*Slight NSFW warning. It's very slight, don't get too excited. Longest chapter yet, because it's West Point so of course it has to be long. Also I had to include this clip- Lafayette you're doing so good bb
General Washington had given Benedict Arnold his fullest trust and had placed him in command of West Point in New York.
---
"Lafayette?"
"Marquis de Lafayette?"
"Lafayette!"
"Gilbert!"
"Marie Roch Gilbert de Lafayette, where are you?"
As I try my hardest to ignore the annoying noise in favor of a few more minutes of precious sleep, an arm tightens around my waist and the body behind me shifts closer, presumably trying to achieve the same goal as me.
"Or was it Marie-Joseph Paul... Lafayette? Marie Paul Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette!"
A very irritated sigh is breathed out on my neck.
"Marie-Joseph- uh- Paul Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette!"
"You're almost there, sir!" I suddenly startled into wakefulness as a loud shout comes from right next to my ear. "Oh, apologies, Layden, I didn't-"
"You're fine, you're fine," I groan out, hoping if my ears aren't bleeding. The arm around my waist retreats, followed by the leg that was subconsciously thrown over my clothed thigh and I already miss the heat. Though I suppose it is for the best, since only seconds later the source of the annoying noise enters the room.
"There you are, mon ami," Alexander exclaims, relieved. "I see that you have caught Solomon as you intended yesterday."
"Oui," He says, stretching. "Though I do believe I overstayed my welcome."
"Nonsense, sir." I scoff, also waking up. "It be an honor to share a bed with the Marquis de Lafayette."
The Frenchman goes red, and Alexander laughs. "Oh, it's an honor, alright, considering all that he has done in France for us."
"Oh, what have you done again? I didn't get to hear anything over the noise of everyone cheering for you."
"I-"
"I forgot to mention that Washington is asking for you, Marquis," Alexander quickly added, which quickly shut down whatever Lafayette wished to say, instead making him excuse himself and- as quick as humanly possibly- dart out of my room to get dressed appropriately. I give Alexander the most deadpan expression I can muster.
"He was in the middle of saying something, sir."
"Oh no, he was about to start, and I believe you would not have let him leave until he's finished and you have processed what happened. Everyone has places to be, and you already missed the moment where he told Washington's family about the things that are going to happen."
"Okay, stop stalling and just tell me. Also, does Washington actually need him or did you just say so to spite me?"
His expression turns glum, and he frankly replies with "Aye, as I am apparently nothing more to his Excellency than a mere messenger boy."
"That's not true, Alex."
"I shall believe so when he gives me the command that I rightfully deserve. Does he think me stupid, or incapable?"
I sigh, feeling that the same conversation is coming up again. "You know he doesn't, sir."
Alexander scoffs. "You haven't heard him. 'Son, do this', 'son, do that', 'son, be quiet', 'son, don't do that'. He treats me as if a fool, a child! If he does not get some sense into himself soon, I believe that I shall die by the writing desks."
"Well then, we can just hope," I say, hoping to end this constant discussion. "What did Lafayette do?"
A beat of silence. "Oh, not much of import." He smiles innocently. "He just fully convinced King Louis to send over many supplies and six thousand French troops and the commander-in-Chief of the French Expeditionary Force, comte de Rochambeau, to work directly under Washington, meaning that Washington is now in control of French, American and Spanish troops fully."
"He did fucking what."
"And Washington currently needs me, too, so I sh-"
"Hold on, you can't just- how the fuck has..." I'm lost for words, and I bring my clasped hands to my mouth. Suddenly nothing around me seems real, the view before me looking artificial- is if from a film set.
I look up to Alexander. He wears a knowing smile.
"With French and Spanish support, we stand a chance, we-" I stutter, before I realize I'm starting to feel the beginnings of a migraine. "...We're going to win this damned war."
Alexander chuckles. It's a fond and happy sound, yet I do not know why I feel off-put by it. "Just like you said we would."
"...Aye. Just like I said we would," I echo him, mind surprisingly blank. "Huh."
"Are you alright? You seem less happy than I'd thought you would be."
"No- no, I just... It's a lot to process." Alexander's concerned face turns understanding. "God, Lafayette's a saint, isn't he?"
"Aye. Get some coffee, Solomon, perhaps that shall help you process everything." And so he exits, leaving me alone in my tent. My head hurts from something, and I struggle to process what I've just been told.
Lafayette came back from France with supplies and support. The support being the French Navy and troops, meaning that we do stand a chance at facing them in New York, which is still occupied by the Brits. If we beat them into surrendering New York, we might stand a chance of winning this war.
We have a chance.
I always knew that the Americans would eventually win- after all, history has already been written- but I never realized how close we actually are to winning this. It's as if everything has truly fallen into place, and it shall unravel as it should.
I, as always, do not matter. If I vanished into thin air right now, nothing will change. Everyone that has to live will live and all that has to happen will happen.
And that's good. Changing the past was everything I have tried to avoid all this time, despite being a bit... shit at doing so. I followed Alexander and lived life as much in his shadow as I could manage, and everything is going to be alright.
Everything is going to be alright. There's nothing wrong that could go from here.
I spot a small blue box on my writing desk that wasn't there before. When I open it, there's a note with Lafayette's loopy writing on it on top.
Lafayette- who is a Major-General in the Continental Army. He's meant to be here- it's written in the books and tales of the future. Who am I to have stolen his affections?
I pick up the note, and under it lay eight chocolates, richly brown in colour and intricately decorated. I can already feel the melting sweetness in my mouth just from looking at them. I pick up the smallest one- it has a small flower carved out on the top. It glints in the sunlight, as if begging me to take a bite.
And yet.
I put the chocolate back into the box, then lick my fingers to ensure none of the delicacy goes to waste. Ink, dirt and sweat fill my tastebuds, but there's also a tinge of sugar that almost makes my knees buckle. It tastes incredible, yet it's far too valuable to be eaten so casually. To think that I once lived in a world where I could feast on chocolate any day!
I put the box somewhere safe, away from prying eyes. Perhaps I shall get the courage to eat one in good company.
---
"-Turns out, the spoon somehow punctured his arm," A familiar voice that was coming from the outside of headquarters made me pause my writing.
"Really, Margaret, how did you survive in such a place? It's a pigsty." Another familiar voice made me pick up my quill and stop any thoughts of greeting my friend. My last time meeting Mrs Church should hopefully be my last.
Unfortunately, the door opens, letting in the warm summer breeze into the already humid house. I continue responding to a request for more socks in Tallmadge's dragoons. I haven't seen him in a while.
"And -I'm not usually allowed here- this is where Washington's aides de camp work," Peggy states, and Tilghman, who's currently sharing a desk with me, nudges my leg, whispering a "Who are these women and why are they here?"
Right. "They're the two Schuyler sisters," I whisper. "Hammie's in-laws. One of them works as a nurse here."
He snorts under his breath. "A nurse? You jest, sir."
"No, I'm quite sure that you were teasing me for having a friendship with Margaret some time ago." His eyes widen comically, and I continue. "The other... I am not sure why she be here."
"Oh, Colonel Layden!" Fuck, shit, damn it, and every other curse I know. I turn to Mrs Church, who bears a surprised expression on his face. I sigh internally and stand up, putting on a smile.
"Mrs Church and Ms Schuyler, how may I help you?" And the judgmental expression has returned, to my pleasure. Peggy smiles and waves discreetly, and I send a raised eyebrow her way. Unlike her well-dressed sister, she bears a simple brown dress, elegant yet practical.
"Oh, do not mind us, I was simply returning my sister to camp, as she insisted," She answers, looking me up and down. I'm suddenly very conscious of my seven-week-unwashed hair, my ink-stained hands, deep dark eyebags and cracked lips. "Though I did wish to see the living conditions in camp, sir."
"I see." Looking at her very bright and beautiful dress, I can't help but amusedly add that "I assume that Pe- Ms Schuyler has not shown you the medical tent."
"Well, Margaret has informed me that there is no need to visit such a place as she does not frequent there often- as blood makes her faint, of course."
She's a fucking nurse, ma'am. Peggy was smiling quite forcefully, gesturing at me to just go with it.
"Aye, ma'am, Ms Schuyler was always... squeamish." Quite a good trait to have in the middle of a war, apparently. Christ, what did Mrs Church think Peggy did all day? Sip tea and eat biscuits?
"Say, are you not familiar with Colonel Alexander Hamilton?" She suddenly asks, as if having remembered something. Tilghman huffs out from his nose, a subtle nasal laugh. To think about it, I've never been asked that question, and it really sounds ridiculous.
"Aye, I am," I answer as vaguely as possible. Let's see where this goes.
"My other sister, Hamilton's wife, has mentioned you once or twice, sir, and I am curious how you two met." It's not a question, but a demand. Her raised eyebrow and sharp eyes dare me to disobey.
Right, Alexander's married. Truly, it makes close to no difference in my life. "We have known each other since we were children, ma'am."
"Alexander is from the Caribbean, sir." There again with the 'Alexander'. Fucking weird.
"Aye, he is."
"And you are from Russia."
"I-" My mind blanks. "No, not from Russia- I mean, yes, but- uh-" I inhale. "My family roots are from Eastern Europe, ma'am. I am also... from the West Indies, just..." I trail off, unsure. Where was I going with this? Mrs Church's arms cross across her chest, and she looks both suspicious and unimpressed.
A cough rings out behind me.
"To quell your curiosity and future misunderstandings, Colonel Layden is my half-brother," Alexander says from behind me, making me jump. "We share the same mother."
"Christ, Alex, do not scare me so!" I mutter, holding a hand to my chest, turning to look at him. We both share a look, and I do not fail to see his eyes darken from the mention of his mother. Behind him stands Lafayette, also politely smiling. A meeting with Washington probably just ended. "Lafayette, sir."
"Sir." His eyes flit from me to Mrs Church, and his eyes widen with a smile. "Could it truly be? Angelica Church, what has brought you to our humble abode?"
"My dear Marquis." Mrs Church smiles, perhaps smugly, as Lafayette kisses her gloved hand delicately, always keeping eye contact. After he does so, he seems to be closer to in proximity to her then before.
"What a pleasurable surprise it is to see your beauty in a place like this," he says with one of his heartwarming smiles, and I feel my heart squeeze- partly because Christ, God has favorites and I'm definitely not complaining, partly because of jealousy. An ugly feeling festers under my skin, one which I have no right to feel.
Why does this bitc-lady get to hear such flattery after doing nothing? Why can't I get a kiss on the hand and a compliment from Lafayette just for existing?
I thought that societal expectations were more unfair on women, but now I reconsider.
On the corner of my eye, I see Peggy slowly slinking out of Mrs Church's view as Lafayette asks about the journey to camp. When her sisters attention is fully taken, she comes to my side.
"Good afternoon, sir!"
I smile tightly. "Long time no see, Peggy."
"What irritates you so?" She asks, and we both watch as Alex is dragged into the conversation- willingly, but dragged in nonetheless.
"Me? Irritated?" I mutter. "I'm not irritated, you're irritated."
She huffs out a laugh before following my line of sight. It all falls on that woman, Mrs Church. Despite her air of confidence and beauty, her very presence gets under my skin. Even now, as she touches Alexander's chest with her bony finger and laughs at something Lafayette says, all with a pleased smirk on her face.
Married, Solomon, she's married. Though she doesn't fucking act like it.
"Well, I understand all too well," Peggy says with a knowing smile. "I have been trying to escape Angelica's grasp during my entire visit."
"Oh? Tell me more." Anything was better than watching those three talk about a carriage and how uncomfortable the road was.
"Do not misinterpret my words- I love her dearly, but I just... I imagine I have told you that my time in camp changed me."
"Aye?"
"I never realized the extent of the change until I had to live with my family again. You know, eating like- for lack of better word- royalty for every meal when I know there are men dying of hunger, I had a different stuffy dress and shoes for every day of the week, when I know that soldiers here would kill for a good pair of footwear-" she sputters. "-And I had to wash twice a week. Twice a week, sir!"
"That does sound excessive, I'll say." I vaguely remember that I had better hygiene once, but now that seems ridiculous. If I'm lucky, I get to wash my face every other day. Something in the back of my brain quietly worries about an 'infection' or whatever, but hey- I'm still alive, and so is mostly everyone else.
"It was. I feel like a vulnerable unborn baby with such abused skin," she grumbles. "Humans were not meant to wash so often, sir."
I'm not sure why that sounds so funny to me. "Agreed. I'm glad you're back, too." I flick my gaze back to Mrs Church. Her beady eyes are stuck on Lafayette, a blush apparent on her face as she fans herself with the fan that's always fucking there, as if to demonstrate her superiority.
I swear to God, I will smack it out of her grasp if I ever see it again.
Lafayette smiles widely at whatever meaningless shit she had to say, and I can't help but frown.
"Solomon?"
"Hmm?" I reply, perhaps too forcefully.
"Is the Marquis... the gentleman you fancy?" Peggy asks, and I sigh.
"Was it that apparent?" I mutter under my breath, and she laughs quietly.
"Perhaps it is, but I have been wondering who could have caught your attentions for quite a while." She smirks, nudging me. "He's not bad at all, it seems."
"Not bad?" I'm caught by surprise, and feign offense. "Lafayette's worth is so much higher than mine, Peggy! He's a Major General, an aristocrat, an incredible man of personality and character, and I am-"
"-An incredibly talented mathematician and a man of strong character, Layden," Lafayette suddenly buts in, making me jump. A tight-lipped smile adorns his face, and he ignores Mrs Church's confused and offended expression- as he surely interrupted her. Green eyes search mine for something- I'm not sure what. "Do not mistake my feelings as only charity."
"I..." I trail off, and he simply smiles, turns to Peggy.
"Miss Schuyler, I suggest you do not..." His brows furrow for a second, and he looks to Alexander. "Déballer?"
"Unpack."
"Oui, I suggest you do not unpack. All of camp shall be moving elsewhere soon," he says. "Now, may I have the honor of escorting you out of camp, Mrs Church? It is getting quite late."
"But of course, sir," she says, her voice coated with honey. I've never found sugar so unappetizing.
Lafayette offers his arm, and Mrs Church links hers with his. Green eyes fly up to meet mine.
"Well then, where shall we be going to soon, sir?" I suddenly remember.
"West point."
---
"Alright, Layden, you do have to admit it was a sight."
"No, it wasn't."
A laugh at my expense. "I never realized that you looked so much like a demented cat when you're jealous!"
My frown deepens with my blush. "First of all- I wasn't jealous, second- wow, thank you for the compliment, really, I'm flattered-" Peggy laughs again. "-Third of all, this was two weeks ago? Do you not have anything else to talk about?"
"Nothing that bothers you as much, sir."
It has already been a few days of walking as we've been traveling to West Point, and it has been excruciatingly boring just riding day and night. Usually, aides de camp are meant to get a horse and ride around the mass, relaying orders from the General to Majors and Captains, but it seems that Washington miraculously forgot my existence.
I'm not complaining, of course, but it is boring to just walk. So I went to seek entertainment with Margaret, which is now an apparent mistake, since we've been talking about my romantic inclinations for fifteen minutes.
Fun.
Well, at least she knows what I am, otherwise I would have been hung. I suppose that endless embarrassment is better than a broken neck.
"But-" She says, interrupting my thoughts, a smirk on your face. "-You are incredibly lucky to be an aide-de-camp to Washington- do you not see him every day? The ladies of America and France must be very jealous!"
"I would wish so, yet I'm afraid that's not true. He spends all his time with His Excellency. And I..." I hesitate, before deciding to go with it. "I am afraid of His Excellency." It's partly the truth, so I'm not lying.
"What? Is it because you're afraid to ask your beloved's father for his hand?"
"He is not my beloved." It's not like I could ever be honest about my feelings towards Lafayette with anyone else, anyway. Those ladies- perhaps even Mrs Church- shall never know, and I wish to keep it that way.
"So who is your beloved, then?"
"According to everyone- you, apparently."
She scoffs. "I have better taste, my dear."
"Oh, fuck off."
A gasp rings out next to me. "Layden, hold your tongue- You are in the presence of a lady!" I turn to look at Lafayette, who has approached us on horseback- as if he's just come back from somewhere. His beautiful white horse snorts, as if he could mirror his owner. "Miss, I am so sorry for the Colonel's harsh language."
"'Tis alright, General."
He huffs, looking at me disapprovingly. "Sir, you know better than this."
I smile, but don't answer, instead asking "How long have you been listening?"
"Only to hear your disgusting language, sir," He answers, tutting his head, and I breathe out a sigh of relief and smile. His eyes hold contact with mine for a moment to long, before he turns to Peggy. "Even after so much time, I do not believe I've introduced myself, Miss Schuyler."
"Margaret is quite alright, General," She says with a blush, reminding me that- alright, perhaps I was a bit too harsh on Mrs Church- he is a very well known man. His eyes widen the slightest amount and his gaze flickers from her to me.
"Then you are welcome to call me Lafayette. My apologies for the brief greeting, but I've been called to fetch Layden for Hammie. I will make sure to make some time for you soon, miss," he says with a tight smile, a bit less genuine than usual.
She shakes her head. "Please, do not feel as if you have to. I would not wish to waste your time."
A moment of silence. Lafayette- on top of his mighty horse- blinks, confused. I butt in for him, as he looks very lost. "We'll shall get going, then, Peggy." I look to Lafayette, and pat his thigh. "Lead the way, sir."
When we are at a reasonable distance, he states "Miss Schuyler is an interesting woman."
I laugh at the baffled expression. "What? Are you surprised that any person wouldn't wish to steal all of your attention?"
He snorts, grips his reigns. "Oui, mon cherí. In fact, all Americans have proved that theory correct, except one." He looks to distance, and shakes his head. "You do not know of the things I've seen to get my attention- both in France and in America."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Gloves."
"What about glo-?"
"-With my face on them," he deadpans, before breaking into a smile. "I am flattered, but it's ridiculous."
"Hold on- your face?"
"Oui."
"This is a jest."
"It is not," he says with a laugh, unbothered by the fact that someone took time out of their life to make gloves with Lafayette's face on them.
"Did I mention all of the balls and feasts held in my honor? I do not think I have eaten so much in my life."
"God, you are famous," I breathe out, and his laughing slows to a halt, only leaving a sweet smile.
"I suppose I am, yes," he says with a shrug, then smirks. "After all, you're talking to the Hero of Two Worlds."
"Oh, now you're just being arrogant."
"But it is what everyone else calls me." A beat. "Which is why Miss... Margaret surprised me. Perhaps she has heard enough of me from her elder sister."
"Mrs Church?" He nods. "Actually, I've failed to ask- you seemed overly friendly with her when you met. Do you know her?"
He nods. "We are friends. I knew her even before Hammie got married." An infuriating smile. "She is a wonderful woman- even with the..." He winces, gestures something in the air. "You know."
I chuckle humorlessly. "Yeah. How you tolerate her, I have no idea."
Silence. "...Did something happen that concerns Angelica, mon cher?"
"I- no, not really, she just..." I grimace. "She's so... rich. I feel like I'm intruding with my commoner self by breathing the air around her."
Silence. "So, you do not like rich people."
Oh, right.
"You're an exception, my dear Marquis." I look up at him with a lopsided smile. "To think of it, you're likely over three times as rich compared to the Schuylers, yet you never came off as it."
A very light red rises to Lafayette's face, and he fondly rolls his eyes. "I do not believe that a compliment."
"It is. Who likes rich people anyway? You know who's rich? King George, that's who. And guess what he is? A little bitch who hasn't worked a day in his life. They can all go piss off and eat a - except you, Laf, you're perfect and literally everyone loves you," I quickly add when his brow starts to raise. He just laughs, pushes me away from him with his leg in jest.
"Then perhaps you should not be breathing your commoner air into my face." Yet his face is turning redder by the second, and he can't seem to stop smiling. When he chuckles under his breath, a heavy weight suddenly disappears from my chest.
"Ow, that hurt, my most beloved highness," I reply, mock wiping a tear from my face. "Do you wish of me to shine your shoes as compensation for such a heinous crime?"
"Sil vous plait, mon cher," he says, exasperated. A beat. "You clearly have no experience with shining shoes. I would not trust you with my worst pair."
"I would be offended, but you're correct." I soften my frown into a smile. "So, West Point."
His expression also softens. "Oui, West Point." Lafayette grips his reigns and sighs, a both satisfied and tired sound. "Who ever thought that we would get this far?"
I also sigh. "We're off to one of our best forts, to visit one of the best generals of our cause, with the best Frenchman as company."
"I did not realize you were French, mon cœur."
"If only I was, then I would know what you're calling me and whether I should be offended or not."
He snorts. "We shall never know then, mon beau."
"Oh, for the love of God! I haven't even heard of that one before!"
"Mon roudoudou, there's many you haven't heard of yet."
"Come on, that's just a more ridiculous version of the other one you like using!"
"Mon chouchou, mon minou, mon petit doudou, I do not know what you're talking about."
"Do the French just love repeating the same thing over and over again?"
"Do you prefer mon lutin? Mon préféré? Mon ours? Mon ciel étoilé?"
"I mean, if you fucking told me what it meant then maybe- but clearly you enjoy my suffering, Marquis."
"Oh, but it truly does bring me joy, mon canard!"
"Gilbert, as amusing the image is, I am sure that Solomon is not a duck."
"Ah, good afternoon, Hammie!" Lafayette diverts his attention to Alexander, smiling unapologetically as I grumble behind him. I back off as he dismounts his horse, and I register that we've arrived to where the rest of the remaining aides are also walking, horse reigns in hand. Harrison has gone off somewhere, and Meade- as expected- is also nowhere to be seen, leaving us with Tilghman and McHenry. "I have successfully found and delivered the requested colonel, all safe and sound."
"That sounds awfully suspicious, mon cher," Alexander answer, though unbothered, and hands me a piece of bread and jerky. "Here's lunch."
"...Anything else?"
"Nay."
"That's all you wanted from me?"
"No, I wanted your delightful company that always manages to make me- yes, Soul, that's it."
"Alright then." He's moody because I borrowed his portable writing desk and have no plans on giving it back until he really needs it. I bite into the stale bread and sigh. The hard chunks of flour scrape my tongue, and I force it down my throat as always. It's much better than firecake.
"So, why are we going to West Point?" I ask in the midst of crunching."I mean, I understand the importance of such a place. But why us and there specifically? It doesn't seem like the French would be happy negotiating in such a place, and wouldn't His Excellency being in West Point be a high risk?"
Alexander hums. "I'll tell in a second, but why do you think it's a risk? For curiosity's sake."
I swallow another piece. "A while ago, someone explained to me the importance of West Point- you know, most important strategic point and cutting the Americas in half and all that- so wouldn't that make the place very sought after by the British? I'd expect much military and Naval action around the place, so wouldn't bringing the Commander-in-Chief just stoke the fire?"
"That's why the British do not know of our visit. West Point is the most protected fort of all, and with the highest enforced security. And, of course, General Arnold is control of the point."
"As he should be," I say and everyone nods along with me.
"Oui, as he should be," Lafayette echoes with a wistful smile. "He is one of the most honorable men I have met."
"Marquis, you like everyone Washington approves of," Alexander remarks with a grin.
"It is not my fault that mon cher Général is of sound opinion," the frenchman bites back. "Nevertheless, I have talked with Arnold many times and he is truly incredible- never have I met someone with so much passion for our cause. Perhaps a bit conceited, but I believe that his name shall go down in history, so help me God."
"Okay, back on topic- why're we going to West Point?" I ask.
"General Arnold invited us- Washington's family and a few others- to visit him and his wife- since Washington and Arnold are intimate friends," Lafayette said. "We have to pass West Point for future negotiations anyway, so he offers a place to stay for a week."
"And perhaps a nice meal and bed," Alex adds.
Oh, that does sound nice. I can already imagine the softness of a pillow and the weight of a blanket rather than a thin cloth. From the looks of it, so does Lafayette and Alex.
---
West point is, in reality, is actually what the local area- forest and waters- is called. In reality, we arrive at fort Arnold.
And what a fort it is.
Now on horseback, I follow behind Lafayette- riding by Washington- as we cross the huge gates, revealing a bustling and alive camp. Sentries greet us, rifles in hand, and if I squint I could see boats scattered across the water in the distance. It's a beautiful day for a fall afternoon- the sun shines brightly onto us and there is barely any wind. A lone bird chirps a cheerful melody, and I can't help but feel at peace.
We're lead to the stables, and I manage to spot a few officers chatting merrily by a fire. One laughs so hard, rum comes out from his nose, making the others guffaw hysterically. When I look up, red and green hills are framed by a sapphire blue sky, the likes I haven't seen of in a while.
People pass by us, take of their tricornes and curtesy for His Excellency- all look healthy, most in impeccable uniform, and it's so different to the main body camp.
It's a refreshing change. I jump off of my horse, watching as everyone else does the same, chatting merrily. A few yards away from me stands His Excellency, the faintest smile on his face as he engages in casual conversation with Lafayette.
"...has been by my side during the entirety of my command," I can barely hear him mutter as he pats his horse affectionately.
"Then why did you not help verify the date of his court-martial?" Lafayette asks quietly with no formality, and now I'm sure I'm eavesdropping on a private conversation. The General sighs, shakes his head.
"You know of my wish to remain indifferent, son. Reed is..." A moment. "And Arnold expects too much from me. The men in Congress are not men I wish to anger."
"Mmm." Lafayette puts his head on Washington's shoulder. Washington's sighs, pats the Marquis' shoulder. "Congress is... fickle."
The General huffs. "I could not have said it better." After a second, Lafayette lifts his head back up and smiles. Washington returns a tight-lipped expression, and says "We should not keep our host waiting. Hamilton, Lafayette-" his eyes go right through me, "-Tallmadge, if you would please follow me."
Tallmadge, who has been lurking in the shadows the whole time, looks at me, confused. I shrug, gesturing him to follow them. "I'll deal with the horses and then come right up."
"Alright." He puts the reigns into my hand, his clear blue eyes staring right into my soul as if I'm a puzzle piece in a complicated puzzle. When I turn around, I can feel his gaze gaze burning into me, and I can feel it long after he is gone.
After all horses are securely tied and double-checked, I sigh. Now, other than the occasional snort, that there is complete silence, I can hear faint whispers again- so faint, in fact, I almost mistook it for my heartbeat.
When did it start, I wonder absentmindedly, or, more importantly, was it always there, just quiet enough for me to ignore it?
It doesn't matter. So what if I hear shit? People have worse problems, and- like them- I'll just have to man up and deal with it. A war needs to be won- this mental disorder shall have to wait.
I squash the nervous feeling in my stomach and walk out of the stables into the main building. It's a very nice house- from the outside, it glowed with coziness and warmth, despite it being large in size.
I open the door and slip in quietly. In the hallway, a black man wordlessly offers to take my bag, but I shake my head with a quick thank you, then asking where the General was. When he points to a big door on the left, I open it as silently as I could manage and rush to hide behind Alexander.
"...proceeds you, monsieur!" I had to do a double take. In the room stood an utterly gorgeous woman- golden curls framing her porcelain white pace, blue eyes sparkling elegantly, lips as if delicate rose petals. Though in modest dress, her waist was healthily thin she seemed to be bursting with youthful grace.
Truly, this could only be Margaret Shippen Arnold. I've heard tales of this woman's beauty from all around camp, and she does not fail to still take my breath away. Between all of us rugged and scrappy soldiers, she was the only one that looked like royalty.
Except perhaps Lafayette, who is of blue blood, and whom she was talking to currently.
"Oh, not as much as yours, madame," Lafayette says, voice low and playful. "You must know that your beauty is spoken of in every salon in Paris, indeed at the Court itself!"
No shit- she looks like a doll.
He kisses her hand firmly, and she nods with a tight smile- not bashful or surprised, instead she's composed - as if she is used to it. I wouldn't be surprised if so. Someone clears their throat and he backs off, a soft smile on his face.
She clasps her hands and says "Gentlemen, I will beg you to excuse me- a wife's work is never done-" she looks to the man next to her- General Arnold- and a soft flame flickers in her eyes, "-especially in a new house."
"Of course." Lafayette and Washington let her walk through, and, as she passes me, a strong floral smell fills my senses.
General Arnold, who is still leaning heavily on his walking stick, waves for a servant behind me to come over. "Gentlemen, let's drink to your journey and safe passage."
We're all given a glass of red brandy. Alexander notices I'm behind him, and gestures for me to stand with him and Tallmadge. Washington, Arnold and Lafayette sit down on plush armchairs by the fire and all take a sip of the alcohol. I, not to be rude, put the glass to my lips.
"So," Arnold grunts, seating himself comfortably. "You're on your way to meet the French?"
Lafayette's eye twitches and he takes a long glance at Washington.
"Our allies in Hartford," His Excellency reiterates gently, before smiling and raising his glass. "We won't impose on you for more than a few days."
That's unfortunate- I'd love to spend a bit of time in Fort Arnold.
General Arnold waves him off. "Please, stay as long as you like. It does the man good to see you here." His eyes suddenly flit to me. "Colonel Layden, it's good to see you with us."
"Sir," I answer shortly.
He grins. "I've heard quite a bit about you from Washington here," he gestures at His Excellency, who stills mid-sip. "How does Cassandra fare?"
I pause. What? Who is he talking about? I look to Alexander, who just looks back at me, similarly confused.
Before I could breathe out a word, Washington inhales sharply. "I know two Laydens, Ben. Despite similarities, they're not the same person."
Arnold's brow furrows. "Really? I could have sworn that you both have the same-" he brings his finger up to his cheek, but the General interrupts him.
"It is safe to assume they're distant family, and nothing else."
"Pardon me," I manage to choke out. I sure as hell don't have distant family in America of all places. "Who are you talking about?"
"Nobody," the General snaps back at me, his white eyes colder than ever, and I take a step away from him. His lips form a thin line. "General Arnold has confused you for an old friend of mine."
At this point, everyone's gaze is on me, either confused, curious or chillingly hard. After a moment, Alexander clears his throat. "Could I perhaps-?"
Washington's grip on the armchair tightens, then relaxes. "No. 'Tis a personal matter that I am not comfortable discussing." He looks at me again, and the mention of my namesake has caused a terrible storm in those eyes of ice. "Layden, could you please fetch my bag from the stables and place it in my room?"
That has already been done by Billy Lee, but the sharp edge in his voice scares me.
Leave.
"Yes, sir," I squeak out, place my glass of untouched brandy next to Lafayette and skitter out of the room, past a startled messenger, my head in shambles.
---
Lafayette knocks on my door well into the night. I found a guest room with a single bed and quickly took it for myself. The bed is as soft as a cloud, the pillows even more so, but I couldn't seem to fall asleep. Maybe it was because my empty stomach refused to leave me at peace when I could smell the delicious food below, but I was not in the mood to interact with anyone.
I was finally dozing off when I heard a stumble in the hallway, and an uncoordinated knock on my door.
"Laf?" I ask, opening the door. "What are you- oof!"
His chest collides with mine as he engulfs me in a hug. His breathing was heavy and raspy, which could only mean one thing.
"My dear, how many glasses of that brandy did you have?" I ask with a chuckle, and he just slumps against me, putting his entire body weight on me.
"...'S bon brandzy," he mumbles against my neck. "Peut-être... sept?"
"More than enough, clearly," I come to my own conclusion and drag him into my room. He giggles when I trip over his purposefully immobile feet. "Do you not have your own bed to impose upon?"
He lets go of me, and he's flushed a familiar red. "It is... too far away and I like you." He smiles gleefully and flops onto my bed. Kicking off his muddy shoes, Lafayette stretches and assumes a starfish position on- I repeat- my bed.
This man is going to be the death of me.
"Well, if it matters, I like you too, but I don't barge into your room in the middle of the night and claim your bed as my own." I put his shoes to the side of the room and take off my own waistcoat.
"I wish you would dear sir."
"Pardon me?"
"I-" He looks up to me, eyes more open and honest then I've seen in a while. "-Wish you would."
I gulp, shake my head. I fumble when I'm folding my stockings. "I did not know you wished to get me drummed out for insubordination, and- Lafayette, did you not take off your wig?"
The look vanishes in an instant, and Lafayette laughs as if I've said something hilarious. And sure enough, white powder was now sprayed all across my sheets.
"Oh, for the love of- come on, sit up, I'll take it off of you." I take the giggling Marquis by the underarms and drag him into a sitting position. I also sit down and start taking off the thing. "Why do you still wear a wig, anyway? I doubt it's convenient to put it on every day."
"Sha-shut up you have nooooo understanding of fashun' or comfort!" he says, jabbing an accusing finger to my chest. "Vous les Américains- or whatever you aaare- just love the feeling of la...li... ach, the funny bugs in hair!" He tugs on a loose strand of my hair as if it causes him much annoyance.
Okay, I think, amused. He is wasted. I haven't seen him like this in a while.
"Lice?" I still offer, really wanting to see where this goes. His wig is almost off, but he shifts drastically, and I lose hold of the wig.
"Those!" He exclaims, as if he just had an epiphany.
"Shh!" I hush him. "People are sleeping, my dear! Now if you would just let me-" I reach up to his head again.
Lafayette jolts again and freezes where he is. For a second, he blinks owlishly at me. "My dear. J'aime that a lot." I sigh, reach for the wig once more, but he fucking moves again, stretching his arms far and wide. "Like thiiiiiiis much- ah, putain!" He looses balance and falls back onto the bed with the grace of a penguin.
Apparently, After a moment of silence and watching him stare blankly at the ceiling, Lafayette deadpans "What was I saying again?"
I sigh. "Nothing." The wig was almost fully undone, if i could just take it off properly! I reach again, but to no avail- he decides to try and sit up again, accidentally kicking my thigh with full force.
"Ow, fuck-" I hiss, but he seems to be lost in his own world, now muttering jumbled Frenglish and trying to stand back up.
Okay, enough.
I grab Lafayette and force him back down, and straddle him by the legs. "If you would just stop moving!"
Finally, all of his limbs still and I can take of the cursed thing. By now, even more powder is splayed all over the sheets, and I come to peace with the fact that I'll be covered in white when I wake up.
"There we go," I mutter, putting it to the side. But when I move to shut the curtains, his hands fly up to my hips, holding me with strength I didn't know he had, making my head collide with his chest. His heart thunders against his ribcage, and his breathing is stuttered and ragged.
When I look back at him, I'm not ready for look on his face. His dazed smile smile steals my breath, and his eyes are full of universes, yet I feel as I'm the center of his.
"Tu es tellement beau," Lafayette whispers adoringly, and the tone of his voice makes blood rush to my face. When I try to look down, embarrassed, one of his hands travelled up to my chin and made me look at him.
His ginger hair was a scattered mess and his shirt was rumpled from a long day, yet none of that took away from his blown eyes and red-tinted lips. His thumb brushes my lip lightly, and, before I know it, his own lips press against mine, and it's a relief I've never known before.
His mouth tastes of alcohol, yet it is still so addictively sweet. His lips were soft, silken and pillowy against my own. I bring my own hand up to the back of his neck and I can feel a familiar smile on Lafayette's lips before the kiss deepens.
I find myself being puller closer when his tongue slides across my bottom lip, and I tilt my head and open my mouth with a soft gasp. I could taste our shared breath even when we had to separate for breath, and nothing could extinguish the heat under my skin.
A heat that turns into an intense flame when his mouth connects with mine again, desperate and demanding. I am no better, unraveling ribbons and threading my fingers through red hair, forcing a breathy sound out of his mouth that only made the heat in my core burn brighter.
Soon, I find myself leaving his mouth to trail a wet path of kisses down the side of his jaw and his neck. Using a free hand to unravel his cravat, a delightful expanse of his throat and collarbones- I barely notice him fervently untying my own scarf, I only notice his hands freeze and clutch my shoulders when I bite the junction of his neck.
He clutches my hair, and I take smug note of something poking my thigh before biting again. Truly, the wave of heat between my own legs proves me just as affected. A litany of moans follows, muffled by hands and the fear of waking anyone else up. Soon, I returned back to my most favorite part of him, crushing my mouth against his- he pressed back just as harshly, forcing gasps and moans out of me.
And then his hand grazes my bare stomach, and I freeze.
What am I doing?
"Lafayette, hold o-" I cut myself off with a gasp when he nipped at my the column of my throat, and it feels so good-
"Wait, stop." I take one of his hands and squeeze it tightly. He hasn't heard me.
"Sir, please." Perhaps the urgency of my voice gave him a moment of clarity- foggy green eyes look to me, confused. The hand splayed on my naked stomach emits a damning heat, making hard to think.
This can't happen. The moment my shirt comes off, it's game over. My whole life is built on this damning falsity, and I can't let something as stupid as my sexual urges get in my way.
Yet his hand falls down to grip my thigh, and it starts crawling down to where I want it most.
If only I could forget everything and just-
"Marquis!" I unfortunately find myself ripping his hand away from my inner leg and pinning them behind his back. My lungs expand and contract way too quickly, and, now that my body is free of Lafayette's addictive touch, icy dread is all that is left.
"What's wrong?" Lafayette asks, and- Christ, he's concerned. Even though he was out of breath and that his words slurred almost comically, his blown eyes managed to convey an emotion I didn't deserve to see. "If you do not wish to-"
"-No, no." He deserved to know at least one truth. My grip loosens on his wrists until he can easily free himself. He doesn't. "It's not that. Never that. I just- I'm- I can't..." Whatever I wanted to say collapses on my tongue, leaving me with crushing guilt.
With my free hand, I cup the side of his face. He leans in, and that guilt tenfolds. How fucked up must I be to be afraid of a sodomite's judgement?
In the end, I just mutter "You're drunk, Lafayette. I can't do this to you."
In an instant, his expression turns pained, stabbing at my heart. "Ce n'est pas la vérité. Tu me prends pour un imbécile," he says, and he sounds like he's in agony. I try to drop my hand from his face, but one of his hands escapes and traps it there. "Vous pensez que tout le monde est un idiot."
I don't answer. I understood the word 'idiot', but I doubt that it was directed at me.
"Je ne sais pas comment Hamilton peut te faire confiance quand tu caches autant de choses." He's not angry- I would have much preferred that- he's sad, and, in some strange way, disappointed. "N'essaie même pas de le nier- c'est évident que tu le fais."
Okay, fine, it's not strange, I just denied him sex, but still- such a reaction is more monotone than what I expected. That makes it so much worse.
"Et pourtant, je suppose que j'attendais de vous que vous soyez honnête avec moi. Même ça, c'était trop." He looks down, lets go of my hands and chuckles. "Je t'aime, mais tu ne me fais pas confiance. Tu n'as confiance en personne!"
"I can't speak French, Laf," I gently remind him, and just like that, silence. In a second, the melancholy look disappears. He shakes his head, and a grin appears on his face.
"Oui, you can't, which I find utterly ridiculous."
The random jab came out of nowhere, but I'm happy that the depressed look is nowhere to be seen. "Hey! Not everyone has the privilege of knowing both languages!"
"Ham is stupid for not teaching it to you. It's the best language, mon loulou."
"No, it's not."
"Oui, it is, everyone knows that!"
"Definitely not."
What next occurred was Lafayette's clumsy attempt to strangle me with a pillow. Though I barely lived to tell the tale, I'm infinitely glad that I managed to steer his attentions away from what could have been infinitely damning to me, no matter how much I wanted it.
---
Breakfast looks beyond delicious. I'm salivating at the mouth at the sight of properly baked and roasted food. A freshly baked cornmeal pound cake sits on the middle of the table, already cut into, surrounded by roasted pork and numerous delicious vegetables on smaller plates.
There are only two other people in the dining room- Lafayette, who seemed to be lost in his own world, and Alexander, who- upon noticing me- lifted a place full of food by his nice. I quickly sit down by his side and dig in, and I have to stop myself from moaning from the taste.
"It's delicious, no?" Alexander says after chuckling at my expression and I nod after another bite. In his hand he's holding a report that I cannot be bothered to even look at as I take another large bite of the fish.
"God, Mrs Arnold is such a good cook," I groan out. Alex nods, then suddenly inhales.
"Hey, is there something... unusual about this?" He shows the paper to be. I put down my fork, sure that this wouldn't take too long, since he asks such things often.
"Hmm." I scan the thing up and down. "Food rations look fine, money spent on rum is a bit higher than it should be, clothes look fine, gunpowder looks-" I pause, taking the chance to eat a spoonful of beans. "Wait, where did all the gunpowder go? Where's all the money for repairs?"
The number was lower than I've even seen in any fort, concerning me greatly. For such an important fort, I'd expect it to have a shit ton of gunpowder- yet the amount of gunpowder these people have wouldn't be nearly enough to defend the fort! Surely, there must be a mistake.
Suddenly, General Arnold rushes down the stairs, clumsily putting his coat and boots on. When he sees the three of us in the dining room, he freezes mid-step.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he sounds unsettled. "A surprise inspection."
Lafayette smiles, raises his glass.
"General, could you please heed attention the gunpowder rations? Thank you." I smile, and he quickly nods and exits. Through the window I see him rushing away with a certain panic to him.
"Is he always like that?" I ask.
"Non, he is not," Lafayette says., concerned. He shakes his head, taking another bite of pork, swallows it down, shakes his head. "I am sure it is nothing."
"Aye," Alexander answers and takes a sip of his coffee. I take a look at my half-eaten plate, and shovel another few spoonfuls of beans, somehow knowing that I'll need the energy.
Alex suddenly stands, looking through the window, true concern and confusion clear on his face. "The hell's Brewster doing here?" Without any other room, he gulps down his coffee and strides out, leaving me and Lafayette in the empty room.
"Brewster?" I ask, yet he simply shrugs.
"I do not know him. Must be Tallmadge's ring member," the frenchman mutters, now also eating faster. Somehow, we both knew this peace will not last.
And it didn't.
Only minutes later, the door slammed open and several pairs of boots thundered down the hallway, which made us both simultaneously jump. Another door slams and Lafayette stands up. "What in the world is going on?"
I follow him out of the dining hall, and it's as if the hallway has closed in on ourselves. Muffled shouts and erratics footsteps came from a closed room, instantly spiking panic in me.
The door opens and out comes Alex, face red with rage. His breath was labored, as if he had just run a marathon. I put a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches, and something is very wrong.
"Hamilton, is everything alright? I heard-" Lafayette starts, but he's interrupted when Alexander grabs his hand tightly.
"Arnold's a traitor," He blurts out, and the whole world collapses.