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The crowd was screaming and cheering so loudly it left France’s ears ringing slightly. The sun shone brightly making it hard to see the hundreds of people behind him. He got one look at the crowd before he was shoved down onto the bascule of the guillotine and tied down, the ropes dug uncomfortably into his skin but that was the least of his concerns.
Whilst most people would be terrified in his situation, France was just annoyed. Viva la France, they screamed, the same time as they beheaded their nation. France let out a small chuckle, how ironic.
He couldn't look up but he heard the creaking of the wooden boards around him and felt someone stand on his right side. With a deep breath he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the blade to come hurling down. He jolted when the blade sliced through his neck, sending up a few prayers to whatever god was watching he let his thoughts go black.
What France did not know and was now too dead to see was that there was a familiar figure in the crowd. Said figure, (also known as England to the people who knew of his existence) acted quickly as soon as the basket with the heads and bodies was removed he quickly made his way over and followed them until they dropped it off by a carriage.
The green eyed man waited until the time was right before swooping in and gathering the parts he needed. Whilst finding France’s head was easy, finding his body was slightly harder. England spent a good ten minutes shoving bodies around trying to find the right one. He was close to giving up and just taking one that looked decent before he managed to identify the one he needed.
With a great effort he hauled the body parts away from the carriage and into an alley where his horse was parked. He placed France’s head in a sack and tied his body to the back of the saddle before swiftly mounting his horse and making a quick escape into the night.
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France woke up to the sun shining in his eyes and a prickly sensation on his neck. The surface under him was soft and pillowy, very unlike the rough wood he was strapped to a few hours ago. It seemed like he was lying in a bed, which bed and which house, he was unsure of. He attempted to move around slightly to take in his surroundings but he was firmly held down by a hand.
“Stay still you bloody frog, I don't want to mess up your vocal cords.” A voice came above him. France’s eyes shot open, only to be greeted with green eyes and sandy blond hair. He opened his mouth and tried to formulate a few words but all that came out was a weird gurgling sound.
He felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. “I said be still, I will explain everything once I am done.”
It was then France realised what England was doing. He suddenly became hyper aware of the needle going in and out of his neck. Memories of the previous day flooded his brain, making him squeeze his eyes shut and mentally groan. After what felt like hours, England pulled away and tied off the thread he was using.
“There we go, all set.” He said looking rather proud of himself. “Alright, say something, I want to hear how I did.”
“I am going to kill him, that… that devil!” Was France’s first words, the words coming out clear but slightly shaky. England stared at him for a few seconds before giving a small chuckle.
“I am going to assume you mean Robespierre?” He asked. France nodded and crossed his arms before looking away. The skin around his neck felt tight as he moved his head. It was silent for a moment before he decided to find out where he was.
“Where have you taken me?”
“We are in your country house. Just outside Paris.” Answered England. “I thought it would be safe here.” France nodded gratefully, before reaching up and touching the stitches on his neck, they throbbed slightly and felt numb.
“I guess I should say thank you, although I am surprised, Angleterre ,” France muttered, dropping his hand and running it over the sheet he was lying on. “I would have thought that you would enjoy leaving me there to find my own head.”
England shrugged. “I suppose I would, it brings me as a nation great joy to see you suffer, “ he said, suddenly looking a bit shy. “But I am not here as England… I am here as Arthur.”
France looked back up at Arthur with surprise. They rarely interacted as humans, it always complicated things and just led to heartbreak.
“I– well, thank you Arthur,” He said quietly. Arthur nodded before getting up.
“I suppose I should be going, I'm technically not supposed to be here.” He started heading for the door before he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked down at the hand before looking at Francis’ face.
“Would you, you know as a thank you, would you like to stay for dinner.” Francis looked at him with expectant eyes.
Arthur thought about it for a moment, thinking about the consequences of what this invitation will most likely lead to, before agreeing.
“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stay a few more hours.” He said before sitting back down on the bed.
Francis nodded gratefully and took both of Arthur's hands to his chest before leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”