Work Text:
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty.
Warning: Fluff with a Pinch of Angst
Short Tale Characters:
-England/ Arthur Kirkland
-America/ Alfred F. Jones
~Canvas~
Short Tale 5
Unlike the frigid realm he ruled, this sky had a sun. A calm summer breathing the last drafts of spring that felt like gentle caresses over his face. Even with his eyes closed he could see the glorious colors of life, as warm roses and reds remained soft in his vision. It was nice to lay in the velvety grass and rest boneless upon the earth…it was nice to let go of pretense for once and simply be.
How wonderful a dream to wish that this moment would last forever.
“I think it looks like a horse – a big sturdy one that could plow fields all day and still go on long rides in the night. What do you think, Arthur?”
The mage kept his eyes closed, still holding onto serenity, and patiently exhaled his tension. “Where I come from, only children paint pictures in the clouds.”
His companion let out that lighthearted chuckle of his and leaned over the other, eclipsing the kiss of the sun. “I don’t ever think you’re too old to look up at the sky and see whatever you wish.”
Still refusing to open his eyes, Arthur frowned and furrowed his brows, “You’re a rare breed of man-child, my friend. Now grant me peace or it’s time-out for you.”
Alfred’s smile carried on his voice and the man leaned pretentiously closer until their noses touched, “You can take a nap at any time. Why would you waste this beautiful day sleeping?”
Arthur stingily glared up at the half-Nord and grumbled, “Because, unlike you, I’m an old man and need my bloody rest.”
Without taking the blatant hint, Alfred just smiled wider and plopped down with his head on the Breton’s stomach. Arthur grunted and felt the urge to shove the half-Nord off, but abstained and forced himself to relax and just be happy Alfred was silent again.
It didn’t last.
“I used to lay out in the sun like this all the time as a kid, making pictures in the clouds. I used to do it at night too with the stars.”
“Pictures in the stars aren’t a new concept, Alfred. They’re called constellations,” Arthur stated, annoyed that he had to play teacher when he would have preferred playing deaf.
“Oh I know,” Alfred assured without offense and continued, “But I used to make up my own. You know, before I knew who my real dad was I used to paint pictures in the heavens of what he might have looked like.”
Silence stretched between them for a time before Alfred let out a resigned huff and leaned his head to the side, “I liked the one I made up there a lot more.”
The Breton’s heart and brow softened at that, and eventually his hand found it’s way to the other’s hair, comfortingly combing through it. It seemed to work and Arthur could feel Alfred’s smile returning.
The mage’s eyes turned up to the sky once more and finally he took the time to watch, as the clouds crawled along it. The world up there was all water vapor, only visible because so much of it had chilled and clustered together. It was all explainable through alchemy but to Alfred…it was magic upon a canvas.
Arthur could not bring himself to be so cruel as to take that away from him.
“You’re wrong…it’s not a horse, it’s a fish impaled on a spit.”
Arthur felt Alfred’s jolt of surprise from where he rested on him, and then knew that radiant smile was beaming full-force. “Hah, I think you’re just hungry. There’s no way that’s a fish.”
“Oh, and I suppose next you’re going to tell me the one beside it doesn’t look like a bumbling half-Nord trying to turn it before it burns?”
Alfred burst out laughing and playfully smacked his companion’s thigh, “Okay, so maybe you aren’t blind…but the one behind it is a cat getting chased by a dog.”
Arthur just smiled and closed his eyes again, “There’s that wishful thinking of yours.”
~Fin~