Land of Hope and Glory

-------

Arthur is beaten, battered, bruised, broken. He's still leaning on a crutch, still mottled with bruises, but he's there. He is surrounded by singing. People press by him on every side, but some recognise the uniform and they shout and thank him with a clap on his shoulder. Arthur is too happy to care about the pain.

It's over. It's over and that means no more wars and his people being scraped against European soil and night terrors of impending invasions and a broken Empire becoming more broken. He is surrounded by his people, who are dancing and singing and drinking and laughing. It's over. They can go home without wondering if they'll live the night. They can go home and sleep without wondering whether they'll wake up without a neighbourhood. They can live and not fear the future. Because the future is here. And it's safe. 

When the royal family come out on the balcony for the first time Arthur is stood in the crowds below. The praise and shouts roll forward from seeing the head of the country - united, safe. They're safe. They're all safe. 

Arthur bows his head, and tears move.

-------

It is sometime later before Arthur hesitantly picks up the phone. He hasn't talked to him since the liberation, a few months earlier.

It rings for a few moments, before a slightly weak voice sounds; "Oui?"

"Ah - Hello."

"... Hello, Angleterre.”

There's an awkward pause. Arthur stumbles

"I - er. I just phoned to say. ... Happy Victory Day. -- Bon Victoire -- or, something.”

There's a long pause, again. Arthur can say that he's legitimately scared when he finally hears Francis, because his voice cracks.

"... Ah... yes. Oui, c'est vrai. Bon victoire, Arthur."

The Briton doesn't know what to say to fill the emotion, so he simply ends the call.

-------

There is still time for a more somber moment, however. During the precedents of the day he manages to find his way to where Alfred has finally appeared. The American is watching the sea of people in absolute awe. It's only a moment before it splits into a grin and he stretches out his arms.

"Man, now this is what you call a party! Makes me wish I was home. I bet ya they're putting on  a real beat in New York."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he can't help his own smile. His cheeks are aching from doing it all day. Resting on his crutch, he nods his head towards some of the troops he's with. 

"Considering your inability to withdraw from people, I'm surprised it's took you so long to notice. I half expected you to be the centre of it."

Alfred starts to chuckle, but his expression thins a note. Arthur catches it, and realises. His own smile drops.

"... Any news from Japan?"

Alfred appears not to be paying attention, staring at a couple as they dance together. He shakes his head. "Naw. Looks like the damned bastard ain't givin' up so easily.”

It's the first time that Arthur's thoughts turn to Ludwig and Gilbert. He doesn't know what will happen to either of them, now. His heart starts to ache.

Arthur reaches and pats the younger male's arm. He sighs.

"We'll get there. It's nearly over."

-------

It's the end of the evening and crowds (almost unbelievably) are still singing. Most pubs have closed from running out of alcohol. People had been out all day, the royal family had embarked the balcony a record amount of times (Arthur was stood in the window for one of the occasions, and a mirthless part of him thinks how opportune a bombing would be right now with the ocean of people crammed in front of the palace), and yet there was no sign of it stopping. The joy and relief is still reverberating in Arthur's core, but it's also as though the last six years have suddenly caught up with him. He wants to sleep.

He doesn't hear the initial announcement, but all of a sudden he turns and sees half of London back in floodlights, illuminating his city for the first time since the start of the war. 

He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it. 

Arthur had forgotten how majestic things had looked in light, not when he'd spent years undercover, hiding in his own home from the onslaught, nights spent cursing in agony as the fear and deaths of his people struck in him night after night -- 

-- And even after that, the blanket of paranoia and despair that'd cover London and the rest of England night after night after night. No weather forecasts. No signs. No train announcements. No lights. Normality could resume. Arthur could go home. His people could live again, without breathing in fear.

Two ladies make their way out of St Paul's Cathedral, and by the cheers Arthur can easily conclude they were the ones who had placed the lights on the building. He manages to grab them as they're about to pass, pulling both of them in for a frail hug.

Who knows what they'd had to sit through. Who knows what fears they'd had. What pain they might have held to themselves from those around them. The doubt they'd had to carry. The sacrifices they all had to make. The hopes they'd had to give up for this godforsaken war. The future they might have lost.

Yet here they were, restoring the light back on home. Their weapons of defiance had become stations of hope. 

Arthur holds them, murmurs "Thank you," and it's there he breaks, sobbing against their shoulders.

The two girls, looking at each other for a moment, resolve to hold the man, no doubt a war-weary soldier who was overwhelmed with relief. 

It's all over. It's finished.