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October 14, 1775 :: near the Dead River :: on the approach to liberate Canada
Alfred sighted down his slingshot at the rabbit. Just a little closer, a little left... The rabbit hopped, and he let fly, the pebble hitting its mark, thank god. Supplies were low, and the camp being so busy had chased away most of the game. Some of the men had bagged a moose last night, but all Alfred could find were rabbits.
He walked over, made sure of the kill by cracking its neck. As he put the rabbit into his bag, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Slowly, so slowly, he swivelled around, and found a grizzled old man staring at him. "Can I help you?"
"Your clothes are thin."
"... What?"
"They are not suited for the weather." Then the man turned, disappeared into the forest. Literally disappeared - Al couldn't see him after five steps, and he was more woods-wise than most of his people. So the man wasn't human.. whatever he was.
Alfred kept his eyes open on the way back to the Dead River.
~ ~ ~
October 27 :: "near" Spider Lake
Alfred glared at the swampy ground all around him, boots squelching around his feet.
The maps were wrong.
... Fucking traitors.
~ ~ ~
November 16 :: outside Quebec City
Alfred looked up at the fortifications. His people finally made it through bogs and forests and rapids, and what'd happened? The soldiers'd shot cannon at his men when Arnold sent them to demand Quebec City's surrender, the bastards. What had happened to common courtesy? He wasn't demanding Stuffy Old Man levels of politeness or anything, but would it kill them to simply say "No" and send the envoys on their way?
Probably. Matt'd never been good with other armies, usually answered them with gunfire instead of his mouth. The Old Man hadn't helped with that either, for all his talk of "gentlemanly behaviour." Not with the way he'd been pandering to rich French papists at the expense of the common Canadian. (And at the expense of his people, but that’s what he was here to fix.)
He thought he caught a glimpse of a man in a long coat standing below the ramparts, walking toward the Plains; but when he looked closer, the man was gone.
~ ~ ~
December 3 :: Pointe-aux-Trembles, outside Quebec City
Alfred pulled the new coat tight around himself, grinned into his collar. This was so much better than the old clothes he'd hauled up from New York, even the ones that'd made it through the rapids intact. And the clothes were even liberated from a British ship, which was always a bonus. "Thank you for the supplies, sir."
"Think nothing of it." General Montgomery patted his shoulder. "You're the reason we're all here, after all."
Alfred hid his blush in the wool. "The capture of Montreal went well?"
"Indeed. I dined with your brother, while I was there. Quiet fellow."
"You must not have made him angry enough, then."
Montgomery snorted. "That was hardly the objective. He stayed until I left, though I've no idea where he would be now - he walks through guard posts like they aren't even there."
"We're on his land, he can go where ever he wants." He slid his hands into his pockets as the breeze picked up. "Did you get my letter to him?"
"And the Congressional letters, and the messages to his people. There were talks about raising a delegation to Congress when I left the city, though they're in General Wooster's hands now." He took a deep breath and let it out; it fogged in the cold air. "I must say, I never imagined that I'd be leading another attack on Quebec after the last war finished. It's rather colder than '59 was."
"I'll take it, if it means that Britain can't show up to scare the Canadians into submission again."
"Indeed." He looked over Alfred's shoulder, raised his hand in acknowledgement. "Do excuse me, I must speak with Mr. Arnold."
"'Course." Alfred saluted. "And thanks again for the coat, general."
~ ~ ~
December 31 :: Quebec City
Alfred crouched behind the corner of the house, and poured another twist of gunpowder into his musket with cold-fumbled fingers. This was supposed to be going well, god damn it. Attack in the night, under the cover of the snowstorm; he'd go with Arnold, Montgomery would come in the other side, and they'd meet up and capture Quebec.
Instead, Arnold was wounded, Montgomery was dead, the troops had gotten all confused, and he had been separated from the riflemen.
And his powder was still wet.
Matt was here somewhere, in the upper town. The governor wouldn't let him be anywhere near the fighting, and Wooster had reported that the colony had gone missing from Montreal two weeks ago. And that was... He just wanted to see Matthieu, to try and convince him that this could work.
Matt couldn't be entirely against him - sure, he'd ignored the letters Congress had sent to his people, hadn't worked with Wooster in Montreal, and hadn't come to visit Al yet. But his people were in the Continental army - had their own regiment, even - that was attacking Quebec City to free it. Hell, both sides of the Patriot advance had gotten help from locals, all the way up to Quebec - treating their sick, selling them food, helping them get across the river...
He took a breath and tried to ignore the snow freezing on his eyelashes. Okay, Morgan and his riflemen were hiding nearby, he just had to zero in on him, on them. He ducked around the corner and-
- Ran into someone.
"Oof!" He backed up, trying to make himself a smaller target.
The man just watched him, moustache rimed with frost. "Do you remember me, boy?" he asked, and something about his voice made Alfred shiver.
Alfred hesitated. "You're the guy from the forest, when I had the rabbit."
He looked at Alfred for a long moment. "You truly do not. And yet, I walk your lands as I walk your brother's and your cousins'."
"Yeah.. no. Still don't know who you are." Well, the man wasn't going to shoot him, not yet, and Alfred drew himself up. "Are you going to get out of my way?"
"No." He shook himself like a bear, but there was no snow on his shoulders. "You are young and foolish, so I will give you some advice: go home. Your army is not welcome here."
"Lots of people welcome us, give us help! And Matt- Canada can't say what he wants until the English soldiers are driven out, when he doesn't have to fear reprisal."
"The one you call 'Matthieu' is under my protection." His eyes would be kind, if they weren't so cold. "And yet you tried to attack him when I was on watch. Your men have paid the price, America."
"Who-" He stopped himself. "What are you?"
"I am Winter."
"... Oh." And now, now he remembered stories Arthur had told him in front of the fire, wrapped tightly in wool. Stories of a large man in a long coat, who brought cold and snow and death. Who protected his own, for a price.
"If you and yours leave, I will not pursue. But if you stay, more of your men will die."
"Is that a threat?"
"An observation. Make your choice, little nation."
Winter turned to go, only made it a few steps before Alfred shouted "Wait!"
He looked back over his shoulder.
"How's Matt? Is he.. is he all right?"
"He is well," he said simply. With a few steps, he vanished into the snow skirling through the streets, leaving Alfred alone with his cold musket.
~ ~ ~
February 13 :: on the Plains of Abraham
Alfred kicked at a snow bank. Damn this weather. Sure, the frozen rivers meant that Arthur couldn't send reinforcements to Quebec, but it also meant Alfred couldn't get his own troops into Canada quickly enough to do something about this siege. Instead, his army was stuck outside the fortifications, dying of cold and smallpox. Fucking smallpox.
And he still hadn't seen Matthieu.
It wasn't like Matt didn't have opportunities, times he could have slipped away and visited Alfred alone. The governor couldn't have kept him under lock and key and guard all the time – all Matthieu would need was some privacy to get out of where ever they'd put him. He'd had to consider that Matthieu really was mad at him, but that couldn't be right. Matt had to understand that he was just trying to help him.
He sighed, looked across the camp. Froze.
Winter was there, looking back.
Then a man carrying a load of firewood stepped between them, blocking Alfred's view; when he'd passed, Winter was gone.
Alfred shivered, and pulled his coat tighter around himself.
~ ~ ~
May 6 :: on the Plains of Abraham
Alfred threw his clothes into his bag, along with his letters and instructions. Damn it, they had already been preparing to withdraw - couldn't the British ships have waited another couple days, let the Patriots get their sick out of the area?
His cot was already folded into the cart, and he got to work tearing down his tent, his soldiers doing the same around him. The mules weren't happy with all the activity rushing around them, but, well, they were mules, and they were never happy. He pulled at the stakes and ropes, was folding the canvas when he heard shouts from the other side of the camp.
British troops were coming.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He looked to the city; when he turned back to his tent, Matt was sitting on a barrel.
After a pause, Alfred launched himself at his brother, wrapped him in a hug. "I was so worried. God, Matt, why didn't you come talk to me earlier? I've been waiting to talk to you, but you never came, and I couldn't find you-"
"I'm not coming with you," Matthieu interrupted.
"What?"
Matthieu slid out of Alfred's hold, away from the barrel. "I'm not going to rebel. My people don't want to, and I don't disagree."
"But- They've been here." He could see the pennants of the British troops over Matthieu's shoulder. "Congress' Own Regiments, your people, they've been fighting for freedom."
"And my militia's been fighting against you." He shifted, squared his shoulders like he'd rehearsed this. "Canada is not joining your rebellion, no matter how many times you invade or send people to speak. Wooster's reprisals against suspected Loyalists in Montreal have shown us whose freedom, exactly, you value, and Franklin's delegation didn't convince us otherwise."
"What, Ben came up? He's fantastic, such big ideas, surely you must've-"
"Listened, and left." His mouth quirked, and Alfred hated that expression - it had too much of Arthur in it. "Like you should be."
"But Matt-"
"Go." He turned on his heel, hesitated. "Don't disappear."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Matthieu nodded and melted into the crowd of panicking soldiers.
He'd show them, Alfred thought, throwing the last of his essential things in his bag and grabbing the lead-line for his mule. Once he was back home he'd show them all, and then he and Matt could be friends again, same as the old days. He just had to make it through another winter.