Chapter Text
"That missive from him lay upon the verge of my bureau, untouched and still inviolate in its seal." A week had elapsed since General Washington received that unsigned dispatch; yet, despite the lack of signature, the cursed postmark betrayed its origin from none other than his adversary, George William Frederick III, the King of Great Britain. Washington paced his pavilion, tormented by the indecision that had plagued him these seven days. He approached the desk, contemplating his course; for while a man of reason might have broken the seal with haste, Washington possessed a most peculiar history with the Monarch. It was by no means a matter of romance—heaven forbid! Such a thought is most loathsome, for both are gentlemen—yet he knew well to expect the unpredictable, for the King’s temper shifts as swiftly as a finger’s snap. Scarcely had Washington resolved his purpose and reached for the fine vellum, when his aide-de-camp, a most loquacious youth, flung wide the tent flaps. Startled, Washington withdrew his hand, casting an exasperated glance upon the lad. "Your Excellency," the youth began, pacing with great agitation, "I am of the conviction that the Briti—" Washington raised his hand to command silence from the restless youth, proclaiming, "Hamilton." The General uttered the lad's name with such vigor and resolve that it didst instantly command his attention, "Pray, cease this, my son; I am much occupied at this present hour." Washington put his hands behind his back and straightened his posture to show authority.Hamilton gave a heavy sigh, for the lad's vexation was most evident; he turned with haste, his lustroudark tresses swaying in his wake, and departed the pavilion with much reluctance. "At last," Washington mused, returning his gaze to the ivory missive resting upon his fine oaken escritoire. He drew forth his chair from its neat recess and seated himself close. Retrieving his spectacles from the leftward drawer, he settled them upon his visage, adjusting them with a finger as he took up the parchment. He traced the texture of the paper with utmost care before breaking the waxen seal; having extracted the letter, he set the sheath aside. With the delicacy afforded to fragile crystal, he unfolded the creased pages, heaving a profound sigh ere he commenced his reading, "Most Esteemed Georgie,"...."Have I not, on manifold occasions, commanded him not to address me by such a name?!" thus Washington mused, being most uncommonly discomposed. He resumed his perusal,
"I am sensible that my very being may provoke your utmost loathing; yet, I pray, might you grant me a measure of clemency and favor me with your presence? Upon my honor, I shall greet you without arms or malice, desiring naught but the discourse of our former days. I entreat you to weigh my petition, for I shall await your reply with great anxiety. Should silence be my only recompense, I shall pine away in desolation, certain that our many months of correspondence held no value in your heart.
I remain, in expectation of your word, King George III."
"Pray, what? What is this? What manner of madness! That His Majesty should summon him amidst such conflict?! Has the King lost his wits? They are engaged in open warfare! Wherefore should he venture into the very lands of his adversary?!" Washington was struck with profound bewilderment; had His Majesty succumbed to madness? For what purpose would he seek to restore their former concord? In what realm could such a course possibly bear fruit? Washington let forth a heavy sigh, depositing the missive upon his bureau and removing his spectacles; he reclined within his chair, momentarily closing his eyes. He held a profound affection for their former intimacy—not a romantic dalliance, Heaven forbid!—for he reasoned, "tis destined to fail, neither then, nor now, nor ever." He then sat upright, folding his glasses with care to stow them within his drawer, and handled the parchment as though it were fragile crystal, returning it to its cream envelope. Having restored the letter to its place, he approached the tent's threshold; observing the late hour, he felt no appetite for sustenance. Thus, he resolved to ponder upon the King's command to journey unto Britain over rest.