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shytalia · 5 years ago

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A Prince & a Pirate’s Fate - 15

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Chapter Fifteen

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

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Alfred sat stock still, silent as the rocking of the ship made his head bob every so often. He was surrounded by men loyal to the Spade’s kingdom and yet he felt like he couldn’t trust any of them. Not that he felt he was in any danger himself, in fact he was in a rather comfortable position all things considered. He was sitting in a well decorated room, on a comfy chair, with food and drink at his disposal if he so much as uttered a word.

But, Arthur was not.

Despite trying to convince the navy men that Arthur hadn’t forced him into becoming a pirate and he had gone to him on his own, they treated his captain like a kidnapper. His wrists remained bound behind him, with chains Alfred quickly found out were enchanted to keep the wearer’s magic docile.

They interrogated the Brit about the bruise forming on Alfred’s face and on his back. Which technically had been from said pirate, but Alfred wasn’t angry about them at all. Arthur had the right to be mad at that moment, so he took the pain with a patient understanding. But with the way they spoke to Arthur it was like he wasn’t their future queen at all and just another, dirty criminal for them to seize and destroy.

Worst of all, they didn’t even allow him to talk to him, even though the man was effectively tied up and thus posed no actual threat.

He had tried repeatedly, but was blocked off from the bound blonde. He had been polite at first and asked for passage, only to be told it was too dangerous for him to be near his future queen. Talking about Arthur as if he were just some sort of wild animal sent a twinge of anger through Alfred and he raised his voice and demanded they let him through. He was their prince and they would obey his orders.

Even that didn’t work.

There were, apparently, direct commandments from the King and Queen that their son was not to let near such a savage man as Arthur Kirkland. He simply could not be trusted.

So, after several hours of trying to convince the guards to let him see Arthur, he gave up and went back to his own, designated room. They were sailing back to the main capital in one of the many royal navy ships sent to ambush Arthur and his crew. He hadn’t heard much but from his own desperate pleading he convinced them not to execute the entire pirate crew right then and there. Instead, they agreed to push their punishments down the line in favor of getting him home to safety back at the castle. As such, Arthur’s ship was also trailing behind them, its crew as useful as its captain.

He had also demanded to see Peter safe and sound, to which his sea-faring subjects almost seemed sympathetic. Almost.

He could see the distrust gleaming in their eyes at just the mention of Peter’s name. Their pity may have come from him being just a boy but the truth of his identity as a Joker turned that sympathy into one of suspicion and hate. This must’ve been what Arthur had been talking about before, the prejudice Peter faced based on nothing but a mark on his skin he never asked for. Even him being only a child meant nothing and Alfred could tell from the subtle looks that these men wouldn’t care if Peter lived or died.

Still, they assured him that the boy was safe. And it was true that after Arthur had been imprisoned on the navy ship that Mathias had lowered his gun from Peter’s head and handed him off, not to the navy men, but to two of his own crew mates. Tino and Berwald were tasked to dutifully watch Peter and ensure he didn’t try anything fishy while they rode to the capital.

At the time Alfred had balked, was enraged even, that the soldiers around him would allow Peter to be given willingly to a bunch of pirates, but now? Now he could see why and he truly understood what Arthur had meant. They cared little for what they saw as a monster in a child’s body.

So here Alfred sat, guarded in a nice room fit for a prince like him. But he felt far from deserving of its comfort as the sea rolled them forward to their destination.

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The return of the beloved Prince of Spades was loud and bright. People gathered by the docks and along the city streets to catch glimpses of the carriages that would be bringing the missing royal home.

They cheered when they saw him, not one taking a moment to understand why his blue eyes suddenly looked so dark. If they did, they chalked it up to being exhausted from whatever horrible life he had been living under the iron boot of Captain Kirkland.

Decorations of Spadian Blue blinded Alfred as he rode through the streets of the city towards the castle. He was propped up on a carriage and paraded around like a god among his people and they loved it, to see their kind prince again after so long with their very own eyes. They screamed his name and waved, and Alfred did his best to smile and return the gestures of affection they gave him only for the sake of appearance. However, in the back of his mind, he was still terrified.

He knew, though he wasn’t allowed to actually see him, that Arthur rode only a few carriages behind him still bound and hidden. Thankfully the Brit wasn’t in the public’s eye like he was, which Alfred was silently grateful for because he knew the crowd’s loving cheers would be nothing short of curses and rage at the sight of the terrifying pirate.

Soon enough, he could see the familiar sight of the castle coming into view and a chill ran down his spine. Never in his life had his home felt more cold and empty than in this moment. This was not how he envisioned bringing Arthur back home, this was more akin to walking him to the gallows rather than to his wedding vows.

Alfred didn’t get much chance to argue when Arthur was dragged away after they reached the castle. The Brit was carried off, his eyes cold and his tongue sharp against the men who pulled him out of Alfred’s sight.

Tired as he was, the prince was set on figuring out just what the hell was going on. It was easy enough to find his parents, the king and queen made a grand display of greeting him in their throne room surrounded by adoring servants.

But something felt off. Alfred couldn’t quite place it, but something about the look in his parents’ eyes made his skin crawl. If he didn’t know better, they almost looked predatory as they watched him with an unwavering gaze.

It wasn’t until later that he would find out why.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” The King’s face was red and tense with anger. The three of them, the king, queen, and young prince, were now alone in a small but lavishly decorated room out of public view. “You went to find that monster on your own?”

For what little credit there was, Alfred at least appreciated that his father seemed a little worried about him, in some strange way. His mother, however, was more on the teary side.

“We were terrified! Oh my gods, we thought we lost you. You left a note saying you were leaving but didn’t tell us where, and I just--” She covered her face with her hands, muffling a sob.

“I had to! Arthur is my queen, it’s only right I should convince him to come back with me.” Alfred argued but the reality of the situation boiled in his veins. That isn’t what happened and now Arthur was being treated no better than any other criminal, if not worse. The trust he had worked so hard to build was shattered into a million, unmendable pieces.

“He is a murderer and a coward. He runs from his own fate.” The King snarled back.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Alfred’s hands curled into fists at his side, a protective vice gripping him and making him shake.

“You do not tell me what to do, boy.” Was the sharp response, a threat lingering on the edges of each word. “He may be your queen but he is no less a rot on this earth that I wish I could erase. The only thing saving him from hanging on a noose is the mark on his back and you would do very well to remember that.”

Alfred was seeing red, a fury he had never felt before. “Don’t you fucking dare--”

Alfred was interrupted by a heavy blow to the side of his face, forcing his head to the side in an uncomfortable angle and his feet to stumble.

"Do not talk to me like that again. I am your king and your father, my say is final." The older royal glared.

Alfred brought a hand to his face and stared with disbelief. His father was never exactly the kindest man but he had never hit him before, not like that.

"You need to rest. Kirkland has obviously gotten into your mind, made you question yourself...and me." The King's frown deepened harshly at that accusation, ignoring the betrayed look on his son’s face. "Arthur Kirkland will become the next Queen of Spades but he will not be a free man to do with this kingdom as he pleases. He would very well run everything we've worked for into the ground. You will rule and Arthur will be there, but his power is no more. I have seen to it myself."

“What do you mean?” Alfred accused, voice raising despite the slight shake of his hands.

“I mean,” the elder man started. “He will be immobilized, metaphorically speaking. We can’t quite do so physically without ruining the public image, tainted though it already is with him being a criminal...but emotionally and magically, he will be eviscerated. He will never use an ounce of magic ever again.”

“What? You can’t do that!” The horror of it struck Alfred to his core. His own parents would do that to someone? To his queen, no less? He knew how seriously Arthur took his arcane studies and the thought of the man he loved losing something so important to him made his heart ache. Arthur would absolutely be destroyed.

“I can and I will. Our mages have already begun preparing it. Kirkland’s magic will be nullified and nonexistent by the time they finish with him. Just to ensure he is no longer a threat to you or the kingdom.”

“He won’t let you do that!” Arthur would never, would he? Though he did have enchanted bonds on, he may not have a choice and it could be forced upon him. The realization made Alfred’s face pale.

“Oh, but he will. Otherwise, I’m told his younger brother is very important to him and it would be such a shame if something happened to him should Arthur act out of line.” The King stated plainly, his intent clear. He was using Peter as a pawn against Arthur and had no remorse about it once so ever.

“It will be safer this way for everyone, Alfred. Especially you.” His mother spoke now, a bit softer but her tone did little to appease her furious son. No matter how kindly she spoke, she was still on board with these monstrous claims and her sweet voice held no regret.

Suddenly, Alfred remembered what Arthur had confided in him back on The Island of Britannia.

“You tried to have Peter killed even before all this.” The prince grit his teeth together painfully.

“We did.” His father agreed, unfazed by his son’s red-hot glares. “As would any respecting monarch in any of the kingdoms who found a Joker in their midst. You may ask them yourself, when they come to visit in just a few, short weeks. They intend to meet Arthur before the wedding takes place, as is custom.”

“What?” Alfred practically hissed, the pain in his cheek a dull throb. “Arthur hates me now.”

“And? You knew he would hate you when you so foolishly chased after him on your own.” The King waved his hand and turned away, seemingly done with the conversation. He almost looked bored, which only served to piss Alfred off even more. “Nonetheless, the new queen is here. The wedding will commence as soon as possible.”

With that, the ruler dismissed himself and his faithful queen followed suit behind him.

Alfred had never noticed how much his mother resembled a leashed hound until that moment.

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Ignoring the pleas of several worried servants, Alfred climbed his way through the castle and to the room they had imprisoned Arthur in. It was actually a very large room and extravagantly decorated, as most of the castle was. It was a room fitting for a future queen, and he supposed that was the point. If there weren’t two armed guards standing outside the door it would’ve been easy to mistake Arthur as an esteemed guest.

And yet, Alfred came face to face with the two armored men who stood at attention and nodded respectfully upon his arrival.

“Let me in.” Alfred deadpanned. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, resisting the urge to push the men aside himself and storm in.

“Sorry, your grace. However--”

“I don’t give a shit! You will let me in.” Alfred yelled back. “He’s already chained up, he can’t do anything!”

Why were they acting this way? They were obviously scared and yes, he understood Arthur was a powerful and sometimes unpredictable man with a temper to match, but he was already caught. They could treat him better than this!

“I’m sorry, your highness...”

Alfred groaned and backed off. He knew trying to fight them physically was not a good option, despite his urge to push them aside and fall to his knees in front of Arthur and beg for forgiveness. He didn’t want to do that, the men were simply following orders and Alfred knew better than to think his father wouldn’t lock him up as well if he lashed out.

No, he had to be smarter.

Turning on his heel, he stormed down the hall. He knew the castle like the back of his hand and, as the mischievous young prince he was, he knew more than his fair share of secrets. Much like he knew ways to sneak out of the castle, he knew ways to sneak around in it as well.

All he had to do was wait until nightfall.

When the sun had set, Alfred made his way to an unoccupied guest room, only one floor above the one Arthur was using. He snuck his way into the door, making sure to close it again as he entered, and ran to the window. He knew he still had to be careful, they were several stories above the ground and one wrong slip would send him tumbling to a very splattery death. But he was determined to show Arthur what he meant to him and so his own safety was disregarded in favor of getting to the grumpy captain below him.

Pushing the window open was the easy part, he tossed his legs across the window frame and carefully gripped the ledge. Slowly, he eased himself down and across the stone surface of the outside walls until he was just far enough down to drop onto the balcony below. He landed with a pained grunt, the impact hard on his knees and he flopped onto his side before he could catch himself.

“Fuck, that hurt.” He muttered to himself, attempting to push himself up onto his elbow only for it to send a searing agony through his left side. “Shit!” He hissed, rolling to his other side and using his good arm to push himself off the ground. He took only a moment to assess the damage done, unsure if his elbow was just going to be badly bruised or if he actually had broken something in it when he landed. He didn’t have the time to care, he stood up holding his throbbing arm and pushed forward.

Arthur’s room was dark and cold as he stepped inside. Thankfully the balcony door was not locked, he figured the guards knew that even Arthur couldn’t rightly escape from so high up without the use of magic to aid him. At least, not easily.

“Arthur?” Alfred whispered into the dark room, his blue eyes searching for any sign of movement. He knew there were still guards posted dutifully outside the main door and if they heard him then his struggle to get into the room would be for nothing. “Are you asleep?”

Suddenly, a pain rang out through his head as he was hit and he stumbled a ways away from the culprit.

“Leave.” Someone snarled.

Alfred jumped at the sound ghosting right into his ear, whirling around to catch a glimpse of glaring green orbs in the dark only mere inches away from his face.

“Arthur,” The prince spoke softly despite the pain, instantly stepping towards the familiar emeralds with his arms stretched out. “Artie, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry, I--”

“I told you to leave.” Came the cold response as the Brit stepped back and out of the other man’s reach. “I don’t care what your intentions were. I made mine perfectly clear, I didn’t want this, and you simply didn’t care.”

As much as he didn’t want to, part of him believed Alfred hadn’t planned this. Gazing into pleading, saddened blue eyes it was easy to see that the secret royal felt a guilt unlike any other. And yet, Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck. He had made it more than crystal clear that he did not want to be queen and had told Alfred such many times, he had even told him why, which was a punch to the gut itself. Alfred knew the truth about his family and still, he lied. He used him like any royal would.

“It’s not like that,” Alfred begged softly, stepping forward again only for Arthur to mirror it and step back. “I wanted to find you on my own and to understand...understand why you didn’t want to be mine. But now I get it, and I wanted to tell you the truth but not like that, gods Arthur, never like that.” The horror stricken face when is mark was revealed was one Alfred never wanted to see on his betrothed ever again and it hurt to know that he was the reason it had appeared there in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? You got what you wanted.” Arthur’s words were cold and made Alfred shiver.

“No!” Alfred clamped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from shouting too loud or else he would alert the guards outside the room. The last thing either of them needed was to be found out. “No, I didn’t. I want you as my queen, of course I do, but more than anything I want you to be happy with me. I can’t stand this, Arthur. I can’t stand you hating me.”

“I’m afraid you are in for a rough marriage then, dear.”

Alfred felt his fingers twitch, the harsh tone of Arthur’s voice striking a cord in him that he didn’t know he had. He was trying to apologize and make things right and Arthur was standing there mocking him! Without much thought, he reached out much faster this time and grabbed a hold of Arthur’s wrist and pulled.

“Oi!” The Brit started to protest but they were drowned out by lips crashing roughly into his own. His green eyes went wide in surprise at the sudden contact as Alfred’s arm then snaked around his waist and pulled him in tighter.

“Please, let me make things right.” The prince pulled back only enough to speak, his breath grazing along the shorter man’s lips as he whispered them. “I’ll fix this, I promise.”

“You can’t fix this, it’s already done.” Arthur muttered back.

“I will. I promised you, I would be your hero. Please, let me do that for you.” He ran a slow hand across the smaller man’s back, tracing his spine up and down with gentle fingers. “My father wants to...take your magic, says the royal mages are already planning some sort of nullification to take your powers away. He’s afraid of you.”

“He should be.”

Alfred flinched at that. It wasn’t the reaction he expected, it was as if it wasn’t a surprise at all to the Brit. He expected screaming and anger, not just an icy agreement. His stunned silence must’ve been all the question Arthur needed.

Then again, Arthur probably knew that blowing up and alerting the guards standing outside his room would end much more poorly for him than it would for Alfred.

“I know what he’s planning. The navy men who brought me here were not exactly keen on keeping secrets they thought would make me squirm.” Arthur mumbled, his lips softly moving against the side of Alfred’s jaw as he spoke. “Your father wants me to stand at your side and obey. It is exactly how I told you it would be...they want the body with the mark, but they don’t want me.”

“I want you.” Alfred corrected quickly. Despite his shock that Arthur knew his father's plans and his boiling anger that the navy personnel that brought him here were cruel enough to tease him, Alfred knew more than anything that he wanted Arthur for who he was and nothing less.

“Until you are king, what you want doesn’t matter, and by then it will be far too late.” The pirate said in return, his head tilting down and away from the warm breath. Still, he could feel Alfred’s kisses in his hair as he turned away. “If I don’t do what they ask they will kill Peter. The only reason they haven’t yet is they know what will happen if they do.”

Alfred’s grip tightened instinctively around the other man’s waist, drawing him even closer until he was squished against his chest.

“What will happen if Peter dies?” His voice was hesitant, barely audible at all. Deep down he knew he didn’t want the answer to the question he had just asked because he had a feeling he already knew.

Arthur didn’t answer immediately, he remained silent for a few, long moments and let the thick silence wash over them. “I won’t live if I lose Peter.” He finally voiced softly. “If I lose him, I’ve lost everything. I won’t allow myself to live if he dies.” He felt another arm wrap around him, though it was looser than the other he ignored that.

Alfred, as much as it hurt, used his injured arm to wrap around Arthur’s shoulders and into a hug. The implication that Arthur would kill himself should something happen to Peter wasn’t that surprising, but it was not something Alfred wanted to have to worry about. He planned on taking care of both of them.

For the first time, Alfred realized how small Arthur really looked in this moment. His eyes were cast down and his skin was ghostly. There was a sense of brokenness to him that had never been there before.

“I won’t let them hurt him.” He promised quickly. “I’ll be your hero, just like I said I would. Yours and Peter’s, I swear.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Arthur muttered back, his arms still limp at his sides as if they didn’t work at all. They still did, of course, the blow to his head was proof enough of that, but for Arthur and his magic, they might as well be broken.

Realizing this, Alfred pulled back slightly and allowed his hands to roam from Arthur back down his arms. When they reached the pale wrists, he lifted them up and glared hard at the metal shackles encircling them. His face twisted into an angry sneer at the thought of Arthur’s magic being contained like this, of him being forced here and locked in a room like a cage.

His fingers shook as he stared down at the enchanted binds on his fiance with narrow eyes, mentally cursing his father as he did so.

“I don’t know how long we have until the mages are finished creating the nullification magic.” Alfred admitted as gently as he could, but didn’t fail to notice the way Arthur tensed up slightly.

“They can take my magic as long as Peter stays safe.” Was the quiet reply, but his voice betrayed the pain nuzzled between the words. Arthur was terrified, but he would be strong if it meant saving his brother. He would give up anything for him.

When Arthur said nothing else on the matter and only pitifully resigned to his fate, Alfred pulled him close again and buried his nose into his messy hair. He planted soft kisses throughout it, trying his best to bring some form of comfort. “You should rest, love.” He told him. “Come on, I’ll get you to bed.”

Walking to the large bed, Alfred pulled back the covered to make room for Arthur to lie down. The man did so wordlessly, normally fiery green eyes now a dull ember of what they once were.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise. We’ll figure this out together.”

And he did.

After Arthur was in bed, Alfred easily snuck out the balcony and avoided the patrolling guards with a light step. He knew their routines like the back of his hand and just how to get around them. It came with being a trouble making prince, after all.

It also helped him keep his promise, returning to Arthur night after night. During the day, he tried to reason with his unrelenting father for some sort of mercy, only to receive a scolding. It frustrated Alfred to no end that he was no closer to figuring out a way to save Arthur even as several days passed and talk of visiting monarchs began bubbling up more and more. Not that Alfred cared about them, he was too concerned with Arthur to give any potential guest a second glance.

But during the nights, when he could sneak easily through the halls and down a cobbled wall into Arthur’s private room, he felt his heart swell. Each greeting was like a breath of fresh air, sending his body into a blissful calm as he wrapped his arms tight against the man he loved so dearly. He wasted no time assuring him that they would be okay and reminding him that he truly did love him.

At first, Arthur was cruel. It was obvious his mistrust in Alfred was still weighing heavily on his mind and the prince did his best to right his wrongs.

Night after night Alfred climbed the walls to Arthur and eventually found himself falling into open arms instead of a nasty scowl. It was slow, sure, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“I brought you this,” Alfred told him one night, his voice only barely audible. “I thought you might like it. It’s from the garden.” Reaching into his coat pocket, the younger man produced a crimson rose and presented it proudly to the captain. Its petals were slightly bruised and its stem was twisted from the journey, but he didn’t mind. “I know you love roses. I want to show you the actual gardens soon...once I get you out of here, I promise I will. You’ll love them.”

The motivated sparkling in his ocean eyes was enough for Arthur to actually believe him for once.

Nearly two weeks into Arthur’s confinement and the talk of visiting royals was more than just a rumor. Apparently, representatives from each of the other kingdoms wished to come and visit the newly captured queen. Alfred wasn’t sure of their motives, he knew Arthur had a lot of enemies not only in The Spades but in each of the other realms as well. Still, to appease his father and hopefully gain some leeway with him, the prince promised to play nice.

Only a few days before the other royals were meant to arrive, Alfred landed gracefully onto the Brit’s balcony once more. He had perfected the landing by now and greeted his queen with open arms as he stepped into the room.

“I’ve missed you.” He smiled, pulling Arthur close and leaving kisses across his face. “I always miss you, babe.”

The pirate let out a small snort at that but allowed himself to be dragged into a tight embrace.

“And I you, you insufferable git.” He muttered back, running a hand over his lover’s hair.

Alfred pulled back only enough to send the shorter man a large grin before snuggling his face into his hair. “There are representatives from the other kingdoms coming to meet you soon.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know exactly who’s coming yet...but be careful. I can’t bear to think that anything else might happen to you.” Alfred spoke softly. “You or Peter. I heard him and your ship are still in the harbor outside the captial. Most of your crew is still alive, but awaiting punishment. They’re in the dungeons...but I’m trying to convince my father to release them for rehabilitation instead of execution.”

Arthur let out another chuckle, this one darker and unbelieving. “Rehabilitation for a bunch of pirates? Your father must think you’re quite mad.”

Alfred returned the smirk with one of his own. “He already does because he knows I’m dead in love with you, but what he thinks doesn’t matter to me.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead.

The Brit let out a light hum, tracing his arms around the taller man’s neck and pulling him back down for another kiss on the lips. After the connection was broken, Alfred leaned his forehead snuggly against the other’s and stared down at him seriously. He could see the faint hint of hesitation in those emerald eyes.

“I’ll be there with you, you know, when the other royals come. I’ll be by your side, I’ll make sure of it.” He tried to smile encouragingly. “Come on, you look tired. Let’s get you to bed, love.” He said, putting his hand at the small of Arthur’s back and leading him towards the decorated mattress. But as he moved to cover the Brit up with the blankets, his motion was stopped by the pirate sitting up without warning. Without a word, the shorter blonde reached out and grabbed the prince’s shirt, pulling him roughly until he came barreling down onto the bed as well.

Alfred had to physically restrain himself from letting out a shocked yell, relieved that somehow the guards hadn’t heard the groan of the bed as he landed on it with a flop. “A-Artie?” He sputtered, his eyes wide as he watched the lean man straddle on top of him and glare. Normally the image of Arthur on top of him was a welcome sight, but this wasn’t exactly a friendly face.

“Stay for a moment.” The Brit commanded, sending Alfred into an array of confusion and bliss.

“What?” He couldn’t help the amused grin that tugged on his lips. When he only received a short grunt as a response he chuckled. “You know I can’t stay, Artie. What if we get found out?”

“I said only a moment.” Arthur echoed, only more annoyed this time. To complete his request, the captain shifted until he was lying down half beside Alfred and half on top of him, effectively locking him in place. He wrapped his slender arms around the other man and rested his head on the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet scent that lingered there.

Alfred’s grin was still plastered to his face but couldn’t stop the beating of his heart when Arthur effectively wrapped around him. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t the greatest thing he could’ve ever asked for. He reached up and began idly running his fingers through the Brit’s hair, earning him a soft huff of contentment as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He could rest for a while, he told himself, as long as Arthur was there and willing, he would gladly stay by his side as long as he could.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

Alfred awoke to a loud gasp.

His eyes snapped open but the maid was already scrambling out of the door, making way for the guards to enter instead. The prince tightened his grip around the warm body next to him protectively, growling at the predatory way the two uniformed men glared at them.

He hadn’t meant to spend the night with Arthur. Truthfully, he had fully intended to wait until the Brit fell asleep and then would slip out undetected before morning. It seemed, however, that his body had other plans and he had fully fallen asleep.

“Your highness,” One of the guards sounded both appalled and furious. “What are you doing here? You have to leave immediately.”

Beside him, Alfred could feel Arthur stirring and in an instant venomous green eyes were matching the glares of the two guarded men before them.

“Piss off, can’t you see we were trying to sleep? Are all you capital wankers really that rude to interrupt someone's sleep?” The tired pirate swore, sending them a snarl of his own.

They were caught, there was no denying it now.

“Please, just exit the room. I’ll be out in a moment.” Alfred urged, more gently than Arthur in hopes to get them to listen. Unfortunately, neither guard faltered.

“We’re sorry, your majesty. However, we can’t leave you alone with him.”

“Your father will be more than displeased by this.”

“We can’t allow him to remain here either, we will have to remove him to a more secure location.”

“Of course. Please, your highness, so we may proceed. The sooner we do this the lesser the punishment will be for your...queen.”

Alfred grit his teeth. To hell with what his father thought! Obviously he was unharmed, so why did they still distrust Arthur so much? Why could they not see they were the ones being foolish. He gripped Arthur tighter against him, his face scrunching into an angry sneer. They looked at his queen like he was little more than a wild animal in a cage and Alfred wanted nothing more than to wipe those judgmental faces right from them.

“I said I will leave on my own.” The prince challenged, finally relenting his iron grip on the man beside him in favor of pulling himself slowly out of the bed. He realized somewhere in the back of his mind that he had never even taken off his shoes before falling asleep. Not that it really mattered now anyway. “And you will not bother him. Am I understood?” The edge in his voice was unlike his usual, childish self.

He was the beloved Prince Alfred of Spades, the golden boy, a kind man with a spirited heart. His people adored him for this. But, when faced with a possible threat to the one he cared about, his warmth turned into an uncontrollable wildfire that threatened anyone in its path.

His darkened gaze did not go unnoticed, as he saw the subtle fall of the guard’s faces as he sized them up. He could take them, he concluded. Even if they were armored and held weapons, they wouldn’t use them against him of all people. He was the prince, after all. That didn't mean the two would not get physical if they needed to. Even still, Alfred was confident he could out match them even if the numbers were not in his favor.

“Sir, we really can’t do that. Your father--”

“To hell with my father!” Alfred shouted, successfully shocking both guards, Arthur, and himself. Not that he cared in this moment, right now he was only worried about keeping his lover safe from prying hands and potential harm. “You will not touch him.” He growled, fists clenching at his sides.

“Alfred, you’re not helping things.” Arthur’s brows furrowed together in confusion and even some irritation. They were in deep shit already now that their secret meetings had been discovered, the teen didn’t need to make things worse by getting into a fight with the guards.

His argument fell on deaf ears because the second one of the guardsmen braced himself and told Arthur to “keep your filthy mouth shut”, Alfred lost it and lundged right at him. He tackled the man to the hard ground with a carnivorous sound emanating in the back of his throat, possessive of what was his and unwilling to accept any threats. He raised his fist behind his head and brought it back down on the man’s face with painful accuracy.

He heard another shriek from the hallway, no doubt the same maid from before who was peering into the room. He didn’t care, even when he felt more hands on him, pulling him off the other male and holding him down.

It all happened in a flash, the blur of his anger blinding him to the rushing of more guards and even some mages into the room in a panic. He heard Arthur yelling something, but when he turned to look, the prince felt a sharp blow the to head and his world faded into darkness.

#usuk #usuk fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #hetalia #aph #aph america #america #aph england #england #cardverse #pirate au #protective Alfred is my jam #hot damn

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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Epilogue

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

50 Years Later… May, 1995

Arthur's back creaked in protest as he dragged himself up the stairs of the pub. It seemed like every day it got harder. One of these days, he told himself. One of these days he was going to install an elevator. He grumbled to himself as he finally reached the top and walked slowly into the living room. He fell heavily into his favourite armchair and looked across at Alfred, who sat watching the small television set absently. "One of these days I am going to install an elevator."

Alfred's lips twitched in a tiny smile. "You say that every day, Arthur."

"I mean it, too. Mail's here."

Alfred looked over, his eyes lighting up. "Ooh, what'd we get?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He didn't know how Alfred managed to get so excited every day about something as simple as the mail arriving. He leafed through the pages and envelopes. "Just the newspaper and some catalogues. Oh, and a postcard from Matthew and Francis."

"Where are they now?"

"Cruising around the Spanish coast, can you believe it?" Arthur examined the postcard with a picture of a pristine beach on the front and Matthew's handwriting on the back. "When will they learn they're too old like the rest of us?"

"Hey, speak for yourself, old man."

Arthur ignored him with the practiced ease that only came after fifty years of living with a bloody irritating American. He leant back against the soft cushions and opened the newspaper. It was a special issue to celebrate the 50th VE Day, the 50th anniversary of the end of the war in Europe. Alfred had been invited to numerous ceremonies of course, but he never was one to make a big deal of these sorts of things. He had barely mentioned anything about the day and seemed quite content to simply watch the proceedings on television. Arthur focused on the newspaper. After flicking past a few articles on the end of the war and the current celebrations, he came to a page that made him pause in shock. "Well, blow me down."

"Hm?" asked Alfred vaguely, his eyes glued to the television set.

"You're in the paper!"

Alfred looked over, surprised. "What? Is it about the UFO sighting I reported last month?"

"No…"

"Is it about that cat I rescued from the tree out front last week?"

"No, Alfred…"

"It's not about that can of tomatoes I forgot to pay for at the supermarket is it, because I took them back and the girl was real nice and she swore she wouldn't get the police involved…"

"Alfred, shut up." Arthur held up the lift-out from the paper. Alfred leant forward and squinted.

"What's it say? Hold on, I need my stronger glasses…" Alfred rummaged around on the coffee table.

Arthur smiled slightly and shook his head. "It says, 'Fighter Aces of World War Two,'"

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "You don't say?"

"And look, there you are." Arthur gazed at the black and white photo of nineteen year old Alfred in the paper, grinning widely at the camera with his military cap at a skewed angle. He looked exactly the way Arthur remembered. Arthur sighed quietly. "You were so handsome."

"What's with this 'were' business?"

"Shush." Arthur read the article out loud. "Lieutenant Alfred F. Jones of the American Army Air Force only flew in combat for a few short months in 1944, but quickly distinguished himself as one of the best fighter pilots of the war. Known by the enemy as 'The Magician' for his unparalleled skills in evasion, his record of seven kills in a single flight has never been equalled by an American pilot, before or since. Lieutenant Jones' last flight, during which he was isolated by a squadron of German Messerschmitts in allied airspace, is still considered one of the most courageous moments in aviation history. Greatly outnumbered, Jones took down seven enemy planes while defending strategic airspace and drawing fire away from his squad into enemy territory. Here he was shot down, captured, and…" Arthur faltered over the next few words. It was amazing how, even fifty years later, any mention of that incident still affected him so strongly. He looked up at Alfred, who smiled gently back at him.

"Skip that bit."

Arthur took a deep breath, skipped ahead, and continued reading. "For this act of bravery Jones was awarded the prestigious Medal of Honor. He went on to become a greatly respected military flight instructor. He travelled extensively between England and the United States and has been formally recognised by the British government on several occasions for services to the Commonwealth. Alfred Jones currently resides in London with his…" Arthur trailed off once again.

"With his what?" Alfred prompted.

Arthur's mind spun in disbelief. His mouth went dry and he could barely manage to choke out the words. "With his long time partner Arthur Kirkland." Arthur shook his head in astonishment. "They put that in the paper… can you believe they actually wrote that in the national bloody newspaper!"

Alfred giggled cheerfully. "Ah, the times they are a-changing. Wait and see, we'll be walking down the aisle one of these days!"

Arthur just stared unbelieving at the words in print before him. After all these years of being the partner of a war hero, it was the first time he had been publicly acknowledged as such. He couldn't help the wave of pride he felt, knowing that the entire country would read that paper and those words. He also couldn't help the wide smile that spread across his face. Then he looked up, saw Alfred grinning at him, and felt slightly embarrassed. He folded the paper and tossed it down beside him. "Huh, well, there you are then. What is this rubbish you're watching anyway?"

Alfred turned the volume up. "Some concert celebration for the 50th anniversary."

Arthur shook his head in disgust. "I never did like these depressing wartime songs." Alfred just laughed. When the next song started, Arthur recognised the tune immediately. His stomach turned cold. "Oh no."

Alfred's face lit up and he looked over at Arthur excitedly. "Arthur! It's our song!"

Arthur just repeated, "Oh no."

But it was too late. Alfred had already pulled himself out of his chair and was attempting to drag Arthur to his feet. Arthur attempted a protest, but he already knew it was in vain. He finally let himself be dragged out of the chair and into Alfred's arms. Alfred held him in the familiar dance position and began waltzing across the floor. And, of course, he started singing. "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when…"

The sun flooded through the curtains as memories of this song flooded Arthur's mind. Fifty years. Fifty years that had passed in a heartbeat. Fifty years of dancing and laughing and terrible singing and everything else that came with it. In decades past they had danced to this tune playing from a wireless radio, a gramophone, a record player, a black and white television, a tiny cassette player, a CD player Alfred had excitedly brought home one morning in 1983, and on one memorable occasion from a military band at a highly select function as several amused and confused international delegates looked on. And on this particular afternoon they danced to the tune playing from their small colour television set. Of course they danced a little slower, and Alfred didn't swing Arthur around and dip him like he used to. But some things, just like the song itself, never changed.

"Keep smiling through, just like you, always do…" Alfred's hair was thin and grey. His handsome face was lined with the years. But that grin still had the exact same effect as ever. "til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away!"

"Well, one thing certainly hasn't changed," said Arthur, smiling up into Alfred's blazing blue eyes.

"What's that?" asked Alfred, grinning down as he held Arthur tightly by the waist and ran his thumb over Arthur's palm.

"After all these years, my dear, you are still the most bloody awful singer I have ever heard."

Alfred just laughed as they danced slowly to the swelling music while the afternoon sunshine flooded the room. "I love you too," he replied, before bursting back into song.

"But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!"

THE END

Keep Smiling Through

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again epilogue

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bluesfanfiction · 6 years ago

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The Best of Luck - USUK FF

This is a fic trade with @x-silkplants-x. I haven’t written in a while and boy I got a little carried away sorry! (I went over our word count but honestly don’t worry about it! It’s my apology for being late) This was a prompt they had requested so I hope I did it justice >< and I hope you like it!!!

Summary - On Arthur’s birthday, there is a competition held in which alphas will compete for Arthur’s hand in marriage. AU - Omegaverse, Wealthy AU Rating - SFW

It was that time of year again. Most people looked forward to their birthdays, and Arthur did have to say coming from a wealthy family parties did have their perks. However, his birthday also doubled as another event. It had started from his 18th birthday, from old traditions that had run in the family. On his birthday each year there was to be a competition where alphas from all around would come to compete for his hand in marriage. Since these were modern times though Arthur had been given the right to deny the winner each year since his 18th birthday if he was not satisfied with them. Which he had done. Besides, 18 seemed rather too young to get married. It was only on the condition that he would accept someone by his 25th birthday. It was his 24th birthday now, which meant he had this year or the next to decide, and honestly the thought was terrifying.

He was up late, tossing and turning. It wasn’t like he was… nervous. Probably it was the light from laptop charger, or not being able to get into a comfortable enough position, or the temperature of the room was wrong. Either way, he was unable to fall asleep. Part of him had contemplated that if it came to it, he would run away by his 25th birthday if there was no hope. However, he still was an omega so finding work and support would be more difficult for him than an alpha. And what if he were to get his heat in a place with no security or protection? Arthur had never particularly felt trapped here. He loved his family. But he hated the traditions their family had to uphold, and he hated the unfairness it brought to omegas.

Morning did eventually come. In the grand hall the competitors would gather for pre-event greetings. Arthur was expected to attend, of course. It did give him a sense of their personality before they went into the competition. Most of the time though the same competitors came back each year, persistent alphas who had nothing else to do it seemed. The maids came to help Arthur ready himself, helping him into his attire. He thanked them for their help- It was always such a troublesome task with all the different layers and pieces that went into his outfit. A tailored and fitted suit, with flares to accentuate his frame. He eyed himself in the mirror and ruffled his hair once the maids were gone, not liking when it stuck down on his head too much.

The event was an all-day one, the finale being a grand party held in the ballroom. It was at the end of the party, with a toast to all the competitors, that Arthur would make his decision.

When Arthur got to the grand hall everyone was gathered. His mother greeted him with a kiss to the cheek and a smile, his younger brother tugged at his sleeve and grinned up at him. Arthur gave him a pat to the hair and smiled.

“Martin is here again,” Peter said, looking over in the man’s direction.

Arthur caught a glimpse of the alpha and rolled his eyes. “Back for another round is he?”

“Ava is here as well.” Peter pointed her. She was near a group of Arthur’s housemaids, chatting them up. It wasn’t uncommon for female alphas to perform in these competitions either. After all, the alpha who would wed Arthur would have claim to the Kirkland fortune. That was enough to draw anyone.

“She performed well two years ago, if I recall,” Arthur said, thinking she looked more fit than before, as if she had been prepping for this year’s competition.

Arthur went around and made his introductions, or reintroductions for most, and was about halfway through when he spotted Alfred coming over to him. “Alfred?” Arthur was surprised to see the alpha. He was a bank teller full time and had a brother who was married to a cousin of Arthur’s. Arthur had met him at first at Alfred’s brother’s wedding, and then a few more times after that. He was an awkward alpha, but sweet all the same. He had a confidence in himself but no need to impress anyone. He always had some sort of awful joke he had saved to tell Arthur, and spent a lot of time telling him facts and trivia about ice cream. Arthur didn’t know if it was because the alpha loved ice cream, of if he somehow knew of Arthur’s secret love of the dessert. He was also an American but had moved to London after graduating university, so he still had that American accent Arthur secretly adored.

“H-hey Artie,” Alfred said, looking nervous for once.

“Are you dropping by Alfred? Were you interested in watching the competition?” Alfred had never come before, so Arthur didn’t know why he was suddenly interested now.

“Actually I’m going to compete,” Alfred said, standing up a bit straighter than before.

Arthur laughed. “Is this one of your new jokes you’ve saved for me?”

Alfred’s expression was stuck between a grin (he couldn’t help but smile when Arthur was laughing) and one of embarrassment. “No jokes here today. I’m really going to compete. I-I hope you’ll wish me luck.”

Arthur quieted a bit, seeing the seriousness in Alfred’s expression. He didn’t know how he felt. It was a lie to say he had never considered Alfred in that way. Alfred was handsome and kind and sweet. He could certainly picture him as a good husband. But Alfred had just never seemed interested. Not in money or being part of a wealthy family or even in Arthur at all… It wasn’t determined that Alfred would win today, but if he were to … Would Arthur turn him down?

The nervousness made Arthur’s hands sweat as he was once again reminded of how his time was running out. Alfred cleared his throat a bit, unsure, when Arthur didn’t answer.

“I wish you the best of luck, Alfred,” Arthur said, meaning it.

Alfred beamed. “I’ll do my best.”

Alfred’s best was… clumsy. It looked as if the alpha had not prepared in the slightest. The schedule for the day started with Archery. After that, Hunting, a Luncheon, followed by a Trivia of the Kirkland Household, and finally, the party. Each event would award the competitors with points. It didn’t matter if the competitor scored low in the first event, they were still allowed to continue onto the next one, and complete in all of the events of the day. At the end of the day, the final points for each competitor would be totaled, and the one with the most points would be decreed winner and be eligible to marry Arthur (if Arthur agreed). It was made this way so that those who perhaps were not as skilled in archery could make up points in later events, or vice versa.

Arthur found himself too focused on Alfred to really see how any of the other competitors were doing. He wasn’t even sure who was leading at the moment, but he knew for a fact it certainly wasn’t Alfred. The alpha was struggling to even string a bow. Arthur wouldn’t doubt it was probably the first time he had ever picked one up. He felt pity for Alfred and wished he could go down and give him some pointers. It was no matter though, there were other events Alfred could score points in to make up for it. It was just a slow start, that was all.

But it seemed it was not just a slow start. In the Hunting event, Alfred didn’t know what he was doing either, and had even struggled to get on the horse. At the Luncheon, Arthur observed his manners at the table and found his etiquette to be lacking. However, he was excelling in drawing out forced laughs with his horrid puns. Arthur was at a separate table but could still hear those punch lines and the groans from the other alphas that looked at Alfred like he was just there to make them look better. He didn’t seem to mind, or… he didn’t even seem to notice. He carried on, a big smile on his face. He kept complimenting the food and thanking the butlers and maids that brought each dish out. Arthur smiled to himself, catching his eldest brother looking over at him when he did.

The last event of the day before the party was the Trivia. It was the history of the Kirkland household, the family history, everything important that had been crammed into Arthur as a child about his relatives and all that nonsense. Arthur watched hands raise, answers come. Alfred attempted to answer as many as he could but was often wrong… by a lot. The host of the Trivia event announced the end of the round.

“We will have a set of three bonus questions. These questions are specific to Arthur Kirkland, rather than the Kirkland family. These points will have no negative effect on your score if you are to answer them wrong.”

Each year there was a bonus round, it was promoted as a way to earn bonus points to help you out, but in all the years they’d done it, no one had managed to answer all of them, or even one of them. They were more personal to things about Arthur that his competitors often didn’t take the time to look into. Most of them had never even spoken to Arthur before or outside of this event, and so how could they know anything about him? It wasn’t really fair, but Arthur placed a lot of importance on this part of the day. He didn’t want some stranger marrying him. He wanted someone who knew him or even cared to know anything about him. These competitors might be trained in Hunting, have knowledge of the household, or have table manners, but… They were marrying Arthur, not the hunting grounds or anything like that.

Arthur sighed. All hope of Alfred had gone out the window too. Arthur had thought the Archery was just a blunder, but as the day had drawn on it had become apparent to him that Alfred had not prepared and knew little to nothing about any of the events. Even if he did have his bad jokes and charming smile and cute dimples…

“First question: How does Arthur take his tea?”

One hand shot up. Alfred’s. He’d been trying to answer all of the questions anyway so Arthur thought he was just going to guess at this one too.

“As sweet as it can be,” Alfred said. “Arthur likes as much sugar as the cup will hold. He doesn’t like anyone knowing how much he loves sweets but he just can’t help himself when it comes to tea.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, his posture straightening a bit, his attention more on Alfred now.

“That’s correct. Bonus points to Mr. Jones. Second question. What’s Arthur’s favorite flower?”

Another hand shot up before Alfred’s. It was Martin’s. “Obviously it’s the same as the Kirkland household’s- the Foxglove.”

“That’s in-”

“That’s stupid,” Alfred interrupted. “It’s obviously not the Foxglove. Artie’s favorite flower is a rose. Specifically red roses,” he said confidently. “Arthur always grows them in his private garden and likes to take care of them practically every day.”

“That’s correct. Bonus points to Mr. Jones once again. Final question…” Arthur was as straight up in his seat as he could be, more attentive than he’d ever been before. Alfred had… remembered all those things… about him? They had met before but not that often and Arthur didn’t talk much about himself. Even when he did, he didn’t think anyone listened- especially alphas. He remembered giving Alfred a rose once before, telling him he could use it to brighten up his desk at the bank. Arthur felt his heart race a bit.

“What’s Arthur’s favorite dessert?”

Alfred’s hand went up again with no hesitation. “Strawberry ice cream. Artie likes a lot of different flavors of ice cream, but he likes the sweetness of fresh strawberries and he especially likes them in ice cream. He always craves it around spring and early summer.”

Arthur�� had never told anyone that. How could Alfred have known?

“That’s correct,” the host announced. “This event has now concluded. Everyone may now take some time to relax and freshen up before gathering in the ballroom for the party. Thank you.”

The competitors began getting up and stretching and chatting amongst each other, talking about how they think they did, or how many points they thought they had. Arthur couldn’t move, still stuck to the spot, eyes on Alfred. The alpha met his eyes from across the room and he smiled at him. He could see Alfred get up and walk towards him and felt his hand twitch. People moved between them, cutting them off from each other’s view. Arthur got one more glimpse, then stood up and ran from the room.

He ran to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and walking to the window. There were people out in the lawn who were looking up at his window, pointing towards it and waving when they saw him stand there. Arthur closed the curtains. His heart was racing. Alfred… Alfred had answered every question right. And yet, he had gotten everything else wrong. Oh why had he been so ill-prepared in all the events? Unable to do a single thing. Even with the bonus points he was most certainly in last place. Even if Arthur wanted to chose him, he couldn’t.

Is that what Arthur wanted? Did he want to chose Alfred?

That dolt. That simple stupid American bank teller with his stupid puns and stupid blue eyes. That charming, sweet, wonderful alpha who listened to Arthur when Arthur went on about his boring books or his garden. Arthur felt tears sting in his eyes. He heard a knock on his door.

“Arthur? Dear?” It was his mother’s voice. Arthur wiped the hot tears away.

“Yes mother?”

She entered the dark room, finding Arthur still standing near the window, the curtains drawn closed. She sat on the edge of his bed. She had gone through the same thing as him, competitors asking for her hand in marriage through competition and events. She understood what he was going through. “You don’t have to chose anyone this year, you know…” She murmured, although she too realized he only had one year left to pick.

Arthur sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.

“That’s not it mother… I have decided…”

His mother perked up a bit, interested. “Really dear? Then what’s the matter?” Arthur looked down at his hands. “The stupid alpha didn’t score enough points,” he muttered.

Realization dawned on his mother’s face as she figured out who Arthur was referring to. She had seen the alpha’s performance throughout the day, had met the lad before, and she had seen her son and him talking a few times. She smiled and ran her fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“You chose him?” she asked. “Are you sure, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded, trying to stop from crying so his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy during the party. “Even if we gave him a year to prepare for the next competition, there’s no guarantee he would win or even get enough points. And next year is the last… But… he was the only one who knew…” His mother smiled softly and kissed Arthur on the forehead.

“Let me talk with your father,” she said.

Arthur looked up at her. “You mean… you would… let me chose him?” he asked.

“We know this tradition is hard. It’s unfair to chose. We had hoped you would find someone through these parties and events that you would want to chose. And now, it seems you have.”

Arthur felt the tears well up again and leaned over to hug his mother. “Thank you,” he murmured, burying his face into her neck, feeling comforted as if he were a small child again.

Arthur felt as if he were floating through the party, unaware of most things. He felt nervous now even more than before. What if… What if Alfred didn’t accept him? He had run away earlier. What if Alfred had taken that as a bad sign and had left? He didn’t see the alpha at the party now, although there were a lot of people. Hor d'oeuvres were being passed around, family and competitors and many others stood around with wine or champagne in hand, chatting excitedly to find out the results.

A clink to a glass caught everyone’s attention. Arthur had made his way up to the main part of the ballroom, on a raised stage where everyone could see him more clearly. His father and mother were there, smiling proudly at him. His father winked in a comforting way towards Arthur.

It was customary that Arthur was to read the results and make the announcement to everyone. He took a sheet from a maid and stepped up to a microphone. “Thank you everyone for coming and participating today,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. His eyes scanned the crowd of faces, trying and failing to find Alfred’s. “Thank you to the competitors for doing their best and working hard for this day,” he added. “As you know, the points from today will be added together, and the one with the most points will be decreed the winner.” Arthur looked at the list. He was always given the score from 3rd to 1st place and started from bottom to top. “I know you all put in your best effort. All of you trained and prepared and studied for the events of today. I saw many of you doing your best and working hard to impress me or show what you can do. I really do appreciate it.”

After searching Arthur’s eyes finally found Alfred. The alpha was near the back, looking at him, that same smile on his face, like he was trying to tell Arthur it was okay. He looked as if he knew he hadn’t won, but he was still happy for Arthur anyway. It made Arthur want to run away all over again. What ifs ran through his mind, making him doubt himself. Arthur took a deep breath.

“In 3rd place, with 380 points, Ms. Ava,” Arthur announced. The audience clapped for Ava, who looked disappointed. Arthur smiled at her. “Thank you… In 2nd place, with 410 points, Mr. Choi.” More applause erupted from everyone. Everyone grew quiet, waiting intensely for the 1st place winner.

“And in 1st place… with 25 points, Mr. Alfred F. Jones.” There were gasps of surprise, even Alfred looked incredibly shocked too. Some of the other competitors began to anger but the maids calmed them down. Alfred, you’re the one I chose… You’re the one I want to marry a-and I hope you want me to,” Arthur said. “If you would please come to the stage if you accept… I-I don’t care if you can’t shoot an arrow, or that your jokes are the worst I’ve ever heard… You knew the most about me and I want to know more about you. Do you- Will you accept?”

There was a pause and then some of the crowd began pushing Alfred towards the stage until he was right at the steps and then next to Arthur. Arthur turned to look at him, swearing he wouldn’t cry again.

Alfred smiled at him. “Thank you for wishing me all that luck earlier,” he said. Arthur laughed and Alfred continued on. “I want to get to know you more too so, I guess what I’m saying is of course I accept.”

#usuk #fanfiction #omegaverse #fic trade #x-silkplants-x #lol tagged u as silkpants at first whoops #hope you liked it!#i only edited it once so sorry for any mistakes!!#><#alsdkjf;asdf #gah its been so long since ive written anything sorry if it's bad #mywriting #usuk oneshot

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feynavaley · 7 years ago

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Hetalia Fanfiction – Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother Ch 3

Summary: (Human AU) After ten years of living as the youngest of four children, Arthur Kirkland is firmly convinced that older brothers are useless at best, a nuisance at worst. The introduction of six-year-old Alfred into his life is the first of many changes that force Arthur to reconsider his position.

The full chapter is under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Warnings: This chapter deals with death and mourning (even if it’s about a minor character).

———

Matthew, Part One

The months seemed to pass in a blur for Arthur. Before he could realize it, Thanksgiving came and went, and Christmas holidays made their appearance.

For the first time, all his brothers found themselves under the same roof as George. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife, but Alfred’s presence somehow mitigated the worst of the tension. The child’s poorly hidden antagonism towards Arthur’s older brothers had the odd effect of them trying even harder to win his affection. Bewildered, Arthur assisted to scenes of his usually grumpy older brothers transforming into tender caretakers for the bright-eyed Alfred, bending to any whim he expressed.

“They’re trying to steal him from me!” Arthur complained to his mother, “It’s not fair, I am the one who spends all the time with Alfred, he’s my little brother! Why can’t I have this, at least?”

At the end of the day, however, Arthur was still the first one Alfred looked for when he needed something, be it some help with his homework or reassurances after listening to a scary story, so it was all right.

Arthur’s brothers finally left to spend New Year’s Eve with their friends, leaving Arthur able to relax once again. Alfred was going to leave as well in a couple of days to spend the last half of his Christmas holidays with his mother. While Arthur didn’t mind the short respite, he knew he would find the house oddly empty after the first few days, just like the other time Alfred had gone to Canada. It was strange how used Arthur had already gotten to his younger brother’s presence – for how loud and annoying he could be at times, the way his cheerful disposition and genuine vitality brightened up the entire house was undeniable.

Just the day before leaving, Alfred came to Arthur’s room, his face slightly scrunched in the adorable way it did when he was trying to be serious.

“I need your help,” he declared, and before Arthur could ask what it was about, he continued in a single breath, “You read a lot, so must know a lot of books. I want to buy a gift for Mattie, and he likes reading and he’s often lonely, so I wanted to get him a book.”

“To Mattie?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, his eyebrows rising.

Does George know about this?

Arthur was aware of Alfred’s strange fondness for who had to be his mother’s new partner, but it was inappropriate to say at least… and getting him a gift looked very close to stepping over the boundaries.

“Yep!” Alfred answered, beaming. “You know, I taught him to read the last time I saw him! And he’s actually pretty good at it—”

Arthur did remember that Alfred had come back from his last trip to Canada considerably more confident in his reading skills. He had to give it to this Mattie, pretending to be unable to read so Alfred would be forced to exercise was a truly smart one… Arthur had to admit Mattie didn’t sound that bad, from what Alfred said about him. He had to be a bad person, he was a home-wrecker after all, but maybe… Maybe he hadn’t known that Émilie was already married? Or he had started dating her only after the divorce? That sounded more likely…

“—so I need you to help me choose a book for him. He really likes animals, polar bears are his favourite.”

Alfred was staring at Arthur with huge, trusting eyes. Arthur’s chest constricted at the thought of not being able to grant his requests, yet…

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you with this,” he answered begrudgingly, “Yes, I read a lot, but adult books are different… I wouldn’t know what to choose.”

Alfred’s features scrunched in confusion before he let out a small giggle.

“What are you talking about, silly? Duh, it’s just Mattie! You know, my little brother Mattie? He’s very smart, but he’s still only four… he wouldn’t read boring adult books!”

… What?!

The time seemed to stop. Arthur could do nothing but gape at Alfred’s satisfied face as everything slowly fell into place. Alfred’s conviction that older brothers were awesome, that they had to take care of their little siblings… that hadn’t come out of nowhere. Alfred believed so because he was an older brother himself. And it completely fit his personality, Arthur couldn’t see him doing anything but taking care of a younger child.

It sounded perfectly logical, and Arthur couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before, yet… it was still a big revelation to swallow.

“Mum!” Arthur called, his feet carrying him out of the door without him even fully realizing it, with a confused Alfred in his wake.

“Mum, why didn’t anybody ever tell me there was a second child?!”

He had never seen Mattie, nor would he probably see him, yet it sounded like such an important piece of information… Not something that should be overlooked.

Aila turned sharply from the burner, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Come again?”

“Oh! You’re talking about Matthew, aren’t you?” intervened unexpectedly George’s voice.

He was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper – in his shock, Arthur hadn’t even noticed him.

He suddenly realized how inappropriate his question was – maybe, Matthew wasn’t even George’s child, and questioning about him was incredibly rude…

George, however, looked more surprised than offended.

“Oh, my…” he murmured, shaking his head. “I guess that it never came up in front of you, I hadn’t noticed… I’m sorry. Anyway, yes, I have another child, but he was born after the divorce so he lives with Émilie. I thought you knew. This is why I go with Alfred when he’s visiting his mother, so I can see him…”

“Oh…”

A part of Arthur’s mind registered the meaning of George’s words, but most of him still couldn’t come to terms with it. It was just… something too big. Too important. He couldn’t believe that he had never been informed about that.

“But I did tell you!” Alfred protested, pouting. “I’ve talked about Mattie many times!”

Arthur blushed as he realized how far his misunderstanding had gone, but he wasn’t going to let himself be embarrassed like that.

“Yes, but you never told me he was your little brother! You only told me that your mother lived with him in Canada. And since nobody else ever mentioned him, I thought he was her partner or something…”

Arthur’s voice trailed off as he realized how indelicate his words were. He risked a timid glance at his mother, but before she could say anything, George snorted.

“Mattie being Émilie’s boyfriend… Oh God, that’s gold.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he shuffled with his pocket. “I’m sorry that this never came up. I really am, Arthur. Anyway, this is Matthew.”

Arthur moved closer as George opened his wallet and extracted a small, squared picture portraying two children standing in front of a pond. Alfred was beaming, his eyes sparkling, and he had his left arm wrapped around the shoulders of a smaller child who looked surprisingly similar to him – and at the same time, was completely different. Matthew’s features closely resembled Alfred’s, yet they were subtly more delicate. His skin looked porcelain-white, even lighter than Arthur’s, his eyes were a startling lilac, and the wavy strawberry blond hair that framed his head and curled around his chin gave the impression of being incredibly soft. There was something about him that reminded Arthur of the small angels in the paintings Mr Vargas had shown him. It wasn’t only that – the child looked hesitant, his smile was fainter than Alfred’s, and he was almost hiding against his brother’s body as if he didn’t quite know how to behave in front of the camera.

Arthur kept staring at the picture until his mother’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder. Only then he raised his head, looking from her to George as he tried to sort through the lingering confusion at the unexpected discovery. He didn’t quite know what to feel.

“Does this mean that I have another little brother, now?” he asked at last, his eyes running back to the shy-looking child in the picture.

“But Mattie lives with Mama,” Alfred answered immediately, voicing Arthur’s own doubt. “And he’s my little brother. He’s not yours! You have me. And I have Mattie. I don’t share!”

He pouted, folding his arms across his chest as Arthur raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the reaction.

“Alfred!” George immediately scolded him, “Matthew’s your little brother, not your property! But…” he hesitated for a moment, his eyes running to Aila before settling back on Arthur. “I don’t know what Matthew is to you, legally speaking. I guess that he could be your stepbrother as well, but since he still lives with Émilie you aren’t really going to interact with him…”

There was something more to it. Arthur could tell it from the way George’s features were tight, but his mother’s hand tightened slightly over his shoulder, signalling that it wasn’t the right time to satiate his curiosity.

“Can we stop talking about this, now?” Alfred whined with a small stomp of his feet. “Arthur, you have to help me choose a book for Mattie!”

“Oh, yes. I can do that,” Arthur answered, trying to shake off the dazed surprise still enveloping him.

“You want to get a book for Mattie?” George asked at the same time.

Alfred beamed at him, puffing his chest with pride.

“Yep! I taught him to read last time I saw him! And yesterday Mama told me that he’s sick, so he won’t be able to play out with us… At least he’ll have a book to read!”

While Alfred’s words had sounded completely innocent to Arthur, the lines around George’s eyes tightened.

“He’s sick again? Wasn’t he sick a couple of weeks ago, too?”

Aila moved to stand next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Didn’t you say he’s four? This is normal. Children that age get sick very easily…”

George shook his head as he turned to look at his wife.

“Is it? I don’t really think so… Alfred got sick three times since he was born.”

Aila chuckled at that.

“Ah, but Alfred is the anomaly here, believe me – a little Superhero, I’d say—” she ruffled Alfred’s hair, who smiled with pride at her words. “Most children get sick quite often, with their immune system still in development. Trust me, I know – when Ali, Connie, and Dyl were little it was a nightmare. I could hardly go a week without any of them being sick… with Arthur it was a little better because he’s only one, but he was still ill quite often. I don’t think you should be too concerned.”

While George was nodding, there was still something off about the entire situation. Something Arthur couldn’t put his fingers on, but that was making him quite uncomfortable. Yet, he didn’t dare to ask.

“Well then,” George declared a moment later, getting up from the chair. “I think your idea is very sweet, Alfred – go get changed and then we’ll go looking for a book, all right?”

He was smiling again, and that was enough for Alfred – and almost for Arthur, too. He still wondered what everything was about, but a stern glare from his mother was all he needed to understand that it was grown-up matters he shouldn’t concern himself with.

Soon, Arthur’s mood was lightened again by Alfred’s visible excitement at the trip and he forgot his concerns as he found himself once again involved in his role as a mentor, flattered by the trust his younger brother seemed to place in him. They ended up choosing a beautifully illustrated book about a polar bear cub who was travelling in search of his mother and made many friends along the way.

Only a couple of days later, feeling strangely lonely in the empty house in spite of finally having a chance to relax, Arthur found the courage to ask his mother about Matthew and George’s uneasiness.

“It’s quite a complicated situation,” was the only answer he received. “It was a bad divorce, so George and that woman aren’t exactly on good terms now.”

In his mother’s pinched lips and sparkling eyes, combined with the way she had addressed George’s former wife, Arthur read an absolute disdain towards Émilie. There was something more to the story, something Arthur itched to know, but his mother’s stony expression told him that it wasn’t his place to ask.

A week later, Alfred came back, vibrating with excitement and full of stories about a snow-filled land and winter sports, eager to share everything with Arthur. Half an hour into a tale of his (exaggerated, Arthur could bet) prowess with the snowboard, Alfred was called down by his father.

“Oh, right!” he exclaimed suddenly, his hand going for his pocket. “This is for you!”

He handed Arthur a crumpled piece of paper before running out of the door. Perplexed, Arthur smoothened the paper through his fingers, his eyes focusing on a couple of pencil-written lines.

“ DEAR ARTHUR,

THANK YOU FOR THE BOOK. I LIKE IT A LOT. I WAS SAD WHEN THE BEAR COULD NOT FIND HIS MAMA BUT THEN HE MADE FRIENDS AND I WAS HAPPY.

SINCERELY,

MATTHEW ”

Arthur kept staring at the piece of paper as a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t been expecting an answer to his efforts, nor had been expecting to interact with Matthew – yet, those shaky words on a crumpled piece of paper made him feel some sort of kinship towards the young child. There was a connection between the two of them, now – not the same Arthur had with Alfred, but still something that couldn’t be ignored.

Thus began Arthur’s correspondence with Matthew. Every time Alfred went to visit the rest of his family, Arthur would choose a book for Matthew, and he would receive in change some written lines from the child. As time passed by, Arthur started selecting more difficult books, books that he himself had loved – Momo, The Endless Story, The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter… – and the letters became longer and more elaborate, reporting Matthew’s impressions and thoughts. While they never met face to face, Arthur got to know him through those words.

Matthew seemed a smart child with a vivid imagination, yet Arthur had the impression that there was something holding him back, a sort of loneliness and insecurity that seeped through his words. Alfred’s tales about his younger brother seemed to confirm that.

“Mattie’s very shy,” he would tell Arthur, his expression as serious as it could get. “And he speaks so softly that sometimes people don’t even hear him. He doesn’t stand up for himself, doesn’t complain if other kids treat him badly. This is why I have to take care of him. Because I’m his big brother, and I’m the Hero!”

In his convinced words and earnest eyes, Arthur could understand more and more the way Alfred had formed his ideas about older brothers, and he found himself finally wholeheartedly agreeing with him. His brothers had been the problem, but maybe most people weren’t like that. Alfred wasn’t, and it was the same for Arthur. Taking care of Alfred had become one of his priorities, and it was starting to involve Matthew as well, even if in an indirect way.

It wasn’t until three years later that Arthur finally dared to ask George if he would ever be allowed to meet Matthew in person, and got the real story behind the divorce.

“You know, Émilie and I were together for years before getting married,” George told him, suddenly looking older than he was, his face signed by the age. “We had a pretty wild life. We would travel a lot, party… we had fun. When Émilie got pregnant with Alfred, we decided to get married, because why not? We loved each other, after all. And we weren’t so young anymore, it was time to start living more responsibly, anyway. Or so I had thought. While we never explicitly talked about this, I naively assumed that Émilie agreed with me as well – she had calmed down a bit, while she was pregnant. But then Alfred was born and she wanted to get back to her old life.”

George had to stop to take a sip of water, his features hardened in a way that almost scared Arthur.

“But the thing is, Arthur, when you have a child, everything changes. You can’t just go back to living the way you did before – your child is your priority, now. You have to care for him, to educate him, you can’t just spend the night partying in a club and getting drunk every weekend. So we started fighting. She said that I wanted to hold her back, that I didn’t want her to be free just because she was a woman. Never mind that I had completely changed my lifestyle, too. It got so bad that we ended up divorcing. And then…”

George took a deep breath, his voice breaking slightly. He was looking at Arthur without truly seeing him, his eyes had a hunted look.

“I did something truly despicable. You see, I was so worried about Alfred that I didn’t think about anything else, at the moment… Émilie didn’t usually get drunk when Alfred was around, she had only once and seemingly regretted it a lot. Yet, I was afraid that it was going to happen again, and I had the footage to prove it already had. So I used it, and got full custody of Alfred.”

A wry smile crossed his lips.

“But I didn’t know that Émilie was pregnant again. She probably hadn’t known either, when we started the practice, then she never told me… and Matthew was hers, now. To be allowed to see him, I made some private arrangements with Émilie – she can see Alfred, and I can see Matthew. But she’s the only one who has any legal right to Matthew, and she didn’t like that I got married again. I don’t think she’ll ever allow Matthew to visit or you to come with us, not until Matthew is quite older, at least.”

Arthur realized at that moment that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled shakily, staring wide-eyed at George.

“But… If she drinks… then Matthew…?”

George shook his head.

“Oh, she actually got better.” Bitterness coloured his voice. “I like to think that the footage shook her a bit at least, made her understand what she was doing. I can’t deny that I worry for Matthew, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. But believe me, if I had any shred of evidence that she was mistreating him in any way I would file a lawsuit straight away.”

Arthur nodded slowly, an unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach. While Émilie wasn’t actively mistreating Matthew, Arthur couldn’t forget how his long letters and the eagerness he answered to Arthur with seemed like a cry for help. At the same time, Arthur was now old enough to understand that some situations were complicated, that sometimes there was no way to do the right thing. It left a bitter taste in his mouth that lingered even after he watched Alfred, the picture of happiness as he played in the garden with some friends of his – while he was happy for him, he couldn’t truly forget about Matthew. He deserved that, too.

In spite of his feelings, Arthur knew that there was nothing he could do about Matthew’s situation save responding his letters so he eventually accepted that he wasn’t going to see him for some years, until Matthew would be a teen and allowed to have more freedom of movement. While it was still very early, Arthur knew that George was trying to arrange for Matthew to spend an exchange year in America and Émilie wasn’t completely opposed to the suggestion, seeing how it could have a positive impact on her son’s curriculum.

Arthur should have known that things rarely go as planned.

One year later, he crossed the doorway one afternoon to find his mother waiting for him, unnaturally pale, clutching the phone. Even stranger was George, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

“Mum? What’s wrong?!” Arthur asked immediately, his stomach knotting.

George raised his head at that, staring at Arthur with lost, wide eyes that made him look like a confused child. His features, paler than Arthur had ever seen, were slack with shock.

Arthur found himself paralyzed, his throat closing off as his brain tried to come up with an answer for George’s terrifying expression. At the same time, he didn’t truly want to think, because only something truly bad might have caused such a reaction, and…

“Arthur!”

Aila’s voice brought him violently back to reality. In spite of the confusion Arthur could see in her posture and hands, his mother’s face was set in determination.

“I need you to go pick up Alfred. Now. He’s at Tolys’s.”

A wave of relief washed over Arthur, letting him breathe again. His mother wouldn’t have asked him that if something had happened to Alfred, she would have taken care of that herself. In spite of that, something was still wrong. Something bad.

“What happened?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Aila’s eyes darted to George as her forehead furrowed. She hesitated a moment before answering Arthur.

“It’s Émilie. Car accident…”

Arthur’s blood ran cold in his veins.

“Is she…”

George’s broken sob was as good as an answer. Arthur could only stare at his mother, his mouth open in horror. He wanted to say something, but his brain seemed unable to produce any word.

How am I going to tell Alfred?

Alfred didn’t deserve that. Alfred was such a wonderful child, so happy and optimistic… and while he had quickly warmed up to Aila, even getting to call her ‘Mum’ after a couple of months, he was still close to him ‘Mama’. Losing her would be… completely devastating. Arthur couldn’t even imagine how it would feel… how could he even tell that to Alfred?

“Arthur!”

There was a frantic edge in his mother’s voice, she was trying to keep her cool but she was close to panicking as well, her hands were trembling – but of course, the situation must be horrible for her. It was a wonder that she could still be so calm, while George was relieving what she had with Henry… Arthur took a step towards her, forcing himself to straighten his shoulder to appear more adult.

“Mum, are you—”

Aila violently shook her head.

“Don’t worry about me, love.” She managed to offer Arthur a small, strained smile. “Just go and get Alfred, okay? You don’t have to tell him anything, George and I will explain the situation to him – just say that something urgent came up.”

Arthur nodded, unable to shake the numbness he was feeling. His mind was alternating between the thoughts of how strong his mother was, and how crushed Alfred was going to be.

Arthur was almost out of the door when another horrifying thought hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“And what about Matthew?!”

Aila froze. A strange glint went through her eyes before she managed to compose herself.

“He was in the car too. He’s alive but… in the hospital. We don’t know how bad he is.”

Arthur’s head was spinning. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling for air.

In the hospital. We don’t know how bad he is.

Matthew. The gentle child who had no friends and took refuge in books, just like Arthur had done for many years. The child who smiled timidly from the pictures with Alfred, yet was apparently able to destroy him on the ice.

We don’t know how bad he is.

Arthur hadn’t even ever talked to him. And now he could be dying. He was eight years old.

“Arthur, please! I— Matthew will be fine, I’m sure. But now I need you to get Alfred.”

Arthur knew that his mother was lying. At the same time, he suddenly realized that she was relying on him. She was on the point of breaking down, yet she was forcing herself to be strong for George… Arthur wasn’t a child anymore. He should be helping as well.

With a jerky nod, he took off.

Arthur didn’t remember how he got to Tolys’s house, his brain stuck on thoughts about Matthew and Alfred, Émilie, and how everything would change now. Arthur didn’t want things to change.

“I need to get Alfred home. There was an emergency,” was all he could say as Mrs Laurinaitis opened the door.

Understanding shone in the woman’s gentle green eyes.

“I’ll get him for you,” she answered in a sweet voice, “But you need to sit down. And a glass of water.”

As he opened his mouth to refuse, Arthur realized that she was right: he needed to calm down. He was there for Alfred, who was going to have horrible news in a matter of minutes. Arthur panicking wouldn’t help one bit. He let himself be led to the kitchen by Mrs Laurinaitis’s gentle hand on his back and sipped a glass of icy water as she went to fetch Alfred, barely aware of the liquid sliding down his throat.

Arthur’s chest constricted as Alfred approached him, smiling in spite of the questioning glint in eyes. Those bright, innocent eyes. It could be the last time Arthur saw them.

“Is that a surprise?” Alfred asked, bouncing on his feet.

Arthur wanted to cry. Instead, he shook his head and mustered the best smile he could manage.

“Your Dad will tell you once we get home.”

And Alfred simply followed him, clearly confused about the entire thing but trusting. Arthur's chest ached with the knowledge of how much that expression was going to change.

When they arrived home, George had managed to compose himself. While pale, his expression was forcefully calm, but Arthur couldn't forget how he had seen him. As his stepfather led Alfred to the kitchen, Arthur's eyes remained glued to their back.

Only when his mother gently laid a hand on his shoulder Arthur diverted his gaze.

"What now?" He asked, his voice trembling.

His mother's sad eyes looked tired. She didn't lie.

"It isn’t going to be easy. Alfred might not have spent a lot of time with Émilie, but she was still his mother. And he's still very young. He's going to recover, but... It's going to take some time. This isn’t something that you can just magically make better, but... You can help. Just be there for him."

It sounded like a too abstract concept. The true meaning was ‘there's nothing you can do to help’.

As Alfred's tearful refusal to accept what had happened rose from the kitchen, Arthur had never felt that powerless.

For the following hours, he paced restlessly around the living room, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. Meanwhile, Aila was occupied with an endless series of phone calls, arranging a flight to Canada for the following day and taking care of all the necessary things – arranging their day off work, cancelling a dentist’s appointment – Arthur couldn’t concentrate enough to listen. The only thing that mattered was that he and his mother were leaving as well. There was no way he was going to leave Alfred alone.

Alfred had stopped screaming after a bit, but Arthur didn’t see him again until hours later, when George emerged from the kitchen with his features signed by grief and the child in his arms. The sight of Alfred's pale, tear-streaked face made a horrible weight drop in Arthur's stomach.

“Sweetheart, I have to let go of you for a bit now, I need to make some call,” George murmured sweetly as Aila signed him to come closer.

Artur automatically stepped next to his stepfather, holding out his arms. It didn’t matter that Alfred wasn’t exactly light and Arthur himself sort of scrawny for his age – the teen received the weight of younger brother and didn’t let go of him when Alfred’s arms clamped around him. Instead, he returned the hold with the same intensity. Wordlessly, he sat down on the couch and wrapped a warm blanket around both of them. Alfred buried his cold, damp nose against Arthur’s neck as a small broken sob bubbled up his throat.

“Mama’s dead,” he announced after a while. That dull voice, so different from the one Arthur was used to, pierced his chest like a hot knife. “And Mattie’s in the hospital.”

Alfred raised his head, his impossibly blue eyes, streaked with red and wide in desperation, trapped Arthur’s ones.

“Why? They didn’t deserve it, they were good, why—”

Another keening wail seeped through Alfred’s lips. Arthur didn’t have any answer for him. He just hugged him with more strength, too numb to find some more effective actions.

For the first time since Arthur had met him, Alfred didn’t talk much. He spent the rest of the afternoon curled against his father or Arthur, his eyes glued to the television without seeing it. He did accept the food that was given to him but ate it as if he didn’t even know what he was doing, his face expressionless and his eyes dull. That night, he slept in Arthur’s bed, curled against his brother. He cried again before finally sliding into an exhausted sleep – small, soft sobs that pierced Arthur’s heart more than a full-fledged scream could have.

It didn’t feel like Alfred, it was like a shadow of the vital child he had always been. Arthur couldn’t let it go on that way.

He mulled over the dilemma the entire night, unable to fall asleep with Alfred’s cries still echoing in his ears, and in spite of that, he could find no solution, no way to console Alfred. But he had to do something.

“Alfred, your mother loved you a lot,” he started hesitantly as they were waiting for their parents at the gate of the airport, unable to stand his brother’s apathetic silence for another moment. “And… Since she loved you, she wouldn’t want you to be sad. It… it must be really hard, but…”

Arthur’s voice trailed off. He had never felt so pathetic and useless in his entire life.

To his surprise, Alfred turned his head, his eyes finally focusing on Arthur as he furrowed his brow.

“I know,” he muttered, “Dad said this, too. That Mama is gone and it’s going to hurt, but she loved me so very much…” He shook his head. “But it’s hard. I didn’t even see her that much, but I’m already missing her so much…”

Alfred’s voice was wavering. Arthur tightened the hold on his hand, waiting for him to start crying again, but Alfred didn’t. He took a deep, shaky breath before going on.

“But your Dad died too, didn’t he? How did you go on?”

Arthur found himself at loss, his chest tightening as he stared at Alfred’s too expressive eyes.

“I… I don’t really know,” he was forced to admit, “I was so little… I don’t even remember my father, so it isn’t like…”

For the first time in his life, Arthur found himself thinking of his older brothers with a pang of longing. Unlike him, they had gone through something similar and turned out… not exactly good, but okay. Maybe, they would have known what to tell Alfred. Dylan, at least. But they weren’t there, and Arthur would have to do.

Alfred nodded slowly before turning his head to stare at something that seemed to be far away.

“I’m glad that I got to know Mama, though,” he declared in the end. “It hurts now, but I also have so many good memories… I should keep thinking about them. This is what Dad said. And I have to be strong for Mattie, too.”

Arthur could only stare at Alfred as he shook his head, straightening his back. His eyes didn’t look dull anymore, but bright with a steely resolution. A wave of dizziness washed over Arthur as he realized that Alfred didn’t look like a child anymore.

He never strayed from his little brother and kept holding his hand for the entire duration of the trip, but he couldn’t help but study the features of his face. His little brother was growing up. Arthur didn’t know how to feel about it – concern for what Alfred was going through, that was sure, surprise at the unexpected development, but there was also something akin to a spark of pride at his unexpected maturity.

Alfred started getting restless again only once they approached the hospital, but this time for a different reason.

“Dad, Dad, how’s Mattie? He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” he kept asking, concern showing through his features and widened eyes.

“Of course. There are good doctors, they’re taking care of him,” George would answer, but Arthur’s stomach twisted as the man’s hands clenched into too tight fists.

He tightened his hold on Alfred’s hand, stroking his palm in what he hoped to be a comforting gesture.

When they finally got off the taxi and in front of the hospital, Arthur’s stomach was completely closed off, he almost feared that he was going to throw up. With single-minded determination, they moved into the hospital in strides that got quicker and quicker until they were on the verge of running, a dizzying marathon to finally reach an answer.

The maddening march was stopped by a sudden cry.

“George! Oh Dieu soit loué finally somebody is here I’ve been here since yesterday and I can’t call Maman because her phone’s out of reception and nobody will tell me anything mon Dieu…”

Francis’s lament trailed off in some unintelligible sobbed French words.

Arthur could only stare at him, his face slack with shock. Rationally, he knew that it was Francis, and a corner of his brain was dutifully reporting hearing Aila mention that Alfred and Matthew’s cousin was in Canada while his parents had gone on a trip to Nepal, but that couldn’t be Francis.

Arthur had had the misfortune of meeting Francis before. His mother, Émilie’s older sister, was still on friendly terms with George, and the previous summer she had decided to send her sixteen-year-old son to America for a couple of weeks to let him “have a taste of the world”. Not murdering him had been a true exercise in constraint for Arthur, yet at that moment his chest was clenching at the wrongness of the situation.

The Francis Arthur knew was a self-conceited, vain snob who took care of his appearance as if he were a beauty peasant, with his lips constantly curled in a malicious smile and a flirtatious glint in his periwinkle blue eyes. The teen who was now sobbing in front of George, unable to put together a full sentence in English, looked as if he had been in an accident himself, with his long hair completely in disarray, his clothes crumpled, his eyes puffy and bloodshot on his sickly pale, tight features.

Alfred’s hold on Arthur’s hand tightened, suddenly reminding Arthur that there was something far more important he should be worrying about.

“Francis?” Alfred shakily, swallowing audibly.

Francis blinked owlishly as his eyes focused on his young cousin. He sniffled loudly – and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he gave a weak smile, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Oh dear, I made quite a mess, didn’t I? Forgive me, mon chou, I hope I didn’t scare you… you know, us Frenchmen are quite emotional, and I didn’t get my beauty sleep last night… I’m sorry for making this scene. I… I’m sure that Matthieu is going to be fine, it’s just hospital policy, you know? Since I’m not of age, they couldn’t tell me anything, but now that your Dad is here it’s going to be all right… Look, there’s a nurse coming!”

Sure to be told, a middle-aged woman with a tired face but tender eyes was walking towards them.

“Mr Jones? Dr Karplus is ready to talk to you about your son. If you’d follow me…”

“Is Mattie okay?” Alfred asked immediately, taking a step towards the woman, his shoulders squared in spite of the slight tremble of his voice.

The nurse smiled at him.

“He’s your little brother, isn’t he? Dr Karplus is one of our best doctors, he’s taking care of him.”

Arthur’s stomach clenched at her vague words and Alfred stiffened, but George squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m going to find out, I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. Now be good for Mom, alright?”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but there was nothing to do about it. After a pat to Francis’s shoulder, George departed behind the nurse, leaving his scared family members staring at his back, clustered together as if the mere vicinity could protect them from the situation. Alfred was squeezing Arthur’s hand so tightly that he could hardly feel his fingers anymore, but no sound of complaint passed his lips. If cutting off his hand’s circulation was going to provide Alfred with some comfort, Arthur was happy to comply.

Aila was the first one to recover, suggesting in a forcefully cheery voice to go and get something to eat from the cafeteria. Arthur wasn’t hungry at all, his stomach seemed completely closed off, but it sounded reasonable. Besides, Alfred immediately nodded, even if he was still oddly silent.

The cafeteria was small, filled with too silent, ghostly people that made Arthur’s skin crawl with uneasiness. They ordered ice-cream, but Alfred seemed to be the only one eating with almost manic precision, while everybody else just pushed their food around. It wasn’t long before Francis excused himself with a fake, tight smile and almost ran away from the room, his shoulders shaking. Aila hesitated a moment before going after him with an apologetic glance to Arthur and Alfred.

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he watched her leave, but he bit his lower lip and refrained himself from calling her back. Francis was in dire need of comfort, after all, and for how much Arthur didn’t like him just thinking about spending an entire night alone, sitting on a plastic hospital chair as he waited for an answer that never came, made his chest clench. In spite of that, Francis had done his best to control himself in front of Alfred. Arthur could at least appreciate that.

Glancing back to Alfred as he shook his head, Arthur found his brother apparently completely engrossed in his meal, shoving spoonful after spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth with methodical accuracy. There was no tantrum, no tears, and at the same time, his face was slack, there was a sort of rigidity in his motions that was utterly un-Alfred, and reached Arthur’s chest like a stab.

Everything was falling apart.

Arthur wanted to console Alfred, but he didn’t know how except for pathetically sliding an arm around his shoulders. His younger brother leaned against him wordlessly.

Not long later, Aila and Francis came back. The latter’s eyes were suspiciously puffy, but his face had been washed from the tear-tracks and his hair tied back in a low pony-tail – sloppier that the ones Arthur had previously seen, but an improvement nonetheless.

Francis and Aila tried a couple of times to start a conversation, but their efforts fell flat as neither Alfred nor Arthur had it in themselves to pay attention to their words, let alone answer. The time washed over them with unbearable slowness, expanding in the too silent, sterile room. Ushered conversations started and ended at the nearby tables as nurses and doctors sometimes passed by, their rushed steps merging in the background noise. Instead of being calming, the silence and sterile smell were pressing over Arthur’s brain, closing off the walls of his throat. The only reason he didn’t start screaming or burst into tears was Alfred’s weight leaning against his side.

A corner of Arthur’s brain recognized the irony of the situation, but the rest was too occupied with not thinking to acknowledge it.

After what seemed centuries, Alfred suddenly jerked to his feet with a cry. His flailing elbow knocked the spoon on the floor, but nobody cared as four pairs of eyes focused on George’s quickly nearing form.

“Mattie’s going to be all right,” George announced before anybody could ask the question, the words rushing out of his mouth. “He… The accident was pretty bad, but he’s going to recover.”

Arthur found himself slumping against the chair, the tension he hadn’t been aware of until that moment washing away from his body. He could tell that there was something more serious, there was still some tension in George’s stance, but he didn’t think he was lying. While Arthur itched to know the details about Matthew’s condition, he knew that it probably wasn’t a good idea in front of Alfred.

Francis muttered something in French, exhaling in a way that sounded suspiciously close to a broken sob.

“Dad, I want to see Mattie!” Alfred cried out, a hint of desperation in his voice as his fists grabbed his father’s shirt.

George sighed before kneeling in front of his son, putting both hands on his shoulders.

“Now listen, Alfred: Mattie is going to be all right. I promise you that he is. However, he needs a lot of rest. It’s very important that he rests, this is why the doctors won’t let anybody except for me see him. And he’s sleeping right now, anyway. You wouldn’t be able to talk to him.”

“But I’ll be good!” Alfred protested desperately, his clenched hands trembling. “I’ll stay quiet and I won’t wake him up, I promise!”

George sighed.

“Alfred, I’m sorry…”

While his eyes were kind, his voice left no doubt over the fact his words were definitive.

For a moment Alfred stared at him, frozen, then, to Arthur’s horror, he started to curl up on himself, his shoulders trembling as a broken sob erupted from his lips.

“Alfred!”

Everybody moved towards him, but Arthur was the first to reach his younger brother, enveloping him in a strong hug. Alfred curled up against his chest. When George tried to touch him, he turned his head and buried it against Arthur’s shoulder.

“I want to see Mattie!” he wailed, hot tears soaking Arthur’s shirt. “Mama is dead, how do I know that Mattie is truly all right?! I need to see him!”

There was no comforting answer Arthur could offer him, he just hugged the trembling body tighter. Some people had stopped what were they doing, raising their heads to stare at them. An elderly woman sitting at the table right across them shook her head, Arthur didn’t know if it was out of pity or annoyance, but he didn’t care. He lowered his head and resolutely cut everything else off, focusing all his attention only on the small frame in his arms.

An exhausted sigh seeped through George’s lips, but he didn’t try to reach for Alfred anymore. Aila muttered something that Arthur didn’t understand, and their steps moved away, leaving Alfred alone with Arthur and Francis. When his cousin’s hand landed on his head, gently stroking his hair, Alfred didn’t shy away from the touch.

“I know that this is hard, but Matthieu is strong,” Francis murmured tenderly. “I want to be with him too, but right now… right now, the best we can do is let the doctors do their job.”

His features were so tight with grief that Arthur had to divert his eyes – but if Francis, in spite of having been close to Émilie, could manage to comfort Alfred, so could Arthur. He could try, at least.

“Do you hear this?” he murmured, pressing his lips close to Alfred’s hair. “You’re the Hero, aren’t you? Sometimes heroes have to make very difficult decisions.”

“I just want to be with Mattie…” Alfred sniffled, but at least he was listening.

Arthur tightened his hold around him.

“I know. But right now, you can’t. If you want to protect Matthew, you have to leave him to the doctors and listen to your father.”

Alfred nodded slowly, but he never stopped crying. When Aila and George returned a moment later, however, he raised his head.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “I know I can’t come, Dad. Please take care of Mattie. And tell him I love him so much.”

George’s hand descended to ruffle his hair.

“I certainly will, sweetheart. But you can tell him yourself – tomorrow morning. Tomorrow Mattie is going to be better, and you’ll be allowed to see him. He might even wake up.”

Alfred managed a small smile at that, but it was so different from his usual ones that Arthur’s stomach clenched. Part of him wondered if he would ever see Alfred’s bright smiles again, but the thought was so painful that he immediately banished it.

Aila reached out to take Alfred’s hand, and the four of them left the hospital after George went away. Arthur would have wanted an update on Matthew’s conditions as well, but he couldn’t deny how much leaving the suffocating white corridors lifted a weight off his chest.

Alfred kept sniffling the entire time, and on the taxi, Aila took him on her knees and rambled over and over about how much she knew that it was difficult but Émilie had loved Alfred and she would have wanted him to be happy. She kept saying that Alfred wasn’t alone, that they would be with him. Arthur was having trouble concentrating on her words, his brain seemed numb, everything muffled. The only thing he could focus on was Alfred’s small hand, still clutching his one. It was trembling slightly, so Arthur’s hold had to be steady.

Aila’s words seemed to calm Alfred down until they reached his mother’s house – the place where they would spend the night. Staying there was the most logical choice, yet when Alfred’s eyes filled with tears as he looked around the house, the realization that he truly wasn’t going to see his mother again written in the silent, perfectly ordered rooms, Arthur wished that they could have rented a hotel room or an apartment somewhere else.

He expressed his concerns to his mother only to receive a tired shake of her head.

“I know that it might look like so… but it’s actually very important for Alfred to realized that his mother is truly gone. It’s— it’s hard, I know. And I know that you’re concerned for him and you’re trying to protect him, but… not thinking about it isn’t going to change what happened. I’m sorry…”

His stomach coiling with guilt, Arthur finally noticed the dark circles under his mother’s eyes, her tight features. He could only imagine which memories the events were stirring in her mind, yet she was being strong, single-handedly supporting two traumatized children (Francis might have been older than him, but after seeing his lost, tear-filled eyes, Arthur couldn’t think him as anything else). Arthur could try to help, at least.

He hovered close to Alfred for the rest of the time, trying to distract his brother with some light chatter and useless words of comfort. He did manage to make Alfred smile a couple of times, but the timid curling of his lips never reached his eyes.

After a dinner consisting of pizza that only Alfred truly ate, they all went to bed early, unable to stand any longer the heavy silence that permeated the house, seeping into their brains. Like the previous night, Alfred and Arthur slept in the same bed, and Alfred cried himself to sleep in his brother’s arms.

In the bathroom next door, the shower kept running for what seemed to be hours, unable to hide completely Francis’s loud sobs in the silence of the night. Arthur couldn’t sleep.

He was still wide awake when Francis came back (for once, Arthur hadn’t complained about sharing the room with him. Even Francis was one more person keeping away the crippling solitude that seemed to be creeping over everybody) but too numb and dazed to pretend to be sleeping.

Francis offered him a small smile in the dimly lit room.

“Is Alfred sleeping?” he asked, and at Arthur’s nod, he sighed. “Your mother told me what happened to Matthew. He has a lot of bruising, obviously, he broke three ribs and basically shattered his collarbone – painful and it will be slow to heal, but that alone wouldn’t be so serious. The problem is that one of the broken ribs punctured his spleen, so there was a lot of internal bleeding and they had to remove it. The spleen, I mean. And… your mother didn’t tell me this, but I think… I think they weren’t sure if he would survive, in the beginning. He’s still in the ICU, this is why only George was allowed to see him, but they will move him out tomorrow if nothing takes a turn for the worse.”

Arthur could do nothing but nod. He hadn’t even allowed himself to be worried about Matthew, his mind completely wrapped around Alfred, but knowing what was going on lifted a small weight from his chest. His breath had been caught in horror when Francis had listed Matthew’s injuries – they sounded horrible, especially for the frail body of a child of eight – but at least now he could know for sure that he was going to be all right.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Francis shook his head as he lay down on the mattress. There was a long moment of silence, Arthur had started thinking that Francis was already asleep when he spoke again.

“They had a doctor’s appointment. They were supposed to come back with lunch, I was waiting for them – and they never did. It was just – a moment. A drunk driver. And I was home, thinking that they had just been caught in the traffic…”

Francis’s breath hitched. Arthur wanted to say something – anything, but his mouth seemed frozen, and the moment was already broken.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you this, I’m just being overdramatic because I’m tired.” Francis’s voice sounded stiff. “I’d better sleep I guess. Goodnight.”

Without any other word, he turned on his side, giving his back to Arthur. No sound went past his lips, but Arthur could see his shoulders shaking in the moonlight. He clutched Alfred’s sleeping form close to him, his stomach churning with dread.

Arthur didn’t manage to get much sleep that night. When morning finally came, he was dazed and hollow, his mind could only concentrate on trying to provide to Alfred’s need.

Francis seemed to have recovered, smiling affably as he tried to lighten the atmosphere conversing with Aila, but after the previous night, Arthur was sure that it was a farce. He found himself admiring his acting abilities.

The breakfast and morning preparations went on in a rush, and soon they were back on a taxi, headed towards the hospital. Alfred kept bouncing his feet, his eyes bright with resolution at the thought of finally seeing his little brother. Recalling Francis’s words, Arthur couldn’t help but pray that Matthew was truly going to be all right – he wasn’t sure that Alfred could have taken it, otherwise.

For once, fate seemed to have decided to give them a bit of respite.

“Matthew is awake,” were the first words that seeped through George’s lips as soon as he saw his family. He hugged Alfred and Arthur and gave a quick kiss to Aila’s cheek. “He’s still quite groggy and he doesn’t know what happened, so you have to be careful, but—”

“So I can see him?!” Alfred interrupted him, almost vibrating on the spot, his eyes wide.

George nodded, his smile so wide that it almost seemed real – maybe it was, Arthur reasoned. Maybe the relief at seeing his younger son on the road to recovery could be enough to make him forget the rest for a while. There was still something Arthur didn’t like in the way George had worded his answer, but he didn’t have time to process it at the sheer mind-numbing relief that left his head spinning when George nodded.

While George and Aila stopped to talk with a doctor, Arthur, Francis, and Alfred were finally led to Matthew’s room by a middle-aged nurse with a tender smile.

“Now, Matthew is awake but he has been through a lot, all right?” she said as she stopped in front of the door. “So, you must not agitate him. He’s hooked up to a lot of stuff – it might look scary, but he needs that to recover. And he is recovering, I promise.”

The last words seemed to be directed at Alfred, who nodded solemnly.

“I won’t get scared,” he declared, looking at the nurse with unwavering eyes. “I just want to see Mattie.”

He almost sounded like an adult, and the nurse nodded, clearly convinced.

“All right then. But let me stress this one last time: he’s still quite confused. So, don’t ask him any questions or stress him in any way, try to keep him calm. I’ll be right here if anything happens.”

Arthur only vaguely registered her words, all he could think about as his stomach twisted and turned was what would lie behind the door she was opening.

Alfred immediately ran into the room, followed shortly by Francis. Arthur hesitated, suddenly feeling like an intruder. He had never even seen Matthew before aside from some pictures.

When Arthur finally gathered enough courage to step into the room, Alfred had already climbed on the bed next to his younger brother, murmuring sweet words as he gently stroked his hair and face. Arthur had never seen him like that, looking so tender and mature. Francis had stopped next to the bed, giving his back to Arthur.

And then there was Matthew. The sight of the child made Arthur’s chest clench. If he had looked small and slender in the pictures, now he was minuscule, drowned by the big bed. His skin was so pale that it almost looked translucent, barely darker than the white sheets around him, even his lips were devoid of any colour. His strawberry blond hair was spread over the pillow, framing his head in a shiny halo that reminded Arthur of a burial painting. The machinery connected to the small body didn’t certainly enforce an impression of vitality – small, twin tubes were attached to his nostrils, and IVs connected to bags with clear liquids were hooked to Matthew’s thin wrists. The scene made Arthur’s stomach coil – but Matthew was alive. His eyelids were fluttering, and the bloodless lips curled in a minute smile at Alfred’s words.

Hesitantly, Arthur walked closer to Francis.

“See, Mattie, I’m here, everything is going to be all right,” Alfred was rambling, “Just see, everything is going to be all right and I’m going to take care of you. You gave me such a scare, you know? But it’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

In spite of the slight tremble in his voice, his hands were steady, his eyes focused.

Matthew seemed to be gaining awareness by seconds, the pupils in his half-open eyes struggling to focus.

“Al…?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as a small crease appeared on his forehead. “Why…?”

“He came to see you, mon lapin,” Francis supplied helpfully, taking Matthew’s hand. “You got hurt. How are you feeling?”

Matthew blinked, his frown deepening.

“It hurts…” he mumbled, his words slightly less slurred than before. “What…”

He tossed his head from side to side, growing restless as awareness came back to him.

“Where’s Mama?” he asked, a note of fear in his voice that made Arthur’s chest clench.

Matthew’s lilac eyes fell on Arthur. He stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly, as Arthur tried to force his lips into a comforting smile. Matthew’s pupils widened in realization. Arthur had a moment to recognize the panic in his eyes before he burst into tears, a wail seeping through his lips.

Everything seemed to burst into motion at that – Alfred screamed as well, Francis called for the nurse who was already running into the room, but Arthur could only stare at Matthew’s scrunched face, the tears streaming down his cheeks, he couldn’t even breathe, the walls of his throat seemed to close off – and suddenly, hands were around his shoulders.

Arthur let himself be dragged away and out of the room. Before he could fully realize what had just happened, he found himself sobbing against his mother’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s going to be all right. You were very good with Alfred until now, I’m sorry that I didn’t have more time to look after you…” Aila was saying, rubbing circles on his back.

Arthur sobbed even louder. It wasn’t all right. Everything was falling apart, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do to make it better.

Sometime later, after any emotion had been drained away from Arthur along with the tears, leaving him staring numbly at the floor, Francis came looking for him.

“Matthieu isn’t upset at you,” were his first words, and the pity in his eyes was so visible that Arthur had to divert his gaze. “Actually, he’s now feeling very sorry for causing that scene. It’s just… Matthieu is a very bright child. Apparently, he has some memories of the accident, and he knew that Tante Émilie would never allow you here, so seeing you… it could only mean one thing. But… now he’s very upset at upsetting you. He’s a very sweet child, you know…”

Arthur did know that. Probably even more than Francis himself. Biting back the tears, he got up and followed Francis to Matthew’s hospital room.

In spite of being barely awake, Matthew started apologizing and saying how delighted he was to meet Arthur, but Arthur couldn’t go past the way he had cried, he could barely concentrate on what was going on. He didn’t complain when they got kicked out of the room because Matthew needed to rest.

“It isn’t your fault,” Alfred declared immediately, “Matthew has actually wanted to meet you for the longest time. He’s just…”

He shrugged. Seeing his little brother seemed to have given him strength, but he was still a child who had just lost his mother. Arthur squeezed his hand.

“I’m not upset,” he lied, “I’m just sorry that all this needed to happen.”

“Well, it did,” Alfred murmured, sounding far older than he was. “And we gotta deal with it. And I’m going to take care of Mattie.”

The resolution in his voice made something strange stir inside Arthur’s chest.

And I’m going to take care of you while you do it.

He straightened up, gathering strength at the thought. He didn’t know how Alfred managed to be so positive – but he was still going to need Arthur. And Arthur was going to be there for him, and Matthew as well, for how long it might take.

The following days, Arthur didn’t see much of Matthew. The child spent most of the time sleeping, and when he didn’t, he was the real picture of politeness with Arthur – all smiles and nice words. But his eyes were empty, and his enthusiasm faked. He often just stared at the wall, looking lost somewhere far away.

Arthur knew that Matthew probably associated his presence with the trauma so he didn’t want him there, which was normal, but the knowledge didn’t stop the pain the pierced his chest. He thought that he had connected so much with Matthew over the letters… and now, the child was a closed box.

Luckily, Alfred seemed to be taking the recovery much better than Matthew. Or maybe it was Matthew’s apathy that spurred Alfred – Arthur couldn’t tell. Alfred had slowly gotten active again, and even if his eyes looked harder, sometimes his smile looked genuine. He was still clingier than usual, but Arthur didn’t mind. If he could do one single thing, he was happy to.

The day of Émilie’s funeral came a week later. Francis’s parents had finally been contacted and hurriedly left Nepal, and Matthew had been deemed well enough to get out of the hospital, even if he was still strongly debilitated.

The church was packed with people, mostly Émilie’s friends and colleagues from work, then some other relatives from Europe. Francis was sitting between his parents, his head resting on his mother’s shoulder, and George’s figure on the first row attracted stares, but the heads quickly turned away at the sight of Matthew, still weak from the injuries and painkillers, balanced on his hip. Alfred was sitting next to him, with Arthur on his other side.

He had refused to leave his little brother’s side and stay on a bench at the end of the church with his mother. He didn’t care about how ‘inappropriate’ it might be – George had to worry about Matthew, and Alfred needed his support. Nothing would change that, and when Alfred started sobbing against his shoulder while Marianne and after her other people talked on and on about what a wonderful and lively woman Émilie had been, Arthur knew that he had made the right choice.

The eulogies sounded strange. They all mentioned how active Émilie had been, what a wonderful person she was, painting her as an angel, but nobody mentioned Matthew, or how Arthur knew she would often leave her son alone, almost to fend for himself. Nobody mentioned how she had saved his life, either, shielding him from the broken glass that had killed her. Arthur found himself wondering if the Émilie everybody talked about existed at all – but she had loved Matthew, for all her flaws.

After the funeral, they all moved to the courtyard for a lavish reception – the epitome of hypocrisy, if one had to ask Arthur, but Alfred shook his head.

“Mama would have wanted it like this,” he declared with a small smile. “Mama would have wanted everybody to be happy.”

Arthur soon found himself under a gazebo with Francis, Alfred and Matthew, whom his father had had to finally put down to attend to his duty as a host. Matthew was leaning heavily against Alfred, his pain something beyond tears. Arthur knew that the adults were concerned because, while always polite and receptive to everybody’s questions, he didn’t seem to be reacting, and after he had been taken off the IV he had never truly started eating unless he was forced to.

He seemed almost dead, the contrast with the vitality Arthur remembered from the letters made his stomach clench. So, he did the only thing he could do: he tried taking Matthew’s mind off the present.

He had found Bridge to Terabithia on Matthew’s side-table when exploring his room, and it was oddly fitting. Matthew didn’t react at first when Arthur started reading – but soon, a spark of interest seemed to light his eyes. Both him and Alfred shifted, bending closer to Arthur. He took note of it, but he never stopped reading.

He didn’t stop when Francis came closer, or when with a knowing smile he sat next to Matthew and started feeding his younger cousin apple slices. Completely engrossed in the tale, Matthew automatically accepted the food and chewed on it without protesting.

Arthur kept reading even when his throat started hurting, barely stopping to take a sip of water, because something wonderful had happened: a small smile had curled Matthew’s lips. Arthur couldn’t have wanted anything better.

Aila and George found them still sitting there at the end of the reception, when Arthur’s throat was so dry and scratchy that it almost felt on fire. As George took him in his arms, however, Matthew offered Arthur a small smile that did reach his eyes – sad instead of dull.

“Thank you,” he murmured shyly, “That was beautiful.”

At that moment, as Alfred reached to take his hand, Arthur suddenly knew that he was going to do it. It was going to be hard – but Matthew was as much his little brother as Alfred was, and Arthur was going to take care of him.

(word count: 10,769)

———

Notes:

Émilie Williams in an OC (but she’s very loosely based on Nyo!America). She’s the daughter of a French Canadian and a British Canadian (hence her English surname) but she was raised in Quebec.

Marianne Bonnefoy is Émilie’s older sister and she’s inspired to Nyo!France. She’s 8 years older than her sister, she attended a boarding high school in France and built her life in France after that. She eventually met and married Francis’s father (Pierre Bonnefoy, an OC).

The first book Arthur chose for Matthew is a real book. I remember that I liked it a lot when I was a child, it had this kind of melancholic atmosphere but the end was very sweet… I can’t remember the name or the author, however, and I don't have access to that book at the moment.

Why I have changed Lithuania’s name from ‘Toris’ to ‘Tolys’. [x]

English isn’t my first language, I apologize for any mistake. Feel free to let me know if you spotted anything!

Thanks to the people who liked the previous chapter, and a special thanks to @headphonemaiden, @ono-its-ryane, @tru-dat and @verymemeingfulart for reblogging it! (also, @notice-me-hetasenpai if you want to reblog this?)

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scillaandcakes · 5 years ago

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The Kingdom of The North (UsUk) Chapter 1

Arthur always knew the day would come when he would be marked and announced as The King Of The North, also known as The King Of Spades. Imagine his surprise when he is marked... as The Queen Of Spades. Kidnapped, and taken from his castle, Arthur escapes and must travel with a peasant named, Alfred, and trek the long journey back to his castle. Arthur, known amongst commoners as being extremely cruel, slowly begins to opens his eyes to the kingdom he has owned, but never truly understood. Alfred is the leader of his village, and agrees to help Arthur for the sake of his homeland. He too, finds that sometimes fate has other plans... X

Arthur sat on his throne, tapping his fingers rapidly against the arm rest. He had better things to do than speak to peasants, but his advisor suggested the idea. According to his spies, the unrest amongst the commoners was growing. These meetings were supposed to help build relations, but Arthur knew what the true problem was: he hadn't yet received the spades mark.

Every thousand years, the royal courts were reincarnated. Those who were marked with a spades insignia would become rulers of The North. The North was the most powerful kingdom out of the four kingdoms, and Arthur was currently it’s King.

Out of the three Spades reincarnations, one was always a royal. The other two were commoners. One reincarnation, a commoner named Yao, had already received the mark of the Jack. The mark of the Jack was a Spades symbol, with an intricate scepter depicted inside it. The kingdom rejoiced when the Jack was found. Arthur could tell morale was at an alltime high. Unfortunately, that high did not last very long.

Five years later, and neither the King nor the Queen had been found. This was very unusual, as the reincarnations usually revealed themselves within a fairly short time span of each other.

Still, Arthur was not worried. He had faith that his mark would show soon, and he would officially be respected as The True King...

Arthur refocused. He had let his mind wander as the man before him begged and pleaded for more time. A man knelt in front of him, as Arthur’s guards stood nearby, observing the exchange.

The man had borrowed from the bank and had neglected to repay them. The bank commanded that he be imprisoned and compensation for the ordeal.

“And, as your highness, The True King Of Spades, knows, the drought did not let me properly farm my crops and so I-”

“Enough.” Arthur raised his hand and the man immediately quieted, looking up at Arthur with pleading eyes. “Did you take a loan from the bank?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“And did you fail to repay the loan.”

“Yes, your highness but-”

“Stop!” He felt his voice rise, and tried his best to calm down. His patience was already paper thin. “You took out a loan and you failed to pay it back. Don’t run your mouth in my court or I’ll have you hanged. Answer the following questions plainly, understood?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Good. Now do you have any children?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“What age and gender?”

“They are twins. One boy and one girl. Both are five years old, your highness.”

“Good, old enough to start working. The bank will decide which child they would like to possess, and you are ordered to spend the next five years imprisoned, effective immediately.”

“Your highness, no!” The man began to get up and the guards took their cue. They stood in between the king and the man, ready to unsheath their weapons.

“Are you trying to commit treason?” Arthur could feel a migraine coming on. He was truly annoyed now. “If you bothered to read the laws then you would have known the consequences. You took out a loan. You didn’t repay and now you will suffer the consequences. Accept your fate honorably. That is, if you have any dignity left.”

The man began to silently sob before he was taken away by the guards.

Arthur sat back, truly tired. It was not easy being king.

“The next person will be the last for today,” Arthur decided.

“There’s still a line wrapping halfway around the castle.” Yao spoke up for the first time. “I’d suggest you keep seeing them until sunset, my king.”

“There’s always a line wrapping halfway around the castle,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “The next one is the last.”

Yao huffed in response, which Arthur chose to ignore. Yao would have harsher words with him later. Yao knew not to make a scene in front of others and kept his true feelings hidden until the proper time.

The guards ushered in the next person.

He was dressed in a long, dark blue robe. He knelt before Arthur and hung his head, waiting to be addressed.

“What do you want?” Arthur noticed Yao glared at him for his blunt language.

The man raised his head and appeared to be taken aback by him. Arthur saw him take a deep breath before speaking firmly.

“Your highness, my king, The True King Of The North, I beg of your help. My name is Alfred F. Jones and I have traveled far, from Alkirk-”

“Alkirk?” Now this piqued Arthur’s interest. Alkirk was a town formerly known as Frey and belonged to the kingdom of The West. A few hundred years ago they had pledged their allegiance to The King Of The North and changed their name in order to pay their respect to the royal Kirkland family. Arthur had read about this village before, but had never met anyone from it. They were on the outskirts of the kingdom, and the journey took at least a month’s time. “Is it true you hold seasonal parades in my honor?”

“Yes, your highness,” when talking about his home, the man smiled, and Arthur noticed just how blue his eyes seemed as he spoke with passion. “To hold our celebrations means to support our kingdom. It’s very important to us, however, times have grown hard on us. The taxes on wool have increased so much that we are losing money by exporting. The tax on sugar has been so high that no one in our village can afford it. I understand the importance of taxes but-”

All charm of the man was lost once Arthur heard of his “struggles”. “What was your name again?” asked Arthur.

“Alfred F. Jones. I’m the the leader of my village and-”

“Leader?” Arthur began to laugh. “How old are you, boy? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.” The man frowned and Atrhur could tell he was striking a nerve. Still, he decided to push.

“Oh, how Alkirk must have fallen. To elect a boy as their leader.”

“If I recall, your highness is only twenty-four. Where I come from there’s a saying about a kettle and a pot.”

Arthur stopped smiling and he stood up. Arthur raised his hand and took pleasure in slapping the grin off his face. “Clearly your parents didn’t teach you manners,” Arthur could feel his hand sting, but didn’t let it stop him. “If you are the representative, then I pity what a village that was named in my honor has become. I think you all must be taught a lesson. I’m raising the tax on grains by fifteen percent.”

“You-,” the man began to ball his fists and shake with anger. He looked up at Arthur and he could see the anger in his eyes.

“Is there anything else you would like me to tax?”

“I,” the man closed his eyes and fell to the floor, bowing his head even further to the ground. “Please, your majesty, I didn’t mean to offend. There are many children and babies we cannot afford to feed and-”

“All I hear is a group of commoners not working enough. Stop speaking and leave before I decide to have my guards take care of you.”

The man began to shake and Arthur could see tears fill his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but turned, and left without another word.

“Really?” Yao asked, when the man left.

“He was so disrespectful. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson.”

Yao left without saying another word.

Arthur sighed and decided to return to his chambers. The day had been stressful, and he wanted to rest in peace.

He stood still as his maids began to undress him. He began to imagine what it would be like to receive the mark of The King when one of the maids screamed.

“The mark!” The maid squealed and Arthur ran to his mirror. If he had taken a second to look at the maid he would have seen the look of horror on her face.

“Finally, my time has come!” He could officially be crowned The True King Of The North, The King Of Spades, Arthur Kirkland. He could see his future now.

Arthur turned around and looked at his bare back in the mirror. On his right shoulder blade, there, clear as day, was the mark of The Queen.

#usuk #usuk fanfiction #hetalia #aph america #aph england #ukus

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mood-write-blog · 8 years ago

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The morning after came as slow as it had been the past few weeks to his surprise. He shouldn’t be he supposed, after all it was impossible to jumped back to his usual self with just a night’s rest, but he couldn’t help but silently chided himself. He was always so resilient it frustrated him that he was a bit too fucked up this time around.

Not to mention there was the drugs he needed to take again, since he had to take them again while in police custody.

He narrowed his eyes at the bottle of pills, as though trying to transfer all the anger he had all this time to one single bottle, hoping that he could get it back once he’d decreased his dosage to normal levels. ‘Satisfaction’, it read; the most useless of all the drugs was the only one that was actually obligatory. He wondered why, rolling his eyes.

He popped two pills, swallowing one but biting the other and threw away the quarter of a pill. The little bit hit the sink and he took satisfaction as it was destroyed by the impact. That would have to do for now. Satisfaction was one of the strongest drug available, and it wasn’t wise to just suddenly reduce its intake.

He groomed himself a bit. He actually shaved, something he hadn’t done for a long time really, his beard was looking unkempt that he’d just shave them all the way. He could always regrow it later.

When he was out of the bathroom, he noticed Arthur was already sitting on the dinner table, sipping his tea and reading newspaper in his pyjama. It had a cute, cartoon kitty pattern. He was still wearing that old rag, apparently, and Alasdair snorted. “I don’t know you eat breakfast in your pyjamas. Especially that one.”

Arthur looked up to him, cheeks pink, fuming slightly. “What’s wrong with it!? It’s comfortable!” He retorted.

Alasdair snickered, feeling suddenly better already. “Touché.” He really needed to do this more often, Arthur’s complaints would be notwithstanding.

He sat opposite Arthur as the other still grumbled. But he put away the newspaper and kindly poured Alasdair some tea. “Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing at the newspaper. His trial filled the front page, of course.

Noticing what Alasdair was looking at, Arthur folded the paper and put it on the floor, out of Alasdair eyesight. Alasdair flinched slightly. Bad article, then.

“I’m sorry...and here I thought you feel better now,” Arthur said. Anyone else would be irked at the wording but at least Alasdair knew that was genuine.

“...It’s hard to feel constantly better, you know,” he shrugged. “You’re not wrong though, I did feel better for a sec there.” He drank his tea. It was still scalding hot, but he gulped it anyway. “You’re not going to work?”

Arthur shook his head. “They let me off until Monday since you’re coming,” he said. “My supervisor thought it would be better for you.”

“Oh, how nice of her.” He knew this supervisor. He had been meeting her several times anyway, during interrogation, and he doubted she really meant it with sympathy. Most likely she just hoped Arthur would spy on him for her. Arthur was the type of person who could get along with authorities anyway.

Arthur caught his sarcasm. “I know what you mean. You don’t have to worry, though,” he said carefully.

Alasdair smiled slightly. “Well I’m not complaining about that.”

It was quiet for a while as Alasdair helped himself with their breakfast Arthur had prepared. To be honest he wasn’t that in the mood to eat, but then again he hoped it would make him feel better. Yesterday had been touching and it had made him feel more comfortable than he’d been for a while, but he had to bounce back somehow, take extra care for himself. Especially since he now didn’t have the safety net of that.

Arthur himself was less enthusiastic about the food, instead opting to stare at him as he ate slowly. It didn’t bother him too much, as he could feel the concern, but he didn’t look at him to meet his eyes.

“You haven’t smoked,” Arthur suddenly stated. Alasdair had to look up now, facing his brother’s perplexed and concerned face, talking about one of the worst things about the life he had to follow now, since he was still monitored, he was sure, and might be for the rest of his life. But at least it wasn’t about Francis--he wasn’t sure how he would handle it.

“Yeah that.” He actually cut his food without any malice--the drug must be starting to work. “They took away my Calm when they were holding me and doubled up Satisfaction in its place.”

“Wait, what? Can they really do that? Is that even safe?” Arthur had enough knowledge to be indignant, likely because of Alasdair’s previous rants about the country’s drug practice. Well, at least all the arguments about the topic didn’t really get past Arthur’s head.

“No, but they can do anything they want anyway.” Arthur narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment. At least he had the decency to not argue about a years old disagreement. Or saying ‘I told you so’.

“Can Satisfaction really replace the effects of Calm…? And what do you feel…?” he said uncertainly. Alasdair raised his eyebrow.

“No, it just makes me numb and passive. That’s what the drug is for anyway.” Just like how they like it, he thought. The thought was bitter but he couldn’t really find the anger he knew he had not several minutes ago.

In contrast, Calm was just that, calming. It was a drug prescribed and not obligatory--he always had had anger issues. But instead of numbing things it bundled the scattered energy from anger to something he could easily control and direct. Satisfaction was the drug of inertia, as he saw it. He wouldn’t be surprised if the long-term effect wouldn’t suppress his anger anymore, but making him not care about how his anger affected both him and the people around him.

Arthur was in a deep frown, and he could understand. It was a long time ago when Alasdair hadn’t started the prescription yet, but he was sure his brother still remembered when he used to get into a fight every week, or breaking things every other day. Alasdair wanted to say ‘NOW you don’t trust those people’, but he realised he actually have a heart to actually don’t.

“I’ll manage, somehow,” he tried, and Arthur gave him a deadpan stare. So much for bluffing.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I’ll try to get your prescription back somehow. It’s the one thing you actually want to use, right?”

Alasdair cringed. “Actually, I tried. The… ‘physician’, doesn’t think it’ll do me good.”

“But it did? And it’s there in your medical history, I take it?”

“Bah! The guy didn’t even pay it any glance!”

“You’ve talked to Edelstein about this?” asked Arthur indignantly.

Alasdair had to stop before admitting it. “Actually, he was the one who tried to ask them first. I...didn’t really think about it. That wasn’t on my mind.” After all, his mind was preoccupied by processing things: the burning house, Francis and what he said just before they part ways and he got arrested.

At that time, Francis seemed to know this would happen. Not that he could ask; the man was declared dead during his trial. And talking to Arthur about it was no option. His brother loathed Francis’ guts he might even thought it was Francis’ plan to get Alasdair arrested in the first place!

He focused himself to Arthur again, who looked like he was deep in thought too. He could feel his brother’s gaze, he believed, because the next second he met his eyes.

Arthur opened his mouth, but Alasdair cut him off before he could speak. “I know what you’re thinking. The thing is, they took away my pharmacist license. And they specifically appointed Mr. Dung to be my physician.”

“I--” Arthur shook his head. “We should talk to Edelstein again,” he said, his tone final. Alasdair raised his brows but sat up straighter.

“We can try...but I wouldn’t put my bet on that,” he pointed out, “It’s one of the main conditions to let me go without provision.” Without having some hostile stranger following his moves 24/7. He suppressed a shudder. “Edelstein argued about that in court, too.”

“Well, maybe now that you’re out, we can try again.” That wasn’t half a good argument Arthur usually had, but then he added. “Good thing you’re shit in betting anyways.”

Arthur then fiddled his phone, sending a text to his lawyer, he assumed. Alasdair didn’t stop him, although he could just imagine how Edelstein would close his eyes, hide a sugh and said, ‘it wasn’t that simple or easy, Mr. Kirkland.’

Alasdair felt like he’d just had a lifetime share of being on the losing end of a fight, one that he couldn’t win because he couldn’t win on sheer will.

Arthur sighed and tapped his phone lightly. “He said he would meet us here tomorrow,” he said. “And he said to give you one day of rest and sorting everything out.”

“Huh, what does he mean...don’t we need his help to ‘sort things out’?”

“I think he means they want us to talk.”

“Well, we’re talking right now. You can tell him we’ve no problem with each other now...”

“...About what happened.”

Talk about what happened. That would be easier said than done. He knew he’d have to do it sooner or later, but he found himself wanting to drag his legs avoiding the inevitable.

But Alasdair set down his cutleries (not that he was using them anyway) and asked, “What do you want me to talk about?”

Arthur slightly chewed his lips. “The beginning. Why are you even...with him in the first place?”

Him. The way Arthur said that, Alasdair inwardly sighed. But he looked at his brother directly in the eyes as though challenging him and said, “Arthur...I don’t know what they’ve been babbling on the news but Francis and I, we’re together.”

Arthur’s mouth formed a thin line as he visibly stiffened. “They don’t say anything about that, no, but I figured that one out,” he said, avoiding looking at Alasdair. “But so? Because he was your boyfriend you willingly moved in without telling anyone? You’re not even registered on his town’s civil registry--people thought you were missing!”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that simple, Arthur! With all the articles I’ve published there were people who were…watching me, breaking into my home.” He didn’t want to admit it or get into it, but saying he was bothered was an understatement. “Francis offered me to move in, without telling anyone, not even the authorities. I accepted.”

That wasn’t exactly the full-truth. Francis had insisted. Alasdair had previously thought that he could live with it even if he was very bothered by it, he thought he could catch one of them instead and interrogate them to know what the hell was their purpose. But after that one accident when Alasdair learnt that at least one of them was an assassin, he had to relent. But there was no way he would tell Arthur about that.

Arthur was understandably suspicious about that. He knew the extent of how his brother thought he could handle everything by himself. That didn’t sound like Alasdair at all.

He let that slide, anyway. “Okay....So, you moved in with Francis because you don’t want to be stalked. Alright...but that fire…”

Now it was Alasdair’s turn to stiffen. “I know nothing about the fire. It just happened. But yes, it might have something to do with that.”

Arthur put his hand on his face. “Do you know when you’re missing, they started to twist you as though you’re… you’re a criminal or something. They even issued an arrest on spot order. That fire was too convenient. The police arrived faster than the firefighters.”

Alasdair scratched his uneven stubble. “I...didn’t really watch TV when I was at Francis’, so I don’t really know. But now that I think about it, that was kind of weird. The police seemed to know I was there.”

Arthur scowled. “Oh no, I can assure you. The police didn’t know. We actually got an anonymous tip that you’re there but you--I’m quoting-- “might not be soon enough” and they immediately sent some people to investigate.”

Despite the drugs, Alasdair felt like his heart just plummeted down to his bowel. “What?” but no one knew he was there. Only Francis and whoever started the fire knew…

Arthur breathed, “Alasdair, I’m really sorry. I really want to believe that it was whoever started the fire. But no matter how I think about it, why would someone start a deadly fire and then call the police to arrest their target?”

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#story #aph scotland #aph england #LOL i decided to continue and finally finished with the next chap

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shytalia · 5 years ago

Text

A Prince and A Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 13

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Chapter Thirteen

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

The song Arthur sings in his chapter is “When I’m Gone” by Shawn James :)

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Going back into the house, Alfred found the kitchen empty. However, by this point he knew how Arthur liked his tea so he poured some of the water into the pot sitting on the stove so it could come to a boil. A few moments later, the Brit returned.

“Ah, you’ve already got the water going. Brilliant.” The captain readied some cups and when the water had finished, he filled each and placed the tea bags inside. “You’ve made your distaste for tea quite clear, would you fancy a cup anyway?”

Alfred couldn’t keep the small smile from splitting across his face at the offer, but shook his head. “No thanks, I appreciate you asking though.”

Arthur shrugged. “Suit yourself, you can have water if you’d like. Now, let Peter know it’s almost ready.” He watched as his captive nodded and left to do just that, not failing to notice the sappy grin on the other’s face as he did so. He wondered what had Alfred feeling so happy.

Moments later, the two came back in and the younger Kirkland hopped into one of the dining chairs, bringing a cup to his lips after pulling out the bag of leaves. Arthur followed suit right after and even though he only poured himself a bit of water, Alfred sat as well.

The prince was uncharacteristically quiet as he watched the brothers go back and forth, talking among themselves as if he weren’t even there. Not that he minded. In fact, the lazy smile was still plastered on his face as he just enjoyed the peaceful exchange. It was so different sitting here with Arthur and Peter than it ever felt on the ship. He enjoyed spending time with them there as well, but here it felt more...domestic. More normal, almost. Like Arthur wasn’t his captain and Peter wasn’t sick. It felt more like a family.

“Arthur, will you play for us later?” Peter asked hopefully. The secret royal almost missed it after being in his own thoughts so long.

“Hmm, perhaps. We’ll see in a bit, alright?” Arthur replied gently.

“Play what?” Alfred found himself asking, effectively slicing the facade of privacy the two were sharing. “You can play something?”

“Yeah! Arthur can play the guitar! He sings too, he’s really good.” The younger sibling grinned proudly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but a small smile stayed on his lips. “I don’t know that I would say ‘really good’, but it is a hobby I enjoy from time to time.” It wasn’t something he partook in very often anymore due to how busy being a captain could be. But, in the fleeting moments of calm like these, he might relax with a good song.

“I would love to hear that.” Alfred admitted aloud, unashamed at his interest. If Arthur could really sing as well as Peter was trying to hype him up to be then why shouldn’t he want to indulge his curiosity?

Arthur pondered it for a moment and let out a small sigh, accompanied by a shrug. “I suppose it won’t hurt.”

Alfred could hardly hide his excitement, which Arthur saw flash across his face like a child getting a new toy. He found himself smiling slightly in return.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

Alfred and Peter watched Arthur test the strings of the old guitar with starry eyes. Their dual eagerness was almost humorous considering one of them was a grown man. Still, both of them waited with wide smiles as the older Brit prepared the instrument and cleared his throat.

“What are you going to sing, Arthur?” Peter asked curiously.

“Hm, I was thinking one of the old songs mum used to sing.” They weren’t always the lightest of songs. Many held emotions that were raw and sorrowful, but their mother had never been one to shy away from the reality of the world. His younger brother only smiled more and nodded his approval.

When Arthur was ready, he cleared his throat.

The melody started first, dripping with an emotion Alfred hadn’t expected. It was almost sad. Then, the Brit opened his mouth to sing and the prince felt his chest pull tightly.

“Bury my heart in a willow tree”

His voice cut through the cool, afternoon air. Sitting under the large tree, branches hanging teasingly towards them, he looked unbothered by them as he continued.

“Find shelter and shade in my arms Once I am gone don't mourn for me I hope you take pride in what I used to be”

Alfred swallowed a lump in his throat. Arthur’s words cut into his heart but the content, almost peaceful, look on the captain’s face was telling. It was bittersweet to watch him sing about his own death and yet look so happy.

“I've made mistakes that I can't take back I'm just a man, both good and bad Can you forgive all my wrongs?”

The prince’s hands wrung into the fabric of his pants. Arthur’s voice was magical to him, like a siren beckoning him forward. He could feel a pull in him, calling him deeper and deeper into the other man’s depths.

Each syllable Arthur sang was another sigh of want Alfred felt.

He yearned to tell him the truth, in that moment. To admit his own wrongs, to show Arthur that his sins were not all that he was. Not to him, at least. Never to Alfred. He guaranteed he could forgive Arthur no matter what he did, but the sickening thought that Arthur could not forgive him was paralyzing.

“Memories may fade but what we create may stay Time holds the key of fate Only time can reveal the gate”

The song ended with a roar of applause from Peter, who clapped beside him. Alfred was almost shocked the younger boy enjoyed such a melancholy song. Then again, Arthur’s voice was positively radiant.

“That was amazing!” The smaller sibling declared. “See? I told you Arthur is really good!” He was grinning at Alfred now, who managed to return the gesture to hide his worries.

“It is true, you weren’t lying. You’re seriously fantastic, Cap!” Alfred praised, earning him a cocked smile and a raised eyebrow from the older man. It looked like Arthur didn’t fully believe he thought he was that good. Alfred, however he may have felt hearing the lyrics, stood by his judgement. Arthur was nothing short of a siren himself. “I could listen to you all day.”

At that, the Brit chuckled and shook his head. “I think one song is enough for now.” Only laughing again when the other two blondes pouted in disappointment. “Alright, alright. I’ll play a bit longer, but no more singing for now.”

Alfred and Peter would take that compromise, lying back in the soft grass with the sound of Arthur’s playing surrounding them.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

As evening began to turn the blue skies orange, Arthur made sure that his brother had eaten his fill of dinner before preparing him for bed.

Alfred had learned that the three of them were not headed back to the ship for the night. Instead, they would remain here for the time being and he was not about to complain about spending more time with Arthur off the giant boat.

In fact, as sullen as the lyrics had made him and how he pondered over how he could possibly tell Arthur who he truly was, the entire day had been quite relaxing afterwards. His fears and anxieties brushed away by the gentle strumming of the guitar and he had simply enjoyed being near the two brothers in such a relaxing state. That airy mood transferred over to now, after Peter had been put into his bed and Arthur was standing before him with a curious stare.

“Let’s head to the beach for a bit.” The prince offered. They surprisingly hadn’t even touched the sand, despite it really not being that far from the tiny home. But, he supposed beaches weren’t that exciting for pirates.

Arthur was hesitant to leave Peter behind in the house, but knew very well that given their position that no one would be able to sneak up on the building without them noticing first. “You didn’t get enough sand on you in The King’s Grave?” He asked mockingly, ignoring the cringe Alfred gave when he mentioned the harbor’s name again. He chalked it up to him remembering his fight there.

“It just feels really nice out.” Alfred countered with a small grin. “We won’t go far. The moon is bright out so I figured it’d be okay to take a little walk.” He wanted to admit that he wanted to walk with Arthur along the beach like in those many of those old, cheesy romance novels his mother read. He wanted to hold his hand, pull him close in the moonlight, and ravish his lips until they were both out of breath.

“It won’t hurt to take a small stroll, I suppose.” The smaller man relented, allowing Alfred the lead the way out of the small house.

It didn’t take them long to reach the shore line, their steps making marks in the untouched sand. They only walked a short distance, the dim light of the house still very clearly in view.

“Peter mentioned your family earlier. Er, your mom and your brothers.” Alfred couldn’t help but start. He had bit back his curiosity more than once that day but now that he finally had Arthur alone, he couldn’t help himself. “He showed me their graves. I’m sorry if this isn’t a good subject, I just--”

“You just want to know more about me.” Arthur finished for him. “You say that a lot, you know?”

Alfred blushed a little and scratched the back of his head with a weak chuckle. “Only because it’s really true.”

Arthur hummed but didn’t reply, their feet crunching softly in the sand and the gentle rolling of the waves was the only sound. Soon, however, they came to a set of giant rocks, at which the captain paused and sat. He motioned for Alfred to join him on the large, grey stone.

“Arthur,” he voiced carefully. He had a million things he wanted to say but they just jumbled up in his throat. “Why do you not want to be queen?”

The Brit scoffed, “I thought I had made it perfectly clear I didn’t like that question.” Considering the first time it had been asked he nearly killed the younger man. It was brave of him to ask it again, he had to admit. Either that or it was just really stupid.

But, unlike last time, Arthur didn’t fly into a rage. It almost surprised himself that he took the question, which usually irritated him to no end, as calmly as he did. He would blame it on the serenity of their current spot by the waves.

“I know and I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you upset.” Alfred replied quickly. He was telling the truth and he was certain Arthur could tell that by the way he was looking at him.

“But?” Arthur urged. He knew there was more the other man wanted to say.

Alfred nodded slowly, willing himself to continue. “But...you never actually gave me a reason. Most people would want a position like that so I...I don’t know. I guess I just don’t understand, but I want to. You’re smart and you’re strong, I know you must have a reason to hate the idea of being queen as much as you do.” Even though it burnt on his tongue to say, he knew it was the truth of the matter.

The British captain didn’t respond right away, instead he glanced out to the blue waves sparkling under the moonlight. After a few minutes of watching the waters caress the land, Arthur spoke up.

“Tell me, Alfred,” he started slowly, his green eyes still staring out into the vast expanse of the sea before them. “What do you know of Jokers?”

“Jokers?” Alfred repeated, the hint of judgement in his voice audible without him meaning for it to be.

Arthur didn’t fail to notice the raise in the other man’s voice and his lips turned downward. “Yes. You are from the Spade capital, you have a sort of fondness for the royal family, you must know about them. Tell me, what do you think of them?”

Alfred wasn’t sure. He had been told many things of Jokers, none of which were exactly good. Though he had never met any himself, he had been told they were very few and far between. Much like The Goddess marked the future king and queen with the appropriate stamp, Jokers were marked as well but were also of a different, more confusing breed altogether.

Jokers weren’t exactly understood, but a good many believed they brought nothing but ruin and destruction.

Alfred had heard many stories of the past, where people had been falsely accused as Jokers by their peers as a way of revenge. It had been little short of a witch hunt, little proof needed for a painful, if not deadly, sentence to be carried out on the accused. Times had changed since then, of course, but the thought of finding a Joker was taboo at best.

“I...don’t know.” Alfred admitted quietly, wondering why on earth Arthur would bring up such a topic. “I always heard Jokers were evil. That they were a mockery to the Divine and that their symbols were that of darkness. Aren’t they supposed to bring down the fall of the kingdoms?”

Arthur’s face was stony as he listened, his emerald eyes now boring into the young prince with an expression he couldn’t read. It made Alfred cringe inward.

“That’s what you’ve heard but you’ve yet to tell me what you actually think.”

“Oh, umm...” He didn’t think much of it at all, truthfully. It was hard when he had never experienced it first hand. As far as he knew, no Joker had been found in decades. He couldn’t lie that he held a certain apprehension about them, after all the old stories and warnings had to hold some truth. Didn’t they? “I don’t…really think anything about them, I guess. I’ve never met one, so how could I judge someone I’ve never actually met?”

If he had learned anything it was not to fully trust the stories he’d grown up hearing. Arthur unknowingly taught him that much. After all, he had heard so many horrible things about Arthur before having actually met him and yet here he was, completely infatuated. He couldn't see himself with anyone else.

Something about his answer must have struck Arthur, though he didn’t voice his thoughts aloud. The older man’s eyes shifted, dancing across his face as if he were searching for something. After a while, he spoke again. “Peter told you about our mother and our older brothers.” It wasn’t a question so much as just a fact.

“Yes. Well, he told me which grave was whose, and your brother’s names.” Alfred didn’t know any more than that.

“He didn’t tell you how they died.”

Again, not a question. Still, Alfred shook his head no.

Arthur’s thoughtful gaze left his face then and returned towards the ocean. The captain’s green eyes reflected the moonlight off the water and now Alfred felt himself staring at them.

“Have you ever wondered why I named my ship ‘The Siren’s Arrow’?” Arthur asked without looking at him.

“You’re asking a lot of weird questions tonight.” Not that Alfred minded because he did enjoy talking with Arthur, but the pirate was acting off. Like there was something bothering him but he just wasn’t allowing himself to voice his concerns.

The green-eyed man turned and frowned at his servant with an impatient glare. At the annoyed gesture, Alfred decided it’d be best to answer his questions, even if they were strange.

“I...kind of. I mean, pirates always give their ships cool names, right? I always figured it was just a name you thought sounded nice.” He hadn’t thought much about it, truthfully. Out of all the things he wanted to learn about Arthur, his naming skills were not exactly at the forefront of his mind. But, now that it was brought up directly, he found himself curious. “Why did you name it that?”

“After my mother.”

The answer had been so quick and so quiet that Alfred questioned whether it had actually been said out loud at all or if his mind had made it up. He looked to Arthur again, his questions silently gleaming in his eyes until the other elaborated.

“The Siren’s Arrow is a memorial, of sorts. My mother loved to sing and she loved the ocean, much like a siren. The song I sang earlier was something she often enjoyed singing herself while she walked on the beach.” He explained.

Alfred felt that same, worried feeling twist in his chest as before.

“But...what about the arrow?” He asked cautiously. If the siren herself was meant to be Arthur’s mother for such a personal reason, she was no doubt armed for a similar purpose.

At that Arthur gave a small, almost sad smile. It took him a few moments to answer, trying to decide the words to use or if he even wanted to be truthful at all. “The arrow isn’t as much of a metaphor as you might think.” He finally admitted, shifting in a way that Alfred almost thought looked uncomfortable. It was not a look he was used to from the captain.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you really don’t want to.”

Arthur scoffed again. “I’m not a child, lad. I’ve got a stiff upper lip.”

Alfred was unconvinced that Arthur was completely alright with the current topic, but nodded. “So, it isn’t as much of a metaphor. Then why an arrow?” He urged and against his better judgement, reached out and put his hand on top of the other man’s in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

“Right.” The pirate’s mocking grin was gone and replaced by a small frown, but he didn’t move his hand away as Alfred took it. “I asked you how you feel about Jokers for a reason. You probably don’t believe there are any around, do you? Your precious royals tell you everything’s alright because there aren’t any…vermin around to ruin things.” The heat raised in his words as he spoke and his free hand curled into a fist at his side. “What if they were lying?”

“Lying?” Alfred's brows furrowed together in confusion. The King and Queen couldn’t be lying. He was the Prince of Spades, he would know if his parents knew. He was being trained as the next ruler of a powerful empire, they wouldn’t keep secrets from him.

Right?

“Arthur, what are you talking about?” Alfred demanded as softly as he could, but the suspicion and hurt edged his words sharply.

“I’m talking about your shite royals in their damned lies!” The Brit practically yelled back, but his anger was placed far beyond where he was glaring. The fire that burned in his eyes, filled with hatred and despair, was not at the Alfred that sat beside him. It was aimed far away, at the prince he believed to be cooped up in the castle.

The realization that Arthur’s outburst was meant for him, knowingly or not, made Alfred’s guilt grow worse. But how could he tell the fiery captain who he was without him hating him forever?

“What does that have to do with Jokers? Or your family?” Alfred was desperately trying to piece together a puzzle in his mind from the fragments he had been given. This was all suddenly new, despite everything he had been told about Arthur, none of it fit together with the new information he was being given. “Tell me why you hate the Spade Prince so much.”

At that, the Englishman let out a dark laugh. His voice ringing around Alfred’s head like a cruel fog.

“Because,” he started with a menacing smile. “The absolute tosser is the same as the rest of the lot there. A liar. A rich fuck who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. I’ll be damned if I ever let that bastard have me as their queen.”

“You don’t even know him!” Alfred cried in return, searching for anything to tell him Arthur could be convinced to let down some of his hatred for who he really was. His hand gripped tightly around Arthur's in an attempt to ground himself.

“Ha! I know more than enough to know he is no different than the rest. I’d very well skin the coddled prick alive before I would ever marry him.”

Arthur meant it, the prince could see it in his eyes. He’d fight to his last breath to avoid being his queen.

“What about the goddess?” Alfred whispered hopelessly.

“What about her? That she’s playing a fun, little game with us mortals and those royal dumbasses are too far up their own righteous asses to see that? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you believe She marked me with a good heart? Are you forgetting how we even met? What I’ve done to you?” Arthur challenged. He was not a good man, he knew that for a fact. He had done countless things he could never take back no matter how he tried to repent his sins.

“No, I haven’t forgotten.” Alfred replied, clasping the other man’s hand in his and bringing it up between them so he could hold it with both of his. “But that doesn’t change a thing. Why do you insist on thinking you’re a bad person?”

“I am a bad person, you idiot!” Arthur tried to pull his hand away but Alfred only held it tighter in his grasp.

“You’ve done some bad things but I know you aren’t a bad person. You’ve been forced to become something you never asked for, I understand that. It’s a lot to ask of you to become queen.” Alfred pulled the Brit’s hand closer and leaned in to pepper his fingers with light kisses.

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes, though he was still very much fuming. “Stop doing that!” He hissed.

“Doing what? Kissing you?” Alfred asked, the thought of rejection stinging his words sadly.

“That! Why the hell are you so bloody nice? Even after everything?” After all the yelling, the degrading, and even using his body for a night of pleasure, the younger boy was still by his side. Arthur couldn’t wrap his head around it and the dizziness from it made his mind swirl in confusion.

“Oh,” Alfred let himself smile, a harsh contrast to the glaring Brit looking back at him. “Because...I think I’m falling in love with you.”

To say Arthur’s eyes went wide would be an understatement. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, staring at the taller man as if he had three heads and a tail. As if he were completely insane, because he had to be to say something that ridiculous.

“I know you told me not to develop feelings but...you can’t really help who you fall in love with, you know?” Alfred blushed and shrugged sheepishly, blue eyes glancing to the side. “And I understand you don’t want that. I know...you like your solitude. But I also know you enjoy tea, and roses, and reading. I love knowing that about you, even if you don’t want to know things about me. That’s okay, as long as you’re happy then I’m happy.”

The prince watched the other with hopeful eyes, carefully weighing the emotions rapidly shifting across Arthur’s face. Eventually, the Brit shook his head but his mouth didn’t attempt to make any words.

“It’s alright. Like I said, I just want you to be happy.” Alfred reiterated gently. As much as he wished Arthur would return his feelings, he knew that asking for that was next to a miracle even without the Brit knowing his secret identity. “But, you’re not completely happy.” He said without warning, noticing the furrow deepening on Arthur’s brow. “You aren’t completely happy and I have a feeling the royal family is the cause...are you willing to tell me why? What all that talk about Jokers and lies were? I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me!” Arthur blurted out.

“Try me.” He replied easily.

Once again the only sound was that of the waves dragging across the sand. It went on that way, with Arthur glaring daggers at the secret prince but not making any attempt to pull his hand out of his strong grip.

The Brit’s face scrunched up in an array of pained emotions. Namely anger, as his scowl deepened the more he thought back on what led him to hate the Spades so fervently. If Alfred wanted the truth so badly, then let him have it.

“Your royals murdered my family.” Arthur finally answered, his words dry against his throat.

Alfred’s own brows knitted together in tempered confusion. “Why would they do that?”

Arthur let out a sarcastic laugh, but his answer was swift. “Because, that’s what they do! They kill anyone who doesn’t do what they say.”

He could see that Alfred wanted more of an explanation without him even having to say it, so he obliged. If his little captive wanted to know his past so badly then he would tell him, and he would smear his bloody truths across the faces of the king and queen as he went.

“My family did nothing to them and they had them slaughtered like swine. All because of some old wives tales of ruin and disaster.” Arthur’s glare bore into Alfred with an unrelenting fury. For a moment, the young prince was worried the captain had figured out who he was and was planning his murder. “My brothers and my mother died so that Peter and I could live. Your damned King and Queen ordered the death of a child hardly old enough to write his own name! For what? Because of some mark on his skin, he’s supposed to be a monster? He wasn’t! He isn’t a monster! But they couldn’t bother themselves long enough to see that, once they heard he had a Joker’s mark they ordered him to die.”

Alfred stared at Arthur in confusion and worry. The captain was riled up but he held fast to his hand, doing his best to run his thumb over his pale knuckles in an attempt to relax him. Slowly, the pieces were coming together. “Peter...is a Joker?” He hoped he didn’t sound too hesitant.

Those green eyes snapped to him with a determined glower. “Peter is the child your royals want dead even though he has done nothing wrong.” He corrected sharply. “My older brothers stayed to fight off the guards and were shot down as we fled. My mother brought us to the pier and stowed us away on a ship no one else dared to go near. Every bit of coin she had saved went to begging a pirate captain to allow us passage on his ship. But the royal guards were drawing near, leaving the broken bodies of my older brothers in their wake.”

The waves against the sand bristled to life, their soft caresses quickly shifting into a hard pound. The wind grew stronger, threatening to push them from where they sat perched on the rocks. Alfred recognized this sudden shift in power but didn’t say anything, he just allowed Arthur to continue.

“My mother knew they’d find us, so she left me and Peter on the boat. She ran back onto land, bow in her hand, to distract the guards long enough so I could take Peter and escape. Then, they killed her too...but it worked. We escaped and became pirates ourselves to survive against a kingdom that hates us.” It was rough at first, no doubt. But through hard work, Arthur earned his keep and then worked even harder so he could earn young Peter’s as well. Thankfully, pirates had a knack for avoiding the navy so that was one worry they didn’t have to stress too much on.

“We came back here eventually, after I became a captain with my own crew. We found where they had buried the bodies and moved them back home.” Arthur explained. “But then, of course, that couldn’t be it. No, now I’m supposed to be some dress up doll for Spadian nobility that want nothing more than to see my brother dead.”

“It might not have to be that way, maybe we can convince them to compromise.” Alfred offered, unconvincingly. Arthur sent him a nasty glare.

“What the hell are you supposed to do? You don’t hold power over what they do. You’re as much of a disposable body as any other poor sod to them.” He nearly growled, making Alfred close his mouth. He couldn’t tell him the truth. “They’d strip me of everything if they could. If I let my guard down for just one second too long they’ll dispose of Peter like it was nothing. Me being marked as the future queen means nothing. It’s all for show, surely you’ve realized this? They don't want me, they just want the body with the mark on it.”

Alfred felt his mouth go dry.

What was he supposed to say? He wanted to plead with Arthur and tell him things didn’t have to be that way. But, how could he do that without revealing himself?

Then there was the issue of Peter. He held no doubt in his mind that he still adored the kid to death and wouldn’t want anything to happen to him. He was certain he could convince his parents to spare him and, in time, they would care about him as well. But that didn’t change the fact he had never known about him in the first place. His parents had ordered his death without Alfred ever even knowing a Joker had been found at all.

The trust he felt for his own mother and father was wavering. What else could they be lying about? And out of all things, how could they lie to him about Arthur?

“Artie,” Alfred’s grip on the slender hand tightened and he brought it closer to his lips, peppering it with soft kisses once more. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll be your hero, don’t worry.”

Arthur let out a mocking laugh, but Alfred was determined to prove he was telling the truth.

“I know you don’t need me. I told you already, you’re strong on your own. But I still want to fight for you anyway.” He was serious, catching the other blonde’s gaze and holding it for a long moment.

“You truly are a ridiculous git, you know that?” Arthur replied with a slight smile, his words holding no malice. The wind around them calming to a cool breeze and the waves slowing back to their previous peacefulness. The British captain himself was visibly more calm despite the words he spoke.

This made Alfred smile warmly in return.

“So you’ve told me.” The prince chuckled, leaning in to capture Arthur’s lips on his own.

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