Chapter Text
It ended. The trail just…ended. Those little vibrant threads that had fluttered in the snow, tagging Ben’s every step, gone. George had panicked at the sight of blood in the snow before,deep treads in the ground from a struggle. The blood was spackled as if spat across jagged breaths. Yet there were still red threads.
“Benjamin?” he cried, the woods still and silent. It was eerie. Alone out here in the snow he felt like a deer, every slight movement of branches setting off alarms in his mind as if the whole forest had eyes on him. The cold startling feeling of being watched as his lover’s trail disappeared. George darted forward, following the remaining footprints in the snow hoping to find something– anything– that pointed him in the right direction. His blood ran cold as he emerged from the brush. A cry rose from his throat.
Blood.
An untold amount of it.
It had painted the abandoned campsite red; spattered on trees, turning the snow pink, dripping from the bare branches above him. Above him….the red scarf. The source of the thread he had been tracking, its frayed ends dripping even as the soaked scarf stiffened with cold. It’s crude noose was coming undone, leading George’s eye to something even more disturbing. Beneath the swaying scarf lay a mound of freshly moved earth.
“Benjamin, no!”
His knees hit the ground hard, hands tearing at the mound. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have come all this way to find Benjamin like this, tucked away in some shallow grave like a pauper. The refrozen earth proved hard to move, and George felt his skin tearing against the ice.
“Dear god, please…” He couldn’t lose Ben. Not like this. He was supposed to protect that boy. He’s ruined him. He’s killed him. Just by loving him. The grave opened up, and George choked out a sob at the sight. Ben’s colors, his uniform, ripped to pieces. It was a mottled mess of blue and crimson, fluttering helplessly in the breeze. But where was he? Where was his poor boy’s body?
George’s fist slammed down on the dirt, grief overcoming him as he looked around at the campsite. If he’s not here, where could he be? A corpse, strewn somewhere where the wolves could get him? His hands traced gouges in the dirt…finger rakes from where Ben had been laid down. Dear god it happened right here…Ben was forced to the ground, his slender fingers tearing up the ground and—
“What’s this…”
The tree root, just at the end of the rakes. George leaned close, spying the markings not made by beast nor knife. It was a sigil, a three pronged mark he had seen before. It resembled a man lifting his arms in prayer.
“Algiz” A rune…one meaning protection and strength. And only one person would have taught a man like him that. “Benjamin…” Quickly rising to his feet, George swept the campsite. He needed to look past the horror, use his mind well and think of how Roger’s would throw him. Emotional distress was a powerful tool, but it could not mask the single set of prints leaving the site. And these, George observed, were much deeper than the ones leading here. He was a carrying Benjamin. Of course! The blood loss wouldn’t kill him, just weaken him. He probably got caught leaving his trail. But there are always traces in the forest, and George had just found his.He was going to get Benjamin back.
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“Will you please stay still? You'll draw too much attention.” Gilbert complained, watching Alex pace to and fro across the tent. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles whitening with every passing second.
“How. How can I possibly remain still? Knowing he’s--”
“Sick? Yes, dear, I know.” Lafayette scolded, reminding Alex of their charade. “His Excellency is on the mend. Only another day or two before he is up and about, spritely as ever.” It was hard to get Alex to calm when he was like this, but Gilbert had been reigning him in all day. Their work tent was a safe enough place to let him fret out the overwhelming anxiety of the day. Alex shot him a sideways look, irritated.
“It’s cold out. He could still get sicker if we do not find a better medicine.” He said, turning to pace back across the tent.
“Medicine should only be given to those who need it, dear Alexander. His Excellency has requested none--”
“And he is a fool!”
Gilbert set his book down with a thump, nerves frayed beyond the point of patience. “Alexander. It has been one night. One. We do not have any cause to believe there is something worse than the situation already at hand, so we shall wait until the right time to decide how to further treat our dear General.”
Alex paused, a somber silence falling over him as tears gathered in his eyes. It was strange; so unlike him to pass up having the last word. Gilbert rose from his seat to meet him, pressing his palms to his shoulders; he was trembling. “You...know something, don't you?”
Alex moved silently, producing a paper from his breast pocket. It was burned around the edges, as if thrown into a fire. The script still remained visible, streaky handwriting as if the author was distressed. “I found it in Benjamin’s tent...he must have thrown it in the fire pit and the wind tucked it behind…” Alex whispered. Gilbert read the letter hastily.
Dear Benjamin,
I have sent you many letters with well meaning urgency. I have yet to receive any sign that you have read them, or perhaps that you have and cannot write me back. Still, there is not much time left. I have seen this war on both sides, and can see the curtain coming down. You are an honorable young man; one full of courage and bravery the likes of which I have never seen. Had my life turned differently, I would say we were one and the same. And until recent I believed you felt the same.
Your kindness in my time of need has not been forgotten. I will not let Washington drag you down in infamy as the Continental Army crumbles. French aid will not reach here in time, the seas are too dangerous. You are alone, with a man who would rather martyr you all than relinquish his delusions of grandeur.
I do not care what he has done to you. What he has promised you, or led you to believe. We are like blood, Benjamin. There is hot, righteous fury in our veins. The thirst to do good ---and see good---on our lips. I cannot let him destroy you as he has done to me. I cannot let another fine man see his name in ruins. Think of Hale, dear Benjamin. Think of Samuel and Sackett. These men were led to slaughter, as are you. Please, do not make yourself the next meal. Write back when it's safe.
Benedict Arnold.
Gilbert read the letter once more, not quite believing what he was seeing. “This is…” he breathed.
“The man’s obsessed, Gilbert. Who knows how many more of these Benjamin burned. I don't think His Excellency even knows.” He said, tearfully snatching back the burnt letter. Gilbert returned to his seat, hands wringing just as nervously as Alex’s had not minutes before.
“Benjamin would have kept this from him, I’m sure of it.” Gilbert said. “He was always so worried. To think all those nights Washington was awake while we sat around the hearth...Benjamin trying to coax him to sleep. How long has it been since Benjamin slept?”
Alex shook his head, sighing. “I have been pondering the same thing.” A newfound sadness hung in the air, the two quietly fretting in their respective corners. It looked hopelessly bleak. Benjamin gone, his ring of spies leaderless. Caleb would soon return, and discover him missing. Though both of them knew of Caleb, they had no way of knowing how he’d react. Washington gone as well, maybe never to return. And if he did, would he be alone? Or would there be a battered little corpse, wrapped and slung over his tired old mare….
“I'm going, Gilbert.” Alex said, standing and gathering his things. Gilbert picked his book up, fiddling with the ribbon he used as a place holder.
“Good idea. Get some sleep, and tomorrow we shall feel better.”
“No, I’m going.” Alex said, his voice trembling and angry. “I'm going after him. I’ll take the town roads, skirt around the woods. If something happens he’ll make for a road.” He started heading toward the flap of the tent.
Gilbert leapt from his seat, throwing himself in front of Alex. “No! We must stay here! You cannot be as foolish as him, even if you are just as stubborn.” Alex moved to push past him, hands gripping the wool of Gilbert’s coat with such ferocity he threatened to lift the man out of the way. “Alexander, no!”
“I’m going! He needs us.”
“He needs us here!”
With a great sigh, Alex threw up his hands. “And I suppose you think Benjamin is actually going to make it to York City? Despite the fact that Arnold is wrapped in red and clean cut, he’s broke as a beggar. Whoever he sent here to take Benjamin did so at a high price, one I know he cannot pay!”
It made sense, knowing how strained Arnold’s finances were, Gilbert couldn't imagine the British forking over a large amount of coin to a turn coat. Especially with their own war bleeding them dry. “Then why not wait until Ben is in York City before having his captor arrested or killed?” He asked.
“If he admitted he had Benjamin he would have to trade him back. Or worse, they’d hang him. Maybe he asked for money, maybe not. But this letter...it tells me he plans on getting his hands on Benjamin alive. And if he can't pay in York City, and he can't trade him back---”
“He’s going to the woods. He's going to intercept Washington.”
“There’s going to be two of them out there. Maybe more, and Washington is alone. Who knows if Ben can even fight---”
Gilbert put a finger to Alex’s lips, shushing him. “Then you will go. But you must help me first. Without you, I must pretend to carry out His Exellency’s commands on my own. They will know it is only me, Alexander…”
Alex took Gilbert’s hand in his, turning it over to kiss the palm gently. It wasn't rushed, though Gilbert could see he desperately wanted to take off.
“No one can do carry out his wishes better. I am sure of it. Any softness, any words too tender for such a stern man, will only be attributed to his lovely Marquis, and the kindness he shows at his bedside. You soften stone, Gilbert. You can do this, if only for a few days until I return.” Alex said, throwing in a little wink. Gilbert smacked his side playfully to mask the queasy unease he felt.
“Then let us saddle you up.”