Quartering Acts

By Ahro

Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language.

Chapter 2

"You abandoned him."

"N-no, I went to get help! I couldn't-"

"You left him alone."

"-but I couldn't-"

"He cried to you for help, and you ran."

"To get help!"

"To go hide."

"The water was rising! His leg was trapped. I needed someone stronger!"

"You needed him to drown."

"No!"

"You needed him to disappear."

"No, I-"

Killed him.

Waking with a start, Arthur Kirkland found himself drenched in sweat and tangled in his bedding from the disturbing nightmare. It had come again, after having gone years without hearing those accusations only to have them suddenly spring to life, left him severely disadvantaged. What could have triggered those memories to resurface after so long? It was always the same conversation, but that's all the dream held. A conversation in black space. This time though, something had been strange about the other voice. It sounded off. What could have made his subconscious change that voice?

He looked around the small room a moment, trying to find some composure to bring him back to reality.

He didn't recognize much, only to quickly remember he was no longer in England. The smells and sights were far different from the familiar. The best word he could find to describe it had to be 'cleaner'.

Had that triggered the dream? He had been with his family visiting the countryside when it happened. Birds were singing, the sun shining brightly through a rare blue sky... while his younger brother drowned.

Arthur thrashed out of bed, stumbling to his feet as he lurched forward, grabbing hold of a dresser to try and support himself. The memory was too much, and each breath he took seemed like it came with less and less oxygen. A mirror hung on the wall in front of him, displaying the fear and pain he felt inside. The knowledge he had denied to himself countless times seemed written amongst the lines in his young face. As if he was promoting his sin for public display.

He pushed himself away from the dresser and mirror, still staring at his retreating reflection as he did. He had kept backing up till his body hit up against a nightstand near his bed. A washbasin rocked on its base from the impact, quickly grabbing his attention from the mirror so as to save the basin from smashing on the wood floor.

With the basin now secure, he thanked for the distraction, and plunged his hands into the cool water to splash over his face, rubbing fiercely as if it would rub off the words that only he could see.

After he was satisfied, he braced himself against the small stand, letting his head hang between his arms, breathing deeply for any sort of relief that might come. He was in America now, and his past was gone. He had a job to perform as a soldier, and that was all that remained now. He had been content with that two years ago when he joined the military, and even more so now that he was stationed away from the familiar.

"I hate this place," He began saying to him self, staring at his blurred reflection in the water below him, "-but I hope I never leave."

After a moment, he finally stood back up, fixing his posture and stretching out relaxed muscles. He finally took to observing the light that was filtering in through the cracks in the shutters. The light was high already, signaling he had slept well past his morning fast. It was unusual for him to sleep so long but he disregarded it as a one time thing. Most likely due to the many restless nights he had had on the ship. To be able to sleep in a firm bed, with solid ground beneath him, seemed like all was needed to make it through a whole night.

Yet, it had also brought painful memories that he hadn't experienced on the ship.

Shaking his head to keep from back tracking yet again on those thoughts, he was finally clued in when a distant plinking sound caught his attention. He had forgotten the man he was dwelling with was a blacksmith. The man must have been up working all morning, while Arthur had gone and slept half the day away. Well, he certainly wouldn't be shown up by the colonist. He was far from lazy and wasn't about to let the man think as much.

He opened the shutters, letting in the morning sun to help wake him up, and then reached for his spare shirt. He had no where to be until that evening when he was scheduled to start his nightly patrols, so dressing casual was fair enough.

He was thankful for when he had arrived, the smith's lands had a barn for his chestnut mare to be housed. He wasn't interested in having to pay to keep her at the town stable, nor the idea of having to walk that far to retrieve her.

He remembered how surprised he had been upon walking in and seeing a beautifully groomed black stallion that had had the barn to him self. The horse was beyond large, and was a sight he rarely saw so up close. He was a draught horse, and far from the type one would see on the streets of London. It made him ponder the man who could ride such a beast and keep him under control. The horse's temperament was from kind when he had entered that day.

The blacksmith.

He paused in his thoughts, his hands slowing as he was finishing fastening the buckles on his shoes.

The blacksmith had almost tried to kill me last night, and in turn, I had almost killed him after he had fled.

His gaze drifted to the bedroom door where his belongings still rested in a chair closest it. He lingered on the musket and sword which had not moved from where he left them. The sun catching along the barrel of the musket, shining with pride from all the care he gave to the weapon.

He then searched for his pistol, expecting it to have been returned, until he recalled having dropped the weapon outside.

He had wanted to die.

Another man with so little hope left. It was almost ironic the two of them shared such a desire from two different walks of life. Here he thought the new world would give its people a new start. Was he wrong in coming here, if someone who had been born and raised on this soil wanted off of it just as badly?

Running a hand through his forever untamed hair, he quickly grew frustrated with himself for still lingering with only his depressing thoughts as company. He was fully clothed, presentable enough for the weather at least, so he could leave his uniform behind. Perhaps walking the grounds a bit to gain some familiarity with his surroundings would be beneficial. He wouldn't make for a very good soldier if he was getting lost.

"Not that that smith needs much protection." He spoke aloud while he folded his uniform, thinking about the strength the man had displayed the night before. In honesty to himself, he had been rather careless to not have expected some form of retaliation from the colonist. However, he never realized the extent the man would carry it.

He then paused amidst checking his belongings, realizing he couldn't remember the man's name. Hadn't he told him his name at one point? He knew he was to report to "Jones Blacksmithing", so that was obvious, yet his first name still alluded him.

Why am I concerning myself over that anyway? Something about that man has me on edge.

He listened to the rhythmic sound of hammer hitting hot steel as if caught in a daze. Imagining those taunt muscles as they flexed for each blow against the molten steel. Fire burning in those sky blue eyes...

"What am I thinking?" He exclaimed, stepping back from having been playing absently with a cufflink. Sure he couldn't deny having noticed the man's obvious strength in his shoulders and arms as he rounded that corner to see Arthur face to face for the first time. Those striking blue eyes behind his glasses seemed almost to pierce through him that night. Was that part of why he had willingly obliged in sweeping the floor? It certainly wasn't below him to sweep a floor, but to have taken an order from some commoner? Was it really an order?

The morning was quickly being eaten up by his mind chatter, and without anything else in the room that he could busy himself with, he headed out to the back yard in search for his missing pistol.

Outside, the sounds from the forge rang much louder, and smoke billowed from the forge's chimney in large black clouds. However, none of it could diminish such a day. With the smoke in the air, and the disruptive sound of metal being hammered, the day still smelt fresh, and birds still sang. Clear blue skies stretched out across the harbour while Arthur relaxed some from the sun's warmth that played on his skin.

It truly was a beautiful land. Clean and untainted by war. A land that needed protecting at all costs, and he was glad to be a part of it. The rebels just didn't understand the value of this land. They could easily be taken over by the French or Spaniards, but they had the British Empire protecting them. Why couldn't they understand and respect that?

"Woah! Hero!"

Arthur practically fell backwards when the enormous black draught horse came charging from behind a row of thick old pines. The stallion, rearing and trumpeting his distress, while a small boy clung to its thick mane.

Once the boy had settled the horse, Arthur was surprised to find the boy was riding bare back. He couldn't help but be impressed, as the child looked no more than nine years old.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't see you there." The child called down to him atop the large horse; now digging divots into the grass, and tossing its head up and down, only settling some once the lad patted its strong neck reassuringly.

Arthur brushed himself off some after the dust that had been kicked into the air by the horse slowly began to settle. "No harm done." He straightened his shirt now, looking back up at the young boy. "You have quiet the handle on that horse. That is impressive of one so young."

Even though they were words of praise, the boy had picked up on the soldier's accent, and had begun to withdraw. His eyes then suddenly growing wide upon realizing he was still atop a horse in front of a British soldier (not proper etiquette by far). So when he began to slide off the tall beast Arthur couldn't help but dart forward to grab him.

"Woah, hold on!"

The boy was flailing his legs about as he attempted to slide off the back of the horse, which was easily a six foot drop.* Arthur was just quick enough to grab the boy under the arms as he began to fall.

Once he was safely on the ground, Arthur noted the boy was small, only standing just under five feet.* Odds were he generally used a small stool to get atop the horse in the barn.

"You can not just drop off a horse from that height. You could have injured yourself." Arthur said, legit concern lacing his words.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I should have dismounted right away, sir. I didn't know you were an officer, sir." The boy apologized profusely, hanging his head to keep his gaze from meeting Arthur's own.

"It's quite alright, lad. I would not have expected you to know who I am due to my lack of uniform. Even then, there is no reason to injure yourself on my account." He smiled down to the boy with a firm pat on the boy's shoulder, trying to reassure him Arthur would bring him no harm. The boy remained quiet though, so Arthur decided a change in topic was in order.

"So, you take care of the smith's horse?"

This worked perfectly as the boy perked up immediately at the mention of the animal. Completely forgetting who he was talking to in the process. Arthur was happy to see the change.

"Oh yes! Alfred is very nice, and let's me take care of Hero here. I was just giving him his morning exercise around the lands... sir." He added at the end, quickly recalling the previous conversation.

So the smith was named Alfred. Alfred Jones.

"Hmm, Hero you say?"

"Oh, yes! Alfred has always wanted to be a hero to the town, and to make his father proud, so he named ol' black here, Hero." The boy said cheerfully.

"I see. Where is his father?"

Wrong question to ask it seemed, as the boy quickly darted his gaze to the ground. Taking a much bigger interest in a rock amidst the sandy dirt. Kicking it about with his foot as he did.

"That is alright, no need to-"

"He was shot," the boy started, "four years ago, in Boston." He continued to kick around the rock. "He was such a kind man, sir. He would never have joined in harassing the soldiers. He was just so kind."

"Are you saying Alfred's father was one of the men killed during the Boston Riot?"

The boy nodded and kicked the stone away.

"So he is all alone? No other family?"

The boy shook his head. "No sir. His mother died while giving birth to a younger brother. He died at the age of two from a bad cold in his lungs, sir." The boy's gaze drifted to the forge where the aforementioned man was still working. "Alfred has been alone ever since, and seeks no companionship, sir. I wanted to be his friend, but I'm afraid to talk to him."

Arthur's expression had grown solemn after hearing of the smith's difficult past. He understood what it was like to have no one, although, he didn't think that he could ever go completely without another's company.

"I haven't said too much, have I, sir?"

Arthur bent down to greet the boy at his eye level. He wore a smile now, hoping to cheer the young man up. "It will remain our little secret."

This seemed to please him as he nodded vigorously. Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the boy's enthusiasm. Still so young and full of life. He prayed the boy would grow up without the hardships Alfred and himself had been through.

"Umm," the boy started as he again began to toe the dirt, but after a minute of not continuing, Arthur urged him on. "Ah, well, sir, since you're quartering at Alfred's home. Do you think you could be his friend?"

Simple words, but ones that hit Arthur hard.

Had the boy learned of last night? Arthur highly doubted Alfred would accept any kind of friendship from him. Did he even want to offer such a thing to the smith at that? He was stationed here only temporarily while under orders. The thought of becoming a friend with the colonist seemed out of place. However, he couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the man he barely knew, yet felt he had known forever.

"I am afraid I can not make that promise."

The boy's face grew sad at his words.

"However, I can say I will give it a try."

The boy's reaction was swift, and before he could react himself, the small child had his arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, sir! All he needs is a friend and he'll be happy again. I just know he will!" He exclaimed, wriggling against the soldier.

Arthur felt a warm smile grace his lips as he pulled the boy from around his neck.

"I bet if both of you became really good friends, you could show both the British and rebels that we don't have to fight. We can all get along and no one will have to lose any more loved ones!"

The boy's optimism was difficult to fight, and the thought of going back to the way things once were was certainly an inviting prospect. As he thought more on the jovial boy before him, he couldn't help but think back to his own childhood. Had he ever had that same childish outlook on the world? He had lived through so much grief that he couldn't remember a time when he was truly happy to be in this world.

"I will pray for that day." Arthur said, trying to be as encouraging as he could yet remain realistic.

The boy simply nodded, and quickly jogged over to where Hero had wandered to graze. He reached for the bridle, and walked the horse back over with him.

"I have to put Hero back in the stable. If you would like, I can take care of your mare for you. I'm a really good horse hand! My father told me I could become a veterinarian some day!"

Arthur smiled, "I would be honored if you would look after her for me."

The child's already beaming expression widened even more until he went very stern, clicked his heels together, and raised his hand to his forehead in a salute.

"I will not let you down, sir!" He said in all seriousness.

"At ease, soldier, and see to it that you do. I might even toss in a shilling for a job well done." Arthur smiled down at him as the boy's bright eyes widened in shock. Arthur was sure the thought of being paid for doing something he'd gladly do for free had caught him off guard. Sure enough the boy began to stutter over his words as he thanked and nodded to him in rapid succession.

Before Arthur could say another word the boy had taken off with Hero trotting behind him. He was sure he would have hoped onto the horse to make it to the stable faster if he didn't require the assistance of a footstool.

Arthur let out a contented sigh from their exchange. The boy had given him something he never thought he'd feel again. That optimism was a cherished blessing that was missing in their everyday lives, and Arthur would make sure it did not disappear.

His gaze then went back to the forge where Alfred's hammering had gone silent, yet smoke continued to billow from the chimney. Perhaps he was taking a break from his morning's work. Making it a perfect opportunity to speak with the man.

With a plan set in mind, he started over for the forge.

As he walked, it then dawned on him that he neglected to get the name of the young boy.

He had also forgotten to search for his pistol.

The latter seeming far less important anymore.

A/N: Yey for a POV switch. :D I will be jumping between Alfred and Arthur's POVs randomly. Chances are they will change by chapter versus in a single chapter.

I know there hasn't been much interaction between Alfred and Arthur as far as conversation goes but I promise it is coming in the next chapter. After all, Arthur is on his way to the forge. No more delaying, Arthur! :P So, again, do tell me whatcha think! The reviews have been wonderful so far and I'm really happy everyone is enjoying how I'm writing Arthur and Alfred. I am taking crits into consideration and I am editing previous chapters as I go, so if you're bored, feel free to see the edits and additions I've done to the previous chapters to make it a little bit easier to follow. (Even if you don't you won't be missing any vital plot.)

Again, thank you so much for reading! :D

Footnote: * Colonists used measurements in rods, chains, vara and other things. It's highly confusing and I'm horrible at math so I just kept to our modern day standard US measurements.