[There was a sick sense of comfort in quarreling with the other man that he'd come to expect over those last couple of centuries. It was part of who they were, yes, but God. He's tired, England. He is a tired, very old man and just for two seconds would like to wipe the slate clean-- or tidy the mess enough to exist in peace. True quiet.

He isn't happy, not close to it and if you actually paid attention to him rather than his words you'd know it, but then again, France doesn't expect you to give any real concern. You're much too intent on proving that your shit doesn't stink, that you are in the right-emotions be damned.

As for that--]

Forgetting alliances, mm? Is that what you believe this is? [have an honestly angry hurt look; chuckling dryly] You will think what you think then.

[Oh, they'll bicker for bickering sake but like he'll let anyone bother the man himself. Doesn't mean he's any closer to being okay with how the two of them are dealing. Muttering something about searching out dragons to piss off. His next words come out sounding measured and careful, though.]

I wash my hands of this disaster-- I am done. Tired. I am not holding a grudge. [He gives the conference room a look, mouth drawing tight. It felt entirely claustrophobic.] Perhaps I will see you around.

[And perhaps there won't be a fight immediately.. but like hell is he going to bite his tongue because Arthur can't handle having a few walls of his own to deal with.]