Sorry this took so long. Wow you guys are awesome I love you all! Welcome to our final chapter. For real this time.

And so the sun rises on Yorktown, and the last day of many of the men here, and the many more beyond the borders of this place. Here is where the final moves will play out, deciding the outcome of a war that will change the course of history and time itself.

Alexander Hamilton was standing next to his adoptive father, surveying the town just mere yards from the camp where they stood waiting. The General had a firm grip on his son's shoulder, as if he were afraid that he'd dissolve in his arms. Washington took a deep breath, and turned to Alex. "Son, I've thought about it for many a day now, and mostly against my will, I have given you, the Marquis, and Mr. Mulligan permission to bear arms in this battle."

What. Wow. Alexander tried in vain to stifle his ungainly shriek of excitement. "Really? We do? Are you joking with me?" Washington shook his head slightly. Alex whooped and darted off, pausing a few yards away to shout back to his father. "I promise I won't let you down, you'll see!" And then he was gone, off to find Gil and Hercules.

Washington stood alone, looking out into the town. In a voice lost to the wind, he murmured, "I know, my dear boy. That's not what worries me."

…

Alexander, meanwhile, was charging through the rows of white tents, a rather ridiculous grin plastered on his face. He skidded 'round a corner and all but ran into Hercules.

"Slow down, man." His friend gave him a reproachful look. "Sorry, sorry." Alexander panted. "Where's Gil? I've got news."

They gathered in Hercules's tent, because Matthew was off somewhere and Mr. Miller was asleep. "You'll never believe what my father told me." Alex's eyes were bright. "We're to be allowed to fight in the battle. For real."

For a moment all the two could focus on was peppering Alex with questions. When they finally relented, he launched into an explanation of his conversation with General Washington, and how the matter had come about.

"Maybe Lady Washington convinced him." Hercules suggested. "Or Mrs. Miller." Gilbert shook his head. "Mademoiselle Rebecca would never allow this, not in a million years, and Lady Washington is far too protective of Alex to let him near danger."

Alexander had been thinking about it for some time, and had decided on who he thought would be the most likely candidate. "I bet it was General Greene. He seems like the type to give anyone a chance to prove themselves, even if it's maybe not the best idea."

Gilbert bristled with mock outrage. "I think we are quite capable, no matter what Greene says."

Hercules was excited. And worried. Mostly worried. Alexander had taken to referring to him as the "dad- friend." It was a pretty accurate description, seeing as he looked after his friends closely and paid more attention to their well- being than they themselves did.

But seriously, they had to be some of the most impulsive people on the planet. Whose idea was it to give four teenagers guns and basically tell them, "have at it, go kill some redcoats or whatever." He was still fretting about this when Matthew walked into the tent and saw the gathering of boys.

"Hey there. I heard the news. I must say, I'm not too thrilled about it, but I'm sure you three are. Now, Gilbert, Mr. Miller asked me to give you this lecture in his stead. Alexander, I imagine that General Washington has already told you, but I'm going to tell you again." Matthew looked very serious. "It is crucial that you obey all orders, even if they're to retreat or stay back from the front lines. I really want you all to come back from this alive. We don't know when for sure the fighting will begin, but when it does, and make no mistake it will, remember what I said. If any of you get killed you will be in deep trouble."

Alexander spoke up. "But we'll be dead, so how will you punish us?"

Matthew looked at the boy incredulously. Hercules hid a smile as the tailor mulled over his response. "Well, when I die, I will come after you and punish your ghostly asses. Got it?" Alexander seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded.

"Good." Matthew made a shooing motion with his hands. "Now get out, I want to take a nap."

After being kicked out of the tent, the three wandered around aimlessly, somehow ending up in the aides' offices. Tench Tilghman greeted them, brandishing a letter towards Gilbert. "Your friend in South Carolina has written to you," he explained. "It came just this morning. I was wondering when you'd stop by."

Gilbert snatched the letter and darted back out of the offices, Hercules and Alex close on his heels. As they left, Alexander called, "Thanks Tench!" over his shoulder. "No problem, Alexander!" The man responded.

Stopping underneath their tree, Gilbert ripped off the wax seal and shook out the letter. The other two crowded around him, and they began to read.

Dear Alex, Gil, and Hercules:

If you're reading this, I'm still alive! And I realize that that might not be the best way to start out a letter but I think it was the most important piece of information I have to share with you.

Anyways, we made it to South Carolina. It's a lot like I remembered it, to be honest. And we went home for a little bit. You guys should come down here once the war's over. The weather's great, it's hot, like always, but everyone's getting ready for fall. New planting, harvesting, all that.

I miss you guys a ton, and Dad says to tell Mr. Miller and Mr. Williams that he misses them also but he won't write a letter because, well, actually I don't know why he won't write. I don't think he likes it all that much, because whenever he has to do it he grumbles about the quill cramping his hand or some nonsense.

But on a different subject, the campaign down here is going okay. It's harder than I expected to get plantation owners to rally a battalion, but they're all stubborn old fools anyways. Dad's letting me do most of the talking, which is good I think because he's not all that convincing. I am allowed to fight with the battalion as well. Are you guys allowed to participate in the fighting up at Yorktown? If you are, don't you dare die on me.

I'll see you when the war is done. Your friend,

John Laurens

Gilbert closed the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. "Mes amis, he's alive and well." Hercules released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Thank God." Alex was still looking at the paper in Gil's hand. "I hope that he knows what he's doing. He'd better not get himself killed."

"We'll be sure to remind him of that in our next letter." Hercules reassured. "Don't stress too much, John's tough. He'll be fine."

Before he could say anything else, the sound of cannon fire rang out into the air. In unison, all three turned and ran back towards camp.

Over the sound of explosions, Hercules could just hear Alex shouting, "It's alright! It's the ships, firing on the British defenses, on that port that Cornwallis had constructed. This battle is planned more like a siege, I think."

The Siege of Yorktown, Hercules thought. A name, and a battle, to be remembered.

Gilbert was standing in a sheltered spot, overlooking the harbor. The French ships clustered there would fire rounds of cannonballs and grapeshot into the British defenses constructed along the water. A few ships would occasionally return fire, but the number left in condition to do so was dropping rapidly. The siege had been going on for three days, and no soldiers had yet been mobilized to attack from land.

When he felt a tap at his shoulder, he jumped nearly two feet. Whirling around, he was met with the unusually serious face of his friend, Alexander. "Hey Gil. Come on, we need to find Hercules and get ready. It's time."

There was no need to ask Alex what he meant. Gilbert followed him quickly, into the American camp. It was time for the moment they'd been waiting for. It was time to fight.

Hercules was just coming out of his tent when they approached. One look at their faces, and he knew what was going on. They separated back to their tents, grabbing weaponry and preparing. Gil pulled on his boots, and slung the musket he'd been given over his shoulder. Snatching up the bayonet, he placed it carefully in a bag, along with bullets and powder. Mr. Miller entered not a few moments later, saw what he was doing, and sighed.

"Be careful, ok? I'm expecting you back from this in one piece, got it?" Mr. Miller was not part of the two columns selected to attack. This had done nothing to alleviate his anxieties about sending his adopted son into battle. "I promise, Monesier Miller." And just like that, it was time to go. Hugging the man tightly around the middle, a whispered farewell, and then Gilbert was out in the bright sunlight again, making his way towards the group of men preparing to march to what would (hopefully) become a victory, and the end of the war at last.

He saw Alexander talking to General Washington, who, if his expression was anything to go by, was regretting his decision. Alexander appeared to be reassuring him, and Gilbert caught a hint of the conversation. "Dad, it's going to be fine. Promise. We'll be back in a few days. I'm not going to die, I'll listen to orders. I really will." Whatever General Washington said was for Alex's ears alone, as he bent down to hug his son tightly (Alex was still short).

After that, it seemed to happen too fast. Gilbert met with Alexander and Hercules, falling into their places as the columns began to move forward. He dared not risk a glance back, so Gil kept his eyes trained on the horizon ahead.

When the group split into the two separate columns, and the order was issued to ready their ammunition and fix their bayonets, it felt all too real. The blades were sharp and the bullets deadly, but Marie- Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette was no coward. He readied his musket and attached the blade, fixing a look of determination on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends do the same.

Time seemed to bend and shift, the sun and shadows warping around him as they marched out, prepared to take on the remaining British forces. Night fell, they slept, the sun rose, they marched. It seemed to Gilbert a bit like a dream, where you knew something wasn't quite right but still couldn't shake yourself out of it.

Then, suddenly, the dream state lifted. They were standing within shouting distance of a group of men, their numbers smaller than they'd been not more than a few days prior, red coats flashing bright.

And the fragile silence was broken.

Blue flooded down to collide with the red as the American soldiers raced down to meet the British. Gilbert was aware of Alexander and Hercules on either side of him, both with determination and adrenaline painting their faces. Then the world was lost to a whirlwind of sound and color.

All around him was the clang of steel on steel, the crack of gunfire, the screaming cries from men and horses alike. All Gilbert could focus on was the next enemy. His bayonet flashed and his musket smoked, he only paused to reload and then he was up again, fighting not only for his life but for the hope of a new nation, for freedom, for his friends. The battle raged fiercely, blood staining blue coats crimson and making red coats redder.

Time was once again warping around him, so it could have been seconds or hours when the voice shouted, "Retreat, fall back, retreat!" And the British soldiers turned tail and fled.

Gilbert had the sense of a tide going out, a tide of red, as the enemy retreated. He was left standing there, as the gunsmoke cleared, amid his fellows. And amid those who had given their lives in the struggle, both red and blue laying in the grass because when has death ever discriminated between any one side in a war?

Alexander. Hercules. Where were they? Gil frantically scanned the faces of the surviving soldiers, and yes, there, was that…?

Alive. Oh, thank the stars they were all alive. The three boys ran to each other, falling together, shaking with relief. Alive. Nothing else was as important that day to him.

Yet the siege of the town carried on. The ships still bombed the harbor and the defenses. They dug in, prepared to face their opponents once more, should it be necessary.

Then, at the end of the week, the unthinkable happened. Alex was the first to notice it, as he was with most things.

"Gil. Herc. Look, look there. On the parapet." A low hum of excitement filled his voice. Gilbert raised his head, and was met with the sight of a young officer, standing on a parapet, removing something from the pocket of his uniform and waving it in the air.

A white handkerchief.

Surrender.

They'd done it.

Negotiations went quickly after that. General Washington spoke to General Cornwallis, and after two days, two days filled with excitement and wonder and disbelief, the British officially surrendered. America was free.

The ceremony was on October nineteenth, the year of seventeen and eighty one. Gil breathed deeply, standing side by side with Alexander and Hercules. Was it really possible? Under his breath, he murmured, "The world just turned upside down."

Upon their return to the main army, Mr. Miller was ecstatic to see him. "Gilbert, my God, you're alive, look at you, thank goodness, I don't know what I would have done if you'd been killed." Matthew was silent as he hugged Hercules, the relief on his face too much for words. General Washington, too, had a smile on his lips as he gripped Alexander's shoulder tightly.

Two days after the surrender, Tench Tilghman gave Alex another letter as the three were walking past. "It's from South Carolina."

John received word of the news while he was saddling a horse.

Perhaps not the most dramatic setting to receive word of the freedom of your country, but it was how he found out. It came in a letter from Yorktown, from Alex and Gil and Herc. All three had survived the battle, along with General Washington, Mr. Miller, and Matthew. It took him a few seconds to process the news, during which time he read the sentence over and over again.

We won we won we won we won we won wE WON WE WON.

"We won," John breathed softly. "WE WON!"

He ran out to show the others the letter. When his father read it, his eyebrows shot up so high John thought they might reach his hairline. When the officers read it, many of them collapsed into chairs or against posts or simply onto the ground. When the word spread to the men, cheers exploded through the camp and didn't abate until well past midnight.

The next day, the order came to meet up with the rest of the army. Apparently they needed to settle some business before everyone was allowed to return to their homes and families. But nothing could temper the joy each and every man felt. Freedom, at last, after so many hard years of bloodshed and starvation and cold, all leading up to this wonderful moment.

Well, freedom for most everyone. What would happen to the slaves that had been enlisted? The company had had yet to face an actual conflict when news came of the surrender. Would the men be given their freedom, or would people argue and say that the bargain was never technically put into play?

This was what John was thinking about when the screaming and gunfire started. And then all he felt was a searing, burning pain in his left shoulder.

His breath came frantically; the world blurred into a mess of color and sound. Distantly he heard his father calling his name, over and over and over. He was staring up at the sky. It was a beautiful blue, dotted here and there with white clouds that looked like they'd been painted there. If he possessed the materials, John would have drawn it. Turtles, his mind supplied. He'd drawn turtles once.

A face swam into his field of vision. His father. John's father was kneeling next to him, hands covering the wound and using something to staunch the blood flow. Another man was running towards them, John recognized him as the medic that had traveled with them. They were poking at his wound, talking in voices too soft for him to hear. Someone ripped away his coat, shirt, and waistcoat, binding up his shoulder tightly with long strips of cloth. A faint pronouncement from above echoed through his mind.

"He'll live he'll live he'll live."

Me, John realized. They're talking about me. I'll live.

Secure in the knowledge that he would wake to see the sky again, John allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was laying in a tent, the white fabric flapping in the breeze. His father was sitting in a chair a few feet away, looking worn. When he noticed his son's awakening, he hurried over and clasped his hand. "John, you're awake. Oh my god, you're awake. I kept wondering if I would have to go home and tell everyone that I'd lost you, lost you right as we finally won and ended this damn war." There were tears gathering in the corners of Henry Laurens's eyes. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd been killed, John."

John managed a smile. "Well, I'm not dead. I'm here and I'm not dead." His father gave his own weak smile back. "That's good, because we're heading up to meet with the rest of the army. I sent your friends a letter informing them of your condition, and I've received a torrent of correspondence ever since. Which is truly remarkable, seeing as it's only been three days since you were shot. I think they're having the small fiery one doing the writing."

"T-three days?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. But don't worry; nothing else has happened in your absence."

Well then. When John returned, he owed his friends an apology. And he was probably in for a very long lecture from Alex.

The war was done. And the four boys had survived.

They'd grown up during the war, not, perhaps, the best environment for four young teenagers, merely thirteen, but they'd done it. Now sixteen, the boys had made it safe and sound through conflict, spying, and many more adventures besides. They'd made a family for themselves, especially Gilbert and Alexander.

Standing in the open field that had once been the camp of the American army, they prepared to go their separate ways. But not for good, no. They were planning to exchange news and letters as often as possible, and eventually meet up somewhere in the new country, hopefully New York City.

Alexander was going to Virginia, to live with the Washingtons, as they'd decided long ago. He was officially their adopted son, and he planned to stay with them for as long as he could, right up until he went to college in New York.

Gilbert had decided to remain in America, staying with the Millers in New York City. The couple was expecting a child sometime in the coming year, and he was very excited. The other three had repeatedly assured him that he would be an excellent brother.

Hercules was going to keep working with Matthew. He'd mentioned that he wanted to start his own business one day, maybe expand beyond the tailoring industry (Not likely, though. He was very fond, and talented, at the business).

John was going with his father back to the family home in South Carolina. He missed his siblings greatly, and had described them in vast detail.

So now they were about to part, not forever, but certainly for a very long time.

"Group hug?" Alexander suggested, rocking back on his heels.

"Yeah." Came the muffled reply, as the boys crowded closer.

Hercules sighed. "I know it's not like we won't write, and we're definitely going to try and see each other again, but why does it feel like we'll never see each other again?"

"It's going to be fine, mon ami." Gilbert reassured. "We're all going to end up in the same city at some point, remember that."

College or family or business or something else entirely was destined to reunite these four.

And then they were swept up in last goodbyes as Alexander swung himself up inside the carriage next to Washington, Gil and Mr. Miller setting off in their own, with Hercules and Matthew in yet another. John and his father were going to stay in Yorktown for a week's time, to fully ensure that John's shoulder had had adequate time to begin healing.

The children of the revolution were about to become the children of a new nation.

Wow. After twenty chapters, our story has come to its close. I want to thank all of you who continued to read this faithfully right to the end, and every single one of you who reviewed. You made this possible. Thank you for your continued support and appreciation, words cannot express how much I love you all. If you'd like to see more of the Revolutionary Set's adventures, stick around for the sequel, Children of a New Nation! Up soon. In the meantime, I remain your obedient servant, ~RedCoatsRedder.