Quartering Acts
By Ahro
Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language.
Chapter 9
Staring at Alfred during those few moments as realization hit him, felt like Arthur had been watching a hanging. Time would stop as one waited for the inevitable. Once that rope had been tied there was only one direction to go in. Those rope burns; marring the dead's necks of their convictions. Now, in the failing afternoon light, Arthur could have sworn a faint bruising was ringing around the smith's own neck.
"Alfred-" Arthur started, watching the man carefully for any signs that the smith would be spontaneous in his actions. "Irrational thoughts are not what Micah needs right now. I'm a British officer, I can talk to them." Arthur had slowly found his way closer to the smith; approaching as if the man were a tiny bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.
The smith had proven to be rather unstable due to his confinement from society for four years (beyond business interactions). Even with Emily, Micah's mother, he had been there to help her over the years, but rarely spoke with her outside of business. Arthur assumed, during the lashing Alfred received on speaking out for Emily's well-being, the man hadn't uttered a sound as blood pooled at his feet.
"Those muskets could have come from anywhere. They have no proof you made them, and to charge Micah of smuggling! That's just-"
"Not out of the question."
Arthur stopped. Alfred didn't say anything else, allowing the single sentence to linger between them. As if to make his words seer into Arthur.
Children being used to smuggle contraband? They could not possibly be going that far.
"Do you mean to say, that children have been used in such a manner before?"
"Arthur, Micah is nine years old. He understands and can follow orders. Children are so easily seen as innocent that they are the least to be suspected. Findin' Micah at the water's edge with a sack of muskets- you're tellin' me you wouldn't immediately report the boy?"
Arthur looked back at the floating cloth in the water, then to the small sack of sea glass that Alfred still clutched in his hand.
"I would have looked further into it than to judge merely by appearance. Had I found him with the muskets, and then saw what the boy had been on the beach combing for, I would have let the boy go. Confiscating the muskets in turn."
"These children are trained to have such things as these-" Alfred shook the bag at Arthur, "so they don't look suspicious in case they are caught. Like what happened here." The smith bent down to pick up the cloth bag to examine it. His head shook, while he gripped the cloth in his hand, a grimace on his face. "And now they've taken him, all because of my own damn ignorance!" He pitched the soaked cloth down into the water with a heavy splash. His rage finally seeping through what little willpower he had had to contain it.
Arthur knew what was coming, and he moved in front of the smith before he could take that first step.
"Get out of the way, Arthur."
"For what?"
"Get out of the way."
"For WHAT? So you can go have yourself killed?"
"So I can save my brother!" Alfred's gaze had been looking off, past Arthur, and to the city. Now, it had fallen on the soldier's own green eyes with such a ferocity Arthur wasn't sure the chance still remained to be able to change the colonist's mind.
"Alfred. Just... explain to me your plan. I want to help you save Micah, but I can not do that if you rush into this and leave me behind."
Alfred's form shook with the urgency to run.
If his final desire is death, then I won't be able to stop him. But if what we shared in the woods meant anything, the least he can do is allow me to be there in those final moments.
"Don't- leave me behind, Alfred." His voice hitched, as sudden memories flooded back to him.
"Mummy! It's my birthday today! Could we go to the park?"
"That's wonderful, dearest, but your younger brother is sick. I'm afraid there won't be any park today."
I had sulked off.
"Mummy, could you read me a story before bed?"
"Not tonight, dear, your younger brother kept me up all last night, so I must retire early. Perhaps another time."
I grew angrier.
"Have you heard the news? Mrs. Kirkland bore an illegitimate child. Simply degrading. Her filth should not be around privileged folk as ourselves."
"I daresay, her poor husband must be beside himself with shame. What of the other poor boy? To have his life altered so vastly because of his mother's sin."
"They were such a respectable family, too."
My world crashed down around me.
"Big brother! Please! Hurry! The water is rising too quickly!"
"I know! Hang on, I'll go get mummy!"
But I didn't.
I let him drown.
Because I hated him. Hated what he did to my family. Hated what he did to my mother. Yet, she loved him still. Always over me. Always, left behind.
Alfred's gaze seemed to have softened some. Had the soldier's expression changed when that rush of memories returned? Did he say something out loud and not realize it?
"My plan is simple. Turn myself in, and explain that Micah had nothing to do with the muskets." Alfred let out a sigh as he looked down to the few pieces of sea glass in his hand. "However, they will not believe the word of a rebel. That is where I will need your help." His gaze, returning to the Brit's as one large hand moved to rest on his shoulder.
"You need me to speak up for Micah."
A nod.
"So you will just let them hang you. After all the work you have gone through to aid in your rebellion you'll just hand them your life."
"Casualties of war."
Arthur gritted his teeth as he turned his gaze away from the smith. His shoulders now giving away his emotions as they shook under the man's calm touch.
Life always seemed to give him something wonderful, and then take it from him. He had loved his younger brother, but then he began to take his mother away from him. Then, his home was taken away from him. Now, something he wasn't even sure what to call.
Alfred continued to stare at Arthur. His eyes curious to see the soldier's response, but holding a knowledge that regardless of what he said no longer mattered.
"Just... give me one day. I'm sure I can learn some information when I go out on patrol tonight. Chances are they will hold Micah to lure out any rebels they believe he is associated with. It would be folly to turn yourself in now."
Alfred just continued to stare, and it was beginning to fuel Arthur out of sheer annoyance.
"Will you fucking answer me! You want to rush off to your death yet you stand there like a bloody wall!"
"One day then."
Arthur paused before his tangent continued. "You will wait then?"
His gaze finally broke from Arthur's as he looked off to the tree line, "I need to see someone about a musket order."
"Is this a habit of yours? Whenever you need to be serious you speak in riddles?"
Alfred had moved past the soldier on his way back to Micah's home, but paused to look back over his shoulder. "I owed those muskets to someone. I need to report that they've been stolen. You're givin' me a day, right?"
Arthur nodded.
"First though, a mother needs to know her son will be home safe." Alfred then turned, and jogged back to the home they had previously left, leaving Arthur standing in the surf.
He didn't wait to see where Alfred's next move would take him. The moment the smith had left his sight, he had turned and began to walk back to Alfred's home, sticking to the beach as he did. He needed to get into his uniform, and prepare Crimson for his evening patrol. Tonight would require him to be on his guard, yet remain calm as to not lead on that he knew of any recent happenings. A stop at the pub again could provide valuable leads.
However, Arthur was having trouble curving his thoughts from Alfred.
There's no doubt those muskets were meant for the rebels. He must have contacts he's reporting to. I pray they can give him some help, or at best, talk some sense into that fool. The rebels will need as many skilled blacksmiths they can get. For him to get himself killed now would only be selfish to the cause he's trying to fight for.
Before he realized it, the familiar smithy began to come into view around the tall pines and maples. The distance he had traveled felt like it had passed far too quickly for having gone by foot, but he was thankful in seeing it. The sooner he could get out on the road the better. Perhaps he would go meet the young ensign early.
Now that I think of it. Where was Berkley? Could he have had a hand in taking Micah from the beach?
His thoughts took him to his bedroom where his uniform still lay folded where he left it the day before. Shrugging the heavy coat on, and making sure his attire was well fitted, he belted on his sword and holster.
Then, his eyes rested on the pistol. The pistol that he had aimed at the man who had just held him in his arms, and brought more meaning to his life than he would have deemed possible at any other time before.
Picking it up, he decided to take a moment to examine exactly what modifications Alfred had mentioned he had done to it.
For our gunsmith to have been impressed with his work. There must be something special about his father's trade.
Weighing the pistol in his hand, there was an obvious lightness in the flintlock now that he hadn't noticed before. Turning it around in his hands, he brought it closer to pick out exactly what the smith had done. There were no obvious exterior changes the smith could have altered, however, the shock when he looked down the barrel almost made him drop the pistol completely.
What on earth are these grooves down the barrel?
Thinking back, the smith had fired it without any problem, so whatever the part the grooves played in the weapon's function was lost on him.
Making sure to ask Alfred once he met up with him again over the strange alteration, he holstered the weapon while picking up his own musket to head off to the stable.
He hadn't meant to, but the moment he had mounted Crimson he had woken her with a quick jolt into a fast gallop down the dirt road he had traveled earlier; asleep in Alfred's strong arms. There had been a glimmer of hope that Arthur hadn't taken too long, and Alfred was still at Micah's home.
Yet, he found disappointment upon no longer seeing the massive black draught horse tethered out front. It panged him, but he knew the walk back to the smith's home had been a long one. Alfred would have wanted to be off as soon as he could.
I wonder how the news went over with Emily.
He lacked the willpower to go in and see the woman while he was in his uniform. Seeing a British soldier, even one who was here to help her, might stress her beyond what steel limits she seemed to possess.
Now, he wondered where the young ensign would be at this hour. The man's blue roan was no where to be found. It was nearing the time for them to be meeting for patrol. The lad had been so punctual the previous night, had he been given ulterior orders?
Perhaps he is somewhere near the main settlement. Surely, they wouldn't have sent the boy to Boston.
He had ridden about the main roads with no sign of the ensign, and Arthur was beginning to suspect the boy had been sent to Boston as part of the escort for Micah. At least he could trust the boy wouldn't be harmed. Berkley would know Micah, and in turn Micah would be with someone he was familiar with; even if the ensign couldn't do much else for him.
"Dammit all!" He cursed aloud as he turned Crimson quickly to ride back down the road he had recently come down, in-sighting odd looks from the colonists as they made their way back home for the night.
That pathetic excuse for a general. He could have sent some word to notify me of this change.
"Sir! Lieutenant Kirkland! Sir!"
The cry made Arthur pull up on Crimson's reins quickly as she reared up and trumped her distress. Arthur held on with skilled practice as he turned her to face the approaching soldier.
The man was out of breath as he approached on foot. Arthur gave him a moment to recover so as he wouldn't have to stutter out his message.
"Lieutenant Kirkland, sir." He saluted, "I have a message for you from General Dereks." A sealed piece of parchment was handed up to the soldier.
"Thank you, ensign. You are dismissed."
"Yes, sir." He saluted and was off, back in the direction he had came from.
Breaking the seal, he quickly garnered answers to his recent questions he had been fretting over. Many he had answered himself only now being confirmed in truth.
29 August 1774
Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland,
Recent events have taken my interests to Boston. We have a suspected smuggler in our possession, along with rebel contraband. A small group of soldiers are on their way to Quincy from Boston to relieve you of your position there and you are to report to Boston at 0700 on 31 August 1774, for further briefing.
Sincerely, General Brandon Dereks
So they have taken Micah to Boston, along with the muskets Alfred crafted. While I'm to report there as well. Why would they want me? I haven't been here long enough to give them any information.
Looking back over the note again to see if anything else was decipherable, he found new interest in the group of soldiers that were being sent to man Quincy.
They must plan on heightening security in the area, as Micah wouldn't have been the one to make those muskets. Their expecting Alfred and whomever he's associated with will give themselves in for Micah's sake.
A slight laugh escaped him as he realized just how right they would have been; except they were unaware of his own involvement now.
So, what does that mean, exactly. Am I ready to go against my people, my country, all because one man captivated me? I haven't seen enough of this new world to base my opinion on whether their desire for freedom would be beneficial to them. Just their desire to rebel against the British Empire is fool-hardy enough. Could they manage on their own? Do they deserve to be free? After everything the Empire has given to them, they just want to squander that good faith because of a few taxes? We're at war in Europe, of course we need the support from our colonies. Surely, the acts that have been passed over the years would have been repealed once our war had been won.
He had been riding slowly towards the edge of town, and had been greeted by the familiar laughter of the tiny pub he had been a patron of the previous night.
Stopping Crimson just outside, he looked in to see only a few British soldiers were enjoying their drinks compared to that night.
The General must have taken a large number of men to escort little Micah to Boston. Afraid of an ambush, perhaps?
"Why won't you stop this foolishness? You're injured! You should be resting!"
"I only came to talk to your father, Ms. Shannon. My injuries have been seen to and will heal just fine. I'm sorry, but I must be going now."
Arthur almost fell off his horse upon hearing the familiar smith's voice from thirty yards away. He had, thankfully, been concealed in the shadow of a few large oaks when he heard the conversation.
Ms. Shannon. That must be the doctor's daughter. Why does Alfred have business with him? I had thought he was avoiding that family like the plague.
A loud snort and the jostling of a saddle could be heard as Arthur assumed Alfred was mounting the large draught horse.
That idiot, his injury is never going to heal.
"See that! You winced. You're still in pain, Alfred! Why don't you stay and I can give you something to help with that."
There was a pause, "and we could spend some time catching up since you agreed to my father's terms."
Arthur froze.
There was another pause, only broken up by the annoyed thumping of Hero's hoof in the dirt road.
"I'm afraid I haven't the time right now, Ms. Shannon. Your father's terms also require me to take haste if they are to succeed." Alfred's words paused as he seemed to choke on what was to come.
Arthur felt his grip tighten on the reigns.
"However, I will come to call on you when I return. We have-" he paused again, "a wedding... that needs to be planned."
Arthur felt himself go limp.
The sudden shout and accompanying whinny just barely pulled Arthur back to reality when the large black horse barreled past him at full gallop. The blond hair as it raced past him was a blur, but the soldier could have swore he saw those bright blue eyes flash in his direction.
By the time he had made it back to the smith's residence, the sun had set and his stomach seemed to have completely forgotten what food was.
Have I really not eaten anything in almost two days?
His mind had been racing since he had overheard that fateful conversation in town. So much so, he had deliberately taken the longest route possible back to the blacksmith's home, and then retraced it again for good measure. He could not avoid the smith forever, and part of him had hoped the man still wasn't home.
Bringing Crimson into the stable, however, dashed that hope upon seeing Hero tethered up in his own stall.
Perhaps he may have taken the boat off shore.
He found himself wandering across the grounds in hopes of prolonging the inevitable, yet after going to the dock, the forge, and even the outhouse, there was only one place the smith would be.
Entering the small dwelling, Arthur was visited by an emptiness he thought that only he could feel. A single candle was lit in the center of the room, casting ghostly shadows against the walls. The solitary light source seemed to add to the despair. Had the room been completely dark, Arthur thought he would have felt better. Now, the small flame just enhanced his longing for someone, yet at the same time a need to push them away. Arthur suddenly felt like just another shadow on the wall.
A shiver ran down Arthur's spine as he noticed the damp chill that had settled through the house as well. Rubbing his hands along his arms for some semblance of warmth, Arthur went about the room lighting the small lanterns, and bringing up a fire in the hearth. It wouldn't take long to shy the chill out of the home now.
Arthur watched the flames dance about the red brick in the hearth, allowing the rhythm to relax him. His shoulders drooped to help alleviate the tension that had built up in him over the past few hours. The strain of the long ride had worn him out as well.
What I would do for a cuppa tea.
Emotions he had to overcome after leaving town had been something he hadn't faced in years. Being able to drown himself in the warm, soothing aroma would have lifted his spirits for what was still to come. Having been all over the grounds, Arthur was still perplexed at where the smith could have been. He hadn't scowered the house yet, but it had been so quiet since he entered he wasn't sure if the man was even home. Maybe he had walked down to Micah's to see how Emily was fairing.
Finally pulling his gaze from the flames, which took an unnecessarily large amount of effort, he turned back to the door only to be pierced by that same pair of blazing blue eyes.
"A-Alfred. I-I thought you might have been sleeping." He lied, stammering as he did, but he couldn't admit he had been searching for him, or rather looking to avoid him.
Alfred stood there in complete silence. The light from the lanterns just barely reaching the entryway, giving the smith a soft glow to his features.
He appeared to be breathing heavily, and his hair had been mussed up from one too many times of his hands brushing through it. Had he been anxious? Stressed? His calm attitude on the beach while making a decision to hand over his life seemed simple to him.
"W-why don't you sit down? You look like you have been through hell."
In two long strides, Alfred was in front of the soldier. Before Arthur had even realized it, his face was being held and his lips taken by the smith's own.
Arthur's eyes fluttered shut as his mind finally focused on his situation. His lips parted and he felt Alfred's hot tongue push into his mouth to deepen the kiss while moving the smaller soldier against the wooden table behind him.
A gasp escaped the soldier as he felt himself lifted onto the table and Alfred's hands moving down his sides to tug at his shirt. It wasn't until the smith's hands found his bare skin that Arthur realized what was happening and pushed against the larger man.
Their lips parted last, and all Arthur could do was avert his gaze while Alfred stood there staring. Staring knowingly as realization began to light his features.
Yes, Alfred, I heard your conversation.
He couldn't say it. He didn't want to even acknowledge it. He had found some semblance of happiness when he was in Alfred's arms. Something that he didn't want to lose.
Silence lingered between them, and it slowly ate away at Arthur. He wished he could just forget everything he had heard and go back to when it never happened. Figure out some way for Alfred to have avoided the situation entirely. But what was the situation? What had he needed to talk to the doctor for that would lead him to make such a promise?
Alfred's voice came out in a rasp, "It was you then."
A slow nod was given as an answer. Arthur continued to keep his gaze averted to the side.
"How much did you hear?"
Arthur bit his lip, still with his eyes averted. "You... made some arrangement with Dr. Shannon-" he paused to swallow the lump that had been growing in his throat, "-which required you to repeal your annulment with his daughter."
There they were. The words were out. Floating before them like stagnant air filled with the aroma of death. Arthur felt like he was suffocating.
Alfred moved to lean against the kitchen window that overlooked the harbour. His good arm resting against the cold pane to allow his forehead a cushion. His breath fogging up the window. Slow and steady. A calm seeming almost otherworldly.
A sigh escaped him as his thoughts finally were ready to be put to words. Words Arthur wasn't sure he really wanted to hear. "Dr. Shannon is the head of the Quincy militia. Four years ago, I was assigned to craft those muskets." He paused for a moment. Seeming to contemplate his choice of words.
He still isn't sure if he can trust me.
Alfred stood back up and turned to look at Arthur. His eyes held a deep determination, and a knowledge that what he was about to say would be going against something he had sworn to protect. "Those muskets-" he paused, "are more important to our fight for freedom than you realize."
Arthur slid off the table to fix his shirt as he walked over to the fire again. He had grown cold quickly after Alfred had moved away.
"So you vowed to marry his daughter again over muskets."
"Don't start jumpin' to conclusions, Arthur! Do you really think I wanted this?"
Alfred had quickly intercepted between Arthur and the hearth he had been staring into. His chin was lifted up, but his eyes never even saw the sky.
"Along with Micah, I need to get those muskets back. Dr. Shannan has-" he paused again, though this time he bit his lip out of concern over his next words.
Maybe he is right in not trusting me.
"He has British loyalists that are actin' as spies in Boston. They can get the muskets out, but I need to turn myself in to help divert attention, as well as clear Micah's name. This also needs to be done quickly before their gunsmith can examine the muskets completely." He looked away momentarily, "I- also am askin' if you might help in persuadin' them in lettin' Micah go. I'm sure they won't believe me about Micah, as they would gladly hang both of us."
Alfred had let go of Arthur's chin as his strong hands had moved down to grasp his arms. An almost begging look coming into his eyes now as he bent down slightly to match Arthur's gaze.
"Why not ask me in the beginning? I would have gladly assisted you in saving Micah."
Alfred grimaced at his words. "I knew I could, but, it's not just about savin' Micah. I need to get those muskets back."
He had thought his temper was in check, but Alfred had just pushed him past being able to hold onto it.
Wrenching his arms out of Alfred's grasp, Arthur backed up away from the smith. His expression must have screamed his rage as Alfred's eyes grew wide in shock.
"So, you believe weapons is all that you need to win this war? How about men who can shoot. Your militia men are nothing more than farmers. Do you honestly believe your people can stand up to the British Empire?"
Arthur couldn't help it, as his thoughts came spewing out. His anger had gotten the better of him, and he had disregarded just how much Alfred had dedicated himself to seeing a free America.
A fleeting moment of regret stung him as Alfred's expression went from shock to a blank stare. As if the soldier's words had cut deeper than any sword.
Alfred made to speak for a moment, than closed his mouth, until finally deciding his next move.
"Fine then. You want to see exactly why we need these muskets back? Then follow me." Alfred grabbed a lantern from off a hook on the wall, and stormed out through the front door, leaving Arthur to contemplate exactly what this man had in store.
His priorities lie with his men, then perhaps I should rethink my own priorities.
Alfred had set the lantern on the wood chopping block and had walked a good 300 yards away. Arthur was confused by this but decided to head over to him, yet still keeping a fair distance from the man.
He was quiet, and was holding the same musket that had caught his attention in the forge the other day when he had gone to seek out the smith. The day after he had pointed his own pistol at the man's head.
He is going to kill British soldiers. Perhaps I should have pulled the trigger when I had the chance.
And again afterwards, when I saw the word 'Liberty' etched into that exact same musket.
"See the lantern." It was dark, so the lantern as a target had been smart. However, the distance was far too great for a musket.
"Yes, but the distance is too great. At best you may hit it at a hundred yards." Even in the dim moonlight, Arthur could see the smirk that lit up the smith's face.
"No, 300 yards." Taking the musket, he shouldered it on his good arm, cocked the pin, aimed, and fired.
In a puff of smoke, and the sharp, familiar sound of a musket being fired, Arthur watched, and was amazed when he saw the light in the lantern go out, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
"The barrel is rifled. It allows the ball to spin, which adds accuracy as well as distance. Your men would still be marching across the field to come within range, and we would already be reloading for a second shot. So long as fear from already fallin' comrades didn't scare them off." Alfred then turned to face Arthur, grabbing the soldier's attention away from staring at where the lantern had once been.
"That's why we need these muskets back. This is what is going to assist us in winning this war: range and accuracy. My father adopted the German's rifling techniques during the time he spent hunting in Pennsylvania, and combined them with the common military grade musket. It was something that could be disguised, and it's something that I don't want the Brits to learn about." Alfred paused. Arthur just watched in silence. "It's why I accepted Dr. Shannon's terms, and it's taken every fiber of my being to not run back there and tell him to forget it." The smith moved closer to the soldier. Never averting his gaze as he did.
As the man neared, Arthur felt himself unconsciously take a step back. This froze the smith where he stood. His blue eyes holding a longing to them now, but a mask was quickly pulled down over them as he looked away. His grip tightening on the musket still in his hand.
"Arthur," there was a long pause as the smith stood there. The cold was biting now, and Arthur had a sudden urge to usher the smith back inside due to his simple dress. It was a fleeting moment though.
With a heavy sigh, Alfred finally broke the silence, "Arthur. I would rather be hung tomorrow, than to live a life without you."
Thankful for a sudden, brisk, northerly wind, Arthur didn't want the smith to notice his shoulders had begun to shake.
"You would rather-" Arthur repeated, taking another step away from the smith. Remaining mindful of his voice as to not let on his true emotions. "It is too little too late, Alfred. Plans will have already been put into motion by the doctor. There is no going back on your word to his daughter now, and as a gentleman, you should never break your vow to a lady."
With his final words, Arthur turned to head for the stable.
"W-wait, Arthur! Where are you going?"
Arthur paused as he lifted his gaze to sky. Remembering now that he would be forever tormented by that sunny sky above him. Perhaps returning to England would be in his best interest. His past could not hurt him any more than this could.
"I will help clear Micah's name for him. They should let him go. From there, I have been reassigned to stay in Boston. If you manage to escape your conviction alive," Arthur paused to turn and face the smith who stood stalk still from his previous position. A deep frown etched on his face as he looked on to the soldier. Somehow, Arthur felt that that frown would be there for sometime to come.
"-then next we meet, will be on the battlefield."
A/N: So~ did not meet the word count that I had wanted, but this will have to do.
You knew it would be coming. This is following the American Revolutionary War after all. I did take some liberties with the rifled musket. It was true that the longrifle had a major factor in securing the victory for the colonists, however, the modified musket that Alfred's father creates isn't technically made till years later.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Lots of interesting times to come. :3
As always, thank you for the reviews, favs, and alerts! You guys are all too awesome! Seriously, the hetalia fanbase is pretty boss. :3
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