Suddenly though, he was there, back there, 1748, just after he’d taken Louisbourg Fort, one of the first things he’d even done by himself. King George’s War were words carried on the breeze. Afterwards, Arthur had congratulated him, smile wide. And after that was the first time Alfred had ever thought of Arthur while he… Well, it wasn’t like he meant to, exactly, and he’d felt so guilty afterwards. Alfred lusted after his older brother? He thought like that of Arthur? And suddenly Alfred felt all the shame and regret and humiliation anew. He hadn’t been able to look at Arthur for a week. And then the later betrayal when Arthur had simply given that fort back to Francis during the peace settlement… Alfred took a ragged breath, trying to keep in mind that he was now much, much older, and the romantic feelings went both ways and oh Lord… He wished… he wished he’d never had the least bit of romantic interest so early on. It would have made everything to come so much easier. He would never regret his independence, but he regretted the pain for both sides that went with it.
With a gasp, Alfred suddenly saw Matt’s face in front of him, pained and angry, holding on to Montreal with his fingernails on the first campaigns of 1812. He spat in Alfred’s face, bedecked in red, his lightly accented words biting to the bone, just like they always did. “What a glutton you are, frère! Did you not just buy twice your size from Napoleon? What do you need me for now? You have more than you know what to do with! I shall show you, you do not want this land! You have bitten off more than you can chew!” That had ended any hope of Matt ever joining Alfred in his independence and forming a joint country that spanned the entire continent. He had had those dreams since they were little, but then… They had never quite repaired the relationship fully, in some respects. It was something Alfred regretted deeply, for even though Matt had rather thoroughly kicked his butt during that campaign, they had both never quite forgotten, and Alfred knew that was one of the reasons Matt hated being mistaken for him. Never forgetting the plans of what could have been but never was.
Suddenly, Alfred was thrown back to the present, his heaving breaths the only sound filling the corridors. Why was this happening what the hell was this oh god what were those things? Softly whispered words, those same words, floated by on a breeze of stale air. Was it the air? Was it so bad that he was hallucinating? That must be it, none of this could be real, all of this dumb magic shit, he was fooling himself, that had to be. All a dream, all a dream, all a dream! Alfred closed his eyes and willed it so. Nothing was impossible, you just had to want it enough. And Alfred wanted none of this to be real. Lord, please, in thy name, just get rid of all this crazy magic and witches and stuff, cuz I can’t, there’s no way I could save Arthur like this! I’m just too weak, I can’t…
Alfred opened his eyes, and nearly cried when his saw another woman in front of him, dim light enough for him to make out her features. This one had flame red hair, full cheeks, and a greedy glint to her dark brown eyes. Her head was tilted to one side, and she was staring curiously at his glasses. “You feel it there, don’t you?” She whispered, thankfully in Old English. Alfred found he couldn’t reply as she reached forward and carefully plucked his glasses off his face, examining them closely. “I have only seen two others like you, but they have not visited in a long while.” She turned behind her, and laughed at something in the shadows. “Come sisters, you ought to enjoy this one. I have never seen one quite like this. Not a drop, and he dares come here! Here, to our burying ground!”
He needed his glasses, that was a fact. Anything outside a six foot radius was immensely blurry. “Please…” he croaked, aware that of all his many languages, his newly acquired Old English really wasn’t that great. “Give them back. Let me through. I need to save him.”
Crowe 5c/?
With a gasp, Alfred suddenly saw Matt’s face in front of him, pained and angry, holding on to Montreal with his fingernails on the first campaigns of 1812. He spat in Alfred’s face, bedecked in red, his lightly accented words biting to the bone, just like they always did. “What a glutton you are, frère! Did you not just buy twice your size from Napoleon? What do you need me for now? You have more than you know what to do with! I shall show you, you do not want this land! You have bitten off more than you can chew!” That had ended any hope of Matt ever joining Alfred in his independence and forming a joint country that spanned the entire continent. He had had those dreams since they were little, but then… They had never quite repaired the relationship fully, in some respects. It was something Alfred regretted deeply, for even though Matt had rather thoroughly kicked his butt during that campaign, they had both never quite forgotten, and Alfred knew that was one of the reasons Matt hated being mistaken for him. Never forgetting the plans of what could have been but never was.
Suddenly, Alfred was thrown back to the present, his heaving breaths the only sound filling the corridors. Why was this happening what the hell was this oh god what were those things? Softly whispered words, those same words, floated by on a breeze of stale air. Was it the air? Was it so bad that he was hallucinating? That must be it, none of this could be real, all of this dumb magic shit, he was fooling himself, that had to be. All a dream, all a dream, all a dream! Alfred closed his eyes and willed it so. Nothing was impossible, you just had to want it enough. And Alfred wanted none of this to be real. Lord, please, in thy name, just get rid of all this crazy magic and witches and stuff, cuz I can’t, there’s no way I could save Arthur like this! I’m just too weak, I can’t…
Alfred opened his eyes, and nearly cried when his saw another woman in front of him, dim light enough for him to make out her features. This one had flame red hair, full cheeks, and a greedy glint to her dark brown eyes. Her head was tilted to one side, and she was staring curiously at his glasses. “You feel it there, don’t you?” She whispered, thankfully in Old English. Alfred found he couldn’t reply as she reached forward and carefully plucked his glasses off his face, examining them closely. “I have only seen two others like you, but they have not visited in a long while.” She turned behind her, and laughed at something in the shadows. “Come sisters, you ought to enjoy this one. I have never seen one quite like this. Not a drop, and he dares come here! Here, to our burying ground!”
He needed his glasses, that was a fact. Anything outside a six foot radius was immensely blurry. “Please…” he croaked, aware that of all his many languages, his newly acquired Old English really wasn’t that great. “Give them back. Let me through. I need to save him.”