When Arthur heard that the Bastille was in danger, he only thought of one thing.
"Francis..."
He was in his bedroom upstairs in his mansion at the time the servant boy brought him the note. A party was going on downstairs. He would have to tell them.
Going slowly down the spiraling staircase, Arthur gazed at how happy and content everyone. Anger rose up in him. How dare they?! Talking and laughing while Francis, who was usually this happy and content, was in pain, both physical and emotional.
He motioned for a glass of champagne, and took a sip to calm his nerves. Dear God, the drink even tasted like just Francis. Bursting with energy and happiness, all with a calm exterior. He hastily blinked away tears before gently tapping a spoon against the flute.
"Ladies and Genlemen," he called out, his voice clear and steady, "I have just received word that the people of France are storming the Bastille."
A shout of general happiness went up, and Arthur went back upstairs, but not before telling a servant to prepare his carriage.
He was gone within the hour. It was still early morning, and many ships were still in port when he got there.
"Across the Channel, to France! Hurry!" he ordered.
When he got into France, it seemed that the entire country was in chaos. Blood covered the streets as well as bodies. He checked each body to make sure it wasn't Francis. Rushing to the carriagehouse meant for visitors, Arthur had a hard time telling the man who worked there that he needed the last carriage, even though he spoke perfect French.
When he finally was able to secure the ride out to the Bastille, he had to drive himself. After hours of riding, the Bastille came into view, and the smell of smoke permeated the air. Arthur hurried into the ruins of the once great fortress, the people of France all gone.
Leaving the carriage a safe distance away, Arthur saw that the Bastille was still a chaos of light and heat and smoke as Arthur searched for Francis. Finally he found him, his legs trapped under fallen stones.
"Francis! Don't worry, I'll get you out!"
Francis opened his eyes briefly, his vision unfocused, "Petit lapin?"
Arthur smiled, relieved that Francis recognized him, "Yes it's me. Just hang on."
After many hours, Francis was free. It saddened Arthur to see his lover's legs so crushed. However, as a nation, Arthur knew that in a while, Francis' legs would heal on their own.
Faster than he ever thought possible, Arthur had Francis back to port, across the channel, and safe in his house. By now, all the guests were gone. Arthur was thankful for that. Francis needed his rest.
Arthur moved Francis to his own bedroom, the man crying in pain.
"I know, I know," Arthur pet the now dirty blond hair, "Just lie still."
Arthur quickly splinted each of Francis' legs, which left the romantic country sweaty, panting, and hoarse from screaming.
"You are safe now, Francis. Just rest now."
Half asleep, Francis gave a small smile in Arthur's direction, "Thank you. Je t'aime..."
"I love you too, Francis. Now rest, and heal," and Arthur bent low over his lover to give a soft kiss on the lips, as a silent blessing.
So even though Arthur had worried and hurried and suffered that morning, he could now rest and pray and watch as Francis healed to become the vibrant, beautiful man he was in Arthur's eyes.
The storming of the Bastille had come and gone, and even though Arthur knew something of it's nature would most likely happened again, now was a time of peace for the both of them. And he would savor every moment of it.
AN: I made this for today (France's birthday :) ). I did it because I wanted to. :) I hope you liked it!
