Summery: Ever since Arthur was little he's had this bubbling feeling in his stomach around Francis. And for the longest time he's had no idea why. But everything seems to revolve around one promise, sealed with a kiss, and held in his heart. One stupid, goddamn promise. But is he the only one who'll remember it? Throughout the years, a tale of a promise, broken and kept, of a frog, an English man, and possibly, just possibly, love?
Arthur drummed his fingers against the wood of his desk. One looses their patience in the middle of a war, he supposed. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. He could do with some sleep. But he couldn't, not yet. He was waiting for someone, and it wouldn't do for a gentleman to fall asleep while waiting for a guest.
Even if that guest was the very frog he was fighting against. And he was late.
Grimacing he leaned back, regarding with a glare the vase of lilies sitting on the corner of his work area. Why he even asked for them he didn't know. After all he absolutely hated, detested, loathed-
Its because he likes them, the voice in his head quipped, smirk evident in every intonation. Arthur shoved it back, reaching forward with every intent of chucking the guilty things out the window, before a knock at the door made him flinch back. He stood quickly, brushing off his coat and straightening the sleeves, "Enter."
A servant walked in, bowing to him, "A Francis Bonnefoy here to see you, sir."
He nodded, moving to stand in front of his desk, "Thank you. Send him in."
The man bowed again and stepped out, and a few seconds later Francis strode in, "You're late, frog."
Francis threw him a glare, sitting in one of the armchairs, "Excuse-moi if my transportation was slow. In case you've forgotten, we're in the middle of a war."
He was dressed, as always, impeccably, despite the hardships they had both been facing, and Arthur couldn't help run his eyes up and down his form. Blue fabric flowing over his chest and down to his knees, silver stitching and buttons accenting his collar and waist, sleeves flowing around his hands and-
Snap out of it! Arthur shook his head, walking to the window. Stupid frog, probably messing with his head on purpose, that was it, "A war you started, arse."
There was a sigh from behind him, and he could just image, he could feel Francis rolling his eyes, "If you're planning some sort of monologue to inform me of my sins I assure you it will fall on deaf ears."
Placing a scowl on his face he turned back around to face him, arms crossed over his chest. Focus on his flaws… His lip twitched into the briefest of smiles- the smudge of dirt he missed behind his ear, the tattered state of the ribbon keeping his hair back, the bandages around his usually perfect hands- before falling off his face as his stomach calmed down, "You're the one who asked for this meeting, not me. Now what the hell do you want?"
Francis stood once more, placing his hands on the back of the chair he was previously occupying, "I'm here, because I want you to give her back to me."
A twinge of something pulled at his chest. He ignored it, settling down behind his desk. It was always the best to be in control. To show that you were so confident as to sit with your enemy in the room, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play games, Arthur!" Francis' hands slapped the wood, the vase trembling from the impact, "She's locked in your cells!"
Eyes widening slightly, Arthur didn't back down, "And let's say I do have this little champion of yours. Why on earth would I release her to you?"
"She's a child!"
"A child in the middle of war! This is our battle, and a few humans dying is the way of things!"
A hand rushed forward, grabbing his shirt and yanking him up. It all happened so fast, it took him a few moments to realize that it was Francis' slender fingers gripping his clothes with such strength. His heart was racing, a pulsing beat in his ears. Yet his face remained cool and calm, not one hint of his shock breaking through, "Is this how you always ask people for favors? I didn't realize that France was still a place for barbarians!"
A moment passed. Two. And finally Francis released his grip, pulling away, "You've grown well, Angleterre. Perhaps a bit to well. But you are still so much of a child."
He pulled his clothes down and brushed out the wrinkles, scowling at him, "I'm enough of a man to have you here, begging for my help."
"Then I suppose I can fall no farther," Francis dusted off his own clothes, "I should have known that this trip would be fruitless. I'll see you on the battlefield."
Arthur gaped at his back, "F-Francis!"
The Frenchman turned, eyebrows raised, "Oui, Angleterre?"
"I…" he swallowed, throat suddenly dry, "That promise, huh? What was it?"
Francis looked confused for a moment, "Promise…?"
"The promise! You know, when… when we were kids…"
A spark of realization flashed behind his blue eyes, fingers tightening around the door, "Ah. Well it seems… it seems I've broken it, Arthur."
This time Arthur couldn't help his fingers from tightening into a fist as a jolt scorched through his system, "Broken it? Well could you at least tell me what it is?"
He sighed, "Well if you don't know by now…"
"Sod it all and tell me!"
Francis looked at him, eyes full of sadness too old for what appeared to be such a young body, "A promise to be lovers, Angleterre."
The world was crashing around him, bits and pieces of the real world coming apart in sheets. Lovers… The world echoed in his head, over and over, back and forth. His stomach leaped into his throat, making it hard to breathe. It was too hot, his blood had gone cold, "Why-why would I e-even want to be l-lovers with a frog like you?"
"Don't be! I hate you, obviously!"
Francis smiled at him, sadly, "Still. I broke my promise, and for that I'm sorry."
He turned to leave again, but froze at his next words, "Its that girl, isn't it? The one we have in our cells."
Voice no more then a whisper, Francis answered, "Oui."
"… I'll see what I can do."
"Not a word, not one word. Get out of my sight."
Francis bowed low, "Thank you, Arthur…" And with a swish of his coat he was gone.
Arthur stood there for a long time, feeling empty. Not that it mattered, not that he cared… Who was that bastard frog to think that he would ever-? He started to pace. He was not, he did not have any feelings for that man but hate, hate, hate! Hate and loathing! And he- and he…!
As if by their own violation his hands darted out, grabbing the vase of lilies. A few seconds later it smashed against the wall, the flowers falling to the floor. Broken and crushed among the shattered pieces. White petals detached from their hearts.
"Guard!" striding out into the hall he looked around, fists shaking at his sides as he waited for one of the many nameless lackeys to answer his call. As soon as one of them came up he grabbed his arm, eyes in flames, "Tell his lordship at once that I want a trial for that girl! As soon as possible!"
"Y-y-yes sir! At once!"
Before the man ran off he grabbed his arm again, pulling him back, "And tell him to be sure she's found guilty! I want that witch to burn!"