Author's Note: Before anything else, I want to make it very clear that I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone in the creation of this story. I am most definitely not of American Indian descent so I only know as much as I've found with research, but I acknowledge that not everything on the internet is true. If I do happen to say something offensive or wrong, I am so sorry and I will not be angry if somebody corrects me so please, please don't be afraid to tell me. Thanks.

Moving on, this is a short tie-in to my American Revolution story because I really believe that America's history with the American Indians is important to remember. There is some implied violence throughout the story, but I promise that it's not gory.

Also, I really wanted to try to capture the image of a non-English speaking Alfred, so I've tried to put Kanien'keha words and phrases into the story. All of the meanings of the words will be in the end notes of the chapters.

Now without further ado, I hope you enjoy it!

"A white serpent will come to our lands and make friends with us, only to deceive us later. A red serpent will later make war against the white serpent, but an Indian boy will be given a great power."

August 27th, 1664

Arthur stuck the British flag into his newly conquered soil with pride, giving Netherlands an obnoxious look.

"Well, well, well, Ned, it seems New Amsterdam is no more."

A cheer erupted from the Englishmen surrounding them as they raised their drinks and then proceeded to guzzle them down.

Ned clicked his tongue, making a sound of disapproval and uncaring. "For what reason have you kept me here, Kirkland? If you wish to sit around in your bubble of pride and victory, then I would like to leave with the rest of my men."

Arthur sneered. "And that is precisely why I want you to stay. So that you may 'sit around' in your 'bubble' of shame and loss. Now what shall I call this place, hm? I think New York has a nice ring to it. What do you think, men?"

The Englishmen cheered again, raising refilled cups of alcohol. Arthur absorbed the noise like music to his ears and began to gulp his own drink down.

A soldier ran up to him right then and took his hat off humbly. "Sir England, if it is all the same to you, I-"

"What do you want?" Arthur asked irritatedly with a slight slur, throwing his mug down as if already drunk. "I'm trying to enjoy my victory."

The soldier took a step back. "A-As I mentioned earlier, my son is sick and I would like to write a letter to him and my wife to see how they are doing, so may I have-"

"No," Arthur said firmly, crossing his arms.

The man's face slackened in disbelief. "Wh- Pardon?"

"You know I don't like repeating myself, soldier. You just took part in history and you're telling me that your family is all that is on your mind? That is pathetic." He annunciated the word, spitting a bit as he did so. "Sit and celebrate my triumph with the rest of the army. Captain's orders. Your family can all die of the plague for all I care."

The soldier's face turned red with fury. "You are a self-absorbed, beetle-browed... piss-poor excuse for a man!"

The Englishmen went silent, all putting their drinks down and turning their attention to Arthur, who was about to explode like a pressure cooker. Ned watched as well, his eyes flickering with amusement.

The soldier continued. "What in bloody hell would somebody like you know about family or love? You have nothing but miles of dirt and an army that praises you incessantly, and without your people you wouldn't even exist!"

Arthur's anger fizzled as he began to chuckle. "Love?" he said incredulously. "That is some silly human fantasy that I have no use for. And since you were so forthcoming with your opinions of me..." He leaned in close to the soldier's face. "I will reward you." He raised his head to the rest of the army then. "Hang him. On grounds of mutiny."

Ned removed the pipe from his mouth and blew out a long trail of smoke. "Hm. Cruel as always, Captain Kirkland."

Arthur snorted and grabbed the neck of the bottle of wine in front of him, gulping half of it down before throwing it to the side, effectively smashing it. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve in disgust. "What is this wibble?" he shouted, drunkenly stumbling away from his army. A bit of rest was in order.

Ned took another puff from his pipe. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that 'wibble' when you drank three bottles of it earlier."

"Shut up!" Arthur said, entering his tent.

By the time he was retching off the side of his bed for the third time that night, his mind pounding, he realized that yes, perhaps the drinking was a bit excessive.

He tightened his hand into a fist and slammed it into his forehead. Getting drunk didn't usually feel this bad, so why now? That damn soldier had ruined his entire day with his blasphemous talk. Arthur didn't need all these imagined concepts of love and happiness. He had everything he wanted. Money, land, power-and there was still more of it left to take. His greed could satisfy his every wish. It was all a crystal clear philosophy.

So why was he feeling so damn foggy about it right now?

He closed his eyes, seeing a flashing red, and punched himself in the head again. He would not dwell over a dead man's words.

He never had.

"I can't believe I have to do everything by myself." He muttered the words angrily as he got to the bottom of the grassy hill, his vest waving in the breeze.

It wasn't surveying the land that pissed him off, because in all honesty it really was beautiful, but being the one who had to expend the energy involved in climbing the hills of the territory after only three hours of sleep was, in fact, not thrilling.

And on an empty stomach, no less, he thought, panting with his hands on his knees. He reached into his pocket, uncertain of whether he wanted to eat his biscuit now or later, when he was even hungrier. He stared at it longingly, swallowing a mouthful of saliva as he reached with his other hand to unfold the handkerchief around the food. There was always the journey back to think of though. His shoulders sagged.

I'll save it for later.

He pocketed the biscuit and continued to walk, amazingly at peace. The grassy terrain was easy to walk through, the sunlight warm on his back, and the crisp autumn breeze refreshing to a mind that was in desperate need for some clarity. He'd really bagged a treasure of a place this time.

"Well, what else would you expect from the marvelous Captain Kirkland?!" he announced, laughing noisily.

He stopped abruptly, realizing that everything was silent other than him, and his lips twisted in a strange fashion. A sudden annoyance overtook him as he raised his fist in the air.

"What the hell is this?! I like the quiet! I'm just dandy with how things are!" he shouted into the wind. The only response he received was the sound of leaves rustling as another gust of wind passed.

Arthur sighed. "I've really hit rock bottom, haven't I? Talking to myself like this..."

He turned around, shaking his head, and then stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the small form barely visible above the grass. A young boy with hair that looked like it had been kissed by the sun and eyes as blue as the shore on a cloudless, sunny day. His heart thumped oddly in his chest as their eyes met, sapphires against emeralds, hesitance against astonishment.

And then he felt it.

"You're like me, aren't you?"

Notes:

- New Netherland had set up New Amsterdam in 1624 after settling in present-day Albany in 1617. The English later took this land over and gave it it's present-day name of New York.

- Beetle-browed: Somebody with thick eyebrows (A word made for Arthur, don't you think?)

- Wibble: Bad wine

- Ehnita: The word in the Mohawk language meaning "moon"