Chapter Text
Sometimes, William regretted conquering England.
Oh, the benefits of being royalty was nice. He had an army, an heir, and a kingdom. For a man, it was a great achievement, for a bastard even more so. His name would go down in the history books as “William the Conqueror” and his descendants would rule a kingdom forever. What man wouldn't be pleased?
Except…there was one tiny problem.
His Nation.
England was the second most terrifying being he had ever met. At first glance, he looked like a mere boy of thirteen summers. Golden hair, green eyes, ridiculously bushy eyebrows, and uncommonly pretty features. But he was the furthest thing from ordinary.
His features were a tad too sharp and gave him an unearthly beauty. It never burnt in the sun and stayed the same perfectly fair tone. The sun would give his skin an odd golden sheen that made him shine in the day. What William feared the most though, was looking England in the eye.
England's eyes were a piercing, peridot green that shimmered in ways that eyes shouldn't. They seemed to radiate light from the pools of his irises, just like the creature that threatened William in his dream.
Even now, the thought of the creature made a chill travel down his spine.
It appeared in his dreams the night he conquered England.
The being was obscenely tall and muscular with tan skin, too-sharp features, and amber eyes with rivers of gold flowing from its head. It was in full battle armour, clad head-to-toe with blinding bright gold. William instinctively blinked his eyes to adjust to the sight. The being appeared human, but he knew without a doubt that it was anything but.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run. Something at the back of his head, a leftover from the first humans in ancient times, yelled that there was something ancient, larger simply waiting to rip into him. William had to run.
The first lesson of war was never to freeze. That would get you killed. So why couldn't he run?
The entity? simply surveyed him like he was barely worth his time. Honestly, William wasn't. Not to this being. There was something intense on his face that made you feel like you were an ant under his stare.
“William of Normandy,” the entity's voice reverberated through the dreamscape. “Son of Robert of Normandy and Herleva of Falaise. Duke of Normandy and King of England.”
There was a strange lightness as the entity listed off his last title. William felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response.
“You know, I admire ambition. It's an admirable trait to have. To conquer a kingdom? Quite a lofty achievement. Were it any other land I would've congratulated you for your success. Except—”
Suddenly, the entity was right in front of him. William nearly—and he would never admit this to anyone—pissed himself. The entity was far too close, its teeth bared in a furious snarl. There were too many teeth. How did it have that many teeth?
Y̶̧̖̬͚̑͒͂̽̽͜O̷̗͇̓͝Ǘ̶̦͖͊̈̈́́̀͐ ̴̜͑H̴̡̯͇͔̹͑́A̴̙͙͓̒̀̾͠R̶̝͂̌M̸̢̡͓̭͈͔̣͌̈́E̵̳̹̗̋̈́̄ͅD̴̛̬̥̜͓͎͍̻̔ ̶̧̡͚̲̩͚̓͑͆͌̀͗ͅM̴̼͉̭̈́Y̷̛̭̼̜̿̔̉̒̃͠ ̶͍̘̻̝̻͖̖̈́̀̃̕͝S̷̡̠̟͔̮̋͗̊̀ͅŎ̶̗̣̱̌̿͝Ņ̶̣̻̩͓̏̋̈́̕!̵͓̈́
It was like a thousand voices were roaring at one. Anger laced with every word. William's ears rang and it took his sheer effort not to cover his ears.
Then it struck him what the entity had said.
“Great One,” he began, laying it on thick. Fuck, how did you even address an eldritch creature? He gathered years of etiquette and diplomacy he learnt as the Duke of Normandy and bowed. “I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I have never met your son, and should I have the honour of doing so, I would never lay a hand on him.”
Fury danced in the pools of the entity's amber irises. “Oh, but you have. Are you so quick to forget your conquest? You razed my child's lands, killed his people, and dared to make him welcome you as king as if you did not throw him in agony. My son has been suffering since the moment you landed on his shores. You dare tell me you haven't hurt him?”
William frantically tried to remember if he met anyone who radiated otherness like this eldritch being. He darted his eyes and studied the entity, trying to link its features with the people he had ever met.
There was…something familiar about it.
The golden hair, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, the slope of its nose, and that piercing gaze… Where had he seen it before?
A memory of earlier today tugged in his head, of a boy with a similar furious snarl and blazing green eyes.
Merde.
“England,” William said faintly. “Your son is England.”
It was so obvious now that he was looking clearly. England had the same golden hair, sharp features, and calculating gaze that made you feel insignificant.
“Aye. The child who you A̷͕̥͓̭̪̫̽͒̈́̈́̒͊̌̎̓̈́T̸̳̥̒́͂T̷̯͙̭̙̖̄̐͋͌͂̾̈̇͌̚͘͠A̶̳̖͇̘͂͋̎̔̈́̽̀̈̅̇̈́ͅĊ̶̡̨̭͎̥̘̰̮̌̀̉̕̚K̶̢̨̪̤͓̬̦͇̈́͂̆͌̏͒̾̈́̑̀́͒͂E̸̢̢̱͍̻͔̳̥̺̎͌͊̆́Ḋ̴̡͖̺̩̰͎͔̊͋̃̈͒̂̾̑͛̕͜!”
William was certain his internal scream of terror broke several records.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
No one ever told him Nations could have parents. They supposedly appeared in the wild without a clue and were born to serve their people. Even the Nations with parents like the Italy twins shared blood with Rome because they had a shared culture and land. Nations weren’t supposed to have biological parents—there was no way the entity and England weren't blood-related with how similar they looked—and they weren't supposed to have eldritch parents!
Fuck is this what England did when he disappeared? William had heard the rumours. But he never expected England to have a protective eldritch father! One who was clearly furious a foreign invader conquered his son.
William could see his life flashing before his eyes.
“I will not kill you,” the entity's golden eyes bored into his soul. When did they turn gold? Weren't they amber just now? “You are fortunate my son has asked me to spare your life for peace with his people.”
He would grant England the highest honours after this as thanks.
“But,” long fingers grasped his chin and raised it to look into furious golden eyes. William tried not to hiss in pain from the unbearable heat from the entity's fingers. He couldn't look away from the light emanating from its eyes. “I will not let my child be subjugated again to some foreign scum without protection.”
The hand around his face tightened to a painful degree. A malicious smile stretched across the entity's face, a sharp, wide thing with far too many teeth.
“You and your line and all those you come after you shall never lay a hand on Arthur or submit him to cruel, degrading punishments. Nor will you give anyone leave to harm him. You and any Rulers of England, now and in the future, shall treat him with respect, dignity, honour, and grace. Your petty squabbles and civil wars and political feuds are yours alone. None of you shall force Arthur into it or make him pick a side. You will let him go as he pleases and do as he wishes. You will have no say over his personal affairs or the right to confine him anywhere. He will have the freedom to express his own opinion, seek and share ideas, and follow his religion whether they are contrary to yours. He will be your equal in all things that matter. And you shan't breathe a word of this to anyone without prior knowledge or Arthur's consent. If you or anyone ever breaks these terms, you yourself shall have your soul torn to shreds.”
There was a burning sensation on—what he instinctively knew was—his soul. William could hear the figurative click of a lock shutting as he and his line and anyone with a measure of ruling power in England—now and in the future—were bound by this…geas for perpetuity.
Since then, William ensured he treated England with the utmost respect. It didn't matter when England yelled at him for harshly putting down rebellions or invading other kingdoms and calling him several rude names. If he were anyone else, William would've sharply punished him for taking that tone.
But the entity's malicious voice echoed in his head. You will let him go as he pleases, do as he wishes and speak as freely as he wants…If you or anyone ever breaks these terms, you yourself shall have your soul torn to shreds.
So William yelled back but never laid a hand on England or ordered him to be thrown in the cells. He treated the Nation with the respect and dignity of his position. It was galling being forced to stay on equal grounds with a child William was supposed to be king of. But he wasn't interested in learning what would happen if he broke the geas.
The entity never said he had to prevent anyone from speaking ill of his Nation, but if it went this far to place protections for its child, surely it meant it wouldn't be pleased to hear others slandering him! Perhaps, it would even endear William to the entity and prevent his untimely death.
William silenced every nasty comment from the courtiers who weren't in the know. He harshly punished anyone who spoke out of turn or dared to comment about England's barbarian tendencies. Who cared if the child wanted to run barefoot on the grass in the woods or talk nonsensically with the air? Let him! As long as he was happy, the entity would also be, and William could keep his head!
He instilled the lesson in each of his children and ensured the rest of the nobility did the same with their ilk. By now, everyone knew the threat hanging over their heads. They had never seen the geas in action, but they were wary of tempting the wrath of this eldritch being.
But alas there were always fools who could be counted on to do something idiotic. Who better to take on that role than the court idiot?
Charles Lefebrve was uncouth and dull. A man weak of character without the charisma to make up for it. He was the son of one of William's generals and unfortunately inherited none of his father's integrity. He indulged in wine with his laziness and at times he could lash out...
One night, Lefebvre had drowned himself in wine in the view of the entire court. He tried to stumble out of the hall but kept tripping with every step. England rushed over and attempted to help him up.
It happened so quickly. Even now, William could barely process what happened. One moment, England was kneeling by Lefebvre's side and trying to assist him. The next, he was sprawled on the floor with an ugly purple-blue bruise in the shape of a handprint blooming across his cheek. Lefebvre was looming over him with his fists pulled back for another blow.
The air was sucked out of the room. Everyone held their breaths in shock.
Then the hall erupted into pandemonium. William yelled for the guards to throw Lefebvre into his rooms, armoured guards roughly dragged the drunk from the hall, and a swarm of servants and nobles surrounded England. There were frantic yells for a physician—never mind that England healed faster than other Nations, they were not risking the entity's wrath after what Lefebvre did.
The next morning, Lefebvre had been found in his room. The ground was a sea of blood. His mangled body was barely recognisable and seemed to have been shredded by an animal. Large claw marks gashed over the red mass of flesh, all glowing with an energy that was anything but human. If William strained his ears, he swore he could hear mad cackles from the walls.
William felt his heart drop past his stomach and down to the floor at the sight. No one needed an explanation. They all knew what happened.
The geas claimed Charles Lefebvre's life.
He felt as if scorching hands gripped his throat as the weight of the chains he was only beginning to comprehend tightened around him. The ruined face of Charles Lefebvre stared back at him, a promise and a warning.
In the following years, William heightened the protections around England to the enthusiastic agreement of the court. They worked unanimously to silence any stray rumours of their Nation. Everyone knew England liked his privacy and didn't want his life to be advertised to the nosy Nations. A sharp smile and a pointed word here and there sent off any curious ambassadors scurrying away with their heads tucked between their tails.
No one wanted to be the next Charles Lefebvre. If this would save them from whatever punishment the entity had reserved, they would gladly defend England and guard his secrets to the bitter end.
William also lauded England with several titles—the Duke of Arcadia, Earl of Truro, Earl of Bournemouth and so forth. Never mind that he was the personification of the land—granting him lordships was redundant—the titles were simply there to give him status in court. Everyone knew that if England wanted to go somewhere, he would. It wasn’t like they would stop him. It was his land.
Rarely were other Nations named a duke. Duchies were often granted to those of royal blood. Most royal families didn't feel the need to elevate their Nation to that status and settled for granting them the second-highest peerage. They certaintly didn't grant their Nations a host of titles and riches. Which meant giving such honours would show how highly they thought of him! Hopefully, this would appease the eldritch entity if they showed how much they treasured their son.
There was nothing else William could do but pray his efforts paid off. What was done was done. There was no going back to those days in Normandy. Before the conquest. Before England. Before all this magical business.
His time was almost up. Soon this geas horror would be none of his business anymore. William was under no illusions England hated him. The feeling was mutual, but they were bound as King and Country till death.
The weight would pass down to the next generation and the next. England would always be by their side for better or worse. It was up to them to learn how to navigate this mess with the Nation and Damocles's sword hanging above their heads.
William prayed his descendants would have better luck than he did.