#meaningless ramblings of the marquis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lafislife · 7 years

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Title: Casualties and sorrows. Fandom: Hamilton Pairings: Lafayette x Reader Rating: M for blood, alcohol mention, some curses and smut. Rated U, for unreadable, because extremly slow burn. Word count: 16421 (around 35 pages on drive) Tagged: @serkewen12 I am sorry for tagging you, but considering it is a birthday gift… Era: 1700s. Author’s note: Reader has not a specified gender. As such, this can be read as any gender. Have in mind that some of them will bring out historical innacuracies. More on this at the end of the fic.

You saw him for the first time as he talked with fellow soldiers, when the battalion he was part of settled camp near your parent’s farm. He conducted himself with resolution, but even then his bouncy steps gave him an air of informality you were immediately drawn to. He was excitedly talking about something, hands flailing around him as he explained it to the others, a thick, foreign accent masking his words. He seemed as young as you, maybe one or two years older, but his jovial ways could be deceiving you. He was immaculate, dressed in the continental army’s trenchcoat, blue and gold highlighting his features, hair neatly kept on a fluffy bun. You, on the other hand, were scrappy and disheveled, clothes mended so much they were beginning to tear, and your demeanor was so forgettable you could barely hope to be noticed when addressing someone directly.

Yet he looked at you.

Not only that, but he SMILED at you, soft-looking lips stretching in a gracious gesture. His friend was the one talking rapidly now, rambling about something you couldn’t catch, but his eyes were on you, gentle smile turning playful when he saw you looking at him dumbfoundedly. You quickly turned your gaze away, cheeks burning as your shame consumed you, picking at the hem of your shirt nervously, and you were so distracted belittling yourself in your mind that you did not notice his approach.

“It is lovely to have new recruits each passing day”

You looked up faster than lightning. There he was, eyes expecting, smile comforting, and your knees were suddenly weak. He was taller than you, looming a bit over your head, and although you were feeling bashful, his soothing voice and encouraging manners relieved some of the anxiety that had overtook your body.

“I am no recruit, sir. I am here helping my father sell whatever we can, Sir” you said, eyes glancing at your father as he bargained with the man in charge of the camp’s finances. But the man in front of you paid no mind to him, tongue clicking before he laughed. You had never heard someone laugh so beautifully before.

“And I am no sir, farmer” he answered, and you would have been offended by the title if it wasn’t said in a joking manner, his playful banter making you feel more at ease. “It is a shame you are not joining our efforts” he added, now looking at your father with little interest in his eyes. “We need all the help we can get. You are not on the british side, are you?” he asked bluntly, the jest hiding a serious question. You watched him carefuly, but as hard as you tried, you saw no malice in his eyes, and probably there wasn’t any in his question either.

“We are on the hungry side” you answered, “and hunger does not take sides”.

The man in front of you squinted slighly, smile turning sour before disappearing from his face as he fell silent. You felt uncomfortable, shifting a little bit from side to side and avoided looking at him directly, wondering if you should have said something different, or maybe just laughed, or maybe-

“Well-” he started, and you cowered a little bit, hoping his retaliation would not be too hard, “it isn’t every day I have the chance of meeting someone as intelligent as you. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

You blinked, confused, and dared to raise your head. You first saw his hand, stretched in front of you, and then his smirk bearing face, eyes confident and pleased. You felt something close to pride, warmth pooling over your stomach, a buzzing sensation sizzling its way from your core to every part of your body.

“(L/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you answered, stretching his hand carefully, and you were surprised his were incredibly soft. “It is I the one honored to meet you, sir…?”

“Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette” he said simply, and you were now painfully aware of your common origins, your humble clothes and your dirty face. “There are not many people such as yourself,” he said, hand firmly holding yours, “It is a shame even fewer than that decide to join our ranks”.

“People like me?”

“Quick witted, smart and humble” he stated, matter-of-factly.

Your cheeks reddened. “I am flattered, sir, but we have just met. I am sure that, time given, you would be able to find in me as many faults as you could find in any other commoner such as myself” you said, undeterred by his kindness.

“Then I would be gladly find those faults of yours, if you were to join our ranks and spend time around here”

He was smirking at you, and when your confused look was replaced with a understanding smile, his smirk grew even wider. You were now a strange mixture of pride, shyness and excitement, and you were unsure of how to keep the conversation going at that point.

“I hope you are not bothering this poor man, (Y/N)” you father said, and you got out of your trance, shaking your head. He had approached you both, bringing both your horses by the reigns.

“Not at all, sir. We were having pleasant conversation, not much more” Lafayette said, saving you from having to answer yourself. Your father watched him wearily, as he was no older than you and his accent thickened his words, but he finally nodded. He was never a man of many words.

“Well, we need to get going now. Sun is setting soon and we have to be back home before that happens”

“Understandable. I wish you have a safe journey then”

You smiled at him shyly before mounting your horse, following your father’s trail. You couldn’t help but glance behind, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he was watching you as you left, smile still plastered in his homely face.

For the first time, you were noticed.

The second time you saw him was when you were enlisting. Since your encounter, a month ago, you had not stopped thinking about this Gilbert du Motier and his cause. It was also true that the crops and cattle of your family’s farm were not looking up this year, and in your family there were now more mouths to be fed than bread on the table. The decision didn’t come hard to you, being the eldest, and one rainy summer morning you took your best horse and, after brief farewells, rode until the encampment.

You arrived well entered the afternoon, wet and hungry and muddy, but they were welcoming of any new faces that wanted to serve for the Continental army. You gave your horse away, and hugged yourself, waiting for your orders and clothes to be given to you. You scanned the place with your eyes, noticing that now a few wood cabins replaced the tents you’ve seen a month ago. The place was bigger too, taking a bit of farmland, and busier, with people coming and going everywhere.

You were a little bit disappointed that you hadn’t encounter him when you arrived, but you had expected that to be the case: a campsite this big, with so many soldiers and recruits wanting to join was rumbling with activity, and any person (even him) could be lost in this sea of people.

You were assigned a tent near the edge of the campsite, along a few of the new recruits, and you lost yourself in mundane talk about the weather, family and farming. You were so absorbed in your own thoughts you had not noticed a small troop entering the campsite, a few soldiers marching behind a rider in a white horse. You didn’t even noticed the rider issuing the troop to march ahead as he approached you until you almost crashed against it.

“Beware!” the rider said, and your eyes shot up immediately, recognizing his voice. He tried to calm his mare, as it shook its neck in nervousness “You should watch where you are going, (L/N)” he laughed “this one has a foul character. I would not get on her bad side” he said, dismounting and giving someone the reigns of his horse. He patted himself clean, stretching his uniform a little bit. You opened your mouth to answer him, but he spoke before you could say anything.

“I notice the uniform you carry under your arm. Have you finally decided to join us, (L/N)?”

“I have”.

“I hope that you did not feel the need to do so because I insisted on it”.

“Not at all” It wasn’t entirely true, but you didn’t have the heart of telling him otherwise, “My family needed fewer mouths to feed”.

“Not at all?” he repeated, arching a brow while looking at you, a curious but playful question as he ignored the second part of your statement. You laughed a little bit, a bit ashamed of how easily he saw through your lie. “I am completely distraught! I thought I was far more convincing than I actually am, then”

You should have expected him to actually be happy about convincing someone to join.

“Well, maybe you managed to stir me to action, sir” you admitted, and he smiled, satisfied with that answer. He walked with you until you arrived at the tent you were assigned to, enjoying the quiet chirping of birds and whinnies of the soldier’s horses.

“I am assigned to a cabin near the center of the campsite” he pointed at it until you spotted it, standing tall in the distance. “I would be glad to be of some help, whatever you may need”

“You are too kind, sir, but I wish not to be treated differently from anyone around here”

He seemed surprised at first, but then he smiled warmly at you. “I expected no less from you, farmer” he jested again, and you felt yourself smiling at the complicity of a shared in-joke. He nodded his head to salute you, and then made his way down the camp, shaking hands with soldiers and recruits alike.

It wasn’t until dinner that you realized he had remembered your last name, and your meaningless conversation. You heart did a flip and your stomach filled with butterflies, and you almost dropped your small ration, realization hitting you hard.

If anyone had payed attention to you, they would have noticed your bright, red cheeks and the discrete, but genuine smile that adorned your face.

The third time you saw him, he was smiling brightly as a few soldiers helped him inside the medical bay. He had a bandaged wound on his leg, and was ignoring every worried look they gave him as he limped towards a makeshift bed. You were stationed there too, a few beds away from him, after a strong fever had taken hold of you, and you pushed yourself up too see what was going on.

“Thank you” he said as they let him rest, nurses buzzing with exitment about having a french man (and nobleman, no less) in their bay. Lafayette seemed radiant for a wounded man, and he paid no mind to the fumbling around him. You had hoped to encounter him more frequently during your stay in the camp, but war did not allow you to have much more contact than a few, discrete nods in each other’s direction as you both hurried from place to place, following orders.

But now he was here (and if Washington had sent him, according to the gossipping nurses, he was to rest here for a while), and every smart thing you wanted to say had escaped you entirely. You fussed a bit, angry at how pathetic you must have been that you could not bring yourself to say something. Finally, after two hours of fighting yourself over what to say, you decided to go for the most bland, painfully boring salutation you could think of.

“We meet again, Lafayette, sir”.

You almost punched yourself, and expected him to actually confirm what you have said, almost 4 months ago: you were boring and stupid, and if any smart comment had surprised him before, then now he would confirm that it was luck who helped you say them, not brains. But instead, he laughed heartily, fingers scratching his eyes as he snorted several times.

“To be honest, (Y/L/N),” he said, voice cracking with laughter, “after all the time it took you to talk to me since I arrived, I expected something else”

You were completely ashamed, and your face must have shown so (mouth ajar, red cheeks and mortified eyes) because he broke into another fit of laughter, so hard and lively the nurses had to ask him to lower his voice. He shook his head, a hand resting over his hurting stomach, “I am sorry, friend, but are bearing the funniest of faces”.

You were shaken. There was too much to process right now. For instance, he had called you friend, and although a polite way of addressing you, it was something that made your stomach turn. Secondly, he had noticed you lying there, probably as he entered hours ago - even between the chaos of nurses and soldiers. Your heart was beating fast, and your mind raced for something to say before you made an even worse impression of yourself.

“You could have said something first, then” was the first thing you said, and then cringed at how demanding and disrespectful it sounded, so you quickly added, “sir.” But he just chuckled, taking it lightly, as he always seemed to do. You were not used to banter, but with a person like Gilbert it was relaxing, and it made you feel more self confident.

“You have me there. But I guess that, in the end, I had no smart introduction in mind either” he admitted, looking a bit ashamed himself, and you knew he was probably lying, just a way to make you feel better. You smiled back, and it was a silent, intimate moment until realization hit him, and his face turned serious all of a sudden. “Why were you sent in here? Have you been wounded in battle?”

“No, sir. I’ve been suffering from a recurring fever that refuses to leave, even in these warm days. But the head nurse says I will be up again in no time” you answered, and he seemed to relax at that. “You, on the other hand, seem gravely wounded. May I ask what happened?”

“‘Gravely wounded’ is giving this minute thing too much importance, my friend. It seems I angered lady luck somehow, and she had me punished for my indolence. It is barely a flesh wound though, and I expect to be on the battlefield again soon enough”

“You should take your time to rest, or you could get sick from it”

Lafayette sighed dramatically. “Now you are speaking just like Washington. And the soldiers. And the nurses. I expected more of you, (YL//N)”

This time you just laughed, certainly knowing it to be a joke. “I am sorry I am bringing disappointment to you, 'my dear friend’-” you mimicked him, “but I am much more concerned about your well being than about your concept of me”.

Lafayette laughed, and then stayed silent for a few seconds before answering, “I am certainly flattered to hear you say so. Back in France, you had to truly care for someone for you to sacrifice their good concept of you, even if it was for the sake of that someone’s well being”.

Before you could even think of it, you spat “Then it must be a horrible place to live”

“It is, if you do not care for pretensions and hypocrisy” he said, tone dead as he shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“And you did not, my friend,” he smiled again, though it was half heartedly, “but for all the hate I have for its traditions and customs, I do miss my country the most. I left a lot I cared for behind when I came here”

You stayed silent, afraid that anything you said would aggravate the man even more than you already had. You looked at him, and although his expression was unreadable, there was a glint of melancholy in his eyes.

“You will see your homeland again, I am sure” you tried to console the man, but he barely nodded, eyes seeming distant. You wanted to say something, anything to fix what you have said, but you knew best, and remained silent.

Sometimes there are things one cannot fix with words.

The next week was one of the best you ever have lived. His brooding demeanor from the first day had gone as fast as it came, and the next morning he was beaming again, talking excitedly about the battle he partook in. Defeated as they were in Brandywine, he took pride on the organized retreat, and talked very highly of the men that held their position so they could safely avoid the british soldiers on their way back to Chester.

He helped the wounded and the sick keep their high spirits, and it was a good thing to have him around. He would talk excitedly about why he had decided to join the american revolution, and although you had first joined because of pragmatism, you were now finding a new meaning in this messy war. You realized now that he was, indeed, convincing, not because he particularly tried to be, but because his passion showed in every word, eyes bright and words determined, a flame that was quick to spread to the hearts of man and woman alike. He had even rejected to be moved to a more private room (being that he was here on Washington’s orders), on the pretense that he was to be treated like any other soldier.

Although he was one to enjoy conversations, he spent a lot of time reading, either books or letters. The latter he answered promptly, most of the time after dinner, and you found that the scratching sound of his quill against the paper, or the tinkling of the feathertip against the edge of the inkwell helped you fall asleep. One day he caught you as he wrote one of his responses, late at night, and he smiled.

“I hope you are not peeking what I write” he said, without even giving you a sideways glance. “I would be ashamed if my secrets were spilled so carelessly. You seem like a person that enjoys gossiping”

You clicked your tongue, feigning insult at his words. “I am most certainly not. And even if I did want your secrets to be spilled, I would have to find other means to do so, since I am not able to read”.

Lafayette turned to watch you immediately, eyes wide in outright horror. "You are not able to read?” you shook your head before resting it against your pillow. “And what about writing?” you shook your head again. “How come you have never learnt to do such things?”

“Not all of us are born lucky enough to learn. As a farmer, you do not need to write fancy letters in nice strokes” you said, moving your hand in the air as if you were writing with an imaginary quill. “You need to plow the fields, ride a horse, and take care of the animals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But what about your family? I am sure they must be waiting to hear from you”

“And they will, if something were to happen to me. Until then, I guess that no news means good news”

Lafayette seemed deeply unsatisfied with that, but did not comment further, and you did not want to push it either. You turned your back to him and blew the candle next to you, closing your eyes as you snuggled your pillow. You heard as he shifted, the distinct quick scratch the quill made when he signed his letters signaling the end of his writing.

“What if I taught you?” you heard his voice, and although you were already drowsy, you opened your eyes at that. He was putting away his letters, his writing tools already discarded on his bedside table.

“I-” you paused, unsure, “ I do not know why would you want to do such thing. There is no need for that. I am a commoner and-”

“And you deserve to be able to read and write like any other. The question was not if you deserve it or not, the question was if you were willing to learn” he said, and there was an edge of authority to his voice that made you think twice before answering.

“What would you want in return, sir?” you asked, carefully, and he scoffed, this time really offended. You did not know if it was because of the formal way of addressing him, or because you thought he wanted something in return.

“I want nothing in return!” he spat. So it was the latter.

He took the time to calm himself before continuing, “I just want you to learn. You may not need this particular ability as of now, but it may turn useful in the future. And there is much delight on using your leisure time to read a good book” he added, and you were moved by his kindness towards you. Granted, you were not strangers anymore, but considering his high birth and your low one, you would never had expected him to willingly teach you.

“I-” you started, but you stopped in the middle of your sentence, completely speechless. "I would be delighted" you finally mustered, and his response was a content, satisfied smile before he blew his nightstand’s candle away.

You didn’t know it was going to be this hard. A task that seemed so mundane to him was actually a headache to you, the many shapes of the letters and the words they formed were already making you dizzy. You struggled with particularly long words, and you were shy of reading out loud to him (even when he insisted on it), afraid he will laugh at your lack of talent.

But he did none of that. Instead, he watched you patiently as you read, slowly at first, but gaining speed day after day, and he was sure to encourage you when your motivation faltered. Even his corrections were said in such a gentle manner you did not once feel ashamed of making a mistake.

His wound was making great progress too. It was the fourth week since he arrived, and although a small fever had taken over him, he was now looking strong. His wound was practically healed now, and he enjoyed short afternoon walks around the ward’s perimeter. You had joined him, once or twice, but you were warned against it after a persisting cough had taken over you.

You had stopped to watch him interact with other soldiers in the ward. Lafayette seemed the kind of man anyone found agreeable: smart and kind, with keen ears and a big heart. A man that could so easily be the centre of attention every day of his life prefered instead to sit back and enjoy quietly as other men told their stories, smiling and laughing and mourning alongside them.

You had also come to understand him better. The crinkle on his nose when something displeased him, the soft shaking of his head, eyes narrowing as he tried to understand something he did not, the small tilt of his head when he truly enjoyed a conversation. You could even tell the difference between his real smiles (eyes gentle, its corners wrinkling, mouth relaxed in a beautifully curved shape) and his fake ones.

So you knew something was definitely wrong as he stared out of the window, the book on his lap completely forgotten, fingers tracing random patterns on its surface. It was a rainy day, ugly dark clouds covering the entirety of the sky.

“You seem distressed lately” you stated.

He glanced at you, smiling shortly before looking through the window again. “I am, my friend. I do not enjoy being idle while there is a war to be fought and won out there”.

“But you are not idle,” you were quick to answer, “you are healing. You need to be healthy before you get out there again” he glanced at you, lips pressed together into a tight line. He seemed restless, and you knew that the fact that he could not even go for a walk was getting on his nerves. “You are going to be ready in no time, Lafayette. There is no use in losing your mind over it.”

He deflated at that, shoulder dropping into a hunched position. He stopped fidgeting with his hands, and he fell in a deeper silence than before, brow now deeply furrowed and eyes displeased. You did not know if this defeated state was even worse than his previous anxious one.

You felt you needed to do something about it. Anything to make the man smile again; it was all you could do after all he had done to you.

“I was always curious about France.” you blurted out. Lafayette looked at you, confused, and you cleared your throat to regain composure. “I want to know about the parts of it you did like after all” you said, and his face lit up at the request. As much as he hated his country’s ways, he was excited to share the stories he had lived there, the people he had met and his favourite places to be. He had already shared about his infamous escape as he made his way to America (and to this day, you weren’t sure if he was joking or not when he said he dressed as a woman to do so), and the entire ward had exploded in laughter when they heard him tell the story of his dance with Marie Antoinette.

"What would you like to know in particular?” he asked, excitedly, and you melted when you saw him smile again, truthfully this time around.

“What about food? Is it really different from the food we have here?”

“Oh, mon innocent ami, you have not the slightest idea of how different it is” he said, and he sounded almost pained. “I miss the cakes the most, the rich strawberry cream and the fresh baked bread of the bakeries.” he said longingly, and you wondered if he missed France’s food more than he missed its people.

He rambled on about all the food he liked, but you were distracted by the way his hair seemed to bounce at his every movement (just like its owner), or the way his eyes gleamed as he brightly smiled. He was a handsome man (you knew that since the day you met him), but you were just now noticing the small things that made Gilbert, well, Gilbert. Your favourite part, though, was his laughter. It was always heartfelt, deep and rich, and for you it was a balm against hopelessness.

There was nothing you would not do to hear the man laugh.

You had hoped to keep him in high spirits, but a rainy day had become rainy weeks, and the mugginess of the air had you relapsing on your fever. You had been moved to a ‘private room’, a way to described a small, single-bedded alcove with barely any contact with the exterior but for a small, dirty window you were too tired to open. They have said that you needed something weird, a long word you could not remember, and they locked you up like a rabid dog.

Not that you could complain about the room. You could barely keep yourself awake, so most of your day was spent sleeping, and when you did manage to get up, you were too weak to even hold a quill. The first few days you had spent entirely alone, but on the fourth day of your quarantine, an armchair was placed in your room, and Lafayette was there, reading in silence.

It made you feel at ease, and had you been able to gather enough strength for it, you would have thanked him properly.

By the fifth day, you could manage to keep yourself awake for a full half an hour before succumbing to sleep. Your body ached in many places, joints tight and unmoving, and your sweat clung uncomfortably to you. You were dizzy most of the time too, and eyes were so sore that reading gave you an almost instant headache. Lafayette was constantly there, or so you thought, because anytime you awoke he was sitting across the room, most of the times reading or writing under candlelight.

Lafayette had been positive at first, smiling at you anytime you two talked, but you realized soon enough that his optimistic demeanor was a facade to make you feel better. If he was restless before, now he was outright frantic, and he constantly pleaded the nurses to check on you.

“Lafayette?” you whispered one night, and you saw something shift on the armchair. It was late at night (you knew because you could not hear the usual rustling of the kitchen workers, a floor below), and you did not expect him to be there.

“Yes, my dear?” he said, placing his book on a tiny table besides his armchair before walking up to your bed.

He waited patiently as your brow furrowed. You did not understand. It was so late at night, but still he seemed to be there, reading. He said nothing, and although your vision was blurry, you could see him worriedly looking down at you.

“You aren’t sleeping” you stated.

“No, I am not. I do believe I am awake, talking to you” he said, and although it meant to be a joke, it was delivered humorlessly.

You kept yourself silent. You knew what you wanted to say, more or less, but was either too tired or too confused to actually muster it. When you did speak, it was slow and slurred, and it took you a few deep breaths to even form a full sentence.

If Lafayette minded, he did nothing to show it.

“I know. I meant it is late, and you are not sleeping”

“It seems sleep has decided to elude me tonight. But please, do not worry about me, I am sure I’ll be able to get plenty of rest soon enough.”

After that, you both stayed silent for a bit. Your head was a blurry mess of ideas and words and things you wanted to say to him, but none of it stayed long enough on your mind for you to actually say something.

You spotted the book he abandoned on the table, and before the question could escape you, you asked,“Were you reading?”. He nodded at you. “I haven’t been able to read” you said, and when he did not say anything, you continued, “I do miss it”.

He sadly smiled. “You will be able to read soon, my dear. Have patience”

You kept quiet for a bit, shifting in bed. “Could you read it outloud for me?” you finally asked, “you don’t have to start over. I just want to hear someone’s voice, and I do not think I’ll be able to hold a conversation”

Lafayette watched you carefully. You were too dizzy to tell his expression apart, and lamented not being able to do so before he turned around and sat down on his armchair. He grabbed the book carefully, opened it up where he had left, and began reading. You immediately realized how patient he had been with your own reading: the words flowed perfectly out of his mouth, and although his accent was thick and you could not understand many of the words, his intonation was perfect.

He read for a while, and although you were trying to pay attention to him, your condition was deteriorating by the minute. Your dizziness worsened, your stomach churned and your body ached so badly that even the smallest of movements had you cringing in pain. You were feeling weak already, and the worsening of your symptoms was not giving you much hope.

Lafayette seemed to sense your discomfort, because he promptly closed his book, crossing the room in two long strides. “(Y/L/N)? How are you feeling?”

Your breathing was labored by this point, and you were a shuddering mess. You were feeling scalding hot and extremely cold at the same time, and you had broken a sweat. “Body aches a lot.” you said trembling, “And the room is spinning”. You know It was coming.

Lafayette’s horror stricken face seemed to confirm it.

You heard him shift for a while before he placed his coat over your body, trying to add an extra layer of warmth. You wanted to complain, since this would mean he would be cold now, but he did not allow for you to even speak.

“Is there anything else you would like?. Water, or some food? I’ll have a nurse-” he stuttered anxiously.

“Lafayette-”

“-bring you some hot soup from the kitchens if you need to eat. And i could tell them to summon-”

“Lafayette, I-”

“-a doctor so he can check you up. You cannot give up now, my dear, just tell me what you need and I’ll-”

“Gilbert!” you exclaimed, aggravated.

He stopped at that. The silence was so sudden it became deafening; He was still, so still you could not even hear his breathing. Had you not been able to see him, you would have thought you were alone in the room.

“May I ask you to do me a favour?” it was hard for you to speak, and you were glad he was so silent, because most of it came out as a whisper. Lafayette came closer to you, uncertain, and he gulped when you looked him so directly in the eye.

“Whatever you need, my dear. I am here for you”

You sighed. You had luckily rehearsed what you were going to ask, many times in your head, so even if you had a pounding headache and an intense fever, you were sure of what you wanted to say. You had been since they locked you up in that jail cell of a room.

“If I were not to survive this-” you started.

“But you will survive this!” Lafayette exclaimed, distraught at how easily you seemed to be accepting your demise. “This is barely a fever. When the rains are over, you will recover in no time, (Y/N)”

“I know. But listen to me. If I were not to survive this” you said, and you paused,expecting his interruption. This time, there was none. “Could you go to my family?” you coughed. “Not write. They do not know how to read either” you said, and you shifted until you found a somewhat comfortable position. Your hair was sticking to your sweaty forehead uncomfortably, but you could not gather the energy to move it away. “It doesn’t have to be as soon as it happens. Just-” you sighed tiredly, “would you let them know?”

He was silent. His expression was unreadable, as it always was when he was deep in thought, and when silence became too uncomfortable to bear, you regretted asking such a thing of him. You were about to ask him to forget it, to forget such heinous request, when he spoke:

“Of course I would, my dear” he said, taking one of your hand on both of his, “Of course I would”

You smiled, mouthing a small ‘thank you’ as you closed your eyes. You felt weak, and tired and sleepy, but there was relief in you, the terrible request not weighing you down anymore. You enjoyed the way his soft hands enveloped yours, his warmth pooling all over your freezing skin.

Had you been able to see him, you would have caught the way his breath hitched at your smile, brow incredibly furrowed in despair. If you had stayed awake, just a little longer, you would have felt the way he drew your hand to his lips, mumbling desperate prayers against each of your knuckles. Had you been able to see him there, alone in the dead of night, you would have noticed the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.

And then maybe, just maybe, you would have understood.

Your fever had passed just as Lafayette predicted, when the heavy rains and damp air gave way to cold, sunny mornings with breeze so crisp that made your whole body feel lighter. He had stayed by your side undeterred, even against the warning of nurses and doctors alike, and he seemed truly happy when you showed signs of recovery. You were able to keep yourself awake longer each day, and Lafayette even dared, under your constant insistence, to go out and enjoy a sunny walk around the park.

You were able to return to your reading and writing soon enough, and Gilbert was there to teach you. You still got stuck in the longer words, and sometimes you had to re-read a passage to make sense of it, but your improvement was astounding. You were also able to write longer paragraphs now, and although your penmanship was not as refined and curly as Lafayette’s, you were able to write legible letters.

Although you hadn’t noticed straight away, you realized you had taken to use each other’s first name. The sudden awareness of the informal adressing had made you blush, but ultimately you felt happy with how close you two had become over the days. He did not mention anything about it, either, and you decided you were not going to comment on it.

After two weeks of care you were ready to leave quarantine, and you were able to go back to the common room. You had missed the window next to your bed the most, and when you looked through it, you were glad to see Lafayette briskly walking down the park, enjoying the scenery. When he looked up, you casually waved at him, and when realization hit him that you were finally out of confinement, he rushed to you as much as propriety allowed, giant smile never leaving his face.

As happy was you were about being able to be back in your room, you were quick to notice that you were not the only one that was healthy.

Lafayette’s wound was already healed. He could perfectly walk, and there was no longer a risk of infection, although it had left an ugly-looking scar behind. He seemed happy about it, yet he seemed to be stalling his departure time and time again, even if weather have been good for days on end.

One day, when the nurses allowed you, you had joined him on one of his afternoon walks. He had been silent, deep in thought, and you had learnt to respect his silences by now, enjoying instead the comfort of his presence besides you.

“I’ll be riding soon. It could be as soon as tomorrow after lunch” he said after a while, without glancing in your direction. You felt a pang of pain in your heart, but dismissed it, focusing on him instead. You knew how much he wanted to return to the battlefield, and you were glad he was finally able to do so. You even wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner, all things considered.

“Those are great news!” you smiled, but your lips trembled, your smile tight and insincere.“Where are you going to be stationed now?” you asked, trying to ignore your heartache, and the tight knot that was rapidly forming in your throat. You had enjoyed his company, and were now too attached to it. The thought of being alone once again hurt you more than you thought.

“I am going to be leading a division down in New Jersey” he said, and you knew he was trying to keep his excitement at bay. You did not understand why. He stepped right in front of you, stopping you on your tracks.

“I have to be honest with you, my friend. I waited two months for this day, and now that it finally came, I can’t help but feel nothing but disquiet.”

You frowned at him, extremely confused. “Why?”

To that, Lafayette did not answer. Instead, he looked away from you, down the hills that stretched far beyond eye’s reach. Sunbeams from a setting sun were filtering through the dying leaves of an old oak, and casted weird light patterns on Lafayette’s face. His shoulders were tight, and although you could not see them, you knew he was fidgeting with his hands behind his back.

He started walking again, pacing to and fro the pathway. You looked at him, without any idea of what to say or do, so you waited him to do it. After a few minutes of tense silence he finally sighed, shoulders relaxing as he walked towards you.

“It is I now the one that has to ask for a favour, my dear”

His term of endearment did not go unnoticed. “You know you can ask anything of me, Gilbert - I owe you a great deal”

He nodded and he felt silent again, and for a second you thought he wasn’t going to ask anything of you after all. But then he glanced at you, eyes deep with emotion, and he seemed to finally have made his mind up.

“I may need to make a confession first” he said, tone grave, and your mind raced with every little thing that he may have kept hidden from you. Nothing came to mind. “It was not a selfless act of mine teaching you how to read and write. I knew this day would come, and I could not bare leaving knowing I would not receive word from my dearest friend. So I selfishly imposed on you my desire, and now I impose myself on you once more” he said, and there was a hint of desperation in the way he spoke, as if he was afraid of the answer you would give him. “I would like to be updated on your condition, and by your own hand, if you may”

“You are asking me to write you letters?” you asked in disbelief, not because you weren’t completely thrilled by the idea, but because you had not hoped he would want to keep in contact with you.

“Only if you would have it” he said, quickly, misinterpreting your question for unpleasantness. “I would not like you to feel forced to do it”

He seemed surprised when, instead of rejecting him, you grinned at him. “It would be my pleasure” you admitted, but were quick to add, “on the condition you try and answer them, from time to time. I know you will be busy, but I would like to hear from you, too” you said, and he was practically beaming, a weight clearly lifting from his chest. Even then, he tried to keep his composure on check, but the bright eyes and dusty pink cheeks gave him away entirely.

“Thank you, my dear” he said, holding one of your hands on his, a habit he had taken up during your sick days. “I would not have had the heart of leaving you behind like this otherwise”.

You tightened your grip on his hand, and gave the only response you could think of: the most sincere, grateful smile you had.

The next two months you spent in in the company of other soldiers, but they came and went so quickly you did not have much chance of making close relationships with them. You had sent word to Lafayette as often as you could, and although sometimes he delayed, he always made sure to send word back.

For that, you were grateful.

He had the thoughtfulness of leaving behind several books from his collection. You treated then with the utmost care, and have taken to even read outloud to sick soldiers, when the weather did not allow you to go for a walk. You did not want to admit it, but the ward lacked energy since Lafayette departed.

When your sickness had passed, on the first few days of the New Year, you were as ready to departure as ever. Now that you could read, you had read as many pamphlets and declarations as you possibly could have, and you could not help but understand why Lafayette had been so passionate about the American cause. He had convinced you to join before, but now your energy was completely renewed.

You were to join Washington’s forces down in Valley Forge, and you promptly told Lafayette about the good news. You had expected to meet him there, but he was sent on an expedition to Canada by the time you arrived. You were disappointed, but you have decided to put your head and body to work, having to make up for the time you lost being sick.

When you arrived, you were completely shaken by what you saw.

Camp was a mess: food was lacking, most of the men were disease ridden, and the situation seemed to worsen by the day. Winter was not helping either, and although you were happy to be back on the field, you discovered that soldiers were treated with little dignity, or none at all. Most of them had not much to eat, fires were weak and sparse, and there were many tents dedicated to the wounded and sick.

Why Lafayette had not told you about this, you had no idea.

It was not until the last days of April that you saw Gilbert again. You were usually helping the sick and wounded, as you have learnt how to do so during your time on the ward. The rise in temperature seemed to work wonders for everybody’s health, but stray cold days still threatened to do harm. You were trying to light a fire when the sound of war trumpets signaling the approach of allied forces broke around camp.

You went outside, and saw him just as he dismounted, walking rapidly into General Washington’s tent.You barely caught a glimpse of him, but he seemed to be fine, and you limited yourself to see if any of the newly arrived needed medical attention.

He came to you when night had already settled, crickets screaming forcefully into the cold air. You had been reading a pamphlet, just outside your tent, holding your candle just above it so you could see the fainting words.

“Does it say something interesting?”

Your face lit up at his voice, and you abandoned the pamphlet as soon as he spoke, a wide smile adorning your face. He seemed delighted too, although very much tired.

“It is good to see you again, Gilbert. Letters could never replace the joy of talking to you in person.” His smile was as wide as yours, and you could see in his eyes that he was as happy as you were. He was about to say something, but you quickly added, “or must I say General Lafayette?” you said, raising a brow.

He scoffed. “You should, my friend” he said sarcastically, “although you have me confused. Should I use soldier or farmer?”

You laughed, and before checkin no one else was watching, have him a tight squeeze of his shoulder. He immediately took your hand, squeezing it gently “I am glad you are back. How long will you be stationed here?”

“For as long as General Washington deems it necessary” he answered. “Rest assured I won’t leave without at least having you read me your favourite passage from Phillis Wheatley”

“I did not know you for a man that liked poetry, General Lafayette” you said playfully, your fingers gracing the soft skin of his hand.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, dear. Many things”

You kept meeting with Lafayette, more often than not during nighttime. You shared bitter ale as you jested with each other, and talked until you both were so tired that you could not keep yourselves awake. In particularly calm nights, you shared walks around the darker parts of camp,hands holding each other tightly.

During the day, you barely met. You had caught a glimpse of him during the French Alliance celebration, as he stood firmly next to General Washington. Dressed in blue and gold, with his sword dangling from his belt and his hair perfectly tied in a tight bun, he had almost looked regal (and you both laughed at the irony of it, when you commented it that same night).

Two weeks later, he approached you, face serious. “What happened? Favourite ale is over?” you jested, but when he did not respond, you started to worry. “Gilbert, is something the matter?”

“I am to leave camp soon. We need to asses Barren Hill before we decide on any course of action”

“When are you to march?”

“Tomorrow morning, midday at most” he said, mouth tight.

“I see” You both shared in the silence of the night. It was moonless, so besides your candle there was not much light to lit up the place. You tried to look into his eyes, but they were harder than usual. You did not know if he felt tiredness or disappointment. Probably the former. “I am sorry to hear that. I would have hoped you had more time to rest after your exped-”

“Come with us” he said suddenly, and when you looked at him incredulously he just cleared his throat, abashed at his blurted-out request. “I mean, you could join the battalion, if you wished to do so”

You stayed silent for a while, before smiling “Do you want me to?”

“I do not think your decision should be based on what I desire, my friend”

“But do you want me to?” you insisted. He stayed silent, studying your face with a mixture between admiration and something else you could not quite decipher. But you just smiled reassuringly, and after a while he just sighed, defeated.

“I do. I would like you to.”

“Then we better rest, my dear Gilbert” you said, and for once you were the one to take one of his hands on yours, “we have a long journey ahead of us”.

It was the 20th of may when you had first met war, face to face. Until now, you had only dealt with its results: hunger and sickness and blood and pain. Now you knew what it really looked like. It was death.

You had been surrounded during the night, and when the left flank fled in chaos, they have failed to notify the general. Lafayette heard of the attack almost too late, and immediately organized his troops. He had approached you, the first time you had seemed him so angry and disheveled, atop his white mare:

“I need you to go to the southern outcropping and shoot from the woods” he said, between pants. You have never seen him like that, breath ragged and face reddened with effort, and you were completely paralyzed “NOW” he screamed, and you went scrambling, taking the lead of a small group of men as you made your way up the outcrop and into the forest.

You kept shooting the enemy, time and time again. You could see, from up there in the outcropping, as the chaos of his forces had become an organized retreat, down a road the british had failed to blockade.

The british attack was a complete failure.

When the retreat was done, you (and those who had survived the skirmish around the woods) made your tiring journey back to Valley Forge. You arrived way past midnight, hungry and thirsty, and were immediately dismissed to rest.

Lafayette met you the very next night, and he seemed worried sick. “My friend, my dearest friend” he said, grabbing one of your hands and taking them to his lips, an act so caring and passionate you were immediately reduced to a blushing mess, “I put you under such danger. I am so sorry.”

When you could finally gather your bearings, you covered one of his hands with yours, and caressed it lightly, “You have nothing to be sorry about, Gilbert. I am pleased you could bring your men back safely”

He sighed, taking your hand with his until he had it laying flat on his chest. “You are a gentle soul, my dear” he said, but you knew there was something more behind those eyes, a pain you could not yet comprehend, “I could have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you”

You blushed so hard you had to look elsewhere, afraid he would be displeased with your reaction. If he saw it, he mentioned it not.

If you thought the Battle at Barren Hill had been chaotic was because you had not yet lived the inferno that was the battle at Monmouth. The heat was so strong you were sweating even before the battle broke out, but when it did, and bodies and horses started clashing at each other, you swore you were in Hell.

The air was so dusty you could barely breathe, and your chest felt so tight you felt as if it was going to collapse on you. You had shot, and pierced and blocked with your bayonet, but the battle was so confusing you weren’t sure you were aiming at the right people anymore. So you stood there, panting desperately, trying to get a sense of direction under a cloud of dust that allowed it not.

Screaming was the worst part after the heat: it pierced your ears, and it was making you want to run away in panic. They issued orders, they pleaded, they wailed. You heard it all: people that screamed for water, for help. You could listen the anguished cries of soldiers as they were either shot, stabbed or trampled. You could listen to the sobs of dying men, that in whispering pleas asked you to kill them, to end their misery.

It was maddening.

By midday you could barely hold your gun straight. By sundown you had collapsed under the heat, panting heavily and throat burning. Your mouth felt dusty and your body ached in every place it could. It wasn’t until well entered the night, when temperatures had dropped, that you could muster the strength to get up.

“Please…”

You were barely up when you heard that plea. There was a hand barely raised in your direction, a man with his back resting against a tree stump near the edge of the forest, 30 yards from you. You walked feebly, swaying from side to side, as you approached the man.

The red coat gave him away.

“Please” he repeated, watching at you with sullen eyes. There were bloodstains in one of his legs, He was shot somewhere around the knee, if not in the knee itself. “Please help me. I cannot walk”

You eyed him, eyelids heavy with tiredness and thirst. You could barely held yourself up, much less hold the weight of another man.

“Please” he wailed again, and when you tried to answer him, you realized you could not, throat throbbing in pain. You took a hand to your neck and swallowed painfully, and you could feel sharp bits of dust gnawing the flesh of your throat. Your face cintorted in pain, and when your mouth tightened, your lips blistered. “I have water”

The soldier pointed at a skin bag that seemed half full. It was probably not his, as it was laying a few feet away from him, and no other soldier seemed to have spotted it in the middle of the fray. In fact, it was a miracle it was still intact, considering the chaos of the battle.

You practically lunged over it, hands trembling heavily as you took out its lid. You raised it against your lips, and you sobbed painfully when water hit your throat, tears spilling out of your eyes. You drank, and drank and drank, but stopped when your eyes opened and you saw the blurry shape of the englishman.

His lips were as blistered and dry as yours.

You lowered the skin bag. He did not plead anymore, instead choosing to watch you carefully. He flinched when you approached, but his eyes widened when you offered him the skin bag.

“Drink” you said, but your throat was still sore, so it barely came as a whisper.

You did not have to ask the man twice. He drank the rest of the skin bag, relief hitting his face as much as it had yours a few seconds ago. When he was finished, you took the skin bag out of his hands, put the lid on it and threw it over your shoulder.

“Creek nearby” you said, trying to use as few words as you could, “can limp?” you asked him. When he nodded, you helped him to his feet, and cringed when he screamed in pain. Blood was not gushing out of his skin, and you realized the bullet must have cauterized the wound as it pierced it.

The next hour was even worse than the time you spent sick at the ward, more than 6 months ago. Your legs were weak, and the added weight of the wounded man was wearing you down quicker than you thought it would. The water ration had helped, but you were still feeling heavily dehydrated and hungry, and if you did not find a river soon, you would both probably die.

You had walked, and walked and walked, and there was nothing but silence and the mocking screams of the crickets. You would have cried, but your eyes were dry. The englishman weight was becoming unbearable, and you would have given up had not been for what you saw, just a few miles down a hill.

Small fires in the distance. Flame light dancing over french and american flags alike. You had made it back.

Your legs trembled, and you wanted to scream for all that was dear to you. The voice would not come to you, and although you kept going by sheer will, your steps were staggering, knees weak. You were going to fall down soon, unable to hold the weight anymore. Your body burned with exhaustion.

You were so close. Just a few more steps.

And then you broke down. You sobbed tearlessly, and pleaded and prayed to whichever god for the guards to see you, for them to be watching in the right direction when they patrolled around the camp’s barricade, as you took step after step after step towards it.. And when your knees bent in the wrong direction and you fell down, you screamed in rnge and frustration, a scream that hurt and burned and tore your throat apart.

But you did not care. You had failed.

When after a while you heard rushed footsteps and screams of soldiers, you closed your eyes tightly and thanked, thanked whoever have heard your pleas. When you felt the tug of your fellow soldiers as they ushered you to your feet, his orders falling on your unhearing ears, you turned around, eyes filled with joy, as you tried to look over your british companion.

He was sprawled perfectly still on the ground., face pale and eyes dim, and his head was bent in a weird uncomfortable angle, his lips red with dried blood. He was being nudged with soft kicks and a few pokes of a gun, but he remained unresponsive, eyes towards the sky, and for a second, he looked almost peaceful.

You had wanted to scream, and struggle, and just outright yell at him for giving up on you, for yielding as quickly as he had. Instead, you fell down in the hands of your helpers, body limp, and you shut down to the world entirely.

There is so much tragedy one can take on a day, and you have had your fill.

After that, days became a succession of raising and setting suns. Summer had slipped by without you giving it much care, and when you could stand up again, you were sent home to rest for a season without much more than your pay and a pat in your back.

If Lafayette had heard about your return, he showed not a sign of it.

So you had marched home, ashamed and soul-broken, wondering what was next, if there was even a next. But when you came home, late in august, you were received by the kind embrace of your mother and the pain eased, and you knew that maybe, just maybe, you needed to give it a little more time to heal.

You did not receive word from Gilbert, but at that point, you were not expecting it anymore. Instead, you were focusing on helping your father with the farm and your mother with your siblings, and tried to find solace in the way their love and happiness was slowly seeping into you.

So when a cold november morning your father said you had visit, you expected your friend from the farm across the hills, or maybe Gilly, the girl from the bakery that came to your farm for milk and eggs.

Instead, you were greeted by the warm brown eyes of major general Lafayette, dressed in blue, and gold, and white, and for a second you were confused, believing you were dreaming.

“Are you not going to greet me?” he said, and as much as you had wanted to know what he was feeling, there was nothing, not a glint in his eyes or a tug at the corner of his lips, not even the tone of his voice, gave him away.

“I am sorry, sir” you answered when prompted, “I had not expected to see you around here”

“Is this a fellow soldier, (Y/N)?” your father asked after you two fell silent, and although you gave your father a compromising look, Lafayette’s eyes stayed on you, boring you down.

“You have already met him, father, but allow me. This is Major General Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette” you introduced, and just then did Lafayette’s eyes leave you, shaking hands with your father. “General LaFayette, sir, this is my father, (Y/F/N)(Y/L/N)”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir” Gilbert said. “But I do admit I am on a rush. Would you be so kind to give me leave to talk with (Y/N) alone?”

Your father looked at you confused, and although you pleaded him to not abandon you with your eyes, he gave Lafayette a nod and entered the house again. You sighed, defeated, and stayed in silence, not knowing really what to say.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and you looked at him confused.

“I’m fine, thank-”

“Then walk with me, (L/N)” he said coldly, and started to walk. The use of your last name did not go unnoticed.

You looked at the comfort of your warm house behind you and wondered if you could just run inside and hide from Gilbert’s wrath. You were fine with leaving the army behind, the cruelness of starvation and disease now a distant memory in your mind.

“(Y/L/N)” he called again, and it was said with his authoritative voice, and you have become so used to following orders you started walking towards him. You were suddenly reminded of your walks around the medical ward, a year ago, but the setting was so different that for a moment, you wondered if you were mistaken memories with dreams

You walked in silence, down a road that gave way to your family’s orchard, and Lafayette only stopped when your house was barely visible through the apple trees’ branches. He started pacing back and forth, as he always did when he felt uneasy. When he made up his mind, he turned around you, hands held tightly behind his back.

“You left the army” he said, matter-of-factly.

You feigned looking over his shoulder. “I don’t see you leading a battalion either, General, sir” you said, and his mouth flattened, as if he had tasted something sour.

“I am on leave. I am to go to France as soon as I am able to” he answered, and you felt your blood freeze. You did not understand what was he doing here if he was to leave the country. Was it to berate you? To mock you? To call on your cowardice, for leaving the army?

“You must have lost your way then, sir” you said, sarcasm filling your voice. You were getting so tired you could not help but answer in a mean-intentioned jest, “the harbor is miles away from here”.

Lafayette’s brow furrowed at your comment. If he was angry before, now he seemed livid, and he was starting to use the height difference between you to loom over you. But you were having none of it. This time, you stood your ground

“So what is your reason for leaving, the army then?”

“They gave me leave. I was sent home to rest” you answered, but his face told you he was not satisfied with that. You were getting tired of his attitude towards you. “I almost died out there”

“By helping a british soldier, I heard, yes” he spat, and you were immediately filled with such rage that you could not feel the cold around you anymore. You have never felt the desire to punch someone as badly as you felt it now.

“By helping a wounded soldier” You said, and he seemed to back down at that, so you pushed further, “by helping a person”.

“He was the enemy (Y/L/N)!” he said, exasperated.

“You have your ideals, and your honour and your dignity. Nothing of that matters! War can label us however war wants! Enemies, allies, french and british and american” you started, a knot forming in your throat as you spoke, “But hunger does not discriminate, Gilbert! Disease does not. Death does not! And I am not about to.”

The next thing you knew you were pressed against a tree trunk, and he was close, closer than he ever was to you before. His eyes were on you, and there was such fury behind them that it took all your might not to cower in fear. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and unpleasant, and his lips were so tightly pressed together that all that remained was a thick, pale line.

“You could have been called a traitor!” he said, and his voice was stiff, like it required him all his strength not to lash out on you. “You could have died!”

“But my ideals would have not!” you answered, defiant, and you cowered when he rose his hand. Yo heard the dry sound of the tree trunk being hit, and when you opened our eyes again Lafayette had his eyes closed, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His fist had landed right besides your face.

You both stayed still for what seemed like hours. He was slowly relaxing, and you heard him exhale tiredly, his other hand lifting so he was encircling you with both his arms. You did not expect to find grief in his eyes when they opened, and yet again, there was that unmistakable something you could not quite place.

“You do not understand” he stepped back, hands falling limply at his side “You never seem to” he added, and he seemed almost disappointed.

“General, I-”

But Lafayette scoffed angrily, clenching his fists again. He shook his head, and turned around, starting to walk down the path that lead to your house. He had turned around to you again, pointing at you, as if he were going to say something, but he sighed, defeated, and lowered his hand.

“I am glad you are alright, (Y/L/N)” he said before turning once again, this time not looking back. You followed him with your eyes, until he was out of your sight, and then allowed yourself to crumble to the ground, quick shallow breaths coming out of your mouth, as all the courage from before dissipated into thin air.

He was here, and he hated you and he was going back to France, and you would never see him again, and the only thing you could do, your final goodbye, was berating him even more.

So you cried. You cried bitter tears of pain, of frustration, of fear. Not once before you were allowed to do so, but now you could not contain them anymore. It was a relief you did not know you needed, since you have numbed yourself down with family affairs, and now it was all coming out in ugly sobs.

So you let it all out. You wailed, and you screamed and you whimpered, and you kicked and you punched into the air until there were no more tears to be spilled, no more memories to cry about, no more pain to hide behind fake smiles.

You didn’t return to your house until well into the evening

You had not seen Lafayette for almost three years now. You have returned to the army after spring of 1779 had come around, now fully recovered from your heat stroke. Your family was reluctant to let you go, but in the end, they needed the money more than they needed a child, and you have had your fill of farm duty.

You had rejoined the war efforts, and in doing so, were aware of Gilbert return from France. You had thought about sending him a letter, but ultimately refrained from doing so, as you both had left your friendship in the most unpleasant of terms. If he had not contacted you in three years, then you were not going to impose it on him.

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And fighting.

You wanted to keep yourself motivated, but hunger and exhaustion were plaguing the troops, and enragingly low wages were being paid in return. Those who have joined in hopes of finding sustenance for their families had encountered themselves with worthless money in return, and those who joined because of ideals were starting to have second thoughts.

The thought of leaving the army after you saw its miserable state had crossed your mind, but the prospect of going home was not one you were fond of. You loved your family very much, but you could hardly ever tolerate its dullness, and they did not need you back. They needed you earning money. You were trapped between a rock and a hard place, and it was making your life miserable.

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And being bolder in battle.

And each time you came back alive. You had realized that you were seeking an early death, being as careless as you were being on the battlefield, but you could not stop yourself from doing it. You did not have any other place in the world for you but the army, no one cared for you, no one expected you to come back. Not even your family was waiting for you: they needed your money, not your presence.

And if dying meant other soldiers would not, if it meant they were going to survive this war and go back to their parents, their homes, their wives, and husbands, and children, then you were going to do everything you could for them.

In your eyes, you were disposable. They were not.

When you were put under Lafayette’s command, the summer of 1781, you were so deep down the rabbit hole of self depreciation that you did not even care about it. You had become bitter and daring to the point of recklessness, and you paid no attention to anything but the orders you were issued on the battlefield.

So you fought, and marched, and killed, and slept.

You had been scouting under Brigadier Wayne, when you fell into the British trap set by General Cornwallis. Chaos raged around you but you paid no mind to it. You were no longer scared, you were no longer confused, no longer petrified. And when the order came for your battalion to lead a charge with your bayonets, you were the first one to jump into enemy lines.

It was a miracle you were still alive after that, with barely a scratch to the shoulder.

When you were making your retreat, many soldiers have tried approaching you, fascinated at your lack of fear. They tried to both congratulate and warn you, but their words fell on deaf ears. You were glad they were alive. And you dreaded the fact that you still were while many others have died.

The next thing you know, Major General Marquis de Lafayette had summoned you to his office, and he is right in front of you. It is late at night, not long after your retreat, and although you had time to wind down while you patched your wounded shoulder, you were still high on adrenaline.

He said nothing as he paced the room. He looked older than you remembered (that was not much of a surprise), and his bouncy way of walking was now reduced to firm, long strides. Everything else had remained the same: beard cleanly cut, lips full and hair neatly tied into a bun.

You had been standing in front of him for what seemed like hours, with him just pacing around the room like a caged lion. You were growing impatient, and sleep made you even bolder than you already were.

“Sir?” you prompted impatiently.

“You must know by now that rumors do not escape me, soldier. I know what you did on the battlefield”

You frowned. “I did what I was asked to do, sir. Brigadier Wayne did order us to lead a bayonet charge” you explained, even if he had not requested you too.

“And you are the first to jump into it?” he asked, without looking at you. The grip of his hands on his back tightened.

“I did as I was asked. If not me, another soldier would have been the first one to charge” you answered, irritated. You were tired, and even if you were defeated, morale was stronger than ever. You had deserved to enjoy the night without being reprimanded, not even by him.

“You do like risking your own life, (Y/L/N)”. He laughed, while shaking his head. You could tell he was trying to contain his anger.

“I enjoy fighting for my country, sir. Nothing more.” you answered sourly. You knew he was not trying to flatter you when he said that.

He frowned at your answer. “Fighting for a cause does not mean stupidly dying for it” he barked, but you remained stoned-faced. That seemed to fuel his anger even more. “You broke line just so you could throw yourself against the enemy line!”

“As I was ordered to!” you spat.

“You were ordered to charge, not to die!” he screamed at you. You were going to reply, but he spoke before you could, hand raised to keep you from saying anything “I don’t know what have taken to you, but this is not the first time I’ve heard of this ‘heroic acts’ of yours. You need to stop”

“Why?! I have not once disobeyed orders!”

“Because you are going to get yourself killed!” he approached you, fists clenched, brow furrowed and eyes hard, and there was something in his warm brown eyes that told you he was not going to tolerate your behaviour much longer.

“Soldiers die on the battlefield every day!”

“That does not mean you have to push it, (Y/L/N)! That does not mean you have to risk your life. Do you wish to be just another number in a war report, another grave in the middle of nowhere?!”

“Well maybe I do!” you said, looking directly at his eyes, and just now you realized there were hot tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eyes. He looked completely horrified. You both stayed in silence, him in shock, you trying to compose yourself.

“Maybe if I die,” you started, shakily, “someone else gets to live through the day. Someone else gets to see their family again” you were clenching your jaw by now, “Someone else-”

“And what about you, (Y/N)?” he interrupted, and his voice was not longer angry. Instead, it was pleading, voice full with emotion, “What about your life, your future?”

“I don’t care for it, sir!” You hissed, and it took all your might for you not to break down and sob in front of him. It was easy to feel that way, but admitting it outloud was harder than you thought it would be. “As long as I get to save someone else-”

But you were cut right away by the press of his soft, full lips on yours, your body backing until it crashed against a wall. Lafayette’s lips were crushing against your own, and the world spinned around you but you did not care. You did not care for war, or death, or memories, you did not care how much it had hurt you that he did not try and reach you before.

You only cared about him.

You immediately held him by the shoulders, and when you did not push him away, he pressed even further, body flushed against yours, catching your lower lip with his own, sucking on it and then kissing you deeper. You could feel his neatly trimmed beard scraping against your face, his hands firmly holding you by the waist, and you almost moaned when his tongue made its way into your mouth.

The kiss was hot, desperate and it held years of frustration and restrained feelings, and by the time you parted, you were both panting heavily. You felt your heart clench when you saw his sorrowful eyes looking down on you. That maddening glint of something else was again there too.

“Then what about me?” he whispered. Tears were running down your cheeks, no longer restrained, but he carefully wiped them away with his thumb, “What I am going to do if you die?”

You understood now. What he was trying to say years ago.

You were completely speechless, and whatever smart comment you could have thought of had deserted you when he kissed you like that. He took his time to breathe, exhaling a long held breath, his thumbs drawing small circles on your cheeks with the most feather like of touches.

“I almost lost you once, (Y/N)” he barely whispered, and you noticed that his hard, stoic facade from before was melting away. He rested his forehead against yours. “Do not ask me to be indifferent to it. Do not ask me to watch you risk your life and stay silent about it. I am not that strong”

By now you had started to whimpering, but by the time he finished speaking you were sobbing, hands clenching his coat’s shoulders. Tear after tear fell from your eyes, and no matter how hard you tried, you could not seem to be able to keep them in check.

Lafayette lips kissed every one of them. When no more tears could be spilled, he kissed your swollen eyes and your forehead, and embraced you so tightly that you felt all your broken pieces fall back in place once more. And as you fell to the ground, still in his arms, you felt that you had a home, a place to come back, someone to care for you.

And you did not feel alone anymore.

From there you had shared plenty of time together. You would sneak out of your tent, deep at night, and would cross the field over to the little farm house he was stationed in. You would talk about battles, and glory, and freedom, and you would share the most intimate of kisses under the secrecy of the summer stars.

Lafayette had become your source of relief. Every night before a battle you would see each other. It was often a silent meeting, in which you sat between his legs on the floor, and he held you to his chest as closely as he could. All that needed to be said was said in caresses, and kisses and embraces, and you would relish in the way he weaved his fingers through your hair whenever the idea of battle got you restless.

“How much longer now?” you asked lazily, snuggling against his chest.

“Not long, sweetheart” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he rested his head on yours, “probably a week or so. We are closer than ever” he said, running a hand down your neck, kneading its back softly with his thumb.

His other hand was your captive. You traced every crease, every line on his palm and every scar on its back, and when you have done that, you traced the long shape of his fingers with yours. “I just want it to end” you said, kissing each of his fingertips lightly, “I am worried about you”

Lafayette wanted to laugh, but instead, he smiled warmly, kissing your head. He took your hand carefully, fingers interlacing with yours. “With your recklessness I am afraid you are the one who is going to disappear” he said, jokingly, but when you his your face against his chest he knew you were serious, “It is going to be alright, kitten” he mumbled against your hair. “I promise”.

You closed your eyes tightly as you breathed his scent. You wanted to believe him, to believe there was going to be a day that you both could like this, sharing kisses without having to worry about death, and war and enemies. You wished for a night you could spend stargazing, without swords on your belt or guns on your hands, without hunger nor plague.

You wished for nights where you could stay with him until sunrise.

“(Y/N)?” he called you. You sighed and looked up at him, knowing what was coming “You need to go rest” he said, helping you both out of the ground. He kissed the hand he still held, and smiled reassuringly, “We will see each other tomorrow night again”

You smiled softly. It was your everyday promise, your everyday prayer. You got into your tiptoes and kissed him on the lips lightly, his hands ghosting over your waist as you did.

“We will”

You had taken the redoubt that day. Four hundred soldiers under Lieutenant Colonel Zweibrücken had broken the defenses of Redoubt N.9, and word had came that the men led by Alexander Hamilton had successfully taken Redoubt N.10 that day. To say the celebration that night was big was an understatement.

When the battle was over, your body tingles with adrenaline and excitement, and you still felt it way entered the nighttime. You had screamed in joy with fellow soldiers, and drank ale besides them as you sang revolutionary tunes. There were drums and trumpets, and horns, and ale run down everybody’s throat as quick as water down a waterfall.

You had glanced at Lafayette as he watched over the redoubt from its highest point. Your eyes had met his, and when you saw him say his farewells to Colonel Zweibrücken, you decided to take the celebration to his office, inside the building. You found him in there, as he was feeding the fire of the hearth, and he stood as soon as you entered the room.

He had said something you could not understand, the music outside too loud for you to hear. “What?” you asked, still playful from the celebration outside, and you saw him approach you in quick strides.

Soon your bodies crashed against each other, mouths hungrily pressing together in a sloppy kiss. Your tongues met, and you teeth had clumsily clashed against each other, but none of you cared.

He had stopped to see you in your eyes, and a wave of electricity had surged through your body, as warmth began to pooling in your core. His brown eyes, that previously had been all warmth and happiness, have now darkened, and they held an unspoken question you had perfectly understood, even in your tipsy state.

As per response, you pecked him lightly on the lips.

As if you had released a spring, he was unto you in seconds, hands roaming every inch of your clothed body as he attacked your neck, kissing and licking and nipping. You moaned, surrounding his neck with your arms, hands tugging his curls.

“Gilbert, I-”

But he gave you no chance of saying anything. His mouth was on yours again, and his hands were unbuttoning your uniform, hands almost clawing at it. He was desperate too, as desperate as you, and when his hips pressed against yours, you had moaned so loudly that you were afraid someone had heard. But no one did.

Your hands were not quite either. They had taken his cravat away and were now fumbling with the complicated buttons of his coat, and he laughed you you made a frustrated pout. He kissed you, this time tenderly, and helped your hands take away his garments. You admired his lithe constitution, fingers tracing the shape of his chest, and abs, and ribs.

He was even more beautiful than you could have thought.

When your lips met again, he finished undressing you, and he effortlessly lifted you from the ground, and when your naked sex met his hard, clothed one you had both moaned into the cold night.

Lafayette’s mouth was on your chest, nipping softly at one of your perky nipples while one of his hands played with the other one. Your head fell back in pleasure, deep gasps of ai and your hips rolled against his in search for much needed friction. His mouth freed your body, and he elicited a small moan.

You could happily died listening to his moans and grunts.

He tore his own pants away, growing painfully impatient. You gawked at him, and you were suddenly very aware of what was going on between you. Lafayette seemed to sense your discomfort, because he suddenly stopped his ministrations.

“Tell me,” he breathed out, “tell me to stop now and I will. Tell me to leave you alone, and I will”. The hand in your waist was gripping you almost painfully, and you knew it was taking all his willpower not to thrust into you mercilessly, and fuck you until both of you were spent.

And then you knew. You knew how much you have yearned for his kisses and starved for his touch. You knew how much you have needed him, as close to you as he was now, or even closer. You knew how much you loved him.

So you kissed him. And it was feverish, and intense and it lacked the poetry of first time kisses between young lovers, as they met under a full moon. Instead, it was the raw, emotional passion of a deeper kind of love, one that burns through your body so slowly that by the time you notice it had lit your entire soul aflame.

And he was in you. And you had screamed his name into his lips, fingernails running down his back as he pushed further and further inside. And by the time he had settled, you were a whimpering mess, holding as tightly to him as you could.

You wished you never had to let go.

He seemed to be thinking the same, because when your lips parted, he was watching you as you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world. “(Y/N)…” he said, between shallow breaths, and you had rocked your hips in response, half lidded eyes enjoying the way his closed in pleasure.

And when his hips began to roll, pumping himself in and out of you, he was the only thing you could think of. He was all around you, his flushed skin, sweat beads rolling down his toned bodies and mixing with yours as they fell down, ragged breaths brushing your neck as he panted.

He was in front of you, over you, all around you, and the only thing that fell from your lips was his name, over and over again, in whimpers and moans and pleas. You were already getting close, and your hands tugged his hair when he hit your sweet spot in a particularly rough thrust, pleasure seeping to every fiber of your body.

There was nothing but you and him in the entire world that mattered.

“I’m close” you moaned breathlessly, “I am-”

“Say you are mine” he demanded, as he pushed you harder against the wall, and he bit your shoulders to avoid moaning out loud. “Say it” he said through clenched teeth as he thrusted into you with more force.

“I am yours” you cried, and his lips were once again on yours, hips thrusting erratically against you, and when he rammed against your sweet spot once more, you came undone

around him, screaming his name as your shaking legs ushered him closer. He followed suit not much longer, and held a deep thrust as he spilled his seed in you, biting down your neck to muffle his own breathy moans.

You stayed silent, and slowly the world around you was coming back to life again. You heard the loud music blasting outside the redoubt, the cheering of the soldiers, the crackling of the fire of the hearth. He was looking at you in such a way that was making you bashful, and he smiled at you when you turned your gaze away, unable to hold his.

He had help you dress again, and his fingers took their time to trace every curve of your flushed skin, and he made sure he went twice over each scar. His lips often found yours, as they kissed you slowly, tongues playing instead of clashing against each other.

There was no words that night.The aftermath was as intimate as it was silent, but when he held your body against his, you knew there were many things he felt and could not say. And you were not going to push him to, you decided, as you parted with a small kiss and a tired smile. You still had tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day after the war was over.

You had all the time in the world.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Muddy water was seeping through your coat, and its cold fingers crawled and tingled as they spread through your clothes. A shudder had you drawing in a shaky breath, curses unheard as chaos raged around you, gunshot wound oozing thick, red blood from your left side, just above your second rib. Your legs were completely unresponsive, and you watched helplessly as horses and boots flew over your head as they made their way to the enemy.

For a while you were able to hear everything, the screams, the orders, the pleas, backed by the fast paced music of the marching drums and war trumpets. Now you were almost deaf, a humming sound standing between you and complete, utter silence, and you wondered if this was even worse than the maddening screams. You tried to move, but your fingers barely twitched, fingers frozen stiff.

You moved your head to the side, the sickening itchiness of mudwater against your face becoming too much to bare. Your feet and legs and hands were freezing, yet your wound was hot, blood pouring all over your vest with every movement, muscle and flesh stretching painfully as you drew careful, short breaths. You tried bending over, tried assesing your wound, but you ended up clawing the mud around you as you squirmed, hot white pain spreading to every part of your body. You cursed, breathing ragged, face crunched as you suppressed a sob, a wail, a scream.

You were not going to cry. You did not want to cry.

But each passing second the idea of staying strong dissolved in a fussy mess of pain and tiredness. Your eyes were closed now, unable to keep them open any longer, and you were left alone with the smell of horseshit and sweat and death, and the unpleasant taste of gunpowder and blood.

Death was not the glorious thing they always portrayed.

You were feeling sleepy, and although you had manage to open your eyes just a bit, you wondered if the sight of a cloudy sky was worth the trouble of keeping them open. You were not scared, you realized. You were not scared of dying, you were not scared of leaving this world. You had known happiness. You had known friendship. You had known love.

The last thing that crossed your mind was Gilbert’s face. You smiled.

And then you shot down.

When you woke up, cold and dizzy, the first thing you noticed were his warm, brown eyes watching you, silent tears running down his face. He was holding one of your hands in his, pressing it tightly against his lips, and you were suddenly reminded of your time at the infirmary all those years ago. His eyes were filled with such agony that you would have thought that you had lost the war.

The celebrations outside confirmed you had not.

You wanted to say something, everything, but your dry throat and drowsy state did not allow it. When you tried to, he shook his head, and put one of his warm hands against your cheek, his soft thumb falling limply against your lips. He smiled, faintly, as you automatically kissed the digit.

There were not much words to be said. You were dying.

It did not surprise you, not in the slightest. You knew you were going to die as soon as you fell down your horse, the force of a bayonete’s bullet throwing you hard against the battle-ridden soil. And until now, you had not minded death.

But now, as he took your hand and placed it against his shaking lips, you knew you had made a mistake. Not one thousand wounds like your own could compare to the soul shattering pain you were feeling right now, as he broke down, unable to keep his composure anymore. He was speaking in rapid french, and although at first it has seemed a bunch of unintelligible words, you were now noticing a pattern.

“Je suis désolé” he said, over and over and over, as he wailed. There were so many emotions flooding him: the self hatred in his voice, the pain in his heart, the grief in his eyes. And you realized something you had not seen before: he was blaming himself for your demise. And he always have had. Since the day you arrived at camp he had been blaming himself for anything bad that happened to you. That was the weird glint in his eyes. It was not hate, or love, or anger.

It was guilt.

And when you finally understood, you sobbed and you cried and you clung to him, because there was nothing you could do in whatever time you had left to ease his mind. There was not a joke, not a word, not a smile that would ever bring ease to him, not when he felt that he had pulled the trigger on you himself, the day he had ushered you to join.

So you pulled him onto you until he is laying his head on your lap, and you both sobbed, and hurt, and grieved together, until all your tears were spent. Then, you stayed silent, wanting the best, and expecting the worst.

“Je t’aime” he whispered, so faintly you are not sure you heard him right. You opened your dazed eyes, and tried to focus them on him. You were barely aware of your own body, but you knew he was holding your hand. “I love you and I let you die” he mumbled, and when tears threatened to fall from his eyes, he pressed your hands against his lips and willed the tears back, his hand clenching yours painfully.

You don’t complain. Not now, and never about him.

You wanted to say so many things that your thoughts were clustering in your brain. You wanted to return his feelings, you wanted to reassure him and you wanted to embrace him until your warmth and your love reached him.

Instead, you tug weakly at his hand, and his eyes are instantly on yours. He looked uncertain, maybe even terrified, and you realized he thought his confession had been unheard. You tugged his hand, again and again until he understood, until he is lying besides you, and when he is, he immediately hugged you against his body, legs intertwining with yours, and arms sneaking around your body until you are not certain which part is yours and which is his anymore. There were not rules of propriety, nor of decency that could keep you apart tonight.

And as you closed your eyes, satisfied and comfortable, you realized that there were not another place in the world you would rather be than in his arms, and no other place you would have chosen to die but by his side. You finally felt at home.

“I love you too” you finally answered

This time, he stayed with you way past sunrise.

You did not.

You father had seen the approaching horse when dawn broke, its pace slow, as it carefully treaded the ground, covered in the first snows of the season. It’s rider swayed from side to side with it, deep blue and gold shining in the distance.

But when the rider stopped in front of your house, you father did not see you, your small frame coming down the horse. Instead stood by him a tall, dark-skinned men he had seen many years ago.

“Monsieur (Y/L/N)” Gilbert said as he removed the hat from his head, pressing it against his own chest.

He had a promise to keep.

And that’s it! I hope you enjoyed it. I apologize for the rushed ending, and the bad writing and the grammar and so on. English is not my first language and I suck at finding synonyms and better ways to express myself.

About what I said in the author’s note: If you read it as a lady, I had in mind that there were probably passing up as soldiers, specially poor ones like farmers and town merchants. If it bothers you too much, then I apologize. I will do better in the future.

#alexander hamilton #marquis de lafayette #lafayette x reader #george washington #a monster i created #im sorry #this is really bad #dont say i did not warn you #i tried publishing it to the right blog for the fifth time now #i'm an idiot

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blandestnoodle · 7 years

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Title: Casualties and sorrows. Fandom: Hamilton Pairings: Lafayette x Reader Rating: M for blood, alcohol mention, some curses and smut. Rated U, for unreadable, because extremly slow burn. Word count: 16421 (around 35 pages on drive) Tagged: @serkewen12 I am sorry for tagging you, but considering it is a birthday gift... Era: 1700s. Author’s note: Reader has not a specified gender. As such, this can be read as any gender. Have in mind that some of them will bring out historical innacuracies. More on this at the end of the fic.

You saw him for the first time as he talked with fellow soldiers, when the battalion he was part of settled camp near your parent's farm. He conducted himself with resolution, but even then his bouncy steps gave him an air of informality you were immediately drawn to. He was excitedly talking about something, hands flailing around him as he explained it to the others, a thick, foreign accent masking his words. He seemed as young as you, maybe one or two years older, but his jovial ways could be deceiving you. He was immaculate, dressed in the continental army’s trenchcoat, blue and gold highlighting his features, hair neatly kept on a fluffy bun. You, on the other hand, were scrappy and disheveled, clothes mended so much they were beginning to tear, and your demeanor was so forgettable you could barely hope to be noticed when addressing someone directly.

Yet he looked at you.

Not only that, but he SMILED at you, soft-looking lips stretching in a gracious gesture. His friend was the one talking rapidly now, rambling about something you couldn't catch, but his eyes were on you, gentle smile turning playful when he saw you looking at him dumbfoundedly. You quickly turned your gaze away, cheeks burning as your shame consumed you, picking at the hem of your shirt nervously, and you were so distracted belittling yourself in your mind that you did not notice his approach.

"It is lovely to have new recruits each passing day"

"I am no recruit, sir. I am here helping my father sell whatever we can, Sir" you said, eyes glancing at your father as he bargained with the man in charge of the camp's finances. But the man in front of you paid no mind to him, tongue clicking before he laughed. You had never heard someone laugh so beautifully before.

"And I am no sir, farmer" he answered, and you would have been offended by the title if it wasn't said in a joking manner, his playful banter making you feel more at ease. "It is a shame you are not joining our efforts" he added, now looking at your father with little interest in his eyes. "We need all the help we can get. You are not on the british side, are you?" he asked bluntly, the jest hiding a serious question. You watched him carefuly, but as hard as you tried, you saw no malice in his eyes, and probably there wasn't any in his question either.

"We are on the hungry side" you answered, "and hunger does not take sides".

"Well-" he started, and you cowered a little bit, hoping his retaliation would not be too hard, "it isn't every day I have the chance of meeting someone as intelligent as you. May I have the honor of knowing your name?"

"(L/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" you answered, stretching his hand carefully, and you were surprised his were incredibly soft. "It is I the one honored to meet you, sir...?"

"Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette" he said simply, and you were now painfully aware of your common origins, your humble clothes and your dirty face. "There are not many people such as yourself," he said, hand firmly holding yours, "It is a shame even fewer than that decide to join our ranks".

"People like me?"

"Quick witted, smart and humble" he stated, matter-of-factly.

Your cheeks reddened. "I am flattered, sir, but we have just met. I am sure that, time given, you would be able to find in me as many faults as you could find in any other commoner such as myself" you said, undeterred by his kindness.

"Then I would be gladly find those faults of yours, if you were to join our ranks and spend time around here"

"I hope you are not bothering this poor man, (Y/N)" you father said, and you got out of your trance, shaking your head. He had approached you both, bringing both your horses by the reigns.

"Not at all, sir. We were having pleasant conversation, not much more" Lafayette said, saving you from having to answer yourself. Your father watched him wearily, as he was no older than you and his accent thickened his words, but he finally nodded. He was never a man of many words.

"Well, we need to get going now. Sun is setting soon and we have to be back home before that happens"

"Understandable. I wish you have a safe journey then"

You smiled at him shyly before mounting your horse, following your father's trail. You couldn't help but glance behind, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he was watching you as you left, smile still plastered in his homely face.

For the first time, you were noticed.

The second time you saw him was when you were enlisting. Since your encounter, a month ago, you had not stopped thinking about this Gilbert du Motier and his cause. It was also true that the crops and cattle of your family's farm were not looking up this year, and in your family there were now more mouths to be fed than bread on the table. The decision didn't come hard to you, being the eldest, and one rainy summer morning you took your best horse and, after brief farewells, rode until the encampment.

You arrived well entered the afternoon, wet and hungry and muddy, but they were welcoming of any new faces that wanted to serve for the Continental army. You gave your horse away, and hugged yourself, waiting for your orders and clothes to be given to you. You scanned the place with your eyes, noticing that now a few wood cabins replaced the tents you've seen a month ago. The place was bigger too, taking a bit of farmland, and busier, with people coming and going everywhere.

You were a little bit disappointed that you hadn't encounter him when you arrived, but you had expected that to be the case: a campsite this big, with so many soldiers and recruits wanting to join was rumbling with activity, and any person (even him) could be lost in this sea of people.

You were assigned a tent near the edge of the campsite, along a few of the new recruits, and you lost yourself in mundane talk about the weather, family and farming. You were so absorbed in your own thoughts you had not noticed a small troop entering the campsite, a few soldiers marching behind a rider in a white horse. You didn't even noticed the rider issuing the troop to march ahead as he approached you until you almost crashed against it.

"Beware!" the rider said, and your eyes shot up immediately, recognizing his voice. He tried to calm his mare, as it shook its neck in nervousness "You should watch where you are going, (L/N)" he laughed "this one has a foul character. I would not get on her bad side" he said, dismounting and giving someone the reigns of his horse. He patted himself clean, stretching his uniform a little bit. You opened your mouth to answer him, but he spoke before you could say anything.

"I notice the uniform you carry under your arm. Have you finally decided to join us, (L/N)?"

"I have".

"I hope that you did not feel the need to do so because I insisted on it".

"Not at all" It wasn't entirely true, but you didn't have the heart of telling him otherwise, "My family needed fewer mouths to feed".

"Not at all?" he repeated, arching a brow while looking at you, a curious but playful question as he ignored the second part of your statement. You laughed a little bit, a bit ashamed of how easily he saw through your lie. "I am completely distraught! I thought I was far more convincing than I actually am, then"

You should have expected him to actually be happy about convincing someone to join.

"Well, maybe you managed to stir me to action, sir" you admitted, and he smiled, satisfied with that answer. He walked with you until you arrived at the tent you were assigned to, enjoying the quiet chirping of birds and whinnies of the soldier's horses.

"I am assigned to a cabin near the center of the campsite" he pointed at it until you spotted it, standing tall in the distance. "I would be glad to be of some help, whatever you may need"

"You are too kind, sir, but I wish not to be treated differently from anyone around here"

He seemed surprised at first, but then he smiled warmly at you. "I expected no less from you, farmer" he jested again, and you felt yourself smiling at the complicity of a shared in-joke. He nodded his head to salute you, and then made his way down the camp, shaking hands with soldiers and recruits alike.

It wasn't until dinner that you realized he had remembered your last name, and your meaningless conversation. You heart did a flip and your stomach filled with butterflies, and you almost dropped your small ration, realization hitting you hard.

If anyone had payed attention to you, they would have noticed your bright, red cheeks and the discrete, but genuine smile that adorned your face.

"Thank you" he said as they let him rest, nurses buzzing with exitment about having a french man (and nobleman, no less) in their bay. Lafayette seemed radiant for a wounded man, and he paid no mind to the fumbling around him. You had hoped to encounter him more frequently during your stay in the camp, but war did not allow you to have much more contact than a few, discrete nods in each other's direction as you both hurried from place to place, following orders.

"We meet again, Lafayette, sir".

"To be honest, (Y/L/N),” he said, voice cracking with laughter, “after all the time it took you to talk to me since I arrived, I expected something else"

You were completely ashamed, and your face must have shown so (mouth ajar, red cheeks and mortified eyes) because he broke into another fit of laughter, so hard and lively the nurses had to ask him to lower his voice. He shook his head, a hand resting over his hurting stomach, "I am sorry, friend, but are bearing the funniest of faces".

"You could have said something first, then" was the first thing you said, and then cringed at how demanding and disrespectful it sounded, so you quickly added, "sir." But he just chuckled, taking it lightly, as he always seemed to do. You were not used to banter, but with a person like Gilbert it was relaxing, and it made you feel more self confident.

"You have me there. But I guess that, in the end, I had no smart introduction in mind either" he admitted, looking a bit ashamed himself, and you knew he was probably lying, just a way to make you feel better. You smiled back, and it was a silent, intimate moment until realization hit him, and his face turned serious all of a sudden. "Why were you sent in here? Have you been wounded in battle?"

"No, sir. I've been suffering from a recurring fever that refuses to leave, even in these warm days. But the head nurse says I will be up again in no time" you answered, and he seemed to relax at that. "You, on the other hand, seem gravely wounded. May I ask what happened?"

"'Gravely wounded' is giving this minute thing too much importance, my friend. It seems I angered lady luck somehow, and she had me punished for my indolence. It is barely a flesh wound though, and I expect to be on the battlefield again soon enough"

"You should take your time to rest, or you could get sick from it"

Lafayette sighed dramatically. "Now you are speaking just like Washington. And the soldiers. And the nurses. I expected more of you, (YL//N)"

This time you just laughed, certainly knowing it to be a joke. "I am sorry I am bringing disappointment to you, 'my dear friend'-" you mimicked him, "but I am much more concerned about your well being than about your concept of me".

Lafayette laughed, and then stayed silent for a few seconds before answering, "I am certainly flattered to hear you say so. Back in France, you had to truly care for someone for you to sacrifice their good concept of you, even if it was for the sake of that someone's well being".

Before you could even think of it, you spat "Then it must be a horrible place to live"

"It is, if you do not care for pretensions and hypocrisy" he said, tone dead as he shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"And you did not, my friend," he smiled again, though it was half heartedly, "but for all the hate I have for its traditions and customs, I do miss my country the most. I left a lot I cared for behind when I came here"

"You will see your homeland again, I am sure" you tried to console the man, but he barely nodded, eyes seeming distant. You wanted to say something, anything to fix what you have said, but you knew best, and remained silent.

Sometimes there are things one cannot fix with words.

"I hope you are not peeking what I write" he said, without even giving you a sideways glance. "I would be ashamed if my secrets were spilled so carelessly. You seem like a person that enjoys gossiping"

You clicked your tongue, feigning insult at his words. "I am most certainly not. And even if I did want your secrets to be spilled, I would have to find other means to do so, since I am not able to read”.

Lafayette turned to watch you immediately, eyes wide in outright horror. "You are not able to read?" you shook your head before resting it against your pillow. "And what about writing?" you shook your head again. "How come you have never learnt to do such things?"

"Not all of us are born lucky enough to learn. As a farmer, you do not need to write fancy letters in nice strokes" you said, moving your hand in the air as if you were writing with an imaginary quill. "You need to plow the fields, ride a horse, and take care of the animals. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But what about your family? I am sure they must be waiting to hear from you"

"And they will, if something were to happen to me. Until then, I guess that no news means good news"

"What if I taught you?" you heard his voice, and although you were already drowsy, you opened your eyes at that. He was putting away his letters, his writing tools already discarded on his bedside table.

"I-" you paused, unsure, " I do not know why would you want to do such thing. There is no need for that. I am a commoner and-"

"And you deserve to be able to read and write like any other. The question was not if you deserve it or not, the question was if you were willing to learn" he said, and there was an edge of authority to his voice that made you think twice before answering.

"What would you want in return, sir?" you asked, carefully, and he scoffed, this time really offended. You did not know if it was because of the formal way of addressing him, or because you thought he wanted something in return.

"I want nothing in return!" he spat. So it was the latter.

He took the time to calm himself before continuing, "I just want you to learn. You may not need this particular ability as of now, but it may turn useful in the future. And there is much delight on using your leisure time to read a good book" he added, and you were moved by his kindness towards you. Granted, you were not strangers anymore, but considering his high birth and your low one, you would never had expected him to willingly teach you.

"I-" you started, but you stopped in the middle of your sentence, completely speechless. "I would be delighted" you finally mustered, and his response was a content, satisfied smile before he blew his nightstand’s candle away.

You didn't know it was going to be this hard. A task that seemed so mundane to him was actually a headache to you, the many shapes of the letters and the words they formed were already making you dizzy. You struggled with particularly long words, and you were shy of reading out loud to him (even when he insisted on it), afraid he will laugh at your lack of talent.

His wound was making great progress too. It was the fourth week since he arrived, and although a small fever had taken over him, he was now looking strong. His wound was practically healed now, and he enjoyed short afternoon walks around the ward's perimeter. You had joined him, once or twice, but you were warned against it after a persisting cough had taken over you.

"You seem distressed lately" you stated.

He glanced at you, smiling shortly before looking through the window again. "I am, my friend. I do not enjoy being idle while there is a war to be fought and won out there".

"But you are not idle," you were quick to answer, "you are healing. You need to be healthy before you get out there again" he glanced at you, lips pressed together into a tight line. He seemed restless, and you knew that the fact that he could not even go for a walk was getting on his nerves. "You are going to be ready in no time, Lafayette. There is no use in losing your mind over it."

You felt you needed to do something about it. Anything to make the man smile again; it was all you could do after all he had done to you.

"I was always curious about France." you blurted out. Lafayette looked at you, confused, and you cleared your throat to regain composure. "I want to know about the parts of it you did like after all” you said, and his face lit up at the request. As much as he hated his country's ways, he was excited to share the stories he had lived there, the people he had met and his favourite places to be. He had already shared about his infamous escape as he made his way to America (and to this day, you weren't sure if he was joking or not when he said he dressed as a woman to do so), and the entire ward had exploded in laughter when they heard him tell the story of his dance with Marie Antoinette.

"What would you like to know in particular?" he asked, excitedly, and you melted when you saw him smile again, truthfully this time around.

"What about food? Is it really different from the food we have here?"

"Oh, mon innocent ami, you have not the slightest idea of how different it is" he said, and he sounded almost pained. "I miss the cakes the most, the rich strawberry cream and the fresh baked bread of the bakeries." he said longingly, and you wondered if he missed France’s food more than he missed its people.

There was nothing you would not do to hear the man laugh.

It made you feel at ease, and had you been able to gather enough strength for it, you would have thanked him properly.

"Lafayette?" you whispered one night, and you saw something shift on the armchair. It was late at night (you knew because you could not hear the usual rustling of the kitchen workers, a floor below), and you did not expect him to be there.

“Yes, my dear?” he said, placing his book on a tiny table besides his armchair before walking up to your bed.

“You aren’t sleeping” you stated.

“No, I am not. I do believe I am awake, talking to you” he said, and although it meant to be a joke, it was delivered humorlessly.

If Lafayette minded, he did nothing to show it.

“I know. I meant it is late, and you are not sleeping”

“It seems sleep has decided to elude me tonight. But please, do not worry about me, I am sure I’ll be able to get plenty of rest soon enough.”

He sadly smiled. “You will be able to read soon, my dear. Have patience”

Lafayette seemed to sense your discomfort, because he promptly closed his book, crossing the room in two long strides. “(Y/L/N)? How are you feeling?”

Lafayette’s horror stricken face seemed to confirm it.

“Is there anything else you would like?. Water, or some food? I’ll have a nurse-” he stuttered anxiously.

“Lafayette-”

“-bring you some hot soup from the kitchens if you need to eat. And i could tell them to summon-”

“Lafayette, I-”

“-a doctor so he can check you up. You cannot give up now, my dear, just tell me what you need and I’ll-”

“Gilbert!” you exclaimed, aggravated.

"May I ask you to do me a favour?" it was hard for you to speak, and you were glad he was so silent, because most of it came out as a whisper. Lafayette came closer to you, uncertain, and he gulped when you looked him so directly in the eye.

"Whatever you need, my dear. I am here for you"

"If I were not to survive this-" you started.

"But you will survive this!" Lafayette exclaimed, distraught at how easily you seemed to be accepting your demise. "This is barely a fever. When the rains are over, you will recover in no time, (Y/N)"

"I know. But listen to me. If I were not to survive this" you said, and you paused,expecting his interruption. This time, there was none. "Could you go to my family?" you coughed. "Not write. They do not know how to read either" you said, and you shifted until you found a somewhat comfortable position. Your hair was sticking to your sweaty forehead uncomfortably, but you could not gather the energy to move it away. "It doesn't have to be as soon as it happens. Just-" you sighed tiredly, "would you let them know?"

"Of course I would, my dear" he said, taking one of your hand on both of his, "Of course I would"

And then maybe, just maybe, you would have understood.

As happy was you were about being able to be back in your room, you were quick to notice that you were not the only one that was healthy.

Lafayette's wound was already healed. He could perfectly walk, and there was no longer a risk of infection, although it had left an ugly-looking scar behind. He seemed happy about it, yet he seemed to be stalling his departure time and time again, even if weather have been good for days on end.

"I'll be riding soon. It could be as soon as tomorrow after lunch" he said after a while, without glancing in your direction. You felt a pang of pain in your heart, but dismissed it, focusing on him instead. You knew how much he wanted to return to the battlefield, and you were glad he was finally able to do so. You even wondered why he hadn't done so sooner, all things considered.

"Those are great news!" you smiled, but your lips trembled, your smile tight and insincere."Where are you going to be stationed now?" you asked, trying to ignore your heartache, and the tight knot that was rapidly forming in your throat. You had enjoyed his company, and were now too attached to it. The thought of being alone once again hurt you more than you thought.

"I am going to be leading a division down in New Jersey" he said, and you knew he was trying to keep his excitement at bay. You did not understand why. He stepped right in front of you, stopping you on your tracks.

"I have to be honest with you, my friend. I waited two months for this day, and now that it finally came, I can't help but feel nothing but disquiet."

You frowned at him, extremely confused. "Why?"

"It is I now the one that has to ask for a favour, my dear"

His term of endearment did not go unnoticed. "You know you can ask anything of me, Gilbert - I owe you a great deal"

He nodded and he felt silent again, and for a second you thought he wasn't going to ask anything of you after all. But then he glanced at you, eyes deep with emotion, and he seemed to finally have made his mind up.

"I may need to make a confession first" he said, tone grave, and your mind raced with every little thing that he may have kept hidden from you. Nothing came to mind. "It was not a selfless act of mine teaching you how to read and write. I knew this day would come, and I could not bare leaving knowing I would not receive word from my dearest friend. So I selfishly imposed on you my desire, and now I impose myself on you once more" he said, and there was a hint of desperation in the way he spoke, as if he was afraid of the answer you would give him. "I would like to be updated on your condition, and by your own hand, if you may"

"You are asking me to write you letters?" you asked in disbelief, not because you weren't completely thrilled by the idea, but because you had not hoped he would want to keep in contact with you.

"Only if you would have it” he said, quickly, misinterpreting your question for unpleasantness. “I would not like you to feel forced to do it"

He seemed surprised when, instead of rejecting him, you grinned at him. "It would be my pleasure” you admitted, but were quick to add, “on the condition you try and answer them, from time to time. I know you will be busy, but I would like to hear from you, too" you said, and he was practically beaming, a weight clearly lifting from his chest. Even then, he tried to keep his composure on check, but the bright eyes and dusty pink cheeks gave him away entirely.

"Thank you, my dear" he said, holding one of your hands on his, a habit he had taken up during your sick days. "I would not have had the heart of leaving you behind like this otherwise".

You tightened your grip on his hand, and gave the only response you could think of: the most sincere, grateful smile you had.

For that, you were grateful.

You were to join Washington's forces down in Valley Forge, and you promptly told Lafayette about the good news. You had expected to meet him there, but he was sent on an expedition to Canada by the time you arrived. You were disappointed, but you have decided to put your head and body to work, having to make up for the time you lost being sick.

When you arrived, you were completely shaken by what you saw.

Why Lafayette had not told you about this, you had no idea.

“Does it say something interesting?”

Your face lit up at his voice, and you abandoned the pamphlet as soon as he spoke, a wide smile adorning your face. He seemed delighted too, although very much tired.

He scoffed. “You should, my friend” he said sarcastically, “although you have me confused. Should I use soldier or farmer?”

“For as long as General Washington deems it necessary” he answered. “Rest assured I won’t leave without at least having you read me your favourite passage from Phillis Wheatley”

“I did not know you for a man that liked poetry, General Lafayette” you said playfully, your fingers gracing the soft skin of his hand.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, dear. Many things”

Two weeks later, he approached you, face serious. “What happened? Favourite ale is over?” you jested, but when he did not respond, you started to worry. “Gilbert, is something the matter?”

“I am to leave camp soon. We need to asses Barren Hill before we decide on any course of action”

“When are you to march?”

“Tomorrow morning, midday at most” he said, mouth tight.

You stayed silent for a while, before smiling “Do you want me to?”

“I do not think your decision should be based on what I desire, my friend”

“I do. I would like you to.”

“Then we better rest, my dear Gilbert” you said, and for once you were the one to take one of his hands on yours, “we have a long journey ahead of us”.

The british attack was a complete failure.

You blushed so hard you had to look elsewhere, afraid he would be displeased with your reaction. If he saw it, he mentioned it not.

It was maddening.

“Please…”

The red coat gave him away.

You eyed him, eyelids heavy with tiredness and thirst. You could barely held yourself up, much less hold the weight of another man.

His lips were as blistered and dry as yours.

You lowered the skin bag. He did not plead anymore, instead choosing to watch you carefully. He flinched when you approached, but his eyes widened when you offered him the skin bag.

“Drink” you said, but your throat was still sore, so it barely came as a whisper.

Small fires in the distance. Flame light dancing over french and american flags alike. You had made it back.

You were so close. Just a few more steps.

But you did not care. You had failed.

There is so much tragedy one can take on a day, and you have had your fill.

If Lafayette had heard about your return, he showed not a sign of it.

Instead, you were greeted by the warm brown eyes of major general Lafayette, dressed in blue, and gold, and white, and for a second you were confused, believing you were dreaming.

“I am sorry, sir” you answered when prompted, “I had not expected to see you around here”

“Is this a fellow soldier, (Y/N)?” your father asked after you two fell silent, and although you gave your father a compromising look, Lafayette’s eyes stayed on you, boring you down.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir” Gilbert said. “But I do admit I am on a rush. Would you be so kind to give me leave to talk with (Y/N) alone?”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and you looked at him confused.

“I’m fine, thank-”

“Then walk with me, (L/N)” he said coldly, and started to walk. The use of your last name did not go unnoticed.

“You left the army” he said, matter-of-factly.

You feigned looking over his shoulder. “I don’t see you leading a battalion either, General, sir” you said, and his mouth flattened, as if he had tasted something sour.

“So what is your reason for leaving, the army then?”

“They gave me leave. I was sent home to rest” you answered, but his face told you he was not satisfied with that. You were getting tired of his attitude towards you. “I almost died out there”

“By helping a wounded soldier” You said, and he seemed to back down at that, so you pushed further, “by helping a person”.

“He was the enemy (Y/L/N)!” he said, exasperated.

“You could have been called a traitor!” he said, and his voice was stiff, like it required him all his strength not to lash out on you. “You could have died!”

“You do not understand” he stepped back, hands falling limply at his side “You never seem to” he added, and he seemed almost disappointed.

“General, I-”

He was here, and he hated you and he was going back to France, and you would never see him again, and the only thing you could do, your final goodbye, was berating him even more.

You didn’t return to your house until well into the evening

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And fighting.

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And being bolder in battle.

In your eyes, you were disposable. They were not.

So you fought, and marched, and killed, and slept.

It was a miracle you were still alive after that, with barely a scratch to the shoulder.

“Sir?” you prompted impatiently.

“You must know by now that rumors do not escape me, soldier. I know what you did on the battlefield”

You frowned. “I did what I was asked to do, sir. Brigadier Wayne did order us to lead a bayonet charge” you explained, even if he had not requested you too.

“And you are the first to jump into it?” he asked, without looking at you. The grip of his hands on his back tightened.

“You do like risking your own life, (Y/L/N)”. He laughed, while shaking his head. You could tell he was trying to contain his anger.

“I enjoy fighting for my country, sir. Nothing more.” you answered sourly. You knew he was not trying to flatter you when he said that.

“As I was ordered to!” you spat.

“Why?! I have not once disobeyed orders!”

“Soldiers die on the battlefield every day!”

“That does not mean you have to push it, (Y/L/N)! That does not mean you have to risk your life. Do you wish to be just another number in a war report, another grave in the middle of nowhere?!”

“Maybe if I die,” you started, shakily, “someone else gets to live through the day. Someone else gets to see their family again” you were clenching your jaw by now, “Someone else-”

“And what about you, (Y/N)?” he interrupted, and his voice was not longer angry. Instead, it was pleading, voice full with emotion, “What about your life, your future?”

You only cared about him.

“Then what about me?” he whispered. Tears were running down your cheeks, no longer restrained, but he carefully wiped them away with his thumb, “What I am going to do if you die?”

You understood now. What he was trying to say years ago.

And you did not feel alone anymore.

“How much longer now?” you asked lazily, snuggling against his chest.

You wished for nights where you could stay with him until sunrise.

You smiled softly. It was your everyday promise, your everyday prayer. You got into your tiptoes and kissed him on the lips lightly, his hands ghosting over your waist as you did.

“We will”

Soon your bodies crashed against each other, mouths hungrily pressing together in a sloppy kiss. Your tongues met, and you teeth had clumsily clashed against each other, but none of you cared.

As per response, you pecked him lightly on the lips.

“Gilbert, I-”

He was even more beautiful than you could have thought.

When your lips met again, he finished undressing you, and he effortlessly lifted you from the ground, and when your naked sex met his hard, clothed one you had both moaned into the cold night.

You could happily died listening to his moans and grunts.

You wished you never had to let go.

He seemed to be thinking the same, because when your lips parted, he was watching you as you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world. “(Y/N)...” he said, between shallow breaths, and you had rocked your hips in response, half lidded eyes enjoying the way his closed in pleasure.

There was nothing but you and him in the entire world that mattered.

“I’m close” you moaned breathlessly, “I am-”

“I am yours” you cried, and his lips were once again on yours, hips thrusting erratically against you, and when he rammed against your sweet spot once more, you came undone

You had all the time in the world.

It wasn't meant to be.

You were not going to cry. You did not want to cry.

Death was not the glorious thing they always portrayed.

The last thing that crossed your mind was Gilbert’s face. You smiled.

And then you shot down.

The celebrations outside confirmed you had not.

There were not much words to be said. You were dying.

It did not surprise you, not in the slightest. You knew you were going to die as soon as you fell down your horse, the force of a bayonete's bullet throwing you hard against the battle-ridden soil. And until now, you had not minded death.

It was guilt.

"Je t’aime" he whispered, so faintly you are not sure you heard him right. You opened your dazed eyes, and tried to focus them on him. You were barely aware of your own body, but you knew he was holding your hand. “I love you and I let you die” he mumbled, and when tears threatened to fall from his eyes, he pressed your hands against his lips and willed the tears back, his hand clenching yours painfully.

You don’t complain. Not now, and never about him.

“I love you too” you finally answered

This time, he stayed with you way past sunrise.

You did not.

But when the rider stopped in front of your house, you father did not see you, your small frame coming down the horse. Instead stood by him a tall, dark-skinned men he had seen many years ago.

“Monsieur (Y/L/N)” Gilbert said as he removed the hat from his head, pressing it against his own chest.

He had a promise to keep.

#hamilton #marquis de lafayette #gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #alexander hamilton #george washington #lafayette x reader #i hope i don't destroy your eyes with these monster

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