Quartering Acts
By Ahro
Warning: Sexual Situations, violence, and language.
A/N: This is it guys. Everything boils down to a close with this chapter. Thank you all for having read and stuck with me through this story. Its been a great time and I hope to see you all again in a future fic. ^^ This chapter will be split between both Arthur and Alfred's POVs (unlike previous chapters). There will be obvious line breaks when we switch scene and POV.
Chapter 15
"Alfred, son, we need to talk."
The smouldering hot iron in front of him had quivered with each raining blow as he struck it. The sharp sound, now coming faster and faster as Alfred worked to try and hide his pain through the repetition. His anger.
"What more could you say, Dad, that you haven't already shown me?" His tone, clipped in anger as he had tried to force everything away. Find some normality again.
A heavy sigh came from his old man then as he had entered further into his forge. It had only been a few days since his long time friend, Samuel Berkley, had taken his business as well as his son, John, to the south. Away from the familiar, and away from furthering the sins their sons had committed.
"I'm working in the forge, just as you always wanted, Dad. Best not to bother me now or I might ruin this fine iron." He had continued to hammer away.
His father had walked in closer. Alfred remembered seeing out of the corner of his eye just how much older he had looked then, rubbing at the back of his neck; a common habit Alfred had picked up when he was nervous and unsure. The blond in his hair having grayed heavily now. Alfred suddenly recalled never remembering it having been so. When had that happened?
"I'm very proud to see you working so hard again, Alfred."
Alfred 'humfed', shrugging his shoulders as he had continued to strike blow after blow on the hot metal. Thinning it further into its final shape.
"Though... it pains me as to why you've suddenly locked yourself away in here."
"Well, I know I'll never be a good hunter as I can't even kill a rabbit. Guess the next best thing was to supply the hunters with their weapons instead." So much resentment had been in his voice. He knew he had been hurting his father. He continued anyway.
"Alfred. I understand how you felt for John, but know that your acts could condemn you in the eyes of others. I only supported Samuel's decision to keep you both safe."
He had thrown the unfinished iron into the coals, tongs and all, and turned on his heel to approach his father. Alfred had never even noticed just how much taller he had become. Already at eye level with his father and soon he would have looked down at him.
"To keep us safe." He had repeated, his hands, balling into fists at his sides.
"Yes. I do not condone your feelings or actions. I want to see you have the freedom in your choices." He had paused, hanging his head. So much he must have wanted to say or do. How much Alfred had wanted him to do, yet he didn't. "But it isn't time yet."
He had punched him then.
Alfred's fist, now covered in his father's blood as the man landed hard on the stone floor. Not a sound had escaped him, yet Alfred knew with how he had landed, his father's hip had been broken. Yet, his father had always been strong, and he did not show an ounce of pain as he wobbled to his feet, now bearing weight on his good leg.
He would fashion himself a cane then.
There were no words said after that.
Then Alfred left. To escape out in the harbor for as long as he could. Forever if he could.
The date had been March 1st, 1770. In four days, Alfred's father would travel to Boston with a delivery, and never come back.
Alfred ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against the barn door. The sun was just beginning to break along the horizon. The sky, lit red like fire, was only the prelude to a bad day.
He couldn't stick around for long. Already he could see movement in the small farm house below. Micah's mother would be up. Bustling around the kitchen preparing to break their fast. Micah at her skirts wherever she went, always wanting to help. Whoever the owner of the farm was would be waking up to start his day. Alfred was thankful for this man's help, and only hoped he was trustworthy. If there was time, Alfred would check in on the man. Make sure the few people he cared about in this world would be safe.
The few people in this world.
He took a moment to slowly look over his shoulder. The British Captain, still fast asleep in the hay, a large blanket now draped across him. It felt surreal. To know everything now. For both of them to have come to terms with one another. Yet, a pain still sat in Alfred's chest, knowing he had caused Arthur to go to such an extreme. Alfred had never taken into account just how hurtful his plan was to Arthur. To be pushed and pushed and pushed, yet still keep his word in the end. More than a week of remorse and anger at Arthur and himself, yet it was hardly a price to pay.
Now, after everything that happened over the course of one night, Arthur was with him again, but not for long.
Alfred jumped slightly as the blanket stirred and Arthur's rustled blond hair poked up from his pillow of hay. Alfred had to crack a smile at the stray pieces that clung to him. After a moment of rubbing his eyes, realization must have struck as he quickly looked around the area for the smith.
"Mornin' Arthur."
Arthur stopped his frantic searching, his gaze falling on Alfred as he came away from the shadow of the door. His shoulders quickly relaxing as Alfred neared, the sudden stress leaving his body.
"I-I thought you had left."
"We both will have to soon."
Arthur went quiet as he looked away.
The smith smiled as he walked back over to Arthur, kneeling in front of him as Arthur kept himself wrapped in the blanket from the cold air. Lifting a hand, he gently rested it against Arthur's cheek, snapping the soldier's attention back to his own. Worry read in those green eyes as they watched Alfred. Their world quickly spinning out of its perfect bubble.
"Will you-" Arthur paused as he darted his eyes away once more. Alfred stroked at his cheek with his thumb, giving Arthur that little bit of reassurance to continue. "You and your men, will you head north?"
Alfred gave a slow nod, "You were right, Arthur. I've been rash in my decisions with my men as of late. Word hasn't even come back from Parliament regardin' the Continental Congress' appeal. It would be a foolish move to reveal our combat strategy so soon. Word of a Continental Army is to be formed if Parliament declines us once again. I would much rather join the Army's ranks with able men, and a strategy all our own if it comes to that."
Arthur gave a quick nod. Alfred could tell Arthur was still against this war, but the smith believed the soldier had at least, finally, come to terms that it would not go away, Alfred would not step down, but he would still be there for Arthur. He would always be there for Arthur.
"Right then-" Alfred stood back up, a large smile on his face, "-best you get dressed. I'll see to the horses."
"Alfred."
The smith had turned to see to his task before he was quickly halted by the concern in Arthur's voice. Having a feeling he knew what Arthur was going to say, he turned around nonchalantly to try to reassure the soldier of any doubts he may have.
"You are... going to go see Micah, right?"
Alfred would have rather talked about the war.
He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, a half smile creeping up on Alfred's face as he did.
"I know he's safe, and I know where he is. I'll visit him another time when our situations are better suited."
Arthur's gaze turned to a glare. "Besides, I'm a little concerned that he'll force feed me one of his mother's apple pies. They're actually quite disgustin', even though the boy raves about them."
"Alfred."
"He must have an iron stomach. Last time I had a slice, Dr Shannon was at my bedside for a week."
"Alfred!"
The smith dropped his joking as Arthur had walked up to him now, the blanket still clung around him.
"Alfred, you don't know when you might be back this way again. I'll stall my men as long as I can before we move. You have time." He said that last part with earnest, catching Alfred's blue eyes with his own green.
The smith blew out a heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head at Arthur's words.
"Its not enough time. That boy deserves so much more from me than I can give him right now, and I'd rather not tease him."
Alfred cringed as he felt the anger beginning to rise from the smaller soldier.
"What he deserves?" Arthur grabbed Alfred's arm, jolting him to look directly at the soldier. "He deserves to know he has a brother who loves him! Regardless of how little or too much time you both have, even just a wave to him so he sees you're still alive, Alfred! He deserves at least that much from you."
Alfred turned his gaze away, chewing at his lip now in worry until he suddenly felt Arthur's hand rest against his cheek. His thumb moving to stroke his bottom lip that had always been marred from the habit. A smile now lingered across Arthur's lips as Alfred looked once again at the soldier.
"I will see to the horses, Alfred. You go down there and see him." He then leaned up some to leave a chaste kiss on the smith's lips before turning back to his pile of clothing to get changed.
Blowing out a sigh, knowing he wasn't going to get very far with the soldier, Alfred turned and stalked outside of the barn, quickly being hit by a gust of cool air before shutting the barn itself.
His gaze lingered once more on the small home down the hill. His hand going up to rub at the back of his neck as he fought with himself.
Dammit, Arthur. I'm not ready to tell him exactly who I am to him, yet.
"He knows."
Alfred's hand was around the pistol at his belt in an instant, quickly darting back a few steps from the location of the voice before swinging the preloaded flintlock up to the ready. His hand began to waver though the minute the owner of the voice stepped out from the shadow of the barn.
"Alfred," A jovial smile lit the man's face as he walked closer, his arms out stretched to show he held no weapon, "-it's good to finally see you again, lad."
"Mr Berkley, what-?" He held his weapon steady, still aimed at the man as he approached. Alfred's confusion was blatant in his expression upon seeing a face from his childhood dressed in red.
The man laughed, "Don't let the red fool ya, Alfred. I'm on your side in all of this."
"So you're posin' as a loyalist?" Alfred paused, noting the ranked insignias on the man's shoulders. "But, how did you become a corporal?"
The man shot a thumb over his shoulder towards the barn doors, "Your friend is the one to thank for that. Puttin' a shot between ol' Dereks' eyes opened up a spot in the line. Let's say Redford liked me a bit more than some other prospects." He laughed again. "Could-ja' put that thing away? We're all friends here."
Alfred hesitated, but kept his aim trained on the man he had once thought of as an uncle... and one who had a son that he had once loved.
Berkley laughed again, "That's why you're the one leadin' a militia."
"Alright, enough of this, what were you sayin' about Micah?"
The man smiled as he walked a little ways down the hill, Alfred's pistol still aimed and ready.
"He knows you're his brother. He's known for a few years now."
Alfred's grip loosened for only a moment, "What?"
"Micah. His mother told him you were his brother after she heard the news of your father's death. She thought she would be taking care of you, but you proved to be more... independent, than she realized."
Alfred thought back to the time when Emily had shown up at his door. A musket in her arms. Those engraved words... as if they were etched not just in the metal, but Alfred's own skin.
She had told him he would always have a home and a family, but Alfred had refused it all. Instead, he took to protecting them as his father had once done, and lived on without anyone to call family. It would only ever be Alfred now.
He had taken the musket, and with it the knowledge of how to rifle his own. It would come to be his life for the next four years. Every day, no one would ever see him outside of his forge. He made no attempt to speak with anyone, and after a while, they did the same. Only when he had to sell his wares in town was he forced to speak with anyone.
The quiet he wanted.
The solitude he wanted.
Nothing else mattered.
Nothing had ever mattered.
"You knew... what his plans were?" Berkley's back was still facing Alfred, the gun, slightly shaking in his hands now as he stared down the barrel.
There was a pause as Alfred watched, seeing the man's shoulders droop. It looked as if he had suddenly felt his age at Alfred's words. Weighing him down with the burdens of his life. Forever hidden beneath a jovial facade. All except now, when it finally came down to face his best friend's son.
A heavy sigh finally broke the still in the air as the man turned. That smile had disappeared. His hair seemed grayer. His face more lined. His eyes sunken. He then caught Alfred's attentive gaze with his own tired one.
"You've certainly made your father proud, Alfred."
Those words, it struck something in Alfred as he stared now at the reality before him. Now no longer covered by a mask, Alfred could remember.
"You're that elderly man in the streets when I was being carted off to the jail."
A faint smile spread across his face then, "Aye, lad."
"H-how long... have you been helping me?"
Another smile, "Not me... my son-" He paused once more as a rumbling sound emanated from behind the two of them, causing Alfred to turn quickly, "-as well as that young man there."
"Arthur."
"A-Alfred, what are you still doing here? Why haven't you gone down to see Micah?" Arthur paused a moment upon noticing the other man. "Oh- Colonel Berkley, what are you doing here?"
The man laughed, "I requested to be quartered at this farm here. The owner is an old friend of mine."
Alfred turned at this, "Y-you're protectin' them?"
The man smiled up at Alfred. A faint shine lighting up his eyes as he did.
"It had been part of the final request your father asked of me. I did all that I could from such a distance, until finally it had come time that you needed my help much closer." He gave another laugh again, "because this area was my home, I was given the job of finding suitable places for the freshly landed British soldiers to be quartered." His gaze then drifted over to Arthur. "I saw something different in Arthur that I had not seen in any other soldier before."
Arthur's full attention was now on the colonel. His eyes wide by Berkley's words.
"You had suffered a great loss, and it showed in how determined you were to find a new life, a new path or meaning here on this soil. You were still plagued by the brainwashed ideals from your Parliament as to who and what these colonists were, but you had a compassion in you that still shown past all of that. I knew that with a little help, you would push past what your Parliament wanted you to see. Who better to show you the determination of this land's people than Alfred." He motioned with his hand to the blond who stood between the two redcoats.
"Y-you quartered Arthur with me?" A nod. "Did you ever suspect that we would-"
"I stole away one love from you. I felt perhaps you may find another. Of course it took a bit of forcing to do so. You turned into quite the hermit, Alfred."
Alfred's arm finally lowered the pistol. The flintlock hanging loosely in his grip now by his side.
A silence then fell between the three as a cool morning breeze stirred the grass at their feet. Their thoughts seemingly whirling along with the breeze with this new information. There had been so much preplanned. Alfred felt as if his father was still alive, moving his pieces into place even now.
"Alfred-" Arthur's voice came at almost a whisper as he walked away from the barn now, coming along Alfred's side and resting a soothing hand on his shoulder. "What about Micah?"
Alfred's gaze lingered on Arthur a moment before looking back at the house. The sun had crept higher in the sky now, causing the dew to sparkle in the grass from the previous night's rain. Beyond the threatening red sky, the air felt calm. Now, if only Alfred could benefit from that feeling as well. Even with the support of Arthur, standing by his side, a hand on his shoulder, giving him the reassurance and strength he needed, only it wouldn't be enough.
With a shake of his head, he stepped out of Arthur's touch and headed back for the barn door. "There is no more time. I need to get back to my men." He rested a fist against the door as he hung his head, inhaling a deep breath, "I'll ride back this way alone. When I know everyone is safe, I'll visit Micah then."
He heard Arthur blow out a sigh from behind him, but let the smith go without a word of protest.
Thankful for this, Alfred walked back into the barn to retrieve Hero and his own horse, only to turn and be stopped by Arthur standing directly behind him.
His eyes were stern as they looked up at him. As if the soldier could read every thought and fear running through Alfred's mind. Displaying across his face as if he were a book.
Alfred could feel his pulse quicken, bringing his face flushed under that drilling stare by those emerald eyes. All he wanted to do was run. Get on his horse and hurry away from here. As much as he wanted to see the small boy, he also couldn't bare it. His mind felt at ease enough just knowing he was safe. Everyone was allowed to be a coward at times. Why couldn't he have this moment to be a coward himself?
"Are you sure about this?"
Alfred took a moment before he finally nodded.
"When you told me he was alive, the only thought that ran through my head was that you were lying. It couldn't be true. Not after all that time. Not after I kissed you in the barn, and you rejected me. I thought this was how you would kill me in the end, but I took the bait anyway. I pushed and pushed my horse till I thought I had burst its lungs, 'till finally that farm house came into view." Alfred paused, those feelings of doubt, suspicion, regret, and fear returning to him as it had when he stood at the top of the hill near the edge of the forest. Just waiting. Always waiting.
"Once I made it to the house... I just couldn't bring myself to knock. I didn't want whoever lived there to look at me and tell me 'no'. I didn't want them to see me fall into the mud at their feet. The tears at that point just too much to keep back. I'm tired of feeling so pathetic. Even some of my men had begun to question my leading capabilities. With my health the way its been... I've tried to hide it, but this weather only makes it worse." His shoulders shook as he looked away from Arthur now. "I'm a mess, Arthur. I can't let Micah see me like this. I want him to remember me how I was."
A resounding smack rang through the barn, both horses suddenly snorting in distress by the loud crack, dust kicking up around them from their hooves.
"Don't..." Alfred never turned his head, his cheek throbbing from the hit, "Don't you dare spout such bullshit, Alfred Jones! You said to me last night, before we made love, and made me feel like the world would finally turn around now, that I had saved you when I lowered my gun that night on the beach. I saved you, so you owe me a life, Alfred. If your decision is not to see Micah right now, then I will respectfully leave you to your wishes, but do not make it sound like you will not ever see that boy again!"
Alfred finally took a chance and turned his head. Arthur still stood there, firm as could be, yet his eyes shined with the threat of tears that he was fighting to hold back.
"Arthur... I'm so sorry. I keep doing this... I'm so sorry." Alfred moved forward quickly to embrace the soldier. Wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. He could feel Arthur's heart hammering in his chest, and it pained him even further that he was the continuous cause, but it had been a different reason the night before. How he could cause these opposing emotions within Arthur baffled him, and part of him wished he never had in the first place.
"You are such an idiot."
Arthur's arms finally came up to grip at the back of Alfred's shirt, pulling the fabric tight in his hands while he buried his face in the smith's shoulder.
It will be different this time. Samuel gave me this chance. I will make it right.
After they stood together for a few minutes, Alfred pushed away, while gently lifting Arthur's gaze to meet his own. The soldier's eyes had calmed, there had been no tears shed. They had gone past the point for tears. Their combined strength was what was needed now. Both holding each other together, never letting one fall, always together.
Alfred smiled then. Nothing wide, or laughing, but one of calm acceptance. One he hoped would ease Arthur's fears and doubts towards the smith. It wouldn't happen again.
"When I see you again," Alfred turned, handing over the reigns of Hero that he had been holding, bringing the horse closer, "I want to see you astride Hero. My men have all been told the man riding Hero is on our side. They may not recognize you, but they will him. I will keep you safe, even if I'm not there."
Arthur did not say a word, only stared as Alfred took Arthur's hand and curled his fingers around the leather straps.
"I will make it back to you." Alfred leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to the soldier's forehead before leaning back, "I promise."
With those final words, Alfred grabbed up his mare's reigns and hoped into her saddle. Arthur never said another word, only looked on at him and quietly nodded his understanding.
After a silent exchange, Alfred kicked his mare forward and flew through the open barn doors into the early morning rays. He would need to get back to his men and fast if they were to make it past Salem in time.
Just as Alfred emerged from the barn, Samuel called out to him, causing Alfred to pull hard on his mare's reigns to turn around.
"On your way then?"
"We need to reach the New Hampshire border before noon. I've delayed far too long already."
The corporal nodded, "You'll get there, but your delay was not unnecessary." The man walked up to Alfred, resting a large gloved hand on the smith's thigh as he looked up at him. A wide grin on the older man's face.
"Stay safe now, Alfred. You'll be great one day."
Alfred remained silent at the man's words, and after a nod, sent his mare galloping back off into the trees without another look back.
Arthur and his regiment had arrived in Salem that night with no sign of rebels along the way. Alfred and his men had escaped, but escaped to where Arthur did not know.
Nor would he know for some time, as he was later relocated further south to join up with General Redford's army in New York.
He would command and take commands, kill rebels, and imprison traitors, all while he secretly gave food to starving colonial children, helped chop wood for the homeowners he was forced to quarter with, and pass off information on the movements of British troops.
He would do this all over the course of a year, until he was brought back to the soil in which he first stepped foot on, one August long ago.
"We'll be moving through the forests to attempt a siege on Boston, sir. Do you think the Continental Army will be able to hold us back?"
Arthur had smiled at John then, knowing full well who the very men were that made up this portion of the newly formed Continental Army. It would be here that the British Army would most certainly be driven back. That was if they even made it through the forest to Boston. Arthur would be surprised.
With no one allowed into Arthur's tent except his commanding officers, and newly appointed Lieutenant John Berkley, he could speak without much worry when it was currently only the two of them.
"I know he's still alive out there, and I know he will succeed." He smiled, and placed a comforting hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "John-"
"Sir!" Berkley saluted.
Arthur grinned again, ever since he learned the truth about Berkley, the man still remained the same in all his mannerisms and duties. He had never let Arthur down, and he knew he would not let his true home down either.
"I want you to ride out on Hero tomorrow."
The lieutenant wavered where he stood, "S-sir? Hero is your horse. He does not-"
"He likes you, John. You and that horse go back to when you were only a boy. You should be the one riding him this time."
"But, why now, sir?"
Arthur shrugged as he turned to the wooden table that stood in the center of his tent. A map of the lands of New England spread out in front of him. Small flags representing both armies in their supposed locations littered across it. A large amount of blue flags having taken over the Massachusetts coast line.
"This is your home, John, as much as it's Hero's. You both should be together upon it after such a time away from it."
The lieutenant seemed to fret over Arthur's words, but finally nodded his understanding.
"Good. We will be setting out at dawn. Sleep well, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir. Same to you."
That day in April, when Alfred's men pushed the British out of Boston, out of his city, he knew they were finally at war, and would win. Had to win. Even after the few losses that came later at Bunker and Breeds Hills, he felt it through his entire being that this would all end with their victory. As a people, they had all suffered too much to give up. His men, would give their lives, and that was something the British lacked. They fought for rank and coin; his men, fought for life and freedom.
After a shot from one of his men's muskets, safe hidden amongst the trees, pierced a uniformed general astride his horse, the redcoats broke into a frenzy. Taking cover, shooting around blindly at their assailants, while his men lined up their shots, and picked the scattered men off like animals. Then they would retreat. Was their country more important than their own lives? This was foreign soil to them. Their homes and family, safe far across the ocean. What were these colonies to them.
That mentality was what helped push Alfred's men to further victories, as well as bring their skills to light to the newly appointed General George Washington of the Continental Army.
He had come up to him, riding a beautiful white stallion, dressed in a vibrant blue uniform. Alfred had raised his arm in salute immediately at the man he had heard so much about. The conversation that had followed would stay with Alfred forever. He only wished his father was there to have seen it.
This is your victory, dad. I hope, somehow, you know your oldest son believed in your vision, even though you never trusted to confide it in him.
More months passed, his men, now decorated in the same blue of their newly formed army, fought on in smaller bouts against the British, winning and losing but neither gaining much ground. A day came in August, when General Washington came to Alfred with word of a large battalion of British soldiers heading up from New York. Alfred's men were the finest marksmen their army had. The numbers would need to be thinned, starting by confusing the men by taking out their officers. Alfred would position his men amidst the trees along the roads. Even after having used these tactics before, the British had yet to take up much defense against it. Still relaying heavily on the old ways of an open field. They were proud, Alfred gave them that, but with the Continental Army still new and without properly trained men, they needed to take what advantages they could get.
"You know Alfred-"
"Hmm?" Alfred sat at his work bench he had put together in a nearby barn, diligently inspecting and repairing his muskets, the same bronze muskets he had fashioned over four years under the scrutiny of the British. Always hiding 'till the day came when his work would stamp out the path of their revolution.
The doctor, who had proved a valuable asset both on and off the battlefield, walked around the perimeter of the bench. His fingers tracing over the shining bronze barrels. All neatly aligned and ready to be replaced on their wooden stocks.
"You have come a long way since I've known you."
Alfred laughed, "Since I was that mess you had to take care of in the forest last year?"
A warm smile spread across the doctor's face, but he shook his head, "No, well before that. I pulled you crying into this world, and since then I watched you grow. You've always been strong, Alfred, but something in you only ever showed when you were in my care." He paused, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that wanted to brew there. "I remember a time when your father had mocked you for the umpteenth time out in the woods, and you sought after me like a wounded animal. You had to be around seven then. So small as you clung to my leg. I remember how my daughter would always wonder why you ran to me instead of your mother at that time."
Alfred's cleaning had stopped while he listened. His early childhood was not something he thought of often. There had been much death then. The loss of his younger brother as well as his mother. While he was growing up he had blamed his father for their deaths as well. As he looked back now, his heart grew heavy at how much hatred he had shown towards his father... which he did not deserve.
Alfred cleared his throat, quickly resuming his cleaning again, "I didn't want to disappoint her. She didn't need to see me cry."
"What about your father's friend, Samuel? You had considered him an uncle."
"He- he was too much like my father. You were-" Alfred paused, trying to find his words to best describe why he had sought out the doctor back then. Why he continued to seek the man's help when he was desperate, and not just because he was a doctor. "You were more the opposite of both of them. They wanted me to kill. To fight and protect. You were a healer. You helped the sick and injured. I... guess that made you the one person I really looked up to. Someone who would have understood me."
Dr Shannon smiled again as he neared where Alfred sat, resting a hand on his shoulder as he did.
"Part of me regrets that you will never wed my daughter, but it's a rare man like yourself, Alfred Jones, that will find peace beyond this trail of blood."
The doctor turned then, only to be stopped as Alfred grabbed a hold of the man's uniform. He stopped and turned, seeing Alfred bent over, his head hung with just his arm still outstretched where he hung on to the doctor.
His words, just barely discernible.
"I shot him."
The doctor knelt down in front of him then, and pulled Alfred into his arms.
"You shot a man, but you are not a killer, Alfred." He said, rubbing comforting circles against the soldier's back. "You saved many lives by pulling your trigger. Sometimes, it is a necessity in life for peace to remain."
Alfred leaned away, his eyes having grown red but he held strong from shedding tears he feared his men may see.
"I thought I might have gotten by without ever having to end a life... but I was foolish. So foolish." He shook his head, then removed his glasses to rub at his eyes.
"If you're a fool, Alfred-" the doctor started, bringing Alfred's gaze onto his own, "I wish there would be more fools like you."
The morning came with little fuss. Alfred moved his troops down multiple expanses of roads that lead throughout the acres of wild forests. His men, now all seasoned in their techniques, rested calmly against large maples, oaks, and pines. With Alfred's added knowledge in camouflage from his father, they had all used what was around to mask their blue uniforms even further.
Their trap was set, and all that was needed now was to wait.
Alfred sat mounted further east having finished his rounds. Checking that his men were well positioned.
Washington had reported to him that there was more than five hundred men marching their way. Alfred had no more than two hundred marksmen at his disposal, but what got through their lines would be marching towards Washington's reserve. Alfred held great faith in his men, they had not let him down through all the battles they had waged. The same went for his muskets. After they managed to retake Boston, the armories were opened, and Alfred immediately set to work rifling the iron muskets he found there. He had to laugh as one day he came across the muskets he had fashioned himself for the order made by the British Army over a year ago. They were put to good use in good hands.
Alfred was already on his way back down the road when a horsemen came charging towards him. The familiar blue uniform giving off his identity to the men hidden in the forest.
"Corporal Jones!"
"Where are they?"
"Ten miles south, sir."
"Any count?"
"They've split up their units, sir. Can't be more than a hundred-fifty headin' this way."
"We have forty men hidden along this road. We should be able to slow them down, if not turn them around completely. Remember, take out the mounted officers first. They're prime targets, and it will send the soldiers scrambling."
"Yes, sir!" The young man saluted as he began to turn his horse, only until Alfred quickly stopped him.
"Lieutenant!"
"Sir!" The man saluted quickly, half turning his horse in the process.
"Remember, if you see a-"
"Solid black draft horse, sir?" The man cracked a smile, "We all know very well about that horse, sir."
Alfred sighed with a nod, and waved off the man.
After making a quick pass along the road, the distant rumble of marching feet could be heard closing in. Alfred quickly steered his horse off into the woods, dismounting and returning to his men, finding his own place nearest the front. They were up on a small hill that dipped down to the dirt road, well concealed, and the high ground advantage.
This will be a major blow to the British if we stop them here. We can't lose.
A silence Alfred had grown use to began to envelope the land around them. To anyone alone, anyone paying attention, would notice the sheer quiet that the trees seemed to drown in. Not a bird chirped. Not a leaf rustled. Alfred's own heart seemed to still as he could no longer hear the rushing of blood through his ears.
Then, the first redcoats broke over the hill. Calmly marching forward. Their muskets held against their shoulders. A steady rhythm moving through them, all in perfect formation.
Alfred watched his men as they held their fire as soldier after soldier passed them by. Each man in blue seeming to have simultaneously held their breath in case the slightest inhale would alert the British to their presence.
Not long now.
The redcoats continued their march.
Just over that hill...
The faint sound of hoof beats.
Our key to chaos.
Then the mounted officer came into view, riding atop a blue roan.
Alfred would be the second to take the shot if the first man missed.
He steadily brought the iron musket to his shoulder, preparing for the officer to come abreast. Opening up as a larger target as he crested the hill.
Alfred lined up his sight. Trained his eye along the barrel.
Breathed.
Then he faltered.
Arthur.
His arms went limp.
A flock of birds took flight.
The marching stopped.
Green eyes locked with his.
"D-don't shoot!"
Alfred's limbs felt useless under him as he tried to run to the first marksmen.
"Hold your fire!" He reached out, his arm seeming to stretch before him in slow motion.
The soldier had the shot, and Alfred saw the puff of smoke fly from the match as it struck. The eruption of noise amidst silence.
Everything seemed to have slowed.
Alfred turned his head, just in time to see the lead ball pierce through Arthur's chest. His body rocking backwards from the impact.
Then he fell.
Chaos immediately erupted around him.
Men cursed, muskets fired, bodies dropped to the ground with shrieks of agony, or in utter silence.
The scene was familiar to Alfred. It was the same every time. Already he could hear shouts from his men as they felt the triumph of victory almost within their reach.
But Alfred knew none of it. Alfred knew only of sliding down the embankment, straight into the mess of red, both in uniform and the spray of warm liquid against his face. He heard a few shouts of protest behind him, but nothing mattered. Not even as he felt his body shoved backward a few steps. A warmth spilling down from his left shoulder. He staggered forward more, yet he was shoved again, this time warmth ghosted down his stomach.
He moved forward. One man came hurtling towards him, his musket drawn above his head ready to stab him, only Alfred was able to bring his own musket around, jabbing the sharp point of his bayonet into the soft flesh of the man's belly. Blood bubbled out between the man's lips, and Alfred let him fall past him, Alfred's musket to rest beneath the man's corpse.
Amidst the scattered bodies, broken weapons, shouts and gun fire, Alfred finally spotted the still form that had been haunting his dreams for over a year.
A... dream... it all... has to be.
He wasn't sure why his breathing was growing stressed. Why his body was growing weaker. Why his limbs shook. What he did know, was finally falling a few feet away from that outstretched hand.
His eyes, growing heavy for some reason, stared at the man's chest, just barely seeing it rise and fall in quick succession.
Alfred's legs no longer seemed to want to lift him, so he pulled himself along the dirt and blood caked Earth. Pulling himself up ever slightly to finally see that face as he reached him.
"You... idiot." The soldier's words bubbled out from his lips as Alfred finally collapsed. His head landing on Arthur's shuddering chest.
"Me." Alfred coughed, "I... told you to... ride... fucking Hero."
Alfred felt Arthur's chest shudder as a laugh ran through him. The sound just barely making it to Alfred's ears.
"Someone else... needed... your protection more," the soldier paused, wincing with his breathing, "than me."
Alfred could hear the sounds around him dying away. The quiet beginning to return as men fled, saw to one another's injuries, or just prayed.
"You'll need... a damned amount of... protection... after I'm done wringin' ya neck, ya prick."
Another shuddering laugh, "I will... take that... as a warning."
The two quieted then, trying to bring their breathing under control as the area quieted further. Alfred thought he had heard a familiar loud snort, and a shout of his name... and of Arthur's.
A hiss suddenly grabbed Alfred's attention as he looked up at Arthur. His eyes were shut tight, his teeth gritted as he fought off the pain.
Alfred blindly tried to move his right hand around along his side 'till his fingers finally brushed against Arthur's. With more effort than he thought was needed, he twined his fingers together with Arthur's, while hoisting himself up more on his left arm, just enough so he could see those piercing green eyes with his own blue.
After Arthur's features began to relax, his eyes slowly opened, and the faintest of smiles lit Arthur's face.
"You know... you look quite sharp... in that blue uniform."
Alfred chuckled till he winced some, "I'm afraid it'll be... as red as yours here soon."
A cool hand came up and gently rested against Alfred's cheek. That smile, still lingering in Arthur's eyes.
"Shh, enough of that." Those thin fingers against Alfred's cheek gently brushed up to run through his hair. With little effort, Arthur was able to draw Alfred closer to him as Alfred's strength in his arm began to give way. "Rest easy, Alfred... this... war... is yours."
Alfred shook his head, though regretted the action as he felt the world spin around him, "This was... only a battle."
"No." Another soft smile as he shook his head, "Alfred, these people had you... someone... the British did not have." His thumb slowly moving soothing circles into Alfred's cheek. "You won this war, Alfred... because you live on through all of them."
Alfred's grip suddenly tightened on Arthur's hand.
"I understand now... why they always said you would become great one day."
"Arthur..."
Arthur then leaned forward, gasping with the pain, and gently rested his lips against Alfred's, before settling back down in the dirt.
The sound of thunder rumbled above them as the sky began to grow darker. Shouts still came from far down the road as men moved out their fallen comrades. All happening just as the first drops of rain began to pelt from the sky. The start of a storm to wash away the evidence of death.
Alfred felt his body beginning to numb as he struggled to keep focused on Arthur. Arthur, who's own eyelids began to fall victim to the heaviness that seemed to weigh them both down.
"Arthur... I-"
"Shh... enough now, rest..."
Arthur's urging was far from necessary as Alfred sunk against Arthur's chest. His head resting just above his heart. The fluttering beat... seeming to quiet, or was Alfred having trouble listening.
A soft caress as Arthur's hand carted through Alfred's hair. Slow and gentle, as if he was a child being soothed to sleep.
Alfred's breathing was coming in rasps now, but he couldn't fall asleep yet. He needed Arthur to hear him before he fell asleep.
Just as that hand came to a stop in Alfred's hair, he finally felt his voice whisper out with his last breath, "I love you."
"Alfred!"
"Alfred, there is much I need to discuss with you, but you are not in your right mind to listen to me."
"You're a fool... a fool Arthur Kirkland."
"We kissed, and you wanted me— know it is forfeit?"
"—pulled me from the river—"
"What do you want with me—?"
"—father's grave."
"Don't go dying on me yet."
"—look like I captured you."
"—believe weapons is all that you need to win this war?"
"Why not ask— in— beginning?"
"fOR what? —hAVE yOURseLF kILLed?"
"—FRoM youR fatHER?
"ALfreD. PlEASe taLK tO me."
"DoN'T go sLOw."
"A-AlFreD, —nEEd yo—"
A sharp intake of air.
Coughing.
Cold.
Shaking.
Heart racing.
Wet.
Bloodied hands in his vision.
Something missing.
A scream.
"I need a break from all of this."
"But, sir!"
"You will manage without me."
"... when can we expect your return?"
"How long is a human life?"
His body convulsed, throwing himself forward as his stomach emptied on the ground.
He shook, memories still flooding through his mind. He clutched at his head, squinting his eyes as he waited for them all to subside. It was a familiar feeling, the death of the human life, chosen by the nation as a reprieve from their curse if only for a short time.
For Arthur, formerly known as England, he had lived many human lives over his long history. All under the same guise, always appearing the same as he grew from an infant to a man (if he was successful in living that long). Once death claimed him, he would again awaken as his former self. Immediately consumed by memories from that human life.
Arthur brought his hands to his face. Rubbing vigorously. Something was different about this last human life, however. The memories, always spanning the full life cycle, but this time, only select pieces came back to him. All of them revolving around that one man.
"Alfred."
He then finally removed his hands from his face to take in the area around him.
Bodies of men lay strewn up and down the length of the road. All of them in the uniform of his British Army. Many of them missing their boots and weapons, already having been picked clean by the colonists as they left the area.
Besides his own fallen men, the bodies of those colonists who had been shot down had been removed from the area. Including one man who had rested against Arthur as he died.
"Ugh-" Arthur stumbled to his feet, noticing his own armaments had been swiped as well. Not that he needed them any longer. His hand ghosted against the hole that remained in the fabric of his coat. Beneath that would be smooth skin, without the trace of a scar. If they lost this war, then the true scar would tear across him like all the others his nation had faced in the past; permanently etching England's history across his skin.
I need to get back to New York and report to Parliament.
Sudden hoof beats quickly grabbed Arthur's attention as he turned around and was greeted by a massive black horse. That horse...
"You there, soldier!"
The unfamiliarity in the man's voice took Arthur a moment to register what had happened. One thing about reawakening was the disorientation. He always hated it.
"Lieutenant Berkley." He smiled. Why am I smiling?
"Ahh, Major General Kirkland!" The young lieutenant hauled up on Hero's reigns as he neared, quickly slipping from the back of the large horse and saluted. "My apologies, sir, I was unaware you had returned."
"At ease. I am still recovering myself."
Berkley nodded.
"How... long... has it been since this battle ended?" Arthur motioned to the men around him.
"A day, sir. Were you injured? Your uniform is covered in blood." Berkley's eyes widened as the morning sun broke through the trees, finally bringing to light the chaos that rested around them.
"Disregard that, Lieutenant." Only a day. Could explain why I still have residual feelings of friendship towards this human.
The man nodded. "There is a camp just south of here, sir. General Redford is stationed there."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
The man paused, seeming to struggle with his next words, "I... have business here. You can ride He-, my horse back to the camp if you would like, sir."
Arthur eyed the man for a moment, finding he should give some comfort here. He was one of his people after all.
"Did you lose someone here, Lieutenant?"
The officer nodded, although Arthur had a feeling he wasn't being told the complete truth.
"Very well. See that you are back at camp before dusk." Arthur walked forward, taking the reigns of the large horse and climbing onto it without difficulty.
The lieutenant seemed to eye him strangely for a moment as Arthur settled into the saddle. It felt rather familiar to him for some reason. Perhaps I had ridden this horse during that life.
"Anything else, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, no, sir. I... am glad you are back with us, sir." He saluted.
Arthur nodded, and with a kick of his heels, sent the horse back down the road to get him back to his burdening tasks as a nation.
He wasn't sure what it was that had brought him back to this hill. His gaze, lingering over the vast Boston Harbour that had once been his harbour.
It had been a month since the Declaration of Independence had been signed. His ships, finally leaving the harbour to go back to his home. He had yet to put in writing Great Britain's acknowledgement of the new nation, but there was other matters that needed his attention. His concern no longer rested with this land across the ocean. His hands wiped clean of the loss.
Yet, there was still something that had pulled him here to this hill.
It has been over a year... that life should no longer be affecting me.
It hadn't, for some time. Once he had returned to the camp that day to speak with Redford, the man practically had thrown himself on his hands and knees. Only the few who really knew who Arthur was treated him in such a manner. With anyone else, he was only known as his formal military rank, still revered though as someone of greatness, yet strangely never knowing any further details.
His gaze moved away from the harbour to look on at the multitude of graves that littered the hill top. One in particular had captured his attention when he had first arrived, but he couldn't seem to walk towards it. Something in him gnawed painfully, as if he didn't want to see the name on that grave.
Now though, he had come to this hill with a purpose, even if it wasn't one he was fully aware of, and it had something to do with that grave.
Taking one last look around the area, noting that he was alone, he stepped forward to the headstone. The roughly carved granite was still new. It seemed whomever the grave belonged had been someone of importance. Maintained with care over the past year. Fresh flowers settled at its base. Delicate letters and numbers chiseled into the stone.
Arthur moved closer, kneeling before it to finally read the name that seemed to haunt him.
"Alfred Franklin Jones. Beloved Son and Brother, who's courage lives on in the lives he saved. Born July 4, 1753, Died August 23, 1775"
"Do you remember him now?"
Arthur jumped at the sudden voice behind him, quickly standing and turning to see who had snuck up on him from behind. A chill ran through him at the offending blue uniform of the Continental Army. He had grown tired of seeing that uniform. He would be happy to finally be back on his own shores again.
"Why should I remember him? He was one of your people."
A soft smile lit the man's young face. Those blue eyes shining behind the glasses that framed them. He moved forward, bringing a hand along the granite's surface in a smooth caress.
"I guess you're right."
The man went silent then, causing an awkward silence between them. Arthur shifted his weight from foot to foot, finally breaking the silence with a clearing of his throat.
The man turned, and finally let his gaze touch Arthur's own. For a moment, Arthur thought he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.
With another clearing of his throat, Arthur turned back to face the harbour.
"What will you do now that you have gained your independence from me?"
A breeze at his back had picked up, sending Arthur's hair and coat tails blowing in the cool air. The direction of the wind seeming to want to rid Arthur from the lands.
The other man finally stood, walking up along side Arthur as well. He breathed in heavily, filling his lungs with the fresh air.
"I'll be headin' west. Out there is untamed wilderness. Lands for my people to call their own. There is nothing for me across this ocean."
Arthur nodded.
"It is... difficult... becoming a new nation." Arthur wasn't sure where his thoughts were leading him, even though he hated having lost his colonies, and in its stead a new nation was born, but he felt some sort of connection to the nation. As if he wanted to lend a hand. "There is much to learn-"
Arthur suddenly stopped when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Turning him to face the blond.
A gentle smile lit his face. How he could smile after everything England had put his land and people through shocked the older nation. He knew the nation was strong, but to be so kind to an enemy... how long before he was taken over by another nation due to that kindness. Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to see this new nation fall under another nation's grasp. He was still England's. He could be independent, but he would always be England's.
"I never expected the job would be easy, but... I know where you are, England. There will come a time when our people no longer hate one another. I will wait patiently for that day." His smile, now lighting in his eyes. Arthur wondered just how long before that smile was broken. Broken like his own had been so many centuries ago.
Arthur nodded his understanding.
"You already seem wiser beyond your years. I am sure you will become great some day." Arthur found a smile to give back to the man, placing a hand on the other nation's shoulder in return. "Good luck to you... America."
With those final words, Arthur turned to leave the hill from whence he came. To return to his ships. To return to his people across the ocean. To put everything behind him. To simply forget.
The young nation remained atop the hill, watching the other nation leave. Once he disappeared amongst the trees, the blond turned to walk to the east side of the large maple that shaded the graves of the Jones family. Away from the other stones, a single plaque rested nestled in the grass. It also had been carefully maintained, and the young nation was able to read the engraved letters with ease. His fingers, tracing along those delicate lines with care. As if remembering a feeling of something long since gone.
With a final sigh, he stood up, and turned to look out into the harbor. The tall ships, now slowly pulling away from the shore and off into the deep sea. Far below along the road, he thought he spotted the shape of a galloping black horse. It's rider clad in red.
His smile softened then, and with a final salute to the wind, he replied, "To you as well... Arthur."
End.
A/N: I had that final ending in mind since I first started writing QA, and as I was going along with it, I became terrified that the thought of them dying and being reborn as their nations (Alfred only having been reborn the moment the Declaration of Independence was signed) would be a terrible idea after an entire fic of human!AU.
So, here I am, hoping you guys aren't going to take pitchforks to my face. lol I dropped a line repeatedly through the fic regarding how Alfred would "become great one day", insinuating that his people felt a certain something from Alfred. In this case he became America (as we all know). It was very subtle and I didn't want to allude too much to this plot twist.
Well, with that, I thank you all for being so supportive of this fic! Love it, hate it, I would love to hear your final thoughts on the conclusion to this lengthy story of mine. (Especially the death scene.)
I will leave you with some good news. I do have a short Epilogue which I will be posting soon. :)
Again, thank you! I have a few more writing projects, including a major art project for the USUK fandom that I am working on, so I do hope you can continue to look forward to art and writing stuffs by me. ^^
If my FF. net account is deleted due to smut, I have a writing journal at: ahr0. livejournal. com. Please follow there for all new updates. :)
Follow me on Tumblr as well for updates and USUK fanart: ahro. tumblr. com