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London, 1588
Dearest Spain,
It grieves me that our people are at war. I wish it were not so. It may be some time before we can see each other again.
My dear Elizabeth knows of us yet she has not forbidden us to see each other – a sweet and trusting gesture on her part. She does not wish to see me in pain. However, she is only human and so does not understand how we nations work. I may love you but I will not let my people suffer for my personal relationships.
I am sorry.
I have many wishes. That my people won't die needlessly. That my people will live well. That I could be with you. But I will do my duty instead.
So I declare to you that I will not hold back. There will be no mercy. If I must wipe out a hundred of your armies, I will do so. If I have to annihilate your navy with you on board, I shall. Even if I look into your eyes as I do these things, I will not stop.
I must ask you to do the same.
It would pain me to know that you would be kind to me where I would not. Please, do not do something so foolish. We are nations, not humans, and we cannot afford to be merciful in a fight such as ours. Where humans struggle to survive and live in peace, we must struggle to stay on top.
I will not lose that position.
When we next meet, it will likely be in the midst of battle. I pray that it will be short and painless on our part. And for our brave men, too. If we fail to meet there, then it may be years before we will meet in court or for trade.
The Lord above knows I miss you.
ENGLAND
Corunna, 1588
Cariño,
I miss you, too. I always miss you. I curse the water which separates us constantly. If only there were some way for me to appear by your side. I wish to embrace you and take you to bed where we can be shielded from the world for a time. It is a constant desire and I hope this war will not last long.
Te amo, cariño.
Please remember these words when we fight, no matter what I say. I will believe the same of you as we face each other. But I will not say them when we meet on the battlefield. It will be too painful even if I think them.
You say you will not show me mercy yet I must remind you that I am plenty strong. My people have just as much, if not more, influence on the world than you, mi amor. So remember that it might be you that will be in my mercy.
And, as you said in your previous letter, I will not show mercy upon you. It pains me to think that it will happen to either of us. If only some other nation would get in our way. Perhaps France will block our fighting. He is, after all, rather fond of fighting you.
I love you, England. This war will not change that. I have loved you since I met you, all those centuries ago. You will not lose my love and I hope I will never lose yours.
But I will not patronise you. We will fight and I will not hold back. And I may win. If I do, I hope we will be able to be with each other more. Perhaps Philip will allow me to stay with you for a few years. That would be lovely!
Imagine it: being together all day without fighting. No swords or wounds or blood. Only you and your beauty yielding to my hands. Or you showing your growing strength and leaving me breathless. The sun will be high that day and it will be peaceful.
Ah, I love you so much it hurts to be away from you. Curse these trying times!
Now I do not care if we shall only spy one another on a battlefield – I must see you soon!
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Te amo, querido chico. Cuento los días.
SPAIN
Half a millennium later, England sat in his living room, calmly doing his embroidery. Recent events had been stressful but he had the weekend to relax. Not only that, in a couple of weeks, his new boss had given him a month's time to do as he pleased, disregarding any emergencies. He had already planned what he would do and was looking forward to it.
A smile graced his lips as he sewed a carnation onto the handkerchief. It was to be one of many gifts for his lover and it was rather tricky to get one so small just right. Pausing in his work, he looked it over and was just about to finish it off when his mobile began to vibrate on his coffee table.
Blinking, England looked down at the screen to find a picture of Spain in his Halloween costume lit up. Wondering why he was being called by the nation, he set aside his embroidery and picked up the phone. Answering the call, he said, “Spain? Why are you calling? You know it's expensive.”
“I miss you!” Spain wailed. England winced at the volume and sighed in response. “Inglaterra! Don't be mean. Te amo! Te extraño!”
“All right, all right,” said England, rolling his eyes. “I hear you. But I'll be there in two weeks. You only need to wait a little longer.”
“It's too long!”
“Not as long as we've waited before, love,” England pointed out, recalling the letters they had had to exchange, sometimes via spies or carrier pigeons. It had been taxing but definitely worth it in the end. However, with the invention of the radio and the telephone and now the Internet, being able to see and talk to each other had gotten much easier. “Do you need me to go on Skype?”
There was a pause as Spain thought about it. “No, it's okay,” he said with a sad sigh. “I'm happy just hearing your voice.”
“You'll see me soon,” murmured England, sitting back on his chair, smiling at Spain's confession. He understood exactly how Spain felt and he wished he could skip the next two weeks. Alas, he had work to be doing and he would have to do it before he left.
“I know,” Spain agreed. There was an odd quality to his voice, like he was refraining from telling England something. Then he switched topics. “Those letters I sent you... Did you keep them?”
“Of course I did,” England replied, incredulous. “A lot of them burned in a fire or were destroyed by other means, though. I kept the most important, of course. They're safe. Why are you asking about that now?”
“I was only wondering. After all, in your letters, you always told me you missed me.”
England's breath caught in his throat as he turned red. It was true, though; since they had gotten more convenient means of communication, England had said he missed Spain less and less, unwilling to say the words aloud. Then he remembered the e-mails and the instant messaging they had used before they had both got cameras attached to their computers.
“I tell you that in e-mails,” England informed him.
“I know. But it's not the same. Do you miss me?”
Spain sounded far too cheerful in England's opinion. He had cornered England with his direct question. Blast it, the other nation knew what he was doing! Frowning, England stuck his nose in the air. “What does it matter right now? Like I've said-”
“Do you miss me?” Spain sang – and England could almost see him bouncing with glee.
Narrowing his eyes, England said, “What if I say 'no'?”
There was an odd hissing noise and England realised that Spain had gasped. “You... You don't...”
“I said 'if'!” England cried, waving his free hand as if to dismiss his previous words and Spain's dismay. Hurriedly, he added, “Of course I miss you!” He paused when he realised what he had just said and almost hung up in frustration – Spain had tricked him once again. Shaking his head, he forced himself to remain calm.
“Te echo mucho de menos, mi amor.”
The words shocked the breath from him, squeezing his heart. England felt tears prick at his eyes and he reached up to rub at them, content that no-one could see him. “Te echo mucho de menos, mi amor,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero mucho.”
“I love you, too,” said Spain, much louder than England had. He sounded beyond happy, his grin clear in his voice. “Which is why,” he continued, “I couldn't wait to see you.”
England blinked. “What? What are you talking about, Spain? I thought you didn't want to-” He was interrupted by the doorbell ringing and he froze. It couldn't be... “Spain?” he whispered into the phone, staring in the direction of the front door.
“Mm?” was Spain's answer.
In a sudden burst of motion, England leapt from his chair, hurrying to the front door. Once he had reached it, barely keeping himself from tripping over a table in the hall, he unlocked it and threw it open, certain he would see what he expected. Sure enough, there stood a grinning Spain, wearing a thin white t-shirt and tight black trousers. England stared at the cheerful expression on his lover's face, quite unsure how to express his gratitude and relief and love.
Spain took the silence as an opportunity. “¿Me extrañaste, mi amor?”
Those words spurred England into action. He threw himself at Spain, knowing he would catch him, and wrapped his arms around Spain's shoulders to hold him tight. “Sí!” he exclaimed, clutching at the back of Spain's top. He buried his head in Spain's shoulder in an effort to keep any stray tears hidden but Spain gripped him by the hips and moved him back, causing him to look up. Reaching up with a hand, Spain cupped England's cheek very gently, smiling softly.
“Inglaterra,” he breathed, his voice causing England to shudder with anticipation. England didn't have long to wait: Spain leaned in and they were soon kissing. To England, after all those months separated, the kiss was the most passionate, perfect, breathtaking kiss in all of history.