*Chocolate was a drink, not a solid, in the 18th century. Please ignore that fact and enjoy
You reproach me with not having said enough about [Philip]. [...] He is truly a very fine young gentleman, the most agreeable in his conversation and manners of any I ever knew[...] He is handsome, his features are good, his eye is not only sprightly and expressive but it is full of benignity. [...] He has a method of waving his hand that announces the future orator. [...] If he has any fault in manners, he laughs too much. -Alexander Hamilton to Richard Kidder Meade, August 1782
---
"How typical of General Cornwallis to not show his face in surrender," His Excellency mutters under his breath, loud enough for me and Tilghman to hear. Quite amusingly, he's correct, as I see no blue ribband on any of the men approaching the surrender.
"A surprise to no man." I have to strain to hear Tilghman's voice. Right next to us, on his stallion, Lafayette chuckles- it's forced. I feel faint, thanks to the unforgiving sun mercilessly beating down upon us.
"At last-" The Marquis continues speaking, but it's too quiet for me to catch in the sea of persistent whispers, "-With this damn siege."
I look to my right where Alexander and Laurens stand, side by side. They're also watching the approaching army, whispering in each other's ears like a married couple. Alex suppresses a laugh from something that the southerner says, and he looks happy.
"Are you alright, mon cher? You look pale," Lafayette asks, nudging me with his leg. I look up to him and nod.
"Yeah. I'm tired, and ready to get this over with- just like everyone else." He nods with an understanding smile.
"After all this, would you want to go out and have a drink with me and the-" his head tilts to gesture at Hamilton and Laurens, "-Maris?"
"Marie? That's your name, Laf."
He snorts, shaking his head. "Would you?"
"Yeah, sure. I'm not drinking."
"Why not? I would like to hear more stories about my identical twin, Mr Jefferson."
"Piss off," I mumble, and he chuckles.
Washington huffs, amused. "Jefferson? Thomas Jefferson? The author of the Declaration of Independence?"
Lafayette looks confused. "Is he?"
A pause. His brows furrow.
He is
"No. I suppose he's not."
I definitely am
Another pause. I can see sweat gathered on his brow. "Though, as I know both, I do not see much resemblance, Layden."
"Sir, I was completely knackered." He doesn't say anything else, and suddenly Lafayette gasps.
"Mon Général, I complete forgot that you wanted me to-!"
"-No, son, you deserve an evening to yourself," Washington says with a smile only reserved for his family. "Do not let the old man ruin your plans."
Lafayette frowns, but it's more of a pout than anything. "Sir, you are not yet fifty."
"Have fun, Lafayette," His Excellency softly insists. "Now that this siege is over, I expect you'll come with us to New York to continue the war effort."
I gasp. "Laf, you are?"
He nods with a laugh. "Bien sûr, Layden! There is no Cornwallis in the South anymore."
Corncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorn
A ringing headache suddenly makes itself apparent, making me grasp my head. It came out of nowhere, but it feels like a hundred horses are trampling me to the ground. Everything around me blurs, and-
corncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncorncornwatchyOURHEAD
"Layden, what-?"
"Solomon!
I collapse to the ground, and everything goes black.
---
Well.
I fainted.
corncorncorncorn
Apparently, it was heatstroke. Apparently, Hamilton screamed like a girl. I missed a great event- I only partly mean the surrender of Cornwallis and eight thousand troops with all of their guns and artillery, or Lafayette making our band play 'Yankee Doodle' over the British 'The World Turned Upside Down'.
So now I'm in bed, courtesy to Laurens being an arse. I understand that I fainted, and that I still don't feel too well, but it's been over a week.
"Then that shall be incentive not to faint next time," Laurens answers my pleading with an infuriating smile, pushing me back down on the bed. Alexander has left to get us food, giving him time to speak his mind. "You're still running a fever."
"It's hot outside!"
"'Tis late October, sir. You are sick and Hamilton will kick my ass should I let you out."
"I'm fine! I often get headaches!"
imagine getting headaches that's so cringe
If you shall insult me at least be grammatically correct
"That is only cause for more concern." He doesn't look at all concerned. If Alex wasn't fussing over me like a mother- which is my job, not his- Laurens would have had me thrown in an illness-infested medical tent, rather than our shared sleeping quarters.
Soon enough I'm freed from the confines of my bed- I refuse to tell anyone that my legs still feel weak- as most of camp is moving back up to New York. We captured a good chunk of the British army, which now meant there was time for negotiations.
corn
"This war is costly for both sides," Washington told me when I asked. "They have an army that could outnumber us, that could beat us if they truly wished to, but that would completely drain them of money." He sighs. "Let us pray that we have drained them enough to commence a peace treaty."
He doesn't sound optimistic. Indeed, later that evening I glimpsed him in his office, kneeling with a silver cross clasped in his hands.
---
The South is still violent, and it looks like it will continue being so for a while. Laurens, as he said, will stay there, so Lafayette, Alexander and I finally had our long overdue night out as a wish of good luck to him.
I may not live to-
-Shut it.
Speaking of Lafayette, he has been busy with his men, and constantly keeping Washington- whom he refers to as père more than not- company, but he still manages to visit the aides every day, if only for a few minutes. Some days he brings gifts, some days he asks if he could be of help, and sometimes he's just there, sitting by my desk and quietly watching me work.
"Lafayette, that's my best mate," Alex jests one day when he sees Lafayette's head on my shoulder as I work. "Get your own."
After a moment of frozen silence, Lafayette muttered an "Il est à moi maintenant" and put an arm around my waist. I don't know if he saw my red face, but from his amused chuckle I assume he did.
Whatever words he said quickly earned him a playful, but rough shove from Alexander.
Which then led to an unspoken competition during the next few weeks, of- I suppose- who is the better friend of mine, which begun with Lafayette to bringing me food and clothes to my quarters.
Which then lead to Alexander braiding my hair before bed- he's alright for a person who's never done it before- and doing half of my work.
Which then led to Lafayette riding next to me the entire duration of our move to New York.
"I would tell you boys to cease such nonsense, but, frankly, I'm benefiting from this feud," I say, interrupting their glaring contest when we have almost reached York city.
"Mon cherí, it is but a playful competition."
"Aye, but 'tis a competition I shall win." Alexander smiles dangerously. "And since when was Solomon ton cherí? Should that not be reserved for ton femme et enfants?"
The frenchman sputters. "As if you have an excuse- you call him your soul!"
clingy
"That's not what I-" He pauses. "-Okay, fine- I do, and 'tis because I've known him since I was in diapers!"
tending to stay very close to someone such as a parent for emotional support or protection also why the fuck you lyin
"That's just not the truth, Alex." He hushes me, and our journey continues.
The outskirts of New York do nothing to make me feel better. Winter is soon arriving, but the men are merry- with the amount of artillery we've seized, we have more than enough money to get through the terrible season. And yet the food and clothes don't help my gradually increasing headaches and nausea.
Tilghman worries when I drop my quill the third time in the span of an hour.
Lafayette points out that I am whiter than paper, urging me to get more rest. That doesn't help, as it's never quiet enough to fall asleep.
Alexander worriedly gives me some of his rations, telling me that I should eat more. I'm eating the same as before, but Alexander can now lift me.
His Excellency catches me the third time I faint, and I find myself in his office when I wake.
"How long has this been happening?" He asks, underlying annoyance painting his bored tone. I stumble up fervently.
"Sir, I'm so sorry that I-"
"How long?" He cuts through my apology.
rude
"...A while, sir. It wasn't this bad before. I'm sorry- I shall get some rest."
He sighs. "That you shall." Surely Washington saw my confused face, because he gestured to a piece of paper on his desk. The more I read of it, the pit in my stomach grew deeper and deeper.
-
By His Excellency
GEORGE WASHINGTON, Esq.
General and Commander-in-Chief of the Forces of
United States of America.
These are to certify that the Bearer thereof
𝓛𝓲𝓮𝓾𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓢𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓛𝓪𝔂𝓭𝓮𝓷
in the 𝓖𝓮𝓷 𝓦𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓽𝓸𝓷'𝓼 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓯𝓯 r̶e̶g̶i̶m̶e̶n̶t̶, having faithful-
ly served the United States 𝓢𝓲𝔁 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮
𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓱𝓼 and being enlisted for the War only,
is hereby Discharged from the American Army.
GIVEN at Head-Quarters
𝒢 𝒲𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓉𝑜𝓃
-
I didn't read the rest of the document- I didn't need to. My heart stops- and perhaps it really did, considering all of my breath was suddenly expelled from my lungs. "Sir, I- No, no, I'm okay, I'm fine! I can work! I am fine, there's no need to-"
"There is a need. How long shall it be until you suddenly die from overexertion? Chronic illness is no laughing matter, sir."
"It's not a-!"
Chronic means time and time is a social construct
"Is it not? Do you truly believe that?" Could I see his eyes, I'm sure they would be glaring at me. "Nonetheless, you will not benefit from the conditions in camp. I know of your living arrangements- or lack thereof- courtesy to Colonel Hamilton. He has agreed to have you as a guest in the Schuyler mansion."
"Sir, please-"
"Colonel, watch your tongue," He snaps back. "I have been lenient of your behavior due to your unwellness, but you are crossing a line. This is not a suggestion- this is an order from your Commander."
Hahahahahahahahaahahahahahahaahahahahahahaahahahaha he actually did it hhehhee
"I..." I stop myself, nodding solemnly. "...Yes, Your Excellency."
"Alexander shall be joining you." I move to object, but he raises his hand with a glare. "T'was on his own accord- he worries for you, and has asked to leave to take care of you-" I don't need to be taken care of,- "And also to see his wife and child. There shall not be conflict in the North for the unforeseeable future, nor much paperwork. You both deserve a break."
He holds up the damned paper. I take it.
"You are dismissed."
I turn to the door, but I pause before leaving. "General Washington?"
"Aye?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Could I come back one day? When I... get better?" He looks at me, and he chuckles, a neutrality bordering on sadness.
"I am sure you shall have other things to concern yourself with by then."
---
Elizabeth Hamilton is a gentle soul. When we arrived at the Schuyler mansion in Albany, she was the first to rush to me and help me down my horse and offer me a blanket, before even tending to her husband.
"It is just that I have heard of how unwell the sir has been recently," she says, turning to help Alexander. She's graceful in everything she does, a practiced and honed skill, and from the back- with her black hair and short stature- she almost looks like... well.
"Tea, gentlemen?" She turns to me again, and the cruel illusion is shattered. I smile tightly, nod. When Alexander pecks her lips, it lacks the emotion that I saw with Laurens.
corn
We're led into the mansion, which is strangely empty- Mr Schuyler and his wife are out, and it is late enough for the children to be put to bed. The hall is spacious, with ceilings that I can't reach, and an area to fit a house. Alex chuckles at my astonishment.
"How do you..." I pause to cough, "How do you live with so much space, Mrs Hamilton?"
She laughs gently, and I watch her hand my coat to a black girl, barely a teenager. "Well, there are many of us, sir. Father, mother, myself, Angelica sometimes visits, the younger children, Pe-" She clears her throat- it's a wet sound, "And, of course, the servants, sir."
I watch the girl skitter away, and unease settles in my stomach. "And how many... servants does your family own?"
She doesn't notice my off-put expression. "I couldn't tell you, sir, though in the house we have forty."
"Forty."
When she does notice my unease, she completely misreads my feelings. "Oh, sir, do not worry- they are very quiet and unnoticeable, they shall be of no bother to yourself."
"Apologies, Mrs Hamilton, for my strange mood- illness makes my emotions fluctuate." I sniffle, and Alexander rubs my shoulder comfortingly- it only sends an shiver down my spine. A fog has clouded my senses, and he helps me to the sitting room.
"Dear, I'm no worse than before," I mutter under my breath in protest, but he continues to lead me by hand.
"I do not wish for you to exert yourself." He treated me like one would treat a butterfly, his touch too soft, too gentle to what he is. Nevertheless, I complied, if only to give him peace of mind. Mrs Hamilton watches us, a sad smile on her face.
When we settle by the hearth, tea is delivered to us by the slave girl- When I quietly thank her, she only ducks her head down and disappears faster. It's mint, and the liquid burns my tongue. Thankfully, I don't need to talk- Alexander and Elizabeth fill the silence by catching up- I can't hear them through the chittering in my head, so instead I watch fire as it dances across the fireplace. There's a heavy weight on my chest, and my breaths come out shallow.
After a while, Alexander nudges me. "We're going to see my son. Do you... want to come see?"
Of course I do. Of course I do, but my body feels so heavy, everything aches and I'm so, so tired. "I'm sorry, Alex. I don't want to... accidentally faint on... it." I huff. "I promise I'll come to... see him... tomorrow. And you two.. deserve some... privacy."
He should be mad. Or at least a bit annoyed. He isn't, and instead wishes me a good night's sleep. Before they leave, I remember something important.
"Mrs Hamilton?" I ask, and she turns around.
"I have told you to call me, Elizabeth, sir, and yes..?" I raise my hand, and take off the braided bracelet, identical to the hair colour of the woman before me.
"I thought that... you might want this." After a moment of silence, she gasps, and tears gather in her eyes. I drop the braided hair in her hand, and she clasps it tightly.
"Oh, my dear..." Alexander murmurs, and I look up to see tears flowing down poor Elizabeth's face.
"I'm... sorry," I'm sorry that I couldn't prevent the situation, I'm sorry I couldn't defend her, I'm sorry I didn't die in her place- "I'm so fucking sorry."
She bites her lip at my foul language, but she nods. "I am, too." She ties the strands around her wrist, and I feel empty. There's nothing more for me to remember Margaret with. I'm scared that my memory of her- beautiful and vibrant and bold and real- will fade, but Elizabeth knew her better. She deserves to have this. "I am too." She repeats, and she's a moment away from breaking.
So they excuse themselves to see their newborn child. Alexander's newborn child.
How time has flown.
timetimetimetimetimetimetimetime
I feel another headache coming soon. I slowly stand up from the armchair. My back protests in a way it shouldn't- I'm not that old yet. I'm not yet thirty.
October has passed
It has, I realize. It's February. My birthday has come and gone without me noticing. I am thirty.
---
Alexander's son looks nothing like him at first glance. It has grown a tuft of hair, and it's as black as spilled ink; its skin will clearly never grow darker than its father's (The drop of black blood in Alexander's skin only shows when he's next to people such as this); its eyes hold none of the violet I love so much.
But then it smiles, all gums and teeth, and I curse myself for even thinking that this could be someone else's child. It's laughter was deep in its tiny throat, at times even hiccupping, as Alex does when he's hysterical. Each time it giggles, I'm taken back to the nights of a tipsy Alexander stumbling to bed- every time it laughs, I can picture Alexander shoving Meade, begging him to cease jesting before he wet himself.
Awwwwwwww
"He's very happy," I note amusedly- as I felt better today, I could stand on my legs without feeling nauseous- letting the giggling child tug at my pointer finger. Alexander is by my side- he no longer uses my shoulder to literally cry on, but he's still speechless.
Elizabeth smiles fondly, and she strokes its head. I've somehow been given permission to hold it- with a lesson on how to properly support the head, of course- and it looks surprisingly comfortable in my arms. "That he is- if he is not crying, he be laughing. There is no method to keeping him quiet."
"Oh, you poor woman, how do you sleep?"
She chuckles softly. "I do not."
The baby cooes, and my heart melts. A strand of hair had come loose from my ponytail, and somehow it wound up being tugged in a surprisingly strong grip.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
"Betsey, he's perfect- I never thought that-" Alex 's voice cracks, and- shit, he's going to cry again.
"Oh, come here, love." Elizabeth pulls him into an embrace, and he wraps her hands tightly around her waist, and sobs silently.
---
I'm getting better.
That's, at least, what I tell Alexander. Because I am. I don't feel like I shall roll over and die at a moment's notice. The last time I fainted was- well- yesterday, but it's becoming less frequent. So what if I have trouble with hearing people, or that the light makes me feel faint? Things happen, and I've always dealt with it.
I'm getting better.
And because I'm getting better, I can't just spend all my days stalking around the house. I am not exactly a wanted guest- the only reason I'm here is because of Alex- so I found ways to make myself useful.
Since I was explicitly told that I'm not allowed to touch the cleaning tools- it's negro work, apparently- I have asked to see the budget of the mansion, and see if I can help with any finance-related issues. The amount of money that Philip Schuyler had far surpassed anything I have ever seen- this family had more money than the Continental Army.
Since my whole profession is focused on saving money without worsening quality, I was allowed to write some suggestions as to not waste as much money as they are ("Mr Schuyler, the horses do not need to be professionally cleaned every week").
Alexander is studying law again. After the war, he wants to be a lawyer- a position powerful and challenging enough for someone like himself. I sometimes sit with him in his office, with- if I manage to steal him- little Philip in my lap to keep us company.
Life is going well. It's strange, to just be idle, after years of heavy work. The war is at a standstill- neither side wants to lose, but neither want to keep fighting. And then I'm left, with Alexander and the rest of the soldiers in the North- in the middle.
Life comes to a halt, which I can't say I'm unhappy about. I feel ill more often than not, though nothing as bad as I were in the army. My muscles feel weak, I can't sleep, I can't do much at all. Sometimes, when I'm doing something particularly taxing, I fall into a coughing fit. It's nothing gentle or kind. It rips at my throat, and I can't breathe.
Every time, Alexander asks if I'm alright. Every time, I hide my blooded handkerchief with a nod and smile.
I'm getting better.
keep telling yourself that
I barely heard that voice over all others.
---
"Alex, I've got you a letter from Laurens." I lean against the doorway, and his quill stops scratching.
"Alright, could you-"
"No, I'm not giving it to you." He looks at me, confused. I wave the letter in my hand. "It's past midnight. You're taking a break. Now."
He sighs, a frown forming on his face. The mountain of parchment on his desk is dangerously close to toppling. "Soul, I have to finish this, it is important."
"If 'tis important, than finish it with a clear head tomorrow, sir," I refute. "Or I can just take this letter and read it myself."
That quickly got him to stand up and snatch the letter from my grasp. Up close I could his eye bags are darker than usual, and that his eyes were an unflattering red.
"No, no- you are coming with me," I gently grab his hand before he can go back to the desk. "There's tea and chocolate by the hearth."
hearthhearthhearth
His eyes widen to saucers. "Chocolate? Where the hell did you get-?"
"The Marquis."
"Oh, that bloody scoundrel, he's trying to gain your favor with money, isn't he?"
I chuckle, patting his head. "Not to worry, you're still my favorite," -In certain aspects, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "And Lafayette loves giving gifts to people he... he loves."
"As you should," He replies smugly, before letting himself be lead to the sitting room. "And aye, that he does, but chocolate? Of all things, chocolate? Food of the Gods, health and marriage? Favoritism is not something I thought he participated in, and yet here we are."
oui oui mon ami
If he saw my red cheeks, I'm sure he chalked it up to illness. "Stop talking nonsense. Do you want the chocolate or not?"
"He loves you more than he loves me- that's a fact and y-"
"Chocolate?"
"-Yes, please."
After we settle snugly under one blanket by the fireplace, I finally hand him the letter, which he impatiently opens. The crackling of the fire and heavenly sugar on my tongue leave me happily dazed. I lean on Alex's shoulder, tracing a pattern on his free hand.
There's a small box on the floor addressed to me. It suspiciously looks like some kind of drink is inside, but I shall open it later.
"Oh," He murmurs lowly, and I look up to see him taking out another letter from inside of the envelope. "For you, apparently."
"Me?" What could Laurens want from me?
Permission to marry
Oh, shush. He has that already.
---
Dear Sir,
You mentioned at Yrktown that you are welcome to me writing to you and I thought it rude not to take the invitation. You happen to be a man that piqued my interest (I stress my intentions are not malicious despite my nature) and I would like to exchange a few letter while my hands are not yet full. I have send a package of wine as a gift of good will.
How do ̷̶̷e̷̶̷s̷̶̷ ̷̶̷H̷̶̷a̷̶̷m̷̶̷i̷̶̷l̷̶̷t̷̶̷o̷̶̷n̷̶̷ the Hamiltons fare? I heard that they have conceived a child- a boy, is it not? Does it have Hamilton's eyes? How old is it? Send regards to the wife and I beg you to not mention me in any capacity.
The remaining British in the South still persist. I am awaiting Excellency's further orders.
I will not lie I have also written this letter to ask for your opinion. You are one of the few to know of my peculiarities and H would be biased in his answer. I find myself in a crossroad and there is no other outsider who knows of the circumstances.
I have a wife and child. You must be aware of this already. I never wishet for that but due to circumstances I was forcd to marry. She was a lady of beauty that is hard to find, but a lady nonetheless (it makes me ill to have my inclinations written so I shall not do so again)
My father writ to me that Mrs Laurens has recently died after trying to visit me in France. My daughtr Frances is five. He expects me to take action. I have never seen her, I do not know her. She is my blood but I am a terrible father, and I would continue to be would she come to America. But she is my kin and I partly do not wish for her to grow up with distant relatives.
I don't know what I should do. Were you in my position what would you advise? Thank you and I have with the respect to be Sir yr obedt servt.
John Laurens
PS: burn the letter after reading. I also ask you not to share it with the little lion
---
The box by the fireplace was indeed wine. I'm not sure if Laurens forgot, or if he's teasing me.
My heart aches personally for his daughter. Frances sounds so much like myself when I was a child. Innocent, yet unwanted. A person that wasn't supposed to exist, and now everyone's inconvenience.
No child should feel like that. I wrote my reply the next day.
---
Dear Laurens,
Its great to hear from you. I'm surprized that you know not of litle Philip Hamilton as Alexander has been flaunting his son for all to see. His little stranger is an absolute darling who has a smile just like his fathr.
Do not mistake Hamilton's proud fatherhood as a diminishment of his feelings for yrself. Mrs Hamilton ̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶l̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶(̶XXX) is oblivious to her husband's high levels of affection towards y(XXX) his friend, and I supose he wishes it to remain as such. I mention nothing for the sake of everyone and I am honestly sorry it had to turn out this way.
I can't help but wonder what this could have been did we live in a differant society. Alas we do not and Frances has done nofing wrong. If you believe yourself to be a bad father then so be it- do not have to raise her, or even send her to America, tho I prsonaly think that you should write to her. Show her you care- give her something and she will grow into a confident woman.
God knows that all I wanted in my own childhood was for someone to care. My uncle did, but twas not the same to a parent. You should not subject an innoccent child to such isolation- she has already lost a mother. You may feel guilty now but I doubt it will compar to if you didn't contact her.
I'd be glad to start a correspondence with you as I really have not enough to do in Albany. Youre a good man sir. Your obt servt
SLayden
PS: Yr letter has been successfully burnt before yr man could get his claws on it- everything between us remains confidential and I would hope this goes both ways
PSPS: Wine, sir? Really?
---
Behold, ladies, gents and everyone else- the epitome of my writing career- getting this in my inbox.
*sniffs* It's a masterpiece- need I say more?
Thank you so much @FERRETSWIGGLYNOODLES for your incredible work :DDDDD