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quigonejinn1.
Hornblower got his memorial at Caudebec -- he paid for it out of his own pocket, spent months having an agent survey, inspect, and then negotiate the sale of the land, and there were complications because he was not a French citizen but wanted to purchase land that technically belonged to the state, and then, when the mayor found out that Hornblower intended to raise a memorial to the British dead but not the French dead, there was another round of negotiation, at the end of which Horatio agreed to make contributions to certain French orphanages.
It cost a shocking lot of money, but it got sorted out in the end precisely becaue of the money, and Horatio was able to come over for the ceremony of dedication.
Rain made mist come up from the river. The service was short, sparsely attended. The mayor was there with the ribbon across his chest, and since the weather was threatening to turn more miserable at any moment, soon as the service was over, they boarded the carriages.
Hornblower attempted to resist, but it was too much: it was his first time back in France since Waterloo had happened, and he turned and looked out of the carriage window. Barbara made a noise because the rain was starting to come down heavily and he would catch his death, but he only ever stuck one arm out and a bit of his face, and yes, he could still see the granite column standing on the outcropping over the bend of the river.
It had been quarried from as close to Chichester as Hornblower could arrange, and it stood lonely now, in the mist and rain, overlooking Caudebec.
2.
It was a shock, a positive shock, to see that name in print, casual as anything: Horatio had not known that Bush had a nephew, but it was eminently possible that he did. Multiple sisters, after all. Only boy in the family. He had never mentieond that any of them had married, and Horatio couldn't imagine that any sister of Bush's would ever be stupid enough to get caught with a bastard child, but it didn't matter. A situation similar to what Gerard had with his nephew, and Brown was looking at him now from the end of the bed.
Brown? Horatio blinked.
He was lying in his bed at Smallbridge. The curtains to both the bedand the windows had been pulled, and there was, somehow, a copy of the Naval Chronicle in his hand, and it wasn't the page with the list of dead and wounded in the last campaign.
"Is this the latest edition of the Chronicle?"
"It is, sir. From two days ago."
Horatio pushed himself up in the bed so that his back lay against the pillows. "And I haven't been in France?"
"France?"
Brown really had become an admirable gentleman's servant. There was just the right mix of skepticism mixed with honest-sounding inquiry, and Horatio closed his eyes. "I haven't been at sea, have I, since coming back from in the Witch of Endor?"
"No, sir." Brown was occupied now in laying out the clothes, stockings, a shirt, and Horatio ventured one more question.
"When is Bush coming?"
Brown was still a bent over the clothes, but Horatio caught a bit of a smile that had to be tucked back into the smooth face, and Brown sounded pleased despite himeslf. "This afternoon, sir, for supper and the night."
Horatio didn't much bother to hide his smile, though.
"I didn't sleep peacefully last night, did I, Brown?"
"No, sir. Typhus recovery takes some people that way."
There would be time later to mourn intangible dreams of being a Commodore, of command in the Baltic, and even a lordship with its little golden crown. He could yearn his heart out for anothersea command, let alone promotion like that -- what had been the name of that French city? It was fading from memory already.
3.
"I gave him his first prize command, you know -- he was a midshipman, not even an acting lieutenant, and we took French brig carrying rice. It had been damaged by gunfire when we took. Eventually, they had to abandon ship, and they were picked up by French privateers." Pause. "Did Hornblower ever tell you this story?"
Bush shook his head. Tucked his hands behind him a little more neatly. He should have said something, he realized, intead of letting his head bob like a monkey's.
"No, he wouldn't have." Pellew turned away and walked to the end of the desk. "Fast little thing. Built for speed. We stumbled over her by sheer chance, and as soon as she saw us, she started to run. She would have run clear out of sight, in fact, but the most curious thing happened -- a fire started on board, and we were able to catch her and put out the fire.
"When I asked Hornblower about it, he told me that he had no idea how it started. Swore that he had nothing to do with it, and then, when I spoke to the privateer captain, he told me that it had started in the paint locker. It had been set with pages torn out of books. Navigation books."
Pellew was looking out of the stern windows, and his hands, too, were clasped behind him. "Books that he'd lent to Hornblower."
There was silence in the cabin now; Bush could hear men talking on deck above them, but the admiral remained turned, and Bush knew that he ought to find some way to get out of the cabin. He still felt rooted, though, both his whole and his wooden foot. Only pieces of Pellew's story had passed into his head -- fire, books. Pellew, younger. Hornblower, much, much younger. Bush was reeling from other things, and he thought that he did manage to say something, he thought, though it could not have been very graceful.
Bush watched as the admiral went to the sideboard and poured them each a generous glass -- if he hadn't been hanging onto his composure with his fingernails and weren't only going through the motions of paying attention, Bush would have noticed that he got the more generous glass.
"I've stripped the marines off every ship in the squadron. Six hundred men in all, so cramped sailing, but enough to make your presence felt when you arrive. It'll be a bad situation even then, but you should be able to hold the place for long enough for me to join you with the reinforcements from England." Pellew handed him the glass, and Bush took it, waited for the admiral to propose the post.
"Damned French." Bush started to raise his glass, but no, that wasn't it. That hadn't been the toast. The admiral sounded very tired suddenly, though, and he looked down at his feet for a moment before straightening himself up and raising his glass.
"To Mr. Hornblower. One of the very best officers that either I or the British Navy has ever known."
The brandy was strong enough to burn past the lump that seemed to have permanently formed in Bush's throat. It did less for the ache in his chest, however, and as a result, even though his slightly drunk mind was full of the logistics and shifting and the orders must be given as soon as he set foot on his ship again, as he left the flagship and carefully lowered himelf into the Nonsuch gig, Bush had a muddled, grieving thought.
Somehow, it would have been better his friend had died at sea and not in some obscure French town.
Somehow.
Sorry about the spam. Blame the fact that I! Got! My! Five-Volume! Abridged version of the Naval Chronicle today!
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 11:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-05 01:14 am (UTC)*moose wriggles*
*recs you on crack-van*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 11:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:32 am (UTC)There's a lovely, totally fucked up fic that needs to be written about the AU where Horatio never really goes to sea again after coming back from France -- or where, like, the court martial doesn't go well. I can't figure out how they'd possibly hold him responsible, but yeah. Fic about how, even in worlds where Bush doesn't go to sea, Our Heroes don't get a happy ending.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:54 am (UTC)Emotionally, I think he'd just be squished into a wee bug. And the question would then be what his relationship with Barbara and Richard. :> And I think you hsould write somethingalong these lines.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 04:01 am (UTC)And I have a case that's going to a three-week (or more) trial tomorrow. Ain't no way I'm writing any fic for a LOOOONG time. :) I shouldn't even have even written Incurable when I did. ;) And writing Horatio was such a bitch that... well, you know. :)
the men call horatio 'captain crazy bitch' when neither he nor bush are listening
Date: 2006-02-02 04:31 am (UTC)And have fun with the trial. *____* I hear they're soul-eating things for the attorneys involved.
Nah, Bush called him Captain Brainblower behind his back, too.
Date: 2006-02-02 04:45 am (UTC)i have lawyer friends who put their souls into jars each morning before going to court :>
Date: 2006-02-02 05:15 am (UTC)And then it turned out that "get brain" is slang for uh, you know. Getting a blowjb.
So yes. I just exploded with laughter on reading the subject line, and yes, Horatio. Read those mathematics books, explain them to Bush in those below-decks math lessons, and get head in return. :>
So, then why is it a *girl* reading the book rather than some hot guy?
Date: 2006-02-02 08:38 pm (UTC)Wait, she already thinks I'm nuts so what's the big fu*king deal?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 02:30 am (UTC)But then he didn't.
So I did not cry.
But I almost did because your writing rocks my socks (even my Christmass bell one with the hole on my big toe that itches). Love ya, Rhod. Excellent, as always.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:39 am (UTC)*is not, uh, obsessed with AUs or anything*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-05 08:04 am (UTC)(What? No! We love him for his... BRAINS!)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 12:50 pm (UTC)