Six years after moving back to London, Arthur's world falls apart…
Arthur was in the library (the only room where his siblings ever left him alone) being lazy as he so rarely had the opportunity to be by idly playing with one of their hunting dogs' pups (they're so adorably easy to entertain-they love to have their bellies rubbed and Arthur loves to watch them squirm with excitement under his fingers). Of course, he knew he would be in trouble the moment he was caught bringing the pup into the house. He would be scolded for bringing her in, the matron might chastise him for separating her from her mother before she was ready, but Arthur knew that was a load of crap since the pups were certainly old enough. And then someone would tell his father and then Arthur would be made to do the foot servant's job for a week or until his feet were swollen to twice their size and his hands become calloused.
He felt it was a small price to pay for this little bit of idle time simply being a kid. He and Alistair were under far too much pressure as of late and it was twiddling away at their sanity. He wasn't sure how much more they could take of the constant studying and training. He was still only fourteen and yet his father expected them to train like twenty year old soldiers.
This is why Arthur was not surprised to hear shouting coming from the bedrooms upstairs. Alistair's room was directly above and his fiery-headed brother was in a heated argument. Through the muffled bits he could hear, Arthur assumed it was their father he was screaming with. There was also the tell-tale footfall of their mother's shoes against the floorboards.
Such arguments have become common in their household recently. Alistair didn't agree with the path their father set out for them. As short-tempered as Ally was, he didn't like the prospect of a life of war, living out his last days in a distinguished red coat. In fact, neither of them did, which is why a silent pact had formed between the two, determined to hold each other up through the thick of it until one of them would inevitably die too young.
Arthur tried to ignore the shouting from upstairs although it distinctly dampened his playtime mood so he picked up the pup and brought her back to her mother in the stables. When he returned, he went to this study room to continue his reading until it would be time to change for dinner.
Normally, the argument would stop for dinner as Alistair would normally sulk quietly and Father and Mother would pointedly avoid directing conversation towards him, preferring a pleasant family dinner as opposed to more arguing. Tonight started out no differently.
But something was shifting.
Alistair clanged his silverware against the porcelain a little too loudly.
He set his glass of water down a little too forcefully.
His leg bounced irritably under the white tablecloth.
He grunted and groaned and shot venomous darts to the head of the table where their father sat, blatantly ignoring Alistair's micro-aggressions as he continued to talk to the girls about their prospective husbands.
Arthur wished he had paid a little more attention to the argument they had earlier. Arguments between the oldest sibling and their parents were commonplace, but they were usually quickly forgotten or brushed under the carpet. This was clearly an exception. Arthur decided he would seek his brother out later that night once everyone else had gone to bed to get to the bottom of it.
Later that evening, Arthur had changed into his most casual outfit before leaving his room. If someone asked where he was going, he had already prepared an excuse that he was going to the library to collect a book to read himself to sleep with. Of course, he was walking to his brother's door and found it eerily quiet. After a gentle rasp of his knuckles and a soft whisper with no answer, Arthur decided to try the door and surprisingly found it unlocked. Even worse, his room was tidied, his bed made, and the candles were snuffed out. Alistair hadn't retired for the night yet.
Deciding to venture out and look for him, Arthur continued down the hall of their living quarters but slowed and quieted his steps when he heard murmuring from his parents' bedroom. Not wanting to inspire any more of their ire, he tried to sneak past their room but little snippets wiggled to his ears and Arthur couldn't help stopping outside their door to listen more carefully. There was a particular tone to their mother's voice that didn't sit well with Arthur, something foreboding, and he felt that he had a right to know what agitated his mother so much.
"Why couldn't you just let the boy do as he please," seethed Mother under her breath. "Having a man of science in our family would do no harm!"
"I would hardly call astrology a 'science'," spat Father. "The Crown needs strong, able-bodied men in the military, not wasting away in some laboratory for some vain pursuit no one else can understand."
"I don't think Cambridge would waste their time teaching our boys 'vain pursuits,' Albert," she argued. "Our boys are not meant to fight in wars like you! Why must you insist on murdering our sons, your heirs, by sending them to war!"
At those words, Arthur felt his chest constrict. So Mother thought them weak…
"It hardly matters. Alistair will not be studying some pointless drivel and he will continue his training here! If he does not fall back in line, I will only work him harder," declared Father.
"Albert," cried Mother. The tremor in her voice caught Arthur by surprise, given that his mother had always been a steely woman. "Albert, you heard him as well as I did. Albert, what if he hurts himself?" she fretted.
"He's probably in some tavern by the Thames," scoffed Father. "That stupid boy thinks he's clever when he sneaks off at night, drinking with those lowborn thugs."
With this snippet of information, Arthur was jarred back to reality, remembering what he was after. Now even more determined to find his brother, he snuck away from their room to search every tavern on the Thames.
He didn't have to look far: Alistair appeared to have picked the bar closest to home. This should have been a clue to Arthur that Alistair didn't care if he was caught, but this hardly occurred to him at the moment. Arthur only meant to duck in briefly, only long enough to see his brother's shag of red hair, fairly noticeable among the tawny browns and blonds.
"And then I said to him, y'know what, y'old fart?! I'm not doing what you want anymore. I'm gonna do, I'm gonna follow my dreams!"
Arthur could hear him over the musicians, screaming drunkenly at his drinking buddies. So he made his way over as discreetly as possible, not like the patrons noticed him bumping into them as he passed. Even Alistair didn't notice him as he bumped his shoulder for his attention and Arthur worried over how reddened and bloated his face had become from the ale.
But his drinking companions noticed him and eyed the young boy suspiciously while Alistair continued to badmouth their father until Alistair finally noticed that his not-so-captive audience were not cheering at his open rebellion anymore.
Finally, he turned around sluggishly and when he saw Arthur standing behind him, eyes wide with worry and shock seeing his big brother like this, Alistair's eyes also widened in something Arthur could only describe as fear.
"What're you doing here?" snapped Alistair, his attention now completely focused on the fact that his little brother was now standing in a bar an hour past his curfew.
Arthur gave him a stunned blink. "I came to see you," he replied innocently.
"You stupid child! If father sees you here, you'll never hear the end of it!"
"Father won't see me here. He went to bed. Did you mean what you said to Father?" Arthur asked suddenly.
"Of course I meant what I said! What did I say?" he asked, having already forgotten what this particular argument was about.
"Mother's worried you'll hurt yourself," explained Arthur.
"Ridiculous. I'm moving out of the house, not throwing myself over a bridge," exclaimed Alistair, calling a barmaid over to pull Arthur a drink.
"Moving out! Are your disagreements really so bad?" said Arthur without touching the heavy mug of ale set in front of him.
"I told Father I was going to study the stars no matter what he says or does. I've already been accepted to Cambridge and I found someone willing to pay for my education."
Arthur gave him a look that expressed exactly how much he didn't believe him. "Who would willingly pay for your degree like that? You didn't find yourself one of those… y'know.. suitors, did you?"
"What? No!" exclaimed Alistair. "I found an employer. I already formed a contract with him."
Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And who would be crazy enough to hire someone before they're even qualified to? What would you even be qualified to do?!"
"I want to be a navigator," he explained. "I'm tired of sitting on my arse and I certainly won't want to do it as some captain that orders his men do all the decent work. I want to sail the seas and see the world! I want to experience things I can't even dream of. This guy—his name is Armado—he says he'll pay for my education if I come with him and work for him."
"Why would he do such a stupid thing like that," refuted Arthur his ire dissipating as he heard his own hopes and dreams from his brother's lips.
"Says he likes me," chuckled Alistair with a shrug, lifting his mug in an informal cheer to drink to that.
Arthur sat dumbly, sipping at the ale as he processed all this. "Does Father know you've been hired?" he wondered.
Alistair sighed at the question. "No, and I don't want him to. If he knew, he would never forgive me. Might even disown me," he said with a sardonic laugh.
Arthur didn't respond to that. When the silence became too heavy, Alistair's drinking friends were happy to continue their conversation before Arthur interrupted. Arthur had finished his ale by the time he mustered his courage.
"You're a real bastard, y'know that?" he slurred at his brother. "After making my life hell with your little tantrums, you're turning you're back on us. You have no honour!"
"Don't speak to me about honour!" retorted Alistair. "We all know why that Frog you met in America is sending you those letters! If anyone'll bring shame to our family, it'll be you."
At those words, Arthur felt heat rise from his chest to his ears in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "What're you implying?!" he shouted, rising from his seat. The moment he stood, the crowded room spun around him dizzyingly. It was a feeling he had never experienced before and at that moment, it terrified him.
"I'm implying you're a molly!" exclaimed Alistair, rising as well and stumbling in the process.
Arthur's blood ran cold at the accusation. "Take that back," he spat low.
"No," retorted Alistair stubbornly, stabbing Arthur in the chest with a pointed finger. "I would never deny the truth."
Arthur didn't know what came over him then. It might have been the alcohol or it might have been his long festering hatred for his brother's rebellious flightiness. It might have even been the subtle protectiveness he felt over his dying friendship with Francis, but he had had enough. Without a second thought, his fist crossed the narrow distance between them and slammed into his brother's nose, causing a sharp pain to shoot up his hand and wrist at the impact.
His brother didn't take it lightly. The moment he saw Arthur swinging for him, Alistair threw a punch into his brother's gut causing Arthur to vomit at the impact.
From there, they were just a blur of motion: kicking, punching, scratching, screaming slurs, as a riot broke out around them. The already stifling atmosphere of the bar became unbearable as others also broke into brawls, mugs smashing and liquor spilling to the floor in slippery, sticky puddles. The air filled with the nauseating smells of hops, piss, vomit, and blood before the two Kirkland brothers stumbled out into the open air, the shit infested waters of the Thames filling their nostrils as Arthur took his first deep breath since walking into the dimly lit establishment where he found his wayward brother.
"I'm not going back with you," swore Alistair where he stood, the cold night air ruffling his bright red hair.
Arthur took a moment to process the pain he was in. There was a stinging across his face and breathing caused a sharp pain along his ribs. He twisted his ankle somewhere in their fight so putting any weight on it was painful. It would be a long walk home.
"Why are you doing this?" groaned Arthur. "We were supposed to be in this together, we were supposed to fulfill our duties to our country and our family together."
"Don't be stupid, Arthur. You never even knew where my ambitions were leading me and there you were playing little soldier boy for father," spat Alistair. And with that, he walked off towards the docks.
"Hey!" protested Arthur, getting up to his feet and wincing at the pain. He limped off after Alistair, but with his twisted ankle, Alistair easily got ahead of him. He almost lost him on the docks when he saw a second silhouette standing next to his brother's shorter one. He snuck closer to get a look at who his brother was talking to.
When he noticed that the tall stranger was dark, so dark he blended into the night like a shadow save for a shining glint of his teeth, Arthur was shocked. Shock morphed into terror taking in the rest of the man's appearance, with dreadlocked and beaded hair, a cutlass and a pistol on his hip, and a musket on his back. He wore a tricorn which marked him off as a captain.
Arthur had only seen glimpses of people like him before, always hanging off the executioner's block with nooses around their necks, only this one was very much alive. Arthur was getting himself ready to jump in to help his older brother until he saw the man turn towards his dinghy… and Alistair followed willingly.
Arthur couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't want to believe what he was seeing.
With nothing left to do, Arthur turned tail and went home. He found a way to sneak into the house without alerting the servants and snuck up to his room. He didn't make it far before the Footman heard him wincing in pain in the stairs. The old man took pity on him and helped him to his room and left him to change and clean himself for bed.
In the morning, he would answer to his father who would've already heard about his dalliances in the night. Arthur would be terrified of him and tell him everything he'd seen that night and everything Alistair told him. When he described the man Alistair disappeared with, his father's eyes turned cold in silent fury.
Only after Arthur signed up as a foot soldier with the British navy did he learn why his father had then disowned his first born son.
The man Alistair has run away with was named Armado and he had become the most cunning pirate to sail Spanish waters. At that moment, Arthur swore he would make his brother pay for abandoning him and betraying their family name.
Note: A "molly" is a pejorative British slang for an effeminate homosexual male. It was often used to refer to prostitutes specifically so given the time period, this insult from Alistair would have been particularly nasty.
