White Flags (Placeholder)
anonymous
February 19 2011, 23:22:42 UTC
White Flags: A series of related Canada-centric history fics/vignettes, begun for NaNoWriMo 2010. Some of them are request-based, some are from research, some are just for fun.
This fill will contain, in no particular order: history (~1680-2010 CE), historical persons, angst, fluff, mostly-off screen OCs, and whatever pairings strike my fancy.
White Flags (6/?)
anonymous
April 15 2011, 01:07:45 UTC
At the beginning of the American Revolution (August 1775), the Continental Army went north to Canada (French name)/Quebec (English name) in order to: 1) conquer the British military installations, and 2) recruit the Canadians to join the American Revolution. General Richard Montgomery went up Lake Champlain and the Saint Lawrence River, taking forts and cities as he went. Colonel Benedict Arnold, on the other hand, lead a force through what-would-become-Maine based on a (sabotaged) map; he was faced with leaky boats, bad portages, bad weather, and ruined supplies. They met at Quebec City in December, after months of military success for Montgomery and failure for Arnold.
Then it got worse.
~ ~ ~
October 14, 1775 :: near the Dead River
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
( ... )
White Flags (7/?)
anonymous
April 15 2011, 01:09:49 UTC
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
( ... )
White Flags (8/?)
anonymous
April 15 2011, 01:11:57 UTC
"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
( ... )
White Flags (9/?)
anonymous
April 15 2011, 01:13:12 UTC
May 6 :: on the Plains of Abraham
Alfred threw his clothes into his bag, along with his letters and instructions. Damnit, 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
( ... )
This fill will contain, in no particular order: history (~1680-2010 CE), historical persons, angst, fluff, mostly-off screen OCs, and whatever pairings strike my fancy.
Requests filled:France & Canada meet: Part 2: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/3274.html?thread=4782794#t4782794 (2nd ( ... )
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Then it got worse.
~ ~ ~
October 14, 1775 :: near the Dead River
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 ( ... )
Reply
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 ( ... )
Reply
"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 ( ... )
Reply
Alfred threw his clothes into his bag, along with his letters and instructions. Damnit, 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 ( ... )
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:)
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