Forgotten || A Hamilton x Schuyler!Reader Fanfiction || ✔️

Chapter 13: Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

(Y/N) stood quietly. Her hands were clasped in front of her, head down in sorrow.

"How are you doing?"

(Y/N) slowly looked up to see Eliza standing in front of her, wearing the same frown that she wore. "I don't know. Sadness, I suppose? I certainly don't feel well." She chuckled bitterly. "Everything just seems more real, being at the funeral."

Eliza nodded. "I understand."

Both of the sisters were surprised that so many people had come; Alexander had a numerous amount of enemies before he passed. All of the Schuylers thought he argued too much.

Even Thomas Jefferson and James Madison were there. It was almost unbelievable.

George Washington hobbled to where the crowd's attention was. Everyone was certainly surprised that the former President had outlived his Treasury Secretary, but they accepted the fact.

He whispered, more to himself than anyone, "Let me tell you what I wish I'd known, when I was young and dreamed of glory." He acted like he was telling a story, hand gestures and all, even though someone from an inch away could barely hear him. "You have no control," he continues, "who lives, who dies, who tells your story."

President Jefferson walked next to Washington, respectfully bowing his head in his direction. He opened his mouth to speak, and everyone listened intently knowing that the president was one of Alexander's many rivals.

"I'll give him this," there was an audible sigh coming from Jefferson. "His financial system was a work of genius. I couldn't undo it if I tried... And, I tried."

(Y/N) slightly smiled, remembering the nights that Alexander would come home so terribly aggravated after yelling at Jefferson.

The Vice President, James Madison, joined his friend and faced the crowd. He spoke softly, never one to talk much. "He took our country from bankruptcy to prosperity. I hate to admit it, but he doesn't get enough credit for all the credit he gave us," he said solemnly.

Angelica also spoke, "Every other founding father's story gets told. Every other founding father gets to grow old," she says. "But when you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story?"

"I will."

(Y/N) suddenly spoke louder than she ever thought she could, surprised that her voice didn't crack. "I will. I will tell world of his laugh, of his letters, of his legacy. He shall never be forgotten in our history books. Never."

• • •

She told his story.

It had been fifty years since the passing of (Y/N)'s husband, Alexander. She was old, and on the brink of death, ready to topple into the dark abyss of that everlasting sleep.

But before that happened, she wrote one last letter to her husband.

• • •

My love, Alexander,

I put myself back in the narrative. Eventually, I had stopped wasting time on tears. I thought, "I live another fifty years. It's not enough."

I interviewed every soldier who fought by your side. Mr. Mulligan told me many great details of your best friend, John Laurens, and the Frenchman, Marquis de Lafayette, who was stuck in a jail cell in France, before he died on March 4, 1825.

I continue attempting to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings. Even after I burned a good quarter of them, I was still left with about 200,000,000 papers. You really did write like you were running out of time.

I relied on Angelica and Eliza. While they were alive, we told your story. Now, they are buried in Trinity Church right next to each other and near you. When I needed them most, they were right on time.

No matter how much I did, I kept telling myself, "I'm still not through." I asked myself, "What would you do if you had more time?"

The Lord, in his kindness, gave me what you always wanted. He gave me more time.

I raised funds in Washington D.C. for the Washington Monument. And I speak out against slavery. You could have done so much more if you only had time.

And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell our story?

Oh. I forgot. Can I tell you what I'm proudest of?

Knowing your horrific past as an orphan, I established the first private orphanage in New York City. I helped to raise hundreds of children. I got to see them growing up. It was like raising my own children.

In their eyes I saw you, Alexander. I saw your sweet, charming eyes. I saw you every time.

And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell my story like I told yours? Oh, I can't wait to see you again. It's only a matter of time.

(Y/F/L). Hamilton

• • •

And with that, (Y/N) blew out her small candle and slipped into her bed, the moonlight illuminating her cheeks. She covered herself with her thick comforter and closed her eyes for the last time.

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

• • •

Word count: 843

• • •

We're almost done guys! We've only got the epilogue left, so I'll save all my thank you's and gratitude for the A/N after that ;)

I hope I did this song justice! It's probably one of my favorites in the soundtrack, so I really wanted to make it special.

Idk if I succeeded though, lmao.

Remember, if you liked this chapter, go ahead and leave a vote down below and feel free to leave a comment if you have any feedback for me. Even if you don't, I love to read your comments!

Thanks for reading, Lima Bean <3