~Let the Bells Never Toll for You~

The smell of burning wood and metal should have been comforting this time of year, but right now it only served as a reminder that the city was still burning. Smoke and debris particles filled the air, giving it the texture of sandpaper as it mixed with the sharp bite of winter and entered the lungs. The sounds of people filling the market streets on quests for last minute gifts were replaced by those of aid workers rushing to repair damage left in the wake of the last air raid, and military officials combing the streets to maintain order and security. No bells rang as they normally would have on this special day, and no extra lights decorated a city trying hard not to make a more conspicuous target of itself. Compared to the normal hustle and bustle, glitz and glam of London; the bare bones image of it now was a reflection of how only the strong spirit of survival had kept the city going in the age of adversity facing it.

It was Christmas Eve, and London was an excavation site compared to the city Alfred had once known; and he felt his heart seize as he raced with even more determination down its streets.

From the underground bunker serving as a secret military hospital where he had come, Alfred had run nonstop through the city dodging emergency vehicles, volunteer and official government foot-traffic, as well as unstable architecture that continued to crumble when the last of its supports gave out. Cobblestone streets were potholed where they weren't gaping with craters, and whole roads were leveled where toppled buildings didn't obscure them. He felt like he had run through the whole city and had seen everything from the spared districts to the ones still smoldering from the last attacks less than a day ago. He couldn't stop himself long enough to think of where he was going next before he found himself at another dead end, or another roadblock where officers called out and demanded that he stop.

But he couldn't, he had to keep running and looking for the person he had disobeyed orders and crossed the Atlantic to find.

It had been almost three weeks since he had stowed away on the Canadian transport filled with supplies for the relief effort in Great Britain. It had surprised the Canadians unloading the ship when a frantic American disembarked and took off for the nearest British military outpost, and even more disturbed were the soldiers on guard who were completely unprepared for such a situation.

He had been fortunate enough to find an officer there familiar with the name Lord Arthur Kirkland, but was unfortunate enough to find himself brought to the attention of some very unhappy politicians surrounding the secrecy behind the avatar's current location. Given the gravity behind aiding an AWOL representative of a neutral nation in gaining an audience with the avatar of the British Empire, Alfred had rightly gotten the whirlwind diplomatic thrashing of his life. In the end it had mattered little, since Alfred wasn't leaving until he had accomplished what he had braved the wrath of his government to do. It had been decided after nearly a day of political round-housing and a transatlantic phone call with a furious President Roosevelt (who reminded Alfred that involvement in this war was out of the question and he was to return on the next available transport), that all the British could do was make sure their American guest didn't get into any more trouble while in a country that, frankly, didn't need any more of it.

Britain was in the middle of the German Blitz, and could ill afford any more damage than it was already suffering.

He had been escorted to the hospital where the man he sought was being kept, but when he'd finally made it the Englishman's room, the patient had been discovered missing. His bed had been empty, his IVs hanging uselessly from forgotten poles, soiled bandages discarded like garbage and heart monitoring leads haphazardly strewn on the floor. The staff had been in a flurry of panic, but one man in the midst of the chaos remained calm and beheld the situation with only mild amusement.

He had been about as tall as Arthur, lithe with lightly tanned skin. His hair just graced his shoulders and the dark auburn locks curled at every layer. His eyes were deep and honey-brown with fewer lines around them than the other man Alfred knew to bear such similar angles to his face and form. He had the essence of a nation emanating from him, but not the great force of an empire that usually pulsed from the person Alfred sought. Still, there was that bearing in his stance, that up-tilt to his chin and straightness of his spine that echoed everything about the man who represented the empire whose heart they stood in, and Alfred knew he had to know something.

"Please," he had pleaded, as he pulled the man aside in the sea of madness around them – guards and nurses forgetting about him as they ran around everywhere looking for their most important patient, who was supposed to have been kept under lock and key. "I have to find him… Please."

Honey-colored eyes had appraised him for only a moment, and then he smiled, "He only needed some fresh air, lad," he said, and discreetly leaned down to whisper in the American's ear as he fixed his coat sleeve. "He'll be found when he wants to be."

As day soon turned to night, Alfred's leg muscles coiled with strain and began to feel like lead. His lungs and throat burned, his chest hurt, and his head felt light. He could no longer keep his frantic pace as he felt himself coming to a halt. His breaths were coming hard and fast, sweat pouring down his face and freezing on his skin; his eyes watered from the sting winter brought, and his extremities felt numb from the exertion and the cold. He was overheating beneath his heavy European-style coat he'd been given to help him blend in, yet everything beyond it felt frostbitten. As he stood beside the railing along the Thames, overlooking Tower Bridge, he was shaking, miserable, and still hadn't found the man he'd braved breaking the laws of his land to find…

He sniffed hard and felt his chest constrict. Darkness was falling…and he had no idea where to go anymore.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing at the metal railing, one hand tightly gripping one of the frozen bars while the other hung at his side as he gazed aimlessly out at the river; but eventually he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and finally something warm filled the space at his side. He knew the presence before he turned to see the blond hair of the man next to him, or the pair of green eyes looking out over the water he'd been staring at.

Joy filled him, but a surge of relief was even stronger. The man looked so exhausted and pale, but he was alive and standing on his own two feet. Alfred couldn't have asked for more.

"The Thames is my main artery, but surely there are more interesting things to look at while in the heart of me," Arthur commented, still looking out at the forever-flowing river beneath them.

Alfred wiped his nose on his sleeve again and tried to rapidly blink away his watery eyes for the umpteenth time. "I've been all over this city today…'fraid there isn't much to look at, right now."

Arthur replied with a thoughtful tsk and inclined his head, looking up at the now pitch black sky with a blank expression on his face. "That, lad, is because you don't know where to look. In a city this old, there is always something going on and some mystery to discover…" He replied, and slowly closed his eyes. "Perhaps even the mystery of how it will survive to grow even older."

Alfred never took his eyes from Arthur's face, and mentally he took note of the changes since the last time he had seen his old mentor.

It had been a little more than a year ago since the last time they had met in person, and Alfred remembered that, back then, the man hadn't been so anemically pale and his eyes so dulled with exhaustion. The circles beneath his eyes hadn't been so shadowy or deep, and his presence had been…fuller. Arthur still felt like an empire, like the British Empire, but also like he, Arthur, had personally dwindled somehow…

Alfred swallowed hard and quickly felt as though he wasn't meant to see Arthur like this – as though he had somehow committed some terrible wrong by intruding upon a man he so respected and cherished, in such a weakened state. He couldn't deny that some part of him had a terrible time understanding and accepting what he was seeing.

He had been with Arthur through the Great War and accompanied him through what he thought had been some of the hardest times in Arthur's life…but this…He had known things were bad, but…

"You're ashamed; both of yourself and of me." It wasn't a question.

Alfred swallowed again and vehemently shook his head. "No. This…" He stopped and gave a closed-lipped sigh of frustration at his inability to formulate the right words. He had known what he had wanted to say coming over here, but now that the moment had come the words had left him. (As usual.)

The sound of Arthur's footsteps and presence leaving made him turn back towards the Englishman, and he found the older man moving over to a bench off to the side of the path. Alfred noted how stiff his movements were and how tight his expression became as he sat, but the man quickly hid all traces of discomfort as he folded his hands in his lap and silently waited for the American to join him.

He didn't wait long, as Alfred took a seat to his right and waited for the older nation to speak again. But Arthur didn't seem to be in any rush as he took in the night and seemed content to just bask in his newly acquired freedom.

Alfred knew from Matthew, whom he'd been corresponding with since the outbreak of war the previous year, that Arthur had been tightly secured in government custody since the Germans had returned him from France at the end of June. The news had been just as much a shock for Alfred as it had been for Matthew when he had first heard it, that just after the armistice with France had been signed, a French ship under German command had made a mid-sea exchange for the British avatar before the port of Dover.

Over a dozen German prisoners of war, all officers, for one British avatar and a warning: "You're next."

It could only be gathered that Arthur had ended up in German hands after having gone missing while voluntarily remaining to aid French and Allied troops still engaged with German divisions post the Dunkirk evacuation. Somewhere between the port and the ever-dwindling front, Arthur and the men he'd been leading had been ambushed and communications lost. Bodies had turned up, but none of them had been Arthur's.

It wasn't until the Germans had marched into Paris and word had been sent to the British Prime Minister that anyone in the British government even knew if Arthur was still somewhere in France.

A proof of life that the Germans had Arthur had sparked negotiations for the exchange, and a proof of death that Francis Bonnefoy was had been killed the morning before the armistice had been signed, had dawned the realization that Britain was now on its own.

After hearing this, Alfred had immediately tripled his efforts to convince his leaders in Washington to not only send more help to Britain by way of aid and arms, but to allow him to go to London to do what he could, himself. When his request for the latter had been denied due to safety concerns…well…

A lot of finagling and a so-called early Christmas present from his brother later, he was here sitting next to Arthur on a bench by the Thames.

"I just came from the hospital…they're looking for you." Alfred began, anxiously watching his companion who looked far worse for wear.

Arthur, however, just smirked at that and inclined his head as amusement lit his expression, "I'm sure they are. But I've had a more practice evading government hounds then they've had hunting me…so I'm not concerned."

"You're not exactly in prime condition to be playing hide and seek, Arthur," The American countered, his worry making his tone a little harder as he gave the Brit a more scrutinizing look. "I could just take you back, you know. It'd…be for your own good."

Though he finished weaker than he started, his concern for the Englishman never ebbed as Arthur rolled his head to the side and their eyes met. Alfred still looked anxious, but prepared to follow through with his words even as Arthur silently dared him with his deadpan expression.

However, the longer they stared at each other, the more Alfred began to notice how weak the challenge behind Arthur's usual defiance truly was. Arthur couldn't physically stop him from handing him back over to his own officials, nor could he really argue that it wouldn't be in his best interests either way to be back on bed rest when his body was straining just to sit idle on a bench. The pain of seeing Arthur like this began to return, and just as Alfred felt his resolve beginning to falter, Arthur broke his gaze and returned to looking back to the Thames.

"It's unusual that it isn't snowing. We usually have a few flurries by this time of year."

Alfred shook his head free of his thoughts and blinked as he looked up at Arthur. The Englishman seemed to have put their previous conversation behind him as he stared out at the river, and didn't seem to care about much else.

Alfred was worried the old man might be a bit out of his mind, given the present circumstances.

"Considering what's happening, the less weather-related issues to deal with, the better, right?" He replied.

At that, Arthur sagged a little before closing his eyes and sighing. He seemed older then, and leaned back against the bench more as if he needed the support. Alfred gave him a worried look before the Brit finally responded, "Just a few hours, Alfred… A few hours of peace from this war and blasted Blitz, that's to resume when the Nazis grow bored of mercy… Can you not just let me appreciate tonight a little longer?"

A light blush spread across Alfred's cheeks as he looked down at his feet. He clasped his hands together and began to nervously rub them as his lower lip found itself between his teeth. He felt like kicking himself for his stupidity; he knew that if he were in Arthur's shoes he'd probably just want to enjoy his freedom and take comfort in whatever he could in these bleak times.

In this case, for Arthur, it would be the city still surviving this Blitz.

He had to give it to the citizens steadfastly remaining in the city to defend it. Ordinary people refused to flee even before the German bombers, and instead were using time between raids to repair and heal the heart of their nation. He had seen their commitment throughout his frantic search for Arthur…and now, having found him, he knew they were the only reason their avatar was still standing.

It was Christmas Eve, and rather than being at home spending time with their families, his people were keeping Arthur alive and his heart beating.

He wanted to help Arthur too…hadn't that been the point of coming, after all? But the truth was, he honestly didn't know how to help at all. Beyond something war-related, which he wasn't permitted to do…Alfred felt himself…at a complete loss.

Arthur saw the obvious distress on Alfred's face, and smiled.

"Do you remember the first Christmas ball I ever took you to?"

The blue-eyed blond blinked and was once again taken off guard. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself unable to. Finally, he shook his head and Arthur gave a light chuckle.

"You still didn't really understand what Christmas was at that age…but you were so insistent upon accompanying me that year that I couldn't deny you," Arthur continued, still smiling at the memory as Alfred listened, but found it too long ago for him to remember anything about. "It was your first time at a public venue. It was quite an effort getting you ready for it, but once there, and guests got over the surprise of my having a child present…you charmed absolutely everyone in the room. I was very proud of you…"

Alfred blushed again, but this time it was more childish embarrassment than anything. He honestly couldn't remember an event so far back into his childhood, but it seemed to be a positive one for Arthur, so he didn't stop him from reminiscing…though it really was at his personal expense.

"We must have been in a southern colony. My northern colonies didn't really celebrate Christmas until the late 1700s, and by then I was…grown…" Best not to add independent as well.

Arthur didn't seem perturbed and made a soft humming sound. "Yes. Your southern colonies were always more Loyalist and had stronger Anglican traditions than your north. Quite frankly, your north was much too stiff at times, so I often accepted the invitations to attend the festivities held in your south during the Christmas season."

Though Alfred had spent the majority of his childhood growing up in his northern colonies, he couldn't deny the truth of Arthur's words. His north had been very conservative and strict to the Puritan lifestyle, while his south was more relaxed in that they accepted more of their homeland English traditions than their northern neighbors. During the Revolution, these stronger ties with Britain had produced more Loyalists for the Crown against Patriot fighters; and during the Civil War, these traditions had spurred on a push towards an alliance between the Confederate States and Britain.

Alfred swallowed at that. He guessed he'd always been a little divided when it came to Britain.

"You wouldn't leave my side the whole night, clinging to my trousers and coattails, and wouldn't let go…" Arthur continued, still lost in the memory. Alfred hadn't seen him so nostalgic in a long time…not since the last time they had fought side-by-side in the trenches of France, at least. "For such a spirited boy, you were so shy. I found it rather endearing that you were more afraid of aristocrats than a former pirate. I have always worried about your ability to judge character."

Though he normally would have taken offense to that and bit back with a sharp comment or two, Alfred returned with a noncommittal mumble and continued to rub the pad of his thumb over the back of his nails. He wasn't as consciously aware of his nervous gestures as his companion was, but even so Arthur looked more relaxed and content to just sit with his mind occupied by memories.

Finally, when Alfred could no longer stand the silence and he moved to speak, Arthur's words stilled him.

"I didn't expect you to come here, Alfred. But I suspect you've got one very irate president at home and repercussions awaiting your return."

Alfred winced before making a sharp grunt as he harshly kicked the ground with the heel of his boot, hunching over with his elbows on his knees and hands tightly laced together. "If I had cared about any of that, do you really think I'd be here?" It had been a rhetorical question, but Alfred looked at the expression on Arthur's face and knew the man was answering him 'yes' with his eyes. He swallowed again and turned away; even after all these years he could never develop a poker face good enough to fool his old mentor. "…I should have been here months ago…I'm sorry I wasn't."

Arthur seemed to consider that and raised an eyebrow, looking at the American with only patient curiosity. "Pray tell, what would you have done had you come?"

Alfred took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. What would he have done? He had so many ideas of coming then: chewing Arthur and the rest of Europe out for foolishly starting another stupid war, trying to knock some sense into Germany with the threat of getting involved if he didn't back off, and trying to have done…something to prevent all of this destruction. He could have at least protected his allies, especially Arthur. He knew things weren't the best right now between their countries, but between them things were different. He truly cared about the Englishman and knew the Great War changed their relationship forever. He had seen a completely other side to a man he'd known for centuries and felt like he had finally gotten to know the true Arthur Kirkland who had been his father, friend, and enemy before becoming his greatest overseas ally.

He had also made a promise to Arthur back during the war that made his chest tight remembering. He guessed that was his main motivation for coming here…

He'd broken his promise…he was sure of it, and he could never forgive himself.

"…Arthur, I'm sorry…" He began in a near whisper, and laced his hands tighter together. "I was so angry when you and France declared war on Germany, and I was so angry when everyone in Europe seemed to fall in like dominos right after. I wanted nothing more than to know what the hell you all were thinking, but…word got to me about Dunkirk and then this Blitz…"

Arthur remained silent throughout, but Alfred couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth or the terrible ache in his chest.

"I kept thinking I had broken my promise to you…"

At that, Arthur finally cut him off. "I didn't die at Dunkirk, or in between there and here," He said, as the American looked up at his old mentor with grief-stricken eyes. Arthur maintained his calm composure, but there was tightness to him that hadn't been present before.

Silence stretched between them. Alfred wanted desperately to believe the Englishman, but there was something unsaid that left him doubting that Arthur was being completely sincere. He knew Arthur had told him when he first made his promise that it was unrealistic and he would never hold him to it; but Alfred was determined to keep his word, especially after all that had happened those two decades ago. No matter how angry he was with the empires declaring war on each other again, and how much he didn't want to be dragged into another conflict, he couldn't ignore his promise when it mattered most.

What good was his word if he wasn't willing to keep it during a time of crisis?

"…So…what did happen?" He asked as he sat up on the bench.

Just then, Arthur bristled and the air around the man thickened with tension. He hadn't been able to suppress a shudder in time before his lungs spasmed and a ragged cough escaped him. He turned his head away and raised a hand to cover his mouth as the other snapped up to knock away the hand Alfred was reaching for him with. The fit didn't last long, but it took a while for Arthur to recover from it and catch his breath. Alfred watched him with anxious eyes as Arthur finally sat upright again; more ridged than before, and returned hard green eyes to the American.

"…I had a lot of time to think," he replied at length, and inconspicuously wiped the corner of his mouth before continuing. "I had time to think about how much the enemies of old have changed, how – yet again – it seems they've been terribly underestimated…and how much sacrifice it's going to take to ensure victory this time."

Once again, Alfred watched Arthur's eyes become distant…but this time the memory brought nothing but pain and…fear. Alfred could see it echoed in the way Arthur's breaths became labored, the way the hand on his leg tightly gripped the fabric of his overcoat and his jaw clenched. Nothing about his facial expression had changed, but everything about his demeanor had, if one knew where to look.

Arthur's heart might be complicated, but his body still betrayed his humanity.

"There are no rules any more…there is nothing that protects us this time around…" He said quietly, and then found strength in his voice again before adding, "Which is why I don't want you anywhere near this."

The first light raindrop began to fall, and Alfred saw the speck catch on the edge of his lens as another landed on his hand, still stopped in mid-reach for Arthur. The man sounded trapped in a nightmare and Alfred felt caught suspended between his own dream and reality. Arthur wouldn't look at him, but Alfred couldn't turn his eyes away.

He didn't…want his help?

"Arthur…"

"Your government wishes to remain in neutrality and mine wants you back on our side. I have already had ministers coming to me, when I've been conscious enough to reason with, to ask me to appeal to you in aiding our case, but I have denied them every time."

Alfred looked startled and completely ignored the steady drizzle as he gaped at Arthur in shock. "But – why! Okay, yeah, I'd be angry about any idea of war, but you know I'd do anything I could to help you. I'm your ally, your friend! Goddamn it, I'm your partner, Arthur!" He nearly shouted, feeling his frustration mount as he felt years of what he thought had been progress being undermined for reasons he couldn't understand.

It was true that he'd gone into the Great War kicking and screaming, but he'd come out with a greater understanding that isolationism really could only take him so far. He had a better appreciation for his place in the world, and if the stock market crash of the twenties had taught him anything it was that it didn't take a war for one country's problems to affect the world. His politicians back home were advocating anti-war and anti-globalization policies like mad in this election year, but Alfred was wiser to the truth that it was only a matter of time before his nation would need to take the world stage again.

Just as one couldn't survive alone in the world, cloaked in a veil of obscurity forever; one couldn't have allies and not share their burdens.

"Don't you trust me?"

Nothing but the light, nearly mist-like rain gave sound or movement between them before sky-blue eyes noticed Arthur's pale and shaking hand move from where it rested on a dark clad leg, to the side of his body Alfred couldn't see. The Englishman's breath hitched, but he otherwise didn't respond…he just sat very still under the American's gaze and the cold rain.

"I trust you…to be your idealistic, moralistic, and ridiculous self…which is why every part of my being wants you as safely across the Atlantic as possible," he began, his voice more strained than ever as his stiff posture faltered and he slouched a bit. "But every part of Britain…every prideful, spiteful, and vengeful part, wants you armed and in uniform right now, ready to march into France yesterday." He paused again to catch his breath, though he seemed to be wasting every effort to hide how difficult it was. "…Do you…understand, now?"

Alfred finally let his hand and expression fall; still holding Arthur's eyes, he sat back and increased the space between them. It hurt. It hurt so terribly much, but the same part of Arthur that didn't want him here was the same part of Alfred that wanted nothing more than to be here. At the same time, their nation selves were just as at odds and only increasing the pain for both of them. Arthur was suffering enough because of the war still being waged above and beyond his island nation, and Alfred only now realized that in trying to ease his pain he had only increased the conflict within the man and made it worse.

He could never get it right… The path to hell really was forever paved with good intentions, and he always seemed to be leading the way down it.

With his face turned up to the faintly softly night sky, Alfred sat beside Arthur, who remained quietly suffering beside him, and watched the starless sky, wishing it had the answer to how to make the world right since he was powerless to do so.

The sound was faint at first, but steadily rising in volume as the solemn murmur grew into a more recognizable tune. Alfred blinked behind his rain-speckled glasses and his brows knitted together in question. From where he'd been lying back against the bench, his hands in his pockets and his body lying low in the seat, the American avatar sat up and twisted around to look at the lifeless city behind him. Nothing moved in the darkness and no lights were lit but lights strung along the bridge in the distance. The sound continued, but everywhere he looked there was no source to be found…and finally, he looked down and heard Arthur shift next to him.

He looked up to find Arthur giving him a reassuring smile, and looking a bit more relaxed, and tired, than before.

"What percentage of London that hasn't left the city or taken shelter elsewhere in its perimeter is underground in the Tube system. It's not the most ideal place, but it is as best a bomb shelter as we can provide…" The Brit explained, as the melody rising up from beneath them began a new verse.

Alfred couldn't hide his amazement as he looked between the pavement under his feet, where a mass of Londoners were celebrating their Christmas in song, and then the Englishman, now with his eyes closed again and resting with his back against the bench. "…You see…I told you there is always something to discover, in London…"

For the first time in a while, Alfred felt himself return a small smile as he looked from Arthur's smoother face down to his chest, that rose and fell a little easier.

The man wasn't in good shape, but…he was alive. He was alive and surviving, as he'd been doing for thousands of years because neither he nor his people were ready to go quietly into the night. Alfred knew that somehow, someday this conflict would pull him in despite his or Arthur's best efforts, but for now he could grant Arthur the peace of mind in knowing that he wasn't a part of it just yet. In the meantime, he would do all he could to sway leaders in his ally's favor, to do all he could to aid both Britain and its people in any way possible.

As for his promise…he would have to take Arthur's word that his vow had not been broken, and that he could still be there for Arthur when it mattered most.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur," Alfred said quietly, listening as the well-known Christian melody began to fade towards its end.

"Happy Christmas, Alfred…" Arthur replied, his own voice fading like the song as exhaustion began to take its toll on his weary body.

A moment passed before Alfred felt something lightly hit the bench. He looked down to find the hand Arthur had wrapped around his side now lying limp on the damp wood. His heart caught in his throat, and immediately Alfred closed the space between them as he spoke Arthur's name and quickly checked his neck for a pulse. It wasn't until he'd been feeling the slow, but steady beating against his fingers for almost a minute that he released a shuddered breath and sat back down beside the unconscious Brit.

He shook slightly, both from the sudden adrenaline rush and the chill, but eventually calmed and looked down at the hand next to him.

There was blood on it, and Alfred knew Arthur had to have old injuries aggravated by activity and the Blitz beneath his clothes…he also knew he'd been coughing up blood earlier. Arthur could try to hide it all he wanted, but Alfred knew what blood smelled like and what pain looked like.

He also knew what it felt like to be attacked at the heart…he understood it all too well.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do for the man's injuries and that this could very well be Arthur's last night of freedom outside a military hospital until the Blitz was over, Alfred continued to sit on the bench with Arthur and listen to the music emanating from the Underground.

Carefully, he reached over and took Arthur's hand, letting the back of it rest in his palm as he gently held his thumb over the softly beating pulse in his wrist.

He could sit here in Blitz-ridden London, listening to the Christmas chorus of the Underground on their mutual last night of freedom, so long as he could still feel Arthur's pulse...and know that his heart would still be beat in the morning.

"I'll keep my promise, Arthur. You won't wake up alone."

~Fin~

Notes from the Author:

I know this is a few days late, but better late than never, right? ^^' First off, thanks to my Beta Editor, my Cap'm, for editing this for me in between her hectic schedule, and thanks to all of you guys for your patience in my getting this finished and up. This has really been a difficult month production wise for me because it's been a difficult month…well, all around for me. I'm optimistic that the coming year will bring some relief to this hellish schedule of mine, and with any luck I might just finish "Never Your Hero" on a high note!

Yeah, can you believe that as of December 21st, "Never Your Hero" had its one-year anniversary? ^^' I was between celebrating and damn near tears~

Without further ado, I shall get on with the notes! (You know its like, my favorite part~ XD)

The Blitz (the launched air campaign by Nazi Germany on the British homeland) began in September of 1940, and didn't end until May of 1941. During that time, both military and civilian targets were hit during air raids meant to destroy strategic military instillations (mainly those that focused on supplying the British RAF) and demoralize the nation. London and areas around it were regions heavily damaged during these attacks, and citizens were evacuated, forced to take cover in private or public bomb shelters, or take refuge in the Underground Tube system that ran throughout London.

From a documentary I watched (which inspired the title of this fic), I had learned that the church bells normally rung on Christmas weren't during the Blitz because that would have been a signal that the Germans had invaded. Kind of like the warning systems of old, the church bells become warnings of invasion and telling citizens to prepare. I found this both interesting…and incredibly saddening.

In case you were wondering: the man Alfred meets in the hospital and asks about Arthur is Emyrs, my character for Wales. :) Emyrs is the kind of brother who takes his role seriously, and considers Arthur as much his responsibility by blood as he is by oath. ;) You'll see a little more of that later…

The evacuation of Dunkirk, Miracle at Dunkirk, and Operation Dynomo are all one in the same. In summary: when the German invasion of France had taken a turn for the worse for the Allies, a plan to rescue the troops still on the ground was put into action as soldiers inland began fighting their way to the coast and a town called Dunkirk. Everything from official naval ships to private yachts were en massed in Britain to begin the voyage to France to evacuate over 300,000 troops. But during the time it took for the rescue to arrive and the just over a week it took to upload and offload so many troops, divisions of soldiers (mainly French) were digging their heels in to hold off the Germans closing in, and buy time for the evacuees. In the end, while the majority of troops were brought to Britain and the operation deemed an incredible success, insurmountable numbers of equipment and materials had been lost, and the Germans took prisoner almost 40,000 soldiers who didn't make it to the transports. It wasn't long after this that, on June 22nd, an armistice between France and Germany was signed…ending the Battle of France and dividing the country into militarized and occupied zones. Please forgive me, my Francis lovers…but Francis did not initially survive this.

After WWI, America went back into isolationism and pretty much told Europe where it could take its pompous self and shove it (this, of course was after the failed League of Nations…lets not get into that -_-;…and certain presidents who took over that weren't as pro-foreign relations as previous ones). Anyway, minus foreign trade and some inching out at economical globalization (but still keeping a "no-no-no" when it came to actually committing beyond that), we had the stock market crash that led to the Great Depression. Needless to say…this didn't make America the most popular country in the world, but eventually we rebounded mainly, ironically enough, because of the tensions brewing in Europe. Production of goods, especially war related ones, sky-rocketed because demand was up. America retained a biased favor towards the Allied cause, but as in WWI there was still that neutrality that we retained until December of 1941 when the attack on Pearl Harbor thrust us into the war for keeps. For the purposes of this story, however, America is in an election year where FDR (Franklin D. Roosevelt) is running for his second term based on a platform of keeping America out of the war in Europe, and focused solely on America first. As history tells us…yeah, that didn't last long.

Now, this next bit is gonna get some shout outs. The first goes to KitakLaw, who's Christmas fic about colonial America and Canada inspired me to add a little piece of colonial American history to my own fic here. :) Its true that the northern American colonies didn't widely celebrate or even accept Christmas until roughly the late 1700s, because of the strong Puritan roots that believed that because Christmas wasn't explicitly detailed in the Bible it wasn't an actual holiday. Aside from the belief that Christmas was a Catholic/Anglican conspiracy to cover up Pagan rituals to promote converts (sounds pretty extreme, I know), Puritans didn't believe that a day of no work and pure celebration was any real way to honor God. On the other hand, the southern colonies that mostly retained many of the Anglican traditions normally held twelve day long festivals in celebration of Christmas. These festivals included hunts, carnival type festivities, balls and feasts that finer society looked forward to every year. I imaged that during Alfred's early years with Arthur, where he was still learning about European and British-American/Colonial ways, he wouldn't have been as concerned with understanding Christmas and the religion and politics behind it as he would have spending time with Arthur. I also imagined him to be a shy little bugger who, before he was used to dealing with large groups of people at once, practically clung to Arthur like a doe-eyed, shy little kid – curious, but too afraid to venture too away from his parental unit just yet. And that's where shout out number 2 to my dear Gelato-Kitty comes in for inspiring my image of the ball scene and Alfred hiding under Arthur's coattails practically the whole time. XD It was too cute to pass up.

Yeah, I kinda hinted at a spoiler throughout this with Alfred's promise to Arthur. I won't tip when his says it, the circumstances under which it is said, or even what the EXACT promise is…S-so there.

Thank you all again for reading! I hope you all have had a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a wonderful New Year coming! :) My best to you all, and here's to seeing you in 2012!

Sincerely,

General Kitty Girl