Quartering Acts

By Ahro

Warning: EXPLICIT sexual content, language and violence.

Chapter 14

Hero's breathing had grown labored as Arthur pushed the massive draught horse through the thick of the forest. His large gait just barely managing to weave past the large oaks, maples, and pines. Dead leaves and branches were trampled under hoof leaving no room to guess as to what crashed through the trees. Arthur's only path to follow was that of a single river that ran not far from the rebels camp. Berkley had lead him along it before, and it was the only way to find the abandoned building. If only orders had not been to sweep straight through the forests they would have gone unnoticed for a long time. That would not be the case though, and Arthur would make sure the soldiers would still only find an abandoned building.

"So long as they listen. Don't act a fool, Alfred."

It was still before midnight. There was plenty of time to warn them, but if it took time to persuade them, it would be another show entirely. The returned muskets had garnered Arthur some appreciation, however, he had left Alfred in a very unfit place. He wasn't healthy to begin with, and the additional stress brought on by having to believe Micah was killed would not help him improve.

"I have to tell him. He has to know. Time is short for us now. I can not let him disappear without knowing the truth."

It wasn't much longer though before the familiar scent of a pit fire wafted through the air. The faintest flicker of a fire amidst trees and overgrowth signaled his destination. He could breath somewhat easier now as he brought Hero to a slower pace. There would be perimeter scouts, and he couldn't afford to waste precious time explaining his reason for being here. It was difficult enough to expect them to not shoot him on sight. His blazing red uniform was only asking for it.

As if Arthur had called out to them himself, two rebel soldiers walked their horses out from behind a massive stone outcropping, muskets shouldered and aimed right for Arthur's heart.

"Ain'tcha out a little late fo' a ride theyah, Brit?" A stockier one by the looks of his arms in the dim light, spoke first. A wicked grin cutting across his face revealing missing teeth, while a rotten looking cigar was chewed from the side of his mouth as he spoke.

"W-wait, isn't that the horse Alfred mentioned? The black draft horse."

"It's dahk, everythin's black tah me."

"Yes, but it's massive. Put the damn musket down."

Arthur watched as a thinner man came around from behind the first, and reached over to push the barrel of the musket down.

"The fuck, Will! Ya can't just let 'em walk into camp! He's still a fuckin' redcoat!"

"Then I'll escort him. Stay here and watch the perimeter."

The man grumbled his displeasure in the idea, but reluctantly obliged, moving his mount back to their original position. The other man sighed, running a hand through his hair as he trotted his own horse to close in next to Arthur.

"I take it you are Captain Arthur Kirkland, correct?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, and thank you for taking care of that."

The man gestured his hand forward to continue on as he spoke, "Heh- the minute Alfred's name is brought up, any of the men would back down in a heartbeat. No one wants to anger him."

Arthur couldn't help be surprised by this, "His health is improving then?"

The man shook his head, "Afraid not, but he certainly doesn't let on that he is ill. He's found a way to control his coughing. Only does so when he knows his men aren't around." The man paused a moment. Adjusting himself in the saddle as they neared the camp before he finally found the words to continue. "He's strong, but he wants his men to be stronger. It's certainly something all of the men admire in him. Even more so that they would lay their lives down for him."

Arthur stopped Hero for a moment at the man's last words, making the latter have to stop and turn unexpectedly.

"I thought these men were fighting for their independence from Great Britain."

"Oh- we still are, sir, but it doesn't feel like we'd be fighting for our independence if we didn't fight for Alfred as well."

Arthur tried to grasp the idea. Alfred was their leader in all of this. He had been pulling them all through against extreme odds. Rallying more men to his side by sacrificing his life even. He had become a force all his own, even through his physical, and assuredly mental (thanks in part to Arthur) limitations. How Alfred could push so far without breaking was certainly something to protect, and that's what these men saw.

"Oh- dear, my apologies, sir, you wouldn't be out here this late if you didn't have urgent business to address. Alfred and the doctor should be in the war room." The man moved his horse into a brisk canter to lead off through the trees to the old home that steadily grew nearer.

A war room. If I didn't know Alfred was serious in all of this, I would have to give it to him for his theatrics. A well organized militia. That's certainly something to be proud of.

Arthur came up behind the young man he spoke with earlier, who was now engaged animatedly with two guards who stood stationed at the entrance of the old building. They shot Arthur a glare as he neared, then looked to Hero. There was no mistaking the large horse, while Arthur's face looked just like any other to them. If they managed to see past the red uniform at least.

Arthur dismounted then as the young man from earlier walked back towards him.

"You must disarm before they allow you in, orders from Dr. Shannon."

He knew it was out of protocol, but agreed none the less. He didn't have time to argue when he knew he was in no danger from these men, so long as Alfred was in charge.

With his person removed of his musket, pistol, and sword, he was allowed entrance into the tiny dwelling. A good-bye salute was given from the young man at the door as Arthur entered. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim lantern light, Arthur finally found, at least one man he had been looking for.

Doctor Shannon, who Alfred must have named his second in command, stood over a large pile of medical supplies in the corner. He was currently working on something as he held a mortar and pestle in his hands, steadily grinding down whatever herbs he had mixed inside. He must have been alerted ahead of time as he turned and held little surprise to his expression upon seeing the British captain.

"You surprise me, Captain, I didn't expect you to return." His smile was calming. One he must have used frequently with his patients. One that was practiced all too often. Now, it was aimed at Arthur, and it unnerved him.

"Where is Alfred?"

The doctor swirled the contents of his mortar around before placing it back along side his other materials, "So you had planned on returning after all."

The statement confused him, "Urgent matters required me to return. Now, where is Alfred?"

"Matters... regarding your soldiers sweeping the forests and towns for us?" Arthur's eyes widened. "We know."

"What?"

"We have our own connections."

"T-then why are you still here?"

The doctor shrugged, "Alfred's orders."

"That is a death sentence."

The doctor smiled, "Alfred has faith in his men, as do I."

"You are all even more foolish than I thought."

A laugh, "Isn't anyone who fights for a dream foolish? You have a dream."

"Ha- one that I'm not following."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Of course."

"Than why are you here?"

Arthur had a response ready, but not for that question as he fell over his words, "Ahh, w-what do you mean? I came here to warn you of the sweep, nothing more. Had I known you already knew I would not have wasted my time."

"And what of Alfred?"

"What of him?"

"You need to see him."

Arthur scoffed, "I need nothing of the sort. I have nothing more to say. Good evening, sir." He then turned on his heel to head for the door, only stopping momentarily when he heard the doctor clear his throat.

"He's out at the barn overseeing training. Thought you might want to know."

Arthur shot the man a glare, but he had turned his back to him, his attention on his mortar once again. Arthur wasn't sure what the man knew, but as he walked outside past the guards and remounted Hero, he found himself turning away from the direction he had come from. Once Hero moved past the building, Arthur swore he saw out of the corner of his eye a figure move away from a window, and only that hauntingly calm smile lingered in Arthur's mind.

The sounds of musket fire filtered towards him as he neared the large barn. Lanterns were scattered about the area while a few pit fires roared with additional light. Arthur was surprised by the boldness of these men. To be firing muskets and have fires lit at night. It was as if they were asking the British to come and find them.

As he approached, much like before, a man came out on horse back to attend to him. He had been given his weapons back, but rather than accosted as before, he was merely escorted to the entrance of the barn. Words were exchanged with a salute to an older gentleman who seemed to be currently in charge of what Arthur felt was training. After a nod of dismissal, the men cleared out and Arthur was left alone with the man overseeing the operation. Again, it seemed, Alfred was missing.

"You must be Captain Kirkland of the British Royal Army, I've heard a lot of good things about you, young man."

"It seems I am well known around here. You have caught me at a slight disadvantage, sir..."

The man laughed, "My name is of little importance, Captain. You are after all the reason we still have a fighting chance." The man motioned to the bronze muskets being used amidst the militiamen.

From what Arthur could tell, there were three stations with targets. Each man started at the closest range of 100 yards and slowly moved out further to the maximum of 300.

"Marksmen, Captain. They will be our key in fighting this war."

A new term for a new kind of soldier. This world is truly evolving. "Your men have grown quite skilled from their humble beginnings as farmers and craftsmen. Is this truly wise to be showing me your battle tactics?"

A wide smile lit the older man's wrinkled face as he looked out over the men training, "Trust is not something Mr. Jones gives easily. One learns to respect that quality."

Arthur darted a look up at the man, "He trusts me?"

"Have you given him reason not to?"

Arthur's gaze drifted back to look at the men, "I thought I had."

"Well, lad, whatever it was he must have deemed it of little importance."

Arthur shook his head slightly, "I doubt it is of little importance to him."

"Sorry, sir?"

"Nothing at all. Ahh- well, might you know where Alfred is? I have means to speak with him."

"Right, my apologies, Captain, I'm afraid you missed him. He had been complaining of a headache and was in need of fresh air. More specifically salt air. You should find him due southeast from here, along the coast. Poor lad, dreams of the sea he does. I pray he makes it out of this war, and can man his own ship out in those waters he loves so much."

Arthur nodded as he climbed back atop Hero. "As do I, sir." With a nod of his head to the elderly man, and a salute given in return, Arthur turned Hero around and began to head off in the direction, Arthur hoped, would finally lead him to Alfred.

The familiar scent of salt finally reached Arthur's nose as gusts of wind off the water kicked up the surf along the shoreline. It had taken him almost an hour to reach the coast, following the same river that had brought him to the rebel camp, it's mouth opening up into Boston harbour. In the past half hour, a storm had also begun to brew to the east as he closed in on his destination. The sky having been steadily darkened even further as the moon and stars were blotted out by the massive dark shapes of rain laden clouds. Now his path was only lit by the increasing number of lighting strikes, the currents of electricity dancing high above his head.

This is ridiculous. His men refuse to leave on Alfred's orders. So why should I risk my life with this storm fast approaching to try and talk some sense into him. He certainly has not heeded my council before, why should he now?

As if to answer him, a loud crack of thunder struck above him, causing Hero to bellow in surprise and surge forward through the trees out into the thick dunes along the beach.

"Woah, there now, Hero! Nothing but a bit of thunder. You have been around far worse than this now. Hush." His words seem to calm the horse some as he came to a stop atop one of the dunes. A clear view of the harbour now stretching out before them, and with that, no clear sign of Alfred.

"Dammit, all! Where the bloody hell has that man gone off to?" It would be almost impossible to spot the man in the dark, but just as Arthur was about to end it all, and perhaps go back to the camp and wait for him (because he was a bleeding sod), a flash of lightening lit up the sand and obvious hoof prints came into view.

"Now that will be helpful." Having spotted them now, following the shadowed depressions would certainly lead him to the elusive blacksmith.

The prints traveled less than a hundred yards down the beach before they turned, and much to Arthur's agitation, disappeared into the water.

"No. That bastard erased his trail. Just when I thought I finally had him." His gaze lifted then to look out over the water. White caps churned along the water as the wind pushed across it in heavy gusts. Spray leaping off the water to coat the air as it did. The distant crashing of waves further out just happened to catch his attention, right as another strike of lightning lit up the area, brightening the wet stones of a looming jetty.

Arthur blanched at the sight.

"Big brother!"

"No, dammit."

"My foot is stuck in the rocks! I need help!"

"Please, no..."

"The water's rising, brother, hurry!"

"Not now."

"Brother!"

"No."

"Arthur!"

"NO!"

The sand came rushing up to meet him as he fell from the saddle. His stomach emptying almost immediately as he tried to brace himself on his hands and knees. The visions of his brother, his leg trapped in the stones of the jetty they had been playing on. Their mother had told them not to, but Arthur wanted to venture out to the end. His younger brother had slipped down the side, and had lodged his ankle in the rocks. Arthur couldn't reach him. Then he noticed how close the water was, and exactly how high it would eventually get. He had pretended to run for their mother. He had always pretended to love his brother.

Dry heaves now wracked his body as he shook in the sand. His arms and legs growing weak as they tried to support his quivering form from the exertion of vomiting. His face had become wet with tears, but Arthur wasn't sure if they were due to the nausea, or of his own grief.

"Dammit... why did I let him drown. I killed him, because I was nothing more than a selfish fool. I hated him, but he did nothing to warrant what I did to him. Nothing!"

"Just like Micah did nothing."

Arthur gasped, spinning around to look up at a tall, mounted figure that now loomed behind him. Even in the dark light, those familiar blue eyes shown brightly behind his glasses. A glare, piercing down at him along the barrel of an aimed musket.

It was too soon to speak of Micah. Alfred wasn't ready to kill Arthur yet, either, as Arthur would have been dead already. There was still time.

Arthur wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, bringing his gaze to the treeline, and away from the threatening weapon, "A little far to go scouting."

"Only as far as I needed 'till I found the enemy."

"And have you?"

"All I see is red. You tell me."

Arthur wobbled to his feet, trying to find some shred of dignity in the face of a loaded barrel. Alfred had found his way out of the saddle, the musket still aimed and ready. Rain had begun to lightly fall, as the lightning now lit up the area at regular intervals. As the light kissed the gleaming metal in Alfred's hands, Arthur then noted, that Alfred's musket was not bronze like the rest, but made of iron.

His father's musket.

Arthur shifted his weight as he looked down to straighten his uniform self-consciously, "So, if you found a woman in a red dress-" he paused, looking back up at the armed smith, "-you would shoot her?"

The butt of the musket came up quickly, striking Arthur in the jaw hard. He had expected no less with his remark, as he spun and landed hard in the wet sand again. Arthur groaned as he tried to right himself but Alfred had already stepped over him, turning him over onto his back with his foot, and bringing the razor sharp bayonet threateningly close to Arthur's neck.

"Who said I would shoot?" He pressed the cool blade almost tenderly against Arthur's throbbing pulse. If it hadn't been raining, Arthur would have been soaked with his own sweat. "Perhaps I would interrogate her. Find out why she'd be out on a beach so far from any town, as well as which general she was married to. Certainly no American could afford such a luxury."

Alfred's words settled between them; thick with loathing and disgust. Arthur couldn't very well disagree with the smith's feelings. He had, after all forced Alfred to this point through his deception, all in an attempt to throw back the pain Arthur had been feeling from Alfred's constant rejection and withheld secrets. Alfred had played Arthur along in his plans for his revolution. Arthur had just chosen his own bold move, but the boy still lived in the end. At this point, however, Arthur was beyond hoping for Alfred to take him back, but he had to let Alfred know the truth.

It still didn't mean he was going to be nice, "They could, if fools like you threw down your weapons."

Alfred seethed, "Let us sit representatives in your Parliament, and perhaps we will."

"You know I can not answer that."

The bayonet then pressed firmer against Arthur's neck as Alfred's rage flared.

"Than you have your answer!"

A loud crack of thunder filled the air, causing Alfred's skittish horse to whinny anxiously at the danger they were still under. The rain had now begun to pick up in intensity, while Arthur began to notice the blade against his skin had begun to shake. Was Alfred losing his grip? No. He was holding back. His will was failing him. Arthur could still reach him.

"That musket-" he started, "Its not one of the ones you made."

Alfred remained silent. His features composed, yet the slight tremor through the blade was enough for Arthur to know he could continue.

"This is your father's musket. The first rifled musket of its kind." Arthur paused again, thinking about the etching he had seen that first time in the smith's forge. That phrase that signaled to him that Alfred was a rebel. His enemy. "'For Liberty' is engraved in the barrel, correct?" Arthur knew he was right, but Alfred continued to say nothing. "Liberty means my death. The death of a redcoat that is suppressing that liberty. I understand that, and accept it, but if you do not at least allow me to explain why I am here, that liberty truly will not be coming any sooner."

The rain had begun to pelt down much harder now, sending both horses to bellowing their displeasure. The sea had also grown angrier with its waves crashing down hard on the shore. The same happening against the jetty; Arthur just barely keeping himself together at the sight of the dark shape from the corner of his eye.

"This weather isn't good for the horses."

Arthur was brought back from having to revisit his memories when the muzzle and bayonet were suddenly missing from in front of his face. Alfred's words had moved the man away to attend to Hero. The horse seeming to quiet at its master's calm touch as he lifted the reigns to lead the animal away.

The horse Alfred had arrived on seemed more than eager to follow along, with or without a rider, and quickly took up pace behind Hero.
Meanwhile, Arthur still laid in the sand, the rain still drilling into him while he tried to ponder what had come over the smith. Had Arthur's words gotten to the man? They must have struck true if Alfred needed time to think things over than slice Arthur's neck open.
Hoping he was right, Arthur got to his feet, rubbing his now sore jaw as he did, and followed.

Alfred had lead them all to a small wooden shed in much need of repair just past the treeline against the beach. It was heavily weathered, and its time against the ocean showed. The salt had steadily been eating away at the wooden boards that comprised the walls and roof. Large holes from the damage littered along its base, allowing for weeds and grass to find their way inside. Against the side there stretched a small overhang where Alfred had already gone about tying Hero underneath. It was relatively dry, save the few broken slats that let rain drip in. With the wind as strong as it was though, the rain pushed in underneath the overhang, but it was probably the only shelter for miles. Arthur's gaze finally found the only entrance to the shed. A busted door frame, minus the door, that opened from underneath the overhang.

Seeing as Alfred had decided to take over in caring for Hero, Arthur moved around to the other horse. After having been so use to Hero, the smaller bay was a breeze to deal with. Arthur found himself looking for things to take up time with as Alfred continued to drag on brushing down Hero.

Feeling the increasing awkwardness, Arthur finally decided to head inside the shed and have a look around. Perhaps he'd be lucky and find some scattered hay for the horses.

He didn't want to rush Alfred's thoughts, yet the nagging of the approaching time he would need to report back to Boston had him on edge. Alfred knew of the sweep to come the following morning, yet he acted as though he didn't care. Shouldn't he have been resting if he planned to fight, as foolish of a notion that it was?

Thinking about the fighting and Alfred's health, it brought Arthur to look over his shoulder back through the doorway. He hadn't forgotten Alfred's injuries, nor his ailment, but since Alfred had approached him on the beach, he seemed to have gained an exorbitant amount of self-control over whatever pain or trouble his lungs and injuries must have still caused him.

Arthur recalled their time in the barn only a day before. How Alfred had grimaced and struggled to fight with himself. His strength weakened; showing the effect it had on his pride. Always so strong and independent, to have to suddenly be so reliant on another, it was breaking him.
Looking at the man now, Arthur could see he didn't stand as tall as he once did; with his back slightly hunched forward when he walked. His arm was no longer in a sling, but Arthur could tell he favored it. While his lungs still strained, he combated it by keeping his exertion to a minimum. It seemed he would always find ways around what would keep most people in their sick bed. It was certainly something Arthur had to admire in the blacksmith.

"Well?" Arthur jumped, not expecting the smith to come up behind him so soon. He turned on the spot to see Alfred, his arms crossed over his chest while he leaned his good shoulder against the broken door frame. His expression was indifferent. He wasn't at all threatened by Arthur, even while the soldier was still very much armed. It seemed as though Arthur's words, at this point, meant nothing to him regardless of what he said. Had Alfred known the truth though, he might have been singing a different tune.

"Yes, well, I know you-"

"I already know about the redcoats' plans to sweep through the forests for my men come mornin'. If you're here to warn me, or tell me to run away now, than you've wasted your time."

Arthur's hands fisted at his sides as he watched Alfred move from his position at the door frame to look out the single dusty window that faced the beach. The glass, broken in spots, allowing some of the rain to enter the small shed and splatter on Alfred's already wet shirt.

"Alfred, you realize that is fifty odd men per regiment. I understand your men have been training, but the British Army has been trained for years. There's no way you could handle even one group if they came across you."

Alfred's previous nonchalants quickly extinguished as he moved in front of Arthur in what must have been a single stride, causing Arthur to immediately slam up against the side wall. One he had not realized he had been standing so close to, or rather he had misjudged the actual size of the shed. Now, Arthur was forced back to staring into those blue eyes, fierce as ever, but at least this time they were blue. It reminded him of his reoccurring nightmare; standing atop the gallows, those once blue eyes as they went from expressing relief to pain, and in turn changing to gray as they watched Arthur merely toss everything the man could have cared for into a pit of flames.

The vision was gone quickly though as Arthur felt his collar yanked upward, Alfred's face coming within inches of his own.

"You've seen first hand what we're capable of, Arthur! My militia has grown in number! Since the trial and attempted hanging, men have rallied to my side. I've made these men into believers. That's what will win this war. Men with free spirits believing in free ideals. That's what America will be." Arthur could feel his temper rising. Alfred's usual recklessness had gotten him through on pure luck by this point, but it couldn't last forever. Certainly not without help.

"Great plan, Alfred. Show the British Army your militia's strategy. How long will that last? Then when they reform, and know your tactics, how long will your farmers hold up then? How long, Alfred?"

Alfred's fist connected hard against Arthur's jaw, but he was prepared this time. With his face turned now, he spat out blood that now oozed from his busted lip as he glared sidelong at the blacksmith.

"How long, Alfred? No formal military. No formal leaders. How long before your militia needs help? Where do you go then?

Arthur could feel Alfred's hands shaking as they gripped desperately in Arthur's collar. Taking a chance, Arthur turned his gaze back to the smith to find Alfred staring at their feet.

"So you start the war tomorrow, then? Is that what you want?"

Arthur had to strain to hear, as Alfred's words were barely audible above the crashing rain against the wooden shed, "This war started the day your men killed innocent people in the streets of Boston."

"Because your father started it."

Alfred's gaze was up again in an instant, locked with rage as Arthur suddenly felt his throat being crushed by Alfred's forearm.

"He did what was needed!"

Arthur coughed as he struggled some, refusing to bring his arms up in defense though. Arthur had helped Alfred build up this rage inside him, and it was finally being released. In a sense, Arthur deserved as much as he had given, even though he felt just as betrayed. If Alfred felt any regret towards his actions against Arthur, he had yet to show it.

Arthur struggled, "Allowing... innocent men to be killed... was needed?" The pressure against his neck seemed to lessen slightly as Alfred turned his gaze away.

"Sacrifices... had to be made."

"J-just like your own sacrifices then? Rally the people... with your death." He paused to cough, "A true revolutionary."

Alfred finally stepped back. His arms fell away from Arthur as they swung limply at the smith's sides. Arthur wanted to rub at his neck but continued to restrain himself. He just stood up a bit straighter, trying not to bring attention to what Alfred's actions had done to him.

"I-It should have only been my death." Alfred's shoulders began to shake more now, his hands balling into fists as he looked sidelong at the floor. Arthur could just make out the gritted teeth and tightly shut eyes hidden by the smith's blond bangs. His glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Only mine."

Arthur bit his lip, tasting the blood that clung to it still.

"Why?" Arthur tensed. "Why... didn't you save him? You... promised me he would be safe. After everything... you still promised..."

With his gaze still averted, Arthur tried to force the words out, "You played me, Alfred, and I was a bleeding sap to have gone along with it. I could have been your inside man. Even that doctor helped; using his daughter as a means to see just how much I would take, while still wanting to help you, and knowing I... couldn't have you."

Alfred hissed through his clamped teeth, sucking in a sharp breath at Arthur's words. He had been aware of what he was doing to Arthur, but he never stopped.

"I... only did what needed to be done. You were a pawn in all of this, yes-" He looked up then, his eyes moist as he fought back his emotions, "but I always intended on returning to you. You've... always had me, Arthur. Ever since you put yourself between that general and... Micah and I." He shook his head, the obvious pain he still felt evident with the hitch of his voice. Arthur couldn't even fathom what time with the smith had been like since that day.

After a bit of struggling, Alfred found his voice again, "You were the first British soldier who showed some humanity to us. You gave me faith then. I just never thought... you would be so against our freedom."

Arthur released his breath with a heavy sigh, his own shoulders now beginning to shake as he tried to contain his own emotions.

"I am... not against it... Alfred. I just... worry you are not ready for it yet." Another sigh escaped Arthur as his jumbled thoughts finally settled down to deliver the inevitable. "Alfred... you might say I have always had you, but I don't believe that is true any longer. Not after what I did to you..." he paused, "what I still... have yet to do to you."

Arthur worried at his lip, his hands now ringing together as regret tinged his thoughts. The words were there, but revealing them began to seem far more difficult than he had originally thought. Alfred had shown Arthur that he still cared, would still care, but only in time would they be together. Arthur just needed to wait, but he couldn't. Always selfish. So selfish.

"... he is alive, Alfred." Whatever Alfred's silent reaction had been, Arthur wasn't aware of, as he had closed his eyes with his final words. His desire for any outcome no longer present.

After what Alfred must have felt was enough time to comprehend Arthur's words, he finally spoke, "...where?"

"At a farm north of your camp."

That was all it took. As Arthur slowly opened his eyes, he found he was alone in the small shed. Peering outside he found Alfred quickly harnessing the horse he had arrived on back up, the storm having not quieted in the least.

"A-Alfred, this weather is not safe! He is in good hands! Please!"

Alfred never even looked up. He was in the saddle in one graceful move and was bolting the bay out into the rain, heading back towards the deepest part of the forest.

His emotions finally broke.

Arthur felt his legs weaken from under him as he knelt down in the wet dirt and sand. His gaze roaming from the trees to the shore, until finally landing on the cold stone jetty. The sea crashing against it, shooting mist into the air as if waving towards him. Crying out to him.

His hands went to his face, and he wept.

"I'm so sorry..."

Arthur wasn't sure how long he had stayed behind. The storm had slowly begun to let up as he traveled, only a drizzle now wetting the land. He had been riding hard towards the farm he knew Micah was being housed at. Yet, as he arrived, and the small farm house came into view from the emerging forest, he was surprised to find not a soul in sight. The windows were dark, and only a small plume of smoke tendrilled from the chimney. Everyone was still asleep. Arthur knew Alfred had to have come here. He expected to see Alfred's horse, at least, standing somewhere in front of the building. Had Alfred stopped by his camp on his way here? Did something happen to him from the storm's rage? The river was wild as he followed it back northward. Had his horse stumbled?

Arthur's thoughts were getting away from him again. Shaking his head, knowing he had to have been over thinking things, he pushed Hero forward towards the home. He wasn't interested in waking anyone, but he figured he'd wait to see if Alfred showed. Heading down the path, Arthur then saw what he had missed from far up the hill. Fresh hoof prints were in the mud, but trailed around the side of the house to the back. Curious, Arthur slipped from Hero's saddle, leaving the large animal to nibble at some grass, and followed the prints.

As he rounded the corner, he was greeted by both the familiar bay, and Alfred.

"What are you do-"

A hand cut him off. As Arthur neared, he found that Alfred was looking in to the small home through a window that had it's shutters still open to allow what little moon light now broke through the scattered clouds. Confused, Arthur neared the smith with caution to see what the man was looking at. Once he was close enough, Arthur immediately understood.

Lit by a lone shaft of moon light, was Micah's young face, tucked next to the sleeping form of his mother.

Seeing this, Arthur quickly looked to see what Alfred's expression was, only to be surprised by the complete lack of expression instead. He was completely stoic, as he stared down at the small boy who still had yet to know he had an older brother. An older brother who still stood unsure of what to do.

Arthur made to speak but Alfred raised a hand once more.

"I don't want to wake him."

"W-why not?"

"He deserves his rest."

With those words, Alfred then turned and walked back to his horse to pick up the animal's reigns. Arthur fell over his own words as he tripped over to Alfred.

"Don't you deserve your own? He has wanted to see you, Alfred, more than anything." Arthur found himself pleading to the man as he headed his horse off to the large barn that stood a far distance from the main home.

Alfred said nothing as he opened the large barn doors and moved inside.

Arthur cursed as he quickly went back for Hero, before returning to the barn as well. Completely at a loss for words as to why Alfred would act so indifferent after having gone through such despair.

Getting back to the barn, Arthur walked in to find the other horse had already been stripped of its burden and left to eat and drink. Alfred was missing, but Arthur felt leaving the man to his thoughts for a few minutes might help, so he went about the task of seeing to Hero.

After he was content that Hero was settled, Arthur turned to start his search for the smith, at least he would have, if the man wasn't already walking towards him.

"A-Alfred, I..."

"If you planned to apologize than so be it, but know that you don't owe me one."

Arthur looked at the smith confused. He was going to apologize, but Alfred most certainly did deserve one. He deserved far more than what Arthur could give after what he had done, but here Alfred wanted nothing?

"I am sorry, Alfred. It is by far too small a thing to give back to you after so much that I took, but, why should I not owe you more? After the torture I had to have put you through. Even while you battled against death. Even as you still fought for your men and your home. I owe you so much, Alfred."

Alfred only shook his head, his features soft, his blond hair glowing from the strands of moonlight that filtered in from the roof. He took a few steps forward, and brought his strong hands up to Arthur's face. They gently brushed along his jaw, his hair, till they cupped his face tenderly. Arthur's eyes widened in shock as his heart began to pound in his chest. His vision felt blurred as he tried to look up into Alfred's eyes, but found it exceedingly difficult to do so. Instead, his eyes found Alfred's lips and grew exceedingly confused by the slight frown they held.

"Arthur-" His voice, how Arthur had forgotten just how tender it was, how caring and loving it was. It had enveloped him that night in the woods. Their bodies entwined together, pushing past so many obstacles that had come between them and what would soon befall them. Neither of them knew then, nor did either of them know what was to come now. All Arthur could do was squint his eyes as the familiar pain began to swell behind his eyelids.

"You saved me, Arthur, and not just in the ways one would believe. You saved me from death that first night on the beach when you turned away your gun. I had been ready. Ready to die for some stupid belief that everything I did was pointless." He paused, "I didn't care what happened. You were my answer. An escape I could never give myself. Yet... you didn't."

Alfred then took one hand from Arthur's face to fish in one of his pockets. From its depths he lifted out a single musket ball and brought it in between them.

"A shot meant for me."

Arthur looked at him confused, "What is-?"

Alfred looked at the small metal ball, held lightly between his thumb and index finger. There had been nothing striking about it. Arthur could not figure out the significance.

"After you dropped your pistol at my feet, and returned inside, I had picked it up and rolled the musket ball-" He waved the ball in his hands in front of Arthur's face, "this musket ball, out of the barrel. I didn't understand what it meant back then. Everything that has happened since then, has lead up to now." He replaced the ball in his pocket, his hand gently returning against Arthur's steadily flushing face.

Arthur looked at the smith before him. Unsure of how to continue. How to discern exactly Alfred's meaning behind everything he had said... had concluded upon.

"W-where do we go now then?" Alfred stood so close to Arthur that his body heat warmed his own chilled form. His hands shook at his sides, unsure of where to go, what to do, what to touch or what not to. He wanted this. He wanted Alfred. Everything was meant to be right in the end. He just needed to be reassured that it would be.

As if all of Arthur's questions had been worded at once, it only took Alfred's lips on Arthur's own to finalize them all.

Arthur's hands, no longer fumbling on what to do, quickly went up to grasp at Alfred's strong back, pulling him flush against Arthur and in turn deepening their kiss. Alfred's touch was tender. His long, calloused, fingers ran through Arthur's hair as he parted Arthur's lips gently with his tongue. Arthur more than welcoming as he grew intoxicated by his taste. Alfred's tongue, roaming gently against Arthur's. Lovingly and slow, nothing like how their first time had been.

Arthur moaned around their kiss, as Alfred's hands gently ran down his neck to around his collar, beginning to unfasten the many buttons of his coat. His musket belt that ran across his chest was slid off and unclasped to land lightly in the hay. His sword, belt and pistol to rest along side that. With his weapons safely removed, his red uniform was then easily shed.

Alfred wore only his shirt, and it still clung to his chest from the rain. Arthur parted their lips and then gently began to kiss down along Alfred's jaw, moving to the throbbing vein in his neck to suck tenderly at it, as his hands roamed up the smith's chest to untie the few strands to loosen the shirt from around his neck.

Alfred gave a soft moan as Arthur sucked, ghosting his tongue in small circles in the same area as he began to pull the linen shirt from Alfred's trousers.

Once freed, Arthur parted to allow Alfred to remove the shirt from over his head to fall with the rest of Arthur's belongings. They weren't apart for long before Alfred stepped forward quickly to do the same with Arthur's shirt, before he gently rested Arthur back to the hay strewn ground. His knee coming up between Arthur's legs to add pressure against Arthur's gradually stiffening cock.

Arthur groaned with the friction, before he brought his arms up around Alfred's shoulders and pulling him down for another deep kiss.
He felt Alfred smile against his lips, as the man's hands went down to work at Arthur's belt and trousers. They came away easily as Alfred kneeled back to lift Arthur's legs to untie his boots before pulling off the remainder of his clothing.

Arthur now rested nude in the hay, his body open to the chill of the barn. He winced as a cold breeze suddenly blew in before Alfred was over him again. His body seeming to never have difficulties with the cold as it warmed Arthur's as he neared.

Alfred's hands roamed down Arthur's thin sides, sending a shiver up Arthur's spine as the smith seemed to want to learn more about Arthur in touch alone. He didn't have to do much though before Arthur's cock was stiff with need, rubbing against Alfred's smooth stomach as the smith moved above him.

"A-Alfred."

The smith moved down to breath gently against Arthur's ear, his lips taking Arthur's earlobe between them, inciting yet another moan from Arthur before he finally pulled back to whisper, "I want to make love to you."

Arthur's head swam with Alfred's words, causing him to turn his head to take Alfred's lips in his own as his answer. Arthur's hands then going down to the smith's belt to release Alfred's throbbing member.

"Ung, Arthur-" Alfred bit down some on Arthur's collar bone as the soldier gently squeezed and slid his hand up Alfred's thick cock. Circling his thumb over the smooth head, while rubbing some of Alfred's precum over it. Alfred's hips bucked forward into Arthur's hand for more stimulation, but Arthur withdrew, lifting his own hips to rub against the smith's. Their cocks rubbing together by the connection.

Alfred moaned more, his shoulders tensing above Arthur as he buried his face into Arthur's shoulder.

"Arthur, I- need you."

Arthur smiled, twining his fingers now through Alfred's sweaty hair, while he brought his other hand to his own mouth. Sucking some on his index and middle finger in order to prepare himself.

Rolling his hips up once more against the smith, Arthur reached around to begin to stretch his entrance. Hissing some at the still unfamiliar feeling. One finger was more than enough to start as he barely made it past the ring of muscles, but Alfred heard Arthur's distress, and calmly ran his hand along Arthur's chest and stomach. His featherlight caress brought Arthur's attention away from the pain, which made it so he could slowly continue, finally managing to get a second finger inside him.

"Let me." Arthur darted a look at Alfred as he smiled down at him. Arthur nodded and removed his fingers, while Alfred wet his own before gently reaching behind Arthur to slide his own fingers inside the small soldier.

Alfred's fingers were larger than Arthur's and he immediately felt that much more stretched to try and compensate for the smith, but not having to struggle at the odd angle himself, he began to feel some pleasure from Alfred's stimulation. Soon, Alfred had his fingers in up to the knuckle and arched just right to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent Arthur's body arching upwards. A gasp escaping his lips at the feeling.

Alfred smiled as he leaned down to kiss Arthur tenderly along his jaw and neck as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of the soldier, repeatedly hitting that same spot as he went.

"A-Alfred, I c-can't-"

"I want you to cum." Alfred's voice dusted against Arthur's ear, as the smith continued to move his fingers in and out, before finally Arthur came on his own chest. His breathing having been lost as his body stiffened in its release. After he was spent and he slowly relaxed from his high, Alfred grasped Arthur's slowly softening cock to pull what little cum could remain, before gathering what was spent in his hand to slick his own member.

"I'm going to enter you now. Are you alright?"

Alfred's words were soft and caring, just as before, and Arthur only nodded before Alfred rested back on his strong calfs to lift Arthur's legs over his shoulders. The soldier was well ready, as Alfred took his own cock and gently moved the cum slicked head against the soldier's entrance.

Arthur groaned with the feeling, before Alfred finally moved forward more, his cock pushing in past the ring of muscles, before slowly thrusting further inside.

"Ung, Arthur- you're still so tight."

Arthur lifted his hips more for Alfred to move deeper. The smith's hands wrapping around Arthur's tiny waist to help bury him to the hilt.

"A-Alfred, I don't remember it... feeling the same way before."

Arthur bucked his hips some on Alfred causing the man to groan as he continued to try and hold himself steady inside the soldier. Just entering the soldier had him near to bursting, and he wanted this to last. Neither of them knew where only a few hours from then would leave them.

"Before- ung, we just needed each other. There... was little else but lust. I want- to do it right this time."

Arthur moaned Alfred's name at his words, finally stirring Alfred to move his hips back, before thrusting forward. Slowly at first, still trying to keep himself from coming so soon, before he found a steady rhythm. Holding Arthur's hips in place as he rocked into the soldier.

Arthur's cock was already beginning to stiffen again with the added pleasure. His hands fisting above his head in the straw as he watched Alfred take him. The smith's stomach muscles clenching as he moved. Sweat running down his arms as he held fast to the smaller soldier.

"Arthur..."

"A-alfred, ugh-"

Alfred gritted his teeth as he let go of Arthur's hips with one hand, rocking as far forward over Arthur and as deep inside the soldier as he could go before he stiffened and released his seed deep inside the soldier. Arthur in turn, came again, arching his back as Alfred slowly bucked his hips forward a few more times into the soldier. Spending every ounce of himself inside Arthur before slowly easing out.

Their limbs shook, their breathing was heavy, their vision clouded from the euphoria. Alfred finally rested down into the straw next to Arthur, his energy completely drained. Arthur, now missing the warmth above him, edged closer to the smith to wrap along side him. His arm resting across Alfred's chest, while his leg he brought up over to entwine between Alfred's.

With a contented sigh, Alfred finally spoke, "This... was how it should have been."

Arthur felt his heart beat quicken at Alfred's words. How everything that had happened could have lead up to this still had Arthur at a loss. He couldn't drift off to sleep now without some knowledge as to why.

"But did everything we go through really need to happen?"

"I haven't the answer for that, but you left me with a promise," Alfred turned Arthur's face to look him in the eyes. Those sky blue eyes. Still so full of freedom just by themselves. They alone lifted Arthur's own spirits in those moments. Faith that things would turn out in the end having been rekindled. Alfred continued, "after the game I put you through. After I pushed and pulled at your heart. After I forced you to have to accept my death, you kept your promise in the end. Your means of going about that, after what I put you through, are understandable. Your part in all of this was not easy, and I had forgotten that after that day. I had grown blind in my rage, forgetting that I had played my own part in moving you for my own plans. You did everything, and we both succeeded, because here we are."

His smile was finally there. That honest and sincere smile Arthur had fallen in love with. It would be better from now on. Arthur no longer believed Alfred and his men couldn't win against the British. He could, and this land would be free. It would grow, and expand, and bring with it the worlds of old to a new age for mankind.

Arthur smiled in return, lifting a hand to caress against Alfred's cheek. They both still had plans to follow, but at least now they knew, they would both be there together in the end.

A/N:
Sappy sex scene was sappy! I hope it was still hot though. ;D

I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far! It's been an eventful one. With ch14 at a close, you've learned what the rebels have been doing, more about Arthur's past, a loose end with that musket ball from Ch1 returning, and of course lots of emotional make-up time for Al and Art (which was heavily past due. haha).

It's coming down to the wire folks! Chapter 15 will be the last chapter for "Quartering Acts". I would first like to say a heartfelt 'thank you' to everyone who has reviewed, faved, and alerted to this fic. Your warm enthusiasm through this long process has really been what's kept this story alive. I am a novice writer, much more of an enjoyer of literature than my own work, so seeing this story come to an end next chapter is a huge undertaking for me. So, with that, thank you all, truly, and please do let me know your thoughts on your way out. :) *heart*

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