Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language.
This story is written from both Alfred and Arthur's POVs. POVs will change per chapter.
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a young blacksmith who has taken over his father's trade after he was killed during the Boston Massacre. Left alone for four years, he has sworn to bring vengeance for his father's death. However, the reestablishment of the Quartering Acts provides a kink in his plans.
Now with Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland housing with him, his freedom to craft weapons for the rebels grows hindered. Will he be able to revenge his father now under the watchful eye of the Brit? Or will he have to find another means to secure that goal.
Meanwhile, Arthur Kirkland, who has just arrived on the shores of Massachusetts, is unaware of just what life is like in the new world. Surprises await him as his own countrymen act far more aggressive to the colonists who are seen to be their brothers. People, Arthur Kirkland, swore he would protect under the good graces of the British Empire.
Will Arthur stick by his countrymen in the upcoming war? Or will something or someone cloud his vision and gain in him an ally for the rebels?
The afternoon sun had been waning for the past few hours now. Dusk was beginning to settle across the brackish waters of Boston Harbor. This signaled to the lone sailor that it was high time to head back into shore. He had a modest catch, but it was all he would need to get by for a few days until he'd set out into the harbor once more. He was still short on his quota of muskets for that week, and he did not have the money to shop for food until he was paid. Of course, in all honesty, he did have enough muskets to fill the British colonel's order; those particular weapons just weren't for him.
The man brushed a few strands of golden hair from his eyes as he reached over the side of his boat. A small cluster of buoyant kelp had his attention. To any not looking for it, the kelp appeared like any other in the area. It wasn't until one pulled it up that they found a not-so-familiar rope attached to the base. With practiced ease, the man steadily began to pull the heavy plant and rope up into the ten foot sailboat.
After thirty feet of the coil had been laid aside, the man's prize surfaced. It was a long bundle of thick cloth the rope was tied around. Once on the deck of the sailboat, the bundle fell open, revealing two dozen bronze muskets. The man smiled at his work, resting a hand on the weapons complacently. It had been a struggle making the illegal weapons under the watchful eye of the British Army, but that would not deter the young blacksmith from continuing his father's work.
Reaching into the small cabin of the sailboat, he pulled out a similar bronze musket, and happily added it to the pile.
"You said you saved all that bronze for a reason, dad," the blond said, smiling as he watched the sun shine brightly off of the metal in front of him. "Now, I'll avenge your death with the purpose you had for that bronze."
Besides his catch, his main reason for venturing into the harbor was resolved. With the newly-made weapon resting safely amongst its brothers, he re-tied the bundle and gently lowered his treasure back to the safe watery depths. The average iron musket would have been worthless after having been submerged in sea-water; however, the rare bronze metal would last much longer, and allowed the man to hide his weapons where no one would find them. At the right opportunity, he would have plenty of stock to give to militia and colonial soldiers. The onset of war seemed inevitable, and he would need to be ready.
It was mid-August of 1774, and with the word on the wind of a first continental congress being formed, and possibly carried out soon, it wouldn't be long before the colonies held their own against the Crown.
The young man wouldn't have it any other way. They would pay for the death of his father during the Boston Massacre. His father hadn't even been among those antagonizing the British. Just being ushered through the throng of people on his way home when the shots were fired. He had been a kind man, and had raised and taught him everything he knew.
He would be taking up his father's mantle as Quincy's blacksmith upon his death. Yet, neither of them knew how soon that would have actually come.
Feeling the contented thump of the delicate parcel resting on the ocean floor, the blond made sure the kelp remained looking inconspicuous before he hoisted the small vessel's lone sail and headed back to shore. That quota for the Brits was still waiting to be filled. It looked like he still had a long night ahead of him.
After tying off the boat to a small piling just a few yards offshore, the blond waded through the shallow water to the modest building he had called home for all of his short twenty-one years. The closest building to him was a small shed in which he placed his fishing tackle and pole before moving to the main attachment.
His forge was off to the left - far enough away as to keep the smoke, heat, and dangerous flames that could damage his other dwellings safe. A small barn that could hold two horses ran not far from it, but closer to the dirt road. His draft horse had already been taken care of by the neighbor's boy who came around frequently to tend to the animal. The child's obsession with the beasts would make him a valuable veterinarian one day.
Finally, reaching the front porch of his home, he noted the shrubbery along front needed to be trimmed at some point or would quickly overrun the painted white railing behind it. The porch as well had seen better days with it's scuffed wooden planks, paint chipping and an array of leaves and other debris cluttering it.
He had been left alone after his father was killed, and he didn't have the money to hire anyone for assistance with the place's upkeep. Everyone's wages had been garnished and the taxes had been draining everyone dry. Even with only one mouth to feed, besides his horse, he couldn't deal with the upkeep when he had so few customers to buy his wares.
Currently, his only buyers were the British, and they paid half of what his father use to make on top of demanding more of him in a shorter time.
He hated those bastards and everything they stood for; a society where only the British opinion mattered. The cares of it's colonies landing on deaf ears. Soon enough, they would be thinking differently once the rich land of the New World was no longer in their possession.
Every time the young blacksmith went out into the water to add another bronze musket to the pile, he could see one more British officer falling to it's cry.
Finally reaching the front door, the man entered his home with a relaxed sigh. Perhaps a little time to relax was in order after two solid weeks of hammering away his quota. Days and nights seemed to blur after a while, but he wouldn't let the British pull any stunts to catch him off guard.
Reaching for a lantern, the smith lit it to cast a warm glow into the foyer of his home. It was a single hall that opened up to the left with his kitchen, and to the right were two separate bedrooms. Furniture was scarce as the smith spent more time in his forge than he did in his actual house. It made it far easier for him to keep clean though.
Clean - was how it normally was; so upon noticing the large chunks of mud, dirt, and painfully obvious foot prints that tracked through the foyer and off to an adjacent bedroom, he couldn't help quickly pulling out his knife in hopes of catching the unwelcome intruder.
Following the trail, the smith could only assume whoever it was was an idiot; footprints leading through the hall, door to his location wide open. He certainly wasn't hiding, or aware that he was trespassing it seemed, as the smith rounded the corner into the bedroom he finally laid eyes on this 'guest'.
The man had himself comfortably situated in a winged back chair with his feet resting on an ottoman. In his hands he was reading a book with interest as he never even looked up upon the smith's armed entrance.
Seeing the lack of a threat, the blacksmith then looked to the arsenal the man had arrived with: musket, pistol, and a well crafted sword. His eyes did not fain away either upon seeing the offending red coat that slung over an adjacent chair. He knew what this was about, and he was not happy with it.
"British pig- you're in my home."
The soldier continued to read his book, uncaring at the colonist's obvious outrage until he waved a hand at the chest nearest the door. On top was a notice which the smith snatched up in annoyance.
"Do I need to read it to you too? Or have you actually not heard the news of the Crown's reestablishment of the Quartering Acts?" It was all the colonist needed to hear as he sent a death glare at the Brit, not only at his offending nature, but the situation as well.
Resting his book down, the soldier took his feet from the ottoman to rest lightly on the ground before standing up. He straightened out his shirt and trousers, taking his time to further aggravate the smith. The colonist was, however, happy to note the soldier was shorter than himself and far less stockier. He then made sure to bring himself to his full height. No matter how many fancy weapons the soldier had near by, the smith could still intimidate the man from pulling a trigger.
The soldier walked up to him, taking the parchment that was still held by the colonist, and turned it to his own gaze. He then proceeded to set the smith off by reading the refutable message aloud, as if the man's prior words weren't enough to solidify the inevitable.
"As of the 2nd of June, 1774, all colonists will be subjected to quartering British soldiers during this time for protection of its colonies from outside threats," the Brit summed up in one passage and folded the paper away into a pocket. "I am Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland, and I will be living under this roof until otherwise dictated by the Crown."
A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first USUK fic! I've read my fair share of amazing USUK stories here on ff . Net and I've had an inkling to write my own story. Of course I chose to go the historic route which means loads of research but I hope I can pull it off and remain as accurate as possible.
As for this story, I've been wanting to write a ARW fic for USUK in which Arthur is already a British soldier and takes up quarters with Alfred. I feel this situation can bring about a lot of fun moments between their two personalities, while pulling them together as well. All, of course, happening just before the War is in full-swing for LOADS OF DRAMA! BWAHA!
Anywho, there will be an interesting twist at the end of this fic so I do hope you stick around as I write. :) Also, reviews are fodder for a writer's muse! On your way out, please do toss in a review of what you think. Hate it, love it, criticize it, anything at all, I want to hear your input. :) Thank you again for reading! :D *heart*
(Also, chapters will be longer as I go. Prologue is just shorter. :3)
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