Valley Forge
A/N: for a story I orginally started for last year's secret santa on the US/UK comm. Yes, the whole of the story is USUK based, but France showed up and wouldn't leave. So this was the beginning of the tale. If I ever finish the chapters I started (I had carpal tunnel destroy my life for three months) I will publish on the comm as a late secret santa present for last year.
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The air bit at his face. His feet were horribly cold, as if the insides were numb to the bone. He was dreaming, half awake. In his dream he remembered someone would come for him, someone would see him and warm and wake him. It was so cold. He was in Jamestown and it was winter, and England would come. Everyone was freezing and dying, but England would come. But no, his mind was seeking clarity. He was Alfred, and it was no longer the 1600s, and England wasn't coming.
The sudden glare of light made his eyelids burn red.
England had come! His brain hazily delighted.
"Bonjour Cheri." His eyes snapped open to see the open tent flap letting in cold white winter light. His heart dropped, and the haze of his dream happiness burned away to a deep ache of loss. He turned over, away from the cheery French face poking through.
"Alfred. It is morning. It is beyond the usual waking time of soldiers. It is hard, yes, especially when the night exertions make one want to lie abed, especially if one has warm and lovely company like myself had, but yes, we must be up and about. Do not make Gilbert come and be all commanding officer on you. Hmm…cheri?"
Alfred felt something break deep inside.
"Francis." Alfred turned with a big smile on his face. "I'm up. Thank you."
"It is freezing cher. Do not thank me. I think I shall try to find you some boots. Yours are a disgrace," Francis tut-tutted.
"My men wear worse, I shall not be above them in this matter."
Francis made a face. "You are their country. Yes, you are a country now? We are our peoples' semblance."
"And my semblance is cold despair right now." Alfred cheerily agreed.
"Ah, mon petit, you are upset."
"Nooo!" Alfred said struggling to make his tattered uniform look somewhat presentable.
"You cannot lie to me as much as you wish. Even as a child you were never good at lying."
Alfred thought he would learn to lie easily one day. Keep all his thoughts tucked away and be very continental. But he liked being open and frank. If only he was Matthew.
Matthew.
Another something shattered deep inside him.
To not be wanted.
To not be loved.
"Cher. Come on now. There's not much to eat. But your men have been asking for you. And General Washington has too." The cheerfulness from Francis didn't reach Alfred's normally happy heart. "Or you could tell me your thoughts. That is nice too."
"I dreamt…" Alfred started. A voice from a long time ago fluttered from memory.
Don't talk to the frog, I mean Francis. He is here for no good Alfred. He wishes you to take you far away from me. Do you want that? I don't. I want you to be with me for a long time.
"I dreamt…" Searing sudden anger flared up again that voice. It all gushed out in one long breath, "I dreamt of England and Jamestown and I hate him!"
Francis blinked.
"Ah, well, Rosbif. He is often in the wrong. You must overcome your previous alliance and become like him. Colonies are not their countries equals. He made the mistake of raising you to be like him too much. So you become like him and suddenly he wants you to be lesser. That is why we are fighting, yes? La liberté?"
Alfred shrugged and put on his dilapidated boots, his golden hair falling around his shoulders. Francis eyes shuttered for a moment. How lovely he was, Francis mused, and how in love he was. Youth and innocence. It was too tempting to pluck that away and use his anger and heartbreak to his advantage. Alfred struggled and bent forward further, his rear sticking up, and at that temptation Francis merely turned melodramatically with a sigh and looked straight into Gilbert's smirk.
"Dirty old man." He said in German. Francis glared and pouted.
Alfred had turned around wide-eyed at that. He understood German, since most of his people spoke it.
"Commander! I'm coming I promise! I'm sorry for slacking."
Gilbert puffed out. "Haha! I forgive you this time. But no more!" He suddenly barked, "Get to the mess hall! And then practice!"
Alfred walked through the snow. His toes were poking out of his worn and tattered boots and freezing. He supposed he did look innocent, but he understood well enough. He knew Francis wanted him. He knew that Gilbert was taking advantage of the money and boredom or he wouldn't be over here in the colonies. He knew that he would never be allowed at England's house in the same way or Matthew as the northern British colonies would never see him as a brother again. It was all terrifying in a way, but in another way it was liberating, exhilarating, and full of power.
Alfred started whistling.
The shattered somethings rattled deep down.
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The air bit at his face. His feet were horribly cold, as if the insides were numb to the bone. He was dreaming, half awake. In his dream he remembered someone would come for him, someone would see him and warm and wake him. It was so cold. He was in Jamestown and it was winter, and England would come. Everyone was freezing and dying, but England would come. But no, his mind was seeking clarity. He was Alfred, and it was no longer the 1600s, and England wasn't coming.
The sudden glare of light made his eyelids burn red.
England had come! His brain hazily delighted.
"Bonjour Cheri." His eyes snapped open to see the open tent flap letting in cold white winter light. His heart dropped, and the haze of his dream happiness burned away to a deep ache of loss. He turned over, away from the cheery French face poking through.
"Alfred. It is morning. It is beyond the usual waking time of soldiers. It is hard, yes, especially when the night exertions make one want to lie abed, especially if one has warm and lovely company like myself had, but yes, we must be up and about. Do not make Gilbert come and be all commanding officer on you. Hmm…cheri?"
Alfred felt something break deep inside.
"Francis." Alfred turned with a big smile on his face. "I'm up. Thank you."
"It is freezing cher. Do not thank me. I think I shall try to find you some boots. Yours are a disgrace," Francis tut-tutted.
"My men wear worse, I shall not be above them in this matter."
Francis made a face. "You are their country. Yes, you are a country now? We are our peoples' semblance."
"And my semblance is cold despair right now." Alfred cheerily agreed.
"Ah, mon petit, you are upset."
"Nooo!" Alfred said struggling to make his tattered uniform look somewhat presentable.
"You cannot lie to me as much as you wish. Even as a child you were never good at lying."
Alfred thought he would learn to lie easily one day. Keep all his thoughts tucked away and be very continental. But he liked being open and frank. If only he was Matthew.
Matthew.
Another something shattered deep inside him.
To not be wanted.
To not be loved.
"Cher. Come on now. There's not much to eat. But your men have been asking for you. And General Washington has too." The cheerfulness from Francis didn't reach Alfred's normally happy heart. "Or you could tell me your thoughts. That is nice too."
"I dreamt…" Alfred started. A voice from a long time ago fluttered from memory.
Don't talk to the frog, I mean Francis. He is here for no good Alfred. He wishes you to take you far away from me. Do you want that? I don't. I want you to be with me for a long time.
"I dreamt…" Searing sudden anger flared up again that voice. It all gushed out in one long breath, "I dreamt of England and Jamestown and I hate him!"
Francis blinked.
"Ah, well, Rosbif. He is often in the wrong. You must overcome your previous alliance and become like him. Colonies are not their countries equals. He made the mistake of raising you to be like him too much. So you become like him and suddenly he wants you to be lesser. That is why we are fighting, yes? La liberté?"
Alfred shrugged and put on his dilapidated boots, his golden hair falling around his shoulders. Francis eyes shuttered for a moment. How lovely he was, Francis mused, and how in love he was. Youth and innocence. It was too tempting to pluck that away and use his anger and heartbreak to his advantage. Alfred struggled and bent forward further, his rear sticking up, and at that temptation Francis merely turned melodramatically with a sigh and looked straight into Gilbert's smirk.
"Dirty old man." He said in German. Francis glared and pouted.
Alfred had turned around wide-eyed at that. He understood German, since most of his people spoke it.
"Commander! I'm coming I promise! I'm sorry for slacking."
Gilbert puffed out. "Haha! I forgive you this time. But no more!" He suddenly barked, "Get to the mess hall! And then practice!"
Alfred walked through the snow. His toes were poking out of his worn and tattered boots and freezing. He supposed he did look innocent, but he understood well enough. He knew Francis wanted him. He knew that Gilbert was taking advantage of the money and boredom or he wouldn't be over here in the colonies. He knew that he would never be allowed at England's house in the same way or Matthew as the northern British colonies would never see him as a brother again. It was all terrifying in a way, but in another way it was liberating, exhilarating, and full of power.
Alfred started whistling.
The shattered somethings rattled deep down.