The first thing England saw was a giant pile of wood with a metal pole in the middle. There was a large crowd gathered around to see a cart pulled into the courtyard.
England's heart clenched painfully in his chest.
It was Jeanne.
He watched himself hold France back from saving her. He saw that cruel look of twisted pleasure on his face as he had realized France was crying. And he watched himself drop France and let him cry alone on the ground.
Maybe though, just maybe he was the only one who could see the conflict behind the cold green eyes of his past self.
Some tears came to his own eyes as he watched France sob brokenly on the ground. England knew that he couldn't do anything, but he sat down beside France as he whispered prayers to God in French.
England wasn't sure why he sat down. Maybe he wanted to make up for what he failed to do in the past, or maybe he just wanted to suffer with France now.
The fairy jumped from his shoulder and watched the two nations cry together, yet apart.
“I'm sorry, France,” England whispered, wiping tears from his own cheeks. “I'm so sorry.”
When the past-France was done crying, he looked up at England first with despair, and then with loathing. England was surprised to see such an expression come from that handsome face, and he wondered how on Earth he missed it at the time.
England looked to the face of his past self. His past self was gazing into the horizon, to where his red thread had disappeared.
England thought that he deserved the look France had given him.
“England,” the fairy began, “I need you to come with me.”
He looked at the little pink being, and then looked back to France, who had returned to crying.
“Can't... Can't I stay with him for a moment longer?” he asked with a sniff.
She shook her head sadly, her expression tender, and reached her hand out.
“It's alright,” she said softly, “We're going somewhere else.”
Without standing up, England reached over, and touched her hand.
Love and War [Part 3b/?]
The first thing England saw was a giant pile of wood with a metal pole in the middle. There was a large crowd gathered around to see a cart pulled into the courtyard.
England's heart clenched painfully in his chest.
It was Jeanne.
He watched himself hold France back from saving her. He saw that cruel look of twisted pleasure on his face as he had realized France was crying. And he watched himself drop France and let him cry alone on the ground.
Maybe though, just maybe he was the only one who could see the conflict behind the cold green eyes of his past self.
Some tears came to his own eyes as he watched France sob brokenly on the ground. England knew that he couldn't do anything, but he sat down beside France as he whispered prayers to God in French.
England wasn't sure why he sat down. Maybe he wanted to make up for what he failed to do in the past, or maybe he just wanted to suffer with France now.
The fairy jumped from his shoulder and watched the two nations cry together, yet apart.
“I'm sorry, France,” England whispered, wiping tears from his own cheeks. “I'm so sorry.”
When the past-France was done crying, he looked up at England first with despair, and then with loathing. England was surprised to see such an expression come from that handsome face, and he wondered how on Earth he missed it at the time.
England looked to the face of his past self. His past self was gazing into the horizon, to where his red thread had disappeared.
England thought that he deserved the look France had given him.
“England,” the fairy began, “I need you to come with me.”
He looked at the little pink being, and then looked back to France, who had returned to crying.
“Can't... Can't I stay with him for a moment longer?” he asked with a sniff.
She shook her head sadly, her expression tender, and reached her hand out.
“It's alright,” she said softly, “We're going somewhere else.”
Without standing up, England reached over, and touched her hand.