Author's note: This is a collection of oneshots and the like. They are all bits and pieces of old fics I am never going to finish that I have edited into what you see here. (I have a lot of unpublished and unfinished fics). They are also posted on my Tumblr (unnecessaryligatures) under the tag "usuk drabbles".

Britannia Angel

Britannia angel was supposed to be a myth: the memory of the great British Empire, manifested in a form that could sometimes be seen. Alfred had heard some countries talking about it, once, but he hadn't been sure he believed them. Then he had seen it – not in Britain, but in the desert on a dark, moonless night.

Alfred had been making his way back from a reconnaissance mission to where he and his men were stationed, but he had gone the long way to pay Arthur a visit. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Arthur's camp, and his soldiers would have expected him back nearly an hour ago, but Alfred hadn't seen Arthur in weeks. He wiped dirt from his face, though he knew he was likely just smearing it farther across his skin. He could see a faint light on the horizon, and when he came over the crest of a hill, he finally, finally found himself looking at British troops.

There were no fires, only dim lamps, but they were not the source of the light that Alfred had seen. There was a glimmering, white form hovering above the British camp, its wings stroking downwards softly and regularly like a heartbeat. Alfred stared. He had always imagined that the Britannia angel would be in the thick of battle, a warrior fighting as fiercely as the men that had once been his, and surely this couldn't be …

Alfred made his way down the hill, loosening rocks and sand as he did so, but he didn't bother to hide his approach. A sentry hailed him, but Alfred didn't answer. His uniform marked him as one of theirs, and he carried none of his weapons in his hands. Perhaps seeing the look on his face, the sentry let him pass.

As Alfred came closer, he could see the troops' faces more clearly. None of them seemed able to see the angel, but it was as though they could feel his presence. Many of them were clustered underneath him. None of them were smiling, particularly, but they seemed much more relaxed and calm than they should have been on a battlefield. When Alfred broke through the crowd, he saw that the face of the angel was Arthur's. His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. Alfred felt a pang in his heart. Arthur was a great empire no longer, but he had been great once, and if only Arthur could understand …

"Is something wrong?" asked a soldier nearby.

Alfred looked at him as though in a daze. "No," he said finally.

"You hurt?" the soldier asked. He looked honestly concerned.

Alfred looked around and found that he was in front of the medical tent. The Britannia angel was hovering immediately above it. Of course, Alfred realized; that was where he could do the most good now. If he could make his troops calm, then perhaps he could actually heal his soldiers – or, at least, give them the rest they needed to die in peace. As Alfred watched, the angel opened his eyes and looked at Alfred.

The flap of the tent was pushed back immediately and someone in uniform stepped out. "Oy!" called a familiar voice. "What are you loitering over there for?"

"Sorry, sir," responded the soldier who had spoken to Alfred, and he disappeared back into the crowd. Alfred was slightly annoyed at himself for talking to the soldier; there was no better way to attract another country's attention than interacting with his or her people. He couldn't help it now, though, and he could only watch as Arthur turned his sharp gaze on him.

"Well, come over here then," Arthur said. Though his words were terse, there was a fondness to his tone that Alfred didn't miss. Alfred glanced at the Britannia angel and saw that he had closed his eyes again. Glad to no longer be under that unnerving stare, Alfred ambled over to Arthur.

Alfred saw that Arthur was trying very hard to look displeased, and Alfred grinned at him. "You didn't write, so I got worried."

"As if I'd ever write to you," Arthur muttered, but he let Alfred pull him into a brief hug.

"Bomb blast?" Alfred asked quietly. There were more bandages, bloody and not, going in and out of the medical tent than there would be on a good day.

"Mines," Arthur responded shortly. Alfred put his hand briefly on Arthur's shoulder for comfort. Arthur didn't meet his eyes.

"You really think it's smart to have that glowing thing hanging out up there? I could see it for miles," Alfred said casually.

Arthur looked up sharply. "So you can see, it can you?" Alfred shrugged and Arthur looked away again. "It won't be a problem. It's only visible when it wants to be." He chewed on his lower lip as he stared off into the darkness. "Well, I should get back to my duties," he said.

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Alfred. He didn't have any right to be disappointed; this was war, and they both had jobs to do. Alfred did his best to smile. "Right. See you around."

"Hopefully not on a stretcher," Arthur muttered so quietly Alfred almost didn't hear it. He nodded once at Alfred and disappeared back in the tent.

After a moment, Alfred started back the way he had come. When he got back to the top of the ridge, he turned and looked back. Britannia angel was still hovering there like something out of a dream, soothing and comforting the men and women who fought for the country he had become. It was beautiful, really, and it moved Alfred more than he would ever admit to Arthur.

If that was what empires became when they died, maybe he shouldn't be so afraid.