"So what are you going to do, Matthew?"

Having dried his tears and bandaged his wounds, Matthew now straightened his uniform and grabbed his musket. "I've been out for too long and I need to help them...What's the status of Fort Meigs?"

"Procter failed to accomplish our goals," Arthur bit out, leaning against the oak desk with his arms folded. "There were many deaths on each side..."

"Tecumseh?"

Arthur caught the note of fear in the younger man's voice. "He's fine."

Breathing in slowly, Matthew nodded and turned to face him. "Thank you for coming and helping me."

"That's quite alright," sighed Arthur and pushed off of the desk to walk forward and place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I have to leave you so soon."

"I don't mind, Arthur. You have more to worry about at home. This...this is something Al- we must settle on our own."

"I don't know what happened with you two...you two were so close when you were younger-"

"Yes, well, I'm sure America has his reasons."

Arthur knew by Matthew's tone that this topic was not a road to wander down further, and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable by Matthew's formal use of Alfred's name. Nodding to himself, Arthur cleared his throat and followed the younger man's line of sight. "Where are you going to go now?"

"...Fort George."

Alfred stared across the line of his men as their hot shot cannon fire broke apart the British defence. Every one of their log buildings were set ablaze, and the men felt malicious pleasure while they watched the dark smoke curl up into the air to further illustrate their attack, their success. Twisting his lips back into a feral smile, Alfred could practically taste their victory already.

He knew he had the advantage- his troops consisted of around five thousand men while the opposition held maybe twelve hundred. British North America didn't stand a chance and yet another success would fall for his side. While Fort George was imposing, it was a key entry point if they were to have any hope of invading Upper Canada. They all knew that they had to come out of this as the victors and claim it as their base.

While the explosions sounded around him Alfred's gaze moved to the flag pole, he licked his drying lips at the thought of how beautiful his flag would look there.

The men moved around the room, either eating, playing cards, or trying to remain focused, but Matthew sat before a mother and child. There were a few women and children in the fort (families brought in by the men), and Matthew hated to see their scared expressions from across the room. Unable to keep to himself, he slowly but surely made his way around, not leaving until he saw a smile on their faces at least once.

"What's your name?" he asked, voice gentle and kind. Matthew smiled down to the obviously frightened girl while she perched, shivering on her mother's lap.

At the coaxing of her mother (Louise, she told him), the little girl had introduced herself as Hélène, and he guessed that she was not much older than six years of age.

"What a beautiful name!"

"Thank you, sir..." she murmured a bit brokenly, trying not to cry. "Is... Is Papa going to be alright? Are we going to die?"

"Hélène!"

Matthew gave a sad smile to the mother before reaching out to hold the girl's small hand. "I don't know how this is going to turn out, Hélène, but you are certainly not going to die. Nothing is going to happen to you, and your papa is a strong man. He's going to survive this-"

Explosions sounded in the distance and all at once, the men stood, scrambling about to ready themselves. Matthew stood, bid the mother and child goodbye, and moved away to help rally the other men, shouting encouragements while they were filing out. Matthew was standing by a few other men, watching as they got their things together, when one man ran over to Hélène and her mother. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and judging from the expression Louise wore, he was her husband.

It was easy to read the fear on the man's face which was as pale as a sheet, and when he cupped her cheek, his hand trembled even with his attempts to mask it. Kissing his wife hurriedly, he extended an arm and pulled Hélène close against him, hushing her as she sobbed against his chest. She switched from English to French in her panic, begging and pleading him not to leave, but her father just ran a hand along her hair in a slow caress, his words of assurances low and surprisingly calm.

"Nothing's going to happen, little one, but if you and mama hear anything I want you both to hide in the stone powder magazine. Promise?"

Pulling back, he kissed her cheek and gave her the strongest smile he could muster before turning back to his wife. She had a trembling hand pressed against her mouth and sobbed out his name while he opened his arms up for her to step into.

As he kissed his wife for the last time, Matthew had to look away.

The man ran up and joined the other soldiers as they were walking out. Nodding and giving the man a reassuring smile, Matthew gently asked, "Are you alright?"

The man flinched but quickly recovered. "Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Marc, sir."

"Marc, everything is going to be alright, okay? We're going to get through this together," whispered Matthew while placing a hand on his shoulder.

The man gave a nod and smiled in return. "Thank you."

It was two days later that they sent their attack out on foot, forcing the enemy to face them in the open field. Alfred watched as the soldiers approached, looking for any sign of wavy, golden hair, of an untameable curl, or angry violet eyes. Taking in a deep breath of the cool, crisp air, Alfred then slowly released it while his eyes travelled over the line of soldiers across from him. Men of varying colours and backgrounds stared back at him, and he had to commend them on their strong bravado.

Not that it was going to do them any good.

It took a minute to finally spot the blonde, but when he did Alfred couldn't keep the excited grin off his face while his body hummed to life.

Standing a bit off center, Matthew stared back at him directly with a scowl. Over the following days since he had left Matthew's room, Alfred had been thinking about what his leaders were doing including British North America in with the conflict with Britain, questioned his ulterior motives to annex Matthew's land so he could only ever be his, and as a result he found himself being ravaged with guilt to the point of headaches. He thought that maybe this was a mistake, that it would only end badly not just for America, but for himself as well, and his relationship with Matthew; but as he spent time among his men he couldn't help but fall into their passionate speeches and get drunk off of their victories.

Of course Matthew wouldn't want this at first but in time...In time he would see that it would be beneficial for him. Just like when they were younger and Alfred took on the role of big brother, helping Matthew thrive and remain healthy- America could help his people prosper.

A thought struck him like a crack of lightning, and Alfred's eyes widened as the idea festered and expanded. What if they merged and became one? One land, one country without rules and without borders. Alfred felt a bubble of excitement form in his chest as the image of Matthew standing by his side entered his mind; the two of them ruling the world together, the largest country and the leading superpower. He could see them perfectly, right down from Matthew's adorable crooked smile to the band on his left ring finger.

Ring. Why haven't I thought of that before? It's been so long since I've lavished Matthew with gifts...

Alfred sent Matthew a wink, not caring if he would be able to see it or not.

Even though they fought as hard as they could, the British troops were forced back further and further. All around him his men fell, broken and bleeding, and while he stared at the cold, motionless bodies, watching as their lives slowly faded away, Matthew felt a cold fog of defeat seep into his lungs. Men who had barely lived and who had families to go back to had fallen, seemingly forgotten onto the grass, and Matthew felt his heart fragment further as he recognized one- Hélène's father.

Marc and Matthew had lost contact in the battle, and while Matthew was trying very hard to protect his people, but he could only do so much. Falling to his knees ungracefully, Matthew felt for Marc's heartbeat, and while he grit his teeth against the pained anger that was bubbling in his chest, Matthew's fingers caught on a chain around Marc's neck as he tried to pull away. A golden cross fell against his uniform, and the instant Matthew saw it he reached around the man to unfasten it. Taking his lax hand, Matthew placed the cross against his palm an closed it into a fist, and whispered a prayer: "God...Creator and Redeemer of all the faithful, grant to the souls of your servants and handmaids the forgiveness of all their sins. Through our devout prayers may they obtain the pardon which they have always desired. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen."

With a final touch to Marc's shoulder, Matthew grabbed his musket and ran, silently praying for all the other men around him that couldn't have their last rites.

The command was that they had to fall back. The American force was too strong and they had to abandon the fort. Matthew had started to run along with the rest, but after a few steps his feet led him in a new direction back towards the fort.

He saw a foreign flag waving high in the air where his should have been, and his stomach flipped over. This was wrong, so wrong... Their fort, the headquarters for the Centre Division of the British Army, a place where British regulars, local militia, First Nation warriors, and a corps of freed slaves served; the place where Sir Isaac Brock served until he died at Queenston Heights...destroyed and taken away.

Matthew would have screamed if he could. Instead he had to rely on stealth, running quietly around the building to try and get to the powder magazine. He had to save them. He had to!

Of course Matthew wouldn't escape his gaze, Alfred thought, running behind the blond. Did Matthew honestly think he could?

Are you trying to play the hero, Mattie? Do you think you can take on all of my men by yourself? Alfred clicked his tongue, wondering what he should do if the blonde attempted such a stunt.

Creeping far enough behind him, Alfred grew more and more confused watching Matthew run in a different, unexpected direction. Keeping to himself, Alfred watched Matthew enter the building and disappear from sight for a few moments. Instinctively he tightened his hold on his weapon and was about to step forward when he saw Matthew reappear.

Blinking slowly, Alfred was confused to see Matthew hold a small child tightly in his arms, one hand running over her brown hair while a woman followed close behind him. He couldn't hear their whispers, but the child's shoulders were shaking horribly and she hid her face against Matthew's neck.

Matthew nodded to the woman once and beckoned her along. The three making their way across the field as fast and silently as possible. Alfred noticed that none of his men were looking at them at the moment, and Alfred let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

He should have known Matthew would go back to save whoever he could. All his life he had been like that...

"Why are you crying?"

Alfred felt a gentle hand on his shoulder moments before the quiet voice close to his ear inquired, prompting him to drop his hands from his eyes. Turning to look up at Matthew while he stood above him, Alfred sobbed out, "Tony is missing! I've been looking for the last hour and I can't find him! Wh-what if something ate him..."

Matthew chewed his bottom lip and thought about where Alfred's pet rabbit could have gone. "Have you checked around the house?"

"Three times!" he wailed into his hands once more.

"The forest?"

"No..." Alfred hiccupped. "Arthur told us not to go in there when it's just us, remember? We're too young."

Matthew stared at Alfred for a moment before pointing towards the building. "...Go check the front of the house and then come back here to the tree. I'll see if I can find him.

With a nod, Alfred did just that, trying not to cry when he came back empty handed. When he neared the tree however there was no sign of Matthew.

"Mattie?" he called out with a hand cupped around his mouth.

No answer.

Sniffling a bit, Alfred tried to figure out if he should look for Matthew or stay where he was in case Matthew came back, when the boy in question decided that for him. Matthew was walking up towards Alfred with a wide smile on his face and a small ball of white fluff in his arms.

"Mattie! You found him! Where was he!" Alfred screamed and ran down to Matthew, belatedly realizing he had scratches all over his arms. "What happened?"

"Oh...he just gave me a bit of a fight. It's alright though, I'll be fine. Here," he said, handing the rabbit over.

"Thank you so much, Mattie.." Alfred held the animal close while leaning over to peck the blonde on his cheek. "What a hero!"

Matthew blushed adorably and rubbed his cheek, murmuring, "no, that's your job."

.

It was a few years later that Alfred experienced another one of Matthew's heroic moments, and that was when they were around the human age of sixteen. Now that Arthur let them be, the two teens enjoyed taking long walks in the thick forests to just get away and be in their own world.

On one certain occasion however, the two had a major fight that had escalated from a silly argument into something bigger. Alfred had stormed out of the house and ran into the woods, punching trees here and there out of frustration. As he was running along, Alfred misjudged his footing and tripped over a stump that was rooted into the center of his makeshift path.

He cried out as he fell, sliding and scraping his arms while trying to break his fall. This resulted in many cuts that immediately began to ooze blood. Cursing loudly, Alfred looked up and felt his heart drop. Less than fifty feet away was a bear that just ambled into sight and it was currently staring directly at Alfred.

Horrified, Alfred struggled to get to his feet but the moment he put weight on his ankle he quickly fell back down with a strangled cry. The bear didn't appear to be too happy with him. With a snort it started to make its way towards Alfred. Alfred knew that he had his strength on his side, but would he be able to land a blow before the bear did?

Luckily he didn't have to find out as a large, thick tree suddenly cracked and fell right in the bears path, the force of the descent causing it to crack a few other trees, effectively blocking its approach. Startled, Alfred's eyes widened and he stared at the scene before him. Matthew appeared from behind a tree trunk and ran towards him.

"Why are you still on the ground? Come on, let's go!"

"My ankle..."

Concern and fear entered Matthew's eyes as he looked at Alfred's bloodied arms and swollen ankles before he had Alfred climb onto his back. Once he was sure of their hold on each other Matthew tore off towards the house, running as fast and careful as possible.

The moment they were home, Alfred accepted Matthew's angry lecture while he tended to his wounds, unable to help from smiling at the blonde.

"What? What's could you possibly be smiling about!"

"You came looking for me, Mattie."

Matthew blinked twice before frowning and looking down at Alfred's arms. "Of course I did! I couldn't just let you run out into the woods by yourself after we..."

Swinging his legs back and forth, Alfred felt his throat tighten a bit while he tried to speak. "I'm sorry I yelled at you...you didn't deserve that. Even after everything I said, you still cared enough to check and see if I was okay..." Alfred flinched when he felt Matthew's warm palm slide over his hand.

"Alfred, I don't think you understand. Of course I'd come looking for you..." Matthew laughed, shaking his head and shrugging before he simply stated, "you're everything to me. I don't want to see you hurt."

He didn't know tears had formed let alone fallen until Matthew reached out to wipe them away.

Watching Matthew's retreating form, Alfred felt quite shamefaced. The wind mocked him with the gentleness of its soft caress, and it did nothing to soothe his burning forehead. Alfred stumbled to the side, legs suddenly weak, and reached out for a tree. His hands flexed and moved over the bark as he pressed heavily against it, struggling to breathe.

This isn't right. Matthew doesn't deserve this...this is between Arthur and me. There's enough land for my people, so why do we need to annex British North America? Why... Matthew made it clear years ago that he didn't want this. And he forgave me. After all of that he forgave me!

Lost in thought, Alfred didn't notice the low cracking sounds while he was pushing the tree over, the trunk breaking a bit below his hand.

He still accepted my letters. He reacted and gave back in our secret meetings, and never once looked at me with those eyes...Those...eyes...

With trembling hands, he covered both of his ears to try and get rid of the annoying pulsating feeling in his head.

I can't have him hating me; I can't stand it! Not after all of our history... All our lives, I've been the one who Matthew went to, I'm the one he needed. I can't let him down, he needs me! He needs me, Mattie needs me...! Needs...me. Arthur isn't the one for him, I am. I am!

Alfred let out a hysterical, broken giggle while running his nails down his cheeks, leaving long angry marks in their wake. The more he thought about it, the quieter the buzzing became. It became so hard to hear and it felt as though he was floating below the surface of a nearby lake.

I'm the best thing he has, I am. He loves me and only me! Me! Why would he go anywhere else- how could he possibly rely on anyone else? I'm the one for Matthew. British North America will be ours. Ours...yes, ours. They will yield for the United States, and just like he always did, Matthew will look at me with love in his eyes! I have to get rid of that look of hatred... Mine...Mine...The Canadas will be ours...mine...You'll see, Mattie. In the end, you'll see. I just love you so much, don't you- can't you see? I love you, I love you, I love...

Mattie.

Everything went black.

Alfred felt a dull throb behind his eyes and groaned in pain as a stabbing sensation shooting through him each time he took a breath. He could hear the birds singing, the sound of men talking amongst each other in the distance, and he could feel the wind run along his skin and kiss his heated cheeks. Cracking open each eye slowly, Alfred's frowned as he took in the small blades of deep green grass and the numerous tree trunks until realization hit. He was on the ground, on his side.

When had he fallen? What happened? Blinking owlishly, Alfred rubbed the back of his head in attempt to massage his headache away. What was he doing there? He remembered walking through the trees...but why? Who was he following?

Twisting around to look over the clearing, Alfred's eyes widened when he saw the figure he could recognize in his sleep.

Barely noticing the woman and child, Alfred focused on the only thing that was important.

"Matt."

_
Historical notes:

Heated (or hot) shot: A process where a solid iron cannonball is heated red hot in a specially-designed wood- or coal-fired furnace and then is loaded in a muzzle-loading cannon, cushioned by a substantial thickness of wet wads, and is then fired while still red hot, at flammable targets with the intention of setting them on fire.

The Siege of Fort Meigs: A small British army with support from Indians attempted to capture the recently-constructed fort to forestall an American offensive against Detroit, which the British had captured the previous year. An American sortie and relief attempt failed with heavy casualties, but the British failed to capture the fort and were forced to raise the siege.

Henry Procter (Proctor): His record as a commanding officer was praiseworthy; in fact, his superior, Major-General Sir Isaac Brock, noted that the excellent condition of the 41st was due to Procter's tireless efforts. His peacetime accolades, however, would soon be tarnished by his wartime record. Exaggerated reports of Procter's poor conduct all but had him convicted for incompetence before he had reached Ancaster. While the soldiers under his command conducted themselves poorly, there is little doubt that Procter's leadership was wanting. Procter was publicly reprimanded and suspended without rank or pay for 6 months, and even though some of the charges were later dropped, his military career, once filled with praise and success, was ruined. He returned to England in the fall of 1815, where he lived in semi-retirement until his death. While his name is synonymous with failure, historians continue to debate Procter's successes and failures and whether or not the charges against him were warranted, even if his leadership had been weak.

Tecumseh: Shawnee chief, leader of a First Nations confederacy, military leader in the war.