Rain. Why was it always raining?
Arthur stared out of the streaked windows of the French carriage with his head in his hand, an entirely bored look on his face that denied the nervousness in his heart. Even Arthur had to admit to the grandeur of the French monarchy's Palace of Versailles despite its unfortunate fate of being, well, French.
As the horses slowed to a stop in front of the ornate building a barrage of soldiers overly dressed in that ridiculous way Francis so proudly boasted was 'only right for a country such as myself', jumped to attention. Arthur stepped out of the box and was greeted by an equally flamboyant page who produced a parasol over the Englishman's head to protect him from the onslaught as he ascended the steps into the palace.
Inside yet another servant arrived to greet him and informed Arthur "Monsieur Bonnefoy sera avec vous prochainement. S'il vous plaite, suivez a moi." Arthur scowled at his back as he followed him to one of the rooms further in; bloody stubborn Frenchmen, he knew they could speak english(at least those in the palace's employment) but they always bloody refused to when they saw him and he was bloody sure it was Francis' doing.
He was lead to a large room with two other doors leading off to god knows where and a large round wooden table, carved intricately with a glass overlay. Ignoring the obvious attempt to impress their wealth upon him Arthur practically threw himself onto the silver painted chairs after tossing his wet coat on top of the table and stared petulantly back at the servant.
"I want Francis here. Maintenant!" he scowled. Typical of the bloody frog to keep him waiting after calling him here in the first place.
The servant nodded and bowed before backing out of the room and closing the doors behind him. Not five minutes later a lot of loud shouting could be heard from the room behind him followed by a resounding crash as the doors from that room slammed open and flew into the walls they were built into.
"Good afternoon France." Arthur called without turning around to look.
"England." came the breathy reply as the out of breath French nation practically waltzed into the room. When he reached Arthur's side he scowled briefly at the water dripping onto the carpets before turning it to Arthur.
"Now now my dear chap, if you had provided a better service perhaps my garments would not be strewn over this mediocre excuse of French finery, I must assume you decided not to deign to show me your greatest works otherwise this would be truly pitiful," Francis cut him off.
"Actually zat is a gift from leettle Italy, of course I would not want to overload your poor leetle English mind with ze true splendor of ze French palace. Now mon amis, if we are done wiz ze usual barbs, may we get down to business?" here Francis smiled though it did not reach his eyes.
It was now Arthur's turn to scowl.
"Fine. Why did you call me here frog?" the tension in the room was almost palpable. After the recent wars between Britain and France their usually rocky relationship had become even worse and it was starting to dawn on Arthur that perhaps leaving his men back at port and coming here alone was not such a wise idea.
Finally Francis took a step back and the atmosphere seemed to become slightly less charged. He ran his fingers along the coat and paused at the end, holding it up slightly for inspection before tutting slightly and letting it go. Arthur gripped the edge of the seat and willed himself to remain calm. Getting angry would only prolong the time France would spend taunting him.
"I want to offer you information." briefly blue eyes met green before looking back to the table.
Francis now moved his fingertips over the surface of the table as he slowly began to walk around it. He offered no more words of explanation as he wandered and Arthur, refusing to so much as tilt his head to keep the man in sight, stared straight ahead still. Francis came to rest directly behind Arthur and placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders.
"What kind of information?" he asked warily, finally giving in to his curiosity. He could practically hear the smirk appear on Francis' face.
"Mon amis, what is it zat you want sooo badly?" he drew out in an almost singsong whisper into Arthur's ears.
"Right now what I want is for you to stop playing games Francis." he growled in a dangerously low voice.
Francis merely laughed softly. "No, no, no my friend. What you want is ze one sing you can never have." his right hand trailed along Arthur's back before they both dropped back to his side. He continued his walk around the room until he was once more in front of Arthur.
"And precisely what would that be?" Arthur raised one eyebrow in mocking question.
France leaned in close to England. At first Arthur was terrified he was going to kiss him but France just put his mouth close to Arthur's ear and breathed.
"A child. And I know how you can have what you want." he smiled as he drew away, staring right into Arthur's shocked eyes.
"It's not possible. You're lying!" Arthur accused trying to stop himself believing despite his words. Could it be?
"Why would I lie? What point would it serve?" Francis shrugged his shoulders delicately. "But if you are so sure I am wasting your time well... you can just leave zen can't you?" he turned again and began to stride towards the exit.
"Wait!" Arthur called out jumping to his feet. All manner of disdain was gone from his posture and instead a hard desperation had replaced it. "It would do no harm for you to tell me. Then, then I will decide whether or not I believe you."
Francis had frozen when Arthur called for him and now he turned back again with that smirk.
"You are of course correct. But first I mu-" suddenly the door France had been about to exit through slammed open and the servant from earlier came running through. He bowed at the doorway before addressing Francis.
"Sir you are needed immediately."
"Well, I am sorry Arthur but it appears I must leave it zere for today." a fake sad look passed over his face.
"No! Francis I command that you-"
"Command? Me? You forget your place Arthur. Zis is not England, you do not command 'ere." with one eyebrow cocked up Francis gave Arthur a very real expression of anger before turning and walking out the door. Arthur hurried after him trying to appease and convince the Frenchman to continue their conversation.
"Truly I am sorry," he did not look it at all, "I said for today. Tomorrow you may return and we will continue, but until zen, au revoir!" he gestured at the door and Arthur realised with amazement he had been lead to the front door before he was forcefully shoved out of it back into the rain.
He was left standing there and staring in blank disbelief as his carriage door was opened for him. He banged loudly on the door but to no avail as it remained firmly shut. He had to eventually admit defeat and return to the relative warmth and dryness of his coach as it took him back to the inn he was staying at back in the village.
He would return to hear what that ridiculous and unreliable bloody wanker had to say first thing in the morning, he decided.
Only, he didn't.
Waiting for him at the inn was a rather agitated young sailor from his ship docked further north in Calais. As soon as he caught sight of Arthur he all but ran to him wielding a letter which he forced into Arthur's hands.
Looking mildly bemused Arthur opened the letter noting the royal seal on the back.
When he read the few lines of cursive Arthur swore his heart would stop right there.
'His Royal Highness King George III of Great Britain has received a written and signed declaration of high treason against the crown from the colonies of British America.
All captains are to sail for the new world to show the Kings will against the traitors to the crown.
For King and country and in the name of the Great British Empire'
Oh Alfred. What have you done? Was all Arthur could think.
He stood there, and for once was torn. Do I stay and not fight America, do I go back to France tomorrow and forsake my orders, or do I turn my back on what Francis promises because Alfred wants a little rebellion?
He looked back down at the closing line. Of course he would go.
"Alright let's go." the sailor nodded and left to retrieve Arthur's possessions as Arthur himself turned to the maid at the bar. In soft-spoken french of ages past Arthur asked her to send message to Francis that he would be unable to make their meeting in the morning.
They departed straight away, heading to Calais, then England before Arthur would leave to spend the next few miserable years of his life in a bitter war that would end in his defeat and a broken heart.
He did not know that a few miles from where he had stayed Francis Bonnefoy had turned to the king's scribe and said, "Inform Monsieur Jones zat I was unable to detain Arthur and 'e is on 'is way."
Arthur woke with a start clutching onto a big leather bomber jacket. He felt stiff from where he had fallen asleep on his sofa still wet from the rain.
Memories of that one time when he had a chance still seemed to echo in his ears, the gunshots of the war still seemed so close as he sat alone in the dark, early morning. After a second he shook himself and willed away the dark images.
What would Alfred think of him? Over 200 years later and Arthur was still having nightmares of that one war. Of course no nation ever forgot it's past. They could hide it, ignore it, forgive it but no one ever forgot it. Arthur just had to decide what he was going to do about his past with Alfred. There was no way he could ignore it, not only did that obnoxious brat insist on throwing the largest birthday parties ever in order to celebrate the rotten day but it had also changed too much between them. That day marked the end of brotherhood and the beginning of a different more difficult relationship. For the same reasons Arthur could never hide this past. The only real question was could he forgive it?
Sorry, not much really happened here, it was just a back-story on why Britain blames America. You would not believe how long I spent researching little things just for this chapter but hey, Hetalia makes History fun! Also I do not share all of Arthur's opinions on the french, stereotypes guys! Oh and apologies for any offense caused by my attempt at writing a french accent or by any mistakes in my butchered french (thanks Google translate).