The Once and Future King (Hetalia)

Prologue

Alfred F. Jones had spent the better half of his life training for the day he'd become a knight. For eight years he had worked as a page, serving for a half-decent nobleman who treated him like dirt.

But he endured. If he worked at it hard enough, he would finally be able to land himself in the King's court. 

Eight years later and he'd done it. In three days, he would graduate from pagedom and be knighted by the King at the annual knighting ceremony. Then he'd have the chance to actually be somebody, not just some poor farmboy from the edge of the country. All his hard work would finally pay off.

After two hours of non-stop sparring behind the castle's courtyard grounds, the soon-to-be knights took a lunch break.

"You win again, Jones," said Alfred's opponent. "As always."

Alfred grinned. "Keep at it and maybe you'll defeat me one day."

"I have a feeling you're not going to make it easy."

"No way, man! What's the fun in that?"

Alfred hefted up his opponent from the ground and patted him on the back before bidding him goodbye. Then he headed into the castle and climbed the north tower, where his chambers were located. He passed by two castle maids on the way, who waved at him and giggled like schoolgirls. Alfred responded with a curt smile and darted into another corridor.

Most pages didn't live in the castle; that privilege was only reserved for full-fledged knights. Unless a page's knight threw in a personal request to have their apprentice stay with them, most pages lived in the town surrounding the castle.

Alfred was one of the exceptions. His brother, Matthew, was a pupil to the renowned Master Sorcière Francis. Since Francis was a trusted advisor to the king of Camelot, Matthew was allowed to live in the castle. Alfred, being of blood to Matthew, had been permitted to live with him.

The first day of Alfred's paging duties, he was shown where he would be staying. His master sent him up the north tower and told him to count exactly seventy steps. Of course, back then, Alfred was no more than a pre-pubescent child who was in desperate need of exercise. He died halfway through and had to catch a ten-minute break just splayed out panting on the winding steps.

Times had changed, however. Now Alfred could run the entire way—even with his sword in hand and armour on his back.

Reaching the seventieth step, he barely broke a sweat. He was panting slightly, but his exhaustion was justified by the earlier sparring match. He didn't bother catching a short break if it meant lunch.

"Mattie!" Alfred burst into the room. "Hey, brother!"

Matthew looked up from his desk. As usual, spell books and magical tomes were scattered across his workspace. Alfred spotted a lone apple core sitting at the corner of the table—the only evidence of nourishment that proved Matthew ever ate anything.

"You should eat more," Alfred said worriedly. "Don't want you passing out on me."

"I'm busy, Alfred," Matthew sighed, scribbling something down on parchment. "Your lunch is on the pantry."

"Oh, sweet."

Alfred plucked up a slice of bread and wolfed it down. Then he gulped down his cup of water before getting to the good bit, a small piece of fruit cake. Alfred leaned against his bed frame, watching his brother work.

"You make the best fruit cakes, you know, Mattie?" Alfred said.

"Alfred, I could hear your armour jangling all the way up the tower. Why didn't you leave it in the armoury? It was distracting."