It was a brutally muggy day as I marched past the ruins of the once proud and bustling city. I was keeping up a brisk pace, making sure to take any hidden shortcuts I had picked up along the centuries to reach my destination. My combat boots sunk deeply into the dense mud that was layered in the ground. All around me, the screams of distant bombs falling and people cursing angrily in a mix of French and German filled my ears...But all I could really hear was the heavy drumming of my heart. A strong scent of gunpowder and gasoline lingered heavily in the air. There was only one thought in my mind: Paris had fallen into the unforgiving clutches of the enemy.
I trudged onward, being overly careful not to let anyone see me as I began the long trek up an impossibly high hill. I paused as I made it to a set of oaken double doors. Cloaked in the secrecy of the shadows, I knocked repeatedly on them. I received no response. In what can only be described as a panic, I knocked redundantly once more. Luckily, I heard footsteps. The doors swung open and the familiar figure of a tall man stood in inside. I had to stop myself from pouncing on him and enveloping him in hugs. Instead I sported my signature frown.
"Bloody hell Francis...Where have you been for the past three months?"
I scolded sharply. His face was shrouded in the darkness. The man tried to speak, but quickly closed his mouth, instead leading me by my arm into the entrance hall. It was the first time I had seen him in the light. His hair was long and tangled, and a long scar was etched into his left cheek. He looked sickly and gaunt. I stiffened as he pulled me into a warm embrace.
"Francis..." I said softly reaching up to run my fingers across the now purple scar tissue. "Why hasn't this healed?"
"That doesn't matter." His voice sounded strained. "Why have you come to Paris?" He asked flatly. I moved my fingers away from the injury, still very much concerned about it.
"I came to find you." I said, trying my best not to show emotion in my voice.
"You shouldn't be here. You need to leave." He instructed icily. Francis spoke apathetically, and this fact alone unnerved me. "If Ludwig's troops find you...They'll kill you. You're the enemy in Paris. It's Nazi territory now." He took my hand and lead me to the door. "Go now and don't look back."
"Francis please listen to me...You're sick! You aren't thinking straight!" I pleaded. He stared at me and blinked.
"Arthur you need to go. I can't live with myself if they hurt you." He responded monotonously. He moved to open the door but stopped about halfway. He clumsily staggered backwards, knocking over an expensive looking vase before falling to his knees. He slowly got back to his feet.
"You stubborn git!" I yelled. "You're seriously ill and you were about to let me walk out of your house?!"
"I'm fine..." He grumbled, clutching his head dismissively. He staggered again, and I rushed over to help support him.
"I'm staying and that's final." I announced smugly.
"Pourquoi la pièce tourne ?" He asked through gritted teeth, still holding his head.
"Pardon?" I responded. "I'm afraid I didn't catch that..." In a matter of seconds, Francis had passed out, putting all of his weight into my hold. I sighed. "Although it appears that I've caught you..." It took all of my strength, but I finally managed to pull him over to his bedroom. I laid a silken quilt over his sleeping form and pushed a stand of messy hair off of his face. I leaned forward and sighed once more, placing a soft kiss on the man's forehead.
"Goodnight Frog" I whispered to the shadows and the silence of the large chamber.