Lament of the Wolf
By Blaklite
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Chapter Three: Scars
Rather than sail back to London after the conference, Arthur chose to accompany Matthew's luggage back to Québec City. He had managed to barter his way aboard the SS Victoria, and had been better able to get to know the gentlemen who would later be called the Fathers of Confederation. They were certainly an unusual bunch…
There was not a hitch to be had during the entire trip, allowing the SS Victoria to land on schedule. As he made his way through the city, Arthur wondered if Matthew was back yet from his 'business trip'. Even if the boy wasn't, Arthur had the spare key to his house.
It took Arthur nearly an hour to find the place on foot. Nations needed to change locales every so often to keep the neighbours from becoming suspicious of their subdued aging properties, and England had not yet been to Matthew's latest abode. The lad's instructions weren't very clear either, mostly because Arthur could barely read such chicken scratch. But the Englishman arrived at the small building eventually. Curious location really, right on the edge of town.
He was slightly disappointed to find the door locked. Matthew generally left his house unlocked during the day, unless he was out. Unlocking the front door and dragging both suitcases into the hallway, Arthur made up his mind to make himself a cup of tea and wait to see if Matthew would be back soon.
Just as the Brit was making his way down the hall towards what he hoped would be the kitchen, he heard a loud BANG!, followed by an high-pitched whimper.
"Matthew?" he called, but there was no answer. Cautiously continuing down the hall and rounding a corner, he noticed that the back door was wide open, allowing a draft to slip into the house. What's more is that droplets of fresh blood appeared to be staining the wood floor, and he could vaguely hear the sound of…was that panting? coming from the next room.
"Matthew, lad?" he called out again, more than a little on edge. An unusual sound a little like scratching on wood greeted his ears, followed by heavy footfalls, and finally a voice.
"Ar-thur…don't…don't come…in…" England could barely make out the words. It was Matthew alright, but he sounded weak and in pain. Before he could even take a step, there was a dull thump that was almost covered up by the sounds of dishes crashing and clattering to the ground. England's mind went into overdrive, and he rushed into the room.
He stopped almost as suddenly as he had started. The floor around the table was littered with cutlery, plates, and other assorted dishes, some pieces broken and others unharmed. Also on the floor was Matthew curled up into a ball with naught but a table cloth covering him up, a table cloth that was slowly being stained red.
"Oh God…Matthew, what happened?" Arthur asked, though his own voice became weak from shock. Kneeling down beside the other, he tried to remove the table cloth to inspect the younger's wounds. Finding no resistance, he peeled back enough of the fabric to reveal the top half of the Canadian's body. As mottled in bruises and gashes as Matthew's skin was, Arthur could still make out what looked like the claw and bite marks of a large animal. Almost like…a wolf.
"I…I was near a small town, t-trying to track down a group of raiders. Well, they…found me first and…set their dogs on me. S-stole everything I had, 'nd…left me for dead." He gave a small chuckle, which was more of a cough. "Shame they didn't know we nations can't die." A coughing fit ensued, and England could do nothing but watch on.
"Do you have any medical supplies? Bandages?"
"Kitchen…Bottom cupboard…"
As Arthur rushed about his home collecting supplies, Matthew tried to pull himself up into a chair. In the end, Arthur had to help him out, and then proceeded to dress his wounds. All the while, Matthew couldn't help but mentally repeat apologies over and over again.
I'm sorry, Granitetooth…forgive me.
Arthur on the other hand, suspecting that Matthew was lying to cover up the fact that a wolf had attacked him, vowed to get revenge on the beasts that hurt his little Matthew so.
"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked.
"Better, that's certain." Though I don't look any better…Matthew thought as he inspected his sixteen year old body in the mirror. It had been a few days since Arthur had found him broken and bleeding on the floor, and though his wounds had closed, his skin remained a patchwork of slowly fading bruises, and angry red and purple scars. A few of his deeper wounds were still scabbed over, but the fracture in his arm had healed nicely. In another day or two, all traces of the attack would be gone, a testament to the healing abilities of their kind.
Unfortunately, no amount of healing power could fix the pain in his heart. That would take much more time.
At least there was one thing he could get off his mind, something he'd been wondering since Arthur offered to stay with him the first night.
"Why are you still here, Arthur?" Matthew asked, putting a shirt on to cover his exposed chest with only minor stabs of pain shooting through his body.
Slightly taken aback, the Brit took a moment to compose a response. "Am I not permitted to look after my colonies?"
"Well, it just always seems like you're so busy lately…" Lately as in the past seventy years…
Detecting loneliness behind his words, Arthur was more careful to answer this time. "I suppose I have been busy. The world is changing quickly nowadays. But that's still no excuse for ignoring you all this time."
Matthew couldn't help but smirk as he scratched behind Kumajirou's ears. "And people say you have no tact."
"Francis hardly counts as a person, Matthew. More like a cat in permanent heat…"
Matthew chuckled, but wasn't exactly sure how to reply to that statement. Instead, he continued to pet the sleeping bear, and an awkward silence descended upon the room and the two nations within.
Arthur gave a soft cough to try and lift the silence, but it did little to boost his confidence. He knew what he had to ask, though it seemed like an awkward thing to say. Oh well, he thought. Here goes nothing.
"Matthew, lad, you know…you can tell me, about what really happened." The boy looked at him, confusion in his violet eyes, his arm falling to his side. "About the attack. No dog would leave wounds like that." Arthur paused, Matthew shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "It was wolves, wasn't it?"
The Canadian looked at the floor, the dresser, the nightstand, Kuma, anything but the Englishman. His eyes finally settled on a spot off to the side, a sadness creeping into his eyes as if he was remembering something. Arthur was about to tell him he didn't have to answer when the young nation did.
"Yes, it was a wolf. I…I had to kill…it." He looked up to stare Arthur directly in the eyes, desperation written on his face. "But most wolves are very gentle, and don't attack people. The one that attacked me was just a rogue..."
"Alright, alright, I get the idea," Arthur said to placate the slowly panicking Canadian, raising his hands palms outward to accent his point. This seemed to assure the younger blond, though he kept a wary eye on the Brit. "Anyways," he continued, slinging an arm around the other's shoulders and guiding him out of the room. "I believe lunch is in order. If you're feeling strong enough, we can walk to the nearest tavern for a morsel. Though, if you're not up to it, I can whip up some more soup just as easily."
"Errr, I think a walk will do me some good." Matthew had already survived three days on England's cooking, but he wasn't willing to push his luck any further. Not in this century, at least.
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Notes
Québec City: At the time, Québec City was the capital of the Province of Canada. In 1866, the capital was finally changed to Ottawa (the capital had continuously changed over the years) where it would remain as the capital of the Dominion of Canada in 1867 and beyond. The Province of Canada was split in 1867 to become Ontario and Québec, each with separate capitals.
A Note From Blaklite: DUH DUH DUH! More mystery, and finally some violence! Unless met with heavy opposition, the violence in this story will escalate, and descriptions will become gorier. Let me know if you want to see more blood (or not) by reviewing.