Omg, this is LONG overdue. I'll keep it short, this is an important chapter, and you'll see why! Everything is important, everything.
Sorry for any grammatical errors, as well.
Btw, never trust Google translate. It is sure to be wrong.
Connor pulled his coat tighter to him as he slipped out of the house into the cold winter evening, trotting across the frozen strip of land near the house into the barnyard stables where the horses were kept. The wooden door opened slowly with a loud creak, and Connor was about to shuffle in when a hand clamped on his shoulder. He jumped, yelping as he twisted around, throwing the unwanted hand off his shoulder.
"Relax, s'just me," William said as he raised his hands in the air defensively.
Connor huffed irritatedly and jerked open the door, walking inside. "What do you want?" He asked.
William eyed his brother's back strangely as he followed him inside. "What's the matter with you?"
Connor walked across the stables, picking up a clump of hay and distributing it among the horses. He shrugged. "Nothin'."
"You've been avoidin' me for a while now, what is it? Somethin's obviously upsettin' you, or I wouldn't have bothered to find out."
Connor said nothing.
"Is it Mary? She's upset you don't seem to like her, and frankly I'm peeved you treated her so impolitely." William folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a pillar of wood. "If you don't like her, jus' say so. But don't be an arse about it."
Connor frowned intensely as he continued to move the hay. "S'not Mary," he muttered.
"What?"
"It's not Mary!" He repeated again. "It's…," he ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "It's stupid. Just forget it."
"If it's not Mary, then what is it? Is it about Alfred? 'Cuz Arthur knows it's not entirely your fault and he was wrong to blame you—"
"No, it's not that! Well, yes that too, but not entirely!" Connor groaned. "Look, can we just drop it?"
William frowned. "No, I want to know what it is. If you would jus' talk to me, it wouldn't have to be this difficult." He walked closer, and grabbed his brother's shoulder before he tried to walk out. "Just tell me what your bloody problem is!"
Connor looked away uncomfortably, and William loosened his grip. "It's just…" He began.
William nodded, encouraging him to go.
"I just…I dunno, I just can't believe you're gettin' married," Connor looked at the floor, almost embarrassedly.
William dropped his grip completely, looking confused. "What?"
"I told you it's stupid, so just let me—"
"No, what is it? Is it Mary? Do you really not like her?"
"No, it's not that, I like her fine! I just feel like…almost like you're leavin' us. Our family."
William furrowed his brow. "Our family is already split up and in completely different directions. I'm the only one who hasn't left, really. Still in the same house as when we were young. You left for Ireland, Arthur moved to London, and bloody hell, even Rhys moved to Wales! What exactly are you talkin' about?"
"You're getting married Will! It'll be like we don't even matter anymore!" Connor yelled, raising his voice for the first time in a while. He pushed William out of the way as he moved to pet one of the horses. "You'll probably move to a stupid house in the countryside an' forget all about us, because you're a bloody stupid, thickheaded idiot!"
"Hey!" William protested angrily, but dropped it immediately when he noticed the tension in his brother's back. Softening, he walked next to Connor and leaned against the door to the horse's stable, watching as Connor brushed the fur tensely.
"Look," he said gently. "Just because I'm gettin' married doesn't mean I'm about to leave you lot behind because I've found someone else. It just means I've found someone whom I want to be with. Nothin' really changes, except that we've added one more person to the family. And it's not a bad thing; it's gonna be no different from when you get married, when Rhys gets married, and hell, even Arthur. There's nothin' to be sad about, it's just another step in life, an extension to the family we never had."
Connor was quiet. Finally, he mumbled, "We were supposed to travel the world together."
William chuckled sadly. "You knew it was a large dream. We've never had any money, not now, not ever."
"What about all that money you were hoardin'?"
"Just enough to buy Mary a proper ring, and some extra for ourselves. Took a bloody long time and lots of odd jobs to save up enough, lemme tell you."
Connor smiled sadly, petting the large horse in front of him slowly. The animal's ears twitched and its big eyes stared solemnly between the two boys as it chewed on the hay.
William sighed. He slung an arm around Connor's shoulders and pulled him in roughly, ruffling his hair fondly. "Don't mope around so much, s'makin me depressed. You'll always be my best mate, now, then, an' forever always."
Connor chuckled, ducking out of the headlock William supported him in, and shoved him roughly aside, laughing. "Stop it, you've always got to ram your knuckles through someone's skull, you know that? I don't fancy the bald look, I'll have you know!"
William tossed back his head as he barked in laughter. "That was once! And it wasn't even you, it was Rhys! Bloody hell, when was that, a decade ago?"
Connor snickered. "Bloody hell, you ripped his hair out!" He grabbed his sides as he howled in laughter, leaning against the wood post supporting the stables. William laughed, his face crinkling in amusement.
"Oh bugger off," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "It was an accident! It all grew back in time. It wasn't nearly as bad as the time you accidently ripped Arthur's shirt clean off his back!"
"That was an accident, I didn't know it was so thin!"
"You should've seen the look on your face!" William pointed, doubling over in laughter. "You would've thought you'd seen a ghost!"
"Well, it didn't help that Arthur started cryin'," Connor replied, chuckling at the memory, wiping at his eyes. "I forgot it was a hand-me-down, so it was well worn out."
"Mum was murderous," William mused, finally calming down as the moment subsided. He took a seat against the stable door, running a hand through his hair as he smiled at the recollection. Connor slid down next to him.
"It was fun," Connor concluded, poking at the ground with a piece of hay. "Things were so much easier then." William nodded.
"How's Ireland?" he asked, nudging the other boy. "Try any of the 'local cuisine'?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Stop," Connor smiled, punching his brother in the arm. "And well…there is this one girl…" he trailed off.
William twisted his head in shock. "Bugger off, you didn't!"
"I didn't do anything!" Connor exclaimed. "She's just...I dunno, nice. I fancy her well enough, perhaps had a cup o' tea or two…"
"What's her name?" William asked, pulling out a cigarette. He offered a puff to Connor, who took one after a moment's thought.
"Rose. Rose Edwards." He coughed at the smoke. "Pretty thing."
"So you've got someone you have your eye on," William drawled out, exhaling. "And you've made a big fuss over my own marriage? Idiot."
Connor scoffed, furrowing his brow. "It's strange, I can't describe it. Kind of lonely. Kind of like the shock we got when we found out Arthur got Alfred."
Wiliam grew silent at that, and Connor stared guiltily at the ground in front of him. His eyes flickered from Will's face back to the ground nervously.
"Arthur's awfully fond of him," Will said finally. He exhaled.
"How's the kid doing?" Connor asked uneasily.
Another pause. He offered the cigarette out, and Connor took a long drag on it.
"Not good. Not good at all."
Connor closed his eyes, paling at the news. "I never meant for it to be this way."
"I know," William supported. "No one did. It wasn't your intention, and Arthur knows it, he's just too stubborn to admit it. We should've known."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"Mary's tryin' her best. She and Arthur have traveled to the neighbors askin' for anything."
"Any luck?"
"Not much. Perhaps some extra food at most, but nothing substantial. We can't afford much else with our wages."
Connor cursed under his breath, and rested his face in his hands. "I don't know what I'm going to do if…" he trailed off.
"Stop, Connor. We're doing all we can, and it's not just your fault, it's all of ours. Unfortunately, even though Alfred's a good kid, there's only so much we can do."
"I…I need to do something. I can't just sit around, walkin' on eggshells around Arthur. I'll go to the city." Connor made a move to get up.
"Stop! You can't go now, are you daft? You'll bloody freeze to death and get lost! Christ, you haven't learned anything from this have you?" William exclaimed. Connor winced.
Controlling his temper, William said, "We'll go tomorrow if nothing changes. We might be able to find something in Edinburgh, or Glasgow if it comes down to it. As for now, no rash decisions that may get anyone else hurt or sick."
Connor swallowed, and nodded.
"Now come off it for now," William quipped, patting his brother's cheeks good-naturedly. Connor scowled in response.
"We'll take care of this."
Arthur could quite literally feel the bags beneath his eyes.
Sickness, in its purest and most undiluted form, was often the closest companion to death and the bridge to life after death.
It was absolutely painful trying to get the boy to eat, as he had no appetite whatsoever; ironically enough, these were the times where he displayed most of his energy, which, at most, involved him shaking his head lethargically, and pushing a weak hand against Arthur's. His coughing fits were worse than ever, he hardly left the bed, and his eyes had taken to a glassy fish-like stare sleepily gazing at nothing and everything at the same time.
Arthur hated it, hated feeling useless and unable to do anything to help. As much as he wanted to blame Connor for the whole ordeal, a deep part of him knew he was just as responsible for it as anyone else. Perhaps he if he had done something different; if only he pushed off some paperwork later, or asked for someone else to divide it with, or just spent at least an hour entertaining the lad instead of becoming so damn absorbed, maybe things would be different, maybe—
Coughing erupted from beside him, and Arthur immediately turned to help the boy into a sitting position, rubbing circles into Alfred's back as he hacked away a deep throaty sound. The gasps of air that often followed were almost painful to listen to, but Arthur murmured softly, "That's a lad, clear it out of your system."
The door opened, and Mary entered quietly. She gazed at the scene in the room, understanding the current state without having to ask. She set a cold bucket of water on the floor next to the bed, and Arthur accepted it wordlessly.
Mary pressed her lips in a tight line, clasping her hands before her tensely. Silently, she placed a hand on Arthur's shoulders, and quietly said, "Arthur, I have to go." She paused, as if to say more, but thought the better of it.
Arthur looked up at her tiredly from his position, as he registered what was said. It'd been so quiet in the house as of late, it was almost strange to hear sound.
Arthur nodded, and gazed at her sorrowfully. She returned the expression sadly with understanding, but offered no soothing words. Instead, she rubbed his shoulder in consolation, and turned to leave just as quietly as she entered.
With trembling hands, Arthur dipped a washcloth in the bucket of water, and wringed out the excess water before placing it on the sickly boy's forehead. He knew what was coming. They all knew what was coming. At this state and condition of the illness after so long, it wasn't difficult to piece together the prognosis, unless a miracle or professional medical attention suddenly became available.
At this rate, it would just be a delay of the inevitable.
Arthur rested his head on the mattress, folding his arms before him. The trembling had spread, taking over his whole frame, and it took him a while to realize what it was. He chilled.
Fear.
He was afraid.
Death, it seemed, was close at hand, close enough to be present in the room, suffocating its presence over the two of them, waiting, and Arthur felt himself shrink as he squeezed his eyes closed as if ignoring it would make it go away.
A memory came to him, floating from his childhood, vaguely, distinctly—
"Mum, where's William?" A young Arthur inquired with big, owlish eyes, pulling along the hems of his mother's apron.
"He's outside, dear. It's best to leave him alone."
"Why? What is he doing?"
"He's mourning. Dottie passed away, and he's very sad at the moment, especially with everything that happened." Mrs. Kirkland pressed her lips in a tight line grievously as she prepared dinner.
(Arthur, at the time, had just been explained by Rhys that their father had left permanently. It didn't leave much of an impact of him, as he had not seen the man frequently enough to have a lasting bond or relationship. Now that he recalled, William had stalked out of the house a lot at the time without even Connor for companionship, and had taken to isolating himself with Dottie, the tiny dog he had discovered in the streets.)
Despite realizing this, he asked confusedly, "What does passing away mean? Passing away where?"
"Passing on to heaven, you idiot," Connor had cut in insensitively from his window seat, where he was watching outside. "Dottie is dead, and never coming back." He glared out the window.
Arthur shrank against his mother's side smally as she reprimanded Connor harshly. Connor looked away and apologized. When he announced he was going outside to talk to William, Mrs. Kirkland shook her head.
"No, Connor, leave him alone. Let him say his final goodbye." She trailed off.
Recollecting himself, Arthur joined Connor at the window, and they watched silently as William finished burying the small dog, and evened out the soil, placing a large rock at the head of the makeshift grave. He sat outside and stared at it for a long time, unmovingly. Even then, the scene of his elder brother kneeling before a grave chilled him, as he finally comprehended the concept of death.
Arthur shuddered, and buried his head deeply into the bed, blocking out all visible light. Death was a funny thing, he thought to himself cynically. How strange it is for a person to be so fully alive and well one moment, nearly bursting with life and personality, to eventually reach the end of their life, cold and unmoving? How exactly does a person die? Does the soul leave the body as life leaves the eyes, or do they merely wither and rot within their physical shells? Can the soul be captured and contained, and is it needed to be considered alive? It was difficult for Arthur to question and wrap his head around it, when ever fiber of his being rejected the whole concept entirely.
Existing, what did it mean to exist?
It isn't fair, Arthur thought to himself bitterly. It isn't fair. What's the point of building relationships that will only expire in time? There's no point in making any lasting relationships.
Alfred was going to die, he was going to fucking die, all because of one stupid mistake that could have easily been prevented. And if under any other circumstances, the situation would have been easy to remedy, but the circumstances weren't different, because life isn't fair, life isn't fucking fair—
"Arthur," a soft voice croaked out softly, as a hand placed itself delicately on his head. "Why are you crying?"
Arthur flinched, and lifted his head slowly too look at the boy. "I'm not crying, love," he sniffed. He ruffled Alfred's hair fondly. "Not crying at all." He forced a small smile.
Alfred smiled tiredly in response, and leaned into Arthur's hand. "Arthur," he asked tentatively, softly. "Can you tell me a story?"
"Yes, of course," replied Arthur, as he wiped one of his eyes inconspicuously. He reached for the book of fairy tales. "I suppose we can catch up on reading," he said with a small resentful laugh. He cracked open the book.
The boy shook his head weakly. "Tell me one you know."
Arthur blinked at that, but closed the book and prepped, "Yes, um, let's see."
Leaning heavily on the bed next to Alfred, the small candle lit on the nightstand next to them offered the only light, illuminating the room in a dreamlike atmosphere as night began to set in. Arthur propped himself on one arm thoughtfully, as Alfred curled next to him with the brightest lit eyes Arthur had seen in a while. It was clear the boy was still very exhausted, but seeing so much enthusiasm after a long period of listlessness encouraged Arthur.
"Once upon a time…" he began slowly, grasping around mentally for something to latch on and build from. "Once upon a time there was a dragon, who lived all by himself in a cave in the mountains. He was very lonely, because none of the other dragons wanted to be friends with him."
He paused, thinking carefully.
"Below his cave, was a village full of people. From the mountains, the dragon could see them perfectly. The people danced and laughed and told stories around fires at night, and always appeared to be having a good time. The dragon watched them for a very long time and became jealous. He wanted to be happy as the people were."
Arthur paused again, this time to allow the information to sink in. Alfred looked at him dreamily, easily getting lost in the narrative.
"So one day, after watching the people for so long, the dragon exited his cave and began to take villagers back to his cave. He'd fly over the village in the middle of the night as the people danced around fires, and snatch one person in his sharp claws, and carry them back to his lair. The people were terrified.
The first villager he stole was an elderly man, and the man was so afraid upon being taken away that he fainted. The dragon didn't know what happened, and eventually fell asleep, ignoring the human. In the middle of the night, the elderly man woke up, and ran away."
Alfred's eyes widened, and he coughed silently. "He ran away?"
"Yes. He was very frightened and left in the night when the dragon was sleeping." Continuing on, Arthur said, "The next day, upon discovering the man had disappeared, the dragon became very angry. When nighttime fell, he returned to the village, and kidnapped another villager, this time a farmer boy. The dragon stayed awake all night to ensure the boy wouldn't leave, and wrapped his tail around the villager. But sure enough, when the dragon slept, the boy slipped out and ran away.
Furious by now, by the next night, the dragon flew out of his cave to the village. This time, instead of finding the villagers outside dancing under the stars like normal, they were all inside hiding. Unfortunately, a young maiden hadn't made it in time to her home, and the dragon took her away to his cave, and caged her in his sharp claws. This time he was sure the villager wouldn't escape.
However, the dragon wasn't the only one angry. The villagers were outraged that their people were being kidnapped in the middle of the night—a time they cherished and enjoyed for themselves—by a big monster that didn't belong in the area. By the next morning, the villagers stormed the dragon's cave with torches and pitchforks, eager to defend their village as well as rescue the young maiden."
"Did the dragon eat them?" Alfred asked in a small voice.
"No," Arthur gently replied. "It was a long battle, but the villagers managed to wound the dragon enough and rescue the young maiden. They ran back to the village to celebrate their victory, but it wasn't for long."
Alfred's eyes widened, and he swallowed nervously.
"Hurt by the village's anger and violence, the dragon returned to the village for the last time, and breathed fire on all the houses and huts. The people ran outside and screamed in terror, but the dragon didn't stop. By the time he was finished, the whole village was on fire and nearly reduced to piles of standing ash." Alfred gasped.
"He killed them?" The boy asked weakly.
"No," Arthur shook his head, tucking a lock of blond hair behind Alfred's ear. "Knowing they could not live there peacefully any longer, the villagers ran to the forest to hide. When the dragon realized they were all gone, he returned to his cave alone. Now, the dragon was completely alone, and for many days—a whole year passed—the dragon was lonely and sad. He had no friends, and had made none.
Then one day, a knight was traveling through the forest by foot, and stumbled across the villagers. Wondering why they were hiding in the dangerous forest instead of next to it, he asked some of the villagers why. They explained to him that a dragon chased them from their homes and forced them to live there. The knight, however, became very interested in the villager's story, and promised to slay the dragon and free the village. He continued through the forest despite the people's protests of danger.
On his journey, the knight came under attack from a pack of wolves. His strong armor protected him, but it was dented in several places, and he was weak from the tough fight. He climbed up the mountain, sure to be away from the wolves, and collapsed in a cave and slept for a very long time.
The next day, upon finding a person in his cave, the dragon approached the knight curiously. At the same time, the pack of wolves returned to kill the knight. Shocked someone actually approached him first, the dragon breathed fire to scared the wolves away, and then took the knight deeper in his cave to protect.
After a long time, the knight awoke to find himself in the clutches of a dragon. He was shocked and a little afraid, but still too injured to move properly. He had no choice but to stay."
"What did he do?" Alfred asked. "Did he kill the dragon in its sleep?"
"He stayed and planned a way to defeat the dragon, and tried to trick the dragon into letting him go, but the dragon was smarter than that. However, upon hearing the dragon's story of loneliness, the knight grew sad, and ignored all previous intentions. They found good company in each other, and even after the knight had healed up, he found he didn't want to leave. He was happy, and for the first time in his life, the dragon was happy too. They became friends."
Alfred's eyes widened, his cheeks flushed. "Is that it?"
"No, lad," Arthur murmured gently. "One day, the people of the village finally grew angry of the dragon forcing them from their homes, and raised an army. They wanted to kill the dragon and rescue the knight, and hopefully be able to live in their old village without fear. So the gathered themselves and climbed up the mountains with torches and pitchforks.
The knight heard the noise outside, and tried to tell the dragon to leave immediately. But the dragon refused, and soon the villagers made it to the edge of the cave angrily. The knight tried to convince them to stop, but it only made the villagers more furious. They attacked the dragon.
The dragon screeched furiously as the villagers attacked, and the knight got trampled in the chaos. It was a long fight, but eventually the villagers left, and when the dragon wasn't looking, they took the knight far away. When the dragon discovered this, he was absolutely enraged and heartbroken at the same time. He searched far and wide for the knight."
"Where was the knight?" Alfred breathed sleepily.
"They locked him away," Arthur replied solemnly. "The knight could hear the dragon's searching screeches from his prison, but the dragon could not find nor hear him. So that's why when you hear the wind screeching outside your window, it's actually the dragon searching for his long lost friend."
"That's so sad," Alfred mumbled unhappily. His eyelids drooped, and he slid closer to the English man, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. He mumbled something into Arthur's shirt, and Arthur patted his head comfortingly.
Arthur leaned back to blow out the candle on the nightstand. He wrapped the boy's small arms around him into a more comfortable position.
"Good night, love."
Footsteps clunked down the hallway noisily, and William swung the door open to Arthur's room haphazardly.
"Arthur," William called gruffly, gripping the doorknob. "Connor, Rhys, and I are goin' to the city to see if we can find anything. Jus' lettin' y'know."
Arthur cracked his eyes open blearily. "Sh!" He hissed sleepily, and covered his eyes from the abrupt noise and light entering the room. Without moving, he croaked, "D'you want me to come too?"
William winced. "Sounds like you're comin' down with somethin', too. No, just stay here, we'll prob'ly be back by the end o' the day."
"Mkay," Arthur sighed, and turned on his side, drifting back to sleep.
William closed the door silently behind him, and nodded to his brothers who waited patiently behind in the hall. They exited the house (with Connor sneaking a loaf of bread under his arm) with a quick farewell to Mrs. Kirkland, and headed for the horses. After whistling for Balfour (who came sprinting from inside the house) the three brothers took off.
"Be careful for ruts in the ground," William called behind him. "The ground is still soft from the rain so it'll be slippery. A broken horse is a useless horse."
Normally, in comparison to walking, a trip to Edinburgh was two to three times faster if traveled by horse. But due to the recent heavy rain shower, movement and travel was slower to due heavy precautions and risk in the soft ground. It had taken longer than usual to reach the country's capital, and by the time they made it to their destination it nearly wasted an hour of the day.
"It'll probably be fastest if we split up," Rhys commented as they reached the edge of the city. "We can sweep the city much faster."
"Hold on, let's not just go blowin' money on rubbish," William warned. As the majority of it was his own money, he wasn't eager to spend a lot of it, even for a good cause. It had taken him too damn long to save all of it, and he wasn't about to let his brothers splurge it in a moment of stupidity.
"We know," Connor rolled his eyes. "Though Rhys is probably right. We'll meet back at the train station at noon and report anything we find. Rhys can take downtown, and you and I can split the east and west sides."
William snorted. "I doubt they'll be anything in the wealthier neighborhoods, but alright. Anyhow, meet back at noon at the far side of the station, and if you get lost, don't be an idiot." He glared specifically at Connor, whom appeared affronted at the insinuation. "Just ask for bloody directions. We know whom we're doing this for, yeah?"
Connor glared away at the ground guiltily. "Yeah, yeah." He muttered. Turning his horse, he announced, "I got the east side. I'll meet you guys then."
Rhys turned to William and nodded, before taking off downtown. William watched them both go silently before heading in the opposite direction.
It was long time spent traveling through the different parts of the city, and in William's case he found it difficult speaking to the upper class members of society. It wasn't so much on William's part as it was the other person. He knew his social ranking was lower and attempted to be polite and humble about it as much as possible, but it was irritating to see the wealthier residents turn themselves away upon his appearance. In the beginning he tried asking passing strangers on the streets, but as the hours ticked on he grew restless and began knocking individually on doors. He knew he was out of place in such nice surroundings (his muted and dirty colored clothing was a big indicator), but the only thing that kept him motivated was his guilt.
He had to see this through to the end, even if it meant purchasing a grave.
After a few hours to no avail, William trudged back to the train station defeatedly, pulling on the reigns of his horse. He plopped down on an empty bench and folded his arms across his chest reclusively, trying to ignore the guilt ebbing away at him.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The clock tolled, indicating the twelfth hour of the day. William frowned, dully wondering when his brothers would show up.
(Late, if the past were any indicator. He just hoped he wouldn't have to waste time looking for them.)
He exhaled again, trying to edge away from the overwhelming feeling that threatened to envelop him. William closed his eyes, trying to melt into the moment.
Thousands of footsteps clacking against damp concrete.
Bags being tossed off the train in a hurry, dresses dragging at the floor.
Pocketwatches ticking mercilessly everywhere, eventually snapping shut.
His horse snorting softly behind him.
Millions of voices chattering eagerly and urgently, each word hanging in the air, floating away.
There was a different one, a different voice with a different lyrical melody to it; it was deep of a man's, but spoken nasally and in the back of the mouth at the same time. Each word was brisk and clear, but managed to blend into one another harmoniously.
It was sweet, pleasurable to the ear.
It was haughty, unfavorable to the persona.
French. William wrinkled his nose.
The ongoing slur of the language spoken loudly and arrogantly without pause served only to scratch its claws on the inside of William's skull. He furrowed his brows irritatedly and attempted to ignore it with every fiber of his being, subconsciously shifting himself away from the source. Just when William was about to crack open his eyes to take a look at the scene, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, distracting him. He looked up.
"I haven't found much of anything tangible on the east side except for a few herbs, but there was a lot of advice I gathered from locals," said Connor, pocketing a small pouch in his side. "I'm sure something will be useful, I've written most of it down."
"It's a good start," William agreed, sitting up. "Have you seen Rhys? I suppose he didn't come with you."
"Nope. Poor bugger probably got lost."
"Can't say I'm much surprised."
"Well, you'd think he'd know his way around well enough, being a big bookworm and such—"
A loud displeased voice cut through the air, followed by a flurry of angry French. William twisted in his seat to look around at what caused the commotion.
Turning around, upon first glance would appear an extremely well dressed upper class Frenchman with long blonde curls tied up in a low ponytail, gesturing angrily at a soon to be riled up Scotsman working the station. The banter between the two began to stir into something much louder, but it wasn't the scene that caught William's eyes.
What really caught William's eye, was the small blonde boy that stood timidly behind the Frenchman, clutching a stuffed white bear that was nearly the same size as the boy himself. The boy cringed at the loud voices began shrieking at each other.
It was an exact replica of Alfred.
"Connor," William snapped, grabbing the other man by the collar and yanking him down roughly to his level. "Do you see that?" He asked slowly.
"See what?" Connor asked irritatedly, jerking himself free from William's iron hold. "What are you talking—" He trailed off, his voice growing quiet.
"Bloody hell," he gasped. "What the bloody fuck?"
"They have got to be related, I've never seen anyone look so bloody similar in my life," William declared.
"Well, they say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world," Connor suggested weakly.
"Look at him!" William exclaimed, yanking on Connor's collar again, much to the latter's distaste. "There's no way in bloody hell that isn't Alfred's brother. If his hair were any shorter, I'd say he was Alfred."
"Well what do you intend to do?" Connor demanded crossly, removing himself from William's grip for the second time. "Ogle him all day or what?"
"Did Arthur ever mention Alfred having a twin?" William insisted instead. "Did he ever say anything like that?"
"I don't bloody know!" Connor cried out exasperatedly. "I haven't exactly been speaking to the bloke much since I pissed him off!"
"Watch my horse while I go ask," William yelled, as he took off after the group that was beginning to turn away and get lost in the crowd. The Scotsman pushed through people, not even uttering an apology at their expense, he was so determined not to lose sight of them. He couldn't let this go.
Perhaps it was due to the heat of the moment, but when he finally came in arm's length of the boy, he couldn't help but grab the boy's shoulder and spin him around a bit roughly. It had always been a minor drawback for him, but it was a little late to remedy that fault.
"Papa!" The boy gasped frightenedly as he fell on the ground roughly, his hand ripped out of the older man's. William winced at that, and attempted to help the child up, only to be punched in the face, nearly knocking him off his feet.
"Ce que l'enfer pensez-vous que vous faites?" The voiced demanded, yelling in William's face as the Frenchman pulled the younger boy behind him protectively. "Comment osez-vous toucher mon garçon! Étiez-vous essayer de lui voler?"
William gaped wildly at the onslaught of French before him. "J-je suis désolé," he stumbled out, racking his brain for any French. Damn it all to hell! If only he had paid attention to the agonizing lessons his mother had tried to teach him as a child. "Listen, s'il vous plait, I have reason to believe that child," he pointed to the small boy, "is related to my brother's kid."
"Un autre enfant?" The Frenchman asked suspiciously. "Non, je ne crois pas. Vous mentez." He took the boy by the hand and began to turn away.
"No, wait!" William called desperately, and already the crowd was beginning to push him around, growing thicker as the scene seemed to dissipate. If this all turned out to be a mistake, then to hell with it. But he had to try anything and everything, just to be sure. "We have a kid at home who looks just like him! His name is Alfred!"
The boy, who was walking hand in hand with the Frenchman, froze. The man looked down concernedly and said, "Mathieu? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? N'écoutez pas cet homme, il est fou."
The boy's bright bluish orbs gazed up at the Frenchman uncertainly, and shyly looked back at William, who appeared to be holding his breath. Both of them paused to look back confusedly and questioningly. The Frenchman's eyes were not without deep suspicion, however.
"Please," William tried again (and somehow Connor managed to drag two horses with him on the station past security, how he did that William didn't know nor question at the moment), "Do you speak English? Anglais?"
"What are you doing?" Connor hissed into his ear. "It's probably just some random kid! He's French, can't you tell?" William ignored him.
The boy, whom William assumed was named Matthew (at least that was what he thought he heard, for all he knew it could have been French, and not a name) murmured something up to the Frenchman, who murmured something back. It appeared to go for a while (long enough for William to second guess himself), until they must have reached consensus, because the boy dragged the reluctant looking Frenchman behind him, back towards William cautiously.
"My brother, you have him?" The boy asked shyly in lightly accented English. He clutched his guardian with a shaking hand.
Connor widened his eyes and muttered a shocked curse under his breath in disbelief. William was just as shocked, but nodded solemnly.
"Yes. Yes we do."
AHHH, FINISHED. Aloha from Hawaii~! :D
Guys, I am so sorry this took so long, frankly it really shouldn't have. After my last update, I was really excited to start this chapter, but I was totally swamped with schoolwork and finals and all that biz…Not to mention in the meantime I caught a cold again and RETWISTED my ankle again, and had to start wearing a big ugly blue cast! It was pretty damn miserable. I knew exactly how Alfred feels, so much of my own misery was channeled haha (a little exaggerated though). But enough of my whining and excuses.
Lol, idk if I have any readers left, but if you're all still out there and interested, please leave me a review to let me know! Reviews feed my muse, and keep me going haha. I love feedback!
