Hamilton One Shots

The Duel

The sunlight had just barely broken on the morning of the eleventh, when two men and their seconds set out on the river to the nearby dueling ground.

What they were about to do would go down in history, but with a price.

On one boat, Alexander gazed down at the water gliding past him. The waves slipped underneath the slender bottom of the boat, before they completely formed. A breeze of air almost knocked his hat off. Adjusting it again, his body began to tremble as they neared the shores of a whole other state.

Arriving on the shore, Aaron nervously circled beside the boat. In the near distance, he could see another boat looming close to the dueling ground. Only a minute would pass and then they'd be looking at each other with both hatred and passion with their guns in the air.

That minute passed almost too quick. The seconds and the opponents lead themselves up towards the grounds, no one speaking. One of the men carried a leather bag, heaving the guns up the hill. Each man glanced anxiously at it.

Alexander wiped his forehead as he took one of the guns. The weight was unbearable at first, but he swallowed the feeling of possible failure back down his throat and stepped forward.

On the horizon by the shore, the distant city seemed to be barely woken up. His dear wife and children were still at rest, completely unaware he had set off that morning. He hadn't been able to bring himself to wake them up, instead he left a note of the sort.

Aaron eyed his political rival from across the field. Worry had built up inside his heart throughout the past weeks, and he couldn't help but twitch at the thought of what was going to happen. Dueling. Illegal. The words echoed in his mind, but he ignored them.

He thought back to his daughter, who he hadn't let have her opinion on the case. If he was killed, she wouldn't have anyone. Deep in his heart, he knew avoiding death was the most important thing. Hamilton wouldn't try to kill him.

Or would he?

Panic pulsed through his blood as one of the seconds began speaking to the both of them. It was something of how they could start the duel then. Aaron raised his head and met eyes with the man across the field. He blinked a few times, before shifting his attention to something else.

The seconds drifted to either side of the field, after giving the proper instructions. Alexander had surely been listening, but Aaron's mind must have gone blank, going by the expression on his face. Either way, both men stood ahead of one another, each sharing different feelings about the situation.

Silence consumed the air. Neither one of them dared to make a move.

Alexander felt his head spinning. Through his glasses, his vision of the other man was clear, and he could see the terrified, determined look in his eyes.

Tightening his grip on the gun, similar ones his son had used, he straightened his back. His life was about to turn upside down in all the most dreadful ways.

He couldn't remember if someone yelled first, or if he fired into the trees above or behind Aaron, or if he had been second to shoot. With all that aside, there was no mistaking the sudden increasing pain near his hip.

Alexander gasped, vision going blurry, before falling to the ground.

As he fell, the gun from his grip dropped beside his body. Aaron found himself frozen, hands shaking, gun pointed forward. His feet began moving. It all suddenly seemed too much like a nightmare. He just about reached the wounded man, before being pushed the other way.

A scream. The painful noise echoed around the dueling ground. Alexander clenched his eyes shut, hands furiously digging into his jacket, trying to stop the bleeding. Light headed and seized by fear, the man couldn't begin to understand what happened.

Aaron covered his mouth in horror. You murdered him, a little voice murmured. The phrase repeated over and over in his head until he physically had to shut his eyes. Breathing heavily, he tried to think elsewhere.

But it was impossible, with him knowing the consequences of murder and what damage he had caused. All he could do was pray for the best and for both himself and his fatefully wounded opponent.

. . . . . . . . . .
A/N: Couldn't let this day pass by without writing one about the duel! So here's a little something for you guys, because it's the 212th anniversary of the duel! Still deciding if I'll write something for his actual death tomorrow.