Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Handel's opera Rodelinda. Or the Declaration of Independence (but I stand behind it with a patriotic fervor that will never die XD). Very subtle shout out to Virginia Dare. Google Maps (and it's optimistic view of distance vs. traffic). John Calvin crops up again. Night of the Living Dead. Sharknado (Thank God I'm not responsible for that one).
Warnings: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Jokes about Americans and Geography. The reality that parents are people and they do make mistakes. Briefly explores the fact that since each child is different-how they're praised and punished will be different as well...which unintentionally stokes a lot of sibling rivalries.
Special Warning: VIOLENCE & ANGST***Ahoy Mateys! Rough Feels Ahead. Ye be warned. (Yes...this chap has an actual warning...DUNDUNDUN...)
Fun fact: Breeching: a rite of passage for boys. Involved moving them from the genderless gown/frocks to short pants to trousers. Boys were typically "breeched" between ages 5-8 depending on the parent's decision. They took into account how big/small/mature/financially-desperate-the-family-was and put the child into trousers. It usually marked the time boys started spending more time with their fathers learning skills/starting an apprenticeship with a male mentor. (Until, the beginning of the 20th Century. It was normal for boys and girls to wear "dresses," for convenience [ie. potty training, hand-me-downs, etc). Bonus: breeching also went hand in hand with hair cutting-boys and girls below the age of 8 tended to wear their hair in ringlets...which has caused historians to reevaluate a lot of child paintings of 'little girls'...XDD
Fictional Creation: Wendigo Summoning Dreamcatcher -no basis in reality (but it's cool to think about)
AN: Thank you soo much for your reviews! : DD I love hearing your thoughts and theories. Quite a few of you have been collecting clues diligently. Love it. The consensus seems to be "yay for history" (which thrills me) and "Canada needs love." XD
Enjoy!
Chapter 14: Dude, it's like Jenga. Jeeenga.
Scotland's fists clenched. They WROTE. IT. OUT. Trust Albion to bollocks it up. He sent a glare at his youngest brother, but he was too absorbed in watching Wales' crystal ball.
Damn. They really could've used an hour watching Iroquois' combat prowess. Did she need to make physical contact or was being within a certain distance enough for her to have influence? She'd managed to topple Alfred (a fierce opponent) with little to no struggle. With the right illusion she could even make them battle each other.
An image formed in the orb's depths.
It was a dark, stormy night. The winds whipped furiously. Rain fell in violent sheets.
Scotland almost wished this was just another movie night where Alfred had brought over some cheesy horror film like Night of the Living Dead or Sharknado. He half-expected to hear Arthur bemoan the cliche start of this vision.
Yamasee stood in a clearing, holding an object high over his head.
It was the size and shape of an ordinary dream catcher though in the place of feathers hung three thin arrowheads that glimmered with a haze of dark magic.
Scotland hummed appreciatively, well that was something at least. Alaska's assertion that it was inoperative didn't stop him from wondering about what the artifact looked like.
He began chanting for the Great Spirit to lend his protection over their lands once more. The wind increased-dark clouds became vortexes.
"I heed the prophets' warnings." Tornado-like funnels touched down from various points in the sky
"Sarayumigh! You are not welcome here!" His voice was accompanied by a chorus of shrieking howls.
He took a deep breath and began repeating the spell in hopes of even more reinforcements.
"I heed the proph-" He was abruptly knocked down by something barrelling into his stomach.
"Stopitstopitstopit!" a toddler Alfred wailed. The irises of his eyes glowed an unnatural turquoise. He snatched at the device in Yamasee's hands.
They wrestled and struggled; Alfred got in two good bites before the man delivered a powerful punch that sent him flying across the clearing and into a tree.
Alistair's loud swear joined many others. There was just something infuriating about punting around a half-pint. Aye, he and his brothers had tussled with Arthur a lot when he was a wee'un but they'd never-God, that throw could've broken bones.
"Little wretch" the man growled, clamping a hand over one particularly deep bite wound "You and your kind are not welcome here."
He raised the ornament up, expecting another chorus of howls but...nothing happened.
He ran a hand over it-brown eyes wide. Two arrowheads.
He glanced over to where the child was struggling to his feet-tripping over tree roots.
Protruding from Roanoke's chest was the middle spike; the sharp end had pierced him and broken free of the willow hoop during their struggle.
Alfred glanced down at the crimson rivulets staining his gown.
Alistair risked a look over at Albion. Judging from the stricken expression and the way his hands kept twitching, Arthur would've preferred taking the stabbing himself over watching his toddler endure it.
Yamasee slowly removed his knife from his belt, "Come here Dyami, I will pry it loose."
Alfred moved back behind the tree and glared.
Yamasee laughed harshly, "Fear not, I would not stain my knife with your filthy lifeblood. When you die it will be in the jaws of a Wendigo. Now come here."
"Never."
The vehemence of the child's reply startled the man into pausing. And to the shock of Yamasee (and everyone watching the crystal ball) with two little hands he drove the arrowhead fully into his chest and then sprinted into the forest.
"Wait! You...you fool! We won't be able to control them without-they'll come after us all! Dyami!"
Sooo then, if they had the artifact and they had Alfred well….a little surgery for Al and a hot melt glue gun for the device…and damn...their Wendigo summoner was back in commission.
He looked over at his brothers. Wales' pale skin was tinged green, North kept silently mouthing 'Fuck' and he kept shaking his head like he wanted to argue and couldn't.
Meanwhile, Arthur kept muttering "staunch it. O Sweetheart, you have to staunch it or you could go into shock."
The child sprinted through the forest ducking low branches and jumping over roots. His pale feet and gown were bright in the flashes of lightning that streaked overhead.
"Dyami?" a voice called out.
The child staggered to a halt and looked around.
"H-hatteras?" the child wheezed.
A Native American man with a beaded headband and a quiver strapped to his back stepped out from behind a tree. He sighed with relief, "Osha and I have been searching for you. Your eyes?! What happened?"
England stiffened at the name, "So her human name is Osha...I suspected as much." Alistair blinked and frowned. Damn it, Albion. Withholding information. How were they supposed to strategize effectively when he did that?
"Yama-Yama- atta-attacked"
"The Council is tracking him as we speak. To stop him."
"You're...hewping me now?"
The man had the good grace to wince at the child's disbelieving tone.
"It was agreed that more time was needed; the Wendigo's reluctance to...destroy your tribe entirely…Not to mention it's reluctance to hunt you personally... Alaxsxaq told Osha that the beasts treat Kanata the same...It all bodes ill. The Great Spirit is displeased."
Scotland glanced over to where Canada was watching attentively.
"Croatoan, Osha, and I think...if we could have you both stand before the Council we can settle the matter for all time. You are of our land. You must be one of us."
Seeing the child was shaking, he approached and laid a hand on his small shoulder, "Fear not little one, my brother and I are going to aid you."
"Y-your...brother?"
"Croatoan. You haven't met him" he shook his head exasperatedly "A bit reclusive. But he's already brought braves from our islands and the mainland to help your people fight off the Wendigo and reclaim the."
"H-hatteras" the child clutched at his chest. "Hatteras, I-"
Several shrieking howls erupted nearby and eight monstrous forms emerged. They'd been huddled down on all fours and now balanced on their hindlegs.
"Dyami" he instructed "Stay behind me, I'll distract them. When you have an opening, fly to Osha. Let her know where to find me."
But the child didn't move. Instead, he planted his feet-eyes on the approaching monsters.
"No" he straightened up "No more wunning."
The man stared and then shook his head and aimed his bow at the approaching monsters, "Dyami, fly to Os-"
"I cannot" he sighed.
"What!? Why? Have you exhausted yourself again? We tell you over and over, not to waste-"
"Of course you can't anymore" Wales muttered "Nearly all of your magic is being directed into that fortitude spell."
Alistair hummed in agreement, focusing it all into one area like that…
He let out a low whistle. That was such a gamble. Yes, it gave him a ridiculous advantage in hand-to-hand combat and made him fairly durable in rough and tumble conditions (he was handling that stab wound surprisingly well) but...
Hexes and manipulations aside, magic users primarily depended on their magic for defensive maneuvers; agility, healing, shielding…
Alfred was terribly exposed.
Yes, he was durable but...what was harder to break, took longer to heal.
Alistair's eyes widened.
Terribly exposed.
He had no resistance to being mesmerized!
Scotland and North could sympathize. They weren't the best at deflecting those spells. A fact young Albion had ruthlessly exploited, sending various fairies to manipulate them and hexing objects constantly. Up until the Crusades (when Arthur had thankfully matured enough not to curse Alistair's house when he was out) it seemed like Scotland was having to purchase an absurd quantity of iron to prevent mishaps. And it'd been humiliating every time he had to explain why the outhouse had a ridiculous amount of iron dangling from it's roof.
"But it's alwight. My people...they needed me to do this. So I wanted this. So I'm not sad."
Hatteras tried to shield the child as he fired another arrow at the skeletal deer head of a Wendigo. It shot through the milky orb of one glowing eye and the beast began to smolder-scattering into ash.
One down, Scotland thought, but there were still seven to deal with. And damn they were ugly. No wonder the mite wet himself so much when he was small, dreamin' of them. Eire probably would now if he faced one down alone. North had gone rather pale though noticing Scotland's eye on him, he straightened himself up and crossed his arms.
The child sidestepped his protector and continued moving forward. The harsh wind whipping at his gown.
"Child get-"
"For a wong time, I thought being bwave meant you felt no fear. And so I always had to wun. But that isn't so. Bwavery is a choice. Anyone can be bwave" he smiled "Even me. "
"Tha' was beautiful" North announced. "No wonder they used him to recruit rebels in the 1770s."
"Roanoke NOO! If you attack, they'll retaliate. They have orders to destroy you. Your neutrality has been what's spared y-"
"And what about my people, Hatteras?!" The child glowered and then sprinted towards his enemies. "No. No more wunning away."
Seeing their specified target, the Wendigo began to charge-howling loudly, jaws snapping.
The child give a powerful strike that launched the first beast high into the air where it disintegrated into ash.
From the back of the room, Texas cheered: "Going, going, GONE." Caught up in the moment, he used his free hand to hive-five Spain. Who used it to his advantage, capturing his hand and pulling him into a hug (which would take him another five minutes to escape from). Alistair was pleased to see that Canada managed to keep the camera from falling during the commotion.
The second beast's head was hit hard enough to twist it backwards. Alfred ran through the ash to attack the third one, while Hatteras shot the one creeping up on the child.
North let out an impressed whistle. Scotland nodded; It seemed Alfred had been even stronger when the spell was first cast.
Still if the trade off was an inability to resist mystical manipulation...why didn't Arthur capitalize on that during the 1770s?
Alfred had a great amount of Loyalists during that war. If he had gotten Alfred to stand with them instead...
True, Arthur now found it ungentlemanly to charm people. But heaven and hell knew he'd used his tricks ruthlessly during his conquests.
He didn't weave outright illusions (he had his fairies for that), but he could plant powerful suggestions. Oh you'll want to be a trades partner of mine, just think of what could go wrong if you weren't? Oh come now Francis, if not the Caribbeans than Canada surely, however would you support a large territory like him, financially ruined as you are?
It was...odd that Arthur hadn't invoked his powers on Alfred.
Wales' watch beeped...but the vision continued.
Wales blinked in bewilderment as he silenced the alarm. He stared at the orb while a little Alfred and his ally destroyed the remaining Wendigo.
Something of value. Alistair felt more than a little miffed. That vial had been very important to him. St. Inan, in his heart of hearts, was a recluse and Alistair had felt honored that the man held him in enough esteem to gift that to him.
Unless...
Alistair glanced at Arthur whose hands were scrabbling at his cuffs-as they only did when he was terribly nervous.
Unless…
much did that stupid ribbon mean to him?
Hatteras laughed in surprise and relief, "Dyami...You" he rested a hand on the child's head and stared into the glowing eyes. "You cast a very powerful spell."
"I asked Sky Mother to make me big and stwong. This is the stwong part" he glanced down at his feet "I do not think...I will ever fwy again though but..." He looked his ally in the eye "But I can fight Wendigo now."
"Very strong" the man agreed touching tenderly at the wound on the child's chest. "A lesser warrior would've fallen from this." He ripped the edge of the child gown to bind it against the little chest.
Alfred smiled at the praise, but winced as pressure was put on his injury.
Noticing a hollowed out tree, Hatteras led him over. "That wound will worsen if you continue moving."
"No. Pwease, if it's just a wittle farther...I can-"
"Rest here" the adult ordered "I'll fetch our shaman for you."
The rain poured even more heavily once the brave left.
Alfred sighed and glanced at the makeshift bandage, which was already staining. He sighed again and rubbed his little hands together for warmth.
He tapped his foot against the inside of the trunk and then perked up. He squinted through the rain.
"Little one! Little one! Boy, where are you?" a woman's desperate voice called over the howling wind.
A middle aged human woman was stumbling through the wilderness.
Scotland blinked; her pale skin and European dress meant she had to be a settler from Roanoke Colony.
"Sawah!" the child cried in incredulous delight, springing out of his hiding place, and running towards her.
"There you are!"
"Sawah" he buried his face into her skirt.
She pet his hair "When I saw you hide in that savages' boat, I-I couldn't just-whatever were you thinking?!"
"I had to! I had to go! To save us fwom the monsters! I...wait, Sawah? Have you been fowwowing me this whooole time?"
She held her face in her hand and sniffled, "Well someone had to! A babe like-"
"Sawah!?" he admonished, voice somewhat muffled by her apron "I am not a hewpwess wittle babe!"
Unfortunately, their loud bickering attracted a monstrous Wendigo-twice the size the earlier ones had been.
The woman released a bloodcurdling scream as it crashed into the clearing. She screamed even louder as Alfred ran toward the beast.
"Child, NOOO!"
The wendigo lowered its head to charge and bite as Alfred reared back a little fist.
The creature's head twisted unnaturally from the force of the hit. It slammed into the ground taking several small trees with it. It's glowing eyes dimmed and the body began smoldering into ash.
Considering the monster thwarted, Alfred turned and raced back to her "Sawah! Sawah! Sawah! O Sawah! You don't have to worry anymore. See, I can pwotect us now" the child cried joyfully, embracing her knees as best he could despite her petticoats.
He looked up; his gaze damnably bright with a supernatural glow.
She glanced down at him, a sudden hollowness in her eyes (that made the back of Scotland's neck prickle in warning).
She pulled back from the boy, her lips curling in revulsion; her hands swiftly untangled him from her dress.
Eyes frantic she ran her hands through her greying hair erratically dislodging her bonnet completely. The harsh wind blew the garment away entirely. She glanced back and forth from the child in front of her to the smoldering corpse of the wendigo to the dark sky.
He glanced up too and put a finger into his pouting mouth. "Sawah" he whined and tugged on her apron "Sawah, aren't you gwad to see me?"
She trembled and bit a knuckle on her hand to stifle a gasp and keep her fingers from shaking, "...Child."
"America" he announced loudly "I decided. My name is America. The others do not want it. But...I think it sounds beautiful...and maybe there'll be magic in it and I'll gwow beautiful because of it. And the children of the twibes won't call me wittle Wendigo anymore."
"Wen..digo."
The toddler sagged sadly, "I know I eat a wot and I'm not vewy pwetty. But I'm not wike that." He pointed at what little remained of the monster. "So...pwease, pwease call me America."
England looked rather scandalized, "Of course you-you aren't-they're just-don't listen to them pet-you've always been a beaut-"
Scotland sighed heavily. He wasn't Wales but, even he had a strong sense of foreboding.
She took a deep breath and brushed some dirt off her dress and held out her hand, "Come along...America."
He flushed with pleasure and he swung her hand happily as he trotted beside her, "Saunee said it was too big for me. But I don't think so. Not now. See, I made a deal" he chirped. "To be big and stwong."
Scotland and North shared a look of horror and disbelief. It was quite possibly the worst phrase he could use before a Devil-fearing woman.
She nodded without looking at him.
"Aren't I cwever, Sawah?"
She brushed away a tear, "Come along dear. Quick now. Quick, quick."
"W-where are we going? I'm s'posed to wait. My fwiend told me to west o'er there and-"
"Come, come. Tis awful late. We need to...get home...swiftly. Get you...out of those wet things and...warmly...tucked in. "
Scotland felt uneasy as the sound of waves crashing against a shore became audible.
"Tucked in…? Does...does this mean I get to stay in your house with you? You're going to-to be my...my mama?" the child's eyes brimmed with joyful tears.
She stopped moving a moment and swallowed. Alfred nuzzled his face against her skirt murmuring, "Saunee says we aren't a s'posed to have families because we have so many duties to uphold. She says that's why we wive so wong, why we're made diffwent."
"Made different…"
"Now I just need to find Father and then! Then O Sawa-I mean Mama, everything will be perfect. He lives in the ocean" the child announced confidently. "On the edge of the world. I don't know how he keeps fwom falling off-but once we find him, we can ask."
England took a ragged breath; even worried as he was, his cheeks flushed with delight; he loved to be thought of.
Scotland blinked. He was the only one wasn't he? Who welcomed you as his colonizer? Who, despite all the bad blood, came to your rescue twice. Who always lov-He stared at his hiking boots for a beat.
You couldn't bring yourself to spell him. Not when you'd known real affection. You'd always feel the difference.
Scotland tried to focus back on the scene.
"You have a father…" she murmured.
"I can feel it."
"How many of you are there? And you're...all...of a different flesh."
"Tha's what Saunee says. But...Mama I don't feel diffwent. I'm jus' wike you Mama. I know it. Saunee is wong. Mama...can...can you...can you cawwy me? The way they cawwy Ginny. I'm cold and tired. And my feet keep sinking. Pwease?"
The woman paused and woodenly bent down to pick the child up.
He tried to nuzzle his face into her neck but the woman remained stiff and she continued moving. The trees thinned abruptly revealing they were on a cliff side.
The woman made a strangled noise in her throat.
"Mama? We don't hafta be afwaid anymore."
She sobbed and fell to her knees. She stroked his hair and shook her head, tears spilling over.
"Oh no, hush hush" he patted her cheek "Don't cwy. I can pwotect you. I'm so stwong now. I can pwobably pwotect everyone everywhere."
Her hands slid down his hair, caressed his face, and then settled on his neck. She lifted him up.
"S-sawah you're huwting me" he rasped-little hands scrabbled at her white knuckled grip. He wriggled, feet dangling helplessly as she moved towards the cliff's edge.
"May God have mercy even for monsters."
"M-monster?" he choked, eyes scanning the wood for a sign of Wendigo "W-where? I-" he couldn't breathe "I..I…" he trailed off as he looked her in the face.
Blue eyes went wide with realization.
"Oh…"
He stopped struggling and let his hands fall from his neck.
Woman and child shared one last look as she held him over a turbulent sea.
Alfred gave a small, sad smile.
And she let him go.
Scotland chewed his bottom lip. Damn it all. It seemed like he fell for an eternity. And if only he had. If-if-if he could just never land then-
He hit. Headfirst...on a dark rock protruding from the water. Blood splattered everywhere as the little head flattened. And then the waves crashed over him and he was gone.
The scene dissolved and no one commented as Arthur abruptly left.
Canada sighed as he raked leaves. Spain and Texas were cleaning the rain gutters, while he and Wales were tidying America's lawn.
They'd discovered the morning after the seance that Arthur had walked back to the car during the night. He was sitting in the passenger seat pouring over a map, listening to orchestral music, and in no mood for conversation.
After a tense drive to Fredericksburg, he'd retreated to America's room and they'd barely glimpsed him at all over the next three days.
Which frustrated Mathieu, his ex-guardian wasn't the only one hurting from witnessing...Dieu...that. He shuddered.
"May God have mercy even for monsters."
"Tell him" Wales stated succinctly.
Canada nearly dropped the bag.
The other man leaned against his rake and gave him a stern glance. "We need harmony among ourselves. If we go into enemy territory disorganized spiritually, we may as well not enter at all."
Canada took a deep breath and stared at his shoes.
Wales sent him a small reassuring smirk, "Arthur's an idiot. You'll need to be blunt...and try to use small words."
Mathieu felt a smile tug at his lips.
England, clad in his boxers and undershirt, took a deep drink of whiskey. He let out a whoosh of breath as it burned down his throat.
He wandered over to his desk. Staring briefly at the card lying there before scanning the rows of photos.
Oddly enough, Antonio had slipped him a condolences card during one of his brief jaunts outside of the room to the loo. Spain of all people. Not his brothers. But Spain. His former enemy and sometimes rival. He'd insisted on coming with them out there to Kirkland Hall. Insisting, he needed "bonding time" with his son "por favor." And damn it, he couldn't refuse a request like that.
England plucked the picture of his infant son off the desk and moved over to the window. He slid the window open a sliver to breathe in the October air. The humidity was decreasing as the month wore on.
He looked down at the photo, tracing a thumb gently around the cherubic face. The deep blue green eyes stared up at him accusingly.
He began to pace. He could practically hear it.
Daddy, where were you when I needed you?
"Foiling conspiracies, privateering, sinking armadas, strengthening my ruler's might."
I weached for you, I needed you, and you ignored me.
"I know poppet."
Daddy, you didn't save me.
"I know."
You didn't even twy.
"I-I…"
She came fwom your country and she huwt me, Daddy. So bad I can't even wemember it.
He hugged the frame which was a poor substitute for his son and he crawled up onto the bed.
There was a knock and the door creaked opened.
That face!
"It's Canada" he was told flatly.
Violet eyes. Frog's hair. Maple leaf sweatshirt. Right.
"Kana, Cana..da. Yes. I'm...not fit to entertain I fear."
"We need to talk."
"Now? No, not now. I...not now boy."
"Now Arthur" his voice brooked no argument.
England sighed "Fine, fine. What is it, lad? Had a scuffle with Cuba again?"
"N-no that was an accident, that time."
"Something with your country? You need" he hiccuped "You need advice or something?"
Canada shook his head.
Arthur sighed. With Canada it was always like this. Had to play bloody twenty questions to figure out what he needed.
"God, if it's romantic...Please for the love of...call the frog. Unless. Damnation. I tell you all to be safe. Go on then. Did you contract something?"
"Maple?!" Canada went bright red.
"Lemme fetch my trousers. I'll take you to hospital."
"Arthur," Canada grumbled "if you'll shut up, I'll tell you."
Arthur stared at him expectantly.
"I miss him too" the lad blurted. "...Alfred."
"O' course you do" he scratched his nose "Tha's your brother. You think I don't know that? O' course I-I bloody know that I…Just give me a little more time" he gestured at a map "He's...somewhere I've been. Somewhere I know. I know that cliff. I just..I'll get him back for us. Just. More time, alright, love?" He patted Canada's cheek.
"Would you...be so distraught, if it were me?"
He blinked, "What're yeh...haha, you're my lil' strategist, you wouldn't get caught like this. Like an idgit."
"A-arthur" Canada admonished, shocked.
"Wot? He is. We both know he is" England stared down at the photo "O he can be clever sometimes. And O he knows his maths woo! Put a man on the moon. But not a lick of sense. Not a bit."
Canada glowered "Arth-"
"I can say it. My poor daft baby. And now we know that yes, yes he was dropped on his head. He was. He was. He was." He swore a bit in Gaelic, cursing the old spinster who'd hurt his boy.
"Arthur, that wasn't your fault."
"That rebellion happened on my watch. This kidnapping, dammit, this happened on my watch. Roanoke-"
"Roanoke" Mathieu interrupted "wasn't your fault."
"My poor baby" England choked.
"Arth-"
"I felt a pull" he murmured guiltily avoiding his former colony's face "I thought it was just my competitive streak-urging me to pursue my rivalry with Spain and France and Portugal. Everyone was exploring. Everyone was eager to see, to claim the New World. I thought it was that. And I thought, I thought Oooohhh it can wait… See, I didn't want to leave her side. What with William's murder I couldn't just...and Mary! God Mary. Antonio! Goddamned armada. Outbreaks of plague too! And-and. Damnation. Needed me. Needed me and I didn't go. There was always something. Always I..I-"
"Arthur-"
"That was my citizen. She was mine. I hadn't yet managed to quash that goddamned fear of witchcraft and she-she…"
"She threw Alfred off a cliff."
"And he let her. Fought me over tea but let that woman...without a fight. Without a-"
"Maybe that's why" Canada theorized "He fights everything. To make up for the time he didn't."
He rested an unsteady hand on Mathieu's shoulder, "You weren't like that. You were such a good boy. Listening to me. Learning from me. Never had to worry about you going off with some dangerous stranger. Never had to worry about you embarrassing yourself. Always watched what you said. Who you made friends with. Well-mannered. Well-dressed-kept your clothes intact, unsoiled. Never stuffed your gob at a banquet" his chest puffed with pride. "Could take you anywhere without incident. That's why we could go to operas. Could you imagine Australia, or God forbid, yer brother in the middle of Rodelinda? Oh no. NO. Barbados too. I could take her to ballets. And Hong Kong too (as long as I checked his pockets for fireworks. My firefly. Ugh) You were all good."
Mathie frowned and defended his brother "Alfred isn't bad."
"Course not!" England snapped. "He's naive. He's impulsive. He's stubborn and immature and prideful and careless and forgetful."
Canada muttered something that sounded suspiciously "like you."
"Yes. Like me" he adamantly agreed. "It's goddamned karma it is. I was like that before I reformed. My adventures on the sea. Sailed just to see where the wind would take me. Laughed at consequence, I did. Yes. And he's the same-Flights around the world. You know he's crashed before! In the ocean! Had to sail out there and get him, 'fore the Germans did. God, he's...going to worry me into an early grave. He's...a silly boy who won't come home to me. All the rest of you come home. We get together. We take holidays. Play cricket. High tea. You ask me questions, I give you answers. I research with you when you need me to. You confide in me. And you...you send me invitations to your little ceremonies and I-I go." He choked up a bit.
He rested back against the headboard. Canada sat near him on the edge of the bed.
"I didn't breech him."
Canada's head tilted to the side. No doubt wondering what the transition from frocks to short pants to trousers had to do with anything.
Except that England's sudden epiphany made him feel that point was essential in understanding the tragic unravelling of his and Alfred's relationship, "It's an important rite on the pathway to manhood. I breeched you, Australia, and New Zealand. China breeched Hong Kong. I...I didn't breech Alfred. I don't know the wanker who did or I'd I'd." He sighed "I..He was small. He stayed small when you started growing. Oh, he got so jealous when I presented you with your crisp new suit. Do you remember? Acted out all day. He knew damn well "favour" had a "u" in it. I probably should've just washed his mouth out...but, ergh, he was so insolent...I felt I had to spank him."
Canada watched him stonily.
England ran a hand through his hair, "Oh, I know. I know. You've had enough spankings for slipping into French. But I didn't want the Governors giving you trouble. If you slipped up before them, they'd have reported it to the Castle. Insinuated that you were disloyal. They'd made it frightfully clear that if I couldn't make a loyal citizen of you, they'd be pleased to take over. Had to do it. I hated having to do it, if that's any consolation." He offered his bottle of whiskey.
Canada remained silent, but took the proffered alcohol.
"See here, Alfred always took it much harder than the rest of you. He'd get so embarrassed. See, that was always the key to him. He's too stubborn to force him to do anythin'. No, you've got to embarrass him. As a result, I usually didn't hit him too hard. But I didn't pull that day. He was so...but I should've-"
He took a deep breath.
"Well, you probably remember...he slipped off into the night. Well, he left me a happy little note on my desk. You know...how I usually scolded him for having doubles of things? Why keep a battered old chair, when I'd bought him a nice new one to enjoy?"
"Yes" Canada nodded. England used the phrase often, when he was getting the children new clothes or new toys to replace the damaged ones.
"Well, he threw that in my face rather spectacularly for a four year old. Told me to enjoy my nice new 'favourite' colony and that he was off to find someone who'd love him better. Someone who didn't care that his spelling was so 'a-tro-shus.' He actually crossed that out and put 'bad.' It should've been 'poor.' Should've been poor, Sweet."
"He was terrible, wasn't he?" Canada smiled nostalgically.
"Was? Is. Last year's Halloween invitation had three typos in it."
Canada bit his his lip to try and hide a smile.
"Don't lie boy, you noticed it too."
The lad laughed and sniffled and took another drink. He laid back beside his former guardian and gently took the frame from him.
"He's going to hate this picture."
"Yes. That's quite likely. And yet, this is what's going to be on his 4th of July cake next year. Along with 'Happy Birthday Sweetums, Love Daddy.' "
"And Mattie...Add Texas too."
"Naturally. We're going to say it was his idea."
Arthur stretched and gently pulled his legs out from under a polar bear (who must've crept in some time during the night). He had a bit of a crick in his neck since...he glanced over at Mathieu (who had stolen both of the pillows on the bed). Still, he should probably be grateful the boy came in when he did. Prevented him from getting shitfaced the previous night and thus prevented a mighty hangover.
As it was, the morning sunlight was only slightly unbearable. Getting out of bed without disturbing the other occupants required a bit more dexterity than Arthur liked. He could practically hear Alfred snicker 'Dude, it's like Jenga. Jeeenga.'
He sighed and pulled the blankets up to Canada's chin.
After a quick shower, change of clothes, and a slightly burnt bowl of oatmeal-he decided to take a brief stroll in the crisp autumn air.
He'd need to have Rhys try and compile all the feeds chronologically. Having each event in correct order would help him fill in remaining blanks.
O it'd probably grind his heart into dust each time, but if he could glean more knowledge-he had to try.
He paused in front of a great oak tree.
Mother...you always told me life was circular. That our lives were in constant cycles. It was hubris...thinking his life started when I entered it. He was just so young. Part of me struggles even now. I...I don't want that past for him" he dragged an arm across his eyes. "I'd rather he didn't remember his childhood at all, if it would mean that the fate of Roanoke could stay a mystery. Our happy memories together so long ago...I can hold those. I can store those in my heart. If I could spare him the pain of…
He gasped as he saw in his mind's eye, the little body hitting. God. Just moments before there'd been pure joy in his little face as he misunderstood the woman's intentions.
"You're going to-to be my...my mama?"
So ready to love and be loved. To have a family. Arthur's lungs contracted painfully.
"...everything will be perfect…"
"Can you cawwy me? The way they cawwy Ginny. I'm cold and tired...Pwease."
O Sweet. He ran a hand through his hair-remembering the feel of a little body that always clung to him. Arthur would often scold him for holding so tightly and huff at the boy's insistence that if he didn't cling Arthur would drop him.
"...you said I'm your wittle Alfwed. You feed me and pwotect me and cawwy me."
Like those were novel things. Things he didn't expect. Things Iroquois obviously didn't do often. Things his settlers didn't do.
The child kissed the ends of the ribbon mumbling "my nicest thing."
A child's way of confessing: I have so little.
"I knew I'd find you, Daddy."
And for a short while, they'd been so happy. So blissfully happy before...
"...I will choose liberty after all. I'm no longer your child, nor your baby brother. From now on, I'm independent…"
What changed? He'd desperately wanted a family.
"...it's alwight. My people...they needed me to do this. So I wanted this. So I'm not sad."
"...I will choose liberty after all..."
England frowned. He had that damned declaration memorized and without even thinking he mumbled, "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
"...I will choose liberty…"
"...I will choose liberty…"
Why? Or rather, why not all three? And of the three...why not...why not happiness?
"Saunee says we aren't a s'posed to have families..."
That was what she told Alfred.
"I'm no longer your child, nor your baby brother."
That was what the boy told him.
"From now on, I'm independent…"
"...because we have so many duties to uphold."
"...I will choose liberty after all..."
Because...what...he couldn't have the other two? Nations...they didn't really have lives did they? Not in the normal sense, not when they were subject to their people's whims. Not when they regenerated the way humans wouldn't after a "fatal" blow. Not when they didn't age "normally." Which meant irregular socialization at best and long hours...alone...in an empty house.
"...everything will be perfect…"
"Now boy, be a good colony...and fall in line with all the others."
"English enough to be owned."
"From now on, I'm independent…"
"...I will choose liberty…"
"...needed me to do this. So I wanted this. So I'm not sad."
"It is a cause for joy when God sets persecution before us but also bids us to rejoice...Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering…"
Goddamned Calvin!
"You must submit to great suffering to discover the completion of joy."
"...I wanted this. So I'm not sad."
"...I will choose liberty…"
And what he didn't intend anyone to hear:"Father...you always leave me behind."
"...I will choose liberty…"
Arthur leaned against the tree for support.
More like himself than he liked in this instance. Arthur was a prideful man. He knew that and because he knew that and he knew to look for it in his son now. He heard something new in that declaration.
He may as well have said: I will choose dignity...and cut all of my losses and preserve what remains.
Withdrawing himself within his borders, immersing himself in his new duties, adhering to policies of neutrality...
Damn...war and trade were the only things that could draw you out back then, England thought.
He swore loudly and a woman jogging with a stroller nearby, gave him a dark look.
Damn. Those were still the only things that drew him out. Most of the world joked that only war taught Americans geography. They were so reluctant to tour the globe, it made other countries frustrated. Come see the great histories of our lands, dammit.
Was that another feeling Alfred was sending to his people? An order to stay.
He seldom acted as though he-he disliked other countries' cities, he snorted at the customs now and then but...
He had come to meetings regularly now, though he never...stayed to tour Europe, even though he and Francis had offered multiple times. He visited with Japan and Canada occasionally, but never more than a week. He usually stayed within his own borders.
"From now on, I'm independent…"
England dusted himself off and headed back towards the house muttering to himself:
"Silly, silly, silly boy. Being independent didn't mean you had to exile yourself. Being a nation didn't mean you couldn't have a family. There's no reason for you to be alone. And if you're lonely tell me. When have I ever abandoned you? Never. Carry you in my heart wherever I go. Told you that all the time when…"
Seabreeze against their faces. In one hand the wheel of his ship, the other balanced his six year old on his hip.
"You're leaving me again" a mournful little voice murmured in his ear. "Aren't you?"
"O Sweet. So dramatic." They'd been having this conversation since the 1650s.
The child tilted his head back to deliver a glare and said accusingly, "You want to go and forget me, huh? Because of all the troubles lately."
Arthur laughed and kissed the puffed up cheeks, before pressing their foreheads together briefly before returning his attention to steering.
"Do you see how this vessel carries us?"
"Y-yes" the child answered uncertainly, thrown by the change of topic.
"How the sky holds the sun?"
Alfred nodded.
"How I carry you now?"
"Yes."
"Hearts can carry even more."
"Nuh uh. Hearts just have blood in 'em."
Arthur frowned, "The organ perhaps. But I speak now of your heart. The center of your being." He signalled his first mate to take the helm while he walked over to the bow of the ship.
Being on deck, helped the child overcome his seasickness. Having both of his father's arms wrapped around him, helped him stave off loneliness.
"Your heart dear. Here" he placed a hand gently on the middle of the little one's chest.
"See when we...part with each other...though you won't see me, or feel my arms around you" he gave the boy an affectionate squeeze "It doesn't mean I've abandoned you. I'm simply carrying you in my heart while I'm away."
"And you're in my heart too?"
"I hope so."
"Hmph. No wonder I have more trouble than you. I'm little, you're big. That makes you heavier!"
Arthur had laughed and tickled the child who giggled until the cliffs came into view. Then he buried his face into Arthur's collar.
Arthur took that as his cue to take the little one to his quarters. The waters were rather choppy in this party anyway and he had no desire to risk his child to any possible danger.
Alfred whined a little bit and Arthur scolded him; Silly pet, there were no monsters atop of those cliffs. Goodness. They went through this each time they sailed through Chesapeake Bay to Jamestown.
Arthur slammed the door shut behind him-sprinting into the kitchen.
Clothes askew, hair mussed, emerald eyes fanatically bright, he announced triumphantly. "He's in Maryland!"
His brothers stared. Canada poured maple syrup onto the table. The toaster dinged with two ready Eggos. Texas very slowly removed them and put them on his plate with salsa-as if he expected England to trigger a landmine.
"He's in Maryland" he repeated again this time in a slightly calmer tone.
Spain pulled out a chair and patted it gently.
"Inglaterra," he murmured soothingly "Sit down. Breakfast with us."
"He's near the Calvert Cliffs. According to my phone and Google, that's under two hours away."
When no one moved, he stalked over to the table-slamming his hands down on it and making everything rattle.
"My boy is coming home tonight! Get off your arses, NOW!"
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