Chapter Text
ACT I: AMERICA DECLARES WAR!
In the years prior to the glorious independence of these United States, many injustices were committed against the American people at the hands of our former Lords in Great Britain. One chief injustice, a crime that was unknown to the Continental Congress until the middle of the war, which separated us from Great Britain, was the concealment of our National Identity. It is an open secret among the courts of Europe that beings exist outside of the typical nature of humanity, but despite our differences, they are the children of our Creator, the same way that we, as citizens of a state or country, are. These entities, henceforth known as “National Embodiments” or “National Identities” are made of the same body and blood that any other human is made of, and it is the purpose of this document to emphasize that the unalienable rights of every American citizen are also the rights afforded to the National Embodiment of the United States of America.
The following articles, and any amendments approved by the sitting President, Vice President, and Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, plainly state the rights and liberties afforded to our National Embodiment of the United States of America, who at the time of writing, is an entity named Mr. Alfred Freegift Kirkland Jones, born of the Earth in North America circa the year of our Lord one thousand five hundred and eighty five.
ARTICLE I. From the ratification of this document, and until a time that the United States of America is dissolved, Mr. Jones is hereby known as the National Advisor of the United States of America, chiefly answering to the President of the United States in all matters.
ARTICLE II. Outside of Mr. Jones’s duties pertaining to his status as an employee of the President, or pertaining to the military during times of war, the chief duty of the National Advisor of the United States of America is to act as a diplomat in communication with the National Embodiments of other countries. Any concern that may arise during this communication, that Mr. Jones deems to be a matter of National Security, must be passed on to the President or other appropriate entity. That established, all duties concerning the National Advisor’s diplomatic work are under the jurisdiction of the United States Department of State.
ARTICLE III. While Mr. Jones is a servant of these United States, he shall not be forced into any manner of involuntary servitude by her government or by any representative of that government. As an employee of the United States government, Mr. Jones is due financial compensation for his work at the same rate as any other employee at a similar station. Mr. Jones will not be compensated for any time spends away from his official duties, and he may suspend these duties, for up to six months every term (the days taken consecutively or otherwise), at any time with the approval of the President.
ARTICLE IV. While Mr. Jones is the embodiment of the land, he is also a free citizen of the United States of America, and he may enjoy the rights that any other free citizen of his standing may enjoy: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
AMENDMENT I. Mr. Jones, despite his long-lived nature, shall only be eligible for conscription while he meets the physical requirements established in the Second Militia Act of 1792, that being he is able-bodied, older than 18 years of age, and younger than 45 years of age. Any desire of Mr. Jones to voluntarily join an army or militia outside of those factors shall be left at the discretion of the President, acting as the Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States.
May 29, 1812
Alfred likes Fridays the best.
It is not only because he likes to go riding on the weekends, though that is a large factor in it. Having completed a week of work is a plus as well. But the real reason that Alfred prefers Fridays is that he gets to meet with Mr. Madison on Fridays. He does that on Mondays as well, but a Monday does not have the bonuses that Fridays do. Wednesday was a close second, because Mrs. Madison liked to hold mid-week dinner parties on that day. Alfred did not like to attend these parties when the house was full, because people often wondered who he—a seemingly sixteen-year-old boy—was and why he was there. But he liked to pick over what food was left after the night ended.
He leaves his office at the State Department late in the afternoon to head to his meeting with the President at the White House. This is the last official meeting on the books for Mr. Madison during the week—they use the time to catch up on what has been achieved and what still needs work. The two buildings are practically right next to each other, and the walk only takes five minutes at a good pace. It makes things all the better that Alfred happens to live at the White House as well.
He isn’t sure that the room was put in just for him when the President’s House was built, but Alfred has lived there for a little over ten years since the place was finished. His room isn’t very large, but he’s only one person, and it is cozy. Most of all, Alfred’s favorite part of living in Washington is the fact that, no matter what anyone wants to say, it really is just Virginia. Sure, they were on the Maryland side of the river. But that didn’t matter.
Alfred really likes living in (or near) Virginia. Many happy moments in his life occurred in Virginia, even if those memories were over one hundred years ago. More recently, the war had ended in Virginia. That had been apt, he thought, that it should end where it all started.
And now, it has started here once again.
He says hello to the doorman, a Frenchman named Jean, as he enters the building and heads straight up the stairs to the second floor. That’s where the bedrooms and private dining room are, but more importantly, the eastern half of the floor is dedicated to Mr. Madison’s offices. Alfred enters the waiting area for the office and waves at Mr. Madison’s personal secretary as he passes by.
He pulls out a silver pocket watch to check the time. It had been a gift from Francis after the revolution, with a little inscription on the back. Plus que des lignes sur une carte. More than lines on a map.
Confirming the time, he knocks on the door of Mr. Madison’s office and waits for his invitation inside.
President James Madison is a small man—you would not think of him as intimidating. In fact, even Alfred is an inch or two taller than him. But the man is very intelligent, and Alfred likes to work with him. They’ve had a long relationship, given that Mr. Madison was previously the Secretary of State, and Alfred spends most of his time at the State Department when dealing with official business. The previous president, Mr. Jefferson, had also been the Secretary of State. That sort of thing is helpful to him—it lets the president have a better understanding of what exactly Alfred does. The current Secretary of State is Mr. James Monroe, who Alfred suspects will try for the presidency sometime soon. Being the Secretary of State is not a prerequisite of the presidency, though, and Alfred knows that eventually that sort of thing won’t be as common. But for now, it helps.
“Hello, sir,” Alfred smiles, sitting across from Mr. Madison’s desk. “Have you had a good week?” They don’t actually see much of each other between Monday and Friday.
“Good evening, Alfred,” Mr. Madison says. His desk is a bit messier than usual. “I’ve been focused on writing a speech for most of this week—I’ll be happy to be done with it.”
“Ah,” Alfred hums. “For Congress on Monday?”
“I’ll be honest with you,” the president says. “I don’t think you’ll like me much after it.”
Alfred frowns. There’s only one major issue at the moment that the two of them disagree on.
Great Britain.
Things have been tense, to say the least. England declared war on France almost a decade ago, and the fighting has not stopped. It’s all some European nonsense that Alfred, frankly, does not understand. What they do doesn’t really matter to him, or to America, save for how difficult Great Britain is making it for them to stay neutral in the conflict. Alfred wants nothing to do with it, and America wants nothing to do with it. The United States trades with both England and France, and they would like to continue to do so.
But England, as usual, does not like to make things easy.
They’re being treated like they are still a colony, and the Crown is trying to control importing and exporting to and from France. That’s not how international law works, and they cannot be prosecuted under some Proclamation from the Seven Years’ War when they are no longer under British rule. That is a big problem, one that Alfred has been trying to peacefully solve, but-
Well, maybe it would be easier if the personification of England was not Alfred’s father, who very much hates him. Things would be so much simpler if they were just two diplomats with no family history. And that’s if Alfred can even get a letter to the man when he is not off fighting and dying in some random European field, or off the coasts somewhere.
The war has been going on for so long, and so many people are fed up. Even the British are fed up with it, and they’ve been deserting to American ships. The Brits stop their ships to check for cargo going to France, and they check for deserters. Their navy is running out of men, and they steal them back from the American merchant vessels. Sometimes, they even steal Americans. That’s not alright.
But there is little to be done about that via letters. While it doesn’t take as long anymore for correspondence to cross the sea, it does nothing when Arthur is not there to answer. Or if he is there and refuses to.
“So, what is the topic of the speech?” Alfred asks warily.
Mr. Madison avoids answering by asking his own question, “How are things going at the Foreign Affairs Office?”
“Oh, well, um, France appreciates us staying neutral in the mess with Napoleon if we cannot lend a hand,” Alfred says. Francis had been very understanding about the matter, as he usually is with most things concerning North America. “They appreciate the trade when we can get it past the blockade.”
Damn England.
“What of Canada?” Mr. Madison asks. Alfred is immediately put on edge by this because he doesn’t think he’s ever been asked about that before.
What of Canada?
His brother has been back in North America for maybe twenty-five years, but they do not see each other often. That is the only issue with living in Virginia—Alfred is not nearly as close to the border as he used to be. From what Alfred understands, their father (if Alfred dares to think of the man in that way, which he still cannot help but do) finally sent Matthew back home in 1787 when he decided to join an expedition to that island continent, Australia, on a whim. For their kind, such a thing is not very typical, as a loose connection to home can make a person sick. Evidently, Mattie did not have this problem thanks to his proximity to France while in London.
Since returning home, Matthew has been working in the government in a somewhat official capacity, similar to Alfred, but he started off at a much lower rank and has climbed the ladder. The people of his office know what he is—who he is—as do the people in charge of Upper and Lower Canada.
Matthew likes it, from what Alfred can tell. He spent so much time being taught how to do this sort of thing, unlike Alfred, and now he is finally getting to do it. This is probably helped by the Crown treating Canada with a looser grip than how the Thirteen ever were, and Alfred had never even been allowed to try and act as a representative for his land like Matthew now is. He wonders if Arthur has realized you can’t raise a child like that.
Anyway, they don’t have much time to see each other. At least the letters arrive quicker.
“I don’t speak to Canada much in an official capacity,” Alfred decides to say.
Mr. Madison quirks a brow, “But you do speak with him? Do you know him?”
He cannot help but start tapping his foot to get his nervous jitters out. “We speak often. Well, often enough.” Mr. Madison urges him to go on, which Alfred does not want to do. “He is… my brother. It is complicated.”
He’d never thought that things would be complicated with his brother, but here they are.
“Complicated how, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mr. Madison says. “I swear, it is for a good reason. Unless you would rather not tell me about your family history, which I would understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” Alfred says, almost whining. “It’s that—I don’t really know how to say it. He’s my brother and we love each other—I know him better than I know anyone else. But our lives are different, and we are different. I don’t know why or how it happened, but it did. We were raised separately.”
Mr. Madison contemplates his words for a moment. “I see. Is he French or British?”
“Both,” Alfred says, slumping in his chair. “Neither.”
He thinks that he had put too much stock in his brother’s return to him in 1764. They’d both been scared boys at the time, and Matthew had offered him an unconditional love that Alfred sorely needed. But too much time had passed, he thinks. They didn’t really know each other anymore, and they didn’t have many opportunities to bond outside of letters and the occasional Christmas visit over the years. After Alfred had been cast out, things were different. Matthew liked London, for some reason (he knows why, of course), and his father liked having Matthew around, evidently. Despite everything that Alfred had gone through and everything Arthur had made Matthew go through, Matthew stuck with him for much longer than he needed to. They never really fought. Matthew didn’t even care when Arthur went to replace him with something he hoped to find in Australia—he was mostly sad about having to leave Europe, because that meant he could no longer spend time with Francis in London. Matthew probably doesn’t even think that’s what happened.
But Alfred knows. His father left him for an expedition out west, once upon a time. He didn’t come back for a number of years, and by the time he did, Alfred suspects he had already been replaced. He’s seen it all before.
If Alfred were him, he’d have plenty of gripes about England—Canada’s fairer treatment notwithstanding.
Perhaps Matthew is a more patient person than he is. More forgiving.
Not that Alfred hadn’t tried to forgive.
Anyway. It doesn’t matter.
“Why do you ask, sir?” Alfred asks. Anything to get his mind off the topic.
Mr. Madison looks at him earnestly. “You know what I think about what needs to be done about Great Britain.”
Yes. And that’s why Alfred doesn’t like it.
“You think their actions are a cause for war,” he replies.
“I know you disagree,” Mr. Madison says. “But is that because of policy, or because of your personal history?”
That’s the thing. Alfred knows for a fact it’s not because of any desire he has to let the British get away with what they are doing. He thinks they’re out of line for their actions. But at the end of the day, he doesn’t want to cause any more suffering. He doesn’t want people to die, or to give Arthur more reasons to hate him. Not that it should matter, because that bridge had long since burned.
There’s a reason why he doesn’t get a say in these matters.
There’s also the issue of Matthew. Matthew is already upset that Arthur and Francis are fighting—he’s attached to both of them, whether Alfred likes it or not. Fighting with Arthur will just dredge up old wounds with everyone. And if they declare war against England, aren’t they practically siding with the French? That’s not very neutral.
“How would we even achieve a war with England?” Alfred asks, more than a little exasperated. “It’s a tiny, miserable island across the sea.”
Mr. Madison has a grim expression on his face. Alfred doesn’t like it one bit. “Great Britain still has a presence in North America.”
No.
No, absolutely not.
Alfred is aware that he sounds desperate, “Sir, I will not go to war with my brother to pick a fight with England. I just won’t.” But he can't stop it. He has no hand in policy. He’s just the damn thermometer. He’s the one who writes important letters that get no response.
“We are not going to war with Canada,” Mr. Madison explains. “We would be going to war with the British subjects in Canada.”
Alfred clenches his fists until his nails dig too sharply into his palms, “I apologize for the disrespect, but those are the same things.”
Mr. Madison shakes his head, “You are not disrespectful, Alfred—you’re worried. But know this is not a decision I take lightly, and it is up to the House and Senate to decide.”
“You could hold off on it,” Alfred says. “Give me more time to write to England—try and convince him to stop. Maybe- maybe we could just threaten Canada. I’ll tell Matthew we don’t actually mean it, but England will think it is true.”
“Matthew is your brother?” The president asks, and Alfred nods. “Alfred, you have been lobbying England for years, and nothing has changed. We have given them enough chances. And by continuing to allow the Crown to get away with this, we are letting them walk all over our sovereignty. We fought a war to stop this exact thing.”
But Alfred does not want to fight his brother. That is the last thing on this Earth he wants to do. He even disagreed with the skirmishes in Quebec at the start of the last war. In his eyes, Canada has nothing to do with this. His brother is a bystander, like always, and he is continually the biggest loser without ever having a dog in the fight.
“The British are oppressing Americans at sea by stealing them for the war with France,” Mr. Madison continues. “And they are oppressing Americans on land by encouraging the Indians to fight us in the Northwest Territory. They have already been at war with us, and we have been ignoring it.”
Lord, the Northwest Territory. Alfred doesn’t even want to think about that. The land south of the lakes that England gave up to them without really wanting to. All because the treaty was generous.
“America does not want this,” Alfred sighs.
“America will decide for herself,” Mr. Madison says, which makes Alfred want to squirm in his seat. “The Senate and House will vote on behalf of their constituents, and that will be what is carried out.” The president shuffles around some of the pages on his desk and procures some sheets that are joined together. “This is the draft of my speech for Congress on Monday. I’d like for you to read it over the weekend ,and we will have one last discussion on it at our normal meeting time before then.”
Alfred leans over and takes the papers, his eyes glossing over the words but not committing them to memory. “You should know that I will never agree with fighting against Canada. I am completely against it.”
Mr. Madison repeats his earlier sentiment. “We are not fighting with Canada. We are fighting the British, and we will liberate the Canadians in the process.”
Liberate the Canadians.
If Canada wants to cut ties with Britain, they could do it themselves.
But…
Matthew never would. Even if he wanted to. He cares too much about Arthur’s feelings, even though Arthur has never cared much about his.
Alfred stands from his chair, “Well, sir, I have much to think about.”
Mr. Madison smiles at him—genuine. “Have a good night, Alfred. Will you be going out this weekend?”
“I would like to. We shall see if I can find the time for it.”
Alfred drops the papers off in his bedroom and then heads downstairs for the kitchen. He needs to eat something, even if his appetite died when he heard Mr. Madison’s plans. There’s a State Dinner tonight—not something that Alfred cares about, nor is he invited to. But that means that the meal will be better than usual, so he steals a plate of it and heads back up the servant’s stairs so he can eat in his room.
Liberate Canada.
The thought repeats in his head.
He sits on the floor to eat, as he keeps his secretary locked while he is not around and doesn’t care to bother with it presently. Dinner tonight is stewed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and roasted duck. He motions the sign of the cross to thank God for his meal, and starts to read Mr. Madison’s speech.
British cruisers have been in the continued practice of violating the American flag on the great highway of nations, and of seizing and carrying off persons sailing under it, not in the exercise of a belligerent right founded on the law of nations against an enemy, but of a municipal prerogative over British subjects.
…
The practice, hence, is so far from affecting British subjects alone that, under the pretext of searching for these, thousands of American citizens, under the safeguard of public law and of their national flag, have been torn from their country and from everything dear to them; have been dragged on board ships of war of a foreign nation and exposed, under the severities of their discipline, to be exiled to the most distant and deadly climes, to risk their lives in the battles of their oppressors, and to be the melancholy instruments of taking away those of their own brethren.
Against this crying enormity, which Great Britain would be so prompt to avenge if committed against herself, the United States have in vain exhausted remonstrances and expostulations, and that no proof might be wanting of their conciliatory dispositions, and no pretext left for a continuance of the practice, the British government was formally assured of the readiness of the United States to enter into arrangements such as could not be rejected if the recovery of British subjects were the real and the sole object. The communication passed without effect.
British cruisers have been in the practice also of violating the rights and the peace of our coasts. They hover over and harass our entering and departing commerce. To the most insulting pretensions they have added the most lawless proceedings in our very harbors, and have wantonly spilled American blood within the sanctuary of our territorial jurisdiction. The principles and rules enforced by that nation, when a neutral nation, against armed vessels of belligerents hovering near her coasts and disturbing her commerce are well known.
…
It has become, indeed, sufficiently certain that the commerce of the United States is to be sacrificed, not as interfering with the belligerent rights of Great Britain; not as supplying the wants of her enemies, which she herself supplies; but as interfering with the monopoly which she covets for her own commerce and navigation. She carries on a war against the lawful commerce of a friend so that she may the better carry on a commerce with an enemy.
…
We behold, on the side of Great Britain, a state of war against the United States; and on the side of the United States, a state of peace toward Great Britain.
Alfred does not like it one bit.
It’s not right.
But… Matthew.
And what if Mr. Madison is right? What if it is a war not against the Canadians, but their British oppressors? So many of the Loyalists from the war moved north after the fighting ended. They hadn’t really kicked out their oppressors, just forced them into his brother’s territory. Matthew did not deserve that. He’s not heard much from Matthew concerning whether the British are giving them any trouble, but it’s all so confusing. Because the Canadians are French, yes, but they are also British. They’re also Canadians in the same way that Alfred is an American.
They’re just one group of people living on stolen land, drawing pretend lines.
There is still the chance that the vote will fail. Or, the vote will pass in the House but not the Senate. There are plenty of potential roadblocks for this declaration. But Alfred knows in his heart, because he knows his people, that it will be close. He isn’t sure what the outcome will be, and that is the scariest thing of all.
Alfred does not want to fight with his father because he doesn’t want to have anything to do with the man. He doesn’t want to fight with his brother because Matthew’s letters are the only familiar thing he has in his life anymore.
But the notion of fighting with England to protect the sovereignty of America, and to possibly save Canada from those oppressors…? Hadn’t Alfred vowed to do such a thing years and years ago? To save his brother from the British Empire?
Matthew thinks that Arthur loves him. Maybe Arthur does, but his love holds no value. Arthur loves to have things so that his house, his life, and his heart are not empty. Matthew had simply been a trophy to him, and he managed to convince his brother that he was something more. Alfred recognized it—he had been manipulated by the man once before. Arthur has already thrown away Matthew for a patch of red dirt in the South Pacific; Matthew just hasn’t realized it yet. He never will unless Alfred shows him.
Alfred doesn’t even know the damn kid’s name. He wishes he could save that child, too, before England ruins them. Maybe that’s why Arthur doesn’t reply to his begging to put a stop to the hostilities—he’s too busy with the latest replacement.
The food turns to ash in his mouth.
For where envying and strife are, there is sedition, and all manner of evil works.
Alfred huffs and stands abruptly. He goes to the window and watches as dinner guests arrive on the north lawn. The verse has only made his failing mood worse.
Not that he doesn’t want to acknowledge his jealousy—this is a fact he has been familiar with for years. Ever since Matthew and Father would arrive at his door for the holidays, they had grown closer each time. Alfred knows that he is a jealous person. He cannot claim not to be seditious—he’d fought a war over it. It’s those things that make him evil.
Yet again, something he has been aware of for a while.
Francis had tried to get him to stop leaning so heavily on the Bible, but he could not help it. He wants to change, but he’d been raised that way. The man tells him that it is impossible to be morally upright all the time being Nations, and that the Bible did not mention Nations at all, which he interpreted as the Book not being for them. It’s for the humans who live and die in the blink of an eye. He says that he should get used to that fact, because it’s only going to make his life more complicated if he does not. That Alfred’s young life is already complicated enough.
It doesn’t matter right now. What matters is Matthew. Saving Matthew. Stopping England. It’s not like Alfred can do anything about it. Arthur won’t reply to him, won’t try at all for a solution. This is exactly what happened before. And if Congress decides to go to war, Alfred will have nothing to do with it. He tried-
Lord, this is just like last time. Except England is in the middle of a decade-long war with France, but what is new with that? The only difference is, well, Canada.
He doesn’t want to do it.
There’s nothing he can do.
He doesn’t even have to fight if he doesn’t want to.
If it happens at all.
Which, it might not.
Then what? England continues on stealing Americans and forcing them to fight the French? Alfred continues to roll over? He’d sworn off rolling over years ago.
He doesn’t even have enough time to write Matthew a letter about it. But what would he even say?
Dear Matthew,
The president wants to go to war with England, which means that we will be going to war with you by proxy. I told him not to do it, but I have no final say in such things, so here we are. See you in the trench!
Your brother,
Alfred
Yes, that would be just perfect.
More and more carriages arrive on the lawn. Alfred doesn’t know the explicit purpose of the dinner, but he knows that some of these men are the ones who will be voting on this matter. They don’t know him or his family. They don’t know what they will be forcing him to do.
Liberate Canada. It’s an interesting idea. Does Matthew want that? At what point has liberation stopped and subjection started? Did Father think he was saving Matthew by stealing him from France?
Is it really theft if Matthew was his first? They started as a unified front in North America. His twin, his other half. Europe had interfered with it. He and his twin had been the same, once upon a time, but now they are different. For God’s sake, they hadn’t even spoken the same language by the end of it! And as much as Matthew loves Francis, and Alfred had loved Arthur, they belonged to each other first.
If Mr. Madison is telling the truth, they could be the same once again. Instead of a war to tear apart, this could be a war to unify. Matthew could be safe with him, and eventually Arthur and Francis would stop fighting—they always did. Arthur would never forgive him, but that ship has long since sailed away, so nothing would change on that front. Perhaps even Francis would be pleased, because Alfred would be undoing the wrong that Arthur had committed nearly fifty years prior.
Canada, liberated. North America, unified.
Or Alfred could be completely wrong, as he has figured out by now that he has a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions.
If Congress agrees, if the House votes yes, if the Senate approves the vote, if Mr. Madison signs the declaration. If Matthew even wants his freedom, if Father doesn’t shoot him down once and for all. Except not, because Alfred would stand back up a few hours or a day later. His former father killing him would be the least permanent thing to come from all of this.
Whatever happens—whatever Alfred’s conflicted heart and mind wants—it’s not his fault. It’s not his vote, not his speech, not his war. He’s not the one fighting. He’s just the thermometer. The one who writes important letters that get no response.
Funny. That’s all he’d been fifty years ago, too. Maybe nothing is different, after all.