Times were tense in Mr. England's house. Every colony was on edge, could feel the anger in the air, hot, burning, and intruding on their everyday lives like an beast that could make a jump at them at any moment, and no one was more aware of the emotional minefield than Matthew, the personification of The Province of Quebec.
He wasn't even sure if Alfred and Arthur knew the whirlwind that they were creating, sucking up all the air in the room and then spewing it out in the form of hate rants to the only neutral party that cared enough to listen without feeling like he wanted to run.
Matthew denied it, but he knew things would shatter soon in a way he wasn't sure he could fix. Only a matter of time... and it came way too soon. They were still only kids...
It happened on March 5th, 1770.
"Get your hands off me! Back away you assassin joining demon!"
It said a lot about the state of England and The Colonies' relationship that Matthew didn't even jump when he heard his twin screaming at their guardian (perhaps ruler would be a better word, but Matthew didn't like to think of it that way. Too negative, too real and able to bring back the realization that Arthur had bloodstained hands with which he could do anything he wished to his belongings.) He did stiffen when he heard something that sounded horribly like a sob a moment later and no angered response from the Brit.
Now, completely at attention, Matthew stood up, grateful that the carpet absorbed any noise his footsteps could make as he set his book down carefully on the table by the armchair. He wasn't sure why he was creeping around like he didn't live in the mansion and didn't belong, but he felt a terrible cold sensation as if he had swallowed a chunk of ice and it was slowly sinking down inside of him to rest low in his stomach and cause an ache much like the one on his feet from his "gentlemen becoming" pinching shoes.
"Alfred, just let me patch the wound, p-"
"You shot me! Stay away!"
Matthew's feet were moving before his brain realized they were. He couldn't breath, and his panic was intensified by the panic he could hear, no could sense, in his brother's tone. Arthur wouldn't shoot Alfred! Alfred was his favorite, the shining star of the colonies, the one Arthur and the crown spoiled, and sure Alfred had been slapped a few times, but that could be justified! Lots of parents disciplined kids that way. Alfred could be so rude and rebellious that Matthew almost felt bad for Arthur who had to deal with him.
But nothing, NOTHING, could ever justify the man shooting the boy.
"It was self defense, Alfred! Your people-"
"My people were armed with snowballs! This is a massacre!"
Matthew ran down the halls, nearly toppling over as his breath once again abandoned him when he needed it. In the doorway stood Arthur in his proud, red coat with the usual rifle slung over his shoulder, yet he looked guilty in his eyes. The usual clear green was less sharp and more scared, and Alfred was just a mess.
Leaning against the door frame in his overalls and boots, his shirt soaked in blood which was running down the wall, staining the pristine house in a way that Matthew knew poor servants would be rushed to finish cleaning, because Arthur wouldn't be able to look at it.
Alfred's legs shook, and his hands were held in front of him as tears ran from the eyes that were always filled with hope and as open as the sky, eyes that saw every chance for adventure and seized it without fear. Hungry and taking just like his guardian's, except now they were wide with fear and something else Matthew didn't want to think about the meaning off.
They seemed all the brighter with the inner flame burning inside his twin.
"Oh goodness, Alfred!" Matthew was running again, this time stopping his legs within seconds as his hands snatched the speed, fussing like the mother they no longer had over his beaten brother. More blood just kept pouring out and Matthew bit his lip before taking off his jacket, bunching it up, and pressing it hard against Alfred's wound. The price of the darn clothing be damned!
Alfred's scream was loud and abruptly cut off when he grit his teeth. It cut his sibling like a knife, guilt and fear slashing at him.
"I'm sorry, Al. I'm so, so, so sorry! Don't pass out, please! Alfie breath. I am sorry! I'm gonna get some bandages and fix you up good as new! Oh gosh..." He was rambling, words falling from his lips like water in his panic. Blood seeped through his fingers. Words seeping out like blood.
A hand was placed on Alfred's shoulder which peaked out from a red sleeve only to be harshly slapped away when the bleeding boy flinched. Matthew didn't even look at the Brit as Arthur stared at him in shock with his smarting hand lowered. It was doubtful the polite boy even realized he had lashed out at all with the fear causing his adrenaline to spike, but it was clear that Matthew was in mother bear mode.
Alfred opened his eyes and looked at Arthur for half a second before averting his eyes to his fussing twin who looked as scared as he felt. Alfred's hands clenched into fists when he noticed Arthur wasn't leaving. He didn't want to look weak in front of the enemy, yet here he was with tears dripping down his cheeks and barely standing for Arthur to see. "Matt, help me to my room.", he said with as much strength as he could muster up past the pain and the dread of moving.
Matthew looked at Alfred with surprise and he hesitated, feeling uncomfortable under Alfred's request. He brushed aside his hair in a nervous habit and nearly gagged when he saw his hands, pale skin from days inside reading now a deep red. "Alfred, it's not safe... We can just let you rest in the living room while I patch you up."
He noticed those sky eyes flicker to the adult watching them. "He won't come.", Matthew assured quickly. Arthur sighed and crossed his arms before marching off. Matthew gently guided Alfred's arm around his shoulders to help him walk, wincing with his brother when the wound was irritated. "Just a few steps, Al."
Those few steps were agony. As was the hours after where Matthew tried not to let his hands shake as he dug out the bullet and stitched the wound up. Alfred grit his teeth and refused to scream, but it was obvious that everything hurt. There was a knock at the door that broke up the time defying agony and stress that seemed to blur. Matthew opened it to find bandages and painkillers along with a few servants.
Arthur at least had the manners not to let his charge suffer for long, the usual polite boy thought bitterly, but he was grateful when the medicine helped his hurting brother to sleep that night.
Matthew didn't sleep. He scrubbed at his blood stained hands until his hands were pink and raw and his stomach finally rebelled, sending him sprinting to the toilet and puking up everything in his stomach which felt so weak.
He pulled his knees up to his chest and allowed himself a moment to freak out a bit, because his twin had been hurt and he could do nothing to protect him. It was so complicated for nations. As Matthew, he would die for his brother, fight by his side always, because Alfred was electric and innocent in a way that tugged at his brother's heart strings.
But as The Providence of Quebec, his people always came first, and neither colony had a chance of beating England. Arthur represented the strongest nation in the world, a proud adult soldier that sank whole fleets, owned the seas, and had taken half the world for his empire.
The Providence of Quebec and The Colonies were boys standing under the protection of the British Empire with barely any fighting experience. It would not be a fair fight.
And as both Matthew and The Providence of Quebec, he was nervous of the stirring of rebellion and the chaos it would bring.
Alfred and Matthew were treated relatively well compared to other lands Arthur owned. They were blessed with pale skin from which their widely accepted blue and blue-graciously eyes popped and their blond hair marked them as part of the race in control at the time.
Matthew had glimpsed the African colonies beaten and bloody, in pain from their people's cries that rang out in their heads all day from the European's harsh rule. Arthur had told him, hands on a horrified boy's shoulder, that this was their burden as white men. It was "the white man's burden" to civilize the rest of the world according to the world powers of the time.
Yet... Matthew remembered his mother.
He could recall her skin, the shade of the earth, and how she was far from a savage.
Only because the twins looked so different from her were they taken graciously into the arms of her invaders, her killers.
By the time he understood that, Matthew knew his papa and England and could not bring himself to hate them. The people that England and France populated the twins' land with simply didn't understand, and they had quickly become the world's new idea of North Americans.
The New World countries were lands of riches, natural resources including gold, and they offered new opportunities with no resistance at this point. But Matthew had to wonder... What would happen when they declared that they did not belong to England or any other part or Europe? Would they be labeled savage?
Would Alfred's people be taxed more harshly, forced to work all day for Europe?
How would the British Empire that crush the fire in Alfred's eyes?
And if his brother's message hit the hearts of Matthew's people... How long could Mathew stand before being shot down?
Matthew gasped when a sudden sound hit him, a knocking at the door. He stood up, straighten his clothes a bit, and opened the door. He was expecting to see England, but instead, a beautiful young girl stood there with dark skin, shoulder length brown hair, and a bindi. She was also wearing a British style dress, but it seemed so unnatural on her.
"India, you aren't supposed to be in this section of the house.", Matthew whispered with clear alarm.
The girl remained calm and unaffected. "It's about time someone else started rebelling. Is he healing well?", she asked with a small smile. India had already had a few rebellions which were crushed harshly. "If he wins, it will bring hope to my people."
In her eyes, Matthew could see the fire that had sparked in Alfred's, but he could also see the cuts healing on her face.
"He's healing fine. He is going to make peace with the British Empire and be safe. Alfred must know he cannot win this.", Matthew said with clear denial.
India frowned sympathetically. "You would not understand, you are afraid. The Colonies... Oh they will fight, and I will fight. Don't you tell your own twin he will lose when he knows the risk. Maybe, Alfred needs someone to actually believe in him. He's terrified enough without your reason, New France."
Matthew's eyes widened at the old name, and then they filled with hurt. That was what France had called him, the name he had while happy and loved, before he was second best. "Please don't call me that."
"That is what you were called before The British Empire stole you away. Arthur is a brute, and it is time for us to stop letting him take what he wants. You cower from a fight, craving peace you will never have without standing your ground. The least you can do is cheer for us who fight. Tell Alfred he's in my prayers."
"I will not advise my brother to run straight forth into a war zone."
"I know, but when has he ever listened to anyone's advice? He's doing this whether you try and convince him otherwise or give him your support. The second option might help him win though. You'd be surprised how much of a difference having someone believe in you can make."
She left with those words making Matthew feel even more conflicted.
Matthew didn't remember falling asleep, but before he knew it, he was waking up. His head was in his arms and his arms rested on the couch where his brother laid, pressing little patters from the knitting cover into his arms.
The haze of sleep had settled warmly over him, but his head snapped up when he saw Alfred was sitting up.
"Good morning! I was just about to wake you, Mattie." Alfred's smile showed no signs of pain, but his bad arm was limp against his side. He just kept talking too as Matthew tried to decide whether to scold him for sitting up by himself or hug him.
"Anyway, I have to get going before Eyebrows wakes up. I've made up my mind and-"
"G-going? Al... You're injured. Just rest for a bit." Matthew got to his feet quickly and then sat down next to his brother. His eyes lingered on the bandages which was pinkish color on spots on the outside from where the blood had just barely soaked through the layers of cloth.
Alfred followed his gaze and his smile seemed a bit less lighthearted. "The wound is fine. Your stitches are impressive. So um... thanks."
The boys met gazes and Alfred's smile faded away until both of them were serious. "Matthew, you're going to need to decide that your plan is. Are you rebelling with me? It's all but decided for me. My people are enraged. I am enraged, and I will fight."
Hearing it said so bluntly made everything seem much more real. This was no longer a nightmare that would blow over. They were living history, and each man had to decide his course. History didn't care if one was scared or unprepared, and Matthew and Alfred could not let it trample them.
"Many of my people are loyal to The British Empire. Alfred, I can't join you on the battlefeild, and this is insanity. Arthur is an empire with an army and trained generals...we are boys. We have no..." Matthew trailed off.
Alfred was looking at him with a grim expression. His jaw was clenched a bit. His blue eyes had hardened in a way that made him look like veteran who had seen beyond his years. He already knew the facts. He knew what his chances looked like, how small and far away the opening for his victory was.
Matthew was reminded of India's words and he felt a stab of guilt. He bit his lip. He knew what he had to do, what his instincts screamed to him. "What you have is a chance. A slim chance. God help me.."
Matthew sighed and thought about what he wanted to say. He had Alfred's undivided attention. The boy-eyed twin looked at him with such hope. His lips were twitiching up into a smile again, and he didn't interrupt.
This could be the last time he saw his brother before hell broke loose. Matthew gulped and suddenly felt like he'd been placed on a stage to make an inspiring speech. He loved Alfred and Arthur. This was happening whether he liked it or not. This could be the end of The Colonies' favor with The British Empire, and Arthur had been the one to overstep the line.
"You have slim chance, and you have to fight like you've never fought before. This will make the French and Indian war look like a joke. England won me from Papa, France, another empire, in thirty minutes... He will be inderestimating you Alfred, prove you are a worthy rival, be careful."
Alfred nodded with a grin and a nod that's speed reflected his excitement. "Anything else?"
Matthew gave him a little smile as excitement began to bubble up inside him.
"Remember what your fighting for. This is your shot at freedom. You'll be in my prayers."
Alfred laughed and Matthew yelped as he was suddenly pulled into a hug. "I'm still not joining the fight.", the quiet boy reminded. "I know, but you'll get there. Matthew, we are going to the be the strongest nations in the world! And you'll get there even if it takes a tad longer."
Later that morning when Matthew waved at his twin from his bedroom window and watched Alfred sneak away to battle, he gave a small smile.
It was like seeing a caged bird be freed. The bird had never experienced the danger of the real world, the odds were that it would starve or be killed, but one had to root for that bird.
He was meant to be free.