Chapter Thirteen: The Way the World Is…

A/N: Well you guys...it's here. The finale. Before the chapter starts I just want to thank everyone for reading my longest story ever (thus far). This story broke records on my personal story list including: most reviews, most hits, and most alerts. Thanks a bunch guys! I'm actually quite sad that we've come to this point...sad that it's over. Lastly, when you get to the end please don't throw a brick at me... (a bit of foreshadowing, I know).

If those who have been reading this story and NOT reviewing could leave a final review of the overall story in this chapter that'd be greatly appreciated. I'm really excited about this being the first, long story I've completed and I'd LOVE to get feedback. It'll help me determine how I should write future stories.

The duel was set in the countryside outside London. Small trees, void of summer leaves, scattered themselves along the rolling hills. The ground was still covered with snow from a few days ago. It had taken longer than expected to get from the city to the rural area because the streets were clogged with folks buying last minute Christmas gifts, a mere three days away.

Francis and Arthur stood face-to-face with Sir John Gonson, who had agreed to the duel; the price for his defeat being his silence. His second and companion was Jackson Parley, who had a lot of experience with pistols as his father was renowned for his love of hunting. Gonson also had a considerable amount of experience using a gun though not from hunting. He had been in a duel once before as a younger man and received training from an expert.

On the two lover's side, Francis would be lining up for the duel with Duc D'Aumont acting as his second. The Duc had never taken part as a dueler before, but had participated as a second over five times. Four times in France, once in England.

Arthur was to be a spectator. He had fretted this moment for several days. He watched the two shake hands and head back to their loading stations. The Duc handed France his small metal pistol and Parley did the same for Gonson. They both took their time filling the barrel and checking for the slightest flaw that might obstruct the outcome. After feeling satisfied by the condition of their firearms they marched towards the other until they came face-to-face again.

Gonson stared his opponent down, "This is such foolishness. You'll both be caught eventually anyway. And besides, you'll ruin Arthur's future. Is that really what you want?"

Francis stared back, eyes narrowed in a glare, "It seems his future will be tarnished either way. He doesn't want me to leave and I promised I'd stay with him."

"Suit yourself," The Justice of the Peace grumbled, "Turn around and pace three steps."

Francis turned away. On the count of three they both took three giant steps away from each other. Because Francis had never used a gun before he was given first shot. He swirled around and shot point blank.

"Gonson!" Parley called out.

"I'm fine." Gonson grabbed his arm. He had been shot once before, but it was long ago. The pain from his arm echoed throughout his body.

Gonson lined up his own shot and, with a bead of sweat trickling down his face, the pressure in his damaged arm building up, he released the bullet.

"FRANCIS!"

Arthur stared wide-eyed as the Frenchman fell to his knees. He shook, hesitating for a moment until he heard his companion's voice.

"I'm ok," Francis looked back, trying to downplay his winced face with a smirk, "He just…grazed my shoulder."

"Grazed, my ass," Arthur ran over and held the Parisian, "the bullet is firmly lodged in there."

"Nothing I'll die from." Francis continued to smile. He had never been shot before and the pain was more intense than anything he imagined.

The Briton glanced back at D'Aumont and demanded ready their return so they could have Francis treated as soon as possible.

"Wait," Francis laid a hand on his mate, "we have to decide who won."

"It's a draw," Arthur and Francis brought their gaze upon Parley who was wrapping Gonson's exposed arm with white cotton material.

"We should get in contact soon then." Francis stuttered out as Arthur helped him get up.

"There's no need for that."

The two young men looked at Parley with confusion.

"I wasn't expecting a draw," Gonson rounded his arm after the bandages were tightly on, "I account my wound to my old age, not your skill, as if you had any."

Francis glared at the old man while Arthur asked for clarity, "Why don't we need to get in contact? Can I expect that you forfeit?"

"Most certainly not," Gonson acknowledged, "We took the liberty of responding to an inquiring about your dear Frenchman."

"Yes," Parley added, "it seems your beau is a runaway. His father's been looking for him for some time."

Both young men's eyes bulged at the information given.

"W-what do you mean, runaway?" Arthur looked at Francis for an answer, his face covered in disappointment, "I thought you said you were on vacation; a grand tour of Europe."

Francis looked away in disgrace. He had said many things to Arthur that were baked in half-truths. He was certainly the son of a wealthy Frenchman and his family had tried to force him into a marriage, but it was that particular reason that he fled. He had no feelings for the young woman he was supposed to marry, they had nothing in common and their personalities clashed.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, unable to draw the courage to look back up.

"We made a deal," Gonson said, "Pride for Pride."

Arthur glared, "Pray tell."

"I'd give him, the Duc d'Aquitaine, his son back…alive…and he'd take the boy away destroying any questions that damn Parliament might have about my organization. We've already had one member screw up; we don't need another falling off the track."

Arthur was now annoyed, "I never requested to join your group! You dragged me into it!"

"There's a reason why." The Justice of Peace stated matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"Because of what he did...or rather who he tried to defend." Gonson looked away, with silent anger and what looked like shame.

Arthur blinked, confused, "He?"

"Your father."

Arthur's eyes went wide. He was now more confused than ever. Originally he was told that his father had upset the Attorney General and was sent away to the countryside; beyond that he knew little else. He stammered, "W-what…"

Before the young blonde could get his question out Gonson scoffed and filled in the details, "The Lord Chancellor had an affair with a servant girl and got the wrench pregnant. She ran to your father who was the only person who would take her case; a plead for the Chancellor to recognize the child and care for it. Before the case could even catch rumour he, your mother and the woman were expelled from the city."

Arthur dropped to his knees, numb from shock. A million thoughts rang through his head, but not a single one was comprehensible. The loudest one was how his judicial system, still flawed but better than what most had, destroyed his life. Others screamed at him that his mission to change, or at least try to change, the structure was futile. Nothing would ever change…

"That's fine and dandy, as you Englishman say," Francis spoke up, "But what does this have to do with you and your society?"

"Easy," Gonson answered, "It's politics."

"You want his position don't you?" The addition of the Duc D'Aumont surprised Francis and Arthur, who for a second had forgotten his presence.

"I've seen Arthur's school papers on lawful defense and felt with a good tutor he may have the courage to bring the Chancellor to face his faults – step down from his position with dignity at the very least."

Francis snarled, "You wanted to use him!"

"And prey tell, how are you any different?" Parley intruded, "You used him as a toy to escape your own troubles."

Francis gave an unnerving look. It was never his intention to use the Brit, but when put into words it sounded rather truthful. He was trying to find a reason to never go back home. Arthur became that reason.

The sound of trotting horses and a swaying carriage a short distance away caught everyone's attention. Looking to the path that led to the patch of land they held their duel on a fancily carved coach could be seen approaching.

Francis shuddered to think of who was inside. He had no doubt of who it was. The blue flag with a dove crest gave it away.

The coupe stopped in front of the dead space between Francis and Gonson. The man driving the carriage jumped out of his seat and hurried to open the door for the figure inside.

Stepping out, the tall, handsome man squinted his eyes against the bright sun. He was dressed in a luxurious, loose fitting coat that travelled down to his knees. It was silk white and gold, decorated with burgundy red around the neckline and down the edge where the buttons were knotted neatly with the holes meant to tie the coat closed. The colour also covered the open edges around the end of the sleeves and rim around the bottom of the coat. In his hand was a black hat with red feathers around the edge. The white scarf around his neck was poofed and wavy.

"D-duc…" Francis stuttered.

The Duc looked at Francis, not impressed with what he was seeing. His son was covering a bloody shoulder and standing far too close to a scrawny Englishman. Annoyed, he looked to Gonson, his French accent thick, "Why has my son been harmed?"

Gonson shrugged to the best of his ability, his arm still in pain, "I never expected he'd actually manage to hit me. I had to repay in kind."

The Duc D'Aquitaine twisted his lips, uncertain to whether he could agree. Eventually dropping the issue he called back to Francis, "Entres la cariage! Sur-le-champ!"

"Non!" Francis tightened himself, holding back his fear of his father. He could not meet the demand to simply get in the horse-drawn cage and leave everything behind.

"Francis!" This time the young Parisian could not contain his fright, "C'est un ordres!"

"J'ordonne que tu me laisses tranquille!" Francis bellowed back, though his lack of confidence was showing, "At least let me talk to Arthur first."

"…First?" The Brit was not liking what he was hearing, "What do you mean, first?"

Francis frowned. He attempted to place a hand on Arthur's shoulder but pulled back realizing his hand was covered in blood from holding his shoulder, "Arthur."

"Don't say anything." Arthur fretted this moment. He wasn't ready to confront the possibility.

"I cannot leave and not say anything."

"Then don't leave."

The blonde Frenchman looked back at his père who was scolding the Duc D'Aumont for failing to inform him of his son's location and for further acting as an accomplice in his continued stay. He turned back to Arthur, "This is very difficult."

The Briton's lips trembled at the serious look on his lover's face. First the "justice" system took his parents and now they were taking Francis. He sniffled, tears swelling in his eyes.

"Non, non, non," Francis pressed his forehead against Arthur's, "Do not cry."

"How can I not?" Arthur's voice was becoming shaky.

"Because," the Parisian thought for a moment, "I will come back someday. After all, you do have to take me to a horse race, remember?"

The Londoner choked up a laugh, remember their day at the circus and Francis' keenness to experience everything Arthur had to show him. He wasn't sure he could wait that long, if that moment ever even came, "I don't want to be alone."

"You are not alone," Francis now too had tears streaming down his cheeks, "I will always be with you – maybe not in person, but in other ways."

Returning to his coach the Duc cleared his throat harshly; signally it was time to leave. Francis turned to comply with the call when he was stopped by a hand grabbing his arm. He looked back, saddened by the sorrow and pain in Arthur's face. In that moment he wanted to hold the Briton tightly and whisper sweet words of encouragement and happier things. He wanted to tell his father to va chier but he'd be sure to get a sound beating for doing so. His face dropped as he quietly said, "Je suis désolé."

He turned away before a rebellious thought brought him back, "biz, biz, biz."

Arthur blinked, his eyes still puffy and red, "Why are you making a buzzing noise?"

"Not buzz, biz!"

Arthur was still confused.

"Ugh," Francis' moan dragged out, "kiss, you damnable idiot."

"Hey! Don't call me a –" The Brit was unable to finish his sentence as he was cut off by a strong kiss to the lips. The motion made those on scene, except Duc D'Aumont, cringe.

Francis entered the coach and disappeared behind the door as it was shut by the driver. Arthur stepped forward as if to stop them from leaving but was held back by a sturdy grip. He whirled around to stare into the eyes of Sir John Gonson.

"Let him go, Arthur. It's for the best." Gonson gave a look as though he cared, "You have your career to think about, your internship with Barlow. You have your whole life ahead of you."

The young Briton shook the older man off, "You mean I have your career to think about…"

Arthur watched as the carriage carried away one of the few people who ever meant something to him in his life. Breathing deeply he gave a short nod to Duc D'Aumont to thank him for his assistance before trotting over with Gonson to where Parley stood a little ways off. Glancing once more behind him to the disappearing coach, he vowed to continue this path not for Gonson, but for himself. He promised to himself that he would rise to the top and change the system and to be reunited with his lost companion, if not for love, then at least friendship.

END

I thought I'd be nice and give you the translations for this chapter:

"Entres la cariage! Sur-le-champ!" – Get in the carriage! Right now!
"C'est un ordres" – That's an order!
"J'ordonne que tu me laisses tranquille" – I demand that you leave me alone!
père – Father
va chier – Fuck off/Leave me!
"Je suis désolé" – I am sorry.
"biz, biz, biz" – kiss, kiss, kiss.

Historical Notes:

1) Dueling Pistols: They were small and usually triggered by flint or black powder. They would fire a small musket ball. Funny enough they were often sold in pairs...which when you think about it is kind of strange...since the rule was that the person you were dueling had to be of similar or equal status, and that it was usually the upper class or military officers who duelled, you'd think they'd all be able to afford their own single pistol. ...Why would you buy a pistol for your opponent to use? LOL, Early Modern mannerism... ANYWAY, duelling pistols had large calibres (diametre of the barrel), bullets weighted close to half an ounce and could travel up to 800 feet per second (240 m/s) when shot. Because of the lack of medical care in those days, a shot could be fatal and often was. A good example of a gun fatality would be the famous duel between Alexander Hamilton (American Secretary of Treasury) and Aaron Burr (American Vice President) in 1804. Duelling became popular in England, France and the United States of America in the mid-eighteenth century. The ironic thing is that King Louis XIII outlawed duelling in France in 1626... (it still continued though despite the monarchs harsh punishment of those caught doing it)

2) Last time I failed to give you info on Hitchin and the Society for Reformation of Manners. Here it is: It is unclear as to when Hitchin/Hitchen joined the Society for Reformation of Manners. What is known is that he used his position as a member (as well as his position as Deputy Marshall - which is the equivalent to our modern Chief of Police) to engage in criminal activity such as blackmailing/threatening others to commit crimes for him, then turn in those criminals later for a reward (thief-taking, essentially) as well as getting a reward for returning the stolen goods. Being a member of the Society for Reformation of Manners gave him access to their database and since the lewd underworld and organized crime often went hand-in-hand it was a jackpot win for him. Despite being married he was seen hanging around various sodomite hang outs (some suspect he could have been asking for protection money but this is not recorded) and when he had a falling out with Jonathan Wild, Wild wrote about a time when Hitchin took him to a Molly House near the Old Bailey where Hitchin engaged in sodomitical activities. Hitchin's credibility was wrecked, but he maintained his position as Deputy Marshall and was even in charge of the execution of his old crime partner, Jonathan Wild. Eventually, as you know, Hitchin was caught and tried as a sodomite...

Fun Fact: In 1772 English newpapers held a debate when respected citizens suggested that homosexuality be decriminalized as long as it was between two consenting adults.

It's kind of a weak ending but…endings have never been a strong point for me.

Again, please review!