A/N: This is story is really an aberration for me. It is not fluffy in the slightest, and actually is quite depressing. I'll be uploading a fluffy story simultaneously with this one so you may choose to skip over it if you'd like.
Title: Eternal Gratitude
Warnings: There is a method of torture in this story. I tried to not make it too descriptive, but still accurate. It's something that really was done to people in colonial America, and other places as well throughout history.
Summary: Alfred is called upon to protect a fellow citizen in colonial Boston.
"Alfred slow down! You know mother told us not to run in the streets, it tarnishes our reputation."
Matthew struggled to keep up with his brother's pace as they made their way through the cobbled streets of Boston. It was still early, about eight in the morning, and the sun was just coming up on the harbor.
"Aw come on, Matt! I'm hungry, and the bakery's already been open a few hours; we have to make sure they don't sell out!"
Alfred turned slightly to smile at his brother, but all he received in return was a disgruntled sigh. They were in the heart of town now, near the docks. A few streets ran perpendicular to where the ships were stationed, selling anything and everything the colonies had imported from England. Matthew noticed as his brother slowed down a bit, near the edge of a pier. There seemed to be a small crowd gathered near the water, and as Alfred ran into the fray, his brother followed right behind.
"Alfred, what's going o-"
"Matt, shh. Just listen."
The two brothers stood quietly amongst the horde and watched the spectacle unfolding before them. A ship owner was arguing with another man over something concerning the cargo.
"My good man, I demand you let me aboard your vessel to inspect its load. It is required in the name of the Empire, that all ships to and from the colonies go through customs."
Alfred recognized the man standing on the small wooden bridge connecting the merchant ship to the docks. His name was Arthur Kirkland; a customs official for the British government. It was his duty to ensure no smuggled goods got into the colonies, and for this reason, nearly everyone in Boston hated him. Alfred, being a patriot, did not approve of all the restrictions put in place on the thirteen colonies, but he recognized that Arthur was not to blame. He was simply the messenger of order, fulfilling a job enforced by the government which the colonies detested.
"I see no need for my vessel to be apprehended by this vile government, just as everything else has been!" the merchant ship owner seethed. "Have you no trust in me sir? Are we not both subjects of this Empire?"
The crowd which Alfred and Matthew had joined had grown drastically, and now contained nearly one hundred onlookers. Many of them cheered on the ship-owner, eager to side with anyone else who ostracized the government.
Matthew, the more apprehensive of the two brothers, sensed something was wrong.
"Alfred, I really think we should go before something serious happens."
His brother looked back at him with a small frown.
"But this is history in the making, Matt! Don't you want to watch as it happens?"
"Alfred, I'm really starting to worry that this might get dangerous. You've read the paper, I think it would be best if we g-"
"Sir, it is not for a matter of trust amongst ourselves that I cast doubt upon you. Yet, if you do not allow me to inspect the ship's cargo, I will have no choice but to apprehend you on the grounds of importing smuggled goods."
Arthur was an average man; not too tall, not too short. His blonde hair was plain, and there was nothing special about any single feature. Yet, he stood his ground against the merchant, and for that Alfred admired him.
The mob was getting a bit rowdy as they watched the scene from the docks; yelling and mocking Arthur. Matthew was pulling lightly at Alfred's dark blue coat, a silent request to leave. Alfred though was mesmerized at what was going on and refused to depart just yet.
"Is that so?" the ship owner had spoke again. He looked beyond the customs agent to the crowd gathered at the docks. "He calls me a smuggler when he in fact is the one importing all these blasted regulations!"
The crowd cheered, and Arthur half turned to see a large group of people blocking his only way of exit from the ship.
"He says he'll apprehend me? I say we apprehend him!"
The crowd went wild, and suddenly someone from within the mob shouted:
"Tar and feather the bastard!"
Arthur froze, his eyes wide as a million thoughts flew through his head. This wasn't how it was suppose to end; he was just doing his job.
"Alfred we have to go now!" Matthew screamed at his brother but Alfred too was immobilized. He watched as Arthur came unfrozen in time and tried to look for an escape route. There was none, so he took his chances and ran into the heart of the crowd.
"Get him!" someone yelled.
"Boil the tar! Pour it all over him!" shouted another.
"Strip him naked, let him burn!"
Running head first into the mob had been a terrible idea. Arthur had quickly been caught in the crowd that nearly tripled in size since the twins first arrived. Men were on his arms and legs, and everything from his waistcoat to his woolen socks were shredded as they dragged him up to the center square of town. Even completely exposed, Arthur continued to struggle against the grip the men had on him to no avail.
For a moment Alfred caught the look in Arthur's eyes of complete and utter despair, but still the young blonde could not move.
"Alfred! Come on!"
It didn't take long for some men to appear with a tin full of a boiling tar, and another young man came running into the square with a sack of down. The main merchant, with whom this event had started made his way down from his ship to the center of the square. He eyed Arthur victoriously and gave him a swift kick in the gut for good measure. He then turned to the crowd which was excited and continued to egg him on.
"My friends!" he said, and one of the men who had brought down the tar handed him the long wooden block that had been used to stir it. The merchant took it and eyed the end, still covered searing hot tar. "A toast to independence!"
Matthew had given up and fled, but Alfred watched on as the man took his wooden pole and slammed it against Arthur's bare skin. He saw the dark black liquid contrast against the pale skin, and he could almost feel the burning sensation across his own chest. But what hit Alfred, more than the sight of the torture was the sound. When the tar had made contact with Arthur's body he'd let out a cry of agony that struck Alfred to his core. It was such an intense shriek of anguish that it unstuck Alfred's feet, and caused him to run into the center of the square just as three men positioned the remaining tin of tar over Arthur's head.
"Stop this!"
Alfred was standing in the center of the square. He stood between much larger men and Arthur's ashen body, and though his heart beat furiously with fear, he continued to stand his ground.
He was waiting for someone to yell at him to go off and play, that this was no job for a child, but instead a crowd member called:
"That's Jones' son! Let's see what he has to say!"
The rest of the crowd looked at him expectantly, and the men holding the torture weapons put them down if only for a moment. Now more than ever, Alfred thanked God for the fact that his father was an influential member of the Assembly, and most people associated his family name with the patriot cause.
He looked back for a second to see Arthur staring at him. His breathing was erratic as the tar stuck to his skin and contracted against his pores, but his eyes said everything. The fear and despair was still there, but Alfred could see the glimmer of hope and mostly gratitude. Alfred sent him a small reassuring smile and looked back at the crowd.
"Now, you know my father as a member of the Assembly, and one who fights for the patriot cause," the mob was silent, and Alfred struggled to not let his emotions get the best of him in this situation. "Because of that, I have been raised a patriot; I am in love with this land, and I advocate independence just as much as my father. But this," he paused and motioned to Arthur. "This is not the way to go about getting it! Is it not for the reason that the British government has done such horrid things to its colonists that we wish to break free in the first place? What good is it to mimic them with equally grisly actions?"
He paused momentarily, breathing hard and letting his argument sink in. He glanced back at the ship owner who still did not look pleased, but was less livid than before. The crowd had calmed, and Alfred sought out his chance to save a man's life. He knelt down to Arthur and swung his left arm over his shoulders. The green-eyed man was still having trouble moving and breathing from the tar, but he managed to stand with Alfred's support. Alfred directed his attention back to the crowd.
"We will gain independence from the Mother Country," he spoke assuredly and determined. "This land will be free for us, and for future generations, and we will be proud to call ourselves an independent nation.
But... until that time comes, this is not a way to express your resentment of the Empire. On our land of the free, no innocent man shall die."
Alfred swallowed and looked out at the mass of people in front of him. He had nothing left to say to them, and so he turned to the man he was supporting and whispered, "Can you walk?"
"Yes..." Arthur wheezed his answer. "With your support."
Alfred slipped off his coat and wrapped it around Arthur's bare shoulders. Some of the crowd had started to disperse, but much of it was simply still left in shock. Regardless, Alfred saw this as a prime chance to abscond.
"I'll take you to my home. My mother's a nurse and might be able to help you," Alfred said as the pair swiftly made their way out of the city, in spite of Arthur's limping.
"Thank you," Arthur replied, his speech and breathing only slightly improved.
"It's not a problem. Really, she always took care of me when I fell ill as a child and-"
"No, no not for that," Arthur spoke slowly as he turned his head and met Alfred's eyes. "Thank you... for saving my life."
Alfred saw that all the despair had vanished now, replaced completely with a mixture of thankfulness and security. He reflected on what he'd just done, as he'd really gone into it without thinking; it had felt like the right thing to do.
"You're welcome," Alfred finally decided on as he spoke softly. "One man should not fight a battle of nations."
Arthur smiled at him weakly and extended his hand. Alfred didn't quite understand, but he took it anyway.
"The best of luck to you in gaining independence," he shook firmly. " I hope the new country will be ruled by men with heart, just like you."
Alfred smiled gently back at the man who would forever evoke eternal gratitude.
"Thank you."