1337, dawn of the Hundred Years War

It was always the people that hated him. Their consciousness, whispering, goading him on, demanding that France be destroyed.

"You aren't a person, England, you're the People. You can't have your own opinion because your existence itself is only a consolidation of opinions. Consensus. Without it, you could not be."

Consensus..

At first he was distraught. No, he thought. No, he was a person, he had been, once. And he still was, he knew he was. He could feel it inside.

Arthur is still inside of me. ..

The grass is swaying in the breeze when he finds him, lying in the meadow with a hand extended towards the sky.

"What are you doing?" England almost growls, squatting unceremoniously. France only smiles, watching as the sunlight dances between his fingers. He meets England's gaze with eyes alight.

"Isn't God beautiful?" England shakes his head surlily and flops onto his stomach.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he says. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand France. He doesn't understand the way he talks about God, or of love, or why doesn't the people affect him the same way? And before he remembers why he shouldn't, he's reaching out for his hand, the one that seemed to have touched heaven.

France's fingers are slender, elegant, and England traces them with the tip of his finger. Consensusconsensusconsensus... He can feel them inside, boiling. His heart feels too heavy for such a young chest. "...my boss has ordered me to kill you," he admits. France lets out a soft, sad, yet unsurprised sigh, but England can only focus on suppressing now. Consensus... He furrows his brow.

"And you?" France breaths quietly. He's always had the most knowing eyes.. "What do you say." England recoils. It's all just too much, too much to do alone. Consensus.. consensus... Something is breaking inside of him, and he can feel himself drowning in its sound.

"NO!" It's a silent cry. Unspoken. CONSENSUSCONSENSUSCONSENSUS. He clutches at his heart in anguish, but a twisted, malevolent smile is already worming across his features. His gaze sharpens suddenly, & he lifts his eyes meet the enemy's, slowly unsheathing his sword.

"You fool," he scoffs cruelly. "Don't you know?–"

Arthur lies listless amongst the rubble, skin bathed with wounds and bruises. An eye slowly opens, then another. The sky is bright. Too bright, and it's hurting his eyes. He lifts a hand towards it and there's a gash running down his forearm and he's losing too much blood, but oh look how the sunlight seems to dance between his fingers. Isn't God beautiful?

"–I AM consensus."

A/N:

They're physically 15 & 18 years old here, respectively.

Historical Notes:

In January of 1327, Queen Isabella of England (daughter of Philip the Fair of France) had her husband murdered & proclaimed her son the new king of England. When the last surviving male heir to the French throne died in 1337, the crown was passed to a nephew of Philip the Fair, excluding Isabella's son from the throne by claiming that even though he was the eldest male descendent, maternal descendants were illegitimate. In addition, the new king of France confiscated the duchy of Aquitaine, which the English interpreted to be a violation of the 1259 Treaty of Paris. There was also the argument over Flanders, but that was more used as an excuse than a legitimate argument...

During this time, the English public was fed sensationalized material & developed a heavy hatred towards the French. However, in France, it developed into a civil war, some barons supporting England in attempt to increase their independent power. The Hundred Years war was fought almost entirely in France, & although the French did win in the end, the country was left in devastation.

~Jasmina Lejandra