Arthur and Alfred got ready for their journey back in silence; Alfred tracking the horses, and Arthur packing supplies. The Brit packed canteens full of water for the horses and for themselves, dried rabbit meat, and some clothes. The forest was packed with fruits so good wasn't a big deal, but just in case one of them got hurt, he packed a few bottles of alcohol and the needle and thread.

Arthur, while packing, thought back to the events leading up to this. After Alfred had fallen asleep, Arthur found himself praying for forgiveness. He eventually passed out, but was rudely awoken by a hard pinch from the mourning prince. Arthur, of course begged for five more minutes, but the American threatened to leave without him, and Arthur couldn't have that. The American peeled himself away from the Brit before leaving the tent, saying he was going to find the horses. Arthur offered to help, but the crowned prince told him to "Fuck off" and "Find something to do."

Arthur was offended, but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. Alfred had just lost his father, he wasn't going to act all cheery. He nodded and removed himself from the American's presence, not wanting to upset him any further. He found two large leather satchels that he could use to carry supplies, and began to pack the essentials. He could hear Alfred whistling for the horses and calling their names, frustration obvious. Arthur bet he could do a better job than the prince, but didn't comment.

He took the last canteen down to the little stream and began to fill it. He heard some noises, like rustling in the bushes, but he just asked if was a small animal. Like a squirrel or whatever. But when that something took a hard step into the stream, Arthur saw that it wasn't a squirrel. Or anything near it, to be honest. There was a chestnut colored stallion standing before him, approaching him warily. It had blood on its back, but it didn't appear to be maimed. It must have been someone else's blood. Arthur wanted to call out to Alfred and maybe brag about how good he was at finding horses, but he feared chasing the horse away. He stepped away from the stream to give the horse a chance to drink from it while he went to alert Alfred.

He was approaching the American when he saw an even larger stallion being pet by the prince. It was neighing fondly, and they were both sitting down, making the scene before the Brit adorable. Time was wasting though, so Arthur spoke up. "There's a brown horse drinking by the stream, you know"

The prince visibly jumped, Arthur's intrusion startling him and his companion. Alfred hummed in acknowledgment, but the horse beside him neighed angrily. Arthur watched as the horse stood up, clearly bigger than the one he had found. It approach the Brit threateningly, huffing as it was about a foot away. The Englishman got the hint, his accent must have set the horse off, so he nodded curtly to the prince before returning to the camp site. The Brit had found himself dwelling in his feelings, as he continued to pack. It wasn't his fault that he was British, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He was just as nationalistic as the next guy, and he would fight for his country. The fuming Brit was dragged out if his thoughts when he noticed the brown horse trotting towards him.

It was eyeing the Brit suspiciously, neighing softly. Arthur took out an apple from one of the satchels and held it out in front of the horse, as an offering. Arthur didn't speak, afraid the horse would recognize the accent and attack him. The horse took it gingerly, crunching the apple before relaxing on the ground near the Brit. The poor thing must have been tired and famished. Arthur plopped himself next to the large horse and petted him softly, offering another apple. The horse allowed him, and it took the next apple quickly, munching on it slower this time.

It felt like a while since Arthur had touched a horse, the last time being when he was still living in his little village with his family. His father owned a ton of horses, using them to plow the fields. Arthur's favorite was called Colt, he was a black horse who would always sleep and play all day. Arthur loved how the horse would play dead whenever his father tried to ride him, falling limp to avoid working. The daydreaming man was startled by a whistle and a loud snort.

"Magnus, come here!" The American commanded, eyeing the Brit. Arthur didn't appreciate all of this hostility towards him, pulled his hand away from the horse, who was now making its way to the prince. The American nuzzled the nose of the horse, Magnus, and kissed its nose. "I'm so glad you're okay! I thought I'd lost you!" Alfred smiled fondly before looking over at Arthur, who had gone back to packing. "Arthur, are you ready yet?" His voice was nowhere near as happy as it was before when he was speaking to the horse.

In response, the Brit decided to emulate what his mother did whenever she was pissed at his father. He shrugged his shoulders and continued the task at hand. When Alfred repeated himself, the Brit ignored him, finally packing everything they would need. He could feel the anger radiating off of the prince, but the Englishman had put up with enough. He stood up and walked away from his companion, and went back to the stream. Arthur applauded himself as he washed his face, happy that he got the prince angry. He smiled at his reflection in the water, glad to see the bruise Kevin had left was fading. "American cunts!" He said, caressing the purple mark on his face.

"Excuse me?"

Arthur jumped as the American grabbed him by the shoulder, and twisted him around to face him. Alfred's eyes were dark as he glared at the Brit, squeezing his arms painfully. The Englishman began to protest, demanding that he be let go, but all Alfred did was hum. What was it with him and humming? He seemed to do it all the time as if it were normal. Arthur was freaked out, but he refused to show it. He glared back at the prince before yelling.

"GET OFF OF ME YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" The Englishman tore away from the American's grip and headed back to camp. His heart ached after he said it, just remembering that the man just lost his father and that's why he was all mean. But Arthur couldn't handle the constant rage the other was emitting, it was putting him on edge. His eyes were watering again, and he just really wanted to apologize. Should he look for Alfred? Or should he-

His thoughts were interrupted by the red faced American that was heading straight for him. He braced himself for a punch or push or any aggressive physical contact. Alfred grabbed him, but just let him go, humming. Arthur looked up in confusion searching the American's dark eyes. Alfred's eyebrows were knit, and his eyes were narrowed. His lips were pursed and his cheeks were flushed, but it was fading.

"it's not worth it. Are you ready or not? Because I'm leaving now" he said softly, searching the brits watery eyes for an answer. Arthur stood there for a second before nodding, tears threatening to fall. Why was he so emotional? Because he told Alfred off? That was nothing to be crying over. Alfred noticed the tears and walked away, not trusting himself to deal with it when he was angry.

~~~~~~~ Wounded Knight ~~~~~~~

The journey to the fortress was uneventful. Alfred and Arthur spoke constantly, and Arthur would visit Alfred's tent at night to clean his wounds. They were healing nicely Arthur noted and he smiled at his handy work. Alfred was feeling much better by the first day on the road, thanking Arthur for the help. By the middle of the second day, the fortress was in sight, and Arthur became more and more nervous.

Alfred knew of his pedigree, and he failed to find a good time to swear the prince to secrecy. He had just gotten back on his good side, and the prince was just starting to smile at him, he didn't want to blow it. He just prayed the prince wasn't denser than he looked.

"We're about an hour away, Artie!" The prince was excited to go home, it was clear. But the Brit was even more anxious now. An hour, an hour away from his death, an hour away from Peter, if Peter was even alive. Alfred glanced back in time to see the worry in his companion's eyes. "What's wrong Artie?"

Arthur looked up at the annoying nickname and smiled. He didn't want the American to worry about him. Alfred slowed down on the horse he was on, the white stallion named butter, and began riding next to the Brit. He repeated his question and Arthur had no choice but to oblige, not wanting to incite an argument. " I..." He started but he started freaking out midway. Alfred noticed his distressed and pulled on Butter's reins, stopping her. Shit!

"Arthur, I'm serious" he said with a pout, concern evident. Arthur frowned at this, another tantrum brewing. The American refused to ride or eat when he was angry, delaying their trip. Arthur stopped Magnus and turned to face the prince, nodding.

"I... I'm just worried is all. If they find out who I am, they wont hesitate to kill me and my brother. If they hadn't killed him already that is." He sighed, starting Magnus up again. The horse had grown fond of the Brit despite his accent, but Butter remained distant and aggressive towards him. Arthur petted his horse as Alfred pulled up besides him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I already made up a pen name for you. It's Arthur Pendragon. How does that sound?" The American chuckled. Arthur winced at the stupid name and shook his head, not liking it at all.

"Pendragon? What kind of name is Pendragon?!" He cried out whacking the prince. The other hummed in humor and let the blow land. The two rode in comfortable silence when they were approached by multiple guards. They recognized the prince instantly, but they looked at Arthur in confusion.

"Who is he, you're highness? And where is the rest of your company?" One guard asked.

Alfred's eye darkened as he spoke, dropping from his horse and taking Arthur by the arm. The Brit yelped at the sudden movement, being carefully dragged from Magnus. "We were ambushed by a band of British outlaws, they slaughtered everyone and left me for dead." The guards gasped, rushing the two inside the fortress. The two were put into the large dining hall, and all the soldiers filed in demanding to know what happened. Alfred gave the story of the ambush in grueling detail, shaking everyone to their bones.

"Then who is that guy next to you?" Someone called. Arthur had never been so scared in his life, but he hid the fear with a blank expression. The Brit glanced at the prince, but Alfred only offered him a reassuring smile. What! He doesn't really expect him to introduce himself. After Arthur shot the prince a pleading look, Alfred cleared his throat and answered the question.

"This here is Arthur Pendragon, he is the man who came to my aid and saved me. I surely would have bled to death if it were not to him. I owe him my life." The Brit was utterly shocked, he never even heard about this life debt. The people around the room cheered for Arthur, but the Brit knew it was going to be short lived. He tapped Alfred, who turned to face him with a goofy smile, but it dropped the instant he saw the distress in Arthur's eyes.

"What's wrong Artie?" the prince whispered.

"Aren't you going to tell them I'm British? The second I speak they'll figure it out, so you might as well tell them." He whispered back. Alfred nodded and turned back to his warriors with a stern look. Everyone in the room turned uneasy, the look gracing the prince's face making them worry, he was usually so lighthearted. He cleared his throat and stuck his hand out, which the Englishman took hesitantly. They stood together side by side as the American prince spoke once more.

"Arthur Pendragon... is British," he started. He was interrupted by gasps and scoffs.

"A brit saving you? That's preposterous, they are a sneaky vile group of people. For all you know, Pendragon was the one who ambushed you and killed your father!" a guard challenged, earning applause from the crowd. Alfred released the other's hand and hummed loudly. Everyone in the crowd quieted down, the humming echoing across the room. It was almost hypnotic, and when the last of the chatter died down, the prince spoke again.

"Are you questioning my authority, Marcus?" the humming man said, face relaxed but unamused. Marcus, the guard who suggested that Arthur was the one who ambushed the king, was shaking his head wildly, fearing his situation.

"No my liege! I would never, I was just bringing a probable scenario up to the surface! I think- "the knight started, but Alfred interrupted him, expression cold and stony.

"You think me stupid." The prince made his way down to the crowd, which parted right down the middle to give the man access. Though Arthur suspected that they didn't want to get caught in the crosshairs of whatever was going down. Alfred approached the guard named Marcus, who was now as pale as a sheet, and gripped his shoulder. The poor fellow dropped to a kneeling position and began to beg forgiveness.

"Please forgive me, your majesty, I did not mean to incite your rage. I swear to you, I do not think lowly of you and I most definitely do not think your intelligence is- "

"Silence!"

The room was completely still, the only noise coming from the sniveling man before Alfred. Arthur watched closely as Alfred began to pace around Marcus, pulling his sword from his sheath. "Do you know what I do to people who insult me?" the American hummed. When he didn't get an answer, the prince grabbed a random guard from the crowd and threw him on the ground beside the other. The two guards looked up at their prince in confusion, who, in turn, only hummed.

The second guard began to protest his innocence, that he didn't say anything, when he was cut short. Alfred positioned the sword right in front of his face, giving him a look that warned him not to say another word. Alfred tried again.

"Do you know what I do to people who insult my intelligence?" he repeated, his eyebrows raised and his tone light. Marcus shook his head no, to which Alfred hummed in understanding. "The same thing I do to people who encourage the mockery of my intelligence." He directed his gaze back to the second guard. "So Anthony, do you understand why you're out here now? You which to cheer alongside Marcus, you shall be punished alongside him too."

"I wasn't the only one who cheered! Have mercy your highness!" the knight reasoned, but Alfred shook his head.

"You were the loudest, and the face you were making at me! It was like you were just begging me to notice you." He raised his sword high, as he spoke to the room. "Now, I'm going to make an example out of these two. If any more of you would like to protest, do so now, and join your fellow knights." No one was stupid enough to go against Alfred, they were all just counting their blessings that they weren't so unlucky. As the prince swung his arm down, everyone in the room braced themselves, all except one.

"ALFRED STOP!"

Everyone's eyes snapped towards the front of the room, all eyes ogling the British man. Alfred's sword was a mere inch away from Anthony's head when he heard the Englishman's demand. The prince was still for a moment before sheathing his sword once more. He looked down at the guards before him and sneered.

"Count your blessings, this 'vile' human being just saved your life. Now go!" the two guards ran out of the room, leaving the rest of the knights in awe of the stranger who managed to stop the execution. Arthur blushed under all the stares and made his way over to Alfred, who threw his arm over the brit's shoulder.

"Now, my loyal knights, I want a band of you to go to the campsite and retrieve the bodies of our fallen brothers. They deserve a proper burial. And if you find any clues as to who attacked us, you bring them back, no matter how insignificant it seems." And with that, Alfred lead Arthur out of the dining hall and up the stairs of the fortress.


Alfred's arm slowly slid off of his shoulder and now grip the omega's waist. Arthur allowed him, but there was a nagging at the back of his head, like he was supposed to be doing something else. They walked up the stone stairs, paying no mind to the English servants that looked their way. The prince was walking faster and faster, as if he had a time limit. It eventually got to the point that Arthur had to almost run to keep up with the man gripping his waist.

The brit was panting heavily by the time Alfred stopped in front of two large mahogany twin doors. It was regal, to say the least. The door had gold engravings of warriors in combat, using swords and canons to tear down a wall. It took Arthur a moment to realize that the wall must have been London's, and the image depicted the siege of his nation's capital. His train of thought was interrupted by the hard knocking of the man beside him. When no reply came, the prince knocked harder, swearing under his breath.

"Alfred, relax." The Englishman said calmly, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. Alfred stopped reluctantly, glancing at the man that was still in his arms. Arthur was extremely aware of this, but he held his peace and smiled reassuringly at the American. The prince didn't smile back, but he didn't hiss at the brit or frown, so Arthur didn't feel bad. His smile did slip a little though, so the Alpha gave him a soft squeeze on the hip.

"I know, but it's been a while since I've spoken to- "

Suddenly, the large doors were churned open causing the pair to jump back. On the other side of the door stood... Alfred?

"Who...?" Arthur asked, confusion clear. He looked back and forth between the two people, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. "You're a twin?!" the brit asked excitedly, he'd never met a pair of twins personally, it was rare. His eyes lit up as he forgot his manners, babbling on about how he always wanted one, and that once when he was seven, he blamed his mother for a year for stripping him of that opportunity. His fangirling only stopped when he heard the second Alfred snicker.

"You always bring me the weirdest things, Alfred." He sighed before introducing himself to the brit. "My name is Matthew Williams, I'm Alfred's half-brother, not twin. Sorry." He smiled apologetically and stuck out a hand, which Arthur took. Arthur was expecting a handshake, but instead he was gently pulled into Matthew's room. He was shocked, but Alfred gave him a small pinch to his waist, urging him to go further.

Inside the room was huge, as expected, and the color scheme was pastel purple and white. Purple curtains, white rug, purple pillows, white bedsheets, etc. Arthur was in awe. Matthew saw his expression and smiled kindly. Alfred on the other hand let go of the Englishman 's hip and approached his brother. "Matthew..." Alfred said as he grabbed his doppelganger by the wrists, "We need to talk."

"About what?" he asked innocently, sitting down on his fluffy bed, Alfred sitting beside him. Arthur cleared his throat, getting the attention of the siblings.

"I going to go out into the hallway, you guys need privacy." Before Alfred could protest, Arthur was outside the door, closing it behind him. The brit sat against the wall and absorbed his surroundings. There were banners and portraits of past kings, queens, advisors, etc... there were also expensive looking vases with strange flowers. The stone walls were an ashy grey, and the floors were carpeted with a firm blue rug with tiny white stars here and there.

Arthur was dozing off before the prince opened the door, telling him it was alright to enter the room. The brit, however, wasn't expecting what he saw next. The room was disheveled, the curtains were torn, the pillows were all over the place, and the white bed sheets were rumpled. On top of those bed sheets laid the two twins. Matthew was sobbing onto his brother's chest while Alfred caressed his hair, humming. Arthur stared in wild astonishment as to how he hadn't heard any of the commotion that had obviously taken place here.

"This room is sound proof." The more familiar deadpanned, still combing through the distraught prince's hair. Arthur nodded dumbly before getting the room in order. He placed the pillows back on the bed and straightened the rug, avoiding the rumpled sheets. If it wasn't for the fact that the two were still on it, Arthur would have tidied it up, but since that wasn't the case, he tried his best to ignore the itch he had to fix it. The Englishman had been cleaning a lot lately, the dishes, the campsites, the blades, whatever it was, he had an impulse to clean it if it was dirty. Subconsciously, he knew he didn't want to be reminded of the deplorable conditions he had lived with for a while, but when he was questioned about it, he shrugged.

"Arthur, can you do me a favor?" Alfred asked quietly. Arthur nodded as he put down vase he was polishing. "In the wardrobe behind you, there's this white bear. Can you retrieve that for me?" he continued in a whisper. Arthur did just that and gave Alfred the toy, which looked awfully old and dilapidated. The bad stitching kept the toy together, and it was hard to tell what it really was. One of the button eyes were missing, and parts of the 'bear' wasn't white anymore, but instead grey or brown.

He watched silently as Alfred handed the sniffling prince the bear, who took it carefully. "Kumajara" he whimpered, wiping his tears with his older brother's shirt. Alfred hummed at his brother before chuckling.

"It's Kumajirou, Mattie."

"I said that!" the younger chuckled, taking shallow breaths. It was only then that Arthur noticed the subtle differences between the two that he should have seen earlier. For one, Matthew's eyes were this lovely shade of purple, compared to Alfred's rich royal blue. Matthew's hair was longer, and his cheekbones were higher. Alfred's hair was short, and his jaw was more square and sharp. The younger prince was willowier and lean, emitting compassion and elegance, while his brother was more built in physique, and he emitted brute force and intimidation.

"Arthur?" the frail prince asked timidly, still hiding his face. Before the brit could respond, Matthew continued talking. "Thank you for saving my brother and bringing him back. I know he can be a pain sometimes." Arthur chuckled and shook off the gratitude, insisting that Alfred wasn't that bad. To that, the prince in questioned scoffed, drawing the others' attention.

"I made you cry."

The Englishman's face burned at the memory and he quickly hid it behind a random piece of furniture. Alfred hummed in amusement as Matthew scolded him viciously. Arthur was taken completely by surprise of the quieter prince's colorful vocabulary, which ranged from 'Wangster' to 'Dickered'. Alfred protested to the insults, and claimed he was just joking around and that Matthew shouldn't be so aggressive. The younger prince told his older brother to apologize, claiming that what he said was rude and had crossed the line. Alfred apologized quickly, not wanting to incite another barrage of insults, and Arthur accepted.

The brit liked Matthew.

The paler man walked back to the vase he was polishing before and picked it up, polishing it again. "Why are you cleaning, Artie?" the more familiar American asked. Arthur shrugged like he always did, the nagging feeling at the back of his skull returning. What was he forgetting? What was he-

Peter

The vase landed on the floor with a heavy clank, throwing the brit back into reality. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" he said as he picked the delicate decoration up, setting it carefully on the table. His body was shaking and he feared he was going to be sick. How could he forget about Peter so easily? He was the whole reason why he escaped in the first place.

"Arthur, are you okay?" Matthew asked, squeezing his bear tightly. Arthur wasn't okay, his knees were weak and he wanted to cry, but he held it in.

"Matthew, was there an English boy delivered here a few days ago?" the brit asked, stress in his voice. "An English boy in a cart of flowers and a clubbed foot, by any chance?" the brit pleaded. Matthew shook his head.

"I'm not allowed out of my room."

Arthur didn't care about that, all he cared about was his brother. He pulled open the door to the bedroom and left, ignoring the invasive questions the Americans were asking. He needed to find peter, and no one was going to stop him. He retraced his steps down the stone stairs and headed towards the courtyard. He found plenty of servants there, but none looked like his brother, he decided to approach one and ask.

"Excuse me, sir?" Arthur began to speak to an overweight butler. The butler was kind enough, and told the brit everything he knew. Which was nothing he needed to know. He began to question more and more servants, each telling him that they had not seen a young boy with clubbed feet. Oh god, where could he be!? Arthur gave up asking the help and made his way to the nearest guard he could find.

The guard had noticed Arthur coming, and for some reason began to shake. It took the Englishman a moment to realize that the guard thought he had some kind of power over their prince. Arthur decided to use that to his advantage. "You there, yeah, you! I have some questions I need you to answer!" the guard looked worried.

"Yes, my lord?" he replied submissively. The brit smiled.

"Was there an English boy delivered here a few days ago? Perhaps on a flower cart?" he asked, glaring at the armored man in front of him.

"Multiple British boys were delivered over the past few days. Can you be more specific?" the guard squeaked.

"The boy was delivered in a flower cart and he had a clubbed foot." The brit obliged. The guard froze before shaking rapidly. What was he hiding?

"Can you be a bit more specific your grace?"

"WHAT!? How much more specific can I be!? Where the fuck is my brother!?" Arthur yelled, taking a threatening step towards the guard.

"He was your brother?!" the guard cried before realizing his mistake. Arthur eyed him suspiciously, heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

"What did you do to my brother?!" he commanded, grabbing the guard by the collar. The man yelled before falling into a kneeling position.

"I did nothing, my lord! I swear it!" he cried out.

"So help me god, if you don't tell me what happened to my brother I'll get Al- "

"Okay! Okay! Please!... he was weak and deformed, and some of the knights thought that it would be cool to take him training with them, so he could carry their weapons and equipment. When they returned, the new servant wasn't with them, and they refused to tell me what happened to him. I just assumed he ran away until..."

"Until?" the brit asked with a broken voice. He was shaking, his throat was tight, and his vision was becoming blurry with tears. Oh god, Peter! What did they do?! Oh god, please be okay!

"Until I heard them that night. Someone said something about returning to the woods to find the boy, but the others rebuked him, they said that the boy was as good as dead, and if anyone wanted to find the boy, they could do so themselves." The knight whimpered, fearing his death. If the king wasn't going to do it, surely the other knights he had betrayed would slit his throat in his sleep.

Arthur's head was swimming and his heartrate was through the roof. Tears escaped his eyes as he stared blankly at the man kneeling before him. Did he just say what he thought he said? Did the Englishman hear correctly? "P-p-p-p" he mumbled as he began to pace wildly, hands clawing at his face. "Peter! Where is he?!" He questioned the man again, who jumped.

"I do not know, I- "

"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME HE'S DEAD! HE CAN'T BE DEAD! WHERE IS HE?!" The brit interrupted, screeching at the top of his lungs. The man whimpered, refusing to answer any more questions.

"I have the right to remain silent!" the guard sobbed pitifully. The right? THE RIGHT? Arthur began to lose it as he landed a hard kick to the soldier's face.

"YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!?" He said with another kick to the body below him, this one landing on the guard's stomach. "DO YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO KILL MY BROTHER?!" he said with another kick. "DID YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO KILL" He stomped on the weeping man, "MY BROTHER!? MY FATHER! MY MOTHER AND MY FRIENDS!" Arthur was seeing nothing but red, he wanted to kill something and the man in front of him was the closest thing.

"YOU FUCKING AMERICANS THINK YOU CAN HURT WHOEVER YOU WANT, BUT NOT ANYMORE! YOU KILLED THE WRONG BRIT THIS TIME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" the Englishman climbed on top of the bleeding, cowering man and began to punch him as hard as he could. "YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST KIDNAP PEOPLE!?" He swung. "YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST SEPARATE MY FAMILY?!" He swung again. "YOU THINK YOU COULD DESTROY... EVERYTHING I'VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR SINCE YOU BASTARDS CAME TO MY BLOODY HOME!" He swung again.

He was tired of punching, he needed to rid England of this menace. Arthur pulled his dagger out of his boot and raised it in the air, ready to rid his home of the American poison before him. "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! YOU FUCKING BASTARDS TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! Now I'll ask you again, where is Peter?!" tears rolled down the brit's face as he brought the knife down.

~~~~~~~ Wounded Knight~~~~~~~

Arthur awoke with an intense headache and a throbbing pain in his sides. What the hell happened? He looked around him and saw that he wasn't in the courtyard anymore, instead, he was in a huge room with velvety blue curtains and white furniture. Where was he? Just then, the door opened and a man walked in. Arthur's vision was hazy and he couldn't make out the identity of the stranger. He was going to ask when the guest spoke.

"Artie, are you feeling alright?"

The brit swore loudly as he turned around on the bed to face the other direction. He really didn't want to deal with Alfred. Said American took a seat on the bed by Arthur's legs and hummed in annoyance. Humming, huh?

"Why do you hum so much?" the brit groaned. Speaking just made his headache worse, and he could feel his nerves exploding. He groaned even more, hands now rubbing his head as he tried to fight the pain. The prince just hummed again, shifting off of the bed. Before the brit could question what he was doing, he felt a cool hand touch his forehead. Arthur allowed it, seeing that protesting would only make the feeling worse.

"I would send a nurse in here, but they're all terrified of you." He mumbled softly, pulling the brit into a sitting position. Arthur whined, but he eventually gave in, seeing that there was no point in fighting. He leaned against the soft head board and sighed heavily, praying for relief. Alfred rubbed the brit's temples, an action the Englishman found quite endearing. He's nursing him back to health, how sweet.

"Why are they afraid of me?"

"Because, you almost killed one of the best guards this place has to offer. You had him crying and whimpering!" the American praised, but Arthur didn't find it cool, or impressive. Arthur had lost himself in a moment of insanity, the troubling news about his brother driving him over the edge. Those awful knights took his brother into the forest and left him, probably with no supplies and no means of survival. Arthur had forgotten to ask when this happened, but he knew it made no difference. Peter wouldn't have been able to survive 2 days out in the forest without shelter, the nights were freezing.

"Arthur what's wrong?" the prince asked, wiping the tears away from the brit's face. Arthur hadn't even noticed he was crying; the memory must have jogged his tears. If his brother was still alive, it would be almost impossible to find him, the forests of Britain being as wild as they are. So if Peter wasn't dead, he was fighting for his life with nothing, and Arthur didn't know which was worse.

"Alfred, I have to go." He sobbed, a flood of emotions suddenly bursting through. He shook violently, and when the prince pulled him into a warm embrace, Arthur sobbed into his chest. Arthur threw his arms around the other's neck, pulling him in closer. He felt as if his brain was pushing towards the front of his skull, the pressure wanting to pop his eyes out. He cried out in pain, physical and emotional, coughing into the bend of his arm.

"Arthur, you can't leave." The Alpha said softly, holding onto the coughing man. The Englishman was a mess; his composure gone to reveal a sick shell of himself. Arthur shook his head wildly, looking into the prince's eyes.

"I need to find my brother. Your men abandoned him in the forest, he needs me to find him, he needs help!"

"NO ARTHUR, YOU NEED HELP!" the prince yelled, pulling away slightly to get a better view of the brit. The Englishman shook his head dumbly, not responding. "Your nose is runny, and you're coughing up blood. Arthur, you're not well, and I cannot let you go. Not like this." The American tried to reason, wiping some blood off of the brit's chin. "In a few hours, I'm going to bring you to the fortress healer. I don't care if you think you're okay, you're going. And then afterwards, I'll find out what happened to your brother."

Arthur was seeing black spots in his vision, the only thing remaining clear was the dark blue eyes of the man in front of him. Alfred pulled him back into his embrace and hummed softly, the noise oddly soothing. He fell limp against his friend, losing consciousness.