Water Snakes
South Carolina
If France could export muggy, buggy humidity for profit, then the American colonies would be very valuable indeed, thought Francis as he carefully navigated the soft, springy ground of a Carolinian forest. The American Colonies, were, of course, extremely valuable without having to monetize the soup-like atmosphere of the southern colonies during the summer months. The boundless resources, cheap labor possibilities, and land that reached beyond imagination was enough to make any world power salivate. France had already carved out a large chunk of the New World, far to the west of this place, and extending farther north than England's piece.
Still, there was no denying that Francis had the short end of the stick. The English bricon not only had the land on the coast, facing Europe so as to have the best ports, but also, damnably, he had the little boy that embodied the land. It had been months since he and Arthur had asked the boy to choose between them. Francis had yet to figure out what made the boy prefer Arthur to him. It had been English settlers that permanently colonized his land first, that was true. But Francis had the uncomfortable certainty that the deciding factor was more personal than that. This suspicion had been reinforced over the past months as he periodically visited the boy in case he...reconsidered. Unfortunately, this only seemed to make the boy cling all the more tightly to his British identity and guardian. Nevertheless, Francis would persevere. At the very least, the boy might make a decent ally sometime in the future.
Up ahead, Francis could hear the sound of human voices. He tried to quicken his pace while remaining wary for spongy sinkholes. It was hard to hurry in this forest, however, with its towering cypresses and giant, gnarled oaks that looked centuries old, even though the favorite name for this land in Europe was the "New World." The forest had such an air of unworldliness that it made passing through time seem like an arduous and unnecessary effort. From somewhere above, the sun's light filtered softly to the ground through layers of leaves, giving the light a chlorophyllic tinge. The only movement was the gentle swaying of Graybeard moss draped on each limb of every tree. When he reached an especially thick curtain, Francis pushed it with some effort aside to reveal a small clearing at the bank of a small stream. In the stream, a small, sweet young boy played with his older brother.
As Francis stepped into the clearing, the boy caught sight of him. Apparently Francis' sudden appearance makes him nervous, because he stopped his play mid-splash to sidle up to his brother. Placing a reassuring hand on his hand, the older brother turned to face the new arrival.
Glowing green eyes met powder blue, and the green eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Bonjour, Angleterre," Francis called courteously. "I did not expect to meet you here."
Reconsidering, Arthur gathered his little brother, America, into his arms and held him to his bare chest. One arm went under to support his small weight, and the other hand automatically came up to support and protect his head and neck, gently caressing the skin there to comfort the spooked boy. The face is tucked gently under England's chin, and only one bright blue eye peeked out to anxiously study the newcomer. Arthur's motion was fluid, assured, confident. Francis was amazed.
"It seems you have adjusted well to the domestic life, mon ami. I must say, you wear it well."
"And what would you know of this life?" Arthur countered, still eyeing him dubiously. "You never spend any time with your colonies."
France turned up his nose, piqued. "Time is precious when there are matters of importance for an important nation. Besides," and he softened, looking only at little America, "I would be hard pressed to find a colony as charming as you, mon petit."
"You've hardly made that a secret," Arthur retorted caustically. "Come to bother Alfred again, aren't you."
"Not at all," Francis replied patiently. "Just to see that he is doing well, make sure he is healthy."
Arthur tightened his hold on the boy. "We're doing quite well without your interference."
"Food poisoning had crossed my mind..."
"Stow it, frog," Arthur growled at him. Francis couldn't help but be shocked at his self-control. Was this the same nation who only a decade or two ago had sailed the world as a pirate with an infamous, hair-trigger temper? Now so effortlessly holding a child and clamping down the stream of expletives and clever insults that used to pour out of him. The time had passed quickly. Was he the only one that felt older?
"Much has changed in these past months, I see."
"Not as much as I should have hoped."
"And what did you hope for, Angleterre?"
"That you would give up trying to coax away my brother."
So, he was unmasked. The boy must have complained. Francis decided to try a different approach.
"Perhaps you should both be coaxed indoors on days such as these. It is so hot, even the trees rest from growing. What are you doing out here, gathering hanging moss to add to your eyebrows?"
Admirably, Arthur stomached his taunting once again. "We were playing, before you so rudely interrupted. I thought it might do Al good to cool off in the water."
Arthur reached down to scoop up some water, and dribbled it down the boy's bare back to keep him cool. The tenderness of the action again caught Francis off guard.
Arthur saw Francis studying his actions and tightened his glare, reflexively warning Francis to stay away. Something in that glare chaffed at him and burned in his throat, moreso than the usual insufferable arrogance from the Brit. Something that he could not yet name, but that crowded his head like an angry hive of bees as he watched the two "brothers" interact so easily. Uncharacteristically, he struggled for a response.
"You've seen him," Arthur interjected before Francis could form a new barb. "Don't you have other, important business to attend to?"
He did, in fact, have a number of pressing issues on his plate to take care of during his stay in the New World. But the bees in his head drowned out the softer pleas of the outside world that seemed so far away from this timeless grove.
"I'll attend my business at my leisure," he replied stiffly, now wondering at the annoyed, haughty tone he unthinkingly used.
"Leisure time's over for you," Arthur countered nastily.
The bees took over. "As opposed to you, who abandons the world to make it his way of life!" Francis shouted in frustration. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Alfred shrank away from him, burying his face in England's neck and letting out a small whine of protest and fear. Arthur shifts him more to his side, turning away from Francis, and Alfred's legs grip his torso.
When Arthur turns back to Francis, his expression is grieved instead of angry.
"I abandon nothing, and no one. In these past few months,however, I have learned to put my priorities in order. You would be wise to do the same."
Francis stared at them, Alfred who looked ready to crawl inside Arthur for comfort, and Arthur the strong, protective older brother, the firm guardian who, at the same time, was perfectly attuned to Alfred's needs. Seeing them curled around each other in their current position suddenly made an image of a pair of water snakes, indigenous to these forests, come to mind.
Snakes.
All at once, Francis' bees subsided, and he understood himself. A blush rose to his cheeks as he realized how foolish and inappropriate his behavior these past few minutes had been.
"You are correct, mon ami," he choked after a minute, rattled by his discovery.
Arthur eyed him warily. "Am I?"
"And you do well in the placement of your priorities," Francis agreed, looking at Alfred with a new appreciation. "Would I could do the same."
Arthur shifted Alfred again to a more comfortable position, and Francis noticed that somewhere between distrust, comfort, and heat, Alfred had managed to fall asleep.
"You might remember that I once did my priorities very well," Francis whispered sadly.
A moment's understanding passed between them, of shared memories of a distant golden age, where the both of them had been young and carefree, and played in streams such as this on warm days, and slept side by side under the stars at night. France had always been marginally older, and though they had always been mental equals, and though Arthur had been very fierce for his small size, they could both, perhaps, remember once or twice when Francis had held him similarly to the way he protectively cradled Alfred now.
"Good memories," Arthur conceded, forgiveness in his tone.
"I envy you, Arthur," Francis says, cringing as he named his discovery. "But now I also see clearly. This is the last time Alfred will have a surprise visit." He approached them slowly, and Arthur let him. He laid one hand on the sleeping boy's head, and the other on Arthur's shoulder.
"I am thinking of going north," he announced, "to explore the new territory of the Crown. Maybe I will have more luck there..." He gave the boy another look, then met Arthur's eyes. "God bless you both."
"Godspeed," Arthur replied.
Francis turned away and strode quickly back to the moss curtain, no longer minding about sinkholes. Now that he had left that motionless clearing, his chagrin settled even more heavily on him. He, Francis Bonnefoy, embodiment of France, was pettily jealous. Jealous of a rival...friend...well, Arthur over a little boy. And, most disconcerting, of the boy himself for drawing Arthur's attention away from the excitement of colonization and competition with France, Spain, and Portugal. Maybe in the north he could find a tiny nation half so compelling as the one he just left behind.
He couldn't wait to find out.
A/N: R&R please.