Warning: This fic deals with the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. It will contain blood, smoking, and descriptions of a battlefield. Reader discretion is advised.
Inspired by the phrase: “Buddies in Bad Times.”
Mars at Rest
Waterloo, Belgium; 18 June, 1815
Cracking against flint, a match sparks and burns, breaking the deathly silence.
Prussia brings the flame to his pipe, lighting the tobacco, watching it glow red before he inhales that woody, calming scent, letting it fill his bloodstream and permeate his mind. It doesn’t do much to dull the throbbing ache of his muscles, bruised and overtaxed, pricking in sour protest of every shift and gesture, but it quells the final itch of caution, a nagging leftover from the battle, dying out at last. Shutting his eyes, he exhales, long and slow, then turns to gaze upon the shattered countryside.
The field of victory is never a pretty sight.
Belgium’s rolling hills are riddled with bodies, military uniforms dotting the landscape in navy, crimson, and black. A few fires are smouldering here and there, dark smoke billowing off of charred grassland and wool fabric, torn flags rippling from the heat. Among the dead, like phantoms, riderless horses stand quiet, their heavy heads hanging low; sad statues lost without their masters. Dusk soaks the scene in a strange, muted haze, with clouds catching the sunset and blazing as they sink below the earth.
It’s a familiar view and Prussia idly wonders how many battles he has witnessed in his abnormally long life. Hundreds? Thousands? The uniforms and weapons may change, but in his memory, the conflicts all blend together in a sea of blood, a churning stew of grisly images stretching back to the Crusades. The shock and horror long ago morphed into tepid acceptance, better suited for survival, because when staring down a brigade of stampeding dragoons, there is no time for doubt, and the field of failure is a far worse sight than this.
Turning his back to the sullied terrain, Prussia puts his hand on a short, crumbling brick wall, barely more than a fence now, and hops, throwing his boots over the side to perch atop it. His tendons sting, a mild jolt of pain shooting up his wrist, but he ignores it; he rarely listens to his body, anyway.
“You look like shit,” Prussia tells his exhausted ally.
Barely upright, England is sitting on the ground, leaning against a broken cannon wheel that got stuck in the rubble. Coat draping his shoulders, he holds his bandaged side, red seeping through, and still manages the strength to glare up at Prussia, putting those impressive eyebrows to good use.
“And whose fault is that?” he grunts, voice dry and hoarse.
“My best guess would be France,” Prussia teases, popping the pipe between his teeth.
- Makes little PB and Js with matzah during Passover
- Can, has, and will decorate the sukkah with too many twinkly lights and possibly confetti
- Headcanons Azura as jewish and will fight you if you disagree
- Wears a yarmulke to synagogue because screw gender roles
- Wears Hanukkah sweaters because “Why should Christmas get all the sweaters?”
- Feel free to add!
Fun fact, by the way: Azura is a name that exists in Hebrew. In The Book of Jubilees, Azura is the name given to the wife of Shet/Seth, third son of Adam and Eve and ancestor of all humankind. Adam is also seen in Kabbalistic Judaism as being the mortal aspect of Adam Kadmon, a primordial being divided into portions whose life force is said to pervade all of creation.
And of course, I bet it drives Belos up a wall that this great opponent of his who has come to liberate the people of the Underworld is a young, neurodivergent, and highly androgynous Jewish person raised by a single mother who wields a staff to perform magic and fraternises with those cast out by society while releasing criminals sentenced to death from their bondage and inspiring the people around them to become better and wiser and more gentle.
Also, there’s this:
Luz no ceda=Light (that) does not yield
Ein Sof Ur=Unending Light
And also the term most commonly used to refer to false/foreign gods in the Hebrew Bible is Ba’al, transliterated into Greek as Belos. Philip is also a Greek name, Phillip II of Makedon being the man whose son Alexander III the Great created the circumstances in which rose the Seleucid Empire that produced Antiochus IV Epiphanes.
Belos forces up a statue of himself in Bonesborough, and Antiochus IV Epiphanes set up a statue of himself in the Temple of Jerusalem.
Funny to think about how Pride started as a riot and Hanukkah started to commemorate a rebellion.
Me: Is it possible that Jesus of Nazareth was assigned female at birth, but was actually a genderfluid person who fought in the Roman Imperial armies in the wars against Parthia when they were young? Was Mary Magdalene actually a trans woman? Did Judas betray Jesus because he could not accept the idea of a non-binary Messiah?
obsessed with stories set in the ruins of a golden age. like yesss the decline of empire, farmers grazing their animals amongst the ruins of palaces that were once home to powerful kings and queens, children playing in the wreckage of long abandoned war machines, cities which once bustled with life now home only to the occasional nomadic group passing through
I agree with this so much. It annoys me immensely that more stories don’t show how society and Humanity change and develop in the centuries and millennia following the Apocalyptic Cataclysm.
Also, I particularly love “We have preserved classic stories from before the Cataclysm as folk tales and myths and so we remember things from the Before Time in a very roundabout and metaphor-laden way”.
