Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or the lyrics to the Child's Ballads which are in the Public Domain having been in existence prior to Child's collecting of them and the fact that Francis James Child died over 100 years ago: Fine Flowers In the Valley and The Cruel Mother. I also don't own Bazzini's La Ronde des Lutins. Or Ol' Susanna, She'll Be Comin' 'round the Mountain, On Springfield Mountain, Buffalo Gals (Won't Ya Come Out Tonight), Skype, or the T.V. show, Naked and Afraid.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Music centered chapter. Mention of Colonial Games. Grim songs. Drama.
Special Warning: If you look up/listen to The Cruel Mother. It. Is. Dark. Fullstop. It's offshoot, Fine Flowers In the Valley is also dark...just not quite to the same degree.
AN: The chapter that wouldn't come and then wouldn't stop growing. Thank you for your reviews and for waiting! Real life kept throwing me curve balls while I tried to finish this up. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 38: Plan Overkill
Alfred put more steak sauce and ketchup onto his paper plate as he explained his recent discovery: that his hex hadn't been all bad like he'd been led to believe.
It had worked a lot like a valve.
"So you'll dip into Revolutionary Ranting Mode at the drop of a hat?" Tex smiled around a mouthful of meat.
"It's not funny," he insisted as his brother snickered.
Tex chewed and swallowed, "Well, I love the Tax speech, so I'm good hearing it over and over and-"
Alfred gave him a soft, playful shove.
Tex straightened his hat. "Yeah, I guess you have had a shorter fuse lately. Mostly, I just keep noticing you flip flopping on decisions. You usually stick to your guns once you've made up your mind. But..."
Alfred nodded reluctantly. "...it's harder to make up my mind about...everything. Stuff that was easy to organize is...it's like...everybody's got feelings now and I have to pencil it all into my equations and then erase and then pencil in and if I go 'hell with this' and use a permanent mark, everyone's all 'oh noes, you can't use a sharpie, dude.' It makes planning...a lot harder."
Tex made a sympathetic noise and then shrugged.
Alfred looked around, noting that they were the only ones actually using the table.
Sure, it was kind of a lax meal with no real enforced etiquette because Texas declared that paper plates were gonna reign supreme on their last two days at home because he'd done enough dishwashing to make him throw up. And that there'd be more dishwashing while they were camping. And for good measure, he threw in that this part of being a host sucked which amused Alfred.
His brother had only really done a quarter of said washing. The rest being accomplished predominantly by Spain with intervals of Wales, Canada, and Northern Ireland pitching in.
Alfred wasn't sure what it was about him handling knives or hot pans and setting them in the sink, but it made them all squirmy. And every time he tried to do his part in the clean up, they'd swoop in and relieve him of said duty.
And so, all the rules were being broken now. But rather than being glad at the breach of formality like he thought he would, he felt a little...odd. Maybe he was getting used to having a full table when he sat down to eat?
Arthur was in the next room over with his brothers, Mattie was with Hawaii watching T.V., and Spain was sitting with Puerto Rico out on the porch. And he was pretty sure Mr. Gray was eating and Skyping with a family member even in spite of the time zone difference.
"I remembered more about Colonel Creep Harris," he mentioned.
"Yeah…?"
"Dad was along for the ride down Memory Lane...I know he's telling his brothers right now. I wish he'd let me choose what gets told. I mean, I'm the one it happened to."
Tex sipped his can of Dr. Pepper and then said, "Valid."
It wasn't a lot of fun relaying the fragments, but it was kinda nice that Tex hadn't reacted the way Arthur did. His dad had been super intense and concerned. And while Alfred was getting better at differentiating Arthur's I'm-Angry-At-You face versus I'm Angry-On-Your-Behalf, it was mostly because today...he'd made a breakthrough discovery.
Arthur's eye color changed depending on his mood.
And sure Alfred had heard about that in the scientific community due to iris constriction and light scattering and what-not...but it was crazy to see it happening in front of him.
The hardest part though...was that it required looking right at him. He usually looked away when Arthur was angry, period.
Cuz it sucked listening to the fury in his voice and then seeing it magnified in his face.
There was no denying it.
His dad's eyes darkened. In scenario one, when he was angry at Alfred (like he'd been when he entered the bedroom), they would deepen into a green so dark it was murky. But they stayed green. In scenario two, (courtesy of Colonel Creep) they went a blue-green jade; it made Alfred think of angry waves crashing.
Knowing Arthur was a water power...yeah...maybe it was a little dumb to piss off an ocean...and the fact that he did honest to God make a habit of poking him deliberately…because sometimes it just amused him...wasn't super smart.
Alfred took another bite of his meal.
He wondered if his eyes did anything crazy according to his emotions.
He fidgeted, waiting for Tex to continue.
"Well?" Al prodded.
"I really hope you decked him at some point. I hope your next memory is Revolutionary You going 'Aw, hell no.' And just, ya know...cussing him out and breaking his nose, opening a can of whoop-ass. Ka-chsshh." He mimicked opening a soda.
Alfred's eyebrows twitched. "Cuz it would've been totally cool in the 1800s to diss my superior officer?"
"Yup. Ya know, the way Modern You totally would."
Alfred broke out into laughter and had to wipe away the spit that resulted which got Tex to laugh harder and tease him with a well-timed, "Say it, don't spray it!"
And after all that, rather than hinting (as Arthur had done) that it might be time for Alfred to consider therapy (if not in response to various other issues) than to combat the aggressive conditioning he'd been subjected to...
Instead, on finishing his plate and that train of conversation, Tex cheered, "Time for pie!"
Alfred's feet were getting sore.
He was kinda done with all the preparations and he just wanted the trip over. Gate open. Promise to UnSeelie King accomplished. Happy May Day...maybe...if the holiday didn't drown in family drama on account of the other tasks on Alfred's To Do List.
He was enduring a long shopping spree that lasted from morning until afternoon at R.E.I. as their whole group selected appropriate gear.
Arthur was obsessed with getting him vests.
First, a top of the line safety vest, even though Alfred had a solid decade of experience as a National Guard. Yeah, Tex had him beat in years served in that service, but Al liked to think he took the helicopter ride over with far more composure than Tex did. At least less swearing. That should count. It wasn't that Tex was scared of heights. He wasn't. He just didn't enjoy helicopter rides.
Probably cuz of Nam...they'd kinda been in a few crashes that seriously underscored Tex's faith in pilots that weren't Al.
The next vest, was a poofy, insulated camping vest with a scarcity of pockets.
When Alfred pointed that out and that the vest Arthur was choosing for himself had way more, Arthur pointblank asked him what he thought he'd need that Arthur, his uncles, Mattie, Tex, Spain, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico wouldn't think of. He chose a different route then, complaining that it was too warm of a vest.
"I'm gonna fry in that," Alfred whined. "I want this one."
"No camo," Arthur ruled.
"I can buy it if I want to. Tex and I are gonna go hunting-"
"Wot? No, this is a family trip. We'll be doing relaxing things, like fishing or reading."
"Pbbbft. We're going hunting and hiking and-"
"Then all the more reason to want this one," Arthur shook his choice. "No one can mistake you for wildlife in this."
That was true. And he wouldn't catch any game either.
It was a bright fire hydrant red. And under other circumstances would be deemed gaudy by his parent. But because it would pretty much scream Alfred's location from any distance, that was the one that stayed in Arthur's basket.
The problem was the cardinal red shade which, while identical to the American flag's red stripes, was bare of much needed stars and blue and white.
It was vivid as a lobsterback.
And Arthur mentioned offhand, he and Mattie would match. Alfred looked over to see his brother considering a red vest (of a more adult design for himself).
And he felt duped. He was being manhandled into the Commonwealth. Hell no.
He felt a strong pull to call his old man out except, when he reached out to him along their bond, he found Arthur wasn't associating the vest with that at all.
This wasn't a mini-me moment.
The only thing that kept radiating from Arthur was relief that it was brightly colored…
And it could've been any hue…
Heck, Arthur was seriously considering buying an LED lighted vest in addition to this one for nighttime wear.
Because…
Arthur lived with a very real, ever-present fear that he'd lose Alfred.
He tried very hard to contain it, but it leaked in lots of ways. Because there were lots of ways to be lost. And Arthur was determined to steer him from them all.
And this…this literal "lost" where Alfred could fall behind, or wander off, or be lured away was one of the easiest ones to prevent, with a little precaution.
So Arthur felt justified in launching Plan: Overkill.
He was aware that Alfred was going to resist.
Duh.
But what surprised Alfred was that Arthur was intimately cognizant that it made him a hypocrite.
And that it pricked his old man's heart, deep.
Shadowy glimpses of Albion running amok in woods without a care for anyone's authority gave off a bittersweet pain.
Because while he was very proud of his villages, towns, cities, castles, history…
He loved wild, untamable, green spaces, maybe never quite as much as the sea which held a special unshakable hold on him, but…
Meadows, fields, fens, hills, valleys…
Woods…
He loved woodlands with a sense of wonder that had sprung in early childhood.
But as much as he loved the woods and the lore and the magic.
And that love ran deep.
It was tempered by hard-won experience; he knew full well of dangers natural and supernatural, man and creature, that prowled in such terrains.
And he couldn't regale Alfred with all the adventures of his own youth...and encourage him to go and make his own.
And there was a shimmery, elusive, knightly disapproval in Arthur for feeling that way which made Alfred's heart skip a beat.
Because that piece felt gallant and noble and disciplined and bright—a lover of and enforcer of all that was right and just and-
It moved beyond reach like the shining fish he was too slow to catch in a river.
But rather than feeling a disappointed Osha looming over him, he was back with Father.
Father, who even in times of happiness, could be melancholic. Who was well-worn and realistic often to the point of pessimism.
In him, there was grief mixed in with fear...but both were drowned by a heavy, viscous love that let Arthur be a hypocrite.
Arthur deliberately sent him an image of ancient greenery; a tunnel made magnificent by huge-trunked Yew trees intersecting—each one was thousands of years old…and brimming with things that lurked in their shadows and roots and hollows.
And it all made Alfred suddenly feel very...inexperienced...young...small…recent in England's timeline.
And he didn't like that.
No.
He crossed his arms.
That was a lens through which Arthur saw him and he rejected it.
Arthur chuckled and pet his hair, a hum of pleasure thrumming in him and Alfred sensed he didn't mind Alfred's rebuke. He was too ecstatic that Alfred had done the seeking for a change.
"No," Arthur stated abruptly. "I wasn't looking to dress you in my colors. There's a blue one also. Would you like that one better?"
As Tex would tease, he'd been as open as a front door during a tornado warning.
All the while he'd been reading Arthur, Arthur had been reading him back.
He plucked at the red fabric. It would...be okay. It was just a vest.
"Sweet, let's get the blue one." He whisked the red away and set the highlighter blue version down in its stead.
He tried really hard to stay composed after that. "D-dude, I can't believe you're...g-getting so much warm clothing for us. I-I mean, you think 80 degrees will melt you like a snowman...I still can't believe you conquered deserts. Did they just like airdrop you there? I mean-"
Arthur rolled his eyes, "I remember the area."
Alfred tensed.
Great.
That meant more Revolutionary War memories and a rehashing of lingering territory disputes that lasted until 1784.
He half-expected to get that cool, distant look of contempt that always cropped up with such nostalgia.
England's gaze did seem distant and his voice was hard but…
With their bond open and gentle hands rubbing his shoulders, he knew it wasn't actually him being remembered or condemned.
"The frost of winter lingers there," England stated softly. "The water will be cold. We can rent wetsuits there or we can purchase them now."
"...feel like a sissy...getting all this stuff. We're s'posed to be roughing it and-"
"No, we are camping. Not roughing it. There is nothing sissy about preventing cold shock. This isn't that stupid Naked and Afraid show of yours-"
Alfred stopped in his tracks, threw his head back, and stared up at his dad. "Oh my God...you watch that."
Arthur went bright red. Redder than the stupid vest had been.
Alfred pointed at him. "And you say Francis is a perv."
Arthur gently moved the accusing hand away. "That frog IS a pervert."
Alfred gave him a look.
"I...I-I take comfort in knowing there's still some primitive fortitude in humankind."
"Riiiiight."
Alfred noted that Arthur felt different after that. He'd rushed away to Rhys and after talking to him, Alfred felt some kind of side door close in their bond. When Arthur went to help Mathieu choose granola bars for their group, Alfred saw his chance to approach Rhys who was lurking near the sunglasses and trying on ones that didn't suit him at all. The Welshman's mouth puckered into almost comically pursed lips and then surrendered into a slight smirk as he replied to Alfred's inquiry.
"Yes, your father wasn't...aware of all that could be shared if the connection was obtusely open. I've given him some advice."
Alfred put his hands on his hips. "How come you give him advice for shielding and not me?"
Hazel eyes sized him up. "I will in time."
Alfred felt indignant at the dismissal, "But!"
"When you stop having so many terrors whilst asleep or awake, I will be glad to help grant you more privacy. But if I can't be certain that you are well...and only mean to have it as a method of hiding injury or deceiving us…"
The Welshman gave him a hard look.
Alfred tried not to give anything away.
Rhys released a long breath. "I know you and Texas are up to something and I understand you both need time to each other. It's...presumptuous for us to elevate ourselves in your lives to this degree." He looked over to where England was now arguing with Spain over the First Aid kit the Spaniard was holding, while Texas shoved his hat down over his face in embarrassment. "What has been a short time for us, has been a very long time for you."
Alfred frowned. Pretty much half his life, thank you!
"Is it not that way for you when dealing with Molossia?"
Alfred fidgeted, "Well...he is younger than Tex and me...we found him during a Gold Rush in Nevada...what would be Nevada. We had a mission...so, he's younger than us but...older than a lot of the other micronations even though his 'official founder' was pretty recent. There were lots of…" Alfred hesitated here "...impromptu towns in the Wild West."
Rhys raised an eyebrow.
Alfred didn't feel comfortable laying out the details of Molossia's origins without him there. He still wasn't...entirely sure Molossia knew what the women, who took him in and used him as a servant of sorts, did as their profession or what they smoked as a hobby.
He was just a tiny little tot who was sent to fetch water and kindling. And who, surprisingly enough, ended up majorly helping Al and Tex when they got into a tough spot. And then America couldn't bear to leave him behind. It would've been unheroic.
But he refused to lose his train of thought or the conversation's direction. "Anyways, you were saying about presumptuousness?"
Rhys nodded, "I know it can be grating but…"
"But I just have to deal?" That seemed to be the constant consensus and his frustration just kept building.
Rhys shrugged, "Communicate rather than confront, if possible. Arthur's...excited to be back in your life. But I fear it prompts him to be..."
They watched him scrutinizing the ingredients on a tub of sunblock.
"Overzealous."
And that made Alfred feel defeated. Because that was a gentle word Tex used about Alfred whenever he fucked things up but really did have the best of intentions at heart.
After lunch, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Spain went out to exchange their rentals—so they could comfortably seat everyone and their stuff.
Two vans were the plan.
Stuart would come by in the morning to drive Mr. Gray to the airport and then house-sit for Tex.
Everything was coming together but...
Alfred wanted to do something nice for Gray. The elderly man had done a lot, was always supportive, and never seemed to get enough thanks.
He hadn't really been able to show him any sites or attractions or buy him anything of worth.
The old gentleman turned down his apology when he told him as much. It wasn't easy for the man to kneel down, but he did, and he pulled Alfred into a hug and told him his company was more than enough.
So Alfred sought out his old violin and planned an evening of music as a treat. This violin was one Arthur had given him ages ago, but he usually kept it at Tex's.
First, as an absolute backup because sometimes music was a good means of scrounging up money for travel and supplies years ago…especially when confrontations with highwaymen didn't go right. And maybe because seeing it usually made him a little sad and his Virginia colonial already had enough keepsakes that did that.
Then, he held onto it in case Molossia developed any interest, but the micronation's childhood passed without that happening.
Then, it was an antique that could be worth a lot of money but...could still be destroyed in a convenient tornado and then Alfred wouldn't be responsible for what had befallen it.
And now...now it would be useful again. Old as it was...Alfred had taken care to service it often through the years. Maybe some of the other items from Arthur had been left to disrepair over the years, but this was a useful item. It deserved upkeep.
He was more than a little out of practice and there was a difference in sound quality between a child-sized and an adult-sized instrument but…
Hopefully, Gray could still appreciate the effort.
Yeah, he had his newer violin here with him as well...but...he'd noticed when playing it that the size kept him from hitting the notes perfectly and he could only compensate so much for it.
Still, it was a little weird to purposely choose this one. Not that it was in bad shape by any means, it was just...like putting on old shoes. Comfortable but noticeably frayed. And he knew Arthur would recognize it instantly or soon after.
It still had Alfred Faer Kirkland carved into it.
He snuck out to the fields for a practice session to tune it up.
Bazzini's La Ronde des Lutins got him all warmed up and it was fun to dance to and by the time he finished, he felt confident in his abilities to give Gray a good show.
He floundered slightly on his return to the house when he swore he saw some flicker of movement in a shadow under the porch and hopped over the stairs completely to hurry back inside. He was in the kitchen ready to bowl Arthur over before he reasoned that it had probably been a mole or squirrel or something.
He was just paranoid because of his interactions with Grym.
He was in time to see the final pieces of his sweet Virginia cherry pie being divvied out.
God, he was proud of that recipe and it killed his flash of terror about the shadow. He'd learned how to make that pie when he was super little and needed side money and boy did it deliver! Won every contest he ever set it in and sold out every time he lined his bakery shelves with them.
He watched Mathieu take a thin slice (cuz he was Canadian and didn't wanna be the jerk who finished it off). It was kind of an irritating habit because it signaled that Alfred wasn't allowed to polish off any of his brother's food when he visited up north. If there was only one cookie left in a jar, or on a platter, or in a carton. It got to stay there or Mathieu would notice and remark on Alfred's appetite.
Arthur seemed to be on the hunt for a snack as well, though his back was to Alfred at the moment.
Mathieu offered to get him the remaining slice, but Arthur waved it away with a grimace, "No thank you, my lad. It's far too sweet for my tastes."
And that let the air out of his balloon.
It took an awful lot not to hiss 'sorry I didn't burn it to friggin' charcoal to better suit your "tastes," old man.'
Because that would've been way too harsh.
Instead, he managed a civil, if somewhat cool, "I'm sorry you didn't like it."
"N-no need to be sorry!" Arthur started and whipped around, "It's just very sweet I-I just can't eat sweets the way I could when I was younger. It's not the recipe, it's me, dear. I know it's hard to believe, but someday you too may find yourself unable to-"
But it was hard not to think about a pile of blue ribbons and beaming customers and several centuries' worth of strangers' praise. It figured that if there had to be one person in the whole wide world who didn't like it...it would be…
"Were you practicing, poppet? I thought I heard my little phenom-"
Alfred jerked his head in a nod, dodged a hair ruffle, and sped in search of Texas...who thought all his desserts were the best desserts on the goddamn planet.
Mathieu was three steps and about twenty seconds too late. "Al, I enjoyed the…" his brother was already gone "...pie."
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, "Bugger! May as well have said it with a damned bullhorn."
Mathieu shifted uneasily.
Because...yeah, he hurt Al's feelings badly and Mathieu didn't even need a magical bond to have picked that up.
Arthur however didn't let it pull him down and he set his sights back on Mathieu. "How did your session go? I...believe you said you had one early this morning? Did you let her know you'll be on holiday? I daresay the reception may be spotty if you try to contact her during the trip."
"Yes, I told her I'd Skype with her if possible."
"Good. Good."
"...Meegan thinks I'm making a lot of progress."
"That's wonderful, my lad."
"She wants me to keep a journal. Every day I'm to write down something I…" He felt his cheeks warm. "I-I feel...proud of myself for accomplishing."
Arthur smiled kindly and gave his shoulder a squeeze, "Well, that should be an easy feat for you."
Mathieu felt warmth spread through him.
Arthur bustled around to make them some tea. He mentioned over his shoulder with a slight huff and an amused smile, "My counselor keeps suggesting family counseling in addition to anger management. Can you imagine me trying to drag Alistair to that? Reilley would try to dominate the whole thing and I doubt Rhys would talk at all. I swear it's why everyone forgets about the Welsh. They can be so reserved, one forgets they're in the room."
Canada could empathize.
As they sipped their beverages and Mathieu made mention of Tex's no dishes rule, Arthur scoffed, "Pish posh, when I want a cuppa, I have one. I'll hand wash them after. Don't fret."
They shared coping techniques their counselors championed: meditation, deep breathing, food choices, and hobbies.
He swore he caught sight of Alfred watching them from the hinge of a door, but when he stood up and gave it a sharper glance, there was nothing there.
Arthur blinked at him.
Mathieu sheepishly said he'd had a leg cramp and then sat back down. "I haven't really gotten around to sketching in a while, so I think...I think that would be a good outlet."
Green eyes brightened. "Do you have supplies?"
"...um...not...not professional ones."
Arthur nodded resolutely, "We'll go out, then."
And they did. Tex let them borrow his truck and it was...wonderful having Arthur follow through on a promise…and…getting to have time together...just the two of them.
"I never had much talent," Arthur commented ruefully as he inspected different tubes of watercolor paint. "I always wanted to learn but…"
"Practice..."
Green eyes narrowed. "Practice and talent, boy. Don't sell yourself short."
Mathieu smiled again and knew Arthur was indulging him when they made rounds through the entire store despite Mathieu worrying aloud about the Briton's still recovering leg.
He offered to pay for everything in Mathieu's basket, but backed down after being quietly rejected twice. Arthur had already purchased him far more than was reasonable during their R.E.I. shopping spree. He knew his guardian wanted to make things equal between his charges now that he'd been made aware of Mathieu's feelings.
He conceded to letting Arthur search on his phone for coupons to apply.
On their return to the ranch house, they heard Tex tuning up his piano. Reilley informed them that after dinner, the Americans were going to serenade Mr. Gray as a show of gratitude.
They stepped into the family room with the instrument in question and Mathieu felt Arthur tense. Alfred was standing on the top of the old tack piano with his violin and bow.
Arthur noticeably swallowed the deeply, ingrained, automatic, 'Geroff that NOW!' that was usually issued to Australia.
Alfred looked at them both with an expression that suggested he was waiting for them to dare comment on his audacity.
Instead, Mathieu complimented them on their kind plan. He was certain Gray would appreciate it.
Tex grinned and nodded his thanks and reached up to swat Alfred's leg to follow suit.
He reluctantly gave a small, hard, resentful "Thanks" as he eyed Mathieu and then Arthur.
Tex then practiced a medley of tunes from various pieces. As he went along he asked Alfred, "Think you can still handle the chords on Ol' Susannah? So's I can play my guitar?"
"Of course. But I'll have to be up here-"
"I dunno Al, you sure you can reach-"
"Yeah! I...I have to...I only know it backwards-"
Arthur positively squirmed when the two tested it out.
Tex grabbed his guitar.
Al sat down and then stretched out on his belly across the piano top and reached down to do the chords.
Arthur's resolve broke and after two measures was crossing the room.
Alfred was slipping.
Tex's strumming faltered…probably because of Arthur's expression.
Al was about to fall off-
Mathieu winced.
Scotland caught Alfred and hefted him up by the scruff of his shirt.
If anything, Arthur seemed even more on edge.
"What's all this noise?" Alistair demanded giving Al a little shake.
"I wanna do a nice send off for Mr. Gray. Tex wants us to make it frontier themed. But I said 'no, I want-"
Tex glowered. "I don't want it to be stuffy. I will fall asleep. If it's gotta be old, let it be rustic and romping."
Alistair set Alfred down gently and crossed his arms. "Old and rustic?"
"Genuine and interesting. And you wouldn't need to wear tails to hear it." Texas gave Alfred a glare and a poke with the toe of his boot.
"I want him to know I can do both; I can fiddle and I can be fancy, too! On my terms. When I want to."
"Nuh-uh, no fancy. If it's old, it's rustic. Promise?"
"Why don't I break out the puzzle jug and we'll play an oh-so rousing game of shove-groat and Pickety Witch as well."
"...don't be ornery. You know the puzzle jug is a pain in the ass to clean up."
Mathieu chewed at his lip.
There was a troubling glint in his brother's blue eyes.
Following dinner, they gathered in the family room.
Canada leaned forward and made a point to wish them well and applaud their efforts. Because this clearly meant a lot to Alfred…and Tex was good at supporting him.
He ought to have been part of it but didn't know how to join in. Reilley was similarly put out not to have been recruited for the effort.
Puerto Rico commented loudly that Tex just didn't want to be upstaged by him and that's why he wasn't sought out.
To which Tex scoffed, "Rico only knows dirty songs and I didn't wanna subject y'all to that."
"I do NOT. Papi-"
"Tejas wants to play right now, mijo. You can play after for Papi."
"But-"
"After."
"But-"
"After, mi corazoncito."
Alfred used his most polite, hosting voice for Mr. Gray and he played his violin with brilliance.
Mathieu couldn't imagine why he'd never really heard him play before now, considering what an attention-seeker he usually was. And the fact that vintage violins were notorious for being unforgiving. If one didn't hit the note just right…the whole room would cringe.
Alfred cleared his throat and led them in a round of applause for Tex and Momilani's duet of Buffalo Gals (Won't You Come Out Tonight) before giving a charming shrug. "I swear it's just no fair. First Dad and his family, and then them. There's always better singers than me in every line up I wind up in."
Tex swung his guitar onto his back and took up the semi-staged back-and-forth quality of conversation that he and Al naturally fell into.
It reminded Mathieu of vaudeville acts.
"Don't you listen to those whoppers, folks. Yeah, to a classical ear he's more crow than nightingale. But everyone's got a handful of songs they can manage well. Al, too."
"...such a soft way with words, Bro. He just needs breathing time to recover for his next-"
"Yessir, I gotta warm him up though. But just you wait and see. It'll be the third one! If it don't move ya, well there just ain't nothin' in ya!"
Rhys put his phone into filming position.
Arthur hastily aped him, not wanting to be outdone.
Mathieu politely clapped at the end of Al's rendition of She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain which was passable because Alfred's childish voice made it impossible for the Canadian to critique it seriously.
On Springfield Mountain was far bleaker and Alfred sang it far better. It was an odd thing to hear Alfred slip back into a colonial accent, though. Especially one more rustic and almost (Scottish sounding?) to what Mathieu remembered him having.
But he noticed Arthur nodding along to that one as it went.
It wasn't terribly surprising that it entailed a more somber storyline; older songs were often grimmer.
In the song, a young man was bit by a snake while mowing his father's fields with his scythe.
Arthur murmured lowly with sad eyes, "I remember that one. That was based off a real incident...I didn't know that Alfred knew that one...no one ever quite knew the elegy's auth...or…"
And he saw suspicion alight in the Briton's eye on who the mysterious lyrist was and then sadden.
Oui, that did make it more tragic and could explain Alfred's command of it.
Tex gave a wink and a nod indicating that the next one was Al's musical pièce de résistance.
And they all leaned forward with interest.
Arthur looked determined to be more invested than Rhys who eyed him coolly back and they both set their cells to record.
With a flourish and a grin, Texas set himself to his guitar. Alfred took up his violin—intending to both play and sing.
Scotland was having a smoke break for his mental health, aware that a physical health lecture from Wales was on its way.
Hazel eyes had promised it—watching him even as he tried to stealthily leave the room without drawing too much attention to himself.
And so he found himself outside, contemplating the moon and the impending trip.
Even the night air was still oppressive with heat and Spring was only just waking, he wouldn't want to visit here in the full blaze of summer.
He blew out a trail of smoke.
He ought to do a tarot reading and maybe get a feel for whatever it was that was making him anxious.
In the background, music was punctuated with bouts of applause.
Mr. Gray was a good sport to put up with that silly production. Alfred would've done him a kinder service to have let him turn in early given the long flight waiting for him the next day.
But the boy seldom thought things through.
He frowned as familiar notes reached his ears and he blanched at hearing snatches of Fine Flowers in the Valley drifting from the open window:
"...Smile nae sae sweet, my bonnie babe,
Fine flowers in the valley.
An' ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead,
And the green leaves they grow rarely.
She's ta'en out her wee penknife,
Fine flowers in the valley-"
Aw Hell! Nonononono! What was his nephew thinking?! Was he outta his heid?!
He rushed up the porch steps, cigarette all but forgotten, fought with the screen door to let him back in—half determined to bust it down if he had to.
"...She howket a grave by the light o' the moon…"
"Open yeh damn door," he growled. Which must've intimidated it, for he got through on the next attempt.
He promptly tripped over a great lineup of shoes by the door.
"...As she was going to the Church,
Fine flowers in the valley.
She saw a sweet babe in the porch,
And the green leaves they grow rarely."
He hurtled himself through the halls and arrived just in time to be too damn late.
Alfred affected a sugared, honey simpering croon which was meant to be the ballad's mother figure but…
To those who knew Arthur's voice when he was trying to use his magic to manipulate things in his favor…
It was too near in tone and delivery to be by chance.
"O sweet babe, if thou wert mine,
Fine flowers in the valley.
I wad clad thee in a silk so fine,
And the green leaves they grow rarely."
There was no color in his wee brother's face.
And he physically flinched as the child delivered the final verse with power, with scorn, with pain that made it hurt for an adult to hear.
"O mother dear, when I was thine,
Fine flowers in the valley!
O ya did na prove to me sae kind!
...And the green leaves they grow rarely."
Mathieu, poor lad, looked especially uncomfortable.
Rhys was effectively stunned.
"Papi...let go," Puerto Rico requested from an overly tight embrace.
"No, I'm too sad."
So, it was up to Texas, Momilani, and Reilley to give him applause.
"Well done, baby bro! Heartstrings were played!"
"Depressing!" Momilani cheered.
"I know, right?!" Reilley clapped. "I knew ya couldn't a had so many o' mine come through your borders and not rub off a bit. Yer musical tastes take after yer ol' Uncle Reilley. I can give ya a few pointers on which notes to draw out and I'll tell yeh boyo. With the strong way you finish up," he nodded proudly. "Yeh won't leave a dry eye."
Reilley looked ready to wax on about their nephew's performance until Alistair gave him the evil eye.
Alistair ran a hand through his hair as he got closer. "I guess I should take it as a small comfort that you don't know the other variant o' that song."
Alfred looked sharply in his direction and without breaking his gaze, played a few jarring, haunting notes on his violin from The Cruel Mother and sang soft and mournfully, "do-wn by the greenwood si-i-ide, o."
Green eyes grew more stricken.
Reilley was delighted, "O Scottie, he knows it! That one's even better!"
If by "better," his brother meant even more bloody tragic and graphic. Then yes, it was better.
Alistair's mood soured, "Don't you ever sing either of them songs again, laddie. Anywheres I or yer Dad can hear yeh. Or I'll gie ye a skelpit lug! And you-" He looked at Reilley. "I hear you do it, or yeh put him up to it. They won't find yeh. The bobbies can ask me all they want. I'll not say a word."
"Oi," Tex groused because the pup never knew when to quit when he was ahead "this is our house and we'll sing what we like when we like. 'Sides that song won me over back in 1823, he sang it so good."
Disbelief and a bit of horror filled Spain's face. "This song?"
"Well, yeah."
Rhys gave Alistair a look then. Alright. Maybe...the lads did have some problems to work through…
"Yeah," Alfred pouted, "What's your deal, Uncle Al?"
"That." Scotland gestured pointedly at his youngest brother who was breathing hard and his eyes were over bright. He had to stave that off. Cuz there weren't many uglier things in the world than Albion crying.
Tex nodded, "That's what's s'posed to happen. It's his first-time hearing Al sing it. I did that, too."
Alfred looked over his shoulder curiously, mouth making a slight 'o' as he took in Arthur's deeply shaken reaction. And then his eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, as if suddenly realizing, why that was such an inappropriate song choice for his current company.
"I didn't do that to you," Arthur hissed.
Alfred blinked as if not understanding the horrific implications and replied almost defensively, "It's just a song I know. I've known it forever."
Which didn't help Arthur's agitation in the slightest because it hinted that Al knew that song before he'd known his father.
And it wasn't a song for a babe to know or a bairn to sing.
And the more ragged edges of their history caught on those lyrics.
Much the way his did following his demise on account of his mother's orders.
And he'd recognized parallels unfolding between his brother and nephew. Sadly...bitterly...he'd accepted that it was in the blood, the lot of 'em were part of a cycle.
Màthair had abandoned him to pain and death in a frigid cold, so why was it a surprise that his wee bràthair left his own to burn disgraced and disowned?
And while he was too late to save his nephew from the grisly fate, at least he was rescued sooner than Alistair had been. He was stuck in snow for ages...stuck in Elysian's shadowy bogs because he wanted to come back soon...and couldn't.
And it made a gruesome sort of sense and did serve, to Alistair at least, as a means of bonding through life experience with the lad.
Wales insisted it was more complicated. Their mother had miscalculated and Alistair suffered for it. But it didn't quite ease all that he'd endured as a result. And she'd died so soon after and she wouldn't speak of it before she passed.
When he tried, she'd talk over him about various troubles that occurred while he was "away" and how worried they'd been about him. And she'd hold him too tight and scold him for scaring her by roaming about and not hurrying back.
And in the case of Arthur it...just wasn't so. He'd been an arse but...not a monster.
Aye, father and son had been estranged, but surely by now, Arthur had proved he wasn't capable of deeper cruelty.
Even Alistair was coming to terms with that.
His brother had gone nigh hysterical when the wee one was in the clutches of a bodach.
He was pushy and irritating and controlling and high-handed and...
...fussed whenever so much as a bad dream disturbed the boy's slumber and would coddle him to calmness.
He even got nervous over tying the child's scarves too tight. The way he used to whenever tying the boy's ribbon, or later neckerchief, or even...neckties when the boy's loosened at a meeting.
He'd check with two subtle fingers before tightening the bow or knot.
And if worried, or aware of Alfred's face growing flushed, would check again under a pretext of straightening the neckwear.
No...
No fatal knife or ribbon would ever be set on Alfred by his father's hands. That was becoming clear.
And if the bairn couldn't figure that out...maybe Rhys was right and Alistair would have to say something.
"I didn't give you up," Arthur insisted sharply. "I didn't abandon you! And I certainly didn't-wouldn't-would never-Never-"
Alfred's eyes widened as though catching up at last to where the rest of them were. "I...I-I know that…"
"I didn't know about you! You think I would've dallied if I'd known? Nothing would've stopped me. Could've kept me from you. If I'd so much as suspected you were waiting for me in the New World, I'd have come straight over even if I had to row myself the whole bloody way. I wanted you! You were wanted! She didn't tell me! I didn't know! She knew! She knew how much I wanted you! I wanted you-"
"I-"
"So much!" There was a fierceness in that. A hardness in his tone and a glint in his eye that dared his son to try and contradict it.
Alfred, in a rare moment of knowing he'd pushed too far, nodded obediently. "I know. I wasn't singing it at you, Daddy."
The hell he wasn't.
"-I've just known it forever...maybe Sarah taught me?" he wondered aloud.
"Well, I'm not sodding Sarah, am I?!" Arthur exploded.
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