Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or V for Vendetta. I make no money off of this.
Summary: A year in the life of Arthur Kirkland and the changes they brought.
Author's Note: Not my best work...
It wasn't often anymore that he opted for a late night stroll, but something was drawing him away from his bed, and he hadn't lived as long as he had without following these feelings. His feet brought him to the old Cathedral of St. Paul and soon he had climbed up to the top of the great dome to the spot where the feeling told him to wait. He was facing North West, his knowledge of the stars told him that much, which was odd because Parliament and the majority of London was South of him along with the Thames. The only thing he could see from here was the Old Bailey and it was this that he focused on.
He waited nearly an hour for something to happen, but then he heard Big Ben begin to toll the hour of midnight and it was no longer November the fourth, but November the fifth. "Remember, remember the Fifth of November," he intoned quietly to himself, "the gunpowder treason and plot, I can think of no reason the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."
The music was certainly a surprise, had someone in this traitorous government finally developed a sense of humor? No, this was Tchaikovsky...the "1812 Overture" the build up for the grand finale, in fact. No one in the government would willing put Tchaikovsky through the speakers on this night. A true smile split his face and his eyes lit with a fire that had been absent since Norsefire gained power. As the piece hit the high point in the crescendo and the canons should begin to fire the Old Bailey blew sky high. And the fireworks announced the identity of the pyrotechnic.
One of his scars itched and he smiled, touching the sore that had been painful for over a decade. A decade of Norsefire. A decade of dictatorship. A decade of traitors as bosses. Traitors, not to the government, but to the people, to him.
He clapped from his vantage point a top the dome and hoped and prayed that this was the death knell of this government. "Can you pull it off, V? Can you bring vengeance for the people? For me? For you? I don't think the Fifth will be forgotten after this."
He was startled from his work when the television in his office popped on without him turning it on. He took a moment to glance for one of his fairy friends, but they were absent. He watched the television display a man sitting behind a table with a red curtain as background. At least he assumed it was male, the mask made identity impossible to determine.
He was certain, however, before the man began to speak that this was his mysterious pyrotechnic. This was V, the Guy Fawkes masked proved it.
"Good evening, London," V said.
"Good evening, V," England replied to the screen with a playful smile, wondering what the "terrorist" as the government called him, would tell him.
"Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine-the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the Fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat."
England felt the smile stretch further. He so did love it when his "enemy" was well educated. "There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way," V said just as England's phone rang. He chuckled.
"Yes, boss," he said, picking up the phone. He was in a very good mood.
"Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power."
"What do you expect me to do, sir? It's your system," England said, managing to hide his happiness at the broadcast that was being seen and heard all across London because of the "emergency" channel.
"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth," V said. "And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?"
England chuckled, "Well, there's nothing wrong with me, but with the government."
"Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission."
England glanced at the surveillance camera that he had duped along time ago along with all the other monitoring equipment installed by the government. He wasn't the most power magic user in the world if he wasn't able to dupe a few surveillance devices to make the government think he was compliant.
"How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror."
Yes, he had been duped for awhile by Norsefire's lies, but it didn't take long to figure out who were responsible for the new sores on his body. The reason he had taken to wearing gloves constantly.
"I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent," V said.
England smiled sadly, it had taken this long for someone to step up and wake the people up. The people needed the truth shoved into their faces, they needed the blinders removed. V was doing a bang up job of it, too.
"Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory."
"I didn't like him much," England said. Which was true, Fawkes nearly blew him up as well, well, him and his all but forgotten co-conspirators. Plus, Fawkes for the Spanish, and he had just spent a lot of time destroying the Spanish Armada.
"His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, thy are perspectives," V continued. Which England agreed with, he understood what Fawkes was after. Fawkes wasn't really after destroying the nation, he was a good Catholic in a land that was Protestant.
"So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked," V said. England knew that no one could allow this, even the people who would like to make everyone believe that no crimes had been committed. "But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a Fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot."
England smiled as the V symbol appeared on the screen and turned off the television. He leaned back in his chair for a moment before turning around and looking out the window at London in he distance. "Thank you, V, I'm ready, but are the people ready?"
He learned of Evey Hammond soon after. Sutler and Creedy demanded her location, but he managed to lie that he couldn't pin point the location of an individual in his country. He had never had the loyalty to this government to tell them all his secrets. The fact of the matter was, he could find anyone he wanted.
He instead pretended to be a normal citizen of the country and keep up with everything by the news. He knew V had killed Prothero. Not only could the news anchor not lie to save her life, but because he knew V had been at Prothero's house when the "Voice of London" had been murdered. Revolutions were bloody things, there was no such thing as a truly non-violent revolution.
Even if one side chose not to be violent, the other side would be. Revolutions were born in blood, sweat, and tears.
Then Miss Hammond moved as Father Lilliman, or Bishop, as he was now called, died. But he decided not to approach. He knew she was back with V and felt Deitrich's death soon after. He had not expected that.
Miss Hammond didn't move much, indicating that V was probably treating her like a true prisoner. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but there was nothing he could do about it. And he had enough to deal with. He had to hide the fact that most of the country was already behind V and it wouldn't take much to tip the balance.
It was another feeling that brought him out to Larkhill that night. He stood in the rubble looking at the sky. He was unsurprised to hear footsteps behind him.
"Who are you?" Finch said, shining his beam on England.
"No one of much importance," England said.
"I think otherwise," Finch said.
England smiled and chuckled, "Good man. So ask me, what do you want to know."
"What's going to happen?"
"You know the events of the past, and it isn't foresight to know what will happen," England said. Finch looked around at the ruined buildings. The stench in the air of death. And he knew, it was like the other said.
"Someone's going to do something stupid, and the people will react. Then the government will react. And like dominoes, all V will need is to keep his promise."
"You are a wise man," England said. "Do you want the full story?"
"Stories can be either true or false," Finch said.
"But would I lie to you?"
Finch felt the way he had since coming here and said, "No, I don't believe you would."
England nodded and began a history lesson that was condensed into an hour. He had managed to tell Finch everything in a super condensed version, knowing that Finch would extrapolate what was forgotten or missed.
"How do you know all of this?" Finch asked.
"You already know the answer to that," and he left, Finch would stand there for another hour before he finally understood and head back to make his own decision about the future.
He managed to resist introducing himself to V, but Evey and Finch met him only moments before the big boom.
"We meet again," Finch said.
"You know him?" Evey asked.
"Only as much as you do," Finch said.
"I've seen many a revolution, but this has to be the least bloody," England said.
"Really?" Evey asked.
"Yes, I half expected all those people to become martyrs, but someone did not plan the chain of command properly."
"What do you mean?" Finch said.
"Sutler and Creedy died and the chain of command had no one to take orders from. The field commanders did not wish to fire on their fellow citizens. Of course this will go down in history as a failure on the part of Sutler and Creedy which led to the successful reinstatement of proper democratic government. Sutler and Creedy will probably be lambasted in history with a similar fervor as Hitler and Stalin. While V will go down in history praised as a freedom fighter," England said.
They knew this man wasn't a historian, but he knew more about history than anyone and had come to them.
"What's going to happen to us?" Finch said.
"Isn't that up to you lot?" England said with a smile as the fireworks began to die down.
After that night, change came quickly and soon England began to look and feel the way he had before Sutler came in. But there were still signs of the problems. There were several scars that would take years to heal, if they ever did.
Every year he brought a Violet Carson to Larkhill until they began to grow wildly and by then Evey Hammond was in her grave and Finch in his and everyone had forgotten the significance of the flower. Everyone, but England who lived long.