The Son of Liberty (Hetalia)

Bonus: Arthur's Reason PART 2

Spring couldn't come quickly enough, although Arthur found that it was often nearest to springtime were the days—and nights—the chilliest.

This was especially the case now that he was riding north, much to his frostbitten displeasure. He'd considered calling for a carriage, but travelling directly on horseback was arguably faster. Efficiency was the priority over the course of this mission, not comfort. Arthur was pretty sure Howe had the same thoughts when the other had asked him to take on the job.

And like an idiot, he'd jumped at the chance. Perhaps idiocy was hereditary?

Ah . . . he really missed the mild, rainy winters of London. How he longed for his home country, to be able to be with his family again.

What family, Arthur thought flatly, his breath coming out in baited chatters as his horse galloped ahead.

He was filled with bitterness these days, unable to make peace with the fact that in such a short time—barely a year—he'd lost his father to an illness, his mother to grief, and his younger brother to a revolution.

And where had he gone? Off the deep end, that's what.

Honestly, what was he thinking, getting into this mess—becoming a spy? If Father saw him now, he wouldn't have hesitated to give Arthur a good whipping for his foolishness. Maybe lock him in the stables for a night without food, with only the horses and the shepherd's dog for company.

But something had changed in Arthur. Now, if Father ever tried to lay a hand on him, ever dared to raise it an inch, Arthur would have throttled him.

Arthur was angry. He was angry at the world for what it did to his family and for what his family did to him. He must have missed a resting station back there, but he didn't care. He kept on riding, his hands frozen to the reins as his past played out before his eyes.

"Show me another trick, Arthur!"

Alfred was already thirteen, and his voice cracked in places, but he clapped and squealed in genuine delight as Arthur performed his feats of magic.

"Keep your eyes on the rose, love," said Arthur, waving his hand in front of the flower. "Are you ready?" He flicked his wrist and it disappeared. "Oh, I wonder where it went?"

"Ooh," Alfred said. "Where did it go?"

Arthur winked. "Check your pocket."

Alfred searched his waistcoat and then his trousers and, much to his amazement, uncovered a lump in his side pocket. He pulled out the rose. "Whoa, Arthur! That's so cool! Can you teach me?"

Arthur sighed and scratched his head. "I don't know. Magic is a rather difficult skill to master, and it isn't just for anyone. One has to be adept in discipline and patience-"

"I'm disciplined and patient!"

"All right." Arthur smirked. "If you can handle this without cracking a smile, then I'll teach you."

"Handle what?"

Without warning, Arthur flew forward and attacked Alfred's sides with tickles. Alfred squirmed, snorting with laughter, trying to dance out of his brother's reach.

"Arthur, th-that's not fair! That's cheating!"

Arthur grabbed Alfred and blew raspberries into his cheeks, which made him laugh even more. Pretty soon, the brothers were on the floor, trying to tackle one another and wrestle the other into giving up.

Their fun was unexpectedly interrupted as their father broke into the room.

His face did not look pleased.