword fly. The cut was deep, but not deep enough to cut off its foot.

"Shit." America hissed, catching his sword between the screaming monster's feet. Brandishing the weapon expertly, the knight pursed his lips in thought before the prince flared a warning shot by his feet.

"Ah!" America shrieked and lunged before the golem could squish him.

"Get out of the way, git!" England yelled, pointing another fireball at the ice golem's melting foot, and America pouted and poised another attack to get the Golem on his knees.

In a rinse-and-repeat cycle of attacks, the prince melted the ice down slightly and several of the melee fighters joined in to cut at the weakened leg before it solidified. The process was becoming slow and tiresome and the monster began to fight back at its inconsequential pests, knowing that its leg was far thicker and more sustainable than the top of its body.

England racked his brain for a different approach. It was a moving creature, yes? It must have some sort of life energy that England could harness to manipulate it from the inside. Upon inspection however, England could find no tangible chi to hook his magic onto. The prince gritted his teeth.

"Damn it, how are we to kill this thing?!" He screamed, and a golem-scaling America quit his strikes.

The giant did not. The knight soared backwards upon being backhanded by the ice golem and fell on his back to England's side. He groaned from the impact.

"America," England whispered worriedly and crouched to his side, enveloping the group in a protective bubble.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, but we need to think of something and fast, 'cause this thing is kicking our asses." America professed, rubbing his lower back, and, disenchanted, the Hearts agreed.

Each of the members of the party looked worse for wear after having been smacked around by flying ice and crushed by frosty fists. Italy shivered, Germany held his arm and gritted his teeth in obvious pain; Australia's breathing could be heard meters away. Japan could hardly sit up straight, and America was on the ground. Though England did all he could with his magic, he was not a strong enough wizard to bring down a summoned of this caliber and size on his own. He could hardly hold the force field they were beneath together under the monster's slow and forceful pounding.

Each vibrating, powerful slam shocked the cards and amplified the fear in their hearts.

"What do we do?" Germany huffed, and Italy hiccuped, tearfully aghast. Germany gave up.

"Don't lose hope, bruder." A crackling voice sang, and a shadow stretched over England's force field. A long shadow with horns much like the devil's own spurring from its head and had a peculiar vacancy in the middle of its head where its mouth was meant to be, like a jack-o-lantern, cut into a sharp smile.

England held his breath. America narrowed his eyes.

The voice was familiar.

England's force field shattered.

The prince gasped, the knight shuddered, the party screamed, and then they were enveloped by a new bubble. The shadow expanded into a cloud of antimatter and ate the party underneath it, coating the area they sat in with sludge.

The pounding stopped. The air warmed.

"Hey~!" the voice called again, echoing through the blackness. England clutched America's arm.

Incredibly close. "Worried?"

America and England screamed, the whisper erupting into laughter as the Jack flipped and spun into appearance.

"Prussia," Italy whimpered, and the Joker curbed his laughter and wiped a tear from his face.

Ghost white hair and red eyes settled into America's mind and discovered his memory, and he stood despite the pain in his back. "Y-you're the Joker that stabbed me on the ship!"

The Joker floated towards an apprehensive America and the knight took a frightened step back. "Ah, it's nothin' personal kid," Prussia responded with a smirk, patting the knight's head, "I gotta eat."

Filled with terror, America whispered, "You feed off of screams?"

"Don't say it like I'm the devil or something! I'm trying to help you out here." The Joker assured, patting the knight's cheek and giving a wicked smile to the group. Prussia proceeded to drift over to the King of Hearts, uttering an eerie, out of tune string of notes, "You seem to be in some serious trouble here, don't you? The awesome me would be glad to help you out you know, if you'd promise me something in return."

"I can scream plenty, if that's what you're asking for." America nodded, sitting beside England once more.

"So can Italy," Germany supplied and the aforementioned stood up and nodded dutifully.

"He's super right, Prussia! I can scream as loud as you want me to, if it means you'll get rid of the big scary monster!"

The Joker guffawed at Italy's proposition and showered the redhead with praises on his sense of humor. Naturally, Italy was completely clueless to what he meant; being that he was completely serious in his offer. But the Joker declined the offer of nourishment in lieu of another prize.

"Allies?" America and England asked in unison, and looked at Germany and Japan. The Hearts royals straightened their posture under the Spades' gaze, one of which narrowed suspiciously.

"So that's what they were doing in Spades," England murmured, and America shook his head.

"I think we should trust them, England."

The prince let his head swoop upward, and hummed his inquiry. The knight could only give him a half-hearted smile in return, as reason, and shrugged to further support the notion.

"They're good," America assured, and touched England's arm in confidence. "Trust me."

England bit his lip and huffed in approval, his heart bobbing like a buoy in a hopeless, endless sea. "All right."

The Hearts perked up instantly, and an all-consuming fog of happiness surrounded the nobility.

"America-san," The called sat up, and connected gazes with Japan. The Queen smiled.

"Thank you." He bowed and America nodded and hastily bowed back in a fit of embarrassment. Together, they giggled. And thus began a new friendship under the reaches of Prussia's trump.

"Okay bruder, we've agreed to become allies. Official documents notwithstanding, of course," Germany nodded to England, who lifted a hand in agreement. "Of course."

"Then I should teach you your way around Card Battling." The Joker then cackled and the blackness around the group faded into the ground, the rocks and trees and bitter frost of the forest returning to their senses. The golem roared in approval. He was ready to fight.

"Hey big guy!" The Joker chirped, sidling up to the ice giant's head and blowing on its cheek. "Seems like you're looking for a good old fashioned throwdown!"

Ice fragments rained from the colossus' mouth.

"I'll take that as a yes," He chuckled evilly and slapped a sticker on the Golem's head. Suddenly, the world paled and laser-like green lines shot through the sky in gridding fashion.

"What's going on?" Australia cried, and the Joker appeared behind the two families, stretching his arms.

"Did you notice the shape of the sticker I slapped on that thing's skull?" He asked the King, who responded negatively. His brother pouted.

"Look now then." Germany squinted at the golem's forehead.

"It's in the shape of a club?" The commander turned to the Joker, who'd turned to lay suspended on his stomach.

"Nice job!" He clapped and smiled widely. The grid intensified and each of the six party members felt a sharp, spark of energy course through their bodies. Suddenly, emblazoned on each of their chests, was a gold letter. Germany gasped, and laid fingers on his K, Japan and England both found a Q imprinted on their bodies; Italy was graced with a J. Magnetic rubies materialized and attached themselves to the Hearts family's letters.

The monarchs then darted into each other's space, where the gridlines separated and turned a vibrant, vivid red.

England looked behind him at his two companions, whose letters glittered nonetheless but were devoid of the sapphire embellishments he possessed. Then he noticed. The curve of the K on America's body.

"You're…?" England could hardly breathe, but the Joker made sure to drag him back into the battle.

"Hey, lover boy, we're playing against the rules here. These babies over here aren't Deck cards yet, which makes them totally useless in Card Battle." He tumbled through the night sky.

"Hey!" America shouted defensively.

"So I gave 'em a decorative power up." He pointed, "See how you've got a little sapphire in yours and they don't?"

England caught on easily, and almost disappointingly affirmed, "It's because I'm truly the Queen of Spades."

"Well, not an actualized Queen like Japan here, but yeah. You're a card. An actual Card. Ever since your mom died, you've been Queen." He divulged, "At least on the Card Plane, you know. Formalities notwithstanding and all."

"Despite being male?" England interjected.

"You thought you were going to be King?" The Joker cackled and sprayed the monster with paralyzing acid to keep it from attacking. "Tell me this, fairy boy, are you even attracted to women?"

England growled. The rest of the party cringed and Japan diverted his gaze. America sucked his teeth.

Prussia walked toward the Cards on the other side, descending phantasmal steps between the gridlines. He clicked his tongue, saying, "You're weird. You're not like the other cards, and Spades isn't like the other kingdoms. You guys are powerful because you aren't going to play by the rules." He grinned and flicked his hand.

The Deck of Spades, the entire suit, flashed between his fingers.

"Cause the rules aren't fair." He and America chorused. The Joker grinned at the knight's subtle whisper as America let his eyes roll to the ground.

"I like this trump." Prussia laughed. "For the first time in a long time, I actually like the ruling family of the Trump suit. Ha!" The cards vanished from his hand and he settled on the ground between America and Australia. They hardly even quivered.

"Alright, so I'll show you how to give it what you've got," he shouted and tapped his chest. "Do as I do! Draw your swords!"

The knights, the King and the Queen of Hearts all wielded their weapons. England picked up his abandoned bow and lifted it to his chest.

"Spades is trump and because Spades and Hearts are allies, the Hearts kingdom is a little more powerful than they would be on their own. Aren't alliances convenient?" Prussia crowed, "Now you'll feel a slight pinch."

The feeling was not slight in the slightest. The emblem ripped from England's chest, and he was torn in two. He shrieked, wind encircling his body, vacuumed into an inescapable hole. The space around him darkened, and after a final yank, England sat undisturbed. He'd left the Material Plane.

He opened his eyes and beheld the blue, purple, and gold banners of the Spades Kingdom fluttering around the room. Salt grazed his nose with the familiar bite of the sea, and in the middle of the shadowy hall stood a table. The Joker leaned against it, staring at the Queen's apprehensively approaching figure. Four chairs stood regally by the table, whose center caved in to harness a large battlefield boxed by the vibrant green grid from before. In it, a diminutive version of each Card and the giant were perfectly positioned across from each other, frozen in action. Gaping, England seated himself, heeding Prussia's invitation.

At the head of the table sat a hollow figure, neither colossal nor ice, but related to the giant in portrait. A green nine floated above head, a testament to his number, and as Prussia confirmed, his power. "Nine! Aah! What a disappointment! But I suppose Russia was… heh, pitying you." He smiled. "Or making fun of you, perhaps." His smile widened. "Or maybe he was just conserving his own power. I doubt he was doing it for the nine he sucked the Card chi out of."

England looked around. Emptiness. Not a soul besides him sat in the room, and somehow, this made the situation even more frightening."The what?" he questioned, and peered up at the Joker.

"Well to summon a monster that can battle on the Joker's Card Plane," Prussia frowned deeply. Something alarming had crossed his mind. "You have to suck some of the energy from the Card whose level you want the monster to mimic…"

He interrupted himself and addressed his absent brother. "Sealand's already talked to the King of Clubs." He looked down. "West, we're running out of time!"

He spoke urgently, "Alright, this is how this works. England, you are the only monarch present from your suit and you are Trump, so you are a player! Family two, the Hearts Kingdom, is your partner! However, being that there is only one opponent, instead of joining you in the battle Hearts will add one of their cards to your hand. You've got the Jack of Hearts in your hand now." Playing cards materialized between England's lithe fingers, each carrying the familiar colors and letters of their respective kingdoms. In the middle however, stood a smaller version of each monarch, blinking as if real, but refraining from breathing as to be fictional. England eyed them through Prussia's words.

"You've also got a Queen of Spades, a weak false King of Spades," he pointed to the gray King in England's hand, "And a weak false Ace of Spades, but it doesn't matter because, heh, the opponent's a nine. Really, I don't know if the King's just bullshitting you or what, but I digress." He cracked a smile at his weak joke, but couldn't be bothered to slow down for detail. Prussia waved it off and resumed instruction. "And then you've got the completely legitimate, totally awesome me, as your highest card. Play that and you've got a guaranteed one-hit KO, trump suit."

"Fantastic!" England exclaimed, "Now how do you go about doing that?"

"Just play the game." Prussia explained with a wicked grin. "Go on; lay a card on the table."

The sprites bounced, Ks and Qs and whatnot glittering on their chests. They waited for a command; they sat patiently under the grid, only eerie miniatures of their respective cards. England felt too powerful, too in control of the Cards' destiny; what if he lost? But he did as the Joker told him, knowing nothing about what was to come but what Prussia had detailed.

The Queen of Spades lay face up on the table. The grid coursed and vibrated, and the England sprite jumped to attention. By his hands a twisting snake of fire encircled his body.

"Infernaeora?" England puckered his lips and cocked his head. "I haven't learned that one yet."

The hollow, lifeless golem before England laid his card on the grid, the nine of Clubs. Suddenly, the sprite golem fell to its knees, the grid illuminated a deep blue and the England sprite released the wheel of fire. It encircled the golem and melted it at least a meter. Dripping, the sprite stood back up, the cards in the golem's hand now numbering four.

England's Queen dissipated as well, but the cards appeared face up on his side of the grid. Furrowing his brow, he hesitantly drew the Ace of Spades.

One again, the grid registered the correct sprite. Australia's sprite drew his sword between his arms. The golem laid another nine of Clubs onto the table. England raised an eyebrow to the hollow statue, Australia raising his sword to strike the melting ice statue and severing its leg from its body.

"Oh my!" England exclaimed, and watched the golem hobble to one foot. "We couldn't do that before!"

"You didn't have the benefit of controlling your trump before," Prussia grinned derisively. "I'd say you're getting the hang of this."

"I'm just supposing every card in the Ice Giant's hand is a nine." England declared, drawing the Jack of Hearts.

"Ooh, sure that was a good move?" The Joker cringed, and England eyed him wonderingly.

"I… Jack is a higher card than nine, right?" The grid pulsed and shed its blue skin in favor for a red coat. Italy swung a rather large staff into the golem's middle, shattering its bottom half. Only two cards remained in both players' hands.

"You got that one purely because you're going first." Prussia pointed and gave him a smile. "Hey, I can't tell you everything. That's no fun."

England huffed and returned to the battle. "All right then, how about the King of Spades?"

The Joker cackled. "Honestly, why didn't you just use the Joker card for a one-hit KO?"

England straightened in his chair. "I-I wanted to see what the other cards would do!" He sputtered; refusing to admit that he had simply forgotten the Joker mentioned his own power.

Upon registering the two cards on its face, the grid adopted its blue color again and the America sprite shouted something unintelligible, though England could be sure that it was something along the lines of 'Here goes the Hero!' He charged at the beast and sliced off its arms without a sweat. He winked up at the prince and England's heart, unintentionally, inadvertently, fluttered.

"Idiots are idiots even in card games." He huffed and frowned, but couldn't wash himself of the blush painting his cheeks.

Prussia smirked at the small spectacle, twisting his tail between his fingers.

One card remained. England slapped the Joker onto the table, and the golem placed the hopeless nine on its face. Prussia's smirk radiated with malice and, a mischievous glint in his eye, his own sprite wrung itself from oblivion. It grinned; sharp teeth bared, and released an immense wave of magic from its hands. The energy surrounding the sprite far surpassed England's, and ebbed and flowed with the movements of the moon itself. Glittering like gems inside the black magic sphere, the sparkling black waves resembled the stars of space themselves, and in a single shove the golem was swallowed into space and oblivion. It dissolved in a masterful sweep, sewing the breach between worlds, and a miniature puddle of water remained. The Joker was nowhere to be found.

England stared at the table in amazement as the golem across from him crumbled to bits.

"Did we-" His mouth preferred gasping to finishing his question as he was swept from the Card Plane and endured the same zipping and unzipping sensation as he warped back to the Material Plane. Prussia sauntered back beside him, shaking his head at the fear in England's posture, and wondered how he could have possibly been as human at one point.

The light broke into fading, cascading prisms, and the moon resurfaced from the clouds' gluttonous mouths. England smiled.

"England!" America shouted, and in whispering and gentle movements, the two reunited.

"You came back…" Fingers first; their palms met.

"Of course I did," America slid his arms around England and pulled him close, pushing his head into his arm. England, nervously, timidly, touched America back, too gentle for America to notice, but just enough to heighten the senses between them to unnatural levels. "England," America's voice strengthened with heavy emotion instead of sagging, and England felt a familiar prick at his eyes. What kind of man cried this much, wanted to be in the arms of someone else this much? It was too much.

"I know that you're confused and hurt and you feel more alone than ever," America whispered, and he sympathized, memories of black tie suits and wet, staunch graves blooming in his mind. "And you're scared and far from home," He rubbed his back and England buried his head into America's shoulder. Who else should know his trembling hands and flooding face?

"But I'll be here for you. I promise." He pet England and smiled endearingly down at his shaking body. "You aren't gettin' rid of me again! You can run all you want, but I'm not going anywhere!" He laughed, and England pressed himself further into America's arms, wracking with sobs.

"Don't cry!" America soothed, running his fingers through his prince's flaxen locks.

"I'm not crying!" England cried, his hands full of America's shirt. The knight grinned and drew the weeping Prince closer.

America was right. It wasn't him he was mad at, it wasn't about him; the lies were never his to begin with. His furious salty tears were the sole product of his parents. He'd wanted to be with America, he took it out on America, and he wanted to fill his senses with America. The only comfort to his grief, the only vent of his anger, the purest nobility he'd ever encountered, America was the perfect hero. A flashback, like a ring bearer gripping a velveteen pillow, presented him with the image of America with a golden K emblazoned on his chest.

Was he destined to become King of Spades?

'Could I and America really…?' England swallowed, but the rock in his throat made no downward progress.

Was this the last piece to the puzzle? England's heart had finally pieced it all together? The heat pulsing through his body, the comfort he felt buried in America's arms, how eagerly he received America's hug; how happily he hearkened his promise to stay and how easily he believed every word from his mouth.

How much he wanted him to stay.

Up into the cloudless sky, England met cheerful blue eyes and his body fell limp and useless. Static burrowed into his heart, but this time its melting warmth calmed him and excited him all at once. The quickening beats of his heart lulled him into America's arms; spread a small smile onto his mouth.

England felt whole.

It wasn't as if he were broken or unusable before, no; he felt stronger. Like the world underneath was underneath him, and the sky above was reachable. Never had he felt so confident, never had he desired and felt desired, never had he loved like he loved America.

To the world he was a stranger and an outcast, but despite their multiple spats, he'd never felt unwanted around America. In fact, he'd felt precious. And even in his questionably chivalrous adult form, America was charming, endearing, lovely, brave, carefree; arrogant and childish and yet England could forgive it all.

England had been slapped about for his flaws all of his life: 'Don't you swear!', 'Those eyebrows are hideous!', 'Don't you even think about adventuring outside of the palace!', 'That's no place for you!', 'You don't belong here.', 'You're about as regal as a toilet-seat.', 'They should send you to obedience school!'.

He draped his arms around America's back.

Around America however, he was always warmly welcomed, sometimes hugged and always cheered up. America illuminated the world around him, cleared paths for him, gave him hope and courage and reason beyond himself to destroy his boundaries and forget his limits. In their bond was strength unrivaled, and indescribable warmth.

Love is only love once it is unquestionable. A mantra England had been quick to adopt as a child, and now found could be thrown to the wind's unpredictable and unheavenly grasp. He was sure.

England was in love.

"Your majesty," A soft voice tinkled. "A letter has arrived for you."

The orange glow of the afternoon sun bounced off of the windows of the bedroom. The glistening of lacy yellow palace walls fit the King of Diamonds like a glove: he slid quite comfortably into the cinnamon-and-honey ambiance, despite the thick smells of sex and lust not belonging in a place otherwise so sweet. Yet it was his indulgence that easily set the seedy undertone for Diamonds, the scantily-clad maids in his bedchamber just a preview of the scandals the King couldn't help but partake in. He grinned at his Queen, so innocent and young as she'd been sold to his father as a baby to be heir to his mother's throne. Too bad she weren't a bit older, her face has the eeriest and most enchantingly naive beauty about it. He couldn't wait to see it riddled with lust.

"Ma cherie." He greeted silkily, and the Queen curtsied as he took the letter from her. "Thank you." He then proceeded to kiss her on the cheek, as she was accustomed to and Liechtenstein made her exit.

The return address piqued the King's immediate interest. "Oh hon hon, what is this? A letter about our dear friend England?"

The envelope cascaded to the sheets, reels of paper on his lap. Blue eyes scanned the note's contents and he began to laugh.

"Alors, un petit chevalier in love with cette thon!? Hilarious!" he mused, and thumbed a maid's skirt. She giggled as his hand traveled up and he thought about how to act on the new information.

"Ah, it can wait until tomorrow." The note brushed the rug, and France brushed something else, flipping the girl onto the bed among singsong laughter.

War could wait.

End Chapter 15.

A/N: WOW GUYS, Check that word count. Maybe I should stop writing Author's Notes. :S
Spring break! Every time I worked on this chapter, I listened to Maximum the Hormone. Metal makes me focus.

Some notes: Infernae, Infernaeus, and Infernaeora are derivatives of one fire-type spell. Infernae is "flamethrower", Infernaeus is a "flame ball", and Infernaeora is a "flame wheel/ring". And all of the birthdays are like Australia's up there, _ year since separation or the split. Once the split of the Kingdoms becomes progressively ancient, the 'est.' thing will drop, but that's not in Knight's timeline.

Happy Easter! ~Sam