France trotted up the porch steps of his boyfriend's house and knocked loudly on the large front door. France didn't wait for permission and opened the door with a loud entrance. "Oh Angleterre, I'm here!" France held his arms out wide, expecting an insult from his partner, but was only greeted by silence. France walked in the house, closing the large brown door with his foot, dropping his arms by his sides. "Arthur!" He called.

A muffled voice answered. "In my storage room!"

France stopped in his tracks, trying to remember if England's storage room was the hidden doorway in England's closet, or in England's basement, because one door lead to England's magic lair, which France hated going to. France decided to head in the direction of England's basement. He was greeted by an open door, and the sound of footsteps on the other side. France strode through the doorway to see England bent over some boxes shuffling inside them.

"What are you doing?" France asked casually, his hands folded behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Rearranging." England stated simply. "Why?"

"Just wondering. Need any help?"

England sat up, looking at France with suspicious eyes. "Why? Since when do you care?"

France gave his partner a sweet smile. "Since I realized I'm in love with you."

England blushed and looked back into the box. "To answer your question, no. I'm almost done."

France looked around at the strangely neat storage room. His was so much more cluttered that England's. "How do you keep yours so clean?"

"This isn't clean." England replied quickly. "This is neat. Not clean."

France narrowed his eyebrows. "What's the difference?"

"Everything is in order, boxes are stacked, weapons and clothing are hung up, everything is in place. Just not clean."

"Oh." France replied, wondering around the large underground room. "You have a lot of stuff in here."

France heard England sigh behind him.

"What?" France asked, turning around to his emerald-eyed love.

England stood and strode over to France. "I don't want to be in here too long, Francis, it can bring back… memories."

France smiled brightly. "I know, I'm just going to glance around at your stuff, that's all. It that's okay with you."

England gestured in the direction the large room lead. "Go ahead."

France looked through some of the things England had on shelves. This part of the storage room was mainly knick-knacks that France would just glance at. He approached a desk that appeared to just have some small, round pieces of wood on it. France picked up one of the pieces of wood, rubbing off a thick layer of dust with his left hand and stared at the small object. It was a toy soldier.

"Wait a second," France looked back to England, who was currently staring at a small knick-knack on a small, oak brown shelf, "aren't these America's?"

England turned his head from the small object, and looked France in the eye. "What are you going on about, Francis?"

"Isn't this America's?" France restated, holding out the toy soldier.

England walked over and picked up a different piece of wood. "Oh, no. These are the ones I didn't give him because I messed up. See?" England explained, holding out the one in his hand, "I accidentally broke off this one's leg while whittling it."

France raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so these one's weren't good enough for America?"

"I don't think America would've enjoyed playing with a soldier who had no legs." England held out a legless soldier.

"But that makes it that much more realistic." France said, and immediately regretted that decision after realizing how much it hurt to say it. "Sorry." France mumbled.

England, who had turned his head to stare off in a different direction looked back to France. "It's okay, Francis."

France placed the soldiers back on the small desk and continued to walk around the dusty, old room. There were shelves that had piles upon piles of letters and documents that were somehow important to the Englishman following him around the room like a lost puppy.

France decided to pick up one of the letters and read it aloud, just to annoy the hell out of his English partner. France looked up at the date, which was smudged, then to the handwriting. It was England's. France cleared his throat with a devious grin, looking England in the eye, who just stared at him. "'Dear'- wait, I mean- 'Dammit Diary'…" France cut himself off when he glanced up to England, who looked away, avoiding France's eyes. France read the rest in his mind:

'A few months ago Alfred and I got into yet another damn argument. Matthew was, yet again, hiding in his room trying to ignore the fight. Fuck! Then what the bloody hell did Alfred do? He left! He stormed out of the house! Matthew chased after Alfred, trying to get him to come back but… Well let's just say that didn't happen… Ever since that whole thing, Matthew has barely spoke a word to me, and hasn't spoken a nice word about Alfred… Matthew hasn't been this quiet around me since I took him up as my territory after winning the Seven Years' War. Just as it seemed that it couldn't get any worse, my bloody damn soldiers decide to shoot seven of Alfred's citizens. I mean, how stupid are my soldiers? How have I won so many bloody wars, if all my soldiers are complete imbeciles? Alfred is also calling that the "Boston Massacre" so it will attract the attention of the citizens who read the newspaper… Bollocks! My king, or "His Highness" told me about a letter we received… This was four days ago… That "letter" was a Declaration of Independence… And "His Highness" has declared war… "Bring me the heads of all the people who signed that document!" He ordered. "This means war!". I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling him to go fight the damn war himself. I told Matthew about the Declaration of Independence, and that my king is sending me into war against Alfred. Matthew just walked away and went into his room. Every time I passed his door, I either heard him crying, or cursing in French. Well, I talked to "His Bloody Highness", and not only is he sending me into war against Alfred, but he's sending Matthew into war too. Someone should never have to go into war, let alone fight against their family. I don't know how war will change Matthew, especially if he's fighting Alfred. Dammit! What the bloody hell did I do wrong? What the hell drove him away?

...Dammit Dairy…'

France froze after reading the diary entry. All countries have diaries to help them vent because sometimes they don't have someone to vent on. France glanced up to England, who was looking at the ground, running his thumb over the hat of one of the broken toy soldiers. France folded the piece of paper, and set it back on the shelf. "I shouldn't have read that, I'm sorry."

"You're fine, Francis." England said in a fake reassuring tone.

France decided not to read anything else of the stacks of letters and diary entries, just in case. After walking past the shelves with letters, France saw mannequins standing in uniforms that used to be worn by England. France walked to the first piece of clothing, a small green cloak that England used to wear when he was young. France walked past the cloak, scanning over different sets of dusty armor, a jet-black cloak, a pirate's "uniform", several different styles of red uniforms that were worn back in the "Glory Days" of the British Empire, World War One uniform, World War Two uniform, and today's current uniform with its green camouflage color. France turned back to the line of red uniforms, where an empty mannequin sat.

France pointed at the mannequin. "Why doesn't this one have a uniform?" He asked, looking back to England.

England hesitated before speaking, forcing his sad look to dissipate. "Because the uniform isn't there."

"I can see that," France started, "but why?"

"Because I took the uniform off of it." England said, stating the obvious.

"Why?" France demanded.

England closed his eyes tightly. "Because the uniform that used to be on that mannequin was the one I wore during the war of America's independence."

France glanced to the empty mannequin, then back to England. "Where is it?"

England sighed, looking away from France. "I put it in the box that is sitting next to the mannequin."

France stared at the small brown box. "Why?"

"Because I don't need to be staring at it every time I come in here." England explained in an irritated voice.

"Makes sense." France stated, walking off.

He turned to his right and saw a large weapons section, almost like he was in a museum. "Let's see how many I recognise." France said, looking back at England, who was staring at the small box. "Arthur?"

England snapped his head up. "Hm? What?"

"I'm going to see how many weapons I recognise."

"If you must." England sighed.

"Okay, here I go." France turned to the first sword he saw and immediately knew it from battle. "You killed me with that." He said, pointing to the sword. He turned to the next weapon, a large, heavy sword that you would need to wield with both hands. "Almost cut off my head with that."

England chuckled behind France.

France pointed to a one-handed ax. "Almost cut off my right arm at the shoulder with that."

"Wow," England began, "you even remember the specifics."

The Frenchman stared at a pair of dual swords, narrowing his eyes. "Killed me with those." He finally concluded. He pointed at three sets of bows and arrows. "You've shot and killed me with all three of those." France ran his left hand across the top of an old musket. "Shot me with this, and stabbed me with the bayonet." France sighed. "Stabbed me with those daggers." France glanced at the modern guns, which haven't been used against him. The long haired blonde went to walk off when he saw a familiar looking machine gun. He stared down at the seventy year old weapon as memories shot back into France's mind. England, America and Canada invading Normandy and taking back his country for him. Saving him just before it was too late. France tore his head away from the relic before him, and continued walking.

France continued eyeing the weapons, but they were all too recent for England to have hurt him with them, but old enough to be in his storage room. France stopped, looking up at a miniature bow and a small set of arrows hanging on the wall eye level to France. France chuckled. "Oh, this is too precious! So cute!" France exclaimed.

England walked over to him, gingerly taking the relic off the wall. "Scotland taught me how to shoot with this bow."

"Oui, I know, you always had this with you when we were young." France agreed. "I remember when you swore you'd become the best archer in the whole world."

"And I did." England added.

France leaned forward. "I never said that you didn't, Arthur. But you also swore you'd rule the world."

"And I did." England added. "I never said that I'd keep it, though."

France pointed at the short haired blonde. "You're right."

England placed the bow back on the wall with a sigh, then stared at it for a few moments. "Bollocks, I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?" France asked, tilting his head.

"I'll be right back." England said, quickly walking off.

France shrugged and continued walking. The weapons rack ended France thought he had seen the entire storage room when he saw a small pathway that lead to what looked like another room. France walked forward and took the left turn to see three stone steps and a display case. France ascended the three stone stairs quickly and stared down at the display case. Inside the glass sat a beautiful silver sword with a golden handle. A swirled pattern spun around the handle like vines with a mixture of gold and green colors. The cross guard had almost a tree branch like look to it.

"Excuse me, Francis." England said, holding a cloth and a small bottle of polish.

"Sorry." France replied, pressing himself against the wall of the compact room, and out of England's way.

England didn't reply, he only leaned forward and opened the case with careful fingers and pulling the beautiful sword off of it's velvet red cushion. England leaned his shoulder against the wall, rubbing the polish-soaked cloth against the metal of the blade.

France raised an eyebrow. "Whose sword is that?"

"Mine, or, well…" England trailed off, "it's complicated."

"I was about to say, this can't be yours, this is way too elegant." France smiled, "All of your other swords are meant for piracy or something."

England gave France and unamused look. "This is mine. But it wasn't originally."

France raised an eyebrow.

"It was given to me." England said, polishing the cross guard and handle.

"By who, The Lady of the Lake?" France teased.

"Oh, no," England chuckled, "she didn't give it to me."

"Then who did?" France asked.

"You want to hold it?" England asked.

An off-topic question, but France answered. "Uh, sure. Anyway," France began, holding the delicate relic in his hands, "Who gave this to you?"

A content, almost peaceful look came across England's face. "King Arthur."

France narrowed his eyebrows, looking up at his partner. "What?"

England nodded towards the sword. "That sword is King Arthur's sword, Excalibur."

France's jaw dropped open. "What? He was real?"

An almost devious smile crossed England's face. "You lived in those times, shouldn't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember King Arthur." France replied.

"Good. That means the spell worked." England concluded.

France narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? And why would you have King Arthur's sword? Wouldn't his family have it?"

England straightened his posture. "When King Arthur got ill and began to die, he gave me the sword, and told me to protect it. Instead of giving it to his family, he wanted Excalibur to fall into legend. He also wanted to fall into legend. So over time, I made sure that happened through a slow working spell. I am the only country who should remember him. Scotland might, but I never asked him."

"So this is Excalibur? I expected it to look more… Threatening." France mumbled.

"No. Excalibur is very elegant and beautiful. Although it's blade is sharper than any razor you'll ever come across." England explained, "I have cut open my hand many times cleaning it."

France tilted his head. "Why is this the only thing you clean in here?"

"Because it's not mine." England said, crossing his arms, "I was told to keep it safe, and away from the eyes of the public. But I keep it beautiful in honor of the king who granted me my independence from Scotland, and in memory of one of my best friends."

"You and King Arthur were friends?" France asked.

England placed the bottle of polish in his pocket, and allowed the wet rag to drop to the floor. "Yes, we were very good friends. Arthur was really the only leader I'd call a friend."

Confusion crossed France. "Why? Pretty much all rulers are the same."

England shook his head. "Arthur had a lot of respect for me, and actually wanted to learn about me."

"Learn about you? You mean as a country?"

England nodded. "Arthur was the closest to ever understanding a country. He knew that we could get emotional over trivial things, or things that wouldn't make sense at all. He could tell when I needed my space, and he could tell when I needed to talk. He understood that some days I just wouldn't leave my room, some days I really needed a drink, and some days I was perfectly fine."

France stared down at the beautiful, priceless sword. "Were you close?"

England chuckled. "Very. He even had a nickname for me."

"Nickname?" France asked with a smile, "Was it Blacksheep?"

England scowled. "No. He called me Dragon."

France looked at England in confusion. "Why?"

"Dragons were very stubborn, angry, sentimental, loyal, and most of all, protective."

"Weren't dragons evil?" France questioned.

"Some were. Others weren't. It depended."

"Depended?" France asked. "Are they all dead?"

England nodded slowly. "I was very protective of King Arthur. I was always by his side, and always made sure that he was okay."

"Were you a Knight of the Round Table?" France exclaimed, not really sure where the question came from.

England chuckled. "No, no. I was no Knight of the Round Table. But Arthur did knight me."

France nodded. "That makes sense, he was the king after all."

England's eyes grew slightly dark with sadness.

"Arthur, you alright?" France asked, tilting his head.

"Arthur and I were very close, but yet I am the only one who can, or ever will remember him." England looked to the ground, "I wish that all rulers were like he was. He actually cared about us. We weren't just a weapon or soldier to him. We were more than that."

France glanced from England, to Excalibur, then back to England. "What were we to him?"

England looked up to France with his emerald eyes. "He thought of us as something… Divine… That was cursed to be under the rule of evil."

"Do you believe he was right?"

England looked away from France, and to the display case. "I don't think we're divine, but that may be because I'm atheist. But I do believe we are cursed to be under the rule of angry, bloodthirsty humans."

"Well, that's an obvious curse." France mumbled before staring at his Englishman. England was staring down at the sword still in France's hands. "Here you go." France said, holding out the sword, and England took it from his hands, and continued to stare into it's silver blade. "Arthur?" France asked. "Arthur?" He snapped in front of England's face.

England blinked multiple times before looking France in the eye. "Do not tell anyone about Excalibur, or King Arthur, or anything that I told you about them!" He hissed.

France held his hands up in surrender. "I won't, I won't!" France exclaimed.

England narrowed his eyes. "Because no one is supposed to know about him, or Excalibur! Not even your strange friends."

"I won't tell anyone! I promise!"

England turned and placed the sword on the red cushion inside the case, before closing it gently.

"Why exactly did it have to fade into legend?" France asked.

"It is a very powerful magic weapon. It couldn't fall into the wrong hands, and considering that it would've probably been given to all my rulers, I'm kind of glad that Bloody Mary didn't have it." England explained, shuddering at the name of the murderous queen from centuries ago.

"I won't tell anyone." France restated. "But let's get out of this dusty old room before we get too sad, oui?"

England nodded in agreement.

This was only a little one-shot I decided to make. Please leave reviews, the feedback is much needed and appreciated! :)