Lams, Royal Legacies

Chapter 19

Trigger warning: the f word. And no, not duck with an f, the other one that we must stab and burn with the power of rainbows.

Also, Francis can read, John just needed to roast him for a second.
John
"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear John, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you." Francis gasped and smiled evilly. He continued. "I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent..."

He looked over to a flustered, defeated, shocked, scared, frightened, astonished John Laurens, aka me. He was definitely not done. I know Alex writes more than that.

I was in love with Alex's writing, with him, more and more. But I am scared. Oh, I'm so scared. Then, Francis took the words right out of my mouth.

"Well, wouldn't it be too bad if Henry Laurens' disappointment of a son would end up being a faggot would it?" Francis sneered. "I got proof right here," he declared, my face falling as he waved the half-read letter up in the air. "I mean, this guy probably doesn't even love you 'cause like, why would anyone love you for who you are? I ain't gonna sugar coat it but here's a hint: no one. It's not like it matters much. You're a fag and I got proof."

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. And shout. I'm done. I'm done for. I'm dead. He might be right, maybe he doesn't love me. Maybe one kiss and he realized that he never did? Maybe he accidentally sent the letter and- AHHHHH. I can't help going in a spiral of thoughts heading down down down.

If Francis outs me, this will hurt. Why can't I just stop the pain? Why me? Why is it every time, me? Can't it stop? Can it please stop. It hurts too much.

All of a sudden, I stiffen. "Francis." My voice darkens. My face darkens. I darken. Shades of black and grey. My fists tighten. I see a flash of shock flash across his face. Good. "Give it."

He hesitates. "No. I don't think so. I think I'll keep it," he says smugly. Just a bit of his facade slips away.

I look up at him, shoving the pure rage, anger, pain, and madness in my eyes. I'm. Fucking. Done. "Francis I have killed so many fucking redcoats with my hands and a gun maybe. I've even shot one of our own. I will not hesitate to threaten your life."

He chuckled nervously. "You can't do that you lowly bastard. Also, I'll have you know that you just admitted you're a goddamned patriot," he spat.

I pulled a key off my pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk. From there, I pulled out a pistol. Alex gave me a few pointers about safety one day. Alex... oh Alex. If only you knew what you've been dragged into by existing with me. All the lies. All the pain you have yet to see.

I aimed the gun at Francis. His face turned white. Whiter than his normally pale skin.

"J-John what the fuck?"

I am desperate. Tired. Hurt. Threatened. Done. My life flashes by, even though I'm the one holding the gun. All the nights of Francis and I, him pushing me and prodding me and me going along happily, not censing the pain, thinking someone could actually love me. What a fool I was.

Tears run down my face as my voice breaks, "Give it. I'm done. Give it." It was simple. He never wanted love. He wanted money. He wanted our palace, our kingdom. All the times I found him rifling through my desk, creeping around the castle, hooking up with me. And now this. He'd get a lot of praise from outing me. It was sick. I was done.

"J-John don't do this."

"NO!" I screamed, half sobbing. "GIVE IT AND GET. OUT!" My hand holding the gun shook, but it was still aimed in the right place. His chest, as if he had a heart.

He slowly set the letter down on my bed and carefully walked out of the room. The last thing he whispered was "faggot," as I slammed the doors in his face.

I broke down. My head with the gun, resting on the door, my feet falling below me, I cried. I cried for loving him, I cried for how he was. I cried for my pain. I cried for Alex. My head started to hurt and I lowered my sobs to a sniffle as I trudged over to my bed to pick up the letter, tucking the gun back into its hiding place.

'Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me.

Now, as of recent business affairs, if we shall call them, as I wonder and hope for your successes in your recent works, of convincing SC to let you assume position of leading a battalion of non-privileged African-Americans, I also wish the best of you going forward and letting your numerous essays on many equalities be put forth to the towns, and to the whole of the union perhaps. For something that has been worked on for numerous amounts time and efforts, it could not be put in my head simply on how the people might react for the worse side of things when all a man shall ask for is a simple pleasure.

I could go on about the difficulties of what they call, 'simple pleasures' in life but I shall pardon you of that unless you wish to hear, and instead tell you about the simple pleasures I wish to instill upon you, if you were by my side in this brilliant of afternoons, for simple pleasure could mean a many of things in this world, some of which include ideas(soon to be ideals) for this nation, or simply a man such as myself indulging in particular activities on how to pleasure you, shall you be at my side. ;)'

There was a ripped out section of the paper.

On the back it said,

'My(adopted) mother had found this letter I was going to have delivered to you and thought it best not to send the next part, probably because of how... 'sensual' it was apparently? I don't know. That's what she said.

Yours forever, Alexander'

The heat rushed to my cheeks and a weird feeling churned in my stomach andbutso I chuckled at his antics, still wiping away dry tears.

I sighed as I read it over and over again, momentarily forgetting the world, sniffing every so often, sighing as it slipped away, and falling in love with the words over and over again. Falling in love with him over and over again.

I sighed. I needed a hug. Maybe even a kiss on the cheek. I didn't care how long I would be gone from the palace, my mental health can't take this anymore.

I changed into my city clothes and slipped out the window.

~~~
So the first paragraph of the letter is 100% real and what Alexander Hamilton actually did write to John Laurens in real life. The later paragraphs are purely fictional, though it has been heard that Alexander's son, John Hamilton, did burn some of the letters for being too... 'sensual.'