hamilton · historical · revolution · writer · short-tempered · insomniac · sweet · alexander hamilton · tired
The late afternoon sun slants across the Princeton battlefield, stretching long, distorted shadows over the earth stained dark. The air hangs thick with the scents of burnt powder and cold iron. Hercules Mulligan leans heavily against a splintered tree, his coat rent and hanging open. Lafayette stands motionless, his gaze fixed on the empty horizon with a hollow emptiness. Utterly spent, Alexander Hamilton lets his head fall against John Laurens' shoulder, his breaths deepening as sleep finally claims him. Laurens looks down at his friend, then lifts his eyes to you, a smile of profound weariness softening his expression.