AUTHOR: faesphinx
March 29th, 2014 – Uniform
"It's about time you had one of these," you say, handing the meticulously folded bundle of cloth over to your prized colony. Alfred, while still very much a Boy, is no longer a boy. He is taller than you - if only by a few inches - growing under the sun instead of being stunted by clouds and abuse. If his hands and feet are any indication, he'll be even taller. His chest is starting to broaden; he'll be tall, and sturdy, and powerful and all the things that Rome was and you never were. But he is yours. You are the empire, not America, not Rome. This time, you are the one who makes the rules and commands, and decides what to do when someone goes against your word.
"A uniform?"
"We could use you on the field," you say with a small smile, watching your colony's eyes light up, even as you demand. Needing him would be giving too much of yourself away; showing weakness. You cannot afford to show weakness now, not when he's getting to look like that age when humans want break off and start their own lives.
"With your strength, we could send France paddling back across the Atlantic with his mangy tail between his legs."
"France..." Alfred murmurs, rubbing a spot on his shoulder. You know that place exactly - you bandaged it when the conflict burst on his skin, all blood and bile. He cried into your chest at the pain as shots rang out and gunfire burned, and the snow inside the fortified walls turned scarlet, making the new red wool in his hands seem almost pink for the lack of saturation.
You felt the pain, too, but it was more of a fleeting sting. You try not to think of why that would be.
"Yes, Alfred. We'll beat him. And Matthew can come to live with us."
Your colony's face softens. He hasn't seen his twin in nearly a decade. You smile at him - if the promise of revenge won't bend him to your will, then perhaps some nostalgia will. And he will think that it was all his idea.
"Really? You promise?"
"I do. There will hardly be any reason to enforce the border between you, if France lets him go," you say, still smiling at him as you clap his shoulders. It's hard to exude such proud fondness when you have to make the slightest inclination of your head to meet those bright blue eyes, but you think you manage.
"It's wrong to keep brothers apart, wouldn't you say?" you continue, "At least, ones who are so fond of each other. My own brothers can stay as far away as they'd like, but Alfred, it pains me to see you and Matthew held at arm's length from each other."
That's a distant sting, too, but he doesn't need to know that. An empire is a business, and not one you can afford to be too soft-hearted in. Already, you've shown too much favor to Alfred, but he has proven himself both useful and maddeningly charming. The reward will be many, many times the risk in just a few decades.
"Come, now, let's see you in that new uniform," you say, seeing that look in Alfred's eyes that lets you know he's like clay in your slender hands. Now it's only a matter of sculpting him into something worthwhile.
You leave him to change, waiting outside the door and wondering after a stretch of time if he needs help. Of course, if you asked, he'd whine and protest and say that he hasn't needed help dressing since he was a toddler, barely more than a settlement, but he does have a preference for simple garb. He might be confused by all the buttons and laces.
Just as you are about to knock, he calls out, letting you know that he's decent to be seen. You enter, and try to keep up a good poker face.
His warm skin is complemented by the fiery scarlet, and the cut of the coat gives a shape to his torso that you never noticed before. The breeches highlight his legs, well-muscled from both work and play outdoors. He looks every inch a proper soldier - not just a boy put into uniform, but a real soldier. His natural charm overrides the awkwardness of his expression as he fidgets in the new clothing, and when he smiles sheepishly at you, you do your best not to melt.
"Well?" he asks, hands clasped behind his back, and showing off that ramrod-straight posture you taught him. You swallow, looking for words.
"You look very fine," you say after a moment, "Yes, very fine. You are a true asset to me, Alfred, and it shows. No one will be able to doubt that when they see you."
His smile seems to flicker. It's the light, you tell yourself. Flames have habits of playing with people's faces. Were you both in the sunlight, his smile wouldn't falter at all.
"Heh. Thanks, Arthur."
