Hey there, Fang here. This story is rather serious...please forgive me...


The White House was burning.

Arthur Kirkland stared at the fiery crescendo, hand absentmindedly tugging at his uniform jacket. The blinding sight gave him reason to ignore the screams and the shots from both civilians and soldiers all around him. The black smoke rose against the night sky, veiling the brilliant points of light from view as it poured from the windows and doors of the once pristine, majestic building.

England walked closer to the destructive e masterpiece, his steps slow and measured, hands behind his back. People were still fleeing from inside, though few were left, but Arthur still continued to gaze at the doors, waiting.

A soot covered figure finally appeared, towing along three more escapees. His clothes were singed, his hair nearly grey with cinders, but that stance and gait…Arthur knew.

The man pointed in a direction away from the White House, and his three companions scurried out of sight. Only then did England walk the few last steps into range of sight.

He stood there, silently, arms folded about his chest. Eventually, the American turned as if alerted to his presence, and gazed into the Briton's clear, sharp eyes.

No words needed to be said. Alfred's eyes told all, smoldering blue matching the temperament of the fire behind him. Betrayal, hurt, anger, and simple cold-hearted hatred all spoke volumes in the air between the two nations. Arthur stared back coolly, challenging, as if this was nothing but simple retribution towards America. Alfred's brow drew together.

"I once called you my brother."

With that, Alfred turned his back and walked from the conflagration. Arthur stood there a second more, before an exclamation from his general gave him cause to turn and stroll from the destruction. Arthur smiled slightly; it was a good day.

I once called you my brother…

Arthur's heart twitched; but he ignored it. Later, much later, the regret and sorrow would come. Right now, Arthur felt no remorse.


AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I considered slapping this one in with the Special Relationship fics, but this...didn't seem to fit...so it's a stand-alone right now.

I was looking, and I swear, there are like, no fics on this war. There are a few, and if you know any, I would love to read them. I figured, Arthur wasn't going to let go of his grudge on Alfred that soon...no doubt this would seem like revenge to him. And after the Revolution, no matter what had happened between them in the beginning, Arthur wasn't going to be in a forgiving mood. Later, he would, sure, but right then and there...i thought that he wouldn't care in the slightest. And so this is not a real brotherly fic.

It actually made me kind of depressed. I'm not writing on this war again. Unless France gets his ass kicked. Sorry, France-lovers! I mean no offense! But ...it's still kinda funny when he does...

Reviews are loved, I eat them like cookies.

-Fang