Thanks for reading! This chapter does not have a lot of action, but it is necessary for plot reasons :') I liked to write Portugal. I like the name Tiago for him. I did not bother thinking about Rome and Germania's names, I don't think they will be mention again. But for Scotland, his name is James.
Once again, sorry for my English!

Chapter 3

Francis' proposal started to look like a dream as days passed by. Arthur found himself remembering the moment, trying to capture the details that were fading. What was behind Francis' facial expression? What about the tone in his voice when asking the question? And what about Francis' disappointment in the beginning, and the hope that, maybe, Arthur would reply with a yes?

Every time he thought about it, air would disappear from his lungs, only calming down after making sure that he was following something divided between a joke and revenge, and there was nothing that could compromise him. Arthur would enjoy all that he could, and in the best instant, he would break Francis' dreams in pieces.

Francis did not call or visit him again. Arthur focused on his daily tasks without suffering any interruptions, dividing his time between meetings with his boss and the rest of the government and his everyday life in London, trying to pretend he was a regular guy. Arthur came back to the art gallery, this time alone, appreciating the pictures without Francis distracting him. He had made some cooking recipe with good-enough results; he assisted to one of his favorite plays—and a part of him insisted he had to come back with Francis, just to show it off against Francis' face, then, went with Alfred and Matthew to a hockey game where he did not understand anything but drank a lot. Finally, he had a phone conversation with James that lasted for a whole minute, until both of them cut the call violently. A complete success.

He decided to visit Tiago in Portugal that Friday. His old ally had invited him to his home a day after Francis' proposal, and Arthur ignored him at first because he suspected the reason behind the sudden interest to meet each other. Since some years ago, Antonio and Tiago calmed down their rivalry just enough to build a kind of Francis trusted in Antonio too, telling him everything. Absolutely everything.

Tiago lived in a small and cozy house in front of the beach. He always kept the windows open to hear the waves reaching the shore. The salty and humid maritime scent impregnated the rest of the place.

Tiago put the dinner in front of Arthur. The food smelled delicious, but it was too much for him, much more he was used to eating alone in his tiny apartment in London. Sometimes Arthur wondered how Tiago seemed so healthy after all.

Arthur thanked his friend for the meal and grabbed the fork, knowing it was impossible to complain about the dinner's portion. Tiago would tell him that was the necessary portion for a young adult, even for him with a hard to please taste.

"Do you want to go for a walk later?" Tiago suggested, sitting next to him with a similar plate. "The weather is good. And it is sunny. When was the last time you saw the sun?"

"I see it every fucking day," Arthur said, stopping the criticism before he let it grow. "Sun appears in London too, although you like to pretend it doesn't."

"Let's go for a walk later," Tiago decided, and Arthur accepted, thinking that maybe he was wrong about Tiago's intentions.

Maybe Antonio kept his mouth shut, for the first time. Perhaps, Francis stopped telling everything to his best friend.

Maybe Francis preferred to keep their business as a secret between them.

After eating, Arthur felt so satisfied that he almost fell asleep on his chair. He yawned, forgetting about his manners, but Tiago did not care; instead, the host took the empty plates on the table and put them in the kitchen's sink, while Arthur opened the door connected to the beach in the back yard. He felt the wind on his face immediately, like it had been waiting for him all this time.

When Tiago met him, they walked through the yard, left the house, and entered the beach. There were few people around them, and Arthur appreciated the moment of privacy. Tiago looked to the horizon that showed a sea without limits, and his sight, as many other times, clouded for a second of memories that the sea brought back between the waves.

Arthur did not interrupt him. All of them, beings like them, had that kind of moment. The older the nation was, the more was the time the memories took away, trapped between the past, between what was missing and would never come back. Francis used to do the same when he believed no one was paying attention. Rome and Germania used to have those moments too, and one day they never came back to the present, turning into statues, then in dust and, at last, in nothing.

"The weather is good today," Tiago said, returning from his memories like everything was all right.

They walked, keeping a light conversation and running away from serious matters. Arthur did not try to find out what Tiago had been thinking of before; it was not his business to know what Tiago was missing. Although Arthur did not have such luck or regard.

"Antonio told me curious news," Tiago said when they reached the dock.

Of course, Antonio never kept secrets or his mouth closed.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Arthur said, like defending himself before Tiago attacked him.

"Sure, but what happens if it isn't?" Tiago said. "Antonio told me Francis' boss is trying to unify their territory with someone else…"

With me, Arthur though. Just with me. You could say my name.

"He has gotten crazy," Arthur said.

"It is a kind of alliance," Tiago concluded.

Arthur pretended to be indifferent, while Tiago studied every gesture in his face.

"Antonio told me that Francis' boss proposed Germany, Russia, and even Spain as candidates. But Francis rejected all of them."

Arthur tried to erase the grin on his lips. So, Arthur was not the first option for Francis' boss. Good lord, how could it be possible that Russia was first than him? And Germany and Spain? That man had truly lost his mind?

"All those choices are so terrible that Francis would pick to jump off a cliff if that was an option."

"More or less, that is what he did," Tiago said. "Francis proposed your name to his boss, and the boss has to accept it."

"Really?" Arthur said, almost falling off the dock.

"It's what Antonio has told me, that Francis would only accept to marry you and no one else."

Arthur did not expect to get that information. He did not prepare his emotions for it, clenching his fists, feeling his face losing his pale color. He decided to focus on the sea, but he had such bad luck that the water reminded him of Francis' eyes during the proposal, and then, he remembered Francis on so many different occasions that he was the one almost losing himself in the memories. Tiago kept looking at him, studying his reaction as an open book.

Arthur's attempts to hide his emotion were useless.

"It's stupid," Arthur said, trying to sound sure of himself despite his doubts surrounding him. "Let's suppose Francis is too idiot to come and ask me to marry him, and then what? Does he really expect me to accept? Does he want me to say yes, I have always wanted to marry him?"

"Do you not want his territory?"

The question almost offended him.

"Of course I want his territory, of course, I want to conquer him. I tried it, and I failed, and then I decided, I'm good, and he can go to hell. And now what? Is he going to offer me what he refused me before? And what about him? Haven't he thought about the possibility that he could disappear?"

"Do you believe it?" Tiago asked. "It is not the first time there is an alliance between beings like us. Do you remember Austria and Hungary? They were fine."

"It was different. They were not a marriage, precisely, no matter how much Elizabeth pretends otherwise. Francis' proposal is unthinkable. We marry, okay, and then? What is going to happen to him?"

If Arthur was younger, that would be the moment to kick the sand and fight against the sea waves, like they represented Francis's stubbornness.

"Arthur," Tiago said slowly like he was walking straight to a minefield. "Did Francis propose to you?"

"Of course not!" Arthur exclaimed, too loudly, losing control of himself and the situation. He was strong, he was powerful, but he did not know how to deal with feelings. "And if he asked me—that no—, what is he hoping? That I marry him and throw away my common sense? No, the answer is no."

Tiago pretended to believe him, and then, he changed the conversion, walking away from the swampy topic. But it was too late. The memories of Francis orbited his mind every time Arthur looked to the sea. They decided to visit the city too, looking for keeping on the distance the problems Arthur did not want to face, and Tiago was too educated to mention again.

Just at the end of the day, Tiago said what had been dancing on his tongue:

"Francis has said he only would marry you."

"Yes, you told me that," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "The answer is always no."

"Of course," Tiago said. "No matter how you look at it, Francis has chosen the only option destined to fail."

Arthur did not want to think more about Francis' proposal, and he said goodbye to his friend, expecting to visit him again soon. As a last favor, Arthur asked him to not discuss with anyone what they talked about on the beach, especially with Antonio. Tiago promised it reluctantly, and Arthur suspected that the first thing Tiago would do was to call Antonio anyway.

After he arrived from Portugal, he found a package waiting for him in the mail. It was a document wrapped in an envelope, and he knew where it was from. He had been thinking about it, wondering when it would arrive, and trying to convince himself that it did not matter, neither before nor now. He took the package and opened his apartment's door with anxious movements.

He left it on the table. It was necessary; he should read it immediately to analyze the content, the proposal, and give an honest answer. He looked at it without daring to open it. Finally, he went to his room, removing his clothes like they were impregnated by Francis' perfume instead of the salt and sand in Tiago's quiet property.

He started the shower and waited for the water to be burning before going under the shower's head. Arthur wished to calm his nervousness through the water but putting away his reading only disturbed the anxiety under his skin, like a monster opening his jaw to devour him. He felt the magic of some fairies close to him, maybe playing around the restroom, and for sure, in the rest of the apartment.

He envied their good mood and their lives without worries.

Arthur went out of the restroom after dressing himself in a robe too big for his size. He did not care about his wet hair. No one was going to tell him he could catch a cold like a regular human. When he actually got sick, it was because of the economic crisis, and usually, the headaches were due to his siblings and neighbors, especially Francis, when they were straight enemies and took every opportunity to tear themselves apart.

He discovered the protagonist of his thoughts on the sofa, with a cup of tea on the table, with muffins next to it, and napkins placed in the right place to avoid possible messes. Arthur jumped, surprised, and as a defense mechanism, he took a step back.

He was not afraid of Francis, but the answer he was not ready to give.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" Arthur asked, ignoring the look Francis gave him as a greeting. He knew Francis was detailing him through and through, from his wet hair to his bare feet, and of course, the robe that was showing away more than he intended.

"You left me in," Francis explained. "Before disappearing and leaving me alone. If you wanted to take a shower, you could have invited me."

"I don't…," Arthur said, but then he noticed the fairies dancing on Francis' shoulder. They were trying to imitate a couple, and because they knew Arthur would be exasperated, the fairies kissed each other on the cheeks and then pointed to Francis, like saying without words that now it was Francis and Arthur's turn. "I didn't do it. The fairies did."

"Of course, Arthur. The fairies."

Of course, Francis did not believe in them, although they were dancing on him. As in many other things, Francis' blindness was painful. The fairies left Francis at the same time the young man did his first movement, unexpected and without warning. With his mouth dried, Arthur went to the knot that kept his robe covering the right places. He intended to fix it and make it better. When he ended, the knot looked firm around the hips, like daring Francis to touch it.

What would Francis do now? The pictures on his mind froze his legs. Maybe, would he cut the distance between them? Would he ask him to marry him again while pretending to kiss him like lovers? It would not be the first time Francis confused him in Arthur's few moments of weakness, and either was the first time Arthur left his believings, his common sense, and his pride on the side. He had blamed alcohol and his inexperience. Now, horribly sober, Arthur did not have excuses.

Arthur should have felt relieved when Francis went to the kitchen, away from him and his slight disappointment. Without telling him a new word, Francis started to boil water to make tea. Arthur wanted to stop him and ask what was happening in his mind, but he stayed as a gargoyle on the top of a building.

"Why do you not go to put some clothes on while I make tea?" Francis said like Arthur needed instructions to function when he was there. "Then, we can talk."

There was the problem. Arthur did not seem capable of starting a conversation related to the subject that he hated but Francis was interested in. He even desired to banish the topic using the kisses Francis did not give him, and Arthur was not dying to get. Instead, he shrugged and walked to his room like a creature looking for refuge in a cave.

The idea of running away from his house tempted him. In the end, Arthur had a better idea.

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