I Gave You All

Taking place in 1824 (almost 50 years after the Revolution) Arthur Kirkland finds matters difficult to deal with. Alfred can't help but notice and frequently questions him on his behaviour, causing the Brit to reminisce in the horrible past. With his mind stuck on the pain of the Revolutionary War, Arthur decides to confront the American through letters that confess most of the feelings he had been locking away for nearly five decades.

CHAPTER 1

Arthur Kirkland released a stressed sigh as he rubbed his tired eyes slowly, shoving one hand through his sandy blonde hair after.

"C'mon, dude! What gives? You're so grumpy and sad, like, all the freakin' time!"

He could hear the American's voice ring through his thoughts while attempting to relax.

"Arthur... Could you just smile a little? You're killin' me, man."

Further words he remembered hearing from Alfred Jones, it was all that played at his mind, only getting worse and worse as the years flashed by. As immensely as Arthur had tried to ignore the memories, it simply just was not that easy.

Firing rifles, booming canons, screams of pain...

The sounds of death and war.

The sound of colonies dividing from a nation.

The sound of Britain's heart crushing.

"Hey bro, my birthday's comin' up! Fourth of July, y'know? It'd be totally awesome if you were there- Hey, where are you goin'? Did I do something wrong?

-pause- Maybe you should, like, try talkin' to me or something! Then maybe I'd kinda know how to deal with you!"

And those had been the last words America spoke (more shouted) to Britain for three weeks now. Mostly because Arthur was avoiding Alfred; he didn't want to hear what he had to say about the Englishman's behaviour. However, he could not forget those words...

'Maybe you should try talking to me...'

If anyone had ever even met Arthur, it was obvious right off hand that he was not one for sharing feelings.

Or memories.

Or thoughts.

Or emotions.

But that's just how England was, it was part of his negative personality.

Still, remembering America's words was effecting him.

'Just try talking to me...'

Did America actually care?

"Unlikely," he snorted to himself, emerald eyes widening once he realised he had begin to think aloud. Slamming one hand down flat on his desk with a frustrated groan, Arthur seized his closest quill and began to scribble in black ink:

Regarding Alfred F. Jones,

I have been wanting to tell you of the things I will soon print upon this parchment for quite a collection of years... To my own disappointment in myself, I have found it impossible to tell you in person, for you are a blithering idiot who is unaware on how to shut your obnoxious mou- No. Not any more. I shall... Attempt to cease my threats and (I must admit) false hatred towards you only for this letter. This is, after all, an explanation for my "behaviour".

I do recall a time, Alfred, when we had an agreement. When you and I peacefully lived together, with you under my protection and care. I did what was to my sheer ability to provide you the life you deserved. However, I suppose it was not enough for you...

Was it my fault?

Was your reasoning to perform the acts you did against me for revenge on something I did?

By God, Alfred! When I said to you that the time had finally come for you to make your own history, I did not intend on having you throw me back into nothing of your past so you could rise to power! Have you any idea his that made me feel? How I still feel? I gave you everything you required, I raised you!

Arthur instantly sat up straight in his green leather arm chair and chucked the black-feathered quill across his study, forcing two quivering hands through his hair with a shaken sigh. "You're letting your memories get the best of you, old lad." He mumbled to himself, leaning back against the creaking swivel chair with another calming breath.

"Onward..." Arthur yanked open a drawer that needed to be oiled quite badly due to its resistance before once again locating a quill. As I pushed away useless junk and unneeded stationary supplies, Britain froze once his fingers found hold of a tiny, wooden toy soldier.

It was worn, obviously holding a faded red colour due to times toll instead of its once vibrant cherry shade. The face of the soldier still held a painted smile with rosy pink cheeks.

"Here, brother! You have it, I have others you gave me, just take this one. That way when you're busy at work all day, you can keep that guy in you pocket to remember that I'm waiting for my great big brother to come home so I can give you a biiiggg hug!" Said a very young and cheerful America, one hand grasping the exact same soldier in an offer to Arthur. The Brit chucked and shook his head, giving Alfred a gentle pat on the head as he eventually accepted the toy.

"Thank you, Alfred. You shall always remain in my heart, and now-" he held up the soldier, "every day in my thoughts."

America grinned, instantly springing forwards to hug his arms around Britain's neck whilst giggling happily as the memory slowly faded...

Arthur swallowed as he gazed down to the wooden dressed in red, one thumb sliding along the splintering coat. He just had to finish the damn letter. Then he could go off to his four poster bed to curl up with a somewhat relaxing novel that could possibly relieve the minor stress. Taking a swig of tea (that was now cold) from a decorated porcelain cup, Arthur brought the quill back in hand and continued to write further more.

I must apologise for my outbursts, but time is two years shy of fifty years, and I have yet to feel any closure on what has happened between us. I suppose all I am asking to know is... Where did I go wrong?

Sincerely,

Arthur Kirkland

After completing his scrawling signature at the bottom of the page, Arthur delicately folded the parchment and poured only a small circle of wax over the opening if the letter, stamping the royal coat of arms of the United Kingdom over the cooling wax to create a seal.

Within a matter of minutes, a tall and thinly built butler of Arthur's stepped into the study to retrieve the letter for sending off.

"It's for the American," Arthur hardly mumbled, organising unruly papers as the butler bowed in response then simply turned to leave the room.

Once by himself, Britain stared back to the soldier, taking its light weight form into his hand as he slowly stood to begin towards his bedroom for an attempted nights rest.

"Forever in my thoughts..." He breathed to himself, slowly pushing his bedroom door closed after.