He's Just A Bread Boy [AmeRus]

The Poor ,Doughy, Life

The village was buzzing, as it usually did. Citizens trying to make a living by making and selling food and items that could be useful to the public. Alfred Jones was among the villagers, carrying a basket of bread he spent the last of his hard earned money on to bring home to his sick brother and tired father who was most likely at work.

Alfred definitely was a liked individual among everyone else. He had a bright smile and an easy going personality even when times got rough he was shining. It was a relief for the public knowing at least there's some sort of happiness when your living in these type of conditions.

Though Alfred has always tried to keep the town out of the dark it was hard for him to keep it up at home. With his brother always getting sick due to lack of medicine and his father working late and starving to let his boys eat it put Alfred in a deep hole.

And then the royal family, he's never met them but he's heard rumors. How the King was a greedy slob, the queen who whored around with some staff to just get off. The princesses who were spoiled and treated everyone around them like trash and the prince who chose whether or not a person was sentenced to death, even just for the hell of it.

Of course these were just rumors, but Alfred believed every one of them. Because the royal family should suffer like they have.

Putting those thoughts aside he cast his blue eyes away from the large palace and to his little house. It was tiny, but he was lucky to even have a house to call his home. When he walked in he was greeted by silence, figuring Matthew was asleep and Arthur was at work in the fields he set the basket down and took a biscuit, chomping down on it as he sat down on the handmade uncomfortable couch in what he could barley call a living room.

"Alfred?"

Turning his head he heard the muffled call of his name followed by some nasty coughs that made him cringe slightly. He got up and went to the bedroom, "hey, Mattie," he greeted the bedridden boy gently who just smiled. His normally pale complexion now more pasty and his cheeks and nose flushed from the flu he had easily caught, "want some biscuits? Or some buns?" He asked hopefully, his brother never could keep anything down.

But Matthew shook his head gently, "no thank you..." He said politely in a raspy voice, "maybe some water..."

Nodding, he walked out and got Matthew a tall glass of water. He helped him sit up and sat with him till he finished the cup, "get some more rest, Kay?"

"Not a problem..." He mumbled, already drifting off.

Alfred hated seeing his beloved brother so sick and vulnerable. But with lack of medicine he couldn't do anything about it except make sure he got enough food and water. He couldn't imagine how much Matthew is suffering.

He sighed softly and left the room, he needed to prepare a small meal before his father got home.

-

The sun had set by the time his father returned, covered in black smudge and dust and ash from the blacksmith work he did at the local shop. Alfred had prepared soup, leaving some and a couple slices of bread from the bakery on the table.

"Alfred," he started when he saw his on quickly cleaning out the soup pot, "did your brother eat this time?"

Pausing his actions he looked at his father with a soft but sad look, "no, he's been sleeping all day..." He said, sighing as he put the pot away in a safe place.

His father, Arthur, only shook his head and sat down at the table, "I'll be going to seek out a widowed potion maker I've heard about tomorrow, I arranged for Gilbert to take care if Matthew while you are at work."

Alfred gave him a look, "but, father-"

"No," he started, "please, don't try and lecture me, boy. I need to do what I can for both of my son's." He said sternly and Alfred only gave a slow nod.

"Yes...I'm sorry."

--

"Ivan."

He winced at the cold tone that his father spoke, he could feel the sheer disappointment dripping off his father's tongue like venom off a vipers fangs.

"Yes, father?"

His eyes were like ice as he glowered down at his son, pale and wrinkled face pulled back into a familiar scowl, one the young prince has seen many times since he's been alive.

"Don't you act innocent, boy," he growled, "you have to learn how to rule a kingdom for when I'm gone, and yet you are skipping your lectures?"

Ivan looked up from his chair that sat proudly in front of a large window, "I'm sorry, father, I just-"

"Nyet. No excuses. If you are going to be a king, you will learn to take responsibility like one."

In other words, punishment. It was nothing new that the king wanted his son to be a perfect fit for the throne. Proper, strong, confident. And if he had to beat it into his son, then so be it.

And this was nothing new, no not at all. Ivan was punished for everything he did, because everything he did was wrong in his fathers eyes, so he took the abuse and he took the punishments because...well, it's all he could do.

He left the castle that day, took one of the horses from the stables wearing a hooded cloth that covered his features as he headed to the village.

***

Lmao it's been a while ya'll. I'm not really in the fandom but I love these boys so much

Anyways this has been in my drafts for like 2 years I think.