Disclaimer: I don't own Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls." Or Goldfish crackers/Finz.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for the sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically).
AN: Hey! : D
Thank you for reading!
Dude, confession, I have to nightlight my first few nights at a new place/hotel or I will trip and die trying to find the bathroom at 3am.
Amerika— :DDD Yep. Yep. Yep.
Guest—You know what you signed up for! XD Cliff-hanging is the major sport here! All the readers here are professional athletes!
ARaineyJune—Awww, thank you! I appreciate you creating an account and commenting! I'm glad the magic is holding through the re-reads! And I appreciate everyone who returned to these fics and are still invested!
Byakuyalove—You're welcome. I'm elbow deep in finals and it's terrible, so I'm wishing you the best! I have 4 huge projects all due within the next 5 days. X_X But I'm posting this chap anyway because…I look forward to everyone's reactions and those keep me in good-spirits as RL tries to get me.
gabygabens—Thank you! I appreciate you reaching out and that you've enjoyed these fics. I'm impressed that you've been translating this—that's super cool. I also have a profile at A03 called ASnappleofDiscord with an AU Star Wars fic on it (if you're into that fandom) I haven't created a web page yet, but I am curious about Wattpad for starting some original work in the next two years. Thank you again for commenting!
Chrysanthium13–XD it's been a crazy blur, huh?! "You can always take care of others when your needs are met and Arthur being recovered can be better at supporting and protecting his baby." THIS. This is what I wanted to show because I've noticed that a lot of stories have healing take place offstage. That's not helpful IMHO. Why can't we watch people work through it and take something away?
MythplacedLogic—YES. Spain deserved it. Tex's sibs have had better interactions with him for centuries; Tex is new to it. Mattie's becoming an all-star bro now. Arthur is in it to win it! So much growth for everyone that it DOES highlight how the UK bros haven't quite kept up.
Waterdragon44–Well, thank you for coming out of the woodwork! And thank you for commenting on the continuity! I do have to periodically reread it to keep it all knitted together nicely, but it's worth it. (Because I get annoyed when fancy pants box office authors don't do that and they wind up with plot holes, Aesop amnesia, and a strange episodic quality that drives down the stakes.) Thank you for following this series!
Liv—I hope you still feel this way about Camelot XD. And yes, Arthur's just not going for it. He's in total Dad!mode.
Time Traverser—Glad you enjoyed the reunion! And yes, that's the phrasing for Tex's issues: "emotional unavailability." Nailed it!
Scarletnightcrawler—*happy dolphin sounds! I'm glad you're enjoying this one so far. It has a different quality to it, I think, but it's kinda needed if we're going to have character growth. So, thank you!
Vaughn20–AAAAAAAAAAAA, me too! XDDD *Male British Narrator Voice: "And Arthur, who was done with his brothers' [bleeeep] things up, decided that ANY plan he made at this point would be vastly superior to whatever they had in store and so he took his child deep into the forest where his brothers couldn't find them and ruin anything else more than they already had." ^_^ Thank you for the compliment on "various personal social dynamics." I feel like family relationships can be so complex, even among people who love each other, that it's worth exploring.
Hope y'all enjoy! :DDD Happy December!
Chapter 8: No One To Impress Or Impose On Us
Arthur gazed out into the forest. He could feel the recovery efforts towards reforestation working. The air here was fresh.
Mettlebryht moved with a deliberately smooth gait. Arthur thanked the animal once more and then sighed at his sleeping child.
Reunited.
Even hours later, it felt surreal.
For weeks, he'd had no visits and then dwindling mentions of him.
There was nothing quite like inquiring after one's child and being stonewalled.
And then, not having the space to be as bewildered and frustrated and distraught as he felt.
Not having the power to demand answers…
Having to go about his day like he wasn't heartbroken and terrified…
Here Alfie was.
Returned…
Alive…
Safer now…
Though, Arthur still felt a little hypocritical thinking that when…
Crick…
Arthur shook his head and released a breath and tried to focus on grounding techniques.
Five things he saw: trees, his brother, his brother's horse, a mossy boulder, and an owl watching from a hole.
Four things he heard: rain falling, equines snorting, hooves in mud, and thunderclaps.
Three things he felt; his feet in stirrups, reins in one hand, and his arm resting against Alfred.
Two things he smelled: rain and…Alfred…who…
He leaned in to double-check.
There was a very slight ammonia smell, possibly the result of dehydration or low levels of zinc.
He'd have to see to that.
Wait.
One last…observation…
One thing he tasted: he could still detect a bit of the bone broth he'd tested earlier.
There.
He breathed more easily.
His watch beeped and he took his medication.
He didn't like the dampening effect it gave him, but…he was willing to endure it.
He needed to be level. Alfred needed him to be level.
The meds didn't have to be forever; the doctors were optimistic about gradually lowering the dose in time, provided he showed continued improvement.
It wasn't like he was devoid of emotion.
There was still a heady sense of joy, but while some of his previous fears were dissipating, new ones were forming and he was able to endure it better with a medicated sense of calm.
His son should've been talking his ear off. He should've been engrossed with the experience of riding a unicorn. He should've weighed more.
He felt frail.
His magic was one of his stronger features.
An inverse…
Usually Alfred's potency as a nation outweighed his magical strength by great bounds.
Which meant his physical health was very poor…or Beltane's had given him a major boost.
He gave him a gentle squeeze with one arm.
Too thin.
The child stirred and clamped onto Arthur's arm like he was drowning.
Bless him, he was still fierce.
Alarmed about what a night terror and a fall off a tall equine could do, he immediately leaned down and assured, "Shhh. I'm here. I'm right here, poppet. Hushabye, I'm not going anywhere."
He half-sung, half-hummed a lullaby.
The hold eased, though, it didn't fully relinquish him. Alfred settled into another uneasy slumber.
Arthur would manage; he was a master horseman and could ride with only one hand on the reins.
Sometimes, he'd had to when he'd taken an arrow to the arm…or later a bullet.
I am not going anywhere, he tried to convey that further by curling his captured arm around the little body more securely.
Still, he couldn't feel content in the moment.
"He didn't open the Finz," Arthur complained aloud. And he loved those goldfish crackers.
"How much did he eat of the broth?" Alistair asked from behind.
"Only half."
Alistair whistled. "See? I knew this was the right thing. Rhys will be furious at me. At us. That's for sure. But little Al needs yeh. I feel like, if you two can just be together for a bit, he'll pull through."
"Of course, he'll pull through," Arthur snapped; unsettled at the idea that Alistair had been watching his nephew waste away with a resigned sort of horror instead of active intervention.
"I knew you could do it," Alistair confided.
If half of a thermos was being applauded, he had his work cut out for him.
Alistair hated Camelot. Had always hated Camelot—from its rise, to its glory, to its end and after.
It had been a special kind of irony that had made him promote it as the perfect hideout.
Because his nephew needed to be somewhere truly safe and he needed Arthur to be there with him.
And Arthur needed it, too.
His little brother couldn't fool him; he was still unsteady, unsure.
Discouraged…
So, Alistair needed him back in a place where he could feel like he was in full command.
He'd always radiated confidence in Camelot.
Hopefully, that was still the case.
So, the Scotsman overcame his knee jerk aversion.
Arthur had loved the idea.
Of course, he would. It appealed to all of his romantic ideals and earlier dreams.
A true, legitimate heir of Camelot visiting his birthright…
Arthur was ecstatic. It almost outweighed his fear.
He was still struggling with massive guilt over Beltane's Day.
He handled Alfred like the boy was still injured.
So careful…
It was like he was trying to pick up from the moment he'd checked out months earlier.
This would help.
If only because it was so Goddamn obvious Alfred still preferred him over the rest of them.
Arthur didn't get it yet. How frustrating an unmotivated Alfred was to deal with…
He was usually such a break-the-door-take-charge sort that seeing him stubbornly listless…
And learning from Texas that he had low moments like this now and again when things went wrong…
Alistair felt the air crackle with magic and the hair on his neck and arms stood on end.
They were approaching the barrier.
"Sweetling? Sweet?" Arthur gently roused the child. "We need to dismount now."
Arthur was first and carefully guided his son down.
"Now, raise your right hand and press it forward."
"…I…I don't feel anything," Alfred mumbled.
Arthur beamed. "Perfect."
Alfred frowned in confusion.
Alistair dismounted his horse to demonstrate.
"Oi, look here."
When he raised a hand and pushed it forward, there was a gathering of red static and an audible crackling. He could push through if he chose to, but…
He'd rather not exhaust his energy.
Arthur bowed deeply to the unicorn and gestured for Alfred to do the same.
Alfred stared blankly at him and yawned.
"Alfie, thank the unicorn," Arthur instructed through his teeth as he removed all of the supplies and the riding gear.
A very tired Alfred shuffled to the front of the beast.
He was supposed to bow, state his gratitude, and then return to his kin's side.
The unicorn's ears flicked forward in expectation.
Alfred stood on tiptoe to stroke the equine's neck and then buried his face into its chest.
Both adults froze at the breach of etiquette.
"You're good and strong and beautiful," he babbled. "I see you and—"
Alistair sucked in a breath. It was dangerous to be covetous of a unicorn! It was normal to feel that urge of greed at the sight of such a fine and powerful creature but declaring a desire to keep them near—
Glimmerglam, the unicorn Alfred was caring for, was young enough to appreciate some shelter and care…even if it came with some domestic treatment.
Mettlebryht was of the ancients. He'd never been someone's pet!
"—feel glad. Safe. Like nothing can be too bad if you're here." The lad sounded choked up.
Mettlebryht slowly rested his head over the child's shoulder and nuzzled his back.
There was a soft, almost bitter, "Ha…You're even kind..."
Alfred was too young and inexperienced to properly communicate with a unicorn by thought… but Mettlebryht knew English.
It was a rare thing to see a wild unicorn lie down in mixed company, but Mettlebryht seemed content to settle in for a while and have Alfred leaning lightly against him and waffling on about how wonderful the beast was.
The apology Alistair began stopped short with the hard look the unicorn gave him.
It announced that it would watch Cadeyrn's foal for him while he transported their goods to the castle.
"Thank you," Arthur murmured aloud as he adjusted two packs.
Alistair knew better than to risk his luck and said nothing at all in response.
He sat, and he watched, and he waited.
Arthur rushed around the tower switching on battery-powered lights because he was too nervous to light a fire and leave it unattended.
He'd kindle one once they were settled. He was pleased he could do that. It was good that he'd modified the chimney and added a flue ventilator; it safeguarded against rain and pests.
A nice crackling fire would make the tower seem more inviting.
Funny, how he'd forgotten how intimidating Gothic architecture could be.
In the meantime, his Alfred didn't like the dark, no matter how often he tried to "brave it" and it was such a new space—the boy would probably need at least a few night-light evenings to acclimate.
If Alfred was nervous from the onset, he wouldn't be able to convalesce very easily here.
There was so much to do.
Arthur would need to use the air bed pump to inflate the mattress.
He'd need to pull bedding from the trunk for the first night, and it would smell pungently of mothballs, but he could wash it properly the following day; he'd packed sleeping bags so the bedding was more for cushion than anything else.
He sprayed air fresheners to try and lessen the stuffiness.
He swore no matter what he did the smell of damp straw never quite left the space.
He checked his watch, cursed, and headed back on the double to where he knew his family was waiting.
The air was brisk and, while he slipped a little on the wet grass, he never lost his footing. It was strange, liberating, haunting, being able to easily jump over a fallen log and come skidding to a stop.
But the how and why of it still kept him up at night if he didn't use a sleep aid.
"Impressive," Scotland called softly. "You're getting quick again."
The compliment didn't register.
He was too focused on the sight before him.
His child was curled up in a tight, protective ball between tree roots…
Mettlebryht asked him if the foal was injured or ill and if that was what prompted him to protect his vulnerable spots.
His colony had used to sleep like that...at the very beginning…before the child nation had understood that his colonizer was not merely caring for him for a night or two and then returning him to the wild to fend for himself.
He knelt down.
"America," he announced in his strictest, no nonsense tone. "Tell me what's wrong."
Alfred winced and blinked lethargically.
"Now, boy."
If he couldn't withstand the enchantments here—
"Cold. Tired. Hungry…Lonely…"
But not pain or numbness…further testament that he wasn't affected by the spells.
Alistair on the other hand was going very pale. He wouldn't last here much longer.
Alistair's horse had been tied further away and was clearly restless.
Even the unicorn's ears kept flicking—suggesting discomfort but was too invested in the drama to ask to leave.
Arthur brushed off any embarrassment this all should've brought and focused on his son.
He pulled out an emergency silver blanket. He gave the boy a glucose packet to improve his blood sugar.
He hastily dug through a duffel bag and pulled out a small tin of canned salmon and crackers.
He sat down on a stump that had some cover overhead and beckoned Alfred over.
Alistair's eyes watched them with increasing disbelief and his eyebrows twitched, but he wisely made no comment.
Good. Arthur had enough to deal with. Thank you.
Arthur twisted a camping fork together, opened the tin can, and then stirred and spread the contents.
"Here." He offered the meat-topped cracker.
Alfred blinked at it.
"It's good, see?" He took a nibble and offered it again.
It was cold food, but it had to do for the moment.
The child accepted.
Arthur was surprised when his own stomach growled. He'd half-forgotten that he'd skipped out on the supposed celebratory dinner.
He spread a bit of the salmon on a cracker for himself.
It was the best decision he could have made.
Alfred got far more enthusiastic about eating when it was clear they were sharing the meal together. It didn't matter to him one iot how unimpressive this course was.
It was about having company.
He'd hinted something along those lines last year when Arthur had cared for him before the Wendigo fiasco.
Another twist of cold anger knotted deep in his gut; it was the small reactions.
How the child pressed very close to his side. How he was content to let Arthur assemble the snack, rather than commandeer the task for himself as the leader and hero of all situations. How he made sure their hands met when the food was relayed. How he didn't just ask outright to be held…because these past few months such requests had been brushed off.
Arthur set the child on one knee and juggled it all.
Alfred was very content with this arrangement, resting against his shoulder and eating.
He was so light.
He was so quiet.
He was so completely out of character.
"Not too poor a snack, I hope. Until I fix something for us in the tower?"
There was a shrug.
"…Lonely…"
Isolation.
He'd endured isolation.
A recurring theme: his captivity with Iroquois and Yamasee…
Remembering his imprisonment under Harris's orders…
And now whatever the hell his brothers had considered "safekeeping."
There'd been very little structure or active interaction.
There was a reason solitary confinement was considered inhumane.
He brushed fringe out of the child's face and the boy leaned into him.
No meaningful affection had been bestowed with enough regularity to provide stability.
Again, he found Alistair watching them in obvious relief.
"He eats for you, thank God."
His brother seldom offered compliments.
Alistair truly meant this as one. Aware that his meager child-rearing skills weren't equipped for more sensitive souls.
Arthur had been a very sturdy child for his brothers to deal with in the first century. When he was young, his moods seldom disturbed his appetite or sleep patterns for more than a day or two.
Alfred was different.
And…
Alistair had gotten very afraid.
Alfred was sad to watch the unicorn gallop off.
Uncle Alistair seemed restless.
Alfred felt a sinking awareness that more goodbyes were coming.
"Ack…sooo, I need to get going."
And there it was.
"Seems like you both will be well. Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"I'll be back. Western front. More supplies."
"Thank you. We appreciate that. Don't we, Alfred?"
Alfred nodded.
Uncle Al patted his head, moved to give Arthur's shoulder a squeeze, then returned to mount his horse.
"One week," he announced.
"We'll see you in one week," Arthur agreed. "Come along, poppet."
Arthur began gathering things for the final supply run.
As someone long used to helping out with such tasks, Alfred held his arms out expectantly.
Being sleepy was no excuse for being lazy.
He was handed the knapsack he'd brought and he dutifully strapped it on and then extended his arms again.
He was given a LED lantern similar to the one he'd had during Yule.
He held his arms out once more and was given an umbrella and the instruction to open it.
He held his remaining free hand out.
To his surprise, Arthur tied the end of a bright red yarn strand to his wrist.
The remaining ball was set in Arthur's inside coat pocket, where it could unravel…but not be lost.
"My hands will be full and it may be very dark for you. I don't want you to lose your way, but I don't want you to feel forced to keep up with my pace when I know you're very tired. I'll give you some slack and you'll get to explore a little bit."
Then, he was given one of Arthur's walking sticks.
"The terrain will be unfamiliar. Please, be careful."
True words.
The place was unfamiliar and dark and creepy with ruins, but there were lots of plants. They seemed curious about him.
Walkways were very overgrown and broken walls had great cracks that were easy to slip through.
Arthur's pace was different.
Smoother. Faster.
There was no hex slowing him down.
It was weird to fall further and further behind.
The yarn pulled taut.
"Alfie! Are you alright?" Arthur called.
It was embarrassing to be so slow.
He tried to pull himself together and manage a jog while looping the yarn on one hand as the slack grew.
"WALK!" Was the booming order.
Again, that was the cannon deck voice.
He almost dropped the yarn.
"You are not familiar with the lay of this land and it is raining so you will WALK!"
He sighed and did as told until he caught back up.
Arthur was waiting in one of the remnants of a cottage. There were lots.
"Catch your breath, love. You're doing very well."
He didn't believe that. Somehow, Arthur had gotten over half of their supplies to wherever it was and back within a few hours.
He'd sprinted back, Alfred realized. He knew the area and was in good enough shape that he'd…
"We've made it across the ramparts and through the defensive wall and we're nearly through the hamlets. There'll be another wall and then the castle city. Once we're through, we'll be making for the tower."
Next, Alfred was practically force fed the Goldfish crackers he'd turned down earlier along with a ration of jerky and dried fruit to "keep up his strength."
Arthur took the gathered yarn from Alfred and rewound the yarn ball.
That he could do that by hand, with no tools, in the dark…
"Alfie, eat. You're quite pale. Here, have some of the almonds."
He was surprised he didn't get nauseous from all the food.
Somehow, it helped that Arthur was eating, too; he didn't have to feel guilty about taking his supplies.
When he admitted as much, he was reminded very sternly that Alfred was always welcome to whatever Arthur had in his pantry.
And "pantry" was a metaphor.
Any food Arthur had was Alfred's, too. The man spelled that out pretty bluntly, to the point where it was foolish to think otherwise.
It was strangely touching and he blinked hard and tried to joke.
"Thank you. It's good to know I'm not a leech or a burden to the grocery list. I mean, yeah, I get it; it would be suspicious if they suddenly started buying a buttload of American food, but…I can't live off Clove Rocks and crisps. I mean, chips."
The can of tuna in England's hold dented and they had to eat it or it would go bad.
As suspected, more food had meant more energy and Arthur was pleased to see Alfred showing more liveliness despite the late hour.
Now that they were halfway to their destination, Arthur could afford to slow his pace and Alfred was doing better to keep up.
Arthur was honestly surprised how well he, personally, was faring against sudden strenuous exertion.
The months he'd spent at the clinic running on treadmills and doing press ups had paid off.
He'd made exercising his body a priority while he sorted his mind out.
The repetition of movement allowed him to get better attuned to himself in ways he used to when he was younger and only had himself to focus on.
He also realized that he missed swordsmanship.
Desperately.
Now that his legs had been restored, indulging in the intricacies of footwork weren't a waste of strength and energy.
He'd usually practice now and then with a conservative sparring match against Alba and he'd have to rest a few days afterwards.
Now, he wouldn't. He had his agility from the Dark Ages back, with the strength and experience of the centuries following.
It made him very interested in seeing how he'd fare against his older brother now.
To think, he'd worried that he'd need to hurry while transporting their supplies because his muscles and stamina would give out and seeing that would scare the child.
But his strength was holding.
He wasn't an empire anymore, but he was still a great, global power.
Easily more powerful than he'd been in some of his earlier centuries despite being considered a great force then. Technology. Industry. Medicine…
God, had he really just been exhausted all this time and been unable to sense it?
As they approached the next wall, the portcullis immediately lifted and the drawbridge lowered.
The sound startled Alfred, who ducked behind him.
He felt a surge of concern and affection.
"It's alright, sweet. A little goblin magic; the gate recognizes me. A bit of a double edged sword in truth, but I was rather vain back then and it quite pleased me."
"Will it close if I step on it?"
"No, that would be rude."
He had hoped for a giggle but…
"…"
Alfred glanced down into the murky water over the sides. "No gators?"
"No, but there could still be some awful bacteria. Do not swim in there."
Alfred's nose wrinkled. "…Plumbing?"
"Correct, sewage."
"Eww."
"Oho, we've become civilized?"
"I don't miss outbreaks in my cities."
Arthur laughed. "Nor I, to be sure."
As they traveled through the ruins of the castle town, Arthur pointed.
"We are going there."
One great high tower extended from the center of the kingdom.
The rest of the castle was gone—destroyed during the final siege that had ended Camelot.
There was a shuffling misstep behind him.
"Do you need a break?" He asked.
This wasn't an easy trek to endure through a downpour.
"No, I can make it."
He nearly did.
It was some time later, midway up the spiral staircase of the tower, that Alfred, whom he'd kept in front of him for this part of the journey for just this reason, had turned to him with a dull, bleak expression…like he couldn't quite believe it.
"I can't…go…any further."
The child's body was trembling—it was taking everything in him to remain standing.
Exhaustion had won.
Arthur immediately slung packs over empty iron torch sconces. He could return for them later. He grabbed the back of the child's coat just as the boy's legs gave out—saving him from what would've been a nasty fall on hard stone.
He should've realized sooner that the boy was putting on a brave face from the very start.
He picked the child up and continued onward.
"I've got you," he assured.
"…"
"You're safe. I'm here. You just need to tell me these things. We can afford to go at an easy pace, love. It's just you and me here. No one to impress or impose on us."
"…"
"Alfred?"
He was already asleep, poor thing.
Rhys paced in the Grays' living room. There was little else he could do at this point.
Arthur was missing. Alfred was missing.
He wasn't even certain they were together.
The brownies in the area were sure that Arthur hadn't approached the Grays' home. Fire-sending the fae in London had likewise resulted in no trace of Alfred being found there.
He was too nervous to report it officially. He was unsure whether Alfred's government had sent a specialized unit to recapture him or if Arthur had had another break and had gone off into the night and whether that would end all possibilities of him securing custody of his child.
Or if it was something else altogether…and alerting others would complicate things further.
And there was Eire who was entirely too calm.
Rhys tipped back a bottle of Tums and willed the chalky tablets to offer him some sort of relief.
He glared at his younger brother. They'd sent Mathieu back to bed to rest up and the Grays were talking in serious tones in the kitchen as they put a kettle on.
Rhys was hopeful that Mathieu's navigational magic could be put to use in the morning.
Though, he felt guilty putting him on the spot with so much at stake.
Reilley yawned and stretched.
That was the last straw…
"How are you so calm?! We have two family members missing!" He exploded at his Irish brother.
"I know that!"
"And yet here you are—" He broke off. "Alfred is gone!"
Any chance of redeeming himself for the inaction he'd indulged in regarding the Wendigo incident…the catastrophe of 1812…
Any chance of proving himself to the boy or to his brother that he could be relied on…
He couldn't look back on Beltane's without guilt. He hadn't pursued Arthur after freeing himself. If he had, maybe…
Or even afterwards, when he'd forced insights on his damaged brother—Harris was foul even for a calm mind to deal with—Arthur had been vulnerable and Rhys used it to incite rage because he couldn't rouse courage.
And his nephew had suffered for it all. Being ignored was worse than being broken for him.
His nephew's aura…the slow certain trickle of despair…that everything he'd feared the most was happening…
And the spark of hope that kept leading him forth to more disappointment…
Eire's eyebrows knitted together. "You're…you're taking this awful hard. He's…he's not your responsibility, Rhys."
"As long as Arthur is incapacitated, yes, he is!" The Welshman snapped.
"Alfie-boy is very capable. Even were he alone, I wouldn't stress overmuch."
Rhys stiffened. "Wot?"
"I mean, technically, he got out of that cabin by himself if you remember? And I heard he triumphed over those UnSeelie obstacles in the arena. One of 'em was fashioned by Morgan herself, too. Can yeh believe it? I was rather proud on hearing that. Yeah, Beltane's was a bit of a wash. Lots of different magicks and creatures and rules all converging at the same time. We'll need to draft some contingency plans for the future. But we, ALL o' us, survived it! And it was looking pretty bad for a while."
"You were late on purpose," Rhys realized.
"Whaaa? No. You're all hepped up. You're projecting."
Rhys's eyebrows twitched. "You were sent to distract me."
"Rude. I came for the celebration dinner which I did not get, mind you. Not that I'm complaining, I'm just saying it. And here I am, trying to calm yeh down and-"
Rhys pulled out his phone and dialed Alistair.
"Figured it out, didja?"
"Alba!" He hissed and then realized he had a message machine.
"Aye, I'm out and will be for the next fortnight or so. If you want to scold me proper, yeh'll have to find me. Ha! Good luck, lads!"
Hazel eyes narrowed in fury.
Challenge accepted.
So quiet. The fire cracked a log and cast a rosy glow over everything in the tower.
The air mattress was filled. The bedding was set. The sleeping bags were unrolled and waiting.
There would be more to do over the next few days in terms of washing.
All the rugs and tapestries needed a good cleaning.
There was dusting, sweeping, and mopping to do.
In the meantime, he had set up an old phonograph to play a record with soft harp music.
Battery powered lights were on in several key areas.
Arthur was heating up a can of soup in a pot and was steeping tea in a kettle.
His child was bundled up in a blanket on a nearby chair…right where Arthur had deposited him. Poor thing had been terribly lethargic as Arthur helped him change clothes and then nodded off as his father carefully dried his hair.
And he'd had to be careful…the fair golden hair he adored had gone dull and brittle.
Candy and crisps…and whatever crumbs he could get ahold of!
Arthur seethed!
The devil had they been up to?!
His baby needed real sustenance to survive! Even when the boy had been on his own, it wasn't all candy and coffee!
"Alfie?"
He hadn't moved at all.
Arthur poured a bit of the soup into a clean mug. It had been hours since their meager snack in the hamlets.
The stormy weather made it seem like an endless night.
"Alfred?" He gave the boy a gentle nudge.
The cold had such a hold on him, even now. He cupped the child's face and made a sound of concern.
"Alfie? Eat a bit, won't you? It'll warm you up. Alfie?"
Eyelids fluttered open.
He repeated himself, combing his fingers through his son's hair—making a mental list of foods his child needed to improve his health.
England had some cans of cod liver, spinach, and mackerel. He had dried fruit and nuts.
Those would help with his son's hair and his skin.
There was plenty of water here to hydrate him and Arthur had powdered milk and chocolate milk packets.
Reintroducing protein and iron into his son's diet would help with the anemic pallor and the feelings of weakness.
There should still be some fruit trees and bushes throughout the kingdom. Those would be useful, too.
Alfred glanced at the mug with disinterest.
"It's this or tea," Arthur warned fiercely.
Alfred accepted the mug.
Texas was oiling tack.
God, he missed Al. It was gnawing away at him.
He had a pair of old, ratty earbuds in his ears that could afford to be dropped and was softly singing along to Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls."
He was pleasantly surprised how swiftly the ranch was shaping back up. His brothers actually knew what to do. His father was a little rusty but committed to helping. South Italy could cook.
Speaking of him, the Italian was out here. Odd. He wasn't a fan of the layout and got lost pretty easily so he tended to stay at the lobby.
On seeing him, Romano began gesticulating like crazy.
Uh-oh, something had happened.
Damn it. He told his brothers not to get cocky and try to break in Joker (a particularly high strung stallion) without him.
Tex grabbed a rag to wipe his hands, turned his music off, and pulled the earbuds out. "Huh?"
Romano began dragging him and shouting in a mixture of Italian and then Spanish before realizing Tex needed English.
Unfortunately, Romano wasn't fluent when panicking.
Realizing he couldn't remember conjugations, he strung together pertinent words:
"Crazy blonde lady shotgun!"
Tex jerked into awareness. "Shoot! That's Tina!"
Damn it! That's right she was scheduled for today.
They sprinted to the main office.
God bless, Tina.
She was in her late fifties, had big beehive hair in a blinding peroxide shade, and knew how to handle a double barrel shotgun with bright pink claws that matched her rhinestone studded cowgirl boots.
His relatives had been lined up against a wall with their hands in the air.
"Dammit. I'm sorry, Tina. S'my fault. They're legit!" Tex assured.
She smiled. "There you are, sug! You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm good! They're not robbers or trespassers. I forgot to text you. Them's my kin!"
Her bright pink lips then pressed into a hard line. "I thought you were still fence-sittin' about all this estranged family business? I can get them to skedaddle."
He was sure she could.
"Yeah, but they're helping me out. Mr. Muscles is Columbia. Mr. Gold-chain is Venezuela. Mr. Jersey-shirt is Argentina…they're my…big brothers. And that's Papi."
"Who's Mr. Calzone?" She asked.
"Oh! This is South Italy."
"And you're okay?" She repeated. "They ain't bothering you none? Ain't got you under duress or, I dunno, blackmail or somethin'?"
"No, ma'am. I am a-okay. S'all sweetness and light here. They've been helping hands while I've been in a tight spot—ranching and cooking and everything. Been real nice to me. Letting me get some shuteye and rest up and taking care of business in the meanwhile. Ain't that swell of 'em? Papi says I shoulda done S.O.S-ed him sooner, but I was too busy being proud."
She uncocked the gun and slung it back over her shoulder. "Well, howdy y'all and welcome to the Friendship State! You eat yet?"
"…Are they all like this?" Argentina asked as a bead of sweat rolled down his face. "Your people?"
"Nah, Tina's super nice. This is a stand your ground state."
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