"What the hell do you think you're playing at you bloody frog?" he turned to man in the doorway, ocean blue met emerald green as the irritated Englishmen strode into the room (without permission from the other), his oversized eyebrows furrowed downward in frustration and contempt. Arthur's short dark blonde hair slightly gleaming in the fading light of the evening coming through the window of the study; his raggedy hair casting shadows on his face, making him seem more intense and intimidating, facing the man sitting at his desk.
Francis, flicking his shoulder length silky blonde hair over his shoulder, turned to the intruding man with a condescending smile; he swirled the glass of wine in his hand and put down his pen.
"Ahh..." he said in a romantic yet sarcastic tone; staying seated and not bothering to stand up to greet his guest. "And what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Monsieur Kirkland?"
"Don't give me any of that, Git." The Englishmen retorted sourly in his usual clipped tone; if it wasn't for the Frenchman being so God damned stupid that a rumour starts up, he wouldn't be here. Arthur had better things to do than deal with this perverted pansy today; the fact that the rumour was large enough and so widely spread that it even reached the small island of the United Kingdom both irritated and somewhat impressed the blonde...however a lot of gossip seemed to revolve around Francis Bonnefoy... most of which Arthur would've rather have never heard... EVER.
The Brit repressed a shudder and tried to continue with what he came for, rather than let his unwilling mind wander to talk of wine, girls, a goat and a very large amount of water.
"It's not like I WANT to be here in your stupid country. Reeks of wine and cheese." His snide remark went ignored by the Frenchman but he was surprised when the shorter man's voice changed from one of mocking to extreme seriousness; Arthur folded his arms across his chest.
"Is what I've heard true?"
"Well that depends on what you have heard, mon cher." Francis said raising a delicate eyebrow; Arthur curled his lip upward in distaste of the affectionate French term, the Englishman tapped his foot impatiently.
"That YOU have been fraternising with a certain woman?" Francis raised his other fine eyebrow to match the other; Arthur saw this and raised his voice somewhat in retaliation of the obvious insult the Frenchman was thinking concerning his intelligence and the fact that he 'fraternised' with practically everyone, female or otherwise. "And I mean MORE than you NORMALLY fraternise. A certain woman with long, dark blonde hair?" he said while raising a bushy eyebrow; Francis' eyes widened for a moment, and Arthur knew he was right when he saw the man in front of him gulp.
'That idiotic Git.'
"A woman who goes by the title of 'Jeanne d'Arc'?" He continued sceptically, adding the accent as if to stress the point. The blonde Frenchman was silent for a while, the Brit tapping his foot continually through the silence; finally, he spoke, slowly and quietly.
"What of it...?" he drawled, not looking the other man in the eyes; Arthur gave an exasperated sigh.
"What the hell are you thinking Francis?" the blonde pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was getting a very large headache; the Frenchman remained seated, however he was becoming increasingly irritated.
"I'm not sure what you mean, mon cher-"
"I MEAN hanging about a bloody BIRD and then forcing her to FIGHT for you! Do you really think she stands even a slim CHANCE against the British army!?" the blonde had not noticed Francis rise from his chair and stride towards him; the next thing he knew, the Frenchman was holding him against the wall, gripping him by the collar.
"She is NOT a BIRD." He hissed, every single word seething with rage, sapphire eyes overflowing with anger. "Her name is JEANNE, and if you EVER talk about her in that manner again..." he removed one of his hands from the Englishman's neck to lightly grip the hilt of the sword on his hip. "I'll cut you to pieces." Arthur had never seen such a look in the man's eyes before; it seemed as if he was ready to tear him apart at any moment; Francis shoved the startled Englishman against the wall and released him, turning back to the desk and picking up the glass of wine he had left behind. Arthur adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, he was about to speak, but the Frenchman beat him to it; he remained facing the window, looking out to the docks in the fading light, his voice was caring and soft.
"She is much stronger than you think, Arthur; she has more heart and spirit than most of my army put together... she says she has been sent by God..." he turned to face the blonde behind him. "She truly cares for her country, she is willing to do anything to return it to the glorious place it once was." He said with an almost sad smile.
Arthur's eyes widened. 'Impossible... he couldn't possibly'
"F-Francis..." he stammered as he brought a hand to the side of his head, unable to fathom what he could mean; the Englishman was worried now, 'He couldn't possibly...' he looked the blonde straight in the eye and spoke in an extraordinarily serious tone. "Francis. Please, please don't tell me y-you've actually..." he could barely bring himself to finish his sentence; Francis gazed into his glass of wine, the small smile still strong on his face. He set the glass down behind him and turned back to the smaller blonde.
"And if I have, Arthur?" he said slowly; Arthur's eyes widened as his fears were confirmed.
"Francis! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!? Do you honestly believe that this won't have repercussions!? That everything will just be absolutely fine!?"
"You don't have to yell Arthur –"
"I can do whatever the bloody hell I want you bloody frog! You have some nerve doing this sort of thing in the first place! And what about HER!? Is she completely ignorant!? Doesn't she know- -"
"Of course she knows Arthur."
"Oh then she's just bloody stupid!"
"Don't you talk about her that way Kirkland! I warn you!"
"Oh don't get your beard knotted you wino! Are you seriously this idiotic!? For Christ's sake Francis she's Human!"
"Well what in God's name am I!"
"You're a NATION Francis! It's not the same bloody thing!"
The Frenchman stopped dead in his tracks; his eyes wide and drained of all anger. Only fear was left now. He had spent so much time with her, he had practically forgotten; he placed his hand on the side of his head and gulped, leaning one arm on the desk behind him. Arthur, seeing the pause and realisation on his face, took the opportunity to try and talk some sense into him; the Englishman's voice softened as he took a few steps toward the taller man.
"Think about it Francis..." he said gently. "You've barely aged a day in five hundred years; I'm sorry but... what did you think was going to happen?" Francis buried his face in his hands; he didn't say anything, he felt as if his throat and chest was burning, he couldn't speak and he felt as though it would rip apart if he tried.
Her smiling face.
Her laugh.
Everything about her was taking him over; was consuming him and he couldn't do anything about it, he just wanted to be with her, to see her, to touch her delicate face and hear her say that she- -
... This was tearing him apart. He couldn't take this anymore.
Francis tightened his hands into fists; white knuckled and trembling, his legs feeling as though they would give way any second. The Englishman placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder in comfort.
"...Francis- -"
"No, Arthur." The Frenchman spoke through his hands, refusing to show himself to his enemy in this condition; the Brit was taken aback from the sudden response but he refused to be angry at the older nation. After all, this would be expected.
"Francis, listen to me - -"
"I said NO, Arthur." The Frenchman replied, taking his hands away from his face and placing them by his side, revealing the emotionless mask he had placed on his features; Arthur sighed as the taller man shrugged his hand off his shoulder, it was time to talk seriously about this situation, and Francis would have to face the truth. Whether he wanted to or not.
"Francis, the only reason I was able to convince my superior to let me come here in the first place, was because I needed to know if this was true; and to try to convince you to reconsider." He tried to approach the man again. "If you allow her to fight, my soldiers have been ordered to treat her the same as any enemy; they won't show any mercy and there's only so much I can do to refrain that from happening. Francis, PLEASE, just listen to me, for once in your life just listen to what people say to you..."
"And what makes you think that she will need to be given mercy, Arthur? You don't know anything about her; she is just as strong as any one of your men if not stronger. This country does not need your concern or assistance, nor Jeanne or I; now if you would kindly..." the Frenchman said stubbornly as he motioned his hand to the door; Arthur clenched his fists as he gritted his teeth as he grabbed the older nation by his shirt.
"Now you listen to me, you bloody wanker!" he yelled as he jerked the slightly disgruntled Frenchman towards him. "If you make her go onto that battlefield and force her to fight she WILL be injured! She will be injured or WORSE! And what really disgusts me is that you're willing to let that happen!" the taller blonde simply stared back at him with silent defiance; Arthur's grip tightened.
"We are NATIONS Francis, we're born, we grow, and then our body practically stops! We live forever until we're no longer needed! Only then do we disappear!" the blonde looked the taller man in the eyes with piercing emerald.
"You will stay the same for the next what? One thousand? Two thousand years?! You will not have aged a DAY in the next millennia and what about her Francis? How will she be in ten years? What about twenty? If you take her to battle she'll probably never even make it that far! WE are constant! WE are forever young, but SHE will deteriorate and rot and decay!"
Although the defiance was still strong on the older nations features, it became clear to Arthur that the Frenchman had paled considerably; almost all of the colour was lost from his face, his hands were shaking, white knuckled and most probably bleeding from the man's fingernails digging into his skin. Despite this, Arthur continued. "You have to realise this, Francis...we can't afford to care about a person this deeply," the Englishman sighed. "They're fragile, Francis; they aren't like us, you KNOW this. You can't let her fight, Francis." The taller man's hands were still shaking as he looked at Arthur with eyes that were void of anything other than suffering.
"I wouldn't be able to stop her even if I tried." The Frenchman said in a low voice as he removed the shorter man from his shirt; he turned his back on the Englishman and lent on the desk. "Now if you would kindly leave; it is late and I have grown tired of this conversation."
"You can't just ignore the truth, Francis! You have to listen sometime whether you want to or not, one way or another! I'm telling you to listen to me!"
"Get out of my study, Arthur."
"She'll DIE, Francis!"
"I LOVE HER ARTHUR!" he bellowed as he swung round to face the younger man; shoulders hunched and the whole of his arms shaking. Arthur stared at the man in bewilderment; he didn't think that this news would shock him to this extent; after all, the Frenchman had had many partners over the many years of his life, of both genders.
But never once did the man say that he LOVED them. The terrible thing was that the Englishman could tell from the look in his eyes that Francis was completely serious about what he was admitting and that his feelings for the woman were genuine; Arthur knew that nothing good could possibly become of this.
Whatever happened, no matter the outcome of the wars, she would die and Francis would get his heart broken; it was dangerous for nations to fall in love, and that's why most nations avoided doing so like the plague.
"And I believe in her, with my whole spirit. All of France does; and that is not going to change" he turned back to his desk and gazed out the window into the quickly fading light. "I'm sorry that I wasted your time." He said in a low, determined voice; signalling that the conversation was over.
This was one of the very few days that Arthur felt true concern for his old enemy; he tried one last time.
"Francis..." he pleaded "Please, Francis reconsider."
"Get out of my study, England." The younger man flinched slightly at the use of his formal name; there was no way that France would listen to reason, it wasn't possible to change his mind when it was set on something so stubbornly. As asked, he turned and walked silently to the door; he wasn't angry, not enough so to give his anger a voice, he just knew that all this would go downhill very soon, and very fast.
He turned to the older nation as he opened the door to the study, said nation did not turn, keeping his eyes on the fading light on the docks, hands still clenched and placed behind his back.
"Francis, something bad is going to happen; I can feel it. And God help you both if this feeling is correct." He paused as he took a step out the door, giving the Frenchman a chance to give one last reply; when nothing came, he sighed silently and walked out of the room. He held the door open as he bowed a final goodbye. "God be with her, Francis. But when it gets to a certain point, there will be nothing I can do...think about that. Goodbye." He pulled the door quietly closed, letting it gently click shut as he left the room.
Francis waited, stubbornly staring out the window into the now black sea as the final rays of daylight left the earth; he stood and waited until he was sure that Arthur was completely out of range and most likely out of the building.
He slowly drew his hands from behind his back and placed them on the desk in front of him, leaning over on the wood giving him the support to stay standing. His hands began to shake again as he clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth; he slammed his right fist on the table, denting the wood as his shoulders also began to tremble.
"Merde...!" he choked. He straightened up gradually and looked at his clenched fists; with a sharp intake of breath, Francis winced as he opened his hands slowly to reveal the crescent-shaped cuts in his palms which were indeed bleeding, and rather badly. The Frenchman clicked his tongue in frustration and promptly bandaged his hands with a roll of bandages he kept in the third draw of his desk.
For a long while Francis simply stood in front of the window on the right hand side of the study, staring into the darkness engulfed countryside without a purpose; wrapping his damaged hands with bandages and not really seeing what was in front of him.
After he had finished with his hands he inspected how well he wrapped them; he looked at his hands for a long while, not actually seeing them. He replayed what Arthur had said over again in his head, remembering how sincere he looked in his concern. 'If only he could be like that more often…' he smiled to himself. 'It would make him a lot more attractive.'
Everyone knew that when England had a "feeling" about something, more often than not that feeling was absolutely correct, and even if it wasn't then he always just predicted a few things slightly out of line of what would eventually occur. The Englishman had always been sensitive with how things would turn out; his omens and predictions couldn't be ignored, and Francis couldn't just disregard what he had said and simply hope that this would be the first time he was wrong.
** "WE are constant! WE are forever young! But SHE will deteriorate and rot and decay!" **
'I know that...'
** "She'll DIE, Francis!" **
He flexed his hands, refusing to close them in risk of not being able to open them again.
** "But when it gets to a certain point, there will be nothing I can do...think about that." **
Francis lowered his hands and grabbed his coat hanging next to the door; he ran to his desk and retrieved a blue ribbon with which he swiftly used to tie his shoulder length hair behind him in a ponytail.
He wasn't doing this because of England.
He was going to see her and he was going to try and save her. Francis knew it was most likely hopeless but he had to try; just to try. Just to see her.
Just to see her.
Francis slammed the door of his study behind him as he ran out of the house.
So yeah! (While I work on my other story 'Chance of Fate') New story everyone! Well actually, it's an OLD story from my DeviantART account... this is actually one of the first Hetalia fics I ever wrote (A good 2-ish years ago) so I apologize if people are out of character or it's just plain bad XD Thing is... it's still on going.. I'm putting it up here so maybe I can get some motivation to finish the damn thing I will be updating this every week until I tell you otherwise (when I run out of finished chapters ;p ) Do you think England doesn't want Jeanne to fight simply because she's a woman? Tell me what you think~