And some have greatness thrust upon 'em

[gwenchan]

 Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: HWS Inghilterra/Arthur Kirkland, HWS Howard the Spy, HWS Belgio/Emma Heylen

Rating: Teen

Additional Tag: Alternate Universe_Humans; Alternate Universe_Royalty

Prompt: You will be called in to fulfill a position of high honor and responsibility.

 

Note: Capitolo indefinito da una long inedita

 

Arthur spent up to the end of September in Gothia, enjoying King Berwald's hospitality, the Gothian court the most welcoming, probably to compensate for the cold climate. It was with a little regret he watched his packed bags being loaded onto the carriage when the time arrived to return to Swabia.

 

It felt a little strange thinking a year had passed already since he came to Swabia. He changed a lot. Several things had changed, actually, and little was left of the boy who came here escaping from a love he thought hopeless.

Whereas last year he escaped Dauphiné, now he was counting the days for him to return there. There was only the little detail his Lord Father had yet to communicate his decision about the matter. Given the past occurrences, Arthur doubted he would be down to satisfy his least favourite' son request. But Dauphiné was were Arthur was meant to be in the first place, thus making his choice to return there sort of an apology.

 

In any case, any new letter spotting the royal sigil made his heart jump in his throat more than the missives Francis insisted on sending him, most of the time weaving words that made him blush in frustration.

 

"From the King?" Howard asked across the room. 

 

"From both," Arthur specified. A letter from both his parents at once could be the harbinger of wonderful as well as terrible news. Only the most important matter would require a letter from the sovereigns in unison

"Pray for me," he tried to joke with the valet before breaking the wax sigil. At first glance, the letter didn't mention Dauphiné anywhere. That, already, wasn't a good sign. Still, it could be he missed it. He'd better actually read the letter before drawing conclusions.

 

Once he reached the bottom, he felt like the floor had been pulled out from beneath his feet in one motion.

 

He read the letter again and a second time after that, slowly in case his eyes were playing tricks on him. The words did not change. If anything, they became clearer. 

 

"Read this," he called Howard, giving him the letter.

 

The valet hesitated. No matter the level of complicity he might have with his prince, a letter from the sovereigns not addressed to him wasn't something he was supposed to read.

 

"I don't believe this is a good idea, sir."

"Read it. It's an order," Arthur cut it short. He needed someone else to confirm what he had read. He watched the frown deepen on Howard's face, the same frown he felt on his forehead.

 

"Do I have to read it aloud?" the valet asked. Arthur nodded a quick confirmation. Those words needed to be pronounced. "Very well," Howard obliged, skipping to greetings to go immediately to the core of the letter, for Arthur's relief.

For once, he'd rather not beat around the bush. 

 

"Therefore, we are happy to inform you that the negotiations with Queen Emma had, at last, reached an agreement. Given the delicacy of the situation, both parts agreed it was imperative to secure the union the soonest possible. However, for the impossibility for the future spouses to meet in a timely fashion, the parts agreed to celebrate marriage by proxy in wait of the actual wedding."

 

"A marriage by proxy," Arthur echoed. 

 

"It's, well, we knew it could happen."

 

But Arthur hardly had the mind to pay attention to Howard now, not with too many thoughts filling his head and no idea of where to start.

 

"I'm married," he muttered, unable to bring himself to believe it. While his parents had previewed the fact Queen Emma proposed a marriage covenant and that negotiations were being held, he expected the King to have at least the decency to inform him the negotiations were successful, before the proxy took place.

 

"Like a thing. They treated me as a thing," he searched Howard for some sympathy. 

 

"But you have been married to a Queen," Howard tried, "and you are going to rule Flanders at her side. It is a great responsibility ruling a kingdom and even more a new one "

 

"I know. And I think you are too optimistic. Consorts do not rule." 

 

"We will see once there," Howard still insisted. Arthur didn't reply. It would be only a waste of time and before he had to wrap his mind around the whole matter.

 

"Should I already tell the maids to begin preparing your clothes for the travel?"

 

"I suppose."

 

Packing for Flanders was not what he had envisioned for his immediate future. He guessed his Father had in the end given his response about Arthur's request to return to Dauphiné, a punishment for last year disobedience. As if Arthur had thought he's let him go back when he so much insisted to leave. 

 

"Leave me," Arthur ordered Howard. "I ... I need to write a letter."

 

Even more, he needed to be alone to accept the fact. He wasn't sure he could write any letter now. Howard nodded his understanding.

 

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can do now?"

 

Arthur shrugged, not even trying a fake smile. Part of him wished to ask Howard to help him escape, run away somewhere his Lord Father would never find him. Escape maybe to the colonies where nobody knew his name or face and rebuild a new life from there. He'd ask Francis to join him, a test of his devotion. 

It was a beautiful and silly fantasy. He was a prince and as such he refuted to run forever searching for a safe place away from his Lord Father's wraith. He was no hunted animal and if that was the behaviour the king expected from him, he would not give him the satisfaction.

As Howard had said, he'd help rule a country, sit almost at the same level as a king, and found there his revenge.

 

"No, thank you. I am fine. It was only abrupt."

"Very well," Howard accepted. By his tone, he understood but said nothing and respected his master's privacy.

 

Alone, Arthur let his head fall into his crossed arms.

 

He should have listened to Francis and return to Dauphiné with him when he had the chance. They could have had the whole summer for them, the time Francis claimed could be so abundant if Arthur only stopped for a second to run away.

Arthur had never believed him and now it was late. 

 

He traced doodles on the page, the pen still dry, looking for the right words to explain the situation. It wasn't only a matter of communicating his new status. The letter was a farewell that didn't preview a reply while also expecting it.

In his mind, their correspondence ended there, continuing it too heavy on his heart.

 

It would be the last letter he sent to Francis for a long time and the next one, if ever there was one, would be for politics. 

He wrote in Albish, unable to find the right words in any other language.

 

Francis would find a way to translate it.

 

--

 

The travel to Flanders went as nicely as Arthur supposed a journey with Albish staff King Garrett sent specifically to keep an eye on him would go. If he expected familiarity in being surrounded by Albish people for the first time in almost three years, reality soon proved well different. He had had servants who liked him at the palace. They were not these.

 

Flanders' welcome to him as future prince consort was warmer. Queen Emma in person stood on the palace steps to greet him and the Albish delegation. 

 

"Your Majesty," Arthur greeted in Flemish and bowed appropriately. In the days of travel, he had promised he'd try to not blame her for the situation and do not harbour feelings of hate before knowing her. He had made that mistake once already.

 

"Please, call me Emma," she invited him with a warm smile. She curled her lips in a way Arthur couldn't help but compare to a cat. Without any outstanding features, she didn't strike as a breath-taking beauty like Princess Marianne or Lady Anya; but she had bright, green eyes and a cheerful face. 

 

If she was scared for the role thrust upon her so abruptly, she was doing an excellent job in hiding it. Then, she had accepted the crown. She had some agency. 

 

Arthur didn't even wonder why she had welcomed the burden of ruling a kingdom. He and Emma were much similar in this aspect, both spares, both groomed to know the throne wasn't part of their plans. When the chance presented itself, only a fool would refuse the call. 

 

"Thank you ... Emma."

 

The name without any honorifics tasted strange in his mouth. Not only she ranked higher than him, but she was still a stranger, despite what was already written on paper. Beyond a former princess, beyond being the Queen of a newly formed kingdom, before him stood his young wife. 

 

He was prince Arthur of Albion, fourth in line to the throne and soon Prince Consort to Queen Emma of Flanders.

 

***

 

The wedding would be held in two weeks. They were packed with activities.

Arthur spent them trying to learn the local court dynamics and find a gap in them into which insert. He toured the palace, the capital and even visited a couple of nearby towns. The rest of his free time he divided between revising the language to learn at least the basics, silently thanking the basic understanding A Lord Bonnefoy had given him once, and spending time with his young wife. They didn't talk much except for the proper small talk between strangers. As on paper, they have married already, no chaperone felt obliged to follow them. Emma, however, kept a sort of distance and Arthur was glad for it.

 

A couple of days after his arrival, the usher opened the door of Arthur’s new apartments and announced the Queen.

 

"May I come in?" she asked, a courtesy not required by her position. 

"Of course, your majesty. Forgive me, I mean Emma,” Arthur said, closing his book and automatically jumping on his feet to give a proper bow."

 

"She chuckled," no need for that. We're in private and equal. She sat down and invited Arthur to do the same. "No, no the armchair."

 

Arthur considered it, though Emma sounded sincere, but opted still for the stool. 

 

"I am afraid we are not, my lady."

 

That would have been true a year ago, maybe. Now, instead, one of them was a queen, the other only the consort. Emma, however, didn't seem to share the idea.

 

"We are", she insisted. “Or I would have fought in Council for nothing.”

“I am afraid I do not follow you,” Arthur said, but to test the waters, already sensing where Emma was going. 

 

“I have no use for a prince consort if he does not help me rule at my side. May I be frank with you, sir?”

 

“If you feel safe doing so.”

 

Though he knew already nothing she might say would bring his Lord Father to break the engagement. The only thing could be her threatening to attack Albion, a far-fetched possibility if she didn't want to destroy her newborn kingdom, and even in that case, King Garret would sooner order his son to stop his wife than to allow for a divorce.

 

“Soon we will be properly wedded," Emma began, as if repeating a discourse she had prepared beforehand. "But I am not as naive as to believe you maybe do not have someone already. A love-interest, perhaps even a paramour."

 

"What happened in the past does not matter," Arthur answered coolly. 

 

"It should instead. I do not expect you to love me as a husband does with a wife when their union comes from the heart and not a necessity," she said. “I do not need a lover. I need a partner and an ally on the throne. Someone to operate with me, help me reach where I cannot. To be my eyes and my ears.”

 

The Queen's longa mano to operate in the shadows and report to her at the first sign of plotting. A perfect plan, in theory. However, all of his tutorings had taught Arthur one should never be so open with their plans until they were sure of the person they had before and even that some secrets were worth keeping.

 

As far as Emma was concerned, he could be planning to ally with her enemies; but as soon as he formulated the thought, he knew he'd never. Besides that, he had no reason, it would be a suicide.

 

"It's a dangerous thing to ask," he said, leaving her to interpret the word as she liked. 

 

"I know. This is why I am asking,” she insisted, “but to ostracise you would be more dangerous. I believe we have more to win if we are partners than enemies and I am sure Flanders will benefit from a dual monarchy.”

 

“It is a great responsibility,” Arthur commented, unsure. Despite Lord Bonnefoy insisting on broadening his tutoring beyond the scope of what Arthur needed to learn, Arthur had never been truly formed to rule. He was not expected. Then, neither was Emma. 

 

They were the same and Emma could be right, maybe that could bring them closer and be their strength.

 

“Why did you not tell my parents about this during the negotiations?” Arthur asked after a moment. While he appreciated Emma didn't give him the news through a messenger, he'd be happier to know it before coming to Flanders; though it wouldn't make any difference. 

She folded her hands in her lap.

“I was not sure it would come through. I played safe.”

“Safe choice.”

 

Still, he wondered if his parents would have chosen him if she told them about her plan before. Maybe with the perspective of co-ruling a kingdom, they would've picked Dylan or Neill, deeming them both fitter for the role, and he'd still have time to spend with the person he loved.

 

He understood Emma's decision. He couldn't help the surge inside him, wishing she hadn't, as he watched her take her leave.

 

"I know sir," Howard commented later when Arthur accepted to communicate the reason for his discontent. "It was not fair. But now you will rule a kingdom. I would not be so quick to believe the alternative would be better."

 

To that, Arthur couldn't reply.

 

***

 

 

The actual wedding was a simple and rather quick affair, though after having witnessed Dauphné celebrations everything would look dull by comparison

 

Arthur did not regret them, always more at ease with sobriety. Last year he spent in Swabia had only accentuated that trait.

 

Besides, it wasn't like Flemish people didn't want to celebrate or didn’t know how. A banquet had already been prepare for the court and the guests, to be followed with music and dances. Simply, there was no need to drag the ceremony for hours, especially when it was more of a formality.

 

The coronation, on the other hand, was grander, in comparison at least. Emma had been adamant about it, too aware of the frail state of her monarchy to not rush it through. Logic would tell them to wait till Arthur was deemed ready to rule, but with the risk of people at court putting their power in question, an official legitimation was imperative.

 

“Prince Arthur,” the priest called, voice loud for the all crowd to hear, “Do you stand with a clear heart and mind in front of this court and the heavens? Do you vow to be fair in your judgment and go act with valour in the name of the crown?"

 

Arthur took in a breath. A word and everything would change. 

 

"Yes," he repeated in Flemish, as a page brought a velvet pillow, onto which a crown lay; a real crown, not the coronet Arthur would hopefully wear once in his lifetime, at Alistair’s coronation. 

Never he'd thought he had his coronation too. 

 

The crown shone with promises and expectations in the priest's hands, holding it high for everyone to see. Arthur knelt at the sound of a formula he struggled to understand. The light touch on his shoulder, however, was sufficiently clear.

He raised, feeling the weight of the crown in his head, and faced the crowd. 

“His royal highness Prince Arthur, Ruling Prince Consort of Flanders and Prince of Albion,” the priest announced as one by one all except for the priest and Emma bowed to him, the prince consort. 

As the bowed, the crown weighted less and less, till he held his head up to revere in the glory of the moment.

He only regretted nobody of his old acquaintances were there to see him. Above all he wished his Lord Father was there, to witness how far he, the loathed bastard son, had gone.