Warnin's: Slightly Crazy!Empire, some self-mutilations in the second half, minor US scenes, mostly in the second half.
AN: The summary annoys me almost as much as the story - neither of them came out how I wanted. I threw a few personal head canons into this, so if anythin' doesn't make sense let me know. Mind you, I'm still workin' out the kinks in most of my head canons.
There was somethin' I needed to explain for this, but for the life of me, I can't remember what.
Edit: Ongoin' tweakin' of things here and there in both chapters, and deleted that ridiculous A/N. What was I even thinkin' when I wrote that...?
It looked like blood, really, the sunrise streaking through the clouds as it chased – or perhaps, was chased by – a lone bird trekking through the sky. Beneath the emerging colours, the very land seemed to spring to life: creatures of the night retreating to their safe havens, creatures of the day deeming it safe to emerge. It was a sight seen by many across the globe, far too common in its uniqueness.
It was a sight, the British Empire knew, that would stay in his memory for ages to come.
The young Empire had seen many sunrises during his short existence, to the point where he now claimed them forgettable. Really, he'd be hard-pressed to say when the brightening hues of the morning sky had gone from enthralling to monotonous. Now he only bothered to note them as reference points for memory's sake.
The bloody tones overhead would be an eternal reminder of the day he set sail for the last time from the shores of this New World Colony as its ruling Empire. Though, to be fair, he hadn't expected his host nation to react so violently in battle's final moments and rob them both of victory. Still, his host nation had been a pirate not long ago; thieving was practically in his blood.
Ah, the Empire mused, wasn't it amusingly ironic that this new nation, being brought up by a seafarer, would be blessed with a cursed sky on its first day of official existence. It made him want to laugh.
"Lord Kirkland."
Tilting his head lightly to his left to indicate his attention, the Empire's gaze remained locked on the distant horizon and the landscape filling the space between him and it. He knew it would be many years before the day he once more laid eyes on the land of the New World. Who was to say how it would appear then. Who was to say that the country asserting itself would even survive to witness his return. To his side, the messenger spoke.
"Sir, the ship is provisioned and ready to depart; we wait only for your personage. The colonists are... anxious to see us off."
Anxious. The young Empire scoffed, derision ringing clear in his voice.
"They express it quite clearly with each musket and pitch fork they continue to attempt to acquaint with our bodies."
At last tearing his gaze from the sky, now bleeding blue through the clouds of red, he raised his head to take in the form of the soldier on horseback to his left. Not naively young enough for this to have been his first war, so spoke the rank emblems on his uniform, nor so harden for him to be a veteran hand at it. The Empire wondered with slight curiosity how many more wars this young man would survive to see the end of.
"Inform the captain I shall board momentarily."
"Sir."
Watching the soldier wheel his horse around and head back to the ships, the British Empire thought it was also amusingly ironic that everyone on New World soil seemed to walk away from him.
With a final glance to the westward horizon, he turned his back to the wilds of the New World and took up a brisk stride through the ever-expanding city of New York, stopping for nothing until he reached the docks. Nor did he need to; for though many of the gathered citizens of the Thirteen Colonies jeered and point weapons at him, they all moved hastily from his path.
Head held high and carrying himself with a confidence that made those around him silently uneasy, the Empire ignored everything that was not his ships anchored in the harbour with his people on board. He had so blinkered himself that he was halfway up the gang plank of the only ship still tethered to the docks before his senses picked up on the new nation standing, unexpectedly silent, at the bottom of the gang plank.
Pausing mid-stride, the Empire pivoted to face the not-much-younger personification, locking eyes with him in a staring match. He was pleasantly surprised with how long the other lasted before turning away with a dismissive noise, uneasiness hovering about him like a personal cloud.
"Tch. You're ideals are outdated, old man. Hurry up and follow them back to your bloody fields in Europe."
Laughter bubbled in his throat, and the Empire swallowed it back down as his gazed drifted to the uncontrolled land that had belonged to him only weeks before, one hand reaching out unconsciously as though to touch it. Though it was faint, he could still make the outline of a lone bird drifting through the endless western sky; to this bird he directed his raised hand to point. In his peripheral, he noted the poorly masked confusion painted across the others face.
"My gift to you - these wings. Use them at your discretion. Others may break them, burn them, rip them to shreds. Only you may tear them off."
Hand falling to his side, a blank look slid over his face; even the Empire was not sure to whom his next words were directed.
"Even the birds must rest from their flight, or plummet to their end."
Blinking, the Empire's strange mood vanished, and without another word he about-faced and made his way up the gang-plank, not caring how the other had reacted to his words. The moment his boots were on deck and the gang-plank raised, the call went out to weigh anchor. The last of the British fleet in the Americas was returning to England.
As they left the harbour, the Empire never once turned to look back at what he had lost.
It wasn't until days into the journey across the temporarily placid Atlantic that the young Empire's calm facade began to crack open; a slow, manic grin started to form on his lips. That final, blood-tinted morn was painted clearer than any crystal in his memory, and temptation was running through him to laugh at whatever the Fates had plotted out in his former colony's path. Glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the land they had departed from, a devilish grin stretched across his face.
"Well now, lad. Impress me; how long can you last."