Francis woke up to Arthur gently shaking him. He opened his eyes to meet the Brit's emerald ones and to his imagination or not, he could have sworn he met a warm glimpse of fondness from them. "It's time to wake up," Arthur said quietly. Thinking it just another pleasant dream, he decided to ignore the hallucination of his friend and closed his eyes to drift off once more. To Arthur's irritation he nuzzled into his pillow and was already asleep. The Brit opened the window and the door to create a cold draft and pulled the warm blanket from his friend. Cursing and objecting in French, Francis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. To his surprise Arthur had been very real and was now standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and the blanket on the ground. "You even had the nerve to look at me before ignoring my wake-up call and going back to sleep," he laughed and tossed the covers back to Francis before closing the door. "I thought you were a dream," he replied, not noticing the small blush accumulating on the Brit's cheeks. He smiled once covered with warmth again, but dared not lie down. "How did you sleep?" Arthur asked and sat on the bed, folding his legs under him and facing the Frenchman. "Good." "I'm glad. Before you get dressed and go downstairs, though, I need to give you a few pointers about the life you'll be living for the next few days," the Brit sighed and looked out the window, where a beautiful day was about to start. "I'm all ears," Francis said, genuinely interested. "Well, first off, I know just how much you like starting your day with a shower and ending it with a bath, so it'll probably kill you to hear that there will be none of that here," Arthur said, a small, barely noticeable, sadistic smile playing on his lips. The Frenchman drooped. "What? Then how will I clean myself? You for one said that we'll be doing a lot of dirty work and forgive me, but I don't intend to go a week reeking of mud and God knows what else! Merde, I'll just jump into a lake or rather, loch, as you say it here, and clean myself while fighting off mythical sea creatures!" Francis ranted to Arthur's amusement. He couldn't stay angry for long, though - seeing Arthur laugh so heartily completely wiped out the dark thoughts from his mind and soon enough his laugh was contagious. "Don't laugh," he chuckled, not helping himself. "I'm sorry, Francis, you are just too much, even in the mornings," Arthur gasped for air from laughing too hard of his friend's face and words. "Don't worry, frog, we're not animals. All I'm saying that after the work has been done, in the evening we will all have a sauna and a shower to get rid of the filth and dirty sweat," he explained. With that Francis could cope with. "That's much better," he said, shagging his hair. "Anything else?" "A lot, actually," the Brit answered, reaching for his bag. "May I?" he asked, when holding the small travel bag. Francis nodded and Arthur began to rummage around it. "None of this," he said and took out a carton full of cigarettes, which he stuffed to his pocket. "If you want to smoke, go ask my grandmother for a pipe." Arthur looked around Francis' bag until he was satisfied and tossed it back to the chest. "Now, a little about the people and the jobs needed to be done here," he said and Francis leaned in closer, not to miss anything.
Arthur inched out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it. He was taking several little photos out of it when an old, tattered note fell. Francis, quickly noticing his friend's morbid look, grabbed it before Arthur could. "Francis, no, that's private!" the Brit yelled, trying to grab it from the Frenchman, who was holding his hands up in the air so he wouldn't reach it. "Oh? A note from a past lover perhaps? Don't you know nothing's private when I'm your friend," the Frenchman laughed, his lust for secrets overpowering him. Defeated, the Brit turned his head away when Francis opened the piece of paper. It read:
"Bosey,
Right now you might not feel the best you've ever felt, you might feel that things will never get better. But don't give up. Tomorrow you might see something wonderful. The thing you're worrying about may be resolved. You might have a good day tomorrow, you may smile.
In a few years time the things that are making you feel like this will be forgotten about.
Love,
mum."
Francis sat in silence after reading it and looked at his friend who was desperately fiddling with the zipper of his woolen jacket. "Mum sent it to me when I left home all these years ago," he said quietly, feeling his friend's compassionate look on him. He didn't dare say anything and he knew it was killing Arthur. "Arthùr," he muttered, the Brit sighing in wait what would follow. "She was right, you know," Francis ended his sentence and handed the note back to Arthur, giving him his warmest smile. Arthur stared him for a few seconds, confused and with a sorrowful shine in his eyes until smiling at him. "She was," he replied and stuffed the note back to the wallet. He crawled to Francis to sit next to him, so it would be easier to show him the photos and talk about them. "Alright, the first one."
He handed him a photo of a tall and well-built man, his golden brown hair graying, having the same thick brows Arthur had. "This is my father, Joseph," Arthur said while Francis was studying the person in the picture. He was smiling, years of hard work under the Sun showing in his many deep Sun and laughter lines. He had surely been a very handsome man when he was younger, since he seemed to been aging well. His nose was big and crooked, probably broken in his early years. Strong and scarred arms showing from his folded white sleeves, he was sure to have been working hard in the country for most, if not all of his life. "He might come across as quiet at first, but when you get to know him, that is, if you get to know him - he might be slightly frigid and he doesn't trust people easily -, you'll understand he is a really nice and smart guy. Ah, it's hard: introducing your family," Arthur finished his description when Francis exchanged him the photo for another one.
"This is my mother, you already met her. Margaret," the Brit said warmly when Francis smiled at the woman in the photograph. She was just as he had seen her last night - short, big-boned but not overweight, luscious red hair tied to a shaggy ponytail, laughing, and warmth emanating from her entire picture, freckles covering her puffy cheeks, wearing an apron over a withered blue dress. "A few pointers," Arthur said when taking the photo from his friend. "Never make a mess around her and do your work without whining. She hates that."
In the next picture was a stern-looking man, possibly in his early thirties. "My eldest brother, Robert. He won't be coming this week, since he's on his honeymoon in Australia," the Brit said. He was as well-built as his father, but not as tall, and had short dark brown hair and striking blue eyes under his thick brows. "He looks the hardy silent type," Francis said, causing Arthur to grin. "He is at first, just like father, but don't let that fool you - he is one of the most calmest, caring and gentle persons I know," he said to which his friend looked at him, a smile on his face. Francis liked hearing Arthur talk about his family; they were the people he truly loved and cared for and he knew from the way the Brit's eyes softly shone while he was speaking, that happy memories probably flooded his mind. "What?" a confused and wry smile came to Arthur's lips. "Nothing," Francis sighed and gave him the photo back. "Next?"
He got a photo in which there were two young men, twins. They both had slightly curled hair, both golden-colored; one had slightly darker, the other lighter hair. They were more lightly built like Arthur was, but they seemed taller. Their cheeks also bore freckles, like their mother. "They are also my older brothers, but by only a few years, though," Arthur said. "The one with darker hair is Wallace and the other one is William. They are both very mischievous and love doing all sorts of pranks and dangerous stuff, so watch out for them," he warned when taking back the photograph.
On that photo was a man Francis had already met. "Scottie, right?" he reminded himself and Arthur nodded. "Yes, this is Allistor, my younger brother," he said. Scottie had shaggy dark red hair and seemed tall and strong, just like in real life. "He is quite the handful, to be honest. He also gets along well with the twins," Arthur said when Francis gave the picture back to him. "And last but not least, my grandmother, or Nana, as we call her," he smiled and gave his friend the last photo.
Francis was surprised to see that woman. She looked ancient, long gray hair braided, skin slightly hanging from his big bones, her eyes deep and face covered with many wrinkles. She seemed lingering and deep, full of knowledge. "She speaks little, only when she needs to, and most of the time she sits on the bench at the path leading to the thick forest behind the house. I remember hearing that she used to live in that forest since birth and moved into this house my grandfather built after they had my fourth uncle. I think the old cottage is still in the woods, though probably ready to fall in if it hasn't already. She is an eccentric old woman and I care for her much; something just pulls towards her, you know?" Arthur said while Francis studied the woman who looked like a witch. "She is my father's mother and Mary is her name. Oh, and all of the surrounding area says without a doubt that she makes the best pipeweed and mead in whole of Britain," Arthur laughed when he got the picture back. "Then I'll be sure to try them both during my time here," Francis said and earned a chuckle from the Brit.
"Are you two boys going to sleep until sundown or are you going to come and get some breakfast anytime soon?" Margaret asked while opening the door and putting her hands on her hips. Little did they know she had been listening behind the door the whole time and that was the reason she had a big hearty smile on her face. "Of course we're coming, mum. Let Francis dress, alright?" Arthur said and walked to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as a "good morning". "And why would I sleep here anyway, honestly now," they heard him mumble when he was making his way along the corridor to the stairs. "Yes, why indeed," Margaret grinned and after giving Francis a kind look and receiving a confused one from him, she went back to the kitchen, leaving the Frenchman to hastily dress and follow her.