Chapter 10

"Will you marry me?"

The question was whispered but it seemed that it was so far away. England – no, Arthur – looked into Francis' eyes and could see nothing but the pale blue depths that bored into his own. What is he thinking? A small voice in his head whispered. Is he thinking of only doing this because I am dying? Another part of him, however, was soaking in the pure feelings he felt, thinking only, Oh, Francis…

How could he have fallen in love with such a nation? A nation who believed in his own narcissism that he believed he was the most beautiful in the world? A nation who abhorred his clothes getting his clothes the slightest wrinkle, obsessed with anything but beauty and romance? Arthur knew, however. Japan would say that a red-string of fate bound them together, and the island nation thought it was true. Despite being enemies, despite their wars and arguments against each other, Arthur knew that he and Francis knew each other more than they knew themselves. They had met in the Roman Empire's house, both alone and afraid, one very small and crying nation having lost his mother. It was Francis who had been there to guide him, to be his light when there was no happiness where they lived. They had played together so much as children after the Roman Empire died they had almost forgotten they were nations. It was his brothers who reminded him what he was, and that it was his fault that Britannia had died. They pelted him with stones and arrows, the future Northern Ireland most often not finding him, having found Francis waiting for him by the river and comforting him.

Arthur remembered of when Francis had first kissed him. It had been during the plague, when both of them thought they were going to fade away and disappear. Francis that thought that the feverish nation was asleep, and so the soft and warm lips found them against lips cracked and coated with blood. It was quick, almost unnoticeable, but Arthur remembered Francis' shock when the young Englishman moved his lips against his, the emerald eyes open. It was 1312. Although he often cursed the Frenchman dead as the centuries passed, it remained one of Arthur's most treasured memories. When he had made love to his Bess, she had asked him many times who he thinking of when his eyes looked out into the sky. He had told her with a heavy heart that he was thinking of her, but both human and nation knew that the English nation was not telling the truth. It took only a month of living with Francis that Arthur realized that he had been thinking of the French nation all those centuries ago.

Their bosses had not been pleased with their undisguised animosity to each other, and ordered them to stay in the same cottage in the French countryside to bond. The nations both could not comprehend why their bosses had decided to make them endure this catastrophe of a lost alliance. Germany isn't a threat, Arthur had thought as he watched the Frenchman through narrowed eyes cooking a small breakfast. Russia…is concerning, but there is no reason for me to be in an alliance with the frog! It took only a month for Arthur to be deeply in love with Francis. He didn't understand, but Francis had simply looked at him with his beautiful blue eyes and asked him if love ever needed a reason.

"Do you love me then, Francis?" Arthur had almost inaudibly whispered. He found his hands entwined with the Frenchman's and saw that Francis was smiling at him.

His only answer had been a kiss. It was sweet and gentle, and Arthur found himself lost in the bliss as he stroked Francis' beautiful hair. As he lay beside the nation as Francis serenely slept, the soft sheets caressing his skin as he pulled his fingers through his hair, the English nation wondered of how deep their love would go as he softly kissed the forehead of the sleeping nation beside him, his own eyes closing as happiness warmed him.

Then came four wars that tested their bond. Two non-magical, the other fought by a people most considered to be obsolete. Arthur remembered of how Francis held him, soothing French words in his ears as blood splattered across his front. The only relief to his pain had been Francis.

And then…Alice. The child had been conceived on a cold winter day in February, and Arthur had not understood of why his body was reacting the way it had until Greece had told them the truth. He had held Francis as he sobbed, tears filling his own eyes as he thought about the unfairness of their situation. I had too hoped…that we would spend more time together. But it was not to be. Arthur came to treasure every moment that they had, with Francis fussing over him, and the changes in his body, seeing of how more alike he looked to his beloved mother when the magic in his body forced his gender to temporarily change. He found Francis' kisses and soothing words to be a lullaby, and was content to the knowledge that he would have…this for his memories. Alice had been born in the morning of April eighth. Arthur – or Elizabeth as he was known then – was soaking with sweat with Francis holding his hand on the right and brushing sweat from his eyes on the left as Greece delivered the now twelve year old girl who stood before them. Her cries had awoken something in him, and when the nation held the baby in his arms – soft blond hair silky to the touch and emerald eyes – that he did not regret at all what was to come.

Arthur had broken his promise, and Alice had stayed with them during the first three months of her life. He enjoyed simply watching her, or see Francis hold her in his arms as he sung a soft French lullaby. Arthur knew that the baby would not remember him – either of them. And yet her very existence made it so hard for both her mother and father to let her go…until it was time. Arthur remembered carrying her in his arms, his body back to normal now as he heard Francis sob. He had taken precautionary measures. Alice was now the size of a newborn, her hair as fine as it had been shortly after birth. Arthur had set the pocket watch that his dear Bess had given him, allowing himself to look at his daughter one last time before going away.

Now as Arthur stared at his love, the words fumbled in his mind. All the memories they had created – through war, agony, love, and comfort – flowed through his mind. The image of Alice swaddled in his arms, her tiny pink face admired by her mother and father echoed through his mind. Francis… Making love to him. Telling him he loved him. Being by his side. Holding his hand. Crying together when they found their beloved daughter again. Arthur found that he was crying, with tears pelting down his cheeks, warm and thick, but he found he did not care.

Arthur moved forward, allowing his limbs to take him where his mind solely desired.

"Oui, je vaisvous épouser," he whispered. Arthur brushed his forehead against Francis', feeling impossible feelings of love flow through him as they kissed.

The room cheered.