By Your Side :: A Countryhumans Anthology from the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance

II. Lasting Impressions [K. Portugal]

Lisbon - May, 1147 AD

Someone is saying something at me. Well, not at me specifically, but also the rest of the Portuguese court and lords. So, it's not too hard to nod, or raise my brow slightly, or make that nondescript agreeing noise whenever the speaker pauses or looks at me. I wonder what England's doing right now. I really should be listening, I really should. But it's boring, hearing someone go on and on about the specific number of buildings and people and roads and buildings and, what, trees??? there appear to be inside the city. Did I ask? This doesn't even matter right now? How do we win, that's the more important question.

We don't even need this scouting. I could probably just go find the city himself and ask him. I'll do that maybe a few weeks after the walls fall (if this works, which.. it surely will), after the first bit of anger wears off, then I'll go make friends with him. Mmm. He's got a pretty name, it's a pity we have to change it. I like England, too. Makes the whole name + land formula work, somehow. England's an elegant name. Sounds cool in Portuguese, too. Inglaterra. Nice balance of vowels. I like saying it almost as much as I like hearing him say mine. I mean, uh, we really should change Ulyssippo.

Yeah. I'm thinking real hard about important things, behind this pleasant smile and serene, calm gaze. Really important things, right, Portugal? City things. Kingdom-building things.

...I wonder if England noticed me sneaking glances at him during that carriage ride.

Not sure why that thought makes me so hopeful. I mean. On one hand, maybe he'll pay a bit more attention to me, and wouldn't that be nice. On the other, what if he thinks I'm absolutely mad?? Well, I can't exactly help it. He's just going to have to deal with it.

This pale, shortish newcomer - there's something about his face that I couldn't quite place, not even after two weeks of knowing him, which is quite a long time, really, to get to know someone. Or maybe I judge people too quickly. Well, anyways - England. Shit, what a face! Always a bit confused-looking, but never in a frustrated way, nor, especially, trying to conceal it. He's a bit pasty, but he does have a nice, honest blush when embarrassed or flustered. I'm rather fond of it, especially. One day, I'll figure out how exactly to get that red onto his cheeks- I mean, what?? In an experimental way. Just to study him and see what gets him to go all rosy and embarrassed and, uh, it's kind of, I mean, interesting. Portugal, think of anything besides his blush- uh.

I like his sincerity, even if it just means he's got nothing yet to hide - a lesson he'll learn soon enough, I bet - and no reason to hide, in the first place. When he smiles, it's in earnest happiness and not a malicious, sadistic smirk nor a forced grin. Francia could never! And England, he does frown! Quite a lot, actually, but better than never or always. Francia - a better example would be myself, I think guiltily - never lets that smirk fall from his face, and that makes even his most handsome of smiles that much less valuable.

I like that England can't seem to control his face. It's honest. Maybe then, I can be honest with him, too. Maybe he'll be like a brother to me. A real brother, not like the little shit I've got at home- huh?? No, I, I love my little brother, of course. I just think he might try to murder me in my sleep, sometimes- that's a joke. I'm joking.

This happened during that carriage ride, too. Castile never tires in plaguing me, I guess, even when there's interesting young Englishmen to learn more about.

That whole time, my annoyingly stupid mind decided to bombard me with thoughts about my brother, while, I might add, trying to broker a war deal!! With foreign countries! Not exactly the greatest time to get misty-eyed and reminisce and wish for anything to be different. I mean, I guess I was thinking about my place in the world and how other countries see me. So that's useful, sort of.