What Once Was Mayhem is Now a Revolution

by history_punk101

Summary:

One hot summer day in 1777, John Laurens entered Washington's headquarters in order to accept his position as an aide de camp. Little did he know that this would draw him into a complicated web of lies, intrigue, and even murder, all before the new country was even born.

Between a scheming Henry Laurens, the sudden arrival of one Nathan Hale who seems to come bearing truths that no one is ready to hear, new friends who are clearly hiding more than they are letting on, and even the possibility of a romance, John Laurens is about to be forced to face his demons to see if he is really willing to fight for what he believe in.

This is solely John Laurens' point of view, this story is a part of The Venom in my Veins, which contains the entirety of the story so far. This will update every week on Friday and is crossposted from The Venom in my Veins.

Notes:

• Inspired by The Venom in my Veins by history_punk101

Chapter 1: Initiation

I gazed out upon the grassy fields and wild forests as I rode along the quaint country road. Warwick, Pennsylvania was the sort of place that would have been otherwise unremarkable, had the most decisive land conflict in the history of our young nation been occurring so close to it. Washington was headquartered at a house that I was told was at “the crossroads” when given directions for how to locate it. As I rode, one hand mindlessly tapped the inner pocket of my coat, where the letter proclaiming that I was to be an aide-de-camp for General George Washington lay. I had been forced to fight tooth and nail for the position. My father was the president of congress, and he despised the idea of his only son going to war. But for once in my life I had managed to convince him to let me have my way, and know I was on a path to gain glory in battle…and if I was lucky the same glorious death that was associated with it. As I neared a sentry who wore American colors, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, much like how I had pushed my sketchbook to the back of my bag while I was packing for the trip. I was finally to be free from the reaches of my father’s influence, and could finally be my own man.

“Pass and reason for entering camp.” The sentry barked. I fumbled with the button on my pocket for an embarrassingly long time before I was able to grab my pass.

“Here it is sir. I am to be an aide-de-camp for General George Washington.”

The soldier stared at the letter for a moment before handing it back to me and stepping aside from the entrance to the road so that I could enter on my horse.

“Go on sir.” He saluted me, and I returned it as best I could. There was no reason that the man would have known that I was merely a volunteer and possessed no military rank. Oh well, at least someone showed me respect. One of the fears that had kept scraping at the back of my mind the whole ride over from York was that all the soldiers in the camp would laugh at me and ridicule the fact that a polished son of South Carolina’s gentry would come and fight a poor man’s war. Of course they had no idea what the scars on my arms symbolized and how very little I fit the mold of the son everyone expected me to be. Perhaps this appointment to the General's staff would change everything.

After the sentry let me pass, I still had to ride for a good ten minutes before I reached “the crossroads”. At least the ride was a pleasant one, the August sun beating down on the shoulders of the plain coat I wore, and occupants of the tent city I ventured through jovial and merry. Once I did reach the “crossroads”, I was surprised by the headquarters situation. Washington’s headquarters was located in a house that looked like someone had tacked three houses together and expected them to function as one, however the size of the structure was useful given the sheer chaos that typically emanated from places like that. Outside of the “crossroads” were at least a dozen people scurrying around. I dismounted my horse and approached one of the men wearing a continental uniform.

“Good day soldier. I was instructed to report to his excellency General Washington.”

“Good day.” He repeated, recounting the documents he held. “The General is inside. Private Stonewall can take your horse.”

A young soldier who was closer to being a boy than a man approached me and I handed him the reins of my horse with a nod. Removing my tricorn and tucking it under my arm, I made my way into the house, attempting to count backwards in French to calm my nerves. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. As I entered the headquarters I presented the letter to a soldier posted at the door. He nodded at me in acknowledgement and pointed me to where I could meet the General. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. I walked through the hallway to the door, over the floorboard sustained by muddy boots and walls darkened by pipe smoke. Each of my steps sounded far too loud. Everyone in the place could hear me and knew I was out of place. Sweat began to run down my back. They knew I should not have been there. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. Against my better judgment, I knocked on the door.

A deep voice said, “Enter soldier.” It must have been the general, I swallowed back my fear and did just that.

The first time I set eyes on General Washington, I had the same reaction to meeting the great man as many other soldiers. There was something about the man that commanded respect. He was tall with broad shoulders and greying hair that in his youth must have been red. The face was sober but inspired confidence and I understood why so many had put their faith in him as a General.

“John Laurens, Sir.” I said, trying to not let my voice obey my nervousness. Where on earth was the letter?

“No need for the letter son.” He chuckled, almost in a fatherly way. “I know perfectly well who you are. Your father and I have corresponded.”

“Th-Thank you sir.”

“Let me introduce you to some of the men you will serve alongside.” The general nodded to the two other men in the room with him.

“Major Tallamdge, this is John Laurens, he will be a member of my staff.”

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge, 2nd Continental Light Dragoons.” A serious looking man about my age with honey blonde hair and blue eyes that matched his uniform, who before my appearance had evidently been studying some sort of map, held out his hand for me. He gave me a small smile. There was something about the man that seemed…off. Though that may have been merely because of my inexperience with army matters.

“And Hamilton.” There was almost a sort of fatherly fondness in the General’s voice when he introduced a man who was furiously scribbling at a desk in the corner of the room.

“ Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.” The soldier at the desk stood up to introduce himself. He was possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen. Auburn curls pulled back into a queue, deep blue eyes that were made even more striking by the dark circles under them, delicate, almost feminine features, but the confidence and fierceness of a soldier. His eyes burned like fire, and bored into my body, lips twisted into a scowl. Hamilton could not have been a year my elder, yet he had authority. The man was far shorter than the others in the room, however his spirit seemed to make up for the height difference.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton.” I managed to sputter while my thoughts screamed at me about how wrong I was for finding the man attractive. Just look how it had turned out with Francis!

He gave me a curt nod and returned to his work without a second thought. I could have sworn that I heard Washington sigh and shake his head. He was fond of the rude and handsome aide, despite the way that Major Tallamdge clearly glared at Hamilton in annoyance. They were clearly acquainted with each other, though it did not seem a willing acquaintance on Tallmadge’s part.

“Your Excellency, perhaps Colonel Hamilton could show Mr. Laurens the details of his new position given that he is one of the most experienced aides.” Tallmadge suggested, sending a glare his fellow soldier’s way.

“Yes, Major Tallamdge, Hamilton should show Mr. Laurens what he is to do and procure him a uniform.” Agreed the General. I just stood there awkwardly whilst the three soldiers seemed to mentally challenge and refute each other. Eventually Hamiltion put down his pen and rose whilst Washington and Tallmadge relapsed into the conversation they must have been holding prior to my intrusion.  He led me out of the room silently fuming, while I followed meekly behind him. We trudged to the room opposite where Tallmadge and the General still were. 

Inside of the room were about as many desks as could have been placed in there, all covered with papers, inkwells, and enough quills that it seemed as if a flock of birds had come to rest in there. Hamilton strode over to a desk and snatched up a paper. He was still scowling, and still quite handsome. I mentally kicked myself for still admiring the man, but that one part of my mind, the one most susceptible to sin and vice kept remarking that Alexander Hamilton must have looked very, very good without a shirt, or trousers…or any other garments. Goddammit! Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un.

“Now, Mr. Laurens, I require you to understand one key fact.” He said, glaring at me, now holding a piece of paper. “You may belong to the echelons of society, however in the army, you shall be treated the same as every other soldier. You shall have the same workload as the rest of us and be held to the same standards.”

“I-I understand Colonel Hamilton. Let there be no mistake, I am a soldier the same as you and expect to be treated as such.”

Hamilton nodded at me, then scanned the paper and made as if to read something off of it when another man entered the room. He had on the same uniform as Hamilton, but he was a Colonel, not a Lieutenant Colonel like the man who had been designated to acquaint me with my duties in the camp. He was about average height, with brown hair and eyes of the same, along with a rather prominent nose which bore a slight crook in it. The man introduced himself as Colonel Joseph Reed, the man who was in charge of Washington's staff.

“Major Tallmadge considers himself in a position to give advice on the going ons of this office, Mr. Laurens, I must assure you the Major’s assumption is wildly incorrect and he holds no sway over these matters.”

“I believe I understand, sir. Do not listen to Major Tallamdge.”

“Quite right, and completely ignore every one of his notions of Colonel Hamilton. The two of them do not get on.” Reed eyed Hamilton at that last remark. The man had returned to one of the desks, apparently having considered himself relieved of me.

In fact, Hamilton’s incorrect assumption was actually quite useful for me. Colonel Reed was quite useful and before I knew it, I had a continental uniform, and was appointed as an aide de camp. I was made a Lieutenant Colonel like the other aides, despite the fact that the process usually involved being a volunteer for several months, congress had recently approved the General's request for several more official aides and I had been the first appointed. The exact details of my becoming a Lieutenant Colonel were rather hazy given the mixture of the sheer excitement of the day and my general anxiety of saying the wrong thing or disrespecting the wrong officer. However, I do distinctly remember signing papers, swearing an oath to the continental congress before being handed a uniform and thanked for my enlistment. 

Reed directed me to his tent so that I could change out of my civilian clothes. He pulled aside who seemed to be yet another aide and the two of them discussed the new sleeping arrangement given that a new aide, me, had been added to the military “family”. Of course my familial relationships had been turbulent at best, so the idea of being a member of another one was not the most appealing prospect. As I removed the last signs of my civilian existence, I donned the military uniform and fixed the green ribbon that denoted me as an aide to his excellency, General George Washigton, across my chest. This was to be a new beginning, one where I was not automatically tied to my father, and I finally had a chance to pave my own path, either obtaining fame from the war, or meeting a glorious end on the field of battle. At the moment, I could not quite determine which path seemed more appealing. However, what was appealing were the open august skies and general energy of the camp, full of patriots who were ready to give their lives for their country, quite the change from my experiences in Europe, but a welcome one.

Notes:

Everyone say hello to our favorite John Laurens! Since this is this fic's first chapter, I just want to go over one major point:

THIS IS ALTERNATE HISTORY! It will NOT play out the same way as the real American Revolution, some of the people will not be historically accurate, the battles might be wrong, I know. I am a history student. I plan on majoring in american history. i get it, this is annoying. I am doing research and will link my sources down below.

Sorry about that, just needed to get it out of the way. On a lighter note, want to hear a fun fact? Well you're gonna anyway!

Did you know that AO3 refuses to acknowledge that Benjamin Tallmadge's last name is a real word? Yeah.

Here is my main source on John Laurens, cannot recommend checking it out enough:

https://works.swarthmore.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1200&context=suhj

Chapter 2: Inception

Summary:

in·cep·tion
/inˈsepSH(ə)n/
noun
the establishment or starting point of an institution or activity.

My wrist ached after my first day as a member of Washington's staff. After explaining that as a member of the staff, I was responsible for handling the General's correspondence, transcribing meetings, sending letters to congress, and translating papers, Reed had put me to work. I had made the mistake of allowing him to know that I spoke French, so he placed me under Hamilton, who still held animosity towards me, in order for the red haired man to instruct me on translation techniques, as well as how to function in my new position. We sat at a desk together, and as I put instructions into French, I could not help but feel the animosity that radiated off of Hamilton. He had not spoken a word to me, other than to rebuke my work and tell me that it ought to be done over. At the other desks around us, men laughed with each other and taunted their fellow compatriots. However, I was resigned to sitting in silence due to the nature of Hamilton. Reed came by once in order to check my work and he declared it to be satisfactory, an opinion that got an eye roll from Hamilton. When the sky darkened and the other aides began to pack up, I felt an immense relief wash over me. I would finally be free of Hamilton.

There were still plenty of things I needed to do, the first and foremost unpacking my belongings, I had merely been given the chance to deposit them in a rather messy tent before returning to the office. Setting foot outside of the crossroads was relieving. The cool night breeze whipped the grass every which way, and a summer storm was brewing off in the distance. It was a lovely night, the sort of night that if I had been home in South Carolina, I would have walked down to the creek and begun my search for turtles. Those little shelled reptiles were some of my favorite creatures to walk the earth. Snapping turtles, basking turtles, all so adorable and the object of my every thought. If given the chance, I would have very much liked a turtle as a pet, keeping it as some might keep a dog. Several pages of my sketch book were filled with sketches of turtles, and my younger siblings made sure to inform me if any new reptilian friends were found at our home.

My thoughts were filled with pleasant visions of my armored green comrades. Perhaps a pet turtle would be a better idea than I had previously given it credit to be. My father despised my affinity for shelled creatures, however I was now far from the reaches of his influence on how I was to live my life. Thus, turtles! It took a good while for me to reach the tent that I was to share with an unnamed partner. Reed popped his head in to make sure that I was in the correct space, and once confirmed, he told me that I ought to be prepared for another day of work tomorrow. As my mind was still mainly occupied by my beloved turtles, it took me a moment to respond.

“Of course Sir. I shall be prepared for yet more translations and Hamilton’s ire.”

Reed barked a laugh at my last comment and told me that the desk situation should hopefully not be permanent, information for which I was endlessly thankful. No matter how attractive I found Alexander Hamilton, he for reasons unknown to me hated me, and getting distance between ourselves was certainly in both of our best interests. Thus, having summed up my feelings on my desk mate, and unfortunately resigned my thoughts of the wonderful animals known as turtles to the back of my mind, I turned to survey the tent I was to call home. Inside of the canvas structure the space was divided into two. Two cots and two trunks at the foot of said cots. One half of the room was evidently far more messy than anyone in a military camp probably should have kept his space, with clothes tucked sloppily into the truck, which was still open, and books and papers strewn about. In fact, these papers encroached on the side of the tent which was to be mine, so much so that, after removing my jacket and hat, I had to spend the better part of half an hour cleaning them up. 

I barely look at the papers, instead opting to gather up those which crossed the invisible line I had mentally used to split the tent, and piling them neatly on my fellow soldier’s cot. Once the papers were taken care of, I removed my boots, tucked them on the cool grass that acted as the tent’s floor, and sat on my cot flipping through a book on the natural life of South Carolina. I was completely engrossed in the whole chapter devoted to the greatest of all god’s creation, the turtle, thus it took me a moment to notice that the man I was to share a tent with for the duration of my military service was sone Alexander Hamilton.

“Why did you move my papers?” He demanded, still wearing his full uniform, hands stained with ink.

“Your papers covered the entire tent, I merely moved some so that they were not on my side.” I shrugged and prepared to return to reading about my beloved turtles. A few years previous I had drawn some soft shell specimens for a journal and I felt compelled to review my sketches.

“Do not touch my things again.” With that warning, Hamilton removed his coat, caveat, and boots, before crawling into bed and putting out the lantern. Within a few moments, light snores began to emanate from his side of the tent, and I fell asleep wondering how I had been so unlucky to be assigned to bunk with the one man who despised me. 

The next few days were hardly any better. I spent every hour the sun was up in the office, transcribing letters to congress, translating documents into French, even answering General Washington’s correspondence. All the while Hamilton was there, sharply correcting me on any misspellings and glaring over my shoulder if one word of a translation was off. From the way he acted, one would have expected him to be the leader, but that was Reed. Reed was dubbed the old man by the other aides, Meade, Tilghman , and Fitzgerald. With their affinity for giving fellow aides nicknames, Meade and Tilghman had already begun strategizing what to call me, however their creative endeavors were fruitless given that neither knew me enough for the name to be effective. To all I was Laurens, given the sheer number of Johns in the army this was the only practical outcome to the dilemma. My father had to be referred to by his full name in order to differentiate between the two of us, and for once I was glad to know that I was the member of the Laurens clan that came first. One small victory.

Only on Sunday was I finally free in the afternoon and I took advantage of my knowledge of the natural habitat of box turtles to go down to the creek which was situated only a short walk from camp. The sky was bright blue, marred by only a few wispy clouds and as I meandered through the encampment, passing countless tents and somehow even more countless soldiers. As I passed the thick trees, limbs bowing under the weight of bright green leaves and birds singing, I gripped my sketchbook and ran the tips of my fingers over the smooth pencils I had stashed in my pocket. It had seemed like an eternity since I had been able to sketch, simply spending the afternoon admiring the landscape and how the sun reflected off of the water, trying my hardest to capture the memory into a tangible object.

I took a seat at the side of the creek bank, right where the stream turned and a weeping willow dipped its branches low enough to just barely graze the surface of the water. Pulling out my sketchbook and running a hand over the smooth paper, the faint scent of gunpowder drifted over towards me on a breeze. The soldiers must have been drilling. I put pencil to paper and began to capture the broad strokes of the scene. Just as I had begun to shade the branches of the willow, there was a rustling on the bank to my right and I scanned the creek to find the origin of the disturbance.

Storming through the woods was Major Benjamin Tallmadge. Tallmadge was tossing rocks into the creek as he walked, with far more force than necessary, and muttering under his breath as he did so. It took me a moment to discern that he was cursing someone by the name of Nathan Hale. When he came within a few yards of me, Tallmadge abruptly stopped, startled.

“Did you hear anything Laurens?” He demanded, slightly blushing from embarrassment.

“No sir. I did not hear anything.” I fibbed, “Though if I may ask, are you alright sir?

“It is quite complicated.” He sighed and sat next to me on the bank, running a hand through his dark gold hair. “God has no idea the toll this war is taking on the country.”

“That is war.” I mumbled.

“Feeble and cowardly men romanticize it to convince young men with the ideas that all this is, is glory on the battlefield and nothing more. No waiting, no second guessing every decision and praying that you made the correct one.” Tallmadge shook his head and gave me a tired look and bittersweet smile. “Have fun Laurens, whatever you think is horrid now, I can only assure you it will get far, far worse.”

“Worse than sharing a desk with Colonel Hamilton?”

“Ah, so you were thrust right into the center of the suffering.”

“Clearly you have experience with him. The man refuses to allow anyone to encroach upon his ambitions.” I mentally rolled my eyes at the thought of Hamilton. The handsome bastard was impossible to deal with.

“I knew him before the war. A complete, if you would forgive me for my language, asshole, but ten times better with a quill than any man has a right to be.”

“I believe your assessment of Hamilton to be fairly accurate. If only it was not true.”

“Glad to know that we share a common enemy.” Laughed Tallmadge, his mood evidently improved. “Best of luck to you with your future endeavors in this army, Laurens. Something tells me that you shall require it.”

“Thank you Major Tallmadge.”

“Please, call me Ben.”

Evidently a hatred of one Mr. Alexander Hamilton was not the only trait Ben and I shared, we both shared a similar appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rather lankly. Oftentimes in the camp, Ben and I were mistaken for each other by people who really ought to have known better. But I did not mind, I had found one ally in this camp, and that was more than enough.

Notes:

Was John Laurens historically as obsessed with turtles as I make him out to be? No, he wasn't. Is it still one of my favorite tropes so I will forever use it? Oh hell yes!

This isn't a very historical chapter, but I did have to bust out the wikipedia page for Washington's aides, so here that is:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington%27s_aides-de-camp#Military_secretaries

Also Hamilton and Laurens did share a tent at some point during the war, but I can't be assed to figure out when that happened, so artistic license for the win!

Chapter 3: Lull

Summary:

lull
/ləl/
noun
peaceful or quiet period before a time of argument, difficulty, or activity.

I was down by the creek at my childhood home, just walking through the reeds and observing the churning of the river over the rocks. A bird called to another while I attempted to locate my beloved turtles. But something felt off. The trees were in slightly different positions than I recalled them being. Everything within my sight was bathed in golden sunlight, however that somehow was off too. Nothing was right. The bird calls did not resemble anything I had ever heard in South Carolina. The croak of the bullfrogs, just out of sight, was either too sharp or too low. However, the worst part was when I noticed the figure slowly creeping towards me. It was painfully familiar. Before I could run, the silhouette of my father appeared on the horizon. Fear overtook me when I realized that he was chanting something.

“Useless son shall become a useless soldier. Failure, failure, failure!” He barked, over and over and over and over.

My throat felt dry and panic set it. I wanted- no needed to flee, but my feet were stuck to the stop. My father came closer. His face was hidden by shadow, however a pair of bright red eyes shone from the darkness. The same shade of red began to flow freely out of my arms. There was no pain, though I wanted to sob the minute I became aware of the blood. Then the world began to shift. The sky went ashen, and the trees lost their leaves. Below my feet, the creek ran red with blood. I tried to scream but no noise made it past my lips. He was catching up to me and-

I sat straight up in bed. It was a dream, nothing but a night terror. My heart still raced in my chest, and I quickly looked around the tent in order to make sure that there were no demonic figures lurking in the shadows. The only other occupant was Hamilton, and he was fast asleep, his blankets thrown over his curly red hair. Other than my fellow aide’s peculiar way of sleeping, nothing was off about the tenant, and I laid back down, wrapping my arms around myself as a pitiful form of comfort and drifting into a thankfully far less eventful slumber. In the morning, I could still recall the dream painfully well, and as I tied my caveat, it became obvious that I was not the only one aware of what had transpired the previous night. 

“Laurens.” Hamilton called after me, right before I was to exit our tent. 

“Yes?”

“Are you well? I heard a disruption around midnight.” He said. There was an ever so slight note of concern in his voice which made my heart skip a quick beat. Why was Alexander Hamiton, who seemed to be nothing but abrasive and argumentative to me, concerned that I woke up in the middle of the night? More importantly, how was he aware of this?

“Yes, I am alright. I merely woke up.” I shrugged. With that we parted ways for the day, but the odd conversation stayed in the back of my mind while I worked. It had been so unlike Alexander Hamilton to ask about anyone’s well being that when I mentioned it to Meade, he looked at me with surprise and commented that he did not know Hamilton was capable of finding concern for others. Meade did say so in a jesting tone, I knew he, Fitzgerald, Tighman and Hamiton were rather close, being aides far longer than I. However all three of them whose first name was not Alexander viewed our fiery comrade as an interesting specimen. But unlike me, Hamilton jested with them and they all had a sort of brotherly bond. Tallmadge and I seemed the two people in camp he despised the most. There seemed to be an abundance of animosity between the two men. Why, I did not know.

The incident, as I dubbed it, marked the beginning of a noticeable shift in Hmailton’s attitude towards me. As we worked, I got less noticeable glares and he even began to stop correcting my spelling errors so pointedly. August morphed into September. The nights became cooler and I started to tug my quilt just a bit tighter around me at night. Many of those evenings, I would either talk with Ben, who was quickly becoming my foremost companion in the camp, or meander along the creek in an attempt to catch a glimpse of my favorite creatures, the magnificent turtles.

One day near the beginning of September, Fitzgerald stopped me right before I was to exit the office. John Fitzgerald was one of the most trusted aides and a bit more serious compared to Meade and Tilghman. He spoke with the sort of accent to be expected from his Irish heritage, and had red hair, although it was far more dull than Hamilton’s.

“Laurens, the other aides and I are to visit a tavern this evening, and Meade implored me to grant you invitation. Should we expect you to join us? There seems to be an abundance of pretty young country women in Pennsylvania, eager for adventure.”

I could not help myself but to wince slightly at the mention of the country women. What Fitzgerald intended to do with them was obvious, that sort of deflowering followed every step the army made. This was not at all the sort of activity I enjoyed, though it was assumed by my brothers in arms that it was.

“I would quite enjoy accompanying you on this excursion, however I have already made arrangements for this evening.” It was a blatant lie. Neither did I enjoy the sort of revelry that tended to occur in the sort of establishment that Fitzgerald had proposed I patronize, nor did I possess any prior arrangements that would prevent me from accompanying them. However, I did not care very much for the company of my fellow aides, they were all far too loud and boisterous for my taste. No, I would much rather prefer to spend the evening sketching and conversing with Tallmadge. He was at least reserved enough to not get inebriated every chance he was presented with, along with generally just being the best company I had found in the army.

As I made to leave the office for the day, to hopefully seek out Tallmadge, I could not help but notice the sharp tones emanating from the General’s office. There were two participants in the confrontation, and given that I truly did not have anything more urgent to do, I slowly creeped towards the slightly ajar door. Once I did so, it became more obvious that the two disagreeing souls were General Washington himself and my despised tent mate, Alexander Hamiton.

“Sir, the British will continue on if we do not make a stand!” He protested, gesturing at something on a map that I was unable to view.

“Hamilton,” The general sighed, looking rather weary, “I am perfectly aware of your opinions on this army’s actions, though I must remind you that you are not the general, nor do you even command a single troop!”

“Sir, with all due respect, you are the one who has not given me a troop to command!” Shot back Hamilton. As he fumed, someone else approached in the hall behind me.

The man behind me could not have been older than twenty years of age, but wore the uniform of a major general, and thus I knew his identity in a heartbeat. The Marquis de Lafayette, the youngest major general and a Frenchman who came to aid us in our crusade against the tyrannical British government. General Washington had taken the younger man under his wing and was a sort of father figure to the young frenchman. Lafayette had been off in Philadelphia up until then, and I had not had the honor of meeting him. 

“Est le général dans?” (Is the General in?) He asked me.

I gave him the proper salutation for his station and replied in my rusty french, “Il s'agit du général Lafayette, mais le général et Hamilton sont actuellement mêlés à une dispute et il ne semble pas probable qu'ils mettent fin à leur discussion de si tôt.” (He is, General Lafayette, but the general and Hamilton are currently embroiled in an argument and it doesn't seem likely that they'll end their argument any time soon.)

“Et sur quoi porterait cet argument ?” (And what would this argument concern?) Instead of being furious at me for eavesdropping, Lafayette seemed as interested as I was, and I quickly filled him in. “Ah, ça devrait être intéressant.” (Ah, this ought to be rather interesting.)

With that the two of us oriented ourselves so that we were both able to see into the office and observe Washington and Hamilton. Washington was as calm and in control as ever, however there was a slight twitch in his eye, the only evidence that he was annoyed. In stark contrast, Hamilton had drawn himself up to his full height, although it was not very much, and his red curls were starting to escape from his queue as he gestured wildly.

“And why am I not fit for a command?” The younger man demanded.

“I require you as a translator, and your skill with a pen is unmatched, Hamilton. You are far more valuable to me as an aide.”

“Laurens is fluent in French,” My annoying tent mate protested, “Besides, congress does not even bother to open your letters. You do not require me here!”

Washington pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and shook his head. “I need you alive son.”

“I am not your son!” Hamilton fumed, storming out of the office and almost pushing me and Lafayette down. We just looked at each other. Whatever business the two of us had with the general could certainly wait till tomorrow.

I took advantage of my freedom for the evening to go locate Ben, like I had intended all along. He was in his tent, which was not a very lengthy stroll from headquarters, maybe five minutes. When I arrived, I could just make out the figure of Tallmadge seated at the small desk he kept in his tent, intensely examining the papers atop of said desk. As I waited awkwardly outside of the tent for Tallmadge to acknowledge the fact that I was there, a soldier came up to me and handed me a note from the general. He addressed me as Major Tallmadge, and despite my protests, refused to believe that I was not in fact the intended recipient of the order. However, this disturbance did manage to draw my friend from his tent and he soon managed to clear up the confusion.

Glad to release any responsibility I might have for the note, I handed it off to Tallmadge who thanked me, and opened it to read it. Once he got to the second line, Ben’s brow furrowed and determination danced behind his eyes. Within a moment that order was in the pocket of his uniform and he had turned to speak to me.

“We have got to prepare for battle tomorrow Laurens.” He said, a bit of fire creeping into his vibrate blue eyes, “I’ve got to ready the Dragoons, and I’d advise that you go find your horse and a gun. Tomorrow will help decide the war.”

Notes:

A few notes for this chapter:

-Hamilton would have gotten in a ton of trouble for talking to Washington like that, but I kind of need him next chapter so deal with it

-Yeah the french is shit, I used google translate, just wait until we get to the language I'm actually learning in school

-I may be a history nerd, but I don't have time to thoroughly investigate the lead up to the battle of Brandywine, sorry! Story might be different if it was the battle of Gettysburg, but this chapter is already late enough

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4: Brandywine

Summary:

Brandywine
bran-dee-wahyn
noun
a creek in SE Pennsylvania and N Delaware: British defeat of the Americans 1777.

I urged on my horse in an attempt to report back to the General. To say that things were going badly would have been a severe understatement. The British had crossed Brandywine creek at the single ford we had not managed to fortify, the single ford! Now we were being overwhelmed. Lafayette was trying to rally his men, and as I dashed past him on horseback, it seemed as though the young general had been wounded, though I had no proper time to check. During times of battle, the aides were expected to act as carriers for General Washington, so as some led glorious charges, I was relinquished to acting as a messenger, riding just as hard, though gaining none of the glory. As I clutched the orders for General Green, a stray bullet buzzed past me, sounding almost exactly like the fat bumblebees I was so accustomed to seeing on lazy summer days. I simply urged my horse on and uttered a silent prayer that I would emerge from the carnage unscathed.

From somewhere on my left I heard a desperate shout of “Hold the goddamn line!” that I could have sworn came straight from Tallmadge’s lips. As I rode on, the shrieks of men falling prey to British bullets and bayonets rang in my ears. All I could do was urge my horse on faster and clutch the orders for Green. Within a few moments I handed the order off to a member of his staff and rushed back towards Washington’s Headquarters. When I skirted the edge of Brandywine creek, I could not help but wonder how it had become a place of tranquility to a place of chaos in only a few short hours. The place where I had been hunting for turtles, the magnificent little armored animals that they were, would be the last place many men would ever live to see. While I passed past where I could have sworn I had heard Tallmadge, my eyes perked up in an futile attempt to try and catch his voice again. My thoughts drifted back to the other men I was acquainted with in the camp. 

There was very little of my concern left to spare for the majority of my fellow aides, Meade, Fitzgerald, Tilghman, the whole bunch would be fine on their own. Besides, they were not the type of people I enjoyed keeping company with, there was nothing wrong with them, I simply did not enjoy that type of company. Hamilton was more complicated. Given that he both seemed to slightly care about my well being and despite my existence at the same moment, I had no idea whether I was to obey logic and not devote any time to pondering his outcome in the battle, but there was also that little part of my mind, the one that thought him handsome and filled with glee every time I got a small grain of praise from him, that said I ought to very much care what happened to him. However, instead of being forced to listen to the competing forces of my heart, I instead got to endure one of my worst nightmares.

Across from me, on the other side of Brandywine, a sharpshooter loaded a bullet into his musket, peering through the brush and pulled the trigger. Two seconds later a burning pain seared through the top of my left shoulder. Although hot pain seared through the top of my shoulder, I managed to keep enough of my wits around me to urge my horse on so as to get out of range of my assailant. A few moments later, I managed to reach Washington's headquarters, still clutching my reins as tight as physically possible. The Headquarters were as chaotic as one would expect in the middle of battle, although one head of red hair stuck out through the muddle of soldiers. Hamilton. He should have the next message for me to take. Maneuvering my horse through the camp, I finally reached my ornery bunkmate. Still midconversation, Hamilton was instructing a courier on Washington's orders for him when I appeared. He quickly sent off the courier and set his sights on me.

“Do you have orders for me, Colonel Hamilton?” It was rather peculiar to be looking down on Hamilton from my perch upon my horse, although his diminutive stature made it so that I was almost always gazing downward upon him.

“What happened to your shoulder, Larens?” He demanded, eyeing the wound on my shoulder.

“It is only a scratch.” I protested. The bullet had merely grazed my shoulder and the pain was nowhere near the worst that I had ever experienced. Nothing about the wound prevented me from functioning as a messenger. However, my head did feel as though the space behind my eyes was being tightly packed with cotton.

“Get down from your horse, messengers need to not be actively bleeding while riding.” Hamilton ordered, there was such force in his voice that I dared not disobey. As I dismounted my horse and tied the best of burden up, it became painfully clear to me that the enemy projectile had penetrated far deeper into my shoulder than I had previously believed. Glancing down at my injured extremity proved such. Nearly the entire shoulder of my deep blue uniform coat was soaked in deep ruby red blood. Some men may have fainted upon seeing the fount of warm life sustaining fluid seeping out of their own body, but it was a sight that I knew to be familiar and swallowed any fear at the sight while I followed the force of nature that was Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton forced his way through a hoard of soldiers until we were within sight of the medical tents, emanating with the cries of wounded men and those being treated for their injuries alike. The smell of blood and flesh in the relentless afternoon sun was enough to turn my stomach and I was forced to physically prevent myself from gagging. While I attempted to not empty the contents of my stomach onto the trampled grass, my fellow aide had found the man that he had clearly sought. A fellow a good few years both of our juniors, with his coat long tossed aside and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, yet still tainted with blood, dark hair constantly escaping his messy queue was the object of Hamilton’s march.

“Dr. Hale!” He called out, the man with the bloodied clothes raised his head and peered through the blinding afternoon light to eventually root out Hamilton’s small frame. In said afternoon light, the sun’s benevolent rays hit Hamilton’s deep bluish purple eyes in such a way that they seemed to be the brightest and most pure color in the whole dirty camp. Though, that might have just been the shock of battle talking.

“Colonel Hamilton.” Dr. Hale acknowledged, “Do you require my services for a wounded man? The hospital is quite full at the moment, however I am sure that we could acquisition a cot.”

“No need, doctor. One of the aides was grazed by a bullet and we simply require banadages in order for him to still function in his capacity as a messenger.” Dr. Hale finally took a moment to gaze upon me and his eyes immediately located my wound.

“Just a graze?” He muttered to himself, “Damn bloody backs hit deeper than just a fucking graze.” Despite the fact that Dr. Hale swore like a sailor, neither Hamilton nor I reacted. There were some things that you simply ignored in the heat of battle.

Dr. Hale disappeared into one of the medical tents for a moment and I feared that he had simply pronounced my wound not mortal and left me to help others, but in a moment, he reappeared with a roll of bandages, which he gave to Hamilton.

“I assume that you understand how to bandage a wound.”

“I do.” Hamilton confirmed. It would be a horrible lie to say that I was not slightly concerned that my fellow aide, who seemed to despise me, would be the one treating my injury. However, in my defense, most people would be reluctant to leave an actual doctor in favor of the treatment of someone whose feelings on them were more confusing than the causes of the war.

With that being said, Dr. Hale went back to tending to the more grievously wounded soldiers and us two aides left the hospital area. Hamilton said not a single word to me, merely walked as I followed. My shoulder had begun to truly ache, and I knew that the loss of blood was the cause of my pounding headache. I desired nothing more than to lie down and sleep until the pain diminished, however I had a duty to the army and thus had to stay awake. Much to my surprise, Hamilton ended up back at our tent, which I could have sworn was a much further distance from the medical tents, although my memory may have simply been playing tricks on me. Upon reaching the tent, I made the decision to mentally rifle through the contents of the satchel that had contained all of my belongings in order to determine if there was anything in it that might diminish the pain. Still silent, Hamilton went the route of searching through his trunk, which was as much of a mess as the rest of his side, while I suffered.

Right as I was about to go and see if there was anyone else who might be able to bandage my shoulder so that I could return to my duties as a messenger between generals, an “Ahah!” came from Hamilton’s side of the tent. His red hair was practically all hidden within the trunk and I could have sworn that he was practically entirely inside of the thing, but he had clearly located the object of his search. Hidden in the very bottom of his trunk, was a small leather flask. I raised an eyebrow when both the owner of the flask and the flask were finally both free of the confines of the trunk, which granted me an explanation.

“It is whiskey.” Hamilton explained, “It ought to help with the pain and to clean your wound.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your efforts.” The words that came out of my mouth sounded wrong, and were most certainly the wrong thing to have said, but Hamilton still nodded and merely passed me the flask so that I could attempt to dull the pain. I passed him the roll of bandages and while he inspected them so that he might be able to unroll the thing, I mentally laughed at the events which had unfurled before my eyes only a minute previous. By far the most entertaining sight I had seen in the last month as an aide was Hamilton practically inside of his trunk and rooting around for the flask. It was so out of character for such a serious and resentful man to be so interested in finding something, muchless something that was to aid me. A switch had clearly flipped in my diminutive and fiery companion’s mind. He no longer seemed to resent me, at least that was what his eagerness to tend to my wound indicated. After observing that I had in fact consumed some of the spirits, Hamilton nodded and then finally spoke again.

“I believe you ought to remove your shirt so that I may reach the wound.” He said. While I stripped off my jacket, Hamilton checked to see how much whiskey was left. I knew it was standard practice to pour whiskey in the wound to clean it, yet I was also aware that knife wounds healed perfectly fine without any intervention and mere bandages. Although I very much wished to be spared the burning sensation of whiskey on wounded flesh, I also understood that the questions that would follow upon my comment of the lack of need for whiskey would be far more painful than any physical sensation.

Thus, using the arm attached to my unwounded shoulder, I also removed my caveat along with my bloodstained coat and unbuttoned my shirt in order to allow it to slip down far enough as to allow access to the injury I had sustained. The pain was reduced to a mere throbbing in my body once I focused the majority of my energy into studying Hamilton’s actions. The man had pulled a book out of his trunk and was studying a page of it, the book held at waist height so the red curls that had long escaped his queue fell down around his face, delicately framing his features. If he were not standing directly within my line of sight, I would have sworn that Hamilton was a figure from a painting of a man at war, not a flesh and blood soldier. His lips were pursed slightly and there was that small, sickening urge in the deepest pits of my mind that told me my tent mate must have been a rather wonderful man to kiss. But if God had made Hamilton so perfect on the outside, he must have remembered to also make the man as perfect within. He was obviously not ill as I was, not cursed to feel attraction to men as one should to women. No, if the world had any sense of decency, it would be smart enough to leave me alone in my detestable affliction.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted when a burning suddenly increased the pain on my arm and I yelped. Standing to my side was Hamilton who had poured the whiskey on my wound. He looked slightly apologetic, however there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, like a schoolboy who played a successful jest on his schoolmaster. I glared at him, although Hamilton suddenly realized that I was a good head taller than him and could have fought him well even in my injured state, and decided that the best decision would be to actually apply the bandages to my wound. Ever talkative, Hamilton rambled on about what he had read in the medical book he for some reason unknown to me possessed, and his vague interest in medicine. Due to the fact that my arm was in excruciating pain following the whiskey being dumped on it, I for the majority of the time elected to ignore Hamilton and instead began to wonder about the whereabouts of my horse. Within a few moments he had finished with my shoulder and as he removed the extra bandages, a few of Hamilton’s thin, ink stained fingers gently brushed against my collar bone. I for one was left reeling at the sudden contact, especially in such an intimate palace, and a bit of blush penetrated between the owner of those finger’s multitude of freckles upon realizing what he had done. As he mumbled an apology, I pulled back on my bloodied coat. Messengers were in short supply and given that my wound did not severely impede my riding ability, I vowed to continue my efforts on the battlefield. Besides, if another projectile was to hit me, the bloody backs would hopefully be capable of hitting their mark this time.

“Do try and not be so reckless this time Laurens.” Sighed Hamilton as he heard of my intention to return to the battlefield. His tone was an odd mixture of concern and jealousy. Washington kept him behind the lines transcribing orders, yet instead of solely wishing he was at least acting as a messenger, the man was troubling himself with my wellbeing. If he had been a woman doing such before me, I would have kissed him on the forehead to reassure him, but we were both soldiers so I merely granted a verbal reassurance.

“I shall not be, although the bloody backs seem to be concentrating their fire for you unto me, so there is only so much I can accomplish.” At this remark Hamilton chuckled before we went our separate ways, him to his pen and headquarters, and I to my horse and the roar of battle.

For the next several hours I rode hard, dodging even more bullets, all of which buzzed by like bumblebees. I am sure that my fellow enlisted men would have considered me to be a fool if I ever remarked to them what the tools of our deaths reminded me of. Every man on that field fought valiantly yet it was still not enough. The bloody brits pushed through our army and by nightfall, the fight was hopeless and it was clear that the Brits had won. All the bloodshed and furious fighting had been for nothing, and I could only wonder where the war would head.

Notes:

Hey everyone!This is a REALLY long chapter that I took a decent historical liberty with. There is no evidence that John Laurens got shot at the Battle of Brandywine, but I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort so it stays. Hey, at least I didn't take as long to get this chapter out as the last one. In other news, the Halemadge romance is now also published in its completed form as: The Minister and the Tavern Keeper: A Story That Ought To Have Gone Very Differently. As always, prove you exist with some comments and or kudos!

Here are the sources I glanced over for this chapter:
https://www.battlefields.org/learn/revolutionary-war/battles/brandywine

28636-medical-services-available-during-the-revolutionary-war-including-treatment-for-soldiers-wounded-in-action

Chapter 5: Hibernal

Summary:

hi·ber·nal
/hīˈbərnl/
adjective
of, characteristic of, or occurring in winter.

With the British now occupying Philadelphia, Washington’s army and consequently me, made the trek to winter quarters. In the weeks and months after the defeat at Brandywine we had desperately fought to keep control of Philadelphia, but alas, the British forces had prevailed, taking the city and forcing congress to flee to York. Thus in early December, the decision was made to make camp for the winter. The location chosen was Valley Forge and the march to that place was easily one of the most miserable military endeavors I ever had the joy of participating in. The winter wind bit into my skin, stripping it of any potential heat as I rode atop my horse. The frigid weather had taken a toll on all of the army as the men I was riding along all looked far more downtrodden than they had three months previous.

With another gust of wind, I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. Having never seen the valley, I could only pray that it would provide some sort of shelter from the elements. The days were shorter now than they had been and we were nearing the solstice. Thus the sun had already begun to slip behind the mountains of eastern Pennsylvania as a multitude of men, all devoted to one cause, plodded on towards the place that was to serve as our headquarters for the next few months. Picking my pace up a bit, as to catch up to my fellow aides, yet another bout of wind lifted the hat off of my head. Quick as a flash, I caught it and firmly pressed it back onto my head. If there was anything invaluable in this climate, it was protection from the weather. Within a few moments I had managed to reach one of the other aides, and he was an aide I knew quite well. 

Hamilton was riding a rather ornery bay horse that we had plundered from a farmhouse a few days back. The horse was rather reminiscent of its rider as it refused to obey him and Hamilton’s cheeks were red with exertion by the time I reached him.. He had to yank the reins quite hard in order to keep the beast of burden he was atop from veering off into a nearby field and I got a glimpse at his hands. The wool gloves he wore were both nearly black with ink and so threadbare that I could see the pale flesh beneath them. Said hands were clearly reddened from the elements, and it was painfully obvious that they hurt.

“Quite lovely weather today is it not Laurens?” He grumbled, yet again having to yank the horse so that the beast would stay on the old farm road.

“Some of the best this year.” I remarked as my teeth chattered. There was nothing more alluring in that moment than a roaring fire and true bed. Although there was absolutely no chance of that being in my future.

“Last year was nearly as bad. Our only casualties that winter were men frozen to death.”

“Seems like that ought to be our fate again.” As I spoke, the light blue scarf Hamilton had wrapped around his neck became undone and fluttered in the wind.

Noticing this, he stopped pulling his horse’s reins with all of his might and lifted one hand in order to fix it. Due to the harshness of the cold, this was a necessary action. The troublesome steed took its rider’s brief distraction as an opportunity to bolt. The horse veered off into a field and as it did so, managed to throw its rider. Hamilton landed on the frozen ground only a few steps from the road and as he did, it became clear that something was off. Thus I bade my horse over to him and quickly dismounted in order to assist him. If it had been several months prior, I would have not bothered, fearing the rebuttal from Hamilton, however he had been courteous to me ever since the battle of Brandywine and had ceased cursing me under his breath when I moved his papers along with making less pointed comments on my translations.

Within a moment I had tied the reins of my far more behaved horse to a fence post and was lightly jogging over towards Hamilton. He had not made any effort to chase after the offending horse and his face was twisted into a grimace. Given that his hands were wrapped around his right ankle, it was quite easy to deduce the injury he had sustained. Grabbing a small satchel from where it had landed in a snowbank, I reached him quickly.

“Are you alright?” I pried as I attempted to assess the situation.

“What do you think?” Hamilton grunted as he rubbed his right ankle and winced. It was odd seeing an expression of pain on his face and I was filled with an overwhelming desire to alleviate his pain. My heart ached a bit and whatever the feeling that was coursing through my body was, I could not say. But there was one thing that I did say:

“May I help you up?” I stretched out my hand and Hamilton took it. A grimace spread across his freckled face the moment that I got him upright and in that moment we both simultaneously realized that the ornery horse had severely injured his ankle. With one arm around my neck and one of mine under his ribs, we managed to get him to a nearby stump. Although to say that “we” did it would be rather generous, I supported the shorter man’s weight while he attempted to not cry out too loudly in front of the columns of soldiers marching by us.

Once I deposited him on the stump, I glanced around to see if any other of Hamilton's possessions were in sight, along with to search for a medical officer who might be able to properly assess the injury. Within a moment it was obvious that none such officers were in sight, although I could have sworn I glimpsed the horse that had thrown my fellow aide across a field, saddle nearly falling off. We were nevering getting it back. Thus it seemed that the best course of action would be to yet again turn my attention to Hamilton, in hopes that he might be able to formulate a plan to get him to Valley Forge, or at the very least to Washington and the other aides.

I looked down at Hamilton as yet another freezing gust of wind assaulted us. He had pulled his scarf tight around his neck and was gazing off down the road, in the direction that the endless parade of soldiers were heading. A few paces behind us a soft grunt of annoyance came, and I suddenly remembered my horse, having paid far too much attention to the misbehaved one in the last few moments.

“Do you think you could mount a horse?” I asked my injured comrade.

Hamilton glanced down at his ankle, then back at my horse before replying, “I highly doubt that I would be able to make it up by myself.”

A quick glance over at my horse confirmed this fact. Given that I was fairly lanky, the steed was a fine size, however Hamilton’s diminutive stature meant that he would have had a slightly difficult time mounting under regular conditions, not to mention with a sprained ankle. 

“But,” He continued after seeing my slight frustration, “if I stood on the stump and you aided me, I might be capable of doing so, thus preventing us from being stranded all the way out here.”

I could have kissed him when he presented his plan, and Hamilton looked as though he was rather pleased with himself for figuring out a way he could get back to camp. The sun was still lowering itself behind the mountains as quickly as ever, so we had to hurry in order to not be left behind by the army, all of whom had passed by us, far too absorbed in their own misery to bother inspecting our situation. But nevermind that. Within a few moments, I had managed to bring my horse alongside the stump and also convinced the beast to stay still for a moment, as to allow its new rider to mount. Hamilton’s pale fingers dug tightly into my arm as I helped him stand. Whatever had managed to do to his ankle was quite bad and would in all likelihood keep him in a splint all winter. He drew in a sharp breath as the two of us worked together in order to get him to the point where he was standing atop the stump. 

However, that was when we encountered a rather troubling fact. Hamilton had injured his right ankle, the exact foot that he would need to lead with in order to mount the horse. Even moving the leg seemed to cause him pain, so with a quick glance to each other, I placed my hands around my companion’s concerningly thin waist and boosted him up, as to allow him to settle himself atop the horse. After plenty of squirming, a half dozen curses, and me nearly being kicked in the face twice, Hamilton was atop the horse and looked back down at me.

“My plan was a success Laurens.” He noted a triumphant note in his voice.

“So it was Hamilton, so it was.” With that I stepped off of the stump and made for the side of the horse in order to walk alongside it.

“Do not dare tell me you are planning on walking to Valley Forge!” Hamilton protested the moment both of my boots were on the hardened ground.

“The enlisted men are doing so.”

“They march day and night, of course they are doing so.” He scoffed, “You sir have no experience marching, and besides, the sun shall set before long.

He was not wrong, night was fast approaching and I did not fancy spending the entire ride to camp swaddled in darkness. With a sigh, I waited while Hamilton took himself off of the saddle and rested directly behind it, then swung myself up onto the saddle, this time no stump required. It took a moment for me to settle myself properly, mainly so that I could assure myself that Hamilton was still behind me. When that was confirmed, I clicked my tongue and the horse jolted forward. Clearly unprepared for the sudden motion, Hamilton pitched forward into me and the effort of such an action also pushed me forward. Due to the only bit of good fortune either of us still possessed, neither of us fell off of the horse, although that was just barely.

As the horse trotted towards Valley Forge, we both righted ourselves, and I could not help but notice that Hamilton seemed to have grabbed my coat in order to right himself. The most notable part of this action was in fact where he had chosen to grab. Instead of holding onto the back of my coat or even the side, Hamilton had instead chosen to nearly wrap his arm all around my front, hand resting only a few inches from my stomach. A sort of electric spark ran through my limbs and I realized that I would have very much liked for him to be touching me in far more places. After a moment of hesitation, I switched the reins to one hand and gently placed my free one over Hamilton’s. I braced for him to move away, but he stayed and intertwined his fingers with my own. Within a few moments, he was also leaning against my back and the weight of someone against me was the exact sort of physical contact that I had been unconsciously craving for years.

Thus the ride into camp was strangely enjoyable, even though the wind still howled in my ears, and the cold seemed to bite at every inch of my skin. The sun was nearly almost all gone by the time we reached the old farmhouse that was to act as Washington’s headquarters for the winter. It was not the nicest place, but there was a lantern in the window and a stable for the horses, which was nearly full. Enlisted men continued to file into the winter camp as I dismounted. In order to help Hamilton down, I had to grab his waist again, and yet again I noticed how concerningly thin he was as he practically fell on to me. We were both far too exhausted from weeks of maneuvering around the British behemoth to have considered any other way for Hamilton to dismount, and a little voice in the back of my mind told me that he probably enjoyed being touched as much as I did. But the moment the thought came up, I banished it back down. I was ill, Hamilton was not.

With help from Meade, who for some reason was outside, presumably in order to locate us missing aides, we managed to get Hamilton inside, with him limping and me supporting the majority of his weight, a mass far less than I assumed it to be. He sat before the fire while Meade sent Fitzgerald to go locate a doctor to assess Hamilton’s injury, and I brought in our satchels, the majority of our belongings still a day's march away. Pretty much the entire farmhouse was filled with officers who ought to have had their own tents but did not, all the entirety of Washington’s staff. Since the house was so full, the only free sleeping space was on a makeshift cot in the attic, which I claimed. To call it a cot would be generous, it was far more akin to a nest of quilts on the ground which must have been seized from the previous occupants of the house, but it was far superior to sleeping in a chair, which I feared might have been my situation for the night.

By the time I had managed to locate a place to sleep, which I was sure I would share with Hamilton, Fitzgerald had located a surgeon. The surgeon was the same man that had “assessed” my injury at Brandywine and seemed to know Hamilton. It only took one look at Hamilton’s ankle for him to declare that it was broken and to recommend that we acquire a splint for it. As soon as he finished he left the headquarters, without even bothering to describe how to acquire a splint. It was later explained to me that there was an excess in cases of frostbite following the march, and Dr. Hale was urgently required at the makeshift hospital that had been set up, meaning that Fitzgerald grabbing him to assess Hamilton’s ankle was leaving the hospital quite short staffed. Luckily, one of the officers had experience with creating splints for broken bones and quickly fashioned one for Hamilton. He did it so fast and left so quickly that I never even caught the man’s name. But nevermind that.

After a quick supper of hard bread and salted meat scavenged from the basement of the farmhouse, I was presented with the daunting task of figuring out how on earth I was going to manage to get Hamilton up to where we were to be sleeping. The stairs presented a daunting challenge, but with a few minutes of deliberation between the two of us, we finally agreed that if I got my arm under his and essentially supported all of his weight, nearly in the same way I had managed to get him into headquarters, it would be possible for the two of us to mount the stairs. Once we did so, a process which required me essentially carrying Hamilton at one point, we reached the bedroom, and while Hamilton stripped off his army jacket and remaining boot, I silently prayed that we would not be required to stay in such quarters for very long, although that annoying sick part, in the very very back of my mind, did not mind if we slept in the attic for the rest of the war, so long as I could have Hamilton so close to me, and our bodies pressed together so much. To stave off these sinful thoughts, I removed my coat and boots and slipped into the makeshift cot, where Hamilton was already laying, and put out the single candle that illuminated the attic. Within seconds we were engulfed in total darkness, and an overwhelming desire for sleep began to wash over me.

“Good night Laurens.” Hamilton sleepily murmured from my side, head already cradled in a pillow.

“As to you Hamilton.” I replied, already slipping into a sound sleep.

Notes:

Exactly one week since the last chapter! Are you proud of me?

All jokes aside, this is probably my favorite Laurens chapter to date and its HEAVILY inspired by Striving for Helpful by dumbsharky- here's the link if you wanna go check them out:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336068/chapters/64134289

Didn't really do any research for this chapter, but I feel like I should mention that most of my information on day to day life in Valley forge came from the book Forge, which I was made to read in 8th grade. Fun fact, John Laurens actually gets a cameo, but he isn't gay :(

Chapter 6: Disintegration

Summary:

dis·in·te·gra·tion
/disˌin(t)əˈɡrāSH(ə)n/
noun
the process of coming to pieces.

Notes:

*Warning!*

This chapter contains pretty graphic descriptions of self harm, if this triggers you PLEASE DON'T READ THIS!

I woke up that morning with Hamilton curled up next to me. He was not truly touching me, but the sight of him, burrowed up in blankets and so seemingly innocent, was enough to strike a cord deep inside of me. If either of us had been a woman, I would have kissed his cheek and wrapped my arms around him, entwining the two of us. Instead, I merely gazed at him for a moment, remembered the true state of my soul, and decided that the best course of action would be to dress for the day. Even by the time I was in my full uniform, Hamilton had not stirred, and I was left to descend down the stairs for coffee by myself.

Despite the fact that we had arrived in Valley Forge only twelve hours previous, the office was already up and running. It was in a far smaller room than the one we had occupied in previous months, to the point where only three desks were capable of fitting in the room. Reed had decided to share a desk with Tilghman, citing the black haired man’s penchant for joking around as a reason for him to have an eye kept on him. Fitzgerald and Meade had found it fit for them to share as well, leaving me and Hamilton stuck at the final desk. Apparently I was to be bound to the man for the remainder of my military service. After acquiring my coffee, I settled at the desk in order to copy down an order for the location of latrine pits, real nice stuff. Within a few minutes, I was completely immersed in my work and was only taken out of it when Fitzgerald tapped my shoulder.

“Hamilton is stuck upstairs due to his ankle and needs help getting down. Due to the fact that you helped him get up there, he is of the opinion that it is your fault that he is stuck and thus responsible for helping him get down.” He said, a slight smirk on his face.

I could not help myself but to chuckle at the remark and replied in the same jesting tone that Fitzgerald had used. “Of course I shall go rescue our darling damsel in distress.”

This got a round of laughter out of the entire group of men and as I left the office in order to help Hamilton, I could hear jokes emanating from the room at poor Hamilton’s expense. He had been rather bossy when we hatched the plot to get him up the stairs, and after the grueling journey yesterday, I felt like having a bit of fun. Thus, after I had helped the injured man down the stairs, I had scooped him up into a bridal style carry and paraded him though the hallway and to the office, all the while Hamilton screamed at me to put him down, but I knew that the sense of amusement that gleamed in his eyes was entirely the consequence of my action, and so my face lit up with a wicked grin. The entreaty of the office roared with laughter when we entered and everyone decided that it would be in our best interests to refer to Hamilton as “Lady Hamilton” for the rest of the day. Every time someone called him such, he would glare at them, as the offending aide stifled a laugh.

For the next fortnight or so, we aides fell into a nice routine. Our sleeping quarters had been consolidated to one room on the second floor, and Hamilton’s ankle had healed enough that he only required a helping arm to lean on in order to traverse the stairs. The room we slept in had been furnished with our military cots, however the room was small enough that there was only enough room for three cots. Thus, I ended up sharing a cramped bed with the shortest member of our group who was unsurprisingly, Hamilton. Luckily for any sinful thoughts that might have occurred with this situation, my bed partner rose early and came to bed late. Some nights the only way that I even knew he had slept was the fact that I stopped shivering in the night. It was odd sharing such a sense of intimacy with a man I had had rather horrible thoughts about, and every rare morning I spent laying next to Hamilton, my heart ached knowing that any future I might have wanted to share with him was both a horrid symptom of the illness I was so ashamed of, and an unrealistic ember of hope that still burned deep in my chest. 

Then it ought to go unsaid that I was filled with endless relief when us aides were informed that we would be sharing the sort of cabins that the enlisted men had built in order to survive the winter. Reed told us that we would be two to a cabin and would finally each have our own beds. A small cheer of jubilation spread through the five of us, which was only interrupted when Reed informed us that we would be drawing names for who would share with who. To my horror everyone was paired off until Hamilton and I were left to share the final cabin. Even worse, this was the singular cabin with a double bed, versus two cots. With my shameful tendencies, this was quite possibly the worst possible outcome for the winter. After helping Hamilton move our things into the cabin, I left him writing out a letter to someone I never bothered to learn the name of.

I needed to get away from everything, from everyone, if only for a little while. During the last few weeks it felt like I was being constantly suffocated. There were piles upon piles of translations that I was required to complete everyday, all translations that I was most definitely not qualified to be doing and was constantly criticized for by practically everyone who actually knew French. Now there was the added stress of this living situation and the piling up of letters from my father, all demanding responses to correspondence that I either never received or had lost due to the fact that the army moved. And worst of all, every two weeks, I received a letter from the one person I desperately wanted to forget existed.

Some part of my stress and sleep deprived and severely addled mind decided to head for the tree line at the edge of camp. Before I even realized that my feet were moving, I had arrived and felt like I wanted to scream. The trees were suffocating me and my breath came in short, painful gasps. I gripped my arms as tight as physically possible, digging my fingernails into my palms so deep that little pinpricks of ruby red blood appeared under my nails. Everything felt overwhelming, like everyone in the camp was staring at me, judging me. I could hear the voice of my father, screaming at me, condemning me for all I had ever done wrong. Still drawing blood with my nails, I sank to the forest floor, ignoring how wet the snow would be getting my coat. Tears blurred the edge of my vision and I had never felt any more pathetic in my entire life. The entire world would be better off without me, if I curled up in a ball and died right then, no one would even miss me.

Suddenly a thought materialized in my panicking mind. There was a knife in my pocket, a small letter opener I had been meaning to return to the office for the better part of a week. But I should not, I could not. One more time could not hurt, could it? I still felt as though I could no longer breathe as I gazed at the small silver blade. It would not be the first time I had contemplated doing such and it would be far from the last. Pulling up the sleeve of my coat and the shirt underneath only revealed dozens of faint scars, crisscrossing my veins and forearm. It was a horrid idea, but I pressed the silver blade to my arm and gently pressed it into the pale flesh. A few ruby red droplets gathered on the edge of the blade, catching the rapidly fading sunlight like little jewels. Overwhelmed with a sort of morbid curiosity and desire to feel something, anything, I pressed the knife deeper. Blood oozed freely from my self inflicted wound now, and some sick temptor in my mind urged me to press it deeper yet. This shall solve all of your problems, it said, no more father meddling with all of your personal affairs, no more pangs of illness everytime you look at your handsome bunkmate, no more guilt knit into the very fabric of our soul. The temptation was too great and I gave in. Just as I was going to do the same on my opposite wrist, shouts of my name broke me out of the sickening trance.

Tallmadge and Hamilton both appeared in the woods with a lantern in hand, breathing heavily as if they had been running all over camp. With his injured ankle, Hamilton was limping and had to lean on a tree in order to rest his injured extremity. He had evidently noticed by absence and most likely recruited Tallmadge to search for me, remembering that we were rather close. The two of them shared a look before the red haired man slowly approached me. He did not say a word, quite the rare occurrence, but merely knelt down beside me on the ground and gently removed the blade from my shaking fingers before taking out his handkerchief and applying it to the slash and pressing the heel of his hand into it to stem the flow of blood. I must have cut deeper than I thought because the blood began to seep out from under the handkerchief and soon began to spread, covering my bunkmate’s hand and staining my coat sleeve the color of wine.

“Are you alright?” He finally said, only after we had both risen to our feet, still pressing the handkerchief over my wound. All I could do was to shake my head and choke back tears. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to collapse into someone’s arms and bawl my eyes out while they comforted me. Deep down I was nowhere near the brave soldier that all expected me to be.

“Oh dear god! What happened to you Laurens?” Tallmadge exclaimed upon seeing my wound. I could barely responde as I was beginning to feel as though my head was stuffed full of cotton and my limbs were constructed solely of wood. Together with Hamilton, they managed to get me to one of the medical tents where a doctor stitched the wound up and conversed with Hamilton as I lay on a cot, sedated via whiskey stolen from a distillery.

“This is not the first occurrence of a soldier attempting to take his own life that I have observed.” The doctor noted, “It has been a rather trying winter.”

“That was what he was attempting to do?” There was a mix of genuine fear and concern in Hamilton’s voice, two emotions quite rare from the man.

The doctor nodded, “Yes, it seems as though that was his intention.”

“You-you mean that if he-he had cut just a little bit deeper, I would have lost him?” Now Hamilton’s voice sounded as if he were about to burst into tears. The pure fear in his words was palpable, and choice of phrasing intriguing.

“Indeed, a slight bit more pressure and he would no longer be with us.”

A small sound, smoothing akin to a whisper, escaped Hamilton’s lips, and that was when the epiphany dawned on me, lying there, inebriated, on an old cot. Alexander Hamilton was utterly terrified of me dying, nay him losing me. He feared neither the bullets of battle nor the might of the British Empire, but the mere thought of my death was enough to reduce him to such a state which no one on that continent had ever seen before. As I attempted to process this information, and discern what on earth this could possibly mean in regards to the relationship I shared with the man, a woman’s voice, presumably one of the nurses, joined the conversation.

“You ought to be ready for this to happen again, Colonel Hamilton. The illness of the mind that prompts these sorts of episodes is not one that is easily remedied.” The nurse’s words were solemn and I could not help but think that she had experience dealing with these sorts of things, although I was not quite sure whether this was good or bad news.

With a nod, my fellow aide replied, “I-I shall try my very best to prepare for such. Thank you so much for the information, nurse-?”

“My name is Hannah Hale, sir. I am wed to Dr. Hale.”

They continued to speak for a couple of minutes, however the whiskey that I had been given had finally decided to take effect on my senses, and before long I had drifted off to a deep sleep. Presumably, while I was asleep, the doctor, who given my previous experiences was almost certainly Dr. Hale, Hamilton, and Mrs. Hale had all moved me to the cabin that I occupied with Hamilton given my position as an aide de camp to General Washington. After a thankfully dreamless slumber, I do not trust that my twisted mind could produce anything positive given the situation I found myself in, this was where I awoke under rather unusual circumstances.

Notes:

Thought I'd give you guys a nice depressing chapter on this lovely Monday. But, this is definitely the quickest I've ever written and posted a chapter, 4 days! Should I have a posting schedule? Yeah, probably, but this is far more interesting!

If you've read The Venom in my Veins or The Minister and the Tavern Keeper: A Story That Ought To Have Gone Very Differently, you should recognize Dr. Hale and nurse Hannah. Yes, Dr. Hale is the single person who has to deal with Hamilton and Lauren's NUMEROUS injuries.

I think it's pretty obvious I didn't use any sources for this.

Chapter 7: Developments

Summary:

de·vel·op·ment
/dəˈveləpmənt/
noun
a new and refined product, experience, or idea

It was the next morning when I at last awoke from my whiskey induced slumber. I was curled up on the bed that Hamilton and I were to share. The bed was a rather nice one, clearly intended for a married couple than two twenty something men. Outside the wind howled, lending an eerie tone to the otherwise fairly peaceful morning. Or at least the morning had been rather peaceful for me due to the fact that I had just awakened from a thankfully dreamless sleep and was wrapped up in a quilt that was most likely also commandeered from one of the various farmhouses that the army now occupied in our winter camp. My mind was still fairly foggy from a mixture of the whiskey and sleep, and it took a few moments to fully realize my current circumstances. Unlike most previous mornings for the better part of six months, I was not alone in the cabin, nor even in the bed. My head was resting on someone else’s lap and I could just feel the tips of slight fingers run themselves through my hair. Whoever was doing it was being quite gentle, and the feeling was pleasant enough that I dared not move lest they stop. The slow, repetitive motion had managed to keep whatever panic and dread typically rose in my chest after an episode of that sort from occurring…and it also was simply enjoyable to have some sort of human contact that was not the bare necessity.

Whoever’s lap I was resting upon was rather comfortable and I dared to close my eyes again, letting my body yet again try and drift off into that peaceful state. To say that this was the most calm I had felt in weeks would be an understatement. The omnipresent ball of anxiety that typically took root in my chest every waking moment was finally gone, and for once I was content with basic human physical contact. That was when the whispered words began to flow. I could barely tell what was being murmured at first, and quite frankly I was far too exhausted to bother to decipher the words. But that was when the voice grew slightly louder. As fingers were gently run through my hair, the whispers finally formed themselves into words.

“You ought to never do that again, it-it was horrid…horrid for anyone to have ever gone through with such a thing. I feel horrible that you would ever do something like that to yourself. You are such a decent man, nay, better than decent, you are a wonderful man who I wish I was capable of spending more time with. I-I just wish I knew that these awful things went on in such a mind, since you always seem to be fine on the outside. Always respecting every soldier, going along with whatever jest Tilghman has come up with now…even putting up with me. You know, a decent chunk of the camp hates me, they think me an insolent child who does not deserve his place as Washington’s right hand man. Some even murmur that I am his bastard child. His bastard child! But you, you are always polite, and-and I know I correct you too much, criticize everything too much…push away everyone too much.”

At this point that voice speaking became too choked with emotion to continue, and I came to one extremely startling revelation. Alexander Hamilton was the one who was so gently stroking my hair and upon whose lap I had been resting. Many considered him to be the most ornery man in the army, constantly getting into arguments, but here he was, pouring the innermost thoughts of his mind out to me, because he thought I was asleep. Before I could properly interpret this, he continued to speak, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.

“W-When Tallmadge and I found you lying there, all covered in blood and so pitiful, the-the first thing I thought when I saw you was that this was the most afraid I had ever been in my life. Ben, Ben was a saint. He has always been one. I-I knew him before the war, he was in trouble and I acted as his lawyer. We did horrible things to get him out of prison, horrible things. But when he found you, he told me to go to you, then helped me get you over to the hospital. Never in my life have I had to keep my-myself from crying so much. Laurens, I know you probably hate me, and think I am constantly annoyed with you, and only tolerate you, b-but I feel like, I feel as though if I lost you, I-I would die. And, oh it's so wrong, so so so wrong, though I still think that the only thing I want, other than to forever be remembered, is for you to kiss me.”

With that last remark, Hamilton trailed off, and a very stupid and very sinful, and very horrible impulse came across my mind. Under typical circumstances, when i had control over each and everyone of my urges and was painfully aware how sick and twisted my mind was, I would never have dared act on it, but there was still a little bit of liquid courage flowing through my veins, and the sheer pain in Hamilton’s voice had broken something so deep and dear in my heart that I could not help but to indulge…just this once.

Moving far more tenderly than I ought to have, I regretfully extracted myself from my position on Hamilton’s lap. While I rubbed my right eye in a mimic of removing the sleep from it, I attempted to gauge my friend’s reaction to my “awakening”. His face was a mask of calmness, but I had put up the same mask far too many times to not recognize the fear in his eyes that I might have heard his confession. That was when I began to consider the true implications of what I was about to do. This could get me hung. There was a reason that I was ill, and spreading it to another innocent man was willingly ruining his life. But, that little voice in the back of my mind noted, he said himself that he wanted to kiss you, indulge in your vices for once in your life John! If you are bound for hell as you so clearly believe, then give the devil a reason to welcome you with open arms! With that cheery encouragement from the embodiment of temptation in my head, I swallowed my fear and decided to be brave for once in my life. The wind howled louder outside as our eyes met, dark blue and light blue gazing into each other's souls. We were both afraid, afraid of the consequences of what we both apparently wanted to do. The only question was who would be bold enough to act on their impulse.

Hamilton held my gaze intently, with those blazing eyes that seemed to always have a passionate fire burning in them, and slowly brought his hand up to cup my cheek. He rubbed his thumb over my stubble as we slowly leaned in towards each other. Within a moment my lips were on his, and I had one hand behind his head. We were kissing, we were truly kissing! It was an action I had only done a handful of times before, but it seemed as though my partner was far more experienced in the act than I was, as he had managed to bring his other hand around my back and was holding onto me, all the while pulling us together. Alexander Hamilton tasted like horrid coffee, slightly less horrid whiskey, and vaguely like ink. This was oh, so wrong, but at the same time, it felt oh so right. I felt as though nothing in the world could harm me at that moment, not the might of the British Empire, nor my father’s wrath could reach me then, I was, for once in my life, completely and utterly safe.

This feeling continued long after we had broken apart, and even after I had laid down on the bed next to Hamilton and rested my head on his shoulder. The two of us were tangled together, my arms wrapped around my partner’s chest and head on his shoulder as previously stated, while he essentially held me and ran a hand through my hair, resuming the same repetitive motion that had gotten us into this whole situation in the first place. We stayed that way for several minutes, and during that time I was just appreciative of the fact that the man I had so long considered to be perfect in every way would even consider kissing me, who was broken in nearly every way. Of course I was with Alexander Hamilton, and it was only so long before he began to speak again.

“So I supposed that you enjoyed that nearly as much as I did?” He finally asked. I had no memory of the conversations that had ensued the last few times I had kissed someone, so this seemed as normal a question as any for him to be posing.

“I did quite enjoy it.” I mumbled, “I would not mind if we continued this sort of relationship so that it might occur again.”

Hamilton stayed quiet for a long moment, and I was already cursing myself for proposing something so rash. Of course he would not want that, who would want that? This was a one off lapse of judgment on both of our parts, nothing more, nothing less. However, when he did finally speak again, he completely contradicted what had been my understanding of the situation.

“You know Laurens, I do believe that I would rather enjoy that. We are always together anyhow, and there is no reason for anyone to expect that our actions would come from anything other than the strongest band of friendship. I have no reason to believe that a relationship between the two of us could be any weaker than that between a man and a woman on the sheer scale of gender. Yes, it would be wonderful if I could call you my lover.”

Now it was my turn to be silent for a moment, before finally whispering my response. “Calling me your lover would imply a certain action, would it not?”

“We would not have to unless you were comfortable with doing so.” He quickly answered, moving his other hand so that he could rub it up and down my back. Once I was fully surrounded by him, he continued to speak: “You are a good man and I have full confidence that neither of us would push the other to do something that he would not equally enjoy.”

“That is a reasonable assumption.” I agreed, shifting myself so that I was now gazing upon his face and pressing a light kiss to his cheek before finishing my statement. “I would quite enjoy being your…well what would we be? Lover seems wrong.”

“At this time I do agree, I am not your lover right now, and neither are you mine. And neither are we courting as a man and a woman would, however it seems as though we are to be quite more than merely friends.”

“Then it seems as though that is something we ought to consider later.”

“Quite right, Laurens, quite right.”

It only then struck me that we were to be entering into a rather intimate relationship, yet were still referring to the other by our surnames. This seemed wrong, as even close friends would refer to themselves by their Christian names, and we were to be going far past the boundaries of a close friendship, something far more akin to a romantic relationship than anything else.

“You need not call me Laurens.”

“Then what do you desire for me to call you by?” He asked, genuine care on his face.

“My close family has always called me Jack.” I finally summoned after a moment of consideration. There were always far too many Johns for me to be referred to by my given name.

“Then Jack it is,” Said the man I was laying beside, his voice reminded me of the purr of a cat when he continued, “So long as you are willing to refer to me as Alexander.”

“That I am happy to do.” With that I kissed Alexander again, and we were both happy, if only for a little while.

Notes:

They kissed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Isn't everyone so happy? I know I am!

Just one update really quickly: I have decided that actually having a posting schedule is probably a good idea, since I'm writing a lot more than I was a few weeks ago. So from now until I decide to change it, this fic is now is gonna update every friday, probably sometime around 8 pm AO3 or London time.

If you liked this, please leave a comment, they make my day!

Chapter 8: Materialization

Summary:

materialization
muh-teer-ee-uh-lahy-zey-shuhn
noun
A sudden and unexpected appearance

Alexander and I’s relationship was quite nice, and it would be a lie for me to say that it had not significantly improved my outlook on life itself. It was rather nice to wake up every cold and miserable morning to a small kiss on the cheek and to be able to share knowing smiles with someone as we labored over the endless hours of copywork and composed dozens of letters to a congress who seemed determined to ignore the needs of the army. This was the sort of repetitive work that could drain a man of his spirit within a few weeks of doing such work. Having a close confidence to suffer through such together made it far more bearable and the fact that I shared a desk with Alexander significantly improved after our kiss. He seemed determined to maintain as much physical contact with me as possible, something that was far easier in our cabin where we could cling to each other as much as we desired, than in the office, where the other aides were constantly present. However, if they were distracted, he did tend to gingerly place one hand on my thigh, merely to find my reaction some times, others simply to be touching me.

Through this arrangement, I discovered the fairly obvious fact, looking back, that I desired physical contact as much as Alexander did. When we were alone in the cabin, often late at night, Alexander would read a book and I could curl myself around him, head buried in his shoulder and arms wrapped around his still concerningly thin waist. Occasionally he would read aloud and have me rest my head on his lap, running his nimble fingers through my undone queue. Once he finished this wonderful action, I would pepper his freckled face in kisses, relishing in how much I could make him laugh as I did so.

However, life in the army did not stop when our relationship commenced, and I was soon tasked with helping prepare for the remnants of the rest of the army to arrive. It was roughly a week before Christmas, and we had been in the camp since the beginning of the month. Thus, it was reasonable to assume that the last part of the army, the part which had faced off against Burgoyne at the battle of Saratoga under Gates, would finally arrive in camp. But, the army was not to be led by Major General Gates, he had made the decision to spend the winter in York in order to “better convince congress to adequately provision the armed forces.” Needless to say, Washington had been furious when he was informed of the news, and Alexander had shared that fury. In fact, the entire higher command of the army was enraged by Gates’s decsion to essentially desert. Regardless of how insubordinate this was, there was also a bit of relief when we learned that Gates was not to spend the winter at Valley Forge. He was quite the difficult man to get along with according to all of the aides and Tallmadge, and seemed determined to undermine Washington at every possible opportunity. Thus, the announcement that one of his Brigadier Generals would be assuming his military responsibilities for the winter was a relief for many, including myself.

General Washington seemed determined to make sure that this Brigadier General, Gates had not bothered to specify which one, would be far more receptive to orders than Gates, and decided that the best way to make a decent first impression on the man, would be to greet him himself, along with all us aides and several other important officers, including Tallmadge. This was how I found myself standing amidst the other aides and officers, feeling the chilling winter wind in every bone of my body, as an endless column of soldiers in tattered uniforms crept slowly towards us. Peering through a pair of borrowed field glasses, I could just make out a figure atop a horse riding at the head of a small group of several other horsemen. This must have been the Brigadier General Gates had sent in his place.

I lowered the field glasses. The man that we were to meet was still a decent bit off, and it would take a minimum of a quarter of an hour from him to reach us. Several of the men around me had begun talking amongst themselves, and if Alexander had been by my side, I would have engaged in conversation with him, perhaps even held his hand and enjoyed that pleasant nervousness in my chest which seemed to occur every time he gazed at me. Those blue eyes could hold so much passion and wit and sheer energy, to the point where I felt as though I would melt every time I met them. It was obvious to me that I was in love, and the object of my affections seemed to reciprocate those feelings almost as fervently as I felt them. Unfortunately Alexander was not by my side, having been pulled aside by the General for a brief conversation, leaving me alone.

Due to the fact that I had not been an aide as long as the others, and was by nature rather aloof, I had only formed a few friends in the camp, namely Alexander and Tallmadge. Although to describe Alexander as a friend felt rather sacreligious, the most technical term for our relationship would to be to refer to him as my romantic partner, however that felt awkward and formal and suffocating. Luckily for my current predicament, Tallmadge was standing only a few yards away from me, and he appeared to be as thoroughly chilled through and bored as I was. So, I decided to move until I was standing next to him, to allow us to converse.

“Good day, Laurens.” Tallmadge nodded, giving me a small smile, “Are you feeling any better?”

“I have recovered significantly.” I replied, attempting to phrase my next statement so that no one who might be eavesdropping would realize the full details of my injury. “Any…external injuries have been slow to heal, but the pain which was the product of their existence has almost completely vanished.”

This was a horrible way to explain to one of the men who had come across me when I was bleeding out in the woods, that I was no longer in pain from slitting my wrist, but the action seemed as though it would leave a permanent scar on my wrist, which would only add to the others. For some reason he actually seemed to understand what I was saying, a miracle worthy of the almighty himself, and inspected me for a moment, most likely to gauge how truthful my statement was.

“You do look far better than the last time I saw you.” He confirmed, “Dr. Hale is capable of working wonders when he desires to.”

“Have you experience with his medical care?” I inquired.

“I in fact do. Before the war, I was in Albany and sustained several injuries, and seeing as Dr. Hale resided there, he treated me. Given that this was a few years previous, he was far younger, however it seemed as though his work was still as decent then as it is now.” Seemingly without thinking, my companion brought one of his hands to the other’s palm and traced a place where a scar must have been if you looked closely.”

“I did not know that you had been in Albany.” I remarked. The city had an…interesting reputation. It was somehow both a pit of sin and squalor and a holy city. An oxymoron of a place if I had ever seen one.

“Well I did.” He seemed almost bitter when he spit out the words, so I quickly butted in to clarify my remark.

“It was not my intent to bring up ill feelings.”

“I know Laurens,” He sighed, “unfortunately I simply have rather strong feelings regarding Albany and my time before the war, and I would much prefer not to discuss them. Perhaps we could talk about a slightly more pleasant topic?”

“Of course we can! Now how much do you know about turtles?”

After subjecting Tallmadge to my thoughts on the great species of animals to have ever existed, and discussing in depth my love for the armored animals, finally ended with my desire to have a turtle of my own, the line of soldiers had finally begun to file past us and into the camp. It was only another moment before the general that everyone had been waiting for arrived. He rode atop a brown horse, who seemed to be ratchet gentle and well behaved, and wore a dark grey wool great coat over his continental uniform. One of the foremost things that I noticed about the man as he approached us, was just how pale he appeared to be. The hue of his skin was not so pale as to indicate illness, but it did give him a rather severe appearance.

Upon seeing General Washington waiting to greet him, Gate’s replacement diverted from his place in the parade of soldiers, many of whom seemed to be putting on their best show for the general, and dismounted from his horse. Since I was a young boy, I have always had a habit of analyzing people as best I could from brief interactions with them, in my experience physical characteristics and how a man carried himself could often allow one to tell an awful lot about him. Thus, I studied the Brigadier General in this way. His skin was as pale as previously mentioned, but beneath his tricorn hat, his hair was dark and slightly falling out of his queue, framing his rather handsome face. Although he walked with confidence, something about his mannerisms were slightly off putting. For some reason that I could not place, he reminded me of a thief. However, given that there was no evidence to prove this assumption, I buried it in the back of my mind and instead moved to join Alexander and the rest of the aides to watch the two generals meet. The Brigadier General, who appeared rather young when I thought about it, gave Washington a small bow when they finally met, face to face.

He said, “General Washington, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

“I can not understate how glad I am to finally have our army reunited, General.” Washington replied. Then the two men shook hands, Washington’s hand encased in fine leather gloves meeting the other which wore only a rather well worn wool glove.

From this minor interaction, I was able to infer several important pieces of information about the new Brigadier General. First, he was quite young, perhaps only a few years my senior. Second, he did not come from the same level of wealth and prestige as many of the other generals. And finally, Gates most likely knew all of these facts and intentionally sent him to Valley Forge, knowing that this would make all of our lives more complicated. Thus, I now possessed the same level of hatred for Gates as Alexander.

Along with the new Brigadier General, our entire party returned to Headquarters for supper, as it was nearing that time of evening and none of us had eaten since noon. In addition, a formal supper would be a perfect way for Washington to judge the new Brigadier General. As we made our way over to the farmhouse, I managed to catch up to Alexander, who was walking ahead of me. I slipped into stride next to him, and he suddenly grasped my hand. This was of course unbelievably risky due to the fact that we were surrounded by others, but something told me that it was necessary. Thus, I intertwined my arm with Alexander's and brought both of our arms up so that my arm was perfectly bent at the elbow. Noticing what I was doing, my dear began to limp as he walked, acting as if he were leaning on me for support. With the majority of the aides being aware of his injury, this was a perfectly innocent scene to them, and only the two of us were truly aware just how hard Alexander was gripping my hand. It was a good few moments before I dared gaze at his face. He was staring straight ahead, and looked rather concerned, a look that rarely penetrated past his cocky and talkative exterior.

“Are you alright?” I finally pressed after waiting for a few more moments.

“I know that man.” He whispered.

“Which man? The new Brigadier General?”

“Yes, him.” There was more than merely astonishment in Alexander’s voice now, and he seemed almost afraid when he uttered his next few words, “That man is a murder and a thief and a liar.”

“Who is he?” I was almost afraid of what the answer to my query would be.

“That bastard is Nathan Hale.”

Notes:

Sorry this is late, I kind of forgot to post it on Friday since I currently have a TON of ongoing fics. Also if you have no idea who Nathan Hale is, I recommend checking out The Venom in my Veins, or The Minister and the Tavern Keeper: A Story That Ought To Have Gone Very Differently.

Thank you so much for reading and please let me know if you enjoy this!

Chapter 9: Familiarization

Summary:

familiarization
/fəˌmilyərəˈzāSHən,fəˌmilyəˌrīˈzāSHən/
noun
the action or process of gaining knowledge or understanding of something.

The supper went about as well as one would expect, which is to say that it was short of an utter disaster. First off, Tallmadge excused himself before it had even begun, and practically ran from the room after making eye contact with General Hale. General Washington let him leave, presumably considering this to be a mere side effect of the removal of the presence of Horatio Gates for the winter. After that rather strange occurrence, I realized that Hale and Alexander were shooting each other glances for the majority of the meal, which, needless to say, was incredibly odd. The conversation was rather odd, and consisted mainly of General Washington and Hale attempting to gauge what the other man thought of him with Alexander interjecting as he saw fit. I believe that myself and the other aides may have said a combined dozen words over the entirety of the evening. It was quite the odd dinner, but the addition of Alexander’s hand on my knee did significantly improve the evening.

He was silently glaring in Hale’s direction by the time that the supper ended, and seemed nearly as happy as Tallmadge was to leave the room. There was certainly some past animosity between Alexander and Tallmadge and Hale. While two of my only friends did not particularly enjoy each other's company, they had managed to get along up until that point for my sake, both seemingly caring a great deal about me, a fact for which I was endlessly grateful. Of course Alexander's exact type of caring was of a far more intimate type than Tallamdge’s, and I was looking forward to returning to our cabin and pressing kisses all over his slight build. However, before I could do so, General Washington held me back for a moment to speak to me.

We sat at the supper table, now devoid of the plates and cutlery that had littered it only a few moments previously. My heart raced with fear. The General had to be reprimanding me for something, or perhaps giving me orders from my father. Part of the deal that I had made with my father was that in exchange for my becoming an aide de camp, I would write to him about the goings on in camp. It is no secret that I am horrible at keeping up with any sort of correspondence, and I had not written to him in months, having only sent him a single letter since August. The single letter was only to inform my family that I had made it through the battle unscathed. But that was in the past, now the General was looking at me, with a sort of near concern in his eyes. There was a sort of gentle tiredness in his expression, which inexplicably put me at ease. A man who was dissatisfied with me would not gaze at me in such a way…right?

“Colonel Laurens, I was recently informed by Major Tallmadge that you fell ill a few days ago.”

To say that I had fallen ill would be inaccurate, however it was close enough to the truth that it was within reason for me to assume that Alexander or Tallmadge had used it as an excuse for my absence. Thus, I affirmed the statement: “Yes sir, I did fall ill, but I have recovered significantly.”

“And are you sure that you feel well enough to act in the capacity of aide de camp?” The General seemed genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, which was most certainly not the direction that I had expected this conversation to head in.

“Yes sir, I am well enough.” Of course at that moment the still healing wound on my wrist began to ache terribly and I felt vaguely ill. General Washington noticed how pale I had become and had me stay seated in one of the chairs. Like before, he seemed to actually care for my health, and as I clamped a hand over the bandages still covering the wound on my wrist, I thought that I might not have minded it.

“Are you sure that you are still not ill son?” He pressed after studying my face for a moment. I must have looked quite unwell, otherwise I was sure that he would not have pressed. It was odd for someone who ought to have simply seen me as an invisible aide to actually care about my wellbeing. Odd enough that I answered truthfully.

“It comes and goes sir. However, I should be well enough to work tomorrow.” 

“Well then Laurens,” The General said, “I will have you show General Hale around the camp. It was my original intent to have Hamilton or Tallmadge do such, however we have both seen what they think of the man.”

I could not help myself but to let out a small chuckle at the memory of Tallamdge practically sprinting from the room upon laying eyes on Hale. There was clearly unsavory history between the two men, however for now it was merely humorous.That night, the General  insisted that one of the guards at headquarters walk with me to my cabin although he said it was merely due to the combination of my slight inebriation and influx of troops from Gate’s army now under the control of Hale, it was obvious to me at least that he was concerned for my health and feared that I might collapse my way across camp. to be fair, I'd begun to feel ill again after my first glass of wine, and this fear on the General's part was not completely unfounded. Upon reaching the cabin I collapsed into bed next to Alexander, he was already sleep. he consumed far more wine than I had at supper, and the liquor seemed to have taken effect on his slight frame.

By the time I woke up in the morning, my partner was already gone, having risen around his typical hour in order to write as much as possible while there was daylight. Of course he left a note for me outlining this, however the majority of  any attention that I had given the note was claimed by the way he addressed it to me. My dearest, Jack. A coma, a simple stroke of a quill changing the entire meaning of a letter. One mark on a piece of parchment changed our relationship from a mere friendship that extended into the territory of kissing and mutual physical affection, to a relationship that we both clearly valued more. It was only a few days until Christmas and I was already sure of the gift that I planned on giving Alexander. But speculations of what we would do when alone, clothes long discarded, were for another time. Now I need to get to the office before Reed could take me aside and scold me for my tardiness.

Somehow I managed to both make myself presentable and also get to headquarters in under half an hour. When I did finally reach there, I realized there  was no real need to have hurried; the only other members of the office that were present were Alexander, Reed, and Meade. All of them seemed to be suffering from the effects of last night's wine. I took my place next to Alexander, who was scribbling on a piece of paper furiously, and when it seemed as though no eyes were upon us, I took one of his hands in mine and gave it a small squeeze. He squeezed back and gave me a sweet, but exhausted look. If we were alone I would press a kiss to the top Auburn curls, however we unfortunately were not.

After an hour, General Hale finally stumbled into headquarters. He might have been able to convince Reed, who was absolutely furious upon realizing his tardiness, that he had merely become lost in camp, if it were not for the smell of whiskey hanging on him, and his clearly red eyes. I was not sure whether General Hale was hungover from the previous night, or currently drunk. Both options seemed to be equally likely.

“General Hale.” I saluted the man, an action that appeared to merely confuse him and he stuck his hand out for a handshake in response.

We both stared at each other, both regretting all life choices that led up to this very moment, before I shook his hand. Reed seemed to die inside as this occurred. Unfortunately I was unable to gauge Alexander’s reaction, however if I had to guess, he was most likely laughing hysterically internally. Following a moment of awkward silence, I finally cleared my throat and spoke.

“Would you like me to show you around Valley Forge, General?”

“Yes, yes that would be wonderful,” He paused for a moment and stared at my uniform, mentally calculating my rank, “Colonel…”

“Laurens. Colonel John Laurens.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Colonel Laurens.” 

As we walked out of headquarters and mounted two horses that a soldier had brought out for us, I attempted to assess General Hale to the best of my ability. He was most certainly only a few years my senior or even simply my age. Thus it was reasonable for me to assume that General Hale was a far more valuable asset on the field of battle than Gates ever bothered to indicate in his reports of the action regarding General Burgoyne up in Albany earlier that year. For such a young man to possess that rank of Brigadier General was quite the noticeable occurrence. In addition, General Hale did not behave as a man who had long been in the military, American or British, so this promotion to Brigadier General also had to have been recent. The thought formed in the very back of my mind that Gates had intentionally sent such an inexperienced Brigadier General to take responsibility for his army for the winter in order to complicate affairs for General Washington. If so, this was such an intentional display of insubordination and disrespect that it would constitute a court martial. Of course I did not blame General Hale for this, as he was most likely a young officer with a slight drinking problem that Gates had appointed to use as a mere pawn in his scheme. 

During the several hours that it took to show General Hale over Valley Forge, the two of us of course engaged in polite conversation. Hale was surprisingly easy to converse with, much unlike Tallmadge who tended to be rather shut off, and Alexander whose sheer force of will was overwhelming. Often I found myself forgetting the true nature of our acquaintance and imagining us simply two friends off for a ride in the woods. Our conversation flowed naturally enough that even when I eventually found myself describing my love for the most magnificent creatures ever, turtles, Hale was able to comment on the conversation and somehow was capable of keeping it from dying.

“It seems as though you have bountiful affection for those curious little creatures.” Hale chuckled after I had recited another story about my affection for turtles.

“I suppose that I do.” I replied, suddenly conscious of just how much I had been speaking about the armored animals as we had rode.

“Well I suppose that if a man ought to find a subject engaging, turtles are as good of a subject as any.” Hale shrugged. He also gave me a small smile, almost as if to tell me that he found my obsession with turtles to be quite wonderful. It was no wonder now why all of the men in Gates’s army adored him. The only remaining question was why Tallmadge and Alexander were the exception to the rule.

I finished giving Hale his tour of the camp by mid afternoon, and while the whole of the ride had probably taken twice as long as it ought to have, we did only get lost thrice, so I counted it as a victory. Tomorrow was Christmas eve, and as I departed from headquarters to the cabin I occupied with Alexander, I saw very little holiday cheer among the enlisted men. The general mood of the camp was one of misery, and for good reason. Rations were meager, even for us aides they had been severely reduced, and a good number of the recent arrivals were still sleeping in their tents from the previous campaign. Moral was low, not nearly as low as it had been last winter, at least according to Alexander, but still low enough to leave me question what misfortunes would occur this winter as I lay in bed.

Notes:

Hey everyone! This is out a day early since I have SO MANY tests tomorrow (three subjects!), and won't have time to post this.

Enjoy this little treat! Thomas Jefferson's birthday is in three days...so uh, this is for his birthday? idk, he hasn't even shown up yet.

Also, yes Nathan Hale has a SEVERE drinking problem

Chapter 10: Perturbation

Summary:

perturbation
/ˌpərdərˈbāSH(ə)n/
noun
anxiety, panic; mental uneasiness.

Ever since I was a boy, the Christmas holidays were both a source of great joy and concern in my life. All of my relatives, along with any important political contacts with whom my father wished to establish strong relationships, would gather at our family  home, Mepkin Plantation. Even as an adult, laying in bed so many miles away from that place, I could still picture it perfectly. Long, empty hallways filled with the sort of silence that seemed to suffocate me. It was physically impossible for me to not stoop my shoulders and attempt to make myself as invisible as possible in those halls. No one dared make a noise, even at the holidays for fear of the outburst that it would provoke from the great man himself. Every single important event, he would sit in that great armchair of his, like a king surveying his fiefdom. It was a rather ironic comparison to be made to a man who prided himself on being a great champion of liberty, but it was the most accurate one that I could summon.

One Christmas, I could not have been older than fifteen, Patsy must have been ten at eldest and Henry Jr. was still small enough for me to comfortably pick up, we learned the dreadful price that tyring the man’s temperature incurred. All of the children in attendance that Christmas, a Christmas which was once again filled with cold silence and awkward conversation, had been relinquished to the side parlor, and our parents had made the mistake of allowing us a bit of eggnog. Being the oldest in the room, I had gotten rather tipsy, although not enough for it to be visible to the naked eye, just for me to let down the typical precautions that I always had up at these sorts of events. Patsy and some of the other girls had taken turns playing the old harpsichord and singing, and several of the older boys and I had been giving the young children piggyback rides. We were all having a merry time, enjoying ourselves far more than we would have with the adults. However, I suppose that we must have gotten too rowdy, as just when I had hoisted Henry Jr. upon my shoulders to have a race against a boy whose name I long forgot, the parlor door burst open.

Looming in the door frame was my father. Physically, he was never a particularly intimidating man, I had grown far taller than him, and he was rather round and had perpetually flushed cheeks from his whiskey drinking. Despite this, the sheer fury inside of the man was enough to bring all festivities to a halt.

“What on earth is the meaning of all this ruckus?” He had demanded, glaring at all of our youthful faces, almost all of which were clouded over in fear.

“Father, we were-” I attempted to justify our actions before I was cut off. I suppose that I should have expected it, we were never supposed to speak out of turn to the man and the alcohol had made me forget such an integral rule of my upbringing.

“John,” He spat, glaring deep into my soul, “come with me. The rest of you, OUT!”

All of the other children scattered like scared mice, most likely scrambling back to their parents as the parlor door closed, leaving the two of us alone. What happened while we were alone can be mildly described as the worst beating that I had ever endured. The entirety of my body was covered in black and blue bruises, and I had been unable to leave Mepkin due to a black eye for two whole weeks. My stomach still churned years later at the thought of all my father had screamed at me, all the ways that he had degraded me, all the insinuations that he made over my lack of interest in women. That same small voice that was always in the back of my head spat back the same rhetoric that he had always used. I was a sick, demented, sinful, freak of nature due to my attraction to the same sex. Countless nights I had fallen asleep sobbing into a pillow, those words echoing in my mind. Everything in the world seemed to be trying to convince me that I was inherently corrupt and horrible through and through, but there was somehow still a small part of my soul that doubted how bad a man loving another man could truly be, especially when it felt this wonderful.

Perhaps recalling such memories was why the dreams came back that night. For so many months I had worked both my mind and my body to exhaustion in order to escape them, but they had still caught up with me, and this time was absolutely horrible. Of course I was back in Mepkin, it was essentially my own personal hell after all. Like a child, I aimlessly wandered the halls. The painted wood paneling and flawless floors seemed as if they stretched forever. The only people I passed were slaves, all with their heads bowed and expressions of sheer terror etched onto their faces. My blood boiled at the reminder of how my family had built their fortune off of human blood, but something compelled me to continue walking.

While I continued on, I noticed something, all of the windows that I peered through had the same sights, a grey sky and white snow on an endless plain. Eventually I reached a single door. It was a rather underwhelming door, resembling a servant’s door more than anything else, but nevertheless, I could hear people behind the door, so I opened it. Through the door was a parlor, it resembled the parlor at Mepkin, that was where I was afterall, but there was something off about the entire place. My entire family was seated in the parlor, even my long departed mother, but none of them faced me. Each and everyone seemed as though they were frozen in time. Patsy’s hands hovered a few inches above her mending, only a few inches from touching a needle. Henry Jr. was fixed in place as he browsed through the bookshelf for a volume to read. Even my mother, so long gone that I had a hard time picturing her face some nights, had her arm outstretched, halfway to her knitting, the same artificial look of serenity that she always had worn affixed on her face. At a glance, the entire scene looked domestic and peaceful, almost boring, but I knew that that was only because I had not dared face the man sitting in the armchair up until that point.

Shuffling my feet and a pit of dread growing in my stomach, I forced myself to lock eyes with my father. He looked as serious and disapproving as ever, until his face lit up with what can only be described as an evil grin. I jumped back, startled by the sudden movement in the room otherwise frozen in time. As I did so, the four walls around me fell away, revealing where I really was. Fire and sulfur was all around me, and I was certain: I was in hell. All of my family members began to change too, nearly as quickly as the room did. Pasty white skin slid off of their forms to show nothing but muscle and sinew. Hair disappeared and was replaced by a multitude of horns. What had once been my mother and siblings, was now impossible to look at. But worst of all was my father. Not only had his skin been shed and hair replaced with horns, but he had grown. No longer could I see the top of his head, he was at least three times the height of a normal man.

Before him I cowered, body folded in on itself in horror. And then, the most horrible thing of all began. The demon’s fatty lips parted and he started to recite a list of every sin I had ever committed. Each action was even more accusatory than the last, and each felt as if it was an arrow physically burrowing itself into my flesh. Blood poured from the self inflicted wounds on my arms, each drop a reminder of each and every one of my sins. Maybe I was impure, maybe I really was as horrible as they all said to me, maybe it would have been better for everyone if I had simply bled out in that forest.

Before my mind had time to reconcile all of my horrible actions, I felt someone’s firm hands on my shoulders and could just barely make out frantic shouts of my name through my own clouded mind. My chest was tight, it both felt like someone was suffocating me by standing on it, and also attempting to force my windpipe closed via a rope. Panic ripped through my entire body, and I could do nothing but to attempt to force my body into a ball and weep. It took far longer than I would have liked for the fit to subside, but when it did, pure exhaustion swept over him. Everything ached. All I wanted to do was to sleep for a thousand years. However, the person calling my name did not allow that to happen.

“Jack? Jacky? John, can you hear me?” It was just Alexander grasping me, not the horrible imaginary demon nor the real demon that was my father, but simply Alexander. I could barely muster a faint nod though my still flowing tears, but he did seem to acknowledge it, and also appeared relieved.

“Oh Jacky,” He cooed, using his thumb to push a strand of my hair off of my tear stained face, “it is alright now. I am here, you are safe.”

All I could do in return was to sob. Alexander pulled me close to him, rubbing one hand up and down my back. With the little energy that I had left, I managed to contort my body to the point where my face was buried in Alexander’s side and my arms were tucked against my chest. For some reason this always managed to purge the last of the panic from my mind, and the fact that the quilt was draped over me helped too.

Unlike most mornings, when I awoke, Alexander was still in the cabin. Of course he had already donned his uniform and was most likely transcribing a letter on General Washington’s behalf, but he was still there, sitting on the side of our bed, his gaze resting on me. Sometime during the night, I had managed to wrap the majority of the quilt around myself, cocooning myself in the layers of fabric. Any other bedmate would have been annoyed, however Alexander seemed indifferent. He did have his light blue scarf draped around his neck, the only sign that the frigid winter morning had even managed to affect him.

“Jack?” He whispered upon hearing a slight yawn on my part.

“I am awake.” I mumbled, shoving my face into a pillow. I swore that I could hear Alexander laughing behind me. For a moment I pondered simply going back to sleep, but I had already been “ill” quite recently and did not wish to gain a reputation as a lazy worker. There was absolutely no way that I could risk being sent back to the hell that was Mepkin Plantation. Thus, I dragged myself out of the alluring warmth of the bed, and began to dress in my uniform. The whole of my body was sore from whatever had overtaken it last night, and I still felt as though every inch of my form wanted nothing more there to stay in bed and get some much needed rest.

As I dressed, Alexander continued to transcribe his letter, although he seemed to keep a watchful eye on me, even offering to tie my caveat. I accepted his offer and he fixed it, hands grazing places on my neck that I had not previously known that I desired him to touch. Oh dear god I wanted him in bed with me! The two of us doing the sort of things that would get us both hung if discovered. However, at the mere thought of our prospective actions, my stomach turned, remembering how the demons in my dream had considered the sort of attraction that I felt towards Alexander worthy of me burning in hell for eternity. Once I finished buttoning up my coat, my partner finally looked up from his work.

“Jack,” He said, “Might we talk for a moment before we leave for headquarters?”

Fear washed over me, my mind racing to figure out what I had to have done wrong. What he would want to admonish me for. “Y-yes, of course.”

I sat down on the bed next to Alexander, and he took the hand attached to the wrist that I had slit a few weeks prior in his and began to rub his thumb over my palm in tight circles. Neither of us said anything for a good moment, insead just attempting to gauge the other’s reaction, or at the very least that was what I was attempting to do. Much to my surprise, Alexander did not appear to be angry, merely concerned, which only further confused me. The last time that someone I was closely associated with had asked me to speak, it had ended with me being slapped across the face. It was Alexander who finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat and then spoke:

“Jack, are you alright?”

“I am fine.” The response came so quickly and automatically that I knew the second the words escaped my lips that he did not believe it. Even I did not believe my own lie.

“If you do not mind me saying, that seems to be an outright lie.” He paused for a moment, and I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself the way that I always did during these sorts of conversations, it was the best way to protect myself. With a look of genuine concern in my direction, he continued: “I heard you sobbing last night. Of course I do not wish to pry Jacky, but it seems as though there was something very wrong in your mind last night, and I completely understand if you do not wish to tell me, however, given the-uh, well the circumstances of our relationship, well at least I feel as though it would be proper for me to know so that I might be able to help you, or at the very least if whatever happened last night happens again, I could wake you up or…”

His voice trailed off and his frantic ramblings ceased when I kissed him on the cheek. A silent tear was running down my face, but I did not care less. What really mattered was the fact that I had just grasped how much my dear boy actually cared about me. Any fear that I had had that he had viewed our relationship as a mere fling, soon to be forgotten about if we failed to be intimate soon enough for his liking. No, he valued me and my feelings in the same way that a man would value the feelings of the woman he was in love with.

Thus, somehow everything poured out. I told Alexander about everything. The way my father demanded perfection and would lay hands on both me and my siblings should his demands not be met. How lonely I had been in Mepkin, and how heavy silence seemed to suffocate me. I described, through tears, how every single second I felt as though someone would hit and chastise me in the place. Through more quiet tears, I told him about how, once I had been sent back from England, I had suffocated in that horrible place for three miserable weeks before I had managed to convince my father to allow me to join the army. Somehow, I even ended up telling him how much I had wanted to die in the years leading up to the war, and how I had so desperately hoped to have died a glorious death on the battlefield. Once I finished, we were both silent for a moment, he gazed at me, lost in thought, while I attempted to wipe away some of my tears with a handkerchief that I had discovered in the pocket of my uniform.

I thought that we would spend the rest of the day in silence, when he began to speak. Unlike the majority of the time, Alexander’s voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly. He spoke of his youth, spent on the island of Nevis, with an absent father and busy mother. He spoke of how when he was still a young boy, both he and his mother had fallen ill with yellow fever, he had recovered quickly, but his mother had faded fast. He spoke of how he had moved in with a cousin, but the cousin had hung himself, sending him back to Nevis. He spoke of how he had worked as a clerk, and of how, when he was still a teenager, a hurricane had ravaged the island, leaving nothing but destruction and misery in its wake. He spoke of how he had written a letter, a simple letter detailing the destruction, of course the man who he had sent it to had published it, and upon reading such writing from such a young man, the people of Nevis had started a collection to send him to college on the mainland. He spoke of how they had thought he would return, but instead how he had left, determined to never return or look back. He spoke of how he had felt the opportunities in the air the second he set foot in New York, ready to start a new life. He spoke of how he had worked vigorously in college, making sure that he graduated a year early. He spoke of how he had practiced law for a short time, even representing the accused in a murder trial in Albany. He spoke of how he had gotten caught up in the spirit of the revolution, wishing that there was a war so that he may move up in life and prove his worth. He spoke of how he had joined the army, determined to fight, but had been writing for all of the war. He even spoke of how he had fallen in love with me the moment we had met, but how he had been far too protective of his place in Washington’s staff to properly show me proper affection. He spoke of how afraid he had been when I had slit my wrists, and how that had been when he knew he was truly in love with me.

We were both late arriving at the office, but Reed’s harsh gaze did soften a bit when he realized that the two of us both looked as if we had been crying. He let the both of us off with a mere warning, citing the fact that the Christmas holiday was the next day, and we would not accomplish much anyways, Alexander and I there or not. For the rest of the work day, we held hands under the desk, savoring the bit of comfort that we brought the other.

Notes:

Quite the heavy chapter. Now you all get to properly pity John.

For Alexander's summary of his life, did I just listen to Alexander Hamilton (the song from Hamilton)? maybe.

Anyways, get ready for next week's chapter, a holiday special in April! (still working on the name) Its gonna be the longest chapter to date, already 4,400 words and I'm not done writing it....

This chapter is vaguely inspired by this thing I found on pinterest: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7f/a2/6b/7fa26b45f972d68b5306497b36a283ff.jpg

Chapter 11: Espy

Summary:

espy
/əˈspī,eˈspī/
verb
to suddenly see or notice something that one might have been oblivious to previously

Owing to the fact that that evening it was Christmas Eve, we aides were released from our duties earlier than usual, as were the rest of the officers at headquarters. This was most likely some sort of ploy to increase morale among the offievers, however it had no effect on the enlisted men but to annoy them. I could not help but feel slightly guilty as Alexander and I walked back to our cabin and passed the groups of soldiers huddled around fires and building dozens of more cabins, just like the one we occupied. The whole of Valley Forge no longer resembled the farmland we had arrived to, but instead a city of cabins. Somehow there was order to the madness, with different regiments all camped together and the armies separated. As we neared the cabin, I glimpsed a piece of parchment tacked to the front door.

Alexander walked ahead of me and by the time I had reached him, he had torn down the paper and was studying it. I leaned over his shoulder and attempted to read it myself, settling on hand on his waist. We were essentially alone after all, and there was very little risk of us being seen by other soldiers, muchless them caring. Unfortunately, based on the way that Alexander was standing, I was not able to see the majority of the note, meaning that he was allowed to study it by himself and I simply pressed myself up against him. After a moment, he folded the note in two and turned to me.

“It seems as though we are moving Jack.” He mused.

“What do you mean?” Once again, I attempted to lean over his shoulder to see the note, but Alexander playfully snatched it away, a grin on his face. Had we not been in the open of the camp, I would have used my height to my advantage and pinned him between me and the bed, kissing him until we were both out of breath and laughing. 

“Well,” He remarked, eyes teasing me, “through this note, I have been informed that our cabin is to house officers from Gates’s army.”

“That is not a laughing matter.” I wrinkled my nose and suddenly became serious. Having to pack up all of our things so that other people could occupy our quarters was not funny.

“No, but it is! We are to occupy one of the spare bedrooms in what is to act as General Hale’s headquarters. But that is not the most wonderful part, Tallmadge is to be staying there too!” With this, Alexander started to laugh hysterically, not even stopping when I pulled both of us into the cabin, tugging him onto the bed and kissing his face. When he finally did stop, when we were both out of breath and energy was buzzing behind his eyes, I was finally able to ask the question that his previous statement had prompted.

“What on earth is so humorous about that?”

“The two of them despise each other! This will be the most quality entertainment that we will ever have the opportunity to experience this winter. The two of them being forced into living quarters with each other, not even Albany was this entertaining!” With this, he erupted into another fit of laughter, falling back onto the pillows as blush came over his freckled cheeks. I pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before pulling myself off of the bed.

“Well that ought to be…interesting.” I said matter of factly, “However, we still ought to pack our things up since the officers will want this cabin soon. Sleeping in an actual house for once should be pleasant.”

“It will be. Although Hale and Tallmadge together shall be even better!”

I did not bother to pry into what on earth was so entertaining to Alexander about the new Brigadier General and Major Tallmadge, who both apparently hated each other with a burning passion, being forced into close quarters. This did not seem entertaining to me who had grown up in a house where shouting and arguments were both customary and feared. I could only pray that Hale and Tallmadge would keep their disagreements behind closed doors.

It only took Alexander and I half of an hour to gather our possessions and repack them. We both only possessed a single trunk each, and neither was fully filled. Mine contained mostly clothes, a few books on turtles, and my sketchbook, which I had not had the time to pick up for months. Every once in a while I considered taking it out and sketching something, but there was some quality in the air of Valley Forge that seemed to immediately kill any artistic desires I ever spontaneously possessed. In contrast, Alexander had seemed determined to stuff his trunk full with as many books as physically possible. I did not know how he had managed to procure so many, and I was slightly afraid to know the means. The best scenario would be that he had managed to collect them from bookstores and abandoned houses that the army passed by, however this was most assuredly not the case.

By some miracle the two of us managed to drag our trunks over to Hale’s new headquarters, and what was to be our new home. According to one of the soldiers who had helped Alexander with his trunk, Hale came with only three members of his staff, and thus Washington had numerous other officers, namely the two of us and Tallmadge, fill in the empty rooms in Hale’s headquarters. It would be a waste for perfectly good rooms that offered adequate protection from the cold to go to waste in such a cold winter. The soldier also added, in a whisper, that Hale’s headquarters were to be so close to Washington’s so that the older general could keep an eye on the younger. This I found believable, as none of the leading officers in the camp fully trusted Hale. Perhaps my first impression of him, in which I likened him to a thief, was not so incorrect after all. At the very least, he was inexperienced enough in non-battle command that it was reasonable to assume that he would need help in the coming months.

The old farmhouse that was to act as Hale’s headquarters made it immediately clear, to myself at least, why it had been the last structure claimed by a general as their headquarters. It was a rather decently sized house, however it was made of rather flimsy and old looking boards, and said boards seemed unable to block out the vigorous and unrelenting winter wind. In fact, the wind howled through the valley at the very moment, sending shivers up my spine and forcing Alexander to pull his light blue scarf slightly closer.

Somehow we managed to get our trunks to the porch of the old farmhouse, which had to have been the oldest structure that was being used as a headquarters in the whole of Pennsylvania, without freezing to death, and essentially bolted inside after thanking the two soldiers who had helped us, there had been no way to access a horse and cart. Inside of the house was slightly nicer than the exterior, with fires in the fireplaces and heavy curtains placed over the aged window panes in an attempt to keep as much cold air out as possible. Both Alexander and I removed our overcoats and gloves, with him having to also take off his scarf. For some reason that I could never quite place, I always loved it when he wore that scarf, perhaps it made him feel just a bit more like a man than a letter writing automaton. But that is not important.

While Alexander went to warm himself by the fire, an action which gave me a fleeting suspicion that his winter outer garments were nowhere near as effective at fighting the cold as he had led me to believe, I began to search for someone who would be able to tell us where on earth we would be staying in the old house. The majority of the place was empty, and I could only assume that most of the officers had left to celebrate the Christmas holidays through drink and debauchery. There was not a soul in the dining room, which seemed to be the prime location for a meeting or strategy room, nor in the parlor, save for Alexander who was warming himself, nor even in the study. Eventually, I simply began to try various doors in hopes that one of them would lead to the room where the rest of the officers were apparently hiding from me. In the end, I found not a soul in the house, however, as I realized from the study as I was double checking it, the headquarters possessed a summer kitchen, and it seemed as though there was a candle burning in one of the windows. After altering Alexander as to what I was doing, giving him a small peck on the cheek in the process, I grabbed my overcoat and ventured out onto the hostile winds of December to investigate the summer kitchen.

By some miracle I was able to reach the place without being blown over, as the gusts of wind had started to carry small tree branches with them. I knocked on the door out of politeness, however due to said wind, anyone who might have been inside was unable to hear me, and at last I simply resorted to opening the door and stepping inside. Inside of the summer kitchen was at least ten times warmer than the outdoors, and was actually quite cozy. However, the most important part was that there were people inside.

Sitting at a table and chairs in one corner of what had been the kitchen before the army had arrived, was one woman, perhaps a year my junior, and a young girl who could have not exceeded the age of twelve. Both of them were sewing, the woman having her head bent over what appeared to be a winter coat, and the girl mending a pair of socks. Neither of them noticed me, so I cleared my throat as to alter them to my intrusion, all the while mentally cursing myself for being so awkward and intruding into someone’s house. The elder of the two looked up. She had red hair that was contained under a cap, and brown eyes that seemed familiar, although I was not capable of placing exactly where I had seen her before. Following the woman’s gaze, the girl also studied me. She was nearly as pale as General Hale, and had dark hair and a set of gray eyes that I could have sworn also belonged to General Hale. Perhaps she was his daughter?

“May I help you Colonel?” The woman asked, placing down her stichting and standing up to meet me.

“Hopefully you can ma’am.” I awkwardly laughed, all the while wishing I was nowhere near this place. The woman’s eyes seemed to examine every inch of my body and I felt nervous simply meeting her gaze. “I am one of the officers who is to stay in General Hale’s headquarters, and since there is not a single soul in that farmhouse, I was wondering if you might know the whereabouts of one of General Hale’s staff officers, or even anyone who knows the location of any of them?”

“I ought to be able to help you. Give me one moment.” The woman’s voice softened slightly, and as she mounted the small staircase that was located in the corner of the summer kitchen, I finally realized her identity. She was Hannah Hale, the wife of doctor Hale and the nurse who had attended me when I…well when I slit my wrist. I could only pray that she did not recognize me. With Mrs. Hale taking her leave of absence, I was left alone in the kitchen with the girl. She too had put down her sewing, but had not risen from her chair and was giving me a faint smile.

“Good evening Ms.” I gave her a nod and a small smile, which seemed to make her happy as she stood up too.

“My name is Mercy Hale.” She said, sticking out her hand for me to shake, “I am General Hale’s sister.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Hale.” I shook her hand, an action that was not the way I would typically greet a young girl, but seemed to be what she desired.

“You are a soldier, I assume?” Mercy asked, taking in the bits of my uniform that were not covered by my overcoat. In all likelihood, I probably ought to have removed my overcoat, however without knowing how long we would be waiting for Mrs. Hale’s return, it seemed a far safer option to keep it on.

“I indeed am.” I answered, pulling back my overcoat enough to allow her to fully glimpse the dark blue of my uniform.

“Ah.” She nodded, apparently receiving some sort of confirmation for a question that she had never posed to me. “What kind of soldier are you? Are you in the artillery, or the calvary, or the infantry, or are you in the medical corps like Ollie?”

Although I had absolutely no clue who Ollie was, I did reply to her question as best I could: “I work as an aide to General Washington and deal with correspondence and translation work. When we go into battle I even act as a courier when it is required.” Before Mercy got a chance to respond, Mrs. Hale returned.

 “I hope she was not annoying you to any extent.” She said, wiping her rather cracked hands on her apron despite a lack of any visible substance on them. “Mercy tends to enjoy speaking to the soldiers, she is attempting to learn as much about the army as she can.”

“Such curiosity did not annoy me in the slightest.” I assured her, attempting to give a reassuring smile to both Mrs. Hale and Mercy.
Just as Mrs. Hale was about to say something in response, two men made their way down the kitchen stairs, and somehow I recognized both of them. The first person to join us in the summer kitchen was Dr. Hale, who looked about as slight and perpetually annoyed with society as I remembered him to be. In his hands he was clutching a book that seemed to be on medicine, and when he made eye contact with his wife, he gave her a slight smile, the first time I had ever seen such an expression come from him. The second man down the stairs was General Hale himself, who was not wearing his uniform coat, but instead clutching what seemed to me a bottle of whiskey. With the General’s appearance, I was completely surrounded by Hales, all of whom I assumed were related due to the physical similarities between General Hale, Dr. Hale, and the young Mercy Hale.

“Oh Laurens!” General Hale was the first of the two men to acknowledge my presence. “I am so sorry, I completely forgot that you and Colonel Hamilton where to stay in my headquarters. It was my intention to have one of my staff wait for you, however they all seem to have gone missing…”

“I can assure you that I hold no hard feelings against you, General.”

“Of course I do not expect you to Laurens,” General Hale laughed, his cheeks flushed from whatever type of alcohol he had been drinking, “but I do not see Hamilton keeping to the same path of forgiveness!”

“He will in all likelihood forgive you if he is helped efficiently.” I shrugged. In all actuality, Alexander could be quite forgiving, at least with me.

“Well then, I am fairly certain that I remember where all you officers are to stay.” Placing the bottle of spirits down on the table, General Hale threw on his great coat and pulled on a pair of ragged looking mittens. Through observing these actions, I came to the conclusion that he was the only person who had the memory of where Alexander and I were to sleep, and thus would be helping us.

When the two of us ventured out into the now dark night, the cruel winter wind bit into my uncovered skin, feeling as though dozens of miniscule needles were penetrating my flesh. I pulled my coat tighter around me, praying that it would be able to protect me from the severe cold. As we fought against the wind in order to reach the slightly decrepit farmhouse, light snow began to fall, adding to the pain of having everything in the air slam into our faces and hands. By the time we finally reached the backdoor of Hale’s headquarters, I was beginning to regret not borrowing my Alexander’s scarf to cover my ears and lower face with. Hale reached the door first, holding it open for me, then slipping in behind me and quickly locking it behind us. Due to the force of the winds, this seemed the only way that the door would reach Christmas morning still on its hinges. The moment that we were inside, I carefully removed my overcoat and gloves, folding the coat, placing the gloves in its pockets, and gently hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. If the entirety of this winter was to be as miserable as this night, then something told me that my jacket would be one of my most important assets.

While Hale shucked his coat, I ventured towards the parlor where I had left Alexander. He was still sitting before the fire, arms wrapped around himself, however now our respective trunks were also in the parlor, the flecks of snow that dotted them rapidly melting from the heat of the fire. However, unlike before, he was not the only one in the room. Tallmadge was curled up on one of the old armchairs that had been left in the farmhouse by its previous occupants. His trunk was resting in the opposite corner from mine and Alexander’s and it was slightly ajar. Due to the fact that Tallmadge had a quilt wrapped around himself, and my not quite lover had mysteriously managed to gain an old blanket himself, the reason for Tallmadge accessing his trunk became clear. I knew that he was only attempting to help Alexander warm himself from the cold, some nights in what had been our cabin I had lain awake listening to him shiver, his slight frame still clearly not used to the harsh winters of the eastern seaboard, yet I still felt jealousy rise in me. It should have been me, not Tallmadge who had gotten to comfort him. Of course Tallmadge was perhaps my oldest friend in the camp, and I could not truly be mad at him for not knowing about a secret relationship, but there was still that one part of me that was furious. However, I could not dwell on this fury for too long as General Hale soon appeared behind me, much to my and Alexander’s relief and Tallmadge’s chagrin.

“So sorry to have left you gentlemen waiting in the cold,” He apologized, offering a sympathetic smile to Alexander and completely skipping the action with Tallmadge, “I could have sworn that one of my staff was to stay behind, but apparently he did not listen, so I should hopefully be able to show you where your rooms are to be.”

“It is fine General Hale.” Alexander said, standing up and removing the blanket that Tallmadge had lent him. In one swift motion he both deposited the blanket back into Tallmadge’s trunk and slipped into place next to me, even secretly taking my hand in his. This seemed far greater a risk than we ought to have been taking with Hale and Tallmadge so close, however I certainly did not object and instead held onto his hand, savoring the feeling of his calloused hand against my own.

“It was no great inconvenience.” Tallmadge muttered, removing himself from the armchair and refolding the quilt before placing it back into his trunk. He still did not make eye contact with General Hale.

After a moment of silence, General Hale spoke again, “Ought I show you to where you will be staying?”

“That would be most ideal.” I replied, the odd wording of my statement an effect of my sheer exhaustion and the constantly blowing wind outside that occupied a corner of my mind.

“Very well then, follow me! And take care and leave your trunks down here for the moment, these stairs are not very much fun to drag things up, and I wager at least three of us will need to work together in order to get one up.”

The three of us listened, tired enough that the mere promise of a future bed was plenty to guarantee our compliance. Hale led us to the stairs, a place that I had already checked numerous times in my previous hunt for other people, he went first, being the only person who actually knew where we were going, and Alexander and I took up the rear, the day’s constant walking and moving of large objects having aggravated his ankle to the point where he had to lean on me, leaving Tallmadge to awkwardly fit himself in the middle. Luckily for us, other officers had already been assigned to take the attic, and we only had to mount a single flight of stairs to reach the level that our quarters were to be on. The hallway was lit only by the single candle that Hale had seemingly spontaneously procured, and had an eerie quality about it that I dared not comment on. All of the doors had small sheets of parchment tacked to them with numbers written from one to five on them. Evidently the farmhouse had been a rather expansive place in its heyday, however it was now so run down that all the other generals had passed over the space in favor of more structurally sound headquarters.

When he saw me noticing the paper numbers, Hale commented: “I ran a tavern in Albany. The numbers are an old trick that ought to keep us all from being too confused as to who belongs in each bedroom.”

It was a rather clever trick, but I was unable to say so before we abruptly stopped. The stop was so abrupt in fact that Alexander nearly fell into me, and I had to get an arm on the chipping plaster way of the hallway in order to keep both of us upright. On the door we had stopped in front of was the number seven, and Hale knocked one on it before sliding a small key into the lock and opening it. He mentioned something about it being an old habit, but I was far too occupied with Alexander to pay attention. With my beloved still leaning heavily on my arm, something that I could have sworn Tallmadge and Hale ought to have noticed yet did not, I was finally able to catch a glimpse of the room that we were to supposedly occupy for the rest of the winter.

The walls were covered in an old, and severely faded wallpaper that had been out of style since my parents had been born, which was broken halfway down by some rather dubious looking wooden panels. Looking up was no better as the plaster on the ceiling was beginning to crack, and there were what appeared to be water stains in some places. The room was small, only a bit smaller than our cabin, and just fit a bed fit for a married couple, a chest of drawers, and a small writing desk. Upon my first glance, I had already begun to plan how to use the space. Alexander and I would share the bed of course, in fact I was rather relieved that we would once again share a bed as I had grown quite fond of it, we would most likely be able to fit all of our clothes and some books into the chest of drawers, and the bed was raised just high enough that I would probably be able to finagle our two trunks under it. The room was not ideal, but it was inside an actual building and even had a window that overlooked some of the countless rows of soldiers' tents. It would do quite well.

“What do you think Laurens, Hamilton?” Hale asked, slightly scaring me since I had forgotten about his presence.

“It is quite nice.” Alexander admitted, gripping my wrist tightly as he took the key from Hale. In that moment I realized that because of his less than desirable upbringing, a semi luxurious house, even one that had fallen into disrepair and was located in the middle of a farming community overtaken by the army, was to him, quite the location. Mentally I promised myself that I would see how nice I could fix up the room before winter ended, and also made a note to swap out some of our clothes so that he would be more comfortable.

Hale and Tallmadge left the room, presumably to arrange Tallmadge’s sleeping quarters, and once the door shut behind them, I took the opportunity to scoop Alexander up bridal style and to carry him to the bed, depositing him in the middle of the well worn quilt. He laughed and gave me a quick kiss on the tip of my nose before I could fully pull away. With his red curls falling out of his queue and enticing dark blue eyes filled with laughter, I had never felt more attracted to him in my life. All I wanted to do with him was to fall into bed together so that I could worship him with my lips, pressing kisses into as much of his small frame as I could reach, much like I had in the cabin. However, that was not a realistic goal, and instead I took his hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it before settling on the edge of the bed.

“Is your ankle alright?” My question had a severely obvious answer, however I thought it was best to receive confirmation from Alexander himself before I left to go help Hale and Tallmadge with our trunks.

“I think I ought to be fine so long as I do not walk too far tomorrow.” As he replied, the poor thing rubbed his ankle, now removed from his regulation boot, and winced when the heel of his hand hit a painful part. My heart broke seeing him in pain and I leaned over and kissed his cheek before I spoke again.

“So long as you shall be alright, I am going to help Tallmadge and Hale retrieve our trunks from downstairs.”

“I shall be.” He once again stressed before I finally sat up and ventured out of the room.

However, I quickly regretted said decision as merely stepping into the hallway produced infinitely more conflict than not. Through the murky darkness, punctured only by the single flame of a candle, I could just make out two figures. These figures, who I immediately deduced to be Hale and Tallmadge because they sounded exactly like Hale and Tallmadge, were speaking in hushed, yet rather harsh tones. Since Tallmadge had somehow managed to get ahold of the singular candle, his face was the only illuminated surface that I could truly make out. The major’s blue eyes were filled with fierceness and he was evidently filled with some sort of muted furry. Over what offence I was not sure, but it did seem as though Hale was attempting to calm Tallmadge down, although to little avail. Stepping a bit closer, I could just make out their words.

“Well what on earth am I supposed to do? Every single bed in this house is filled with another officer, who I do not know and cannot make an enemy of, and will be occupied!” Hale protested, making a very decent point about his reputation, or rather lack thereof.

“You say that as though any of those men are going to stumble into this house! In all likelihood, even if any of them manage to get back here, they will collapse drunk in the parlor, not seek out or even remember their rooms.” Tallmadge shot back, the faint flame of the candle just enough to draw attention to the prominent dark circles under his eyes.

“If you are so concerned about sleeping in an actual bed, and not curled up before a fire, which I can assure you many of the soldiers outside would be grateful for, you can share with me. These are your only two options. I swear to god if you were a guest at the Hudson I would have thrown you to the curb ages ago!”

“Then it is lucky for the both of us that I am not a guest at your pitiful excuse for a tavern!”

“How dare you! The Hudson is a fine establishment!”

“Yes, the type of fine establishment where no one was truly that concerned when British soldiers came in and arrested you!”

As enjoyable as it would have been to listen to Hale and Tallmadge bicker between each other like small children, for it truly was as entertaining as Alexander had made it out to be, I also did desire to be able to sleep some time that night, and that desire won over the pure entertainment that was listening to a major and Brigadier General argue like two school children. Quite frankly I was more surprised that Hale had not pulled rank on Tallmadge during the argument than the evident immaturity of the argument in the first place. Although the two of them were not as furious as my mother and father had been when my mother was still alive, it was still a hostile enough confrontation to make me leery of interrupting. Thankfully, I did not have to.

At some point Hale noticed me, and swung around rather theatrically to me, imploring: “Laurens, tell Tallmadge that he can not steal a bed from another officer, and that my tavern is not a hell hole!”

Before I could speak, Tallmadge butted in, “Laurens, tell Hale that all the other occupants of this house are black out drunk and will not even be able to make it up the stairs anyway, and that a tavern where the bartender and owner gets arrested in front of his customers on a weekly basis is not a fine establishment!”

“Uh-” I was not able to get a single word in prior to the two of them continuing their rapid pace argument.

“It was not on a weekly basis! It was monthly, get your damn facts right at least!”

“In Albany you got arrested on a monthly basis? What on earth is wrong with you!”

“You knew me in Albany! That was the sole streak of longer than two months in which I was only arrested once, really you ought to be impressed.”

“Why on earth would I find that impressive?”

“Can we please acquire the trunks from downstairs?” I finally had enough and interjected. Hale and Tallmadge looked at eachother, and a spark of an idea seemed to form in General Hale’s grey eyes. Given that I was now intimately acquainted with his criminal record, I was not quite sure that this idea was such a good thing to be occurring.

“Of course we can Laurens,” Brigadier General Hale said, glaring at Tallmadge as he said so, “however, first I require you to help settle a certain dispute between myself and Major Tallmadge here. As the ranking officer in this situation, I shall proclaim whatever your decision is as the verdict, and we all comply with it, given that disobeying direct orders from a senior officer would warrant a court martial. Understand?”

“Yes, General.” Tallmadge and I declared roughly in unison.

“Very well then. Judge the argument as you see fit Laurens.”

What I had failed to consider was the fact that I absolutely despised being put in these sorts of situations. Being forced to choose between two sides, on both of which were people who I greatly valued, or at the very least whose displeasure was powerful enough to make my life a living hell, was the sort of thing that had occurred concerningly often in my childhood and tended to appear in my nightmares as well. In this situation, I was caught between my superior, Hale, who I could not offend intentionally, or even commit any action that could constitute a court martial, and Tallmadge, who was one of my only friends, and whom I could not bear losing over being forced to settle such a petty argument. Thus, I did what I always tended to do in those sorts of situations: I froze up.

“I-I, um, we-well…” My voice drifted off and my fingernails dug into my palms. A general feeling of overwhelming panic crept over my entire body.

“Laurens? Are you alright?” Tallmadge approached me, his hand halfway between himself and me, positioned as if he wanted to place it on me, but was keeping himself from, in fear of my reaction.

“I did not wish to cause you any distress.” Hale whispered, his true youth shown by how pale he had become. In all reality he was younger than I was, and as unfit and underprepared for his position as the next man. We were all young and inexperienced, however we were expected not to be and put up masks that suggested such, and just then Hale’s mask slipped.

“I-I am so sorry but I truly can not settle this.” Somehow I eventually managed to sputter out the words, just barely keeping my composure together.

“That is fine,” Tallmadge soothed, his entire demeanor suddenly changing. Grabbing onto my sleeve, he gently pried my arm from its place clenched against my chest and walked me towards mine and Alexander’s room. “Neither of us mind. You worry about getting to bed and we shall settle our little dispute.”

“Alexander ought to be able to help you.” I whispered as Tallmadge led me to my door, Hale holding the candle as to allow us to be able to see the door numbers.

“That is a fine suggestion.” The Brigadier General said, a small smile on his face. I was not quite sure how, but I caught a glimpse of the man that he must have been before the war, an older brother and avid patriot who was as efficient in soothing younger siblings as he was in talking his way out of arrest. 

A quick knock on the door was all that was required to summon Alexander, in fact I could hear the thud of his bad ankle hitting the well worn floorboards, and the flurry of French curses that escaped his lips as he limped over towards the door. The moment that the door opened and Alexander caught sight of me, a look passed between him and Tallmadge in which Tallmadge seemed to inform him of all that had transpired in the hallway and the details of my reaction. While that occurred, I made my way to the bed and sat down on the very edge, no longer digging my finger nails into my palm, but desperately wishing that there was something for me to fidget with. After I sat down, Alexander beckoned both Tallmadge and Hale into our room. Hale seemed rather apologetic and as he entered he muttered a string of apologies, all of which appeared to be directed to no one in particular. Possessing a bit more logic than the general, Tallmadge explained the situation in full to Alexander, who had taken a seat next to me on the bed. Upon hearing about their argument over what on earth they were to do about Tallmadge’s sleeping arrangements, the unfortunate idea for me to decide it, and how that idea had severely failed, the question was posed to Alexander for him to decide it.

“Very well then,” He said, looking from Hale to Tallmadge, “due to the fact that it seems as though all of the rooms here are occupied by two to three men, all of whom are not currently here, I believe that you two ought to share a bed for the night since there is no telling weather or not all the other occupants of this place are going to be kick out of their various bars and other establishments and sent back here, thus reclaiming their beds, before the night is over.”

“Hamilton-” Tallmadge protested, clearly having forgotten Hale’s pledge of a few minutes prior.

“I will uphold Hamilton's ruling.” Hale interrupted, shooting a sly grin in the major’s direction. “And the two of us ought to be able to grab your trunks as well.”

“Thank you sir.” I said, my voice finally not feeling as though it was permanently caught in my throat. Alexander agreed with me, and that prompted both Hale and Tallmadge to leave us alone in our room.

Once the door shut, Alexander stretched out on the bed, and seemed to almost immediately fall asleep after quickly checking with me to assure that I was well. I took a place on the bed next to him, myself sitting up and brushing a red curl out of his eyes as it repeatedly fell back into its previous place. The knot of anxiety and apprehension that had taken root in my stomach was beginning to undo itself, and the same sort of peace that I had become surprisingly accustomed to during my time in camp, once again came over me. If it were not for waiting for Hale and tallmadge to help bring up our trunks, I would have fallen asleep. However, I could not, and instead my mind latched on to the sheer peculiarness of the whole situation. A major and a Brigadier General were doing what could be classified as menial labor for two lieutenant Colonels, especially when other soldiers could have easily been summoned to help. Hale did not seem to either understand or care about the typical army hierarchy, and for some reason Tallmadge was content to do the same. Perhaps the two of them did it for the same reason that Washington tended to treat us aides as his own children. It was a reason that I did not know and doubted I ever would, but appreciated nonetheless. For once in my life I was being treated as a valued friend would be, and there was nothing in the world that could force me to give that up. Just as I came to that realization, I heard the thud of a trunk being shoved up the stairs and two voices whispering.

“We both know perfectly well why Hamilton was so keen on having us share a bed, and why you were eager to uphold the decision.” It sounded as though that man was Tallmadge, although the reason he was speaking of remained unknown to me.

“I know perfectly well what you think of me now, and our past had nothing to do with my decision. Hamilton was right, I am the only man in headquarters with a bed to myself, and I would feel extraordinarily guilty to have a bed to myself while one of my soldiers slept on the floor.” Hale was speaking now, his words occasionally punctured by a grunt and he seemed to push another trunk up the stairs. The two of them were moving three trunks all alone, and I felt guilty for having abandoned them to labor alone.

“That is not your responsibility as a General.” Protested Tallmadge, “Besides, I wish to sleep by myself anyway.”

“Why? You shall be far more comfortable in an actual bed.”

There was the sound of a man dropping a trunk more roughly than he really needed to, and Tallmadge spoke again, his voice shaking slightly: “Because I do not wish to become reliant on your pity and charity as I did in Albany. I-I simply can not have that occur again.”

“Ben-” Hale’s voice was softer now, and the floorboards in the hall creaked as he covered the short distance towards Tallmadge. “That was certainly not what I intended to do. It was never intended to be pity or charity, merely friendship.”

“I hate feeling as though I am wholly reliant on others when there is the option for me to be independent, to live on my own. It seems to me that a debt is forged every single time I take someone else’s help, the sort of debt that they will force me to repay in the most horrible ways. That was the way it was when I was a child, that was the way it was with everyone who I ever thought cared about me. Thus, I simply can not be dependent on others, they always abuse it.” On the last syllable, Tallmadge’s voice cracked, and it sounded as though he was silently crying.

There was a profound lack of words or other speech from the hallway for a  decent few minutes, and when it resumed, Hale was the only one speaking. His words were muffled, but I could barely make them out. 

“I promise that this will not be this way, Benny. I promise. You do not have to sleep in my bed if you do not wish, however if you do, you owe me nothing, I swear on Baker’s grave.”

“You would have to find it first.” Tallmadge laughed, although his voice certainly sounded as though he had been crying. There was silence for another moment, but then he once again spoke. “Nat, you promise I shall owe you nothing?”

“Of course Benny.”

The silence relapsed for a decent two minutes, due to the fact that there was a dusty clock on the chest of drawers, I was able to time it, and it was only broken by the dragging of trunks and the occasional sniffle from Tallmadge. A few moments later Hale knocked on the door and I helped him bring in mine and Alexander’s trunks. After the door once again closed, I heard him and Tallmadge take Tallmadge’s trunk into Hale's room and their door closed as well. Unfortunately their room was far enough away that I could no longer eavesdrop on their incredibly interesting conversation. However, what I did do was awaken a still sleeping Alexander in order to force him to change into one of my nightshirts, which I had not worn since August, and that was several sizes too large on his slight frame. He collapsed back into bed shortly after, curled up into a question mark and lightly snoring as I rifled through the remainder of the possessions in my trunk. My fingers almost instantly found what I was searching for. The leather bound sketchbook and well used pencil had not been touched since August, but I was determined to use them both tonight. Resuming my position on the bed next to Alexander, I began to lightly sketch the details of his face.

As I drew, my thoughts drifted, they always did, and tonight they landed on the conversation that I had just overheard between Tallmadge and Hale. It was quite the queer thing for me to have overheard, as they had clearly intended for the words shared to be known only to the two of them. Tallmadge had previously mentioned his time in Albany, along with how he did not practically enjoy speaking of it, however tonight he had spoken quite freely about it to Hale. Given that Hale had mentioned that he was from there, I could only infer that the two of them had known each other prior to the war, a fact supported by both Alexander’s insistence that their disagreement would be far more entertaining that it had been in Albany, and the way that both men had referred to each other by their first names. No, not their first names, they both seemed to call each other something far more akin to pet names during the rather strange conversation. It was all rather strange, however I had nowhere near enough energy to properly ponder it, and instead after I finished my sketch of a sleeping Alexander, I tucked my sketchbook away, threw on a nightshirt, and curled up next to Alexander, waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.

Notes:

I-I don't even know anymore.

This is part 1 of the April Holiday special...three more chapters to go

 

I brought this upon myself, didn't I?

If for some reason you're reading this around the winter holidays, i wrote this is fucking April. I know its shit, just roll with it

i'm not even going to both adding historical sources. You all know I made all of this up anyway.

let me know if you like this i guess?

also there is now a pinterest board. Access at your own risk:

https://pin.it/3rvZRmFLN

Chapter 12: Indelible

Summary:

Indelible
/inˈdeləb(ə)l/
adjective
Impossible to forget or erase.

I awoke much as I had fallen asleep, curled up next to Alexander, my hands displaying the graphite that was involved with the previous night’s sketching. However, this time my beloved had one of his arms wrapped around me and he was lightly snoring as morning light streamed through our window. It was quite the domestic scene, and a part of me wished that I could live in that moment forever, content and still sleepy, wrapped in a quilt with my beloved next to me. The overwhelming sense of panic and fear that had threatened to overtake me last night, had entirely dissipated, and for the first time in a concerningly long time, I felt perfectly safe. Thus, I buried my face in Alexander’s shoulder and simply breathed. He smelled like ink and work…like home. At this realization, I merely held him closer and desperately wished that society as a whole would have allowed us to openly be together as a man and woman were expected to be.

“Jacky?” His sleepy voice was barely more than a whisper, but nevertheless it was there.

“Merry Christmas Alexander.” I whispered back, placing a ghost of a kiss on his forehead. Where my remembrance of the date came from, I do not know, however it was enough to prompt my dear boy to pull me down for a proper kiss.

He traced a finger along my jaw as we kissed, ghosting his touch over my stubble. I needed to shave, we both did. At some point he decided that we ought to break apart, quite possibly so that we could both have the luxury of breathing, and pulled my lips gently away from his. However, my dear boy still cupped my face with one hand, and a lazily smile formed on his now red lips.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Alexander laughed, kissing the tip of my nose. It would be a lie to say that I felt as though my heart melted at that moment. For once in my life, I was truly and utterly in love, and I could not have chosen a better man to have fallen for if given a thousand years to search.

“I love you.” Somehow I ended up blurting out the words. A small look of shock passed over Alexander’s face and the ensuing silence felt like knives being pressed to my heart.

“I love you too, Jacky.” With that he pulled me in for another kiss. My dear boy might not have known it, but those four words were the most splendid Christmas present that I had ever received. 

Unfortunately, as the other occupants of Hale’s headquarters stirred, we were forced to break apart for fear of being caught. Having gone to sleep first, I essentially forced Alexander out of our bed to change, while I cocooned myself in the quilts. Of course I did not fall back asleep, instead watching my bed and romantic partner remove the nightshirt I had all but made him take. Dressed in only his underclothes, he quickly began to pull on his army uniform, although that was not before I got a moment to properly admire his body. He was quite slim, that I had been previously aware of, however what I had not known was the way that his freckles slayed out across his shoulders and how his red hair extended in a patchy trail down his chest. Once he was fully dressed, my dear boy sat on the edge of the bed next to me, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

“How on earth have you already managed to both fall back asleep and be woken up. It does not take me that length of time to change!” He murmured as I merely shoved my face deeper into the pillow, “You yourself said it was Christmas and I would much rather exchange gifts with someone who is currently awake.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, allowing myself to be pulled out of bed and my face peppered with light kisses. More intelligent men that the two of us would have embraced subtlety in that moment, however we were both young and foolish. 

It took but a moment for me to remove my nightshirt and don my uniform, and as I did so, I could practically feel Alexander’s eyes inspecting my body much as I had done with him. Perhaps a night of the sort of intimacy that could have gotten us both hung would be occurring far sooner than I previously thought. At long last I finally tied my hair back into a tidy queue with a faded navy ribbon. Someone had been rather impatient and had been attempting to hurry me along for the better part of half of an hour. There had been little to no discussion between Alexander and I on the topic of exchanging Christmas gifts, however I had most certainly prepared some for him, and based on the way he was flitting around the room, I could only assume that my dear boy had something planned. Once we were fully dressed, he practically forced me to stay in the room as he left to prepare something.

Instead of dwelling on what on earth he could be doing, I retrieved the gifts that I had gotten for Alexander. Over the past month, between the move to Valley Forge with the whole of the army, and my injury, there had not been an abundance of time to plan, yet I was still able to scrounge up a few items that I hoped my not quite lover would adore. They were hidden in the very bottom of my trunk, tucked under a long filled up sketchbook I had brought along as a reminder and reference to South Carolina. Kneeling over the open trunk, the tips of my fingers quickly found the leather cover of the old sketchbook and moved it aside. All four items hidden beneath it were immediately removed, and after waiting a moment and listening for any sound of Alexander in the hall, receiving only snores from the other officers in response, I laid the gifts out on our bed.

Stark against the still rather messy mix of sheets and quilts that were draped across the mattress, sat a book, a pair of fine leather gloves, an assortment of new quills, and the sketch of my Alexander asleep. As I waited for him to come back, my fingers tranced the edge of the book, the pages still a bright cream and filled with hundreds upon hundreds of lines about how philosophy, history, and the law were intertwined. I had come across the volume all the way back in October, a few days before the battle of Germantown, where I had narrowly escaped being shot in the shoulder, and once I searched the contents of Alexander’s trunk to see if he possessed a copy, I had elected to keep it in order to use as a bribe at a later time. However a bribe was no longer necessary, given that if I kissed him and made eyes at him, he was perfectly willing to do a page or three of my translation work. Thus, I had decided it was to make a wonderful Christmas gift. A rap at the door startled me out of my revery, and knowing perfectly well that it was Alexander, I placed the gifts for him back in my trunk, merely on the top layer before calling out:

“You may come in!”

Just as I was standing up and brushing some of the dust from the floor off of my pants, Alexander entered the room, holding a rather peculiar box in his arms. For some reason it appeared to be shaking slightly. I was only a moment from asking him about it, when he placed it down on the top of the chest of drawers with a triumphant grin.

“Merry Christmas Jack!” He proclaimed, striding over to where I was on the bed and physically pulling me up.

“If someone had warned me you enjoyed the holidays so much I would have prepared something more extravagant!” I laughed, pressing a brief kiss onto the top of his red curls.

My dear boy laughed as well, his freckled features lighting up in such a way that my heart skipped a beat. He was looking at me in such a way, deep blue-purple eyes framed by rather long lashes for a man, that I could not quite determine what the look meant, nor what he was planning to do next. Luckily for me, I did not have to attempt to deduce it. Rather awkwardly, his words trailing into each other far more than they typically did, my dear boy articulated that he had found something that he could not help but desire to give me as a Christmas gift, and that he did not mind if I had elected not to gift him anything, however he greatly desired to present me my gift. Although it was rather rude, I cut him off and told him that I had, in fact, elected to give him something for Christmas, and I would allow him to give me my gift, only if I could give him his first. His eyes lighting up with interest and amusement, he agreed, and I made him stand with his back to me and my trunk as I quickly retrieved his Christmas gifts from said trunk, and dumped them into a rather large handkerchief that was stained with some of my old paints. When I presented it to Alexander, he raised an eyebrow, but the childish excitement in his indigo eyes betrayed his true feelings.

“Open it you ninny!” I exclaimed as I sat next to him on the foot of our bed.

Alexander’s nimble fingers quickly untied the rather crude knot I had used to secure the handkerchief, and delicately opened the handkerchief. By how slow he was going, and the expression of intense concentration on his face, I came to the conclusion that Alexander never had the ability to open a Christmas present before, and immediately elected to give him something ten times better for his birthday…once I figured out when exactly that was. Much as I had expected, he quite appreciated the quills, saying that many of his old ones were becoming quite useless, and considered the topic of the book to be quite the interesting one. Upon him laying eyes on the leather gloves, I had to lie to him and say that they were an old pair of my brother’s that he had sent me in order to give to another soldier, with Alexander’s stubborn behavior and pride, I knew he would never accept true charity, which meant I could not tell him I in fact asked my brother to order a pair of gloves new for Alexander. The gloves fit well enough that I could continue the lie that they were hand me downs, however they were still ill fitting enough that I silently cursed the glove maker in my mind. At long last his gaze settled on the sketch. As his fingers ghosted over the fine details of his curls, splayed out against a pillow I did not have time to finish shading, he spoke.

“You never told me you could draw like this.” He whispered, almost as if he was afraid to speak too loudly, lest he disrupt the art before him.

“I have not had the time for quite a while.” I shrugged, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Well you ought to, Jacky! This is quite impressive!”

“Thank you.” I murmured, nestling my face into his shoulder. Somehow, even though we had both just woken up, he still already smelled like ink. For some reason, it was comforting.

“Now,” My dear boy said as he pried himself away from me, gently as ever of course, and stood up. “It is time for your present!”

Retrieving the still vaguely shaking box from the chest of drawers, Alexander strode back over towards me, and promptly deposited the box into my arms with a “Merry Christmas Jacky!” He loomed over me with his face lit up with a wicked grin, as I inspected the box. The whole of the thing was made of pasteboard and rather battered, leading me to the only reasonable conclusion that it had once held some sort of equipment for the army. However, now it had been acquisitioned by my dear boy to act as wrapping for my christmas gift, and said gift was making me rather concerned. I swore I could feel something moving around inside of the box. Since the only way to tell what was inside was to open it, that was what I did.

Inside of the box was a rather annoyed looking grey kitten, nearly the size of a whole cat, with the deepest green eyes I had ever seen. Immediately I scooped up the creature and held the adorable little thing in my arms. The kitten was soft, and absolutely adorable, even beginning to purr slightly as I rescued it from its pasteboard prison. As I ran my fingers over the cat’s fluffy grey head, stroking right between its ears, I could feel Alexander gazing fondly at me, gauging my reaction.

“I take it you like your new pet?” He asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

“Of course I do!” I exclaimed, not too loudly though, as I did not desire to startle my new fluffy companion. “It is wonderful and adorable and fluffy.”

“Well now I know how to make you happy,” He laughed, “just overwhelm you with small animals. You know, I was originally planning on finding you a turtle, however that proved rather difficult and one of the soldiers alerted me to the fact that a barn cat had recently given birth to kittens, so I thought that you might enjoy a different sort of companion.”

“After the war, you can get me a turtle, however for now I am perfectly satisfied with this little fellow.” I gazed down at the kitten in my arms and promptly resided that he was in fact a she. “What ought I to call you?”

“Reginald?” My dear boy oh so helpfully suggested.

“Perhaps Turtle.” I mused, “That way someone will be reminded that after the war ends, he shall owe me a proper turtle. Yes, that shall fit you perfectly!”

“Goddamn, you are petty!” Alexander laughed, but he could not have been that off put, as he still swooped in and captured my lips into a kiss. As we regrettably pulled apart, the slight crack in the door allowed a rather colorful exchange to filter though:

“What on earth am I supposed to do with a celebratory bottle of gin? I do not drink!” The unwilling owner of a bottle of gin sounded suspiciously like Tallmadge, a fact that was confirmed when I remembered that he had once refused a drink I had offered him on the same grounds.

“Well that certainly was not the case in Albany. But more importantly, what the fuck am I going to do with a goddamn hymnal and prayer book?” Through the sheer amount of cursing and exclamation, I was quickly able to realize that the man Tallmadge was arguing with none other than Hale. No surprise there, the two hated each other and this seemed to merely be the latest of their numerous arguments that had occured in the twelve hours that they had been together. Although, it did bring what exactly had transpired after they had retired to Hale’s room the previous night into question. Dear god this was going to be an eventful winter.

“How about you attempt to learn some morals?” Major Tallmadge shot back. If the two of them were not so caught up in their petty feud, I was fairly certain that Hale would have threatened to court-martial him again.

“Go stick your morals right up your ass!” Hale spat, not literally though.

“Burn in hell Hale.”

“See you there Mr. Minister!”

While this was most certainly not what I had been expecting to hear come from a Brigadier General and Major, it was slightly more reassuring to know that they were at least capable of coming up with vaguely creative insults for each other, which at the very least assured that being forced to listen to their arguments would be vaguely entertaining. Out in the hallway I could hear Tallmadge storming off, to where I did not know, and Hale cursing under his breath as he fumed back to his room. There was no way that the two of them would be sharing a bedroom for any longer.

“Believe it or not, they actually managed to get along in Albany.” Alexander mentioned from his place on the bed as he thumbed through the book I had gifted him.

While I played with Turtle, the wheels in my mind were turning. Hale and Tallmadge getting along? In Albany muchless? It seemed unbelievable. “What on earth do you mean?”

“In Albany, back before the war, it must have been about ‘74, the two of them got along quite well. Tallmadge acted as the minister of a church, while Hale ran his tavern, which, for the record, was a rather morally dubious establishment. I do not believe that I ever heard the two of them fight when I was with them, however there was a rumor that they abruptly stopped speaking to each other a few days after I left the city.”

“Obviously they must have.” I shrugged, picking Turtle up in my arms and gazing into her little green eyes, “Otherwise they would not hate each other this intensely.”

“True.” Alexander mused, flipping another page in his book. “The rumor was that the two of them had a spat, over what I do not know, but it quickly turned nasty and Tallmadge left the city. It seems rather odd though, as they were exceptionally close when I knew them before the war.”

“How close?”

“About as close as someone might view the two of us, I suppose. Tallmadge even managed to convince Hale to go to a church service, which I can assure you was no small feat.”

“Interesting. I thought the man burned when he touched holy ground.” I jesteed, plopping down next to him on the bed, now petting Turtle.

“He very well might!” Alexander laughed, laying his head on my shoulder.

Oh dear god he was perfect. Young, lively, witty, intelligent, a wonderful man who I did not deserve. He was as stubborn as the day was long, but as patient as one could be when it came to my various…issues. He even got me a cat! Turtle looked up at me with her emerald green eyes, cocking her fluffy little grey head slightly, almost as if she was attempting to discern my very thoughts. I studied the very details of Alexander's face, from the freckles that covered nearly every inch of it to his exposed skit, to the way one or two specific curls always seemed determined to fall back down into his eyes. For once, I was finally content. My dear boy leaned next to me, flipping through his new book, and my cat, Turtle, purred in my arms. No longer did I have any desire to die a glorious death in battle, but instead I was finally looking to the future, after the war no longer seemed such a distant goal. America would hopefully be free, and I could dedicate myself to the cause of the abolition of slavery with Alexander by my side, and none of my prewar troubles would ever touch my new life. 

A knock at the door dislodged my thoughts. It was still rather early in the morning, no one else besides Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, and myself appeared to be awake, and neither of those two seemed as though they would exactly enjoy a Christmas morning chat.

At the door was a rather bleary eyed messenger. I recognized him as one of the young men General Washington tended to use as a runner between his headquarters and General Green’s. He was barely older than a boy and both his face and fingers were pink from the cold. I could only guess that he was giving his message to me in person to stay in the warmth of the headquarters for as long as physically possible.

“Colonel Laurens, sir.” He said, eyes only straying down slightly to the cat I was holding, “General Washington requests both your and Colonel Hamilton’s presence at a Christmas supper at his headquarters this evening. Lady Washington has arrived from Mount Veron and has specifically requested that she be introduced to you.”

“Thank you soldier.” I replied, “I shall be sure to pass along your message to Hamilton.”

“Very well sir. Now, I am sorry to ask this, but do you have any idea where General Hale and Major Tallmadge might be, they were invited as well.”

I pointed the soldier towards Hale and Tallmadge’s room as well as I could, and once I made sure that he knew its location, I closed the door. This ought to be a rather interesting evening. A supper with both the General and his wife, the famed Martha Washington, who I had yet to have the honor of being introduced to, that was also to be attended by Alexander, Hale, and Tallmadge, all of whom had some sort of past quarrel with each other that no one had ever seen fit to inform me of the details of. I could only pray that the evening would be civil as I gently placed Turtle down on the bed and began to see which of my uniforms were the least dirty.

Notes:

This was originally going to also include the Christmas party, but I kinda realized that this thing is 3645 words without the party and decided my sanity is worth it.

In other news, the google doc I keep this on just reached 150 pages so to celebrate I have decided to write a paper on why Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens slept together for sure. Not really sure how I'm gonna put it on the internet, but i'll make sure to give you guys a link!

If you've got any ideas on why LAMS is historical cannon, please comment them!

Chapter 13: Savoir-Faire

Summary:

savoir faire
/ˌsavˌwär ˈfer/
noun
the ability to act or speak appropriately in social situations.

As the sun began to slowly sink over the horizon, the invitees of the Christmas supper began to prepare for the festivities. While I shaved and Alexander attempted thrice to properly tie back his curls, I could hear Hale and Tallmadge bickering through the walls. None of the other officers who occupied the headquarters were brave enough to intercede in their quarrel and had instead spent the majority of the day planning a rather small celebration of the holidays which was to take place in the headquarters. Apparently Hale had approved it, most likely so that he could enjoy a celebration far less formal than that of the Washington’s when we returned from the supper. From what I was able to gather, the supper was to be attended by several of us aides, along with the majority of the General’s and their wives. Tallmadge was easily to be the lowest ranked officer there, but for reasons unknown to me, the General seemed to be rather fond of him and had invited him.

Also of note was the fact that all of those invited were also to be able to bring their wives. This was rather complicated given that neither Alexander nor I were involved in any romantic relationships with women, and I had not heard news of a wife or even lover from either Hale or Tallmadge. However, Hale was charming enough that something told me he would have a girl on his arm by the time all four of us arrived at the celebration. Speaking of Tallmadge and Hale, Alexander and I encountered them as we were making our way down the stairs to the party, and given that it appeared as none of us had a woman to bring along with us, counter to my previous assumption about Hale’s ability to attract the attention of members of the fair sex, we elected to brave the winter elements together. However, before we were to open the door, Hale stopped us, declaring that he was in fact, waiting for a lady, thus proving my theory.

As we waited for said lady, who I was rather confused upon the identity of, as the gentleman typically was the one to retrieve his lady, not the other way around, Mercy Hale bounded into the room, having evidently entered her older brother’s headquarters from the backdoor. She was wrapped in a bright red cloak that had to have been at least a size too large for the small girl. Her grey eyes shone through the rather dark room and she immediately dashed over to Hale. He gave her a pat on her cloaked head and declared:

“About time we get going, is it not gentlemen?”

We all gave various affirmations, and with that, Hale bade his younger sister stay behind him, and opened the front door, exposing all five of us to the frigid winter elements. The wind howled and snow was falling, being whipped around by said wind, as we traversed the distance between Hale’s headquarter and General Washington’s. Hale took the lead, with Mercy following behind him, then myself, my dear boy, and finally Tallmadge in the rear. Both Alexander and I had subconsciously decided to separate the two of them, which was a wise decision since, despite the fact that you could hear nothing above the roaring of the wind, Hale and Tallmadge would have managed to find a way to argue. While we trudged through the wintry landscape, Mercy lagged behind, eventually ending up directly next to me. She grabbed onto the edge of my greatcoat in order to steady herself against the wind, and when the next gust of wind threatened to blow her small figure over, I grasped her hand and pulled her upright. Although all five of us were forced to fight against the elements in order to make the journey over to Washington’s headquarters, Mercy certainly suffered the most. Had she been slightly smaller and my arm not still injured from both the aftermath of the incident in the woods and my injury all the way back at Brandywine, I would have picked her up and carried her. However, that was not the case, and the small girl was able to admirably brave the wicked wind for the duration of the journey.

At long last we were able to reach Washington’s headquarters, guided by the light emanating from every window of the place. It was evident that the rest of the attendees of the party had arrived there by carriage, but due to the fact that neither Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, nor I were in possession of a carriage, we were left to walk. I could only hope that someone would be generous enough to grant Mercy a place in their carriage to take her back to Hale’s headquarters once the whole of the festivities had ended. Windblown and covered in snow that we were, we were somehow still granted entry upon reaching the Headquarters. One of Washington’s slaves, a rather cowed looking man who was nearly as tall as I was, took our greatcoats and Mercy’s cloak. I made sure that we all thanked him as he did so.

It was no secret among the camp that I despised the institution of slavery, and I would be a horrible liar if I did not admit that upon gleaning the knowledge of how exactly General Washington had made his fortune, on the backs of men and women and children who had no choice but to act on his every whim, my view of the man was forever marred. During our time together, both as a romantic partnership and as merely aides, I had converted Alexander to my rather radical beliefs, and it seemed as though both Hales in attendance and Tallmadge shared my dislike for the institution of slavery. Over the course of my time as a resident at Mepkin, I had long learned that the most I could do for slaves, without a true way to free them or platform to petition for such, was to treat them as well as I possibly could. Thus, I exercised this at the Christmas party as well.

Upon being relieved of my overcoat, I took a few steps into Washington’s Headquarters and inspected the party. The whole of the place had been transformed from the somber office where Alexander and I laboured over the General’s paperwork with the other aides, to a festive gathering, with evergreen branches and candles adorning the old parlor and dining room of the farmhouse. The gathering was far smaller than I had expected it to be, with only a few dozen people in attendance. Personally, I recognized Generals Green and Knox, both of whom had women who I could only assume were their wives on their arms, along with Lafayette who was eagerly approaching Alexander and I.

“Mes chers amis! Je suis si heureux que vous ayez pu venir tous les deux ce beau soir.” He exclaimed, drawing Alexander into an embrace, inciting a spark of jealousy somewhere deep inside of me. We merely shook hands, and I returned his greeting in my haltering French, not quite fully understanding what the Major General had said. I was perfectly capable of translating the French language into English or vice versa, however in the area of speaking it, I was almost completely inept. Luckily for me, Lafayette merely seemed excited that there was another man in the camp who vaguely spoke his native tongue. He and Alexander spoke to each other in French for a few moments as I stood awkwardly to the side and was only able to pick up minor phrases in their rapid conversation. 

While they spoke, I glanced around the room. What was typically a front room that was covered with maps, hung heavy with the scent of ink, and was filled with officers and aides waiting to meet with the General, was transformed into an imitation of a proper parlor. The walls, which were as depressing of a gray as ever, had been decorated with evergreen boughs, clearly scavenged from the woods. I could only shudder as I wondered if any of those trees had witnessed me pressing the letter opener to my wrist. All around the parlor were people who were attempting to pretend that we were not surrounded by suffering and death. While they sipped wine and spoke to each other by candlelight, pretending that everything was well, the poor soldiers outside, on whose backs we had advanced so far in the war, were freezing outside in the same ragged tents that they had inhabited since Lexington and Concord. I had heard whispered malcontent among the troops, and I was beginning to understand why they were dissatisfied. Of course I had grown up used to celebrating truly trivial things as others suffered, but I could not shake the feeling that this was slightly distasteful. Perhaps the reason I did not enjoy the party as much as I was supposed to was the fact that Alexander had been dragged away from me the moment that we stepped into the door, and I had already lost track of Hale and Tallmadge, the only other two people in attendance with whom I was any semblance of acquainted.

Thus I milled around for a while, making conversation with General Knox for a fair time. The man was exceptionally passionate about all things relating to artillery, and although I understood very little of what he was speaking about, there was something about how enthralled the man was when he spoke that kept me engaged in the conversation, perhaps it was the same sort of thing that kept others interested when I rambled on about turtles. After a painfully long time of practicing my polite conversation skills, in which I spoke and said absolutely nothing, there was finally a call for us guests to sit down to Christmas supper in the dining room.

Much like in the parlor, the strategy room had been transformed into something that resembled a proper dining room, with the bare windows covered in wine red curtains, the walls decorated with yet more evergreen boughs, and candles lighting the room with a soft glow. The table which was typically covered with maps had been instead covered with a tablecloth and the whole of it was surrounded by about eight chairs. That was rather odd, I could have sworn that there were far more people in attendance. At that moment both the General and Lady Washington entered, taking their places at the head and foot of the table respectively. 

It was my first look at Lady Washington and thus I attempted to analyze her as others took their seats. She appeared to be roughly the same age as the General, of course it would have been rude to ask for clarification, and her hair was grey, or at the very least powdered to that hue. I had never quite cared for powdering my own hair, however on Lady Washington, it gave her a rather motherly appearance. Quite frankly one could think she looked quite plain, but there was a general sense of kindness around her, and based on the way that General Washington gazed at his wife, one would come to believe that the woman in the teal evening gown was the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes.

There were no assigned seats at the table, thus after giving the proper formalities to both the General and Lady Washington, I slipped in between Alexander and Lady Washington, the former being to my left and Lady Washington of course being at the foot of the table, with Hale across from me and Mercy next to him. It was the closest I would be able to get to feeling as if I were not waiting for my father to spontaneously materialize, and my dear boy even took my hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. Lafayette took the final seat at the table, sitting across from Tallmadge, who was next to Alexander. For a supper being hosted by the Washingtons’, it was a rather intimate event. Apparently I was giving the impression that I thought the lack of others at the table was rather odd, so Lady Washington turned to me and struck up a small conversation as Lafayette, Alexander, Tallmadge, and Hale all began to speak on military matters.

“Colonel Laurens is it?” She asked, her demeanor reminding me of that of my mother, when she had still been alive of course.

“Yes Ma’am.” I answered.

“Wonderful to meet you, soldier.” Lady Washington gave me a warm smile, “I apologize for the crowd earlier, there is not nearly enough room here as at Mt. Vernon, and I simply can not host everyone at once.”

“I do not mind. I do not quite care for large dinner parties, and I have experienced enough of those that this is a welcome change.” As I finished my explanation, a man who I could only assume was yet another slave entered, and poured wine into the glasses of everyone except for Mercy. When he filled mine, I whispered a “Thank you”, to which he gave me a small nod.

“Ah, yes. You are from the South like me, we do have a rather obsession with large gatherings.”

“Quite correct Ma’am. If my memory proves correct, this is the first dinner party I have attended with under two dozen guests.”

At that remark Lady Washington laughed, lighting tapping me on the arm as she did. The sudden contact made me flinch and no matter how much I prayed she had not seen it, it was clear that she had. Almost immediately, Lady Washington removed her hand from my arm and looked at me with pity and worry clear in her eyes. I felt my cheeks flush red and stared into my empty plate as the shame rose in me. Alexander was absorbed in his conversation with General Washington, and he did not notice when I squeezed his hand under the table. After a moment, Lady Washington gently asked:

“Are you alright dear?” There was a surprising amount of sincerity in her voice and although she saw hundreds upon thousands of soldiers suffering daily, it seemed as though she was actually rather concerned for me.

“Yes Ma’am.” I mumbled, far too automatically for it to ever be believed.

Another slave entered, placing soup before each of us. I still muttered my thanks, although it felt as though I could barely force the words out. Lady Washington looked to her husband, and I could neither see the General’s reaction, nor even guess what it might have been. However, as we all ate the soup, which was quite good compared to what we had been eating since arriving in winter quarters, Hale started to tell a rather amusing story from his youth which involved himself, his older and younger brothers, and a donkey with a desire for vengeance. There was something about the humorous way in which the tale was recited that made a small smile appear on my face. Looking around the table, it appeared as if everyone else was also enjoying the tale, except for Tallmadge who seemed to be trying his best to keep his face painfully neutral and was failing. Once Hale finished speaking, Lafayette piped up, telling the story of a Christmas ball he had attended back in France that went awry very quickly. He mentioned his wife, who had apparently been the saving grace of the whole event, and was apparently the love of his life from the way he spoke. By the time the main course had been served, we were all exchanging stories of Christmases past and I had begun to laugh at Tallmadge’s story of his thoroughly misguided search for Christmas gifts as a young boy.  

The Christmas supper was nothing like the ones my family hosted, for one we were actually all happy and I had no fear of being slapped across the face for speaking out of turn. At the end of the night, as the candles burned down low and our wine glasses were refilled over and over again, I felt far more at home than I had in a very long time. I was surrounded by friends, and a man who was far more than a friend, and my heart had never been more full. Throughout the night I did not contribute very much to the conversation, however when Washington was speaking of the Christmas time exploits of one of his dogs, Alexander squeezed my hand under the table and whispered:

“Enjoying yourself Jacky?”

“Quite so.” I whispered back. Had we not been surrounded by others, I would have kissed him, much like I had before we had left. In the past few days I had begun to feel as if I wanted nothing more than to be touching my dear boy as much as physically possible. My heart surged every time I gazed over at him, his indigo eyes filled with amusement and extremely kissable lips in a grin.

For the rest of the evening there was no more talk of the war, all eight of us were determined to create an oasis from the suffering outside, content to simply be happy, living in the moment and not worrying what tomorrow might bring. Lady Washington was delightful all night, pulling me into conversation with her when it was proper and taking care to not touch me suddenly again. We spoke in length about nothing in particular, although when the topic of bird watching came up, and when she mentioned that her favorite bird was a bluebird, I resolved to sketch one for her. Unfortunately, like all things, the evening had to come to an end, and, full of good food and wine, Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, Mercy, and I once again braved the hollowing wind and still falling snow to return to Hale’s headquarters.

This time, Hale carried his younger sister in his arms, since she was exhausted, and I grasped onto Alexander’s hand in an effort to not lose him in the inky darkness. Given that we could see nothing, no one could see our minimal display of affection. Tallmadge somehow seemed to remember the way back, and thus he was the one taking the lead, Hale and Mercy behind him, and Alexander and I in the rear. Because of the darkness and the simple fact that we were all rather drunk, the journey took us far slower than it had the previous time and I nearly tripped over a rock in the darkness, almost pulling Alexander down with me. However, at long last, the lights of Hale’s headquarters appeared in the distance, and I was sure that I would be able to spend the rest of the evening curled up in bed with my dear boy and newly found feline companion, comfortable and content.

Notes:

Omg! Sorry this is late! I forgot when my own fic updated 🫣

I actually used historical sources for once! The below articles are about Martha Washington and her husband's headquarters at Valley Forge respectfully. You should see why a major dinner party wouldn't've worked in that place.

https://www.mountvernon.org/george-washington/martha-washington/martha-at-the-front

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/washingtons_headquarters.htm

Chapter 14: Cingulomania

Summary:

Cingulomania
sing-gyoo-loh-may-nee-uh
Noun
A strong desire to hold a person in your arms

The remainder of December passed quite uneventfully. All of us aides spent our days laboring over the papers that ran the war in our office, working from sunrise to sunset, stopping only once at midday for our meal. There were petitions to be sent to congress, orders to be circulated throughout the camp, and the organization of a small city to manage. Somehow the majority of the men were now housed in log cabins, the structural integrity of which was questionable, but nonetheless provided protection from the elements. Only after the last candle had been snuffed and the final blot of ink dried on the parchment, did us aides retreat to our assorted sleeping quarters. Alexander would have worked late into the night, oftentimes I had to physically rip him from his work, however I could simply not be alone in Hale’s headquarters.

Even though the whole of the place was occupied by at least a dozen men, it always felt strangely empty, cold, and foreign. I should have been thoroughly acquainted with the whole of the place by then, but no matter how many times I journeyed up and down the halls, I could never get used to how eerie the place felt. Creaking floorboards and faded walls were bad enough, but when a distorted shadow passed across them, the entire effect was more than enough to send shivers down my spine. Thus, whenever I was there, no matter the time of day, I always attempted to seek out the company of another. Typically my companion was my dear boy, who seemed as eager to spend every waking moment with me as I was with him, although when he was kept late meeting with Washington, Hale or Tallmadge kept me company. 

By some miracle the two of them were capable of continuing to share the bedroom that had originally been allocated for Hale with only minimal conflict, and as I lay in bed next to Alexander, sketching the outline of Turtle’s fluffy body as she slept, the sounds of their arguments only occasionally penetrated the peaceful silence. However, Hale’s headquarters being a place of peace changed in a single night.

That night, a blizzard had whipped up, torrents of snow and ice beating against the walls of the rather flimsy farmhouse that the army had commandeered to act as said general’s headquarters. The wind howled louder than the drone of battle, and even in the relative protection of headquarters, I could still feel a chill down my spine every time a gust hit the side of the building. There was a general feeling of tension and a morbid anticipation. Whether or not the old farmhouse would survive the night seemed up for contention. This being the case, all of us who resided in the place, myself included, spent as much of the evening as we possibly could in what must have once been the parlor of the farmhouse. Crowded around the fire, people laughed and told stories and played cards. Just as Hale was regaling us with the tale of the time he drove a minister out of Albany by pretending to be a ghost, a story which Tallmadge had to hide a small smile for the entirety of, another burst of icy wind hit the house, forcing its way through the cracks in the walls and window panes, the freezing hostility invading the vague comfort of the place.

Shaking off a shiver, I glanced over at Alexander, who had taken up a place near to the fire as I took part in a round of whist with some of the officers who had claimed the attic. My dear boy was staring into the flames, his freckled features hollow and hands clenching at the lapels of his uniform coat. He looked far weaker and more horrible than I had ever seen him, and the moment that the card game ended, I had lost, I quickly took up a place next to him at the fire.

“Alexander?” I whispered, my voice audible only to him.

“How on earth do you people put up with this all winter?” He shivered, running his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to get warm.

“I take it you do not care for the winter?” I half-laughed, wrapping my arm around him in a way that I could only pray appeared to be brotherly. Thankfully none of the other men appeared to notice, and upon glancing around to confirm this fact, Alexander leaned into me, gently resting his head on my shoulder.

“Can we please go to bed?” He asked, his words barely a murmur.

“Of course we can.” My heart melted a bit when he asked, and quite frankly I would have even ventured out into the frigid night if he asked politely enough.

After saying good night to Hale and Tallmadge, one of whom was drunk and the other one merely reading, Alexander and I made our way upstairs. His ankle appeared to have for the most part healed, but he still leaned on my arm as we mounted the stairs, perhaps because the stairs seemed rather structurally unsound and every other step I slightly feared that my foot was going to go through the step. The floorboards creaked throughout our journey back. When I opened the door, Turtle peered out of the door, her green eyes shining in the general darkness, rubbing her fluffy body against my leg while I attempted to maneuver both Alexander and myself into our room. He was shivering as we entered, and I was grateful for the fact that we had been allocated a badwarmer, even though it was essentially a heated brick in between two pie pans.

My dear boy made a beeline for his trunk, pulling out his nightshirt. Before he got changed, a squall of icy wind directly hit the side of the old farmhouse, rattling our window in its frame and causing both of us to jump. Within a matter of seconds we were both changed into nightshirts and curled into bed together, Alexander’s back to my front, him curled up like a question mark, with that little traitor Turtle in his arms, myself wrapped around him. Right before I was to slip into sleep, I pressed a light kiss to his freckled cheek, then closed my eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A crack like a bolt of lightning awoke me suddenly. I sat bolt upright in bed and glanced around the darkened room, eyes scrutinizing every shadow. Due to the furious wind outside, it was impossible to tell where the disturbance had come from. However, nothing seemed amiss in Alexander and I’s room, so wherever the noise had originated, it had most certainly been outside of our close surroundings. Just as I was about to lay back down, my mind attempting to convince myself that I had imagined the noise, it happened again. This time it was loud enough that my dear boy was awakened. Through the darkness he looked at me, face impossible to make out, and asked:

“Did you hear that as well?”

“I did.” I affirmed, once again searching the room for the course.

“That sounded quite like a cannon shot.” Alexander grabbed my sleeve, forcing me to look at him. “Jacky, there might be a battle outside!”

“Do you honestly believe that there is a whole battle outside, my dear boy?” I soothed, taking his hand in mine. That same sort of franticness that came into my mind after being forced to deal with my father, or even worse do something that in his eyes deserved a punishment before him, was in his eyes. “Nay, there is no way that the Bloodybacks could even get troops through this blizzard, muchless organize themselves for battle.”

“Well we still ought to check.” He objected.

“I quite agree.”

The two of us drew ourselves out of bed, and as Alexander lit a candle, which provided slight light in the room, I threw on my uniform coat in order to ward off the cold. We quickly walked down the hallway and down the stairs, the candle the only source of light in the whole of the place. With the wind slamming against the house and howling as it did so, the eeriness of the old farmhouse only increased, and even though I really ought to have known better, I gripped Alexander’s hand tightly. Visible at the bottom of the stairs, standing right in front of the front door were Hale and Tallmadge, whispering in hushed tones in order to not wake the other inhabitants. The two of them quickly spotted Alexander and I and Hale bade us closer.

“I am going to go outside and check.” He declared. Somehow Hale had already managed to change into actual clothes, although he may have simply never undressed, and was currently pulling on his great coat and a pair of mittens. On the floor beside him sat a lit lantern.

“Do you have a goddamn death wish?” Tallmadge groaned. He was wrapped in a quilt and wore only his nightshirt underneath, although in the lantern light it seemed to me at least that there were dark blotches on his neck, however those might have simply been shadows. “If anything you will get lost out in the storm and freeze to death.”

“Tallmadge is right.” I agreed. “Nothing shall come of going outside. Should anyone come to the door we can aid them, but none of us stand any chance out in the elements.”

“I suppose you are correct.” Hale seemed dissuaded enough that he stopped putting his mittens on, and instead began to remove them.

“In all likelihood, whatever is occurring outside is merely the sound produced when a particularly strong gust of wind meets a particularly expendable tree branch.” Alexander added. “I would bet half my pay that when we awake in the morning, the whole of the camp will be littered with discarded tree limbs, although they may be completely buried under the snow fall at this rate.”

“That seemed accurate.” With that comment, Tallmadge grabbed Hale’s sleeve and pulled him away from the lantern. “Thus I believe that we should all go back to bed and none of us shall be idiotic enough to slip away to go out into the storm when everyone else has fallen asleep.”

Hale attempted to give the man, who was currently pulling him with far more force than I would have expected, his best I-am-completely-innocent-how-dare-you-accuse-me-of-plotting-to-do-just-that-becuase-I-most-assuradly-would-never-commit-such-a-crime look, which Tallmadge was having none of. I could not help myself but to chuckle at the rather comical sight, but stopped when I realized something. In the relationship between Brigadier General Hale and Major Tallmadge, something seemed off.

They no longer appeared to despise each other as much as they had before being forced into close quarters, and the way that Tallmadge interacted with Hale could even go as far as to be deemed affectionate. As Tallmadge continued to drag the prospective investigator up the stairs, Hale stumbled for a moment and quickly caught himself.

“Trying to get me killed Mr. Minister?” He jested.

“Fuck off Nat.” Tallmadge muttered, although even in the dim light it was obvious that he was blushing.

The moment that the two of them disappeared up the ramshackle staircase, Alexander shot me a knowing look. Apparently he had also noticed the strange behaviour of our two companions. If I had not been so tired, I would have brought up the subject with him, however we were both far too exhausted for proper conversation and instead collapsed into our bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously, so quickly in fact that I never bothered to remove my coat. 

Morning came quickly, too quickly for my liking. I was barely able to drag myself out of bed and get changed in order to obtain the sweet nectar known as coffee. While I was doing so, Alexander woke, and while he shaved using a mirror that was rather precariously balanced atop a stack of books, I tied my hair into a queue, using the same faded ribbon that I always did. Turtle played at my feet and meowed at me as I did so. She was clearly getting cooped up in the room. Thus, when my dear boy and I ventured downstairs for coffee, Turtle joined us, since she was fed by Hannah Hale after all. I had managed to strike up a deal with the nurse, so in exchange for her feeding my cat, I would obtain her a bolt of fabric for a new dress, which in all actuality was quite the easy task. All I had to do was write to my father requesting some for a suit. This was a lie, however my father doled out money for those sorts of expenses quite easily, a sort of affection that was entirely contradictory to everything else about his persona.

However, instead of simply encountering sleep deprived soldiers in desperate need for coffee and breakfast, a far more interesting scene awaited us. There had to be at least three dozen soldiers, who must have been of the lower ranks of the infantry based on the state of their uniforms, standing in the parlor and every other part of headquarters. All of the men were caked in the remnants of snow, and many of their faces were red from the cold. Some of them clutched blankets around their shivering frames. One man, who appeared to hold the rank of captain, was speaking to Hale. It really ought to have been easier to tell which man held the higher command, but Hale looked ragged and exhausted and the Captain was such the same that it seemed as if they were but one ragged officer speaking to the other. To Hale’s side was Tallmadge, who was no longer wrapped up in a quilt but instead clad in his uniform, the dark blotches I had noticed last night for the most part concealed by his caveat, although several of them were rather obvious in the morning light.

While Hale continued to speak to the Captain, Tallmadge noticed Alexander and I and moved from his place by Hale in order to speak to us. 

“We appear to have found the source of last night’s disturbance.” He stated, pulling up on his caveat as he did so. There was something off about his mannerisms, yet I dared not comment.

“Was it the trees like I suspected?” Alexander implored, his eyes flitting to the marks on Tallmadge’s neck for a split second as he asked his question.

“Nay. It is a far more…interesting cause.”

At the same time I asked “Just what would that cause happen to be?”, my dear boy inquired: “The same interesting cause that gave you those hickeys?” Tallmadge blushed beet red, confirming Alexander’s statement. The marks on his neck were clearly hickies, that was obvious now, and the only remaining question was who had given them to him. There certainly was not an abundance of unmarried women at camp, muchless women who would have been available the previous night. Alexander gave me a sly smile as I saw a mixture of embarrassment and panic rise in Tallmadge’s eyes.

“For your information, the sounds we heard last night were the cabins of the A company of the 3rd New York collapsing in the storm. All of the men are thankfully unharmed, however at the moment Na- I mean General Hale is speaking with Captain Rensselaer to see what on earth we are to do with the men.” Having quickly become defensive, Tallmadge sputtered out his statement before turning on his heel and half storming, half fleeing from Alexander and I.

I raised an eyebrow at my dear boy whose smug and knowing grin had stayed affixed to his face. He merely directed his gaze towards Hale and Tallmadge, the latter of the two heaving taken up his former position next to Hale as the dark haired man leaned over a table and scrawled something onto a piece of parchment as the Captain, Rensselaer Tallmadge had dubbed him, spoke. There was something quite interesting going on between Tallmadge and an unknown lover and it was quickly surpassing Turtle as the most interesting occurrence at camp.

Hale leaned over and said something to the drummer boy of Resselaer’s company that I could not make out, however the boy quickly nodded, gave Hale a clumsy salute that the general was still caught off guard by, and quickly mounted the stairs to the second floor. Within a few moments, all of the occupants of Hale's headquarters who were not already on the first floor were, many of them still groggy. Having seen this, Hale nodded to the drummer boy, who played a quick few beats on his drum, effectively silencing the whole of the place.

“Well men,” Hale began, clearly not quite sure how on earth he was to communicate his message to people in four district rooms. Once he had evidently decided on just speaking loudly, he continued: “it has come to my attention that the quarters of the men of company A of the 3rd New York have fallen prey to the winter elements. As there is nowhere else for them to stay, they will be temporarily residing here in Headquarters until new accommodations can be found. At the moment we are sleeping two men to a room, and this is no longer going to be the case. Captain Resselaer and I have organized all of the people currently in this place, there are forty six including myself, into the space we have available. Everyone is going to suffer, no matter their rank, however I can assure you that this is far more preferable to sleeping out in the cold. Understand?”

A round of various affirmations replied to Hale’s short speech. I could not help but to think to myself that more experienced generals would have been able to tie the whole situation together with patriotic zeal, however Hale’s speech had gotten a decent enough response. Captain Resselaer spoke next, explaining to his men how headquarters was divided. After his explanation ended, Hale took up the piece of parchment he had previously been writing on. On the piece of parchment, there had apparently been the outline for how on earth we were going to fit forty six men into a rather spacious, yet still unbelievably decrepit farmhouse.

The names of men who I did not recognize were called out. In general, there were no more than five to a room in the actual bedrooms, although in the attic it was nine men to each half, and five poor fellows were told that they were to sleep on the floor in the parlor if they could not convince some of their fellow soldiers to share their space with them. A company of the 3rd New York was a far smaller group of men than I had initially thought, their ranks had been severely thinned by the war, so there were only about thirty or so of them in total. At last, mine and Alexander’s names were called out. We were to share room number four with Hale and Tallmadge.

As my dear boy and I packed up our possessions into our trunks and moved said trunks over to room four, I could only pray that this would be my final bed relocation of the duration of our time at Winter Camp. Turtle tentatively stepped into room four as I gauged the sleeping quarters which I was to share with the three other men.

Shoved into the rather small room, which appeared to be in as bad of condition as the room Alexander and I had previously occupied, were two rather thin beds. Much like our previous room, there was one window, which overlooked the camp and had rags shoved in all around it in order to prevent the cold from seeping into the room. Under one of the beds, that frankly resembled a military cot more than anything else, were two trunks, both of which I could only assume belonged to Tallmadge and Hale, mainly because they were both perched atop said bed. Tallmadge was reading a book, and was almost completely engrossed in it. Next to him was Hale, who had one arm wrapped around the other man and was drumming his fingers and otherwise fiddling with Tallmadge’s coat.

Hale suddenly noticed both Alexander and I standing in the doorway, probably because Turtle had decided to ram her head into his calf, and seemed almost as startled as Tallmadge had been earlier. There was no question now who had given the major those hickies. He looked as though he was about to lash out at my dear boy and I in order to protect himself, but before he could do so, I took Alexander’s hand in my own and gave him a small smile. Neither of us would betray them, and nor would they us. This was quite possibly the only place in the camp that was truly safe, and it had only taken me moving sleeping quarters three times to find it. The winter just became ten times more interesting.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Since last chapter so fucking late, I thought I'd give you this one a day early (still thursday for me)!

This the last chapter before the ANGST begins, so enjoy one vaugly happy thing...it may not last

Also I actually did research!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

here are the links:

bed warmers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bed_warmer

Ranks in the army:

https://revolutionarywar.us/continental-army/

New York regiment I used

https://revolutionarywar.us/continental-army/newyork/#ny-03

Chapter 15: Obsequious

Summary:

obsequious
/əbˈsēkwēəs/
adjective
obedient or attentive to an excessive or servile degree.

One might have considered it odd to have shared a room with three other men, only one of whom I was actually in a romantic relationship with, however we were by far the least cramped group in the whole of Hale’s Headquarters. As January bled into February, life stayed very much the same. Lady and General Washington hosted a supper that we all were to attend once every two weeks. Mrs. Hale continued to feed Turtle, as all of us aides were working late into the night. Tallmadge spent long days drilling his unit, who had their cabins stay miraculously upright, and Hale did whatever he did during the day. At night we would scarcely say a word to each other as we all collapsed into bed, exhausted as ever. I did not have time to pick up my sketchbook, nor even to play with my cat. I could merely press a light kiss to the top of my dear boy’s head as we drifted off to sleep.

The morning on which everything began to turn for the worse, was much like every other morning. Still groggy, Alexander and I had pulled ourselves out of bed, and advanced downstairs for the wonderful nectar known as coffee, before heading to Washington’s headquarters, where we took our places at the desk we shared and I began to copy out orders. Meade and Fitzgerald jested and laughed between each other as my quill scratched against the parchment. Alexander had been promptly called away for a meeting with General Washington, an occurrence which I feared would only end in shouting. After a few hours of work, Reed tapped me on the shoulder, dislodging me from the world that consisted solely of my translations and cramping hand.

“General Hale is needed for a meeting, however I can not appear to find the man. As you sleep at his headquarters, I was wondering if you might know where he is?”

“I do not know where he is at the moment, but if you wish I could attempt to find our missing General?” I silently prayed that Reed would agree to my request, going back out in the cold was infinitely more enjoyable than translating French.

A rare stroke of luck occurred! Reed assented, saying: “This seems to be important enough that that is a good idea. The meeting is at eleven exactly, so I pray you can find General Hale before then, lest we all be spared the rage of several impatient Generals.”

I practically ran out of the room. Anything was better than being stuck in that office. Pulling on my greatcoat and my gloves, I paused for a moment before deciding to steal Alexander’s scarf. He would not miss it after all, and I was the one who was to be braving the wind. The moment that I wrapped the scarf around my neck, I was enveloped in the familiar scent of ink and old books that always seemed to follow my dear boy around. After taking in a deep breath of that, I opened the door and journeyed outside. The appearance of the camp had significantly improved since we had settled in, and for once it was not snowing. All around me, soldiers completed the tasks assigned to the, everything from building defences to foraging for food and firewood. Both a blacksmith and a cooper had been given places to practice their crafts, and some of the camp followers were visible all throughout the camp, ducking into and out of places. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Tallmadge drilling his dragoons. Unsurprisingly, the walk to Hale’s headquarters was far easier when there was not a blizzard occurring outside, and I reached there quite quickly.

As I entered the old farmhouse, the silence of the place seemed overwhelming. Typically, there was almost always someone about who, more likely than not, was creating an abundance of noise. Perhaps Hale had already left. I was about to go and check another location, but something spurred me to check the strategy room, otherwise known as the dining room which a concerning number of maps had been placed in. Somehow, that was where the missing General was.

From my vantage point in the doorway, I could only see the back of Hale's uniform since he appeared to be leaning over a table in the corner of the room. Before I was able to call out to the man, he suddenly stood up straight and downed a few gulps of liquid from a small green bottle. Hale scrubbed at his face for a moment, then, gazing at himself in a small looking glass that was hung upon the wall, squared his shoulders and put the confident smirk he always wore, only now what the smirk really was was obvious. It was a mask. What that mask hid, I did not know, but what was for certain was that the rather smug and confident exterior that Hale put up was not as true as I had previously believed. When he gazed in the mirror, Hale had clearly noticed my presence in the doorway, and he spun around the moment he spotted my form.

“Laurens!” He exclaimed, doing quite the poor job of disguising his shock. “I did not expect to see you back so early.”

There was something off about his voice, perhaps it was the fact that the rather faint Albany accent I knew the man to possess suddenly became far more profound, or maybe it was how his movements seemed awkward and his entire demeanor was wrong.

“General Washington requests your presence at a council of war, or whatever the meeting is being called. I was sent by headquarters to fetch you.”

“Oh right-yes, that is today. Fuck. Thank you for reminding me. Let me fetch my hat and coat and then I shall be off.” With those words, Hale placed the green glass bottle down on the table behind him and took a few steps in my direction. Suddenly, he stopped, went even more pale than usual, and a few mangled words escaped his lips: “Laurens, I feel quite ill.”

Before I could truly comprehend what was happening, Hale had collapsed, splayed out on the floor, far more akin to a child’s discarded plaything than the formidable general I had been speaking with a mere moment prior. Immediately I rushed to the man’s side, shaking him and silently begging him to awake. He did no such thing. The only evidence that Hale was even still alive was his ragged breathing, far too shallow to be long sustained. In that moment I was given two choices: either I could stay with Hale and pray that someone entered headquarters who was also preferably well versed in the medical field, or I could leave the man and run for help. I chose the latter.

Abandoning Hale, I of course first called out for help in his headquarters, when that effort proved fruitless, I hurried over to the summer kitchen where I knew Dr. and Mrs. Hale to reside. Neither of them nor Mercy were in the place. The makeshift hospital was on the other side of camp, and I was not confident in my ability to reach it quickly. Who else would be capable of helping? Tallmadge. He might know what to do.

By what can only be described as a miracle, Tallmadge’s dragoons were drilling nearby. I may or may not have interrupted said drills by bursting in and demanding to speak to Major Tallmadge on behalf of General Hale, a statement which only qualified as a partial lie. My words running into each other, I hastily explained the situation to Tallmadge, his expression growing more and more concerned with every word. But as I spoke, I gained a growing suspicion that this was not the first time Tallmadge had heard of Hale spontaneously collapsing. Make no mistake, he still appeared as panicked as the situation, and our relative location to his men, would allow, and I was certain that he legitimately feared for Hale’s life, but there was no surprise in his eyes when I had blurted out that the man had collapsed, concern yes, but no surprise.

The moment I finished speaking, Tallmadge and I rushed over to Hale’s headquarters, leaving the dragoons in favor of tending to the Brigadier General. When we reached it, Tallmadge entered first, making a beeline for the strategy room. I followed closely behind him. Upon entering the room, Tallmadge kneeled down next to Hale’s unconscious figure, positioning his form as to allow him to breath and loosening the man’s caveat. Unsure of what exactly I ought to do, I lingered awkwardly in the doorway as Tallmadge inspected the general. He went about the business for a good moment before turning to me, his voice shaky yet in control.

“We ought to get him off the floor, however I do not think that we will be able to get him up the stairs and into an actual bed.”

“Is there not a couch in the parlor?” I inquired, “We might be able to take him there until he awakes.”

“That is quite the idea. Yes, that is what we shall do.” Tallmadge declared our next course of action, all the while the both of us ignoring the fact that Hale might not awake.

Together, with Tallmadge supporting Hale’s shoulders and I doing the same with his feet, we managed to half drag, half carry the man to the couch in the parlor, depositing him on it as gently as possible. The moment that we placed him down, Tallmadge disappeared to retrieve a blanket, and I made the journey across camp to summon a doctor, and inform Reed of what on earth had just happened. Luckily for me, quite possible the only streak of luck anyone who resided at Hale’s headquarters had gotten all day, there was a horse available, meaning that the trip to the makeshift hospital took half the time, and I was able to spare a moment to give Alexander a brief kiss on the cheek without being noticed or missed.

Since he was apparently the only doctor in the whole of the army I was ever going to interact with, the first practitioner of medicine that I came across after dismounting and entering the old barn that had been converted into part of the hospital, was Dr. Hale, who was making eyes at his wife, Mrs. Hale appeared as though she was conspiring to get them together in a closet as quickly as physically possible. Upon explaining the situation to both Hales, the two of them had similar expressions to Tallmadge: concern and mild panic, but not an ounce of surprise. This had to have happened before, I was sure of it. After commendering another horse, both Hales and I returned to headquarters.

Mrs. Hale instantly flew to the summer kitchen, her dark green cloak making her look like a ginormous bird in the winter wind. I led Dr. Hale to the room where his unconscious brother lay. General Hale still lay upon the couch, unmoving, however Tallmadge had wrapped a blanket around him and was sitting on the couch beside him, the other man’s head on his lap. He looked up when Dr. Hale entered the room, a look passing between the two of them that I could not decipher. After an inspection of his brother, Dr. Hale addressed Tallmadge and I, plus technically his wife who had returned, although she most certainly knew what he was to say before the words escaped his mouth.

“It does not appear to me as though this was caused by any external injury or substance. There is very little I can do now to treat his state, and the illness that is sure to follow this. I shall bleed him when he wakes, but all we can currently do is wait.”

“Ought we take him up to his bedroom?” Tallmadge asked, conveniently leaving out the fact that said bedroom was host to three other men, two of whom were currently in the room.

“That would be beneficial, at least for the troops. He looks like dead and it would scare them.” Mrs. Hale added, looking at her husband who suddenly seemed younger than I remembered.

“Yes, we should.” he decided, glancing at me. “Laurens, would you be so kind as to assist me in this endeavor?”

As we carried the man up the stairs I could have sworn I heard Dr. Hale mutter: “Why couldn’t the fucker have decided to faint in a place which does not require dragging his body?”

I refrained from commenting on this.

We deposited General Hale on the bed he shared with Tallmadge, said Major having followed us closely up the stairs. Giving the unconscious man one more glance over, Dr. Hale retreated to whatever he had been absorbed in before I had snatched him, which by the looks of it seemed to be the process of attempting to impregnate Mrs. Hale. This left Tallmadge and I alone in the room. Paying no mind to my presence, he went about attempting to pull a quilt over Hale, tucking the blanket around him tenderly. It was obvious that in the same way that my dear boy and I cared for each other, Tallmadge and Hale cared for the other. Their relationship was not a loud or rather obvious one, in fact most of the camp thought them mortal enemies, but it was obvious there was genuine affection beneath the bickering and jests. As Tallmadge straightened up, I swore I could see tears glistening in his eyes. Without thinking I took the few steps that put me right at his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into my half embrace and shook silently, crying tears that society would shame him for if ever discovered. Neither of us said anything. After a moment of silence, Tallmadge whispered a quiet “Thank you” and I released him. We both knew that we would never speak of this.

While I journeyed back down the stairs, I replayed the last hour’s events in my mind, suddenly remembering one thing: the green glass bottle Hale had been drinking from before he had passed out. Had that had something to do with his collapse? Poking my head into the parlor, I spotted the green glass bottle on the same corner table that Hale had put it down on before he had collapsed. Within a moment I had retrieved it. There was nothing inherently wrong with the bottle, it simply looked like a small green glass medical bottle, with residue from a paper label that had been pasted on and ripped off on it. Despite this, I still thought it notable enough to take to Dr. Hale, thus I proceeded to the summer kitchen, where I was greeted by Mrs. Hale who appeared to have very hastily dressed. We greeted each other politely and I presented the green glass bottle to her. 

“Tis but laudanum.” Mrs. Hale pronounced. “He was most likely taking it for pain, although over the years it seems as though he may have become slightly addicted to it. I doubt this was the cause of anything.”

“Ah, well I apologize for bothering you ma’am.” I gave her a small bow before returning to headquarters and curling up in the parlor with a book, waiting for Alexander to return. Reed was already going to be furious for my absence, might as well not return and claim I was watching over General Hale. That ought to be a rather plausible fib.

A few hours later Alexander returned, looking tired yet as fiery as ever. Since I had taken up a spot on the couch in the parlor, he settled in next to me, taking my hand in his. There was no fear of being noticed as the A company had not yet returned, and neither had the other officers. We sat in silence for a moment, then I relayed the day’s events to Alexander, his eyebrows rising higher and higher at every development.

“You are quite right, had the enlisted men caught a glimpse of Hale collapsing, morale would have dipped even lower, and god knows that is in as short of supply as everything else this winter.” Remarked my dear boy, turning the book I had been reading over and over in his hands. I was not quite certain how he had managed to get it from me, but I decided that some things were better left alone.

“With any luck the whole of camp should simply believe that Hale fell prey to one of the many illnesses terrorizing our soldiers.” I shrugged. “But enough about that. Any interesting occurrences at headquarters while I was absent?”

“General Washington still refuses to promise me a command come next campaign, apparently the man does not understand that I wish my legacy to be more than that of a secretary. There is to be yet another professional soldier joining us, apparently he yearns for the glory of battle and believes he can find it here.”

“Poor fellow must be unaware that we are doing very little fighting at the moment.” I laughed, “Just who might this man be?”

“He is Prussian,” Alexander said after thinking for a moment, “That I know for sure, so he ought to at least have experience in a slightly more organized army. I do not quite remember his name, but I believe it might be Baron von Stueben.”

“Well he is in for quite the rude shock! All our camp has to offer is freezing men, fainting Generals and rumors of battle. There is no glory or fame or riches for Baron von Stueben over here, none at all.”

My dear boy simply shook his head and gave me a sad smile. As I laid next to him that night, the two of us relinquished to sharing the parlor floor with several other men, my mind thought not of the forthcoming Baron, but instead of a soldier I was far more acquainted with: Hale. The man would be alright, he had to be alright. If a man like Hale was not to survive the winter, then our great American experiment could not be destined to survive the roar of battle once more. The winter had been a hard one, and it was only fated to become far, far worse.

Notes:

The source I used for Baron von Stueben:

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/vonsteuben.htm#:~:text=the%20Prussian%20army.-,Steuben%20at%20Valley%20Forge,camp%20on%20February%2023%2C%201778.

 

I have him showing up in early Feburary vs. late Feburary when von Stueben actually showed up, but honestly that isn't really relivent

Just thought I should note that Ollie is technically a good doctor at the time, but he's still unfortunately useless by today's standards.

Chapter 16: Sardonic

Summary:

sardonic
/särˈdänik/
adjective
grimly mocking or cynical.

Hale woke the next day. It was around noon when I spotted a messenger sent to alert Tallmadge. General Washington said nothing of the Major’s sudden departure. Perhaps he had sensed the same thing that I had. All around the camp, there were whispers about the Baron, as the man had been dubbed. No two soldiers had the same image of the man in their minds. I could have speculated about him, tried endless times to envision the Prussian in my mind, but with the gravity of what was occurring at Hale’s headquarters, which had quickly become the closest to an actual home I had experienced in a long while, that sort of speculation seemed nothing but childish and improper. Just hours after he had woken up, Hale was snatched by the throws of a fever. It came on so quickly and violently that only Tallmadge, Dr. Hale, Mrs. Hale, and little Mercy were able to see him before the illness came on. While the Brigadier General who I really ought not to have known so well tossed and turned, fighting off the illness to the best of his abilities, I was left with the admirable task of attempting to comfort Tallmadge. 

Now, to most of the army, up to and including his own dragoons, the man that was Major Benjamin Tallmadge appeared to be quite straightforward: he was a former minister who had joined the army out of his ardent patriotism and while he could be a demanding leader, he was fair and kind, along with being rather serious. This description was favored by all those who had clearly never seen the man with his neck covered in fresh hickies, wrapped in a quilt and attempting to dissuade the force of nature that was General Nathan Hale from walking out into a roaring blizzard in the middle of the night.

With Hale ill, Tallmadge flitted between completely numb and staring into space and holding back tears. To be far, if Alexander had been so ill and I was unable to spend every waking moment holding his hand and whispering silent promises to him, I most likely would be in a similar state. But there was nothing I could truly do to comfort Tallmadge, the most I could accomplish was to sit in the parlor with him and Alexander, my dear boy and I sharing passages out of books while Tallmadge looked like a ghost in the corner. Even the men of A company avoided him, a choice that was probably for the best. Ought I to have done more? Of course. However nothing appeared to help.

At night I lay on the floor of the parlor with Alexander, his soft snores breaking the stillness of the darkened room. At times, my dear boy would turn in his sleep, throwing an arm around my waist, or attempting to do so and accidentally whacking me in the face around midnight. With our rather public sleeping arrangements, I could no longer cuddle up to Alexander as we slept, or pepper his face with kisses as we lay in bed on Sunday. Silently I yearned to be able to express the same type of affection with my dear boy as a man could with his betrothed. But if we did, well the gallows would be erected within moments of our discovery.

Hale’s fever did not break for another five days. During that time Tallmadge was nothing more than a ghost. All of his energy was put into putting up a facade for the enlisted men, so by the time we all retired to the unconscious general’s headquarters, the man did nothing more than sit in an armchair with his arms wrapped around himself staring off into space. Even at Washington’s headquarters, those of us who were privy to the truth of Hale’s condition were concerned. The man was clearly still young, but he had taken ill so quickly that it was impossible to not be concerned.

When we did at last receive news that Hale’s fever had broken, Alexander, Tallmadge, several other officers, and I were sitting cross legged on the floor of the parlor, attempting to play a hand of cribbage with a dozen people. By some miracle I had managed to coerce Tallmadge into joining us, and the man was holding his own against the rest of us. We all had bet money, I myself had put a non substantial chunk of my month’s pay in the winning pot, however both Alexander and Tallmadge had placed only a few pennies each in. I could not blame them. Everything was far more expensive than it truly ought to have been, and the only reason that I was wagering so much was that I wished to lose it and have my father repay the small debt. He could easily afford it and it was a mild form of revenge on my part. However, about halfway through the game, a game that I was very much losing, Dr. Hale slipped down the stairs and whispered something in Tallmadge’s ear.

Hastily, the Major blurted out: “I forfeit”. Then he followed Dr. Hale upstairs, the two of them having a whispered conversation as they ascended the creaky steps. The only logical occurrence was that General Hale’s fever had broken, something that took me a moment to realize due to the fact that I mentally referred to anyone related to Hale as also Hale, unless of course more than two of them were involved in something. I shared a look with Alexander. He had obviously come to the same conclusion and realized that we might not be forced to sleep on the floor for too much longer.

Within two days the notice came that we were to move our things back into the room that we shared with Hale and Tallmadge. If anyone for any of the other headquarters thought it odd that officers and enlisted men shared rooms together, and that a Brigadier General shared a bed with a Major, none commented on it. In fact, I heard Tilghman remark that it was good that Hale's headquarters was being used for sleeping quarters if nothing else. Over the course of our winter at Valley Forge it had become abundantly clear to me that not a single General truly trusted Hale. Of course they were all as polite to him as society required, but it was evident that they all thought him far too young and inexperienced for his rank. This is what I was thinking of as Alexander and I mounted the still creaky stairs to the second floor, carrying our satchels and silently wondering how soon we were to be kicked out of the small bedroom again.

We stopped in front of the shut door, the parchment number four somehow still hanging on, and exchanged a look. Alexander looked far more solemn than he had in a long time. The winter and war were taking a toll on us both. I had not even heard him implore Washington for a command in over a week. I could only pray that we broke camp soon. My dear boy knocked on the door. A shout of “Enter!” was all that greeted us, so we obliged and entered.

Hale was still abed, the faded quilt wrapped around his legs as he answered correspondence on a portable desk, hands shaking slightly as he dipped the quill back into the ink pot. No longer clad in a nightshirt, he had managed to put on a shirt, waistcoat, and caveat, although it was arguable how much that had been Tallmadge. Speaking of the man, he was sitting on a chair that had been wedged next to Hale’s bed, leaning over Hale’s shoulder in order to read what the General was writing. Clearly the letter somehow involved him. As Alexander and I stepped inside the room, Hale looked up. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his grey eyes and a slight smile that seemed more weary than anything else. Although he was roughly my age, the man looked as if he had aged five years over the course of his illness.

“I apologize for having kicked you gentlemen out of here, however I can only hope that the parlor floor was as comfortable for you as Turtle seems to find it.” A glimmer of wit appeared in Hale’s eyes.

“Well, it was rather warm.” I shrugged. “Far superior to even this room in the matter of close heating.”

For the rest of the evening and until we prepared to sleep, we all merely spoke. Tallmadge told a humorous tale of the time he had been tasked with watching some of his younger cousins and had somehow managed to lose all six of them at once, just to discover the little scamps hiding up an old oak tree. I chimed in with a story of how my mother had once lost my four year old self in Charlestown and how she had run around panicking while I was simply watching the ships come and go and imagining myself as a sailor. Hale spoke of how he and his siblings had suspended a fish over the desk of their schoolmaster and when the poor fellow had sat down, the fish fell on his head, knocking his wig clear off. Alexander merely smiled and laughed, but told no tales of his childhood. From what he had told me of his life, I could only presume that it was a far less amusing childhood than the rest of us had had. When my dear boy did at last speak, he spoke of how he had gotten into King’s College, and while there had debated a Mr. Samuel Seabury so fiercely that someone had had to pull the two of them apart before the debate came to blows.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, curled up next to Alexander and attempting to fall asleep, I could just make out a whispered conversation between Hale and Tallmadge. The two of them evidently believed me to have long drifted off to sleep, thus I took advantage of that fact and eavesdropped.

“I swear I am fine Ben.” That was Hale. I had gotten eerily good at recognizing the man’s voice.

“But you-you are going to fall ill again soon. The next time you may not be as lucky as to be at your headquarters.” Tallmadge objected, his words carrying nothing but concern.

“I know.” Hale mumbled, burying his head in Tallmadge’s shoulder as the other man wordlessly wrapped his arms around him.

“Promise me you will attempt to keep yourself safe?” Pleaded the Major.

“Only if you do the same.” Hale replied, his voice still muffled.

The two of them continued to speak for longer, however my eyelids soon grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep, arms entangled with Alexander. Unfortunately this night was nowhere near as dreamless as the previous few had been.

This time I was not a Mepkin, nor even in hell, nay this time I was in camp. The dream began much like the majority of my days did: I awoke in Hale’s headquarters, alone because Alexander always rose with the dawn and headed to Washington’s Headquarters immediately, rarely ever waiting for me. I dressed in my uniform, straightening my caveat in the mirror and brushing Turtle’s hair off of my lapels. Then, I headed downstairs.

It appeared as if there was not another soul in Hale’s headquarters, but at that moment I merely presumed that they all had already headed off to their various assignments. Thus, forgoing any sort of breakfast, I stepped outside in order to head to Washington’s headquarters. The first thing I noticed was that the sky was an ominous grey, not the sort of grey that threatened snow, but instead the color of ash, almost as if some great fire had occurred right before I had awoken. The camp appeared normal at first, with the orderly lines of cabins and well trod paths that connected them. However, I saw not a single person going about, in fact the only other entity in the whole of the place appeared to be the wind, which was blowing through the clothes that had been left on a line hung between two cabins to dry. I took a few steps. Nothing happened. So I kept walking towards headquarters. 

About halfway there was when I finally looked to the snow and saw a horrible sight. Bloody footprints, hundreds upon thousands of them leading down to the river. It was not a mere bloody residue in each mark, nay each imprint oozed with blood. I felt my stomach turn and threaten to betray me. I ought to have run, but I could not. Instead, I followed the footprints.

The footprints led from every direction to the Schuylkill River, stopping abruptly at the shore. Due to how cold the winter had been, the river was fully iced over, the ice so thick that a man could easily walk across it. On the other side of the river from me was a thick wood, pine trees that appeared to touch the sky packed so closely together that it was impossible to see anything past them. I glanced around, attempting to figure out where on earth the footprints had ended. That was the moment I spotted the boy. He appeared to be nothing more than an army drummer boy, but the moment I looked closer, I saw how horribly wrong the whole of him was. The boy’s skin was a grayish-blue, his eyes were bloodshot, and ice appeared to drip from every inch of his body and his tattered clothes. He just stared at me, drum hanging off the front of him, and drumsticks in his hands. We locked eyes. Then, he began to play a low, steady beat.

It was the sort of beat that was used to organize men amongst the chaos of battle, and also called them to war. Nothing happened for a moment, but then they began to come. Soldiers in tattered uniforms, skin grey, eyes bloodshot, and covered in ice like the boy slowly began to appear from somewhere within the trees, taking up positions on the opposite bank of the river . They held their weapons like they were marching in a parade. Behind them, more and more soldiers came, until it seemed as though the whole army was facing me. Terror filled my veins, but I could not move.

After the soldiers came the camp followers. Women and children, the bright colors of their clothes dulled, skin greyish blue and eyes red approached. The most horrible thing was that they were all silent. The only sound was that of the drummer boy, who only kept on drumming. Once the last child fell into place, the final group began to approach. These were the generals and high ranking officers. All the other, well I was not quite sure exactly what they were, parted to allow them through. At the front of this group was General Washington himself. The only emotion on the man’s face was a cold hatred, nothing more, nothing less. He did not do anything, only stared at me. All of them were staring at me. But worst of all was when I finally realized who was standing at Washington’s right hand.

I scarcely recognized him with greyed skin and bloodshot eyes, both of which disguised two of his most distinguishing features, but when a curl of bright red hair slipped out from under his tricorn hat and was whipped every which way by the wind, I knew who he was. It was Alexander, staring at me with nothing but hatred in his eyes. I called out to him, screamed his name, begged him not to hate me, but not a single expression appeared on his face other than hatred. Tears streamed down my face as I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around myself and shaking.

That was apparently the cue for the drummer boy to slightly change the beat of his drumming. At once, a good dozen soldiers began to advance across the ice, moving in perfect formation, heading straight for me. I tried to run, but found myself unable to move. It was only a moment before they encircled me, faces not expressing a single drop of emotion. I pleaded with them, begged them not to do whatever they were to. As I gazed upon the wretched face of the man who appeared to be their leader, he pulled the sword he had out of its scabbard and raised it high in the air before bringing it down on my neck and–

I woke up in a cold sweat, sitting straight up and eyes frantically darting around the room. It was a dream, it was just a dream. All I could do was to continue repeating that to myself as I laid back down next to Alexander. Despite how tightly we were packed on the bed, I contorted myself so that I was resting my head on my dear boy’s shoulder and had wrapped my arms around his waist. As my breathing slowed back down, I could feel one hand rubbing small circles between my shoulder blades.

“Everything shall be alright, Jacky.” Alexander whispered. “I promise.”

“Sorry.” I murmured.

“You need not be,” He said softly, voice comforting me far more than it probably ought to. “I love you and would happily do this a dozen times over.”

“I love you too.” That was the last thing I remembered before I fell back into sleep once again. Tomorrow was the day that the mysterious Baron was to arrive, and we all required as much rest as possible before we were to prepare for the day. But there was something about that nightmare that made me believe that there was something horrible that was going to happen at camp, I felt it in my very bones.

Notes:

hey everyone! Haven't gotten any comments or kudos from anyone in a while(person who tried to get a commision from me you were really playing the long con there)...so uh if you kinda like this, throw me a comment?

Sources for this chapter is literally just the place I got the name of the river from:

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/nature/naturalfeaturesandecosystems.htm#:~:text=Three%20miles%20of%20the%20Schuylkill,Creek%20run%20through%20the%20park.

Chapter 17: Unheralded

Summary:

unherlded
/ˌənˈherəldəd/
adjective
not previously announced, expected, or recognized.

There was no talk of my waking up in the middle of the night the next day. Apparently Hale and Tallmadge had not even managed to notice and Alexander merely thought that it was best not to mention anything about it, lest any bad memories be dredged up. On my part, I thought it best to try and ignore the bad taste that the nightmare had left in my mouth, however it would be a lie to not mention that I kept glancing at the snow as we journeyed to Washington’s Headquarters. All of the snow banks were thankfully blood free. But with that, I still had a horrible feeling about what was to come.

When we arrived at headquarters, we immediately encountered an exceptionally frantic Reed, who appeared as though he had not slept all night. He immediately whisked Alexander away, leaving me standing in the foyer of headquarters, holding both mine and my dear boy’s coats, and his light blue scarf that had practically been thrown at me. I was half expecting more officers to mistake me as a human coat rack. Thankfully, no more did, so I hung up both mine and Alexander’s things among the mound of other coats, hats, and scarves. After doing that, I was about to head into the sole room dedicated to housing us aides as we worked, but before I could, I spotted Meade.

“Laurens!” Meade exclaimed, immediately pivoting so that he was walking towards me, a slightly mischievous and evil sheen in his eyes. “You speak French, correct?”

“That is rather generous, but I suppose so.” I shrugged, rather confused by the whole scenario.

“Perfect. Lady Washington wishes to be able to greet the Baron politely, and he speaks French. No one here speaks German, or whatever they speak in Prussia. So, it is now your assignment to teach her how to say something polite in French.”

“Very well then. Where might Lady Washington be then?”

Meade pointed me in her direction, and I made my way up the stairs to the small room that she had commended as a makeshift parlor. Was this something I was qualified to do? Most assuredly not. Was it superior to translations and paperwork? Literally anything was. Whatever I was to attempt to school Lady Washington in would at the very least hopefully not result in my hand cramping up within thirteen minutes. However, I would not be granted the luxury of sharing jests and affectionate glances with my dear boy, the latter of which made it feel as though my heart skipped a beat everytime his eyes met mine. Oh, what I would not do to spend the rest of my life with the wonderful man who I could call mine!

The second level of Washington’s Headquarters was a place that I had not seen for the better part of a month. It was far more empty than the organized chaos of the floor below, but one could still easily tell that the masses were not far away. Even as I entered the hallway and recalled Meade’s directions as to where to find Lady Washington, I could still clearly hear the general hubbub of headquarters emanating from downstairs. In fact, I could even sort of make out Alexander exclaiming: “What the fuck!”. What that was in response to, I did not know, however I dearly wished to. Upon reaching the door to Lady Washington’s quarters, I politely knocked on the door, my years of training in how to navigate formal society all coming back to me within a moment.

“You may enter.” A woman called back through the door. I could only presume that this was Lady Washignton.

Thus, I did. The chamber that was shared by both Washingtons was a fair size in comparison to the rest of the Headquarters, and was furnished in high quality furniture that had clearly been brought in from their home at Mount Vernon. Taking up the majority of the space was a generously sized four poster bed that had clearly been especially sized for the General. However, near the room’s twin windows, was a small table covered with a white tablecloth, at which sat Lady Washington, calmly working on her knitting. Standing to her side was an enslaved woman of about middle age.

In fact, when one thought about it, the two women appeared quite similar. They both wore dresses of blue cloth, except Lady Washington was clothed in a fine imported silk and the other woman wore a simple wool garment, and the two of them were also both engaged in domestic labor, however Lady Washington was knitting a sock while her companion was attempting to mend the tear that had materialized on the edge of one of the curtains that engulfed the bed. Yet, one woman owned people like livestock and the other could only dream of freedom. While for a moment they might have appeared as equals, they would never be anywhere close to such. It was a horrible thing, being forced to be nothing more than property from birth to death, only free in the embrace of the grave. A braver man would have said something in the heat of the moment, but for now I choked back my words. There would be a time to fight, a time after the war that never seemed to end.

“Good morning Colonel Laurens.” Lady Washington looked up from her knitting and gave me a warm smile, gesturing for me to sit.

“Good day ma’am.” I replied, taking the chair opposite from her and returning her smile.

“Hannah,” She said to the enslaved woman, “Go get Colonel Laurens and me some tea.”

Hannah quickly left to secure the tea. I could not help but think of the other Hannah I knew in camp, the fiery nurse who took care of her brother-in-law's headquarters and competed with me for Turtle’s affection. Did this woman have the same sorts of daily jests and compliments paid to her? There was no time to dwell on that, instead I merely turned to Lady Washington.

“If you would beg my pardon for being so direct, I was told by Meade that you wished to gain instruction in how to greet Baron von Stueben when he arrives here at camp?”

“You are correct Colonel. Unfortunately whatever French I was taught as a girl has miraculously slipped through my mind, so I was hoping that you or one of the other fine gentlemen who act as my husband's aides might be able to refresh me.” Laughed Lady Washington, half extending her hand to tap me on the arm but quickly drawing it back. It seemed as though she had remembered our first interaction, much to my embarrassment.

For the better part of half an hour, I attempted to teach Lady Washington several polite phrases and greetings in French, an exercise which was accomplished with only having to steal Lafayette for clarification once. We were only interrupted when Tilghman knocked on the door to alert the both of us that the long awaited Baron had arrived. Lady Washington rose, smoothed out her dress and thanked me for my assistance. Giving her a small bow, I informed her that it was my pleasure and headed back downstairs in order to join the other aides to greet the Prussian.

Among the group were all of us aides, Generals Greene, Lafayette, Lee, Stirling, Wayne, Knox, Hale and of course Washington, along with numerous members of Washington’s Life Guard. By some miracle I managed to situate myself right between Alexander and Reed. My dear boy gave me a small smile when I approached, making me feel weak in the knees the moment that I caught his gaze. God, I did not deserve him. However, I still very much brushed my hand against his as we waited. Said wait took only a moment.

Within a minute, a sleigh emerged through the rapidly falling white snow. As the vehicle approached Headquarters, I could just make out the figure of a man clad in a Prussian military uniform, the medals pinned to said uniform catching whatever light was still existent in the snow. If there was any way to describe the man, it would be to liken him to the Roman god of war: Mars. The Baron was a man who seemed as though he was born for war. While he dismounted the sleigh and scanned the crowd of us who had gathered to greet him, the man’s sheer impressiveness became clear: at his side was a decorative sword that could have bought enough supplies for the army to survive for a year that was no doubt a gift from Fredrick the Great himself, besides just the sword the man was also armed with a matching set of flintlock pistols that hung at his sides. All of this was without even mentioning how imposing of a figure he cut. Adding only to the Baron’s perfect military image was the greyhound that clung to his side.

Heading for the General, the Baron bowed to the great man before greeting Washington in a language that I did not understand, but could only assume to be German. Quickly, an aide hurried up beside the Prussian and translated his greeting to General Washington, adding on that the Baron spoke no English.

Through the translator, Baron von Stueben greeted Washington as follows: “General Washington, My name is Baron Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand Freiherr von Steuben, and I am your most humble servant.”

General Washington exchanged the greeting and we all proceeded inside. The storm was beginning to pick up and I could hear the wind battering Headquarters as we retreated to within its stable walls. Bowing and kissing her hand aside, Baron von Stueben greeted Lady Washington in much the same way as he had her husband, and after being introduced to the numerous other generals gathered, all of them, including for some reason Hale who waved at me as we crossed paths, retired to the dining room in order to consume their midday meal. This of course left the rest of us, excluding the translator, to eat our food standing in the office that had been allocated to us aides, taking turns before the fire in an attempt to warm ourselves up.

Somehow, I ended up eating with Tilghman and Alexander, the three of us scarfing down our meager rations as we spoke in hushed tones. As one would obviously expect, it was not long until the topic of the Baron arose.

“I have heard,” The companion who I had not kissed that morning said in between bites of hard bread, “That there are rumors circulating of what our Prussian visitor was up to back on the continent.”

“And what might these rumors entail?” My dear boy queried, pinching a small morsel of cheese off of my plate. I decided to pick my battles and consequently did not comment on his blatant thievery.

“Some say that the man’s reason for departing Prussia was nowhere near as innocent as him merely desiring to supplement the revolutionary cause with his skills. Nay, I have heard whispers that Baron von Stueben’s true motive for fleeing was that he was bedding young boys.”

Oh dear god, the man was a sodomite just like myself, Alexander, and as far as I could gather Tallmadge and Hale. The poor fellow. I could only pray that the man’s military training was decent enough to save him from the hangman’s noose in our emerging nation. When Tilghman was not looking, I glanced over at Alexander, who appeared to be just as concerned as I was. Bringing these sorts of rumors into the camp was dangerous. The more that the enlisted men heard rumors of suspected sodomites, the more likely they were to cast an eye of suspension onto the two of us, and the more likely they were to discover the truth. But I had no time to dwell on this new danger to my very existence, for at that moment, a snow covered messenger who seemed as though he had traveled all the way from the capitol in York, poked his head into the room.

“Where might I find General Washington?” He asked, features obviously red from cold.

“General Washington is eating supper.” Reed informed him. “Whatever information you require given to him you can state to me.”

“Very well then.” The messenger handed Reed a message sealed with the very seal of the continental congress. Perhaps my theory on the messenger’s origin had proved closer to the truth than I had originally believed.

The moment that the messenger left, we all crowded close to Reed, who was already opening the letter. As the man read, we all watched his eyes go back and forth while his eyes widened in surprise. Quickly, he snapped the letter shut and faced all of us.

“According to this letter, gentlemen, it seems as though a committee from the Continental Congress is to arrive here to inspect the camp.”

“That is not so horrid.” Fitzgerald shrugged.

“Nay, the worst part is yet to come.” Reed reprimanded him. “This committee is to be headed by the president of congress himself: Henry Laurens.”

My father was to come here, to Valley Forge: the one place that I had sworn I would escape him. This was very, very bad.

Notes:

Well this feels like an appropriate chapter to begin pride month with! This chapter is posted on Thursday (for me) lol, but I really need the extra time for the next chapter cause that's gonna be a BIG one!

I require external validation to live, so I'd really really appreciate it if you'd give me a quick comment! They mean the world to me and make writing this behemoth of a fic worth it <3

Somehow this has managed to become my most researched chapter even though it was literally written all in one day before I posted, so here's the loooong list of sources:

inside of Washington's Headquarters (been using this for a few chapters now and its pretty cool, highly recommend you check it out)-

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/washingtons_headquarters.htm

enslaved woman at valley forge under Washington-

https://www.nps.gov/people/hannah-till.htm

clothing-

https://delawarestateparks.blog/2024/03/18/dressing-up-in-the-1770s-era-a-middle-class-womans-guide/

Baron von Stueben (the elder gay)-

https://outhistory.org/exhibits/show/re/fvs

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/february-23/friedrich-von-steuben-arrives-at-valley-forge

I got the part about Baron von Stueben's arrival in a sleigh from Guts and Glory: The American Revolution by Ben Thompson

Azor-

https://salinabakerauthor.com/tag/azor/#:~:text=Throughout%20the%20entire%20Revolutionary%20War,the%20ship%20attempted%20to%20sing.&text=Steuben's%20aide%2C%20Pierre%2D%C3%89tienne%20du,Steuben%20as%20late%20as%201786.

Henry Laurens's term in congress-

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Laurens#:~:text=Laurens%20was%20first%20named%20a,%2C%20to%20December%209%2C%201778.

Chapter 18: Taciturn

Summary:

taciturn
/ˈtasəˌtərn/
adjective
(of a person) reserved or uncommunicative in speech; saying little.

Panic erupted in my veins, spreading like venom throughout my body. The venom in my veins immediately began to turn my ming and limbs against me. Heart pounding like a drum in my ears, all I wished to do was curl into a ball. No, this could not be happening. Not here. This was supposed to be safe. I was supposed to be safe. He was not supposed to be able to reach me. Not supposed to. Not supposed to. Not supposed to! I dug my nails into my palm and bit the inside of my cheek in a pitiful attempt to stop tears from forming in my eyes. I could not break down here, not in front of all of them. A long repressed scream took place in my mouth, but at the same time I could not force my lips to utter a single word. All I could do was to press my nails further into the skin of my palm, the blood sure to be drawn the only thing I could truly control.

“Jacky?” Alexander whispered, slipping his hand into mine and prying my fingers away from my palm. I forced myself to peer around the room. We were alone. Everyone else was gone. He cupped my cheek in one hand, making me meet his eyes, eyes filled with nothing but concern. Still no words would escape my lips, but I could feel the unmistakable sensation of tears rolling down my cheeks. No, he could not see me like this. He would hate me and think me a pathetic disgrace just like everyone else did.

I tried to pull away from him, but he still held my hand and kept on cupping my face, even when I attempted to face completely away from him.

“Jacky?” He repeated, more urgency in his words. The panic gripped my senses only tighter. I needed to run, I could not be here. The omnipresent urge to crawl out of my skin only intensified. Somehow I collapsed into a chair and Alexander took up his place directly before me once again.

“Hush. This will pass. I promise I am not leaving you.” Soothed Alexander as he let me bury my head into his shoulder as silent sobs wracked though my body.

I was not safe here. I had never truly been safe here, I had merely deluded myself into thinking that I had found a place that he could not exert his spheres of influence over. I had been stupid, so stupid to think that there was a place truly free from his reach, to think that there were people who I could truly be with without fear of him. My father was a god, and I was a sinful man who spent my days running from punishment. 

Alexander. Oh god, what would he do to Alexander if we were discovered? I should have pulled away, needed to have pulled away, but I could not bring myself to. He was the sole source of comfort that I had left. The only person who could help me through these things, sooth my anxieties and bring peace to my aching soul.

Eventually my breathing slowed and evened out, prompting me to remove my face from Alexander’s shoulder. Fear still resided in every corner of my mind, but the shadows appeared slightly less menacing and the desire to bolt from the room had significantly faded from my mind. True ease was still the furthest thing from my current mental state, but I was able to allow Alexander to press a light kiss to my forehead. Still, I frantically gazed around the empty office to see if anyone had noticed the two of us. If anyone had we would be killed, or just I would be killed and Alexander sent back to the Caribbean, or he killed and I disgraced, or neither of us killed but forbade from ever seeing eachother again, or even worse I would be discharged and sent back to Mepkin or…

“Jack.” Alexander whispered, “Not a soul has seen us. Reed and the others dissipated to spread the news only a few moments before you…”

His voice trailed off. There was no need to explain what had just occurred, nay I did not even think that there was a true way to explain what had just occurred. All that mattered in the moment was that we had not been spotted and for just a few minutes longer did not risk, well death.

“Thank the lord.” I murmured, desperately trying to use my handkerchief to wipe the remnants of tears off of my face. It was painfully obvious that I had been crying, my eyes were red and I was still sniffling. However, through the general upheaval and chaos that the message had brought to headquarters, not to mention what was already occurring with the Baron’s arrival, I was somehow able to disappear to the outhouse for a good quarter of an hour to compose myself as best I could. Only after that could I bring myself to return, already bracing for the onslaught of comments about my father’s arrival that were sure to come.

Reed set me and Fitzgerad to both craft and transcribe an announcement to send around the camp in order to inform the enlisted men of the incoming committee. In my opinion this announcement was clearly a way to communicate to the officers that they needed to clean up their troops, lest congress decided to cut supplies because of an unsavory external appearance. The moment that the thought popped up in my head, a memory resurfaced that was terrifyingly close to the potential consequences I had envisioned.

I could not have been older than fourteen, but just old enough that I had reached the age that shaving my face was a necessity. That morning, I had taken a razor, and some soap, and stood in front of my bedroom mirror as I attempted to shave myself. For someone so inexperienced, it went surprisingly well, however on one final swipe, I nicked myself, and sent a single drop of blood onto the creamy white of my caveat. I had frozen. As the oldest son, nothing less than perfection was expected from me by my father, and anything but it would result in punishments that sent a shiver down my spine recalling. Before I could hide, or burn, or otherwise dispose of the ruined fabric, I was summoned to breakfast. The entirely of the meal I could not meet my fathers eyes, silently praying that he would not notice. But he did, he always did. I never wish to remember what happened to me, perhaps it is for the best that the exact specifications long slipped my mind.

As I handed over the copies of the announcement to various couriers, I could only hope that the fate of our army, should its state displease my monster of a father, would be less terrible than what I had suffered at his hands. For the army to survive it would have to be.

We were kept busy until long after the sun set over the horizon. Over the course of that time, I must have been summoned at least five times, dismissed in favor of another aide thrice, and twice sent out to deliver messages to various parts of the camp. On my final trip, I had the pleasure of making the arduous journey to the hospital, where a monumental feat occurred: I interacted with a doctor who was not Dr. Hale! Of course Dr. Hale was looming in the background, but it was still something. Only when the clock struck ten to eleven were we all finally dismissed for the night. Seeing as that Alexander and I were two of the only aides not to reside at Washington’s headquarters, the others having been forced out of their previously assigned cabins in favor of enlisted men, I forced him to walk back to Hale’s Headquarters with me, that was a trip that I was most assuredly not making alone by lantern light.

The snow storm had subsided, and as we stepped out of Washington’s Headquarters, the snow glimmered with moonlight as it crunched beneath our feet. It appeared as the whole of the camp was asleep. For the first time in a long time, Valley Forge was at some semblance of peace. If I pictured it hard enough, I could almost imagine what the place was like before the army intruded. However, doing so would require removing my eyes from Alexander, something that I was most assuredly not going to do.

My dear boy held the lantern as we walked, meaning that other than the path, he was the only other thing illuminated by the light. Under the watch of the stars, his light blue scarf fluttered in the slight wind, and his brow furrowed with slight concentration as he attempted to recall the exact route to Hale’s headquarters. The night was so still, and so little noise emanated from camp, that I felt as though I could have kissed him right then and there, and only the stars would have been our witness. Just as this thought crossed my mind, Alexander took my hand in his. Neither of us spoke, and when the silence was broken, it was only through the medium of whispers.

“Ought we to speak of today?” He whispered, words freezing in the air as soon as he released them.

“I suppose so.” I shrugged. “Quite a bit has occurred, and quite a bit is still to occur.”

“Well, I guess that there is no better place to start than to discuss today’s…unprecedented announcement.”

I bit my cheek in order to keep from saying anything I did not wish to. This was precisely the subject I wished to avoid for as long as physically possible. Someone far more intelligent and socially minded would have tactfully phrased their next sentiment, but alas that was not me; I wore my heart on my sleeve, despite all I had been through, and could continue to do so until the day I died. Perhaps some men in my position would have become bitter and closed off, however I dreaded the thought of becoming like that, becoming someone unfeeling like the very man who had inflicted so much pain unto me.

“I-he, he can not be coming here.” Out in the open like this, I could not tell Alexander all I wished to, could not convey my true fear of the invasion of the sole place I thought myself safe from the demon who had haunted my childhood.

“I know.” My dear boy soothed. It was all he said in response, and it was all he needed to. After a moment, clutching my hand ever tighter, he did continue, his words as thoughtful as ever. “It is impossible for me to truly know the extent of the horrors that-that, that motherfucking bastard inflicted upon you. Jacky, I wish I could fight him, I wish I could do everything that he did to you back unto him, although a dozen times worse. But I can not. I do not know what we are going to do with him coming here. However, no matter what happens, I promise that I will not leave you, I promise.”

“Thank you.” I murmured, wishing, nay longing, that I could do more. Do more to protect Alexander. I knew my father, I knew him terrifyingly well, and it was only a matter of time before he would come after anyone who expressed even a hint of affection towards me. It was no longer just myself I was fearful for, now it was the small group of friends that I could call my own. Hale, Tallmadge, Alexander, all the closest friends I had ever had, all people that I knew he would try his very best to tear away from me at all costs.

As I lay in bed that night, my dear boy nestled comfortably in my arms, and Hale and Tallmadge wrapped around each other only an arm’s reach away, the realization crossed my mind that, perhaps, I would not be alone in my fight for survival against my father, that, perhaps, for the first time in my life, there were people who would take my word over his and who perhaps would even attempt to protect me from his fury. It was a tentative hope, but it was something that I would hold close in my heart as the invasion of Valley Forge by the congressional committee occurred. For if I did not, I would disintegrate.

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I might've lied last end notes, but I promise that next chapter is Henry Laurens!

I'm gonna be out of town next Friday so I'm not gonna be able to post until the 27th.

Have a great next 2 weeks!

Chapter 19: Disquietude

Summary:

disquietude
/disˈkwīəˌto͞od,dəˈskwīəˌto͞od/
noun
a state of uneasiness, anxiety, or restlessness; mental disturbance or agitation

It was raining the day that the committee was to arrive. February had bled into March, and it was the first day that the snow had surrendered to the rain. The fat droplets assaulted the roof of Hale’s headquarters as I dressed for the day. Tallmadge was still asleep, and Hale had already risen, dressed, and left for coffee. Alexander was attempting to pull on a fresh shirt while I buttoned up my waistcoat, a feat rendered exceptionally difficult due to the confines of our shared room. However, there were whispers of it finally being warm enough for Company A to construct cabins for themselves, seeing that the omnipresent layer of snow was finally beginning to melt, meaning that we might not be forced to spend the remainder of the winter in such cramped quarters.

Turtle had to be forcibly removed from her spot atop my uniform coat, where she had apparently decided to create her new bed. As I removed her from the vital part of my uniform, I held my cat close. For some reason that I could not quite pinpoint, it felt as though there was a great empty pit in my very soul, and melancholy had colored my thoughts since the moment I had risen.​​ Affection from those I held dear seemed to be the only thing that truly filled that void, and thus, before anyone embarked from Hale’s headquarters, I made a point of roping Hale, Tallmadge, and Alexander into eating breakfast together. It was not a particularly common event among the four of us, but in the moment, it simply felt right.

Evidently, all three other men must have felt the same way, since within a few moments, we had all taken up positions at one of the tables in what used to be the dining room, but was now the strategy room, a place where very little strategy was determined. By some stroke of luck, there had been exactly four chairs left at the table, which we quickly claimed, pushing aside assorted maps and papers to make way for our coffee and bowls of porridge. My dear boy struck up a conversation with Hale regarding the army’s next campaign, a topic in which I could offer little insight, which left me and Tallmadge to converse among ourselves.

“Thank the lord it is finally warming up.” Tallmadge sighed. “I felt as though I might never get the cold out of my bones.”

“I quite agree. This winter has been far more intense than anything I ever experienced back in South Carolina.” I agreed between spoonfuls of porridge.

“When I was a boy, I do recall winters far worse than this; however, for some unknown reason, this one feels far more intense than any other.”

“Perhaps it is the war?” I suggested.

“Perhaps. War makes everything more miserable.” He affirmed.

“Aye.”

We had not long to eat, nor to dwell on the horribleness of the winter. Soon, I found myself once again making the trek to Washington’s Headquarters with my dear boy by my side. While the first rain of the year baptized us in its drops, every step I took towards the place made it so that I could not help but to feel as though some terrible clock was ticking down, counting the seconds until I would be forced to once again come face to face with my father. Oh, how I dreaded it! Nay, dread was far too kind of a word. If given the choice, I would rather have faced the eternity of the British army alone than the patriarch of the Laurens family; my fear was so all-encompassing.

It appeared as though Alexander had noticed this, for when we arrived at headquarters, he pulled me past the main building and into one of the accompanying stables, which was populated solely by horses. The place smelled like mildew, hay, and horseshit, and the walls were constructed out of old, yet still sturdy, timber. It was against one of these walls to which my back was pressed. Alexander was situated directly in front of me, blocking any path of escape. Had it been literally anyone else essentially pining me to a wall, I would have felt exceptionally threatened, but my dear boy had always been nothing besides sweet and attentive to me, and combined with his rather diminutive stature, I felt as at ease as I could in the moment.

Cupping my cheek in his palm, he scrutinized both my face and eyes. What exactly he was searching for, I could not say. However, having our bodies pressed together in such a way was far more than enough to occupy my thoughts. For weeks, no, it had been closer to months, I had longed to engage in the sort of intimacy with Alexander Hamilton that could get men like us hung for even daring to attempt to commit. But, between the majority of our waking time spent functioning in our positions as aides de camp, the lack of privacy even when in sleeping quarters, and now the impending arrival of my monster of a father, we had neither time nor even the ability to do so. This was, of course, not even considering if Alexander would even desire to escalate our relationship to such a place. It was quite the risky jump, but one that I wholeheartedly desired to make with him. Back in the moment, he had completed his inspection of my face and finally chose to speak.

“Are you well, Jack?” He inquired, concern enveloping his features.

“I fear the arrival of my father. He despises the thought of me becoming close to anyone, and I am terrified of what he may use his power to do unto you.” I do not know what compelled me to speak so plainly, only that my words silenced Alexander for a moment.

“Do not worry about me. I have survived thus far, and I am now in the good graces of the most powerful man in the army, as well as several others. Your father would have to go through General Washington, along with Generals Hale and Lafayette, in order to harm me, and neither I nor any of those gentlemen would yield to him without first putting up a hell of a fight.”

Should his words not have been enough to reassure me, he also pulled me in for a kiss, only after glancing around to make sure we were truly alone, though. The kiss was tender and lovely and felt lovely and so nice in fact that one could have fooled me into thinking that I was kissing my dear boy for the very first time again. His soft lips met mine, which were cracked from the cold and scabbing where I had bitten them. He was a warm and comforting and all-around wonderful presence, soothing my jagged and complicated and rather needy soul. My forehead was pressed to his, and his arms were slung around my neck. If given the choice, I would have remained like that for the rest of eternity, safe and secure and comforted by the one person I held closest to my heart.

“I love you, and do not dare forget that.”

“I love you as well,” I whispered back, pressing the ghost of a kiss into the top of my beloved’s curls. I did not care if the love between us was the sort that the rest of society damned, it was one of the few things I had left and I would fight tooth and nail to keep it.

With one final embrace, we broke apart and ventured into Washington’s headquarters, a place that I both revered and dreaded. The moment that Alexander and I stepped foot into headquarters, it became abundantly obvious that preparations for the congressional committee's arrival were already underway. In the entryway alone, two soldiers were doing their best to complete the sort of tasks that could have been assigned by no one but Lady Washington. One man was dusting the rack upon which everyone in camp dumped their hats and coats, while his companion was attempting to wash scuff marks off the plaster of the hall’s walls. As we made our way towards the aides’ office, I could not resist the urge to pop my head into the dining room, which spent very little of its time functioning as a dining room. Inside were yet more cleaning soldiers. Two fellows were gathering up the multitude of papers that had been left in there, no small feat, I assure you, while one of their comrades washed the wooden floorboards that had been caked in dirt and mud from camp. I would have pitied the laboring men, but in acting as cleaners for Lady Washington, they had weaseled their way out of Baron von Stueben’s rain or shine continuous drillings in both marching in proper formation and efficiently loading their weapons. Seeing that it was very much currently raining, something told me that the soldiers, who were now under the command of Lady Washington, did not regret their reassignment in the least. Well, at least the majority of the troops were to be learning from a man who once fought with one of the greatest armies in the whole of the civilized world.

In our office, a rather similar scene was playing out. Reed was directing Fitzgerald and Tilghman on where to stash various documents, since it appeared as the whole of headquarters’ paperwork had been deposited with us. As this occurred, Meade and a drummer not previously known to me were trying, and only partially succeeding, to clean out the hearth. It was a rather…interesting scene to behold, even more so to walk in on. Within mere moment, Reed noticed my dear boy and I lingering in the doorframe and quickly approached us. Reed’s eyes shone with the sort of maniacal sheen that could indicate nothing but the fact that he intended to assign us to complete a task that we were to assuredly to despise and would suffer greatly throughout the completion of, and would also provide entertainment for the rest of our fellow aides for weeks to come.

“Laurens, Hamilton.” He greeted us, appearing as though he had been awake since the previous day and was surviving solely off of tributes of coffee offered up by Fitzgerald, Tilghman, and Meade, along with whoever else was unfortunate enough to be in his sphere of influence.

“Reed.” Alexander acknowledged, sending me the sort of look that told me he understood exactly what situation we were about to find ourselves in.

“Well then,” Reed turned to face me. “Colonel Laurens, I require you and Hamilton here to direct soldiers to transfer furniture from various dwellings in camp to the house where the committee is to be residing. Here is the list.”

As I took the list, we shot each other yet another look. This did not seem exactly like the sort of thing that two of General Washington’s aides, both of whom technically spoke French and were ranked as Colonels, were typically to complete. However, the alternative appeared to be whatever Meade, Tilghman, and Fitzgerald were doing, so we readily agreed. That was how, within a matter of minutes, I found myself commandeering a cart, mule, and man capable of driving said cart while Alexander looked over the list of furniture we needed to essentially steal in order to make the fat pigs in congress comfortable.

Now, calling those who were in the same social class as I had been before joining the army fat pigs might come across as hypocritical, in fact, I am sure that if anyone had spontaneously gained the ability to read my thoughts that rainy March morning, they would have thought as such. However, during the time I had spent with the army, my outlook on life, more specifically my belief in my deservence of romantic affection and understanding of social class had both been challenged, one quite obviously by the fiery man whom I loved so dearly, and the other by my sheer existence in camp. In the eyes of the military, rank was what separated men, not social class. Poor men, with enough effort, could rise to high ranks, and rich men could be confined to the lower ranks due to sheer lack of talent. Talent was what determined your standing in the army hierarchy; nothing but talent. Thus, men who earned their position based upon nothing but wealth storming into the camp and being treated as kings disgusted me.

From the moment that I had stepped into camp, I had been treated as nothing but an aide to General Washington, not the son of Henry Laurens, just an aide. Of course, I did possess a rather high rank, but I was not above any other man with whom I shared a rank, nor below any of them; we were all given the same amount of respect. That was yet another part of the reason why the pampering of the congressional committee infuriated me. Why ought we not treat them the same as the other civilians who hung around camp? Why ought we not cast them to the very edges of the camp and force them to construct their own dwelling with their bare hands? Why ought we treat men who had done very little to further our cause better than the men who were risking their very lives every day to preserve it?

While these thoughts coursed through my mind, I formed an idea, an awful, mischievous, wonderful idea. Naturally, the first thing I did was share it with Alexander as we sat in the back of the commandeered wagon, huddled under a trap as we both looked over the list of necessary furniture.

“What do you think of this?” I asked him, keeping my query quiet enough that the soldier driving the cart would not be able to overhear us above the rain.

“I think that it is ridiculous that Congress believes that they ought to be given every luxury they experience in York while here, where suffering is rampant.” My dear boy replied, clenching the edge of the trap that covered him so hard that his knuckles turned white as he spoke.

“Then, I believe that we ought to do something to show these men what camp is truly like.” The words came out of my mouth far more cynical and evil than I had expected, and a mischievous smile crept over my face. “I propose that the furniture we are tasked with gathering for the committee be the sort of furnishings that they would only ever dare provide to their servants.”

“Why, Jack, I believe your idea to be the best possible outcome to our assignment for the day. For nowhere on this paper is it stated that the furniture we gather must be of the highest quality.” Alexander’s indigo eyes shone with the sort of roguish plotting that made me fall in love with him all over again. Of course, my father would be furious that he was not being treated as a king in a country where kings were to be no more, but it would also serve to demonstrate to Congress what the reality of the men fighting for the freedom of our land truly was. I could only hope that doing so would not severely invoke his wrath upon his realizing that the army that had so long pestered him for supplies was not a force made up of perfect automatons.

First, we stopped at General Greene’s headquarters, where Greene’s aides Pettit and Cox were all too willing to supply the less-than-desirable furniture from the general's headquarters to our cause. Enlisting the help of several Rhode Island soldiers who were unfortunate enough to have been walking by at the moment, we even managed to carry out a ramshackle bedframe and mattress and dump them into the back of the cart without anyone slipping in the rapidly growing muddy vacuum that was the road.

After Greene was Hale. Hale’s headquarters was obviously a place that both Alexander and I were well acquainted with, and we were confident that we would easily be able to procure the old set of chairs and accompanying tea table that was stored in the attic without any help, since no one was ever at Hale’s headquarters to begin with. Much as I suspected, when we entered through the front door, not a soul was on the first floor, which meant that there was no one to question why we were effectively stealing furniture from Hale.

Getting the chairs down two flights of stairs and to the cart proved to be quite simple; Alexander and I both carried one down the stairs and took a second trip for the two others, as the stairs were not wide enough to facilitate carrying two at a time. However, moving the table ended up being a far more complicated effort. We finally settled on turning the thing sideways and both holding one side of it, me going backwards down the stairs, and Alexander attempting to keep the table from falling down on me. Somehow, this effort was semi-successful. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near as silent of an effort as either of us had believed.

“Why are you stealing my table? Seriously, what the hell!” Hale exclaimed from the second-floor hallway as we carried said table past him. Much to the displeasure of my arms, we were forced to pause in order to explain to Hale, who for some reason was wearing fewer clothes than he had been when Alexander and I had departed that morning, why we were stealing his table.

“This is being acquisitioned to furnish the quarters of the soon-to-be-arriving congressional committee.” Alexander took the liberty of explaining. Through the mere tone of his voice, it was obvious what his feelings on this were, as it was the vocal equivalent of rolling one’s eyes.

“And not a single man thought to warn me?” Hale protested, as he apparently had some sort of emotional connection to the rundown tea table.

“Well perhaps if you had been less occupied with fucking Major Tallmadge you may have noticed.” My dear boy shot back, clearly ignoring the fact that we were both very much still holding a tea table, which was growing rather heavy.

“I was not!” Sputtered the rather flustered looking Brigader General, who very much looked like he had just been fucking Tallmadge, based upon both his reaction and state of undress. “I was just about to go out and inspect my troops! Yes, that was what I was about to do.”

I refrained from commenting on that bold-faced lie, and instead just shook my head at my dear boy, who also appeared to be suppressing a laugh. “Whatever you say, General.”

Gathering the remainder of the list of furniture proved to be far less eventful, and by the end of our effort, the entire cart had been filled twice and I was huddling underneath the trap with Alexander this time on the driver’s bench of the cart, while the soldier driving the horses wrapped himself up in his own tarp, all of us protected from the torrential rains. We were still laughing about poor Hale’s circumstances as we headed back to Washington’s headquarters, parting ways with the wagon at the stable that had been the location of such a wonderful kiss only a matter of hours prior and heading into the old farmhouse through the back door.

Though the chaos of gathering the list of required furnishings and whatever Hale had been doing, I had nearly forgotten about the arrival of my father and the rest of the congressional committee, instead giving myself over to the absurdity of life in camp and my enjoyment from any sort of time shared with my dearest Alexander. However, that was not to be for long, for I soon spotted the outline of a large carriage through the pouring rain, slowing making its way down the quagmire of mud that was the road, towards headquarters, every turn of the wheels marking one more second less of the amount of time I had left before being forced to face my father. Alexander gripped my hand as he joined me at the window, a silent promise that he would stick by my side throughout whatever horrors I was sure to be put through in the coming days. I could only hope that this promise would be one that would be kept.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Here's an extra-long chapter after I've been missing for two weeks! Hope you enjoyed it.

Just a few things before I list my sources and get back to writing the next chapter (yes, sources were actually used):

-John’s take on social classes in the military is a bit idealistic, and I do want to acknowledge that what he perceives to be reality won’t actually be the case for quite a while. However, he’s trying, so you gotta give him that.

-Some of you may be noticing that the Lee duel has not occurred; however, I promise that something far more interesting is going to take its place

-I'm thinking of rewriting the Halemadge section at the beginning of this once I get through the revolution, as I'm not really satisfied with how I dealt with it anymore. Would that be something you'd be interested in seeing? I think I would have to expand Hamilton's role and maybe even give Laurens a cameo

-Keep your eyes out for another fic finally being added to the series! This is going to be a bit of fluff before the angst of Henry Laurens's arrival. It should be out before next Friday.

And now, my sources!:

-The names of Greene's aides: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathanael_Greene#American_Revolutionary_War

-premise for congressional committee even existing (I have it happening later because I didn't think this out well!): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge

Thanks so much for reading and if you've enjoyed, please leave kudos or a comment, they really make my day <3

Chapter 20: Drapetomania

Summary:

Drapetomania
drap-uh-tuh-MAY-nee-uh
Noun
The overwhelming urge to run away

From my position in the office, a position which consisted of hiding at the back of the small grouping of aides and praying that my father would not immediately notice me, I caught my first glimpse of the other men who were to comprise the committee. There were five of them, all men whose names had been circulating camp like wildfire since the moment the horrid announcement had been made. Francis Dana of Massachusetts, Nathaniel Folsom of New Hampshire, John Harvie of Virginia, Gouverneur Morris of New York, and worst of all, Henry Laurens of South Carolina. Even after nearly half a year of being apart, my father still appeared nearly identical to how he had been prior to my departure for the army. His face was still flushed from his near-constant drink, and his well-tailored suit still displayed his prominent stomach. In stark contrast, my physical appearance had starkly changed over the past months. From the hard work and meager rations, I had become lean and rather tanned. The clothes that had fit me so well before departing for camp now hung loose on my frame. It was abundantly clear that my father had given up none of his luxuries as he moved from Philadelphia to York.

As all five members of the committee entered and greeted General Washington, I attempted to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible, a rather difficult feat given that I was a head taller than the majority of the aides was attempting to hide myself behind. Evidently, this effort failed since, when he stepped to the side after conversing with General Washington, my father turned to look directly at me, and sent me and icy glare that felt as though it reached the very depths of my soul, rooting my feet to the ground and making me feel as though pure ice was running through my veins. I knew that type of look, it was the type of look that meant that my father was about to drag me into an isolated room and become the type of monster that he only could behind closed doors. In essence, it was the exact look that sent me spiraling every single time. But this time something was different. Alexander was standing beside me and immediately took my hand in his, letting me squeeze it as tightly as I needed to as the waves of panic crashed over me.

“President Laurens,” I overheard Washington say. His voice sounded as though it was coming from the bottom of a well, not the dozen or so feet away that he truly was. “Allow me to introduce you to one of my primary aides. He is the man who has been writing to you regarding the need for both supplies and funds for the army in our winter camp. This is Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, a vital member of my staff.”

And there, General Washington was, guiding my father over towards Alexander and me with a small smile on his typically stern face, and a friendly hand on my father’s shoulder. Neither of them looked ill at ease with the other. That was when it struck me. My father and General Washington did not despise each other, or at the very least, the General was exceptionally skilled at putting up a false, gratuitous, and polite front. I begged all powers that be that my second assumption was correct.

“It is an honor to meet you, sir.” Alexander greeted my father, sticking his hand out for a handshake, which was taken and shook. No one else seemed to notice the way that his jaw was clenched and the restraint in both his words and movements. He knew the truth. Alexander was the only other person at camp who knew the truth.

“The honor is all mine. I am so glad to see that such a bright young man is serving our great uniting cause.”  There was a hunger in his eyes when he turned to me, like the hunger of a predator knowing that it had at long last recaptured its prey. “My dear son! How wonderful to see you again, my boy.”

Any affection in his voice was practiced, nothing more than a show put on for those around us. No excitement or care reached his eyes, and the eyes always told the truth.

“Good day, Father. I am so glad that you were able to make the journey to inspect the camp, even with the less-than-ideal weather.” I was far less well-versed in that great game that men play every time they interact, and it showed. My words carried far less excitement and care than his, hopefully no one noticed.

“Those roads do seem as horrible a threat as the British.” Another one of the committee members remarked, Gouvener Morris I believe.

With that my father drifted away from me and the rest of my fellow aides, to speak with the men of actual consequence no doubt. The second that we were no longer maintaining eye contact, I felt myself relax, only slightly though, for that would be far from the first interaction that we were to share over the duration of the committee’s inspection. I already knew that I would dread every moment. While my father shook hands with the remainder of the gathered Generals, barely hiding his disdain for Hale, who was almost assuredly some version of intoxicated, the remainder of the committee’s members, all of whom followed my father around like attention-deprived pets, circulated as well. Harvie congratulated me on my place on Washington’s staff. He was a rather slight man, with overpowered hair and the sorts of connections that every Virginian seemed to possess. We did not speak for long.

Eventually, everyone seemed to shift into the dining room, where a map of Valley Forge had been laid out on the table. Along with Alexander and other assorted members of the various staffs of all the generals present, I watched from my vantage point along the wall as General Washington directed the congressmen’s attention to various features on the map, from the fortifications on Mt. Joy manned by Woodford’s brigade to the old schoolhouse that had been turned into a center for smallpox inoculation, an effort headed by no one but Dr. Hale of course. At this rate, one could have convinced me that the younger Hale brother was the main surgeon in the whole army.

“It is quite the encampment,” Folsom noted once Washington had ended his explanation. “The army seems quite well prepared for battle should Howe attack.”

“That is the exact scenario these defenses have been prepared for.” General Stirling affirmed. “General Duportail has taken all precautions in the case of a British offensive.”

Various members of the committee asked various questions regarding the exact specifics of the camp's layout, with numerous Generals responding. Hale stayed quiet for the majority of the conversation; however, he did make sure to point out that Baron von Steuben was responsible for several improvements, most notably the construction of latrines in strategic locations. The Baron himself was not present, having departed shortly after migration to the dining room, no doubt to prepare the men for their afternoon drilling. The rain was beginning to let up, meaning that one could no longer hear the constant drumming of the raindrops on the roof at any given moment. It would still be miserable to be out in, but less so than when Alexander and I had embarked on our great furniture-stealing adventure.

“Well, General Washington,” My father began. “If it would not be too much trouble, would it be possible for my fellow committee members and I to acquire a brief tour of your camp? It would be greatly beneficial for us to gain a rough understanding of the camp here at Valley Forge before we begin our official inspection.”

“Of course, President Laurnes. General Hale is quite well acquainted with the exact layout of our troops, and he is quite the capable guide. Some of my aides ought to also be able to accompany you.” The General’s goal in disposing of Hale was obvious. Put the General who was not vital to whatever discussion was sure to occur when the committee departed headquarters, with the committee who was departing headquarters.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Very well then.” General Washington turned towards us aides lined up against the wall. I silently prayed that he would not call upon me. This prayer was unfortunately not answered. “Laurens, Hamilton. Accompany General Hale on his brief tour of the camp.

“Yes sir.” We answered, shooting each other a glance before following the group of departing men. This was not good. 

Hale fell back so that he was walking next to us as we approached the stable, where the carriage, which the pampered congressmen had arrived in camp in, was. All three of us looked back and forth at the rest of the group. Hale was not anyone’s first choice to escort a group of wealthy men around Valley Forge, much less anyone, for that matter. He was vulgar, uncivilized by society's standards, and far closer to the common soldier than anyone who my father would ever consider himself worthy of associating with. My father was bound to despise him. Out of all three of us aides, I was the only one who had grown up in the world that these men inhabited. I was the only one who they would consider worthy of their presence. Hamilton could fake it, he was decent at deceiving people for brief moments or conversations, but not for a whole preliminary tour of camp. And I could do nothing. All I could do was bite the inside of my cheek until it drew blood and dig my fingernails into my palm in a desperate effort to claim some sort of control over the situation. 

There was no room in the carriage for either Alexander or me; instead, we were made to sit on the driver’s bench along with the driver of the carriage, a slave whom I vaguely recognized. He was one of my father’s preferred drivers. We both cowered beneath our greatcoats as the carriage attempted to traverse the deeply rutted roads that cut through the camp. Ever fortunate, Hale had managed to lead the way on his horse, an action that spared him the worst of the jostling. The roads were so bad that there were times that Alexander, the driver, and I all had to hold on tightly to each other, lest any of us be thrown from the vehicle.

By some miracle, we made it to the field where Tallmadge was instructing his soldiers in something in one piece. It was obvious to all who knew the man that Hale had chosen to bother Tallmadge for the sole reason that the Major was the one man who would put up with Hale bothering him.  Dismounting his horse, Hale headed over towards the other man, whispering something in his ear that I could not quite make out, as Alexander and I got down from the driver’s bench. I ended up forcing my dear boy to allow me to help him, lest he manage to reinjure his ankle. 

The committee followed us, stepping tentatively through the deep mud. Of course, Tallmadge had been booted to the muddiest part of the camp. He was the only dragoon commander who trained his men beyond Baron von Stueben’s drills and thus was considered an odd duck by all his compatriots, although that may have just been because of his unusually close relationship with General Hale.

Said General immediately introduced his bedmate to the group of congressmen, not noticing that he was holding Tallmadge a bit closer to him than polite society expected. A hand between another man’s shoulder blades was apparently worthy of scandal. “This is Major Tallmadge of the second Continental Light Dragoons.”

While Tallmadge’s expression clearly read as “Oh fuck, the rich bastards are here,” to anyone that knew him, he made the astute decision to not vocalize this and instead gave a small bow and said: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sirs.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet a man fighting for his country,” Dana affirmed, the only one of his group to actually shake Tallmadge’s hand.

While we all stood in the rain, Tallmadge gave an impromptu but surprisingly well-put-together explanation of the exact function of training his dragoons in this weather, along with a short history of his command. I must confess that I was not paying very much attention, instead focusing on attempting to keep my boots from permanently sticking in the mud and avoiding my father’s gaze. Oh, how I looked forward to collapsing into our nice, warm, dry bed with Alexander after all of this!

After Tallmadge and his dragoons, a stop which I had a sneaking suspicion was made for the sole reason of Hale wanting to see the man he was most assuredly sleeping with, we headed to the old schoolhouse, where Dr. Hale was carrying out an inoculation program. Much like Tallmadge, this location was probably only chosen since Dr. Hale would be willing to temporarily put up with his older brother.

This time, we could not approach too closely to the schoolhouse, only stand a few yards from the road, for the whole of the building was full of men suffering through the effects of the smallpox vaccine. Luckily for me, I had gotten the inoculation several years prior and was thus technically immune; however, it was better to take no chances. Of course, the doctor who came out to greet us was no man other than Dr. Hale. Speaking of Dr. Hale, the man looked rather horrid. It appeared as though he had not slept in a week, he had lost his jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Along with that, his face had a rather sickly pallor. Due to a combination of these reasons, none of the congressmen elected to shake the doctor's hand upon being introduced to them.

“Dr. Oliver Hale. I organized the inoculation endeavor here.” He noted, pushing the pair of glasses he wore back up on his nose.

“Hale?” My father queried.

“My brother.” Hale filled in.

“Can I help you all with anything?” Dr. Hale asked after a rather awkward silence.

“Perhaps you could inform us of the exact specifications of your inoculation efforts,” Morris responded, looking to his other committee members for approval. 

“Well we stab a quill into a sore on an ill man, then take the pus from said sore and place it into a cut made on a healthy man. He falls ill, not terribly ill but ill, hopefully recovers, and then is permanently immune to smallpox. It is quite simple. Now if you would excuse me, it seems as though I must tend to my patients.” Without waiting to be dismissed, Dr. Hale walked back towards the schoolhouse, where his wife was hovering at the door, a look of concern on her face.

Following the rather interesting interaction with Dr. Hale, we headed down to the bank of the Schuylkill River, where Hale rambled on about the importance of the river in the defence efforts of the camp, should the British launch an attack, for a good half hour. It was obviously an attempt to kill time, as the ride down to the river was quite the long one, and he spoke for far longer than he was required to. I could only infer that Washington had instructed him to keep the congressional committee as far away from headquarters for as long as possible, and this for some reason was Hale’s way of accomplishing that. 

The sun was setting when we headed back, however the rain had not let up one bit.

Because of the mud, the ride back to headquarters took at least twice as long as it would have on foot, meaning that the diver, Alexander, and I got the wonderful experience of being jostled for as long as possible. It was an exceptional relief when we arrived back at Washington’s headquarters, where the committee members were to eat supper with a group of Generals, which did not include Hale, to all involved’s relief. Alexander and I had entered Headquarters in order to inform Reed of our departure and to collect whatever papers were to be stashed at Hale’s headquarters for the time being. We were not to stay long, however right before I was to enter the aide’s office, I felt an iron grip encircling my lower arm. Before the words even left his mouth, I knew who it was, my father. I was a fool for thinking for a moment that he would not want me alone.

“I wish to speak to you before you depart.” He said menacingly, voice scarily calm.

“Ye-Yes sir.” I fumbled my words, terror already overtaking almost every facet of my mind. He was going to beat me, or at the very least hit me, or maybe knock me against the fireplace, or do something so horrible that I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again, or…

As my mind ran through all the scenarios that could play out, over and over, my father led me into the old parlor, closing the door behind us. My heart began to beat loudly in my chest. He could not do this here, I was surrounded by people who would come running if I screamed, but that had never stopped him before. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“John, take a seat.” He gestured to the wooden chair in the corner of the room, where no one looking in from the outer windows would be able to see. All at once I was a boy again, utterly terrified of what he was to do. I sat. He continued: “Are you aware of why I wish to speak to you?”

“No sir.” No matter how hard I tried, I could barely manage to bring my voice above a whisper.

“Your correspondence. You have written me scarcely a letter since your enlistment.”

“I have been kept quite busy.”

“I do not want excuses!” He thundered. “The terms of my allowing you to enlist in the first place was that you would write to me informing me of the occurrences in the army monthly. All I have thus received was a single letter, nay note, informing me that you were alive! Have you not been receiving my correspondence?”

“No, sir,” I whispered, not daring to look him in the eye. “The mail service is not very reliable at times. The letters may have been lost.”

It was a fib, but for some reason he seemed to believe me, not knowing about the pile of letters that I had stashed at the very bottom of my trunk.

My father sighed, leaning back on the table in the center of the room. “I ask such simple things of you John, but even then you fail to complete them. You are worthless . Washington keeps you on his staff out of nothing more than pity and the fact that you are my son. Do you understand? All you have in this world is because of your relation to me . Displease me again and I will be sure that you suffer far more than mere physical consequences for your actions.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured once again, already bracing myself for the inevitable blow. But it never came.

“Go back to wherever you came from, and remember that I am watching you.” He warned before shooing me away.

The second that we returned to Hale’s headquarters, I immediately collapsed into Alexander’s arms, recounting the conversation with my father to him in between sobs. He tried to comfort me, to assure me that everything would be alright, to promise me that I was not as worthless as my father insisted I was. But no matter how many kind sentiments he whispered into my ear as he held me, I could not get my father’s words out of my mind. Worthless, worthless, worthless . Some things never changed.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Happy Fourth of July, aka oh dear god everyone in this work is currently staring at the USA in fear day!

In other news, go check out Alexander Hamilton's Totally-Not-Planned-at-the-Last-Minute-by-John-Laurens Birthday Party. It's amazing and probably not totally canon, even though I wrote the canon.

Here's the sources!:

-Map of Valley Forge I used: https://www.loc.gov/resource/g3824v.ar307800/?r=-0.036,0.241,0.824,0.421,0

-Henry Laurens's opinion of Washington: https://researchingtheamericanrevolution.com/henry-laurens/

-A pretty interesting article on Henry Laurens: https://afsa.org/henry-tower-revisited

-The man who designed the earthworks at Valley Forge:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge

-Smallpox inoculation: https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/smallpox-inoculation-revolutionary-war.htm

Chapter 21: Apoplectic

Summary:

apoplectic
/ˌapəˈplektik/
adjectiveinformal
overcome with anger; extremely indignant.

The next few days introduced me to a new type of hell that I had never thought of myself being forced to experience. It felt as though the moment that my father and his committee of cronies had entered camp, Valley Forge had immediately lost any spark of enjoyment or even contentment for me. Morale had been low all winter, and as I yet again dressed for the day, I felt as though the same curse that had attacked so many of the enlisted men, had finally struck me. Alexander was the only reason I could even put on that same blasted courteous smile I always wore to mask the pain. He was an angel, silently comforting me and reassuring me with his mere presence that this would end, that this had to end. No longer could I be bothered to engage with anyone beyond the bare minimum, speaking not any more words than I was required to. Every night, I lay awake in bed, that one word bouncing around in my mind: worthless.

My only saving grace was that I was not forced to accompany the congressional committee on their inspection of the camp, instead being able to curl up and hide in the aide's office, writing until my wrist ached and stealing glances at Alexander. All the days of work began to blend into each other, and before I knew it, a whole week had passed, and there was no sign of the departure of the congressmen anywhere in sight. No one noticed how much my shoulders stooped when the announcement came of the dinner party.

Ever requiring formalities laid out at his feet, my father had been going from headquarters to headquarters, strong-arming the generals, and by generals we all knew their wives, into hosting dinner parties, and shaming them if the effort did not meet his standards. In a place where the cold was forcing men to cut off their fingers and toes, and proper winter clothing was a laughable idea, he wanted dinner parties. Damn him, damn them all.

Hannah was sent into a frenzy when the request, nay demand arrived. She was not a part of the world that knew what these parties were to entail, and far too proud to ask for help. It was already painfully obvious to me that she was to be belittled and demonized by my father, and every ounce of heart I had left ached at the knowledge of what was inevitable. With the help of the men of Company A, Hale’s headquarters was cleaned from top to bottom, a repetition of what had occurred upon the arrival of Congress into the camp. Clearly they thought themselves worthy of being treated as kings every day they spent here. It was terrible and sickening and the sort of thing that made me ashamed that I could call myself a member of their social circle.

When the dreaded evening arrived, an air of resigned mayhem had descended over the old farmhouse. Having been essentially banished from the main floor, the men of Company A had taken up refuge in either the attic or the cellar, freezing so that those in power could pretend that they were not really suffering. In a similar vein, the majority of the officers who also stayed here had fled, taking up with either their comrades who were not housed in my father’s next target for invasion, or heading to a makeshift tavern that had sprung up. Once everyone had left, attempting to get as far away as possible from the self proclaimed gods, only the Hales, Tallmadge, Alexander, and I were left. They were all allies of mine, or at least as close to allies as I could gather for myself in the camp.

Seeing that he was technically the host, Hale waited in the parlor, a private from Company A ready to open the door the second that my father and his lackeys granced Hale’s headquarters with their presence. I found myself in the dining room with Hannah and Tallmadge, the three of us attempting to set the table in the proper manner, something that I truly ought to have been able to recall, but my mind was blank on that topic.

“The forks are on the left, not the right!” Hannah exclaimed, holding a book on proper table etiquette open as she read from it.

Tallmadge and I immediately began to switch the locations of the forks with the knives and spoons, a rather complicated effort given the sheer number of place settings, eleven in total. During this process, as I was holding three forks and attempting to switch a knife with a spoon, a plate in between my forearm and the table edge, I moved my arm an inch too far. The plate threw itself to the ground, shattering into dozens of pieces against the floorboards. I froze. I swore that I could hear my father already approaching, the memories of punishments from previous mistakes echoing endlessly in my mind. A belt, a fist, the fireplace mantle that still carried my blood, a black eye, the bruises that littered my ribs. My breath caught in my throat, my chest tightening and the world around me reduced to a blur. Worthless, worthless, worthless .

Footsteps were approaching. I braced for a blow, to be thrown on the floor, to have the shards of porcelain cut my face, to have a heel press my head into them. I needed to run, to flee, to curl up in a ball and hide. But I could not move my feet from their spot. Someone put their hand on my forearm. Instinctively I flinched. Whoever it was let go immediately and backed away.

“Laurens?” They asked me, voice soft and even, as if they were holding a temper. A hand was sure to slap me any moment, push me into the table- “Laurens!”

Hands found my shoulders, shaking me. It was only then that my vision finally focused again. Tallmadge was the one shaking me, calling out my name. The only expression on his face was concern. Concern. He did not wish to hurt me. He did not wish to hurt me. I was as safe as I could be. Muscles I did not know I was clenching relaxed, and I collapsed into one of the dining room chairs, the pieces of broken plate crunching beneath my boots.

“Are you alright?” He asked me.

Not yet capable of forcing words through my windpipe, which still felt as if an invisible force was tightening it, I merely nodded, gripping the sides of the chair in an attempt to tether myself to reality. Hannah murmured some reassurance that the plate was no great casualty that I could not fully comprehend. Just as I was about to try and form the words to beg them to get Alexander, it happened: the knock on the door that could only mean one thing, my father had arrived. In an instant the panic began to overwhelm me again, my breaths coming in short rasps as my mind descended into terror stricken imaginings of what would happen when my father saw me. This distracted me so that I did not notice when Tallmadge put a hand on my shoulder and led me from the dining room.

We ended up in the cramped room that consisted of Hale’s office. Guiding me to the well worn couch that took up half of the place, Tallmadge took a seat next to me. The two of us sat in silence for a while, just listening to the sounds of everything occurring right outside of the room as I attempted to slow my breathing. It was a rather futile effort, since silent tears were beginning to make trails down my cheeks. Tallmadge did not comment, merely wrapped an arm around my shoulders and refrained from reacting when I leaned into him for an ounce of comfort. The clock on the wall slowly ticked, marking each minute as it passed. In total, it took seventeen minutes for my tears to cease.

“Thank you.” I whispered, my voice hoarse from suppressed sobs.

“Of course.” He reassured me as he handed me his handkerchief to wipe my face with. “I know you would do the same for me in a moment.”

When we rejoined the great performance that was to be this evening, only after a few more moments for me to compose myself, my father was holding court in the parlor, his gout ridden foot propped up on a stool as the congressmen, excluding Morris since he had fallen ill, listened to him recount a tale of one of his great slave auction deals, and how he had essentially scammed the traders out of field workers. Both Hale brothers and Alexander looked as disgusted at the tale as I felt. My dear boy appeared to be barely keeping his temper in check as I took my place next to him, wishing he could hold my hand, yet not daring to make any advances with the company present. Clearly not wishing to hear any more tales regarding human bondage, Hale attempted to steer the subject of conversation towards the war, however my father held fast, aided by Harvie, and kept the subject of conversation staunchly on slavery. I felt like throwing up when he described the sorts of punishments he intended to inflict on runaways, knowing perfectly well that those same punishments were sure to be used on me and my younger siblings if he was given the chance.

Our savior was Hannah, inviting the table to supper. She was respectably dressed, the only woman present, in a dark blue gown of cheap silk that was cut in the English style, and nearly matched the fabric of our uniforms. It was notable, however, just how highcut the dress was, for all of the women I had ever attended balls and dinner parties with quite enjoyed displaying their chest areas, at least as much as society would allow them to. Despite her clear lack of experience with events of this formality, she played the part of the hostess exceptionally well, allowing Hale to usher the guests into the dining room as etiquette demanded, and seating them in as proper an order as she could, especially given the lack of female guests.

I was in between Alexander and Dr. Hale, with Tallmadge across from me. Our conversation throughout the meal was thankfully surface level, any true intentions layered beneath so much polite societal ​​etiquette that they were completely obscured. The food was good, far better than anything else I had eaten in camp, with the exception of the Washingtons’ Christmas dinner, and clearly the sort of fare that must have drawn people into the Hales’ tavern back in Albany before the war. Despite that, I still noticed how the members of the congressional committee eyed it with disdain, for the number of dishes provided was rather meager compared to what they had clearly envisioned. This topic was thankfully not broached, and the meal continued in as good of spirits as it could given the circumstances.

Dessert was an apple chestnut pie, wonderful and comforting, almost nearly as much as the hand Alexander had snuck onto my thigh just as it was being served. Over the course of the meal, my father and his lackeys had so gorged themselves on wine and other spirits that the servants, truly just men of Company A who owed Hannah favors, had to make numerous trips down to the cellar for more wine. None of us who constituted my small group of allies drank excessively, even though Hale was known to do so, and instead restrained ourselves to only a glass or two of wine. Thus, when the evening became heated, we were not the instigators.

Folsom and Dana had departed shortly after dessert, thanking Hannah and Hale for their hospitality, Dana staring directly at her chest for a moment too long. Upon their departure, we had all retreated back into the parlor, taking places on the various furniture as my father settled into the large armchair by the fire, Harvie sitting at his right, like the lapdog he was. On the couch directly to my father’s left were Hale and Tallmadge, on the loveseat across from them were Dr. Hale and Hannah, leaving Alexander and I to the two chairs that faced my father’s throne. Needless to say, I spent the majority of the evening staring at the floor. The alcohol was still flowing freely, Hale refilling my father’s cup the moment it appeared low, most likely in a misguided effort to subdue him. I wish I could have had the ability to inform him that drinking only intensified my father’s horribleness.

“You know,” My father pondered, “I had never heard of the family name ‘Hale’. What endeavors did you pursue before the war?”

“We ran a tavern in Albany.” Hale informed him. “However my older brother Enoch did pursue a career in the ministry.”

“A tavern!” Harvie laughed, his face quite flushed. “No wonder that you all are so invested in this war. It is the only way you will not end up condemned to the poor house!”

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Hale exclaimed, a quiet anger flaring in his eyes. I could see it in Dr. Hale’s as well. This was not to end well.

“What Harive said is that such lower class heathens as you all must be so out of place in this new world, yet be revealing in it as well. A brigadier general! Why, that must mean more money than your little clan has seen in a century. It is quite good that it shall all be gone the moment that we succeed, then people like you will go back to where you belong: serving my people.” My father chuckled at the last remark, obviously not realizing that what he had just said applied to the majority of the people in the room. “You know,” He added in an attempted whisper, clearly addressing Harive but not aware that the rest of us could hear him as well, “I would happily take Mrs. Hale here in my bed with me. As we all know, tavern keepers always have whore wives.”

“What did you just say about Hannah?” Dr. Hale asked through gritted teeth, glaring at the man who was supposed to be a respectable planter. The mask had slid.

“I said that she is the wife of a tavern keeper and thus a whore!” My father clarified, not helping the situation. “Cut from the same cloth of loose conduct and immorality as the rest of you lot. There is a reason you stay poor, you know.”

“Mr. Laurens, I challenge you to a duel!” Hale thundered, springing up from his seat. “You have insulted the honor of a lady and my whole family, and I believe that in following your little code of conduct, I am entitled to duel you.”

“Very well then.” The patriarch of my family slurred in response. “I got into quite a few duels in my day. Let us do such, name a time and place.”

“Right now, right outside.” Hale countered. “I possess firearms and it shall stop any interference. Hamilton, be my second?”

“Of course.” My dear boy agreed, standing up next to Hale. Could not ask Tallmadge, for the man was technically still a member of the clergy, but asking my hot headed Alexander was quite the good choice.

“Very well then. John, be my second.” My father ordered, taking another sip of his drink.

“No.” I replied, standing up next to Alexander. I could not duel a man who was my brother in arms, a partaker of the same sin I did, who I counted among my closest friends. Not merely to please my father. “No, I will not be your second.” That one word: no, it sent shockwaves throughout the carefully crafted picture that my father had conjured up of me in his mind. 

“How dare you disrespect me, your own father!” He bellowed, rising from his seat and starting towards me, held back only by Harive and his gout. “You shall rue this decision! Harive, be my second.”

“Yes sir.” The Virginian quickly agreed.

We had all the components required for a duel: firearms that Tallmadge had disappeared to obtain, a doctor in case one participant was wounded, and willing seconds. Thus, all four involved, along with Dr. Hale, stepped outside. All I could do was remain in Hale’s headquarters with Hannah and Tallmadge, sitting with them in the parlor as Hannah covered Mercy’s ears in order to prevent the girl from hearing if her older brother shot a man. I hoped he would. Two shots rang out, followed by a cry of agony. Like that, the duel was over, but the trouble had only begun.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Today's the 201st anniversary of Alexander Hamilton being shot by Burr, so here's John having a panic attack to celebrate. Told you I'd replace the Lee duel with something far more interesting.

Here are my sources for this chapter:

-table settings:

https://blog.acsilver.co.uk/2019/08/22/18th-century-table-settings/

-plate materials:

https://nmscarcheologylab.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/party-like-its-1776-a-look-at-eighteenth-century-ceramics/

-food:

https://dejafood.uk/recipes-by-era/18th-century/

-Imagine Hannah's dress as something resembling this:

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/159540

Chapter 22: Peripeteia

Summary:

peripeteia
/ˌperəpəˈtē(y)ə,ˌperəpəˈtīə/
noun
a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances, especially in reference to fictional narrative.

I immediately hurried out to the scene of the duel the second that the gunshots ended, Hannah and Tallmadge following closely behind me. In the faint glow of the lantern, quite the scene was laid out. Hale and Alexander stood on one side, Hale holding a pistol and staring down the other pair of duelers while Alexander wore a smug grin on his face. Opposite from them, my father had crumpled to the ground, with Harvie at his side attempting to steady him. In the mixture of mud and not yet melted snow that comprised the ground, the distinct sheen of blood glittered.

“Laurens, do you yield?” Alexander called over to their challengers, victory already known to him.

“You shot him in the side! Yes he yields!” Harvie shot back as my father groaned in pain. He deserved every second of it. Perhaps it was some sort of divine punishment after so many years of him hurting others. However, in that case Hale would be an avenging angel, and having met the man, that posed some rather concerning questions about the exact nature of heaven and hell, although best to dwell on other things.

“I am satisfied!” Hale proclaimed, finally lowering the pistol.

At the sound of his brother’s proclamation, Dr. Hale turned around and glared down at my father, seemingly contemplating whether or not it would be worth actually attending to him. Harvie’s frantic shots pierced the cold night air, his words confused and terrified as the smile broke out on his face. I did not realize how quickly my feet were carrying me over to Hale and Alexander, nor even how wide the satisfied grin on my face was.

“You shot him!” I exclaimed, grasping Hale by the shoulders. “You actually shot him!”

“You do not wish to punch me?” He finally inquired after a rather uncomfortable silence. “I just shot your father.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that? This is one of the greatest events that has ever occurred in my life!”

“I just shot your father.” Hale repeated, even more confused.

“Precisely!” I practically shouted at him, watching Alexander crumple into a fit of laughter out of the corner of my eye, Tallmadge attempting and failing to keep his composure.

It took another few minutes to explain to Hale that I actually quite appreciated the fact that he had shot my father, an effort that ended in the two of us laughing and celebrating. My father had finally suffered for the consequences of his actions, finally had just a fraction of the pain he had inflicted upon others inflicted back upon him! Even though I was not the one to pull the trigger, it still felt as though I had achieved some form of revenge. Perhaps he would die, hopefully in an exceptionally slow and painful manner, and the whole world would finally be free of such a horrid man. No longer did my father seem an immortal figure who lorded over every aspect of my life and even invaded the places I thought myself safe, he had been proven mortal and cowed!

Due to Harvie’s indecent pleas, Dr. Hale was forced to actually treat my father, meaning that he and Harvie had to drag the wounded bastard into a cart, which they used to transport him across camp to the hospital, a long journey over deeply rutted roads that were sure to aggravate his wound every time a bump was hit. The whole of the trip was to be nothing but pure agony. Besides, poor Dr. Hale had just had his wife called a whore by his prospective patient, and based on my interactions with the Hale family, this was sure to affect the quality of his medical care.

With said “tavern whore”, Alexander, Tallmadge, Hale, and I headed back into Hale’s headquarters in order to celebrate our great victory over enslaving demons with hostile agendas towards the future of this country. Opening quite a few bottles of whiskey, it was only a few moments before we found ourselves splayed out on the various pieces of parlor furniture, discussing all the topics under the sun, but more importantly what the future was to entail. I had found myself laying on the couch, my head on Alexander’s lap, rambling on about how slavery had no future in this America, while Hale poured another round of drinks, filling Hannah’s first.

“So much speak of ‘all men’, and the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, although it seems as though ‘all men’ only applies to those who won the great lottery of fate and managed to get themselves born into the right families.” I complained, gesturing vaguely in the air with my half empty glass of whiskey.

“If this is to truly be a nation where all men can have an equal chance of rising above their station, then all men must truly refer to all men, no matter the location of their birth, nor the wealth of their family, or even the state of servitude of their parents.” Alexander added.

“Say that to the south and we shall have another war to fight.” Tallmadge mused, ever the voice of reason. “However, that shall never invalidate the moral irony of men who own slaves protesting King George, and claiming that they are being made slaves of the crown.”

“Fools. They hide themselves in every facet of the country, intertwining that terrible institution so closely with the fact that this country even exists that removing them from the equation would lead this place to imploding.” Hale noted, plopping down next to Tallmadge and letting the former minister curl up next to him, wrapping an arm around Tallmadge’s shoulders.

“A fight for when this damned war is over.” Hannah added, swirling her drink. “And do not dare forget that men are not the only ones who populate what shall be America.”

“I would not dare.” Hale assured her.

“Nor would I.” I added. Such a woman as Hannah assuredly deserved the same level of respect given to her as any man on both the personal level and in the eyes of the law. Especially given that the Hales seem slightly inclined to crime, at least if the tales of smuggling that Hale regaled us with from before the war were anything resembling true.

“Good evening.” Dr. Hale greeted all of us as he swept into the parlor, immediately heading for the alcohol after giving his wife a kiss on the top of her head. “Laurens, not the one here-the other one, is unfortunately not dead. The bullet entered his side and went clean through, avoiding all vital organs. Harvie took him back to Lafayette’s headquarters, where it seems as though he shall recover.”

“Fuck.” I groaned. “I hoped that he would have passed on.”

“Wished to see him condemned to hell?” Alexander asked me, a sly smile on his lips.

“Where else?” I laughed, leaning into his touch.

All six of us, the small group now complete with the presence of Dr. Hale, spoke until the sun began to rise in the sky, our conversation spurred on by alcohol and a feverish desire to make it to the future. In the end we all fell asleep there, the effects of a night of drinking taking hold; Alexander leaning back in his seat as I curled up, my head still on his lap, one hand still cupping my cheek; Hale and Tallmadge were in a similar state, Hale reclining on the loveseat, the only force keeping his lover from slipping off and cracking his head on the coffee table; Hannah and Dr. Hale had both fallen asleep in their armchairs, holding hands as they did so. The sunlight streaming through the window was aggressive and aggravated the headache that was boiling behind my eyes. Reed was going to kill me and Alexander for not showing up. Maybe we could convince him that Hale had needed us to do…something.

Just as I was about to bury my face in the couch cushions and wish for death, I heard it: a pounding on the door. Nay, pounding was far too polite of a term, it sounded as though they were attempting to break down the door. Looking around, I saw that none of my fellow revolutionaries had stirred, so I was the one to answer the door. It took more effort than I thought it would to pull myself off of the couch and pry myself away from Alexander, however, after attempting to fix myself in the hallway mirror, I opened the door to a sight that I never could have expected.

Soldiers. Well, that was to be expected with the fact that we were in an army camp, but these were no ordinary soldiers, and the man facing me was no ordinary man. These were soldiers from Washington’s Life Guard, and the man whom I had just come face to face with was Major Gibbs, the head of the unit and a particularly formidable man who no one dared cross. Behind him had to be a good two dozen men, all armed, and all concerningly serious. What on earth were they doing here? In Major Gibbs’s hand, he appeared to clutch some sort of paper, what it could be, I did not know.

“Good day, Major.” I cautiously greeted him, making sure to keep the door in between us.

“Good day, Colonel Laurens." Gibbs replied. “Are General Hale and Colonel Hamilton in there?”

“I beg your pardon?” Why on earth would so many soldiers be looking for Hale and Alexander?

“General Hale and Colonel Hamilton were involved in a duel with President Laurens of the Continental Congress last night, which ended with the severe wounding of President Laurens. Thus, his excellency has issued a warrant for their arrest, to be followed up by a court-martial.”

“Oh.” That soft echo of a word was all that I managed to force through my lips. Alexander. Alexander was going to be tried for participating in a duel that left my father injured. I knew why he had done it, he knew of what my father had done to me and desired to in some way help avenge me. It was noble, but foolish. I should have been Hale’s second, I should have been the one being punished for hating the man who gave me life so fervently. I could not lose him. I could not lose him!

“What on earth-” Hale had followed me to the door, stretching out his arms and rebuttoning his waistcoat in the places that Tallmadge had undone it the previous night. I could only stand there helpless as Gibbs informed him that he was under arrest.

Hale stood retained by two of our fellow soldiers as Gibbs and several of his men entered for Alexander. The shouts of my dear boy pierced through my heart every time I heard one emanate from the parlor. I ought to have warned him, ought to have begged him to flee, ought to have never allowed him to be Hale’s second in the first place. Even the soldiers looked conflicted as they dragged him out, Alexander still screaming himself hoarse with protests. I tried to reach out for him, tried to pull him away from them, tried to plead with them, but my throat closed up and my feet refused to be moved from their spot on the floor. The hot tears had already begun following freely down my cheeks by the time that the door shut, blurring my vision and leaving me longing for my dear boy.

Somehow, I ended up collapsing into the cot I had, up until twenty minutes ago, shared with Alexander. My Alexander. The kindest and most wonderful and sweetest and most intelligent and most caring person I had ever met. The person in camp who seemed to truly care about me. The person who had so eagerly gotten me a cat for Christmas and who had fawned over the quick sketch I had done of him. The person who had held me when I awoke screaming from nightmares, shaking until the sun rose over the horizon. The person who, above all else, I loved. My tears dampened the pillow, and I sobbed into it til my breath began to catch in my throat and I struggled to draw a coherent breath through the hitching wails that were coming out of me. He had to be alright. He had to be.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this dark turn of fate.

To warn you all, I'm gonna be away for a decent chunk of next week, so chapter 37 might be updated on Saturday instead of Friday.

Sources!

-Washington's life guard: https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/life-guards

-Everything I know about dueling: https://genius.com/Anthony-ramos-lin-manuel-miranda-jon-rua-leslie-odom-jr-and-original-broadway-cast-of-hamilton-ten-duel-commandments-lyrics

-Exchange between Hale and Laurens (modified from the original): https://genius.com/Lin-manuel-miranda-leslie-odom-jr-anthony-ramos-christopher-jackson-and-original-broadway-cast-of-hamilton-meet-me-inside-lyrics

-Major Gibbs: https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/caleb-gibbs

Chapter 23: Damnation

Summary:

damnation
/damˈnāSHən/
noun
condemnation to eternal punishment in hell.

Notes:

WARNING! This chapter contains GRAPHIC depictions of self-harm and mentions of rape. If this isn't something you're comfortable with, SKIP THIS CHAPTER! I promise you aren't missing too much

It was on the fourth night without any word from Alexander or Hale that I snapped. Drawing on some force of willpower that I was not aware existed, I had managed to keep up appearances throughout camp, where the news of my dear boy and Hale’s involvement in the duel with the great Henry Laurens had spread like wildfire, dividing the camp. Some believed that my father had deserved it after so many months of depriving the army of even basic necessities, coupled with the fact that he had insulted the honor of a lady, he had simply had it coming. Others believed that duels were immoral and wounding the president of congress deserved being court-martialed. I was firmly on the side of they did no wrong and my father had it coming, however Tallmadge seemed more torn. As a former minister, he was in possession of morals, no matter how forcefully indoctrinated they might have been, and those morals appeared to be tearing him apart on the matter of how exactly to approach current events.

Working became torture, knowing that only a matter of days prior, Alexander had been with me, jesting and making the endless hours spent with a quill in hand bearable. Every part of my soul longed for him. I wished to collapse into his arms, to sob and pull him close, promising that we would never be parted again. I could not bear to lose him. For reasons unbeknownst to me, both Tallmadge and I, along with the remainder of the Hale family, had been barred from visiting either Hale or my dearest Alexander, and the only reason I had to believe of his continued breath was that Washington could not allow him to die. He simply could not.

That damned night was the occurrence of the revival of the snow, the powdery flakes falling lazily against the sides of the now absent Hale’s headquarters as I sat upon the cot I had, up until four days ago, shared with Alexander. Tallmadge was nowhere to be seen, although there were rumors that the man had surrendered to the bottle and was holed up in a tavern only a short trip from camp. It was not a rumor that I believed, but it was most assuredly still a rumor. While the wind howled through the night, making the flimsy board walls of the old farmhouse shutter with every gust, all I could bear to do was wrap the old quilt around my shoulders, staring at the worn down floorboards.

The date of the court-martial was set for six days in the future, and it was one of those damned affairs that I dreaded from the very pits of my soul. Alexander, put on trial as an accessory to insubordination! How being the second in a duel that had wounded my father in the side counted as insubordination, I did not know. However, the mere thought of my dear boy being accused of such a crime that would ruin his entire military career if accused, was a terrifying one. Besides from the terrible punishment that being proven guilty was sure to bring, it would surely mean either a demotion from his position as Washington’s aide de camp, or perhaps even a discharge from the ranks of the army. Alexander had been perhaps the only thing holding me together during the more terrible parts of the winter, and oh god, I could scarcely imagine that I could survive to see 1779 without him by my side. From assisting me when I was wounded at Brandywine, to comforting me as I sobbed, I needed him. I loved him, above all else I loved him. And the terrible truth was that that mere fact was more than enough to have us both hanged.

The world would never truly understand how much I cared for him, no matter how many segments of letters they would find after my death, no matter how many anecdotes were told of our great affection for each other, they would never understand. They would never understand how I loved him as a man loved his wife, and how Alexander cared for me the same way. They would never understand that no matter how hard I tried, I could not force my heart to love a woman as I did a man. They would never understand how hard I had tried to force it to. They would never understand how unlucky I was in love, how my heart seemed to have it out for me.

Francis, Martha, both had hurt me, in different ways of course. Francis, he was terrible to me, looking back I knew the only reason I had stayed was because I believed that I had deserved the punishment. It was under his “affection” that the damned business of cutting myself had begun. It had been after one of those evenings that we had both become intoxicated, retreating to the room we had rented. All I had desired to do was sleep off the liquor, but he had had quite different plans. He had forced himself upon me, ignoring my pleas for him to stop, and seemingly taking as much care as possible to injure me. When he had finished, I had been left there, tears forming in my eyes and shaking as the bruises began to form on my body. He had left me there, miserable and in pain from all he had done, having taken advantage of me and fled. Only weeks later did I receive his letter, in which he promised to never forget me. I would assuredly never forget him. That night, I had taken the razor in my luggage, and, sitting amid the soiled sheets, sobbing and barely able to grip the handle, I had pressed the blade into my skin, taking the pain it produced as a punishment, a punishment for not being all I was supposed to, a punishment for not being all everyone else believed I was supposed to.

It had continued as I journeyed to London, slicing up my wrists, then my lower arms as letter after letter of criticism poured in from my father. It was a curse, at worst a blessing, being God’s only son. Being seated at the right hand of the father yet already fallen. When the letter from Francis had arrived, I had done it the worst I had up to that point, covering both inner arms in the sort of cuts that were sure to be painful for days and scar slowly. It was that same night that I had made the association of Martha Manning. She was sweet, far better of a girl than I had ever deserved, the exact sort of woman that my father would have willingly married me off to, the sort of woman that I would have felt trapped with. I was the one to have taken her innocence in a drunken mistake. When the news of her pregnancy had reached both her parents and my father, we had been forced to marry. On our wedding night I cut myself in so many places that I had fainted and been forced to stay in bed for three days. I could not bear to look at my new wife.

The only reason I had not cut deep enough to take my own life was the news of the brewing revolution in America. I had fled, like the coward I was, running from my wife and the child she had not lost. The news reached me a matter of weeks before I had received the news of my acceptance as Washington’s aide de camp. She had named the baby Frances. I wanted to throw up the moment I saw our infant's name written out on the parchment of my letter, the memories of Francis rising in my mind. Once again, I retrieved the razor and opened old wounds, creating new ones in the process, punishing myself for not being normal, punishing myself for not being the husband I ought to have been, punishing myself for not being the father I ought to have been.

Cutting myself had morphed into being reckless in battle as the war progressed, intentionally putting myself in harm’s way as we fought in battle after battle. The only wound I had sustained was a musket ball graze on my shoulder. Of course in the stagnation and stress of Valley Forge, old habits died hard. It had been the letter from my father, the one that had enclosed correspondence from Martha, that I had done it again. Tallmadge and Alexander had found me, bleeding out in the forest, blood decorating the perfect snow. That was the first time I had nicked a vein. Whatever force had been so cruelly keeping me alive had made sure that I survived. Alexander was the only thing that had kept me from trying again. And now I was in danger of losing him.

It all seemed to happen in a blur. My fingers found the smooth hickory handle as easily as ever, and rolling up the sleeves of my nightshirt was a process that barely exerted effort. Covering both of my forearms were the reminder of just how many times this exact action had already occurred. The blade glinted in the low glow of the singular candle as I pressed it into my flesh, the ruby red blood glistening as it flowed freely from wounds I had created a thousand times before. I barely even felt the pain anymore. My tears blurred my vision, combining pale skin and dark blood until I could barely tell them apart. Only when both of my arms were covered with cuts and freely leaking blood did I put down the razor.

I collapsed onto the cot, arms wrapped once again around myself and sobbing even harder than before. Perhaps this time I would actually manage to die. Sometimes I could barely even tell if living was worth it anymore, in a life lorded over by my father, where I was tied to a family I wished to run from, and the only person who had ever managed to sooth my soul was locked in a cell, awaiting a court-martial that was sure to ruin him. My father always managed to rip the people I cared for away from me. Alexander, I wanted Alexander. No one else. I needed to tell him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for being such a failure of a person.

As it felt like my lungs failed to allow enough air in, the sound of the door creaking open cut through my rambling thoughts. Based on the way I was lying, I was unable to see the intruder, however it was not long until they revealed their identity. Footsteps immediately approached where I was still crying on the cot.

“Laurens?” Tallmadge’s voice filled the silence of the room. He sounded scared.

It took more effort than it really ought to have for me to turn to face him. The moment that I could see his face, it immediately contorted into a mask of calmness, a pitiful attempt to hide the shock of seeing the blood that blossomed from my self inflicted. I could not bring myself to say anything to him, only attempt not to show it as the pain finally set in. God it hurt. It hurt like hell. I wanted Alexander.

“I want Alexander.” The words somehow forced themselves out of my lips, barely more than a hoarse whisper, although it seemed clear that Tallmadge heard them,

“I know.” He attempted to soothe me, “He shall be with you soon, however we have to fix you up first. Alright?”

All I was capable of bringing myself to do was a small nod. With that confirmation, Tallmadge left nearly as quickly as he had appeared, abandoning me like everyone else had, like Alexander was surely to do when he realized how truly broken I was. No one would ever be foolish enough to love someone like me. It had been a lie, all his affection faked, nothing more than a front of someone who pitied me. My chest began to tighten again, that familiar action that was none the less terrifying every single time it occurred.

After quite a few heart wrenching moments that seemed to last an eternity, Tallmadge reappeared, holding several rolls of bandages and an ointment that I vaguely recognized. He brought me into a sitting position, taking a place next to me and placing one of my arms in his lap. The way he bandaged it was slow, nearly meticulous, and during the period that it took for both of my appendages to be treated, not a word passed between the two of us. We shared the same fears regarding the jailed men whom we both loved, and there was no need to vocalize them when they were so terrifyingly real. Upon the completion of the bandaging effort, I changed into a non blood stained nightshirt and Tallmadge traded his uniform for nightclothes of his own. During that process I could have sworn that I saw the same kind of scars that litter my arms on his. Better not to comment, for he did not on me and returning such a courtesy was the least that I could do. We pushed the two cots together before retiring to bed, Tallmadge allowing me to curl up next to him as we slept, nothing but thoughts of my dear Alexander occupying my mind.

Notes:

Hey everyone! This chapter's early cause I'm gonna be outta town on Friday and won't be able to post it on time, so enjoy!

Every kudo is one hug for John. he needs one...or 317

"Sources":

-letter from Kinloch: https://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/145777622748/john-laurens-and-francis-kinloch

One line (It was a curse, at worst a blessing, being God’s only son.) is from the song Ballyhoo by Green Day, which honestly fits John's situation

Chapter 24: Prevaricate

Summary:

prevaricate
/prēˈverəˌkāt/
verb
to avoid giving a direct answer or deviate from the truth

The first time that any of the Hales, Tallmadge, or I had been allowed to interact with either Hale or Alexander came the night before their trial was to occur. Apparently, it had been decided that both of the accused required fresh uniforms in order to appear presentable in court. In the grand scheme of things, how my dear boy looked during a court martial was irrelevant, especially given how much was at stake: Alexander’s future career in the army, Hale’s future career in the army, and quite possibly also my life. But, I still found myself digging through Alexander’s trunk, attempting to locate one of his uniforms that did not have holes in the cuffs. He had a terrible nervous habit of rubbing the cuff of his coat between his thumb and forefinger when stressed. Upon finding said coat, I laid it upon what had once been our shared bed and continued my search for a full set of clothes. It was easy enough to locate his shirt, breeches, and spare waistcoat, however a clean caveat was so impossible to find that I eventually was forced to give up my fruitless search and simply tossed one of my own onto the rapidly growing pile that constituted my dear boy’s complete clean uniform.

Mercy Hale accompanied me to the jail where her brother and my lover were being held. She carried Hale’s clothes in a basket while I had Alexander’s in the very same satchel I had first used when I had arrived at camp all those months ago. While Tallmadge had initially been offered the opportunity to take Hale the clean uniform, my only remaining roommate had declined for reasons unknown. Perhaps he simply could not bear to see the man he loved imprisoned, I scarcely could even believe that someone as wonderful as my Alexander would be sent to rot in a cell. Still, I wished that I could have better companionship than an eight year old girl on the journey.

The camp’s makeshift jail was actually a log building, the inside of which had been divided into cells, each of which measured no more than thirty feet square. It was a rather unassuming structure from the exterior, but the feeling of dread that seemed to originate from the place was enough to make Mercy look up at me with her big grey eyes and send silent pleas to me that I could not answer. All I was capable of doing to comfort the poor child was to allow her to take my hand, allowing the small girl to essentially hide under my cloak as we approached the guard stationed at the entrance of the jail. He was a stockily built man, and a Massachusetts man by the looks of it, a former dock worker if I had to take my guess. Whereas the long winter and meager rations of military life had left the majority of the enlisted men gaunt, the man in front of me had clearly retained his prewar strength. 

“Colonel.” He saluted me, clearly not noticing the small girl cowering behind me.

“Corporal.” I returned his salute, although half heartedly. “I am here to present the requested uniform to Colonel Hamilton and escort General Hale’s younger sister to do the same.”

The man nodded at me, stepping aside and allowing the two of us to enter, not commenting on how my rank did not correlate to the task I was completing, instead giving Mercy the sort of look that only a man with children of his own could. Some part of me wondered if the whole reason he had joined the army in the first place was to fight for his children’s freedom.

Inside of the jail was nearly as depressing as I had initially thought it to be, with rough log walls, a packed dirt floor, and dimly lit by only a few meager lanterns that seemed as though they were about to burn out at any moment. Only two soldiers had been tasked with guarding the prisoners, both of whom appeared to possess the same sort of exhaustion that had settled over the camp. Repeating my task to both of them, I received two nods in return. All in all, the prison was actually rather empty, a man accused of taking advantage of one of the camp followers being the only incarcerated person besides the two men about to go on trial for shooting my father in a duel. Given that the girl was still at my side, I first escorted Mercy to her brother’s cell, the more weary of the two guards unlocking the cell door for us.

Hale was reclining on the thin straw pallet in the corner of his cell, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stared, looking at something that only he could see. The second that he noticed his younger sister and I hovering in the doorway, his face lit up, or perhaps merely contorted itself into a convincing mask of happiness, and he held out his arms for his “little Robin”, Mercy running into them. The little girl’s cloak certainly made her look like a robin, especially in contrast to the snow and mud that coated Valley Forge. Brother and sister embraced, clearly not noticing me. Only when Hale finally released Mercy did his grey eyes meet mine.

“Laurens.” His lips twisted themselves into something that resembled a bitter smile. It was obvious that he was disappointed that I was not someone else.

“Glad to see that you are well Hale.” I replied, setting down the small bag that contained his clean uniform. At some point during our walk, I had ended up carrying it for Mercy.

“As am I.” He attempted to laugh, however halfway through Hale broke into a coughing fit, pressing a corner of the blanket to his mouth like one would a handkerchief. Mercy’s little face flooded with concern, but not surprise. Not one soul close to General Hale ever seemed surprised, it was slightly terrifying.

Not knowing what to do, I lingered until Hale’s coughing subsided, leaving him and Mercy to converse about whatever you speak to an eight year old about. As much as I did enjoy talking with Hale, Alexander was my immediate priority. The guards were quite amicable and happily let me into my dear boy’s cell, even shutting the door behind me, not locking it. I could only assume that they believed I would be fine there, and if Alexander were to attempt an escape they would catch him. Much like Hale, he was sitting on the provided straw pallet, curled up in the dirty blanket in an attempt to keep warm. The jail was freezing. Unlike Hale, my dear boy’s face lit up when he saw me.

“Jack! You came.” He pulled me into a hug the moment that the door closed behind me, burying his head in my shoulder, red hair splaying out across his shoulders.

“I would never leave you.” I attempted to soothe him, holding him as close as I could while I pressed a light kiss to the top of his head. Luckily for our affection, both of the guards seemed far more interested in guarding the rapist and making sure Mercy was alright than paying any attention to Alexander. Taking a seat next to Alexander on the pathetic excuse for a bed, I wished I could do more than merely take his hand in mine. I wished he could hold me as I cried, tears and new scars saying more than any words ever could. The second that my wounds crossed my mind, I automatically tugged the sleeves of my coat down as far as I could. This action produced no reaction from my dear boy, who had begun to ramble on about how the outlook of his court-martial was overall positive, with the alcohol consumed the night of the incident making almost every testimony objectionable. It was not clear if this rant was supposed to comfort me or him.

“You see how this must end, of course! I shall be innocent, I must be innocent.” Alexander repeated. “Jack? Are you listening?”

Before I even realized what was happening, his hand was gripping my forearm, pulling me towards him so that we were looking each other in the eyes. Pain flared up my arm, not the worst I had ever experienced, but still pain. Right where he had grabbed, that was where the most tender of my injuries were. The second that he saw me grimace, Alexander immediately dropped my arm, face filling with concern. “Jack?”

I could not bring myself to face him. The second time my name was softer, more like a plea than a question. “Jack?”

Wrapping my arms around myself, the same thoughts that had filled my mind when I had retrieved the razor returned. No one could ever love me, someone so pathetic and useless, someone who reacted to the slightest downturn in fortune by slicing up their wrists. The second Alexander realized what was occurring he would look at me in disgust, tell me what a terrible person I was, and spit in my face, leaving me forever. He would hate me, they would all hate me. No one actually cared for me, they merely tolerated and pitied me. If I were to die, not a soul would care, they would be happy. It took me a moment to realize what was occurring, Alexander was cupping my face in one hand, an emotion that I could only describe as a controlled terror at my state on his face. I did not deserve him, I did not deserve anyone, but he deserved the truth, Alexander deserved everything I could not give him. Before my mind caught up to my hands, I had already begun to push back the sleeve of my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt’s cuff and rolling it back as well, unveiling the horrid truth that the cloth hid.

“Jacky, oh my god.” He gasped upon seeing the truth of what I was, gazing upon the mass of raw cuts that littered my forearms, a sliver of gauze peeking out from where Tallmadge had deemed rebandaging the wound necessary

“It is nothing of note.”

“Jack.”

“I can not lose you.” I half confessed, half begged, the five words the only explanation for my actions that I could bring myself to articulate. After a miserably long pause, I choked out the words: “I supposed you hate me now.”

“Do you honestly believe that I would ever be capable of hating you?” Alexander scrutinized my features, taking my arm littered with exposed evidence of my uselessness and bringing it to his chest. Lowering his voice so as not to alert any nearby guards, he continued. “I love you. I have loved you ever since I set eyes on you. You are one of the most wonderful men I have ever met and it breaks my heart to know that you do this to yourself.”

“I must apologize.” I muttered, still unable to look him in the eyes despite the hand cupping my face. Alexander’s touch felt as though it was the only thing tethering me to this earthly plane.

“God Jack. Hannah told me, the first time you…well you cut yourself, that this is an illness of the mind that is not easily cured. If this is not truly your fault, then do not hold yourself accountable for it. If I get out of here, when I get out of here, I shall help you as best I can. And no matter what happens, I shall love you all the same.” Faint tears were running down his face when he placed the lightest of all possible kisses to the back of my injured hand. Dear lord, how I wanted to be consoled by him, to not let the possibility that I might never see my dear boy again taint the moment, but it did.

As I left, I pulled Alexander into the tightest embrace I could, the opinions of the prison guards be damned, praying that all I wished to communicate to him was through the act. His court-martial loomed tomorrow, a terrifying event that I desperately wished to never occur. If I could, I would have frozen time at that very moment, making it so that the court-martial would never arrive, that I would never have any chance of losing the one person I cared about above all others to the cruelty of my father. However, that was not the way that the world worked, for it did not care about my longing, instead letting time progress as typical, fading from one day into the other like my whole life was not about to be turned upside down.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Update schedule should be back to normal now...I think.

I'm thinking about doing another oneshot in the universe, so if you've got any ideas, I'd love to hear them!

Chapter 25: Evanesce

Summary:

evanesce
/ˌevəˈnes/
verbliterary
pass out of sight, memory, or existence.

The court-martial was held in a makeshift court room in the front room of Greene’s headquarters, it was packed with about as many men as could be crammed in the space, with the majority of the attendees being of the higher ranks. A table had been brought in from another room to seat the judges of the case, seven brigadier generals that I did not recognize, but who were to decide the fate of the rest of the accused's lives. Besides the table, the rest of the room had been filled with an amalgamation of chairs that appeared to have been gathered from every possible source within ten miles of camp. Dividing the room was a hastily constructed barrier, leaving the chairs for the audience on one side and the crude imitation of a court room on the other. It was abundantly clear that camp had not been prepared for a court martial of such magnitude, and truthfully I was not either.

Tallmadge accompanied me as we both took our seats, both in the witness section. As the other attendees filled in around us, the familiar panic began to flood my mind. This was the day that was to decide if I would ever see my dear boy ever again. Alexander’s future hinged on the verdict of seven strangers, none of whom knew just why he had so eagerly volunteered to be involved in a duel with my tormenter. Telling the court that would be a terrible idea, for it would ruin my reputation and hint at the true nature of our relationship. Somewhere to the left, I could just make out the voices of the rest of Washington’s aides, or at least the part of the group that remained when one removed me and Alexander. They seemed to be making up jests and almost laughing. How could anyone jest at a time like this? It felt blasphemous to do so when the nature of the day’s proceedings were to be so somber. As I cracked my knuckles over and over again in a futile effort to distract myself from what was to come, the attorney acting on behalf of the army entered the court room. My heart dropped when I realized that I recognized him. David Stewart, one of my fathers proteges and endlessly loyal to him. No, oh dear god no. He was an exemplary lawyer, so skilled at convincing juries to sentence the accused that I could practically already hear the execution rope creaking. Only the night prior I had had one of the most terrifying nightmares of my life, one that I feared might function as a warning of the exact nature of the outcome of my dear boy's court-martial.

In my dream, I had found myself in a crowd of soldiers, surrounded by the faceless enlisted. All around me, a sort of anticipation seemed to be building, they were all waiting for something exciting to occur, what exactly that something was, I had no idea. The sky was a foreboding grey, in fact the whole world seemed to be comprised of shades of grey. It looked like a place where nothing good could ever happen. A pit of dread began to form in my stomach as we all waited, the masses of soldiers so quiet that I could hear a crow cawing in the distance. Just as I began to grow bored, two guards solemnly marched down the path that divided the great crowd of soldiers in two, a single prisoner following them. His hands were bound and face turned away from me, but I could determine his identity at a mere glance. For in a world where everything appeared to be dull, my dear boy’s red curls were by far the brightest thing for miles. He held his head high as one of his guards read out the orders, Alexander was to be hanged. At the news, I sank to my knees, sobbing and begging for god, for anyone to not let him hang. I could not lose him, I could not lose him! But no one cared. He was marched up a hastily erected scaffold, and asked if he had any last words. If any were spoken, they were carried away by the wind before they managed to reach my ears. Just as the trap door opened and Alexander plummeted through it- I awoke. Tallmadge had shaken me awake. It took the better part of half of an hour for me to calm my mind enough to even attempt to lay down again to sleep. When I closed my eyes, the sight of the man I held dearest plummeting from the scaffold with a nose around his neck was all I saw. Needless to say, sleep did not find me again.

By the time my mind returned to the present, the whole room had filled, and all necessary for the court martial to proceed had arrived. It was time, and I had never felt more terrified in my life. Amid all of the whispering and shuffling of feet, the harsh sound of a gavel falling pierced the air. The general chosen to lead the panel of judges, one rather sickly looking man by the name of Ebenezer Learned, called for order, which was obeyed. His words punctuated by the occasional cough, he read out the charges against Hale and Alexander.

“Brigader General Nathaniel Hale is accused of the attempted murder of President of Congress Henry Laurens. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton is accused of assisting in the attempted murder of President of Congress Henry Laurens.”

Attempted murder. It sounded so harsh being read out as such. At that moment, it seemed as though the majority of the men assembled finally realized the true gravity of the situation, something that had been hanging over me for the last week: these were charges that carried a serious weight. I could see Hale grow even paler than he typically was in the defendant's seat, and Alexander’s face darkened beside him. They knew as well, they knew that they were both poor and the sons of working men, while my father and all those on his side came from generations of wealth. My dear boy met my eyes through the court room, giving me a look that I could only interpret as meaning that he knew what was about to occur as well. I felt sick to my stomach knowing the severe miscarriage of justice that was about to occur. Neither Alexander nor Hale had even been given the opportunity to represent themselves, an opportunity that would have benefited the former far more than the latter, an opportunity that my father, the true mastermind of all this, had intentionally deprived him of. Much like he had all of my life, it was clear that he was once again attempting to separate me from all those who actually cared about me, and my refusal to be his second had only fueled his rage.

“How do you plead, General Hale?” General Learned asked him.

“Guilty, sir.” Hale swallowed his fear before speaking, voice scarily firm. Guilty. He was taking responsibility. Why was he taking responsibility? His defence ought to argue that my father was guilty of the same sin as him. With my incomplete law education, I could have argued the case. He knew that, my father knew that, and that was the reason why he had pulled strings so that Josiah Chernow, a slight boy of no more than nineteen, was the entire defence. Any remaining fear inside of me was replaced with rage when I realized how utterly planned out this all had been. Hale and Alexander had no chance, and it was one of the worst things I had ever realized.

“How do you plead, Colonel Hamilton?” The question was repeated for my dear boy.

After a pause, Alexander replied, “Not guilty, sir.”

With that, the case began. The first witness called was John Harvie, the poor man appearing far more nervous than he really ought to have been, eyes darting back to where my father sat every few seconds. When asked to state a summary of what occurred the night of the duel, he gave the following account: 

“I arrived at Hale’s headquarters around seven, along with President Laurens and my fellow committee members Folsom and Dana. General Hale hosted us in the parlor where we were joined by Dr. Hale, Colonel Hamilton, Major Tallmadge, and Colonel Laurens. We made polite conversation before Mrs. Hale signaled to us that supper was ready. After eating supper, we returned to the parlor where we spoke some more and enjoyed the typical after supper drinks before the duel broke out.” It was an exceptionally short summary, devoid of almost any meaningful detail, although with the way my father was staring at Harvie from the other side of the court room, I had a nagging feeling that that might be by intention.

“How did General Hale’s demeanor towards President Laurens change over the evening?” Stewart questioned him.

“General Hale appeared polite near the beginning of the evening…however as the night progressed and the alcohol began to flow, he became out near hostile towards both me and President Laurens.” An outright lie on Harvie’s part, Hale had been cordial towards both him and my father the entire night. It had been my father who had been outright hostile.

“What seemed to be the catalyst for the duel?”

“President Laurens made an offhand remark, really it was closer to a jest, about a member of Hale’s family, and Hale challenged him to a duel on the spot.” Calling Mrs. Hale a "common tavern whore” was most certainly not a mere jest!

“Were the proper rules of the dueling code followed?” Stewart almost prompted him. Whether or not the dueling code was followed ought not to have mattered, not when both challengers had readily agreed to the duel and were eager to progress.

“No. The challenge was given and less than five minutes later guns had been drawn. Colonel Hamilton and I never even had a chance to attempt to diffuse the situation.”

Ending his questioning, Stewart took his seat, stealing a glance over at my father when he thought no one would notice. However, I most certainly noticed the smug grin both of them wore on their faces. While Chernow was granted an opportunity to question Harvie, he asked nothing of note, merely further questions aimed at seeing if the dueling code had been followed properly, a line of questioning that made Hale look more like a lowlife and hot-tempered scoundrel than anything else.

My father was called to the stand next. He made quite the show of limping and stopping every few feet to wince in pain as he walked over. I had seen better acting from Turtle when she desired a second bowl of food. Once again, Stewert asked him to recount the occurrences leading up to the duel. This account demonized Hale, made Alexander seem like a bastard with no decorum, involved me not being present for the majority of the evening, and had Hannah outright seducing him halfway through dinner. I wished to proclaim how the entire thing was an outlandish lie, for some terrible reason, when I looked out upon the sea of faces in the court room, I saw the majority of them nodding alone. They believed him.

“Presdient Laurens, how did General Hale conduct himself throughout the duel?”

“Well,” My father began, "General Hale, I hope you do not mind my referring to him as such, there are simply so many Hales in the camp, the family multiplies like damn rabbits.” At that he let out a laugh, an awkward echo of it reverberating through the audience. They seemed nearly as uncomfortable as I felt. From his place, I could see Hale glaring at my father, the bastard most assuredly deserving it. “He acted hastily and rudely. You see, the challenge was sprung upon me so suddenly. I had simply made an offhanded remark, and he stormed towards me, demanding that I see him outside, listing off several false claims of what I had said as ‘evidence’ that his accusation was valid. Now, my gout had been acting up that day, however I am no coward-in fact I participated in several duels when I was a younger man, so with some difficulty, I rose from my chair, bade Harvie to be my second, and headed outside.

“Dr. Hale followed us out there, bringing a pair of firearms that General Hale so conveniently owned. In my opinion, something that I am sure Harvie shall agree with, this was not his first time participating in a duel, that was clear. Colonel Hamilton, General Hale had made him his second, and Harvie conversed for a mere moment, before General Hale and I met. ‘Do you still wish to go through with this?’ I asked him. ‘I relish the opportunity to.” He replied. With that said, we were handed our pistols, weighed them to ensure that they were both loaded, then walked ten paces away from each other as the seconds counted, and upon reaching ten, turned back around towards each other and fired.

“I aimed my gun into the sky as I did not wish to in any way injure my opponent, however general Hale appeared not to have shared the same sentiment since, as I am sure you are all aware, he aimed directly at me, hitting me in the side. Thank god I was not mortally wounded, for if it had not been dark and our duel lit by the light of a single lantern, I have no doubt in my mind that I would not be alive to provide testimony today. Right before we fired, General Hale had this terrible look in his eyes, if looks could kill, that one most certainly would have. I can not recall much after my wounding, only that I was rushed to the house I am staying at and was attended to by Dr. Hale.”

Lies, all of it lies! He had not made an off hand jest, he had insulted the entire Hale family and Hannah’s honor. Knowing my father, he most assuredly aimed towards Hale, and with the accuracy of dueling pistols, it was nothing more than blind luck that the bullet found him at all. Besides, with what I had heard of Hale’s life before the war, he did not seem to belong to the social class that solved their problems with duels, if anything he had the advantage on my father in wrestling or another form for hand to hand fighting, but nothing more. He also neglected to mention the jabs at the Hale family he had been dropping all throughout the evening. Had I been in Hale’s shoes, I would have demanded a second round in order to try and shoot him again.

Allowing a moment for my father's lies to sink in, Stewart asked him: “What was Colonel Hamilton’s conduct like throughout the duel.”

Before my father could even open his mouth, I already braced for the atrocious things he was to say about the man I held dearest. “Hamilton…Hamilton, yes, Colonel Hamilton. Well, Hale asked Hamilton to be his second and the man agreed. As I am sure you can understand, I was not paying very much attention to Hamilton during the whole affair, however it seemed as though he was actually bothering to attempt to conduct himself properly throughout the whole affair." 

When his statement ended, I let out a small sigh of relief. Despite how much he criticized Hale, my father had not had the foresight to damn Alexander as well. I could only pray that Chernow would have the prudence to use this to my dear boy’s advantage. Speaking of Chernow, he seemed to be deep in thought throughout the whole of my father's testimony, and when Stewart finished with his questioning, he approached the witness stand.

“You mentioned your participation in several prior duels,” Chernow said slowly, as if he was putting the pieces together as he spoke, “President Laurens, would you consider this to have given you experience about equal to Hale’s? And if so, that would mean that he had no advantage over you on the dueling grounds, something that you claimed.”

“Why Chernow, you seem to have misunderstood.” My father’s words cut like a knife, the same mask I had witnessed slip a thousand times doing it once again. He knew that the young lawyer had picked up on one of his lies. “The majority of the duels of my youth had been settled before they occurred, and even when I did participate, any skills I might have gained from doing such are at least three decades old. On the other hand, General Hale appeared to possess the skills of a man who had shot at others numerous times, and quite frequently I might add. In no other case could he have shot me at such a distance under the cover of darkness.” Drat. The one hole in my father’s logic that might have been exploited once again shut.

“Both you and Mr. Harvie have mentioned a night of spirits, in your opinion would this have affected General Hale’s state of mind, perhaps rendering him unable to fully articulate that your jests were mere jests and not insults?”

“What does drink do if not pull off any masks a man might wear?” My father countered. He did not know just how correct that statement was, especially upon applying it to himself. Whenever any liquor touched his lips, all facades were removed and he turned into the monster I knew all too well.

Cowed, Chernow asked no further questions. After my father, Stewart called several more witnesses, all men who praised my father’s character and conduct and criticized Hale’s. I could not help but wonder how much they were paid to give such testimony. Once all of the prosecution’s witnesses had been called, Chernow was free to call his own, and to my surprise, the first man he called up was Tallmadge. As he rose from his position next to me, I could not help but to notice that my friend's hands were shaking. Was it out of fear of being called upon the stand or of what might await Hale?

“Major Tallmadge, how did you first meet General Hale?” Chernow questioned.

“I first met General Hale in 1774. That year, I had just been appointed to lead Cornerstone of Faith Church of Albany, my predecessor had clearly not been in possession of the same morals as I, and had taken to drinking, a vice that led him to taking out lines of credit in the church’s name at various establishments across the city. The Hudson Tavern, run by General Hale, Dr. Hale, and Mrs. Hale, was one of those establishments. Upon my arrival to settle the debt, I explained the situation to General Hale, who only allowed me to pay half of the owed amount, insisting that I keep the rest for the church, and invited me to supper. He very kindly provided me with several meals and even assistance cleaning out my church when he had time to spare. Eventually, due to the lack of proper housing provided for myself in that position, I took up rooming at General Hale’s family tavern for a duration of time. During that time he became a friend, and we remained close until I departed Albany.” While I did not doubt Tallmadge’s account of his and Hale’s meeting, the romance I knew them to have been embroiled in at that time had no mention in his account. No need to create further trouble. When I was called to the stand, I had no intention of mentioning anything regarding Alexander and I’s relationship.

“And throughout this time in Albany, along with your time with him in the army, what impression have you gained of the man?” Followed up Chernow, this question the most thoughtfully worded of his last dozen.

“The impression I have gained of General Hale is that he is an exemplary patriot and extremely devoted to his country, along with being willing to sacrifice all he can in an effort to help the enlisted men of this army fight another day. Just this winter, when the cabins of part of the 3rd New York collapsed in a blizzard, General Hale happily invited the men to take refuge in his headquarters. As you can imagine, it was quite cramped, a minimum of four men to a room if my memory serves correct. Though he easily could have reserved an entire room for himself, General Hale did not, instead suffering through the same conditions as the rest of us. In fact, the two of us ended up sharing a bed due to the lack of space. Throughout the whole of the war, I have known him to be nothing but a steadfast patriot devoted to the cause, and willing to put personal grudges aside in order to assure that the army makes it through the winter as best we can. I can not say that I know a better man.”

“And what of Colonel Hamilton?” Chernow prompted him.

“Colonel Hamilton, well the man is something. I must confess that despite us sharing quarters, he is so devoted to his work on Washington’s staff that I had not had much of a chance to interact with the man. However, what I do know of him is that he is exceptionally well read, almost always with a book in hand, and refrains from participating in the card games that the enlisted men seemed to favor. As I am sure many have, I have heard Colonel Hamilton speak in length on the future campaigns we ought to reorganize and how exactly, along with how our country should proceed when this war is over, especially regarding the financial aspect of it, a topic on which he has offered numerous insights.”

With Chernow done with Tallmadge, Stewart began once again. “Major Tallmadge, what is your opinion on duels?”

“I believe dueling to be foremost among all the vices and false pursuits to which the military life is liable.” The Major stated, clearly having been expected to be asked something regarding Hale or Alexander, or perhaps even his account of the duel.

“The tavern you credit General Hale as running was one located in a section of Albany notorious for its criminal activity.” Stewart’s eyes gleamed with something I could only attribute as evil as he informed Tallmadge.

“Some people are simply born into less fortunate circumstances than others. However, even in these circumstances, General Hale was generous with both his time and money, and I never saw him commit anything immoral or criminal. He attended church regularly and held God in high reverence.” Tallmadge shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he spoke, and he began to fiddle with something out of sight. He was lying, we both knew it. Hale often bragged of his smuggling efforts before the war began, and the man himself had admitted to me that he only attended church to, and I quote, “observe Ben’s rather nice ass for two hours straight.” Honestly, I was rather impressed that Tallmadge was capable of making Hale seem like a semi decent person.

With a nod, Stewart seemed to take this defeat, and instead tried another tactic. “Are you aware, Major, of the rumors regarding General Hale’s…how ought I to put this, rather immoral interactions with the same sex?”

At that Tallmadge flushed quite the shade of red and immediately sputtered out: “Oh no, goodness no. He has been nothing but a proper gentleman. No improper advances of any kind, none I say!” Somehow, this actually convinced the opposing council. Satisfied, Stewart dismissed Tallmadge, and he returned to his place next to me looking thoroughly shaken. I could not blame him. For, he had just been asked, under oath no less, if he was guilty of the one sin that he and I both partook in. As much as I wished I could assure him that all would work out in the end, I could not, since I had just been called to take the stand.

After swearing on a bible not to lie, I took my place upon the witness stand. Being seated in the one place that all the eyes in the room were directed was enough to make my palms sweat. But oddly enough, I felt no fear, not even when my father’s piercing gaze fell upon me. Any semblance of fear had been replaced by a righteous anger. How dare my father and his cronies attempt to rig the court against Hale and Alexander. How dare they lie so blatantly on the stand. How dare they threaten Tallmadge by dangling knowledge of Hale’s less than Chrsitan tendencies in front of the assembly of officers.

My first question was regarding what I thought of Hale, a question that I answered in much the same manner as Tallmadge, however this time without the need to mask a relationship through technically true statements. I described him as a true patriot who, although in possession of a temper, was a good man who thoroughly cared about the men serving under him, using instead an anecdote about Hale advocating for better rations for the enlisted men, even going all the way to Washington to plead his case. Like Tallmadge before me, I conveniently forgot the man’s extensive criminal record.

“Colonel Laurens,” Chernow asked me next, “how did you first meet him, and what is your overall impression of Colonel Hamilton?”

“We met when I was appointed as an aide de camp to General Washington. Colonel Hamilton was the man to initially introduce me to the exact specifics of my duties and helped acquaint me with life in camp as a whole. During the last campaign, we ended up sharing a tent for some portions, along with numerous different sleeping configurations here in Valley Forge. For the whole of this time I have known Colonel Hamilton to be nothing but devoted to the great cause of independence, almost to a fault at times, as I am sure my fellow aides can attest, we have had to physically drag him away from his works at times. All men do have their faults.” I shrugged. “Through the forces of proximity and shared workloads, Colonel Hamilton and I have become quite close, and I have seen first hand just how intelligent and stubborn he truly is. In fact, despite his devotion to his work, when I fell ill this winter he always made time to sit by my sick bed and discuss classical literature with me.”

Hopefully, in the eyes of both the panel of judges and all present, this synopsis of Alexander and I’s "friendship", read as nothing more than such. I had not mentioned how he held me as I cried from nightmares, nor how he had run his fingers through my hair after I had cut one of my arteries and nearly bled to death, not even hinting at how he would pepper my face with kisses and do almost anything to see me smile. I loved him, I loved him above everything else in this life, and I would happily be damned to hell for eternity if it meant that I would get even a year with someone so lovely. If even a fraction of my admiration for my dear boy had come across in my answer, then the court would think that I believed him to be the best man in the world.

“Do you believe that Colonel Hamilton is the sort of man who would hunger for the violence that comes with a duel?”

Now this question caught me slightly off guard, but I still answered it as best I could. “For the thrill of the duel? Nay. While it is well known throughout camp that Colonel Hamilton wishes for a command come next campaign season, I do not believe that he is the sort of man who would desire to be involved in a duel.”

“Now,” Chernow continued, creating the first coherent line of questioning I had heard from him all court martial. I would have bet money that this was the first case he had ever defended. “Based on the testimony of Mr. Harvie and President Laurens, do you believe the actions they attributed to both General Hale and Colonel Hamilton to be in the nature of the men?”

“No, no I do not.” I answered, knowing perfectly well what was to follow.

“Then, Colonel Laurens, would you please give the court your account of the event leading up to the duel?”

“After supper ended, Dana and Folsom departed, and the entirety of the Hales, Major Tallmadge, Colonel Hamilton, my father, Harive, and I moved to the parlor, where drinks were served. Prior to supper, my father and Harive had been quite enthusiastically speaking about their plantations and the enslaved workers that fuel those plantations, a topic of conversation which served only to divide the group, as, in my opinion, the talk only served to make them seem superior to the others in the room. However, that conversation was not resumed. Instead, we all began to speak of our occupations before the war, and eventually my father raised the question of why he had never heard of the Hale family. General Hale informed him that they had run a tavern before the war began, a fact that I am sure you are all aware of. Seeing as that both he and my father were rather intoxicated by that point, Harvie followed up General Hale’s statement by saying something along the lines of how the whole Hale family was only invested in the war as otherwise they would be in the poor house. Despite an objection from Dr. Hale, my father only added on, laughing, and I believe I quote: ‘the moment that we win this war, then people like you will go back to where you belong: serving my people.’ This remark was followed by a comment about how Mrs. Hale must be a woman of loose morals as she was married to a tavern keeper. I could not tell if my father thought that Mrs. Hale was General Hale’s wife, or considered Dr. Hale a tavern keeper.

“Quite rightfully so, Dr. Hale was outraged over this comment about his wife. However, no doubt in part due to the drink, my father merely doubled down, this time outright calling Mrs. Hale a whore and in addition insulting the whole family further than he already had. Upon hearing this, General Hale challenged him to a duel, a challenge that my father happily accepted. It was agreed that the duel would occur immediately, and Colonel Hamilton agreed to be General Hale’s second. At first, my father asked me to be his second, however I declined as I did not wish to be involved in such an affair, and he instead enlisted Harvie to help him. My father, Dr. Hale, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Harvie, and General Hale all ventured outside the moment that they had procured firearms. Not quite knowing what to do, Mrs. Hale, Major Tallmadge, and I all waited in the parlor, and after a moment, two gunshots rang out, signaling that the duel had occured.” Having recounted the events as best I could, I simply waited for Chernow’s next question.

“In your opinion, who was the aggressor of the whole affair?”

“It was most assuredly my father, for General Hale was merely defending his family’s honor.”

Stewart attempted to cross examine me and poke holes in my story, however I held my own against him, not allowing any cracks in my story before being dismissed. Following me, Hannah and Dr. Hale were both also called to the stand, with Hannah giving an account of the lead up to the duel that was nearly identical to mine and Dr. Hale mainly focusing on the extent of my father’s injuries. Only after all of that had occurred, did the two defendants take the stand.

Hale was first. Dressed in his formal uniform, he still looked every part the general, however a week confined to a cell had clearly taken a toll, and he appeared rather unwell, almost as if he were to faint again. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Tallmadge scrutinizing his beloved’s face, probably having the same thoughts I was.

Chernow began examining Hale with a rather simple question: “General Hale, whose account of the events leading up to the duel do you believe to be most accurate?”

“I believe that it would have to be Laurens’s- the Colonel, not the president of congress, and also Mrs. Hale’s as well.” He answered promptly. “If I were to give you a complete account of the duel, I would not express the events leading up to it any differently."

“In that case, would you describe what occurred when you exited your Headquarters?”

“Of course. We headed over towards the side of my headquarters, a decently empty place that does not have any cabins or other structures directly in the line of fire, so if a bullet was to go astray, no innocent parties would be harmed. My brother was carrying a lantern, which he placed in the middle of the dueling ground in order to afford us light. There was also a full moon, or at least something quite close to one, so I could see President Laurens quite clearly and he could see me as well. Colonel Hamilton and Harvie both stepped aside to speak for a moment, however there was no declaration produced from the affair and thus the duel commenced. Since my brother had agreed to function as the present doctor, he turned his back to us, then Harvie and Hamilton both moved off to the side as well. President Laurens and I stood back to back, before Harvie counted to ten aloud while we walked away from each other. Upon reaching ten, I turned around and fired my pistol, and evidently President Laurens did the same.” Hale’s account was rather brief but seemed truthful, I hoped the court thought so as well.

“Was it your intent to kill President Laurens?” Chernow gambled with the question, a gamble that he was hopefully only making because he had been able to meet with Hale before the court martial, however even that could not be assured with how much my father had meddled in the day’s events.

“My intent was to preserve my family’s honor by going through with the duel.” Hale avoided the question. “I aimed my gun in his general direction as one does during a duel. Pistols are not the most accurate weapons, so it is pure chance that my bullet hit him. If the duel were to occur another hundred times under the same conditions, I do not believe that I would injure him again.”

“Did President Laurens aim to kill you?”

“I can not know the man’s true intentions, however what I am sure of is the fact that I heard a bullet going past me, maybe only a few feet to my right at most. He certainly did not aim for the sky as he claimed, for if I recall correctly, a tree only a meter to my right sustained an injury, not the eves of my headquarters.” A few suppressed chuckles broke out throughout the courtroom at Hale’s final remark.

Processing the remark, Chernow paused for a moment before posing one final question: “Did Colonel Hamilton become your second of his own free will?”

“No.” It was a lie, Hale knew that, Alexander knew that, and perhaps even Chernow knew that. This was their grand plan, to attempt to exonerate my dear boy of any wrong doing at the cost of any chance of Hale’s innocence. It was the exact sort of plan that only Alexander and Hale could have come up during a week of incarceration. In that moment I realized the abysmal truth: they had both realized that either one of them was going to be declared innocent, or both of them would be found guilty, and Hale had decided to take the fall, sparing Alexander. The army was losing a general so Washington’s right hand man might fight another day. But that was not all, Hale continued: “As I was his commanding officer, he had no choice but to accept or face the consequences of denying his superior. Colonel Hamilton's participation in the duel was not of his own free will, he was merely acting on my order.”

Even Stewart seemed surprised by this admission, for it had shook the whole of the assembled audience. I could scarcely believe what was happening. Next to me, Tallmadge appeared to be whispering “Oh god no,” over and over. My father appeared shaken by the revelation, however neither he nor Harive had mentioned anything to the contrary regarding the exact events of Alexander becoming Hale’s second, and combined with my thoughts on how my dear boy did not desire to be involved in a duel, Alexander’s remaining in the army was almost entirely ensured. As much as I wished to celebrate, much like all the others present that fateful night, who also knew the truth, I knew that it had come at the expense of Hale’s military career, a fact that left me deeply saddened. For tales of Hale’s yet to be properly harnessed tactical skill abounded, and all the men who had served under him trusted him with their lives.

There was little to no cross examination from Stewart, and any questions he did ask simply reaffirmed what Hale had already said. Before long my dear boy was called up as the final witness of the case. Seeing Alexander was almost uncanny. He appeared perfectly at ease in the makeshift military court, something that I ought to have expected since he had practiced law before the war, and one might have even gone as far as to say that he was confident. It was obvious that he knew he was not to be seriously punished for his involvement in the duel.

The majority of his questioning involved recounting the evening’s events, along with a lengthy monologue in which he condemned my father as the aggravator of the duel who simply got what he had coming. During this, I could not help but steal a glance over at my father; he looked furious, as if he would throttle Alexander if not for the current audience. I had never seen the man so furious at someone who was not his own blood or property. Perhaps his rage was increased by the fact that he knew his carefully engineered trap had failed to catch the one man he knew I held close. Despite all his meddling, I ought to still have Alexander by my side when all was said and done, or at least I prayed I would. Chernow’s questing was a rather exhaustive one, and very clearly just an excuse for Alexander to speak his mind, meaning that when Stewart began his examination, he had very little related to the actual duel to work with.

“Colonel Hamilton, if you consider dueling to be abhorrent and know that his excellency, General Washington, shares the same opinion, why did you not disobey General Hale since it is clear that general Washington would have overridden his orders and freed you from any consequence?” Stewart’s question was a good one, but I knew my dear boy was far too clever to be tricked by such a proposal, and his answer proved me correct.

“I did not wish to show disobedience in front of the president of congress, as I feared that no matter General Washington’s disapproval of the order given, disobeying a direct order in front of President Laurens would still force him to discipline me.”

All further questions were shot down in a similar way, and before I even knew it, the panel of judges had retreated into a separate room to determine their verdict. Despite my tentative knowledge that my dear boy would not be discharged, I still feared greatly for the possibility that he might not be considered an innocent man and charged with the crime. While others around me spoke of the events, I merely stayed silent, only occasionally locking eyes with Alexander from across the room and giving him a small smile when I did. He looked slightly terrified but also as confident as he had on the stand. Oh god how I wished I could be with him! As the anticipation of the verdict grew, Tallmadge appeared to only grow more miserable next to me. He had been staring at the same spot on the floor for a good quarter of an hour when I finally spoke to him.

“They ought to be out soon.” I attempted to reassure him. “There is no reason to drag this whole affair out any longer than they must.”

He did not respond, only stared even harder at the patch of floor. Thus, lowering my voice, I added: “Hale shall be fine. He is highly regarded as a general, at worst they will demote him.”

Although Tallmadge appeared as though he wished to say something back to me, he did not get a chance, as that was the moment that the panel of judges reentered the room. At the sound of the gavel falling and the call for silence, both of our heads snapped up, eyes darting between our respective partners and the head judge as the man cleared his throat and began to speak.

“After thorough deliberation,” He began, his words once again punctuated by the occasional cough and voice ungodly raspy, “My fellow judges and I have determined our verdict.” Not a soul moved and I held my breath as he paused to cough once again. “On the charge of attempted murder, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton is found not guilty. On the charge of attempted murder, Brigadier General Nathaniel Hale is found guilty.”

The room erupted in chaos, with protests over Hale’s conviction and relieved shouts of praise to god for Alexander’s lack of one mixing. I myself felt relief wash over me. My dear boy was alright, I would not lose him. My father’s efforts had failed. In that department, at least, everything was going to be alright. Tomorrow morning, I would wake up holding him, the whole affair past. I wished to pull him into my arms and kiss him when the news was read out. He was safe, he was safe! But only a seat beside me, quite the different scene was playing out. Tallmadge’s face fell the moment Hale’s conviction was read out. Only a few chairs from him, Hannah let out a gasp and Dr. Hale placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Their world was just turned upside down, while mine was finally returning to normal. Oh how cruel fate could be.

Another call for order was required to silence all present, and after some semblance of peace returned, General Learned read out the remainder of the panel’s decision. “For his crimes, which not only led to the injury of President Laruens, but also brought shame to the whole of the Continental Army, Brigadier General Nathaniel Hale is to be dishonorably discharged from his position effective immediately on the authority of his excellency, General George Washington.”

Dishonorably discharged. I fumed at the verdict. The punishment reeked of my father's muddling. Dueling was not the sort of thing that would get a prominent Brigadier General discharged, especially after the other player in the duel had been almost unanimously decreed the aggressor of the duel. How many threats had been given to the members of the committee? How many pockets were now just a bit heavier with that verdict secure? How many men proved to be a hundred times more of a dishonor to the cause of independence in that moment than Hale could ever be? Not a soul had told the truth in the courtroom that day, yet the more outrageous narrative had still won, a narrative that was fueled by blood money and ego. Justice had not been delivered, nothing even resembling it had been accomplished that day. All that had been proven was that men were inherently corrupt figures.

Alexander was released immediately, the second that he was allowed to go free, he made a beeline for me. The moment that we escaped Greene’s headquarters, I gathered him up in my arms and held him as close as I could. He was here, and I would not lose him. Likewise, my dear boy gripped me as tightly as he could. In the privacy of the thin alley between Greene’s headquarters and stables, I pressed the first real kiss I had given him in ages to his lips. Relishing in his new found freedom, Alexander returned it nearly as fervently as he could. He was safe, he loved me, and he would never be torn from me again. That was enough. Despite the throughout miscarriage of justice that had occurred that day, I still had my dear boy back, and in that moment, that was all that mattered. For pamphlets were sure to be written, and speeches given, and opinions expressed, all showing outrage at how Hale had been treated, some perhaps even hinting that my father had a heavier hand in the outcome of the court-martial than was initially obvious.

That very night Hale was forced out of camp. The very men of the 3rd New York who he had so generously allowed to take shelter in his headquarters watched with loaded rifles as he gathered up his relatively few belongings, shoving them in his saddlebags and satchel. Hale departed as night began to fall, wearing the remnants of his military uniform, all insignia and indications of rank removed. Alexander and I gathered with the remaining members of the Hale family on the porch of Hale’s former headquarters as he mounted his horse, giving us a half hearted wave before pulling on his horse’s reins and slowly plodding down the road that led out of camp. In sporadic patches along said road, the men who had so long and dutifully served under him gathered, saluting their former commanding officer. As the fading sun cast its final purple rays over Valley Forge, I saw in the faces of the masses the truth: they knew this was not justice, and would not forget the grave mishandling of the case of General Hale.

“This is a mistake.” My dear boy whispered to me when Hale’s silhouette finally disappeared over the horizon. “If not the army, then your father shall surely grow to regret it.”

Notes:

Well, if you've made it this far... congratulations! This is the second-to-last chapter of John Lauren's POV! The last one's just gonna be a plotless epilogue, so I'm probably gonna post that either today or tomorrow, it's almost finished.

I'm so glad to know that people are enjoying this fic! If you have any feedback, I'd love to know if I've made any atrocious grammatical errors XD

Also, it has come to my attention that this is officially the longest chapter yet at 7,826 words! I wrote all of this in under 24 hours and should probably sleep, but we've at last beaten part one of the Christmas special in May (Espy) by a whole 358 words.

Sources!:

-Ebenezer Learned: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ebenezer_Learned

-Dueling in Early America: https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/duel-history-dueling-america/

-More on dueling in early America, plus a quote from Tallmadge ("all the vices and false pursuits to which the military life is liable.") : https://allthingsliberty.com/2014/08/duels-of-honor/

-List of Brigadier Generals during the American Revolution: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_military_leaders_in_the_American_Revolutionary_War#United_States

Chapter 26: Énouement

Summary:

Énouement
ay-noo-mahn
Noun-French
The bittersweet feeling of arriving in the future and finally knowing how things turned out, but not being able to share that knowledge with your past self

The army’s departure from Valley Forge was scheduled for the nineteenth of June. We were to pursue the British forces who had recently abandoned Philadelphia. Needless to say, excitement buzzed throughout the camp at the idea of our first true fight in nearly six months. Winter had long thawed into spring, and spring was beginning to slip into summer, transforming Valley Forge from a desolate plane of snow and ice to a place where I could almost imagine the fertile farmland and shaded oaks that must have covered the area before the army had invaded. Birds called to each other in the trees on the edge of camp, unburdened by the sorts of fears that still lingered under the surface, for despite the beautiful weather and hope brought by the turn of season, every man in camp’s mind still held the omnipresent wonder if this would be the last time they would march out of camp. Looking up at the seemingly endless sky, the morbid question of how the sky would look when I breathed my last crossed my mind, but instead of dwelling on it, I attempted to clear it from my mind.

In the days leading up to our departure, the entirety of camp had been turned into a chaotic frenzy of packing and attempts at organization. Alexander had spent the majority of the last week holed up in the meeting room with Washington and several other generals, taking notes and giving suggestions on just how the next campaign was to be plotted out, a campaign that he was still not to have a military command in. This was a fact that I had heard hours worth of laments over. Due to this, I had grown quite skilled at blocking out my dear boy as we sat side by side down at the Schuylkill river, Alexander ranting about his lack of a command while I sketched the turtles and birds, turtles and birds that I might never see again. While the man I loved was involved in endless discussions, I spent my time taking messages from the Baron’s headquarters to the various generals, most of which regarded specific troop marching drills that needed to be carried out for each company.

The night before we would be leaving Valley Forge forever, Alexander and I did not spend our time drinking in the office with our fellow friends, instead we had the wonderful experience of both attempting to pack our belongings up in the cramped garret of Washington’s headquarters. After Hale had been so unjustly discharged, Gates had been forcibly returned to camp, taking over Hale’s former headquarters and making us move our sleeping arrangements one last time. As I attempted to figure out how on earth I would transport Turtle on the march, Alexander was digging though his small library, searching for a volume to read for the foreseeable future. We were both to carry only whatever would fit in our saddle bags on the march, the rest of our things to be back with the baggage train.

I folded two of my clean shirts as tightly as I could, tucking them into one saddlebag, followed by my small collection of pencils and charcoal, all wrapped up in one of Alexander’s handkerchiefs. Along with the remainder of my clothes, I also slipped the thinnest of my sketchbooks in, however not before reviewing a winter’s worth of sketches. The cream colored pages were decorated by all sorts of images, everything from Alexander laboring over his work, to drawings of friends who we were to never see again. If I were the sort of man to dwell on the past and its injustices, then the sketchbook would be the artistic record of a winter of joy and tragedy, the two of them linked together by some sick bond. But I was not, and no matter how many people were immortalized in quick sketches, people who I was likely to never cross paths with again in my life, I would keep moving forward, hopefully with the man I loved with the whole of my heart by my side.

“Lookign forward to the ride, Jack?” My dear boy offhandedly remarked following another dozen minutes or so of silent packing.

“So long as you manage to not injure your ankle falling off a horse on the way to camp again.” I jested.

“That was an isolated occurrence!” Alexander blushed, embarrassed. 

I could not help but to laugh, pulling him into a kiss, smiling into his lips. When we pulled apart, my dear boy was wearing a mischievous grin, arms looped around my neck as a sly look overtook his features. Within a moment, he had backed me onto our cot, forcing me to sit and slipping onto my lap. Cupping his face with one hand, I captured his lips, not bothering to care about how the discarded books were digging their sharp covers into my lower back. He tugged on my caveat, pulling me as close as possible. We were pressed together in a more sensual way than I had ever been pressed against someone else in my life. God, it felt amazing. At some point I shifted from kissing my dear boy on the lips to kissing every inch of his face I could reach; around the same time he began to run his hands through my hair, tugging gently as he did so, an action that I never realized I craved so much.

With only the stars visible through the garret window as our witnesses, I went far enough with Alexander to comfortably refer to him as my lover. He was gentle, far more tender and caring than Francis had ever been, whispering promises in between kisses. There were no comments on the scars that crisscrossed my lower arms, nor on the fact that if he shifted in just the right way, I swore I could see his ribs. In the end, we laid together, covered by but a thin blanket, our livelihoods preserved only by the fact that Alexander had had the foresight to lock the door and I had shoved a handkerchief in my mouth to muffle my moans. Tracing light patterns that somewhere resembled constellations between the spattering of freckles on my dear boy’s chest, a light breeze from outside making the discarded papers flutter around the room.

“This place looks nearly as terrible as your tent when we first met.” I chuckled, letting Alexander tip my chin up for another kiss.

“Well Jacky, you do complete me, and perhaps that completion also helps preserve the state of my quarters.” He murmured right before our lips met.

More whispers were exchanged, everything ranging from jests to vague promises regarding everything he wished to do with me once the war was finally over. Eventually, my dear boy fell asleep, snoring lightly as I wrapped one of his curls around my finger, simply watching as his naked chest rose and fell. I could not bear to lose him, and perhaps a part of me was secretly glad that Washington had once again refrained from granting him a field command. But no matter what threats the danger of battle posed, it could not erase the fact that we faced endless peril from our own side. Countless men would have happily turned us in to advance their own careers, but tonight at least, we were safe.

Seeing that we were both in possession of rather high ranks, both Alexander and I were to be riding along with the rest of our fellow aides on the march, which was how we found ourselves standing by the side of Washington's headquarters’s stable with Meade, Tilghman, Reed, and Fitzgerald, saddling our horses and preparing for the day’s journey. In order to transport my cat, I ended up fastening a small basket, with the help of Meade, that hung off the side of my saddle, allowing Turtle to curl up and bask in the day’s rapidly rising sun. By the time we began the ride, falling into line a few meters behind General Washington, who was carrying on a conversation with Lord Stirling, both Alexander and I were covered in hastily bandaged scratches from forcing Turtle into the basket, which I had to cover with a piece of cloth to keep my ornery feline from escaping.

Through the chaos of rapidly aligning troops, I caught a glimpse of Tallmadge atop a chestnut mare, leading his company of dragoons. To put it bluntly, he had not taken Hale’s banishment from the army well, having become withdrawn from b oth Alexander and I and instead preferring to devote himself to shaping the  2nd Continental Light Dragoons into one of the finest units in the whole army. This training was sure to be put to good use, especially with the newly forged French alliance, an alliance that was sure to help us achieve a swift victory. Having caught his eyes, I gave Tallmadge a small wave, and for the first time in several weeks, he approached me, bringing his horse up beside me.

“Looking forward to the thrill of battle, Major?” I asked him.

“Anything shall be better than spending one more second in winter camp.” He insisted, laughing that: “If a man wishes to go mad, I shall certainly now have a place to recommend him!”

I joined in, simply happy that we were speaking for the first time in what felt like ages. We discussed the transfer of one Benedict Arnold, a man who had, like Hale, gained quite the reputation at the battle of Saratoga, to oversee the recently evacuated Philadelphia. It came about that we both agreed that, despite any physical limitations, Arnold would be far more effective in the field, especially concerning the battle that was sure to be coming. During this conversation, I could not help but to notice the barely concealed admiration Tallmadge held for Arnold, and when the man himself passed by, the reason for this admiration showed itself. Benedict Arnold was a rather handsome man, tall and rather stocky with well formed features and a strong brow. Alexander, who had reappeared from a short absence, and I teased him mercilessly about this.

After so many gloomy months spent holed up in winter quarters, it felt magnificent to be riding on a sunny summer’s day, laughing with both my close friend and lover, every foot of road traversed a foot closer to the glory of battle. Once again, we would defend the great American experiment on bayonet point, every man’s death merely a glorious sacrifice for the great and noble cause of liberty. And in this conflict for indepence, it would be us soldiers and our muskets left to determine who the rights Thomas Jefferson wrote so much about two years prior actually applied to. No matter how much my father and his likeminded slaveholding peers wished to pretend that they in congress were the power shaping America’s future, they were not. For the first time in history, every man had a chance to determine where the course of history would lead, what route our new country was to go down, what vices we were to succumb to, and which we were to rebuke. No class of men had ever been given this sort of privilege before, and if we did not succeed, then none might ever again. But never mind that, the future still shone brighter than it ever had before. Our soldiers had been trained by a former member of one of the greatest militaries Europe had ever known, over the dreary months spent at Valley Forge, they had been shaped into a formidable fighting force capable of challenging the British. And during that time, suffering had bonded the troops together, creating bonds that men who had spent the winter in pampered comfort in Philadelphia would never possess.

With the apparently endless blue sky stretching out above us, t he slow plodding of the horses’s hooves and men’s footsteps melded together as I gazed out upon the grassy fields and wild forests as I rode along the quaint country road, two men who I trusted with my life by my side. I was not the same man who had entered Warwick nearly a year ago, and I would never be again. My dear boy’s auburn hair shone under the golden sunlight, and I could not help myself but to imagine the future I would spend with him, a future that I was more than willing to fight for.

Notes:

And here we have it: the end of John's point of view, over 100,000 words and a hell of a lot darker than I had originally planned!

I'm going to be editing and slightly rewriting along with condensing the first section of this story (Ben's POV), so in order to do so, I'm taking a week break for my own sanity. Don't worry, you'll get to see the next segment really soon. (I'll give you a hint at the narrator: he's a bastard orphan, son of a whore)

Sources!:

-Benedict Arnold: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benedict_Arnold#Marriages_and_children

-Ben's unit (I still haven't memorized it XD): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Tallmadge#American_Revolutionary_War

-Valley Forge: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge#French_alliance

Also, one final note: I'm not sure if I've already said this, but everyone's appearances are based on history, except for when I just steal TURN characters. I regret nothing.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of The Poisoned Youth Archives