History Has Its Eyes On You ~ A Hamilton Fanfiction (Book 1, Act 1)

Tomorrow There'll Be More Of Us

!!WARNING!!

°~19th October, 1781~°

(John POV)

I hadn't much time to write letters any longer. Though the time I found spare, I wrote to her. To my bride-to-be.

Not a man in this world would expect me to offer myself to her; she was... unique. Alas, that is what I adored. I was taught to marry a woman with mannerisms, who was sophisticated with elegance and grace. Emily defied those morals. She was the definition of beauty, yet she was tremendously uninhibited. As a matter of fact, it was peculiar to me. I had never seen a woman act in such a way before.

I still loved Martha. Emily had enticed and captured me, but I still loved her. She opposed of that thought, clearly, when she handed me her ring and proclaimed that I felt no love. It was from the pressure of marriage that I was forced into. After roughly a year, I still could not understand it. I wanted Martha, no matter what cost. Nevertheless, to make her happy, she persuaded me to separate.

My primary issue was Frances. That sweet child who I could barely see at all: the maximum of twice a year. She recognised me as her father, to which I was grateful to Martha for educating her. When she fell ill, only as a small babe, I was willing to board a ship to London. It was 'the carelessness of a nurse' that injured her, I was told by my father-in-law. But by some miracle, she pulled herself out alive. God chose to save her life that day and I could not thank him enough.

I signed off Emily's letter, sealing it and quickly implanting a kiss. Her fantasies about our wedding were... beyond imaginative. I had envisaged a simple church with a simple venue; she envisaged a beach layered with crowds of people and foods of all sorts. I had tried to explain to her that that was beyond my power to grant her wish, yet, nothing I could say would change her mind. Her creativity was perplexing.

On making my way around to find a messenger who could take my letter to her, I tripped over the feet of a weeping man. He was knelt on the floor, hands over his head in prayer. He was, in fact, one of the many slaves fighting for their freedom. "Sir, are you alright?"
He turned, startled by my voice. Perhaps by the referral of 'Sir'. "Lieutenant Colonel-!" he gasped. But quite rapidly, he wept again. "Ain't nothing you can do for her now, Lieutenant Colonel..."
"Do? Do for who?"

He pointed his shaking finger beyond the cannons that guarded us. "Quite dead, Sir, lyin' out there alone..." he sobbed. "I just want to see her face again but ain't nothing you can do for her now, nothing! She's gone! Gone! Lost to those Redcoats who will do God knows with her body!"

I nodded. "Your wife?"
"She was more to me than that, Sir, she was everything to me!" the man cried. He buried his face into the ground again. "And now that I have lost everything, all I'm left with is nothing..."

I couldn't bare to see Emily out there, nor Martha. If it were so, I would have sprinted straight to them and retrieved them. Even if it meant that I were wounded in the action. To become a camp follower was a terrible risk that could end in disaster, as it had so for this dear woman. No woman should be left to decay like that.

If this man couldn't bare the strength, I would inhibit it for him.

"Rest easy, my friend." -I patted my hand on his shoulder- "I will get you your wife back."
"Nono, Sir, you will be killed!!" he cried.
"If a man has to watch his love fester then he should have every right to embrace her to his own will."

I emptied myself of every weapon I had on me. As few had overheard the conversation, they told their friends. Their friends told their friends. And eventually, the entire camp had emerged to observe my cross.

"Take this, Mr Laurens!" A young boy waved a white handkerchief towards me.
"There is no room for surrender yet, boy, not even temporary." I rejected him. "Every man must learn to become a warrior."

I climbed over the cannons. Immediately, a Redcoat detected me and aimed his musket from the opposing lines. Just as the commotion had caused uprise on our side, it did just that on their. More and more muskets arose from behind cannons of their own.

Although I had refused my flag of surrender, I raised my hands up just to my head. I found the body of the woman, just approximately a half of the way into the field.

"I- I may not live to see our glory..." I quietly sang to myself. The closer I edged forward, the closer they pointed their muskets.

"But I will... gladly join the fight..." I skipped forward. The aura of the Redcoats' rising suspicion was evident at this point. They could shoot at me at any moment.

"A- And when our children tell our story-!" As I'd suspected. A warning shot, close to my foot. The woman was in arm's reach.

"They'll tell... the story of tonight!" I cautiously lowered my hands and threw her over my shoulder. They fired another shot, penetrating through my right shoulder.

I scrunched up my face but did not back down.

Not until this man saw his wife again.

"Raise a glass to freedom!" I took steps backwards, though continued to face them. The gunfire became rapid, one after another.

"Something they can never take away-!" I fell to my side, crushing the woman's body beneath me. A bullet had hit the left side of my upper chest.

"No matter... what they tell you..." I dragged myself along with the body.

"Raise a glass... to the four of us!" I shoved her body to the edge of the cannons, where they could not hit. My men would retrieve her body. He would reunite with his wife.

All would be well.

"Tomorrow there'll be more of us!" I gazed up to the other side.

The fire aimed close towards my head.

...I'll see you there...

"Telling... the story of..."

!!

°~November 6th, 1781~°

(Third Person POV)

With tear-filled eyes, Y/N entered into her room having just read the letter.

"Emily, there's a letter for you."

She tilted her head from curiosity.

"...It's about John."

Her face brightened up. She hadn't heard from him for a long while.

"What does it say?!"

~~~~~~~~~~

There are certain instances in this story where I will either choose to go by the musical or by the history.

In terms of John...

...I chose the musical.