Bibliotheca Mundi

Chapter 15

After England's call, France immediately started to prepare for the upcoming fight. They had little time, but enough to go through without as much damage as if they were taken by surprise. The next day, as England said, his army comes, early in the morning. They made great progress towards the capital. There were many lost lives on both sides, English soldiers not expecting the French army to be ready, yet not enough for a battle of this size.

"It could have gone worse..." France tries to reassure himself. The combat is over, for now.

Days have gone by, and France didn't get any other signs from England. He continues feeling weaker, sickness taking over him, sucking out his energy. He often felt distracted by whatever was happening behind the windows of his gloomy office. The sound of raindrops hitting the glass is not calming anymore. The Sun appeared to be too bright. The wind, too loud. The night, too silent. Words on his papers were melting together into incomprehensible sentences. Nothing makes sense anymore.

"I insist."

"M-mais-"

"France. If you keep going, it will only make everything worse."

France was holding himself straight on the chair in front of his boss' desk as best as he could. The leader noticed his sloppy handwriting on the papers, his unusual behaviour, and the deadlines that he was not respecting.

"It's more work for us to keep you here than you being gone. Don't refuse that chance I'm giving you to take a few days off."

It hurts France to hear those words. Deep down, he knows taking a rest would only be for the best for everyone. "Sir, my country needs me, my country is in danger, I can't... I can't take a rest !"

A few minutes later, he was back in his office, only to pick up his things and clean his desk from the mess. His boss didn't have any other solution but threaten him and force him to go back home. He glances a last time over the room, and heads to the coat rack, but is interrupted by the ring of his phone. The sudden, piercing noise startled him, making his headache worse. He didn't have time for this.

"Yes ?"

"Mr. France ?" a feminine voice can be heard.

"Himself."

"It is England's secretary and assistant, Mary. I am here to call you about a possible meeting to-"

"Oh, no... Sorry, may you call my boss instead ?" Despite them being enemies, France stays polite. Who knows, a miracle can always happen, and his hopes for a peace treaty might not be in vain. He must not scare them away.

"Are you sure, sir ?"

"Yes, miss." he answers coldly. A short silence follows.

"I may be wrong, but a meeting in private to have a discussion with England, that himself requested to be with you, Mister, might be something you would want to handle yourself."

Awakened by this talk, France now realizes. "Angleterre !?" His heart racing, and breathing shortening, he quickly blurts out to his own risk, "M-may I talk with him ?"

"No, sir. He is currently occupied." Hearing no answer on the other end, she resumes, "I will inform him you refuse his proposition."

"Non- No !" Taking a deep breath, he announces, "I... accept."

Walking in the streets leading to his house, France cannot contain his excitement. After such a long time, it is finally happening. The topic of the meeting being "classified", he has high hopes for it. A torrent of different thoughts was going through his mind. Peace treaty, end of war, reunification. He was told, however, that it will be held in a different city, and had quite an unusual instruction, "Remain discreet".