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George never believed in fairytales when he was younger.
Despite the stories told to sleepy children in the soft glow of candlelight, or their boundless imaginations that grew creatures and monsters from the wilderness- he never believed in them. Not even when he seldom saw faint ripples upon the shores of the Potomac, tricks of the light in the fading sun on the glasslike waves, washing up brightly coloured stones whenever George would walk along its edges. He just didn't believe in fairytales then.
Now he's not so sure.
It must of been his tired mind; from days of constant planning and rethinking and rerouting and wondering if this cause was really something he was suitable for with each and every retreat. Yet that doesn't stop his mind wondering what he really saw in the river, while boats silently pushed though the thickening ice and men spoke in hushed whispers and clutched tightly to their muskets. What had shimmered almost effervescent in the dark Delaware only for a moment, but caught his eye nonetheless. Dredged up the ignored tales of creatures that swam deeper than any human had seen, as well as the black mud when they finally reached the other side. He put the thoughts aside, fiction of a restless mind perhaps, as he George fiddled with the shiny silver locket that had been placed on his seat in the boat when he had returned.
He couldn't believe in fairytales.
Not when he had met one.
He was quite beautiful really, pink lips and soft damp hair, eyes so blue George swore he could see the ocean in them.
Washington had been walking away from camp, for just a moments peace from the noise of war, strolling along the river bank until he came across something glittering on the waters edge. Over the deepest side, just a stretch away, was a fine brooch of ivory and gold floating on the ripples of the water. The local merchants didn't accept anything, except the gold that was washed up on shore by each camp. Perhaps this one would mean some fresh food for the soldiers, or perhaps some much needed blankets to stave off the winter chill. Kneeling, George leant over the bank, until he could see his own reflection in the pitch water beneath and reached out for the brooch. The metal was very cold, and slightly muddy as if it had been dragged up from the riverbed from silt and sand. George held it in one hand while carefully pouring water over it until it shone much brighter in the dusk. It was when he looked up he saw the man in the water beside him. He was up to his nose in the river, bright eyes blinking up at George curiously. He stared as he placed the brooch to one side, seeming almost hurt that the precious item was so quickly forgotten.
"Excuse me, are you alright?"
George hardly knew what to say, the boy seemed so young looking almost half his age, but had not moved an inch since he saw him.
"Surely the water is freezing son, do you need help getting out?"
The young man shook his head, rising further from the water until it lay around his chin, droplets of water made ripples in the still river as they fell from his curled hair. His was fair-skinned, but with rosy cheeks and long distracting eyelashes.
"What is your name?"
George moved back a little from the bank, the man stared at him desperately.
"Lafayette."
It sounded French, but to George it sounded almost ethereal. The young man, no Lafayette now, still stayed in the water as Washington picked up the brooch again and held it out to him.
"Does this belong to you Lafayette?"
"Once sir, now it is yours. It is my gift to you."
Lafayette wrapped his cool fingers around George's, closing his hand until it held the brooch tightly.
"Will I see you again sir?"
Washington rose, brushing off the leaf litter from his breeches before looking down at Lafayette.
"I do not know, I hope to meet you again."
When he looked back again at the riverbank, Lafayette was gone, only faint ripples on the waters surface. That night George turned the brooch in his hand, its gleam no less brilliant in candlelight.
He wouldn't say he believed in fairytales.
Not if he was asked by anyone, not even his own wife. That didn't stop the trinkets of gold washing up on each shore where George sent soldiers to collect them and exchange them for much needed supplies. If anyone asked, he would say that Congress was helping to finance a struggling army like they should be doing. The battles go better after that, less losses and less retreats. More pride when he sees the army march with new uniforms and shining muskets. He also meets with Lafayette frequently, at every secluded river edge he can find there the boy is, grinning up at Washington that makes his heart swell. It's the usual now, George will stroll along the bank while Lafayette stays in the water- still somehow unaffected by its coolness.
One day, when the afternoon sun is gazing upon the skyline like a distant lover, Lafayette shows him.
"Can you dance sir?"
Washington pauses for a moment, reflecting on the various and dreary occasions where couples would twirl to music. Only Martha could get him to move in some semblance to that, her tinkling laugh as he tried to hide stepping on her feet.
"I am able, though I take no real joy in it I'm afraid."
Lafayette looks upset at this, frowning at his reflection before looking back at him.
"Do you think you could teach someone, if they asked?"
"Perhaps, I've never tried to before. Would you like me to Lafayette?"
George tries to act cool, but can't deny how his heart flutters at the young man, how his words flow over him like water over rock until his restraint is eroded into nothing but sand. He feels weathered even now as Lafayette shares a hopeful smile.
"No, I don't think so."
George stops, turning to face Lafayette as the boy stares down again at the water.
"Why not?"
Lafayette smiles half-heartedly, swimming up to the rivers edge until his elbows are propped on the grassy shore. George kneels, looking closer at the young mans face until Lafayette nods back to the water again. And there, shimmering so familiar on its surface, scales of blue and teal leading to a magnificent tail. He holds a breath as the water washes over it, until Lafayette whines ever-so quietly and George remembers how to breathe.
"Because of that- of me, sir."
The boy seems regretful of such a magnificent thing, George frowns and bends down until he is almost level with Lafayette's face. Reaching out to hold his head in his hands.
"I don't think that could stop you Lafayette, you really are beautiful."
For a moment it seems like he oversteps his boundaries, the rushing water finally makes cracks in his facade- but Lafayette smiles and leans into his touch, causing waves of heat to bloom in George's heart.
"Thank you sir."
He used to believe in fairytales.
Now Lafayette was absent, no longer appearing from the water when George walked along the riverbank. The gold kept washing up on waters edge, but it was not the same when Lafayette was not there to deliver any precious necklace or trinket he thought was special straight to George himself. And so the camp kept moving, further away from the water until it was to far to casually stroll to. George still kept the brooch by his bed, pinning it to his jacket to remind him.
It was deep into the night now, almost morning perhaps. The camp was silent aside from the scuffle of hooves from horses and the scratch of Washingtons pen on paper. The candlelight was sufficient, yet still hurt his eyes from hours of sleepless unrest. Another scrawl of his signature down, George stretched out on the chair and yawned. The silence broke again with the sound of soft and slow footsteps. As they neared his tent, George grew more perturbed by the unusual pace of them, almost dragged across the ground with no soldiers march to them. He stood up from the chair, listening keenly as the sound stops outside his tent. He composes himself, straightening his back as George becomes General Washington.
"Enter."
The pause is long before the tent flaps rustle as they're opened. George freezes as a young man with bright eyes emerges from the darkness.
"Your excellency, sir."
Lafayette looks up at him hopefully, wincing as he shuffles from foot to foot like he's in pain. There are no scales, no water droplets on his eyelashes anymore. Just Lafayette in an oversized shirt and bare feet.
George rushes to his side, exterior breaking away completely until his heart is in his eyes. Lafayette still is cold, but allows George to guide him nearer the warmth of the candlelight.
"Sir, can you-" he begins to ask, but Washington cuts him off quickly.
"It's George, please call me that."
Lafayette's smile returns as he nuzzles into his chest, looking up at him hopefully.
"Can you dance George?"
He doesn't believe in fairytales.
Not when Lafayette is curled up next to him, lying warm in his arms and bare legs pressed together under blankets. The sun hasn't risen and George would like to stay in this moment forever, remembering the feeling of his hand on Lafayette's hips as they moved to a song that wasn't there, or the press of their lips as the silent melody faded, the colours of the marks left on Lafayette's neck. And everything that happened afterwards...
Maybe they can stay like this.
Until Lafayette cries out from his slumber, jolting awake as tears flow cold down his cheeks. He wails until George has to clamp a hand over his mouth, to not arouse the nearest guards.
George asks what's wrong, a hundred times over but Lafayette just cries in pain and begs incoherently until George realises. He hurriedly slips on his clothes and boots, gently lifting the young man into his arms. Lafayette nuzzles into his neck, biting back shouts until they are fair enough away for George to mutter soothing words into his ear. His legs still convulse, he says it burns and is like fire he's never touched before. George almost runs until he can see the glimmering surface of the river, shushing Lafayette with promises.
And softly, he lowers him back into the water. From the moment it touches his foot Lafayette is quiet, breathing easier in relief as it soothes away the pain. He is fully submerged when he opens his eye again, staring up at Washington like the day they first met.
"I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
He wishes he didn't believe in fairytales.
Lafayette returns, like he always does, and George waits for him, like he always will. He grows a little bolder since that night, able to leave the water and lay on the grass next to George while the talk. Occasionally he'll lean over and place a kiss on the weary mans forehead, and such a thing doesn't go unreturned.
They win the war. George returns home to his beautiful Mount Vernon and to his beautiful wife. That night he walks along the gardens and riverside until the water splashes and Lafayette smiles up at him triumphantly.
He retires there too, after his days in politics are over. Lafayette takes an interest in such things, but it tires George until he is breathless, and lets Lafayette describes the various depths and wonders of the oceans.
"You should swim with me. I'd like that." Lafayette asks one day, gripping his hands excitedly and splashing water up at George.
"It's not even that cold. I promise you'll like it. I can show you everything I've told you about!"
And so George promises, despite the pain in his joints when he stands up from the riverbank and makes his way back to the house.
One evening, he rides out across the orchards and fields again. It's raining lightly, but nothing that could do him any harm. George ties the horse to a fence post and walks towards the river again, Lafayette almost immediately surfaces as soon as George's reflection is on the water.
"Come with me tonight, I'll show you everything."
George would very much like that, and the waterfall of his restraint is all by a precipice now for which he could just fall over. Lafayette guides him to a stony beach, and George takes a couple steps into the water. It's very cold, almost like ice. Lafayette smiles as it reaches up to his hip, and he can swim alongside George now. It's very dark, almost like ink. He's neck deep, and Lafayette presses a kiss to his lips and pulls him down. It's very quiet, almost like death. And it's very cold, and very dark and very deep and suddenly too much. He thrashes weakly but Lafayette only pulls him tighter into an embrace. And it's very quiet and very cold and very deep.
He washes up onto the bank, the storm in full force drowns out the sounds of the terrified horse as George barely crawls onto its back. He rides back to the stables, but practically collapses outside. And he feels warm now, like someone's holding him, and there's soft light from a fireplace and the sound wooden floor beneath him.
He dreams of Lafayette, and the brilliant underwater. Lafayette smiles and no air escapes from his lungs, just pink lips and rosy cheeks. George is enraptured with him, pulling them close forever.
And it's just them, in the very quiet and the very cold and the very deep.