Here comes the candle [3/?]
anonymous
October 1 2009, 16:00:17 UTC
XX
Wrapped in America’s new flag, the stars and stripes soaked into his skin. The imprint was like a tattoo colouring his soul and felt naked despite his uniform and the flag with fifty-one stars wrapped like a cape across his shoulders.
The gazes of both British and American officials burnt him, their eyes crawled across his skin, leaving trails of hope and anger stamped onto his lungs, his gut, his heart.
From the corner of his eye Arthur could see the royal family standing with his prime minister. When this was over, they would have to start looking for new day jobs.
Alfred stood in front of him, slightly higher than Arthur on the steps leading up the podium where his president stood tall and proud, beaming from ear to ear. Alfred was not smiling but he did not look grim either and Arthur wanted to reach out his hand and press it against Alfred’s heart just to check how it beat.
“Arthur Kirkland, we welcome you as the 51st state of America. God bless America!” the president announced and everyone clapped - sincerely or otherwise.
Arthur took Alfred’s hand as he knelt, kissing it like a knight swearing fealty. He had done it a thousand times before to all his previous reigning monarchs, even to the odd prime minister if he greatly respected him - though Churchill had been the last.
Yet this was not his King, this was Alfred. This was not his prime minister, but, in a way, it was his boss-to-be.
His fingers tightened around the hand, his nails leaving faint crescent imprints on Alfred's skin.
Re: Here comes the candle [3/?]
anonymous
October 1 2009, 21:20:00 UTC
*o* Wow. Oh poor Arthur! This must be so hard for him. I mean, he used to own the world and now being reduced to a state! Though, the states are pretty awesome >.> This is great writer anon!
recaptcha: mcgovern eminence...what does that mean captcha?!
I'm in awe, anon. Just awed by this and how painful it was to read, like a punch in the gut. I really feel horrible for Arthur, once a proud nation now reduced to a state living in Alfred's house. This was so much better than what I was thinking and hoping for, anon. Thank you for writing this. <3333
Is it wrong that I want to see a sequel to this? XD
Re: Here comes the candle [3/?]
anonymous
October 3 2009, 01:54:41 UTC
the details, what england thinks about the whole thing... all of it are lovely. especially the ceremony, with the flag draped around him and when he swore fealty to america. and america, so ignorant of england's thoughts. this thing is so well written and well thought out. god, if i only knew the identity of some of the author-anons, i'll stalk them. hopefully you'll de-anon after this?
Re: Here comes the candle [4/?]
anonymous
October 3 2009, 22:39:27 UTC
XX
“Orange and lemons sing the bells of St Clemens You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins.”
Would that be dollars now? You owe me five dollars. It did not have the same ring. In fact, it was all wrong.
The dimensions of Alfred’s apartment were all wrong. His kitchen was too long and too wide, let in too much sunlight, smelt too strongly of coffee; felt too much like a stranger’s kitchen. The ceiling above the corridor was too high, the lounge was too chic, there was too much leather. Everywhere Arthur looked it was all wrong.
He wanted his house back. He wanted the garden gate with its creaky hinges, he wanted his Union Jack bed covers and towels organised red, white, blue. He wanted his rose and strawberry bushes and his cheerful fireplace that crackled on dreary winter days when the sky was overcast and the clouds were drizzling. He wanted to have tea boiled in his own kettle, stirred with his own spoon, and sipped in his periwinkle blue teacups.
He wanted everything that had been lost.
It was selfish, and he knew that, but that knowledge did not abate his yearning for home.
Arthur glanced over his shoulder to where Alfred was standing, adjusting a pinstripe tie in front of a full-length mirror. He was humming stars and stripes forever as he struggled to knot it and Arthur did his best not to wince at the sound, once sweet and melodious, now grating his ears.
He wondered if Alfred suspected his unhappy thoughts; he probably did, Alfred was an idiot but he was not that much of an idiot. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he should buy himself a mirror and practice smiling.
Noticing Arthur’s gaze, Alfred flashed him a brilliant smile. “Arthur, I’m going to the world meeting now, alright? If you need anything - ”
“Oh no, I’ll be fine, just fine,” Arthur muttered tersely, hiding his sneer behind a teacup. Even the tea was wrong.
Unfortunately, Alfred was not oblivious enough to miss the derision lacing Arthur’s words. His smile transformed into an annoyed frown, one which he directed straight towards him.
“Arthur...”
“Alfred?” Arthur’s smile did not reach his eyes.
Two long strides took him to where Arthur sat; slamming the palm of his hand in front of him with such force that it shook the sleeping cutlery.
“What is your problem?” he shouted, “You agreed to this!”
“My problem?” Arthur seethed, rising to his feet in anger. He forgot about reconciling himself to his position, he forgot about buying himself a mirror, he forgot about smiling. The glass was broken and storm was out. “My problem is you and your astounding arrogance! If you had proposed a union I might have accepted it with some grace but this? A merger? I can’t even go outside without wanting to bury my head in shame!”
“I told you that my bosses would only accept a merger!”
“And you love it, don’t you? I see that the American empire is nice and healthy! Look!” he threw his hand across a poster of the world hanging in Alfred’s study, most of Europe painted green but for one small island of dark blue; the same colour as America. “Parts of America are even in Europe now! You must feel so proud! Keep this up and you won’t need your army of McDonalds and fast food fighters armed with French fries and artery-busting burgers to take over the world!”
Alfred’s fists clenched, nails biting into skin, digging into pink flesh until he almost drew blood.
“You’re just bitter even though it was your stupidity that got you into this recession mess in the first place!”
“Don’t blame this on me!”
“Do you think I wanted this to happen to you?” Alfred ripped the map from the wall, shredding it in his fury.“Don’t take out all your unhappiness on me when I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“But you’re loving it, aren’t you?” Arthur hissed, staring accusingly at Alfred’s indignant expression.
Re: Here comes the candle [5/?]
anonymous
October 3 2009, 22:40:19 UTC
A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Alfred’s face before it became hard. Arthur had almost forgotten how scary he could be when enraged.
“You would have died if not for me! You would have passed away just like your brothers! I saved you!”
“Better to die with honour than to be a poodle to America!”
“Then die!” Alfred stormed towards the door, knuckles white under the pressure of his grip. “See if I care!” he shouted before slamming the door shut.
XX
Arthur was staring at the mirror hanging on his - Alfred’s - bathroom wall. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulled them up.
Look, a smile.
As he let his hands drop so did his smile. It was a frown now.
He tried again.
...Shit.
But Alfred was gone, and had been gone for hours now, perhaps days. Who knew how long these meetings took? Arthur was sure that he had forgotten, and there was nothing to do in Alfred’s house.
Normally he would have had little free time between legislation and politics and diplomacy and those heaps and heaps of paperwork usually waiting for him. Those precious minutes he had to himself Arthur would spend tending the garden, or sewing, or perhaps even getting stone drunk with Francis.
There was nothing to do here. Even going through that pile of paper work would have been a blissful distraction from the world around him, the world that had forgotten him.
He stared at the flower imprints on the bathroom tiles, at the black smudge in the corner of the peach towel on the rack, at the chips in the white enamel sink.
Nothing to do. There was nothing to do.
He could hear the kitchen clock ticking.
Nothing to do.
He counted the steps as he went downstairs. There were twelve. Funny, he was sure that there had been thirteen. He went up again, counting them carefully as he did. Eleven. He went down again, counting them even more carefully. Thirteen.
Yes, there were thirteen steps after all. Arthur walked up and counted them again just to be sure. Thirteen again. Yes, there were definitely thirteen steps. He was glad that he had discovered that at least.
Now what should he do? There was nothing to do. Nothing to do.
Re: Here comes the candle [6/11]
anonymous
October 3 2009, 22:42:16 UTC
XX
In the evening Alfred returned to his house. Arthur had been counting the crinkles on the wallpaper of his room, hoping and hating himself for hoping that Alfred would return.
He despised this kind of dependency. When he closed his eyes and thought of his days of former glory, he just knew that other nations must be sniggering at him for it. How could he go outside, how could he meet the others in the state that he was in now? No, it was better to stay inside where the shame and humiliation came only from his own rebukes.
Alfred looked oddly penitent when he returned; poking his head around the door of Arthur’s newly furnished bedroom before creeping in.
Arthur swung his legs over the double bed, ready to rise to his feet.
“Alfred, I - ”
“Look, I’m sorry okay!” Alfred’s tone hardly sounded apologetic but, from the way he avoided Arthur’s gaze, there was a distinct sense of shame that had pitted his sense of justice and pride against each other. It seemed justice had won in the end and now he was apologising.
Well, miracles were called miracles because they had a chance of occurring.
Loosening his tie, Alfred flung it over his shoulder, and then promptly flung himself onto Arthur’s bed before swivelling around so that he still did not have to look Arthur in the face.
“I didn’t mean it when I told you to die,” his voice came grudgingly, forced out his throat like a petulant child who knew but hated to admit their mistake. “I...don’t really want you to die,” he ended with a whisper, but it was sincere.
Whatever Arthur had been planning to say disappeared. Was there nothing to say? He wanted to apologise too but he also wanted to wrap his fingers around Alfred’s neck and break his windpipe. He wanted to cry but he wanted to show Alfred that he was still strong. He wanted to kill him and become a nation again but he wanted to place his hand against that soft blond hair and pretend that all was right with the world.
Arthur did not speak. It was too hard. The world was choking him. Alfred was crushing him. The knowledge of his own weakness, of his pathetic figure reflected in the windows pierced him too keenly.
He turned around as well, resting against Alfred, back to back so that neither one had to look at each other. Arthur thought he felt the guilt emitted from Alfred radiating into him. He hated himself for not realising sooner, for only thinking about his own situation and not the sense of responsibility Alfred might have been feeling, the pressure of having another state, the misplaced guilt for what had happened, the desperate hope for the future...
“I hate you. Even though it’s not your fault, I really, really hate you.”
Arthur felt Alfred’s back stiffen as he spoke. A moment later, he felt Alfred relaxing again. He wondered what kind of expression he was wearing but he did not dare turn around and look.
“...That’s fine,” Alfred spoke, fragile words shaking as they were realised into the air.
Arthur drew his legs up to his chest. The silence was closing in too fast; its fingers were dark and cold, leaving behind a frost that constricted his lungs
“I mean it. I hate you.”
Alfred’s back breathed a hefty sigh “Then hate me, Arthur. Just don’t die.”
And it seemed as if eternity had been compressed into a single room constructed for the specific purpose of letting them say nothing at all. The silence would break the wings of a butterfly or rend the world apart.
They sat back pressed against back, trying to find each other in the darkness.
Re: Here comes the candle [6/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 05:43:20 UTC
...i can't articulate what i feel about this fill.
wow, author!anon. i like the unpredictability of this fic's flow. you left us a cliffie and for the first time ever i can't think of any scenarios that can possibly follow what you wrote. i can't draw any conclusions on how this will end. happy ending? sad? whatever you write, i'm sure it'll satisfy me.
Re: Here comes the candle [7/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 10:13:29 UTC
They gave him work as a state. ‘They’ being the formless, nameless spectres Arthur never saw or had any contact with other than through Alfred. The workload itself was nothing compared to that of a nation but it helped keep the boredom at bay on those multiple occasions when Alfred was gone.
The seasons passed as usual. The world cruelly continued its passage through time, though to Arthur it seemed as if he were a hapless spectator to its journey rather than a participant struggling against the flow.
“How was the meeting?”
“Boring,” Alfred shrugged, draping his coat over the side of the table.
Arthur did not smile but he did not feel the urge to strangle Alfred as he would have previously done.
“I made you dinner,” he said. “Since you’ve been having nothing but burgers lately, it’s all vegetarian. Eat it.”
XX
“Yo, Arthur!”
“What?” Arthur looked up irritably at a beaming Alfred. After countless years of sharing the same breathing space, he had long since learnt that Alfred’s happiness was directly proportional to the size of his headache.
Currently, Alfred was standing with his fifty-one star flag draped over his hand, covering something suspicious.
Amused by the tiniest hint of curiosity in Arthur’s eyes, Alfred gripped the flag with his other hand and whipped it off with a flourish.
“A present! I figured you might get lonely when I’m not around!” he announced proudly.
A tiny yellow-orange lovebird hopped from perch to perch in its steel cage, twittering sweetly. Arthur tilted his head for a better look. He was not sure whether to smile at his caged comrade or pity it but, either way, he did not think that he could find the strength to let it go.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Alfred pushed the age into his arms. The gesture was full of such good intent that Arthur winced slightly.
“It’s been fifty years since the merger. It’s our anniversary so let’s celebrate!”
Fifty years? Had it really been that long? But then again centuries passed like seconds for them.
“Why do I have to celebrate something depressing like that?” Arthur his head turned away stubbornly.
“Come on. Just once, won’t you wear it with pride?” Alfred held up the flag as he would a coat for him to try on. Soft syllables escaped from his mouth and melted like bubbles.
Arthur smiled.
“Alright. For you.”
The words sounded pleasant on his tongue. It sounded like a pretty little lie.
Re: Here comes the candle [8/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 10:15:10 UTC
XX
“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins.”
The need to hurl his guts up woke Arthur from a pleasant sleep. Alfred was still away at another summit, though that was typical now; Alfred was usually away more often than not. Where was the boy when you ever needed him?
He had no idea why he was feeling sick. His economy had indeed improved since the merger - although it was not really his economy at all - and the riots against the merger had been non-existent for years.
Splashing his face with ice-cold water, Arthur fumbled for a towel - peach with a black spot on the corner - wondering what was wrong with him.
Head rising from the peach folds, he stared at his unchanged reflection in the mirror. Had his face melted yet?
Re: Here comes the candle [9/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 10:17:15 UTC
XX
“When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch,”
The sound of the key in the lock and footsteps at the front door broke Arthur from his reverie. He had been reminiscing about nights spent roving the seven seas and days spent under the cover of clouds, a blanket of grass supporting his back.
“I’m home!” Alfred’s voice resounded through the house and Arthur pushed himself off of his bed, swaying slightly as they world tilted beneath him.
“Welcome back,” Arthur met him in the hallway, slightly wobbly on his feet and his cheeks flushed.
“Huh? Arthur, are you sick?” Alfred leaned over him, pressing a hand against his burning forehead.
Arthur chuckled and batted his hand away with a reassuring smile. “Just a little cold.”
Alfred frowned. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy...”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. He knew that Alfred had a lot of work to do, work that only a fiftieth of belonged to Arthur, and that seemed to be decreasing every day.
XX
If there were such things as revelations in life, Arthur believed that this was one of them.
Back in the days of Kings, when he was still young, before the birth of the Church of England, Francis had told him that with knowledge comes suffering, but after suffering comes acceptance; that was why Mary always looked at peace with herself.
Arthur wondered if after suffering acceptance would come for him too. Or perhaps it had already visited, settling discreetly into his bones without him even noticing.
There was certainly something soaked within his bones, though its feeling was not pleasant.
The lovebird hopped around the perimeter of its cage, head cocking this way and that in confusion. It was not the first one Alfred had given him - that one had died long ago - but Alfred kept replacing them as if he could fool Arthur into thinking that they lived for eternity. This one had no name. It was just ‘the lovebird.’
Alfred was gone again. It was too quiet and the odd cheeps from the bird only made the silence swell. Arthur sat on the window seat, pushed his head back against the panes of glass and tried singing along with the lovebird’s song.
Pale winter light crossed the floor. Another summer had come and gone, leaving in its wake the bite of frost. Arthur took Alfred’s bomber jacket off of the peg and wrapped himself in it. One hand pressed against the cushioned seat, he gently picked up the bird cage with the other and heaved himself off of it; it took more effort than he had anticipated.
Shivering slightly, he paced to the front door; the entrance and exit which would bring or take away Alfred.
Stupid, he thought. That he should miss Alfred only when he was not around, even though he always had a huge headache whenever he was near. Then again, Arthur had not been outside for years, without Alfred he would have probably forgotten that such things as humans and nations existed. It was not that Alfred kept him locked away but he just could not bring himself go outside. How could he? It would make his shame public.
Arthur stared at the door, wondering why it looked so ominous. Since when had he begun to feel so small? So powerless? Gathering his courage, he took off the chain, pulled the handle and stepped outside.
Re: Here comes the candle [10/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 10:19:17 UTC
XX
If he could have described the feeling with a word, it would have been ‘ah.’ Breathe in, breathe out...ah. It was not the sound of a satisfied sigh, nor was it the sick sigh of a lovelorn boy, not ‘ah, that was good’, not ‘ah, it’s hopeless.’ Just ah.
Ah.
Like a cat stretching out in the weak sun, starting out strong, tail curling around the almost inaudible h.
Ahhh
The air was cold and the sky pale, like a whitewashed canvas on which the barren trees and grey rooftops had been sketched. The gravel at his feet crunched with frost, his breath was white, floating away like clouds into the sky.
Arthur stared above him and thought; ‘ah.’ Just ah. His mind was blank. His mind was full of everything, and above the silent roar, he thought; ‘ah. So that’s how it is.’
And he knew. He just knew. And with knowledge came suffering and then acceptance. Did he look calm now? Perhaps he could even fool someone into thinking that he was happy?
Or was he actually happy?
Yes, that was it; he was happy. Living with Alfred, surely he must have been happy all this time; he had just never known it.
“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins”
He began to sing with his lovebird, although the sound of their songs was completely out of sync.
It was a song that he had heard a long time ago, perhaps another lifetime even. In that lifetime, had he been happy too?
“When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch”
Arthur opened the cage and gave it a little, encouraging shake. The lovebird hopped to the entrance, poking its head out warily. Arthur jolted the cage a little and it flew out, spreading its wings into the sky.
He watched it until it disappeared, swallowed up by the white mists of the sky.
“When will that be? say the bells of Stepney I do not know says the great bell of Bow”
He wanted to tell Alfred that he was sorry, that, probably, he had really been happy living with him after all. Where was he? Why was he always away?
“Here comes the copper to chop off your head”
Wasn’t that his car? Yes, Arthur would have recognised it anywhere; it was always too big for Alfred and it made too much noise, it was definitely his car. He took a step forward, closer to the gate he had not crossed for one hundred years since arriving at Alfred’s house. He should tell him. He had to tell him now.
Re: Here comes the candle [11/11]
anonymous
October 4 2009, 10:22:44 UTC
“Here comes the candle to light you to bed”
Arthur stretched out his arm and griped the bars of the gate, the bolt was frozen from the cold but he could see Alfred’s car in the distance driving down the street towards him.
“Chip chop chip chop...”
The car pulled up in front of the drive before Arthur could free the gate bolt and Alfred stepped out. He seemed surprised to see Arthur outside, especially in such weather, and wearing his bomber jacket of all things. That look slowly turned to horror and he began to take long, hurried stride towards him, mouthing something Arthur could not quite hear.
Arthur was slightly hurt. Why could Alfred not look happy, especially now that he had come to apologise? Arthur opened his mouth to say something. He should tell him before...before...
“........Thank you for tuning in to radio five! Aaaaand it’s a fabulous day this March! The sun is shining, the weather is clear, and here in the 51st state preparation to celebrate one hundred years since the merger are well underway! Today marks a landmark event in history! Today, all members of the 51st state will lose their dual nationality and gain full American citizenship, making them true blue American citizens. This is a momentous occasion, which marks the unity of America and the willingness of all members of this glorious country to work together for a brighter future! God bless the 51st state! God Bless America!”
XX
Note: Well...this was more insular than I wanted. It turned out to be more about the effects on Arthur as a person and Arthur and Alfred’s relationship rather than anything on a wider level, like the mechanics of how the merger works. I’m sorry.
this will probably embarrass me in the future
anonymous
October 4 2009, 14:33:14 UTC
Author!anon, this is quite a beautiful take of the request. When this was not yet filled, I was imagining that Arthur as the personification of England the nation would disappear to give way to the personification of England as the fifty-first state. The fill that you did is not exactly how I thought of it (now that I thought of it, the reasons on why Arthur would disappear was completely illogical and invalid, ahahaha) but it is some damn near it that I would like to ask if somehow we are estranged twins (pfffffft, not really. You're awesome, I'm not). <3
I'll probably dream of this tonight. The image of America watching the bomber jacket fall onto the snow-covered ground from where it was draped from thin shoulders that disappeared into the thin air. I did not shed tears, for my heart was feeling numb, much like as if I were the one standing there watching England fade out of existence. I would like to read more from this AU, but I like how you concluded it too much. Thank you for giving me something I can brood about for a while.
Did I mention how I like the parallels between England and the caged lovebird? I am in love with your imagery (and your writing skills). De-anon?
Wrapped in America’s new flag, the stars and stripes soaked into his skin. The imprint was like a tattoo colouring his soul and felt naked despite his uniform and the flag with fifty-one stars wrapped like a cape across his shoulders.
The gazes of both British and American officials burnt him, their eyes crawled across his skin, leaving trails of hope and anger stamped onto his lungs, his gut, his heart.
From the corner of his eye Arthur could see the royal family standing with his prime minister. When this was over, they would have to start looking for new day jobs.
Alfred stood in front of him, slightly higher than Arthur on the steps leading up the podium where his president stood tall and proud, beaming from ear to ear. Alfred was not smiling but he did not look grim either and Arthur wanted to reach out his hand and press it against Alfred’s heart just to check how it beat.
“Arthur Kirkland, we welcome you as the 51st state of America. God bless America!” the president announced and everyone clapped - sincerely or otherwise.
Arthur took Alfred’s hand as he knelt, kissing it like a knight swearing fealty. He had done it a thousand times before to all his previous reigning monarchs, even to the odd prime minister if he greatly respected him - though Churchill had been the last.
Yet this was not his King, this was Alfred. This was not his prime minister, but, in a way, it was his boss-to-be.
His fingers tightened around the hand, his nails leaving faint crescent imprints on Alfred's skin.
“...God bless America.”
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This is great writer anon!
recaptcha: mcgovern eminence...what does that mean captcha?!
Reply
Is it wrong that I want to see a sequel to this? XD
Reply
i'll be waiting for the next update~ <3
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“Orange and lemons sing the bells of St Clemens
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins.”
Would that be dollars now? You owe me five dollars. It did not have the same ring. In fact, it was all wrong.
The dimensions of Alfred’s apartment were all wrong. His kitchen was too long and too wide, let in too much sunlight, smelt too strongly of coffee; felt too much like a stranger’s kitchen. The ceiling above the corridor was too high, the lounge was too chic, there was too much leather. Everywhere Arthur looked it was all wrong.
He wanted his house back. He wanted the garden gate with its creaky hinges, he wanted his Union Jack bed covers and towels organised red, white, blue. He wanted his rose and strawberry bushes and his cheerful fireplace that crackled on dreary winter days when the sky was overcast and the clouds were drizzling. He wanted to have tea boiled in his own kettle, stirred with his own spoon, and sipped in his periwinkle blue teacups.
He wanted everything that had been lost.
It was selfish, and he knew that, but that knowledge did not abate his yearning for home.
Arthur glanced over his shoulder to where Alfred was standing, adjusting a pinstripe tie in front of a full-length mirror. He was humming stars and stripes forever as he struggled to knot it and Arthur did his best not to wince at the sound, once sweet and melodious, now grating his ears.
He wondered if Alfred suspected his unhappy thoughts; he probably did, Alfred was an idiot but he was not that much of an idiot. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he should buy himself a mirror and practice smiling.
Noticing Arthur’s gaze, Alfred flashed him a brilliant smile. “Arthur, I’m going to the world meeting now, alright? If you need anything - ”
“Oh no, I’ll be fine, just fine,” Arthur muttered tersely, hiding his sneer behind a teacup. Even the tea was wrong.
Unfortunately, Alfred was not oblivious enough to miss the derision lacing Arthur’s words. His smile transformed into an annoyed frown, one which he directed straight towards him.
“Arthur...”
“Alfred?” Arthur’s smile did not reach his eyes.
Two long strides took him to where Arthur sat; slamming the palm of his hand in front of him with such force that it shook the sleeping cutlery.
“What is your problem?” he shouted, “You agreed to this!”
“My problem?” Arthur seethed, rising to his feet in anger. He forgot about reconciling himself to his position, he forgot about buying himself a mirror, he forgot about smiling. The glass was broken and storm was out. “My problem is you and your astounding arrogance! If you had proposed a union I might have accepted it with some grace but this? A merger? I can’t even go outside without wanting to bury my head in shame!”
“I told you that my bosses would only accept a merger!”
“And you love it, don’t you? I see that the American empire is nice and healthy! Look!” he threw his hand across a poster of the world hanging in Alfred’s study, most of Europe painted green but for one small island of dark blue; the same colour as America. “Parts of America are even in Europe now! You must feel so proud! Keep this up and you won’t need your army of McDonalds and fast food fighters armed with French fries and artery-busting burgers to take over the world!”
Alfred’s fists clenched, nails biting into skin, digging into pink flesh until he almost drew blood.
“You’re just bitter even though it was your stupidity that got you into this recession mess in the first place!”
“Don’t blame this on me!”
“Do you think I wanted this to happen to you?” Alfred ripped the map from the wall, shredding it in his fury.“Don’t take out all your unhappiness on me when I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“But you’re loving it, aren’t you?” Arthur hissed, staring accusingly at Alfred’s indignant expression.
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“You would have died if not for me! You would have passed away just like your brothers! I saved you!”
“Better to die with honour than to be a poodle to America!”
“Then die!” Alfred stormed towards the door, knuckles white under the pressure of his grip. “See if I care!” he shouted before slamming the door shut.
XX
Arthur was staring at the mirror hanging on his - Alfred’s - bathroom wall. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulled them up.
Look, a smile.
As he let his hands drop so did his smile. It was a frown now.
He tried again.
...Shit.
But Alfred was gone, and had been gone for hours now, perhaps days. Who knew how long these meetings took? Arthur was sure that he had forgotten, and there was nothing to do in Alfred’s house.
Normally he would have had little free time between legislation and politics and diplomacy and those heaps and heaps of paperwork usually waiting for him. Those precious minutes he had to himself Arthur would spend tending the garden, or sewing, or perhaps even getting stone drunk with Francis.
There was nothing to do here. Even going through that pile of paper work would have been a blissful distraction from the world around him, the world that had forgotten him.
He stared at the flower imprints on the bathroom tiles, at the black smudge in the corner of the peach towel on the rack, at the chips in the white enamel sink.
Nothing to do. There was nothing to do.
He could hear the kitchen clock ticking.
Nothing to do.
He counted the steps as he went downstairs. There were twelve. Funny, he was sure that there had been thirteen. He went up again, counting them carefully as he did. Eleven. He went down again, counting them even more carefully. Thirteen.
Yes, there were thirteen steps after all. Arthur walked up and counted them again just to be sure. Thirteen again. Yes, there were definitely thirteen steps. He was glad that he had discovered that at least.
Now what should he do? There was nothing to do. Nothing to do.
Nothing...to do...
XX
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In the evening Alfred returned to his house. Arthur had been counting the crinkles on the wallpaper of his room, hoping and hating himself for hoping that Alfred would return.
He despised this kind of dependency. When he closed his eyes and thought of his days of former glory, he just knew that other nations must be sniggering at him for it. How could he go outside, how could he meet the others in the state that he was in now? No, it was better to stay inside where the shame and humiliation came only from his own rebukes.
Alfred looked oddly penitent when he returned; poking his head around the door of Arthur’s newly furnished bedroom before creeping in.
Arthur swung his legs over the double bed, ready to rise to his feet.
“Alfred, I - ”
“Look, I’m sorry okay!” Alfred’s tone hardly sounded apologetic but, from the way he avoided Arthur’s gaze, there was a distinct sense of shame that had pitted his sense of justice and pride against each other. It seemed justice had won in the end and now he was apologising.
Well, miracles were called miracles because they had a chance of occurring.
Loosening his tie, Alfred flung it over his shoulder, and then promptly flung himself onto Arthur’s bed before swivelling around so that he still did not have to look Arthur in the face.
“I didn’t mean it when I told you to die,” his voice came grudgingly, forced out his throat like a petulant child who knew but hated to admit their mistake. “I...don’t really want you to die,” he ended with a whisper, but it was sincere.
Whatever Arthur had been planning to say disappeared. Was there nothing to say? He wanted to apologise too but he also wanted to wrap his fingers around Alfred’s neck and break his windpipe. He wanted to cry but he wanted to show Alfred that he was still strong. He wanted to kill him and become a nation again but he wanted to place his hand against that soft blond hair and pretend that all was right with the world.
Arthur did not speak. It was too hard. The world was choking him. Alfred was crushing him. The knowledge of his own weakness, of his pathetic figure reflected in the windows pierced him too keenly.
He turned around as well, resting against Alfred, back to back so that neither one had to look at each other. Arthur thought he felt the guilt emitted from Alfred radiating into him. He hated himself for not realising sooner, for only thinking about his own situation and not the sense of responsibility Alfred might have been feeling, the pressure of having another state, the misplaced guilt for what had happened, the desperate hope for the future...
“I hate you. Even though it’s not your fault, I really, really hate you.”
Arthur felt Alfred’s back stiffen as he spoke. A moment later, he felt Alfred relaxing again. He wondered what kind of expression he was wearing but he did not dare turn around and look.
“...That’s fine,” Alfred spoke, fragile words shaking as they were realised into the air.
Arthur drew his legs up to his chest. The silence was closing in too fast; its fingers were dark and cold, leaving behind a frost that constricted his lungs
“I mean it. I hate you.”
Alfred’s back breathed a hefty sigh “Then hate me, Arthur. Just don’t die.”
And it seemed as if eternity had been compressed into a single room constructed for the specific purpose of letting them say nothing at all. The silence would break the wings of a butterfly or rend the world apart.
They sat back pressed against back, trying to find each other in the darkness.
XX
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wow, author!anon. i like the unpredictability of this fic's flow. you left us a cliffie and for the first time ever i can't think of any scenarios that can possibly follow what you wrote. i can't draw any conclusions on how this will end. happy ending? sad? whatever you write, i'm sure it'll satisfy me.
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The seasons passed as usual. The world cruelly continued its passage through time, though to Arthur it seemed as if he were a hapless spectator to its journey rather than a participant struggling against the flow.
“How was the meeting?”
“Boring,” Alfred shrugged, draping his coat over the side of the table.
Arthur did not smile but he did not feel the urge to strangle Alfred as he would have previously done.
“I made you dinner,” he said. “Since you’ve been having nothing but burgers lately, it’s all vegetarian. Eat it.”
XX
“Yo, Arthur!”
“What?” Arthur looked up irritably at a beaming Alfred. After countless years of sharing the same breathing space, he had long since learnt that Alfred’s happiness was directly proportional to the size of his headache.
Currently, Alfred was standing with his fifty-one star flag draped over his hand, covering something suspicious.
Amused by the tiniest hint of curiosity in Arthur’s eyes, Alfred gripped the flag with his other hand and whipped it off with a flourish.
“A present! I figured you might get lonely when I’m not around!” he announced proudly.
A tiny yellow-orange lovebird hopped from perch to perch in its steel cage, twittering sweetly. Arthur tilted his head for a better look. He was not sure whether to smile at his caged comrade or pity it but, either way, he did not think that he could find the strength to let it go.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Alfred pushed the age into his arms. The gesture was full of such good intent that Arthur winced slightly.
“It’s been fifty years since the merger. It’s our anniversary so let’s celebrate!”
Fifty years? Had it really been that long? But then again centuries passed like seconds for them.
“Why do I have to celebrate something depressing like that?” Arthur his head turned away stubbornly.
“Come on. Just once, won’t you wear it with pride?” Alfred held up the flag as he would a coat for him to try on. Soft syllables escaped from his mouth and melted like bubbles.
Arthur smiled.
“Alright. For you.”
The words sounded pleasant on his tongue. It sounded like a pretty little lie.
For you.
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“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins.”
The need to hurl his guts up woke Arthur from a pleasant sleep. Alfred was still away at another summit, though that was typical now; Alfred was usually away more often than not. Where was the boy when you ever needed him?
He had no idea why he was feeling sick. His economy had indeed improved since the merger - although it was not really his economy at all - and the riots against the merger had been non-existent for years.
Splashing his face with ice-cold water, Arthur fumbled for a towel - peach with a black spot on the corner - wondering what was wrong with him.
Head rising from the peach folds, he stared at his unchanged reflection in the mirror. Had his face melted yet?
Ah, he thought. I see...
XX
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“When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey
When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch,”
The sound of the key in the lock and footsteps at the front door broke Arthur from his reverie. He had been reminiscing about nights spent roving the seven seas and days spent under the cover of clouds, a blanket of grass supporting his back.
“I’m home!” Alfred’s voice resounded through the house and Arthur pushed himself off of his bed, swaying slightly as they world tilted beneath him.
“Welcome back,” Arthur met him in the hallway, slightly wobbly on his feet and his cheeks flushed.
“Huh? Arthur, are you sick?” Alfred leaned over him, pressing a hand against his burning forehead.
Arthur chuckled and batted his hand away with a reassuring smile. “Just a little cold.”
Alfred frowned. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy...”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. He knew that Alfred had a lot of work to do, work that only a fiftieth of belonged to Arthur, and that seemed to be decreasing every day.
XX
If there were such things as revelations in life, Arthur believed that this was one of them.
Back in the days of Kings, when he was still young, before the birth of the Church of England, Francis had told him that with knowledge comes suffering, but after suffering comes acceptance; that was why Mary always looked at peace with herself.
Arthur wondered if after suffering acceptance would come for him too. Or perhaps it had already visited, settling discreetly into his bones without him even noticing.
There was certainly something soaked within his bones, though its feeling was not pleasant.
The lovebird hopped around the perimeter of its cage, head cocking this way and that in confusion. It was not the first one Alfred had given him - that one had died long ago - but Alfred kept replacing them as if he could fool Arthur into thinking that they lived for eternity. This one had no name. It was just ‘the lovebird.’
Alfred was gone again. It was too quiet and the odd cheeps from the bird only made the silence swell. Arthur sat on the window seat, pushed his head back against the panes of glass and tried singing along with the lovebird’s song.
Pale winter light crossed the floor. Another summer had come and gone, leaving in its wake the bite of frost. Arthur took Alfred’s bomber jacket off of the peg and wrapped himself in it. One hand pressed against the cushioned seat, he gently picked up the bird cage with the other and heaved himself off of it; it took more effort than he had anticipated.
Shivering slightly, he paced to the front door; the entrance and exit which would bring or take away Alfred.
Stupid, he thought. That he should miss Alfred only when he was not around, even though he always had a huge headache whenever he was near. Then again, Arthur had not been outside for years, without Alfred he would have probably forgotten that such things as humans and nations existed. It was not that Alfred kept him locked away but he just could not bring himself go outside. How could he? It would make his shame public.
Arthur stared at the door, wondering why it looked so ominous. Since when had he begun to feel so small? So powerless? Gathering his courage, he took off the chain, pulled the handle and stepped outside.
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If he could have described the feeling with a word, it would have been ‘ah.’ Breathe in, breathe out...ah. It was not the sound of a satisfied sigh, nor was it the sick sigh of a lovelorn boy, not ‘ah, that was good’, not ‘ah, it’s hopeless.’ Just ah.
Ah.
Like a cat stretching out in the weak sun, starting out strong, tail curling around the almost inaudible h.
Ahhh
The air was cold and the sky pale, like a whitewashed canvas on which the barren trees and grey rooftops had been sketched. The gravel at his feet crunched with frost, his breath was white, floating away like clouds into the sky.
Arthur stared above him and thought; ‘ah.’ Just ah. His mind was blank. His mind was full of everything, and above the silent roar, he thought; ‘ah. So that’s how it is.’
And he knew. He just knew. And with knowledge came suffering and then acceptance. Did he look calm now? Perhaps he could even fool someone into thinking that he was happy?
Or was he actually happy?
Yes, that was it; he was happy. Living with Alfred, surely he must have been happy all this time; he had just never known it.
“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins”
He began to sing with his lovebird, although the sound of their songs was completely out of sync.
It was a song that he had heard a long time ago, perhaps another lifetime even. In that lifetime, had he been happy too?
“When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey
When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch”
Arthur opened the cage and gave it a little, encouraging shake. The lovebird hopped to the entrance, poking its head out warily. Arthur jolted the cage a little and it flew out, spreading its wings into the sky.
He watched it until it disappeared, swallowed up by the white mists of the sky.
“When will that be? say the bells of Stepney
I do not know says the great bell of Bow”
He wanted to tell Alfred that he was sorry, that, probably, he had really been happy living with him after all. Where was he? Why was he always away?
“Here comes the copper to chop off your head”
Wasn’t that his car? Yes, Arthur would have recognised it anywhere; it was always too big for Alfred and it made too much noise, it was definitely his car. He took a step forward, closer to the gate he had not crossed for one hundred years since arriving at Alfred’s house. He should tell him. He had to tell him now.
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Arthur stretched out his arm and griped the bars of the gate, the bolt was frozen from the cold but he could see Alfred’s car in the distance driving down the street towards him.
“Chip chop chip chop...”
The car pulled up in front of the drive before Arthur could free the gate bolt and Alfred stepped out. He seemed surprised to see Arthur outside, especially in such weather, and wearing his bomber jacket of all things. That look slowly turned to horror and he began to take long, hurried stride towards him, mouthing something Arthur could not quite hear.
Arthur was slightly hurt. Why could Alfred not look happy, especially now that he had come to apologise? Arthur opened his mouth to say something. He should tell him before...before...
“...the last man’s...”
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“........Thank you for tuning in to radio five! Aaaaand it’s a fabulous day this March! The sun is shining, the weather is clear, and here in the 51st state preparation to celebrate one hundred years since the merger are well underway! Today marks a landmark event in history! Today, all members of the 51st state will lose their dual nationality and gain full American citizenship, making them true blue American citizens. This is a momentous occasion, which marks the unity of America and the willingness of all members of this glorious country to work together for a brighter future! God bless the 51st state! God Bless America!”
XX
Note: Well...this was more insular than I wanted. It turned out to be more about the effects on Arthur as a person and Arthur and Alfred’s relationship rather than anything on a wider level, like the mechanics of how the merger works. I’m sorry.
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I'll probably dream of this tonight. The image of America watching the bomber jacket fall onto the snow-covered ground from where it was draped from thin shoulders that disappeared into the thin air. I did not shed tears, for my heart was feeling numb, much like as if I were the one standing there watching England fade out of existence. I would like to read more from this AU, but I like how you concluded it too much. Thank you for giving me something I can brood about for a while.
Did I mention how I like the parallels between England and the caged lovebird? I am in love with your imagery (and your writing skills). De-anon?
Have a nice day!
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