A Hundred Years of War

Chapitre 1


It was 1325 and Charles IV had asked to see me. I had been in Orléans, watching the Cathédrale Sainte-Croix being finished. The stonemasons had even let me help with some, and we drank and joked together. I told the younger workers about the mishaps I had witnessed during the laying of the foundation stones, and they filled me in on the more recent hardships of their work. I cherished being among my people more than I liked visiting the king, and so it was with weary resignation that I saddled my horse and rode north to Paris through the winter air.

It was late evening the following day when I dismounted in front of the Palais de la Cité, and handed my horse to a valet. The lad recognized me, but with the awkward unnamed status of my position, he seemed caught somewhere between a formal bow and an awed salute. Used to this uncertainty, I flashed him a bright smile to let him know his behavior was fine, and stepped inside the palace.

I knew Charles IV would find it unbecoming of my etiquette if I were to eat before announcing my arrival, so I went straight to his rooms. A servant directed me to a washbowl to freshen up after my travels, while he reported me to King Charles. Within moments, he returned.

"His Majesty is expecting you. Please see him in his study." The man gestured towards the next door, but as familiar with the palace as I was, I had already begun walking.

I strode in, and two heads turned to look at me. King Charles IV the Fair was sitting, straight-backed and firm, in a wooden chair. His uncle, Charles of Valois was sitting opposite him. He looked pale and older than I had remembered, long lines etched deeply into his face. His expression was unreadable, and I felt a sudden sinking feeling in my gut.

"My king," I said, dropping into an obeisance.

"You may stand," the king responded regally, "and come closer, François."*

He was the type of king who preferred using my given name, and I found it distasteful. As a rule, the monarchy (and as such, most of the nobility over time) knew me and my human name; however, it sounded condescending from those who I hadn't expressly asked to call me such. I had not asked either of these Charles to do so, and indeed, it had been some time since a French King had been given that permission. The last few, Charles' older brothers, had all passed in such quick succession.

Still, he was nominally the King of me, so I said nothing and rose. A beautiful mahogany desk rested squarely between the three of us, some letters and forms on its surface. I watched the younger Charles, wondering if the color and cut of his hair had anything to do with mine. He returned my gaze and cleared his throat.

"Since you don't seem to be much interested in the affairs of the state, I can only guess what you know about the recent English insults." He paused, and I could see he was waiting for my reply. Charles of Valois looked down at the papers on the desk as if I were of no concern to him.

I schooled my voice carefully, trying not to let my irritation show. "I'm afraid the King misunderstands my interest in the 'affairs of the state' because if he remembers correctly, I am the state." I sighed, suddenly weary. "England wants Guyenne back. And Gascony. Isabella is still here with her son, the young English prince, who has paid homage to us in return for those southwest territories which you have not yet given to him. If you're looking for my opinion, it seems like a nice peace offering for the moment, but as long as England feels like he has political control over parts of me, he won't want to let it go. I might also point out that you don't have a son, and none of your daughters can inherit. It might not be your problem as of now, but it will surely be mine in the future."

The king's eyes narrowed. "It is my problem now, which is why I've called you here. I don't want Aquitaine to be in Edward's hands. Isabella plans to stay here in France, and she can still control the boy, but his father is another matter. He thinks England is stronger than us, and Charles tells me they're planning all-out war. We need to be prepared, and you're the only one I can spare at the moment, François."

I saw Charles of Valois' strained smile. The man had always had the ear of the king even if he wasn't particularly well-suited to be an advisor. While he had just returned victorious from Saint-Sardos, where he had retaken Aquitaine from the unruly English, I didn't like him. He was always leering at me and it was no secret that he wanted to possess me. In what form was unclear, so I always avoided being alone with him.

I returned my attention to Charles the Fair—if he wasn't so stiff and full of being King, he had a face I could adore—and the task at hand. "What are you asking me to do?

"I'm not asking, François. I am your king and it is imperative that you formally renew the Vielle Alliance with Scotland. With England preparing more insubordination, we want them to realize they'll be cornered from the south and north. I don't care if you go to them or have them come to you."

I paused, considering the proposal before I agreed. King he may be, but I wasn't a human diplomat he could order around despite what he thought of me. We countries hardly ever signed treaties ourselves, although we were generally bound by them. Of course, we usually endorsed, agreed, and liked them. Scotland was no exception; in fact, I greatly enjoyed his personal company. And it was only a renewal of terms, nothing new….

"Tu es le capitaine, Charles," I replied, using the informal style and king's name in the same way he used mine: unasked, "and I am your vessel. I'll take care of it."

Without being dismissed, I left the room, the sound of harrumphs and gasps of my etiquette breach left in my wake.


14 Décembre 1325

Mon cher Écosse,

Congratulations on regaining your independence. I am very happy for you, and have the deepest empathy for those problems with England. He is very desperate still to have part of me for himself and is really quite a horrible creature at the moment. I am very glad that you were able to restrain him and give him a good beating last year. He is so grabby, with no manners, for which I am blaming Denmark's awful and crude influence. No amount of my influence seems to reach his thick skull.

As we continue to have so much in common against our in-between-neighbor and I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you since the Treaty of Paris, my king has proposed a renewal of our Vielle Alliance, or as you so affectionately call our 'Auld Alliance.' Perhaps once winter ends, the seas will be smooth enough for a safe crossing and you could come (with a capable human diplomat if necessary) and I will give you French comforts after a cold winter. Paris is always so lovely in the spring, and it has been so long since I have played the host for you. A formal resigning will also take place, and I have my king's approval to be a legitimate signer for the treaty.

This letter travels with my fondest desires that it will find you still safe and comfortable.

Amicalement et au plaisir de vous revoir,

France


3 January 1326

Ma fere Fraunce,

Thank you for your letter, and my condolences for the continued English threat. I have relayed your sentiments to my king, Robert Brus, and he is very thrilled to renew the alliance, and I am as well. I will be travelling with one Thomas Randolph, the first Earl of Moray, who will be signing, as well as his retinue. Though the party is small, my king wishes you and yours to know that he sees the Auld Alliance with great importance.

Now that the latest war is over and the English trounced, I would be very happy to take some time to see your beautiful land and cities this spring. I hope we will not miss much if I arrive in April, or perhaps as late as the first of May. I have missed you, so seeing you again would be wonderful. I remember Paris fondly and am looking forward to having a repeat experience.

If you should ever need anything, it is my hope that you would ask for my help! I, too, take our alliance seriously.

Yours aye,

Scotland


All preparations had been made and formalities wouldn't begin until the next morning, but my own anticipation was high for the evening. Scotland would be arriving, and besides soul-rending clashes with England and the cold shoulder from Germany, I had not had the company of another country for a long time.

To my delight, Charles had agreed to my getting a new outfit for the occasion and had it paid from the Treasury. I had had to be measured as tight-fitting clothes were becoming more fashionable, but I was happily wearing the result: pointed leather shoes, bright red hose, and a brilliantly blue doublet with gold embroidery that fell just to my knees. I even had a wide, low-slung and embossed belt. The only item I had declined was the strange hat that the tailor had insisted was the epitome of fashion. I seemed to be the only one who knew it was really a hood being worn incorrectly. My only jewelry was a ring Philip II had given me during the Third Crusade, delicate silver with a fleur-de-lis.

It was with such splendor that I received Scotland.

The doors opened and he swept in. Scotland was dashing in a plaid kilt and with his red hair tousled from the city breeze. The wind blew in around him, as if ushering his wild northern ways into my serene and luxurious walls.

"Scotland," I said breathlessly, moving to the door to greet him. A smile broke across my face, unbidden. "Thank you so much for coming!"

He clasped both my hands in return, a grin splitting his face. "It's grand to be here." Without further ado, he wrapped me in a giant bear hug. Shocked, I must have stiffened, because he pulled himself back a moment, as if remembering something. "Like this?" he asked, gently kissing each of my cheeks in turn.

I tried not to blush. From Scotland, the regular greeting seemed quite… intimate. "Euh, yes, that will do." I kissed him in return, and noticed over his shoulder that more guests were arriving.

Scotland followed my gaze. "Yea, let me introduce you to my Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray. He's a bit of a wily one sometimes, but a fearsome knight who has knocked down castles and won his way fairly to his peerage. He'll be doing the signing this time around for us. Lord Thomas, this is France. "

I moved forward to greet the earl. He was a broad-shouldered man roughly my height. He wore a closely trimmed beard of dark hair although the hair around his temples was fading to grey. He was clothed sensibly in a soft, long tunic and a matching hood; both were of high quality if lacking in embellishments.

We kissed each other's cheeks and for a Scotsman, he seemed well versed in the continental style of greeting. I surmised this was not his first trip overseas.

"Bienvenue à Paris," I entreated, slipping back into my role of host. "If you please, the porters will take your things from your carriage and bring them to your rooms. I can show you up to them now, as I'm sure after such a long journey, you would be delighted to freshen up. The evening meal will be served at the eighth hour, so there should be plenty of time to relax and settle in as you wish before then. If you'll both follow me…."

They complied easily, Scotland barely a step behind my left elbow with Thomas Randolph a few feet back with more decorum. I led them up a grand staircase, slowing imperceptibly so the grandeur of my city's mansions would impress them. Gold-gilded embellishments glinted from the railings, and a rich tapestry of my Charlemagne being crowned Emperor by the Pope graced the center of the wall as we reached the top of the staircase. I turned to my left and stopped at the first door, opening it and stepping aside.

"For Lord Randolph," I intoned. A cheery fire, warming the room delightfully, lighted the interior. It smelled of fresh straw and lilies, the former plumping the bed and the latter arranged into an artful swell near a washbasin and pitcher. "If you are requiring anything, please give the cord in the corner a pull. It rings a bell in the servants quarters below and someone will be up immediately to assist you."

The man's eyes widened as if this were an incredible novelty. I tried not to smirk, and continued. "There is a private bath adjacent to your room as well. You need only ring to have it filled. Please enjoy yourself and I'll see you at this evening's meal."

I pulled the door closed behind me as I exited smoothly. Scotland was waiting patiently in the hallway. "It's a cozy place you've got, France."

"Oh? Does this mean you're impressed?" I asked, feeling somehow both more relaxed and excited without a foreign human around. I began to walk towards the other end of the hallway, crossing the top of the staircase again. "Would you care to see what I have arranged for you?"

Scotland laughed, a big booming sound for a moment, before he caught himself and hushed. The walls sucked away the sound almost instantly, but the laugh was still apparent in his smile. His green eyes sparkled, and my stomach churned in a not unpleasant way.

"If it's even a fraction of what Thomas has, then it'll surely be too much for me," Scotland retorted, as he crossed to me. "I can barely concentrate what with all the golden walls and your bright red leggings as it is."

I stifled an undignified snort. "You like my leggings?" I stretched out a scarlet leg in front of him enticingly. "It's apparently all sorts of fashionable. Charles' tailor was very insistent." I pointed my toe, the length of the shoe's tip making my leg seem almost impossibly long.

Scotland stared for a moment, caught in my trap. His eyes traveled slowly up from my shoe to my calf to my knee to my… I pulled my leg down quickly, and turned away to open the door behind me. I didn't look back as I entered and spoke. "And this will be for you, Écosse."

I felt him walk in behind me, and despite the elegance of the room I had prepared for my northern friend, I knew he was watching only me. A log in the fire shifted, sending up sparks. It threw shadows across the room and whimsical cloth of the magnificent four-posted bed.

"France…." Scotland's deep timber rumbled like low thunder across the highlands. His hands moved up my arms to rest on my shoulders and I leaned back into him, putting my hands over his.

"Mmmm?" I questioned. I tilted my head back and sideways to look at his profile. He was ruggedly beautiful, somehow both fair and weathered at the same time. And reassuringly solid after his latest war. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent of warmth, wild grasses and saltwater.

When I opened my eyes again, his were looking at me hungrily. The firelight played tricks with their green hue, so they were both dark like the ocean and light like spring foliage. For a moment, I believed in the old Celtic magic again.

I turned slowly—effortlessly—and our lips met. My hands slid down to his sides, then around his back. The kiss deepened as he cupped the back of my head, his rough hands twining into my ponytail, loosening it unthinkingly. We pressed together, all heat and want. I needed Scotland. Everyone else came and went, betraying me as they saw fit, but Scotland… mon Ècosse… he needed me just as much as I needed him.

With simple ease, he lifted me up and carried me to the bed. The curtains parted and we tumbled down into softness.


*In this story, his human name is François, as that is the French equivalent of the English Francis. To me, it seems strange if his name is Anglicized for a story told from his perspective.

Thank you for reading and feel free to comment. My recent forays into cosplaying France has led me inevitably to researching his history and as such, you have A Hundred Years of War. I am doing about twice as much research as I am writing, so everything you read-from descriptions of kings, distances between places, and most dates-is historically accurate. (No seriously, I love history and as a teacher, I think this would be an excellent study aid.) Where no information is readily available, I have used some creative license to fill in the gaps. Of course, the country of France isn't personified, so his actions are entirely of my own making. Please note that I intend to follow historical fact more than Hetalian canon and fandom if there is a conflict, but my hope is that this won't be the case.

Lastly, I would appreciate critiques based on themes, plot, historical accuracy, my French language skills, and why or why not you found it enjoyable, because these are aspects that will help me write a better story.

À bientôt~!