Alfred Kirkland feared ghosts. That was well known among his human peers and fellow Nations. What only Arthur Kirkland knew of, however, was his intense fear of marmite. Alfred's phobia of the brown food had come from being left alone as a child. Well, that might sound wrong. Alfred had been a very curious child.
Ever since Arthur, Francis and Tino had encroached on his lands, the poor child had been curious as to who they were and where they came from. Also, if they had food. This lead to him being tempted into becoming one of their 'colonies.' Alfred hadn't known then what that meant, but he knew now. He regretted it, but didn't regret choosing Arthur. The British-American knew his older brother, Matthew, had been forced into Arthur's care and he bore it with dignity, but thoughts of leaving plagued him.
The poor boy had even tried to run away once. He didn't ever again. Alfred had been Arthur's golden child, his little ward. The apple of his eye. Alfred lavished in the attention. He loved to be wanted, needed, cared for, and praised. Arthur was not his big brother, nor was he his father, or his uncle, or his cousin. There was no familial love between them. America was England's colony and Alfred was the annoying kid friend of Arthur's.
Arthur had left him for a very long time. He had stayed with the two brothers until they were – physically – little over five years. Arthur didn't return for a very long time. That's when Alfred had grown fearful of marmite. As said, he was a curious child. So, one day, when the nanny was caring for Matthew – she often forgot about him until he was almost dying or the polar bear was on a rampage (it was the latter this time) – Alfred had gotten hungry.
As any good Briton would, the nanny had stocked the kitchen full of the appropriate British food. This category includes marmite. Alfred had been too short on time to cook himself something, and had seen the marmite. He had seen the brown paste and thought marmite might have been a fancy British name for chocolate sauce.
Thinking it would be sweet and delicious, Alfred promptly stuck a finger in the substance, giving himself a generous amount, and stuck the finger in his mouth. It tasted like death on a stick. Alfred had stiffened in shock before screaming and running to the backyard where he spat and cursed the substance out. Matthew and the nanny had laughed quite heartily as they saw Alfred scraping his tongue off, gurgling incomprehensibly in horror.
The British-American had never touched a drop of it since. Arthur returned when Alfred was almost fully grown. Alfred blessed whatever had made Arthur miss his awkward teenage years. The Briton had taught him how to properly eat marmite, but Alfred refused to touch the stuff.
That had been the 1760's. Now it was 1774, and Alfred was sitting in a chair, reminiscing his childhood, as Arthur bumbled about in the kitchen. As a plate of still-on-fire scones was placed in front of him, Alfred tried to put them out as Arthur spoke.
"I'd like you to come to an audience with the King with me today." It wasn't a request. "You will learn how real government works, you will not speak, you will listen. And say nothing of your bloody taxes."
Alfred paused and sat back, content to let the scones fry. His mood soured. Though, this could not be proven by his small frown. It was characteristic nowadays. Upset had rocked his country, torn through Alfred, and seared into his mind. The soured mood could only be seen by the slight creasing of his brow and the way his hands tightened on the arms of the chair.
"No. I will go if I have a voice about what goes on in my country," Alfred said firmly, not looking away from Arthur. He was a colony, but colonies did not deserve injustice. Everyone deserved equality and fairness, what standing they had in the world did not diminish that.
A blow landed on Alfred's cheek, snapping his head to the right. It stung, making Alfred's eyes water. "You're my bloody colony. You're my colonist, Alfred. You're a child still, and you don't know what's best. I do,'' Arthur said harshly, grabbing a hold of Alfred's jaw and wrenching the head so it faced him.
Alfred had provoked the pirate that still lurked inside Arthur. The one that demanded obedience, affection and gave no room for mutiny. The only thing is that Arthur no longer swore to his Jolly Rodger flag. Alfred almost wished he did, because then his only loyalty was to Arthur the Pirate, not Arthur the United Kingdom.
"God save the King," the Briton said harshly, grip tightening on Alfred's jaw.
Alfred knew he was supposed to repeat those words, was supposed to pledge his undying support for the United Kingdom, to thank Arthur for all he had done, for making Alfred into the man he was now. Instead, Alfred stood, almost knocking Arthur out of the way. He was taller than the Briton now. He was more than a colony. He was a country; he was an equal. He was no longer Alfred Kirkland. It was a split decision, but Alfred smiled and inhaled, preparing to speak.
"I, Alfred Freedom Jones, pledge my allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God. Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all."
The Declaration of Independence arrived with its messenger as he spoke, placing the message on the table. Alfred felt its weight, knew it's power and in that moment, understood the gravity of what he was doing.
He was obtaining freedom. Alfred would no longer be a bird in one of Arthur's cages, wings clipped and singing merrily. Today, that cage door would be forced open, and not by Arthur's free will, but by Alfred's. The American grasped the paper, feeling it's smoothness, the crisp feel of fresh paper, heard the rustling of the ribbon with a wax stamp around it. It was the seal that his Congress used, a seal of a balance in it, perfectly balanced. Liberty and justice would thrive in his land.
"The United States of America declares its independence from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. I am moving back home, Arthur," Alfred said firmly, as he pressed the Declaration into Arthur's hands. As soon as the task was done, Alfred stepped back.
The weight on his shoulders, on his mind, on his stomach and the weight that held his feet to the ground felt heavier than ever. It made him wonder if his country was ready. Could they stand on their own two feet without Arthur and Britain to defend them?
It was then he noticed the quiet teen beside Alfred. While he was older, nation-wise, Matthew couldn't grow up physically. The personifications grew at the rate they wanted; at what stage they were in their life and how willing they were to move to the next step. Matthew wasn't ready to stop being a colony. It left him as a young man, not quite blooming into full maturity.
"Stand with me, Canada," Alfred pleaded, "I can take care of you. I won't treat you unfairly. We can be brothers, just like always." It was a subtle jab saying that by Matthew staying with Arthur, the two would no longer be brothers.
His brother had always been strong like Alfred, just a different kind. He never had the brute strength Alfred had, but he had the cunning and foresight that Alfred never would. The American liked to think he had inherited it from the pirate inside Arthur. Or maybe Francis was hiding a brain under all his lecherousness.
Matthew said quietly over Arthur's stunned silence, "Non. There are other allies you will take, but I will stand with Monsieur Kirkland, frère." The Canadian inclined his head a little as a way of goodbye, sadness shining in his eyes. No more was said as Matthew left the room. Or at least, Alfred thought he did. He couldn't be sure.
A deep chuckle escaped Arthur. It was half-mad, half-threatening. "King George will take this as a declaration of war."
"It is a declaration of independence, nothing more. Any acts of war will be on the United Kingdom's conscience."
"You cannot survive without me, little colony. You need my guidance. My care, my attention. You need me."
"I don't need you, Arthur. I need freedom."
"So be it, my Alfred. You will fall, kneeling before me by the end of this war, and you will beg me to take you back, to love you as I did before, and you will ask for punishment for this discretion which you have wrought upon yourself, if only it will make me forgive you."
Arthur sounded so assured. His every word painted a future Alfred did not like, that saddened him, that twisted in his stomach. The colony wondered if he could sound so majestic, so wonderfully knowing.
"You don't love me. You love the idea of me. The idea of a colony all to yourself because you know that Canada is, and always will be, Francis's. You love the idea that you can have such a devoted being. One that loves you with his entire heart and soul, who breathes you, who thinks of naught but you, who strives to be you is what you want. I am none of these things. Love for another is not such a thing. That is unrealistic and an obsession.
"I can be none of these things for you. I am the United States of America and I am shedding the chains you have placed upon me. On the battlefield, we shall fight. As equals. And I will win this war."
"Your Revolution will be crushed under the heel of my boot."
AN:
So, at a little over 1,500 words, the prologue to my Revolution fic is complete. It's a little OOC, but it is different time periods, the speaking is, of course, different, and so are the characters. They're at a different point in their lives than the start of the show. I'm going to have them grow into that point, and become that person. I'll be updating whenever inspiration strikes, and it probably won't be until I've edited and uploaded the final chapter of my Franada fic. I'm writing for me this time around, so this story won't be dependent upon reviews, but (!) reviews inspire me to write and write faster. Without further babble, I own nothing, this applies to the whole story, I'll only be saying it once.