The first of many
Francis could tell he was being followed; he had been for quite a while now. The muted snap of a twig, a rustle in the branches above, a leaf falling where there was no breeze to provoke it. Most people wouldn't have noticed but the young French nation had become accustomed to this way of greeting and knew what to look out for.
He allowed the pursuit to go on a little longer, for the sake of his pursuer, until he grew restless with their game.
"Were you planning on saying hello or are you just going to follow me to the other end of these God forsaken woods?" he called out to his shadow.
Only the trees replied with their gentle swishing and Francis halted, placing his hands on his hips to look around the area, unsure exactly where the stalking figure remained concealed.
"Arthur," he called out in a playfully warning tone, smiling to himself as he listened out for any indication of where the inevitable attack would come from.
Something shifted in the shrubs to his left, barely detectable but that was all he needed. Grinning like the devil, Francis moved as silently as he could, crouching close to where the sound had come from. Ready to pounce, he inched in nearer, thinking that perhaps, this time, he had bested his adversary.
"Caught you!" he exclaimed in premature triumph as he pulled apart the leaves to reveal only a rather startled squirrel.
A novice mistake on his part, he realised too late when, from behind came the soft thud of boots landing on bare earth.
"You know, I would try to scare you," came the amused English accent, "but that was so pathetic it would only make me feel bad."
The Frenchman chuckled softly as he turned to see his fellow nation, one hand on his hip, the other clutching a bow that was half his height, smiling smugly down at him.
"Do not get too cocky," Francis retorted, "One of these days, when you least expect it, I will be ready."
A thick eyebrow was quirked in his direction. "Is that a threat?" Arthur asked sarcastically, "Should I go and tell my King that you just declared war on my country while on my soil?"
"Go ahead and run to him if you like, I will just tell him that you were off gallivanting beyond the palace walls, again," the older of the two countered, smirking right back.
"See if I care," the Englishman shrugged.
Dusting the dirt from his knees as he stood, Francis mirrored the other's stance. "Oh, I think you do," he sung, "from what I hear, you are skating on thin ice."
Again, the younger of the two scoffed with contempt. "Aren't I always?" he muttered.
The larger nation's lips curled in a warm simper; he came closer. "Best not to make it worse then, oui?" he clucked to which the other rolled his eyes. "It is good to see you, mon lapin," he beamed.
"You too, frog face," Arthur returned in his own manner of dysfunctional affection.
Used to the familiar insults, Francis brushed it off with no offence taken, happy to see his friend. "Mon Dieu! You are getting so tall, Angleterre!" he exaggerated, clapping both hands on his cheeks, "Did I not tell you to stop growing the last time I saw you?"
Sending him an unimpressed look at the pandering tone, Arthur didn't appreciate the comment, as Francis knew he wouldn't. "Would you stop, you're barely older than me," he grumbled.
"What ever happened to my sweet little forest fairy, ah?" the older boy continued to croon, emphasising every word for optimum annoyance, as he moved closer with his arms outstretched.
"Don't you bloody dare," the British representative snapped, backing up as he drew his bow to point at the other in an well-practiced motion.
Not at all frightened by the show of aggression, Francis only moved faster to knock the bow aside. "Come now, Arthur, you would never harm me," he called the other out on his empty threat, "Stop trying to run from my love."
Arthur allowed his bow to be misdirected, the arrow he had notched firing weakly into the ground, as he was tackled down by the taller boy. "Get off me, you damn pervert!" he shrieked, squirming to get away. The weight of the other was too much for his thin frame to shift, however, and he could do nothing pinned beneath the larger nation.
"What happened to that adorable boy? I miss him so," Francis proceeded to hug the trapped nation tightly, holding him down as he thrashed for escape.
Accepting that his struggles were fruitless, the weaker of the two gave up on resisting with a sigh and ceased his floundering. "He was gone the second I stepped foot in that God damned palace," he griped, "Now will you please get the hell off me?"
Still laughing to himself, Francis relented and rolled off the smaller form beneath him. Sitting up and pulling his tunic back into place, Arthur righted himself then scowled over at the other.
"Asshole," he bit, his cheeks seeming to glow a shade piker as the light hit them.
"Such language," Francis tutted, "I thought they may have managed to force some manners into you by now."
"What good are manners on the battlefield," the younger of the two sniffed.
Rolling his eyes, Francis pushed himself up, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. "What are we to do with such an unruly rebel?" he asked rhetorically.
"How about leave me alone," Arthur suggested, the steady back and forth they shared quick to slide off the tongue.
"Someone needs to keep you in line," the older nation jested, reaching over to ruffle the other's thatched hair. It had grown since the last time Francis had seen him, long enough to dust the bony shoulders below it.
"Piss off," Arthur batted the hand away and stood, sweeping the untameable mop from his face.
Flashing a charmer's smile up at the smaller boy, Francis reached out for a hand standing, which Arthur obliged him.
"So, when did you arrive?" he spoke conversationally as he tugged the other to his feet.
They began to wander together, Francis following the lead of his counterpart, not as familiar with the terrain himself.
"We docked late last night and travelled by carriage until early this morning," the Frenchman recounted, "I do find travel so dreadfully tiring."
"I can only imagine how exhausting it must be to sit still while other people do things for you," Arthur drawled, "you poor soul."
Shooting him a side glance at the snarky tone, Francis gently shoved the smaller boy, hard enough to make him stumble sideways, who snickered at having gotten a reaction.
"Do you want to stay out for a while?" the younger nation glanced over quickly, and reluctance was clear in his eyes, "We can say we were in the gardens."
"I would like to, but I think we should really be getting back," Francis persuaded with a tight-lipped smile.
The other sighed resignedly. "Fine," he relented, turning back to walk in the direction they had just come from.
"Do not mope, cherie, I do not leave until Monday. We can sneak out tomorrow," the older boy attempted to lighten his spirits, knowing too well that Arthur in a bad mood could be no fun at all.
"If my head isn't mounted on the wall before then," the British representative complained under his breath.
"There is no need for dramatics," Francis, quite hypercritically, chided, "we will have plenty of time for fun."
Once more rolling those meadow green eyes in their sockets, Arthur fell silent on the subject. His instinctual sense of direction led the way and the pair were soon at the castle walls, grey and looming.
Taking the bow from his back, Arthur went to push aside a nearby rock to reveal, underneath, a hollowed-out dip in the ground, lined with dried leaves to prevent the damp getting through, big enough to fit the contraband weapon inside. He laid the bow and quiver down and turned the rock over again, like a lid, then filled in the gaps with leaves and dirt so as to make the area seem undisturbed.
Satisfied with his work, Arthur turned to see the disapproving face of his companion.
"What?" he asked defensively, "They won't let me keep it if I take it inside."
"And for good reason after the last incident," Francis chastised, "How did you even manage to get that out of the armoury?"
"That is none of your business," Arthur retorted and began to make his way along the side of the curved wall. Shaking his head in exasperation, the larger nation trailed behind.
Before long, they came to a set of iron gates at the back of the palace garden. Not the main gates, as they were always under the watchful eyes of the King's guard, but an unused trade entrance that seemed to have been forgotten about. It was the way that Francis had come through earlier and where they would often meet to scamper off when no one was looking and so both knew the drill when it came to slipping in and out unseen.
"Clear?" Francis asked from over the other's shoulder.
Surveying the path for wandering soldiers, Arthur deemed it safe. "Come through," he instructed and held the heavy door open, just a sliver, for the taller boy to squeeze in.
Coming through behind, Arthur closed the gate and the two hurried down the tangled path and out into the open gardens where they slowed to meander with no sense of urgency. Away from the shade of the forest it was warm, the sun dusting its golden heat across whatever moved below it, with a hint of a breeze for good measure.
Casting a glance over the neatly organised flowerbeds, one patch in particular caught Francis' attention. "I can always tell when you have been at work in the garden," he mused, spying a cluster of rose bushes that seemed to bloom brighter than anything else around them.
"I'll take you to see the lilies later," the English representative promised, "they're nice this year."
Humming in agreement, the Frenchman folded his hands behind his back as they promenaded between rows of flowers, so vibrant they glowed. Both wished to savour the sun's rare appearance and so were in no rush to reach the end of the vast palace gardens, however, it didn't take them long to find themselves at the back steps.
The two guards on duty at either side of the double doors instantly stood to attention as the representatives approached and Arthur expelled a sound of exasperated at the action. Moaning on their hinges, the doors swung inwards to allow them through, revealing the English court.
Nobles and peasants alike inhabited the courtyard, more so than usual as the news of French royalty's presence had spread long before their arrival, luring the wealthy to pay their tributes. Arthur ignored them as they made their way across the enclosed space while Francis threw out suave smiles as he passed, especially to the abundance of young ladies of blue blood. Receiving several bashful giggles in return, the older boy let out a quiet chuckle.
"Would you not, please," Arthur snipped at his antics.
A vocal exhale emitted the other as he looked back over his shoulder to check if the women were still watching him. "But, cherie, I cannot help it. The women here are quite something, non?" the girl he had his eye on caught his gaze, fluttering her eyelids sweetly to which Francis smiled wider. "Not as stunning as the women of my own, beautiful nation, of course, but close."
"Oh, please," the smaller boy snorted in disgust, "And aren't they a little old for you?"
"Age is but a number," the hopeless romantic mooned, eliciting a raised brow from the other. "Do not be disgusting," he scolded the younger boy's filthy mind.
"I didn't say anything," Arthur defended, smirking to himself.
Approaching the entrance at the other end of the courtyard, Francis allowed the younger boy to walk ahead where they went through the open archway and into the palace itself. Having been there many times before, the hallways were familiar to the young Frenchman, but he still couldn't help but compare the place with his own nation's counterpart. It wasn't as grandiose, built more for function than spectacle, with bare walls and floorboards, yet a sense of power radiated throughout. Its structure was designed to keep those outside of it out and those inside safe. A comforting thought, at least when he wasn't the enemy. With countless hidden passageways, doors lurking behind tapestries and secret openings to the cellars that ran like tunnels beneath the castle foundations, the place was a maze.
Voices echoed from the grand hall, muffled through the thick stone but still intelligible and definitely not best pleased.
"Go on then," Francis urged as he saw how the younger boy hesitated over the threshold.
Chewing the inside of his cheek, Arthur's gaze flitted up to meet the Frenchman's with reluctance behind their surface.
"It is bad enough that you make me go out looking for you, do not make it worse," the larger nation began to lecture, prompting an irritated huff from his counterpart. "I will go in first if you are scare-"
"I'm not scared," Arthur immediately snapped, as Francis had expected him to, and pushed through the doors to let them both in.
The disgruntled ranting that came from within stopped as the representatives entered, both their kings turning to them.
"There you are, you little brat!" the English Monarch marched over, a deep scowl creasing his formidable brow, and took his own representative aggressively by the arm, "Where, in God's name, have you been?"
"We were admiring your beautiful gardens, your Highness," Francis was quick to jump in with their cover story as his friend was dragged by the far larger man.
"A likely story," the older man barked, scrutinising the younger nation still.
Violently shaking off the firm grip, Arthur glared up, both hands balled into angered fists. "Get your hands off me!" he spoke in a tone Francis would never dare direct at his superiors.
The native king narrowed his eyes back at the child. "Do not disrespect me like this in such important presence," he growled.
Opening his mouth to retort, Arthur was interrupted by the presence his king spoke of clearing his throat in order to gain the room's attention.
"If we might please resume our official matters," the older Frenchman politely prevented the impending argument.
Directing his attention back to the foreign royalty, the British ruler gave one last warning look to the nation he held such contempt for and subdued his temper.
"Of course," he righted himself before pushing the representative forward roughly, so that he stumbled over to the French diplomat. "A proper greeting is still in order," he commanded.
Throwing a heated glower over his shoulder, the English boy bowed before the visiting king. "Your Highness," he muttered, avoiding the gaze of his fellow nation as he did so.
The European dignitary nodded in return and motioned for the boy to rise with a gentle smile.
"It is good to see you, young master. You are maturing quite elegantly," the kindly man complimented.
Bobbing his head with a tight smile in return, Arthur stood. "Thank you, Sir," he graciously accepted.
Nodding in return, his benevolent expression warming the mood of the room, the French monarch took pity on the boy. "My Lord," he appealed to the less sympathetic monarch at his side, "Might we let the young ones go? It is not necessary for them to be detained on such a beautiful day."
The larger and more intimidating of the two kings looked with some disdain at his troublesome ward then back at the foreign dignitary. "They are to be back before dark," he directed his words pointedly at the younger nation, "as we would not dare disrespect our guests by being late to their welcoming banquet."
Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Arthur cast his eyes to the ground, neck burning under the derisive glare he was oppressed by. Taking this as an agreement, the older Englishman dismissed them with a grunt and a wave of his hand and turned away to go back to his seat. Unseen by the older man, Francis ducked a bow to each of his superiors, Arthur only extending such respect to the man who was still watching them. The elder Frenchman again returned the gesture with a warm smile and bid them a good day before both representatives scurried from the hall.
Escaping to the courtyard like his life depended on it, Arthur let out a breath. He could feel his skin prickling as he stood in the sunlight, its warmth leeching the anger from his body, evaporating it into cloud that would fill the clear, blue sky.
"Now we have time to look at those lilies you were boasting about," Francis strolled out behind him, placing a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. He could feel the tension in the other's small frame.
Jolting at the contact, Arthur glanced up at him, eyes round and questioning having not heard a word of what he said.
The older boy removed his hand and quirked one pale brow. "The flowers?" he reiterated.
"Oh," the other uttered, "this way."
Francis followed behind and took the pathway which skirted around the lawn as Arthur cut across it. He pursed his lips as he sped a few steps to catch up with the younger man.
"You should not be so resistant, cheri," he tutted and reached out to touch the other lightly on the arm, signalling for him to slow down, "I know you do not like him, but-"
"Well, he doesn't like me either! You see the way he treats me!" Arthur exclaimed louder than was sensible with so many ears around to overhear them.
Conscious of this, Francis did his best to quiet the erratic boy with a subtle shushing and lowered tone. "He is the king, Arthur," Francis reminded him with a pointed look.
"So?" the younger nation countered with indignance, "That doesn't mean he can treat me like scum."
"It means," the older of the two again attempted to placate his rising temper, "you ought to think a little more about what you say to him."
Green eyes rolling to the heavens, Arthur huffed through his nose. "Or what?" he remained brazen, looking to his companion, "What can he do? He can't just get rid of me. I wish he could."
Halting where they stood under a high stone archway a little way off from the central courtyard, Francis sighed. Prompted to stop also, Arthur looked back at him and immediately had to divert his gaze from the imploring expression that was set on him.
"Perhaps not," Francis spoke sternly as he compelled Arthur to look at him, taking him softly by the forearm, "but he has the power to make things very unpleasant for you."
Arthur's eyes fell on the hand that held him, those slim, pale fingers clutching his skinny wrist, and he couldn't bear to meet the gaze that burned his cheeks.
Quickly looking around himself, Francis finished his thought. "I have no doubt he will do whatever he feels he must to keep you under control and I do not want to see you hurt."
"I know that," Arthur mumbled.
Releasing his hold, Francis let his fingers slip from the other's sleeve. "I do not want to worry about you, Arthur," he bemoaned fondly.
Finally looking up to meet the softened expression of the taller boy, Arthur hardened his own, unable to withstand the sentimentality a moment longer.
"So don't."
He turned and began walking once more, leaving Francis to exhale his frustration and follow on after him.
Various officials and authorities attempted to snare them in conversation as they made their way through the grounds, all of which Arthur ignored while Francis did his best to keep up with him and exchange brief pleasantries on his way past. Left scurrying after his friend, he was relieved when they turned onto a secluded path and down a flight of stone stairs into a lowered garden.
The scent reached them before they descended, a sweetness light enough to drift on the breeze that swayed the rushes around the pond.
"You have been keeping them well for me, I see," Francis smiled as his senses were caressed by the gentle aroma.
"I check on them sometimes," the other went down the steps ahead of him, "People don't usually come here so it's the only quiet spot in the grounds."
Running a hand along the mossy stone bannister as he walked, Francis could see what he meant. The small section of garden was bordered on all sides by a tall hedge that blocked it from view, the only sound that of the trickling fountain at the centre of the large, lily filled pond. Their waxy petals stuck out a brilliant white against the murky water, like tiny swans gliding over the surface. Francis leant over the low wall surrounding the pond to feel one between his fingertips then cupped the flower in his hand and drew it closer to his face to inhale deeply.
"Exquis," he hummed and lowered it back into the water.
"Perhaps you should take some to one of your ladies, then," Arthur joked, popping up beside him unseen.
"No, no, no, mon lapin," the older boy tutted, disapproving, "Women like roses, you see."
"As if you know what women like," Arthur scoffed, slumping over the wall to trail his fingers through the water.
Only laughing at the younger boy's playful jabs, Francis began to stroll around the confines of their private garden, taking in the warmth of the late afternoon that filled the air. With no clouds to subdue it, the full heat of the sun crisped the earth and the pleasant summer day soon became too much for the fair skinned Frenchman. Finding shade beside the high hedge rows, he shielded his vision from the glare to gaze up at the sky, its vivid blue like a lake that stretched the length of heaven.
"I did not expect such weather," he confessed, pulling his undershirt away from his skin to allow some air in, "I would dive into that pond right now if it were not quite so green."
Arthur glanced over from where he was draped listlessly over the edge of the wall staring into the shallow, algae tinged pool. "I know somewhere else," he suggested.
"Oh?" Francis tilted his head in his direction, "Where?"
"Not too far," the other stepped down and made to leave the garden up the stairs, "We should go now if we want to get back before dark, though."
Frowning a moment, Francis then realised what he meant and got to his feet to call after him.
"Arthur, did you not listen to a word I said to you?" he asked with some disapproval.
Looking back over his shoulder, it seemed Arthur didn't understand his friend's reaction. "What?" he paused with one foot on the stairs and a perplexed expression creasing his freckled brow.
"We are not leaving the palace grounds," Francis ordered, arms folded and face stern.
His frame deflating, the younger boy whined with disappointment, "We'll be back before sunset, they won't even know."
"Would it not be better if there were nothing for them to find out?" the elder of the two stood firm.
"Why are you being like this?" Arthur frowned, gesturing his hands in irritation, "You said we had plenty of time to do things, so why won't you?"
Coming closer, Francis attempted to calm the boy. "We can do things, just not things that will get us in trouble."
"Get me in trouble, you mean," Arthur pointed out, "You never get punished, your king doesn't mind. And even if he did, we would just say it was my idea anyway. You've got nothing to worry about."
Francis shook his head and diverted his eyes.
Blowing a frustrated sigh from his nose, Arthur did the same. "I told you not to worry about me," he murmured under his breath.
"It is not easy to stop when you insist on doing such reckless things," Francis' words caused a pang of guilt through him.
Nonetheless, he was steadfast in his wishes. "Well, I'm going whether you come with me or not. Today is the first bit of freedom I've had in weeks and I'm not wasting it."
With that he turned on his heel, leaving Francis to choose for himself and although he knew how it was to go, he stood in place twisting his lips together for several moments.
"We come back the second it begins to get dark," he enforced before trailing hopelessly after the wayward boy.
Arthur led them down the lesser used paths, Francis worrying behind him the whole way until they reached the roof of unkempt ivy, behind which hid the rusted old wrought iron door.
"Shh!" the more cautious of the two hissed as Arthur yanked it open without checking it was clear to do so.
He paid no mind as the aged metal screeched and stepped out into the wilderness beyond the wall. Quickly and more carefully doing the same, Francis pulled the door closed behind him, taking great pains to prevent it from exposing them with its unruly screaming.
"Come on!" Arthur called over his shoulder as he went to remove his bow from its burrow.
"Ah, so it was a plan to lure me away and murder me all along," Francis deduced sarcastically.
Arthur laughed; the first real laugh Francis had heard from him since arriving. Light and easy, like the wind through the tree canopies above, as though the forest spoke through his lips.
"You never know what you might come across out here," the younger boy warned him, still smiling with a relaxed contentment that reached his verdant eyes, "Better to be safe than sorry."
He threw the bow and quiver over his shoulder and went in the opposite direction from where they had approached earlier, his steps falling silently on the soft forest floor. The sun, already making its slow descent, filtered delicately through the leaves of the oak trees and birches, dappling the ground and the two bodies that moved below.
In and out of the shade of the woods, they spoke while they walked, Arthur only half listening to Francis' court gossip as he beat a path for them through the underbrush.
"And then the duke!" Francis gasped, oblivious of his audience's drifting attention, "Oh, you will never believe what he did!"
"Oh?" Arthur vocalised his feigned interest, using the frame of his bow to push aside a particularly prickly briar bush.
"Well, let us just say we will not be seeing him at the next engagement," the young socialite alluded with a smirk as he stepped through the opening that Arthur held back for him.
The other hummed, walking on once more.
"Arthur, how much further?" Francis frowned, observing the already receding daylight.
"Not far," Arthur assured him, ducking below a low branch, "Listen, you can hear it."
Very faintly, trickling below the sound of birdsong, came the lapping of flowing water. Guided by the sound, the two came upon a gentle brook, running shallow between the bare, sloping banks.
Wasting no time, Arthur set down his weaponry against a tree trunk and began tugging off his boots.
"So, is this where you come when you are evading your responsibilities?" Francis teased, finding a grassy patch to sit and do the same.
Smiling sardonically at his companion's comment, Arthur wrestled his tunic off over his head, leaving on his undergarments, and let it crumple on the ground. "Sometimes," he replied, wading into the water without hesitation, "Sometimes other places."
"I am sure you have any number of secret hideaways out here," Francis stripped off his outer garb and hung it neatly over a tree branch then rolled up his trouser legs, "I do not know how you find your way around this maze."
In truth, the pampered young man had always preferred the luxury of the city over the countryside and found the wilderness a strange and undesirable environment.
"When you follow your own tracks enough times, you just remember," the younger boy shrugged, "You really ought to learn, you know."
Francis approached the bank, tentatively dipping a toe into the frigid stream. "I do not think that is necessary. I do not make it a habit to go wandering through the woods alone, you see," he justified.
"Still, all that politics and socializing won't help when you're lost," he kicked a spray of water at the other who still lingered on the bank, "Now, are you coming in or what?"
Holding out his hands to block the icy droplets, Francis attempted to condemn such language but couldn't help the smile that crept into his mouth when he saw the placid expression of the other.
"I do not plan on that happening," he stepped hesitantly in, wincing at the shock of the temperature.
Submerged up to his ankles, he stopped in place as he adjusted to the rivers cool embrace. Enjoying the way the pebbles shifted under his feet and the sensation of the cool flow stroking his skin, he allowed his eyes to slip closed. He could hear the breeze whispering past his ears, of the water around him and Arthur's ungraceful splashing further up the brook, then all went quiet. Eyes opening to see what the other was up to, he saw him perched atop a raised bank, legs dangling over the edge into the water and watching the rippling surface. The slanting rays of the sun fell like a halo around his form, illuminating his flaxen head. A sprite caught outside its burrow, he seemed in his own world, at one with his natural habitat.
Lips twisting with pity, Francis was loath to tear him from it, and so he didn't. It wasn't until the leaves burned orange with the late afternoon haze that the elder of the two could bring himself to drag him back to the real world.
"It is getting chilly, I think we ought to go," he called over to the other side of the brook where Arthur crouched in the water curating a small collection of particularly eye-catching stones.
"You were too hot before," he remained in place, "Now you're too cold, are you never happy?"
"Arthur, come," Francis told him firmly as he went to put on his clothes, "It is getting late and we have some way to walk."
Exhaling softly, Arthur could hear by his tone that Francis wasn't about to be argued with. He stood and threw the stone he had been scrutinising upstream where it splashed back to the riverbed some way away then slogged back to the bank. Francis watched him as he shook off his hair like a dog then dried his face on his tunic before pulling it on.
"How long will it take us to get back?" he asked somewhat nervously, "We will not be late, will we?"
Arthur only shrugged. "Maybe a bit, but not if we walk fast."
Looking from his companion to the fast darkening sky, Francis let slip an audible sigh, shaking his head as he pulled on his boots.
"What?" Arthur sensed his friend's irritation and concern drew his heavy brows together.
The older boy stood and tidied his appearance. "I do not know why I let you talk me into these things," he deplored accusingly without looking at the other.
Eyes dropping to the ground, Arthur felt his neck burn and raised a hand to touch it, clenching the stones in his other fist. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled, stood awkwardly in place as though he were afraid to approach his fellow nation.
Continuing to fuss over his appearance, Francis undid then retied the ribbon that held back his long, curled ponytail, still without sparing a glance to the other.
"It's not like I do it on purpose, you know," the younger boy conjured the courage to look up but found no sympathy there.
"Let us go," was all Francis said, waiting for Arthur to take the lead and get them back to the palace.
Not knowing what else to say, Arthur saw he would just have to accept his companion's stoic punishment. He put the stones away in his pocket and took the lead through the brush.
Not a word passed between them the duration of their journey, as Francis watched the light around them fade and struggled to bite his tongue. Had he berated the boy as he longed to, he would only be ignored, and it would most likely just make them later. Not that he worried for his own sake.
The turrets of the daunting fortress came into view, black against the starless night sky, and were soon towering above the two boys. Going for the gate, Arthur was stopped by the first words he had heard from the other in more than an hour.
"Are you not forgetting something?" Francis reminded him, nodding towards the bow still hung over his back.
"Oh, right," Arthur unhooked it and went to conceal it once more while Francis waited out of view by the gate.
He looked in at the vacant path which seemed to fade away into oblivion, resting his cheek against the crumbling brick wall. A shiver bristled his arm hair and a sense of foreboding weighed in his stomach. His host was not a reasonable man. And Arthur was not a reasonable boy. Friction was inevitable.
"What are you doing now?" he grew impatient with waiting and turned around to see Arthur approaching slowly, his attention fixed on something in his hand.
"I think…this one has quartz in it…" he spoke hesitantly, coming closer then stopping a pace away.
Francis looked down at the boy who stood sheepishly before him, twisting the stone in his roughened fingers.
"Look," he held it out towards the other, eyes flitting quickly up then dropping, "It's pink inside."
His hard-hearted front melting at the other's subtle attempts to make amends, Francis took it and studied the craggy surface, brushing it with his thumb. It was too dark to see the colour, but he agreed, nonetheless.
"Very pretty," he went to hand it back.
Arthur didn't take it. "You can keep it, if you want…"
Closing his hand around it, Francis waited, the tightness in his mouth relaxing into a ghost of a smile.
"I don't like being in trouble," the words were a strain for the other to get out, "I just wasn't paying attention."
Arthur was glad for the darkness that concealed the pinkness in his cheeks, a pinkness that deepened when a hand was laid affectionately on the side of his head.
"I know, lapin," Francis heaved a breath, almost able to smell the inner sweetness of the seemingly feral child, "Come now."
Back in through that familiar gateway and across the empty gardens, they made some haste and could soon hear the sounds of merriment which rang out from the great hall. Chest clenching tighter the closer they got Arthur did his best not to let it show in his face, but his expressive eyes betrayed him. Ready and accepting of whatever penalty awaited him, he took them through the unguarded back entrance where they slipped down the corridors unseen until reaching the large, heavy doors at the back of the grand hall.
As it was the door that opened directly onto the head table where the king and his honoured guests resided, two sentries stood at either side of it keeping watch. Neither boy thought much of this and simply proceeded to make their entrance, hopefully as inconspicuously as possible, but were halted. The guard to the left stood between them and the door while the other moved behind him to walk through it and into the hall.
"We're trying to get inside," Arthur objected, frowning.
He went to reach around him for the handle but was steadied by a light touch from older nation who hung back cautiously. Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, about to reassure his friend that nothing was amiss when the door was opened, and the guard re-emerged leading the king.
"You little devil," he seethed on seeing the subject of his ire, "You insolent, useless child! Did I not warn you!"
His voice raised with each word until spit flew from his lip and his great frame loomed menacingly over the young representatives.
How Arthur had the nerves to speak at all, Francis was unaware and only watched on as his friend attempted to make their case.
"I just-" Arthur was cut off immediately.
"Shut up," the monarch growled, "I've had enough of you, you're more trouble than you're worth."
"Your Highness, please, allow me to explain-" Francis found enough bravery to interject from behind as he saw his friend threatened but was swiftly silenced.
"Leave us," the far larger man turned on the foreign representative, lip curling at him over Arthur's shoulder.
He found he couldn't however, stuck frigid in place as though his fiery scowl held the power of Medusa.
"Go!" the monarch lurched forward, taking Arthur, who stood between them, by the wrist and thrusting him aside so violently he fell to the floor.
Reactively jumping away from the outburst, Francis' widened eyes darted quickly from the smouldering face of the king to his fellow nation picking himself up from the floor. Through the wall, the sounds of cheering and clattering silverware could be heard while in the hall no one spoke. Backing shakily away from the intimidating dignitary who glared at him still with the fury of a madman, Francis cast his attention to the expression of his counterpart which at once reassured and implored him to do as instructed. He lingered a minute longer, however, unwilling to leave his companion.
"Go," he saw Arthur mouth silently, and reluctantly he forced his legs to move.
Stepping back, away from the brute that stared him down, then quickly sliding through the door, Francis ran immediately to his own monarch who remained seated at the table, enjoying the event that went on around them. He greeted his ward with a light scowl at his lateness which then turned to one of concern on seeing the perturbed breathlessness of his pale appearance.
"Monsieur," the younger man panted, taking his superior by the elbow and pulling him towards the exit, "Please, talk some sense to him."
"Calm down, child, talk to who?" the other frowned down at him without rising from where he sat.
"That brute!" Francis' worry made him rash as he insulted his host, pointing to the door through which he feared what was occurring, "He is enraged, he might-"
"Did he hurt you, child?" the elder Frenchman laid a gentle hand over Francis cheek, looking into his frantic eyes earnestly.
Shaking his head, the nation inched closer to the door. "No, but Arthur-"
"Then it is not our affair," the monarch sat back in his seat and bid Francis sit beside him with a gesture of his hand.
Shocked quiet by the kindly man's callousness, Francis paused, mouth agape. "N-no, we must make sure he is alr-"
"We are not involved," the other interrupted him calmly but firmly, "So we have no right to interfere."
"But Monsieur!" the younger man grew desperate but silenced himself on hearing the door open behind him.
Head darting around in the hopes of seeing his friend, he saw only the man he least wished to be near. He waited for Arthur to emerge as the hosting king took his seat, but the two guards from outside came through and shut the door with no sign of the smaller body.
Again, harnessing his apprehension, Francis moved towards the larger monarch, ignoring the warning tone of his guardian.
"What have you done with him?" he demanded with wavering voice.
Taking his wine glass and holding it to his lips, the other looked out over the hall of guests, unaffected. "He is sent to his chambers. Where he is to stay."
Unsure of whether to feel relief or not, Francis stood in place staring him down in profile before heeding the call of his superior. Returning to his seat beside his own king, he looked blankly down at his plate as it was filled with delicacies by the attending servants.
"Perhaps you have been spending too much time with the English boy," the older Frenchman commented on his young lord's uncharacteristic brashness, taking up his silverware to signify the end of the discussion.
Barely eating a bite of what was offered to him, Francis excused himself from the festivities early and slunk up to his friend's chambers, unseen by his host. However, outside of the room he looked for stood another pair of stern-faced guards, and he was sure they were not there for Arthur's protection. And so, filled with a nauseas emptiness that was more than just hunger, he retreated to his own chamber and fell onto the bed.
Expelling a breath, he reclined back atop the fine, silk sheets, one arm below his head and the other reaching to retrieve the stone from his pocket. By the candlelight he could see that Arthur had been right. While the outer crust was no more than an ordinary rock, washed smooth by the flow of the river where it had been found, a chipped segment showed its glistening innards. They shimmered a light rosy pink when he held it up to the fire which played softly over its uneven surface, the flames dripping through the cracks and crevices.
He turned it over and over in his fingers and ran the smooth side across his lips, lying there for some time thinking about the boy who had given it to him. Guilt plagued him when he imagined the younger boy there on the ground, but there was no denying it was his own action that had landed him in such a compromising position. Still, Francis' contempt for that odious man intensified with each meeting. He would probably try to get away from him too.
For a long while, he laid there, listening to the ongoing sounds of festivity which echoed through the stone walled corridors. Their distorted voices only increased in volume the later it got and by the time the moon was halfway across the inky darkness of the sky there still seemed to be no hint of a lull. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come, and his ribs seemed to enclose upon his lungs every time he thought of Arthur, alone and volatile in his room.
Therefore, unwilling to remain agonising until daylight, Francis got up and went the door, pushing it open a crack to peer out. The passage was deserted, not that he needed worry over getting caught, and so he hastened swiftly down it to the nearest exit into the courtyard. Skirting quickly around the edge under cover of the shadows cast by the sturdy stone walls, he found the path he was looking for, half camouflaged and tucked away around a corner. Despite its intricacies, he knew the palace grounds well. Many a covert game of midnight hide and seek had taught him the back passages and servant's entrances that Arthur so often used for his own needs. The path led around the far wall of the storerooms and ended in a small glade that went neglected by the groundskeepers. Weeds grew rampant amongst the uncut grass and flourished in the shade of the ivy coated tower which Francis now stood below.
Noting the singular window on the second floor was opened, Francis cupped his hands around his mouth and called quietly up to it.
"Arthur!" he signalled to the boy he believed to be inside, "Arthur!"
No reply came nor did the cornfield head pop out of the window as he hoped it might, and so he called again then once more before frowning up at the vacant opening and sighing. Somewhere in the canopy behind him a wood pigeon cooed and took flight, making him jump. An icy gust from the direction of the woods made him shudder, as though the untamed dusk were trying to reach beyond its bounds to ensnare him. The urge to flee back to the safety of the battlements seized him, but he needed to see Arthur first. Just one glimpse, to verify that he was alright, and he could go.
Cursing the younger boy for the trouble he caused him, Francis took the stone he had carried with him from his trousers and said a silent prayer it would hit its mark as he threw it weakly up at the window frame. Predictably, it missed, striking the brick below the window and falling back amongst the grass. Retrieving it to try again, his second attempt was even further off and his third sailed far above its target.
Growing tired of this farce, he resolved one last try and took careful aim before lobbing the rock with all his power. He watched with smug validation as it sailed directly towards the opening, his face falling as it shot through the window and clattered onto the wooden floor inside. Half expecting one of the guards from outside to burst in and begin reprimanding the boy within for something that was Francis' fault, the elder boy winced but heard no commotion above.
If it weren't for his inability to fathom how he might have escaped, Francis would have concluded he was no longer in the room, however, with two guards posted outside and a two story drop below the sheer brick wall, he didn't know how this might be possible. With no other way of gaining his attention, the representative stood back thinking. He supposed he might just ask the guards to be let in, though he highly doubted this would work. There was no other entrance that he knew of and no way in aside from the way he had come.
Skin cooling as his body heat evaporated into the darkness around him, he held his arms against his body, trying to keep it in and continued to study the wall. Ivy grew thick and old over the stone, layers of it and, in his fixation on the task at hand, he tugged on it to see whether it would hold his weight. To his surprise it did, quite well, and he stepped back rubbing his hands together in preparation for his daring attempt to scale the wall. No sooner had he gotten one foot off the ground, however, that he realised what this meant. If it was thick enough to climb up, it was thick enough to climb down. Feeling quite the fool, he let go and dropped to the ground, scurrying forth into the night still in search of the illusive nation.
While the grounds were vast, there were a limited number of places he could be, presuming he hadn't left the premises entirely. Keeping this hope in mind, Francis headed to check the kitchens first and found them too packed to enter, servants still running back and forth with trays of wine and dessert for the guests in the hall. Next to the stables where only the horses resided, and then around to the apple orchards bypassing the kennels, where a soft lantern light ended the trail.
His lithe shadow darkened the doorway, splitting the light that spilled into the servant's courtyard, and he entered onto the scent of musk and old straw. A disagreeable smell to his sensitive nostrils which were far more accustomed to rose water and wine, but one that didn't seem to bother the younger boy who sat amid the pack of hunting hounds, very much at home.
"Paw," Arthur instructed the grizzled old mutt he sat with, hand outstretched and too distracted to notice Francis approaching, "Paw."
His canine companion only stared uncomprehendingly and sniffed at the meat he held away in his other hand.
Chuckling at the two as Arthur tried to hold the treat out of reach, Francis spoke up.
"So, it is true what they say," he mused, "old dogs and new tricks and so on."
Twisting round to look back at the other, Arthur didn't seem too surprised to see him.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked nonetheless, trying to keep the dogs solid head away with his elbow.
"Making sure you are alright," Francis feigned nonchalance, leaning against one of the wooden beams that ran down the centre of the room, relief flooding his chest.
Rolling his eyes as he turned back to his task, the younger boy, as expected, rejected his concern. "I'm fine," he assured.
"I worried he had hurt you," the other expressed softly as he watched the back of the blond head.
Eyes falling, unseen by the other, to the straw littered ground, Arthur bit at the inside of his lip.
"Did he?" the younger boy's silence worried Francis once more.
"Just a bruise," Arthur brushed it off, collecting himself.
"Show me," Francis pressed him with concern, crouching at his side to see his face better in the dim light.
Unable to avoid the gentle eyes fixed on him, Arthur hesitated before relenting. He tossed the meat scraps away onto the floor, a flurry of paws chasing after them, and pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a pear-shaped bruise right on the bone, darkening to a painful shade of purple.
"That's all, so you can stop fussing," he went to roll his sleeve back over it, but Francis stopped him, reaching out to take his arm and inspect the damage.
He made a tutting sound and released it again. "It will not be helped by sleeping out here on the ground, though, will it?" he urged the other to return to his bed and was returned with a harsh, bitter scoffing.
"Is this not where I belong? It's how he treats me; like a dog!" the smaller boy proclaimed with a bite of injustice, "Worse even. He can get more use from them than he can from me."
Blue eyes near melting with empathy, Francis let go a breath as he lowered himself to sit on the cleanest patch of hay he could see.
"A disobedient dog is of little use to a quick-tempered master," he theorized.
Flashing a heated glare back at him, the smaller nation took his words with offence. "So, you think the same of me? You think this is fair?"
"No, cheri, no," the other immediately regretted his poor word choice, "I did not mean to…" He pursed his lips under the expectant watch of his friend. "It is not fair," he settled to agree, because he did agree, and he felt it not the time nor place to criticise his companion.
Arthur made a weak attempt to return the smile he was offered, uttering a few hushed, derisive comments under his breath at his superior's expense.
"I'm not meant to see you," he said louder after they had sat quietly together a while, "or anyone. I'm not to leave my room at all tomorrow, until the celebration ball."
"That is your punishment?" Francis questioned.
Arthur nodded, picking up a piece of straw and splitting it into thin strips.
"I suppose it could be worse," the elder of the two rationalised, keeping his disappointment hidden.
Arthur hummed a sound that was neither agreement nor rebuttal and the two lapsed into peaceful companionship again. The old hound returned, having scarfed down as many of the scraps as the pack left for him, and laid his greyed muzzle atop Francis outstretched knee. Though the thing reeked like a week-old carcass, he patted its head affectionately.
"So, you will not come back inside?" he tried to persuade one last time and received the expected response. "Well, I am afraid I am not so accustomed to rough sleeping," Francis made his very reasonable excuses and made to leave, disturbing the heavy head that laid dozing over his thigh.
"We could meet tomorrow morning," Arthur suggested, seeing his lone companion about to leave him, "If you can make some excuse to leave breakfast, I can meet you then."
One fair brow descending, Francis asked him, "They will not see you are not there?"
"No, I'm not allowed to eat with the family anymore after-" he cut himself off abruptly noting the look of preemptive disapproval he was being sent, "never mind."
Simply breathing a soft laugh, Francis found it hard to remain stern with him. "Stay warm, mon petit lapin," he cautioned fondly as he leant over to plant a chaste peck atop the younger boy's downy head.
"I'll be fine," Arthur reassured him, keeping his face directed at the ground so that the elder boy might not see the colour rise in his speckled cheeks.
Rising from the muck that Arthur seemed not to mind one bit, Francis picked the hay from his clothes and wandered back out into the night. The jubilations appeared to be dying down as he passed the occasional guest in the hallway, stumbling back to their quarters in pairs or alone, and he was glad for the quiet that descended when he slid between the sheets.
So, this is sort of a semi sequel to something I wrote a couple of years ago. You can go back and read that if you want, it's called When We Met, but it's not strictly necessary to understand this. I actually started writing this directly after I had finished the other one but for whatever reason abandoned it until now and since I have all the time in the world and nowhere else to be (quarantine and so on) I thought I would revisit it. This was supposed to be just one part but, as anyone who has read my work before will know, I am incapable of keeping things concise so follow to be updated when the second part comes out.
I should also mention that I intended for both boys to be around 13/14 rather than their canonical ages.
Please let me know what you think with a review and I hope you will join me for part two.