Just so you know, this is really really really REALLY historically inaccurate. Lafayette didn't actually come to America until after the war had started in December of 1776. But I thought it would be fun to see what it wouldn't been like if he had been at First Continental Congress (Sept. 1774) and had met Washington before the war...eheh. DISCLAIMER: Assassin's Creed III©Ubisoft. I do not own Assassin's Creed or Ubisoft's sassy/fierce characters, nor any portion of America's history.
Warning: Language, my bad attempt at typing a French accent, and (unfortunately) no steamy homoerotic relations, yet.
Lafayette had never detested a creation of God's green earth with more of a raging hate than he did now. With every swat, the imbecile kept slinking back, almost begging for more. The fly. He glared at its bizzing-buzzing wings with unsurpassed malice, watching with contempt as it floated loftily in the stuffy room. It drifted a few feet away, its buzzing cut short for a moment as it landed on top of a powdered wig. It seemed to mock the him, almost giggling as it rubbed its forelegs together in a Satanic fashion. Lafayette crossed his legs, prying his eyes away from the foul abomination to the front of the room, where a sweaty-faced man in a too-tight vest was preaching on the pros of a Grand Council or something.
They had been there for weeks. "They" referring to under-caffeinated insurrectionists who couldn't seem to agree on a subject if Moses had personally chiseled it onto the Ten Commandments itself. Lafayette uncrossed his legs. He glanced back at the fly, and felt a jolt of panic as he found the wig thoroughly flyless. That son ov a bitch will 'ave to try 'arder to get away from me. Lafayette narrowed his brows, preparing for battle. He scanning the room, completely oblivious to the stare of his neighbor, who watched him with curiosity.
Sir," he whispered, his breath tinged with the smell of peppermint. Leaning slightly in Lafayette's direction, he politely inquired, "Sir, have you lost something?"
Lafayette blinked. The gentleman who had addressed him looked upon him with earnest blue eyes, his eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer. A hot, red embarrassment crept up Lafayette's neck, but he managed to reserve his composure and merely adjusted his frilled kerchief.
"No, Monsieur," Lafayette said in a low voice, clearing his throat, "Only if you can make these...these pin-'eads stop arguing."
The man nodded and straightened himself. "For ten days they have been blabbering on and on about matters that seem obvious to me. Those men," he said, gesturing over to the front left of the room, "seek only legislative equality." He gave a disapproving look at the idea. "Men like I, however, are demanding complete independence."
He sat back in his chair and looked forward, lost in thought. The current speaker had just finished speaking when the man suddenly rose. He surveyed the room, quietly waiting for the men to fall silent before he began gently, "My fellow delegates, it is without doubt that no plan we propose will be agreed upon completely."
He stepped forward and began to walk down the isle, turning to addressing each individual as he did. "Yet! We cannot think along the lines of what people want to hear, but what we need to do." He had reached the front of the room, and faced the audience, each man now rapt with attention. Calmly folding his hands behind his back, the man raised his head. "And if it is a war that will ultimately gain them happiness, then it is a war we must declare."
Lafayette's eyes widened. No one had ever said such a, well, such a 'No shit, Sherlock' idea since the meeting's initiation. In fact, it was the first time he had really heard an American speak...logically. For a moment, the entire room was silent, then a hearty "Hear, hear!" sounded, and a round of applause quickly followed.
A stout man with round glasses stood and moved next to the man. Lafayette immediately recognized him; Benjamin Franklin was a common addition in the French courts, with 'French courts' referring more to French beds.
Franklin sat a hand on the man's shoulder, nodding, "Thank you, George, my boy. Gentlemen, I do believe this meeting is adjourned."
As the delegates began to shuffle out of the room, Lafayette stepped up to his friend, "Benjamin!" The round man turned from his current conversation and smiled, embracing the Frenchman warmly as Lafayette pecked two kisses on his cheeks. "Marie-Joseph Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier," Benjamin said amiably as he looked Lafayette up and down.
"S'il vous plaît, Benjamin, I've told you before; simply 'Lafayette' is fine; I do not care for zat pompous forename of mine." Lafayette raised an eyebrow, "Although I know how you dearly love to fill your mouth with French, eh, customs."
Franklin laughed, lightly patting Lafayette on the cheek. "Guilty as charged, guilty as charged." He turned to the group of men behind them, "My fellow priggers, you remember the great Maréchal de camp I've been telling you about?" He motioned to each one, "Here we have Patrick Henry, John Adams, Sam Adams, who is, if I may add, the best maltster in all of the Western Hemisphere—"
"—and George, George Washington," the last man cut in with a soft Virginian accent, and extended his hand. Lafayette could've slapped himself. George Washington, of course. The legendary man who had watched him hunt down a fly was the same whose name had been whispered from every colonist's lips for the past year.
"Ah, Monsieur Washington, eet iz a pleasure." Lafayette said instead, grasping his hand warmly, "You gave an impressive performance."
The man identified as Patrick Henry, a handsome chap with strands of dark hair poking out from his neat wig, spoke up, "Aye, if only we can get that performance into action on the field."
The others mumbled in agreement, and quickly resumed conversation. Lafayette looked down at his feet. Sure he had been sent over by the French government to aid in the struggle against Britain, but as far as diplomatic formalities were concerned...well, he'd rather bleed out in the mud than go through that shitstorm. Just as he was figuring out how to make his escape, Lafayette felt a slight tap on his shoulder and a warm breath of mint on his ear,
"Major General, would you be so kind as to accompany me outside?" Lafayette tilted his head and saw the two blue eyes of Washington smiling expectantly at him, "I, ahem, if you are ready to go."
"Eh, well," Lafayette didn't want to seem too eager to leave, but then again-
"A wonderful notion, dear Washington!" Franklin piped up, interrupting his thoughts. "Give our young Frenchman a taste of America's bosom." He patted Lafayette playfully on the rump, "Off you two go, then—Oh!" He said, calling after them, "Don't forget, we reconvene next week—Oh! One more thing," Franklin lowered his voice, and tapped the side of his nose, "don't forget about our meeting tonight."
Lafayette blinked in the hazy Philadelphia sun, holding a hand up in an effort to block out its damned rays. Washington seemed unaffected by the heat; either that, or too distracted, and instead commented, "I thank you for joining me, there's only so much politics I can stand. But I hate to disappoint." He shook his head, then brightened a little. "So, Major Gen—"
Lafayette held up a hand. What was it with these colonists and their silly titles? "Lafayette will do. Just Lafayette."
"I apologize, Miste—"
"—Lafayette!"
"...Lafayette."
The Frenchman smiled, "There you go! Nozing wrong with a little, as you say, equality, eh?"
Washington laughed, "And as you say, touché," and they began to stroll down the winding brick pathway.
As they walked, Lafayette couldn't help but watch the Virginian with a certain... curiosity? He was several inches taller and dressed to the nine, yet spoke with a hint of reservation. Somezing those stuffy friends of mine would 'ave difficulty with, he observed to himself.
"Ahem, now returning to my original question: did you ride here, or were brought by carriage?" Washington began again, looking down at him with open eyes.
"Honhonhon!" Lafayette laughed at the thought of himself huddled in those detestable wooden boxes, "I rode, ami, I rode."
"Perfect!" Washington beamed, looking ahead, "I want to introduce you to Blueskin, the most magnificent war-horse this side of the pond." He glanced down at Lafayette, "You'd like her, she's a French breed, a Camargue."
"Ahh! I am familiar, a very fine breed, indeed." Lafayette agreed enthusiastically, slightly creaming his breeches at discovering Washington's shared love for horses. "It iz a shame I 'ad to leave my own Bon Vivant in Paris; 'e was an extraordinary dappled Percheron..." His eyes misted over with the thought of his mount, and of all the blissful hours they had spent galloping along the Seine, and of the charming way Vivant's velvet muzzle would nibble at the curls of his wig, and—Washington's soft Virginian voice interrupted his daydreaming, "A Percheron, hm?" A mischievous glint shone from his eyes as he continued, "As Franklin would say, I suppose, you like 'em big."
Washington would learn several new things that day, the most important being, of course, that if you insult a Frenchman, his glove will be slapped across your face.
Shortly after Lafayette's flustered apology to Washington, who just found the whole episode to be really fucking uproarious, they reached the stables. The smell of alfalfa and steaming shit wafted over the two; yet to Lafayette, the scent was comforting, and he immediately forgot all about the prior incident. Washington disappeared inside, leaving Lafayette to admire a dark bay Thoroughbred tossing his head in a nearby arena. He was about to step over when Washington reemerged, guiding two powerful horses, one white and one grey, behind him.
Lafayette's heart skipped a beat at the sight, his fondness of the American growing increasingly greater by the moment. "Ohh!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands together and striding over, "Vat stunning creatures!"
Washington stepped closer, and handed the lead rope of the larger, white horse to Lafayette. The mare nickered and pawed energetically at the ground, her ears pricking forward as Lafayette took the rope and planted a tiny kiss on her nose. Washington smiled lovingly, "This, this is Blueskin," he said and reached out to stroke the animal's muscular neck, mumbling sweet words to her in a low voice.
Lafayette felt his heart quicken a second time as Washington's arm brushed against his shoulder, and with it, that faint minty aroma. Lafayette, Lafayette, Lafayette, get eet together, you're acting like thoze lily-livered Italiens. You just smacked the man, for God's sake! He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head, and wondered what sort of a jolly good laugh Franklin would have if he saw the two standing there so close to each other.
"We've been through much together, she and I," Washington said, glancing at Lafayette, who had preoccupied himself with gently rubbing the horse's forehead, "But I-I want you to ride her."
"Washington, no," Lafayette stopped abruptly, facing the man with genuine astonishment. "I couldn't possibly..."
"Nonsense! Lexington here is an equally fine ride." He cut in, patting the grey, "Let me put it this way, I insist."
Tossing the lead rope over the Lexington's neck, he promptly changed topics, "I prefer to ride bareback, you know." He fastened the rope to the leather halter, creating a sort of make-shift rein, and caressed the horse's dappled cheek. "It pains me to have the slav—the assistants waste energy tacking when I could just as easily enjoy a fine gallop without a saddle!" He grabbed a lock of mane and swung onto the curved back of Lexington, looking down expectantly at Lafayette:
"You may either mount my horse at once," he said firmly, picking up the reins between his hands, "or we may ride doubles, although you and I can both imagine what sort of things Franklin would have to say about that."
Lafayette grinned at the man. Little prick. "You 'ave determination, I'll give you zat much." He removed the halter, and leaped onto the Camargue swiftly, feeling her swelling shoulder muscles twitch under his thighs.
Washington blinked at the motion and raised an eyebrow, "So you don't think you need reins, eh?"
Lafayette tapped slightly in Blueskin's flank with one heel, and she gracefully took four side-steps over to where Washington sat.
"Oui, ov courseI do not need reins," Lafayette scoffed, placing his hand lightly on his breast, pretending to take offense at the ridiculous notion. "And need not I call your attention to that perfect side-pass I just executed?"
"Near perfect." Washington corrected, swiveling his horse to face Lafayette's. "And need not I call your attention to the person who trained her to execute those side-passes, Monsieur?"
Lafayette tossed back is head and laughed playfully, "Oh ho ho, do I 'ear a challenge there, Commander-in-Chief?"
"I do believe so," Washington mused as he collected Lexington and spurred him forward into a rounded trot. Lafayette bit his lip with a grin, and soon the two were cantering side-by-side on the brick road.
"Race to Fairmount Park?" Lafayette asked, watching Washington's especially good form, er, seat, er well-balanced body position. He leaned forward and loosened his hold on Blueskin's mane as he nudged her to extend into a gallop. Washington, guilty of the same sort of observation of Lafayette, pushed his own steed faster, calling over the rush of hot wind, "Any particular reason why Fairmount?"
To which came the response, "Because that's ze only blessed place I know around here, silly colonist!"
To those of my readers who think horse riding isn't a sport or that all you do is just sit on a pony and go 'yeehaw', well you should be ashamed of yourself, you uncultured swine.
Needless to say, the two never reached the park. 'Oh is this where they suddenly stopped and had dirty, blissful fornication on the "Don't Tread on Me" flag?', some of you may ask enthusiastically. 'Golly!', others may ponder, 'When Washington said 'Without a decisive naval force we can do nothing definitive', I never imagined he was actually referring to a shipping war with his OTP!'
For one, if you wanted a gay one-shot, go back to Hetalia. So let's all sit down and find out what actually happened.
As they turned to cut down the main street leading to the park, mind you, at a full, sexual-tension-filled gallop, a man darted out in front of Lafayette. Blueskin skidded to a halt and reared straight up on her hindquarters, tossing her head wildly. Lafayette, who was both a) without a saddle and b) without a bridle, was caught completely off-guard and fell to the ground. Washington witnessed the whole event happen, jumped off Lexington, and calmly approached Blueskin, trying to settle her down.
The man who had caused the entire clusterfuck didn't help at all, yelling "Wotch out were yer goin' next tyme, ya frog!" at Lafayette while thrusting a thick bowie knife in their direction. It was too much for the poor horse, and Blueskin bolted down a side street before Washington could even reach her.
Lafayette, not feeling any serious injuries, stood up and brushed the mud and clay off his breeches, although a sharp pain in his ribs caused him to wince and slightly stumble. Washington turned to him, placing a hand in the small of his back for support, but before either he could offer more help or Lafayette refuse it, a crash sounded directly above.
The men looked up, and immediately shielded themselves with their arms as a torrent of glass shards rained down. A figure landed a few feet off with a grunt, and by 'land', I mean 'wiped out on the brick with a splat'. He quickly got to his knees, and wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead with a white sleeve.
"Did 'e just... jump out ov zat window?" Lafayette asked Washington as they stepped over to where the man crouched. A hood covered his part of his face, but as they got closer, Lafayette could see, with some delight, that it was a tanned, handsome one.
"Monseuir...?" Lafayette began again, but was stopped by Washington, who cleared his throat.
"Connor," he began delicately, but the man kept his head low. He knows zis lunatic? Lafayette wondered. He watched the man's dark lips, the only feature he could see clearly, form the words, "Where... did he go?"
His voice was smoky, yet pleasant. Lafayette looked back up at Washington, who was watching the man with a strange sort of...fatherly, uh, concern?
"I presume you mean the man who just passed?" Washington replied, stepping back to give the man room as he slowly rose. Connor was about the same height as the Virginian, yet with his wide shoulders and thick chest, there was no doubt who was more formidable. Not to mention the shitload of weaponry he was packing and his especially sharp white-and-blue military jacket.
Connor stretched his back, reaching over a shoulder to make sure his curved bow was unbroken. "Yes."
"May I inquire why you are pursuing the citizen?"
The man looked up, locking eye contact with Washington. He blinked, as if surprised at why Washington would ask such an obvious question.
"He kicked my dog."
"He kicked your—ah. That way." Washington pointed down the alley, and Connor immediately dove into a sprint.
"Connor!" he called, watching the blue and white tail-coat ripple behind him, "Please, if you could, bring back my horse!"
Eh okay, so I know I'm in the middle of writing another fic, but I just love these two so much! And seriously guys, there's NO fics under Marquis and like four for Washington. Internet, I am disappoint. I'll try to update weekly, but there's a pesky bitch called college applications that keeps wanting to buttrape (excuse me, buttock molest) me, so I apologize in advance for that. Reviews are awesome as always!