Chapter Text
At the precipice of the 19th century, just as the clock's hands converged in the intimate hold of midnight, Netherlands was promptly called upon to attend the ceremonial chamber nestled within the southern wing of the Noordeinde palace. The meeting concluded swiftly, lasting a mere five minutes and forty-six seconds, and Netherlands departed the room carrying a fresh decree to execute.
The chill of winter bit through his old leather gloves and his steps left a deep mark on the thick snow in the desolate palace ground. The man stopped near the frozen lake and stood there for what must’ve been an hour. From where he was standing, he could see the thin yellow light decorating the palace’s far-away gate.
Even with the howling winter wind and the burning sensation that had started to spread to the tip of his ears from the cold, he made no effort to move from where he was standing. He walked closer to the lake until he could see the frozen surface and stared at his reflection. The bright full moon was on full display tonight, there were no clouds and the sky was as clear as the purest dumortierite. The brilliant lights from the stars and moon reflected on the frozen lake, turning the surface akin to a mirror.
The man looked down at his snow-stained shoes, and then at the mirror-like lake. He saw the frown that was forever etched into his face, his murky green eyes, and the lines of exhaustion that were painted all over his distorted image. And his hair, his dirty blonde hair, swept away by the rough wind, creating a messy coiffure. The man had a Cimmerian beauty about him; the aura of melancholy paired with the solemn expression bloomed most seductively on him. The contemplative nature of his spirit marked a deep shadow in his eyes and whenever he spoke, he spoke surely with authority and conviction.
His solemn expression grew more profound beneath the weight of the sombre black cape that cascaded over his shoulders. The luxurious cotton fabric, embellished with the imperial crest insignia on a golden button affixed to the collar of his coat, served as a striking symbol of his status. If a stranger was to look at him, they would think of him as a member of high society, a noble of some sort. But he was far from it. In fact, his kind was a rarity, untouched by any man-made status and ideal.
He was a personification of the humans’ idea and identity, he was a personification of this kingdom. Standing there, tall and sober, Netherlands reflected on the discussion that just happened in that chamber.
He was to visit the Dutch East Indies and stay there for a while to navigate the precious colony after the dissolution of the VOC. With the running cost they have had to maintain, they simply could not bear any more losses. They created a momentum and now they had to bear the impact. It was imperative for them that the Dutch East Indies maintain its stability.
Just the thought alone made him dizzy with exhaustion. He was looking at months sailing in the sea and years of being stuck in a place where he was cut off, figuratively, from his main body. The effort itself would be unbearably taxing. One thing after another, he thought. The only thing that convinced him to go was the possibility of yet another bankruptcy. If he did not succeed, then what would become of him? He needed resources to finance the cost of the impending war and the life he had to sustain during and after it.
And at the next sigh of the freezing January wind, Netherlands made up his mind.
***
The air in the Dutch East Indies carried a delicate scent, one that evoked both sweetness and morbidity—a sickly fragrance that the Netherlands had come to associate with corpses and death.
He let out a soft sigh of relief the moment they dropped the anchor and by the time his feet were touching the damp pier he felt his energy come back again. It was strange being in a foreign land. For someone like him, the moment he stepped out from his land, there would come a feeling of emptiness for his body and soul was rooted to the land and its habitants.
And unlike humans, who could find a home in every place they set their mind into, they were not as flexible. Safe to say, being miles away from where he was supposed to, threw Netherlands off balance. I need to pull through, he thought. Hard headed as always.
It was almost evening when they arrived. With the setting sun, a cascade of radiant colours washed over the landscape, infusing every object with a tender peachy glow, as if an invisible hand had deftly scattered paint pigments across the scene—soft pinks, ethereal purples, tranquil blues, and fiery oranges—transforming the world into a mesmerising masterpiece. It was a sight that he usually could only see for a number of times in a year, he did not expect he would be welcomed by such a sight here. Despite having cultivated an image of paradise through countless reports and paintings of the Dutch East Indies that he had meticulously amassed over the centuries, he could never have fathomed the sheer magnificence concealed within this enchanting island.
So this was Indië. His sweet little India from the South-East, his little emerald. Indeed, it was beyond his expectations. It might come as a surprise but he himself had never gotten an opportunity to personally visit this particular colony of his. The wars and the growing market had kept him landlocked, but more than that, the journey itself would cost a fortune. He had to have a very good reason to leave the country and go. But now with VOC gone, the central government taking the reigns, he could finally pay a visit. Although he now was conflicted whether this was a good decision or not.
With only a few minutes to spare to collect himself, Netherlands was now ready. Within the first two hours of being there, he had gone from the ship and was now putting on his finest clothes to visit the local king. He wore thick linen suits for it was windy. Moreover, before he had gone he was warned that this place was full of deadly mosquitoes. And although he couldn’t die from it, it didn’t mean he was immune from small injuries. Rather than his well-being, he was actually more concerned about his image. Falling sick on his first day here would paint a bad image on him and that was something he wanted to avoid as much as possible.
As he was being led on by the natives and his people alike, a bubbling excitement simmered deep inside him. The nature of the people and its land reflected on the personification, this was common knowledge. Just like how his far east trading partner, Japan, naturally reticent and introverted, embodied the essence of his people, mirroring their standards through his petite frame and sleek, jet-black hair reminiscent of freshly ground ink.
He looked about his surroundings, to the natives and the landscape, and a certain sense of intrigue came to him. What would they look like then? Could Indië manifest as a woman, possessing flowing tresses sleek as obsidian, as dark as the moonless night, a svelte frame with a delicate waist and tender, supple skin? Or, could Indië be a man, with cropped, rough-textured hair, robust sinew, and a distinctly masculine presence?
The Sultanate greeted him courteously. The jongos, clad in the traditional clothing, had surrounded him in greetings the moment he stepped inside the palatial Joglo mansion.
The building was shorter than he had expected, but it was certainly grand, with a lush yard surrounding it. The natural dark jati frames blended exquisitely with the tropical flora. Trees and bushes decorated the surrounding area; neatly trimmed short palm trees and Chinese roos thrived beautifully. But the banyan tree in the middle of the courtyard was the one that caught his eyes. It looked ancient. Its roots dangled from the branches, not inside the ground, it was an odd sight to see. He had seen this tree once or twice before during his rare trip outside of the continent and the dangling roots had always reminded him of intestines.
“That tree is older than everyone here.” A boy, who had somehow managed to sneak up on him, said. Netherlands didn’t know if he should be offended or amazed, for it certainly must’ve taken quite a skill to surprise him like that. He did not let any of this thought show in his face. He remained silent and observant.
The boy must have been what people call a traditional beauty, Netherlands thought. From the look of it, he couldn’t be more than nineteen years old, or perhaps slightly older than that. Just barely on the precipice of adulthood. His skin was sun-kissed and his cheeks tinted subtly with a deep rose colour that bloomed from the edge of his soft face until the very tip of his ears, giving him a youthful impish impression. His eyelashes were luxuriantly thick, as were his brows; if they belonged to another, it might have appeared peculiar, yet they flawlessly framed the boy's countenance. And his gaze, there was something about it that Netherlands couldn’t grasp, it was soft and playful, dark and vivid. One could easily fall into that deep golden pool had they not been careful.
He also smelled sweet, this boy. The evening breeze carried a grassy fragrant smell of jasmine and black tea that must have lingered on him. Even from the short glance, Netherlands could see and almost feel the curvature of his body. Slender and soft, with a growing muscle rippling underneath the tender flesh, hidden by a perfectly fitted beskap.
He must’ve stared for too long, the boy’s face slowly turned worried. As if he just noticed his mistake of opening a conversation with the foreign stranger, he started to apologise. Apologise for what, he himself probably wouldn’t know.
Sensing the self-made misery, Netherlands finally spoke. “Indeed, I was wondering about that.”
At this recognition, the boy’s face brightened. “Well then, if you don’t mind, I shall tell you a bit about it,” He said, “That banyan tree has survived multiple disasters for centuries now, people say it is only alive because it is waiting to fulfill its fate.”
“Its fate?” Netherlands was intrigued.
The boy nodded, he directed his attention towards the tree. “A reason for his birth, of course. The saying goes; when the banyan tree breathes its final breath, it shall declare the demise of an era. What this something is, no one could say for sure.”
“Then let it not be a sign of impending catastrophe then, and may it be a sign of a passing moment of uncertainty.”
“Indeed, I personally believe it shall signify a beginning.”
“To each our own.”
The boy smiled in agreement. Netherlands had never seen such a genuine smile, the lines of his happiness shamelessly tugs upon the corner of his eyes and his mouth. It was so earnest that he couldn’t help but think that smile alone was meant to be his. “Forgive my rudeness, but I don’t believe I have introduced myself yet.” He fully turned his body to face the Netherlands and closed a bit of the distance they had.
He was even more captivating like this. His short dark hair, coloured slightly warm brown at the top by the sun, was ruffled gently from the passing breeze. His attention was now fully on Netherlands and only now that he felt how piercing that golden of his eyes were.
“I am Indië. Welcome, meneer Nederland, to my home. It is nice to finally meet you in person.” Indië, in all his polished grace, tipped his head down in a slight bow. Just enough to obey the courtly standard and not an inch lower despite what he had been told to do before. Yet he did it so gracefully that the gesture went by unnoticed.
Netherlands, unfamiliar with the local etiquette, combined with his personal aversion to the effete, missed this gesture like the rest. He gathered himself, his hands smoothing over the non-existent wrinkles in his linen suits, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you too, Indië.” He didn’t return the bow and only nodded. Indië stood up straight again and returned his gaze. There was something fierce inside the golden ember but Netherland was so riveted by something in Indië that he, again, failed to notice.