December 31, 1775.
It was dark, snow fell thickly through the air. Blinding many of the guards who watched for trouble. Snow storms were not uncommon in Quebec though the bitter cold was to be expected in Canada. A new year will be starting in a few short hours. But the air was filled with a stillness that sent shivers down the spine of a young violet eyed man. It was almost too much to bear, the feeling of American troops in his land was overwhelming. Matthew Williams remembered when when the yanks had left Fort Ticonderoga in August, and besieged Fort St. Johns. It was November when they took it as their own. Yet they had not stopped there, they soon took Montreal as well. Now Matthew could feel them trudging through his icy land. They would be here soon, and to his great surprise his brother was coming with them.
A frown was gracing his pale chapped lips as he turned to his men, "Get ready, they are coming," he whispered. The soldiers nodded and rushed off to move civilians out of harms way, and to ready everyone else. Turning back Matthew stared in the direction he could feel his brother at, if he could even call him his brother anymore. The Canadian was filled with malice and hatred towards both the Thirteen Colonies of America, and the Untied Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. So much had changed in so little time. Who knew a revolution can push people so far?
It almost seemed like a game to Matthew, his 'brother' sent his troops into his land, invading him to get his old mentors attention. Even though England did nothing to stop it. Matthew was at the end of his rope. Parts of him had been taken over by America while most of him belonged to England. His mind was conflicted by this and all he wanted to do was make it stop.
"It will end with this," the Canadian whispered. He was determined to pushed America's troops out of his land this time. He will not run and hide like he had been told, he was no longer a child. Damn Arthur and his orders! Matthew refused to let another town of his fall. His body grew tense when a soldier approached him.
"Sir, it is time," he said in a low trembling voice. The fear there drew a smile from Matthew. He refused to be afraid this time. Nodding to the man he clutched the gun that he held in his gloved hands. The cold weight of the metal reassured him that he could do this. With a soft sigh he followed his soldier to where the enemy had been spotted.
The two of them passed many of the cities defenders as they walked through the streets. They were all rushing, getting ready for the fight that was to come. For many of them it would be their first time in battle. The air held a sharp jolt of excitement and anticipation in it as the yanks drew closer to them. Matthew held his Rifle a little closer to his chest. Many of his men had Brown Bess muskets that Britain had sent over for his men. But the Canadian did not like muskets, they were too short ranged and inaccurate for him. The rifle that Matthew had was one of America's own design. The Pennsylvania rifle had a long range and was more accurate, it had won the blond's heart quickly. The only problem with it was that it took a while to reload.
Matthew and his soldier paused at the back of the ranks of other soldiers. "They are weaker then before, they were not use to our environment," he chuckled. A few men around him chuckled as well.
The Canadian's smile slipped when his eyes settled on the leader of the yanks. His brother stood in front of his ranks. Matthew had not spoke to him after the war had started. And he would not speak to him now if he could help it. America had used him and invaded him. And for that he could never forgive him.
"Be ready to defend, the moment they attack we fight back," Matthew said softly. More then a few of his men tensed. Matthew had a hard time understanding what pushed his brother to this. He remember the time they shared when they were little. The kindness and love he had showed him. Did all of that mean nothing in the end? It was unlike him to be able to destroy all of the ties they had. What was so important to him that everything changed?
Sighing Matthew doubted that he will ever know the answers to these questions. He slowly raised and shouldered his weapon. His violet eyes were focused on one target. And that target was currently smirking at him. The two groups stood off against each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. The silence was almost deafening no one even dared to breath too loudly. A sudden shot rang through the silent air moments later. There was a sharp cry of pain before hell broke lose.
Matthew aimed quickly and fired at his brother. The shot flew close to his cheek, barely missing him. It was a close warning shot. More shots began to sound around them. The Canadian reloaded as quickly as he could with his eyes still trained on America.
He could almost hear a bullet fly by his head. It hit the soldier next to him he gasped slightly and blood started to pool around the dead man who use to be his friend. Pushing back his feelings he took aim and fired at the yanks once more. Both sides of the fight began to charge against each other, choosing to use their bayonets rather then shooting.
Blood stained the once pure snow as men clashed. Both brothers slowly made it through the crowds, walking straight towards each other. Matthew dropped his rifle and scooped an abandoned musket off of the ground. The Canadians lithe body weaved through the fighting easily. Alfred's large body just pushed through not even bother to see who's soldier he was moving past.
They both paused a few feet away from each other. They stood there for a few moments nether taking note of the violence around them. They both lifted their weapons a moment later they both fired.
Matthew whimpered sharply in pain. The metal musket ball lodged itself in his upper arm. He unthinkingly dropped his gun. It clattered uselessly to the snowy ground at his feet. The Canadian knew that he had missed his shot. For some reason...he just couldn't hurt his own brother. No matter what he did.
The American was in front of him in what seemed a moment later. The fighting around them grew quiet until it was silent once more. They all paused to watch their leaders, wondering what will happen. Neither of the brothers spoke as they simply stared into each others eyes.
Alfred's eyes blue eyes were dull and held none of the light that Matthew use to adore. It seemed like this war was taking it's toll on him. Matthew's violet eyes shined with fear and anger. There was a viciousness to them that could have matched Russia's.
"Matthew," Alfred said, his voice was rough. He slowly reached a gloved hand out to touch his brother's wind bitten cheek. But Matthew shied away, taking a quick step back.
"America," he hissed out. He could not bear his brothers touch. Not now and probably not in the future. He had invaded him took over his land and made him feel weak and vulnerable. It was unforgivable.
"Canada," America's face grew cold and void of all emotions. "Join me, fight against Britain and become free with me." His gun lowered and he held a hand out to him.
Matthew glared at his hand, so that was what he wanted... He wanted someone else to 'back him up'. But the Canadian refused to be used by him. He was happy the way he was at the moment. He was not ready to be his own nation.
"Never," Matthew growled and slapped his hand away. His other arm hung limply at his side the blood was barely visible on the red uniform he wore. The Canadian looked up into his eyes. When had his brother grown so tall? It was irritating to not be on the same level as him.
Alfred's lips turned down in a frown and he pulled his hand back. The American lifted his gun and pressed the bayonet against Matthews neck. The younger blond froze when the metal touched his skin. "I will not let you say no to this Matthew. Join me or I will take you down with Britain," he growled darkly when he uttered Arthur's name.
Matthew's eyes widened as his fear overtook his anger. His brother had changed so much. He had shot him and now was threatening his life. "What happened to you?" the Canadian whispered. "You have changed...do you even care about anyone anymore?"
Alfred didn't move, it looked like he was fighting with himself over something. A few moments later the bayonet lowered. "Matthew...I still care," he said. He suddenly sounded so worn and tired. Yet, Matthew could not doubt his words.
"Then get off of my land," the Canadian snapped. His men took it as an order to get rid of the American's. The report of guns filled the air once again.
One of the Canadian soldiers shot at Alfred, forcing him away from Matthew. The American was losing soldiers quickly. Matthew slowly followed Alfred's retreating form. His soldiers soon followed, pushing the others men back.
Matthew trudged through the bloody snow, holding his arm close to his side. It was clear who had lost this battle. The snow fall had slowed from blinding sheets to a calmer flurry.
He paused at the edge of his town and watched his brother and the rest of his forces vanish in the trees. Matthew had lost few men but Alfred had lost many. His soldiers began to check on other wounded men.
"Happy new years brother," he whispered. Turning away he began to walk towards the others. He wondered if he would ever see his brother again. Or if he could even beat England. He had hope for him. Even through everything he still loved him. That would never change.