I don't own Hetalia. Please read and review.

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The last words she says to him are imprinted into his mind. "You are our prince. We shall hurt when you hurt and cry. No matter what happens we will always trust and believe in you. We have hope that one day you will save both us and yourself."

At the time he had no idea why that sounded like a 'good-bye'. He hadn't realized until there was an execution announced, marking the death of another traitor. He hadn't realized until he noticed how close the Head Warlock and his servant we're staying to him. He hadn't realized until he saw the superior glare of the Emperor and pity filled eyes of the Empress.

He hadn't realized until he saw his beloved Jeanne up on that stake.

He had tried to get to her, to save her, but Arthur and Matthew held him fast, forcing him to sit there and goddamn watch as his beloved was burned.

She didn't scream. She didn't talk. She only stood there as flames ate away at her body. At her silence the people screamed, because only those blessed by the gods could stand the flames.

After he was allowed to leave he sat in his room and cried, thoughts of anger and betrayal rushing in his head as his childhood friend did his best to comfort him. The Emperor decided to visit him.

He promised that it would be a lot more painful for the Prince if Head Warlock tried to leave.

After the Emperor left Arthur healed the bruises that were already starting to form on his body. He healed the scratches, the cuts and the fractures to the wrists and sent Matthew for clean water and rag to wash the off with.

The boy's eyes had been bloodshot. He knew what had happened.

And Arthur had just stood there and watched, watch as the only hope the kingdom had for anything different was held down and-

"Arthur?"

"Yes Highness?" Arthur chocked out, because he didn't deserve to be addressed in a such a friendly manor, not after he just stood bloody by and let-

"When do you think the Black Brigade will be back?"

"In a few days. They only have a few more villages left to claim. I'll have Gilbert transferred to your personal guard as soon as he enters the city."

Francis is looking at Arthur's wrists, at the tattoos printed around them. "Do you think that they'll let Antonio live?"

Arthur shrugged. "Ivan was commanded to bring Antonio of Città back alive, along with the Priest, but who really knows with him?"

Francis is shaking, and it's not because of the fire than went out hours ago. "They're after a Holy Man? Which god is he devoted to?"

"Pax, I think. Apparently the Priest is little more than a boy, and the only reason he is concerted a Holy Man already is because he is the Holder of the Blessed Jewel."

Francis laughed and smiled ruefully. "So he's found another one, has he? And the Blessed Jewel no less. And the other five?"

Arthur hesitated. "Are you sure you're fit to talk about this?"

The Prince twisted the ring on his thumb. "When else are we going to talk about it? You're always busy, and I am never left alone."

"It's just... You know what? Never mind. I'll just send your boy for a proper Healer, and leave. I'm sure that the Emperor wouldn't want me here for so long."

Francis snorted. "Yes. The Emperor is very selective of whom he lets around his prized whore."

Arthur flinched and pressed himself against the wall. "Highness..."

"Do you remember that summer Arthur? When You, I, Gilbert, and Antonio used to play with each other, and we didn't even know who's parents were who's? Or what title we carried?"

"I remember getting harassed a lot, you cutting my hair, and you three getting into a lot of trouble and dragging me into it."

Francis laughed, a real laugh this time. "You were so little back then! Sometimes I forget how young you are."

Arthur crossed his arms. "Only two years... wanker..."

"Oh, it's been years since you've called me that!"

The Head Warlock sighed. "To call one's Prince that is worthy of death, Highness."

Francis made a noise of displeasure. "Do you think things will get better Arthur?"

"As long as you live your people have hope."

Francis laid his head back against the pillow. "What is the Priest's name, and how old his he?"

"Feliciano of Città. He's twenty."

Francis sighed. He reached under his bed and pulled out a wine bottle he knew would be there. Matthew is such a good boy. "Here's to your life Feliciano. A long a beautiful life."

.-*-.

Well, my newest story. Please tell me what you think of it.