Do the words you whisper, while kneeling beside your bed, still reach the Lord's ears if you've done something so atrocious the Lord wouldn't let you by Heaven's gates? Even if they come directly from your heart, which is held tightly in the hands of another who does believe - someone who believes so much their life was taken by the one they prayed to every night.
Maybe if you prayed hard enough, they'd give you that person back.
Of course that goes with saying who took them. The angels, perhaps. But angels are supposed to be good, not take things that you love.
"You always said I was an angel. I never told you but I found it funny." Arthur whispered, carding his fingers through golden blonde hair, matted with dirt and blood. His own skin was rubbed raw at the knees, and his feet hurt by merely standing upon them.
He'd take all the pain though, to only feel a squeeze back on the cold hand that he held so dearly within his grip.
"But evil people can't see angels, can they?" Arthur mumbled. His head tilted back, letting it rest on the cold metal behind him.
A smile graced across his lips, as tears leaked down from his green eyes. They slipped down his cheeks endlessly, washing away dirt as they went.
"I heard once, that people sing in church because it pleases the lord." Arthur's fingers caught on a knot in the blonde hair, "Do you think maybe if I sang, it would please him enough to bring you back?"
There was nobody to whisper a reply back into his ears. Nobody to nod at him, leaning on their fingertips to hear his beautiful voice sing. No music sheets appeared in front of him, nor the gleaming of ivory keys to match his voice. Yet he sang.
"Hallelujah."
Arthur sighed, leaning against his table slightly. His fingertips dug into the wood, nails almost scratching the surface that he had kept gleaming clean. His shoes squeaked when he shuffled them across the tile floor underfoot.
"What time is it?" Arthur asked, for the hundredth time.
"Time for you to get a watch, mon cher." A voice chuckled out, making Arthur's fingers actually scrap against the precious wood.
"Did I ask you, Frog?" He grumbled out, turning on his heel. The sound that came with the turn made him wince, almost wanting to put his hands over his ears in an attempt to get the noise to go away.
"I assumed you were discussing this with everybody present. Which, is me and one other person." Francis leaned back; crossing his legs carefully.
Arthur turned his head around, glancing at the blonde on the other side of the room. His eyes traveled over to his boss, who was leaning against the far wall; hands clasped tightly in front of his waist. He raised an eyebrow back at Arthur, urging him on to talk.
Arthur pressed his fingertips to his forehead, taking a deep breath. If it were up to him he wouldn't be having this discussion at all.
"I assume you didn't bring me here to make me eat your inedible scones?" Francis asked, glancing over at Arthur's boss, who merely looked away from the other nation.
"No, and they are very edible." Arthur grumbled, turning back around. He waved an arm forward, "You obviously know of the war going on right beside us."
"Obviously." Francis quipped back, his eyes going a bit darker from the cerulean blue they always were.
"Your... country, is in the midst of it." Arthur continued, as if Francis had not spoken at all. "We are willing to give you a bit of our own insurance on the matter."
"Insurance?" Francis asked, leaning forward in curiosity this time, "What insurance?"
"It has been brought to my attention that you are willing to become allies with England, America, Canada and Austria. We'd like to make sure that happens." Arthur recited the words he had read a million times from a sheet of paper.
This time he didn't have the paper in front of them though. These words were spoken from memorization.
"Possibly; that did not answer my question though." Francis leaned back, uncrossing his legs.
"In three months time your supplies will dwindle down to nothing." England's voice turned soft, "You have been cut off on three sides, but we'd like to help with that. Ship them to you; as long as you become our ally. Stay on our side of the terrain, per say."
Francis peered at England for a few moments, then shifted his eyes over to the other man in the room; who merely dropped his gaze after a few short moments.
"You know that will be me declaring war. I am staying neutral." Francis stood up quickly, straightening his blue jacket.
Arthur swept forward instantly, putting a hand out, "You will have to declare war at some point. You're not Switzerland, you cannot stay neutral, not with this."
"I can stay neutral if I want to. L'Angleterre, I am not amused by this." Francis murmured, but flashed Arthur a smile, "Unless this is another marriage statement?"
Arthur sputtered for a moment, his cheeks rising slightly red. He shook his head, his perfectly straightened coat hanging a bit limply from his shoulders.
"France, this is not a bloody joking manner! They'll invade you once your supplies have run out." Arthur gushed out, reaching towards Francis' cheek.
"Enough. He does not want it." A third voice broke in before Francis could even open his mouth to reply.
"But-" Arthur begun to argue, earning a glare from his boss.
"Et is okay. I shall keep your thoughts in mind; and discuss them with my own boss." Francis said, winking at Arthur, "Then we will make arrangements, non?"
Arthur turned his head a bit, so that he did not look directly into Francis' blue eyes. Instead they strayed to his cheek, noticing a spot on his usually perfectly trimmed beard the Frenchman had missed.
"I'll give you a month."
"But you don't really care for music, do you? You were more into cooking." Arthur struggled with that same piece of knotted hair.
He picked at it, another tear dripping down onto his hand. It slid down off of his skin, and into the hair he was pulling at.
"Hallelujah."
Arthur stood on the shore of the English Strait, his hands held out by his side perfectly still. It was utterly motionless out here, except for the soft rustling of his hair in the wind. He was shoeless and barefoot, his toes digging into the sand beneath his feet.
This peace was broken by the shrilling of a cell phone, in his pocket.
"Yes?" He asked, once he had fished the phone out, and flipped it open.
"Arthur? Es that you?" A mumble on the other side made Arthur wince, nibbling on his bottom lip.
"Of course; it is my phone you called." Arthur whispered back, not really wanting to break the stillness around him. His toes dug further into the warm sand beneath him, feeling the dust like pebble seep between his toes.
"We... need to discuss what you offered." Francis mumbled on the phone again; his voice horribly tired.
Arthur let out a drawn out sigh. Francis wasn't the best with deadlines, and he had nearly missed this one. Two more days and this phone call would be going a lot differently than it was. The English mans eyes strayed over to the lights he could see peeking out of the water. France, glittered on an opposite shore.
"I'm going to guess you are willing to take my heed, and take the help my boss and I are willing to offer?" Arthur plopped down unceremoniously onto the ground.
The lights on the opposite shore almost disappeared completely from his view, but he arched his neck so that he could see them.
A static filled the opposite line, letting Arthur know that Francis had let out another sigh. Probably to show his distaste in what he was about to say.
"Yes. I am ready to take the help. But, only to be allies with you. Nothing else, we give nothing back because we cannot afford it." Francis spoke quickly. The words almost burnt his lips on the way out.
Arthur understood the brisk tone though. He'd have to be stupid not to get it; for how old he was and what he had been through. You don't just agree to something like this without knowing what the consequences were afterwards.
"Agreed." Arthur said, softly. The waves from the English Channel broke for a minute, the water laying flat, and Arthur could clearly see more lights on the other side.
"W... Where are you?" Francis murmured on the other side of the phone.
Arthur reached out with his free hand, grabbing a handful of sand, and letting it slowly seep through the creases in his fingers.
"The shore." He replied, this time his voice was a bit more warm.
No sound was heard for a moment, except for the soft pants going through the phone. Arthur wondered mildly if Francis had just took off running somewhere, and a smile made his lips crease at the corners.
"You just ran to the shore didn't you?" Arthur guessed, grabbing another handful of sand.
A chuckle went throughout the phone, "Well of course, I need to be closer to my love."
"T-That's ridiculous..." Arthur sputtered, his cheeks flushing in the cool night air.
Though he knew it was impossible, he stood up and leaned on his tippy toes, peering above the peaks of the water that had started once again. He could faintly see some lights on the other side.
"Can you see me? I can see you." Francis said happily.
Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow, nibbling on his bottom lip for a small moment, "I can't see you, and that means you can't see me."
"I know what you are doing right now; exactly." Francis said, chuckling again.
"You can't see me..." Arthur reminded him softly. A soft breeze shifted his hair back, and he shivered in the green jacket he had buttoned up tightly.
"I don't need to see you, to know what you are doing." Francis murmured, "You know, if you look past the sixth light to the left, and a little bit to the side, you can see me perfectly fine."
Arthur blinked at this, his cheeks flushing a bit more. He shifted his his eyes across the lights, counting under his breath. His lips moved slowly with each number, until he came upon a single light that was blinking in abundance. It would pause a minute, before blinking a few times directly in a row.
"Are you the idiot blinking the light?" Arthur asked, amusement clear in his grumpy voice.
"Idiot is such a strong word. I am more of a majestic beast, who decided to point out to you where I am so you may find my sexiness easier." Francis said, casually.
In the dark, where nobody could see, Arthur let a smile grace across his face. Oh he didn't know what he would do without Francis's little quirks.
"That's funny, because I'm pretty sure most of England can see it right now and the only thing running through my mind is how ridiculous you look at the moment."
"Such hard jibs, from such a small country." Francis teased, a yawn breaking through his sentence.
Arthur wanted nothing more than to continue these remarks as he had known to do in the past. The two had stayed up fighting on the phone more than one night in a row, whoever to hang up first lost the battle of words. Of course, they both knew, none of the words were meant to bite too hard onto the others ego.
"Francis... How are you?" Arthur said, knowing this was probably going to end with Francis hanging up on him.
A silence held throughout the phone, nothing but a soft static clinging to words that neither wanted to say nor think about.
France wasn't okay; in turn, Francis wasn't okay either.
"I'm fine." Francis lied easily, but Arthur could hear the frown in his voice, "Just a bit of hard times. Nothing I have not gone through before, non?"
Arthur's green eyes hardened.
"Don't lie to me, Frog." Arthur snapped out.
There was a click, and the line went dead.
Francis had lost this time; hanging up first. But Arthur wasn't sure what kind of game Francis was playing anymore.
"You were right of course. How could I be so stupid; to think that it was all going to be okay?" Arthur reached down with his other free hand, fingers brushing against the cold skin of a deadman's forehead.
"I don't really want to be a king and winner of any game." Arthur mumbled, his eyes sliding closed just like the friend that he held at the moment, "You were so beautiful when you played though."
"Hallelujah."
Fingers intertwined beneath covers, as Arthur and Francis moved as one. One pushed, the other pulled.
It was a simple endeavor, something that has been happening since the very beginning. When two move together in such a way, and every breath was drawn from the other; becoming one with the entire universe.
Their movements seemed to chase away the night altogether, until they were in their own realm alone. Alone with each other, which is the best alone their is.
Their cries were not heard in the night, and their eyes did not see the dawn come when they slept in each others arms.
Friends or foes, neither knew. Sometimes the line between the two meanings blends together to become something else entirely.
Something that can't be explained in any language no matter how you try to translate it.
"I kind of wish we could go back to that moment... but then I want it to remain sacred in my mind." Arthur mumbled, leaning over the head he held in his lap.
Shaking and cold fingers reached out, the skin on them taut and tanned, to smooth over a blue collar.
"Maybe that was my paradise; that I lost."
"Hallelujah."
Francis peered out Arthur's front door, his eyes wet with emotion and his fingertips pressed against his palms until the nails barely broke the skin. Not enough to make them bleed, but enough to send a pain up through his shoulder.
"Arthur, what is it you plan on doing?" He whispered to himself. In front of him, swarms of soldiers marched along the streets; all British.
He was silly, of course, to think the other man had thought differently. Had thought maybe the other wasn't up to the war and was going to stay out of it. This wasn't a war one side could win and loose. This was a war where if there was even a single man who was winner; than that was the most unlikely luck of all.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle." He began, gently grabbing a ladies hand in his soft grip, "What is it that is going on?"
The plump old lady just stared up at him, her eyes flashing oddly for a moment.
"Mademe?" Francis asked again, slowly letting go of her hand when she attempted to yank it free.
"Do not touch me. I am not a slimy ball like yourself, and I'd rather you not get your filth on me." She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest.
Francis just stared down at her in surprise. He had thought French and English people had gotten mostly past everything. Though their fights still arose, it was not need to be so terribly rude to somebody asking a simple question.
"Francis? What are you doing?" Francis turned around at the sound of Arthur's voice.
"What am I doing? I think you should answer that obtuse question yourself!" Francis snapped, his soft voice he had used with the lady momentarily gone.
"I'm fighting a damn war! What in the bloody hell did you think I was doing?!" Arthur snapped.
The English country was dressed in perfectly ironed army clothes. A coat sat atop his though, his infamous green one that he generally had on at all times.
"Funny, I don't see a battlefield here." Francis pointed out towards the streets.
Arthur visibly narrowed his eyes, taking a direct step forward until Francis and him were nose to nose.
"I am winning, I am getting my victories that I have earned time and time again!"
Francis stepped back, his hands loosening from the grip they had been in previously. He reached out, brushing fingertips against a warm with anger cheek. Above them the English flag waved in the wind; flapping roughly against the pole as if it was just as angry as the man it belonged to.
"Love is not a victory march."
"All I ever learned from love was how to shoot at somebody." Arthur mumbled, finally breaking the knot of hair with his fingers.
He stared down at a single strand of hair that clung to his hand, then swept his eyes over to the dead face below him. Skin had been burned raw at the cheekbones, hair singed and eyes sunken in that no longer blinked.
"Hallelujah."
Arthur spread his fingers across the table, feeling a groove in the shiny surface from a month or so ago when his nails dug in.
A cup of steaming tea sat across from him, seeping with the deliciousness he would swear was absolutely needed.
"Are we clear? You will not talk to the France man." His boss stood across from him, arms crossed over his chest in abrupt stubbornness.
"If I don't agree?" Arthur questioned, looking up slowly from the trails of steam rising into the air. It fogged his vision; making everything blurred with gray.
"Then we will find a new man to take your place." His boss snapped, shiny eyes glinting out of chubby cheeks.
Oh what Arthur wouldn't give to wipe that smug look off the mans face. To trample him over like he would've when he was a pirate. To rip his clothes, tear at his skin, and smile the whole time.
Times change though.
Arthur was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of a door slamming open, a young man with golden brown hair stood there. Atop his head sat a cowlick that looked like it had been combed through numerous times trying to get it down.
"England." America said slowly, and Arthur froze in his seat. He'd heard that voice before. He'd heard that voice when the other was on the battlefield. That voice had never been used on him though; and it made goosebumps rise up on Arthur's arms.
America strode forward, brushing roughly past Arthur's boss. He sputtered and glared at the young American man, before turning and walking out the door. Most likely to remain dignified and not resort to accusations of fowl play.
"Don't be so rude, Alfred." Arthur scolded, his voice masked with grumpiness.
Alfred, or America, did not stop. It was him, he didn't stop for others, he kept going because it was the right thing to do. He didn't stop walking until finally the two men were mere inches apart.
"You start keeping up your end of the deal." Alfred whispered, his voice hard and no humor in it.
It was so odd coming from the other, that Arthur took a moment to respond.
"What?" He asked, confusion glinting in his eyes.
"France; start sending him things. I can see it, and if I can see it from all the way over there in my economy, than surely you can too."
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down, threading his fingers together.
"We have to take care of ourselves too... We can't just send off every bit of our goods to France. We are in the same pickle as him! You think we get everything we want? We had to put rations on bread last week!"
Alfred merely peered at the other, then reached out. His hand swept across the table, dumping the cup of tea over.
The hot liquid spilled down the crease of the table, some of it landing in Arthur's lap.
"If you can afford to ship your tea to you, and to get sugar to put in it. If you can afford the luxury of having a fine china set and clean water to put with it... then I think you would be able to afford sending Francis some goddamn food!"
Arthur merely looked up at the other, his eyes prickling with tears. He reached down and tried to brush away the liquid from his lap, his shoulders shaking.
"Get out." Arthur whispered, a tear joining the tea in his lap.
There was nothing but a small pause left, until Alfred eventually spoke, "Look Arthur... I'm sorry. I should've handled that better I ju-"
"Get out of my office." Arthur interrupted, standing up and patting down at his pant leg, "Get out of my office or I'll call in troops to get you out."
A few moments passed, without Arthur looking up. A click went through the room, when Alfred shut the door behind him when he left.
The sound made Arthur shiver. It was so much like the noise the phone had made when Francis had hung up on him, it was uncanny. It made Arthur wonder if he was really the one winning or losing anymore.
"I'd give up everything to get you back." Arthur whispered, a sob breaking out of his chest.
"Does god accept things like china sets? Does he accept my hatred upon myself in exchange for somebody to come back? Please god I'm so sorry..."
Arthur's hair rustled in the wind outside of Paris, ash littering against his sleeves from the surrounding buildings; or what was left of them.
"Hallelujah."
It's not easy to ignore your neighbor; country or not. No matter how far you try to keep away from the former, they never are truly gone. The water that rushed against the shores that you lived on once washed across theirs, bringing dirt and sand over to your side of the wall.
Instead Arthur avoided Francis like the plague, walking in opposite directions when he heard even the name 'France' be uttered.
But yet Arthur couldn't help but wonder, while he watched a few boxes of blankets and food be put onto boats to ship to France. Not nearly enough for a whole country, and Arthur knew it. Yet he wondered still, was the other hungry? Was his neighbor, who he loved to hate, tired and cold?
Loneliness wasn't something he was necessarily accustom to.
"You know, you used to let me in and see what was going on. You don't anymore."
Arthur's nibble at his bottom lip was the only answer he gave.
"I used to live alone before I knew you; until I seen your flag on the marble above your castle."
"Why are you here Francis?" Arthur questioned, ignoring the others words. He was ignoring a lot these days.
"There was a time you let me know what was really going on; but now you never show it to me do you?"
"Is that a question or a statement?" Arthur mumbled, yet he did not turn around to see Francis's face.
He did not turn around to see how skinny and pale the other had gotten through the past few weeks.
He did not turn around to see that Francis still wore the same clothes he had wore that day where the arrangement they had was originally given.
He did not turn around to see France dying.
"The blind lead the blind..." Arthur mumbled, sliding his hand up and pushing Francis' eyes closed, "I used to be the only blind one."
They did not see anymore anyways.
They were not capable of sight for the lord had stolen that from him; along with the breath that was caught in the French mans chest, and the way his heart no longer gave off a lullaby that Arthur could listen to on cold nights to fall asleep.
"Hallelujah."
Arthur walked down the beautiful marble staircase that lined his home. His hands slid across the railing when he stepped down, each bringing him closer to the door.
"Arthur? What are you doing here?" His boss called out, yet Arthur did not stop walking. He was merely staring at the people there. All powerful in politics, coming from a meeting he should have been invited to.
That itself wasn't too surprising. What made his throat constrict was the sight of the country that they were all fighting. The one that had risen to power; that was taking over all other countries.
"Why is he here?" Arthur asked, his voice hard and unforgiving.
His boss sputtered, ears turning red in embarrassment, "Well... You were not supposed to know of course! Merely discussing some battle plans that would benefit the both of us if need be."
Arthur's footsteps fell to a stop, his black soles landing with a pat on the landing in front of the two men.
"What kind of plan? As I am aware, we are not allies." Arthur pointed to himself, then at the other country.
"That's not really up to you to decide Arthur..." The man mumbled, shuffling his feet.
Arthur's eyes flashed over to his bosses, before he took a step forward, grabbing the mans collar. He'd had enough of him. He was a goddamn country and he was going to be treated like one.
"My name is England and you will call me by my name. Now explain to me, why the bloody hell that man is in my house." Arthur whispered, his voice velvety soft.
His boss shuddered, trying to pull free gently.
"W-We are... We are... just making plans..." His boss gasped out, nibbling on his own lower lip as if he was contemplating something.
"We were making plans that have very much been decided." Germany said, looking over at England with tired eyes.
Arthur turned and stared at him, then turned back to his boss.
"Tell me the plans." He was no longer joking.
Germany gave a soft smile, "In about five minutes a country to the side will be no longer. I don't really see how this should bother you though, from what I understand, you aren't allies anymore. Actually I'm not even sure you ever really were in the first place."
Arthur froze, his heart going hard in his chest.
"You take that back. You fucking that that back, or I'll ripe you all to shreds." Arthur whispered, shaking with anger.
Germany merely smiled, before he turned to look at Arthur's boss. They gave each other knowing looks.
"I broke your throne England, I suggest you get used to it. I certainly hope that Francis knows how to pray because he should be kneeling to the light at any moment."
Arthur turned abruptly, his shoes once again squeaking on the beautiful marble floor underfoot that his polished shoes brushed against. He raced through the open door, and into the cold and broken night that no longer held any peace for him.
This time as he raced for the opposite shore, he was dressed in his best clothing. The sand didn't go between his toes, instead got caught in his socks and grated against his skin in a horrible way.
He fell twice, skinning his knees and hands. He stood up after each fall though, sand spewing out from behind him as he moved with as much speed he could get.
He'd been here numerous times before. Kneeling on the sand by the waters, watching the lights across the shore dance on the water like flames. He'd walked that same way, and seen the same ships sail across the waters. He'd watched the foam brush up against the shore, and watched the rain part the water into individual droplets.
No lights shown on the opposite side this time though. No sixth light from the left blinked.
Instead for a few moments it was utterly peaceful just like that last time on the phone.
Arthur almost expected to hear his ringtone, instead he seen a streak of light across the sky, racing from his home to the others.
In a bright flash of light, and a great resounding noise that made Arthur scream his throat raw, France was gone.
Germany had used England to detonate an rocket, landing itself on Francis' shores.
But all was far in love and war, right?
"I didn't know." Arthur begged, rocking slightly, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know. I didn't know he was going to do that... I'm so sorry..."
Arthur kneeled beneath what was left of the Eiffel tower, which had been blown mostly to bits by the bomb. Ash rained down from the sky, coming in like snow and building in piles like the cold substance that would probably never come down in this horrifying waste land ever again.
They were both merely baffled kings whose thrones had been broken.
"You remember those times we moved together in the dark? I think that's the only time I ever really seen the light... Please forgive me." Arthur trembled, his red and puffy eyes peering down into an expressionless face.
Nobody was there to give forgiveness back.
Nobody there to fight in the middle of the night with, until they both whispered soft apologies the other didn't think could hear.
Nobody to draw in breaths together, as they moved together in the still of night.
"Hallelujah."