Chapter Text
Newly elected General; George Washington sat at his desk, frustrated with a pen in hand. It was late. He seemed to be writing something as a knock emerged from outside his office door. He jumped in his seat from surprise, but quickly collected himself. Clearing his throat he murmurs; “Who is it?”
There was no hesitation in the person's answer “It's Alexander, sir.”
Alexander Hamilton, a young, skilled, smart and determined writer. Washington admired his expertise and his ideals. George Washington frantically started shoving his previous project into random drawers, and any evidence that he was writing. He shakingly told Alexander Hamilton to proceed as he was gently folding the last paper. As Hamilton opens the door and approaches, Washington loses his grip on the paper and drops it. Before he could pick it up himself, Hamilton had already made his way to the General's desk picking up the paper from the floor.
“You dropped this si-” Before Hamilton could finish, Washington Aggressively tore the paper from Hamilton's grasp. A shocked gasp escaped Hamilton's lips, as this sort of aggression from Washington isn't common.
“Ah, excuse my defenses,” He started after a long pause he began again; “It's just– A private letter to Thomas Jefferson. To discuss the extent of the Declaration of Independence.” Hamilton was puzzled, what's so private about that? But he didn't question the General's mind.
“I see.” Hamilton whispered.
“Ahem, what brought you here, Hamilton? It's late, shouldn't you be home with your wife?”
“Oh-! Yes, sorry sir. I couldn't sleep, I had this idea sir. I had to get it off my chest.”
“Go on.” Hamilton started to discuss the idea of punishments against Loyalists. He claimed the Loyalists were a threat to the revolutionary cause and their ties to Great Britain was an almost guaranteed mistake Washington looked almost frantic at the mention of Great Britain. The conversation didn't last long and soon later he dismissed Alexander.
Washington waited for a while after Hamilton's exit. He felt dishonest for telling his friend he was sending a letter to Thomas Jefferson. In reality, he was truly writing one to the King. The enemy of most of America. He unfolded the sacred letter. Getting ready to sign.
To His Majesty, King George iii
From the desk of General George Washington
Somewhere in the rebellious colonies,
This cursed year, 1776.
Your Majesty,
Permit me the indecency of honesty.
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I’ve had countless restless nights due to our last exchange of flirtatious letters. It plays over in my mind like a drumbeat before battle constant, maddening, and far too intimate for enemies.
We are at war. I have crossed the Delaware, I’ve tasted the winter’s bitterness and the blood of men I have ordered to die. I write with shaking hands. Not from fear, but from the treason my heart commits each time it whispers your name into the night.
You, George, were always more than my sovereign. You were my fixed star, my compass in storms. Even now, with your face painted on banners meant to burn, I remember your letters, your cold wit, your golden crown and how I wished only to place myself at your feet, not as a servant, but as a man in love.
But you never looked my way except to command, and I, dutiful fool, obeyed until the weight of your rule grew heavier than the chains on my heart.
What irony, that I rebel against the only man I ever longed to obey. We are two kings now. One crowned by birth, the other by blood and revolution. Yet I would throw down every musket, silence every cannon, if it meant a single touch from you, a single night where politics did not poison our passion.
But I know better. You will read this with fury or laughter. Or perhaps never at all. I will go down in history as your enemy. But know this:
I loved you.
More than country. More than freedom.
And that is the cruelest revolution of all.
Yours in battle,
Yours in secret,
George Washington
…
Placing the letter into a thick, white envelope, he felt a heartache unlike any he had ever known. It clawed at his chest. Not from duty, nor fear of war, but from the raw truth behind his inked words. He knew this was wrong. Fraternizing with the enemy was betrayal enough, but this, this was something deeper. Intimate. Treasonous in ways the Continental Congress could never imagine.
Perhaps he had misunderstood the King's letters. Perhaps they weren’t amorous at all just laced with that biting British charm, the kind that stung but never truly wounded. And yet, he had felt something there. A flicker of warmth beneath the powdered formality. A thread of sincerity, hidden beneath the crown. The King made him feel a kind of love he had never known quiet, impossible, unshakable. He couldn’t define it, couldn’t name it. But it pulsed in him like a drumline before battle. Whatever this was, it was real to him. And so the letter his confession, his surrender had to reach its destination. Carefully, he sealed the envelope with wax, pressing into it with a trembling hand. For a moment, he hesitated, the candlelight catching the edge of his uniform, casting long shadows across the room. Then, with resolve forged in silence, he summoned a trusted courier no questions, no explanations.
“See that this reaches London,” he said, voice low. “Directly. And without delay.”
As the courier disappeared into the cold night, Washington stood alone at the window, watching the silhouette vanish into darkness. A piece of him rode away with that letter unguarded, un-uniformed, and finally, honest.
He had fought a thousand battles. But this?
This was the first he didn’t want to win.