Work Text:
September 1774
"Ah, dear Scarlett, beautiful as ever." Governor Wright presses a kiss to one of her gloved hands as Scarlett smiles politely. "This shade of silver contrasts marvelously with your hair." [x]
"Governor, I thought we might discuss the Continental Congress?"
Wright frowns. "Scarlett, I thought we had put this treasonous nonsense behind us?"
The string of pearls around her throat suddenly feels constricting.
Her brothers are at that meeting.
Wright seems to realize flat out saying treason was a misstep, and uses the band beginning to play as an excuse to change the subject. "Enough of that. May I have this dance, Scarlett?"
Scarlett nods, a quick, jerky unladylike motion.
After dancing a few steps of the minuet, skirts swirling around her feet, she asks about the Continental Congress again.
"Would it be so wrong to just hear them out?"
Wright scowls at her. "Hear who out? Patrick Henry, who wants to separate from Great Britain, our mother country? Or John Jay and his ilk, wanting to pressure Parliament when they have done nothing wrong? Or the delegates from Massachusetts, who believe that throwing three hundred and forty-two chests of tea into the harbor is a proper way to express one's displeasure?"
Scarlett's steps falter at the anger in his voice. "Governer-"
"Enough, Scarlett. Politics are no place for a young lady such as yourself."
She blinks, too shocked to protest as he leaves.
April 1775
Revolution is the air, and Wright pets her delicate strawberry-blonde curls like one pets an agitated puppy.
He dismisses the idea of sending delegates to the assembly and her opinion in the same haughty tone.
"Oh, dear Scarlett, revolution is a contagion, and you cannot be blamed for contracting it."
July 1775
Georgia always understands more than they think she does.
Here are the facts of life: she is a colony, and she needs protection. England provides this protection, and she can not afford to lose it with the Indians threatening her people.
Her brothers may not understand, but they have long since accepted that she always has reasons for the things she does.
Georgia can remember the day she formed, how every thump of her heart- Savannah- seemed to say protect defend protect defend.
She remembers the day she met her brothers, how they hadn't blinked twice at her, hadn't even thought about how much harder it was to keep three heads above water instead of just two, all because she was family.
And now they are moving on without her.
Her siblings are fighting, waging a war they have no chance of winning.
They are taking England's protection and throwing it back in his face in the name of independence.
And she can not afford to do the same.
(Every day, she feels less British and more American. More drawn to Philadelphia, towards her family. Less loyalist, more revolutionary.)
It's clear what needs to be done.
(She will not be a coward.)
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The meeting room of the Provincial Congress is sweltering, and Scarlett has to admit that she doesn't miss the thick, heavy weight of her skirts.
She touches her newly cut hair again. She's still not used to the lightness, to it barely brushing her shoulders.
One way or another, she will be going to Philadelphia, she decides.
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"Scarlett, you cannot possibly entertain this idea of revolution. The people do not want-"
Scarlett grins as she faces her Governor. She's done with polite ladylike smiles.
"I am the people." She says, every syllable tanging with the accent of the people.
Wright takes a step away from her, away from the immortal wisdom in her eyes, and she pushes past him.
She has a delegation to meet.
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Her brothers sit up straight as her delegation enters the room, eyes scanning over them. Looking for her.
Scarlett takes the seat next to them, and all three southern colonies smile because they're together.
December 1777
Scarlett has never been so angry.
She doesn't care that Prussia is an empire, she's going to break every bone in his body for what he'd said to America while they were sparring.
("So, what, did you suck so much that you had to ask a bunch of kids to help you?")
She will never forget the horror on America's face.
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"What do you fight for?"
Prussia stops to look at the little redhead, her shoulder-length hair pulled back into a bun with a ribbon.
"For my-"
"Don't say myself, or my territories, or money. That isn't what I'm asking. I'm asking if you fight for love or loyalty? Do you fight for your king because you love him? Do you fight for him out of a sense of loyalty?"
Prussia was silent.
"Love or loyalty, Prussia?" Scarlett stepped closer. "Because we fight for both- we fight because we love America, and we fight because we are loyal to him."
Prussia still remembered that despite her size, she was deceptively strong.
It felt like a threat when she stepped into his personal space- "Don't you ever, ever insult us by thinking that we fight because America asks us to."
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It's a rare occurrence that Prussia is uncertain of something.
Yet, as he examines the lightly-curved cavalry sword, he wonders if he has made the correct decision.
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Prussia hands her a sheathed sword, hilt first, and Scarlett stares at him in confusion.
He curls her fingers around the grip, adjusting her hand so that the knuckle-guard alines with her freckled knuckles.
"The cavalry sword is the most destructive and almost only necessary weapon a dragoon carries."
"I'm not a dragoon."
"Perhaps not. But you could be. I've been training you, and I've seen your talent for horseback riding. Do you know what they say about the military?"
She shook her head.
"Cavalry takes, infantry holds and artillery clears."
"I don't even know how to use a sword."
Prussia grins. "Easy. Hit them with the sharp side."