Standard horrible Fourth of July fic in two parts. ...Not much else to say, tbh. XD

To The Slaughter

[I]

"You know," Arthur said lazily, lowering his book, "nobody believes that you exist."

Alfred, filthy as usual, beamed down at him. "Nobody?" His eyes were as wide and blue as the sky behind his head.

"Well, you pick your moments, don't you?" Arthur sighed. "Inopportune."

Alfred grinned. "My timing is impeccable, Arthur." He put out a dirty hand. "Come one, let's go and play."

"I oughtn't." Arthur held up his book: Milton's Paradise Lost. "Francis is testing me on this tomorrow."

Alfred rolled his eyes, kicking up some dust. "How dull," he lamented. He bounded under the shade of tree Arthur was lying against, skipping about him. "That sort of thing is no fun at all! Come, let's go to the orchard!"

Arthur frowned, remembering the beating. "We got caught last time," he said. "I would rather not repeat the experience."

"The river, then!" Alfred seized his arm, pulling him up. For a child two or three years Arthur's junior, he was surprisingly strong, able to drag Arthur to his feet. "Please, Arthur! Do play with me!"

"Oh, alright, alright, you little rapscallion." Arthur shook himself free, smoothing down his fine clothes.

"Rapscallion!" Alfred gave a squeal of delight. "Whoever heard of such a word?!"

Arthur flushed. "I read it in a book," he said defensively. "Perhaps if you were more cultured–"

"Books!" Alfred flounced away, laughing. "As if I've the time for such things!"

"It shows." Arthur carefully tucked his book under his arm. He paused, watching Alfred flit about restlessly. A thought, not a new one, occurred to him. "You know, if you can't read, I should be more than happy to–"

"Teach me?" Alfred tilted his head at him. "No thank you. I'll become a bore like you."

Again Arthur felt his face grow hot. "I-I'm not boring!"

"Not when you're with me." Alfred seized his hand, pulling at him. "Come on," he urged. "Come on!"

He broke into a run across the grass, hauling Arthur after him, and they vanished through the brush and were gone, leaving the house behind them.

Arthur Kirkland was the only son of a wealthy British tea-trader. At eleven years old, he was pampered, well-educated and bored out of his mind. Boston's steamy summers and bitter winters all blended into one hazy miserable slog through the jewelled rooms of his elaborate cage. He had no friends his own age and spent most of his time furiously reading to make up for it.

He had met Alfred in late December, standing alone under the naked black birch at the end of the lane. It had been snowing and the boy had been barefoot, not that he'd seemed to much mind. His pockets had been full of red berries. He'd seemed like a fairy or a witchling to Arthur, who had instantly fallen in love with him. To this day, he didn't know much about him – where he lived, who his family was, if he even had any – though he knew him to be poor, working class or lower still, judging by the state of his clothes. All of these things he tried to entice out of Alfred, to no avail. The boy simply smiled his gorgeous smile and led him astray.

Alfred – and there could be no doubt about it – was a troublemaker. He led Arthur on wild escapades to steal apples and pen nibs, to trespass into neighbouring fields and open up the gates, letting sheep run amongst goats. Arthur went along with him not so much because he enjoyed what they were doing – although confessedly the wicked novelty did excite his stagnant blood a touch – but because he completely adored Alfred. He coveted him as the little brother he would never have, wishing that he could smuggle him into the house and dress him up smartly and pass him off. Alas, Alfred was much too wild to even attempt to act the part. He flitted like a bird, he ran barefoot like a fox. In a game of chase through the woods, Arthur had no hope of ever catching him.

There was, of course, an additional flaw to Arthur's grand scheme of installing Alfred as a permanent fixture in his life: nobody believed that Alfred even existed. Every time Arthur was escorted home by the local constable by the collar of his frockcoat, Alfred had long since fled, disappearing – it seemed – into the ether. Arthur's protests to his father, to his tutor Francis, that he'd had an accomplice, an angel-faced little blighter called Alfred, fell on deaf ears. His father believed this to be an excuse on Arthur's part, that it wasn't his fault, he wasn't to blame, which made the punishment all the more severe. Francis, on the other hand, was all at once blunter and more fanciful.

"An invention," he sighed in the heat of the day, fanning himself. "Unsurprising, non? You have no friends, Arthur, except for those on pages and in your head. He is an excuse for your deviant behaviour."

Despite this peril of his friendship with Alfred, Arthur couldn't bring himself to cast him off, nor despise him for long. Alfred was infectious – the more Arthur wanted to push him away, the more he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. He was happy to get in trouble, to tear his clothes and anger his father, as long as he could keep him close.

He couldn't go back to a life absent of him, devil though he was.

Alfred, at least, didn't seem to be much in the mood for mayhem today. He trotted ahead, quite unfazed by briars and thorns, leading Arthur through the forest.

"Quite where are we headed, Alfred?" Arthur always made a point of acting stern with him, being his elder, but the truth was that he would go wherever Alfred led. It was hot, unbearably damp, and even the thick overlock of knotted branches overhead did not make much of a shield against the afternoon sun. Alfred shone like a new penny when he passed through the dapples of golden light.

"My secret hiding place," he said, beaming.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Alfred," he said patiently, "you've about as many secret hiding places as I've got silk neckties from London." This wasn't a brag, as such; more an admittance of despair.

"This is my original hideaway," Alfred said. "I'm happy to finally be able to show it to you, Arthur."

Arthur tripped on a root and righted himself with a curseword. Alfred gave a delighted yelp and came back to grab his hand. "Do be careful," he trilled. "It's dangerous."

Arthur pulled away his hand, embarrassed. "I-I'm fine by myself. You're distracting me."

Alfred simply grinned, bounding away as nimbly as a goat. Arthur struggled to keep up with him but was too proud to call him back, ask him to slow down. He didn't think that Alfred would really run off and leave him, besides.

Alfred's new – or old, as it were – hideaway was a long winding cave deep in the heart of the forest. It was so densely surrounded by trees and foliage that Arthur was quite sure he would have completely missed it had Alfred not been guiding him. Within it was cool and dry, a welcome respite from Boston's unforgiving dead-weight heat; and the ceiling cavernous, Arthur fancying that he could hear the leathern rustle of bats far above their heads. Alfred scampered ahead and Arthur lost sight of him, blindly groping after the pad of his feet.

"Alfred!"

"Worry not, I'm here." Alfred's voice sang to him across the cavern. Moments later came the flash of a match, the catch of a wick, and then Alfred was illuminated some paces away, clutching the candle like a star.

Arthur glanced about as he approached him. There was quite a number of small trinkets scattered about on the floor, wooden toys, coins, broken farming tools, twigs in odd shapes. There was also a pile of ragged blankets huddled against the wall. Arthur was suddenly struck with the unpleasant impression that he was looking upon all of Alfred's worldly belongings.

"Alfred..." He turned to him. "Is this... where you live?"

Alfred gave a cheerful shrug. "Sometimes."

"Where's your family?" Arthur half-expected this to be met with the usual rebuke but this time Alfred only tilted his head.

"I know not. I don't remember, I suppose."

"Did you get lost?"

"I suppose I must have." Alfred scrunched his nose. "But don't worry about me, Arthur. I like it here. I like the freedom."

"E-even so..."

"I wouldn't want to be like you," Alfred went on. "You're like a pretty bird in a cage." He spread his dirty hands at Arthur's beautiful clothes. "Are you not?"

Arthur sighed, looking away. "I... suppose so. Still, you... you don't have to live here, you could..."

"I told you, I like it here." Alfred flopped to the mossy ground. "I can do whatever I want. I don't have to read books or wear fancy clothes or hold a knife a certain way."

"Enviable, I'm sure," Arthur said; and indeed, he was a little envious, if in a somewhat dubious manner. It didn't sit right with him, no matter how bored he was, that he should come from such splendid beginnings and envy a peasant his squalor.

"But still..." He sank down next to Alfred, spreading out his coat just-so. "Don't you get lonely?"

"Well," Alfred said, looking at him, "I have you, Arthur." He sat up. "Are you not the same? You must be lonely too – but you have me."

Arthur, a little taken-aback, gave a smile. "Yes, you're right, I suppose," he said. "I do have you, Alfred."

Alfred sprang up suddenly. "Now I can show you this!" He scrambled away, darting out of the halo of flickering light; Arthur, who had always found his particular brand of minimal attentiveness to be fascinating, waited patiently, listening to him rummage. He could feel the damp from the moss beginning to soak through his breeches.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"You'll see... ah!" Alfred gave a cry of delight and returned triumphant, flopping down at Arthur's side with a thud. Clutched in his hand was a small wooden soldier, the paint badly worn away in places.

"This is my prized possession," he said grandly, holding it out to Arthur. "I found it in the river."

"I have ones like these," Arthur said, taking the toy. He turned it over in his hands. It was almost exactly like his own, although made more crudely, likely a cheaper variety sold in the toyshop in town. The red coat was little more than a pinkish stain on the wood.

"Or, rather, I had," Arthur corrected himself. "I had to leave them behind in England. I suppose I was too old for them, anyway."

"A pity," Alfred said, although he didn't sound too bothered. "Still, quite the find, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." Arthur handed it back, feeling slightly guilty. "To be treasured." He wished he still had his own set – a splendid regiment of twenty-four alongside their captain in a painted box – so that he could give it to Alfred, who seemed to find immense pleasure in this single damaged specimen.

"I should like to be a soldier, I think," Alfred went on, tilting the toy left and right. "What an adventure."

"Yes, I quite agree." Arthur lay back on the ground, letting out a breath. "Better than this, at any rate."

"Perhaps we could both join up together," Alfred said. He flopped down next to him, spreading out. "What fun!"

"You'll have to mend your ways," Arthur said dryly. "They don't tolerate thieves in the British Army."

"What about rapscallions?"

"I don't think they tolerate them, either."

"A shame." Alfred wriggled his bare toes and said nothing else.

Arthur closed his eyes, putting his arms behind his head. "Thank you for bringing me here," he said quietly. "It's nice. I wish... I could just stay here with you."

"I would like that, too," Alfred said, although he sounded fairly non-committal. Arthur frowned, not saying anything else.

"But I know you cannot." This came a few moments later. Again, Alfred didn't sound terribly bothered. Perhaps he was simply resigned.

Arthur opened his eyes. "No," he agreed. "I cannot."

Alfred rolled over towards him. "Then," he said, "as long as we can be friends for ever and ever, that would be alright with me."

Arthur looked at him for a long moment; then he smiled. "I think we could perhaps manage that," he replied.

"An oath." Alfred put out his palm. "Swear yourself to me, Arthur, and I to you."

Arthur laughed. "You're such a child – but very well." He pressed his palm to Alfred's sticky one. "I swear, Alfred."

"I swear, Arthur." Alfred was beaming. "I'm so happy. Now you are mine forever."

Arthur gave a snort. "You're mine, too, you little brat. Don't forget that."

"Oh," Alfred sang in delight, "I won't."

[II]

"I'm joining the army after my next birthday," Arthur said. "I'll be eighteen and my father won't be able to stop me."

Alfred – almost fifteen, already taller than Arthur – frowned at him across the table.

"Are you sure you still want to?" he asked. "What with everything that's been going on..."

"All the more reason," Arthur said coolly. "These colonists are threatening to revolt against the crown."

"You cannot see their point of view? It does seem unfair that they should pay taxes and have no vote."

Arthur looked at him archly. "They? You do not count yourself amongst them? You were born here."

Alfred grinned. "I do not count myself amongst anybody, Arthur. You know that."

"Well, soon you'll have to," Arthur replied. "It'll come to it, you know."

"A war?"

"I expect so."

"How exciting."

Arthur gave a huffy sigh. "Alfred, can you take nothing seriously?"

Alfred shrugged. "I cannot see what difference it will all make in the end. A war is a war, after all."

Arthur scowled. "Is that your way of saying that you do not approve?"

Alfred smiled. "Not at all. I simply do not see why you are taking it with such seriousness. All those books truly have made you into a bore, it seems." He laughed, enjoying himself at Arthur's expense.

Arthur, who had been growing tired of him these past few months – beginning to find him silly and childish – hadn't the patience for him and got up, stalking out of the tavern. Alfred bounded after him, unfazed.

"Arthur!" he called cheerily. "Come on, don't be like that!" He grabbed at his arm, pulling him back before he could vanish into the evening bustle of Boston.

"Don't be like what?" Arthur retorted. "Mature? With forethought? Alfred, I take my future seriously, even if you do not!"

"Yes, that is entirely the problem," Alfred sighed, swinging on him. "You take everything so seriously, even after all I have done to unravel you."

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," Arthur said coldly. "We are not children any longer, even if you will insist on acting half your age."

Alfred pouted. "Arthur, don't be unkind. We've always had such fun before." He held up his hand. "Besides, remember our oath?"

Arthur brushed past him, pushing away his hand. "Childish nonsense," he said.

"Maybe so," Alfred agreed, "but it was an oath nonetheless."

"You cannot hold me to that now," Arthur snapped. "I'm joining the army – and nothing you or my father say will stop me!"

"I'm not trying to stop you," Alfred said. "I just don't want you to leave me behind."

Arthur faltered. "W-well..."

"I mean, you're all I have." Alfred came closer. "I need you, Arthur."

Arthur looked away. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. What else do I have in this world but you?" Alfred reached for Arthur's hand – but the older boy was quick to snatch it away. Alfred looked hurt.

"Arthur..."

"Look, can't you just leave me alone?" Arthur said bitterly. He turned away. "I can't have you tagging after me all the time anymore. It's... it's ridiculous, you're not even fifteen. Just go away, Alfred."

"You... you don't mean that."

"I do. Go away. Leave me be." Arthur folded his arms, refusing to look at him. His shoulders were tense, hunched up, ready to fiercely shrug Alfred away should he attempt to reach for him. No such venture came, however; not even a forlorn bleat of Arthur's name. When he looked back some moments later, ready to scold him again, Alfred was gone, vanished into the current of bodies.

Good, Arthur thought. He'd been meaning to rid himself of Alfred for ages; he was nothing but trouble, not to mention irritating and demanding. Arthur felt that he'd outgrown his fascination with him, that his affection had run completely dry. Now he was free of him – although the truth was that he'd never felt so miserable in all his life.

Arthur had intended to go straight home but instead he found himself weaving through Boston's streets to the outskirts where the forest began. There was a strange atmosphere in the town tonight, it was palpable, a strange buzzing current that ran through fingers and underneath tongues. Bad intentions, misdeeds, forethought. Stepping into the forest was like a breath of fresh air.

He knew his way by now, crunching over roots and twigs and hardened mud. He didn't know what he was going to say when he got there. He didn't even know that Alfred would be there. Perhaps he was out setting fire to barns to ease his sorrows – Arthur wouldn't have put it past him.

Alfred, however, was in the cave when he got there, sitting cross-legged in a circle of candles. He was playing idly with the toy soldier, his blue eyes dark. He regarded Arthur coldly as he came to the outermost edge of the circle.

"I recall you saying to leave you alone," he said. "That's what I have done – and now you come to me? Have I not retreated far enough for you?"

"I doubt you would have stayed gone for long," Arthur muttered. "Look, I apologise, Alfred. I was just being cruel."

"Hmph." Alfred scowled. "There was no call for it."

"I know. You just wear me out at times. Between you and Francis and my father–"

"Forget them," Alfred said, standing. "I am all you need, Arthur. I swore myself to you."

Arthur looked at him exhaustedly. "Alfred, I cannot survive with you alone. All things must end, all things must change–"

"Then why have you come here?" Alfred asked. "Why have you followed me – when you were the one who expressly said to leave you alone?"

"Because I was unkind," Arthur said, "and I agree that there was no real call for it. For all your mischievousness, you have always been a very precious friend to me, Alfred. I did not want to hurt you. I only thought that I did."

Alfred reached for his hand and took it, giving it a squeeze.

"I forgive you," he said. "You speak the truth, besides: I would not have quit you for long."

Arthur frowned at their clasped hands. "You always speak your intentions so freely," he said. "Even when they are unsavoury."

Alfred grinned. "Especially when they are unsavoury." He moved suddenly, seizing Arthur around his back, pulling him close.

"Alfred, what–?"

Alfred kissed him. Arthur went rigid in his grasp, his brain filling up with white noise. Alfred moved his hands up, grasping at his face, holding him tight. Arthur shoved his hands against Alfred's chest, pushing, but Alfred held him tighter still. Arthur managed to wrench his head free, gasping for breath.

"Alfred..." He pressed his elbow to the centre of the younger boy's chest, keeping him at bay. "H-how dare–"

"Oh, I dare." Alfred smiled at him, perfectly pleasant. "Isn't it what we both want?"

"When have I ever insinuated such–"

"You don't have to." Alfred reached for his face, stroking at his cheek. "You and I have an oath, a bond."

Arthur savagely smacked away his hand. "You make it sound like I sold my soul to you," he bit out. He wiped at his mouth.

Alfred simply smiled at him. He said nothing. Arthur gave a sigh of disgust and turned away.

"Is this your idea of a petty revenge? To unsettle me–"

"I would never do anything to make you upset, Arthur," Alfred interrupted. "You are very important to me."

"That will cut no ice with me now." Arthur began to walk away. "Goodnight, Alfred."

He didn't get very far. Alfred caught his arm, stopping him; his grasp was strong, far stronger than Arthur had ever felt it before, leading him away into the woods. He froze, his heart pounding, watching the ragged edges of the black trees beyond. No, he couldn't run fast enough.

"Don't go," Alfred whispered. He pressed up close behind him, his breath hot on his neck. "Stay with me, Arthur." He wrapped his arms around him. "I need you. Stay. Isn't that what you always wanted...?"

"It was, back... back then," Arthur said quietly. "But now I... I'm going to join the army, I–"

"Ahh, yes. To kill, to massacre, to wear a coat dyed red with blood." Alfred smiled against his neck: and his hand slid lower, pressing between his legs. "How delightful. Then I will have to love you all the more." He fondled at him through his breeches, rough and grasping.

"Why this?" Arthur hissed, his knees buckling. "Wh-why now...? Al-Alfred..."

"Tonight," Alfred replied, gnawing at his throat. "...After tonight, everything will change."