Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Rousseau's Du Contrat Social: The Social Contract.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Ancient titles. Super brief King George III cameo. Mine shell. New Land Pattern Light Infantry Musket. Some chaos.
Special Warning: Feels.
AN: Hello! Thank you for your reviews! Got inspired for this chap pretty quick, hope you enjoy! : DDD
Chapter 38: Ash That Fell Like Snow
Alfred scrubbed at his eyes as he trudged down the corridor-ignoring Grym's insistence that he head to the Music Hall.
Not yet.
He'd go on his own terms or not at all; he was sick of everyone telling him what to do!
The globe! His government! His family! His father!
And he was expected to just suck it all up because he was the hero. And for some reason nobody ever felt bad about making the hero do that.
He didn't want to be a part of England's "visit." He didn't want to be some sick kind of trophy. He didn't want to be some sacrificial goat-olive-branch-thing. The U.S. Government and the British Parliament knew having Alfred under his thumb, made Arthur giddy. And so everybody was real content feeding him the same ol' "be nice" initiative.
America was a lot of things. Nice wasn't one of 'em.
He was nobody's pet. To be brought forward or sent off on an owner's whim.
He remembered being lined up with the others in the throne room.
"America" England ordered under his breath. "Remember: Step Forward, Bow, Speak, and Return."
Alfred swallowed nervously and nodded-feeling lightheaded as he approached King George III.
His father stood behind him, one hand lightly touching the back of his shoulder as his signal to go. He gave this cue to each colony as they went down the line.
The colonies who had the most to offer were at the very front and the very end of the line. It was strategic; since the beginning and the end of anything were the parts people remembered best and England wanted the King to remember all his colonies fondly. Even if meant forgetting some of them.
America was stationed in the middle.
"Now boy, like we rehearsed. Bow for your king."
And he wanted Father to be proud of him.
Had been delighted all of last afternoon because Arthur had praised him in front of everyone-declaring that there was grace in Alfred's movements as he bowed.
But bowing to Arthur was different than this.
And Dear God in Heaven, no person in all the world wished more than he, that it could be the same.
But it wasn't.
The mortal on that throne never carried him when he was sick or injured. Father insisted he possessed "great mercy," but...he'd never known it. Enlightened? How would he know? He'd never instructed Alfred on an array of subjects. Why was he supposed to feel impressed by the sight of him? He never engaged with enemies in combat or brandished a sword or gun or…
There was no sense of awe.
As he stood there, Alfred realized with genuine horror that he felt nothing. Worse, there might've been the slightest sense of...contempt.
Arthur's hand rested with more force.
"Alfred" he prompted again.
He wanted to feel the warm affection that seemed to fill Arthur whenever he thought of his King and Country.
He couldn't muster it.
His knees wouldn't bend.
The pressure on his shoulder increased.
"Alfred," Arthur gritted his teeth.
The hand on his shoulder became tight...painful.
"Boy" he hissed.
King George III's eyes narrowed as the seconds became minutes.
Arthur finally used his weight as an Empire.
Alfred's knees buckled and he fell to the floor.
Arthur tried to laugh it off, announcing that the poor boy's legs had locked and that the grandeur of the moment overwhelmed him. Surely, they couldn't hold that against him? He was unaccustomed to events such as these. He chuckled lightly that "America was better acquainted with fields and fens than palaces."
He lifted Alfred to his feet and deposited him back in line-without looking at him. And the session carried on with the others playing their parts without snags.
Once they'd left the hall and were in a private room, Arthur upbraided him with a fury he'd never witnessed before. The other children watched-some in fear, others in approval.
It faded within minutes, but what came next was worse.
Father got so...cold and disappointed and frustrated with him.
He'd failed Arthur and that had made him feel like he had a millstone lodged inside him. Or maybe he became the millstone because he couldn't cry. And it was a shame he couldn't cry, because that usually got Arthur to treat him more kindly.
He was sent off with a nursemaid, while the others got to play in the gardens. He'd had to eat alone that night too since he couldn't be trusted not to make a fool of himself in royal company.
It was as he was resigning himself to a bedtime with no stories or lullabies (because his nursemaid was as kindly and lovable as a table) that Arthur reappeared-dismissing the maid to take over her duties which struck Alfred as odd. Because the harder parts (like giving Alfred a scrubbing and changing him into a nightgown) were already done. All that was really left at that point was to blow the candles out.
Arthur was stiff as he asked Alfred to tell him about his day-to which Alfred looked him in the eye (since that was important) and briefly summarized. Usually Arthur, would sigh that he took too long describing unimportant things-wild animals he'd seen, pretty flowers, the way one of his boots (just the left one) kept unlacing...
So he honored Arthur's usual request (for once) and confined himself to a single sentence. Barely a sentence really.
"I read."
Because adding 'to pass the time' seemed unnecessary.
And what he read wasn't really Arthur's business. Plus, Arthur wasn't a fan of Rousseau. And that would lead to difficult questions on how Alfred got his hands on a translated edition of 'The Social Contract.'
Alfred waited for Arthur to give a nod, turn out the light, bid him a short goodnight and leave. Since, the man usually didn't linger about or hug him whenever Alfred was "disobedient."
Arthur though, rather than seeming pleased, became uncomfortable in the following silence.
He came over then and sat down on the bed fiddling with a pillow as he explained that Alfred mustn't repeat his earlier performance since they judged Arthur's skills as a caretaker through his colonies' actions.
They could make things very difficult for them if they doubted America's loyalty. Add more rules. Restrict more freedoms. England was concerned for him. For all of his colonies. And regretfully, he had to make an example of him-so the others didn't pull a similar stunt. Naturally, he was Arthur's clever boy...he could understand that?
Alfred assured that he understood (And he did. He did understand. But whether or not he agreed or accepted it, was another thing entirely).
Arthur had sighed in relief and took to petting his hair-insisting that by morning the bad day would just seem like a bad dream and they'd have a much better time then.
Father bid him goodnight with a kiss to the forehead and tried to give him a hug...which caused Alfred to flinch.
The man abruptly demanded to see where he was hurting and began cursing the maid for her neglect.
Did he fall? Did he bump into something? Why hadn't the maid alerted him to it? Surely she'd noticed when she helped him dress for bed! Did it just happen?
Alfred didn't answer and didn't look at him either.
Because...No...it didn't just happen...
His shoulder twinged from too tight a grip and his knees were smarting from a hard stone floor…
For a moment, Arthur had just stared...and his eyes went so wide...
His memory got hazy then...eventually they'd done something with a dark green book and someone else was there too and there was a soft golden glow and his shoulder felt better...but...
He frowned.
And Arthur…the memory fizzled…he was...sorry? Somebody cried. Alfred...didn't think it was himself though...because it wasn't the shoulder that bothered and continued to bother him-he'd had his colonists leave bruising marks much darker and more painful as they yanked him out of the way of horse and carts when he got busy daydreaming.
No. It was just...so insulting...that Arthur chose to apologize for the smaller offense and said nothing of the other.
And he was rather disenchanted with Father after that.
He loved the man for certain...but he was never quite…as "great" to him as he once was.
"Better acquainted with fields and fens than palaces"
It was the first time Arthur outright called him a peasant and it wouldn't be the last.
He later sneered at his 'adolescent' son when he did so. And soon Alfred thought even less of him: a possessive misguided tyrant...and finally an enemy.
But being the optimistic fool he was, in spite of it all...Alfred had honestly hoped for reconciliation.
But instead of happily reuniting...as two nations...each worthy of respect...
There was smoke…
Had to hold his breath...
Had to be quiet if he didn't want to be discovered…
But it was difficult reigning in his temper as those goddamned Redcoats dined in his Capitol.
But he had to save his library!
Because he'd already heard they planned to torch everything!
Too soon smoke would fill the hallways…
Laughing and drinking and merrymaking…
Goddamned Redcoats.
All of them.
Sitting there…
He saw them through a crack in the door.
All of them.
All of them.
All of them.
How dare they?!
Smoke billowed.
Eyes burning...
Had to hold his breath.
He had to save his library!
The clock chimed! And somewhere in the recesses of his mind he remembered thinking: how odd that they hadn't looted that...grandfather clocks were expensive.
And then all the air left his lungs in shock and horror...
Sorrow burned into rage. All those cheap 'I love you's' he'd been given over the years! Ones that were offered far too easily to be truly valuable. Ones that came when it was convenient to give them. And were withheld when he failed to perform "properly." All were used with the intent of manipulating him.
He'd just wanted to hear it so bad. He didn't care from who. And he didn't care if they really meant it every single time.
They all turned to ash that fell like snow…
Tricked.
And here he was...being tricked again.
Arthur carefully set the vase down in the parlor he wanted to have the "visit" in. He shifted it this way and that on the table without satisfaction. He really ought to have Alfred rearrange the flowers in it-the boy had a better eye for it. And he did want everything to look pristine and refined.
A visit! Yes, a virtual visit...but still! It meant that the babes would likely be included. He loved seeing their sweet little faces! Such a treat! O he was excited...and worried.
He hoped Mathieu's hangover subsided, that Jet wore something tasteful, and that Michelle didn't decide it was the moment to take the Royal Family to task for historical wrongs done years ago. While he could well understand and sympathize her feelings of being neglected during WWII...a happy afternoon chat wasn't the place for it.
He also hoped that Alfred's mood improved. He was rather cranky this morning. He might coax the child to have a nap after the visit was over.
Truth be told, Arthur really blamed Rhys for it. Poor lamb had been resting so well until his uncle interrupted him. Afterwards, he slept fitfully for the rest of the night...so much so that...Arthur could use a kip too.
He sighed and cracked his neck.
And all for...what? He checked his phone, pager, and email and Rhys hadn't alerted him to any findings so...clearly whatever he'd been rambling about last night wasn't terribly important after all.
Rhys was known to overreact now and then and when he realized it-got embarrassed and shied away from company for at least half a day. As a result, Arthur didn't expect him to make an appearance during the visit this morning.
A shame, because he was usually very good at setting everything up. He knew how to angle the camera for more flattering shots.
Arthur stood and began fussing with drapes. There needed to be some light so it didn't seem like a dungeon, but not so much that they were all washed out on the camera.
Just as he finished adjusting the curtain ties, a sharp stab of pain glanced through his whole being.
While most of it left as swiftly as it came, his weakened ankle continued to throb and he clutched at a decorative pillar for support.
"Arthur?" Reilley asked from the doorway. "You...alright?"
"Yes, yes. Thank you..." Arthur paused then frowned as he realized Reilley was still in his pajamas! No, he would not let his brother embarrass him by holding a conversation with the Queen in his bathrobe! But before he could scold his sibling-
"I was wondering…" Reilley muttered "Have ya seen Alba? He'll be a beast if he doesn't eat anyth-"
Another harsher flash of pain had him wincing again.
He held his hand against his heart.
"Albion? What-"
"Good grief" He chuckled weakly "Must've been a potent memory."
"Huh?"
He panted a bit, "Sometimes when Alfred has a rough one, I feel an...echo? I better seek him out and...oh! There you are."
Alfred stood in the doorway-fists clenched against his trousers.
"I'm glad you came to me" Arthur commented-he usually had to track the boy down whenever this happened, "Now...what's troubling you, Darlingheart?"
Alfred's head remained down turned-fringe covering his eyes.
"...I'm no one's darling…let alone yours..."
Arthur swore his heart stopped. The grandfather clock nearby seemed frightfully loud.
So eerily similar to what Blue had said:
'Roanoke, don't be a fool. You're not anyone's darling.'
Reilley edged away uneasily.
Arthur steeled himself and walked over.
"Yes, you are" Arthur stated matter-of-fact. "Now, what...what has you...? Come dear, quick: Tell me what's wrong and I'll see if I can help." His lungs kept tightening, but he tried to smile "Did you remember something that upset you?"
Alfred slowly looked up and good Lord...there was blue fire in those eyes.
"You're such a fucking liar. Stop playing. Cuz I'm not playing anymore."
It wasn't a look often directed at him. On the rare occasion he saw it, it was when Alfred was in combat against an enemy and he felt Arthur was 'in the way.'
"Um, Alfie boy...w-what're you...doin'?" Reilley asked tentatively.
Arthur planted his feet, stood up straight, crossed his arms, and took in a deep breath, "Alfred, I will remind you that this is my house and I will not be spoken to that way here."
"You're a liar!" the child shouted almost hysterically.
England winced as an image was sent to him.
God. So much anger! White hot and suffocating!
He saw himself…what was he…?
Through the crack of a door-Alfred could make them all out: England, Scotland, Ireland, and Canada all seated at the dining table in their military uniforms. Their men merrymaking at America's expense. The White House had fallen into enemy hands.
Green eyes widened.
Fuck. 1812.
He'd waited too long.
No; he'd stalled. He'd been so preoccupied with approaching it the perfect way at the perfect time. He'd avoided it altogether.
And the vengeful ghost of it now sprang...
"Alfred...Alfred, we can make it through this" he entreated "I know it. Talk with me."
"You're a liar!" the child hissed-pointing an accusing finger at him "You've always been!"
'I knew from the start you were a liar...'
He grabbed the child's shoulders gently but firmly, "What? What is it I've lied about?"
"...inviting me all the way out here...so you could play Empire!"
"Wot?!"
"Telling me what to wear, how to act, who to be! You never change! You're exactly the same as you've always been!"
He was having a meltdown over...manners and house rules? No; it had to be something more.
"Alfred, I instruct you on such things in an effort to help you. If I've hurt you, I deeply regret-"
Alfred squirmed, "Everything's always gotta be so goddamn fancy and perfect for y-"
"Alfred lower your voice. Whatever has gotten you so riled, we can discuss. But we will discuss it like civilized-"
"WHY?! Why do I have to be civilized? Why is it that whenever we're together, it's only a 'good time' if I do everything YOU say? You order me around like a dog!"
"I...I don't understand where all this is...coming from?" They'd been getting along, hadn't they?
"Lemme explain it then!" Alfred growled "You…you have this...other me that you think I'm supposed to be in your head."
"No."
"Yes, you do!" the child insisted "You think if I did this or did that, or learned this or learned that! If I dress or act just so...I could be him. The me, that you wish was me. And when I fail to live up to him, you punish me!"
"Alfred..." Arthur shook his head "Nononono...I-"
"And I'd rather have you hate me, than say you love me when you love him instead!"
Arthur's throat closed, but he choked out, "No. No, that's not true."
'You never see me.'
Maybe that was what he'd really meant back then at Kirkland Hall.
Nonetheless.
"I see you. I see you, my Alfred. I see you as you. And I lov-"
Smoke filled the library and the cases began to catch as the roof overhead began to give way at the corner. The burning wood slats ignited dry book pages….
Arthur instinctively reached for the child and-
Emotion lanced through him like high voltage.
Rage…
Pain…
Fear…
Frustration...
Betrayal…
Humiliation…
Disillusionment…
Grief…
The feeling of loss was overwhelming in its intensity.
The boy tried to pull away.
No! Arthur tightened his grip.
….Horrified, Alfred stared down the barrel of a New Land Pattern Light Infantry Musket!
Arthur's heart ached because he'd personally signed for that shipment. It was standard military issue for British troops in 1814 and an improvement over earlier designs.
Dear God-
CRASH!
The heartstopping sound of shattering glass jerked him back into the present and he instinctively curled over the child to shield him.
He carried the struggling boy away from the window, "Are you alright? Did any glass hit you?"
"Leggo of me!"
He reeled the tantruming child towards himself as he risked a quick look behind them to see what had caused the destruction.
A...vine?
Sure enough, a thorny vine poked unapologetically into the parlor room.
It almost seemed comical...until it twitched and slithered further in.
Several more crashes and this time screams were heard. Judging from the commotion and the calls for Mr. Gray, the staff were encountering the same phenomenon:
Gardening Magic.
He gave Alfred a gentle shake, "I need you to calm down and tell me what has you so upset. Is it 1812? Is it the war altogether? Abstractly? Or some particular aspect?"
There were several heavy breaths and then a hissed: "You..."
He swallowed down his hurt at that and asked directly: "What is it about me that has you so-"
"You know what you did!...Tricked me..."
Tears gathered in the child's eyes and Arthur felt awful at the very real sense of betrayal coursing through his son.
His earlier trip into Alfred's subconscious seemed frighteningly important and informative now. He could almost sense the different parts of the boy's subconscious in action:
Blue was acting as the cruel mouthpiece, but all the emotion was stemming from Red.
And White?
White was…?
He blinked in realization...White had sought his father out rather than choosing some secluded area to hole up in and suffer.
Thank God for Roanoke's proactive approach-that portion knew Arthur was important to resolving the conflict.
Yes, it made Arthur the target of a huge amount of anger and distress and yet...
It was strangely relieving.
For so long he'd been left desperately grasping for a tendril of genuine emotion…
Fear, anger, sorrow, confusion...?
Something…
Anything...
Feelings that were to be expected after his ordeal with Osha. Or after so many painful years of estrangement from his father. Feelings that needed to be soothed. Insecurities that needed to be put to bed. And yet they were oddly absent.
Relief was absent also.
Everything seemed unnaturally stagnant. Nothing worsened and nothing improved.
And whatever "happiness" he felt from the child (blessed as it was) seemed like pale sunshine on a moor. Not the brilliant blaze he'd known centuries ago.
The Alfred he raised was passionate.
The Alfred he rescued was reserved.
It was quite honestly: terrible. Doing all he could to strengthen their bond-having his hands outstretched-searching for small fingers...and only finding unnaturally hollowed spaces...
The dam had broken...and while the emotions were rushing out in a violent torrent-all those caverns were filling. Alfred was coming to life. His sense of the child blossomed even more.
And that's what he'd been after right?
What had been haunting him since his diner breakfast with Roanoke. Who'd been so open and trusting...and in need of affection. Arthur knew then! Knew his child was starved for affection and Arthur wanted to provide it if only Alfred would accept.
But to accept he had to lower his defenses!
His child was finally opening up-even if it was in a volatile manner. Like a mine shell detonating.
It felt like his Alfred was finally, truly, there with him!
And…
Arthur's heart twisted with joy and pain and hope and terror.
Because emotionally...Alfred was...exactly where he'd been left…
...In a burning White House.
Arthur squared his shoulders-It was time for another rescue.
"How have I tricked you?" Arthur repeated. "Tell me what I've done."
Something brushed against the back of his neck.
"Ack!"
The vines from the window had stretched all the way across the room!
Alfred used the distraction to kick his Father on his bad ankle...hard; which caused Arthur to stagger into the door frame as the boy raced off.
Arthur swore loudly-his ankle seared with pain.
Damnation, that was a fracture. What was a sprain was now a fracture!
He limped into the hall-eyes scanning for the direction of his offspring.
"He's gone psycho…" Reilley murmured wide-eyed.
"He is NOT psychotic!" Arthur hissed as he shoved Reilley out of his way.
"And the apple" Reilley wheezed "Doesn't fall far from-"
"He is a CHILD! And he's hurting. He's having the worst memories of his young life spring up now. Where's Rhys? It's about damn time he makes good on the title of 'Empath.'"
Reilley shrugged, "I haven't seen him all morning. No one's seen him. Or Scot, or Tex for that matter. We were all saying it was creepy quiet so I decided to look ar-"
"Goddamn it, did they fall asleep in the surveillance room?"
"What? They were all-and I wasn't invited?!"
Arthur remembered their distress the previous night. He hurried off with Reilley dogging his heels barking questions which he largely ignored.
He knocked hard on the door to the room, but there was no response. He tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked.
Green eyes widened.
All three were indeed in the surveillance room:
Tied and gagged...with goblin rope.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Reilley gasped.
Arthur scrutinized the tarry, black, netlike substance. According to gossiping gnomes, they were the result of some hybrid plant experiment using Chinese wisteria, English ivy, and some magic plant native to Doggerland (long, long, before he and his brothers' time).
He removed Rhys's gag.
"UnSeelies! They're everywhere Albion! They've infiltrated the entire estate! They're using shadows as portals!"
"How?" Reilley squawked "Arthur set a perimeter with iron and-"
"Listen! It's because they have a Bod-"
"Bloody perfect. It would be today," Arthur panted "Just...perfect...I need my wand. They're stealing all the silverware again, aren't they? For some imagined slight from years ago, I bet. I'll return and set you free in a moment."
"No wait! Stop! Albion! Eire! Wait!"
"Yeah. Er. Sorry, I'll be back too" Reilley apologized "Staff's in my room."
Arthur took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain as well as Rhys's cries for him to "WAIT!"and "COME BACK, ALBION I HAVE TO TELL Y-."
He'd get his wand, set them loose, tell them to gather the children and staff in one place to protect them, and he'd search for Alfred.
Once he had Alfred, they could evacuate everyone and then return to deal with the pest control problem.
"Arthur? Should I wear diamonds or pearls?" Barbados asked from the doorway. "I don't want to overdress, but...I also don't want to seem to-"
"Either is fine. Be back in a tic, love. Try to gather everyone in the Drawing Room, won't you?"
"I thought...the parlor was where...?"
"Please dear, something I've got to do…"
He hurried into his bedroom and stared at his desk in disbelief.
No.
Oh no.
Nononono.
His wand case was empty.
Rhys watched helplessly as the young Texan personification was surrounded by a small battalion of goblins in rusty Renaissance armor.
Odd. He thought both Courts had stopped wearing such antiques ages ago.
"Sorry" the broad, squat goblin shrugged at the young man, "Brenhin wants you. So you come too."
Rhys struggled against his bonds, but goblin nets were nasty; not only did they drain energy, but they addled magic.
If he cast a spell while under the influence of one, he had a better chance of injuring Texas than their enemies.
"Beware" a nasally voiced one with a nose so long it quivered as he spoke "Cadeyrn is here."
That sent a shudder through their group.
"He is indeed" Rhys declared "Abandon this fool's errand, or suffer his wrath. You know how violent my brother can be."
Low ranking goblins such as these were rather simpleminded. So it was important to give them cause and effect framed sentences. Vague threats (while so sinister to humans and nations) were easily shrugged off by Goblin Soldiers. They literally lacked the imagination necessary to be afraid of such things.
The squat one nodded in agreement, but shrugged again and addressed his fellows, "Brenhin wants him. Rix wants Brenhin to visit. Brenhin gets what Brenhin wants, so Rix gets what Rix wants."
The rest bobbed their heads.
Texas let out a smothered scream as they dragged him off. One goblin dutifully picked up his cowboy hat.
Rhys tried to block it (and his sense of shame and responsibility) out.
Brenhin?
'Rix wants Brenhin…to visit...?'
Wait, wait, wait.
He took a deep breath-urging himself to think of it as a logic problem.
If Cadeyrn or "Battle King" was Arthur.
And Rix no doubt referred to the King of the UnSeelie Court.
Then Brenhin...Little Raven...no...Little Prince...was…
His eyebrows lifted.
Alfred.
Brenhin was Alfred.
The King of the UnSeelie Court wanted Alfred to visit.
That caused a shiver to go down Rhys's spine.
It was a blatant refusal to honor Arthur's request that Alfred meet neither Court until he deemed his child ready.
Arthur would be furious.
They'd only ever met with this particular King once during WWI; a stubborn idiot he'd refused to cancel their Fairy Festivals for the holiday and suffered massive casualties as bombs fell.
Thinking back on it, Rhys wasn't even sure the monarch's Queen...as well their only child survived...
As the goblins filed out, the last one (with the hat) turned and grumbled "The vines were not us. No blaming."
Vines?
Oh no...nonono...
Alfred!
Poor chwb was probably terrified and his magic was likely going haywire!
Arthur reappeared in the doorway not a moment too soon.
"Arthur!"
He blinked as Arthur pulled out an old dagger; a favorite from his 'Golden Age of Piracy' and began sawing through the cords binding Rhys.
Thankfully, the enchantment on it hadn't dulled too much in the years since its last use.
But...where was his wand?
"Arthur listen! A-"
"Back!" Reilley announced. Staff in hand, he hit the bottom three times before making a fire sign and setting it on Scotland's ropes.
He too was successful in freeing his brother-though it did singe Alistair's clothes.
Alistair ripped the gag out of his mouth, "I suppose I should be grateful, I didn't lose a limb?"
"Aye, yeh should" Reilley replied. "Now what the hell is goin' on? I sleep in on one morning and everything goes down the shitter. Goblins? Vines crawlin' in from the windows? On my way back down I saw most of the staff's under a sleeping spell...as well as most of the children! 'Cept I didn't see the wee ones!"
"What? What do you mean?" Arthur's voice went high with anxiety "Sealand and Wy are missing?"
"Texas was dragged off" Scotland added. "He always gets separated. Poor bastard. He's got rotten luck."
"What happened to the little ones?!" Arthur demanded.
"I dunno, I just didn't see them. Maybe they're hiding?" Reilley murmured hopefully.
"Sealand doesn't have the Sight" Arthur murmured.
"Maybe Wy can sense-"
"Arthur" Rhys grabbed his elbow in urgency "It's a Bodoach!"
"It's a Bodach" Scotland corrected as he summoned his Claymore. "Used to have to chase those off all the-"
"Pronunciation doesn't matter" Rhys hissed.
"Fine. I guess what else I've said doesn't matter either and I'll be the one rescuing that cowboy brat. Don't worry yourselves over the non-children."
Rhys levelled a glare at his Scottish brother who pushed past him-taking care to shoulder him hard. Though, at least he didn't run his sword 'accidentally' over Rhys's foot. His tendency to do that was the main reason, Rhys no longer wore sandals...ever.
"It's been stalking Alfred" Rhys explained "And now it's made portals for other UnSeelies to use! All over the house!"
Arthur's countenance darkened "...stalking…?"
"Albion-"
"At the airport...he said he'd...oh God…" Arthur ran a panicked hand through his hair "I can't believe...How dare they?!"
"The boat Arthur. It wasn't any of the children. It was the first attempt!" Rhys explained.
The blond went dangerously still.
Rhys frowned, "The Bodoach has three chances to capture his desired child and drag him to the kingdom! Dŵr thwarted him. But I don't know if this is his second or third attempt. Their King wants Alfred. I daresay he's employed the Bodoach to ensure his wishes. What they plan to do with him...I don't know."
But it was likely nothing good.
UnSeelie's weren't known for their hospitality.
Though what Alfred could've possibly done to offend them...he was just a babe!
It was absurd!
He could sense that Arthur felt the same...though he didn't bother suppressing his fury.
He gripped his knife tightly as his emerald eyes flashed dangerously. His mouth twisted into a snarl and his nostrils flared, "How dare they try to steal off with my child! Who the fuck do they think they are?!"
Arthur turned on his heel and left the room with surprising speed considering he was limping. Rhys frowned as he followed-wondering what had happened to worsen that ankle?
"Have they forgotten who they're bloody dealing with?" Arthur growled. Without pausing, Arthur (with one hand) ripped a broad sword clean off its plaque-scattering bits of glossed wood across the floor. "Well; I'll just have to remind them, won't I?"
Rhys nodded as he drew his orb out from the Ether.
"Ignore my letter?" Arthur grumbled "I'll make them eat my next one."
Imbeciles.
Rhys warned them.
They didn't listen.
Let the UnSeelies weather Arthur's ire as well as they could.
They brought it on themselves.
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