heres 1000 words of a random thing i was writing a year ago before i dropped it for rip van winkle / colossians. i was going to do 5-6 little alfred and arthur scenes based on various american songs. this was the (incomplete) one for Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival.
Arthur had been in the colonies uninterrupted for over a year, longer than he had in decades. Wars in Europe had kept him away from North America for months, even years at a time. The latest conflict with France, which had lasted nearly seven years, ended. Arthur was finally able to return to the west, though it wasn’t only for selfish reasons. It seemed as though once the war in Europe was finished, a new one cropped up between the colonists and the Native population. His colony still being young (though, he’s had a few growth spurts over the years), Arthur didn’t like to leave Alfred alone on this side of the Atlantic when there was a war on his homeland. Even a small conflict could cause him to become ill at his age.
Of course, Arthur didn’t always get a choice in when he got to stay or leave. He would be leaving tomorrow morning to report to King George the current state of affairs on this side of the world. The war was ongoing, but skirmishes had become less common as summer concluded. A treaty will come soon, he imagines.
On this night, Arthur reads a book by the fire in his bedroom. It’s late, and he’ll be getting up early, but he can’t bring himself to sleep. A terrible storm rages outside, violent winds pelting rain water at his window. The trouble is in his soul, though. He doesn’t want to leave. Alfred doesn’t want him to leave.
The boy is grown now, approximately halfway through his teenaged years in human terms. He’s spent more time with nannies and housemaids than he has with Arthur in the last few decades—Arthur’s year long stay has been a rare opportunity for them. He’s found himself fantasizing again, something he hasn’t done since Alfred was a small child, about the two of them being… ordinary. Their life in the New World being small and human.
Arthur doesn’t know when he’ll be able to return. Alfred has been shooting up along with the colony’s population, and he’s afraid the boy will be taller than he when he returns. He’s fully aware that his and Alfred’s relationship isn’t completely conventional when it comes to the usual conduct Nations operate under. Larger powers are not usually so involved in childrearing. But Arthur had been. Why, he doesn’t know.
A blast of thunder erupts outside, rattling the entire house.
A few minutes later, his bedroom door creaks open. Alfred appears, holding a candlestick. The boy freezes in his tracks once he realizes that Arthur is not, in fact, in bed. He’s grown into a handsome young man, but his attire makes him appear more childish. Alfred wears a long linen night gown, one he seems particularly attached to. Arthur suspects that it had belonged to one of the maids who passed away a few months before he arrived. Alfred had seemed fond of her.
Arthur dog-ears a page in his book and sets in aside. “You should be asleep if you’re still wanting to go to the harbor with me in the morning.”
Alfred relaxes slightly and fully enters the room, shutting the door behind him. His feet are bare on the wood floor. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
Arthur quirks a brow at him, “Aren’t you a little old to be sneaking into my bed?” It’s hard to tell in this light, but he suspects that Alfred’s face reddens.
“You shouldn’t leave tomorrow,” Alfred says, biting his lip. A habit Arthur cannot shake from the boy. “The eye of the hurricane has reached Boston.”
The boy approaches, and sits next to him on the settee. Now that he’s closer, he can tell that Alfred’s face is pale. One might think it may be caused by a fear of storms, but Arthur knows better. It’s for the same reason that Alfred knows the center of the storm has reached the city despite being a two hour ride away.
“The storm will have passed by morning,” Arthur says. “And if the eye is over Boston, we are experiencing the worst of it now. It will be over soon.”
Alfred blows out his candle with a huff and sets it on the floor next to him. “We don’t know the state of the ship.”
“We won’t until we arrive, but I imagine even if the storm claims it, there will be another to spare. Fresh soldiers arrive on new ships every day,” Arthur says. The year prior, a proclamation had been made forbidding the colonists from settling beyond the mountains, and ten thousand troops have been ordered to this side of the ocean.
Alfred’s eyes narrow. The look is unbecoming. He has unsavory opinions about the colony paying the wages of the soldiers. Arthur doesn’t know where the boy learned it from, or when, or why it bothers him so much when it’s for his protection. Alfred at least knows not to start any arguments about it. Good, because Arthur would rather avoid that when he’s leaving the next day.
They don’t argue often. But they never argued at all, before.
“Come here, my boy,” Arthur says, holding his arms out. Alfred seems surprised, but nestles against Arthur’s chest anyway. He’s too big for this, now. When did that happen?
“The horses will be spooked,” Alfred whines against his chest. Arthur runs a hand through his golden hair. “We should wait until the day after tomorrow, that will give them time to recuperate.”
“My dear, Alfred,” he tuts. “I am sorry, but nothing is going to stop me from leaving for England tomorrow.”
