ocular misc cuts 3 (apple bits)
Jan. 26th, 2016 01:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticitytakes place after ch14, after the bit with washingdad saying "i'm not saying you did this, but .... one of your crew did this."
Lafayette was speaking with one of his man when Tilghman appeared at his shoulder.
“Major General, sir, the general seeks your attention immediately,” the man said, into his ear.
Lafayette turned from his conversation and nodded. “Tell him I will be there in just a moment, si vous plait.”
Tilghman nodded, and took off at a jog. Lafayette turned back to the man he had been speaking to, wrapped up the conversation, and hurried across camp. He secretly hoped that Washington would have news about Hamilton, who had been struck with what appeared to be the most vicious fever ever to not kill a man. Although, to consider a man as passionate, energetic, and intense as Hamilton dying to a fever struck Lafayette as perhaps illegal by the cosmos. The man would die by a bullet or bayonet at some point. He was not the type to be struck by something he could not compete against like a sickness. Lafayette had frequently told himself this over the course of Hamilton’s illness, and he found that it did make him feel a little better.
The man was improving, but he had already suffered one awful setback, which had prompted the Marquis into some must-not-be-named action. And now, with the help of Lafayette’s roguish streak, he looked better than ever, although such a thing was dreadfully relative to the sad state of their army.
In truth, Hamilton looked abysmal. Never a large man to begin with, the fever had struck the remaining muscle from his bones, and his uniform was hanging off him, not to even begin to consider the gaunt look his face had taken and the desperate paleness of a man in winter. But he looked better than he had, when he had shook in the grip of a fever that would have crushed any other man. A fever that would have crushed man that did not have someone watching over him like a wife.
Lafayette secretly hoped that Washington had decided to hold Hamilton back from their upcoming battle, but he knew in his heart he would send the aide to fight. And if he did not, Hamilton would run off to the fight anyway. At least if Washington ordered him, he would be able to place the man somewhere relatively out of danger.
But he could not shake the thought of Hamilton passing out mid-battle, and then some redcoat, skewering moaning corpses, came across him --
He forcefully shook the thought from his mind. He cleared his throat and waved to Washington’s guards, stepping inside the step and studying it. Benjamin Walker was furiously scribbling in the corner, and Washington was sitting in his chair, studying his map.
“Bonjour, moni ami,” Lafayette said to Washington, saluting and dropping himself into his usual chair.
“Walker, leave us,” the general said. “I will send for you when I am ready. Take that with you. Tell the guards no one is to be admitted under any circumstances.”
A frown flitted across Lafayette’s face. Walker would be privy to information about Hamilton - he was a well-liked fellow in the army, and especially in their military family. There was little Walker was not privy to, for he spoke French, and even a little bit of German --
--unless--
---if Hamilton had become ill again, had he said---
He schooled his features to something neutral.
Walker frowned at him, then at Washington, but he picked up his letter and left with a bow.
Washington turned back to him. Lafayette had long since become immune to the general’s eternal sternness, to his well-hidden emotions. He knew the man who lurked under the wall that must be placed one when was responsible for a task of such monstrous proportions. He could not explain the grand amount of affection he felt for that man, who seemed to grow in his heart as if he were to have a second father.
With a deliberate slowness that upset his soldier’s intuition, Washington began to move the various strategy pieces on the map to the side. Lafayette forced himself not to frown and concentrated away from the dark feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach, studying the older man as he moved with an unfamiliar kind of pace. It was not that the general was routinely in a hurry, but rather his way suddenly seemed like a lurking lion in the grass.
Lafayette tried not to feel like prey.
When Washington had cleared off remaining pieces, he reached slowly into his pocket, and procured something that he hid in his fist.
He placed his hand in the center of the table and revealed the object.
It was a well-eaten apple core.
No.
That sick idiot.
He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks. He forced the panic down into his stomach. He shoved the nausea to the side, as if this thing was nothing worse than the rot and vomit of a battlefield. He pretended the suffocating silence did not seem like hands reaching for his throat.
Lafayette forced himself to meet Washington’s eyes. He could read the man better than most, and he could see the sharp line of anger in that face.
“I beg of you,” the general said, and Lafayette could hear the rage there, like the freshly-sharpened edge of a sabre, “to provide for me an alternate reality in which it does not appear one of my most valuable officers is stealing food from one of my other generals. Tell me the investigation you promised has revealed a man less aware of the severe consequences of something so petty. Tell me this was done by some pitiful militiaman who is steps from death and no longer fears the whip. Do not let me think that this act of which a man could suffer so terribly from was committed by one of my top officers, and a wealthy aristocrat of high birth, and one who so grandly represents and fights for our cause in more ways than I can say.”
Lafayette bowed his head and said nothing. He would not lie. He knew the consequences of the action he had committed when he had done so.
He could not permit Hamilton to die.
He could feel the overpowering intensity of Washington’s eyes on him. He sturdied himself to meet that gaze and found he could not.
“Major General,” Washington started again, and this time the rage audibly shook in his voice, like a storm howling against glass, “You have viewed General Lee these past few nights. When we find this monster, he says, he will be put to the lash until his blood cannot be wiped from the snow. When he can no longer stand, he shall be hanged. And it is marvelous, is it not, that the Marquis de Lafayette himself, has been looking for this criminal, so that an example can be made of him.”
There was a silence that felt like poison.
“I apologize,” Lafayette managed, finally, and forced himself to finally make eye contact with Washington. The man’s fury seemed to overpower him, almost as if it was some cousin to Hamilton’s fever. He had seen Washington angry before, of course, but it had never been directly so intently and so personally on him.
He did not think Washington had ever been so angry before, either.
He would prefer to stand before a thousand British men than this.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Washington hissed, his eyes narrowing, his fury seeming to intensify. His hand wrapped around the apple core and squeezed, and juice appeared between his shaking fingers and ran down his hand. “Tell me why I should not turn you into General Lee for this unimaginable disrespect. Of all the men in this army, you know more than any that it is only discipline that holds this pathetic force together. And yet you have so terribly violated all that we hold dear. You have held yourself above the rule of law.”
“I understand the consequence of my actions. “ he said, even as the fear gnawed at him like vermin. “I know I have wronged. I only wish to have my crime be understood for what it is.”
“I would expect more of you than to make excuses to me as if I am some schoolmarm to be avoided, Major General,” Washington growled.
“I make no excuses, sir, and nor would I.” Lafayette replied, and the accusation gave him a little anger. This he could use. This he could power himself with. “Only that what I serve above all else is the cause of liberty and freedom, and what I do, I do to forward that cause, and to bring to us a swift and decisive victory. Men are needed for that victory and they cannot be lost.”
“I have always admired your zeal for this fight. But to attempt to convince me that your aspirations for higher ideals justify your petty theft from a general is folly. If you have let yourself believe that this action is correct, then you have blinded yourself in your high-mindedness. And while I understand your reasoning and trust your judgement above many, and understand the concerns that lurk your heart, to fathom that you have considered this action and decided it acceptable - especially for a man of your status and rank - makes me doubt you as a member of my command.”
(anyway, they make up after this. or at least, make up enough. but washingdad is le mad.)
Lafayette was speaking with one of his man when Tilghman appeared at his shoulder.
“Major General, sir, the general seeks your attention immediately,” the man said, into his ear.
Lafayette turned from his conversation and nodded. “Tell him I will be there in just a moment, si vous plait.”
Tilghman nodded, and took off at a jog. Lafayette turned back to the man he had been speaking to, wrapped up the conversation, and hurried across camp. He secretly hoped that Washington would have news about Hamilton, who had been struck with what appeared to be the most vicious fever ever to not kill a man. Although, to consider a man as passionate, energetic, and intense as Hamilton dying to a fever struck Lafayette as perhaps illegal by the cosmos. The man would die by a bullet or bayonet at some point. He was not the type to be struck by something he could not compete against like a sickness. Lafayette had frequently told himself this over the course of Hamilton’s illness, and he found that it did make him feel a little better.
The man was improving, but he had already suffered one awful setback, which had prompted the Marquis into some must-not-be-named action. And now, with the help of Lafayette’s roguish streak, he looked better than ever, although such a thing was dreadfully relative to the sad state of their army.
In truth, Hamilton looked abysmal. Never a large man to begin with, the fever had struck the remaining muscle from his bones, and his uniform was hanging off him, not to even begin to consider the gaunt look his face had taken and the desperate paleness of a man in winter. But he looked better than he had, when he had shook in the grip of a fever that would have crushed any other man. A fever that would have crushed man that did not have someone watching over him like a wife.
Lafayette secretly hoped that Washington had decided to hold Hamilton back from their upcoming battle, but he knew in his heart he would send the aide to fight. And if he did not, Hamilton would run off to the fight anyway. At least if Washington ordered him, he would be able to place the man somewhere relatively out of danger.
But he could not shake the thought of Hamilton passing out mid-battle, and then some redcoat, skewering moaning corpses, came across him --
He forcefully shook the thought from his mind. He cleared his throat and waved to Washington’s guards, stepping inside the step and studying it. Benjamin Walker was furiously scribbling in the corner, and Washington was sitting in his chair, studying his map.
“Bonjour, moni ami,” Lafayette said to Washington, saluting and dropping himself into his usual chair.
“Walker, leave us,” the general said. “I will send for you when I am ready. Take that with you. Tell the guards no one is to be admitted under any circumstances.”
A frown flitted across Lafayette’s face. Walker would be privy to information about Hamilton - he was a well-liked fellow in the army, and especially in their military family. There was little Walker was not privy to, for he spoke French, and even a little bit of German --
--unless--
---if Hamilton had become ill again, had he said---
He schooled his features to something neutral.
Walker frowned at him, then at Washington, but he picked up his letter and left with a bow.
Washington turned back to him. Lafayette had long since become immune to the general’s eternal sternness, to his well-hidden emotions. He knew the man who lurked under the wall that must be placed one when was responsible for a task of such monstrous proportions. He could not explain the grand amount of affection he felt for that man, who seemed to grow in his heart as if he were to have a second father.
With a deliberate slowness that upset his soldier’s intuition, Washington began to move the various strategy pieces on the map to the side. Lafayette forced himself not to frown and concentrated away from the dark feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach, studying the older man as he moved with an unfamiliar kind of pace. It was not that the general was routinely in a hurry, but rather his way suddenly seemed like a lurking lion in the grass.
Lafayette tried not to feel like prey.
When Washington had cleared off remaining pieces, he reached slowly into his pocket, and procured something that he hid in his fist.
He placed his hand in the center of the table and revealed the object.
It was a well-eaten apple core.
No.
That sick idiot.
He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks. He forced the panic down into his stomach. He shoved the nausea to the side, as if this thing was nothing worse than the rot and vomit of a battlefield. He pretended the suffocating silence did not seem like hands reaching for his throat.
Lafayette forced himself to meet Washington’s eyes. He could read the man better than most, and he could see the sharp line of anger in that face.
“I beg of you,” the general said, and Lafayette could hear the rage there, like the freshly-sharpened edge of a sabre, “to provide for me an alternate reality in which it does not appear one of my most valuable officers is stealing food from one of my other generals. Tell me the investigation you promised has revealed a man less aware of the severe consequences of something so petty. Tell me this was done by some pitiful militiaman who is steps from death and no longer fears the whip. Do not let me think that this act of which a man could suffer so terribly from was committed by one of my top officers, and a wealthy aristocrat of high birth, and one who so grandly represents and fights for our cause in more ways than I can say.”
Lafayette bowed his head and said nothing. He would not lie. He knew the consequences of the action he had committed when he had done so.
He could not permit Hamilton to die.
He could feel the overpowering intensity of Washington’s eyes on him. He sturdied himself to meet that gaze and found he could not.
“Major General,” Washington started again, and this time the rage audibly shook in his voice, like a storm howling against glass, “You have viewed General Lee these past few nights. When we find this monster, he says, he will be put to the lash until his blood cannot be wiped from the snow. When he can no longer stand, he shall be hanged. And it is marvelous, is it not, that the Marquis de Lafayette himself, has been looking for this criminal, so that an example can be made of him.”
There was a silence that felt like poison.
“I apologize,” Lafayette managed, finally, and forced himself to finally make eye contact with Washington. The man’s fury seemed to overpower him, almost as if it was some cousin to Hamilton’s fever. He had seen Washington angry before, of course, but it had never been directly so intently and so personally on him.
He did not think Washington had ever been so angry before, either.
He would prefer to stand before a thousand British men than this.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Washington hissed, his eyes narrowing, his fury seeming to intensify. His hand wrapped around the apple core and squeezed, and juice appeared between his shaking fingers and ran down his hand. “Tell me why I should not turn you into General Lee for this unimaginable disrespect. Of all the men in this army, you know more than any that it is only discipline that holds this pathetic force together. And yet you have so terribly violated all that we hold dear. You have held yourself above the rule of law.”
“I understand the consequence of my actions. “ he said, even as the fear gnawed at him like vermin. “I know I have wronged. I only wish to have my crime be understood for what it is.”
“I would expect more of you than to make excuses to me as if I am some schoolmarm to be avoided, Major General,” Washington growled.
“I make no excuses, sir, and nor would I.” Lafayette replied, and the accusation gave him a little anger. This he could use. This he could power himself with. “Only that what I serve above all else is the cause of liberty and freedom, and what I do, I do to forward that cause, and to bring to us a swift and decisive victory. Men are needed for that victory and they cannot be lost.”
“I have always admired your zeal for this fight. But to attempt to convince me that your aspirations for higher ideals justify your petty theft from a general is folly. If you have let yourself believe that this action is correct, then you have blinded yourself in your high-mindedness. And while I understand your reasoning and trust your judgement above many, and understand the concerns that lurk your heart, to fathom that you have considered this action and decided it acceptable - especially for a man of your status and rank - makes me doubt you as a member of my command.”
(anyway, they make up after this. or at least, make up enough. but washingdad is le mad.)