(An Alternate telling of how England met America. I watched too much The New World with Colin Firth)
After months on a ship the men had found him a good omen. His hair was the same golden color as the stones they had come to find within the earth. He brought smiles to his mens' haggard faces over the next few days as he cautiously peeked around trees and crept in bushes to get a better look at these strange men. He was young, barely entering the first years of his boyhood, clad in the hides of animals his bare chest tanned golden from the sun a glow of wonder always shining in his eyes. Blue...bright like the sky.
He attempted to pick up one of the heavy helms of the soldiers, falling over from its weight the men laughed and the boy smiled.
England tried to teach him to speak as the boy often chattered in strange languages, always changing to the point he wasn't sure it was a language at all. The British man would point to the sky and the cloud covered orb above then look to him expectantly as the boy lay on a grassy bed sleepily,
"Keshowse."
"Sun."
The boy tipped his head curiously and said again, "Piisim...Kiilhswa."
England shook his head, "Sun."
His eyes lit with understanding as he smiled, "Sun."
The winter was harsh, the cold air taking away what little food they had managed to grow, their clothes no match against the North American winds. The boy came, clad in the furs of beasts twice his size and when he saw their state he left and returned with more people like him all whom spoke in the strange tongue. With them they brought furs and food, England gave them kettles and beads, gunpowder in exchange. At night the boy remained in the town and during the coldest evenings he would lay close to England, his tan body naked in the soft light. No shame, no knowledge that such things were improper England felt his heart soften as he let the warm body into his arms.
Winter changed to Spring and still no workers. The ships brought only useless nobles who wished to spend their days mucking about in the dirt and sand for gold that only existed in the their minds and in the boys hair. Playing the surf of the bay he pointed far out to the horizon and looked at the older man,
"Where. You?"
He had begun to learn, the words that these strange men spoke.
"Ing-lend." he pronounced slowly, "Beyond the water."
"Be-ond..."
"Far."
"Ah...know." the boy grinned to show his understanding as he kicked a coming wave splattering water at the British man who with a grin of his own tossed off his shirt near his boots and picking up the giggling boy threw him into the sea.
"What is your name?"
"I am called "Keneu' " by some, it is...that bird, with the pale face?"
"Eagle."
"Yes. Sometimes I am called "Great Spirit"-Gitche Man'ito. I am this place. I am it's-" he furrowed his brow as he tried to find the words. Finally with a smile he got up from where he lay on the warm bear skins on the floor of England's cabin and crawled over to where he sat, reaching up he touched the bare skin that showed down the open V of his shirt. He tapped, a gentle rhythm. A heartbeat.
England smiled as he touched his hand, "I shall call you British America. America...Al-fred." he mused, "Alfred Kirkland."
"Am I yours?" the boys voice wavered slightly in some emotion the other didn't notice as he brought the hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the recently paling skin.
"Forever."
The native did not understand the word but the way the other caressed it in his mouth with a dark satisfied look in his eyes...he could not help but feel afraid.