Duel For You, Ben Davidson

Written By: Commander Cody CC-2224


In accordance with the FanFiction archive website's story rating system, this story is rated "T" for themes of mild sexualization of teenage girls, mild sexual themes, some themes of sensuality, some themes of gingerism, some depictions of violence, and some [mild] language.


Here we go with yet another Felicity/Ben fanfic with another semi-adventurous flick. (Technically you could call it a chic-flick coupled with action scenes.) Benjamin Davidson, one of the main characters of the Felicity series, gets to attend a ball with his beloved Lissie, only to end up in a duel in defense of his sweetheart's honor. Ben has done his share of fighting since he joined Col. Henry Lee's Fifth Regiment to perform his country's duties. But can he win a deadly match against a ruthlessly determined rival trying and vying for Felicity's affections, despite all odds?

The plot ideas for this fanfic were borrowed from the Firefly series episode Shindig.

Disclaimer: I do not own Felicity Merriman and Benjamin Davidson, or any of the characters belonging to Felicity the American Girl. The plot ideas for this fanfic were borrowed from the Firefly series episode Shindig, which was concocted by one of the series scriptwriters, Jane Espenson. Ideas were also derived directly from the script, too, which can be found in the Wikia website. Just type in Firefly and look through any possible references of the episode Shindig, as the FanFiction website does not allow for the capability of plastering web addresses directly onto its pages.


Tavern Brawl

Early evening settled across an almost completely rebuilt Williamsburg in the Colony of Virginia as a crimson sunset bathed its glowing rays across the town during the cool spring in April of 1782. Most of the main streets were sparse with folk meandering back to their homes and various shelters, and a handful of horse-drawn carriages sped by, splashing mud sideways as they maintained their hurried paces. The streets were fairly muddy and the clapboard and brick buildings were a little drenched, as it had been raining all morning.

The only few places where much rowdy activity was jovially rife were in the local taverns, but none was rowdier than Williamsburg's prominent Raleigh Tavern. The interior of the tavern itself was bustling as usual, with all the upbeat fife-and-drum music lightening up the candlelit, common and rather gritty surroundings. Loud, coarse, and gruff chatter and laughter could be heard across the confines of the huge room, with various menfolk, a handful of womenfolk, and tavern girls chattering loudly and drinking all sorts of alcoholic beverages, such as ale, beer, and cider.

At the left-hand side of the tavern room were four rather civilized-looking people seated across a small round tilt-top table whose current recreation comprised of playing card games with each other; two young gentlemen in their early twenties and two young ladies in their prime teenage years by the respective names of a former war veteran named Benjamin Davidson, his war buddy Walter Wheaton, Felicity Merriman, who was his longtime sweetheart ever since the middle part of their childhood, and Felicity's best and longtime friend and confidante Elizabeth Cole. The boys, who were seated at the right hand side of the left tavern wall, were dressed in casual colonial outfits, but their appearances differed by a slight. Ben's outfit comprised of a bright red straightjacket over his plain white shift, brown-black breeches, and black buckled shoes, which displayed slight to moderate streaks of wear and tear. Walter's outfit was very much similar to Ben's in terms of form, though his straightjacket was of a dark green color, and his breeches were of a dark-brownish color as well. His stockings showed fair signs of wear and tear, and his shoes were a tad muddied. The only thing regarding appearances that both Ben and Walter had in common were their queues. A satin-white ribbon tied Ben's chocolate-brown hair into a ponytail. The very same thing could be said about Walter concerning his dark-brownish hair. Ben's chocolate-brown eyes would often betray his often diffident personalty, and Walter's hazel-brown eyes would occasionally dart about anywhere else in an alerted manner like a spunky child's and most of the time kept relaxed, unless it was time for him to unleash his humorous and occasionally brusque side.

Both Ben and Walter had a longtime history of participating in the 5th Continental Regiment, a subdivision in the Southern Department formerly under the command of Capt. Michael Howell, which prominently belonged to Col. Henry Lee's renowned Continental Light Dragoons, more officially known as Lee's Legion. A year after the American War for Independence took its inception, Ben initially began his career in the 5th Regiment when he reached eighteen, and had to undergo rigorous training in the training grounds near the Palace Green. Walter followed Ben's stead a few months later, and for the next several months before he and Ben left Williamsburg for the Savannah between the fall and winter season, they became best buddies throughout the years of the war. Their faces could pretty much tell you their years of service in the Continental Army, but since the life of an army horseman was better off by a tad compared to the life of an infantryman, their faces still retained their fairly youthful appearances, thanks to their thorough recuperation from the war in their beloved hometown.

The girls, on the other hand, were seated at the left hand side of the tavern wall. Felicity, who was seated nearest the wall, next to Ben, was wearing a homespun turquoise-striped work gown and a plain snow-white mobcap with her traditional red lace, which crowned the top of her youthful head. Her vibrant, youthful titian ginger-colored red hair was gathered up in a bun by a satin white colored ribbon, and glistened naturally in the candlelight. The girl had snappy emerald-green eyes, and was imbued with a personality to be occasionally temperamental, having her temper match the color of her hair. Elizabeth, who was seated next to Felicity, was a little more refined in her tastes, given the appearance of her ordinary bright yellow gown she was wearing, along with her plain creamy-white mobcap with a satin-white lace. Her wavy golden blonde hair, which had a tinge of bleach about it, and which naturally glistened in the candlelight as well, was gathered up in a bun the same manner as Felicity's was by the very same type of ribbon that Felicity herself was wearing. Elizabeth's eyes were an avid blue that could almost match the color of an azure sky, and had personality that was a little more reserved, gingerly, and bashful.

Walter, who was twenty years of age and three years younger than Ben, couldn't help ogling at Elizabeth. "You look awful pretty in that yellow dress, Miss Cole," he observed quite fluently and dreamily. "You with the golden hair and all that…"

Elizabeth giggled rather suggestively at that remark, and her friend Felicity followed suit. It seemed that the two merriest girls in Virginia had something in common when it came to laughable topics.

"I dare say, the color of her dress quite matches with the color of her hair," said Felicity, giving a cursory glance at Elizabeth before turning her eyes back on Walter. "Really, Walter, you act as you want to flirt with her."

"What?" exclaimed Walter half-humorously. "Miss Felicity, you…of all Williamsburg's finest ladies…"

"What Lissie says is somewhat partially true," put in Elizabeth. "Believe me, I sort of feel the same way you do."

Walter let out a hearty chuckle as he shrugged off Elizabeth's comment. "Elizabeth, you sultry minx, stop falling in love with me. I've already made my commitment with my sweetheart, Sarah." Walter's girlfriend, Sarah Bennett, a colonist who was sixteen years of age, was a young attractive brunette with chocolate-brown hair and hazel-brown eyes. Felicity made mention that Sarah was her younger sister Nan's best friend, and it was Sarah who was fairly influential in overcoming Nan's shyness, since Nan was pretty shy in nature. Sarah was currently taking gentlewoman lessons with the respectable spinster teacher Miss Frances Manderly.

"Speaking of that, Walter, how's your sweetheart doing?" Ben inquired, as he slapped won his mug of apple cider.

"She's at Miss Manderly's trying to learn the language of the Frogs," rejoined Walter a little tactlessly.

"Frogs?" asked Felicity, giggling a bit. "As in 'animals'?"

Walter heaved a rather exasperated sigh. "No, Miss Little Red Riding Hood," he replied. "The Frogs, as in Frenchies."

Elizabeth cast a rather disapproving look at Walter. "Don't call them Frogs," she chided him a little crossly, dismayed by his seeming lack of respect for the French, from her point of view. "'Tis most awfully rude." Elizabeth was currently taking French lessons at Miss Manderly's and she didn't take kindly to calling the French "Frogs".

"Aye, 'tis so," agreed Felicity. "Don't you remember? The French were gracious enough to help us colonists win this war?"

Walter shrugged a bit. "You mean the good Frogs?" he asked. "The ones that came to save our pathetic colonial skins?" Felicity shot him a rather cross look, which made Walter change his facial demeanor by a tad. "Aye, Miss Merriman," he continued, as he belched a little. "I love the good Frogs, though."

Elizabeth just shook her head disapprovingly. "Walter,…" she said.

"Oh, please," rejoined Walter with a sigh. "You and your 'gentlewoman lessons'. Are they turning you and your friend into pathetic, weak-hearted bits of a girl?"

Felicity scowled at Walter. "That's not true!" she cried indignantly. She immediately turned to Ben for assistance from Walter's mildly insulting remarks, resting her right hand on his left. "Ben, tell Walter to stop making fun of us," she implored him. "He's making us proper young ladies look bad."

Ben only cachinnated in reply as he slurped the last remains of his apple cider and slapped his mug down on the table. "Lissie, he's only teasing," he replied. "You know Walter's like that." Walter had a tendency to joke around during his career in the Fifth Regiment, which sort of balanced Ben's fair seriousness regarding the business of army duty.

"But his jokes are despicable," Felicity hissed in a whisper, feeling a bit annoyed.

Ben only heaved a sigh as he stared into the drippy emptiness of his pewter cider mug. Felicity was feeling a tad exasperated about her beloved Ben's seeming tactlessness when Elizabeth gave her a tiny nudge on her right shoulder, which made her turn around until her eyes caught sight of her best friend, only to hear her making flattery comments about Felicity's younger siblings and how she just adored them. Ben had always been Felicity's young handsome knight in shining armor, but occasionally he could have some sort of propensity for tactlessness, as well as awkwardness.

"Lissie, I know you may get tired of this, but I really do like your siblings," she said a little tiredly, as if all that booze was influencing her mind. "They are so…adorable."

Felicity heaved a rather exasperated sigh. "Oh, Elizabeth," she opinionated. "You're just giddy after all that cider you've drunk in one sitting. Sometimes they quarrel a lot over their playtime." She heartily patted her firm, well-developed breasts, which sexily rose up and down a little from the low-cut area of the bodice of her gown whenever she took deep breaths. Felicity's bosom seemed to be the envy of her younger sister Nan, and possibly Elizabeth, whose bosom was a little flat-chested, but not as fairly large as Felicity's, though it was set nice and firm on her dainty chest. Elizabeth couldn't help but aim her gaze downward to Felicity's bodice.

"Elizabeth, I know you're being jealous about my bosom," Felicity said a little teasingly to her friend. "I can feel it whenever you look at the bodice of my gown."

"Lissie, please!" said a dismayed Elizabeth, as she planted her right hand firmly on her pillowing bosom. "Do not make such a presumption! Are you just trying to make me feel bad?"

Felicity chuckled to herself. "No," she replied in the midst of her laughter. "Why?"

Elizabeth gave her friend a rather solemn look. "Lissie, really. 'Tis bad enough that I hear such taunting remarks from Annabelle," she reminded her best friend seriously. Annabelle was Elizabeth's older sister who was six years older than Elizabeth was. She had just visited the Cole family during Christmas of 1781 with her husband, Lord Harry Andrews, from London, England, and the very first thing that Annabelle commented on about her younger sister was how horribly flat-chested her bosom was; at least, according to Elizabeth, that was how her older sister said it, though it was a little too far from the truth from how Elizabeth's bosom was actually formed under God's good graces. Nevertheless, that particular comment from Annabelle made Elizabeth shy away to her chair. To Elizabeth the whole experience was a little too embarrassing to bear.

To try to forget about the way she was treating Elizabeth, Felicity took a hearty swig from her mug of ale. "Oh, don't worry, Elizabeth," Felicity tried to reassure her in a manner that most girls her age would criticize another girl who acted too prissy from her point of view. "Really…your bosom is just fine." And with that Felicity mischievously poked the upper part of Elizabeth's left breast. Elizabeth at first was shocked at what Felicity did, but then Felicity burst into a seemingly uncontrollable fit of giggles, and Elizabeth felt that she just had to laugh. Both girls were now tittering loudly like a pack of hyenas.

Walter started chuckling to himself at the scene the girls were making. "Listen to them," he said, as he pointed his mug at the giggling girls.

Elizabeth was a little giddy from the ale she drunk as she faced Felicity. "Your sister Nan keeps telling me…about how mightily jealous she can be about your bosom," she said to her friend, teasingly wagging her right hand index finger at her.

Felicity made a slightly nervous gulp in her throat as she tried to regain her senses as she tried to wave off her friend's finger-pointing. "I know," she agreed. "She can make quite a prattling about it, too."

Ben seemed to suspect that the girls were getting kind of drunk. "While you girls are prattling away about…bosoms…or whatever they're called…I intend to get myself another ale," he said.

"What?" complained Walter sarcastically. "You're going to leave me here to tend to this flock of two merriest girls in all Virginia?"

"Aye," replied Ben briskly. "Want another?"

"Another what?" retorted Walter. "Another girl?"

"No," Ben answered rather exasperatingly. "Another cider."

Walter glumly shook his head. "No, thanks," he replied with a grunt. "I fear too much of that…thing…is going to dull my senses."

"Fine with me," rejoined Ben in his nonchalantly casual manner. Snatching his pewter mug, he strutted off to the bar counter to make his request.

"Wow," he remarked sardonically. "It seems…I'm the only boy in the company of girls now."

Felicity made a glum-looking face at Walter in response to his complaining remark. "Be thankful…that you're not in the company of mean-looking British soldiers and officers," she said to him. "They don't treat brave boys like you with very much dignity."

"Lissie,…not all soldiers and officers in the King's army are very bad people," put in Elizabeth, in reference to the British army under King George III, with whom the Thirteen Colonies successfully emancipated themselves from. "Some of them…can be very gentlemanly."

"Are you saying that because you're British?" Walter asked a little sneeringly. "And because they treat you nicely on account of your Tory leanings?"

"No, I'm not saying that because I'm British,…or because of my political leanings" answered Elizabeth, who was feeling pretty miffed over Walter's contemptuous-sounding statements about the King's army. "I'm saying that…because…well,…it's a fact." Somehow Elizabeth was beginning to feel somewhat stupid about her reply. And Felicity knew it.

"Don't feel too bad, Elizabeth," said Felicity a little consolingly, as she struggled to regain back her senses. "You know Walter and Ben have fought hard to keep our country free from British rule. 'Tis only natural he acts like that, and mayhap deservedly so, since both he and Ben have greatly risked their lives and spill their blood in order to guarantee the freedom all of us now enjoy." She put her left hand around Elizabeth's head and gently stroked her wavy blonde hair, past the area where the ribbon gathered her hair in a bun, and up to the very end of the bun itself.

Walter was somewhat unaware that Ben was just on his way back to the table with another mug of ale. He ogled at the girls with interested and unperturbed glee as he reclined at the back of his chair. "I tell you, ladies, when you're exposed to youth far more often, the butterflies in your gut start to go flippity-flop."

Both girls tittered to each other in reaction. "Really?" inquired Felicity, facing Walter as she laughed to herself.

Ben was looking rather cross at Walter. "You're not flirting with my sweetheart, are you?" he asked rather seriously, as he took his usual seat near his buddy, though there was some hint of sarcastic humor to it.

"No," replied Walter half-nervously. "Why?"

"You were ogling at the girls," replied Ben.


"So, if you're ogling at the girls, that basically means you've got the inclination to court one of them, and it sure isn't going to be my sweetheart Lissie."

"Or me," put in Elizabeth. "I have a boy…a man…a man-boy, or however you choose to call him, and his name…is Phillip." Phillip Michaels was Elizabeth's milk-chocolate-brown haired, medium-gray-eyed fiancé who was roughly two years older than she was. Even though Phillip was an English gentleman by birth, Elizabeth considered him to be a rather open-minded person when it came to political matters. And that was especially true, even though he was a Loyalist at heart, just like Elizabeth was.

"Well, tell me something I don't know," retorted Walter, who was feeling somewhat teased by his fellow co-ed compatriots. He stretched up from his seat. "Changed my mind a bit when I said I never wanted a drink from you. I'm getting another drink in the bottle and it's called 'brandy'." And with that, he sauntered off the same path Ben took to the bar counter.

Walter's rhetorical demand was answered in a rather unusual and disturbing way when two grubby hands slapped hard on the tilt-top table. All four of the group slowly looked up. It was a scrawny-looking middle-aged man, about Ben's size. He was dressed in a black coat of the gentry, and wore a pale-white powdered periwig over his half-shaven crowning glory, a wool-white cravat, and an upside-down V sash, as an external indicator that he was some kind of clergyman from the Anglican church. His face was a little baggy, given the nature of his etchedly straining look. And his slightly high-heeled fashionable black buckled shoes were immensely muddy from meandering too much around the muddied dirt streets of Williamsburg.

"Well," he began in a gruff and booming voice. "If it isn't two fine young lovebirds come to drink to their hearts content over possible marriage prospects…and,…" he wagged his right hand index finger in a moralistic manner. "…Getting themselves…irresponsibly drunk to the point where they cannot take care of their own damn selves."

Both Felicity and Elizabeth felt mightily insulted about what the man said. But Ben tried to be a tad humorous about the smoldering situation.

"Um…sir,…" he began as politely as he could afford to do, as if he was acting on stage. "…Only my Lissie and I are the lovebirds. My longtime comrade, Walter Wheaton, and Lissie's confidante…Miss Elizabeth Cole…are the ones…not in love…at the present."

"I see," replied the man in a rather sneering manner as he wagged his finger at him in an accusing manner. "But mind you,…Master…"

"Benjamin Davidson," added Ben.

"…Master Davidson," continued the man, "…That still does not change the fact…that you have the gall…to associate…in the presence of your friend…with two young prostitutes…who are at the prime of their lives…and who will know doubt…use their irresistible charms…to drag you into the depths of Gehenna…where…as Scripture says…there will be wailing…and grinding of teeth."

Felicity never bothered to give a damn as to whether this guy was somewhat of a learned clergyman or not; she felt immensely livid that this man dared to insult her honor and the honor of her friend by calling them "prostitutes". Especially provoking to Felicity was the fact that this man had just used Scripture in his attempt to justify his insults; at least that was from her point of view. She was not going to let him get away with this, even if he was several years older than she was. Nervousness crept into every area of Elizabeth's nerves as her friend prepared for her first salvo of cold and resentful words against the gentleman.

"Sir," she began aloof, putting much contempt into the word as she could, "I think you of all people know better than to call my best friend and I 'prostitutes'. We came to have a good time; not…to degrade ourselves."

"Then frankly,…woman," replied the man. "You…have just come to the wrong place. The bar…is for merriment…and fornication." At least that was from his point of view. Whether the Raleigh Tavern was set for such purposes remained to be seen. He immediately turned to Ben, whom he was the first to initially greet on his first encounter. "Your sweetheart…acts as though she is accountable to no one…or God," he continued. "Also is the undeniable fact that her hair…is blotchy red. And redheads…or 'gingers'…if you will…such as the one with a gingerly color you see betwixt this golden-haired lady…and your comrade,…is a scourge…on all things godly…as they indeed are the marks…of beastly sexual desires…and moral degenerations. Therefore your girl is a witch…and a whore. She must be burned."

Felicity looked up at the man mortified. Instantly she jumped up from her seat, defiant, with a temper as red as her hair. Her sparkling emerald-green eyes blazed with heartfelt wrath. Clenching her fists in heated fury, she proceeded to burst forth her fuming retort. Elizabeth shrank back in her seat as she personally braced for the next round of vehemence that Felicity would unleash in the manner of Greek Furies.

"How dare you!" she shouted with an unladylike squeak. "You are no gentleman to speak such dreadful things about me and the color of my hair!" With a temper to match her red hair, Felicity glared immensely at the well-dressed gentleman who dared to act like a jerk before her very eyes. "Away with you at once before I punch your awful face!"

Suddenly the entire tavern room was encompassed in dead silence. A majority of the onlookers, including a handful of the servant girls present, were very much aghast at Felicity's heated behavior.

"Whoa," remarked Walter at the back in reaction to the tavern folk staring immensely at the little group.

Ben put his hand on Felicity's shoulder, beckoning her to just sit down. Felicity decided to give in for her beloved's sake, on the presumption that Ben would find a way to deal with the mess she made. The gentleman chortled wickedly.

Ben faced the man in the eye like an adversary in a deadly duel. "I will not have you making unkind remarks about my sweetheart, or my sweetheart's best friend," he said in a grave tone of voice.

The gentleman sneered. "'Tis the will of God," he replied in a rather malicious manner.

"The hell with the will of God," rejoined Ben. Most of the tavern folk were aghast about Ben's seemingly irreverent reply, but Ben for the most part ignored their flabbergasted reactions of dismay and whispers. "I don't see how a merciful God justifies the burning of my innocent sweetheart," he said coolly.

The gentleman peered closer to Ben's chocolate-brown eyes. "If you don't do the will of God,…you die," he said spitefully.

Ben gave a rather dry smile at the man, pretty confident in the knowledge that his God was a God of free will. "The hell I will," he rejoined. And with that he right away landed a good, solid punch on the side of the gentleman's face with his right hand. Stunned completely, he immediately landed face forward on a tilt-top table, toppling the table lid on his right side area before dropping flat to the tavern floor in a slumped manner. The man was now unconscious.

Elizabeth was also shocked at what Ben dared to do, and it was expected that Felicity should feel dismay over her beloved's deed in defense of her honor, but this time, Felicity was flouncing at Ben, staring a little crossly at him. "Why didn't you let me punch him?" she asked crossly. "I had just as much right to give his face a good smacking for insulting my honor and the honor of my best friend as you do."

Ben smiled dryly again as he cricked his hand to alleviate the pain from the impact. "What?" he asked rather sarcastically. "And take out all the fun? C'mon." Felicity only heaved an exasperated sigh in response.

But Ben's stint in the tavern room was not without consequence from the other customers. Some of the tavern folk, angry and fearful of their lives lest Ben did the same to anyone who had the gall to challenge him, slowly brandished their long knives and pocket knives, and some quietly cocked the hammers of their flintlock firearms. One man, however, a gruff, ragged-looking Virginian farmer in his light tan-colored frontier clothes, immediately sprang up from his seat at the other end of the tavern room opposite where Ben and his friends were seated.

"You dare insult a man of God?" he bellowed. His words of utter fury echoed and shook the tavern room to its core.

"'Twasn't a man of God," answered Ben straightly and forthrightly. "That was just some religious freak come to insult my feminine compatriots."

But the farmer didn't bother listening. In his uncontrolled, irrational fury he picked up a chair with both hands and tried to hurl it at Ben. Fearing that the chair would end up hitting the girls, Ben toppled the tilt-top table to their front causing both Felicity and Elizabeth to get knocked to the floor, with their cider drinks spilling on their gowns.

"Ouch!" squeaked Elizabeth.

"My breasts!" cried Felicity, as she massaged her bosom, which was hit slightly by the edge of the fallen table's top. "Ooh."

In a split second, the barmy Virginian farmer madly rushed at Ben like a mad bull with a loaded Brown Bess musket, along with a bayonet attached at barrel's end. Ben sprinted to his left seconds before the bayonet's point got stuck fast on the wooden panel, due to the sheer force put into trying to stab it at Ben, which fortunately Ben managed to miss by a long shot. Instantaneously, Ben pushed the madman away, forcing the bayonet-attached gun to spring off the wall as the farmer accidentally fired the gun off, the blast aiding in propelling the bayonet-attached musket off the wall from its stuck-fast position. The loud blast of the gun made both Felicity and Elizabeth shudder.

Catching the falling firearm with a firm grip on both hands, Ben whacked the farmer hard on his lower torso region in a counterclockwise direction, using the butt of the gun. Then he made another violent swing at the farmer, this time in a clockwise direction. Ben's intended whacking target was the farmer's neck or head area, but due to the musket's fairly weighty size, and given the fact that he wore off his arms a bit after his first strike, he ended up striking the gun butt near the top of the farmer's right shoulder area, with the musket itself completely giving way as it splintered in two. The broken firearm now rendered useless against the pretty tough farmer, Ben flung the barrel away from his right hand and without hesitation landed a mighty punch against the farmer's head, which knocked him violently to the wooden floor, sprawling and grimacing in sheer pain.

Milliseconds after Ben's first strike at his attacking tavern brawler, a handful of other tavern folk, the majority of them being former militiamen during the war, immediately sprang up into action in support of the knocked out farmer and were about to intervene on the farmer's behalf when Walter stepped into the scene in support and loyalty for Ben, like a person who took politics at an exceptionally personal level. Seconds when these tavern folk were on the brink of making their assaulting rush against Ben, Walter tripped one of the taverners, causing the Domino effect of knocking out the next handful of menfolk near him. In reaction, one of the taverners grabbed a broomstick from a frightened servant girl and attempted taking a swing against Walter, but being the agile type, Walter managed to duck the swinging broom pole, which was frighteningly swinging frighteningly at full speed in one missed hell of a stroke. He then grabbed right away at the broomstick on the area near the broom head.

The confrontation was now a tug-of-war between the farmer and Walter himself. Walter made a 15 degree turn before giving the farmer a single hard push with his strong right foot, which knocked the farmer literally off-balance onto a dish-laden tilt-top table, wherein the table gave way, allowing for the man to crash noisily to the ground, landing directly on his back with a loud thumping sound.

Ben's brief interesting moment of Walter making a rather stupendous scene of himself was no doubt interrupted rudely when the same sprawling gruff farmer with whom Ben had an initial confrontation with deliberately tripped him off-balance onto the hard wood floor using his active right leg. Ben was shoved off-balance and he landed splat on the floor backward with a hard thud. Both girls goggled in shocking reaction at the scene; Elizabeth nervously had her hand fixed to her gaping mouth, and Felicity watched the scene, agape with dismay.

Felicity herself proceeded to assist Ben in any way she could, but by the time the farmer had struggled to get up, he roughly shoved Felicity to the ground, forcing her to land splat in a messy heap. That second, Ben lifted a plain wooden chair with all his strength and with both hands shoved the top part of the chair against the man's face, thereby knocking him down to the floor a second time. By that time, Elizabeth was up on her own two feet. A second after Ben slammed the chair back down on the floor, Elizabeth in her sheer fright ended up tripping on a stray half-empty brandy bottle and ended up landing directly on Ben face-forward.

For a second, Felicity thought that her best friend was about to flirt with Ben! "Gracious, Elizabeth! Not on Ben!" she cried.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Lissie," Elizabeth bespoke in a straining tone of voice. "I couldn't help it." At this point, Ben was struggling with all his might to push Elizabeth off his body.

Meanwhile, on an area near the bar counter, where Walter knocked out his first adversary in a relatively fair fight, a hotheaded middling man in olive-drab-looking colonial outfit and flat-black three-cornered hat over his woolly white bag-and-tie wig performed a mad direct rush at him. Walter's lightning-quick response to the one-man onslaught was two-fold. First, Walter broke off the broom head from the broomstick by setting the broomstick in a manner where the broom head stamped the floor, holding the broomstick with his wielding right hand and stamping his left foot on the area almost halfway near the broom head as hard as he could, thereby separating the head from halfway near the attached end of the stick itself. Then he twirled the stick with his right hand near the top, spherical end in the manner of martial arts master before giving way to the rushing madman, allowing Walter to splat the stick directly on his adversary's middle area of his torso region. The madman spun 360 degrees vertically before being knocked flat on the floor as a result. Walter rushed off with his broken broomstick.

At the very back end of the tavern, two people can bee seen struggling violently against each other in a drunken fit. A man was knocked face-flat on a circular four-legged table by another man. Nearby, two men were violently struggling against each other in hand-to-hand mêlée, with one guy swinging a hard wooden bludgeon at him. At the middle area of the tavern room, Ben extended his right arm with his fists clenched seconds after he sprints to his left side to dodge a charging taverner in a drab outfit. The victim got knocked to the floor instantly during Ben's quick arm takedown technique.

Seconds after Ben was able to assist the girls on getting themselves up from sprawling in an unladylike fashion on the floor, a burly Virginian frontiersman in a ragged khaki-colored buckskin outfit executed an encompassing grab across Ben's shoulders with his burly arms. Ben attempted a violent shake-off by gripping his hands on each of his adversary's sturdy gripping arms with all his strength, but the guy was way to strong for him to subdue in a single blow. Being a hotheaded tomboy, Felicity, in all her staunch hotheadedness, dutifully performed her part in the closed-quarters battlefield in intervention by theatrically performing her own encompassing grab across the guy's neck in a rather pathetic manner. In response, the frontiersman stamped Felicity's right foot twice hard with his booted right foot, which made Felicity wince in fairly excruciating pain, and did a violent back-thrust at her with sheer force, pushing Felicity away and allowing her to crash-land on a brandy-ridden floor. Just when the frontiersman thought that he had full gripping control of his victim for a second, Ben came up with a backward head-butt against the man. He then performed a backward grab of the man's buckskin coat collar, spun around, gyrated around, twisted his coat, pulled back on the adversary by the scruff, and forcibly thrust him to the floor with sheer strength.

Nearby the bar counter, Walter was in the grisly business of tackling yet another tavern adversary. A slender looking boy a few years older than he rashly attempted a pushing kick at him, but Walter managed to catch hold of his right leg in the whizzing nick of time before the kick could be fully executed. Then, while holding the chap's leg firm in the grip of his strong left arm, Walter used his other hand to swing a hard and nasty punch at the guy, knocking him silly. The young man lost his balance and fell to the floor, with Walter half-humorously letting go of the guy's leg. The boy lay backward, sprawling on the floor.

Another man tried to thrust a butcher's knife at Walter, but he managed to sprint aside to his right, on account of the offender using his right arm. He grabbed the knife handle in the nick of time, delivered a hard and violent kick directly on the man's groin area, and pushed him aside.

Meanwhile, where the middle of the tavern room had literally become a hot place for the brawling tavern customers, the same Virginian farmer whom Ben had crossed seconds ago in two previous brawling rounds tried to land a woefully unguided swinging punch at Ben himself, but Ben managed to successfully dodge the incoming blow by ducking low under the farmer's dangerous swinging arm. As Ben sprang himself upright like a strong metal spring, he utilized his left arm to grab his seconds-old adversary in the torso region, used his free right hand to close his strong grip on the man's face, and violently hurled him with sheer force to the wall area at the back end of the tavern room, leaving him sprawling on the floor once again near the wall itself.

Near the area next to the bar counter once again, Walter managed to duck the single swinging blow of a thirteen-year-old boy dressed in nothing but his waistcoat and shift, save for his breeches and worn-out black buckled shoes, as the boy clumsily swung some sort of boomerang-like Indian weapon in an unwieldy manner. When the boy's Indian bludgeon hit the floor instead, Walter took a hasty step forward and swung a nasty punch at his young face with his right arm. The boy hit the bar counter with his head face-flat and Walter struck the boy on the head and hurled his body aside.

Meanwhile, a serious mussed-up Ben lent his hand to the girls. "Come on! I'm getting you out of here!" he called.

"What about Walter?" Felicity asked.

"He's coming. He can take care of himself for the time being. You girls can't."

Felicity most likely would have protested that last statement that Ben made, but in the middle of a violent tavern brawl, she would have to go with what was for the time being best for her, as well as for Elizabeth.

Ben accompanied a now mussed-up Felicity and Elizabeth out of the tavern. Seconds later, after the trio exited the Raleigh Tavern, the same thirteen-year-old boy whom Walter had just confronted a few seconds go, and was still confronting, was hurled in midair over the bar counter and violently smashed directly on a brandy shelf before crash-landing splat on the corner of the back end of the reception area, sprawling on the hard wood floor in a sopping, brandy-stained state. And all that happened much to the clean-shaven and slightly overweight alderman's surprise, as he took his cursory glance at the injured fellow the moment Walter took his rough and unceremonious leave.

This is only the prelude for the other chapters to come. I've got everything pretty much figured out regarding the plot line for this story, but it will take a while to put things all into words. So just bear with me, my avid Lissie/Ben fans.

A/N (1): The likely to exact time of this particular starting point in the story would be April 20, 1782 A.D., around 5:00-6:00 in the evening.

A/N (2): A/N: The name Michaels (or rather, Phillip Michaels) was borrowed from MackenzieW's American Girl fan fiction story titled The Return of Bananabelle. I thought the name Elizabeth [Cole] Michaels had a rather nice ring to it, so I decided to make use of the name Michaels.

A/N (3): The idea of Ben joining Col. Henry Lee's Dragoons (a.k.a. Lee's Legion), rather than as a common soldier, was derived from pansyphoenix's Lissie/Ben fan fiction on The Dark Phoenix. The very idea of it sounded so cool and reasonable, since Ben, as seems to be implied in the Felicity series books (and movie, too), seems to be quite adept with horses. Of course I decided to have it that Ben joined a subdivision of Lee's Legion: The 5th Regiment of Light Foot Infantry (possibly known as the 5th Regiment of Horse), which, according to him, was under command of Dragoon Captain Michael Howell. (This is a fictional Dragoon Regiment under Lee's Legion. Allusions of the 5th Regiment can be found in my Lissie/Ben fanfic titled The Silent Romantic Moment of Felicity and Ben and Benstown.)

A/N (4): The name Andrews was borrowed from MackenzieW's American Girl fan fiction story titled The Return of Bananabelle. I thought the name Lady Annabelle Andrews had a rather nice ring to it, so I decided to make use of the name Andrews.