A Collection of Memories

England, 1066

The wind blew harsh and cold across the grey, dull land. Sprinkles of rain fell to the Earth in sad intervals, and onto the one living thing in sight. A small boy, dressed in brown animal skins made his way through the tall grass, trudging along wearing nothing on his feet and nothing to shelter him against the harsh weather.

He made his way toward a cluster of trees, hoping to find solitude there. He ducked his head and made a run for it, anxious to get some time to rest.

The trees he reached were large but very familiar. He walked around the base of the largest tree and found a cluster of rocks sitting in its roots. The boy scooped them up and sat in their place, finding the confines of the roots to be quite comfortable. He crossed his legs and held the rocks in his lap, examining each one in turn.

Curious rocks, with their ancient etchings and symbols. He wasn't allowed to have them anymore because he was told they didn't work after all. He reached to the string hanging around his neck and thumbed over the small, wooden cross that resided there. It wasn't nearly the same as his rocks that he now had formed into a circle.

The boy became startled by the sound of someone approaching and quickly stood, gathering his stones up into his arms. His large, green eyes widened as he hurried around the tree and came face to face with a taller, much cleaner boy.

He had seen this older boy before a few weeks ago. He had very fair skin and wavy blond hair that hung down in beautiful ribbons and framed his face perfectly. His eyes were a light, baby blue, and his face angular and sharp, unlike the younger boy, who was puny and angry looking. His hair was a tangled, dirty-blond mess, and his eyebrows dark and thick. Two opposites.

His presence irritated the smaller of the two boys, and he didn't hesitate to hurl a stone at the intruder. The rock struck the taller boy in the forehead, causing him to turn his head and cry out. He lurched forward and slapped the remaining rocks out of the little boy's arms and finished by shoving him to the ground.

"Didn't you hear? I'm the boss now."

The boy scowled up at the other, but only received a pompous smirk in return.

"You don't say much, do you?"

There was silence and only the wind blowing could be heard.

"I'm Francis."

There was another long pause.

"Won't you tell me your name? Or are you too stupid to understand what I am saying?"

The small boy furrowed his brows.

"I'm not stupid!"

"Then why are you still on the ground?"

"Why do you have a funny voice?"

Green eyes met blue ones.

"I'll kill you if you insult me again."

Francis stepped closer to the other, who glared back at him.

"I already know who you are, Arthur."

Once again, there was silence. The boy was stubborn, there was no doubt about it, and it was bothering the French invader. He kicked a rock into a tree, losing interest in his subject. This wasn't how declaring enemies was supposed to be, not that he had really done it before.

Arthur watched Francis kick his rocks around, still sitting on the ground where he fell.

"Those are mine."

He finally said, feeling the need to claim his property.

"Then why don't you fight me for them?"

Arthur got up to his feet and Francis turned to face him. Arthur made a run at him, but Francis, being older and easily predicting Arthur's moves, stepped to the side, sending the little boy stumbling. He laughed and stalked after him, grabbing him by the hair and turning him around to punch him in the face.

"You're weak. I'll like you as my enemy."

• • •

Saintes, France, 1242

France approached Arthur, who was waiting for him after dark. He sat in the overgrown blades of grass with his head bowed, hoping no one else would see.

"Francis?"

He whispered as he saw a shadow approach.

"Oui, it's me, Arthur."

The Frenchman sunk to the ground and crawled up in front of Arthur before settling back on his feet. Arthur focused in and gave him a quick punch in the jaw.

"Ah! Arthur!"

"That's for making me look like a fool."

Francis rubbed his jaw.

"You're the one who surrendered!"

"Shh, stop yelling or someone will hear."

Both of them shut up for a few moments.

"Why did you ask me to come out here, Arthur?"

Arthur faltered on his words. He didn't know how to explain his intentions to Francis.

"I- Well…Nevermind."

He started to rise to his feet, but his actions were halted by Francis taking a hold of his clothing and forcing him back down.

"Ah- Francis, get off!"

Francis tugged Arthur into the grass with him. Arthur squirmed and resisted him, but Francis was already getting what he wanted.

He pressed his lips to Arthur's for a good two seconds before breaking away. Arthur's eyes were wide with shock and his mouth gaped a bit. Francis took the opportunity to kiss him again, this time a bit longer. He wasn't at all surprised when Arthur answered back positively, prolonging the kiss. After all, it was Arthur who called on this preposterous, late-night meeting for no apparent reason after he just lost a war.

Arthur turned his head to the side and pushed Francis' searching lips away.

"No, that's enough for now."

"For now?"

Francis let Arthur climb to his feet.

"You mean there will be more?"

The tone in his voice was hopeful. Arthur brushed himself off, anxious to leave.

"Erm, yeah, I suppose."

He marched off into the night, leaving Francis to himself, smiling a bit. And truth be told, Arthur felt a bit overjoyed as well, not knowing what would become of their relationship.

Some more flashbacks due to the many requests I received.

Here we have Arthur and Francis' first meeting as children and some Saintonge War. It was a French victory. English surrender. And apparently their first kiss. The first of many.

Thank you for reading and please review!