Arthur Kirkland liked to write. Francis, in particular, knew this. So it was no surprise when the man found a series of journals in Arthur's not-really-library when snooping around on a wet November night. They were all in a section labelled 'Memoirs to read in case of amnesia or something terribly drastic.' The journal he had in his hand was a light grey one, the words "Winters with the Frog" written in Arthur's neat script. It perked Francis' interest immediately, and with unsuppressed curiosity, he opened it and started reading.

'So, the winter nights. Honestly, I doubt this one will manage to recover a lot, but they hold great sentiment to me' Francis grinned at that. 'and anything frog-related somehow does end up doing that. But anyway, these events did seem to be mere coincidences, but, really, they were anything but that. Slowly but steadily, they developed to become a tradition. If I were to say anything, I would say it stemmed from the 1500s, when our bosses decided to seek an alliance with each other. Francis, on the other hand, would argue that it started much earlier, from when we were both still Gaul and Albion, mere children being ruled by the Roman Empire. He's right, unfortunately.'

Francis grinned at this. "It's finally the apocalypse- Arthur thinks I'm right." He murmured to himself and continued with Arthur's prologue.

'Nevertheless, our nights of companionship during the winter- although I do loathe admitting it at times- were greatly cherished. However, these tales wouldn't make sense unless I started at the beginning.'

'If you know your history exceptionally well, it started with my people (the Celts and those allied to Belgae) offering aid to prevent Gaul from being conquered by Rome. I don't exactly recall the details, however, but their form of aid was to actually help at the front lines. Rome decided my people's interference was enough proof that I needed to be subdued. And how did he do that exactly? Storming into my house, picking me up (after I gave him a black eye because of my endless thrashing) and getting forced to meet all of my fellow provinces- despite the fact I had no idea what the bloke was babbling on about or what on earth had just conspired.

It was weird enough for me to see various people talking in that odd language. The weirdness seemed to amplify when I met my so-called 'fellow provinces'. I was looking around Rome's house when I saw a blonde boy who was, oddly, not speaking the funny language either. Rather, he was gesturing violently to a sunny looking brunette, who was laughing. They looked around my age, but I didn't know whether to talk to them or not. Fortunately, my decision was no longer needed as the two then turned to me, the brunette asking "Nova provincia es?" ['Are you a new province?]

I had looked at him oddly. The brunette smiled. "Ego intellego. Sum Hispania." [I understand. I'm Hispania.] He pointed to himself. The blonde boy, who had been quiet until now, decided to introduce himself too. Like Hispania, he pointed to himself. "Gaul."

'Ah.' I had thought. 'That must be the guy the Celts defended. He doesn't look like much.'

As I realised that the two weren't hostile, I decided to introduce myself. Following what they did previously, I said "Albion."

That was the very first of my encounters with Francis (and Antonio), and, for a while, he and I found ourselves corresponding frequently.

Francis and I were ruled over by the same boss. As we were relatively close, Francis usually travelled to my house during trade visits or whenever he felt he needed company from anyone other than Antonio. The most memorable visit was when it started snowing while we were in the fields.'

Francis gasped as the adjacent page started glowing. There it had a drawing of him when he was a lot younger, walking towards a large willow tree. He remembered that night, only vaguely, which made him try to remember what exactly happened for Arthur to draw a still from it. But what really surprised him was that it wasn't an image, as it slowly started to move. He realised that the scene was starting to play. Entranced, he watched the page as the scene played out.

"Ah, Albion! There you are!" Gaul cried, looking at the figure perched upon a tree branch.

The nation in question faced Gaul, grinning. "Gaul! It's Britannia now. Rome re-named me." His grin quickly turned into a grimace as he hopped off the branch.

"Ah, he does that sometimes."

"Good point, Gallia. "

Gaul frowned. "I did tell you not to call me that, Britannia"

"I'll not call you Gallia if you won't call me Britannia. Britannia was my mum." Albion frowned.

"Alright then."

As the young nations sat down, cold, white flakes began falling from the sky. Arthur looked up, wrinkling his nose when one of the aforementioned flakes landed on it. "What-" He started but got cut off by Gaul. "It's snowing! Albion, look! Ooh, winter's coming!"

Albion laughed as he watched Gaul bounce excitedly. "I never knew you were this excited for winter, Gaul." Gaul smiled and twirled.

"What can I say? Winter is truly magical."

Albion cocked his head. "Is it really?"

Gaul hummed. "Well, to me it is. But if this is about the magical properties of it or something…" He trailed off, looking at Albion. Albion shook his head. "Never mind that, I can ask someone later. Tell me what you think about winter." He demanded. "Or something interesting. I'm bored. "

Gaul grinned at Albion's response, an idea striking him quickly. "Well then, if the snow settles, then we can play a cool game I saw these to kids do."

"Ooh, what is it?" Albion asked, leaning in and shivering slightly.

Gaul grabbed the other boy's hand, moving him closer. "Come on. We're going to your house to warm up. I'll tell you there."

"B-but we just got here!" The younger nation protested, albeit weaker than intended.

"And leave you to freeze?" He chuckled when Albion shook his head. "Exactly."

When the two reached the house, the snow had started to collect on the ground, and Albion couldn't help but find himself interested by it. "Pretty, isn't it?" Gaul asked. Albion grinned.

"Yeah, never saw it snow this much. What's the game about Gaul?"

"Why don't I tell you later? I'm sleepy." Gaul replied, yawning for extra effect, which, in turn, made Albion fume. "You said you'd tell me!" He whined, pinching him hard. Gaul yelped in pain but conceded to him before he decided to pinch him harder.

He then spent the next 20 minutes explaining to Albion the concept of a snowball fight. When Albion finally understood what he meant by a snowball, he decided that there would be no harm in having a snowball fight of their own. "Ah, ah, ah, Albion." Gaul tutted, holding the boy back. Proceeding to check the snow, he then concluded; "Nope. It's still too thin. You'd have to wait a bit" Albion huffed impatiently.

"But what can I do to wait?" He moaned.

"Well, we could always talk?" Gaul offered. Albion stared at him.

"About what? There's practically nothing to talk about."

Gaul sighed. "See, this is why I talk to Hispania more, he's always got something."

Albion glared at him. "And this is why I talk to Flying Mint Bunny more- he's never this mean." Gaul glared back at him.

Their glaring contest was only to be broken up from a shout in the distance. "That's my time to leave," Gaul said abruptly and turned away, walking briskly. Albion fumed more. "You said we would have a snowball fight, you prat!" He exclaimed. "Oi, Gaul! The next time it snows, you and I are gonna have a snowball fight! You heard me?" Gaul laughed. "I'm taking that as a yes," He mumbled as the long-haired boy made his way back up the path and to the docks. "The prat."

'As you can tell, Francis was a right little shit when we were children (Still is in fact). He did pay me back for that snowball fight he owed me, only a lot later than we both thought. As you may or may not know (probably the latter, actually) this was when the Roman Empire was starting to weaken, eventually leading to its collapse, leaving many of the ex-provinces vulnerable to attacks. Many nations experienced Viking raids often, usually pillaging our monasteries as they tended to have the most gold. I saw little of anyone except Lukas and Matthias when they went on the raids- and that was quite rare- or my brothers, who I usually avoided constantly. Francis was too busy minding his own country from the raids, so I never visited him during those times and vice versa. In fact, I almost forgot about Francis until after 1066- the year I got a Norman bastard for a boss.'

"Francis! I know you're there in my library!" He jumped at the sudden disturbance. Arthur was home.

"I'm not, cher, you're just guessing!" He called back, snapping the journal shut, placing it back to where it originally was, then grabbed the nearest book and made an attempt to make it look like he was reading it.

"I can smell your frogginess. It's very noticeable." Arthur stated amusedly, his voice growing louder as he neared the room. Francis rolled his eyes. 'Maybe next time,' he thought, as he greeted Arthur with his customary don't-mind-me-I'm-just-invading-your-privacy-again smile. 'I'll read the rest of it.'

Arthur and Francis' ages in the flashback are both around 7.

Sorry it was all in code guys! Anyway, please review!