When the Wind Blows the Water White and Black (4/?)
anonymous
June 19 2009, 15:43:47 UTC
As soon as the storm had let up and sufficient panic had spread upon the discovery of Alfred's absence, someone, likely Adams, had sent word to England. And so Alfred, who had spent his time in recovering in Pensans, was retrieved by his somewhat exasperated fellows and thus began relating his tale of fish people to anyone within hearing range. When they arrived in Le Havre, they were met by Franklin, who listened to Alfred's story with a twisted smile and quipped, "Perhaps we declared independence just in time."
Francis, upon returning from a trip to Spain, expressed a similar sentiment, regarding Alfred over a glass of champagne and ratafia. "We did not fight at Yorktown so you could continue to spout this absurdite. Alfred, mon ami, if you no longer wish to be called a child of England's, then perhaps you should stop acting like one."
He forced himself to consider the possibility that perhaps it had been nothing more than a fabrication of his fevered mind. Perhaps, like kicking a bad habit, he was just going through withdrawal. Arthur withdrawal.
It was fall in Paris before he and Arthur saw each other to negotiate amity. They spent most of the time staring at respective corners of the room, except for the times their eyes met in short, awkward glances across a table to which Francis had been pleasantly uninvited. Alfred was steadfast in his decision not to share his story with his former colonizer. That was, until Arthur leaned in and said, "So. One of my men tells me you fell off your boat and nearly caused an international incident." The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched slightly as he spoke. Alfred knew what he was thinking, felt he might as well have said it aloud: Bang up job you're doing there, being independent and all that.
Just as well. Alfred didn't need him, anyway. The jerk.
"There wasn't an incident!" he hissed. "There was a mermaid, and--!" He slapped his hands over his mouth before he could continue, realizing how stupid it sounded even to his own ears.
Arthur went very still, eyes widening just a fraction before returning to normal. "Mermaid?" he asked softly. An array of feelings seemed to play out across his face: shock, anger, amusement. He chuckled with some sort of emotion that Alfred couldn't pinpoint. "So that's your excuse."
"It's not--" Alfred turned his head away, not allowing Arthur to see it heat up in embarrassment. "It's not an excuse."
Arthur folded his hands neatly into his lap and began humming to himself in a hushed voice, so quiet that Alfred barely heard it, but he was a bit taken aback because he'd never heard Arthur do something like that before, and yet...and yet why did it seem so familiar? "Maybe not," Arthur said. "They say mermaids do come out during bad weather."
Alfred dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers. Of course Arthur would know that. Arthur knew all about things like that. He spoke to fairies and elves and had unicorns in his stables. Francis was right, Alfred thought. It was all just foolishness. Arthur was ruining his mind with that nonsense, and it was time for him to go before it got any worse. Before trolls started taking up residence in his cellar or dragons started setting his roof on fire. He was an adult now, and it was time for him to leave this mermaid thing behind him.
To leave England behind him.
-------------------------
100 Years Later
Alfred had been trying to keep an eye on Francis all day, but with the combination of the dreary weather and the noise of the parade and the throngs of people, it was proving to be a difficult task. Alfred had told the Frenchman specifically not to grope anybody. At all. Today was an important day, and the only tears he wanted to see were tears of joy! Yet somehow, as Alfred had gotten caught up in a brief conversation with a passing tourist, he'd lost track of Francis, and it was only serving to intensify his headache.
He didn't get them as often anymore. Recovering from four years of psychological trauma was a slow process, and even now, twenty years later, he still had trouble remembering things, little details about that time. But what made it even worse was that today, of all days, Arthur had locked himself in his room and would not come out.
Francis, upon returning from a trip to Spain, expressed a similar sentiment, regarding Alfred over a glass of champagne and ratafia. "We did not fight at Yorktown so you could continue to spout this absurdite. Alfred, mon ami, if you no longer wish to be called a child of England's, then perhaps you should stop acting like one."
He forced himself to consider the possibility that perhaps it had been nothing more than a fabrication of his fevered mind. Perhaps, like kicking a bad habit, he was just going through withdrawal. Arthur withdrawal.
It was fall in Paris before he and Arthur saw each other to negotiate amity. They spent most of the time staring at respective corners of the room, except for the times their eyes met in short, awkward glances across a table to which Francis had been pleasantly uninvited. Alfred was steadfast in his decision not to share his story with his former colonizer. That was, until Arthur leaned in and said, "So. One of my men tells me you fell off your boat and nearly caused an international incident." The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched slightly as he spoke. Alfred knew what he was thinking, felt he might as well have said it aloud: Bang up job you're doing there, being independent and all that.
Just as well. Alfred didn't need him, anyway. The jerk.
"There wasn't an incident!" he hissed. "There was a mermaid, and--!" He slapped his hands over his mouth before he could continue, realizing how stupid it sounded even to his own ears.
Arthur went very still, eyes widening just a fraction before returning to normal. "Mermaid?" he asked softly. An array of feelings seemed to play out across his face: shock, anger, amusement. He chuckled with some sort of emotion that Alfred couldn't pinpoint. "So that's your excuse."
"It's not--" Alfred turned his head away, not allowing Arthur to see it heat up in embarrassment. "It's not an excuse."
Arthur folded his hands neatly into his lap and began humming to himself in a hushed voice, so quiet that Alfred barely heard it, but he was a bit taken aback because he'd never heard Arthur do something like that before, and yet...and yet why did it seem so familiar? "Maybe not," Arthur said. "They say mermaids do come out during bad weather."
Alfred dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers. Of course Arthur would know that. Arthur knew all about things like that. He spoke to fairies and elves and had unicorns in his stables. Francis was right, Alfred thought. It was all just foolishness. Arthur was ruining his mind with that nonsense, and it was time for him to go before it got any worse. Before trolls started taking up residence in his cellar or dragons started setting his roof on fire. He was an adult now, and it was time for him to leave this mermaid thing behind him.
To leave England behind him.
-------------------------
100 Years Later
Alfred had been trying to keep an eye on Francis all day, but with the combination of the dreary weather and the noise of the parade and the throngs of people, it was proving to be a difficult task. Alfred had told the Frenchman specifically not to grope anybody. At all. Today was an important day, and the only tears he wanted to see were tears of joy! Yet somehow, as Alfred had gotten caught up in a brief conversation with a passing tourist, he'd lost track of Francis, and it was only serving to intensify his headache.
He didn't get them as often anymore. Recovering from four years of psychological trauma was a slow process, and even now, twenty years later, he still had trouble remembering things, little details about that time. But what made it even worse was that today, of all days, Arthur had locked himself in his room and would not come out.
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