Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or House Hunters the TV series.
Warning: Some profanity. MORE stereotypes. MORE OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Butchering slang from Australia aaand Jamaica in one chap. : D Family Draaaaama. Snobbery. Cricket. Some fluff. Some feels. Some flashbacks.
AN: Please continue to leave reviews to feed me. One magical day the site will be fixed and I'll be able to savor them more thoroughly. Right now, I just have to snack on the stats numbers. But I don't want to leave you guys in suspense so...here ya go! : D
Chapter 29: Lord Of The Swing Set
America watched through the gap of the balustrades as England continued mingling with the rest of his guests.
Hugs.
Handshakes.
A few hair ruffles.
For the ladies (even Wy), Arthur gave a slight bow and a kiss to the back of their hands and smiled.
Yeah, Alfred had been getting hugs and cuddles lately, but...he remembered a time when...
Alfred felt his heart soar.
There.
Dressed in a formal suit with stockings for Court.
His father.
It felt good to think of him that way again.
For a while, he'd had to think of himself as a country only; with no family, no ties or connections or weaknesses. Like Osha dictated; to be a proper nation he'd had to halt everything.
Like the part of him known as Alfred F. Kirkland was a book. A book held in the grasp of an entity known as America and it could be set down whenever his land and his people were in dire need.
But the war was over. He could resume where he'd left off. At last.
And terrible as the whole ordeal was; he actually felt it was better this way. Felt he understood both his guardians better.
How difficult it was being a nation.
How hard it must've been for Arthur trying to raise his colonies while dealing with his king and Parliament. For Osha when her tribe was warning her to be weary of Alfred's desires to separate from Great Britain...
Good God, Alfred's own limited experiences proved it was trying.
Exhausting.
And rather frightening if one was honest. They cared about him, but in an abstract way. While George and Alex and John and Ben were warm to him, others...while professional and...respectful of him...were...were...
They couldn't quite understand him and because of that...they couldn't quite…
God, it was lonely.
He hurried over-arms raising.
Father would know what to do.
He'd dealt with such things for ages! Likely the answer would be so simple the older nation would chuckle at Alfred's inability to grasp it for himself.
And Father would be glad to see that Alfred wasn't so proud after all. Yes, he wanted to be independent. But he could use advice. Especially from someone he'd always admir-
"What are you doing?!" the man barked.
Alfred faltered, nearly tripping on the expensive rug beneath his feet.
"I…" thought the war was over.
That tone though...
"Goodness Alfred, pretend to have some sense of decorum."
He glanced around at human faces he didn't recognize who all seemed less than impressed with the American nation before them.
He blinked confusedly.
Arthur sighed and motioned with his eyes where Alfred was supposed to be standing in the hall before Parliament.
Right. Right. Right.
He pulled out several wadded up notes from his government that he'd read and reread on the voyage over. Difficult because the motion of the ship made him sick and reading...made it worse.
Still, he'd managed.
Unfortunately, it had resulted in the notes looking rather…worn.
And if he hadn't been embarrassed now-realizing that he should've copied them over onto fine, fresh paper-the scoffing noise Arthur made…
The one that was usually reserved for France...
Decorum.
Alfred needed...to develop a sense of decorum...
See?
Knowledgeable.
See?
Good advice.
He needed decorum.
Alfred took a shuddery breath and shook his head. Wow, that was when he was still a fresh-faced newbie.
He took a harsh gulp of air-he'd obsessed over that; buying books on etiquette and fashion and-and-
Until he'd learned to appreciate the chagrined look on England's face whenever America did something unforgivably "common."
Alfred's lack of decorum (sometimes blatant, sometimes unintentional) became a subtle form of rebellion.
And it was good...getting to vent that way...perhaps it was a bit spiteful, but ultimately harmless, and it kept Alfred's resentment from transforming into something darker.
Because the old man's rules and his need to micromanage everything turned every visit to the U.K. into a prison sentence.
Whenever he was with Arthur, he was caged.
Alfred blinked and held a hand to his forehead. His face had gotten all hot and everything.
Whoa.
He took a deep breath.
Wow. Bitter much, Al?
Geez.
He looked back out at Arthur. Arthur, who'd driven all the way here yesterday-which was...big. Because England usually complained when something was just an hour away. And he'd often gripe about how you couldn't just walk to the grocery store in America-no, you had to drive.
Arthur, who still had a 'harassed' look about him, skinny and tired and who, according to Tex, looked waaaay better than he did during most of Alfred's absence.
And Alfred remembered being carefully tucked in last night-having a warm arm settle over him and having his forehead kissed goodnight.
And...didn't Arthur promise something?
Yeah...yeah, he did!
"You tell me the sad things. And I'll tell you the happy things, until you can remember those happy things for yourself. And in the meanwhile, we'll just need to content ourselves with making some new happy memories. How does that sound, Sweet?"
A lump formed in his throat and he immediately felt really bad. Was that the sad, sort of thing he was supposed to share? He wasn't sure he could do it.
Especially when...they were just starting to get along. He didn't want to be the Debbie Downer. Didn't want to be the jerk that made Arthur feel bad when all he wanted was a winter holiday with his family.
Alfred rested his warm forehead against the cool stone and stared out.
They'd come over on a plush rented bus and nobody wanted Alfred's help unloading their stuff. Apparently, several of his airlines had sullied his reputation and he'd gotten several wry comments that they really needed their luggage to be transported from point A to point B-so they'd let the manor's estate handle it.
Sweden had come over with Sealand and apparently would be leaving for the airport the next morning via taxi.
The stern way he kept glancing at Sealand and the overly polite mild mannered way the kid had greeted America (like they'd had no issues at all) suggested that Sweden had made it clear that he had to toe the line or he'd be coming straight home. Clearly, this was a test run for the micronation.
Apart from giving and receiving mandatory hello's from everybody and being unwelcome to transport materials, Alfred steadily felt more and more superfluous.
Alistair and Rhys were busy talking to Jamaica.
Reilley was talking to...ugh...Barbados…
New Zealand and Seychelles were making trips back and forth helping Wy carry her art supplies in.
And Alfred just...slowly retracted from the scene.
"G'day there Alfred!" Jet greeted from halfway up the steps-a canvas backpack slung over one shoulder.
Dude, he thought he was well-hidden?!
"Hey Jet" Alfred forced a grin.
"Good to see ya" He knelt down beside Alfred "Glad all's goin' well. Gave us all a fright, y'know?"
Alfred bit his lip and glanced back out to where England was standing next to a great stone fountain-smiling warmly as he conversed with Hong Kong.
"Aha," Jet breathed beside him in an "awed" tone "Behold the Pommie in his natural snobby habitat."
Alfred giggled.
Arthur walked to the side, dabbed at his eyes, and discreetly fished out a handkerchief to blow his nose.
"Beauuuuutiful. Majestic, really."
Alfred couldn't help the loud squeal of laughter that escaped him which seemed to startle Arthur who glanced all around for the source of noise.
"Shhhh. Careful now. can become skittish and charge-"
Alfred smiled, "Missed ya Jet."
Jet clapped him on the shoulder, "Missed you too, mate. Now what...or who...are you hidin' from?"
"Oh-uh-um...I was...that is...that...well..."
"Mate?"
"It's difficult because...this particular….quarry can...turn friggin' invisible...and…"
"Good God!" Arthur exclaimed.
Alfred immediately turned to look and- "Eep!"
"...yeah…" Jet sighed and sucked a breath between his teeth.
Well…
There Mattie was.
Quarry found.
And from the look of it was recovering from a broken nose…which had resulted in two black eyes…
Nice Tex…
Real nice...cuz that's gonna make things between all of them go smoother...
"Now" Australia slung an arm around America to draw him close. He lowered his voice. "Jamaica and I...have a bet goin.' I say, he's a tough bloke and he's gonna heal up alright, 'fore it's picture time. She says they're gonna have to do touch ups for him and they'll manage to get his eye color wrong. So? Want in?"
Arthur stretched a crick out of his neck and poured himself a small glass of port as he relished a few moments to himself in his bedroom's retreat space. Once again pleased that he'd had the foresight to build the addition a few decades ago.
Alfred had assumed that morning that its closed door led to a formal office and not quite willing to relinquish the privacy of the space-Arthur allowed the misconception to stay unchallenged.
He needed an uncontested area for himself and...he really didn't want to risk the teasing Alfred might subject him to over the highly nautical theme.
It was fashioned to resemble a Captain's Quarters from a 1700s Ship of the Line. Even had the windows put in at a slant.
Though...it had been fitted with more than a few modern conveniences; a telephone, a computer, several different styles of steering wheels from later periods hung on the walls alongside framed maps.
One wall had a bit of fishing net hung creatively with shells adorning it here and there. There were decorative jars filled with sand and shells.
A few years ago, he'd had a porthole window installed-even though the place already had enough windows. It was just…
Blast…
He just had a soft spot for the sea dammit!
He downed his glass and approached the large expanse of windows-smiling fondly at the scene unfolding on the landscape below.
The pond sparkled and Arthur felt a pull towards it. He might take a cool dip one of these days. Maybe row Alfred out and put on a little demonstration. While it was a bit too cold for the child to enjoy a swim, he wouldn't mind being splashed just a bit. He certainly enjoyed water rides at amusement parks. And he'd been getting increasingly more interested in Arthur's magical abilities.
Not to mention it would be a good opportunity to show Alfred how to offer a gift to magical creatures. They had an Asrai living quite happily down there. She was rather fond of moon stones, so Arthur made a habit of sending one down now and then. While she naturally wouldn't show herself during daytime, it could be for the best. Arthur wanted to ease Alfred into the realm of magic and seeing a pale web-handed little girl might make him uncomfortable.
Though…
Compared to wendigo...perhaps…
Maybe he'd just ask Alfred whether he wanted to see her. He couldn't imagine her being anything but sweet to his child-though he'd need to make it clear to Alfred that, for his own sake, she shouldn't be touched. Especially as Alfred didn't like the cold.
His eyes strayed to the lawn where his wards had gathered and were playing a modified game of cricket since they didn't have enough people. Again he felt a bit of melancholy, that more of his former colonies couldn't have made the trip. It would've been good to have a full house again. At least he'd see quite a few at the ball.
Yes, it was...a surprise that they'd all come so soon, but...well…
He took a sip.
They'd all arrived safely which was the most important thing. So Arthur and his brothers would just need to adjust the schedule a bit. And it felt good to see them in person: healthy and fit. Meant the lot of them were eating and exercising and sleeping alright. And God, that felt good. Only Alfred was underweight and sleep deprived. So it'd just be him that Arthur had to cluck over in that regard.
He took another sip.
He was surprised that Canada was involved in the game-given his injury. And if he felt he must play, he really ought to be wearing a face-guard...just in case. Arthur had already texted Spain his outrage since his attempts to shame Tex had resulted in a completely unrepentant text back of: Gosh ur funny XD
He frowned. Poor Mathieu. Yes, he was still bit upset with him but...he didn't deserve that. Texans. So violent. Hopefully, Rhys could make a salve that would help speed along Mathieu's healing.
In spite of himself, he came nearer to the window; the match was starting to get heated. Who knew that Wy of all people had such skill?
Unfortunately, America chose that moment to become interested-wandering nearer and nearer to the wicket. Which naturally worried England-the boy could get hit!
And while he was glad his son was ushered away from the line of fire...
He couldn't help the sharp sting that shot through his heart-watching the other children shoo him from their game rather than use it as an opportunity to include and instruct him.
He set his glass on the tray and decided to make his way back down.
Canada blinked as Australia, with a rather uncharacteristic scowl, quit their game. And while that evened the odds a little bit (because having Australia and Wy on the same team made them a nightmare to deal with) without Jet wise-cracking, it was...rather less enjoyable.
He gripped his bat, as he guarded the wicket-trying not to get distracted by the fact that Jett had gone over to play with Alfred on a pair of swings that the staff had put up.
They'd stopped putting them up a few years back, when Wy and Sealand had declared themselves too grown up and mature. He idly wondered how long that would last with them seeing Alfred become the new "Lord of the Swing Set."
Alfred and Jet were currently having a "Superman" contest; each lying on their stomachs and swinging with their arms straight out.
"Ack! Mattie get yo' head in da game!" Jamaica shouted.
He couldn't. And the game ended soon after that, when it became clear that Wy was getting bored, Sealand was becoming a poor sport, and Barbados had lost interest entirely-choosing to play with her phone in the field. (Honestly, considering her outfit, they'd been surprised she'd played at all.)
Canada hesitantly approached the swings. He...didn't want the holiday to be ruined because he and Alfred were at odds with one another...because...Mathieu was...jealous. And he'd seen firsthand how upset it had made England. And felt how upset it made Texas. He gently prodded his tender nose-careful not to dislodge the splint.
He wished he could say he was over it-that Tex's visit had knocked the feelings out of him but…
At least...he felt able to own up to it.
And even if he...wasn't quite ready for a heart to heart with Alfred…
Italy told me Al bawled his eyes out.
That was what Tex's note had said and while Mathieu supposed he had been aiming to embarrass his brother to vent his own frustration. His stomach flopped a bit at succeeding so thoroughly.
He needed to apologize for that. He could apologize for that. Even if he wasn't at the point where he could apologize for being jealous in the first place.
But Al...wasn't cooperating and seemed to be actively avoiding him. Which added yet more challenge to the process of mending their relationship.
He knew what being ignored or forgotten by his brother felt like but...avoided...
He'd tried sidling up beside him twice, but Alfred kept finding reasons to abruptly leave.
Mathieu watched the Australian play with his little brother.
Jet made it seem so easy.
"No! You have to do it right!" Alfred declared "Like how I do it-did it."
"And how do you do it right?"
"Ya gotta lift me as high as you can."
"Like this?"
"Higher!"
"Like...this?"
"No, higher!" Alfred demanded kicking his feet in agitation.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh, like THIS?"
"Yeah! Yeah, just like that!"
"I think I get the gist of it now."
"Good. And now, like a shuttle. Ya have to make it shake a little bit."
"Like this?"
"YUP! And ya gotta go: T minus 10...9….8...7-"
"6...5...4...3...2...1.."
"BLAST OFF!" they cheered.
Jet abruptly released him and shot forward to avoid being kicked as Alfred swung down fast.
Maybe…
Maybe Canada ought to try…?
He could do that, couldn't he? Push a swing?
Jet grabbed the chains of the swing as it slowed down, "Again?"
"Again!" Alfred cheered.
"Alright then, here we-"
"NO!" A loud disapproving British voice cut in "Nonononono. No."
Both Jet and Alfred glanced at each other and then at Arthur with puppy dog eyes.
"No. That's far too dangerous."
There was a chorus of "Awwwwwww's."
"Daaaaaaaaad" Alfred whined.
"No."
"We're just playin'!" Jet offered innocently.
"The answer remains...No."
Mathieu missed his chance and Arthur commandeered the situation-gently pushing Alfred on the swing as the latter commented, "Wow. It's so...anticlimactic."
Australia sat beside him on the other swing and grinned, "and a bit unfair."
Australia caught Canada's eye and smirked, "Wha? Artie, ya ain't gonna give me, your little brother from Down Under, a push?"
Canada bristled a little bit-yes, he was talking to England...but Australia was poking at him.
It was becoming steadily more noticeable since their...conversation on the bus.
Jet shook his head, "Can you believe Barbados? Getting us all to crash early? Berwald is pissed off that she rescheduled at the last minute, but there was no way he was gonna let Sealand show up last. Little fella's been rather down. Dunno if you noticed but…"
England had never been particularly doting when it came to the Sea Fort and Canada felt a surge of compassion for him. Maybe he could pick up a few stocking stuffers for him for Christmas? Something good to make him feel special.
"Anyways...ya wanna join the Alliance or no?"
"The-the what?"
"Now. We're not lettin' the anklebiters in" he waved a hand to where Sealand and Wy were playing with handheld videogame consoles. "Cuz they're little and they shouldn't be worryin' over this. But Jamaica, New Zealand, and I are on Team U.S.A. Gotta message from Texas askin' if we could look out for Al..."
"You...talk with Texas?"
His brother hadn't let him know about this.
Jet scratched his nose, "Oh yeah. Friends on Facebook now. We both put up a lot of food pictures...and-Oh! He thinks he can last in the Outback. Ha! I've invited him to come down any time of the year. Test his mettle. Anyway, are ya in?"
"Quoi?"
"Cuz Livvie gotta badmind when it comes to Alfie" Pippa muttered, turning around in her seat and leaning over to talk to them "Ya think she's gonna leave the past in the past, but no."
The woman rolled her dark eyes and ran a hand over her bob of tight spiral curls.
"She starts in on him. Ooh. Gonna make me vex, mon."
Mathieu fidgeted, "Olivia…just knows how Alfred can monopolize Arthur's attention. Look Jet, you weren't really there then but...Pip...you remember? ...when we'd all come to the castle and...he'd raid Arthur's closet...Dragging his Naval coat anywhere he liked and he never got in trouble the way we did when we..."
The two stared at him.
"O-kay then…" the Australian looked away.
Jamaica turned back around, "Jett-talk sense to him. I can't. I-just-no-"
"Er...I know you and he-sometimes but...and that Yanks can be...Yanks...but this ain't some off-the-street-Seppo. It's Alfie. Our Alfie. And...he didn't just, ya know fall off the horse, he got...pitched. Probably some kind of World Record. And if Arthur needs to carry him around in a basket for a while...it's not...well I guess it's not a perfect metaphor. Work with me Matt. I just...I don't really see what it has to do with us."
Mathieu bit his lip, "..."
Jet frowned, "Cuz ya know...we're adults...Y' know?"
"I dunno why we're even botherin' with an initiation" Jamaica grumbled.
Canada sighed; because Barbados had pretty much pitched a fit that it was a tradition. And to suddenly end it on account of America…
Plus, Wy and Sealand had both balked at the possibility.
"Why does he get to go Scot-Free?" Peter hissed-trying to make sure Berwald didn't overhear them:"I had to spend the midnight hour in the crypt there!"
"I had to eat one of Arthur's scones dry-no jam, no cream, and no drink!" Wy argued.
Canada sighed; he wasn't sure what task Barbados had thought up for his brother-but whatever it was...Scotland and Northern Ireland had already approved it. Olivia had been quick to point that out.
Canada frowned at Australia who looked away and hollered,"Oi! Jakey! Uphold Trans-Tasman relations and be a good mate and come push me!"
Alfred blinked. WTF.
He knew he shouldn't have followed Barbados when she said she had a special surprise for him.
But Arthur had seemed so delighted when the woman swooped in and had been all smiles. And when Barbados smiled-with her pearly teeth and her pretty eyelashes-it was hard to believe she didn't really like you.
Arthur had melted like butter for her request to show Alfred a bedroom she thought would suit him: "Go on, Loves. Just be swift, dinner will be ready soon."
And so...here they were.
She released his hand and stepped into the room with a twirl that showed off her teal dress.
She had sparkly, jeweled hair barrettes that contrasted nicely against her dark hair and kept catching Alfred's eye.
It all made her look like a shining beacon of cleanliness in the dark, grimy room.
"What do you think? Spacious isn't it?"
"...yeah."
"I see in your House Hunters show-space is always important."
"...mmhmm."
"And if you sleep here-you'll even get to stay in Arthur's wing. You'll just be one floor down. Isn't that nice?"
He could deal with the fact that she'd brought him to a storage room.
He could even deal with the fact that she'd already brought his luggage and a stack of blankets in without receiving his a-okay.
What he couldn't deal with...was...all the creepy ass white sheets covering everything.
The room was crowded with half-forgotten antiques; furniture, chandeliers, super freaky gargoyle statues, and mannequins...mannequins with sheets covering them.
All that stuff resulted in a no.
The gargoyles were a NO.
The mannequins…by themselves...resulted in a HELL NOOOO!
Which meant all of these details combined equalled a 'not in this lifetime lady!'
She rested a dark skinned, well manicured hand on one of the covers hiding a mannequin-like it was nothing disturbing in the least.
Thanks, but no thanks. He did not sign up for Manor House Terror. Nope. That could wait until October. This was Christmas time: holly jolly happy nice time. With no creepiness. None. And he'd stick his fingers in his ears and hum loudly if anyone dared to talk about Krampus.
He opened his mouth to politely, but firmly, reject the offer because he wouldn't mind one bit crashing another night with Arthur if this was the alternative, only-
"We'll get it all fixed up tomorrow" she promised with an apologetic expression "See that in the corner? It's a really handsome antique bedbox. I think you'll like it. I just need Uncle Alistair's help putting it back together for you. He seems to be...in a bit of a mood. So I thought we'd ask him tomorrow. I think there's a cot in here somewhere to tide you over for the night. Otherwise I'll vouch for that loveseat tucked beside that old vanity set-it really is comfortable."
"...I…"
"And we can clear out most of this into Rhys's storage room tomorrow. His has plenty of space for it. I just thought...you'd want to be close to Arthur, right? And all of the rooms nearest his are taken."
He chewed his bottom lip.
Yeah, moving stuff around would easily make it more bearable but...why couldn't they do all that first? And then let him come down here?
He was about to say just that when he noticed she wasn't looking at him at all.
She walked over to a dusty window, unlatched it, and forced it open, "Bit of fresh air will make it less stuffy."
"I...I appreciate...the offer...but…."
He swallowed; looking around at furniture pieces with creepy carved faces and armoires that had bronze fashioned hands keeping their doors closed. And that one in the corner, he could've sworn it was closed a second ago.
He could explain it to Arthur. Arthur would understand. Arthur would let him spend one more night...and spare him from...this.
"Arthur looks so tired" Olivia remarked "I think we ought to ask the servants to let him sleep in tomorrow. What do you say? I think we can keep ourselves entertained for one morning?"
Guilt seeped in because Alfred knew damn well why Arthur looked exhausted. Why he'd stayed exhausted despite their wendigo fiasco wrapping up in November.
It was cuz Alfred just couldn't quite pull himself together.
He scuffed his foot along the floor-making a design in the dust.
Surely, the hero could last one night in a creepy room, right?
For Arthur's sake...
Arthur frowned and adjusted his hold on the child sitting in his lap.
Yes, they were watching a rather odious art documentary to indulge Wy and Alfred would've much preferred a loud, flashy action movie. Arthur might've preferred it too. American movies were fun to cut his teeth on with critiques. Even Alfred would join in on occasion with a surprisingly witty comment now and then.
Still, the lad couldn't always have it his way.
Yet, Arthur couldn't bring himself to scold him because it didn't seem like Alfred was pouting.
Instead, he just seemed rather...subdued.
Perhaps, the snickers he'd received at dinner had bothered him.
Honestly, Arthur had thought he'd done rather well save the occasional screech of his silverware on the plate.
Yes. It'd be quite some time before Arthur would deem him well versed in such etiquette.
But really chuckling over how Alfred cut up all his meat at the start rather than piece by piece or the way he picked up and set down utensils (which admittedly did confuse a few staff workers at first) wasn't that amusing.
And it wasn't Alfred's fault he couldn't tell the difference between all the spoons. Arthur hadn't had a chance to instruct him yet. The others had years of practice.
And it was rich seeing Jett and Jake smile at each over it. At least Alfred kept all of his clothes on for the duration of the meal! He caught their eyes and they must've read his well-because both blushed and looked down.
Yes; glares on Arthur's part had quieted most of it.
He thought the boy did well; Alfred chewed with his mouth closed. He didn't speak while eating. He didn't spill anything. Didn't interrupt anyone. And didn't slurp his soup-meaning he'd taken Arthur's instruction back in November to heart.
Arthur was very proud of him. And if the others thought a good teasing was in order, let them beware. Arthur had loads of mealtime faux paus from each of them in their early years, that he would be happy to share.
When they'd filed into the Drawing Room for some time with the telly before they went to bed, Arthur realized that they'd need to have a few more poufs and chairs brought in.
As his wards continued to grow older, and bigger, and (in some cases) demand more personal space (Hong Kong had pretty much claimed an entire loveseat for himself), Arthur realized he'd need to continue expanding his Drawing Rooms to accommodate them. Maybe he could add onto the far wall and extend the room by a few more feet?
Alfred's cheeks had puffed petulantly when he realized that running off to grab his special coloring book meant he was the last one to enter the room and therefore had missed out on prime seating.
Arthur had remedied the situation by sharing his own seat and Alfred had shared with him the exercises he'd completed.
Thankfully, Arthur already had a few more coloring books waiting in the wings. Alfred was speeding right through.
He might have Reilley (who was getting steadily more enthusiastic about the idea of tutoring Alfred in Magic) brainstorm some more puzzles and crafts for Alfred to do between lessons. Apparently, his Irish brother finally had the epiphany that Alfred was a child and needed magic lessons geared for a child. They needed to be short, simple, fun, and creative. Arthur thought that much was obvious, but…
Alas, his brothers were morons.
So...he'd definitely need to review whatever they wanted to teach his son.
It was a quarter to ten when Australia coaxed a sleepy Wy, who was getting steadily more waspish, to turn in.
Sweden and Sealand quickly followed suit.
And England began the long overture of trying to persuade America to go to bed. That way he'd get to tuck him in and know which room he'd chosen.
He was so glad Olivia had been able to help Alfred-she could be a sweet girl when she put her mind to it. Perhaps, Mathieu could learn a thing or two from her. She too had been very competitive with Alfred as a child-each possessing very strong personalities and opinions on everything under the sun. But clearly Olivia had evolved past all that-saw that Alfred was in a vulnerable position and was offering an olive branch.
Arthur frowned; his attempts to have Alfred turn in were fruitless.
The child gave him a flat frown and refused-muttering something that sounded suspiciously like: "If I leave this room at all."
To which Arthur had snapped back: "Don't you dare stay up all night with the telly and make yourself terrible company for the 'morrow."
He then made his rounds; bidding each remaining child goodnight-some of whom cringed a bit at the affection.
Well, that was too bad for them. Because he'd nearly had children eaten last October and he wasn't squandering opportunities. Painfully awkward, though they may be.
Figuring he gave Alfred enough time to settle down, he approached Alfred for a goodnight hug.
It concerned him a bit, how tightly Alfred clung to him, and he assured the child he'd see him bright and early in the morning.
There was a miserable nod and Arthur was about to take Alfred out of the room and insist he talk with him about whatever it was that was bothering him, but more than a few pairs of eyes were watching them.
And Alistair actually had the gall to mouth: 'Don't embarrass him...front of this lot.'
Arthur bit his tongue, ruffled Alfred's hair, and reluctantly went to bed.
He slept well enough at first-pleasant dreams about navigating the Caribbean on a peaceful afternoon but they gave way to darker scenes. Soon he was fighting with the ship's wheel as a storm raged.
He tossed and turned and awoke as thunder rumbled.
No matter how he tried to quiet his mind; he remained uneasy. Mind buzzing.
Finally he threw off the covers and padded over to his retreat.
Perhaps a nightcap?
To ease his nerves.
He poured himself a little brandy and approached the windows.
Yes; it certainly was storming fiercely.
The pond looked surprisingly menacing-the waters had gotten choppy and the small row boat wasn't moored any more.
He blinked and took a deep drink.
Odd.
Had the rope come loose? They usually fastened it well.
Alas, the little boat rocked along battered by wind and waves.
He hoped it didn't sink. He'd grown rather fond of the little thing and didn't feel like going back into the market of seeking another out.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Damn his anxiety. He couldn't cast it off. His stomach started to flop-making him regret his drink choice. He set the half drank glass down. Ugh. That was expensive brandy and if this continued he was going to end up spewing it all out in the toilet.
He took a deep breath and braced himself against the window frame. He rested his forearm against the cool panes and hoped it would help calm him.
His breath left him in a rush; shocked to see the Asrai of the pond surface. She normally stayed safely underwater in conditions like this. Even from this distance, her agitation was palpable. She kept swimming around the boat-throwing her arms on it now and then to try and keep the thing from capsizing.
Poor dear. She didn't need to worry herself over it.
It was just a boat and...wait...
As one surprisingly strong wave hit the boat, Arthur was better able to see inside-
His mouth went dry.
Wot?
There was something...in...the boat?
No…
His stomach flopped again and...
Someone…
Curled up on the…
Lightning flashed; illuminating the boat's occupant and the water fairy desperately trying to prevent him from drowning.
Arthur raced out of the room, down several flights of stairs, out of the manor altogether, and into the storm.
The Asrai waved a frantic arm at him, expression pinched with distress.
Without another thought, he dove into the pond's icy waters.
For Alfred.
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