Series: « L'histoire française », 20 historical Francis Bonnefoy drabbles. Written for lj/hetachallenge. Find my table at lj/coeurgryffondor.
L'histoire française
War
The silence is shattered when Francis asks nonchalantly, "How old are you anyway?" In the distance the Franco-Prussian War wages on as the boy shrugs.
"Brother found me," he says in German that's a little too high-pitched for a man; the nation (if he ever becomes one) would have a lot of growing up to do. "I don't remember anything from before that day."
"And how old does « Brother » say you are?" Even just thinking about Gilbert makes Francis sick. He was his friend, and now they're waging a stupid war over what? It was ridiculous. They were better than this, or they should have been.
The blond stands a little taller as he says, "Twelve." Francis scoffs.
"A baby," he murmurs to himself.
"I am not a child!" the boy says indignantly; the stomping of his foot doesn't help his cause in the least.
"Whatever you say kid." Silence returns once more.
The French nation still isn't quite sure how he ended up with the Prussian's little brother on his side of the battle lines. But here he is, waiting for that fucker to come pick the little brat up. Francis had better things to be doing, like thinking of more ways to stab Gilbert in the back. It was a pleasant way to pass the time.
"May I ask a question?" the little boy he's heard is called Ludwig asks.
"That's one already," Francis starts, staring straight ahead in annoyance. "But yes, ask your question."
He fidgets for a moment, Francis's annoyance only growing, before his head comes up. Ludwig looks him straight in the eye and at that the Frenchman cannot help but look back down at him. He's got potential, the kid. A lot of guts, a lot of possible power, and a brother who will surely mess that all up for him.
"What do you love most about your country?"
That's actually quite a good question, Francis thinks, taking in the boy. "Let me counter with this: why do you ask?"
The German boy shrugs. "Brother keeps saying one day I will be a country, but when I ask him or Roderich what they love most about their countries they blow me off. Elizabeta gave me her answer, but she's the only one so far."
"Good answer?" Francis asks. The Hungarian, he's heard, is quite a lady now. Not that that's a side of her Francis ever sees. Normally it's the back of her hand.
Ludwig nods. "She said she loves her people the most, that they make her happy and make her feel like she belongs. I want to feel that when I'm a country."
Francis sighs a little, looking the German up and down. "That is a good answer. For me, I love the way my people think. The French think differently from our neighbors, and I like our way the most. It still speaks to me."
Ludwig nods again. "That is a good answer too."
"Thank you." In the distance the Frenchman can make out an approaching man dressed in a military uniform, someone he's seen enough to recognize immediately. "Ludwig?" Francis says absentmindedly.
"Yes Mr. Bonnefoy?"
"Promise me something." There's a moment of silence before Ludwig nods. "Promise me you won't repeat your brother's mistakes. You have-" Francis sighs. "You have potential. We could even get along. Most countries fail to ever learn from our mistakes, continue waging stupid wars like this one that will end who knows how. Promise me you will learn, and then not wage war with me."
Now they can see Gilbert's face. "Promise," Ludwig whispers before running to his brother, embracing him warmly. Francis turns and walks away.