You know the drill, I don't own any these guys. This is short, the following chapters will be much longer. Let me know if you think it's interesting enough to continue.

So here we go….Distant Drums

Alfred lay in bed staring at the damnable single light bulb hanging helplessly from the ceiling. He would never admit it, but Ivan's plan was working. The gnawing cold was breaking him down very effectively. Alfred wanted nothing more than to sleep and not wake up again. But there was something tugging at the edges of his thoughts, something restless that refused to let him slip out of consciousness entirely.

Alfred pretended not to notice the sound of the door being unlocked. Ivan entered the room slowly, pipe in hand tapping it against his palm as he surveyed his captive. Alfred didn't even bother to look at him. Ivan leaned over and spoke in a soft growl as he looked down on Alfred, "Pretending to sleep again? Is this not getting a little boring da?"

"I'm just tired, tired of your ugly face that is." Alfred sneered dismissively as he looked into Ivan's unreadable eyes.

Ivan's temper had been wearing thin already, he had promised himself that he wouldn't use his advantage as persuasion but everything else he tried so far wasn't working, and Alfred's attitude was less than helpful, "Your people are still resisting, it's not much of a resistance though. We will kill the upstarts, but it would be easier if you give up and maybe they won't have to die."

Alfred looked away turning his eyes back to the stupid light bulb, "Giving up just isn't my style, you know that Ivan."

Incensed at Alfred's reaction Ivan raised the pipe, "Your president is dead, your capitol is in ruins, I own you now. You are no longer a nation! You are mine!"

Alfred gave a dry laugh he knew he was going to be beaten for this but he just couldn't stop himself, "Fuck you."

At that, Alfred was met with the feel of that cursed metal pipe connecting with the side of his skull and instant darkness.

Ivan looked at Alfred's bruised face and frowned. With a gentle hand, he brushed the side of Alfred's face he had just hit, "Such a stubborn stupid man. I'm trying to save you. You have no idea what they have planned for you if you don't give up soon, it will be so much worse than this."

As Alfred lay unconscious, he dreamed. He dreamed he was miles away from his tiny prison, back in his own land. The vast grassy plains stretched out before him ending only at the impossibly blue sky. He could feel his heart beating strongly in this place where belonged. That's when he heard them again, long forgotten memory of the distant drums. Rhythmic thrumming of animal skin, wood, and bone the breeze carried voices as well chanting the old words he'd long forgotten most of their meaning lost to time. Alfred closed his eyes and smelled the air as he listened to the chanting voices singing, slowly the ice of countless years forgetfulness melted away and the words started to make sense again. He knew these songs; he knew these words, he remembered.

The bastard child of a wildland, born with no ruler, no law, and no love opened his eyes again after the first time in hundreds of years of sleep.

Thank you readers. For the time you spent on this. I only hope it was worth it for you.

So just what was Alfred's story before Arthur took him in? That's the next chapter. Find out why Alfred's real dad wanted hi from the moment he first laid eyes on the child and how little Alfred managed to survive.

If you like it, let me know.