Francis did not often visit the British colonies in America, considering it was a sort of reminder that he hadn't a claim there, and that the Louisiana territory nearby that technically belonged to him was uncharted and of little import. In essence, visiting had no point for the most part. A waste of a trip across the sea. But he went occasionally to see Alfred.

At first it was out of curiosity to see how he'd grown up. But that first time meeting Alfred since he'd been a small child changed his purpose of dropping by entirely. Something about Alfred endeared him instantly. He was young, ambitious, strong, naive, and brilliant and foolish all at once. Alfred told him frequently he was gonna be something someday, big and important. And Francis believed him.

So, these trips to see his excitable friend became regular. And despite the slow but evident increase in frequency of him coming to see him, Alfred was just as glad to see him every time.

Due to some very time consuming business at home, however, there was a large gap in his visits. He wrote Alfred telling him he missed traveling over and would come to the Americas as soon as he could, to which Alfred had written back that he missed his visits but he understood and that he was dealing with some things himself. Hearing he was missed as well brought a smile to Francis' face and had him all the more eager to see the energetic young man again.

So he was not as deterred from his good mood when he arrived and did not see Alfred waiting on the dock for him as he always did as he might've been, but rather curious as to why instead. He fetched a horse and headed through town and then towards Alfred's farmhouse, wondering what was occupying him.

On his way he saw stroves of British soldiers marching along the streets or talking to citizens with stern looks upon their faces and he began to grow worried about what he'd walked into and what had occurred in his absence. He fretted over Alfred.

When he got to the farm where Alfred lived, he did not see the boy working in the fields or tending animals as he had expected. He walked up to the door and knocked. There was no response. He let himself in.

It was quiet, so quiet. Eerie enough as it was, it was even less common when Alfred was involved, as he was a boy who filled nearly every room he entered with his voice. And sometimes, if you were lucky, you could watch his face light up as a chorus of rowdy laughter spilled from his lips. But there was no yelling or chuckling of any kind to be heard. Only the sounds of the animals and wind outside could be heard, muffled, through the walls. And then something else.

It was soft enough that Francis didn't notice it at first, but as he walked gently down the hall of Alfred's home, then he heard it. Sobbing.

Francis followed the sound to the door of Alfred's study. Pushing open the door, the sound stopped abruptly.

Alfred lifted his head from his desk and scrubbed the tears from his face, frantically scrambling to pull himself together. He forced a smile at Francis.

"Oh, today was the day you were arriving, wasn't it? Apologies, I've been so busy lately. I'm sorry, it completely slipped my mind." He said, voice wavering. Francis crossed the room and took Alfred into his arms where he—almost immediately—resumed crying.

"Alfred, mon cher, what in gods name happened?" Francis asked, hands rubbing up and down Alfred's back as he took heaving breaths while sobbing.

"I-I just wanted t-to talk about sometime in the f-future going off o-on my own," he took a steadying inhale, "but he wouldn't even hear it. 'You're still a child' he said. 'You have no idea what you're getting into'. I tried to tell him it wasn't just me, that my people were unhappy, too. They escalated things and now... Things are very bad and I'm going to have to fight a war against an empire all by myself just to be free." Alfred sniffled, rubbing his nose.

"He was never really the ideal brother, considering how far away he was, but there was a time when we were at least able to communicate without fighting. And I felt cared about. But now I feel so alone and unloved and scared. And I am burdening you with all of this, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired."

"Non, Alfred. You are not burdening me. And you are loved. Vous êtes tellement aimé. Your people love you," Francis paused a moment. "I love you."

Alfred blinked his wet eyes up at Francis. Of course his words didn't fix all that he had to face, but knowing someone cared what happened to him. Someone loved him. It was exactly what he needed.

"I love you, too." And he buried his face into Francis. And Francis stood by him and held him until he fell asleep against the desk. When Alfred lay snoring against the wood, Francis went and grabbed the quilt from Alfred's bed and brought it and draped it around his shoulders.

He had a feeling he could not avoid getting involved with the growing divide between Alfred and Arthur if this was how Alfred would feel until he could have his freedom.

But for the moment, he stood in the doorway watching his sleeping face.