Author's Note: Not much interesting stuff happens in this chapter, I'm afraid. Just England and Canada trying to figure out who the boy is.
However, I promise more fight scenes very soon. Real fights, not those tiny skirmishes they've been having...
England picked up America's rifle, staring at it for a long while before moving. The whole time he stood there, the boy looked up at England expectantly.
"Show me where you found this," England said at last.
The boy immediately waved England to follow him, and ran over to the spot. He stopped next to Canada's dead horse and pointed at it.
"It was right next to this horse," the boy said. He suddenly frowned, confused. "Why?"
England nodded, eyeing the saddlebags and equipment. Curiosity overtook him, and he knelt down and removed the gear from the horse's back. Once he held the saddlebags in his hands, England opened them up and began rummaging through the contents.
"This rifle belongs to the rebel leader," England explained as he searched through Canada's equipment. "He may have important items in here…"
So far, he was finding nothing useful; just ammunition, powder, travel rations, and a change of clothes. The boy came up and stood right next to England, eyeing the rifle.
"Who is A.F. Jones?" the boy asked. "Is that the rebel leader's name?"
England put Canada's equipment down.
"No," he said. "He – never mind…"
What is this boy? England wondered. I don't think he's a normal human child, but if he's a personification, what does he represent?
"Come with me," England said, grabbing the rifle, but leaving the saddlebags.
The boy quickly followed. England walked along at a fairly fast pace, but the boy didn't appear to be having any problems keeping up. Occasionally, the boy would even run ahead of England for a few paces, then slow up and allow England to overtake him again. England watched the boy, fighting the mixed feelings in his head.
He's not Alfred somehow brought back to life, is he?
England quickly dismissed that possibility. This boy didn't look enough like Alfred; his eyes were much too dark of a blue, and he lacked that distinctive lock of hair that always stood up. Nor did it make any sense for Alfred to have reverted to childhood, and lost all of his memories.
If he is a personification, but he's not Alfred, then he would have to have been born within the last five years, England thought. But I gave all of America's colonies to Canada right after the war ended… Did Canada try something? Does he even know about this boy?
Suddenly, memories of the end of the war came back with a vengeance. The spellbook he'd found at Camden had disappeared after a meeting with Canada shortly after the end of the war. He knew Canada had to have been the thief, but the young colony had vehemently denied stealing the book. And England never did find it.
England massaged his temple. Had Canada tried to resurrect America, and accidentally created this boy instead? That might explain some things, now that England thought about it.
He recalled seeing what had looked like another America at the battle of West Point. This America lookalike had vanished right before England's eyes, along with England's older self. Then, looking further back in his memory, when he'd first encountered his future self at the Battle of Camden, England also remembered his future self had tried to insist that he had traveled to the past by accident.
He also refused to tell me how the war would end; that I wasn't supposed to know the outcome before it happened.
England stopped in his tracks. His older self knew that America would die, but still had refused to say anything.
He was there when it happened, too, he realized. He saw me fire the shot…
The boy noticed England had stopped, and he stopped as well, giving England a quizzical look. England paid no attention, however.
Does this mean that in the future, I travel back in time, knowing that I'm going to watch America die? Knowing that I'm the one who kills him… Why? Why did I do nothing to stop myself?
"Hey…" the boy said quietly.
England looked at the boy, just barely managing to keep the tears out of his eyes.
So does this boy become the America lookalike that disappeared with my future self? I never got a good enough look at the man, my future self wouldn't let me…
"Are you all right?" the boy asked.
"I'm fine," England lied. "Come."
"Where are we going?"
"Richmond."
With that, England resumed walking.
That spellbook Canada stole belonged to my older self, so it stands to reason that I still have my own version of it. I just need to find it…
England walked faster, maintaining a fast pace all the way to Richmond.
(-)
Hamilton continued to move the militia west for several days after the skirmish. Eventually, he, Canada and the men reached the weed-choked fields of an abandoned plantation in the Virginia countryside. Canada went ahead with a couple of scouts to scope out the buildings, and when they found them to be safe and empty, Hamilton went ahead and allowed the men to rest in the abandoned mansion.
The mansion had been stripped bare, with long scrapes on the floor as evidence of furniture and other heavy objects having been hastily dragged out at some point. Most of the doors to the various rooms were either missing or lying on the floor with the hinges broken.
Canada and Hamilton sat on the floor of what was once the foyer, while the men retired to the other rooms.
"What happened here?" Canada wondered aloud.
Hamilton shot Canada a surprised look.
"After the war, King George ordered the execution of every man who had signed the Declaration of Independence," Hamilton said. "Their families were forced out of their homes. All of their property was confiscated, then sold at auction."
"Oh." I wonder whose plantation this was…
It got quiet for a moment.
"How come no one has bought the plantation since then?" Canada asked.
Hamilton shrugged. "I have no idea, but as long as it's vacant, we can use it to our advantage," he said.
Canada nodded. "But how long are you planning on staying here?" he asked. "Shouldn't we return to the northern colonies and start putting an army together-"
"Those French Canadian militiamen are under your command," Hamilton pointed out. "You don't need to stay here. You could return to the northern colonies and start organizing the army right now."
"What about your men?" Canada asked. "Will they join the army as well?"
"Eventually, yes."
The conversation ended there, as Hamilton started pulling travel rations from his pack, and Canada got up and wandered around the mansion.
I don't think I'm going to get America's rifle back, Canada thought. I left it on the battlefield with everything else… no doubt those redcoats took it after we fled…
He didn't dare return to the northern colonies unarmed. Unfortunately, Hamilton's men didn't have any guns to spare. A visit to the nearest arsenal was in order. Later that afternoon, Canada left the mansion and began making his way back to Richmond.
(-)
Upon returning to the British camp in Richmond, England brought the boy to his tent, keeping the boy in his sight while he searched through his things for his spellbooks. He leaned his musket and America's rifle against the tent wall, then made the boy sit on the bed. England then began thoroughly searching through everything.
"What are you looking for?" the boy asked.
"Just some old books," England said.
England finished emptying out a box full of supplies, and when he didn't find any spellbooks, he haphazardly threw the contents back in and set the box aside. While England reached for another box, the boy got up off the bed. Being too preoccupied with his search, England did not notice the boy discreetly slip out of the tent.
I probably left my spellbooks in London, England thought as the second box turned out to not have anything either. He stuffed the contents back into the box.
As he got up to search the rest of the tent, England glanced over at the bed. He promptly cursed under his breath; the boy was gone. Abandoning the search for the spellbooks for now, England stormed out of the tent in search of the boy.
Unfortunately, the boy was nowhere to be found. England spent an hour searching the camp by himself, and when he couldn't find the boy, he started interrogating the men.
"Corporal! Have you seen a young boy anywhere in the camp?"
The soldier looked blank for a fraction of a second, but then his face suddenly lit up.
"I did, actually," he said. He pointed towards the camp entrance. "I saw him leave the camp nearly an hour ago."
England glared at the corporal.
"And you let him wander off on his own?" he asked.
"But he wasn't alone, sir," the corporal protested. "He was following some of the men. I thought they were escorting him somewhere."
England sighed and massaged his temple. I highly doubt that… God, my men can be such idiots at times.
"Fine. Never mind, corporal."
The corporal left, returning to his tent.
If he's a personification, he should be able to take care of himself, England tried to reassure himself. But, damn it, why did he run off like that, without saying anything?
Heaving a sigh of exasperation, England decided to not worry about the boy, but continue to look for his books. He went back to his tent and resumed his search, but never found what he was looking for.
"They're in London," England muttered. He raked his hands through his hair and glared at the tent wall.
I need to go back and get them, he thought. I'll have to worry about that boy later. And my generals can handle this war while I'm away…
(-)
The last thing Canada needed was another confrontation with the British. So, he stayed off the roads entirely on his way to Richmond; instead, he cut his way through woods and across plains.
He found himself enjoying the solitude. Out here, in the countryside, where distant plantation fields were the only visible signs of human civilization, it almost didn't feel like there was a war going on. As Canada walked, he slowly realized that he was also starting to feel better physically. Maybe this cross-country walk was having a therapeutic effect; Canada hadn't felt this good in a long time.
Unfortunately, as he neared Richmond, he knew that the feeling wouldn't last.
Canada finally entered Richmond on a particularly chilly January evening, and he immediately went to look for buildings that might be storing weapons. He wandered around the town, feigning only casual interest in the buildings around him.
He rounded a corner, and noticed a handful of British soldiers on patrol. They were headed in Canada's direction. Taking a leisurely pace, Canada feigned interest in the sign hanging above the door of a nearby shop, all the while watching the soldiers out of the corner of his eye.
The soldiers marched right past Canada without taking a second glance at him. With the soldiers now in front of him, Canada began following them, making sure he maintained a safe distance, and not making it obvious that he was tailing them.
"What are you doing here?"
Canada jumped. The voice sounded like an angry whisper, and Canada had no idea where it had come from. He glanced all around, trying to find the owner of the voice.
It turned out to be a young boy, of probably no more than eight years old, and he had been standing several feet directly behind Canada. Canada relaxed, but cast a confused look at the boy. He looked into the boy's cobalt blue eyes, and nearly flinched at the anger he saw in them. Yet anger wasn't the only thing he saw. There was also sorrow and pain. And it all seemed to be directed at Canada for some reason.
Who is this? I know I've never met him, but he seems familiar, Canada thought.
"You're the rebel leader, aren't you?" the boy asked accusingly.
Canada blinked. "What?"
"You're the one behind the rebellion, aren't you?" the boy asked again. "It's all your fault, isn't it?"
Canada frowned. This conversation had started off strange, and quickly went to absurd.
What would a child know about the rebellion? Who is he, anyway?
"What are you talking about?" Canada asked.
The boy narrowed his eyes at Canada.
"Go away," the boy said coldly. "Take your rebels, and leave me alone."
My rebels? Canada wondered. Does he know what I am? No, that's absurd; he's only a child… unless…
Canada's eyes went wide. This couldn't be an ordinary human child, he suddenly realized. One hand flew to his side, to the spot where one of his bruises had appeared as a result of the civil war in his colonies. He felt nothing. The bruise was gone.
Oh, God…. Is it possible…?
Canada looked back at the boy. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"America?"
The boy looked momentarily confused.
"What did you call me?"
For once, the boy's tone was not angry or accusatory. In fact, he sounded more curious than anything else.
Canada swallowed hard. "I was asking," he said. "Is that your name?"
The boy still looked blank, and it took him a minute to answer.
"No," he said, although his tone was less than convincing. "Now get out."
He took a step forward. The confused look was gone, replaced by the anger from earlier. Canada knew he wouldn't be able to get any more out of the boy; the conversation was over. He walked away, and he could almost feel the boy's glare on him until he finally turned a corner. When he stole a glance around the corner just a few seconds later, the boy was gone.
Canada sighed. He looked around, realizing with annoyance that, while he had been distracted with the boy, the British soldiers Canada had been following were gone. Yet, that was hardly important now. It seemed Canada had a much bigger problem to deal with than the British.
That boy can't be America, can he? Canada thought. But how would that be possible? England made me the personification of all of British North America; I thought that meant I stood for both Canada and America… so what does that make the boy?
Ending Notes: England's reasoning may make sense from his point of view, but he's still totally wrong. He won't realize this for a while...
I can't say any more without giving away massive spoilers.