#and Wales with New Zealand i mean sheep lovers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

questioned-quetzalcoatl · 1 year

Text

Common Ground - Part 1

Rating: K

Pairing: Wales/Tonga, New Zealand/Australia (Minor)

Characters: Various

Summary: A Commonwealth meeting calls for members from around the globe to meet all in one cramped up building, at least that's what Kainga’s impressions were when arriving in London, England. Veining politeness to their fellow commonwealth nations has always been a bit of a problem, until they unexpectedly meet a rugged Welshman with a drinking problem.

(Also available on AO3)

AN: Well, looks like I’m stuck in Historical Hetalia now- I was never really a history lover until I started exploring some of Tongan/British history. Now I’m kinda interested? Bonkers I know. So this dates around 1930’s time, after the First World War. I wanted to write some more on WalesTonga, how they met ect. Also practice with my expanded list of writing more characters, hope u like! (If there are any historical mistakes or inconsistencies, I do apologize.)

Trying a different writing style too!!! Let me know how it is! <33

Kent, England 25th August, 1931, One year after the Commonwealth of Nations was founded.

In this particular spot, there was no discernable speck of civilization. And it was raining.

They hadn’t even taken their first real step off of the train from Paris, and already up to their ankles in mud. Thanking the circumstances that they’d packed extra shoes and stockings, or the poor chap next to them was certainly in for it. Adjusting to their surroundings, just to find out they weren’t in London at all. The countryside around them was fairly pleasant, they always loved the countryside, certainly one of their favorite places to be. Rolling hills in riotous green where small white dots of sheep grazed, soggy and bleating in annoyance. Kainga wished they could join them in their protestations. Sheep were their favorite part of the countryside.

They took a step, prying their foot from the sucking mud. They nearly left a shoe behind, and was shocked when their foot landed not in another puddle of squelching mud but on something hard. They looked down. They had been deposited on some sort of track, two parallel iron bars driven into the ground connected by perpendicular wooden boards beside the mud track they were set upon. A letter from Mr. England had proposed they were to catch some sort of carriage to London, they’d never doubted the Englishman before, however they couldn’t help being skeptical that he’d dropped them in the middle of nowhere. That couldn’t be it, perhaps somewhere down this trail someone was waiting to pick them up. So they started down the countryside path, the rain turned to a very English drizzle, wind whisping in the trees around them.

It was so peaceful, the gentle hills of evergreen pastures where the fluffy white sheep chewed on knife edged grass that only parted and ceased on the snakey rutted path Kainga was on. It really reminded them of home, brushing their fingers along the wool of a sheep near the path, it bleated in a friendly manner at them. Their peace disturbed just a moment later, an ear splitting whistle startled them so badly they nearly tripped over as the sheep scampered away back to the hills. They looked up, something was barreling along the side of the track. The rain spat and fizzed off its metal siding as it let out another shriek, it was a train.

They only realized it as it chugged past them, pistons pushing the wheels along the track, if there was a train coming towards them then that must mean some town or village lay ahead. At least someone to show them the way to London. The Steam train driver shouted something from his perch in the engine, something that Kainga was certain was an obscenity as they were dangerously close to the train tracks beside them. Kainga watched the train pass, the first few cars lined with windows behind that Kainga could make out the dim, crouched shapes of people within them. The back half of the train was black windowless cars. Luckily the train's wheels hadn’t made too much of a mess but mud still splattered up to their knees, letting out a distasteful grumble in return. Remembering England’s letter in their pockets, they quickly went rummaging around for it, some sort of instinct they had to not get it soaking with either the mud or the rain.

Much to their disappointment, as if they were expecting something else to be written on the letter that wasn’t the exact same thing they’d read on it since they first opened it.

Nothing but a vague direction to a town called Chilham, Kent. Wherever that was. They supposed that’s where they’d be meeting their ride to London, they also supposed that England had thought there was going to be signs. Perhaps if it wasn’t for that train they’d be well and truly lost on that dirt path that led to nowhere, with that they followed the train tracks up the hill, praying that it was the right direction.

—

“Well, that took longer than it needed to.” They couldn’t help but remark at the sign in front of them that read;

CHILHAM

Now all was left to do was find who on earth was picking them up. Hoping it wasn’t someone fashionable, they’d have to walk up to them in mud splattered white stockings that weren’t very white anymore. The last thing they looked like was presentable, covering it up with their coat and trying to ignore it as they walked through the quiet village.

Chilham was a village of what could only be described as architectural marvels, a small town hidden away within the English countryside with stone paved roads and old white buildings lining each curb, some made of brick adorned with dark brown rooftops of tile and chimneys. Flowers of all variation against the green of the bushes and leaves that nooked into window sills as they walked by the Woolpack Pub. Buildings stamped along and clustered around the large square where there were a couple of quaint tea rooms and the entrance to Chilham castle. All looked over by the grand St. Mary church to their behind.

However much the Tongan would have loved to sight see the beautiful little town, they spotted the carriage Mr. England had described to them. It looked almost royal, that had to be it, no matter how tempted they were to visit the farm shop nearby to collect some memorabilia from this place.

The carriage was horse drawn, wheels that looked like they rumbled across the stone roads, suspended on the axles or chassis by leather straps. Genteel as it all was, the chariot and its steed seemed to be lacking only a driver. They turned to scan the small crowd back in the village square for anyone who might resemble a Charioteer within them. Even going to trail around to peek around corners and brick alleyways, they couldn’t see anyone and was too socially anxious to ask around, deciding their last option was just to put their bags in the carriage and wait.

Its handle looked like that of a door knocker, being in England they’d already seen their share, a few of them blazing on front doors of houses that lined the wet brick roads and pitched black fences to section off each property. This handle was gold plated with an antique texture that formed a lion's head. In its mouth was a brass ring also in the color of gold, the whole thing looked very well polished against the deep red wood of the door and its similarly golden resplendent structures around it. They took the ring and knocked it against the wood, testing the waters to see if there was someone already inside. Expecting some fellow nation who was also hitching a ride.

Upon no answer, Kainga took it upon themselves to open the door.

Heaving their bags up onto the first levitating step of the carriage, quickly flicking their head over to check that the horse wasn’t bothered by this very wrong feeling activity. Much to their luck, the carthorse wasn’t kicking up a fuss and seemed to be rather content with nibbling on the grass of a nearby lawn instead. That at least gave them a little hope with the gentle swing of its tail.

Opening the door was a whole other situation, it seemed locked yet it felt like there was some weight leaning against it, becoming a direct opposing force to Kainga who was trying to open it from the other end. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough to push the door and swing it open suddenly, sending Kainga back off the step and onto the sidewalk with a thud, their luggage crashing beside them.

Letting out a squeak once they came back to their senses, only to find a half drunken half hung-over man sprawled over the step and ground, his legs still in the carriage. Indicating that he must’ve been slumped against the door, he let out a loud long groan, the bubbles of the alcohol practically popping off of him and somehow he’d managed to get his suit both the wrong way round and inside-out. What concerned them the most, the drunken Welshman wasn’t moving. Worried nonetheless, as they always tended to do, Kainga knelt down to try and shake the man awake. When that didn’t seem to work, they tried gently slapping at his face and trying to ignore the urge to pour the rest of that liquor bottle he was drinking straight from over his face. That would surely wake him.

When they did, he was not impressed. Kainga however was at least slightly amused.

“D-do you know how expensive that stuff is?” He growled, grabbing the now empty bottle and staggering to his feet, having to lean on the carriage for balance. Wiping his face, he somehow completely missed and Kainga rolled their eyes, just handing him a handkerchief instead.

“No, I do not,” They remarked. “You can inform me how expensive it was on the way to London. I’ll do you one better, do you know you’re supposed to be taking me there and yet you’ve decided to drink on the job?”

“Yer took too long.” He grumbled and kept wiping his face before wiping his nose across his sleeve. Kainga felt a little sick at that.

“Yes, I might’ve taken too long, but we’ll be even longer if you don’t take me to London now.” They huffed and opened the carriage door to put their bags in. “Everyone’s probably wondering where on earth I am! Drunk, hung-over or both, I need to get to London and you have to take me.”

“M’ not drunk.” He watched the Tongan pack their things away. “Hun’ over. Took a nap then drank again. Hey you’re not actually expecting me to drive hours to London in this state are yer? It’s a good…two hours.”

“Well that gives us plenty of time doesn’t it?” They replied with annoyance glazing their voice, soft like icing on a cupcake. “If you don’t take me there now, I’ll inform Mr.England of your drinking on the job.”

“Yer wouldn't-”

“You underestimate me, Welshie. I need to get to London and you appear to be the only sorry soul with a horse and carriage to help me.” They folded a soft woolen sweater from their bag and handed it to him. “I heard it’s cold this time of year as well.”

The Welshman gave him a strange look, one that overstayed its welcome as Kainga shoved the sweater into his chest after waiting for too long. “Gaping is not allowed either.”

“Alright, can I at least get your name? If I am going to be taking you to London at least I’ll know who owes me money afterwards.”

Kainga pondered for a bit almost as if they were stalling or even confused on their own name, it wasn’t that at all. In fact, it was more of which name to actually use. Though depending on who they were speaking to, he most likely only knew them by their English name given to them. Just to throw him off, they responded, “The Kingdom of Tonga. You?”

“I’m aware, got anythin’ simpler?”

“Tonga.”

“I meant an actual human name, fleecy.”

Kainga’s cheeks pinkened deeply at the nickname, though even they were unsure of their own reaction to that. Embarrassment? They were rather fond of that name, but they shook it off. “Um- Lynley, Lynley Wellesley.”

In their eyes, their English name could be worse. Mr England had in fact put a bit of thought into it and it was rather charming but not something they were willing to keep for long. Lynley derived from the word ‘meadow’ and Wellesley after the Wesleyan religion and priests that had been brought to Tonga upon European arrival. Many churches of methodist denominations had been set up and still being built, most of their people had already converted due to the missionaries. Even after all that, they still preferred their native name of Kainga Tukuafu more, wishing not so many nations knew them as Lynley.

The Welshman nodded, not exactly approvingly, just to let them know he’d understood. “Lynley…oh yes I’ve heard of you. You seem to be Arthur's only sensible colony.”

“It’s good to know my reputation isn’t something other than that.” They smiled, stepping up onto the platform of the cart. “May I get your name in return or should I just forever know you as the stinky drunk Welshman?”

His eyes widened and almost instinctively went to sniff his armpits to check if he did smell or not. Kainga held their disgust within a raise of their eyebrows and a slight paling of their face. “I don’t smell.” He started off again, his voice deep yet rickety like old wooden floorboards. “Wales, Southwest of England, Great Britain. I’m Owain Marc.” He surprisingly took off his hat to them, more of a fancy cap than anything.

“Are you not a Kirkland? Mr England’s brother.”

“Yes, but personally I prefer not to be known as a Kirkland. Don’t sit right.”

“But why if-” The door closed on Kainga before they could get their words out cohesively. “Excuse me?!” They yelled and peered out of the front slot of the carriage. “What on earth was that for?”

“Save that blabber for explaining to Arthur why you’re late to his meeting.” Owain replied, opening a metal flask that was kept in his discarded coat pocket, full of whiskey or rum nonetheless. Surely it was impossible to get drunk while you’re hungover?! Kainga was bemused at all of this. More so at the fact it was later just chucked to the side as he mounted the driver's seat of the carriage.

“Are you not even going to pick that up?!”

The slot in front of them closed over quickly.

#fic: common ground #hetalia #aph tonga #aph wales #walestonga #walesxtonga #aph #hws tonga #hws wales #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic

5 notes · View notes