Quartering Acts
By Ahro
Warning: Sexual situations, language and violence.
Chapter 12
Mass hysteria was all he could put to the scene, and it all seemed to develop in slow motion before him.
Screams of outrage.
Gunfire.
Flickering of flames.
And a tiny pair of legs that swung limp above his head.
Every movement, every thought, every breath was erratic as arms grabbed at him from behind. Eyes never leaving that form. Words seeming to die in the air before they even escaped his lungs. Was he even saying anything? Would anyone listen to him.
No! Why are you pulling me away? He's right there! Save him! He's right there!
Faces moved in and out of his view, mouths opening and closing, his form being shaken. Everything was incomprehensible. All he knew was he was being dragged further and further away from that small form. That small form that was filled with so much happiness and optimism. Always a smile. Always a laugh.
"Micah."
"Ahh- I'm sorry, Mr. Jones! I was just puttin' back Hero after his run, sir. I was just about to brush him and give him fresh oats and-"
"Do you need to help your mother with dinner?"
The boy had been caught off guard.
"Dinner? I usually help her in the kitchen all the time, Mr. Jones, she says I'm a right help after all. I was goin' to help her today like all days, Mr. Jones."
"Would she be against you acceptin' an invitation from me to attend dinner at my home?"
His eyes had brightened.
"You- you're askin' if I will join you for dinner, Mr. Jones?"
I had nodded.
"Well- I-I don't think it'd be a problem! I can run back and help with what she needs and be right back if that's okay with you, Mr. Jones?"
He was now bouncing where he stood, his excitement almost to the breaking point as he tried to keep it contained.
"That's fine. Tell your mother I hope she is well."
"Oh I will, sir!"
I had walked to the barn doors, my attention quickly being grabbed by the soldier who now stood pondering the chopping block and axe in the distance.
"I will finish up here with Hero and Crimson, and then I'll run on home to mom."
I paused to turn back around to look at the boy, "Crimson?"
"Yes! I thought that name fit the Lieutenant's mare here." He had said, quickly moving to the tied mare that accompanied the stall opposite Hero's. She had wickered contentedly as the boy patted her neck.
"The soldier you say." I had looked back outside, watching as the man in question arced his back, axe in his hands, as he fell through in cutting his first block of wood.
My father had said a man who believes he knows what side he fights for, and yet faulters when it matters most, can be persuaded to change. Perhaps this was what he meant.
But he had let him swing.
"Yes, the British Lieutenant, Mr. Jones! He's awfully kind! I was expectin' a whippin' when I didn't dismount Hero right away. He actually went and caught me before I fell. I'd have been alright, Mr. Jones, but it was still really nice of him to show such concern. He even asked if I would take care of Crimson for him!" He had paused a moment, a small hand going up to cover his massive grin. "He even said he'd pay me a shilling!"
"Did he now?" My interest had been peeked. A British soldier offering to pay an American child. Could have been just a joke. "Well then, I guess such courtesy deserves a treat as well. Go inform the Lieutenant I would like for him to join us for dinner once you finish up with the horses. Afterwards, be sure to go speak with your mother for approval that you may join us."
"Yes, Mr. Jones! Oh- and I know my mom made a fresh apple pie this afternoon. I'll bring that along too! You'll love my mom's apple pie!"
I had nodded and the boy went about taking care of the horses as he was instructed.
"Oh, and Micah-" I had paused before venturing out towards the soldier, "just call me Alfred." I left him then. With the brightest smile I had ever seen the child display on that young face.
One that I wouldn't ever see again.
The smoke from the now rising flames licked at the smith's eyes as he was pulled out from under the gallows. Four men were pulling his still fighting form. Who they were he didn't care. All he knew was screaming, crying, and death as it littered about him.
Until he looked up, and the world around him quieted to a stand still. As if time was waiting for Alfred now- green eyes captured his own blues. Calm, resolute, quiet- the purest form of a soldier stood tall on the wooden gallows before him. Even while blood smeared his face and dyed his blond hair red he stood straight withholding any guesses as to his thoughts. A statue. A killer.
"I TRUSTED YOU!"
He was pulled back.
"YOU WERE MEANT TO SAVE HIM!"
He fought forward.
"HE WAS MY BROTHER!"
Tears breaking through.
"WHY, ARTHUR?"
"He's too strong! We can't hold him!"
"Get him out of there!"
"ARTHUR!"
And it all went dark.
"It's been a week, Alfred. You need to rest."
A screeching of a chair against wooden floorboards followed by a slam on a wooden table made the occupants of the small room cringe. It was raining heavily outside as the pattering against the roof and windows matched that of the rage from the young man in the center of the room. All eyes were trained on him, yet many had begun to waver on listening to his leadership.
A fire that once blazed in Alfred's eyes had begun to weaken even as his temper flared. His strength was weakening as the infection in his lungs continued to fester. His men would not listen to weakness however, and that alone pushed Alfred to remain strong.
"Doctor. Resting is something we can not afford to fall to. Since the Continental Congress convened two days ago the Brits have grown relentless against your homes and your families. Do you believe they will rest? Will the British sit idle while we take our fucking time to get organized?" It couldn't have come at a worse time. In the middle of his speech his breathing convulsed which wracked his body with spasms, as he coughed while bent over the table and clutched at his chest.
He felt hands at his back and his arms which only angered the smith further as he stood up, pushing them away from him. He had regained his breathing but the rage in his eyes pierced through each member of his small rebel group. Finally, they landed on the doctor who just stood there and shook his head.
"You're right, Alfred, they won't stop. None of them will ever stop unless strong people like you keep pressing them back." The doctor had moved closer to the smith now. The man was slightly hesitant in his movements, but it would have been hardly noticeable if Alfred wasn't already on guard. He watched as the doctor gently rested his hands on Alfred's shoulders, trying his best to convey his concern, yet Alfred still tensed with the contact. "However, if you don't rest some you won't be around to push them back."
Alfred couldn't help but turn his gaze away from the doctor's. He knew he was being foolish. Ever since his men had pulled him from the gallows that day he had been in a constant state of unrest. Every time he would be forced to lay down he would see that same image of those small feet hanging in the air. As if they were burned into the back of his eyelids; tormenting him at how powerless he had been.
His lungs continued to grow worse with the strain of the infection, and Alfred tried to endure the multitude of exams the doctor put him through. The cold air was the worst as it only inflamed his lungs more. Each night he was forced to breath through a wet rag that had been soaked in boiling water over a fire. The warmth seemed to help, but due to the onset of winter it didn't last long. It was the same infection that had taken his youngest brother from him while he still sucked at their mother's breast. Few people had ever survived the infection, and at the rate Alfred was pushing himself he wouldn't either.
"Gentlemen," The doctor looked out over the room of scattered men, "if you all wouldn't mind. I'd like to have a word with Alfred here."
They all agreed quickly as they all held great concern for the blacksmith, and so far Alfred had pulled them through each event they were put through. Each plan he had come up with and executed perfectly. All except the one. One in which he never thought would have failed.
After the men had cleared out of the single room home, which they had found abandoned in the deep woods out far west of Boston, the Doctor moved Alfred to sit nearest the fire and handed him one of the rags the smith had grown accustomed to using. It made the smith feel weak at having to do such a thing, but it was the only relief he could find. He was grateful that the doctor had at least ushered the men out from seeing him as such.
"Alfred-" that same lecture voice he had been hearing for days came out and the smith couldn't help the groan that escaped him. "Alfred... I know you've heard it all already. The men have done nothing but caudal you since that day. They have great respect for you, and that's why I'm not going to reprimand you again for being the disobedient patient I know you're going to continue to be."
This caught Alfred off guard. He quickly moved the hot rag from in front of his nose and mouth to protest before a hand was held up in front of him; while at the same time pointing to make sure Alfred kept the rag in place before he continued.
"You're a strong man, Alfred F. Jones. You are the striking image of your father and just as much loved and respected. You've gone through much in your short life to easilly have out weighted what many of us here have done in a lifetime. It goes without saying that you are the true spirit that so many of us aspire to be." The older man stood up now to walk over to one of the windows. He looked out it, observing the men who now chatted around a small pit fire they had built under an overhang from the rain. The older man's features seemed to relax some. The stress of many years almost washing away from the doctor.
He lifted one hand to rest on the cold window before finally finding his words to speak again.
"You show bravery in adversity, strength through pain, and love through grief. When many of these men would have fallen you have picked them up and pushed them onward." He stepped away from the window now, turning to catch Alfred's gaze that had drifted to the fire as he listened. "And yet, throughout all of this, with all that you give, you never realize exactly what you're loosing, because you believe you have nothing to loose. But you're wrong, dear boy."
A sigh escaped the smith as he moved the rag from his mouth and slouched over in his seat, pausing the doctor in his speech. "I'm sorry, Dr. Shannon, but you knew I wasn't going to be returnin' after all of this. I've told you for years your daughter deserves someone better."
Alfred stopped and sat back in his chair quickly as a laugh escaped the older man before him.
"I figured you would think I'd be talking about Jessie." He smiled, while Alfred looked on at him confused. "Jessie actually came to me, on one of my trips back to Quincy, and I had to give it to the girl- she has trully grown up to be just like her mother, bless her soul." He looked upwards for a moment before continuing, "She's always been stubborn, but this time she said to me, that what she sees in you is not someone she wants to spend her life with. She said that was far too selfish a request, but rather that you spend your life doing what you've been doing. You're married to this soil, to the metal you mold, and to the lives you've touched defending them and their ideals. Your father started it, and you will finish it." The doctor then walked over to Alfred as he still sat far back in his seat. The man's aged hands slowly resting on his shoulders once more as if the simple gesture had been more weighted now. As if it were difficult to even touch the smith where he sat. The man took in a deep breath and with a relaxed sigh added, "You will become great one day."
Alfred wanted to be angry. To push backwards from where he sat and argue the doctor's points. Who was Alfred to the rest of these men. They all fought along side him, showing the same bravery and courage that he displayed himself. There was no difference between them. The doctor was wrong, Alfred trully did have nothing to lose. Years ago he had come to terms with this. Now even more so, as the two people in his life had vanished completely. Just as quickly as they had entered it. There was nothing, and that was what made it so easy for him to push through each day.
But for once, Alfred couldn't be angry. His normal reactions betrayed him as he sat back and stared for a moment before looking over his shoulder at the quietly crackling flames in the hearth.
"It's odd."
Alfred felt the doctor's form before him stiffen a moment before relaxing again, giving Alfred a chance to collect his thoughts before continuing.
"You're the second person to have said those words to me."
The doctor took a step back to look Alfred over, "It's the truth then. I'm sure more than one other person has felt the same way about you even if they haven't said it."
Alfred furrowed his brow as he scrutinzed the fire before him. As if within it's light it held all the answers. "With such a bleak outlook for me, you'd think people would say otherwise. You've even diagnosed me of havin' no more than a few months maybe."
Alfred's nonchalant tone must have struck the doctor off guard, as he took a step back and quickly averted his gaze.
"You heard that."
"It's not like it isn't obvious, Dr. Shannon." Alfred then stood up to walk up to the doctor. A hand resting heavily on the physician's shoulder. "I guess if you look at that on the bright side, I still have time to fulfill those folks ideas of me, right?" It was a genuine smile the smith gave to the doctor. Not one that was forced, or pained like the many the smith was sure the doctor saw on numerous occassions. It was a natural habit the smith had always had, even over the past four years when his struggles were the most evident, he would be in town, hocking his wares and always smiling brightly. Not just because he was selling, but because it was the only time he seemed to ever forget his worries.
It was this Alfred- that the smith wanted to portray. To bring back that confidence in the people around him no matter what obstacle lay in front of them. It was this hope that Alfred wanted to give to the doctor, regardless of what contradictions Alfred might argue the doctor put him through. He'd always move forward. Always persistant in wanting something better for everyone.
"With that attitude I can't see a little cold ever stopping you, Alfred." The smith knew that smile he was being given was forced, but it was all he was going to be allowed. He knew he needed to get better for everyone's sake, but just how much time would that take.
Alfred was saved of having to think about his own health when the doctor changed the subject to a much more pressing matter.
"As to the real reason why I wanted to talk to you alone, Alfred," he paused. "I was recently contacted by my connection in Boston. He is a British soldier, and that's why I hold you in the strictest confidence to keep this between us. The men will not find the idea of my man on the inside being a Brit."
Alfred nodded his understanding, yet he couldn't help the pain that seered his chest. One that wasn't caused by the infection.
"You have met him before. He left you with that key that helped us in removing your shackles."
"After you conveniently knocked me out."
The doctor huffed, "You weren't relenting very easilly."
Alfred felt his blood pressure rising as he had had this conversation before. After he had woken up, he found himself in the middle of the woods in a low pitched tent. The first thing he knew was his neck ached severely, and upon feeling the raised skin from the rope burn it all came flooding back to him, and he had lashed out uncontrollably.
"I won't go there right now, doc. So, that Berkley fellow is your contact? He's just an ensign though. What can he do?"
"A lot in fact as no one suspects him, and because of that he was able to recover the muskets we lost."
"WHAT?" The sudden outburst was not planned well as Alfred's lungs quickly protested the extreme move causing the smith to double over from coughing. The doctor quickly grabbed up a fresh rag from the still hot water near the fire and handed it to Alfred's outstretched hand. God he hated how weak he'd become in just a few days. He had made the mistake of looking in a mirror when they first reached the small abandoned house they would come to call their base. Now he didn't even want to think of the kind of spectacle he made in front of his men. He felt pathetic and weak while these men still looked up to him.
Dad, what did you do to leave these men in such desperation that they would turn to your son for guidence. You never taught me how to lead a rebellion even one of fifteen men.
After the coughing fit subsided Alfred turned back to the doctor, "Repeat that- he was able to get the muskets?"
The doctor nodded. "Yes, with the help of a Captain Kirkland." He paused suddenly as his gaze locked with Alfred's. It took everything the smith could to keep his expression uncaring but the doctor seemed to know better. "The Captain Kirkland whom you rescued from the river that night. The one who you released back into British hands while allowing yourself to be captured."
"Hey now, you put me in charge of this unit! I never asked for it so don't come down on me!" So he was to be attacked now. From good news about muskets to being reprimanded like a child. There was only so much the smith would stand.
"You're in charge of this unit, but that also means you need to communicate with your unit. We had no idea what happened to you."
"You followed through on the original plans. What does it matter how I executed it."
This time the doctor was in the smith's face, "It does matter, Alfred. The whole plan relied on you causing a distraction."
Now the game was on.
"A distraction!" Alfred stood to his full height, pushing the doctor back from where he had been leaning over him in his seat. "A distraction that was meant to get Micah out of there! Yet all any of you cared about was to retrieve the fucking muskets!" The doctor's eyes were lit with fear as Alfred stormed towards him, backing him up furthur towards the wall. "That little boy had so much to live for... and you did nothing!" He could feel his eyes beginning to burn with the onset of tears but his rage wouldn't allow it. "There was time! Jacob had the shot on the roof! He could have aimed for Micah's rope! He never should have died! He never should have-" It was too much, as Alfred's legs gave way from under him and he slumped to the floor. His hands grasping at the doctor's long coat as he fell, tears now too overwhelming to withhold.
"Doctor Shannon! We heard yelling- is everything-" The footsteps at the door stopped quickly as the men took witness of the scene.
"He shouldn't have-" Alfred's fist pounded against the wooden floor, his body racked with sobs once again. He had been inconsolable in the first few days after he had woken up. Before it had been anger, and his men had to restrain him from hurting mostly himself. As the week progressed he seemed to regain his composure, but now the tears he had been holding back came out in a rush that he couldn't stop.
Alfred could barely distinguish what was going on around him as his heart ached. He felt hands, gently, rest on his back and shoulders. A soothing voice trying to bring him back to his senses. Eventually it did work, and he was able to recognize the doctor's voice above the worried whispers of his men.
"Alfred- Alfred we've been over this. Had Jacob tried to retrain the gun on Micah's rope there would have been a much higher chance he would have missed, and even you wouldn't be here now. We weren't anticipating Micah to be up there. He was suppose to be released."
"And he wasn't-" another fist against the floor as he squinted his eyes to try and bury the tears that continued to escape. "-cause that asshole fell through on his word! And I trusted him!"
"Alfred, listen, we don't know what happened on your Captain's side of things. You made arrangements with him you declined to inform us of. All we had planned was to get you out of there, after hoping Micah would be released on your claim of guilty, and recover the muskets. The muskets have taken a few days but Berkley was able to finally recover them. That is the point we're at now, Alfred. You need to stop dwelling on what has happened, and focus on what's ahead of us." Alfred shook his head, thoughts spinning out of control but he had found himself only repeating, "Damn him," like a mantra.
"Doc, what do we do about him?"
"I've done everything I can for him. Right now he needs to help himself."
Alfred felt the pairs of hands leave his back as the few men who had crouched down beside him stood back up. He heard sighs of disappointment and grief, but it was all too soon. Too soon for him to so easilly forget about that small boy who had so much left to live for. He wanted to show him a free America. Where he could begin his own family, and raise his children without worrying whether their next meal would be squandered for a soldier from over seas. Yet all that had been taken away all because of one man's pride.
Right when it mattered most you choked, and all you did was stand there. Even as I called out your name, amidst all the screams, gunfire and smoke, you stared at me without a single expression or uttered word of why.
He heard the door shut as he continued to kneel on the floor, hunched over and resting on his forearms. A crack of thunder overhead and the rain started a new onslaught yet no one came back into the building.
His body shook as he fisted his hands against the floor. His tears had begun to dry but the flames of rage began to replace them instead. He bit his lip, drawing blood easilly as the flicker of that man's once smiling face came into his vision.
"Why-"
That face was slowly eaten by flames and replaced with the one that now haunted him along side those small feet that dangled in the air.
"Why, Arthur... did you betray me?"
The rest of the afternoon came and went with the wind, rain, and clash of thunder ever present. The next morning opened in just the same way only Alfred woke to a surprise that he had in fact fallen asleep to begin with. His pure exhaustion in both physical and mental states had finally caught up to him to allow him a dreamless sleep. He couldn't say he wasn't thankful for the respite, but it also put him on guard.
"Doc!" Bad idea. Alfred bent forward quickly as another coughing spasm started up due to his shout. It did do the trick in alerting the doctor in question to Alfred's side, much that Alfred would have preferred going about it another way.
"Alfred! You're awake." A hot rag was quickly pushed in front of the smith's face which he took grudgingly. "You wore yourself out last night so we put you to bed. At least you were able to get a few more hours than you've been getting."
"Helps when your dreams aren't hauntin' you." He said past the rag against his mouth.
"And they will continue unless you put the blame to rest." Alfred remained quiet as his gaze drifted to stare at the blank walls next to him. Finding them far more intriguing than the doctor's attention just then. A heavy sigh then escaped the older man. "Alfred, you say you place the blame on that British Captain, but I know that's simply a front for the men."
Alfred sent a glare at the doctor out of the corner of his eye but remained quiet.
The doctor continued, "I've watched you during those few hours of sleep you had found since that day. Each one you cried out for Micah. That I understood and sympathized with you." There was a long pause as the doctor seemed to take a moment to almost gauge what his next words would evoke out of the smith. It seemed like whatever it was that needed to be said was more important than his silence so he pressed on.
"You also spoke of the captain." No reaction as Alfred assumed he'd have mentioned the soldier along side Micah's name. It wasn't until the man's next words were said that Alfred wasn't so sure he knew how to react to. "You cried out to him, repeating Arthur's name, but not with anger or contempt as I'd have expected, but with pain, remorse, and longing." The doctor looked down at his hands in his lap, "Alfred... what happened between you and this man?"
It was enough; before the doctor could react, Alfred had pushed past him and fled the small house. Amidst shouts from his men he ran and ran until his lungs finally gave in before he was forced to stop. Rain was still slamming against the trees and wet ground around him. It was freezing and all Alfred had ran out wearing was a loose shirt, pants and no socks. His bare feet had already started bleeding from where he had stepped on sharp rocks and pine cones, but nothing phased him more than those words the doctor had left him with.
Pain. Remorse. Longing. No, I can't- I won't feel those things anymore for him! I don't care what he may try to do to win back my favor. Nothing will win back Micah's life.
"ALFRED!"
He could hear them, rushing through the thick brush and jumbled trees. He knew he had to go back. Perhaps the doctor had been right on reprimanding him like a child because that was how he was acting right now.
I just... don't want to be like this.
His knees shook and he gave in to their weakness bringing him to kneel in the wet leaves and mud. He could barely see through his glasses as the splatter of mud had caked on the lenses. He wasn't even sure what direction he had ran in, nor did he have much knowledge of the area they had camped in. Were their other soldiers around? Might he have made enough noise to alert someone out patrolling? Had he put his men further into danger?
"ALFRED! Where are you?"
"ALFRED! Where are ya boy?"
"Alfred-!"
"Al-fred-!"
"...fred!"
"You shouldn't be out here."
His head was spinning, yet the voice was so close. A loud snorting. Tall, powerful black legs were in front of him. A pair of arms dragged him to his feet and hoisted him upwards. More jostling. A hand gently running through his matted hair.
"... idiot."
"Mr. Jones?"
"Ugh-" His hand went to his head as he tried feebly to keep the room from spinning. This was beginning to happen to him far too frequently.
"Mr. Jones. Are you feeling alright, sir?"
A cup of water was handed to him which he took with a muttered 'thanks' before downing it in one gulp. The cup was taken back and Alfred was left to try and sum up what had happened to him, where he was now, and with whom.
Rubbing at his eyes, he was finally able to bring the room into focus, and more importantly the man who sat next to him.
Once realization hit him, Alfred jumped back and slammed against a wall with a moan, inciting cursing as he quickly rubbed at where he hit.
"Mr. Jones, are you alright?"
"Ugh- I'll survive, but what is a damn redcoat doin' nursin' me? Why not shoot me on sight?"
There was a pause before the man answered. "I'm under orders to watch out for you, Mr. Jones."
"Who's orders?"
"Captain Kirkland's, sir."
The smith's eyes opened wide at the name, and once he could focus beyond the blazing red uniform in front of him he looked up to stare at none other than the ensign.
"Berkley?"
"That's correct, sir."
"You... weren't the one who found me in the woods?"
The man paused once more, "No sir."
"I need to get out of here."
"Wait- sir, don't-!" Alfred had tried to get up from where he sat but the ensign pushed him back against the wall. "There's no need. Doctor Shannon and a few of your men are already on their way here. This is the drop point for them to pick up your muskets."
"My muskets?" It was then that he noticed them. A large, heavy woven sack was partially open revealing the familiar muzzle of one of his bronze muskets. "They're... all here?" He slowly found his way to his feet, shuffling through the dry hay that littered, what Alfred now realized, was an abandoned barn. Kneeling down beside the sack he loosened the drawstring and there they were. All of the muskets he had toiled over slowly in the past four years was laying in front of him. Completely undamaged, but one in particular caught his eye immediately. It was the only musket that was still fashioned from steel, and the only one that had a delicate script engraved into it. A script which read, "For Liberty".
My father's rifle.
"H-how did you manage to get all of these back?" His voice wavered as his fingers glided over the delicate engraving.
"After firing them the gunsmith couldn't pinpoint what was so unique about them. He knew the barrel had been rifled but after shooting it he couldn't make out any difference, other than the powder clogged up in the rifling making it more difficult to reload. He said they were actually more encumbering than they would have been useful so they planned on destroying them."
Alfred couldn't help but laugh, "And I'm sure the fool's target was within a hundred yards, right?"
"Of course, sir."
"Yeah, they would think that." He then replaced his father's rifle with the others and retied the precious bundle before getting back to his feet, dusting himself off as he did. Turning to the younger man he couldn't help but be surprised looking the boy over in his striking red uniform, and still he assisted the Americans. To think such men existed. "Your name isn't Berkley, is it."
"Does it matter who I am, sir?"
"Yes, it does actually. Because after havin' been around that Captain of yours I've finally begun to notice that your accent seems forced." He began to move towards the ensign now, watching him as he stood his ground, unshaken by Alfred's approach. "You're not British-" He finally stopped directly in front of the shorter man, looking down at him while the soldier never averted his gaze, waiting for the answer to be spoken aloud. "-you're American."
"Yes, sir."
"B-but why all of this? How did you get into their military? Why the accent? Where are you from?"
The man smiled as he shook his head.
"You really don't remember me. Do you, Alfred." His accent dropped with his last words and then it clicked.
"John?"
A nod.
"But- your father took you to the south. How did this all happen?" Alfred gestured to the uniform.
"Seven years ago, after we had moved south, my father was contacted by family we have in Birkshire. My father and mother had traveled over seas well before I was born looking for a new life, as many others had before. Apparently, they had stayed in contact with my aunt and uncle back in England. I was never made aware of this until my father packed up our things and decided we'd be heading back to England." He paused for a moment and when Alfred didn't say anything he continued.
"While I was living there I had a tough time growing acquainted. My accent was foreign, and that immediately alienated me. Because of this I forced myself into picking up their accent. I was laughed at to begin with but eventually they grew bored of me. It wasn't until a few years past and problems were beginning to arise in the colonies that my dad had grown fed up with it all. We both enlisted in the Royal Army. He was sent over first while I was put under training by General Dereks."
Alfred almost gagged, "You were in Dereks' regiment?"
"Yes, but you no longer need to worry about him."
"Why is that?"
"Because I shot him."
It couldn't have been more surreal. That voice. It felt like a burning knife had just been driven through his chest, causing Alfred to stumble forward before gaining his balance to turn around. He felt John's hands grip his arms to help steady him, and for a moment Alfred was thankful for his presence, cause at the sight of Arthur Kirkland before him he wasn't so sure what action he would take.
"Berkley. You said you'd leave him here and move out."
"My apologies, Captain," the accent had been replaced, "there were a few things I wanted to talk with Mr. Jones about."
"Well I hope you've concluded your talk. His men are not far south from here.
"Yes, sir."
"Mount up then; we should have been back an hour ago."
"Yes, sir."
He felt John move around him. A firm squeeze on the smith's shoulder as he did. Their voices began to grow muffled. John was saying something. The other man nodded a reply, but his face was stoic. His eyes. Those green green eyes did nothing but stare back at the smith. Penetrating. Never letting go. All he did was choke Alfred's words in his throat. The smith's thoughts, forming and immediately unwinding into an intelligible mess.
Finally, the man turned away, those eyes releasing their grip on him. The barn door was opened as John was the first to exit. Only rather than following immediately behind, Arthur halted to allow the door to shut in his face, and stood there. Stood there in the quiet of the barn. Nothing but the soft rustle of leaves, and occasional shift of hay that had been caught by a breeze coming down through the rafters lingered between them.
Alfred seemed to finally pull the strands of his scattered thoughts together as he took one step towards the other man, only he was quickly halted when the soldier spoke first.
"Such an idiot."
A gust of wind suddenly rumbled against the old wooden walls, causing Alfred to jump where he stood. He felt as if the man in front of him was a bird, ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. Any sudden move or audible intake of breath might spook him to run. Alfred wasn't sure if he was ready for that yet.
"You honestly ran out in the freezing rain with nothing on but a shirt and trousers while you're dying from that cold in your lungs."
It was said with little feeling. As if Alfred was just a child who had run off and was being scolded for not returning when he was called. So nonchalant. It was just like the soldier to be cold in his words.
"Is that what you came here to say to me?" Alfred stared at the soldier's back. His hands beginning to regain some feeling to them as they clutched up into fists by his sides. "Scold me for being a child; one that's dyin', but ignore any words for the one that needed to be saved."
He watched the man's shoulders jump slightly at Alfred's words. The wall was up but he could break it.
"So what now? Where do you go- what do you do- after you knowingly stood there and let that man pull that lever?" He had begun to walk towards him, dry hay crunching under his feet as he did. The man never said anything, nor did he turn around. He continued to stare at the shut door in front of him. Alfred thought he heard talking outside but ignored it.
"Alfred, there is much I need to discuss with you, but you are not in your right mind to listen to me."
He was swift. With one hand, Alfred gripped the soldier by the arm and spun the soldier around to face the smith. The soldier banged heavily against the closed door as his eyes went wide in shock to stare up at the raging blacksmith. Those eyes didn't remain that way for long before narrowing in anger upon hearing the wooden lock clunk into place behind him.
The soldier was pinned. His back was up against the newly locked door, while the smith's muscled body pressed towards him. Alfred rested his hands on either side of the soldier's head to make sure all of the man's attention was on him. He would not allow the soldier to brush him off. Not after a week of pain and anguish he had to suffer through. It was the soldier who had made the call to not act. Now, the man would answer for it.
"I beg to differ, Arthur. I don't think I'll ever be in the right mind anymore. So now is the perfect time for you to tell me everything."
The soldier's glare never wavered. He didn't as much as flinch, as Alfred moved his face threateningly closer still. Alfred's blood was thrumming through his veins so quickly that the sound echoed in his ears. He began to wonder if the soldier could hear the deafening pounding of his heart as well.
A heavy sigh, "I have nothing to say to you right now, Alfred."
"Yes you do! Yes you do, Arthur!" He slammed his fist against the wooden door. "Tell me why! Tell me why you let him die, dammit! You said you would save him! All I wanted from you was to save him! To save Micah, and you just... stood there." His breathing hitched as he felt the now familiar pain cut through his lungs, readying for another coughing fit, but Alfred forced it back. He shook his head, gritted his teeth, and squinted his eyes. The weakness that this sickness did to him pissed him off even more, and now with Arthur directly in front of him to see it.
"Fuckin'- dammit all!" Another heavy fist hit the door again.
"Alfred."
The sound of the man's voice was so quiet Alfred wasn't even sure he had heard it. While the pain began to subside, and he could just breath enough beyond short intakes of air, Alfred slowly opened his eyes to look at the soldier in front of him.
"Arthur- I- just don't... why? Please, just... make this pain end." And in a swift movement Alfred crushed his lips against the soldier's, pulling the man into a bruising, possessive kiss that demanded so much of the soldier that Alfred wasn't sure he would give up.
Alfred stood there for a moment, hoping that in bliss it would all just go away, but Arthur never gave in. He remained motionless, pressed up against the door with Alfred's weight baring down on him. Realization began to settle in, and Alfred slowly began to pull away. This was not meant to be easy. Things weren't meant to go back to the way they were before. He knew this, but in his weak state he had grown desperate for some sign of reprieve.
He finally stood back, pushing himself off against the door to take a few steps away from the soldier. He felt nothing but shame for having looked to Arthur as a use to hide, but if it wasn't for Arthur would there have been that necessity at all?
"Alfred."
"Just go."
There was silence, as Alfred kept his gaze focused anywhere but near the soldier.
A lock unhinged and a door opened.
He was alone.
A/N: WOW! So you guys learned some stuff about Berkley (still more I need to cover there), and I tied up some loose ends with Jessie, the doctor's daughter. Yey for Alfred no longer being tied to her! :D However, I never seem to give that boy a break. Now he has pnemonia.
As to Arthur, seems he has some important things to tell Alfred but when will he get the chance? He better not wait too long if the doctor's diagnosis is true.
Thank you all for your continued support in this story! I'd have never gotten this far without everyone's lovely reviews and comments through here, LJ and Tumblr. You guys are all the best!
In case anyone is going to Megacon 2012 in Orlando, FL (Feb. 17-19, 2012), I will be attending in Artist Alley at table Orange 9. If you happen to be going, do stop by and say 'hi'! :D
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