You all can be my darlings and I think I should like to marry each and every one of you and become a polygamist ;3

Seriously, though. I hadn't expected to get the praise I did and it makes me oh so very happy. I thought I'd be terrible since this is my first historical fic, and I thought people might tear into me for the slightest inaccuracy but...I suppose I was wrong. And I'm glad I was wrong. XD Oh whatever made me deserving of your lovely reviews?

I, um, don't have anything to say which is surprising considering just how long the previous author's note was. Ahaha. I don't have any more history lessons for you at the moment but perhaps in the future if it's at all necessary.

For now, read on and prepare yourself for possibly detailed mentions of torture~!

...And the sadist in me surfaces. -sigh-

Read on~

II.

From the Blood of the Toiling

What day was it today?

Arthur couldn't quite recall and it was so hard to keep track of time in here sometimes. Was it Thursday? Friday? Saturday? He knew it wasn't Sunday since there was no work on that day, at least. Thank goodness for religion.

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly, shivering slightly as he moved to change into his uniform that rested at the end of his barrack, folded neatly.

The uniform itself was nothing special; it was dark, shapeless, and just as dreary looking as everything was in the workhouse. Additionally, it was just the slightest bit too big for him so even when he buttoned the collar up as high as it would go, a large portion of his neck and the junction between his neck and shoulder remained more visible than he would have liked. However, complaining about trivial things were not in his nature and would quite possibly land him in a good amount of trouble. He didn't relish the thought of being locked away without food. The meals here were small enough as it was.

He stretched his stiff and tired muscles in an attempt to warm his body up. It was work, work, and work again today. Not that Arthur ever expected some miraculous change in schedule. He hoped vaguely it was the bones again, he had gotten quite good at that. The smell, however, did take some getting used to and occasionally made some of the newer people ill. Vomit certainly didn't add to the pleasant aroma of the workrooms, that was for certain. Plus some rather irate staffers would have to drag the ill worker away, swearing under their breath all the while.

Arthur was always strangely tempted to laugh at moments like this. And he'd never been made ill by the stench before, mind you. He had a slightly stronger stomach than that, though he did recall having food poisoning at one point or another. That was far from an enjoyable experience and he was unsurprised to find the master feeling a bit bitter toward him for skiving off work. What else was he to do, vomit all over the stones they were supposed to have been breaking? Not a chance. However he must have given the master some kind of 'defiant glare' for the whip caught him on the neck, leaving a welt there that still hadn't faded completely. From that moment on, Arthur knew to be careful with the food and not eat too much too quickly and resolved to practice a perfect blank and 'submissive' expression.

But ah, the 'master'. Or the 'governor', call him what you will, but he was a demon wearing human skin. That was what many workers believed, and whispered as such behind his back.

The man's name was Oscar Donovan, or Lord Oscar Donovan if you please. He was tall and broad shouldered, with an angular head much like a serpent's. His eyes were sharp, beady, and calculating, the eyes of a predator who was more than prepared to strike. His dark hair was kept closely cropped though his beard was longer, straggling from his somewhat pointed chin. He had the thinnest lips Arthur had ever seen, and when he smiled, it looked more like a sneer.

Though in all honesty, his wife was no better. Patsy Donovan at first appeared to be a kindly woman, but it was really all a farce. As Arthur had learned from experience, she was more than a bit evil and loved manipulation. Her image mattered hugely to her so she never often revealed her true self to anyone. However, if you were to get on her bad side and wind up receiving punishment, perhaps you were better off receiving punishment of the physical kind from Lord Donovan. Her smooth, curved figure and haughty, calculating eyes were pretty at first, but fairly wicked upon closer inspection. Her hair hung in flouncy little ringlets about her pallid, prominent cheekbones.

The Donovans were undoubtedly a handsome couple. That much was unquestionable; how else would they have received the role of master and matron here? They were charming, flattering in a way that made your skin tingle and left you wondering exactly what had just given you the chills. For when Arthur first arrived, they were nothing but sweet to him. Almost sickly sweet, in fact, like rotting fruit doused with honey.

Arthur was clever, though, and had the good fortune of being able to read people fairly well. His father had always told him that reading someone was important, especially in business; you could tell what someone was plotting if you looked deeply enough into their eyes.

The eyes of the Donovans were cold, dark pits, just daring one to gaze too deeply into them so they could be swallowed whole.

In all honesty, it was wisest to avoid the Donovans at all costs. They were simply not worth dealing with, especially when dealing with them in the first place left you in for a world of hurt.

Arthur filed out of the barracks along with the other male workers, each and every one of them looking haggard and worn down. That was simply life here, Arthur supposed. He was sure he didn't look much better, but he didn't particularly want to look at himself to find out. Besides, it wasn't like he had anyone to look good for, so what was the point in bothering?

He jumped as someone clapped him on the shoulder from behind, startling him out of his thoughts. He was generally alone among the workers, having no one to talk to since he was once rich and didn't know the poor very well. Even during his time on the streets he never really socialized; he was too busy worrying whether he would live to see the next day.

He turned to glance back at Alfred, biting back an exasperated sigh. He did this every morning. Arthur was surprised it still startled him anymore. However, he was rather absorbed in his own thoughts, as he was wont to do...

"Something wrong, Artie?" He whispered jokingly, eyes flashing with faint amusement as he took in Arthur's expression.

Arthur only scowled in response, furrowing his impressive eyebrows. "You really ought to stop doing that. If Donovan sees us then we'll both wind up at the whipping post or some other equally as terrible punishment."

Alfred only grinned in response. "No worries, we wouldn't get caught. I promise." He clapped him on the shoulder just before a few staff members walked by, eying them critically before moving on down the row, making sure everyone was present and heading to the dining area for breakfast.

Arthur could only sigh at that. He hadn't regretted introducing himself to Alfred on that day, not in the least, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into at the time. Alfred was the sort who loved socializing and seemed to especially love bothering Arthur. It flat out amused him, if that stupid grin on his face was any indication. Though Alfred did get on his nerves more often than not, Arthur couldn't deny he was grateful for the company. Most of the other male workers there were a good deal older than him and already had friends of their own to talk with. Plus, Arthur knew full well he wasn't the most social of people and didn't exactly make good company. What he really wondered, though, was exactly why Alfred wanted to talk to him at all. Arthur was boring and stuffy and not very nice while Alfred was sociable, encouraging, and easy to talk to. They were quite literally polar opposites.

"Tell that to Donovan's whip." Arthur muttered after the man had passed by, his obsidian eyes glinting in the dim lighting. Of course, the master wasn't without his favorite toy; it was coiled at his hip and he kept a hand on it at all times.

Alfred smirked. "I'll be sure to next time I get whipped."

Arthur groaned inwardly. "Honestly, don't say things like that. With winter coming up sore and bleeding is the last thing you'll want to be. It would be stupid of you to tease Donovan in any way and you know it." Or so he said, but he sincerely just didn't want to see Alfred hurt. He'd seen others come back from Donovan's punishment, and it wasn't pretty. They usually wound up in beds for a while and the sound of Donovan's whip cracking would forever terrify them. Arthur didn't know what their cruel master did to the 'misbehaving' workers, but whatever it was, it didn't only leave physical scars.

As they lined up for their food, Alfred spoke up again, shaking his head slowly. "Donovan doesn't scare me. He shouldn't scare anyone. He's just another official with a whip, and without it he's just about as cowardly as anyone else."

Arthur shot a furtive glance around the room as he was served gruel - again - before hissing back at Alfred in response. "That's not the point. It's likely Donovan won't ever lose his whip, you idiotic prat, so I suggest you stop trash-talking him in an area as public as this one."

The other only shook his head again, a small smile curling at his lips as he took his food, not making a face at the sickly goop as it was served to him. "Like I said, I'm not afraid of him and you shouldn't be either, Artie."

Arthur only groaned and shook his head as they sat, careful to avoid chafing their bottoms against the rough wooden benches. He couldn't figure out whether the fool was brave or idiotic. It was hard to tell most of the time, though Arthur was leaning toward the latter.

Alfred was surprisingly silent as they ate; the only sound present was the faint clink of his spoon against his bowl as he scooped the gruel. His silence made Arthur a bit wary, fearing he was planning something that would undoubtedly be completely stupid and land one or the both of them in heaps of trouble.

Even as they finished eating and headed to the work area, Alfred was still silent, a pondering look on his face. This further reinforced Arthur's feeling that he was planning something. But what could it be? In all the short time he'd known Alfred, he had never once remained quiet for such a long period by now. The silence coming from his normally loud friend made him a little nervous, to say the least.

It wasn't until they were well into their working hours that he finally spoke up.

"Say, Arthur." he said, his tone thoughtful. His eyes hadn't moved from his work but his eyebrows were furrowed as if he were still thinking about something.

"Er, yes?" Arthur paused briefly before resuming work just before Donovan passed by, pitch colored eyes observing them haughtily before moving on, fingers toying with the hilt of his whip.

Alfred exhaled heavily before speaking, his tone still thoughtful. "What do you think about...well, this?" He gestured vaguely around the room with the hand that held his hammer before going back to work, his eyes still not focused on Arthur.

Arthur allowed his gaze to flicker briefly to Alfred before focusing back on the table. He frowned slightly. "That's quite a vague question, Alfred."

Alfred shook his head slowly, eyelids lowering slightly. "I guess it is. But I guess what I mean is...what do you think of the workhouse as a whole?" His eyes watched for Arthur's reaction out of the corners of his eyes.

He could only blink at the question, pausing briefly in his work once again. "What do I think about them? I guess they're...nice." He replied flatly. He didn't think the workhouses were nice in the least, of course. Well, he didn't really know how other workhouses were, but this one was anything but 'nice'. It was built on lies and greed.

At his reply, Alfred only snorted. "Nice, right. What do you really think?"

Arthur let out a shaky breath as he thought about his true answer for a moment. "It is quite literally something like a pit of Hell before a patch of hopeful meadow; everyone sees it, everyone knows it's there, but no one knows what it's really like or even cares to look into it because why does it matter? It's just a pit. However those who want to reach the meadow slip into the pit without even realizing what they've gotten themselves into. And the climb out is not very simple. And somehow, when they do climb out, hoping for the meadow, it turns out it was all just an illusion in the distance."

Alfred whistled lowly. "That's deep. You're pretty good with words."

Arthur laughed coolly at that. "Oh yes, like it does me much good in here."

The other smiled slightly and shook his head. "Hah, well, at least I got to hear it. You should come up with poetry or something, I have no doubt you'd be good at it."

His ears pinked slightly at Alfred's praise. "O-oh? Ahaha, w-well it's like I...I mean it's not as if I ever would have c-considered doing something like that anyway, I'm not all that good at all, haha..." Arthur realized he sounded completely idiotic and cut off his rambling.

Alfred only chuckled faintly and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. "Don't demean yourself; I'm sure if it's you, you can do it."

Arthur felt something strangely warm in his chest surface at the words (which was odd considering that it was anything but warm in here) and found them repeating themselves in his head as he worked. If it's you, if it's you...

The five hours or so of working had finally passed, and Arthur found himself and Alfred heading off for supper, both somewhat tired already. However, neither of them had time for being a little worn out so they made themselves stick it out, knowing there was no room for weariness here.

Arthur was more or less silent as he ate, only half listening to Alfred's incessant chatter. He talked far too much for his own good sometimes.

"Hey Arthur, are you listening?"

"Hm?" Arthur jerked out of his thoughtful state, turning to Alfred. "What is it?"

Alfred only laughed and shook his head. "Nevermind. You seem kinda out of it."

"Hm, I suppose I was just...pondering things. I lose myself in my thoughts sometimes...memories...things that make me feel older than I am." He sighed.

Alfred seemed amused by that. "Maybe that's because you are an old man?"

At this, Arthur sputtered indignantly. "Why, I - ! I am most certainly not an old man, I'll have you know! I'm barely older than twenty!"

He should have known just to pass it off as another piece of Alfred's stupidity, because as soon as Alfred saw his reaction, Arthur knew he wouldn't stop bothering him about it. He groaned inwardly Damn.

"Aha, really? How much is 'barely' to you? Thirty years? Fifty years?"

Arthur sputtered again, dropping his spoon lightly back into his bowl before turning to Alfred, eyes alight. "Now you see here - "

But before Arthur could finish, Donovan entered the hall, causing a hush to fall across the room as the workers slowly noticed who was now present. This was most certainly not a good sign; Donovan almost never appeared at their mealtimes unless there was an announcement or if he wanted to take someone away for whatever reason.

His books clicked on the floor as he walked, echoing off the walls. Arthur swallowed heavily; he seemed to be amused by something, judging from the small, sneering smile upon his face. A happy Donovan was generally in a good mood only if it meant something bad for them or someone among them.

Donovan proceeded down the rows of tables, his eyes sweeping the room. He was definitely looking for someone. But who? The workers remained tight-lipped and silent, and some had visibly paled. When he stopped by their table and began to walk down their side, Arthur could have sworn his heart was in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He felt as though the supper he'd just eaten was about to come right back up.

He stopped just behind the two of them, appraising the backs of their heads with calculating eyes.

"You. You, come with me." He'd gestured to Alfred who's eyes widened in shock before he struggled to compose himself.

"Yes, sir?" Alfred asked lightly, turning to face him and keeping his face carefully blank. His hands were clenched into faintly trembling fists.

"You heard me, did you not? Come, rise and follow me. At once."

Alfred rose slowly, eyes flicking over to meet Arthur's stunned ones. He gazed for a moment as if trying to convey something before turning his head and wordlessly following Donovan out of the hall. It wasn't until several moments after the doors had slammed shut that the usual talk that filled the hall started up again, somehow sounding just a bit more nervous and wary than they had before Donovan's appearance.

Arthur scooted his tray away, burying his face in his arms. What had happened? Why Alfred? What could he have done? Arthur had been with him nearly all day, there was no way anything could have happened that would required Donovan to take him away. He wracked his brains but came up with nothing. What was it? What?

He glanced up briefly at the food that lay before him, feeling more nauseous than hungry. He could only pray now that Alfred came out of whatever Donovan was planning to do to him without too many scars.

And not only the physical kind; the emotional kind could sometimes be a thousand times worse and never heal. Arthur knew Alfred had a strong spirit and wasn't the sort to become cynical because something happened to him, but Arthur worried nonetheless.

Alfred was his only friend here and there was no denying Arthur cared for him much more than he probably should have. Much more than he really needed to, but at the same time, he wanted to need Alfred. And that was just far too dangerous, so he squelched such a thought before it had time to sink in properly.

He could only hope with all his soul that Alfred's suffering would somehow not be too terrible. If there was a God, Arthur would have gotten to his knees and prayed until all the breath left his lungs if he could, but there was nothing he could do but wait and hope. And hope was not something Arthur was very good with.

Alfred never returned for work, nor did he return for dinnertime.

As he sat by himself, merely picking at his food, Arthur was positively beside himself with worry. Alfred had been gone for so long that he didn't know what to think anymore. What if Donovan had killed him and made it look like an accident? He had no doubt the greasy bastard could do it. Anything was possible if one had money, which he was sure Donovan had more than enough of from running the workhouse. He frowned in disgust. And to think, he'd been no different...

No, no. He had been different. He only wished he had been even more different from someone like Donovan. The rich were all more similar than any of them would ever admit.

Dinner passed uneventfully and they were sent back to their rooms, the workers more than ready to sleep after such a day.

Arthur, however, was unsurprised that he couldn't sleep and tossed and turned, wishing that he could. Perhaps then he would stop worrying about Alfred. Just as he closed his eyes, ready to give sleeping another try, he heard footsteps in the hall, causing his eyes to snap open. He was already so high strung after today that he thought any more surprises would make him snap.

He sat up slowly, glancing around at his room mates. They were all soundly asleep, taking advantage of what time they did have to rest.

Careful to be quiet, Arthur slowly turned and slid out of bed, hissing slightly as his feet touched the icy floor. He padded quietly to the door and slipped out into the hall, squinting into the darkness. There were no staffers wandering the halls; they tended to stop their watch an hour or so after bedtime.

However, there was someone just down the hall there, leaning against a wall.

Arthur swallowed and pressed on. It couldn't be a staff member, right? He was sure to get in some kind of trouble if it was. As he approached, however, he realized that it was no staffer at all - it was Alfred.

Eyes widening, he dashed forward to meet him, whispering his name. "Are you alright?" He reached out hesitantly to put his hands on the other's shoulders; however, Alfred hissed in response, causing Arthur to withdraw his touch immediately.

"Arthur," He whispered hoarsely, "it's you..."

"Y-yes it's me, you bloody fool, what happened - ?" he was cut off as Alfred leaned forward, using Arthur was a support.

"Good thing it's you." He snorted lightly at that. "That's all."

Arthur frowned. "Afred, what happened to you?" He kept his arms stiffly at his sides, not wanting to touch Alfred in case he touched somewhere that would only hurt him.

He could feel the other shaking his head against him. "...Tell you tomorrow. Could you...could you help me back to my bed...?"

Arthur murmured his consent as he allowed Alfred to lean against him, guiding Alfred to where his room was. Careful not to awaken Alfred's room mates, he slipped in, guiding Alfred to his bed and anxiously helping him lie down, watching as the other winced and lay on his stomach instead of his back.

"Thanks..." He breathed, drifting off into sleep immediately after.

Even after he was sure he was asleep, Arthur stood there for a moment, hesitantly touching his hair. What happened to him? He couldn't know and only hoped that Alfred would tell him the whole story. But Arthur was no fool; he had a fairly good idea as to what had happened to him.

He left wordlessly for his own room shortly after, not falling asleep for some time. When he did, however, it was restless and he found himself waking up constantly until it was nearly time to rise.

Today was Sunday. Therefore it was safe to assume that yesterday had been Saturday, or so Arthur figured. Thank the Lord for Sundays.

When they awoke, the first thing the workers did was have a prayer session before breakfast. As he stood in line among the others, Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder, making him jump slightly as he turned, figuring he already knew who it was.

His mouth fell open. Oh it was Alfred alright, but he looked...

Well, he looked miserable. 'Miserable' and 'Alfred' were two words that should never be used together, not ever.

"Alfred?" Arthur whispered in surprise, looking him over.

He had huge bags under his eyes and a rather stark cut on his cheek, but other than that he was mostly normal. The way he held himself was a bit strange...he seemed to hobble slightly and walk while slightly hunched over.

He gave a tired smile. "That's me."

"You...what in the name of..."

"Later, Artie."

"But - "

"Later." He said shortly, shooting Arthur a look that made him fall silent and nod in agreement. Satisfied, Alfred gave him another tired smile and didn't say another word.

As much as Alfred's constant talking could be annoying, strangely enough, Arthur almost wished he would just start rambling again. Seeing Alfred like this was simply too strange to put into words. It pained him to see.

With a resigned sigh, he faced forward again and headed off to their prayer sessions with a heavy heart and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing.

Try as he might, his mind continued to stray until he gave up praying altogether, letting his thoughts drift to Alfred instead.

What exactly had happened to Alfred? That was the big question. Since it was Donovan, it was likely his whip; of that, Arthur had no doubt. However, his suspicions that Donovan inflicted more than physical wounds was almost undeniable now. A simple whipping wouldn't make Alfred so subdued; chances are if it was just that he would brag about it until Arthur's ears would bleed.

Arthur barely even noticed when the prayers had ended until Alfred was tugging on his sleeve, causing him to rise with a start and follow everyone out into the dining hall. Since today was Sunday, there would be no work after breakfast and the rest of the day would be for prayers and rest. Thank goodness for Sundays, really.

He almost immediately turned to Alfred, his stare demanding. Alfred was silent for a moment before turning to meet Arthur's gaze with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't relent. And he was damn right. Arthur wouldn't stop pestering him about it until he knew the whole story.

"Look, Artie...I don't really want to tell you but you're obviously not giving me a choice. I think you have a pretty good idea of what happened, so I don't know why you're bothering to ask. If I seem out of character it's because I'm tired, and that's all."

"If you were just tired you wouldn't act like this." Arthur said lowly.

"What?"

"I said, being tired doesn't change a person's character to this extent and you know it. What happened to you, Alfred? What did Donovan do?" He gaze burned into Alfred's refusing to give up.

"I don't understand why you want to know so badly." He said hollowly.

"You want to know why? I care about you, you imbecile." He snapped. "Stop evading the subject and just tell me. Do you have any idea how worried about you I was?" Realizing then what he had just said, he tried to backpedal. "I, ah, when I say I 'care' about you, I mean...and I wasn't that worried, you see, I was just...that is, well, I was only - "

Alfred snorted at the typical response. "Fine, I get it. Stop babbling, I'll tell you."

Arthur blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, since you 'care' about me, or rather, you don't care, right?" He asked teasingly. He even smiled, though it was still a very tired smile.

Arthur's jaw fell open a little and he flushed faintly. "I-I thought I made it q-quite clear that I wasn't - I mean, I was, but I didn't - "

Alfred held up a hand with a faint chuckle. "I got it, Artie. Just finish eating and I'll talk to you about this elsewhere."

Frowning and still flushing faintly, Arthur pushed his embarrassment aside and focused on thinking about what Alfred would soon tell him. This made him eat more quickly than he usually would have, and he nearly jumped up when Alfred stood, following him out of the dining hall and back to their rooms.

Alfred headed into his own room, of course, and Arthur followed, if only a bit hesitantly. He was especially hesitant when Alfred had him sit on his bed next to him. There was no denying that he found Alfred attractive, and sitting next to him on his bed like this was downright uncomfortable. But again, Arthur pushed aside his momentary emotions and steeled himself before turning to face Alfred, waiting patiently for him to start telling.

"Well, it happened something like this," He said, and began speaking.

Alfred had never been so unnerved in his entire life. The look on Donovan's face was downright creepy and he knew he was about to find out exactly why he was so cheery.

Donovan led him down a series of halls, the sound of his boots hitting the floor echoing off the walls and making the sounds louder than they really were. The halls from here on were dimly lit, and Alfred could only wonder vaguely at where they were going.

"Do you know what you're in for, boy?" Donovan asked after a moment, glancing back at Alfred.

"Er, um...no, sir."

"Really?" He sounded amused by that fact. "No idea in the least?"

"No, sir." Alfred repeated, frowning now. This was probably going to turn out badly for him.

The rest of the walk was silent until they reached a door that Donovan had to unlock with a key, ushering Alfred in first and closing and locking the door behind the both of them. The clicking of the lock was a dreadfully ominous sound.

"Say, boy. What do you call a person who disgraces the name of someone who should be considered superior?"

"I...I don't know, sir."

"You don't know much, do you boy." Donovan's voice was amused as he unhooked his whip from his belt, stroking the coils tenderly. "No matter. I shall educate you shortly."

He then shifted his gaze back to Alfred, a small smile upon his thin lips. "To the post. At once."

It was then Alfred noticed the post. It was just a little wooden thing, worn and rough and covered with shadowy splotches that Alfred was sure were bloodstains.

Reluctantly, he did as Donovan asked, moving to stand in front of it. it barely reached his chest.

"On your knees, boy." He said slowly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Alfred did as he was asked just as Donovan came around and tugged on the shirt of his uniform. "Off with this, boy. That is, unless you wish to destroy one of the few pieces of clothing you own."

Swallowing heavily, Alfred did as he was asked and tossed his uniform shirt to the side. Donovan nodded in approval before walking around the post and grabbing Alfred's wrists, fixing them in the manacles that dangled there.

"So let's talk first. You know what will happen to you here, but you don't know why, is that fair to say?" He asked, still sounding amused as if he knew something that Alfred didn't and really wanted to share.

"Yes, sir. That is true."

"Ah, indeed, indeed." He paused for a moment, stroking his beard and pacing. "I shall inform you then, Mr...ah, Mr. Jones, was it? No matter. Do you recall what happened yesterday?"

Alfred frowned, wondering where he was going with this. "There was work yesterday, sir..."

"As there is every day spare Sunday." Donovan cut him off impatiently. "Do you not recall saying a particular something? Perhaps something relating to my wife?"

"I, er..." Alfred frowned. He always said things about them, he couldn't remember one in particular. He wasn't quite foolish enough to say such a thing aloud, however.

"You called my wife a harlot." He said calmly, unfurling his whip from the coil. The sound of it hitting the floor made Alfred twitch slightly.

"Did I, sir?" Alfred asked, keeping his voice calm though his heart was thumping crazily.

"Yes, you did. Mind you, I do not take kindly to that sort of talk about my darling wife."

"I...if I said anything, then I apologize, sir." The words tasted terrible on his tongue; if he ever said anything about him or his wife, it was no more than what they deserved.

"Apologies only get you so far, my boy. And unluckily for you, a simple apology most certainly is not enough to ease your offense."

Alfred was silent, staring at the wood post and bracing himself for what was to come.

"You know, I was wondering something." Donovan walked forward a few steps, his whip dragging alongside him before he paused. "You have a friend here, do you not? What was his name...Mr. Kirkland?"

He swallowed at this. Why was he bringing up Arthur?

"You seem awfully close. Is there a chance that you are closer than friends?" He asked in an offhanded matter, though the calm sounded like it was forced.

"We are nothing more than friends, sir." Alfred replied honestly. What did his friendship with Arthur have anything to do with calling Patsy Donovan a harlot? His mind whirled, but he came up with nothing that could possibly relate the two. Arthur never said a word aloud about the couple since he was smart and knew how to avoid trouble. Alfred, apparently, did not.

"Is that so? I don't believe it. I think you, Jones, are a sodomite."

Alfred nearly choked on his saliva at the word. Him, a sodomite? That couldn't be, it certainly couldn't be. It wasn't true, he knew it wasn't. Why would Donovan even imply such a thing?

"Since you are clearly a sodomite, then I have no choice but to punish you in the Lord's name, correct? Why don't you even think about lewd things while I whip you, hm? Maybe your mind can be cleansed of such filthy thoughts."

Donovan walked up behind him, trailing the tip of the whip down his back and causing Alfred to shiver. He wanted him to think about...what? His thoughts were out of control, he couldn't think straight. He could only wonder what, why, how could he be accused of something like that?

"Liking the same gender is a grave sin according to the bible. You will fall deeply into Hell, I'm sure, as will your friend. However, though I find you to be a repulsive example of a man, Jones, I rather like your friend Kirkland. Taint him any further and you will find that your punishment now will be far worse."

It was then the whipping begun.

The tip bit into his back, leaving stinging in its wake. The man his as hard as he can right off. Of course, Donovan was that sort of man.

He continued to whip, but Alfred refused to wince until it really bit in, causing him to cry out. The leather tip had cut more deeply into his skin than he would have imagined and he felt a faint trickle of warm blood slide down his back and fall to the floor. He heard Donovan pause in order to chuckle before he continued with what he was doing, the whip cutting just a little deeper each time.

Though he made sure to hit him mostly everywhere, Donovan seemed to like hitting the same wounds, making sure they became deeper and deeper and bled quite nicely. When Donovan stopped, Alfred's entire back felt like it was on fire, but he still refused to cry out.

"Brave one, aren't you?" Donovan laughed and Alfred heard as the whip was tossed aside. "Strong men like you are admirable, Jones, but foolish as well." He heard Donovan's footsteps get closer before he saw Donovan standing before him, holding in his hands a simple carving knife.

"I haven't sharpened this knife in some time, so I think it will do quite nicely. I'm sure you think so as well, boy?"

Alfred didn't have the energy to respond. He only stared at that blade wearily, causing Donovan to laugh. "I suppose I shall take that as a silent agreement. You see, I thought it might be nice if I were to leave you more than some scars as a reminder. I get the feeling you wouldn't learn your lesson at all if I did something like that. So what if I were to give you a marking? Perhaps if I cut it into you with this knife? How would you like that, Jones?" His smile was most definitely a sneer.

He walked around Alfred for a moment, twirling the knife between his fingers, a thoughtful look on his face until he finally stopped. "Turn around, Jones."

Alfred turned his head warily, eyes meeting Donovan's dark and dangerous ones for just a moment. "I think here will do nicely." He tapped the left side of Alfred's stomach, seeming pleased as he crouched down, knife point resting on his skin before he began to cut.

He did it slowly, digging in deep and dragging it down bit by bit. "My, blunt knives truly are so difficult to cut with." He turned the knife a bit, causing Alfred to bite his lip to keep from crying out in surprise. That hurt. This damn knife hurt. Amused, Donovan carried on, dragging the tip down to his hip bone, leaving a jagged and bleeding line in its place.

"Lovely, isn't it?" He chuckled, amused as he lifted the knife and cut another line, vertically across and near the top of the first line. Alfred felt every moment of it and tried his absolute hardest not to flinch, not to struggled, not to cry out or even give the slightest moan of pain. Finally, Donovan had finished, and pulled the knife away to examine his handiwork. Alfred felt the fresh blood from this cut leak and actually stain the side of his trousers this time.

"I think this shall do for today." He said, reaching over to pat Alfred's cheek before smirking sadistically and swiftly adding a cut to Alfred's cheek, causing him to gasp. Donovan finally pulled away with a satisfied smile, undoing the manacles and tossing Alfred's shirt as him as if it were a filthy piece of garbage.

"Cover up and go to bed. I expect you'll be tired." Donovan smiled coldly before grabbing the whip and knife before leaving the room, leaving the door open behind him.

Only once he was gone did Alfred let himself truly feel the pain, curling in on himself and shaking terribly.

The silence in the room now was tangible, and Alfred was gazing at the floor. "...After that I put my shirt back on and left. My side stopped bleeding after a while, luckily, but I was exhausted. I barely made it to the barracks, and I was sure I wasn't being very quiet while walking, but then you found me, so...that's all." He kept his gaze fixedly on the floor.

Arthur was shocked into silence. He was...he was accusing Alfred of being a sodomite? I'm the damn sodomite, not him.

"Alfred..."

He didn't look up. Arthur took a deep breath.

"Can...can I see it?" His voice trembled as he asked, and his question was breathy and quiet, almost as if he didn't really want to ask and felt embarrassed about asking it.

Alfred looked up at him, confusion evident in his eyes. He swallowed several times before speaking. "Why?"

Arthur shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. "I...It's just...this is partly my fault. I want to see...that's all." He felt his cheeks coloring faintly in humiliation. Of course Alfred wouldn't want to show him, not after being accused of being a bloody sodomite. That was quite the sin to be accused of.

"Fine."

Arthur blinked, looking up at Alfred in surprise. "Fine?"

"Fine." He repeated, and began to slowly, carefully lift the shirt from himself, letting it fall to the bed beside him. Arthur could only look in in horror.

Alfred's entire back was covered in bloody welts. They looked as if they had been cleaned though, so it was safe to assume he had stopped to have them treated at some point. However, this fact did not make the sight any less horrifying. He had a number of littler welts, and ones that had cut a little into the skin, but some looked as if they had been gouged into his flesh by a rusty nail. They were jagged, dark, and deep and Arthur didn't want to look at those for too long.

Then was his side.

Right there, reaching from the bottom of his ribcage to his hip was a crudely cut cross, the deepness of the cuts quite evident. With shaking fingers, he reached to grab Alfred's arm, holding on lightly. Alfred frowned at this, confused.

"Arthur?"

Arthur jumped at the sound of his name. He had lost himself for a moment. He steadied his breath before rising from the bed and moving to stand before Alfred. "When did you get those treated?"

"Ah, I guess I forgot to mention it. It was last night before I managed my way back here. It was a bit of an exhausting trip and I was lucky that there was still someone there to do something about it...Arthur, what's wrong?"

He wasn't sure what kind of expression was on his face. He normally didn't allow whatever kind of expression this was to even surface, but there it was. He couldn't take his eyes off Alfred's bewildered ones.

"Hey, look...it's not your fault. I don't blame you. Donovan's just making up reasons to punish me. I get the feeling he really dislikes me so I'm sure he was just looking for an excuse to do that for a while now. And I guess he happened to overhear something I said about his wife - which I'm not even sure is true, anyway - and figured that would be his reason."

"Th-that's not...oh, you bloody fool." Was all Arthur could even make himself say before he reached out and pulled Alfred to him, gently holding his head against his chest. It had been something of an instinctive move, and though Alfred wasn't visibly bothered by it, he felt like he had to do it after hearing about his ordeal.

Alfred tensed beneath his hold, probably in shock, but slowly, slowly brought his arms up to wrap loosely around Arthur's middle, making his breath catch in his throat.

His arms were warm, Arthur noticed vaguely. Alfred was warm. He smelled of blood and sweat and something else that was probably particular to Alfred.

It was probably a foolish move, really. Was he losing his mind? But at that moment, Arthur found he didn't care, that he couldn't care, not when Alfred was so close and in his arms. Not when he felt his hair tickling his neck and his breath against his shirt.

Who was he kidding? He had certainly wanted to be this close to someone for a long time. Sodomy be damned, none of that mattered now and none of it would ever matter to him.

As he listened to the sound of Alfred's breathing, he felt that all was right, if only for the moment.

-falls to the ground-

This is the longest chapter I have written in my life and if you think I'm lying...well, I'm not. I don't have too much to say about this chapter other than the fact that it was a bitch to write and I was doing nothing but worrying about making them out of character and stuff. I think I'm so bad at keeping characters like them in character, argh! But I don't know how to change it...sorry.

So some stuff about the master and matron have been revealed. More on the matron next chapter, probably. And btw, the Donovan's aint ugly or anything. It might sound that way, but the point is they're a handsome couple. They look beautiful and nice and stuff but the point was that their eyes hold their true nature. I feel like I didn't make it clear or anything.

Oh, and one more thing. I have another USxUK story, it's called The Golden Butterfly and I'd love you to pieces if you would be so kind as to check it out sometime.

Well, that's all. My hands are tired from way too much typing, ugh.

I hope you'll review! Feedback is love.