Francis had absolutely no desire to go to England. It was wet, it was uncultured and it was miserable. At least that was what he was told having never been there himself. But still, why would he willingly leave a life of luxury traveling the most beautiful parts of Europe alongside royalty to visit some sad little island he would no doubt be warring with in a few short years.
However, apparently, the time was right and could not be delayed a month further. Francis was to meet Arthur, the representation of England. Not much was known about the young nation apart from his name was Arthur and he was somewhat of a handful to deal with.
"Someone told me he refuses to wear any form of garment and roams about naked," gossiped one maid with a scandalised smile.
"Well I've heard rumour that he was shunned by even his own people for being so wild. He's practically an animal," added another.
"Really?" gasped the startled boy, scared eyes darting about the room for reassurance.
A pair of heavy doors at the end of the room creaked open and footsteps sounded.
"Stop this nonsensical hearsay at once, you will scare the child. We need this to go well," came the stern voice of the King as he neared, the crowd of chattering courtiers parting to allow him through.
Francis bowed low and humble but looked him in the eye when asking, "but, your majesty, how will I speak to such an uncivilised person?"
The monarch lay a strong hand on the nations shoulder and smiled, like a parent to a child.
"I'm sure you will find a way. I have faith in you."
Beaming back, Francis had belief in himself and an overwhelming sense of responsibility.
Preparations for the trip did not take long as everyone seemed anxious to have the ordeal done with. Francis himself remained reluctant but was able to take comfort in the tremendous amount of purpose he felt at his mission. Still, he had heard terrible things about the English court being a filthy cesspool of degeneracy and was not a fan of their king at all.
This said, there was no disobeying the will of his own ruler. He was well trained in matters of parliament and the art of conversation so he was confident in his ability to represent his country proudly. Perhaps he would even be able to bring a touch of French sophistication to the place. This was what he had been made for, after all.
Brisk winds swept about the docs the morning of the voyage as Francis stood waiting. There was no doubt that ships were brilliant inventions in their own right but he saw no beauty in them and detested travelling on the things. At least it was a short journey. He observed the unsavoury sailor types ready the vehicle to cast off and called out to one.
"Excuse me, Sir" he addressed a random passer-by, "have you knowledge of when his royal highness will be arriving?"
The man stared at him for a moment before letting out a hearty bark.
"Does this look like a ship for the King? He won't be accompanying you on this trip, my young Lord."
Ice struck his heart at these words. He had never been sent on governmental matters by himself before, he wasn't ready. He wouldn't even be able to gain access to the royal court without the King's guard.
"But-but how will I get into the palace?" he stuttered, feeling the first inklings of panic take root and begin to sprout. The situation had gone from unpleasant to unmanageable rather quickly.
The sailor seemed not to care about the affect his words were having on the boy and continued in a matter of fact tine.
"We are not travelling to London, child, we have instruction to take you no further than the docs across the channel from here. His majesty's orders."
With this he left and disappeared on board.
A command from somewhere on deck rang out, alerting Francis that they were due to leave any moment, jolting him from the spiral of anxiety he was ready to sink into. There was nothing he could do, though, he could not deny his duty. Not as though he could turn around and run home. He was France and he had his first chance to prove that he was capable of handling matters alone, he wasn't going to throw that away and be distrusted in the future.
And so, quashing the bubbling insecurity that was rising inside, he boarded the ship. It wasn't long before there was a lurch as they embarked on the short way across the channel and Francis decided to make the most of the time he had to prepare. Making his way down to the captain's cabin he pulled out some papers that had been handed to him when they reached the docs. Reading through them, sat at the large desk, they confirmed to him what he had just been informed of. That he was to stay in a small fishing village by the docs they were to port at and attempt to find the British nation that was allegedly somewhere in the woods a few miles inland. The people at court hadn't been so far off in their speculations saying he was some sort of feral child. That was all he had to go on. The thought of foraging through woodland and marshes to talk politics with someone who didn't want to be found seemed like some sort of wild goose chase. Things were becoming increasingly more hopeless. At the bottom of the last page was the royal seal, some sort of attempt to help him after not informing him of the situation, and so, feeling a little betrayed at having this kept from him, Francis went back onto the main deck.
The white, shining cliffs were a familiar sight to him but never this close. With every wave that lapped against the wood of the hull his heart beat a little faster. Laying his hands delicately on the railings he closed his eyes, he took in a deep breath of salted air that smelled distinctly different than when they had left. He wasn't in France anymore.
Seagulls cawed high above as Francis disembarked. He looked up to see them circling against the grey clouds that gathered in hoards. Coming slowly down the ramp he pulled his cloak tighter about himself. The sea breeze had become rather more than bracing, now chilling, and he hoped the storm clouds didn't come through on what they promised.
He stayed on the docs until the ship set sail once more, leaving him in its wake. Green, grey water lapped at the boards and he looked at his surrounding suppressing his curling lip of disgust. The whole place reeked of fish guts and he couldn't tell whether it was the area itself or the people. Either way he didn't wish to spend any more time there and turned his back on the oceans towards the small village he could see not too far in the distance.
Francis hardly noticed the rolling fields stippled with light and shadow as he trecked, sweating, down the dusty country trail. The wind continued to whip about him, curling up from the coast as though trying to expel him from the foreign country, and there was a crisp dampness to it.
Nearing the town, the wild expanses of grass grew fences to keep in livestock and the baying of animals could be heard above the sound of crashing waves. Little white houses with thatched rooves sprung up on either side of him with signs hung from poles outside. Some back in France may have found it a quaint amusement but knowing he would have to stay here for just over a week before he was collected once more made it seem like more of a sentence to be served. There were no restaurants, no businesses that weren't there out of necessity and definitely no transport that wasn't either foot or horse. This was certainly to be a trying time. It didn't take long to spot the name of the Inn the letter had instructed him to visit and so, tired from walking with his small amount of luggage, Francis entered the building.
At the bar stood a bristly looking woman, tall and broad like the other occupants of the room. Every man and woman appeared ragged, weathered from hard work and hard living. All faces turned in his direction as he entered, people looking him up and down. There was no doubt someone as alien looking as himself was a spectacle, perhaps even a novelty to these people. Attempting to ignore the burningly inquisitive eyes upon him, the French oddity made his way to the innkeeper who regarded him with suspicion.
"I have arrangements to stay at your establishment, Madame," he spoke with a charming smile and polite tone, both of which seemed to be lost on the woman.
Receiving only an unsure glare Francis produced the paper and presented the royal signing to her. She scrutinised it a moment, eyes flicking between Francis and the letter, until deciding it would do and beckoning him to follow her with a rough gesture of her arm. He followed her up the rickety stairs, hearing a breath of muttering from the bar as they ascended. What was being said was too quiet to be heard but he had a general idea of their topic of conversation. They reached the second floor and the woman opened a door, still silent, before turning to leave.
"I am sorry, Madame, but I don't know if you would be able to help me with a small matter?" he inquired with a charismatic air.
"Depends on what that would be with," the woman almost growled in a thick accent. Francis couldn't help but be a little intimidated by her. Clearing his throat, he made an effort not to let this show.
"Well, you see, I am an ambassador, of sorts, sent from my homeland to find someone who is of great interest to us. I believe you may know of him? A boy who is living in the woods not far from here. He most likely passes through from time to time?"
"I may," she relied with an eyebrow raised. A look that Francis knew well.
He produced a small wallet from the inside of his cloak and pulled out several coins, offering them in his dainty hand. This, of course, was enough to gain her attention as she snatched them up, checking that they were real.
"Well?" Francis questioned, not wanting to seem rude but also hoping he hadn't paid for nothing.
She took her time thinking, seeming unsure whether to help the odd stranger.
"There is a boy who lives in the woods, rarely leaves 'em. Seen him only once or twice. A scrawny little fella. God knows how he survives out there."
Francis remained quiet waiting for more but the woman only stood staring back.
"Is that all?" he urged, somewhat deflated.
"All I know," she retorted as she pocketed the coins and went back down the stairs.
Waiting for her to leave, Francis sighed. That was a waste of money.
"Oh mon Dieu," he groaned as he entered his room, closing the door behind him.
He threw his small bag on the uncomfortable looking bed and sat beside it, dust flying from the straw filled mattress. The room was small with a low ceiling and the beams holding it up visible, the walls white, the same as the outside. Certainly not what the nation was used to but for the brief time he would be staying it would do. Or, hopefully the brief time he was meant to stay. What if he couldn't find the other country? He really did not wish to spend any longer than planned in this desolate landscape. The clouds from earlier seemed to have dissipated as now a warm glow came through the cross hatched window, illuminated the dingy little attic.
Now was as good a time as any, Francis considered, as it was still mid-afternoon and the sun would not set for another few hours. May as well get a head start on the man hunt before it was too dark. Taking a few minutes to change his tunic to one he didn't so much mind getting dirty, not that he was pleased about getting dirt on any of the clothes he owned, he disregarded the looks he was given a second time as he made his way back out the way he had come in.
A line of trees was visible beyond a small hill and looked to be not that big but when Francis stepped inside he realised it's deceiving nature. Trees loomed tall and thick with smaller bushes making it hard to move without getting pricked by something or other. The sky was covered by the thick canopy of greenery and the sun could break through only when the breeze shifted the leaves enough to allow through odd spots of light. To add to this, it wasn't long before a soft patter sounded high above and the wetness followed as the clouds had returned unseen, now unleashing their burden.
Francis sighed in defeat, considering turning back until he realised, to his dismay, that he wasn't quite sure which way back was. Or forward or any direction for that matter as he was utterly lost. In hindsight, he really should have brought a compass, and known how to use one, but that wouldn't help him now. He felt the best course of action was to go the opposite way he had been walking and so turned around and continued, trying not to get flustered, but it was impossible to know if he was going the right way when every tree was exactly the same as the others with no landmarks to differentiate where he'd been from where he was going.
For some time, he meandered blindly. Long enough for the moisture to seep through his hood and his fingers go numb. Tired, miserable and discouraged Francis slumped down onto a mossy log, not caring that it was covered in mud as his trousers were already ruined. Drops of liquid ice continued to fall between the foliage. He looked up hopelessly to have one fall directly into his eye. Both the weather and the people seemed to hate him.
"Merde!" he swore under his breath, raising a hand to rub both eyes.
Now that he was standing he supposed he may as well resume trying to find a way out of this natural labyrinth but as he was about to move there was a rustle from somewhere behind him. He spun, eyes wide, suddenly alert. God only knew what was out here. But it was probably just paranoia.
Another rustle, then a splash in a puddle, behind him again. Nothing there. He began to back away but stopped when there was a thud inches from his feet and before he could turn around he felt something sharp poking through the back of his hood at his neck.
A voice spoke in a rough tone.
"Who are you?"
Thank you for reading this first chapter and I hope you will join me for the next one. Not sure how long that will take to be honest, depends on how easily it comes to me. I'm pretty new to actually uploading here, this being my second story, so feedback is welcome. xx