<center>National Treasure Exercise No. 1*
A/N:
Yeah. I know it’s short. I was just trying to exercise these characters, you know? Feel them out before I do something big with them. Tell me what you think of them, please!
Peace,
*Marcellus</center>

A dim natural light filtered through the old, original glass panes of her father’s office. This was their summer home, a old plantation house nestled away just below the foothills of the smoky mountains. Eleanor Gates was hiding beneath her father’s desk, a worn copy of Common Sense propped in her lap. Ella’s small hands grasped the leather cover tightly as hot tears slowly streamed down her face. In the middle of the book, exactly where Ella had turned, there were two pressed one hundred dollar bills and a single pressed azalea. A tear landed on the thin page with an unearthly splat. Eleanor stifled a sob.

“Eleanor,” a voice said softly, the owner’s footsteps echoing softly into the room.

It was her father, Benjamin Gates. Ella held her breath, hoping he would leave her alone. She didn’t want to speak to him. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. No one but her grandfather would do. And he was dead.

“Anna Eleanor Gates,” Ben said sternly. “Get out from under my desk.”

Ella sighed and wiped her wet face, pocketing the old copy of Common Sense in her khaki cargo shorts. Carefully, the seven year old girl pulled her cramped body out from beneath the oak desk and crawled far enough away so that she could stand comfortably.

“Yes, dad?” Ella asked, tears threatening to spill again. Ben nearly groaned.

“C’mere, kid,” he said, holding out his arms. Ella raced to him faster than a running back.

“Daddywhydidhehavetodieandwhyarewejustsittingherelikenothinghappenedandhowcomeyou’renotsad!” Ella gasped into her father’s chest, hugging him tightly as she broke down for the second time that day. The first time had resulted in her hiding beneath the desk.

Ben didn’t answer immediately. For a moment he stood there, rubbing his daughter’s back softly. This was pretty much typical for Eleanor Gates, resident drama queen out of the four girls. At least this time, or so Ben thought, she had a good reason to be upset. Earlier that week his father, Patrick, had passed away. Eleanor had always been closer to her grandfather than her sisters, Rosie, Clara, and Lizzy. Finally, when Ella’s sobs and subsided, he replied quietly.

“All men die, Eleanor. What did Thomas Gates say? Do you remember, Ella?” Ben said.

Ella sniffed, “The debt that all men pay.”

Ben nodded, “And when did he say it?”

“After he died.”

“Exactly,” said Ben. “We all have to die, eventually. Its as natural as being born. And we’re not sitting around like nothing happened.”

“Seems like it,” moaned Eleanor.

“No, baby,” said Ben, scooping the abnormally small girl up. “We’re still mourning, but we’re still living our lives. Do you think your grandpa would have wanted everything to stop? Just like that?”

Ella buried her head against his neck, “No.”

“Right. Its okay to be sad, kid. We all are,” said Ben. “But you know what?”

“What?” asked Ella, lifting her head slightly.

“I find its easier to be sad with someone,” Ben said. “Why don’t we be sad together?”

Ella smiled weakly, “I like that idea, daddy.”

Ben kissed her forehead, “Lets go read that book in your pocket together in the living room, Eleanor. Does that sound good?”

“Yep,” she said, nodding her head and making her red-brown curls bounce.

“You know, Eleanor,” said Ben as the two settled down on the big, overstuffed couch, “this was one of your grandpa’s favorites.”

Ella nodded, arranging herself in his lap. “Read it to me,” she demanded.

Ben demanded, pulling the leather covers apart and starting, from the beginning, the pamphlet that played such an important role in the Revolutionary War. Momentarily they were joined by another of the Gates sisters, as if she was drawn to the room by the distant sounds of their father reading Common Sense aloud. At first Clara Gates stood at the doorway, but eventually made her way to the couch and snuggled up with her father and baby sister. Clara as one of the older girls at fourteen years old, Clara often had responsibility dropped on her by her parents about the little girls. So naturally, she couldn’t resist an opportunity to act so childlike with absolutely no one to tell her off for it.

“Clara, you are squishing my leg,” complained Ella, upset her ‘sad time’ with daddy was interrupted.

“Sorry, Ella,” said Clara, shifting her weight away from her kid sister.

“No. Move there,” said Ella, pointing to the opposite end of the couch.

Ben simply ignored the little squabble, because really, it was just that. Little. He had seen much worse in his sixteen years of being called daddy.

“Shush,” said Clara, swatting at Eleanor’s hands when the younger girl tried to push her. Ella sat back, content at least that she still had the coveted spot in Ben’s lap and didn’t have to sit beside him instead.

“Hey! What bout me?”

The three on the couch looked up, only to see the baby of the family, Lizzy, with a teddy bear in hand and looking very upset that she was missing out on this little gathering. Ben and Clara smiled, Clara inviting the two year old to sit with her. Ella, if anything, looked peeved about another visitor. The four of them sat there for quite a while, Ben softly reading and the girls slowly nodding off to sleep. It wasn’t surprising that they were so sleepy, really. The whole family was exhausted from the viewing and funeral earlier in the week. Ben ignored it when his leg fell asleep, but stopped reading aloud when he realized that Clara, Eleanor, and Lizzy were all asleep. He read silently for perhaps another twenty minutes before falling asleep himself, his head slumping to the side.

That was how Abigail and Rosie found them when they returned from buying groceries, Clara and Lizzy sleeping silently while Ben and his little clone of a daughter Ella snored on noisily. Rosie fetched the camera while Abigail continued to haul in groceries, shaking her head as her eldest child snapped (hopefully) embarrassing pictures of her sisters ‘for posterity.’

*I have also posted this on fanfiction.net under the penname Augustulus. I have not stolen this.

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<center>“Envy consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon, but Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied Hercules, who never existed.”
at one point, I was alejandrah.