Francis' entire body ached from the beating he had took. The battle was over, the British had won, but due to the swift blow to his head, Francis was too dizzy to retreat, so he hid in an alleyway, praying that no one would find him.

He sat against the wall, feeling nothing but the pounding of his head, the light from the sunset only making it worse. He could hear voices carried by the wind, too distant to make the words out. Oh, God, don't let them find me.

Uneven footsteps echoed down the alleyway. Francis looked to his right and saw a figure in an iconic red, British Officers' uniform. Fear ran down Francis' spine, he thought about running and risking falling over until he realized that the Officer was hunched over, gripping his side, stumbling down the alleyway. He used the opposite wall as he staggered even to Francis, slid down on his knees, panting. Francis stayed perfectly still, the Officer didn't seem to notice him, and he wanted to keep it that way. Although the Officer was wounded, that did not mean he couldn't call for help.

The Officer groaned in pain as he relaxed his shoulder against the wall. Francis realized that the Officer wasn't just going to take a break and leave, he was probably going to sit down and wait for someone to treat whatever was hurting him. Which means that Francis was going to be discovered sooner than later. If that was the case, then why not try to be nice? After all, he was going to be killed anyway.

"Bonjour."

The Officer turned his back to the wall, brought his knees up, pulled a dagger out of his coat, and immediately took a defencive position. The movements were so quick, it made Francis flinch. Francis held his hands out and tried to sound light hearted through his anxiety, "I don't mean any harm, my head hurts too much."

The Officer looked at him up and down before he made eye contact, "You speak English, Frog?"

Francis dropped his hands into his lap with a small laugh, "I understand the words, but I can't build sentences." The Officer readjusted the dagger in his hand without a word. Francis spoke slower, "Do you speak French?"

The Officer's voice tensed in pain, "I understand, I can't pronounce the words correctly."

Francis gave the Officer a kind smile, "Well, at least we understand each other. That sure makes things less complicated." There was a long silence as Francis wondered why the Officer hadn't called for help yet. After a while, Francis simply asked, "What is your name?"

The question seemed to throw the Officer off, "I beg your pardon?"

Francis shrugged, "What's your name?"

The Officer hesitated, forced himself to breath slowly, and let out a painful exhale, "Arthur."

"Like King Arthur?" Francis wasn't quite sure where the connection came from, or why he was so excited about it.

Arthur's thick eyebrows drew together and a small, crooked smile formed on his lips, "I never thought about that before." Arthur placed the dagger back in his coat and relaxed against the wall, "And what is your name, Frenchman?"

"Francis Bonnefoy." He said proudly. Arthur looked as if he was going to say something, but he was interrupted by a forced coughing fit. He took a quivering exhale, and closed his eyes, his breathing more paced. Francis crawled over, "You are hurt." Francis said, stating the obvious.

Arthur opened his eyes just before a expression of fear crossed his face, "What are you doing? Get away!"

Francis held up his hands in surrender again, "I just want to help."

"Why?" Arthur snapped, "Why on earth would you, a French soldier, help me?"

"I never wanted to be a soldier." Francis simply stated.

Arthur's eyes softened in understanding and sadness as he focused on the ground, "You can't. I am a dead man."

Francis shook his head, "Nonsense, let me see." Arthur let Francis pull back his coat, lift his blood-drenched undershirt and look at his right side. Francis' heart sunk and his kind smile dropped, there, in his side, was a fatal shot wound.

"What did I tell you?" Arthur said with a sigh, "Will you now leave me alone?"

That explained why Arthur hadn't called out for help, because he was going to die anyway, but why would Arthur let Francis live like this? Sure he was going to die, but wasn't it best for the British Empire if Arthur yelled out anyway? Perhaps it was because he didn't have the energy or strength, or maybe it was out of kindness and generosity. Francis pulled his undershirt back down, and covered it up with his coat, "Non."

Arthur looked thrown off again, "Why not?"

Francis leaned against the wall, "Well, I get too dizzy if I stand," He started, "But more importantly, who would want to die alone?"

Arthur just stared at him, the setting sun shining in his green eyes. Moments passed until Arthur spoke abruptly, "Why would you do that for me? I'm a British Officer."

Francis shrugged, "Like I said, I never wanted to be a soldier."

Arthur didn't hesitate his next question, "Well, Francis, what did you want to be?"

That question took Francis by surprise, no one had ever asked him that before. He had dreams when he was little, but those were crushed by reality long ago. Still, Francis let his child-self out, "A cook!" He said, "I always wished I could be a cook!"

"Why aren't you, then?"

Francis looked at the ground in embarrassment, "I was a peasant."

Arthur took a moment to breathe through a wave of pain before he spoke again, "Well… If it is any consolation, if I was going to live… I would appoint you as my cook."

Francis was so surprised by Arthur's response, he wasn't sure he had heard him right. "Really?"

Arthur nodded, "I'm kind of in charge, so no one would really question it." Arthur suddenly closed his eyes tight, and made a soft cry out of pain that eventually winded down into faster panting.

Francis felt a stab of sadness, he was staying with Arthur because he couldn't imagine what it would be like to die alone, but, now he was beginning to like Arthur. Francis silently wished he had run off earlier, perhaps it would be less painful, then regretted even thinking that, it was much too selfish. He couldn't help Arthur, and he couldn't leave him alone, the only thing that Francis could do was talk to him. "What about you? What did you want to be?"

Arthur's eyes looked disoriented, as if he could no longer see straight, "What does it matter? I'll be lost in history."

"Well, I will remember you."

Arthur, once again, simply stared at him, "A father."

Francis nodded, "Never had the chance to settle down?"

Arthur grunted in pain, "No… I did… My wife died of fever… While pregnant." He let out a sudden breath and tears began to stream down his cheeks.

Francis' heart began to ache, but he smiled hopefully, "It's alright, you'll see her again."

Arthur's breathing suddenly picked up, "No," He said breathlessly, "I don't-" Arthur was cut off by a horrible coughing fit. His strength seemed to fail, and he began to fall onto his side but Francis caught him. "I don't... believe that." Arthur finished.

Francis adjusted Arthur in his arms, "What do you believe in?"

Arthur shook his head, "Nothing… What do you believe in?"

Francis hesitated, "I don't believe that we only have on life, but we have multiple ones."

Arthur's eyes began to look empty as they wandered up to the sky above him, and his voice was nothing but a whisper, "Reincarnation?... I can believe that… Do you…" Arthur trailed off as his eyes closed.

Francis shook him, choking back tears, "Arthur?"

Arthur flicked open his dim eyes. After a moment he gave Francis a crooked smile, "Do you think… That we'll know each other in our next life… Even friends, perhaps?"

Francis nodded, "Oui, it would only be fair."

Arthur's breathing began to shake as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He held it weakly in his closed hand, "Here Francis… Something to re-" Arthur's fist suddenly clenched and his whole body tensed as he cried out in pain again, then went into another violent coughing fit.

Francis started to panic, "Arthur! Stay with me! I don't want to wait until the next life!"

Arthur made a few small, desperate gasps before his body fell limp and his eyes stared off lifeless. Francis tried to shake Arthur awake again, but it didn't work. Tears ran down Francis' cheeks. It was so strange, he had only spoke Arthur for mere minutes, but he felt like he had lost a life-long friend.

After a few moments, Francis reached into Arthur's hand and pulled out a single English coin. Francis placed it into his right chest pocket, then reached into his left one, pulled out his only French coin left, set it in Arthur's hand, and wrapped his fist around it. "To remember me by." He choked out.

"You!"

Francis looked behind him and saw another British soldier pointing a musket at him.

"Stand up!" The soldier yelled…

…

…

From what it looked like, Francis had killed the highly-ranked, highly respected British Officer, Arthur Kirkland. Of course, shooting him would have been too simple…

The guillotine was tall, bloodstained, and the echo it made when it came down… It looked as if it came from Hell itself… But the British didn't execute like the French did, nor did they have the money to while on the battlefield. Instead, they hung ropes on a tree. Which was slightly relieving, a rope looked like an ordinary object compared to the guillotine.

Francis' entire body shook in fear as he stepped onto the box with the other prisoners of war next to him. A chill ran down his spine when the rope touched his neck and tightened uncomfortably. Another soldier stated a prayer, but Francis didn't hear it, he was too busy praying the Lord his soul to keep… But he didn't believe that, he believed in reincarnation.

His own voice rang in his ears, I don't want to wait until the next life! He felt a small, crooked smile form on his lips. It looks like the next life isn't too far away.

The prayer was over, Francis could hear footsteps behind him. He took one last, desperate gasp of air, tightened his fist around the English coin, and Prayed he would see Arthur in his next life.

He wanted to think what his next life would be like, but the box was kick out from under him.