Hello once again, readers! I'll just jump straight to reviews:

Kay: Haha, gotta love a sassy Al! ;) And thank God... damn your pen name! -_-

JulietGivesUp: Why thanks you! And yes, Alfred will be participating in battles as well. Naturally, Gettysburg will be mentioned (what's a Civil War fic without Gettysburg? ;)).

Trumpet-Geek: Oh, I love American history with a passion, and quite simply for the very fact that it is so American! Don't get me wrong, I love Euro history too, but something about how wild, unique and fast-paced American history is just gets to me every time. ^^

RoxiMaximoff: :) Thank you and I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! Hopefully you'll get to see this message soon! :)

Mofalle: That's what I like to hear: people learning from my notes. It just means I've done something right with my research! ^^ Glad you're liking it!

Thanks again to Kay for beta-ing this and putting up with my East and West mix-ups (I really hope it's right this time). ;)

March 4, 1861.

Alfred regarded the approaching carriage carrying the president and president elect with steely blue eyes. They flicked, darting through the crowd that had gathered around the East Portico of the Capitol, searching for any signs of danger to the horse-drawn vehicle. Lincoln had received many death threats already, and Alfred wasn't too keen on letting his next leader be assassinated before he even took office.

Even if it wasn't necessarily part of his duty as a nation, the blond still felt compelled to watch out for the safety of his leaders. He honestly liked Lincoln, and wouldn't wish any harm on the shy Illinois senator. Also, losing a president was hard on the people, and in turn, their emotions made it painful for Alfred. Whether he watched for trouble based on the instinct of self-preservation or out of the kindness of his still young, benign heart, he didn't exactly know, nor did he ponder it further. He had no desire to slip back into his dark reflections yet again.

The young nation sighed softly, watching the throng of people part for the carriage. He leaned against one of the massive columns that adorned the front of the building. The cold, white surface chilled him even through the thick sleeve of his dark coat. It left him feeling deathly cold, despite the oppressive heat thrown off by the mass of important people that cluttered around him to watch the carriage approach.

The eerie chill slowly began to lift as the carriage halted, and Buchanan and Lincoln stepped out.

A massive cheer erupted from the crowd, making Alfred grit his teeth as the deafening noise assaulted his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the raucous sound by focusing on something else. Unfortunately, his mind went straight to the message he had received from Major Anderson in South Carolina.

The report had detailed that the rebels in South Carolina had turned one of their supply ships, the Star of the West, back from its trip to Fort Sumter. The ship had been forced to return to New York, affirming the terrible news. Apparently the rebels had chased them away threatening to sink any other Union ship that dared enter Southern waters.

Alfred had burned the report, infuriated by the news. How dare the Confederate States siege his forts! The young nation was already horrified that the federal strongholds were being captured, but to starve the innocent soldiers stationed there without means to re-supply? The Southern rebels had gone too far.

Now, standing upon the freshly washed Portico, and watching Lincoln ascend the steps, the young nation couldn't help but look to his new leader for hope. This had to stop. Buchanan had failed, so now Lincoln had to succeed. Alfred had been waiting for this day for some time now. He had never liked Buchanan's sympathy for the angry South, but Lincoln was different. Lincoln would save him; he just knew it.

The new president would declare the Confederates the enemies and give the affirmative to put a stop to the rebellion. He had to! Alfred was absolutely certain he would, especially with the restless aura that nipped at the back of his mind. It stemmed from his people's building aggression, but it tumbled into solid, burning desire for action in the young nation.

The blue-eyed blond refused to be bullied by his own states, what were once his own people, any longer. If a war was what they wanted, Alfred would give it to them. But what if his weakened, and torn half of the nation wasn't enough? The South had seized so many key fortifications, and the army wasn't up to par as it was. What if the South was stronger than he thought? There were so many things left enshrouded with uncertainty.

The blond nation shuddered at the thought of failure. He had yet to lose a war, or his lands, but he wondered in morbid curiosity just what it would be like to be defeated. Fighting wars hurt, but was defeat worse? What had it been like for England when Alfred had turned his back on the imperial nation? Did it hurt? Would it leave him as bitter as it had left his former caretaker? Would he even exist afterwards if the Confederates managed to overcome the Union? What was death like?

No. I don't want to fade away and die.Alfred thought darkly. I refuse.

Lincoln's voice suddenly shook him from his doleful thoughts before he could delve too deeply into them. He had ascended the staircase, and was now standing under a makeshift awning on the edge of the Portico.

"Apprehension seems to exist among the people of the Southern States that by the accession of a Republican Administration their property and their peace and personal security are to be endangered. There has never been any reasonable cause for such apprehension. Indeed, the most ample evidence to the contrary has all the while existed and been open to their inspection."

Alfred stood a bit straighter as Lincoln had already begun his speech. A thin, weary smile appeared on his lips. He had not yet seen or heard Lincoln's planned speech before today, and the young nation was very much interested in what his new leader had to say. So far, he approved. Maybe Lincoln was being a bit too passive, but that was understandable for his inaugural speech. Sometimes it was better to appeal to the moderates, rather than radicals.

"I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so."

Alfred's darkened blues narrowed. No intention of getting rid of the South's Peculiar Institution? How could that be! Was Lincoln just another Buchanan, bound by ancient law?

"Resolved, that the maintenance inviolate of the rights of the States, and especially the right of each State to order and control its own domestic institutions according to its own judgment exclusively, is essential to that balance of power on which the perfection and endurance of our political fabric depend; and we denounce the lawless invasion by armed force of the soil of any State or Territory, no matter what pretext, as among the gravest of crimes."

The young nation growled, enticing peculiar stares from the people that surrounded him. He sent their judgmental gazes away with a dark leer of his own.

Lincoln was sounding too much like Buchanan already. It made Alfred's blood boil in his veins with anger and betrayal. He had believed that Lincoln's stance would be different from his predecessor, but now the blond saw that he could have been very wrong to place his trust and his hope in the new president.

Don't just talk about what you believe. Do something about it! You made this issue into morals, brought its wrath on my head, and then you turn on me? You say you will not intervene, but you say it is unethical what they do? Don't condole with the rebels: fight them! They're trying to tear me apart while you waste your breath!

Alfred drew his collar up higher, hunching into his coat as a sharp, cold wind whipped across the Portico, as if reacting to his volatile thoughts.

Lincoln shivered, glancing brieflyand subtly over his shoulder to where Alfred was standing. The young nation shot him a warning glare. He was in no mood to be toyed with. Lincoln had better understand that. And fast.

The president carried on with his speech, swallowing hard.

"It is seventy-two years since the first inauguration of a President under our National Constitution. During that period fifteen different and greatly distinguished citizens have in succession administered the executive branch of the Government. They have conducted it through many perils, and generally with great success. Yet, with all this scope of precedent, I now enter upon the same task for the brief constitutional term of four years under great and peculiar difficulty. A disruption of the Federal Union, heretofore only menaced, is now formidably attempted."

Alfred forced his brooding anger down as best he could as the nostalgia overtook him. It was hard, but Alfred preferred his older memories to his current mood. But had it really only been seventy-two years? The nation sighed. It felt as if it had been infinitely longer than that.

He could distinctly recall the times before his independence. He could remember England and France bickering over him, the bitter fights with his former caretaker, the pain of not one, but two wars with England. Of course there were much better times. He'd enjoyed his prosperity, how well he got to eat now, the smiling faces of his soldiers returning from victorious battles, the happy laughter of children playing in the numerous, tall cornfields. He could remember it all. Just seventy-two years? No. It was much more than that, Alfred decided.

"This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing Government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it or their revolutionary right to dismember or overthrow it. I can not be ignorant of the fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are desirous of having the National Constitution amended. While I make no recommendation of amendments, I fully recognize the rightful authority of the people over the whole subject, to be exercised in either of the modes prescribed in the instrument itself; and I should, under existing circumstances, favor rather than oppose a fair opportunity being afforded the people to act upon it."

Snarling, Alfred turned to leave. The happy memories had vanished from the forefront of his mind, replaced by his residing anger once again. He couldn't listen to this anymore! How dare they completely forget his pain! They, his people and his leader, had no idea what it was like to be torn asunder: to be divided by bitter hate and violence while they gave him empty words and promises.

"There cannot be compromise; either I live or I fade. Pick your poison, Lincoln, but do it quickly. If the people have a right to tear me down, then so be it, but I won't go without a fight. There will be a war, whether you want it or not, Mr. President." Alfred hissed under his breath as he moved through the tangled throng of cheering people. No one seemed to notice him as he descended the far staircase to level ground; a tall terrace with heavy foliage conveniently hid it. He didn't want anyone to see him.

The irate nation stormed to where he'd left his horse tied to an old birch tree. The sable brown steed snorted when his master approached, obviously sensing Alfred's sour mood. He snatched the uneasy animal's bridle, forcing the beast to stay still with his raw strength.

Normally, the young nation was sensitive to his horse's discomfort, since he had a fondness for the big animals, but now found that he couldn't bring himself to care past his dismal thoughts. Untying the halter knot, he swung up into the saddle, and kicked his mount into a hard gallop.

He rode past the East Portico, bound for the White House, when he overheard Lincoln's closing words.

"In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government, while I shall have the most solemn one to'preserve, protect, and defend it.'

"I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

The blond nation scoffed bitterly, and rode on without looking back at his new leader when the cheer of the people went up.

They may believe those lies, Lincoln, but I will not. I have enemies, and they are on our doorstep…

His heart ached with a terrible pang of regret. He should never have trusted Lincoln to be his savior.

April 13, 1861.

The first rays of the sun had yet to grace the bombarded South Carolinian fort Alfred had been sent to relieve. Very faint trickles of dark gold and scarlet had begun to permeate the eastern sky, but it wasn't enough to see by. Only a vague outline of the fort was visible.

Alfred stood upon the gleaming deck of the Star of The West with a forlorn look on his visage.

It didn't matter that he couldn't see what was going on. Alfred only needed to hear the next sound to come to feel the despair creeping into his heart. His last hope that Sumter would stand was dashed when the trumpeting notes of the bugle pierced the air.

He scuffed his bootson the deck planks, and bowed his head as the honorary salute of surrender rang into the early morning air. Fort Sumter was officially lost.

"Mr. America, sir." A young crewman addressed him, suddenly rousing the young nation from his abysmal mood.

"Yes?" Alfred responded without looking up.

"Sir, the Confederates are allowing the fort to be evacuated now."

"Very well. Sail to." The young nation ordered. The man affirmed with a: "Yes, sir!" before dashing off to inform the ship's captain of Alfred's orders.

As the steamship drew closer and closer to the smoking fort, Alfred just began to see the heavy damage inflicted on the fortifications. Gaping patches of stone were missing from its walls, while the barbette tier was almost completely destroyed. He grimaced when he noticed the Confederate flag flapping in the breeze over Fort Sumter.

The young nation dismally oversaw the boarding of his defeated troops. Many of them had streaks of grime and gunpowder over their faces and uniforms. They all bore the same defeated look on their visages, mirroring Alfred's inner despair.

Major Anderson, the fort's commander, was one of the last to board. He had Sumter's folded Union flag clutched to his chest as he stepped on to the ship. He walked up to Alfred with a sad look in his dark eyes.

"I'm so sorry, sir." He said lowly, and Alfred could see a faint shimmer in the man's eyes.

"You are a brave man, Major Anderson. You were right to surrender when you did. I'm sure your men are grateful for your wise command."

"Thank you, Mr. America." The man tipped his service cap. "But, it still wasn't enough."

"Perhaps it never will be, Major Anderson, but we will make sure you and your men are honored for your brave attempt."

"Thank you again, sir." Anderson nodded, stepping back to salute his nation before going among his troops to console them.

The blue-eyed nation watched him disappear before turning to face Fort Sumter again. He watched it grow smaller and smaller as the steamship sailed away while the sun's light glinted on the fort's walls. It gave the place an almost ethereal characteristic, making Alfred shudder. It was just another ghost of his slowly dying country.

"We'll be back to save you, and when we do, I'll be sure to tear down that Confederate flag with my own two hands." Alfred decreed, finally tearing his gaze from the fort to stare down into the rippling water below him.

"Never…"

The young nation flinched. He frantically looked around, but there wasn't a single soul near enough to be heard on the deck. His troubled blues darted back to the fort. The flag set on its crest waved wildly, despite only the most minimal amount of wind.

Alfred shook off the strange occurrence. He rubbed at his tired eyes with the heels of his palms. The lack of sleep was surely getting to him. That was the only reasonable explanation… right?

Stepping away from the deck, Alfred turned to retire to his cabin: determined to find some comfort in sleep if he could.

History:

On March 4th, 1861, Lincoln was inaugurated as President. His speech detailed the Constitution's lack of voice on the issue of slavery (It had been purposefully left out, just avoid this very war when the nation was first being founded after independence). He claimed he had no power over the states regarding that matter, since it wasn't in the Constitution (basis of States rights and the 10thAmendment of the Constitution.) This did not please any Northerner in the slightest.

Lincoln, during the famous Lincoln-Douglas debates in Illinois, was the first politician to make slavery a moral issue. It had always been debated as an economic/political one, because slaves had always been seen as property, and morals were a much lesser part of politics. The first true nitty-gritty mudslinging American presidential campaigns had only started with Jackson (1830s). The idea of ad hominem wasn't as popular or encouraged yet. When Lincoln made slavery a moral issue, he backed Douglas into a corner, and won much of his popular support from abolitionists.

He pleaded with the Southern states to reconsider their violent actions by coming to peace with the Union. He wanted the entire country to think long and hard about what was about to occur if the South didn't calm. The war wasn't a surprise by any means when it finally did happen. Everyone knew it was coming. So many tried and failed peace attempts had been initiated that it was well known that treaties weren't going to solve the issue. Of course, it takes a lot of time if true peace is to be achieved, but the people were impatient; they wanted the crisis solved now.

The South began to seize federal forts and occupy them when Buchanan refused to surrender them. He didn't send troops to recapture the forts before his term ended, though.

A supply ship was sent to Fort Sumter, South Carolina, in order to relieve the siege-held Union troops. The Confederacy turned the ship away, shooting at it and threatening to fire upon any other Union ship that entered their borders.

Major Anderson, the commander of Sumter, in a brave display, refused to surrender the fort to the Confederates at first. Finally, after running out of ammunition and with theStar of the Westjust outside the fort, he decided it would be best to surrender and spare his men.

He carried the Union's flag from the fort with him all the way back to New York. It's currently displayed in fort's museum to this day. A grand parade was held for the Fort Sumter soldiers in honor of their bravery for holding the fort for so long.

Only one union soldier died, and that was because he was shot during the surrender salute. One confederate died after a misfired cannon had him bleed to death.