"They tell us Sir, that we are weak - unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature has placed in our power."
-Patrick Henry
...
Alfred stood off to the side of the Assembly room, staring out the paned windows to his side. It was quite odd…even though it was the middle of summer in the usually unbearably hot and humid Philadelphia, it was actually quite nice that day. Through the slightly cracked windows a small breeze wafted into the hall, tussling the young man's golden locks and eliciting a small smile from the grace of one Mother Nature's simple pleasures. Alfred took in a deep breath, the wonderful smells of his land invading his senses and giving his spirits a slight jolt. Today will be a good day. He thought, leaning back against the wall.
"Alfred." Said man turned his head towards the voice, an older gentleman with a prominent receding hairline motioning towards him, his kind eyes sparkling with understanding. "Why don't you look over these changes as well? We certainly could use your input."
"Right." Alfred nodded, making his way across the floor and past the delegates gathered together at their tables. There had been so many weeks…months even, of bickering and debating, and now there was a glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel that finally, finally this document would be approved! "You know I'm no good with sort of thing, old man," Alfred smiled sheepishly as he stopped at the large table with a large roll of parchment spread across it. "How to word it or how to improve sentence structure; that's what you guys are good at…" As the embodiment of America, Alfred was very much like the majority of his population – simple, idealistic and hopeful. But even if he could not speak eloquently or assist with the drafting in ways the "Committee of Five" had hoped for, he was no means stupid.
The older man chuckled softly, patting Alfred on the shoulder, "Perhaps. You are indeed more a man of action than of reflection, but that is what we need in such troubled times. Men who act." A gentle prodding made Alfred take another step closer to the table, "So, go on…we all know you don't have qualms about speaking your mind!"
A few of the other men around the table laughed at the remembrance of more than a few passionate outbursts at previous congressional meetings. Alfred laughed right alongside them, loud and boisterous, thankful for the slight alleviation of the tension within the room. "Well, you've got that right! Thanks for the vote of confidence Ben!" The blonde grinned, leaning over the table to start reading the ink-stained pages of the document. Benjamin Franklin could not help but admire the fervent expression of concentration as Alfred read through every line and some over a couple times for clarification.
Alfred slowly pulled back. He was silent for a moment as he attempted to discretely swipe his thumb below his eye, catching a small salty tear on the pad as it slipped from its duct. "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, huh…?" He murmured reverently, a small sniff echoing off the walls along with his voice within the room. It had gone silent ages ago with all eagerly awaiting the young man's words. "This is perfect. Just…beautifully perfect." He turned to face his delegates, one from each of the thirteen colonies (even some from that obstinate Georgia), and smiled brightly. "I want to be happy. I want everyone here in this country to be happy. So please…adopt this Declaration!"
July fourth…Alfred had declared himself Independent. No longer the small colony under the rule of his brother, but now he would be his own nation. America. He wanted to leap for joy and hide under a table at the same time. With this declaration he knew what would be coming next…Arthur would never let him go without a fight. He clenched his fists slowly.
"Bring it on England."
...
"That stupid boy!" Arthur was literally trembling with rage as he read over the parchment in his hand again, just to make sure that he really wasn't incorrect in his reading. He wasn't. "A Declaration of Independence? He can't take care of himself! Who is he kidding?" He leaned back to rest against a side table, rubbing his temples in an effort to prevent the upcoming headache – it was just so much to take in with so many emotions tossing and turning in his brain. For crying out loud, he was the one who had taught the boy how to shoot a gun, and now he was using those lessons against him?
Arthur grabbed his tea cup, taking an unceremonious swig of the drink as he continued to stare at the printed paper in his hand. The taste of tea certainly wasn't strong enough for his liking. "Why Alfred…?" he growled to himself, tossing the letter into his fireplace as he passed it on the way to his drink cabinet, and grabbing a bottle of the first thing he could get his hands on. "Why can't you ever just follow directions?" he continued on muttering to himself as he poured the alcohol into a glass and tipping his head back quickly to let the liquid slip down his throat. The Briton let out a hiss as the familiar burn of the alcohol – bourbon he discovered – radiated through his throat and into his belly. It was obvious from the first drink that he was definitely on the path to perpetual drunkenness for the night.
Arthur stared at the glass for a moment as he refilled it with the liquid gold that promised his turbulent feelings peace. "Hmph." He threw back another shot. The idea of complete numbness was just too damn appealing.
...
A pleasant giggle rang through the air and a streak of blonde rushed by. "A-Alfred! Slow down already, you're going to hurt yourself!" The Briton watched the young boy run through the field without inhibition with obvious worry. Didn't he know that there could be holes, or snakes? Or…or something worse!
"Can't catch me, nu-uh! I'm too fast for youuuu!" The little colony laughed with the reckless abandon that could only be attributed to the innocence of one who knew no hardships yet. He just had no clue! Arthur huffed as he rushed after the small boy, scooping him up with practiced ease, all the while ignoring the indignant complaints streaming from the child's mouth. "England! Lemme goooo! I'm just playin' around!"
"I know lad." Came the gruff remark from his caretaker; the older man's – and nation's – grip around his waist growing firmer with every step back towards their shared home. "But it's almost tea time and I can't have you running around like some kind o f savage all day! We'll need to clean you up a bit before we have tea…you've got so much dirt on your clothing! What have I told you about being so careless? And…is that a rip in your trousers?" Arthur's frown deepened as he stopped at the porch, setting the boy down on his feet to inspect his soiled clothing in further detail.
Alfred crossed his arms across his chest; bright eyes shifted away from his caretaker's scrutinizing gaze and lips set into a childish pout. "It's not a big deal! They're just clothes!"
The Briton 'tsked' in disappointment. "A gentleman must always maintain his appearance and preserve his manners if he is to get anywhere in this world!" Honestly…Arthur rubbed his temples slowly. He just doesn't understand what it takes in this dark, cruel world. He's always babbling on about being a 'hero' and saving everyone, but he hasn't seen what I have. You can't save everyone. And if you're going to be on top you have to climb over everyone else – A tug was felt on his sleeve.
Alfred looked up at him with a glint of determination in his eyes; somehow succeeding in conjuring an almost mature, serious expression into his young features. "Big brother. I know."
The words hung in the air.
Arthur blinked as angry light flooded the room. With a little effort he flopped an arm over his eyes to darken his world once again. A salty wetness soaked into the fabric of his sleeves as the excess slowly made trails down his cheeks. Not caring (or perhaps too drunk to notice) about the half-empty glass bottle of bourbon in his other hand, he abandoned his hold on the neck of it to tentatively touch the watery streaks cascading down his face. Arthur slowly noticed his own trembling as a scratchy, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
"Y-you know…? What do you know Alfred? You're just a child…"
...
It had taken time, blood, sweat, tears and countless losses to get to the point that they had now. While their numbers surely did not compare to that of their enemy's, true to the new American spirit, Alfred's people refused to give in despite the odds stacked against them. But now…supplies were low. Soldiers were weary, dying and most held the desperate desire to just return home once their tour of service was up. Many of these men, if not all, had no formal military training and everyone was ill-equip for fighting. On top of everything…it was winter.
Alfred brought his knees closer to his chest in some attempt to stay warm. His tattered uniform was covered by one of the few thin blankets that were passed around the camp, but he had only accepted the garment on request of the General to keep his feet warm at night – as Alfred had given his only pair of worn boots to one of his fellow soldiers the previous morning. The thought of the once-bright eyed young man's expression when he was told to hike miles away to get logs for the construction of another cabin was heartbreaking – especially when the budding nation had seen the swollen, bleeding condition of the soles of the boy's feet. He had handed the boots over without a second thought. The General had chastised him a bit for the gesture..
"Alfred…I know you want to help everyone here, but there's only so much that you can do." The man before him with all the strength that a true leader could possess, but even he wore signs of exhaustion in his features: slightly slumped shoulders, bags beneath his eyes, and an overall demeanor of weariness creeping into his bones. His state was no better than Alfred's own. Only the younger of the two carried the weight of an entire emerging nation's population beating down on his health. Deaths, sickness and wounds of countless numbers of his countrymen were starting to take a toll..
"He needed them. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, so what's the matter with me giving the kid a pair of boots?" Alfred did his best to mask his discomfort and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm only doing what I think is right."
The man sighed, looking out the window at the sad excuse for a camp the Continental Army had set up"Unless some great and capital change suddenly takes place this Army must inevitably starve, dissolve, or disperse, in order to obtain subsistence in the best manner they can.* You cannot save everyone Alfred…"
"Don't say that!" he snapped back reflexively. "I will! A-and I can! Don't tell me what I can and can't do England -" Alfred stopped, blinking in surprise at his own words. "I-I…I-I'm sorry George, I didn't mean to say that…"
A gentle hand patted the top of his head, making the boy look up into the kind face of his commander. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. I very much pray that you can save everyone…but I am just a mortal man. Saving all seems so impossible to me, that I cannot share the extent of your faith that if I try hard enough I will not lose another man." A weary smile worked its way into his features, "But…perhaps if I put enough faith in my country – in you…maybe then you can get us to a point where such a thing as 'saving everyone' will be possible…"
"I-I'm strong enough…" Alfred mumbled to himself, a small smile gracing his lips. "Even if everyone is losing hope…I can't! I won't let him win." If his men couldn't look on him, and those who helped lead him towards his – and everyone's – freedom, then how could he ever hope to really be strong?
With a small grunt he slowly urged his aching muscles and protesting legs to support his body back up into a standing position. The thin blanket slid off his figure to reveal the dull fabric of his tattered red, white and blue uniform. He took a deep breath.
"Empire or not…brother or not…I will take you down for the sake of my freedom!"
...
He had seen him! Arthur had thought it had been a trick of the light, or an illusion brought on by the confusion of battle, but no – he had indeed spotted that familiar mop of corn-silk hair! The battle was a simple skirmish as Arthur and his troops marched towards the Virginia coastline where one of his generals had taken up position, but never had they expected those savage Continental troops to hail gunfire towards them from the foliage lining the main road! Taking cover quickly and firing back, Arthur looked over the overturned tree he was using for cover to take aim at anyone not wearing a red coat.
Eyes met. It was brief, but undeniable.
"Alfred…" For a moment his rifle went slack in his grip and the sound of lead balls being blasted through gun barrels seemed far off in the distance. There was his little brother…all grown up and looking as strong and proud as he remembered. That fire that always danced in his blue eyes seemed to burn even brighter amidst the clamor of battle, and even from his position yards away Arthur recognized the raw determination in his demeanor.
He almost laughed. That determination and stubborn attitude was always got under Arthur's skin when the boy was younger as it seemed to become more prominent around bedtime and when the bath was prepared. But that was a phase…so was this, right? Every child goes through a bit of a rebellious phase…
"Fall back!" The voice brought Arthur from his brooding; his grip tightening once again on his rifle and lifting the weapon to its ready position against the crook of his shoulder. But yet again the man was surprised. The voice had belonged to Alfred!
Red, white and blue clad men disappeared back into the dense foliage as a few of his men managed to load another shot in time to send the dangerous projectiles their way – but seemingly to no avail. Alfred looked back for a brief second, connecting the brother's eyes again before slinking after his men and withdrawing from sight. But after years of living together and caring for the boy's needs, it only took those fleeting seconds to understand the message.
Even though allies had joined the war, particularly that damned frog and bitter Spaniard, and without their help there would have been no way, absolutely no way, Alfred's people could have held out so long against the might of the British Empire, this was less about their countries and the potential new world order at stake.
Yes, the war was between America and England…but is was also far much more than that. It was personal.
Brother versus brother.
Alfred versus Arthur.
And no doubt the outcome would be decided soon, and it could only be concluded if they did so face to face.
Arthur frowned as he rose from his cover. "Come on. We have a few days march still to Yorktown. Cornwallis is expecting us." The proud nation held his head higher as he moved ahead of his troops, exhibiting an air of complete control and confidence with ease. If Alfred had already been headed to Yorktown, they would meet. If he was still watching then he would eventually follow them from afar and they would meet. Yorktown it will be then. Arthur couldn't help a small smirk. Cornwallis's fortifications are numerous and supplies can easily reach him by sea…I couldn't have picked a better place to finish this ridiculous war!
...
"T-this is it…it's really happening…" Alfred looked on in amazement at the ruined fortifications of his enemy as the bombardment was called off as part of negotiations. The young man didn't know whether to weep with joy, jump for it, or do his best to remain solemn in such an occasion of monumental victory for one and the deepest humiliation for another. "They are surrendered?" He turned to the other men in the room; eyes wide and hopeful.
"But of course mon cher." The heavily accented voice came from the other end of the large captain's tent. Alongside his countrymen of Comte de Rochambeau and Comte de Barras (who had abandoned his post amongst the ships of the French Navy for the purpose of signing the surrender agreement), was none other than France's own personified figure: Francis Bonnefoy. Looking his best, because it was France and he would have nothing less than that, in his decorative military garments he smiled over at the new accredited nation of America. "It seems you are going to get what you most wanted, non?"
Alfred allowed himself to smile brightly, walking over with an outstretched hand. "I couldn't have done this without your help…thank you, so much." He didn't care for the motivations behind the Frenchman's actions, ill or naught. All that mattered was that help had come when he so desperately needed it, and now the benefits of accepting it were finally being realized.
Francis chuckled softly, grasping the offered hand firmly. "But of course. I wouldn't 'ave missed such an opportunity."
"Huh? What do ya mean-"
"Alfred." George motioned from over at the gaping entrance to the tent, looking out into the sunlight. "The troops are ready to advance into position. It's time to finalize this surrender." Alfred swallowed thickly, joining the older man at his side hurriedly as Francis and his other emissaries broke off to join their own line of troops as the advance began.
Arthur was somewhere in there…Alfred immediately straightened at the thought.
Not even granted the Traditional Honors of War? Arthur fumed internally as his soldiers were forced to carry their muskets reversed and the symbol of his great empire, the Union Jack, furled in disgrace. How dare they…? How dare Alfred? He didn't understand the pressures and hardships that he had brought upon himself with this war! Arthur did! He was centuries older, had lived through betrayals, wars, famine and every kind of plight imaginable and had made his way to the top only by crawling over others in a bloody mess to get there! His little brother was not prepared for such responsibility!
"England." Arthur stopped at the front of the procession of his troops when Alfred came into view, those behind him and no doubt all in attendance sensing the tension laying thick in the air.
Silence hung in the air for what seemed like hours. "Go on…tell me this is a joke…and then I'll take you home."
"I'm not going home with you Arthur. I'm not under your thumb anymore…" Alfred frowned slightly. "Don't you understand? I've gained it. My freedom…you can't tell me what to do anymore."
Arthur didn't realize he was moving until the rifle was in his hand and he was charging towards the boy before him. The bayonet sunk into the hard wood of Alfred's weapon as he raised it in time to avoid a stab to the throat. "WHY?" Arthur practically shrieked, only now the tears that had been threatening to burst throughout the procession finally breaking through their barriers to run freely. "I gave you everything! You were my hope! Out of every colony, you were the one that had the glimmer of potential to continue on with the legacy of the Empire! B-but…" The rifle slid from his grip to clamor on the muddy ground below. Arthur sank to his knees. "B-but you had to throw it away for…for…i-independence?" The great British Empire buried his face in his hands; his frame shaking with the sheer force of his sobs.
Alfred stared down at him, using everything within him to keep his own composure. "I-I…I have no regrets."
If it was possible, England seemed to sob even harder.
"I used to think you were so great…but you've changed. You always saw me as a little kid – but I'm not! I'm an adult. I'm going to grow strong; not tomorrow, not next year, but today. Today I've found my strength and used it to gain what I've always wanted from you." Alfred paused, slowly turning away before the tears could be seen by his former caretaker. "I've lost…some things…but the rewards were greater than the price. And the price was staying with you…"
He walked away; leaving his ex-brother in his wake, defeated and broken.
Maybe someday…we can be friends again. Not as brothers, but as equals in this world. I hope that day will come soon…because for all my harsh words and tough decisions, I really do love you Arthur. Take care.
*An actual quote from George Washington
A/N: Well...I sort of like how it turned out! My thoughts come out jumbled sometimes, so if it is a little skippy, I do apologize for the inconvience. *bows* Again, if anyone has any sort of request as far as a historical event or character-centric drabble/poem they'd like to see, I will gladly take it into consideration! Also, thank you very much to AndieArmstrong for giving me the prompt to write this! Hope you like it dear!
Thank you for reading and reviews give me confidence/motivation! :)