☆Highest Rating: #103 in HF!☆
A Retelling of WWII... with a twist.
Principalities. Winged beings who have been bound to a people, a place, a culture and country from the moment their eyes opened to this earth, and doomed to fall with...
He spared no time in getting himself into the air. He could feel himself wheezing and gasping for air as he flew. The darkness of night was all that overwhelmed the land. William and Thomas had definitely had their objections, practically pressing him to the floor to keep him still so he could recover, and Franklin agreed. But he would have none of it. Arthur flew, frantically moving his wings so he could get to his intended destination.
London. More specifically, the cathedral.
He could feel fear and doubt practically overcoming the pain. Would they be okay? What of Joshua and Elizabeth and Hugh? Of Marie and Teresa and Josie? They couldn't be hurt, no, he couldn't live with himself if that was the case.
His body was in and out of shut down. He could feel himself give up for two seconds, freezing up and going stiff, gasping in recovery, feeling the crushing weight of nothing across his whole body; before he started functioning enough to push himself onwards again. It was a desperate and meager pace, as if he was crawling through the air, but at least he was moving.
By the time the sun began over the horizon, he could see London in the distance.
Throughout the night, his pain had only worsened. It grew more and more severe each time he felt his heart pause. Arthur had found himself turning to the sky in an attempt to plead for it to stop so he could move on, wondering vainly if anything or anyone was listening.
When the pain did stop, it was replaced with a numb, burning sensation over his heart and arcing across his collarbone. He barely managed to make it to the clock tower, sinking down to the floor to lay there for a moment. The carpet felt cool beneath his face and feathers, and all he wanted was to lay there. But he forced himself to stand and limp along, marching quickly down the hallway and into the rows of pews as he called out desperately for anyone. He couldn't see any damage to the building, but he also couldn't hear or see anybody.
"Marie!?"
His voice echoed dejectedly.
"Elizabeth!? Joshua!?"
As he went unanswered for what felt like the millionth time, he could feel himself become overwhelmed with fear. He shifted towards one of the pews, clinging onto it for balance as he tried to think of anything.
It felt like far too long before he heard someone call out.
"Arthur?"
He turned sharply, feeling dizzy immediately. He instantly felt his body go slack as his shoulders slumped and his wings hit the floor. Marie and Elizabeth stood there, Hugh hugging onto Elizabeth fearfully. He could feel a relieved smile come to his face with such vigor that he didn't even notice the pain in his chest. When he spoke, his voice came out shaken.
"God, I thought you were dead or something-"
He was interupted by Marie pulling him into a scared hug, and he couldn't help but hug back as he started to shake, sadly repeating those words.
"I thought you were all dead-..."
"No, no, we wouldn't die. We couldn't die, we have to take care of you."
oOoOo
"You're Winston? Winston Churchill?"
He stood in the farthest back courtyard of the parliament, staring back at a short and stout man with a cane. But even then, his tired looking face had the smallest smile.
"I am Winston Churchill. You must be-"
"Just Arthur. Not the 'Angel' or anything... just Arthur."
The statement was met with a brisk nod, and Arthur felt terrible because he was nowhere near prepared to talk to the man. After a moment, he gestured for the shorter, younger appearing man to come inside. Arthur followed quickly.
"I hate to ask, but where were you earlier?"
"France. I apologize... I needed to be there to help someone."
The man nodded again as they turned towards the stairs, and Arthur felt himself staring down.
"I apologize-"
"Don't worry." Churchill started, waving a hand in dismissal. The way he did so was oddly comforting, almost cheery, and Arthur only paused for a moment. "I guess I would have been there too."
"I really wish I could have been here earlier."
"It's fine. I just have one question."
"...oh, alright."
"Are there more of you?"
Arthur paused, considering what he meant, before nodding. "Yes. Yes, we call ourselves Nations. That's why I was in France. To help Francis. It didn't work out so well..."
The man nodded again as they came to the second floor landing, before stopping. It was evident in the old man's face that he looked worried.
By the way Arthur held himself, with a hand absentmindedly pressed to his chest and eyes glued to the floor, walking shakily; it was almost obvious that something was wrong.
"Are you alright, there?"
"I'm fine." Arthur spoke quickly, before offering a strained smile. After a moment, he held out a hand.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr.Churchill."
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Ah, final chapter for tonight my dear readers. Mayday Parade can only get me so far, even if it's 'Terrible Things'. I hope you enjoyed this one. I was really debating having Winston Churchill in here, but I need to. Be sure to tune in for the next chapter tomorrow... it's going to get a bit dicey for everybody.
