en Author's Note: Well, I'm uploading twice in one day so obviously I have really missed this. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Thank you for continuing to read. I'm worried this is about to get confusing so just to prevent that - Alfred is present-day America, Arthur is present-day England, England is 1685 England. However, Alfred and Arthur do call each other "America" and "England". But if it is not in dialogue, Arthur is present England, England is past England. Thank you!

Previously:

Looking up slowly, Alfred saw first the sword digging into him and then the man wielding it. He had on worn brown leather boots and was wearing a long sweeping red coat with golden buttons and accents trailing up it. He had on a large red hat with a dark feather sticking out of it and an angry expression upon his face, shining through his green eyes.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get on my ship?" England demanded from the other end of the sword.

Chapter 2: A Meeting

Alfred looked up at England, unsure of where to go from here. "Are you… Are you serious, dude?" he asked, tilting his head forward to look at the older man over his glasses.

"You will address the captain of this ship with respect," England answered, pressing down harder on the sword causing the skin to break just barely and a thin line of blood ran down into Alfred's white t-shirt.

Now Alfred was really confused. It did seem like they were on a ship, but how? Weren't they just in Arthur's basement? And why was Arthur acting like this?

"Iggy, what the fuck are you doing? It's me," Alfred said, trying to break England out of whatever trance he was in.

England looked taken aback for a moment, lowered his sword and pulled the boy to his feet. "What did you just call me?" he whispered, furious. One hand held the collar of Alfred's shirt, the other still clutched the hilt of his sword.

Alfred took a deep breath. "Okay, England, I'm sorry. I know you asked me to stop but-" He was cut off by a punch to the gut which was made worse by the cold hilt of the sword the hand was still wrapped around. Alfred doubled over, gasping for breath. Alright, I'm fucking done being nice. Whenever I can breathe, I'm gonna beat the hell out of him.

England crouched down next to the gasping teenager and pulled his head up by his hair. "I don't know who you are or how you know who I am. Did Spain send you? Or that bleeding Frog? Hm?" England slid his sword under Alfred's chin. "I don't do well with spies. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Step away from the boy," another British accent said coming from behind England. Alfred couldn't see the person because of England's tight grip on his hair, but at the sound of such utter disregard for authority, he felt England tense up before throwing Alfred's head down towards the deck.

"How dare you speak to the captain that way," he said, slowly turning around. "Who do you think you…?" but his question trailed off because when England turned around he found himself looking down the sword of a man who looked exactly like him, maybe a few years older. "What is this sorcery?"

"I said step away from the boy," Arthur repeated, eyes not leaving England. Alfred, who was probably more confused than anyone, watched from the floor. "Or I will run you through right now."

England looked at the sword and then at Alfred behind him. "You want him? Fine," he said, pulling Alfred to his feet and shoving him at Arthur, using the distraction to run around them yelling, "Oi! There's an imposter on board! Two men, one of them looks like me! Gentlemen, give them a warm welcome," he said, a malicious smile warping his features as he turned back to Alfred and Arthur. "Send Spain my regards."

"What is happening?" Alfred whispered to Arthur, concerned.

"I have an idea," Arthur said, scanning the encroaching crowd of men. "We'll have to talk about it later. Here," he said, kicking up a sword from where it lay on the ground and handing it to Alfred. "First we have to handle this. And America, try not to kill them if you can," he said before swinging at the first man to come near him.

The clang of metal on metal filled the air as Arthur took on multiple attackers at once. He was rusty, sure, but these men still couldn't compare to him. The air filled with sweat and adrenaline and blood as Arthur continued to work his way through the forces, feeling the most alive he had felt in years. "God, I've missed this," he said, smiling hungrily at the oncoming forces.

Alfred was very confused. A large man missing an eye swung at him and only didn't hit him because Alfred had the good sense to hold up the sword in his right hand. He didn't know what he was doing. By the time Alfred was old enough to be involved in combat, sword fighting had fallen away as a popular form of engagement.

Arthur was on fire. His lungs burned most delightfully as he continued doing one of the things he had been best at, and he had been very good at quite a few things. He would have continued for hours, but he heard a slash of metal through flesh behind him and a sharp intake of breath from Alfred.

Arthur spun around quickly to find Alfred clutching his heavily bleeding side. "What happened?" he demanded. "Do you not know how to defend yourself?"

"I don't know how to sword fight at all!" Alfred answered, gritting his teeth and digging his left hand into his side. "It was not something I ever needed for warfare."

"Give me that," Arthur said, gesturing at the sword, "and get behind me."

Alfred did as he was told as Arthur worked them back into a corner so that none of the men could get to Alfred. If they wanted to, they would all have to come through him. Alfred slumped down between the walls, applying pressure to his wound, and watched as Arthur fought. Arthur was wielding swords in both hands and found that he was often fighting more than one man at a time. He would slash one and turn and duel with another, at one point even kicking a man overboard.

"Stop!" England yelled from the back of the crowd. The men parted down the middle so that he could walk up to Arthur who pointed one sword directly at the captain. "You have my attention and a temporary reprieve. I cannot have you killing or injuring all of my men. Due to you, we're already going to have to shorten our voyage. We had one more stop but instead, we're going straight to Charles Town in the Province of Carolina. Put your weapons down and join me in the Captain's Quarters," he said and turned around. "None of you is to touch either of these men. Get back to work!"

As the crew resumed their tasks, Arthur dropped the swords next to him and turned to Alfred who was growing pale. "Alfred, are you alright?" he whispered, putting his own hands on the wound, causing Alfred to wince. Alfred nodded. "Boy, you should've told me if you didn't know how to sword fight."

"Don't call me 'boy'," Alfred shot back but his voice was a little bit quieter due to the bleeding in his side.

"Let me know if you're doing something that will get you killed and I won't. Well, come on," Arthur said. "We have to go speak to the captain."

"England, what is going on?" Alfred asked as Arthur helped him stand.

"Let's talk to the captain to be sure," he said. "But I think when all of those extra ingredients fell in the cauldron, we may have traveled back in time? I'm not sure, this is unprecedented. I don't know why we would be here though and not in Charleston with you unless you were thinking about…" But Arthur trailed off when Alfred looked away. Alfred had been thinking about this then. He had been thinking about Arthur off on his ship. Why had he been thinking of that? Arthur didn't know what to think or how to feel about it.

The two were silent until they reached the door to the Captain's Quarters. Arthur raised his hand to knock but hesitated. "I know this may be hard for you, but please do not be disrespectful to him. He's the captain, this is his ship. There are things you do not know about me, America. Do you understand?" Alfred nodded quickly upon seeing how serious Arthur was. "Good then," Arthur said and turned and knocked on the door.

England opened the door. "Come in," he said moving out of the way. He looked Alfred up and down. "You can set him down there," he said, gesturing to a chair with armrests. "Try not to bleed on it, alright? Here," he said, watching as Arthur helped Alfred sit down and then threw a piece of thick white cloth at Alfred. Alfred began to use that to soak up some of the blood. "You sit there," he said to Arthur, referring to a stool next to Alfred. Arthur sat indignantly and the look on his face had Alfred wondering if it wouldn't be Arthur who had the problem with giving this other man respect.

"Tell me," England said, pulling a greater chair over near them and sitting down. "What kind of glamour is this? It's very precise for you to look so much like me. Did one of my brothers send you then?"

"No," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "Listen, and I need you to believe me," the tone of his voice caused England to raise his eyebrows and Alfred began to think he was right. It was going to be Arthur who upset him. "Due to a mishap with a remembrance spell, it appears that we have traveled backward through time."

England looked at them for a moment before breaking into harsh laughter. "Time travel spells aren't possible. Who sent you?"

"They are possible, it was an accident," Arthur reiterated. "Your name is Arthur Kirkland. You have three brothers - Alistair, Rhys, and Cian. One sister - Saorise. You have a little boy - Alfred - you named him after one of your favorite kings. You have other colonies, but he's the only one you really consider a son," as he said this Alfred turned to look at him and noticed that Arthur blushed just a little.

"He picked you," Alfred added, worried that Arthur's pause may give England cause to decide they were done proving themselves.

"Quite right, that's why he's your favorite. That, and he reminds you of yourself when you were younger. Spirited and rebellious, but so much more innocent" Arthur said, unable to look at Alfred. "Right now you've been out pirating and you're headed back to see him and you won't tell him a word of what you really did because you want to teach him what it is to be a gentleman. Yes, you'll tell him all about seeing the king - it's 1685, correct? So, King James. You'll tell him all about seeing King James and about trade deals and you'll say what fun you had sailing, but you won't mention the raiding Spanish ships or the sword fights or the cannons." Arthur was extremely aware of Alfred's eyes on him. "You don't want to expose him to that."

England looked pale and his jaw was clenched. "You're saying that you are me?" he asked, voice tense.

"Yes."

England looked at the man across from him for a long moment before shaking his head. "That… That proves nothing. France could have told you any of that, all of it even," England said, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief of this story and anger at France.

Arthur took a deep breath. "You don't do as much magic as you used to, but you keep a Draught of Forced Truth in your desk drawer. I'll take it if you like," he said.

England looked him up and down and then his eyes flitted to his desk where he did, in fact, have a vial of truth serum. After a long moment of deliberation, he stood up and got it. Arthur stepped forward and put out his hand, but England shook his head. "Not you," he said. "I can feel the magic coming off of you. Him," he said, motioning his head towards Alfred.

"He's hurt!" Arthur hissed.

"I know. He's not magic, and he is weak. He won't be able to resist the effects. You stabilize that wound, and we'll get started," England said, throwing himself back in his chair to watch as Arthur stared him down for a moment before turning to Alfred.

He walked over to the younger who was still holding his side. "Let me see it," he said, lifting Alfred's ruined t-shirt to see the gash. "Well, the good news is it isn't deep. The bleeding looks worse than it is." He turned to the captain. "Do you have any rum?" The captain put a bottle on the floor and kicked it towards the other two. "Take a drink of this, you'll thank me," he said, handing the bottle to Alfred who did take a deep drink and then gagged. Arthur smiled. That's right. He's not old enough to drink in his country. And alcohol was so very different back then. And after a moment's thought, he took a deep drink himself before pouring it over the wound. Alfred tensed up and Arthur said, "I told you you would thank me. It would be worse."

"What is it that I'm supposed to do?" Alfred whispered, eyes flitting up to those of England who was watching the other two suspiciously.

Arthur sighed. "You're going to drink that vial. It's going to taste absolutely dreadful. You're going to drink it and it's going to feel like you're listening to someone else talk. You will be aware of everything asked of you, but it won't seem like you're the one answering it. You won't be able to lie about anything."

"I don't think I like that," Alfred ground out as Arthur ripped off a part of his own undershirt the start bandaging the wound.

"I don't either," Arthur said.

"England, what if he asks about… Like you know… Is it going to change the… The timeline?" Alfred asked, nervous.

"About your independence?" Arthur hissed. "No, it shouldn't. Time travel has been talked about before, written about in spell books, but we've never seen it actually work. We always thought they were just hopeful stories. But, according to those writings, everything that will happen to us here has already happened to us then," he said. "So, your precious independence is safe," the words were almost like venom.

"If it already happened, why don't I remember it?"

Arthur paused. "I don't know, I don't remember it either. So be careful, I suppose."

"That's enough!" England yelled from across the room, not caring for the whispers. He stood and sauntered across the room, uncorking the vial. "Here you go, lad, drink," he said, handing it to Alfred. Alfred looked hesitantly at Arthur, who nodded, and drank it.

The taste was even worse than Arthur had led him to believe. It made his entire body feel cold and within a matter of moments, Alfred felt that his mind was moving much faster than his body.

"Well, then," England said, pulling up the stool Arthur had been sitting on so that he could get right in Alfred's face. Arthur stood back against the wall, watching the exchange with his arms crossed and teeth gritted. "Tell me your name, boy."

"Alfred F. Jones." Arthur was right. It did not feel like Alfred was the one answering these questions.

England found the first name interesting considering who he was with and sat up a little straighter. The next question he asked a little gentler. "Was that always your name?"

"No."

"What was it before?"

"Alfred Kirkland." Alfred wanted to scream, he didn't like people getting all into his personal business. Matthew was the only person he ever talked to about this kind of stuff and he was his brother. On the wall, Arthur got even more tense hearing that name come from Alfred himself.

England jerked back like he had been burned. "What?" he asked, glancing at Arthur on the wall. "This is Alfred?" he demanded, his voice shocked and upset. Arthur just nodded. "He called me Iggy," England said, realizing. "Why didn't you tell me? God, I was just letting you bleed out over here," England took deep breaths and covered his mouth, seeming more and more like the Arthur Alfred knew and remembered. "Oh, I'm so sorry, lad," he said. He turned back to Arthur and laughed a nervous little laugh. "Well, he sure is big, isn't he?"

Arthur nodded again, not smiling. "He is."

"How did you get here?" he asked Alfred, now much kinder than he had been five minutes earlier.

"I asked Iggy for help remembering something important and I accidentally knocked some more ingredients in the cauldron. There was a big whirlwind of color and then we were here," Alfred slurred.

"Why would you end up here, lad?"

No, no, no, Alfred wanted to scream. What he was about to say he wouldn't have said to England back then and he really didn't want England from the present day to hear this. But just as before, the words came out and Alfred could hear them regardless of how hard he was trying to stop them. "I focused on the wrong thing. Iggy told me to think about the time I was trying to remember, but I didn't think about me. I thought about you and how you always left me. And why wouldn't you take me with you? You knew I wanted to go. When you did take me, I always tried to be perfect so you would take me again." If Alfred could have screamed, he would have screamed.

Arthur clenched his fists so tightly he broke the skin of his palm. Alfred had wanted to go with him, and he had been too set on being a pirate to take the boy back to Europe with him. Sure he had taken Alfred to London before, but always on official ships. And Arthur preferred to sail under the skull and crossbones, so the times he took Alfred were few.

This seemed to touch England as well and he took a moment to compose himself before going on, probably thinking of the little boy impatiently waiting for him in Charles Town. "What are you the personification of now?"

Arthur tensed. In his mind, Alfred felt his stomach drop. "The United States of America."

England smiled. "Your own country? Wonderful." Alfred could have cried. He was mortified that this was happening, but there was also so much pride in England's voice that Alfred felt sad because he had never heard that in his current England who hated everything about him at times it seemed. "What year is it, where you're from?" And that pride he was hearing was about to disappear. Alfred knew that,

"2020," he heard himself answer. Arthur watched England expectantly.

"2020?" England repeated and then whipped around to look at Arthur. "He's too young. He's too young to look this old for one. When we were his age we were what physically? Ten, if that?" Arthur could only nod. "What happened?"

Alfred started to answer, but Arthur rushed across the room and covered his mouth. Alfred didn't stop speaking, but it was too muffled to understand. "There are some things about the future you probably don't want to know," he said, sad eyes staring into England's.

England nodded slowly. "Right," he said, standing carefully. "Well, I suppose I do believe you now." He looked over at Alfred and smiled a little, somewhat sad but as proud as ever. "He can lay down over there," he said, nodding towards the bed in the corner of the room. "Sleep off the draught."

Arthur nodded and walked over to the dazed teenager. "America," he said. Alfred tried unsuccessfully to turn his head. "It's alright, lad, come on," he said, helping the boy stand and walking him over to the bed. He pulled the sheets back and helped Alfred lay down. "You just sleep that off. When you wake up you should be fine. I'll watch that wound for you, of course. Um, well, pleasant dreams," he said awkwardly and began to turn around.

"England," a cracked voice strained. He turned around to see Alfred looking at him. "Thank you."

Arthur could only nod in response and watched as Alfred fell into a dreamless sleep.

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