Characters/Pairings: France, Spain; mentions of Canada, America, and England.
Warnings: Human names, some swears, un-betaed, possible historical inaccuracy. France-centric chapter.
AN: So...posted this over on LJ, figured I may as well post here, too. Um...not much to say, really. Anywho. Wrote most of this during my Western Civ class. I apologize in advance for any historical mistakes/tweaking I make. Most of them are accidental, some of them are going to be on purpose. For any historical tweaking I will explain why I tweaked history after the chapter. Anyways...um, please enjoy. CritCom is loved...and yeah. -runsawaynow-
1763…I lost my son.
1783…I hurt him worse with an inadequate apology. I never thought such a feat were possible. Such hurt in those beautiful amethyst eyes…so cloudy with disbelief; so murky with unshed tears…. Such triumph in emerald eyes, never mind he had lost his favourite…he had kept mine. What was I supposed to do? Let Angleterre destroy both our sons? Amerique had called for help…for independence. I held out as long as I could, but he was so close to breaking…to giving up…to subjecting back to a cruel mother country. When no one else stepped in, I did…. I did so to liberate him…perhaps, for revenge as well. But, if Mattieu were ever to desire freedom…to desire rising up…I would be at his side in a heartbeat—nay, quicker--quicker than his brother could. …Ah, listen to me…playing favourites. What a horrible father I am….
Francis let out a deep breath, almost akin to a sigh. His eyes opened slowly, drifting around a once beautiful room. It held beauty still, yes…but felt empty. Monotonous, almost. He was…tired. Non…perhaps not tired. Weary? Perhaps….
"Francis!" Banging.
The blonde jumped, eyes darting to his chamber door. He took a moment to collect himself, putting on a plastered smile as he called in the sweetest voice he could manage—a voice he'd learned as a cover-up over the years, "Oui, il est ouvert, 'Toni~"
Antonio leaned in, a heavy frown on his usually relaxed face. Francis' smile slowly fell, his own face mimicking a confused frown…one his friend saw as faithless, more than anything. Still, Francis' voice remained calm, "Oui, Antonio?"
"Francis…mi amigo…mi amor, it's been twenty-six years."
"Pardon?"
"French, mi amor…you're speaking French."
"Well, yes…I am France, mon ami." Golden brows furrowed in concern. He always spoke French outside of politics with the other Nations and quite often he spoke it in Antonio's presence.
"No, no…Francis. Your French is…ah…accented? Like I once spoke with Lovi…well, still do, but that is entirely beside the point." Antonio slipped in completely, gently closing the door behind him so he could lean back on it, "My point is…I know you are upset…you have every right to be, but, mi amor…come the tenth, it has been twenty-six years. Please--"
"Antonio!" The Frenchman gave his friend an incredulous look; one that said he could hardly believe Antonio—of all people!—was giving him this talk, "You cannot honestly be insinuating I turn blind to this!"
"I am, Francis…because you are suffering for it, as are your people." Antonio gave him a hopeless look, despite how calming his voice was, "Look at yourself, mi amor. You hardly sleep anymore. I know we do not require it as mortals do, but it does help us…your servants are worried; you rarely eat, and when you do you just…push it around, perhaps take a bite or two and excuse yourself. Madre de Dios, Francis…when was the last time you took that jacket off for more than a night?" He suddenly looked alarmed and Francis actually quirked a brow at him before looking down at himself.
He was wearing his uniform jacket. So what? He'd had it repaired and cleaned of blood, what was so horrible about wearing it?
"Francis, we aren't like them." Antonio's voice had lost its calm demeanor and was now as hopeless as his expression, "We are not mortal and cannot vex ourselves as they do…have you heard your Third Estate lately? Francis, they speak of blood. They want what América has…they want change. Violent change…change that could hurt you more than anyone, mi amor." There was a pause, one that Francis spent glaring at his friend, despite knowing it went unseen. Antonio had his head down, taking the moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke up again, "He's grown up beautifully, all the same…Matteo, I mean. I know you saw him at the latest Treaty of Paris, but I'm sure you hardly noticed him past the tears." He received a hard glare and merely laughed, "He almost looks just like you, except for that cute curl…like the one Lovi has, si?" He looked up, a calm hope and encouraging smile on his face, "He's going to be strong, Francis. Just like his brother…give him someone to come home to, mi amor. He won't stay with that pirate forever, si?"
"…Pirate…?"
The question was quiet and Antonio immediately clamped his mouth shut, realizing his error. Francis had his head down, hands clenched atop his desk. He'd hardly heard the rest, and if he had it was already out of mind. He was damned stuck on the pirate. He had sworn Arthur's pirate days, those God awful days of teenage rebellion, were well behind everyone. Though…when he thought about it…in losing Alfred…but he still had Matthew…Mon Dieu….
"Is…is Matthieu alright? Angleterre has not…."
"No, Francis. Inglaterre has not harmed him, at least not to my knowledge." The Spaniard looked down a moment, "I may not like América…but I know you still worry. I have Florida and the entire Louisiana territory watching him, mi amor." He gave a slight laugh, trying to lighten the mood, "Granted it costs an arm and leg to try getting a message from them; I think they are still sore about being traded off so frequently. But they like the brothers and they like that I have interest in their well-being."
"Je vois…merci, 'Toni. Merci beaucoup." He shed a small smile and sat up a little straighter. It was good to hear that his imagination was likely running rampant…and there was no need to place a heavier blame on Arthur just yet. He coughed a bit, trying to compose himself a little, "But…you were saying? My Third Estate, oui?"
"Huh…oh!" The relief turned to confusion to realization to worry almost simultaneously, and while Francis would have normally had a slight laugh, he looked concerned.
"You were saying change, mon ami. How badly?"
"Bad. Very bad, Francis. They want blood…it's become a chant out there: Liberté, égalité, fraternité. I know my seat as a world power has declined, but I know enough to know that the passion behind those words is going to hurt you." The look turned to one of pleading, "Francis, please try to talk sense into the Second Estate. Didn't we already learn from the colonial land that taxation to fix the damage of war is a perfect fuel to revolution? Inglaterre, despite the deviled bastard he is, is still hurting from the revolution and it wasn't even in his own home."
Francis had been quite up to that point, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He concentrated a moment, allowing the voices of his Third Estate to circulate as Antonio waited for an answer. A small smile was soon across his face once more, "I appreciate your concern, mon ami—"
"-oh God, Francis, don't-"
"But…perhaps…a little revolution is what Europe needs, non?" The smile was turning to a wicked grin, "Angleterre needs to be reminded…that it is not just colonies that strike out, oui?"
Antonio gave him a blank look, actually worrying that the Revolutionary talk had already gone straight to his head. He sighed all the same, soon smiling away once more, "Well…if there is anything I can do to help…?"
"I am glad you offered, 'Toni." The grin widened by just a fraction, "Make sure Angleterre does not try to interfere…but make sure he knows, too. Make sure he knows, that sooner or later…his people, too, will be calling for a rid of the monarch. Perhaps not to the extent of my own, but soon…they will want freedom as well."
Post AN: ...I always fail so hard at first chapters. Rargh. Next chapter will be from Matt's PoV and will (hopefully) be better...yeah. -nervous smile- Love you all and again, R&R/crit and comments are loved...-bows to repeatitively-