Author's Notes: This is a very short story that I started two years ago and just now got around to finishing. It is set during important battles, in my opinion during the American Revolutionary War. Lexington was where the very first battle took place and the colonists had a pretty rough start, Saratoga was the turning point of the war in which the colonists gained the upper hand, and Yorktown was the very last battle where the British forces surrendered. No pairings. The relationship between Arthur and Alfred, in my opinion, should be strictly familial.
"This land is for you to nurture, Alfred. It wasn't easy to attain, so take good care of it for me, won't you?"
"Sure! I won't let you down, Mr. England!"
"Of course you won't."
April 19, 1775.
Lexington, Massachusetts.
I heard the drum signal battle and watched as soldiers - my soldiers - started to walk where the drum directed them. A stinging pain was consistent with my heartbeat when I thought of how these soldiers would soon be fighting men who had once been their brothers. Those brothers had become the enemy, but surely, the nagging pain was something all the soldiers felt. Surely, the enemy felt that same pain.
That aside, I knew that my soldiers were weaker than the enemy's. The enemy was better dressed, had better supplies, and experience in war. We, well, some of us were in the nude. We didn't have enough muskets, or enough ammunition to distribute. We're low on food. The bread is so hard it has to be soaked in warm water to be chewable. But we have something that the enemy doesn't. Desire. We want our freedom. The enemy doesn't want us, they don't even need us. We're just another piece of property for them to claim - property of the British Empire. No more. I don't want to be property anymore, I won't be. Dead or alive, I won't.
We no longer need them. I don't need him anymore either.
I hear the drum getting louder, meaning the soldiers have begun fighting. Its loud beats give commands to our soldiers. I should be there, but, no, they say, I must stay here for now. They will call for me when they've got them heading for home. But, soon, I hear the drum signaling the soldiers to fall back, along with the sound of many voices. Are we losing? How many men have died already? If the enemy pushes us back too far and we reach the towns, will they harm the women and children? So many thoughts – fears – have suddenly entered my mind.
"Why don't you let me grow? Are you afraid I'll leave you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I…feel like a caged bird."
There was silence.
"I don't want to feel like that anymore. It isn't a good feeling."
October 17, 1777.
Saratoga, New York.
How long had we been fighting now? A few months over three years, Washington told me. It was coming to a closing soon, he assured me. The French were coming to help us. They'd aid us in our war against the British. It had been a godsend when the Prussian man came to train the army. And now, with their latest battle, it appeared that the tide of the war was changing in favor of the colonies. They were winning.
He was ecstatic, really. But why did he still feel sorrow? It hurt – his heart hurt so much lately. When was the last time he saw Arthur? Or Matthew? Arthur had shot at him the last time he'd seen him. And Matthew, Alfred was sure Matthew hated him. He hated him for leaving, for harboring the burning desire for freedom.
Maybe – he hoped – they could go back to the way things were before the war. Impossible, he knew, but still, he couldn't help but hope. He was Alfred, after all.
"England, I'm tired of being under your reign. Will you let me go?"
There was a moment of silence - a pause.
"I want...freedom."
"I can't just let you leave, Alfred."
"...I know."
October 19, 1781.
Yorktown, Virginia.
It was over. They had defeated England. And just as Washington and Lafayette promised, the French came. Decisively, they blocked the English with their warships as the continental army attacked the British forces. The British surrendered. It was all over. The war was no more.
Everyone was celebrating.
Alfred was crying. Tears of joy or sorrow, Alfred didn't know which, but they were salty and made his cheeks wet. He didn't want to be crying. It wasn't right for the victor to cry. But he couldn't stop.
The last words Arthur had uttered to him on the battlefield, at the surrender, replayed through his head over and over again.
"I won't allow it, you idiot! You don't know what'll happen once you become an independent nation! You aren't ready!"
He winced. Back on the battlefield, he had yelled back how he was ready to be independent. He was ready, he was.
"Why can't you understand? I was only trying to protect you! If anything happens to you, I-,"
England had been unable to finish his sentence, because his sobs had overtaken him as he hung his head. And now, Alfred too, was crying.
He wondered if Arthur and Matthew were okay.
"From now on, your my little brother!"
"...Goodbye, England."