Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or Paranormal Activity 2, or Castaway. Or Venus and Adonis, or Greensleeves.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for the sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). Some mega fluff

AN: Hey! : D

Happy Easter!

Thank you for reading!

Waterdragon44—Poor Al, but better late than never, right? Arthur is determined for them to get along better this go around. IKR?! "Miri it is While Sumer Ilast" IS a super catchy song! Hunting for older music is a fun pastime of mine. ^_^

MythplacedLogic—Thank you for commenting on this. I find the themes of specialization and isolation, private lives and public lives, introverts and extroverts and ambiverts…and omniverts really fascinating. It'll be fun to see Alfred's magic blossom under new guidance/influence.

Amerikia—I hope your interview went well. I also hope your obsessive checking rewards you. :D I think you'll be pleased to know that there will be some good doses of fluff throughout. I'm glad you liked the "peak dad" vibes here. If that's your cup of tea, you'll probably like this fic. XD Thanks for the compliment—it's nice to think I'm offering some TLC to people with rough familial dynamics.

Time Traverser—Glad to hear it was welcome! Ugh! I have a grammar presentation tomorrow and an editing project to complete :P I'm almost halfway done. Shhh.

Yeah, I feel for Rhys, too. He's in a rough spot.

Enjoy! :DDD


Chapter 13: Am I What You Wished For?


Arthur was annoyed the next morning to find it still storming outside. Forget Camelot, it was his dreadful weather that was truly legendary.

He set a broom and a dustpan against the wall for later.

Alfred shuffled closer to the fireplace.

"Don't sit too near," he cautioned without turning.

"I'm cold" was the soft, petulant reply.

Arthur hid a smile. The child was recovering his spirits if he was able to pout.

Good.

Arthur went to the hearth, grabbed a ladle for the pot he had simmering, and poured some warm bone broth into a mug. "Here."

Alfred sat down as near to the fire as Arthur would allow. He took a careful sip. He warmed his fingers against the mug and mentioned that they'd been aching from the cold.

Arthur frowned. "Alfie, you need to tell me that. I have gloves for you. Have you gone through the bags at all? I packed things for you to-"

A hard boom of thunder interrupted Arthur. Another rumble made Alfred tremble.

"We're safe here, pet. Inside. I promise." Arthur poured himself a mug full of broth and sat down beside Alfred. "I wouldn't bring you to an unsound structure."

He wasn't Francis.

"I-I know."

He arched an eyebrow. "Well? What's the trouble then?"

"…" Alfred blew at his beverage to cool it.

Arthur waited a beat and then took a sip from his own mug and hummed in satisfaction at the taste. "You know, I might've found a loophole in this cooking hex? I can brew tea, therefore, I can make broth."

Alfred's mouth twitched with a smile and then he stared vacantly down into his mug. "I'm worried…I've taken a lot of help from you already and, once this paperwork goes through, I'll be taking even more of your time and resources. I don't know how long it'll take me to grow up this time. We didn't talk about it. Whether there ought to be a limit for you as my primary caregiver? I mean, what if you're stuck in this role for centuries!?"

Ha! O the horror! He willed himself to not be sarcastic.

America was young; he didn't realize he was conflating two roles: caregiving and parenting.

The caregiving could last as long as it needed to last.

The parenting would never end.

Instead, he replied, "Have you ever expected an invitation and didn't merit one?"

Alfred nodded. "…Yeah."

"Have you ever gotten things for someone and never had the chance to gift them?"

Alfred nodded and stared into the fire. "…Davie…"

Green eyes narrowed.

Arthur vaguely remembered the name and a dogged quest for a Forget-Me-Not.

Though, something in the tone suggested it hadn't panned out right. He'd need to ask, eventually; especially, if it meant…that the old Christmas ornament Arthur had kept for his colony wasn't associated positively. They could replace it with a daffodil if that was better.

Arthur gazed down into his mug. "Have you ever seen a happy family? And wished you had that?"

Alfred haltingly shared how he remembered watching tribespeople playing with their children and settlers playing with theirs and then concluding, "I didn't belong."

"I didn't belong either, poppet. Human children grow so fast. If I left for a campaign or a palace intrigue, I'd return and all was changed. No marbles and rounds of stick and hoop now, they were off and starting families of their own. I was relieved to find you. I expected time to move slower for us. I reveled in the thought. It shocked me to find you grown so soon. I grew disheartened. I didn't know how to meet that change then. I stepped back thinking you didn't need me anymore…and I lived on the far edge of your life and loathed the distance. I know better now. I've experienced more. I learned a lot as the others in my care grew. How the caring doesn't go away, it just transforms as it needs to."

"…" Alfred's expression suggested he was working on a math equation whose steps were difficult to follow.

Time for some easy answers.

"What I'm trying to say is, I'm glad to be where I am." Arthur looked up to hold the boy's gaze. "Right here. With you. Please don't talk about the time we spend together like it's ever a waste to me. It isn't."

Alfred flushed in a I'm-very-pleased-to-hear-that-but-you-are-ruining-my-argument-good-sir way and then said as much: "That's really nice and I appreciate that, but, dude…it could be centuries!"

Arthur beamed at the prospect.


Alfred unzipped more saddle bags containing food supplies and lined them up on a "pantry shelf" behind a row of canned foods.

Arthur was content to watch him rifle through it all as he calmly sipped a cup of tea.

There were apples, apricots, and peaches. There were dipping packets of caramel and honey.

There were Goldfish and cookies and jerky. There were crackers, chips, and fruit snacks. There were lots of instant and easy to make meals and dehydrated ingredients.

Of course there would be lemons and limes.

"No scurvy for us!" Alfred joked.

Arthur smiled.

Alfred cheered at the sight of peanut butter.

Arthur cut up an apple for them to share and slathered peanut butter on the pieces for Alfred.

The phonograph played Venus and Adonis and Arthur was pleased that Alfred was familiar with it.

Arthur wanted him to go through the other things he'd packed as well. He seemed content but watchful.

Alfred got a tingly sense of anticipation.

The items might've been his own but, after being parted for several months, it sort of felt like Christmas.

He had more clothes again! And new pairs of woolen socks!

He finally had his other stuffed animals back! He didn't know why but was immediately sure it would make reading and sleeping and passing time easier.

"Go on," Arthur encouraged. "There's a bit more."

There was a Bilbo-catcher, a diablo, a yo-yo, and a set of ninepins.

Arthur was…picking back up with him in a very literal sense.

Alfred's old set of ninepins had cracked and rotted in 1769 and Arthur had promised to replace them and forgotten.

And not too long after, Alfred was suddenly older and Arthur thought it a waste to buy him silly toys when a fancy suit and shoes would serve him better.

But…

He remembered the ninepins…

And brought them now.

It was childish.

He crushed Pilot to his chest.

Needing all of these silly nonessentials was childish.

The other toys were ones he'd missed out on. Ones he knew of and had seen advertisements for in windows but…

There had always been more important matters to tend to.

And by the time he could afford trifles, he was often teased for pursuing them.

Texas had never cared, figuring people liked what they liked. He'd never been so stuffy or serious that he couldn't play a game or make one up to pass time with him.

Or maybe Tex just enjoyed the company toys and games could bring? Alfred did.

They also…got Alfred out of his head so to speak. Hard work, whether it was physical or intellectual, had a way of squirreling Alfred deep into pockets of his mind. Physical work got him into daydream, meditative, or contemplation modes. Business and politics got him into speculative, trouble-shooting mode.

Playing brought him out. It tethered him to the moment. If he didn't pay attention he'd lose or frustrate his fellow players.

Arthur set up the ninepins. They played a few rounds and were amused to find how rusty their skills were.

Alfred turned the wooden ball over in his hands.

And again he looked over all of the commodities Arthur had painstakingly packed to bring him comfort.

"Thank you for remembering me."

"You don't need to thank me for that."

He tried again. "Thank you for bringing me things and thinking of me."

"You don't need to thank me for that either. I want you to be comfortable here and I am always thinking of you. That's how it's supposed to work." Arthur reached over to ruffle Alfred's hair.

"That sounds tiring."

"Hm? No. See? Worrying is tiring. Caring is not. Not if you're doing it right."

"…I don't… isn't it…all similar?"

"Worrying is a lot of thought with little practical action. Caring has far more action involved. I find it more useful."

Alfred's head tilted in curiosity. "…Oh?"

"For example, I could think a thousand times over our game just now and how I should or shouldn't have played it and the greater themes to analyze therein. Or I can say what actually matters. Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry it took me so long to keep my word, but I hope you still enjoyed this game. I did. But I enjoy spending time with you, so any diversion we partake in is welcome."

"…Me, too…"

There were a lot of feelings that swirled in him…a lot of weakness…at the center of him…that was…

"Unacceptable, Lieutenant. Have you no standards or ambitions? You will remain at this range until every shot your rifle makes hits the center of the target."

He shivered and unconsciously tried to stand up straighter.

He was immediately pulled into an embrace and then picked up.

And he knew that the memory had slipped across their bond and Arthur had seen it.

A soft blanket was draped over him. Arthur carried him as he took slow turns around the room.

They paused near a window.

"He was a bad man, Alfred. They're difficult to deal with even in situations of the lowest stakes, let alone when they're in positions of power and speak persuasively."

Alfred struggled to convey the sense of loss he felt in remembering him. "He was very smart. The potential…"

"Yes. Pity that isn't a more redeemable quality, hmm?"

Alfred was taken aback somewhat as Arthur had dealt with numerous morally gray historical figures. He started, "Sometimes…they have a point. Even people you don't like can have one."

Alfred tried to never be so prideful that he ignored arguments just because of the person giving them. Maybe on the surface, when he was at world meetings, but not deep down. Ignoring or dismissing them made them less visible and more dangerous, more liable to strike out and sabotage him later.

Arthur gave a slow nod. "That's very open minded. Yes. Sometimes, they do. That wasn't one of those times. That was a bad man who was abusing his rank and your sense of gallantry."

That unsettled him. "I'm…I should be…the best…I should be-"

"Held to higher standards? Where was the rest of your garrison?"

"Huh?"

Arthur didn't smile. "If total accuracy and discipline was vital, why were you the only one at that range? Where was everyone else? Shouldn't there have been turns and breaks? For you and your weapon so it didn't overheat? I don't believe for one moment that with what? 1800? Muzzle loaded firearm technology? That every shot fired by your fellow soldiers was dead-on? Ha."

Alfred reflected harder on…others around him back then, instead of just himself.

"I…I guess not…no. Misfires…bullet trajectories…"

"I swear, I have experienced every packing powder mishap in some manner-"

"1803 Harper's Ferry Rifle."

"Oh! I remember that model. Was that what you were using? Shorter barrel as a design against fouling but not terribly accurate."

"Better than my musket," Alfred mumbled.

"Well, obviously. Poor soul. Can't believe—did you have to drag out your musket from the previous—?"

Alfred blushed.

Arthur scowled. "Sending you out with antiquated—Urgh, that makes me angry. Did they gripe about giving you a new uniform, too? Or were they hoping you'd scrounge up a tri-corner and trot out-"

Alfred stared out at the gloomy weather. "I wish I had just worn it. Might've been luckier but oh no. Stupid shako hat."

Arthur chuckled. "My main point is that even marksmen struggled. You were singled out for that treatment. If you had hit them all, the next complaint would have been about your speed. 'Why can't you reload faster, Lieutenant Kirkland?'"

He was so British. Leftenant. Imaginary f…

But it helped. "I…I…wouldn't have ever…"

That realization shouldn't have hurt but…

There was something about letting others down.

Arthur swayed from foot to foot, like he was comforting Alfred from a lingering nightmare. "No. You were never going to meet his demands. He would have simply moved the goal line. He was fundamentally unreasonable because he was unhinged. More to the point, he was evil."

Alfred glanced up, a bit startled to hear Arthur acknowledge it so easily.

Yeah, he knew it too but…

"O sweet, I know that's difficult for you to hear outright. My hero is a believer in innate goodness. That everyone and everything has some spark of light that can be nurtured and appealed to."

Green eyes stared into blue without any admonishment or mockery.

Dude. He felt seen. Yeah. At his most optimistic heart of hearts, he did like to believe that in a perfect world, a divine one! One that wasn't fallen. That with the right arrangements of circumstances and reasoning, no one would choose to be evil—

"I wish that were true." Arthur nuzzled their noses. He sighed and rested his head against Alfred's. "America…"

"Yes?"

"America…I…" He sighed. "Nation to nation, it is incumbent upon me to inform you that I…I have seen the world. I have seen many great and good things that I hope you will see, too. I hope even that I may be there with you when you experience them. For they are wondrous and uplifting."

Alfred nodded. He'd like that, too.

A shadow passed over Arthur's face. "But I have also seen terrible things. Terrible situations. Terrible people. So, I…I am in a position of wisdom and experience where I can cast judgment. That man didn't become evil in degrees. It wasn't the era or the circumstances. It was never the result of following increasingly corrupt orders. I…I have borne witness to that before. And there is horror in that. Make no mistake. But that wasn't what was happening. This wasn't corruption. This wasn't something you had any power over. Love, it had nothing to do with you. You had no influence. I think that's sometimes one of the hardest parts to accept."

"What's…another hard part?"

"…Sometimes, there's only innate darkness in people. And there's nothing you can do except save yourself from it."

Alfred shivered again.

He was embraced more tightly. "I'm glad you did. I'm so thankful you escaped him."

They sat together on the fancy blue chair and perused a book that Alfred couldn't read (it was in Old Welsh) but the illustrations were beautiful.

Arthur could read it well enough.

Alfred was given various synopses of different tales and ultimately chose none because he was too shaken and indecisive. He just wanted Arthur to keep talking and when he admitted that…

He was indulged.

Arthur rambled on about all sorts of nothings until the knots in Alfred's chest…in his heart…eased.

It was probably childish to need this, too.

But maybe that, in itself, didn't make it wrong.


"Would you like to join us?"

Texas, who'd been trying to creep along the darkened hallway unnoticed, froze.

"Um, er…"

His father continued to watch him with sharp green eyes. When he was little, he'd been half-convinced his father could see in the dark like a coyote.

"It is a scary movie. You like these, yes?" Spain asked.

"Yeah."

It was Paranormal Activity 2. He'd enjoyed seeing it with Al in the theater, even if it did mean Al spent the next week bunking with him and overthinking any and every bump in the night.

"¿Por qué no te sientas con nosotros?"

"Mm-okay."

They made room for him on the couch.

He wasn't surprised when his brothers' teasing antics began.

What caught him off guard was their target: Venezuela.

And they wanted him to be in on it.

"Look at you! Even Tejas isn't scared!"

"¡Cállate!" He hissed back, only there was a well-timed jump scare and it made him shriek.

Colombia, Argentina, and Texas laughed.

Venezuela ended up half-hiding behind Tex as the film progressed and grumbled all of his complaints.

And from the others' comments, Tex was piecing together that his brother was still just as superstitious as he'd been when they were little.

Only, Tex's cage wasn't as easy to rattle anymore.

"Muy estúpido…this show…don't know why we keep watching it-"

"Aww, don't be like that." Tex then offered, "I'm sure Papi can check under your bed for ghoulies."

Venezuela gave him an elbow to the gut.

Argentina and Colombia snickered appreciatively.

The one who wasn't impressed was—

"I certainly can. For you, too, Toni. You are the one who keeps getting mixed up in such things." There was a whole lotta warning in Papi's tone.

Figured. First time his brothers let him in on some mischief and he immediately got told off by their daddy.

"Yeah. I guess that's fair," Tex mumbled.

"Yeah! Paranormal May-time madness and you still managed a selfie on Rico's phone!" Colombia pulled his phone out to show it off.

Sure enough, there he was wrangling the undead.

Lovino peered over. "You found time to do that!? Figure his camera features out for that?"

Tex blinked. "Well…mine had run outta juice by then."

Colombia and Argentina roared with laughter.

"I swear, you and Chile are phone-addicted. We'll have to have an intervention," Venezuela complained.

"Aiii, lay off. Tejas has been trapped here all alone," Argentina reasoned. "Solitaire and The Candy Crush game probably saved him. He's like Castaway."

There were immediate cries of "Wilson!"

Tex chuckled in spite of himself.

"It must've been weird being cut off though," Argentina thought aloud.

Tex smirked. "The word you're looking for is 'peaceful.'"

"Tejas!" Antonio snapped in shocked offense.

"Whaaat?!" Tex whined. It was kinda true. There'd been so many other clashes and conflicts, it was a relief to have one less front to guard. "It was peaceful-ish!"

"Tch, the rest-in-peace kind—sorry, Papá." Colombia winced.

Antonio was scandalized. "Luis! It is not funny."

"Sorry, Papá," Colombia repeated, more contritely.

Guiltripping rubbed Tex wrong.

"Oh, come on…It's a little funny," Tex argued. "Cuz it makes it sound like I'm that petty that I'd do it to get out of family functions. Sorry y'all, I can't come for the anniversary of whatever-the-hell-saint it is today or-"

"-birthday parties or—"

"-the grocery store run or-"

"-pick up the freaking phone-"

"Cuz I'm just too dead," Tex answered amiably—pleased that his brothers had immediately latched onto the morbid joke; they might like his and Al's Halloween graveyard collection.

"That is enough!" Spain hissed at them and stood up to cross over to the center of the room—blocking the television.

He fought the instinct to roll his eyes because Hawaii did that too and it was hella annoying.

Still, Tex wasn't prepared for how angry the Spaniard was.

"Not funny. It is not funny. You think so, Toni? You think it is funny?"

"Uh?" He looked over for guidance and saw his brothers shaking their heads as a signal to abort. "Naw? I guess not. Not really. But…"

"Then why?" Antonio demanded.

"…"

"¿Porque?"

"Papi, we told you. Al and me. Hive brain, remember? It just sorta spiraled. And after it had. I just…didn't correct it—"

"My heart bled. And this is funny to you?"

Tex fidgeted. "I'm…sorry 'bout that. I just didn't think…you'd be that tore up. Even now."

"What? You make no sense!" His father was losing command of English. "Explain. Explain it to me."

So "explain" was slurring into "esthplain" but his intensity made it less funny and more scary.

Tex raised his hands, palms out. "I will not joke about it, alright? Okay? Change the subject, somebody! I'm SOSing over here."

Colombia bailed him out by examining the photo loudly. "To think that you, you of all of us would go from a crybaby who hid from windows because there were ghosts howling on the wind to big time wrestling with supernatural forces."

"I've done a lot of ranching and rodeoing and wrangling. The hard part was not having my ropes. Or a chair. Give 'im the chair."

His brother chuckled. "I would have lost this bet, hermanito."

"…Yeah, I…I have… changed," Tex stated.

"A good change," Argentina offered.

"We waited long enough for it," Venezuela scoffed. "Now, can we have another good change and choose a different movie?"

Still, Tex had a sinking sort of feeling like he was betraying a part of himself. Because deep down…he didn't feel like he was all that different—just had a better poker face and coping skills and…Al…of course.

"Toni hasn't changed," Antonio refuted abruptly. He was still standing in front of the screen.

Tex tried not to flinch. Was that a compliment? An insult?

"Tonito is a good boy. As he always was. No bad influence on him." He gave Colombia a stern look.

"Papá…"

"This is why I am disappointed." Antonio stared Tex down. "Even when you tease Alfredo, you are not mean. Please. Be that way now with your other brothers. I have watched you."

"Papá, we are just making fun," Argentina murmured. "We will change it to a telenovela next."

But Antonio was awaiting Tex's answer.

"Look at him, trying to have higher expectations for you. Stop it, Papá!" Colombia complained. "Pá, you will take all of the fun out. All of it out of everything. Let us joke, por favor."

"Tejas is not this way with Alfredo," Antonio stated firmly.

Tex felt his mouth go dry.

Dammit.

He wasn't wrong.

"There is plenty of fun to be had that is not mean. Also, Tonio? Never tease me, not about that. Ever." His green eyes were sharp as he stared Tex down.

The habitual "sí, señor" of his childhood escaped him.

But instead of placating him, Spain just looked upset at hearing it.

And since Tex didn't know what to say after that, he kept his trap shut for the rest of the night.

It was while he was locking up the house that he overheard Lovino.

"You idiota! He was loosening up. Why did you shoot yourself in the foot? I don't believe for a second that it's all rainbows and marshmallows for him and the Yankee Doodle-bastard. They make jokes at each other's expense. I know it."

"But there's nothing mean under it."

Damn it. That was true.

"You butting in didn't help and you know it!"

Texas was kinda touched that South Italy kept sticking up for him—especially considering how jealous he'd been of him all of his childhood.

Antonio was adamant. "Tejas doesn't have that kind of relationship with them. He was delicate. Different. He was bullied. And now he's strong. He could retaliate in a very big way. He has to be better than that. I have to keep them all safe."

"It's still not fair to him. You're asking without asking him to just suck it up. Because what? Because his life turned out okay?"

Spain sighed heavily. "That's not what I…"

"Yes, it is. He is allowed to be angry. I am angry all the time at my stupid brother."

"He can be angry at me. At me. Not his brothers. And if they start trouble with him. I will intervene."

"You are going to referee and flag every interaction?"

"…He was very hurt and angry last May. We fixed a lot. But there could still be more."

"He's hurt and angry? Or you're hurt and angry? Cuz he won't just come out and tell you why he did it?"

"…You cannot understand."

"Oh? Because that's not your arrogance talking down to me right now, eh? Reino de España? Here, a courtly bow for the Spanish Empire."

"…They are all my bebés. I hurt when they are hurt. When they fight, they hurt each other. I hurt worse."

"…"

"He cannot joke about it, Lovi."

"Well, he sure shut up after that. Good job, capo."

"My grief is still—"

"I get your grief. The others get your grief. He can't get it. He can't. He remembers España el conquistador. Do you remember him? I remember him. They, in there, remember him. He was a tough bastard and it took his son dying to change that. That's how mean he was. That's what it took. Tejas had to die and stay dead for you to change."

"…"

Tex felt his breath catch; he was the reason Papi got nicer to them?

"Look. I'm not trying to be a jerk about this. Familia is important. I'm saying be more hands-off. Let them be friends first and then maybe they can be brothers."

"They are brothers!" Spain snapped.

"Sure they are," the Italian sneered.

The floorboards creaked.

Dammit!

"¿Hola? Hello? Who is there?"

Tex almost jumped out of his skin when Luis answered, "Just me, Papá. Me voy a dormir."

His older brother gave Tex an amused grin but didn't give him away.

"Dulces sueños," Antonio replied. "Te quiero, mijo."

"Te quiero."

Colombia motioned for Tex to walk with him and escape before he was discovered.

Tex shook his head and pointed to his boots. He mouthed "spurs."

He'd jangle if he took a step.

Nno one was talking now so it was too damn quiet to move; they'd know!

His brother barely stifled his laughter as he carefully hefted him over a shoulder.

He set him down a good way off.

Luis snorted. "Tonto, don't wear those if you're going to sneak around."

"Wasn't plannin' on it! It just happened!" Tex squawked.

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight!" Colombia ruffled his hair.

"Oye, Luis-"

"¿Que?"

"…Gracias."

"De nada."


Another morning dawned so hauntingly familiar to ones long ago that the years blurred.

Laundry was flapping in the breeze on clotheslines. Bedsheets, garments, and heavy blankets were all represented there.

America still wasn't sure if there was something degrading in being a former empire forced to do menial tasks, but England didn't let on.

Arthur claimed he was on a roll—a whirlwind of cleaning strategies old and new were being combined to get their abode in "tiptop" shape.

Theirs.

Arthur was singing "Greensleeves" as he gently scrubbed bedding with soap, water, and vinegar.

Three tapestries had been lightly scrubbed and were drying out in the sun. Alfred liked looking at the intricate designs: lots of stylized lions and flowers and bold color choices he didn't usually connect Arthur with anymore. The tapestries were heavy with fabric and thread and beads.

Arthur had already told him a few stories represented in the art and what certain designs meant.

He looked over his shoulder at the man who remained hard at work.

He'd offered to help multiple times and been turned down.

Arthur kept encouraging him to go exploring.

He wasn't sure if that was a signal that Arthur needed time alone but when he asked (and explained that his counselor told him that he needed to be more upfront so he didn't get the wrong idea)—

"I want you to be comfortable here, it's your home, too. I thought you liked adventuring, sweet?"

Even with permission, it felt taboo with his uncles' warnings still ringing in his ears about drawing attention to himself and the risk of capture but…

But it was all supposed to be until Arthur came back.

And he was back now!

So, it was allowed!

He made it further out where he found a shallow rectangular pool. There were a few struggling lilies in the water.

Not too far away there was a great stone chair on a chipped dais. He climbed it and perched on the very top. From there, he said his hello's to huge, impressive trees that were still growing in the area. They were incredibly surprised to see him and went rather quiet when he introduced himself except to warn him not to fall and be injured.

They were old. Older than him. But they knew what he was. And when he asked if they knew Arthur, there was a snobbish sort of disbelief, like, 'of course they know who Arthur was.'

When he moved along, they again told him to be careful and they whispered behind him as he left.

The flowers were friendlier and told him how soft and sweet the grasses were and how he should explore where the winds go. They'd go if they could. To explore. And…Alfred could.

So…

It reminded him of being very small. Back to when plant voices were very loud and easy to understand. Back then, there was hardly anyone else ever talking, besides birds. Birds were almost always talking.

There'd been a dreamlike quality to his earliest century of being alive and it was surreal to have that feeling returning to him now.

This place…

It wasn't that big.

It couldn't be.

Logically, he knew that.

But it felt like it stood somewhere outside of time. There was something "old" to it. There were layers of "new" on London that never let it feel as old as it was.

This place was old.

It made him feel young…small…

He was working up courage to leave for the castle's courtyard and venture further out when—

"Ha!" Arthur came up from behind and tickled him.

A game of chase began all through the area, around roofless pillars, over crumbling walls, back to where the sheets were.

Arthur was so much faster. Alfred ducked under the laundry and tried to weave an unpredictable pattern.

"Ha ha!" Arthur slid over.

"Gah!" To heck with this. He needed to cheat.

"Oi!" Arthur roared indignantly as Alfred flew back to where the water lilies were.

"Alfred?! Ah, there you are. I see you have good taste!" His voice carried. "This pool was once the pinnacle of elegant architecture. I'll have to show you the Roman ruins I have sometime. They helped inspire it."

Arthur kicked his shoes off and sat down on the edge. He rolled his pant legs up and set his feet in, kicking them gently. He gestured with his arm. "Lantern lights would be strung up. There and there. There would be game roasting over those fire pits. Lutists, harpers, minstrels…pet, I think you'd have liked it. Rounds, dances, reels, and leaping as good fun... You're so good at group dancing. I always admired how easily you could learn and then get others to join in."

Alfred struggled to stay in midair while removing his own socks and shoes. He kept dipping lower and lower, especially as he tried to pitch his shoes to the side.

"Careful, love. Today is warmer, but the water might yet be too cold for you."

Alfred dipped his toes in and shivered.

"See?"

Alfred pouted and delivered a look.

Arthur chuckled and rested his chin on his hand. "Mayhaps tomorrow? I can sense a warmer wind approaching."

"How? I can't sense that stuff on my land." He'd have made a lot of better military decisions if he could guess the weather.

"When you're older you might get a sense for it. You might not. You've a lot of land and you share it with a good amount of other personifications." Arthur held his arms out and beckoned. "Come sit with me. I'll tell you some stories."

Alfred zoomed over a little too enthusiastically and knocked Arthur over.

"Oof."

"Sorry," Alfred immediately apologized.

But the Englishman laughed and tightened his embrace and, while staring up at the sky from the flat of his back, he began, "When I was your age, I had a favorite apple tree. I'd climb it all the time and hang garlands on its branches. These were wishing garlands. I don't know exactly where I came up with the idea. My brothers were rather amused so they didn't dissuade me. I think they liked how it kept me busy. Anyways, each flower or twig was a wish…I was…I was always wishing for something."

Alfred smiled. "When I was little, I'd whisper wishes into empty shells and throw them back into the water."

"Oh?"

"I thought if there was anything that was powerful enough to grant a wish, it should be the ocean. It gave me food and friends and left neat things…"

"O I know the thought. That tree of mine fed me and sheltered me. It cast off kindling that I could carry home. It always smelled delightful. I met many good friends in its branches. And then there was the tree itself."

"What do you mean? Trees are…I mean, I'm the Witch of the Woods, I love trees but…" Trees could be limited in how much they could do. They tried awfully hard to be helpful to him but…they couldn't often give him the things he longed for most…and they never pulled an Aschenputtel and gave him clothes. "You can't even talk to them."

"What's this now? Is that garden magic snobbery, I hear? I don't need to hold a conversation to appreciate—Dear boy, didn't I ever tell you? So many trees are magical, especially apple trees."

He wasn't sure if he was being had. Trees were always awesome—it made him kinda biased.

"Good Lord!"

Alfred was given an affectionate squeeze. "Sweet, have I never told you? Many druids fashion their wands from the wood. My wand, well, I have since added a coating and some embellishment, but it is made from applewood."

Alfred's jaw dropped slightly.

Arthur laughed. "Well, this is good. This means I have all sorts of stories to share with you. For example, did you know that Avalon means 'island of apple trees' and it was…it was…?"

"Really magical?" Alfred had kinda written it off as fantasy fluff because publishers often paid by the word and extra descriptions meant better paydays.

"…O sweet, sometimes I wish I could show you places of my youth in their prime. I used to be so forested. So forested-" His breath caught. "-That you should never wonder how much woodlands mean to me. It has been a great hardship to me to see so many felled. That your magic took shape as it has…"

Alfred held his breath and waited to hear more.

"Doesn't surprise me at all. I…it is unscientific, perhaps, but poetic if you…if you believe in the idea that something a parent prizes could manifest in a child…"

"And you see…?"

"Much that I've found that was fair and good, I see in you."

Alfred took a breath and tried to keep his tone level and not betray the uncertainty he felt. "And…that makes you…happy?"

Arthur abruptly sat up. "Of course you make me happy!"

His embrace kept Alfred from tumbling into the water.

"…"

For Alfred, who at this point had heard his uncles' many complaints and concerns about the nature of his magic and his situation and his character, felt his heart warm at the idea that he was what his father wanted after all.

That Harris and all of his assumptions about what America should've been and wasn't…

"Not just because of that," Arthur assured. "Your magic…isn't the sum of all things. You being you makes me happy."

"But am I what you wished for?" Alfred pressed hopefully.

There was a desperation in him to just hear 'yes.'

"I couldn't have thought up everything you are to have been clever enough to have wished for it. But if you're asking me if I know how lucky I am? Yes, I do."


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