I have been very busy with moving and so I haven't had much time for this fic. Here's the little bit that I managed to write, though.
"You have served your ten years. I hope you will never commit another crime in your life."
"No, no sir. I won't ever do anything against the law again."
"Good. You may go now."
They had been taught to thank when they were finally freed, but Francis didn't see any point in doing that. All that being here had ever brought to him was suffering and pain, there was no need to thank for those things.
For then long years he had been working in the fields, doing his best to carry on even though it always felt like there was no strength left.
As he started walking down the muddy street towards the town (if there weren't at least five prisoners leaving at the same time, the police didn't bother to give them a ride to the town), he had plenty of time to think back to all that had happened during these ten years. The way the prisoners were kept in horrible conditions; they got food only twice a day, yet were supposed to have the energy to work non-stop, they got to change their clothes and wash themselves only once a week. There had been a lot of diseases spreading around during these years, killing off almost half of the prisoners.
The day tuberculosis had taken Antonio had been horrible. It hadn't gone unnocited from Francis and Gilbert how pale the Spanish man seemed to be, and how feverish. But when there was no medication and no one was allowed to stay out of the fields, no matter what, they didn't have a single thing that they could do. And so, they had to just watch as the man got weaker and weaker, then just collapsing down on the ground, too exhausted to fight against the disease anymore. It had been Francis who carried the lifeless body away.
He had been separated from Gilber three years ago when the man's sentence ended. Gilbert had been there for eight years, and Francis couldn't quite handle his rage when he found out that it was a bigger crime to be with another man than to shoot a man. Somehow, he managed to calm himself down, mostly just because of his fear of earning himself more years to suffer.
It was tough after both Antonio and Gilbert were gone, but he somehow managed to get through it all, he had to; there really was no other choice. He was low, but not low enough to take his own life. Biting his lip, he went through the endless pain, just because he still had the small spark of hope of even seing Arthur again in the back of his head. He knew that they could never be together again, he was sure that Arthur was already married. But that didn't stop him from dreaming.
It took him two whole days to walk to the town, and when he arrived, he started looking for a place to stay at. Of course, he was turned away wherever he went, and so he just slowly gave up, staying out in the streets with the beggars and others that were considered scum. He guessed that was what he was nowadays, too, nothing more than scum. And to think that he used to work in the palace.
In the palace, the youngest Prince was getting more and more nervous as days went by. It had already been three days since Francis had been freed, yet even though he visited the town each and every day, there was no sign of the man. Of course, he didn't understand to look for him at the crowded alleyways where the poor lived. Even though it was stupid, he still thought that one day he would be greeted by Francis in those beautiful clothes made of linen that he used to wear when he was working as a servant in the palace. He still expected Francis' hair to be well groomed, his stubbly beard to follow his jawline just perfectly. Arthur wasn't stupid, he knew that the years had changed Francis, but he couldn't picture him sitting on the street, begging for mercy from the richer that hurried past.
And so, when he one day, two weeks after Francis had been freed, rode his horse down one of those alleyways filled with beggars, thieves, and others like that; the lowest of society, he couldn't recognize Francis. He saw the tall man leaning against the wall, long blond hair dirty and unkept as it fell to his shoulders, his beard not looking any better. The man's clothes were in a horrible condition, and it was a miracle he wasn't shaking and trembling in cold. He was so pale, it was obvious that he hadn't been eating for days, yet he seemed to have the strength in his body that only former prisoners had. But Arthur didn't really notice those things, he just rode past him. He was a beggar, nothing more. The Prince was good-hearted and kind, he wanted to help the poor, but he couldn't picture his lover standing there amongst the people his family so often called scum.
It was that moment, as Francis saw Arthur riding away without giving him even a second glance, when he gave up all hope. Arthur was gone from his life, Arthur was a dream that could never come true. Their love was something that couldn't be, that should have never been. And Francis let himself grow weak. He didn't bother to fight against the cold anymore, he let it seep deep into his bones and fill him with an icy feeling that didn't go away even when someone wrapped a blanket around him, even though they probably needed it just as badly.
Soon he realized that the cold wasn't only coming from his heart because of the lack of hope and love, but from every fiber of his body. He was falling ill.