A/N: English is not my native language, as you will see by reading this. If tense problems and a little lack of vocabulary and weird phrasing doesn't scare you, please enjoy this 2 parts' story. My take on Franco-English sentiments towards one another.
1 - Green-eyed jealousy
Do you know how frustrating it is? To look up at someone you never wanted to?
England had always felt this way. Ever since that fateful day, about a thousand years ago. When some Norseman captured him and just threw him at France's feet, telling the blue eyed nation: "This is for you."
A present. A lackey. He had become a lackey, and he couldn't do anything about it. He fought and struggled and yelled and screamed and clawed and spat and cursed till he collapsed, but nothing changed of course. He was just a powerless, tiny land in an island. Who would have listened to his opinion? As he spent long days alone in the dark screaming for being released, a punishment for his ridiculous rebellious attitude, he slowly realized it. No one was ever going to come to his rescue. He was alone. Even worse, he was… truly powerless.
So, he cried. He cried a lot, cursing his misery, cursing himself for not being able to hold his fate in his own hands like his brothers do, cursing his acceptance. Because he had no other choice but to accept.
When France didn't hear the offending screams anymore from the dark cell anymore, he knew his job was done. Well, at least half of it. Because from now on there would be a lot of work to be done, to educate the wild little rabbit into a lackey worth using.
But, little England still managed to surprise him: upon seeing the taller boy, England rose up and his big green eyes were shining with sheer determination.
"Teach me." He just said, with a composed voice.
France felt a little shocked with his fierce attitude, but at the time he had just thought of it as childish, innocent pride and laughed, as if accepting a challenge. He was wrong.
France hadn't understood that behind those words, those eyes, a very different message was meant to reach him: "Teach me everything you know, and then I swear I will make sure you regret every second of it as I will definitely overthrow you".
France never knew what was coming to him.
But he did do his job well. He taught the little one about philosophy, politics, poetry, mathematics, music, architecture…
England also learned about horse riding, manners and etiquette, economics, holding weapons, how to dress, and fashion and art crafts.
Some subjects and ideas, the boy could never integrate much to the older one's dismay. But to France's satisfaction, he could see most of his teaching getting through the thick-headed boy as decades went by.
Sometimes, they would have debates about anything and nothing, soon turning to full-out banters and yet both of them still enjoyed them. They would have pleasant times during their lessons when they were not criticizing/insulting each other (much) too, like when they just sat quietly on the grass and watched the clouds go wherever. Or played games in the woods, or hunted with a bow and a sword, or told stories, or shared a meal either at France's castle or his.
None could say they got along, but none could say they didn't either. In spite of them, without even realizing it, they had somehow bonded past their mutual contempt. They had chemistry. They had something like a bond.
It was to the point that, three centuries later, they were seen as "brothers" by both of their people as the king of England, vassal of the king of France, possessed almost half of the continental lands. France thought that maybe "he could get used to it after all". And England to start considering taking back his vow.
And then, it happened. The beginning of the end.
The King of England, of French ancestry from his mother side, wanted to claim the crown as he thought it was rightfully his.
The King of France's reaction was immediate: A vassal, adopted and brought up, almost a bastard… thinking he can be a lord and rule over the two kingdoms? This will not be accepted.
And so the Hundred Years War broke out.
Upon hearing that he was never to be acknowledged as a true nation, never to be taken seriously, feeling betrayed and hurt beyond words for what he thought as a cruel and complete rejection.
France never saw him as more than a lackey after all, right? He'd probably planned to get rid of him as soon as he was done with him, huh?
Feeling used and utterly humiliated, England's resentment grew into impossible proportions and turned into a vicious, uncontrollable anger that was to last for the next millennia.
From brothers, France and England parted as arch enemies. With one cursing the other to hell and back, to never have to cross paths ever again. And the other renewing his three-century old vow to take revenge every time God or the devil will give him the chance.
England kept his word of course. He spent all his life watching his neighbor's every move closely with more vicious energy than when he was a child: France had invented something? England would take it and improve it somehow, or make use of it in an other, unexpected, genius way. Just to spite him and prove his superiority.
England has always been very hardworking, and thought that nothing was impossible to achieve or out of reach if you really put your mind into it. It's with that set of mind that he had always confronted France. It was hard, though, sometimes. That he had to admit at least to himself. The sissy bastard was skilled: fantastic, great and gorgeous ideas seemed to pop so naturally in his mind, effortlessly even. And it has always annoyed England to no end. It was so frustrating: like he was an average schoolboy working his arse off to get the better grades, and France the arrogant, lazy, and naturally gifted one who never had to open a book nor to work a quarter as much to get the same grades, if not better. As if mocking his efforts, as if saying "Why bother, little Englishman? No matter how much effort you make, you'll always be second."
These thoughts drove England crazy.
Someone wants to wage war against France? England would join their side with great pleasure, no matter the cost! Who cares about money when he could have a chance to beat France? Watching that delicate face smeared with mud was worth any gold, any means. It was what England lived for: France's fall by his own hand, after taking his everything for himself.
Even through the hardest times, that dream cradled his sleep with hope and comforted him always.