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The first time Arthur’s two sons meet the royal children is shortly after he acquires Matthew. Matthew is introduced to Parliament and the king, the physical embodiment of the recently acquired land in North America, and then whisked off to Buckingham House on invitation of the king.
“They did not seem overly pleased by him,” Arthur confides in the young king once they’re safely inside.
“They so rarely are pleased,” says George. “But he is a fine child.”
Little Mattie, holding tight to both his brother Alfred’s hand and his father’s, is silent. “He is a good boy,” Arthur says slowly so his francophone son will understand, and squeezes Mattie’s hand.
“How old do you reckon he is, physically?” George asks curiously.
Arthur looks down at his children. Mattie appears younger than Alfred, certainly. He is probably old enough to be breeched, but in recognition of Quebec’s status as Britain’s newest acquisition Arthur has kept him dressed in short clothes with the leading strings tied up in the back because he’d rather hold his hand. And Mattie hates to let go of Alfred. It is rather sweet, how quickly the two brothers have taken to each other.
“Eight or so, perhaps,” he says.
George nods. “But they age slowly, don’t they? When I first met Alfred he was much the same as he is now.”
Alfred glances at the king and then looks down at his feet.
It is times like these that remind Arthur exactly how young George really is. He’s a tall man but in his twenties still, getting into the swing of government after his accession during the war that brought them Mattie. “Yes,” Arthur says, “Alfred here was a baby for quite some time.”
Alfred’s cheeks flush pink.
“I wish mine would stay that way,” George says quietly.
Arthur looks fondly at Alfred. “Oh, they’re always your babies no matter how old they get,” he promises.
George smiles.
In the royal nursery the staff, sitting with the king’s sons, hurry to acknowledge their entry. The younger prince, Frederick, is in his wet nurse’s arms suckling hungrily, and his elder brother George, named for his father, is sitting on the floor with a little toy in his hands. His face lights up when he sees the king and holds his arms up.
“Little Prinny,” George says, picking his child up and spinning him around. The two-year-old prince laughs delightedly. George puts him on his hip and gestures towards Arthur. “Greet your Uncle Arthur!”
Uncle Arthur. Arthur looks at the beaming heir to the throne waving his chubby hand. “Good afternoon,” he says, leaning down to put himself at eye level with the child. It’s been such a long time since Alfred was that size. He misses it. Not that his elder son isn’t still his baby, or that he doesn’t love him ardently–he does–but a moody adolescent isn’t as fun as a child so small and squishy.
“Good aff’noon,” says the toddler, very properly.
“These are my sons Alfred and Matthew,” Arthur says, indicating each of his boys.
“You will be able to play with them when you are a bit older,” says George, looking at Arthur, who nods. What else is he supposed to do? Say no to the sovereign? If George wants Arthur’s little colonies for playmates for his children, he shall have them. “And you will work with Uncle Arthur one day when you are king.”
“My daddy is king,” the prince tells them.
“Is he really?” Arthur asks, exchanging a smile with George. “Alfred, Matthew?”
Matthew, at least, takes the hint. “I am called Matthieu,” he says quietly. Arthur squeezes his hand encouragingly. “I am Quebec.”
“Match,” the toddler repeats, mangling the French pronunciation.
Alfred is looking uncertainly at him. “Alfred,” Arthur says, letting a note of warning slip into his tone. Alfred glances at him with something akin to fear.
“My name is Alfred Kirkland,” he says finally, “and I am the Thirteen Colonies.” He looks back at Arthur, who nods in approval, and then lets his shoulders sink into a slightly more relaxed position.
“I did not know there was enough love in the world for two of them,” George tells Arthur. “Now that I have them I cannot imagine ever being parted from them.”
“God willing you will not be,” says Arthur. He feels much the same way regarding his own children. It is good fortune that they will live long lives together and the risks posed by a child’s fragile constitution cannot tear them apart. To lose Alfred, or Matthew now that he has him, would be a blow he does not think he would recover from.
Matthew is looking at the toddler. “He is small,” he says.
Alfred snorts, looking more at ease than he has all day. “Smaller than you, Mattie,” he agrees.
“I’m big,” protests the prince.
“You are a baby,” declares Matthew, a bit more confident.
“My daddy is king,” says the prince for the second time.
“My daddy is Britain,” says Matthew.
“England, darling,” Arthur corrects mildly.
Before the prince can get into a strop George passes him back to his nurse and leads the Kirklands out, only pausing to blow a kiss at each of his sons.
“They are wonderful children,” Arthur says. “You should be proud.”
There is a soft look on George’s face. “I am.”
Leading his children to the carriage they’ll take to their home, Arthur is proud too. He has two wonderful sons, Alfred, who he found himself on the strange shores of North America, his first and only baby, the one he has raised for over a hundred years, his pride and joy, and Matthew, his new acquisition, passed over from Paris and now his to protect and cherish. He had thought himself lucky beyond measure to have one child, but to have two is joy multiplied a thousandfold. It is these heady thoughts of happiness that Alfred interrupts to say “it is so awkward seeing a baby. What do you do?”
“Your conduct was perfectly acceptable,” Arthur says to reassure him. “But you are so tender and natural with your brother - what is different?”
“Mattie’s special,” Alfred says with conviction.
“He certainly is,” Arthur agrees. “You both are. You are fine colonies.”
“Fine colonies,” echoes Alfred, and looks out of the window, draping his arm around Matthew’s shoulders. Arthur is glad he understands how precious they both are to him. Such magnificent children he has been blessed with.