Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Or Camelot, etc.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for the sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically).
AN: Hey! : D Happy Yule! Christmas! Kwanzaa! Hanukkah! And/or other holiday festivities!
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 3 am.
MythplacedLogic—Yes, Tex and his bros need to acclimate. Your take on Eire—spot on. Poor Uncle Al is better at dealing with then there is Rhys…who wants to succeed at this. Thanks, I'm going for the Arthur is still Arthur approach, who won't be all cupcakes and roses, but he won't be all thunderclouds and scarily overwhelmed either.
Waterdragon44—Fan art!? Cool! Let me know if you want me to type out a link to it on my Profile. :DDD
Time Traverser—Oooh Russian final! Language or history? (I may call upon you at some point in a future fic). Thanks! Camelot fascinates me. Tina, indeed.
Lixe877—LOL, Texas Barbie is an apt description! XDDD Thank you for that!
Gabygabens—I feel for Rhys, too. That dude is trying. (Ah, technology. Have I waxed poetic yet on all the ways auto-correct tries to sabotage me?! Or the angry squiggles I get for…everything. XDDD. Keep fighting the good fight!)
LeParapluie—Hey! You're back. Welcome aboard! THIS. They DO have totally different kinds of interactions which help/hurt in interesting ways. XDDD Thanks for reading!
Thank you guests for dropping by!
I appreciate you reading and commenting! : DDD
Chapter 9: Cute Like a Tree Frog and Just as Deadly
Mathieu and Rhys glared down at Reilley.
"Do I get the interrogation light and my phone call and everything?" The Northern Irishman quipped.
Mathieu obliged and turned his cellphone's light on and shined it directly in the Irishman's eyes.
"Better. As long as we're all playing our parts, there needs to be some authenticity."
"What's going on? Where are they?" Rhys demanded.
Reilley shrugged his shoulders. "Can't say. I don't know the details of the plan. Alis just said to take my time in everything. So I did."
Rhys cursed him out in Welsh.
Reilley cracked his neck and stretched. "Now, that's just extra. I'm sure they're all fine. Why so dramatic?"
"You don't know that Albion's going to be taking his medications faithfully!" Rhys exclaimed.
"You don't know that he won't!" Reilley argued back.
Rhys ran his hands through his hair—disheveling it even worse. "I can't take that risk while he has Alfred with him."
Reilley scratched his chin in bored indifference. "Why are you so sure he'll fail? He can be very disciplined when it matters. Alfred matters."
Honestly, Mathieu didn't know who to side with at this point.
It was so unlike Arthur to agree with Alistair and synchronize his efforts; it was hard to see this as anything other than a bad idea made under questionable medication doses and desperation.
But would Alistair intentionally put his brother and his nephew in peril?
Arthur would never deliberately endanger a vulnerable Alfred who was dependent on him.
Mathieu needed to call Texas and inform him of the latest development.
When it became clear that Reilley had been strategically locked out of the loop, he did just that.
"How do you think I'm holding up?" Tex growled into his phone. "Al does the schmoozing."
He adjusted the barbecue's settings. "I never had to cook and entertain at the same damn time."
"If you need to end this call to-"
"Nah, you're preserving my sanity. It's just…Al always took the brunt of it. He kept the pressure off of me. He was great at feigning interest in boring things."
"Yeah, I actually agree. Maybe practice, hermanito?" Argentina suggested as he looked over Tex's shoulder.
Tex glared. "Maybe get on outta here! You'll mess me up. I'm good at getting the fancy criss-cross unless folks distract me!"
"Fine! Sorry. But we're out of chips."
Tex's jaw dropped. "There were four bags!"
"…And now there are none. Nada."
"God!"
"You can't complain about them while they're standing right in front of you!" The Canadian sounded like he was clutching his pearls.
Tch.
"The hell I can't! They're eating me out of house and home. Never should've told them about the freezer."
"The freezer? No, you don't have to tell. I probably don't want to know."
"…I can tell you. You're not greedy. If a cow gets out and gets hit and killed by a vehicle, well, it has to be taken care of. Can't sell it at market now. Got to be taken to the butcher. And you have to make the rounds among your workers and neighbors. It's a big ol' animal. It's a lot of meat. And contrary to what you and Megan-the-vegan might think, I don't like food waste. I regularly donate to food banks. Anyways, it's pretty normal for me to have a side of beef in the freezer along with other stuff. Now that my brothers know…everyone in the Spanish Famada knows. They think I've been holding out on them. And I'm getting the drama. And I'm making fancy angus burgers and ribs. They want steaks tomorrow."
"When you are prosperous, you are supposed to help out your familia!" Venezuela declared as he set out condiments on the outside table.
Tex rolled his eyes and flipped a burger. "Had to put my foot down and make it clear, I am NOT the new meet-up picnic spot. They're pretty pissed. But if they wanna crash my kitchen bad enough, they'll have to suck up to Al. I've been honest, he's my soft spot. If he wants us to play good hosts, they can visit. Otherwise, fold 'em cuz you've lost that hand. That shut 'em up for a while. I think they're afraid of him."
"We're not scared of him!" Colombia argued as he set down pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade.
Tex frowned at the nonalcoholic beverages—Papi kept nixing fun drinks—he knew he had beer and margaritas to spare in the tornado cellar—but he hadn't revealed that space to his brothers…Papi hadn't either.
And Papi wasn't letting anyone purchase any.
"Yup, they're real scared of him!" Tex couldn't keep the glee out of his voice. "I mean, yeah, they should be. He's cute like a tree frog and just as deadly."
"Are you not worried about Al?! Even after what I've told you?"
"It sounds like Scotland arranged it all." He trusted the plaid one. "The more I hear from you, the more I think he was prepping Al for this: to live off the grid for a while."
"That doesn't bother you?!"
"Uhhh." Was it supposed to? He and Al weren't so soft and civilized that they couldn't rough it now and then.
Tex shrugged. "Al's tough. I'm more in disbelief that ol' Admiral Limeytimes can take it."
Colombia crept up looking like he wanted to touch the meat to test it.
Gross.
"Back off, barbarian! I will tell you when it's done!" Tex squawked.
Colombia got an ornery look then and made to touch it again as a matter of challenge. Tex feigned like he was going to swat him with the spatula.
"Papá, Tejas is being mean!" Luis shouted.
Tch. Like that was a valid complaint; Tex was always mean.
Still, their father's voice cut through the air from where the sliding glass door was open and the screen door was the only thing separating the space: "TEJAS! Be nice to-"
"PAPI, Luis is trying to touch the food I'm cooking—WHILE I'm cooking it!"
"LUIS! Don't do that! E. coli!"
"Exactly!" Tex hissed in triumph.
"You need Papi?" Their father called from the den.
He really didn't. The man would hover. The man would talk. The man would be all up in his business. But his brothers, save Argentina, seemed determined to poke at him.
"Yeah!" He hollered back.
"Seems like you're getting along with your dad," Canada noted.
"Only cuz he's the least annoying in this lineup."
"Do you need a break, mijo?" Spain asked as he came out onto the patio, sliding the screen door shut behind him.
"No, you just need to stand there, kay?"
The Spaniard was amused. "Okay, Toni. Papi will stand here."
Tex flushed. "T-thank you!"
"De nada."
"Al doesn't get up in my grill and I have to do the street corn right. Or it'll be a travesty to Al…wherever the hell he is."
"I see. Papi will guard you."
"Good! Handle the small talk for me, too. I'm not good at juggling things when people press my buttons! So! So, you, umm-"
The corner of Spain's mouth twitched with a smile. "I think I understand the mission. You focus on the cooking. I'll help arrange the rest, Boss."
"See, Matt? He gets it. God, I miss Al. He's so good at this stuff. I ain't even gonna lie. I'm nervous about diplomatting over in Australia. I'm just not as polished up. And I can't laugh things off the way he does. I get mad when people tease me meanly."
"I think that's why they're starting you with Jet. He's…not going to hold any of that against you," Mathieu assured.
"You sure?"
"I wonder if they'll force him to wear a suit…to try and set a good example for you? I actually think you two will get along. He's the adventurous type as well."
"Thanks, Matt."
He still missed Al and would've felt better knowing he was coming, too, while Tex was still in his proverbial training wheels.
But he knew Matt was trying hard to be good to him…to both of them.
And that was awful nice.
He hoped Al was doing well and tried not to be jealous that Arthur was getting the one-on-one-time that Tex had been desperately trying to arrange for himself last May.
He wrapped up the call, pocketed the phone, and heaved a sigh.
His father rested a hand on his shoulder.
"You…you and Alfredo…"
"Alfred, Papi."
"Alfred," his father made a face trying to bite off the 'o.' "Alfred. You split things up. Before you'd explained about chores. But you split up everything, yes?"
"I dunno…wha…?" What was he trying to get at?
"I mean, you tell each other the things you struggle with and you make trades. He is no good at this, so I do it. I am not good at that, so he does it."
Tex nodded. "Yeah! And when we're both good or we're both bad—like folding the fitted sheets—we do stuff together."
"…It makes doing the hard things even harder, because now you're doing them alone."
That.
That was…
He swallowed.
"Yeah, Papi, that's…that's it exactly…" He got a little choked up.
"I'm sorry, Tejas. It took me so long to…you can tell me the hard things, too. I will help."
Since Papi was standing right there…no one teased him about it.
"…O-okay." He fidgeted with his spatula.
He wasn't actually sure how much help his dad would be with a lot of things.
But some help was better than no help, right?
"G-gracias."
"Con mucho gusto."
"Alfie? Alfie? Alfred?"
Arthur reached over to give a gentle nudge to one shoulder.
The child frowned.
"America?"
There was a grumble.
"Now, boy."
One blue eye opened moodily.
Arthur sighed in relief before teasing, "Oh my goodness, I'm rousing you. At half-past ten, rude thing that I am."
Both eyes opened to give him a flat expression.
Arthur smiled and petted the child's hair gently and brushed the back of his hand against the forehead to confirm once more that there was no fever. "Good. You were giving me a fright. You've been… so still."
In truth, he'd spent much of the night half-terrified. The child had slumped in his seat almost immediately after eating a few spoonfuls…and couldn't be roused again. He'd checked the can's expiration date ten times to ensure the meal hadn't been tainted.
Aware that they were so far away from help if a medical emergency was occurring, he'd only managed to calm himself in that Alfred's breathing had been deep and easy. Hawkishly, he'd watched the little chest move up and down and only managed to fall asleep himself after taking Alfred's pulse for the upteenth time.
It had stirred feelings of horror and self-loathing remembering—
CRICK…
It still sent a shiver.
The wet shallow breaths…
The involuntary jerks of spinal damage…
Counting off the five p's of a crushing injury…waiting for the final one: pulselessness…
He blinked back tears and forced a deep breath.
He brushed the child's fringe back with the tips of his fingers, determined to be gentle.
"It isn't much here, compared to the modern accommodations you're used to. But I will do everything in my power to make it more comfortable for you. Alright, pet?"
He kissed the child's forehead and then bustled about building up the fire in the hearth he'd started earlier that morning when he'd woken and dressed.
He tossed some more kindling on for good measure. "Wash up, love. The pitcher has fresh water. And there's a bar of soap. I packed the fluffy hand towels you like. The clothes in the blue duffle bag are yours, dear. They're clean. Choose something cozy. Maybe layer up in case we get a break in the weather and we want to take a walk?"
Once the fire was healthy, he lightly scrubbed a pan with water and dish soap over a small tub he kept specifically as a makeshift sink.
The child readied himself but didn't return his chatter.
"Are you ready for breakfast? I think something familiar will make the place less imposing? I forget sometimes how dark and intimidating the architecture can be." He grimaced at the gargoyle-like figures chiseled into the stone mantelpiece. "But I guarantee it'll grow on you once it's more lived in."
"…"
"Alfie?"
He turned to see big blue eyes watching him from where Alfred was seated on the bed again.
"Alfie, what do you think of that?"
"…Okay."
"It'll mainly be a day of me getting things in order for us, but, like I said, we'll see if the weather improves. I have ribbons in that basket over there and we can tie them to good bushes and trees that are safe for you to nibble from, sweet. It'll be good for me to see what's still growing here. There should be strawberries and pears and plums. I know the last apple tree fell a few centuries ago, but I gave Alistair a list the last time he visited me in the clinic and apples are on it, and I think he packed us five nice ones, and we do have packets for cider. We can make a day of it—see what's growing. I think there are a few places that still boast some rather lovely water lilies. And if the weather isn't fine enough, we'll have a fun, indoor day."
Alfred nodded compliantly.
Good God, what had they done to his sweetling?!
"What say you, love?"
The American nodded more vigorously.
"Is your throat bothering you? That weather was dismal last night. Are you taking ill? I have honey and can make you a cuppa-"
"No."
"Well, I'm starved for news and company, love. You didn't correspond with me. Did you get my letters?"
Alfred moved over to a dull brown knapsack he'd brought and pulled out a stack of letters tied with a strip of fabric that looked suspiciously like it had come from a ratty T-shirt and set them down on the table.
He fidgeted a little bashfully and then pushed the stack towards England.
They were all responses addressed to "Father."
"I see. I'll have some reading to do once we're settled in."
Alfred nodded once more.
"You know you can talk to me…about anything. Whatever it is. Beltane's. History. Harris. Past, present, future—we can talk about it. Do you want to talk?" Arthur asserted.
Alfred shook his head.
"Whenever you're ready, I'm ready."
"…"
"Alfie?"
"…Not ready."
Arthur opened packets and added water and made oatmeal that ended up just slightly burnt. He added cinnamon and raisins to offset that. He used nice, if outdated, dishware and set their bowls down at a small bistro sized table that he'd never expected to have company at.
Though both were very ornate, the chairs at this small table didn't match at all, but they were comfortable.
Alfred poked at an upholstery rivet that contained a ruby. He stared almost comically hard at it.
"It's real," Arthur answered. "Though, it isn't the cut and caliber of modern standards."
Thin eyebrows shot up and then Alfred looked uncertain.
"Take a seat. That one has rubies. The other has sapphires."
He surprised Arthur by remaining in the red and gold chair.
Alfred seemed to realize then that the cutlery was of fine material as well and studied them like an anthropologist.
"It's a hodgepodge of items here, but they're all nice. I think so, at any rate. I know, I know, it's rather eclectic here. I usually present with a more standardized sense of style. Think of this place like a treasure chest. It will have lots of unconnected things I value. This place is…very safe, you understand? Very safe. Just…isolated," Arthur explained.
Alfred ate his meal without slurping. Or talking.
It made him nervous.
It wasn't the tense silence before the American War of Independence.
It wasn't the sullen, frustration of last December and the bitter loss of personal autonomy.
The child wasn't angry. He seemed deflated somehow.
Alfred wasn't exploring his surroundings at all. The previous interest in the chair had faded.
His curious, innovative adventurer returned to sit on the bed after finishing his breakfast.
Quiet. Mild. Trying not to take up space and attention or dare be underfoot…
It hurt.
His brothers had figured the boy out; how to embarrass him and use his sense of chivalrous honor to bend his will to follow rules.
He could be shamed into strict obedience for the well-being and safety of others…but it damaged his self-respect.
"Here, fetch your coat and come to the balcony with me?"
The boy silently slipped on his new Mackintosh and pulled the hood up.
Arthur opened the carved doors that led outside; a cold draft of air followed.
The child shivered.
Arthur grabbed a quilt that smelled strongly of mothballs and draped it over the boy before lifting him up and setting him on his hip.
He strolled out onto the balcony.
"Behold!" He declared, gazing out at a great expanse of…ruins and a heavy drizzle.
The child rested his face against Arthur's neck.
"Now, this kingdom used to be much larger but now…it extends only to the timber line, that's where the barrier ends. There are trees and plants that still live within this expanse, but any hunting or fishing will need to be done outside of the barrier. Technology is a mixed bag here. I have some generators—when I use them, it's typically for keeping a fridge or bitter cold. Since Alis is coming back, we could experiment with them? I've also bought up some solar technology through the years, if we wanted to fiddle with that. I know you haven't gotten to play much, you could use the solar battery packs to have a go on whatever tech I've got here. Or you can pack one to bring along for my session and give your brothers a ring while I'm being counseled?"
"…" The child's fingers twisted in the pull string of Arthur's coat.
"We could also test out whether a signal holds here, if you like? You could try. But I have an online session with my counselor in a few days and I need a solid connection outside of the barrier. You could definitely call them then. If you come along, we can also fish, if you'd like."
"Are there…no people here at all?"
Finally, a question.
"It's just us, love."
Alfred closed his eyes for concentration and then opened them. "…There are no birds. I can't hear them."
"No birds, no beasts, no fish. Nothing."
"There are still bugs."
Arthur laughed. "Yes, I have cedar and citrus tokens and oils and whatnot to keep them at bay here in the tower, but they can be a nuisance still—"
"If there are trees and plants, then there are bugs. Nothing here would grow if there were no bugs left," Alfred reasoned. "They're not all pests. And if there's no gardeners, no fauna, then they're doing almost all of the work… all of the pollinating. Weather can only help so much."
"Wise counsel, indeed. O I named you well. You sound like an elf might in admonishing me." He kissed the child's cheek. "Let us be grateful to the lingering insects and the still flowering fruit trees over there."
Alfred didn't look. "Why are there no animals?"
But he was thinking. This whole conversation proved he was thinking critically.
And that was just as important. His little Age of Enlightenment philosopher took nothing for granted.
And while he'd been physically restricted, his mind was still free.
Arthur was honest. "Well, you're not alone—I've made my share of magical mistakes. And this here is a large one. I was…very bitter. Injured. Discouraged. And I let that guide me and I spellcasted from a dark and selfish place in my heart. I didn't want to be betrayed anymore."
The child fidgeted guiltily.
He pressed another kiss to the child's temple before explaining, "I wanted to be safe. From enemies. I had recently lost the right to Excalibur and knew a very treacherous shapeshifter who would use that to her advantage. She could manifest herself as birds or beasts or people and in trying to guard against that…in being so wrapped up in that purpose…" He shook his head. "I made it so only my flesh, my blood, and my magic was trusted and welcome here…And I cursed this place."
Alfred frowned. "But I'm here."
"Yes. My flesh, my blood, my magic. The Cosmos's mercy. You are here. I don't know if the other children will be able to withstand this place or if they'll suffer time constraints. My brothers can't be here. Not in the tower at all. Not beyond the barrier for more than a few hours at best and at great discomfort."
Alfred's head tilted in curiosity.
"You were an English colony, my Roanoke. Then, you were a collection of English colonies. Then, there was the unification and we all became British and you were my British America. Many of the other colonies came into being under different Old World Powers or combinations of people and cultures and influences. Or already had an identity and kept it. After 1707, all the colonies that manifested did so under the rule of us three and then four after 1801."
Alfred frowned. "When did Wales join you?"
"O I conquered him in the 1280s and then integrated him in the mid-sixteenth century."
"So. I could technically be a bit Welsh—?"
"Don't be absurd, you're English. English charter, English ship, English explorers, English colonists, English compass and gunpowder and seed from England, and most importantly an English flag. My personal St. George flag. And your magic descends from mine." He gave it a gentle tug.
Blue eyes widened at the sensation which was a lot more powerful than any pulls Arthur had managed before.
Considering how the empty hours during his stay at Blue Rose Clinic had dragged on, and how the boy never visited, and gradually no one spoke about him, Arthur had spent much time and energy trying to reassure himself that his child was alright.
With so much inner searching and focused concentration, it was amazing he'd ever managed to not feel this connection. He understood better how his own mother could sense her children while her magic was strong.
She'd also been gifted at finding them. She could close her eyes and said her magic and the wind brought her news. He still needed to master a form of that.
Alfred tugged at their connection very slightly in a…I-wish-you-were-still-paying-attention-to-me way.
He smiled. "You are my baby."
Alfred was startled by the term.
Arthur was usually more sensitive to that.
But…
In the brutal aftermath of May and the confines of the clinic, the word had only grown more precious and important to the Englishman. It was a relief, a balm to his heart, to think it and say it and undo years of hurt.
Arthur had been robbed of him. He'd been hidden away before Arthur could even call for a cradle.
In the darkest corners of his thoughts, he'd assumed that Roanoke had died. Despite assurances that no child had manifested (as was the case with Surinam), something had seemed off.
And…though it was incredibly painful to consider…he'd had to allow for the possibility that a child had very briefly manifested and then passed. It was easy to imagine: infant mortality was tragically high as a rule for most of England's existence.
It was a conspiracy.
But rather than trying to spare him pain, as he originally assumed (and unintentionally mucking with his chance to grieve properly), they'd been covering their hand in the matter.
They could've come clean when America was sighted and their suspicions arose.
True, he'd have been shocked and furious, but delight might've distracted him from the full brunt of the treachery.
He wouldn't feel as he did now; so utterly betrayed and humiliated.
With the truth of his paternity buried by his government, he'd met his child in the wilderness and adopted him by happy chance.
What a spectacle…
Then, Alfred's government had concealed that shapeshifting magic was responsible for Alfred's sudden, older appearance. Seeing the opportunity there to loosen him from Arthur's apron strings, they pulled him away.
And Arthur was complicit. He let them. On seeing Alfred reach the physical frame of young adulthood, he felt he'd succeeded. Anything more was mollycoddling and his expectations for adult behavior grew accordingly.
He'd figured that their relationship would change and he would endure that.
But…
Politics aside, there was no good reason they needed to give up their kinship. Arthur had brothers with independent identities—there was a precedent already established.
Both sides wanted them apart, especially when it became clear that Alfred remained very emotionally attached to him.
If that had been clearer to Arthur…that he was still very needed…
That his protection was still vital…
That his tenderest feelings were being called into question…
"I just thought you didn't love me anymore…"
They wouldn't have been able to keep Arthur away.
A long running, well-orchestrated character assassination was performed on Arthur to ensure estrangement over the next two centuries.
Alfred, the easier one to manipulate with words, reacted as they'd hoped…with distrust and hurt at his parent and former colonizer…and they encouraged him to express it with spite.
They used silence on Arthur. They used distance. They used Alfred. Setting up situations for the boy to behave in ways that would provoke Arthur's temper and drive the wedge deeper.
And Arthur was too arrogant and self absorbed to really question Alfred's change in temperament…too busy and upset to stride forth with resolve to repair the relationship.
Misunderstandings piled up, tensions rose, more magical mishaps ensued, and Arthur could see what a mess had been made.
The child didn't understand yet.
Arthur wasn't going to get over this. He'd learn to live with it. But he was never going to forget.
He was never going to forgive.
They'd stolen his baby. Torn him away. Had the audacity to first view him as something inconvenient and disposable…then as something that could be used…cruelly used…
He wondered if Alfred could even comprehend the real horror of it.
To have one's infant alone in the wilderness with spotty caregiving and no permanent home or welcoming community.
His toddler wandering around abandoned settlements without food or shoes or anyone ensuring his safety.
His little one, not knowing what was to be expected from a child or a ward and on becoming part of England's household—struggling with his overdeveloped sense of independence and survival instincts…unable to express the life he'd lived.
His child was then snatched out from underwing by rebels and set against him.
Clumsy, childish attempts by his Alfred to mend the bond were thwarted by bad actors on both sides, and Arthur's own stupidity and pride.
It had been cold and naive on his part to not check in regularly, to not ask important questions, or demand an audience with America's leaders and outline appropriate boundaries and consequences.
Exploiting America as they had…believing he was sturdy enough not to require real care and consideration. Sending him out into every conflict…treating him like a nonentity…
Perhaps, England's own government was taking notes.
He could feel his thoughts darkening, it was nearly time for another dose of his medicine.
A strong gale whipped at their clothing.
The child shivered.
He returned them into the tower and closed the doors.
He needed to focus on the present.
His other wards were grown and of the ones that weren't: Sealand was with Sweden.
And Wy was an interesting case; she'd manifested decades after 1942, which technically made her Jet's responsibility. She appeared to be more sibling than offspring to Jet; he recognized her as a sister and a ward. She'd aged remarkably fast and was possibly a split or fragment of some kind…
But it wasn't Arthur's business.
With England not being truly responsible for that area but related (she had the family eyebrows), the circumstances made her fun to dote on. It was nice not having to take on the full time disciplinarian role. He babysat when called upon, but if she was acting out terribly, he could have Jet scold her on the phone or come fetch her; the latter had only happened once because she'd needed to see that Arthur was an adult that followed through. She toed the line fairly well after that.
He also couldn't decide if he was a sibling or uncle figure for Eire's split.
England checked on The Republic of Ireland now and then—though, she hated him so fiercely it was comical. Her government provided very well for her, but her relations were close enough geographically that they could intervene on her behalf if something was amiss. They regularly received email updates as she hit milestones.
What this all meant was…Alfred would be the only one in his nursery this time round.
It was a fine opportunity to really focus on him and correct things he'd done wrong as a parent.
It wasn't that he'd set out to do poorly, but he'd internalized those era's viewpoints. Alfred had been treated as children of the 1600s were—an extension of Arthur himself at best and Arthur's property at worst…
Such was fatherhood at that time…Arthur had even considered himself an ideal parent then—warmer than others he knew by far and a good deal less violent.
But he was strict and heavy handed and harsh in his explanations of the world because he was young enough to be brash and old enough to not want his decisions questioned and powerful enough to get away with being callous. Didn't like being wrong or being made aware of other ways things might've been accomplished and not by his child. He took it as an insult. Not curiosity.
Didn't realize yet that part of what let him be more blunt with Alfred, versus the other children, was that Alfred was very smart and understood things. Things he shouldn't have understood yet: words, situations, humor he shouldn't have understood at his age. But Arthur hadn't raised enough children to gauge those developmental skills.
They struggled around it without knowing what it was.
The baby wasn't being defiant with him. Not at the beginning. The baby was intellectually precocious. Arthur did not recognize it. Wouldn't for years. And then he'd start comparing, researching, discussing…and the wide-eyed looks he got from experts in the field as he shared stories about his wards…
Even as a teenager, Alfred was different in the things he understood…medically, scientifically, technologically…
England had felt threatened by it. Felt rivalry as a result of it. Felt he was rendered obsolete by it. Hated feeling unneeded…unwanted…unwelcome…yet also feeling proud and sad because look at how impressive his child was…and never dealt with those feelings properly. Never expressed himself and his desire for reconciliation.
Now, he was better able to look back and imagine it through Alfred's eyes.
The world Alfred knew was cruel and bleak and brutal. It was common for children to be seen as miniature adults.
Personally, Arthur had never really believed in that.
Alfred did.
And he started to make sense in the worst way once Arthur realized that. Alfred had tried and continued to try to be the adult that he wasn't. And that made them clash awfully.
He was very smart. That didn't make him mature. And the experiences he'd had over the centuries made him knowledgeable…but they hadn't made him wise. So he made and continued making very risky, dangerous decisions because he didn't know better. Or he simply assumed he knew enough to succeed. And he did with enough frequency that the people around him exploited him.
So very smart…
So emotionally stunted…
His inner wellbeing had been so neglected…
Arthur remembered the six year old child he'd said farewell to centuries ago.
He gave the seven year old in his arms a gentle squeeze.
He'd barely aged at all.
All that outward progress and innovation but inside…he'd stagnated…
This was a second chance…for both of them…
Too often, Arthur had struggled to balance the demands of his empire with child-rearing.
He'd long lamented having to work so much and participate in so many campaigns. While he'd easily been more physically and emotionally present for his wards following America's independence than he had been for America….he would now be more there for America than he had been for them.
That could hurt feelings.
But…Alfred had gotten a colonizer to rear him haphazardly for a century before being out on his own to struggle once more.
The other children had been raised to early adulthood by an invested caretaker and guardian. He still made mistakes, but he saw the matter through and remained a contact, a lifeline, even when separations occurred.
At this point, Alfred needed a dad who would see him properly raised in his own time. No rushing. No pressure. No guilt. He needed to be nurtured. He needed the space to be a child and someone committed to guarding that right.
He thought of the tooth Alfred had lost and Mathieu's comments about an adult tooth replacing it. He wanted very much to see it…but the child hadn't smiled yet.
It was proof that Alfred retained the capacity to age and grow. Just the little care and attention they'd paid him had allowed that milestone to finally arrive.
Arthur needed to help him.
If the other children felt hurt by it…
Well, he could make a point to be more present for all of them now and vocalize that; after all, being older didn't necessarily mean they'd outgrown the need for support and affection.
Arthur was proof of that.
He'd…appreciated his brothers visiting and taking up his paperwork.
They were complete rubbish at nannying but…
It was ironic to come full circle in so many ways.
But Alfred needed this. Arthur needed this.
They'd have to figure out a plan to make things work for both of them and how to share that unified vision with allies who'd support them.
And if anyone dared enter the nursery he made this time with ill intent…Hell would be more merciful.
"So, being Roanoke is why I can be here?" Alfred murmured.
"I imagine you drew strength from the other attempts as well. I should've visited Jamestown on principle. Now, I don't know if Sealand could weather this place as a split without magic? I don't want to get his hopes up. And I don't want the other children to feel it's a competition so please don't boast," he offered candidly.
"So, I'm here because…?"
He set Alfred down on his feet and set the quilt where the hearth could dry it.
Alfred shuffled after him. He removed his coat to let it dry as well and raised his hands to warm them by the fire.
Arthur walked over to the blue duffel bag to find another jumper for Alfred to layer on.
"Because I need us to be safe while we wait on your paperwork. Then, we'll be better situated to move forward."
"…"
He offered the garment which Alfred readily pulled on.
"Do you…want to talk about it?" A huge part of him was incredibly keen on hearing when Alfred decided he was the preferable custodian.
What was he dealing with back home to prompt it? Was he in danger?
Alfred grimaced. "Not…not…"
"Yet? Alright." He took a deep breath and changed subjects. "I know this place doesn't seem too grand now, but you'll be able to explore it thoroughly as long as you mind the tree line and, while the other side reaches down to the sea, I'd much prefer you had me there for that."
"…"
"Olivia hinted at your concerns about swimming. We can work on that if you'd like? Again, on a finer day. The shore can be quite lovely."
Alfred didn't answer, but he began to shift from foot to foot. "I…um, I have to go."
"Hm?"
He crossed his legs and fidgeted. "Go."
"Aha, the time comes."
Alfred didn't like his amused tone and his blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where do I, ya know? How do I…?"
Arthur was blunt: "Chamber pot or latrine? You're a bit short to use a medieval urinal."
It was worth seeing the American's expression.
Alfred glanced up at a big stained glass Gothic window of roses whose thorny vines wove into a shield knot.
It was cool.
Some sunlight had broken through the clouds and was illuminating the design.
He passed his hand under the colors it gave off.
"That's a tracery window. I'm quite fond of the effect." Arthur placed his hand near Alfred's. "I was…am… proud of my artisans."
Alfred glanced back up. It was just that little bit too high up to admire easily. He started to shuffle back and crane his head when Arthur picked him up and set him on his shoulders. He grabbed a short step ladder, set it up, and carefully climbed three steps.
Alfred got to really look at the glass and through it.
"If you're mindful, you can touch," his father offered.
He traced parts of the design.
"Glass was made differently then. So it was a challenge to get the different pieces of equal thickness." Arthur gave additional commentary about the colors involved and which ones were more expensive. "It was the Gold Chloride that made the red so expensive. Ah, but the ruby shade is striking. I liked it so. Still do."
When Alfred was finished taking it in, he realized that he could've just floated up there.
Arthur carefully climbed back down.
He continued to carry Alfred around the room and even gave a slow twirl. "What else strikes your curiosity, love?"
None of his uncles really liked an onslaught of questions. Or him poking around at things. Or being…this close…
He hadn't even minded answering questions earlier about the medications he was taking—letting Alfred watch him measure out the dosage he needed and leaving the bottles where they could be seen with the promise that Alfred wouldn't touch or tamper with them. It would be easier for him to access them as needed, if they could stay in one spot.
When Alfred asked why he didn't hide them away, he'd said there was nothing to be ashamed of—it was medicine and as long as it was used correctly for the right person, it was a good thing.
That stayed with him. He kept thinking about that.
Because…yeah…
"O come now! It'll offend me if nothing catches your eye." He gave one of Alfred's legs a playful swat.
He obliged and pointed. "The shiny box."
"Ah! Of course, of course!" He walked them over. "Go on, love. But don't drop it on me. It's weighty."
It was heavy and cold and ornate.
He chewed his lips a bit in anticipation.
"Got a good hold?"
"Yes."
Arthur lifted him up and over his head (box and all) to set him back on his feet.
"You've been benching. No way I'm that light," Alfred complained.
His hair was gently tousled as Arthur passed by him to set another log on the fire.
His father stretched. "I'll add woodcutting to the list, too."
"It's cuz of me, I'm making you use it up fast."
He enjoyed the warmth though. A "thank you" was on the tip of his tongue.
"Ha. You're not making me do anything. Don't be silly. I might mop the place down later and I don't want it to be damp and cold for hours afterwards—more dungeon than bedroom."
Thunder rolled and rain began hitting the window they'd been admiring.
"You rain a lot," Alfred grumbled.
Arthur scoffed, "I'll have you know, that is summer rain. It is completely different from regular rain. It's warmer. And I know the state of Virginia rains more."
"That's…that's not in the same boat because it does normal rain. As in, it rains the cats and dogs it has to in order to keep stuff alive. And then it does this thing where it stops and the sun shines, which also keeps things alive."
"Hmmm, I see. I'm glad you explained that. Now, you looked through the window you were admiring, yes? Because glass is transparent. Nifty that way. Might've spied quite a bit of greenery out there? I can pick you back up for a second look, love?"
"…" His cheeks puffed. He was out of practice. None of his uncles bantered with him much. They saved that for each other. He also couldn't tell if it was them trying to be nice or if it was them excluding him from their inner ring.
Arthur grinned and set down some more blankets. "Ugh, it all smells of mothballs. I tell you I'll be washing everything the minute the weather clears."
More clouds gathered and the room darkened. Thunder boomed. Rain poured.
"Oh dear, I tempted fate." Arthur pulled various curtains over the windows and the balcony doors to block drafts. He then set up some room partitions to amplify the warmth of the fire.
He then turned on some LED lanterns and light strands and set them around strategically. "Bring the treasures over."
They went through the contents of the box.
Alfred tried on rings and bracelets.
There was one circlet that fit him nicely and he was suddenly babbling about Lord of the Rings.
Arthur fanned the flames both in the hearth and in conversation and they got to talking about all kinds of minor details.
Alfred liked all the nature descriptions. Arthur did, too.
It was easier, safer to talk about things like this rather than…everything else.
The fire nearby crackled merrily and everything seemed to thaw.
It was alright to be excited. He wasn't hurting anything by being overeager and pawing through valuables.
Arthur wanted this for him. He reclined in a way that suggested he was very comfortable. They had deeply enjoyed talking about this part of England's history, hadn't they? When he was little? No, until 1812.
Then, he began refraining from revisiting topics Arthur would enjoy. Where he could be a storytelling authority…
The reasoning had been that he had so much already.
He didn't need Alfred's admiration and rapt attention anymore.
With so many other wards, what was the loss of one?
Harris spelled that out.
That he was mediocre and forgettable and that all he really had was determination and what good was that when he wasn't really skilled at anything?
That revelation had stayed even after the memory of Harris was sealed.
It hurt. It had never stopped hurting. It cut him down worse than the cannonball that hurt his leg.
And nothing he did was ever good enough.
He wobbled hard as he reached into the box and nearly pitched forward.
Arthur's hand shot out to steady him by the shoulder.
"Are you alright?"
No. He wasn't.
He didn't want to talk about it yet. He didn't want to lie either.
He shrugged as a compromise.
And concentrated on regaining his balance.
Arthur's hand dropped and his brows furrowed.
He abruptly sat back up and opened his arms.
It was a little embarrassing, crawling over to him…even more that it was done a bit unsteadily.
But Arthur's arms pulled him in with ease and settled him. One strong arm braced him around the middle.
The other reached for the box and moved it close by.
Alfred pulled out a heavy ornate chain and puzzled over what it was used for. It wasn't a belt.
"That fastens a winter cloak," Arthur answered, unbidden. "Sometimes there would be a fur collar or mantle to pin in place."
Alfred held it with both hands now. "Shoulder to shoulder…?"
"Yes."
"Sir Gawain," Alfred mumbled.
"Heh. Yes, some knights and nobles would wear things like this."
It had opals with one large emerald at the center.
Alfred held it higher. It was the same shade as "…Your eyes."
Like his marble was, but a marble wasn't an emerald so he left it in his pocket.
"Oh? Is it a match?"
Surely, he knew. The gem was likely acquired or gifted for exactly that reason, but he let Alfred shift in his hold, and he leaned down, and he let Alfred make the comparison anyway.
There was something in that, in all of this, in the gentle expression he was making that reminded Alfred painfully of the 1600s.
"Sweetling?"
"Yeah. It's a match."
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Enjoy your winter holiday!