Chapter 1: A Shadow in the Snow
The camp was very silent at this time of night. Alexander Hamilton knew this better than most of the other aides. He was sitting in a small chair, bent over at his desk, working of course. Neither the desk nor the chair was very impressive, but you had to make do with what you had during times of war. There wasn't any right to complain, being soldiers and all.
Alexander was using the night's silence to get ahead of his work. Despite what some would say, General Washington had a lot more work than one would expect. The young aide often had to pull more hours than any of the other aids just to get enough done to where he wasn't flooded the next day.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face, now wasn't the time to lament of his workload. He shook his head and focused on the stack of letters in front of him. Congress was very adamant about Washington attacking as soon as possible, regardless of how the men were faring. Alexander glanced outside and inwardly groaned at the sight of the rapidly falling snow. The weather in Valley Forge was what he felt Hell would be like if it suddenly froze over. Nothing but the silent, unrelenting and immoral cold. He pulled his thin jacket closer around himself and wondered how some people could ever like the cold.
He took his quill and dipped it into an open inkpot only to find it frozen. He sighed for maybe the tenth time that night and stood up from his seat. He'd have to get boiling water to defrost the ink. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be up, however unlikely that was. He knew there wouldn't be any water, especially at this hour, so he picked up a metal bucket and headed for the door. He would usually have to take someone with him; getting caught in a sudden storm alone was a death sentence, but he knew for certain no one would be up, so he stepped outside alone.
It was absolutely freezing outside, as he knew it would be. Alexander pulled his jacket as close as possible while silently cursing himself for not acquiring a thicker one by now. He made sure as to light the lantern next to the door, to help him find his way back before he left. He felt the wind whip up around him as he hurried to the well. The weather was bad enough as it was, but if the wind picked up too much he could get turned around and then Washington would be down an aide. He rushed past battered tents and tired guards; whom he gave quiet nods to as he went by. The late-night guards weren't surprised to see him at this point, he often needed to get more water for his inkpot in the dead of night.
The well was a good distance from the rest of the camp and in the freezing cold, he took a while to get there. As soon as he arrived the storm decided that this exact moment was perfect for getting worse. He didn't know how long it took him to get the water, but the lack of feeling in his hands told him he needed to get inside soon. He held the bucket as still as he could manage and started to make his way back to the camp.
It took five minutes for the storm to get worse. It took ten before Alexander realized that he hadn't reached the outer camp when he definitely should have by now. It took five more minutes for him to acknowledge that he was completely screwed if he didn't find his way soon. He could feel the wind tempting him to give up. To curl into a ball and wait for death. However, anyone who had ever met the young man would tell you he was the most stubborn bastard that they'd ever meet. At least, that's what he'd think they'd say. And so, he trudged on, the wind and snow beating against his body.
He wasn't sure how long he walked, but it felt like an eternity. He, as much as he would like to deny it, was starting to tire and slow down. If he didn't find his way soon... He shook his head and trudged on, he wouldn't give up that easily.
What happened next was mostly a blur to Alexander. He was on the verge of collapsing when he heard what he thought was someone running towards him. He could barely make out a figure to his right. A shudder of relief washed through him as his legs gave out. Before he could fall face first into the snow, a pair of strong, thick arms caught him. It was difficult to see the figure even though they were inches apart, but Alexander saw somethings that raised alarms. The figure, a man several inches taller than himself clothed almost completely in white. From his trousers to, strangely enough, a hooded cape. The man's full face couldn't be seen through a cloth mask, leaving the strangers black eyes as the only facial features he could see. However tired he was, Alexander was certain he hadn't seen this man before. His clothes weren't those of any soldiers or messengers that came through camp daily. They were also expertly tailored and well made enough to make even Hercules Mulligan jealous. Whoever this man was, he wasn't a part of the Continental army. That left only one explanation.
Alexander Hamilton was in the hold of a spy.
He used the last of his strength to try to get away from the man but to no avail. The spy was a good six inches taller than himself and probably ten pounds heavier. Alexander also had almost no energy left. This man had every advantage over him. He was smart, he'd give the spy that much.
The spy in question tightly gripped Alexander's shoulder and swept him off his feet, carrying him bridal style and pinning his arms down. After making sure his captive couldn't get away, he started walking. The young soldier blinked at the sudden warmth of another person. He felt tempted to stop resisting and suck up any heat. He shook the thought away and tried to squirm away. However, the supposed spy had him trapped between his arms and his torso. He cursed under his breath and glanced at something he only noticed now. A black symbol stood out proudly on the left side of his white cape. He'd never seen the mark before and that wasn't a good sign.
Alexander growled up at his captor, "... Who the hell are you?"
His voice hadn't come out as loud or as forceful as he'd like. The man didn't even look at him, let alone respond. Alexander would have yelled at him if he wasn't freezing to death, so he settled for cursing him I'm his mind while viciously glaring at him. He continued this train of thought until something entered his peripheral vision. Light. He turned his head and was somewhat shocked to see they were approaching his quarters. His captor opened the door and brought them inside. Alexander sighed happily at the warmth of the building, before he realized what this meant. This man saved Alexander so he could be shown where vital documents are without raising any alarms. He was not about to let that happen. He cleared his throat as best be could, preparing to scream, when the man in white shocked him again. He set Alexander down in front of the nearest fireplace, lit it and covered him with a thick blanket. Alexander wasn't sure what to think about the man who may or may not have been a spy as sleep drew him in. He tried to stay awake, he truly did, but the earlier events had made sleep come unusually easy for the boy. The last thing he saw was the man in white smiling ever so softly at him. He would have questioned it if sleep hadn't claimed him.