Alfred’s mind was drawn inexorably to the caving and backpacking vacation he’d taken with Shane and Steve and Matt a few years ago. He’d had one of the best times of his life, and the others had complained he’d been a little too obsessed with the stalagmites and stalactites, but really, what did they know? He’d been studying a really interesting column set, when he’d begun to feel dizzy and clumsy, and a little stupid (he’d gotten major ribbing about that symptom later.). Steve had taken a look at him, tasted the air, and hauled them all back up to the surface again. Dying from CO2 overexposure would not be a fun death, Steve had later assured him, and had gone on to lecture him for about forty-five minutes about air quality and safety. Not fun. Shane had then told him, quite seriously, “Dead men do tell tales, they are just rarely of themselves.” Alfred hadn’t known quite what to make of it back then, and thought the sheep shearing nation was simply pulling his leg or something. But his words echoed hollowly in Alfred’s mind now, as it was spinning over and over again.
No one answered his call, but suddenly, there were whispers. Nothing distinct, really, just syllables indiscernible, and they seemed to be getting louder. In fact, the loudness of those whispers was directly correlated with the twitchiness of Alfred’s trigger finger. Boy, Alfred regretted his earlier thought now. He’d rather have no whispers and no craziness, truth be told.
“Étrad… cráes…” They came closer, and Alfred whetted his lips, trying to sort through his dozens of languages in order to find something that matched this lilting tongue. Nothing, nothing… “Accobar… leisce…” Alfred frowned, turning his head a little. Hold on a sec, that sounded a bit like Irish, actually… “Roisre… format… bocásach…” That was it! Some form of Irish or Celtic or something. Alfred hoped in his deepest of hearts that these were good Irish words whisperings. “I can’t understand you!” He called out in his best Irish. And then he remembered that Arthur had said that the fae valued politeness, so he quickly added on: “I’m sorry!”
An indistinct form appeared on his right, and Alfred fired off a bullet in the space of an eyeblink. But it simply went right through. “Fuck!” Alfred shouted, blind panic beginning to set in. He was now willing to bet that those were not good Irish words whisperings. A second figure appeared in front of him, and in the dimness of the almost total blackness, he could barely make out a woman’s features, beautiful and dark. She had blood red lips and she smiled kindly and ferally all at once in a way which was much too reminiscent of Crowe for Alfred’s admittedly already shattered sense of comfort. Then she leaned forward, and despite hands which passed right through him in a cold and not at all comfortable way, she kissed him, on the lips, then pulled away, and dissolved before his eyes. Alfred spun, lunging away from the wall and towards the light at the center of the room, breathing heavily, looking for more, but feeling the press of her lips on his. The amulet was vibrating like a lawnmower in his pocket, and a tinkling laughter filled all the halls.
That kiss… That was weird in a not altogether unpleasant way. It was almost a nip, her lips soft and inviting and fierce and demanding, again a swirl of beautiful contradictions. It could be anything in the world and it would be true, but it was all very pleasant. If Alfred was to describe the perfect kiss… No. Alfred shook his head quickly to clear it. No, he was attached, he had a boyfriend, who he was very determined to save, thank you very much. Good gravy, this was no time to get distracted! Alfred wiped at his lips with the back of his right hand and focused very firmly on Arthur in his mind, his rare smiles, his delightful, intriguing, reliable stubbornness, his undeniably sexy body. But in the back of his mind echoed that first word, Étrad, wasn’t it… His mind was drawn much further back than he’d like, to thoughts he generally liked to avoid.
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.”
She gasped, clearly stunned. “You know the language of the fae?” she murmured. “You are indeed more than you seem, it appears. Who are you…?” She looked at his face, her face pinching. “Tungolbyre! Is that you? My, my, someone has had their way with you…”
Once again, Alfred hated his lack of strength and muscle. “I still need to save him. I need to go through.” And suddenly, seven women appeared around him, and he spun, unable to clearly see most of them.
She appeared to be humoring him. “Save who?”
Alfred turned back to her, and remembered that Crowe had called Arthur something in Latin. “Albia. Crowe has him.”
Gasps were heard all around, and worried, fearful murmurs of “Crowe… Crowe!” The air filled with tension.
The woman in front of him paled, if that was possible. “Crowe… you have yourself an enemy. His name is not to be spoken here. But really…” And now her tone changed and her laugh was thunderous. “You think you can save him? What fun! You have nary a drop of magic, really! How about this…” And she gestured to all of them. “You have already met two of us… how shall we say… intimately. How about a deal?” Alfred could practically feel her smirk. “You’ve already passed two tests, you have five more. You pass all of them, you can go, only owing us each a kiss, freely given and freely received. You do not pass, and you owe us your True Name to go through…” Laughter of all kinds spun around the passage.
Alfred’s head too was spinning. A kiss, seven kisses with some kind of freely condition, or his true name or something, which he didn’t even know, really. And the way Crowe had acted, it was pretty powerful. But thinking about it, the last two weren’t that bad, he could pass them, they were just memories brought up, weren’t they? “Why do you want the kisses?” He asked, suddenly suspicious.
Her blurry outline shrugged. “Cursebreaking.” She said nothing more.
It couldn’t possibly be that bad, was it? Right? Alright, he could do this. All he’d need to do is stay strong. And besides, what choice did he have? “Alright.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “Wonderful.” Everyone else disappeared, except for the two of them. “You might as well have these back then.” She slipped the glasses over his face, and vanished as well. He was left alone in the large, empty corridor.
Well, that was weird. He supposed he’d just have to wait then. And wait. And wait… This waiting was killing him, it honestly was. Absentmindedly, he noted he was still holding tightly to Bess and Amy, and with a sentimental sort of regret, put them back in their holsters. His hands felt empty, bereft of the reassuring weight of weaponry. He rubbed his large but bony hands to generate some warmth. He really wished he’d been able to get a better jacket. This really wasn’t the thing Alfred wanted to be wearing on an epic –
Crack! Alfred reeled from the shock. His glasses felt heavy and weird upon his face, clarity in his vision that he had never known before. Horses shorted and whinnied around him, and the blare of trumpets placed him firmly on the battlefield. He laughed, exhilarated, moving in a dreamlike haze. This was old battle, with a sword and cavalry! How dare they try to attack him! He had put off taking Texas for years and years to appease Miguel, and now, now he dared attack? He was underestimating Alfred, he truly was! And now, and now! He was so wonderously winning! Alfred had reached Mexico City! He had captured all this land! The Halls of Montezuma were his! Almost all of the land of the continent was where it belonged: with him! He wanted more, the feel of fresh land and conquest in his veins. Elation filled him, brimmed over and spilled!
And then – Alfred looked at Miguel, eyes filling with hate and desperation and knowledge that whatever happened was going to be bad. “Satán.” Miguel whispered up at him, and Alfred hated it, hated him, hated himself. Alfred had ended up only taking half. Just the mostly uninhabited part, to reach from one side of the continent to the other, so that all three of them would reach across. And Alfred hated it, and made to forget about that war, to settle the land so that it would be his, no questions, for it was meant to be. Manifest Destiny. Always meant to be. Always…
With a suddenness that took the air out of his lungs, Alfred was sitting at the kitchen table of his house in Virginia, looking out over his grounds. “Mastah Jones?” Isa May, one of his oldest slaves murmured from the door. “Coffee?”
“Yes, yes,” Alfred murmured distractedly, motioning at his cup lazily with one hand and picking up his paper again. His brows drew together in worry as he read the results of the election. There was… an odd feeling in his stomach, something cholic, almost, but no… Buchanan was his man, the best solution, just appease, keep it equal, keep the status quo. That was the best way to keep everyone together. Just wait, and give everyone what they wanted. Don’t act, one way or the other. All of this… couldn’t they all just get along? Alfred couldn’t have an opinion one way or the other…
With a gasp, he was there, fighting in blue, why was he in blue? Because his president said so, that was why. He’d yet to find a personification of the South so they were still his, still his, always his. Oh, why, why hadn’t he acted? He’d just let everything come apart at the seams! Blood was everywhere, there was hardly a place where he didn’t bleed. And all of them laughed at him, because here he was with his dreams of greatness, his inaction prophesizing his downfall… Why didn’t he act? Because he feared this… feared this more than he could imagine, and now it had come to pass anyways…
Snap! He was on the plains, a posse behind him, carrying a burning brand with ivory inlaid guns at his side. “Let’s get ‘em!” He shouted, and the rest of the men cheered his agreement. “They stole our grain wagons! We gotta get ‘em back! Let’s ride!” His horse stamped in eagerness, and away they went, riding hard across prairie grassland.
When they reached the village, there were the grain wagons, and there were the men defending them. Alfred pulled out his gun, bang! Shots behind him told of the others doing the same. How dare they steal from us? How dare they? They had their own territory! Alfred pulled up his horse to a wagon, and hitched it behind. He was about the jump on again to ride away, when a knife plunged into his abdomen. Alfred blinked twice. Oh, oh, that would take a while to heal. Pain, dull, substantial pain shot from his stomach. But it wasn’t enough to keep him from drawing and shooting without looking. At his feet fell a young teen boy. “Burn it!” He shouted, wincing and blinking over the would-be fatal wound. “Burn everything! Make sure they won’t steal again!”
A cheer rose up from the men. Oh, oh, that hurt, as Alfred pulled himself up onto his bloodstained horse and kicked him. They would get revenge, revenge for women stealing, child murdering, every crime those Injuns had ever carried out against his people.
Then, two days later, the churning feeling in his stomach at the smell of burnt corpses and carrion, wasted in prairie sun, and the self-revulsion and pain…
Alfred was back in the hall, given just enough time to puke his guts out onto the dirt floor with a splash onto his dress shoes. This was horrible! What was this? It wasn’t memory, it wasn’t a movie or anything, it was just feeling and emotion and sensory details enough to make him sick. It was everything he was guilty for condensed into a wave of emotion and horrendous image. Alfred couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He wanted it badly to end, just to end, he didn’t care how, this was horrible. Then came a laugh, this one much crueler than any before, high and fake and nasal.
Now a slow fade to a world meeting, Arthur draped in the splendor and glory of his empire, commanding all with disdain and power dripping from his every word. Afterwards… “Hey, Arthur!” Alfred said, stepping up next to him. “How about lunch? I know this fantastic place downtown with the best fry up!”
Arthur face turned and twisted several different directions at once. “Darling…” he said, the pet name slightly pitying but mostly sarcastic and caustic. “Call me when you have a subcontinent.” His laugh was almost forced, and he moved off to be with his other, more powerful, European friends.
Alfred balled his fists at his sides, a multitude of feelings welling up inside him. Even after taking Tala and Marco away from Antonio, and getting Puerto Rico and everything… He wanted so desperately to have Arthur’s Empire, he was so jealous. He envied Arthur, wished to be him, or at least to have his attention for some unexplained reason. Well then, he’d just have to try harder. South America shouldn’t be that hard to influence. The first thing he needed was a canal…
“Oh I’m going to have fun with you!” a voice half whispered, half sung as Alfred was once again pulled away from his memories. “This is your worst fault, and you have yet to get over it. Just watch:” The world melted away around them like massive amounts of turpentine thrown on walls of paint. Foliage appeared all around them, and Alfred was strong again and in military uniform. The otherworldly woman, this time black ringlets cascading in a plaited love knot around her, stood in front of him in a normal, American girl’s outfit from the sixties, pink sweater and all. “You never did know when to stop, did you? No, you had to keep going, no matter what the situation is. That’s you, the policeman of the world.” A long pale finger drew down his cheek in a gesture of affection. “Now if anyone could protect me from the VCs, it would be you, wouldn’t it, wonderboy?” She smiled sweetly, and took a step back. “You and that lover of yours always have so much pride, I love it.” She air kissed. “Catch me if you can.”
Then, amazingly, she turned and began to skip in the middle of Vietnam! “Hold on!” He yelled, somehow knowing what was going to happen before it happened. “Don’t—“
A shattering boom rocked the ground, and suddenly her image was plastered up in a shadow of blood and gore on the surrounding trees. “Damn!” He swore, “Damn it, fuckin, shit!”
He hated this damn jungle, it was alive, and it wanted you dead, he’d always hated it. He just wanted to go home, but no, he couldn’t go home. He had to save Arthur. But why? He wondered, staring at the blood and tissue on the trees. It wasn’t like he could actually save him, especially weak like he was. What hope did he have exactly? He was coming here, just like everybody said, just to die or be enthralled, or whatever. Wouldn’t Arthur want him to have a long a fruitful life, holding dear to his memory and making sure his people were okay? Right?
A rustle in the bushes, and Alfred spun, ready to shoot. But something made him hold back. It didn’t… it didn’t feel like Viet Cong. Still, Alfred drew his AK-47, ready to shoot, focusing intently on that bush where the sound was.
“Woof!” A bark? And then tumbling out of the bushes came a massive German Shepard, knocking him over and licking his face. Alfred smiled, on his back, not even trying to stop the dog. It was Snickers, his old bomb sniffing dog from forty years ago! Oh, how he’d missed his pup. “Hey boy, hey boy, down!” He finally managed to say, and Snickers sat, tongue lolling out of his mouth, staring up at him expectantly. “C’mon, let’s find our way out of this jungle. You know where the nearest base is?”
Snickers leapt up, lithe and agile as usual, and Alfred grabbed hold of the trailing lead. He began to sniff everywhere, Alfred using he machete to help clear a path. It was wonderful, this feeling, knowing he was getting out.
Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest, dodging booby trap after pit hole after trip wire. They found base camp. “Thanks boy.” Alfred said, burying his face into Snickers’s ruff. The dog stiffened suddenly and gave a warning bark. Alfred stood, drawing his weapon, as the woman appeared in front of them in a torrent of anger and whirling rage.
“How dare you!” She screeched, unearthly once more, and wrapped tight fingernails around his throat, thumbs on either side of his bobbing Adam’s apple. “How dare you get out! Let’s show you!” And with that, the walls bled away around them, and through his slowly dimming vision and tingling in this furthest extremities (bloodloss, his fuzzy mind supplied readily for him), he felt Snickers lean up against him firmly.
He was in the halls of the UN suddenly, and he reeled, gasping for breath as the woman and the jungle were no more. Alfred looked down at himself. He was… he was himself again, strong and buff! Alfred look down and to his right, and there was Snickers, somehow still there. Just to test himself, he grabbed his dog round the middle and hoisted him into the air. Lord, he felt just like a feather! This was wonderful, he’d so been missing this, he couldn’t believe it! Still, he was at the UN, and since he was the best, and obviously the most powerful nation in the world, he had meetings to attend. And now, since that whole magic thing was obviously just a dream, he could get on with his life of just being awesome and helpful and everything! He picked up his briefcase easily from the floor and, Snickers firmly at his side, passed through security like nobody’s business. It was like nobody could see Snickers or something. Maybe Matt had turned into a German Shepard? Just to test it, Alfred turned to the dog. “Matt, is that you?” Snickers just looked up at him happily like normal, so Alfred just shrugged. Maybe he had an angel dog or something. Wasn’t there a movie or something? It was in the nineties… All Dogs Go To Heaven, that was it. Alfred smiled brightly and just accepted his good fortune.
Alfred looked down the hall as he made his way, admittedly his late way, but as the party didn’t start til he walked in, so whatever, and noticed the carpet and frowned. Hey, hadn’t it been this color forever, and then changed when they remodeled back in ’07? Had they changed it back from that new turquoise color thing already? Oh well, wasn’t his problem what color the floors were.
Alfred reached the wide double doors, took a deep breath, and put on a smile on his face. Whenever he was really late, he needed to face it head on. He pushed open the doors.
The room went deathly silent. Alfred could hear the sound of his footsteps and the soft clicks of Snicker’s nails on the hardwood floors. He sat firmly in his seat. Next to him, Arthur reached over and squeezed his knee, and Snickers was unnoticed behind him, but everyone else was staring at him stonily. “Well, where are they?” Some anonymous voice asked from the crowd, and Alfred turned, wondering who was speaking to him like that and wondering what the hell they were talking about, trying to pinpoint who it was. “Yeah, did you ever find any?” Someone else jeered. “Or did you really invade for the oil?”
Oh god, this wasn’t now, this was back when they’d just discovered there weren’t any WMDs at all… Alfred face burned in shame and disappointment and he felt once again like he was going to cry. God, what were these woman trying to do to him? Damn, it had felt so real…
At this point in the real story, Arthur had leapt up and defended him, but here the shouts and angry murmuring just kept coming and coming and coming and coming and coming…
“ENOUGH!” A great voice shouted, and the walls flew away in an instant to turn back simply into that corridor in Newgrange, at the present time, away from everything in the past.
Alfred brushed his sweaty hair away from his eyes, pushed his glasses back up his nose with his middle finger, and stood. The women were arrayed behind him, teeth bared, and a great, ghostly warrior stood in front of him, staring down at them. “Your deal was seven. That is eight. You cannot keep ‘im ‘ere.”
They hissed, but were apparently unable to argue with that logic. “Begone, Banshees!” The great voice echoed in the cavern, and the women disappeared like smoke.
Alfred gasped as the air cleared somewhat, then spun his lanky, too long body to find the next adversary. He drew his guns, hoping that this time, they would work. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot.” Alfred snarled in the tongue he hoped this ghost understood.
Hi everyone! I hope you liked this! Not quite the megaloads I was promising, but hey, we all like to see Alfred get put through the wringer! Poor baby... But anyways, there is a theme to what they did, that Alfred himself didn't quite figure out. The reason I don't want to give translations down here is because it would ruin the puzzle! If you get it right, I'll tell you in comments. Also, Steve is Australia (yes, he is named after Steve Irwin, he was fantastic), and Shane is New Zealand.
The reason this took so long was because I did a substantial amount of story planning and research, which is good for this thing in the long run. I'm about five pages into the next chapter currently, as my beta took a while to read this for me.
Thanks for comments, they make me write faster! *Hint hint*
I thought this was very well done. I really enjoyed the bitchy banshees, LOL. But who is Alfie's angelic helper? (Snickers reminds me of Checkers, Nixon's dog) I couldn't guess the themes. They're all things that Alfred regretted? Not that being dissed by Empire!Arthur was Al's fault, but letting it push him, I suppose.
(I'm not real sympathetic to the Mexican Empire, I'm afraid, because the local indigenous tribes was who the land really belonged to, and Mexico at that time continued Spain's habit of treating them as forced labor.)
Well, you're right about the regret part, there's one more piece to it though!
Now watch as I bore you with history.
Yeah, I know, pretty much everyone was horrible to the NAs. As an American who recently went through high school though, the things that Americans (or at least my class in California) were taught kind of negative things about it. At the time it was highly controversial, with Thoreau ending up in prison for refusing to pay his taxes. Here's a link to a political cartoon of Polk of the day:
This part was fantastic! I have no idea why, but I enjoy fics like this where America (or any of the nations really) faces guilt from their past, and you did an excellent job here.
I'm also really excited for Alfred and his quest, and cliffhangers! My mortal enemy! I shall sit here consumed with longing until your next update.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Crowe 5b/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)No one answered his call, but suddenly, there were whispers. Nothing distinct, really, just syllables indiscernible, and they seemed to be getting louder. In fact, the loudness of those whispers was directly correlated with the twitchiness of Alfred’s trigger finger. Boy, Alfred regretted his earlier thought now. He’d rather have no whispers and no craziness, truth be told.
“Étrad… cráes…” They came closer, and Alfred whetted his lips, trying to sort through his dozens of languages in order to find something that matched this lilting tongue. Nothing, nothing… “Accobar… leisce…” Alfred frowned, turning his head a little. Hold on a sec, that sounded a bit like Irish, actually… “Roisre… format… bocásach…” That was it! Some form of Irish or Celtic or something. Alfred hoped in his deepest of hearts that these were good Irish words whisperings. “I can’t understand you!” He called out in his best Irish. And then he remembered that Arthur had said that the fae valued politeness, so he quickly added on: “I’m sorry!”
An indistinct form appeared on his right, and Alfred fired off a bullet in the space of an eyeblink. But it simply went right through. “Fuck!” Alfred shouted, blind panic beginning to set in. He was now willing to bet that those were not good Irish words whisperings. A second figure appeared in front of him, and in the dimness of the almost total blackness, he could barely make out a woman’s features, beautiful and dark. She had blood red lips and she smiled kindly and ferally all at once in a way which was much too reminiscent of Crowe for Alfred’s admittedly already shattered sense of comfort. Then she leaned forward, and despite hands which passed right through him in a cold and not at all comfortable way, she kissed him, on the lips, then pulled away, and dissolved before his eyes. Alfred spun, lunging away from the wall and towards the light at the center of the room, breathing heavily, looking for more, but feeling the press of her lips on his. The amulet was vibrating like a lawnmower in his pocket, and a tinkling laughter filled all the halls.
That kiss… That was weird in a not altogether unpleasant way. It was almost a nip, her lips soft and inviting and fierce and demanding, again a swirl of beautiful contradictions. It could be anything in the world and it would be true, but it was all very pleasant. If Alfred was to describe the perfect kiss… No. Alfred shook his head quickly to clear it. No, he was attached, he had a boyfriend, who he was very determined to save, thank you very much. Good gravy, this was no time to get distracted! Alfred wiped at his lips with the back of his right hand and focused very firmly on Arthur in his mind, his rare smiles, his delightful, intriguing, reliable stubbornness, his undeniably sexy body. But in the back of his mind echoed that first word, Étrad, wasn’t it… His mind was drawn much further back than he’d like, to thoughts he generally liked to avoid.
Crowe 5c/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)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 5d/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)Once again, Alfred hated his lack of strength and muscle. “I still need to save him. I need to go through.” And suddenly, seven women appeared around him, and he spun, unable to clearly see most of them.
She appeared to be humoring him. “Save who?”
Alfred turned back to her, and remembered that Crowe had called Arthur something in Latin. “Albia. Crowe has him.”
Gasps were heard all around, and worried, fearful murmurs of “Crowe… Crowe!” The air filled with tension.
The woman in front of him paled, if that was possible. “Crowe… you have yourself an enemy. His name is not to be spoken here. But really…” And now her tone changed and her laugh was thunderous. “You think you can save him? What fun! You have nary a drop of magic, really! How about this…” And she gestured to all of them. “You have already met two of us… how shall we say… intimately. How about a deal?” Alfred could practically feel her smirk. “You’ve already passed two tests, you have five more. You pass all of them, you can go, only owing us each a kiss, freely given and freely received. You do not pass, and you owe us your True Name to go through…” Laughter of all kinds spun around the passage.
Alfred’s head too was spinning. A kiss, seven kisses with some kind of freely condition, or his true name or something, which he didn’t even know, really. And the way Crowe had acted, it was pretty powerful. But thinking about it, the last two weren’t that bad, he could pass them, they were just memories brought up, weren’t they? “Why do you want the kisses?” He asked, suddenly suspicious.
Her blurry outline shrugged. “Cursebreaking.” She said nothing more.
It couldn’t possibly be that bad, was it? Right? Alright, he could do this. All he’d need to do is stay strong. And besides, what choice did he have? “Alright.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “Wonderful.” Everyone else disappeared, except for the two of them. “You might as well have these back then.” She slipped the glasses over his face, and vanished as well. He was left alone in the large, empty corridor.
Well, that was weird. He supposed he’d just have to wait then. And wait. And wait… This waiting was killing him, it honestly was. Absentmindedly, he noted he was still holding tightly to Bess and Amy, and with a sentimental sort of regret, put them back in their holsters. His hands felt empty, bereft of the reassuring weight of weaponry. He rubbed his large but bony hands to generate some warmth. He really wished he’d been able to get a better jacket. This really wasn’t the thing Alfred wanted to be wearing on an epic –
Crack! Alfred reeled from the shock. His glasses felt heavy and weird upon his face, clarity in his vision that he had never known before. Horses shorted and whinnied around him, and the blare of trumpets placed him firmly on the battlefield. He laughed, exhilarated, moving in a dreamlike haze. This was old battle, with a sword and cavalry! How dare they try to attack him! He had put off taking Texas for years and years to appease Miguel, and now, now he dared attack? He was underestimating Alfred, he truly was! And now, and now! He was so wonderously winning! Alfred had reached Mexico City! He had captured all this land! The Halls of Montezuma were his! Almost all of the land of the continent was where it belonged: with him! He wanted more, the feel of fresh land and conquest in his veins. Elation filled him, brimmed over and spilled!
Crowe 5e/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)With a suddenness that took the air out of his lungs, Alfred was sitting at the kitchen table of his house in Virginia, looking out over his grounds. “Mastah Jones?” Isa May, one of his oldest slaves murmured from the door. “Coffee?”
“Yes, yes,” Alfred murmured distractedly, motioning at his cup lazily with one hand and picking up his paper again. His brows drew together in worry as he read the results of the election. There was… an odd feeling in his stomach, something cholic, almost, but no… Buchanan was his man, the best solution, just appease, keep it equal, keep the status quo. That was the best way to keep everyone together. Just wait, and give everyone what they wanted. Don’t act, one way or the other. All of this… couldn’t they all just get along? Alfred couldn’t have an opinion one way or the other…
With a gasp, he was there, fighting in blue, why was he in blue? Because his president said so, that was why. He’d yet to find a personification of the South so they were still his, still his, always his. Oh, why, why hadn’t he acted? He’d just let everything come apart at the seams! Blood was everywhere, there was hardly a place where he didn’t bleed. And all of them laughed at him, because here he was with his dreams of greatness, his inaction prophesizing his downfall… Why didn’t he act? Because he feared this… feared this more than he could imagine, and now it had come to pass anyways…
Snap! He was on the plains, a posse behind him, carrying a burning brand with ivory inlaid guns at his side. “Let’s get ‘em!” He shouted, and the rest of the men cheered his agreement. “They stole our grain wagons! We gotta get ‘em back! Let’s ride!” His horse stamped in eagerness, and away they went, riding hard across prairie grassland.
When they reached the village, there were the grain wagons, and there were the men defending them. Alfred pulled out his gun, bang! Shots behind him told of the others doing the same. How dare they steal from us? How dare they? They had their own territory! Alfred pulled up his horse to a wagon, and hitched it behind. He was about the jump on again to ride away, when a knife plunged into his abdomen. Alfred blinked twice. Oh, oh, that would take a while to heal. Pain, dull, substantial pain shot from his stomach. But it wasn’t enough to keep him from drawing and shooting without looking. At his feet fell a young teen boy. “Burn it!” He shouted, wincing and blinking over the would-be fatal wound. “Burn everything! Make sure they won’t steal again!”
A cheer rose up from the men. Oh, oh, that hurt, as Alfred pulled himself up onto his bloodstained horse and kicked him. They would get revenge, revenge for women stealing, child murdering, every crime those Injuns had ever carried out against his people.
Then, two days later, the churning feeling in his stomach at the smell of burnt corpses and carrion, wasted in prairie sun, and the self-revulsion and pain…
Alfred was back in the hall, given just enough time to puke his guts out onto the dirt floor with a splash onto his dress shoes. This was horrible! What was this? It wasn’t memory, it wasn’t a movie or anything, it was just feeling and emotion and sensory details enough to make him sick. It was everything he was guilty for condensed into a wave of emotion and horrendous image. Alfred couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He wanted it badly to end, just to end, he didn’t care how, this was horrible. Then came a laugh, this one much crueler than any before, high and fake and nasal.
Crowe 5f/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)Arthur face turned and twisted several different directions at once. “Darling…” he said, the pet name slightly pitying but mostly sarcastic and caustic. “Call me when you have a subcontinent.” His laugh was almost forced, and he moved off to be with his other, more powerful, European friends.
Alfred balled his fists at his sides, a multitude of feelings welling up inside him. Even after taking Tala and Marco away from Antonio, and getting Puerto Rico and everything… He wanted so desperately to have Arthur’s Empire, he was so jealous. He envied Arthur, wished to be him, or at least to have his attention for some unexplained reason. Well then, he’d just have to try harder. South America shouldn’t be that hard to influence. The first thing he needed was a canal…
“Oh I’m going to have fun with you!” a voice half whispered, half sung as Alfred was once again pulled away from his memories. “This is your worst fault, and you have yet to get over it. Just watch:” The world melted away around them like massive amounts of turpentine thrown on walls of paint. Foliage appeared all around them, and Alfred was strong again and in military uniform. The otherworldly woman, this time black ringlets cascading in a plaited love knot around her, stood in front of him in a normal, American girl’s outfit from the sixties, pink sweater and all. “You never did know when to stop, did you? No, you had to keep going, no matter what the situation is. That’s you, the policeman of the world.” A long pale finger drew down his cheek in a gesture of affection. “Now if anyone could protect me from the VCs, it would be you, wouldn’t it, wonderboy?” She smiled sweetly, and took a step back. “You and that lover of yours always have so much pride, I love it.” She air kissed. “Catch me if you can.”
Then, amazingly, she turned and began to skip in the middle of Vietnam! “Hold on!” He yelled, somehow knowing what was going to happen before it happened. “Don’t—“
A shattering boom rocked the ground, and suddenly her image was plastered up in a shadow of blood and gore on the surrounding trees. “Damn!” He swore, “Damn it, fuckin, shit!”
He hated this damn jungle, it was alive, and it wanted you dead, he’d always hated it. He just wanted to go home, but no, he couldn’t go home. He had to save Arthur. But why? He wondered, staring at the blood and tissue on the trees. It wasn’t like he could actually save him, especially weak like he was. What hope did he have exactly? He was coming here, just like everybody said, just to die or be enthralled, or whatever. Wouldn’t Arthur want him to have a long a fruitful life, holding dear to his memory and making sure his people were okay? Right?
A rustle in the bushes, and Alfred spun, ready to shoot. But something made him hold back. It didn’t… it didn’t feel like Viet Cong. Still, Alfred drew his AK-47, ready to shoot, focusing intently on that bush where the sound was.
“Woof!” A bark? And then tumbling out of the bushes came a massive German Shepard, knocking him over and licking his face. Alfred smiled, on his back, not even trying to stop the dog. It was Snickers, his old bomb sniffing dog from forty years ago! Oh, how he’d missed his pup. “Hey boy, hey boy, down!” He finally managed to say, and Snickers sat, tongue lolling out of his mouth, staring up at him expectantly. “C’mon, let’s find our way out of this jungle. You know where the nearest base is?”
Snickers leapt up, lithe and agile as usual, and Alfred grabbed hold of the trailing lead. He began to sniff everywhere, Alfred using he machete to help clear a path. It was wonderful, this feeling, knowing he was getting out.
Crowe 5g/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:54 pm (UTC)(link)“How dare you!” She screeched, unearthly once more, and wrapped tight fingernails around his throat, thumbs on either side of his bobbing Adam’s apple. “How dare you get out! Let’s show you!” And with that, the walls bled away around them, and through his slowly dimming vision and tingling in this furthest extremities (bloodloss, his fuzzy mind supplied readily for him), he felt Snickers lean up against him firmly.
He was in the halls of the UN suddenly, and he reeled, gasping for breath as the woman and the jungle were no more. Alfred looked down at himself. He was… he was himself again, strong and buff! Alfred look down and to his right, and there was Snickers, somehow still there. Just to test himself, he grabbed his dog round the middle and hoisted him into the air. Lord, he felt just like a feather! This was wonderful, he’d so been missing this, he couldn’t believe it! Still, he was at the UN, and since he was the best, and obviously the most powerful nation in the world, he had meetings to attend. And now, since that whole magic thing was obviously just a dream, he could get on with his life of just being awesome and helpful and everything! He picked up his briefcase easily from the floor and, Snickers firmly at his side, passed through security like nobody’s business. It was like nobody could see Snickers or something. Maybe Matt had turned into a German Shepard? Just to test it, Alfred turned to the dog. “Matt, is that you?” Snickers just looked up at him happily like normal, so Alfred just shrugged. Maybe he had an angel dog or something. Wasn’t there a movie or something? It was in the nineties… All Dogs Go To Heaven, that was it. Alfred smiled brightly and just accepted his good fortune.
Alfred looked down the hall as he made his way, admittedly his late way, but as the party didn’t start til he walked in, so whatever, and noticed the carpet and frowned. Hey, hadn’t it been this color forever, and then changed when they remodeled back in ’07? Had they changed it back from that new turquoise color thing already? Oh well, wasn’t his problem what color the floors were.
Alfred reached the wide double doors, took a deep breath, and put on a smile on his face. Whenever he was really late, he needed to face it head on. He pushed open the doors.
The room went deathly silent. Alfred could hear the sound of his footsteps and the soft clicks of Snicker’s nails on the hardwood floors. He sat firmly in his seat. Next to him, Arthur reached over and squeezed his knee, and Snickers was unnoticed behind him, but everyone else was staring at him stonily. “Well, where are they?” Some anonymous voice asked from the crowd, and Alfred turned, wondering who was speaking to him like that and wondering what the hell they were talking about, trying to pinpoint who it was. “Yeah, did you ever find any?” Someone else jeered. “Or did you really invade for the oil?”
Oh god, this wasn’t now, this was back when they’d just discovered there weren’t any WMDs at all… Alfred face burned in shame and disappointment and he felt once again like he was going to cry. God, what were these woman trying to do to him? Damn, it had felt so real…
At this point in the real story, Arthur had leapt up and defended him, but here the shouts and angry murmuring just kept coming and coming and coming and coming and coming…
“ENOUGH!” A great voice shouted, and the walls flew away in an instant to turn back simply into that corridor in Newgrange, at the present time, away from everything in the past.
Alfred brushed his sweaty hair away from his eyes, pushed his glasses back up his nose with his middle finger, and stood. The women were arrayed behind him, teeth bared, and a great, ghostly warrior stood in front of him, staring down at them. “Your deal was seven. That is eight. You cannot keep ‘im ‘ere.”
Crowe 5h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-02 08:55 pm (UTC)(link)Alfred gasped as the air cleared somewhat, then spun his lanky, too long body to find the next adversary. He drew his guns, hoping that this time, they would work. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot.” Alfred snarled in the tongue he hoped this ghost understood.
Hi everyone! I hope you liked this! Not quite the megaloads I was promising, but hey, we all like to see Alfred get put through the wringer! Poor baby... But anyways, there is a theme to what they did, that Alfred himself didn't quite figure out. The reason I don't want to give translations down here is because it would ruin the puzzle! If you get it right, I'll tell you in comments. Also, Steve is Australia (yes, he is named after Steve Irwin, he was fantastic), and Shane is New Zealand.
The reason this took so long was because I did a substantial amount of story planning and research, which is good for this thing in the long run. I'm about five pages into the next chapter currently, as my beta took a while to read this for me.
Thanks for comments, they make me write faster! *Hint hint*
Re: Crowe 5h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-03 05:48 am (UTC)(link)(I'm not real sympathetic to the Mexican Empire, I'm afraid, because the local indigenous tribes was who the land really belonged to, and Mexico at that time continued Spain's habit of treating them as forced labor.)
Re: Crowe 5h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-03 06:42 am (UTC)(link)Well, you're right about the regret part, there's one more piece to it though!
Now watch as I bore you with history.
Yeah, I know, pretty much everyone was horrible to the NAs. As an American who recently went through high school though, the things that Americans (or at least my class in California) were taught kind of negative things about it. At the time it was highly controversial, with Thoreau ending up in prison for refusing to pay his taxes. Here's a link to a political cartoon of Polk of the day:
http://cla.calpoly.edu/~lcall/204/zach_taylor_skulls.jpg
So given controversy of the day, and the fact what we're taught in school, that's what I based Alfred's guilt on.
Also, if you're curious, one of the main reasons America didn't take all that land was they didn't want all of it to be slave territory.
Re: Crowe 5h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-08-03 07:33 pm (UTC)(link)I'm also really excited for Alfred and his quest, and cliffhangers! My mortal enemy! I shall sit here consumed with longing until your next update.