Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom (2/?) [fanfiction]

[marinoa]

Title: Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Author: marinoa
Characters/Pairings: England, France, Spain, Prussia. FrUK, hints of other(s?).
Rating: T
Summary: Having once refused to obey a frog, Prince Arthur is now forced to marry one. Both parties are unwilling, but even with the help of their friends, can they win against spells... and time? FrUK AU.


Author's note: I really don't know what's gone into me, but here you go, another chapter! So soon..! O_o I'm spoiling you. Or something must be wrong. Or then I'm just that happy and want to spread the love on my birthday~!

Major thanks to everybody who commented this fic, you keep my motivation high! Now, on we go...

Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom

Chapter two:

Happily (n)ever After

It could be worse, Arthur said to himself. It could be way worse. Like, for example, he could be travelling alone, not knowing the right way back home, having no provisions. He could even end up robbed (not that he had that much things worth robbing) since there was safety in numbers which he wouldn't have alone. So, his situation was not bad at all.

Well, fuck it.

It couldn't get any worse. Arthur would much rather travel alone, starving and even getting mugged, anything, as long as he didn't have to cope with the three bastards that were 'kindly helping' him by accompanying him to London.

It hadn't taken much time for Arthur to figure out his companions' characters; Antonio was a bit of a daydreamer, Gilbert turned out to be a loud ranter and Francis...

Francis was the worst of them by being an utter pervert and arguing just about everything Arthur said. He used the forest to his advantage; whenever Arthur was about to slip or trip on something, Francis was quick to grab his hand or shoulders or waist (except for once when he had purposefully let Arthur stumble upon a tree root and fall into a pile of half-rotten mushrooms), and he did that also when Arthur wasn't even near to losing his balance. To boot, whatever Arthur said, the Frenchman either argued against him just to be a nuisance (because no one could seriously believe that the French culture was superior to others and particularly to that of the English) or twisted the meaning of his words into something lewd. He was obviously doing all that on purpose, just to tantalise him, Arthur knew, but still it was impossible to ignore it and go on like nothing. No matter how annoying the triumphant smirks and amused laughters were when Francis had managed to draw a reaction from the Englishman, Arthur couldn't help yelling at him or arguing back. It was a nightmare, and the two other bastards only laughed at them and joked with the Frenchman.

Arthur so hated them.

And yet... Well, not that he was jealous or anything, but the trio really seemed to have a great time and enjoy every step they took. On those rare moments when one of them actually said something sensible, Arthur found out tiny bits about their lives - like where they had been or what mishaps they had faced on their journey - and saw a glimpse of freedom they had and shared together. Those three really did have a strong bond between them, and even though Arthur honestly wasn't jealous, to him it was something that he had never been able to experience. Not that he had any particular need to.

Their little group stopped thrice during the day to have a proper meal, and even more times to enjoy small breaks, so evening fell upon them before the road was anywhere in sight. Even Arthur understood that it would be dangerous to continue advancing in darkness, but he still grumbled when they had to stop.

“Pfft, stop complaining,” Gilbert said, starting putting up a tent with Antonio while Francis began cooking. “It's not awesome. Half a day less or more, what does it matter?”

“Well,” Arthur said with a shrug, not really arguing; the Prussian was right in a way. “The sooner the better.”

“It reminds me,” Antonio started and smiled cheerily at Arthur. “Where are you hurrying so? You still haven't told us anything about yourself.”

“There's no need to. We are going to part anyway as soon as we see the gates of London.”

“So what? We are still curious, and sharing experiences is fun.”

“Last time I shared my experience you all but laughed at it!” Arthur retorted, referring to the unicorn incident.

“That's because you just came up with a random fairytale,” Francis said with a lift of an eyebrow.

“No wonder you can't see them, with that attitude,” Arthur muttered to himself, and Francis rolled his eyes.

Apparently the three friends came to the correct conclusion that Arthur was too stubborn to tell anything about himself, and the rest of the evening passed rather pleasantly. Although the Englishman really hated to admit it, the supper was delicious, and, maybe just the tiniest bit, he enjoyed the company too. The only stumbling block was faced when it was time to go to sleep, as it appeared that the tent was too small for three people to fit in without squeezing, even when one of the four at a time was to stay up to keep an eye on fire and the surroundings.

Arthur had no problem with his shift to be up, yet his turn was only after Gilbert's - who's turn it was first - but having to crawl into a too small tent with two other men was violating his personal space and thus disturbing him insanely. Especially when those two other men decided it was the right moment to call him cute and demand that he slept in between them, because they couldn't come to an agreement beside whom the poor Englishman should sleep. Arthur, of course, despised the solution, but as choosing one side over the other would be the same as admitting liking someone more than the other, he decided to be diplomatic and, for his own sake, not to sleep it the tent at all. Instead the Englishman stayed up with Gilbert for a while and then drifted into restless slumber right there on a humid, cold ground, wrapped up in a thin blanket.

Gilbert woke him up when it was Arthur's turn to be alert and got into the tent. The Englishman stared at the shelter longingly, for his muscles and bones were stiff and aching after laying on the ground, but then he steeled himself and carried through his shift conscientiously. But when he got into the tent to wake up Francis, he was too sleepy and his body too stiff for him to give a shit about any personal spaces anymore. And so he barely even heard the Frenchman's soft chuckle as he collapsed on the now free spot warmed by Francis' body and fell asleep before his head even touched the ground.

The following morning was miserable for Arthur anyway, because tent or not, the ground was still hard, and he wasn't quite used to such bed. (Arthur wasn't spoiled by any means regardless of his status, but although his bed lacked pompous luxury, it was way better than bare ground.) Tired, joints cracking and muscles sore, the Prince ate his breakfast in silence and was more than glad to find his companions less verbal than they had been the previous day; Antonio, who's turn to stay up had been last, looked half-asleep despite his smiles, and Francis looked less bright too. Only Gilbert appeared like he had actually slept well - which, he was glad to explain, was because Prussians were not sissies like the others seemed to be.

The mood of the small group, however, improved after packing up the things and moving on, and the journey continued pretty much like it had the previous day. By afternoon Arthur and his convoys finally reached the road, after which proceeding was far easier, and even though the Englishman had tried to convince the three friends to go and continue their own journey, they had insisted on escorting him to London.

“Might as well see the city now that we are here,” Gilbert had said with a shrug, and that had been the end of the conversation.

The closer the group got to their destination, the more people they met on the road. It made Arthur uncomfortable; the citizens would most likely recognise him, and he wanted to avoid all the fuss that would possibly emerge. Luckily his appearance had got somewhat ragged after two nights in the woods, and wearing Gilbert's cloak, he was hardly paid any particular attention to - aside a few condescending looks that he received. Arthur was thankful for that, but at the same time he found it somewhat annoyingly unfair that even though Francis, Gilbert and Antonio had spent likely even more time in the forest than him, they still managed to look presentable enough; they looked like travellers, but Arthur looked like a, well, very poor thing.

By the end of the day they had even seen some knights from the court, but they hadn't recognised Arthur, which the Englishman was glad for; he'd much rather arrive home on his own, not passively brought by his men.

They had to spend one more night on the road before finally getting the first sight of London. The view of the town opened before Arthur's eyes like a long lost paradise - he would finally get rid of the three annoying bastards, his dirty clothes and the utterly undignified feeling of having to depend on somebody. He would be back home without further fuss and everything would be like it used to.

“Oh,” Arthur started, sighing contentedly.

“Fuck!” cried Gilbert.

“...You just had to say that, didn't you?”

“What is it, Gil?”

The Prussian fell on his butt and grasped his ankle, his pale face twitching in pain. “Shit! Fucking shit!”

Antonio knelt down beside his friend, worriedly patting his shoulders. “Gilbert, what's wrong?”

“I don't know! I think I sprained my ankle!”

“Damn it,” Francis uttered and knelt down too, starting to rummage in his backpack. “Just where is the aid package?”

“Hurry up and find it!”

Francis stilled. “Oh,” he uttered. “Merde.”

“What?”

“It seems I forgot the aid package at out last camp place,” the Frenchman said sheepishly, apologetic smile on his lips.

“Seriously, amigo,” Antonio sighed and patted Gilbert's back again.

Arthur watched the whole circus silently. Of course something like this would happen just as he was about to get home. He wondered if it was the right moment for kindly thanking the three friends for their help and quickly fleeing the scene, but his gentlemanly nature strongly told him not to. Sometimes it just was a bloody nuisance being a well-mannered gentleman, wasn't it?

“Well what are you waiting for!” Gilbert snarled. “Go and fucking get it! All the pain ceasing herbs are there!”

“Quoi, moi?”

“You are the one who forgot it! Besides, do I look like I'd love to run there myself?” the poor Prussian yelled in pain, clutching his ankle.

“Yes, Arthur will go with you so don't worry,” Antonio added helpfully.

“What, me?” Arthur exclaimed in horror. “ Alone with that pervert? Not for all gold in England!”

“Indeed, but for me,” Gilbert spat. “Now fucking go, both of you!”

Such a plead left no room for objection, and Arthur did indeed find himself on his way back to their last camp place with the French wino. (Not that Arthur had really seen Francis drinking wine, but the man was French and that was enough of an evidence.)

“Well done,” he complemented the said wino when the silence between them had stretched too awkward, and Arthur felt the urge to lighten up the mood.

Obviously failing, as Francis shot a glare at him and snorted. “If I recall correctly, it was you who took the package out of my backpack and wanted to inspect the herbs,” he dryly pointed out. “And promised to put them right back.”

Oh, right. It might have happened like that, too.

Fortunately the walk didn't take longer than barely two hours - although every extra minute was waste of time and energy and nerves - and the camp spot was easily found. They had camped out close to the road, so finding the lost aid package was not a problem; Arthur spotted it even before they had reached the place.

“I wonder why it hasn't been stolen,” the Englishman muttered, but Francis merely shrugged. “Well, there has been an awful lot of knights travelling today,” he commented. “Perhaps everyone is just afraid of getting caught. Or then travellers find it highly suspicious when they find random herbs lying around.”

“Your brilliance is blinding.”

Francis sighed in irritation. “Do you really have to comment everything I say so sarcastically?” he asked.

“Oh right, why didn't I just say that the answer was rather obvious?” Arthur retorted, rolling his eyes. That Frenchman was seriously getting on his nerves.

“Shows something about your intelligence if you have to ask for such obvious answers.”

“That's called a rhetorical question, frog!”

“No!” Francis imitated what the Englishman supposed was supposed to be his most sarcastic tone. “Really?”

“But of course a peasant like you wouldn't recognise one even if it was written on your nose,” Arthur snorted scornfully.

“Pray pardon me, your highness, but who do you think you are?”

“Your Highness,” Arthur answered mockingly and yet very truthfully without the stupid Frenchman even realising that. He tossed the herb package to Francis and slid off his hood to brush his hand through his messy hair; it was rather warm a day to be wearing a cloak.

“Your Highness!”

Arthur was about to roll his eyes again at his companion's behaviour, when it struck him that the one who had exclaimed the words had not been Francis; the Frenchman wore a curious expression of puzzlement. Which could only mean-

“Your Highness! Is that you?” Arthur turned around, to the road, and saw two of his knights on their horses, watching him with disbelieving faces. “It is you, Prince Arthur!”

Oh, splendid.

“Your Highness?” Arthur heard Francis hiss and turned back to him, uneasily biting his lip. “Prince, seriously? You?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” the Englishman responded a bit defensively, but was taken aback by the look in the Frenchman's blue eyes - they were... hurt, almost.

“Why didn't you tell us?”

Arthur didn't have time to answer - not that he would have had an answer in the first place - as the knights jumped off their horses and ran to them, bowing slightly. “Where have you been, my Prince? The whole England is worried about you! What happened?”

“Err, well,” Arthur muttered, ill at ease for all the fuss. “Nothing much, really. I just- got lost in the woods and, well, was helped back on the road and on the way to London, so-”

That was when the knights seemed to acknowledge Francis' presence. One of them pointed at him and looking at Arthur, asked, “Is he the one who found you and was bringing you back to the castle?”

“Technically, it's me who found him, but, kind of, yes, him and-”

“Francis Bonnefoy, at your service,” Francis said dryly, still somewhat baffled and nettled by the fact that Arthur was a prince and hadn't said a word about it. “I saved your Prince in the forest, where he had got lost after following a unicorn, fed him and gave him a shelter for the night, and was currently bringing him back to his father the King. Pleasure to meet you.”

Arthur gritted his teeth; did Francis really have to be like that on such a moment? On the other hand, perhaps the Englishman did deserve it for keeping such a secret, but still, in front of his knights - his pride was at stake, damn it!

“Oh, a unicorn,” one of the knights mused, and Francis shot a smug smile at Arthur. His smile, however, soon faltered as the knight continued, “You should be more careful with unicorns, my Prince, you well know how wicked they may be.”

Arthur would have laughed at the Frenchman's expression - clearly he had expected the knights to laugh at the unicorn part - but the situation was far from funny; Arthur felt humiliated for being found like that. Now he would be taken back to the castle like a helpless princess, his father would laugh at him, he was sure, making jokes about princesses and their knights... Fuck his life. He sighed, exasperated. It couldn't possibly get much worse anymore, huh?

“Thank you, Mr Bonnefoy, for taking care of our Prince. Now-” The knights motioned towards their horses, “let us take off to the castle! You both must be extremely eager to get there.”

“We both?” Francis repeated suspiciously.

“Of course!” the knights grinned and winked at the Frenchman. “Naturally you are aware of the prize awaiting you.”

“Oh, right,” Arthur muttered. It was just what his father would do, promise a prize to the one who found his son. King Lionheart was such a romantic deep at his very heart.

“Wonderful,” Francis sighed and, giving Arthur a condemning glance, got onto a horse behind one of the knights, while Arthur was helped onto other horse with the other one.

The ride was rather silent save for the knights' chatting; neither Arthur nor Francis did feel like rambling, both sour about the turn of the events. As both of them remained silent, one of the knights decided to warm them up a bit.

“You must be incredibly excited,” he commented, encouraging his horse into a faster pace.

“Who?” Arthur asked, being far from excited.

“Well, both of you. It is a huge step to anyone, after all.”

The Prince frowned, glancing questionably at the Frenchman, who merely shrugged. “What is?” he asked warily.

“What is?” The knights chuckled. “You must be kidding, surely you do know about the prize, don't you?”

“We've been in a bloody forest, how the hell could I know about my father's whims?”

The unreadable yet stunned look the two knights exchanged was not missed by Arthur. “Well, this should be interesting,” one of them said in a low voice, but both Arthur and Francis heard him and despite themselves, met each other's worried gazes.

“What..?”

The knight Francis was riding with couldn't restrain himself any longer. He burst into laughter, and soon his fellow joined him. “Oh dear,” he said, “You, Mr Bonnefoy, might just get a bit more than what you've bargained for.”

“You see, dear boy,” the other continued, speaking to Arthur, “your father has given the order that whoever finds his son shall be rewarded with the Prince's hand and half of the kingdom.”

“Which means you are getting married,” the first one to speak clarified on seeing two disbelieving faces and trying to hold back the bubbles of laughter. “It has been proclaimed in the whole Kingdom.”

Arthur's and Francis' eyes met again, and in one fraction of a shared moment the message sunk in.

“Oh the bloody fucking hell,” Arthur whispered dully.

“That's it, stop this animal. Thanks for the ride, monsieur Knight, I'm getting off here!” Francis announced, eyes filled with horror.

“I'm quite sorry, but I cannot disobey the King's orders.”

“The hell you are sorry, just let me down and forget this ever happened! There were no witnesses!”

“Dear boy, you have much to learn about loyalty. Besides, that would make one of us the finder of the Prince, and as flattered as I may be, I already have a wife and two children.”

“You can't do this to me,” Arthur pleaded, but of no avail.

“I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I repeat, I cannot disobey our King. Besides, I must admit I look forward to seeing you settled down with somebody special.”

“Somebody special, fuck you! I stumbled upon him in a forest! By accident!”

“Well, he does not look that bad of an accident to me,” one of the knights laughed and winked, but even Francis couldn't force himself to smile.

And thus Prince Arthur learnt that no matter how bad things were, they could always get worse.

xXx

“Is your ankle any better, Gilbert?”

“Ugh, it's still throbbing, but not as sharply as before... I just wish those two bastards would drag their lazy asses here a bit faster.”

While Francis and Arthur were (not) trying to come to terms with a certain piece of news about their newly planned future, Gilbert and Antonio remained at the spot where they had sent off the couple. Antonio had found in his backpack some bondages, which he had tied around his friend's ankle to ease the pain, but actual curing herbs were far more effective. Fortunately, although the Prussian's ankle was still hurting, the injury didn't seem as bad as it had first appeared. Thus, blessedly oblivious about the new turn of events, the two friends took it easy, lazily leaning against one another and gazing into the horizon.

“You know, it would have been more comfortable if we had taken off to the town and waited for them in an inn or something. Even if you jumped on one leg all the way to London, we would still be there before those two would even reach the camp place.”

“True... Wow, Antonio, it seems my awesomeness is contagious. You are coming up with some cool ideas.”

“It's still not too late to go if we wanted to.”

“Do we?”

Antonio tilted his head back, inhaling deeply, looking at the blue sky above, and closed his eyes. “Nah... We don't.”

“I've heard some crappy rumours about English pubs anyway,” Gilbert agreed.

The two remained silent for a while, until the Spaniard cracked his eyes open and looked at the road. “Hey, look... Those knights over there are riding pretty fast.”

“Probably caught some kind of criminal or something. Or are after one.”

The two knights did indeed ride fast, and in no time they were close enough to make the two friends realise that the road wasn't too wide. As they moved to the side, the knights were in a distance in which Gilbert and Antonio could see there were people sitting behind the knights on the horses. No more than a couple of blinks later the knights were so close that the two friends could even count the teeth in the knights' laughing mouths... or recognise just who were accompanying the riders for their ride. For a moment the knights seemed to pass the Spaniard and the Prussian in slow-motion, during which two pairs of wide, shocked eyes with a tinge of puzzlement met another two pairs of equally wide and shocked eyes, which also had a terrified and pleading shade in them... particularly the blue ones. The green ones had more rage in them.

And then the moment was gone and the knights were riding fast-speed again, leaving two speechless, extremely confused foreigners behind to wonder what on earth their companions had done to be arrested by royal knights.

“...”

“...”

“There,” Antonio finally started, still awe-struck, “did ride towards London two knights, two horses, and Francis and Arthur.”

Gilbert looked after the riders, now only seeing a mere dust-cloud on the road. “And Francis' herb package,” he added longingly. After a moment of respectful silence that followed the Prussian's words, Antonio sighed and shook his head. “We sent them off to get aid, but now it seems we have to go and save them instead.”

“If they got arrested because Francis was hitting on a knight again, I'm leaving him to rot in prison,” Gilbert grumbled. “Let's get going.”

X

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