Title: I will not bow. (in French)

Hundred Years' War

Brutal!France; Pirate!England (later on); Teen!America (laterlaterlater on)

Alrighty guys, I'm bringing this thing back to life! I'm revamping it and changing it up. So those of you who have written reviews for the old material, I apologise, however the change really needed to be done. It was like a child wrote it (oh wait, I was a child when I wrote it).

WARNING WARNING WARNING: HINTING AT RAPE. I apologise. You may skip over that part if you want though, it is not important!

Anyways, please enjoy!

p.s. Yayo by Lana del Rey also Gods & Monsters by Lana del Rey

It had been such a long time since he last saw sunlight. Clouds covered the sun, making the Earth gloomy and grey. Or maybe that was ashes of his burning country that covered the sky. His beautiful country... his beautiful new country. The diversity of the people and the lush green grounds that covered the countryside.

Everything he had was being ripped apart.

It was heavy: all the armor that was weighing them both down. The clash of their swords shrieked in his ears as his arms worked on their own accord, for he could no longer control them. He hurt all over from the deep cuts and wounds that had gotten through the dented and worn armor. Green eyes glared up into harsh, cold, blue eyes. His breath was shaky and was being taken in through sharp gasps. His arm was shaking as it held the sword's handle, trying to hold off the enemies attack.

They had been fighting for longer than necessary. For them, it only felt like three days. For their people, it was a hundred years. They were in the third and final part of the war. The Lancastrian War where the English king, Henry V Lancaster, invaded Normandy. Arthur had protested as he had the first two times they had gone to war with France. He wasn't ready for it. His people weren't ready for it.

"Vous avez perdu, L'Angleterre." The icy voice of his enemy hissed.

"I do not speak your filthy language, France." England panted out, his legs growing even weaker from use. Francis pulled his weapon back quickly and dug the tip of the sword through England's foot. Arthur was too tired to react fast enough to block the cheap shot from France and let out a piercing scream from the sudden pain.

France was strong. He was strong with leaders such as Joan de Arc and La Hire leading his troops. Arthur felt his heart begin to pound hard enough to hurt and a voice whispered in the back of his mind, Battle of Castillon. And he knew this was it. Finally, the last battle of the war.

"Je n'aime pas me répéter." (I do not like to repeat myself.) France sent a punch to England's dirty face to silence him. Arthur tried to move, but his head pounded, his ears were ringing, and he could barely see straight. Francis knocked England's sword out of his hand. "I said; You have lost, England." The French country took a couple steps close to the losing country. "Tu es à moi. (You are mine.) Surrender to me."

"No! Ni wnaf bwa! (I will not bow!)" England involuntarily switched from his English language to his recently learned Welsh language. He grabbed at France's sword and yanked it out; sucking in air harshly as he felt blood gush out of his foot. Arthur lashed out; swinging the sword wildly at France. It managed to cut a jagged scar across the Frenchman's unprotected face. England let out a hysterical laugh as his strength left him and he collapsed to the ground, dropping the French sword.

Francis let out an angry howl as the blade cut his perfect face, slicing the skin in a disgusting horizontal wound from his left cheek to just below his right eye. "Je ne vais pas vous montrer la miséricorde vile créature. (I will not show mercy you vile creature.)" His voice was calm, but Arthur could hear the seething hate behind it. The weaker country was already disgraced as it was. He could no longer stand on his own two feet; he was on his hands and knees in front of the Frenchman. "Nous avons lutté pendant longtemps. Pas plus que vous pensiez à me combattre, je suis ton maître. (We have fought for a long time. I am your Master.)"

England knew that his people had not yet given up. He couldn't understand what his enemy was saying yet, and he was thankful for that. The moment that he could understand French and speak it was the moment that his people had lost the will to fight. "Ní bheidh mé go gcailleann tú Frenchman. (I will not lose to you Frenchman.)" England whispered in Irish. He had no use for another language. In his childhood he had gathered these other languages like Welsh and Irish. He didn't want to ruin them with the romantic language that Francis spoke.

A hard slap hit Arthur's cheek, causing him to whimper hang his head limply in front of France. "Ne parlent pas votre langue dégoûtante pour moi! (Do not speak your disgusting languages to me!) You will speak French!" Francis graced Arthur this last time by speaking English for the younger country. The boy was going to do what he said in a matter of time.

Francis stood above Arthur, staring down at his broken figure, breathing heavily. Arthur's arms shook as they tried to hold his body up off the dirty ground. "Please… No…" His voice was barely audible as his vocal cords were strained from brutal usage over these past days. France narrowed his blue eyes at England's plead. He moved to grab his sword off the ground. Nervously, Arthur watched out of the corner of his eye. Francis moved out of England's line of sight but in the matter of seconds, England could feel more weight being pressed down onto him. With that England's arms and legs gave out, causing him to dirty himself even more on the ground. The dirt and sand made his wounds hurt more as it coated his bloodied body.

France was straddling the boy's hips from behind. He wasn't going to do anything completely violating just yet, all he wanted to do was to let everyone else know that he claimed the boy. That the boy was his. He dug the tip of the blade into England's skin, causing him to gasp as it pierced the skin. In sloppy cursive the Frenchman wrote, "Fealty" into the back of the Englishman.

Arthur was too tired to writhe about or scream out as the blade dug roughly into his skin. He could feel the warm liquid of his blood run down his back from the inscribed word. "Non… (No…)" The younger country breathed out as the world went black around him.

xxx

"You have a new pet? That's not like you, Francis." A Spanish accented voice spoke. Spain stared with interest at France.

"I think it's pretty awesome. Francis certainly likes them young." Prussia chuckled in his own German accent.

"You're one to talk, Preuben." France purred. Gilbert gave the other two countries an innocent shrug. They all knew there was something going on between Prussia and the Holy Roman Empire.

"Hey, it's all for power." Prussia said in his defense. "You have to build up their trust to be able to break them down completely."

"I don't know, I think you can shatter them without going through the formalities." France replied with a smile.

Arthur watched the three friends chat at a round table in France's royal garden from a bush close by. His green eyes watched in absolute horror at how they spoke of destroying countries so calmly. They were monsters. What if he became a monster like that? No! He would never…

"He put up such a lovely fight against me…" France's voice cut through England's thoughts.

"I can see…" Prussia's cool and sadistic facial features softened for a moment as he reached across the table. France flinched as Gilbert's cold fingers touched the quickly healing scar that Arthur had inflicted.

"It was délicieux (delicious) to see him try to stand up against me." Francis flicked out his tongue against the tip of Gilbert's finger. A smirk flashed across those pale lips before Prussia pulled his hand away. "I doubt he'll give up easily when I begin to teach him some French manners."

"You're a dirty man!" Spain laughed out, throwing his head back.

"Well! If you ever need help with the boy, don't hesitate to call! I love a good hunt." Gilbert said happily.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He spun on his heels and ran back to France's house. He would make his escape soon enough. England could only run when his people were ready. Then, and only then, would he have enough power to hold off France. He ran up the stairs, two at a time, up the east tower were his room was. Arthur flung the door open and locked it behind him. As if that could keep out France. This is a French house. The monster had the key to every door.

Arthur flopped onto his bed and sighed, trying to push those words out of his head. French manners. A shiver went down his spine. France wouldn't do anything too bad to a teenager right?

He likes them young. A small voice whispered in his head. Green eyes widened as it finally made sense to him. Without much thought, England got off of his bed and walked to the only window in his room. It overlooked the garden that the trio was sitting in.

When he looked down, he could see France's blue eyes look up at him. Bright white teeth were smiling up at him. Arthur's heart began to pound in his chest. It took all his will to tear his eyes away. He didn't know why he was breathing heavily as he turned from the window. That man really did scare him… What was that Frenchman going to do to him?

England had been at France's house for a good week so far and no harm had come to him. He had been fed properly; he had been allowed to roam the house at his own free will. The two countries had hardly even spoken to each other. But with every passing glance that France sent to England, it made the hair on the back of Arthur's neck rise. The suspense was making him paranoid.

One positive thing about this house that had been a comfort to Arthur was that the servants pitied him. They were all so nice to him and tried to make him as happy as possible. But to be honest there was only thing that made him purely happy was when his elf friends came to visit him when he was alone in his room. They always brought some sort of gift or new game for him. Even when the vampires visited at night they tried to cheer him up. Arthur curled up under the sheets on his bed, praying to each god that his people believed in that they would shield him from whatever France had in store for him.

That night, Arthur skipped dinner with Francis. He stayed in his room huddled under the sheets, whispering things to a fairy that was visiting him at the time. He didn't hear the quiet knock on the door from a servant warning him to come down. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps on the stairs that led to his door. He didn't hear the door being unlocked. However, he did hear when the door was flung open as it hit the concrete tower wall behind it. England shot up in bed, eyes wide as he looked at the figure in the doorway.

Blonde hair hung in blue eyes as the Frenchman stared at Arthur. He ran his fingers through his hair so he would be able to see better. "I sincerely thought that you were more polite, L'Angleterre."

Confusion was written all over Arthur's face after Francis spoke. "What do yo-"

"Do not speak!" France cut Arthur off. He took a few steps in the room, turning to close the door and locking it. "All week you had been prompt and showed gentlemanly manners. Then today you do not show up at dinner without telling a soul." Arthur bit his tongue to stay quiet. Hopefully Francis wouldn't be cruel enough to punish him for such a small thing… But the English country didn't stay too hopeful.

"It's quite rude." Francis strode over to England's bed and sat down on the edge of it. Arthur tried to get as far away from the older country as possible on the tiny bed. A hot hand grabbed Arthur's ankle and pulled him down the bed to keep him from getting further away.

"No!" Arthur shouted, trying to pull away.

"I told you not to speak." Francis said calmly, reaching out to quickly slap England's face. The slap felt more like a punch as Arthur looked back up at France; fear in his eyes. "It is also very rude to eavesdrop on people's conversations as you did earlier today."

Oh god. England frantically tried to pull out of France's grip. That hand tightened around his ankle to the point of pain instead of letting go. It was the complete opposite reaction of what England wanted. The younger country could handle this pain though; it was nothing really. The dominating country leaned down over Arthur.

"As you heard earlier, I was planning on teaching you some French manners. I think now is a good time to start." That French voice purred so seductively in Arthur's ear.

"Ní hea! Níl sé! (No! It's not!)" Arthur yelled childishly in Irish. Of course, that just irritated the Frenchman even more.

To silence the aggravating boy, Francis roughly forced his lips onto the weak country. Hands tried to push Francis away, but it was to no avail. Arthur had no power against the extremely strong country. He didn't even have a fighting chance. It showed him just how much farther his people had to come for him to be able to escape.

France's hands slid up England's plain white button up shirt and began to quickly undo those buttons. "Dim! Stop! (No!)" He was already frantic; Welsh slipping through his mouth. Francis took that chance to slip his tongue into the Englishman's mouth. By then, the shirt was completely unbuttoned and opened up. France's lips had made it down to England's collarbone, where he nipped the skin between his teeth hard enough to break the skin. England flinched with each bite.

Francis was getting bored of Arthur trying to push him away, so he quickly slid out of his pants and used those to tie the boy's hands to the headboard. That solved two problems at once. Green eyes shot down to the bulge that was grinding against him. France's hot mouth was moving all around England's chest, pleasuring and causing pain.

"You should be thankful I'm not like Gilbert. I don't like to use whips…" The Frenchman breathed out against Arthur's stomach, causing Goosebumps to flare over his skin. England squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please… don't do this…" The teen country whispered softly. His voice was shaking as he tried a last resort to stop the Frenchman. "Plaire…"

"I'm afraid speaking French now won't save you, mon jouet. (my toy.)" Francis was undoing Arthur's pants now, yanking them down. Cool air made Arthur shiver violently. France gave England a maniac smile before he rolled the boy over, making Arthur's arms twist awkardly in their ties.

The screams for help echoed down the tower and through the house. A young maid covered her ears and sobbed as the yells tried to make the Frenchman stop; saying silly things about how if Francis stopped now, then he would forgive him. Or how he would pretend this would never happened. Anything to get away… Then finally one final shriek signaled to the house that it was over. One degrading and disgraceful scream: "Francis!"