In the style of a fairy tale.

[quigonejinn]

O nce upon a time, there was a man who had three sons. The man was not a king, so his boys were not princes, and the first boy could do with more attention to his studies, and the second boy needed to stop eating so many sweets, and the third boy was too young to have anything worth objecting to yet, though something was undoubtedly bound to crop up with the way his mother indulged her littlest baby with plays and stories, but they were very fine boys notwithstanding, and he loved them all very much. Thus, when it came time for each of them to make his way into the world, the father did not find a place for them at the prize agent firm where he worked and had made a very good living and could have used the help. Nor did he send them off to be educated at university and made doctors or lawyers or professional folk, though he could certainly have used the reduction in billing.

Instead, he took them to his brother, who had become a very rich sea captain during the wars in America, and lived in a grand house in London with a rose garden and two footmen, and the man had them ask their famous, rich uncle for help.

"I should like to become an officer in the Army and ride a splendid horse," the first boy said. He was a good-looking boy, with an elegant bearing and flashing dark eyes, much like the best Araby chargers, and the uncle bought him a lieutenancy in the 49th.

"I should like to become a member of the Royal Artillery and blow things to the dickens," the second boy said, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the handsome clock ticking by the wall in the study. He was a less handsome boy, rounder, brown haired, but anyone could see the intelligence and boldness on his face. His eyes were as green as the cover of as a copy of 'Artis Magnae Artilleriae pars prima,' actually, and his uncle had him made a cadet with a full set of books and a fine pocket watch.

When it came time, the father took the third boy to London, too, up the grand curving stairs, past the fine clock in the study that his brother had so admired, past the bronzes of the hunt that his other brother had liked, and through another set of doors to a grand room with a very large bed in it, in which a wrinkled old man lay. The boy was in his best clothes, and he was supposed to ask to be a major in the Army, as his father had the greatest hopes of all for him, his littlest boy who was built so fine and strong and brave, and there would be a number of years yet in which the money might be gotten together for this, but the boy had been staring at the carvings of dolphins sporting around the stairs and the lintels. The uncle was to have a title if he could live long enough, and the Earls of Cassillis had dolphins as their hereditary sign, so they were on the the walls and the mantles. The handles of the doors were even cunningly carved so that it looked like dolphins were sporting in the waves and leaping between your fingers.

Thus, when he came to the great bed, when asked, the boy blurted out that he wanted to wear blue. He wanted go to the sea and become a famous captain in the Navy. Rule Britannia! Glorious war! Beauty ashore!

And the uncle studied him for a moment, and then he touched his namesake's shining hair and said, "I believe I might be able to find a place for you. I have many friends still at sea -- would you like to be a midshipman, my boy, on a ship of the line?"

The youngest boy, who had golden hair and a golden heart, raised his arms and cheered, and the uncle laughed and told him to take the model ship on the wall down and play with it. He could, in fact, keep it; it was a good replica of his first command, which he had gotten when he was not too much older himself, and the boy cheered again, so loud, at both the new toy and the thought that he might have a grand ship of his own very soon, that the doctor came to hush them all. The uncle roared at him, though, in what he still had of his gun deck voice, for he wanted to watch his nephew take the sloop around the Cape of Storms at the foot of the bed.

His own boy was lacking in physical courage and fire. He was a very great disappointment to his father, who had spent enormous sums of money on him, and it gave the old captain strength in his illness to see this sturdy, beautiful child who had been named after him and who, it seemed, loved the sea much as he loved it.

He still dreamed of it sometimes, when it was raining and possible to pretend.

"This boy may be the best of them all, Robert," he said, smiling, to his brother. "I will reccommend him to Keene, who has the Justinian, and we shall see what the Navy can do for our Archie."



Based on a happy little dorkish conversation that randomalia and I have been having about this and this.

Comments

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

It would be terrible. It really would be. I mean. Maybe I'm projecting my own family issues onto it, but I imagine that at first, they might not believe it because Archie had been reported dead before, and then it somehow turned out that he had only been prisoner in Spain, and then he was no longer a prisoner, but then he was again, and Archie never quite explained it when he was home briefly that one time before he left on the Renown, so who knows?

Perhaps he still was alive. Perhaps there had been a terrible, terrible mixup. The Gazette had been known to be wrong before.

And then, when the Renown comes back to England they find out from her crew that no, Archie is not aboard it. Yes, he did die as a mutineer in Kingston. In response to their letter, Captain Cogshill writes to tell them that he is sorry to have to say this, but Mr. Kennedy would have been hung if he hadn't died first. And they spend the next period calling up every single time that he was sulky or rebellious as a child, and they just torture themselves about it. One of Archie's older brothers comes home from the fighting, and they have to tell him of the news, and his face goes flat.

And then Hornblower comes to their door, hat in hands, without his greatcoat because he pawned it to get transportation to London where they now live, and tries to tell them about how it really happened. And he either has to lie through his teeth to them or to admit to them that their son died as a mutineer in order because of a debt he felt that he owed to Hornblower.

TOWER OF PAIN, MY FRIEND. TOWER OF MOTHERFUCKING PAIN.

[randomalia.livejournal.com]

:/

I think they would come round to believing it, like you say. He's so hard-headed in his judgements. If something's not to his liking, you know about it. But mutiny is not even so bad as *pushing his captain*. But yeah, imagine Horatio trying to say (with all his self-consciousness and doubt) actually, it's all a lie; your son thought my life was worth more than your family honour and feelings. He doesn't even really get why Archie did it. Bush understands perfectly. Horatio has to go and ask why.

And apart from their own feelings, the Kennedy family being so well known, it's such a disgrace. And that thing of getting a letter, and Archie just never coming home. *.*

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Man. You're right. They'd probably know that he confessed to pushing his captain, and not just any captain, but one of Nelson's own and a hero of the Nile, even if it had been made a little clear that he was not completely there. Holy fucking Jesus.

I wonder what happened to his sea chest -- would Hornblower have taken it to the Retribution with him, I wonder? All those months in the captain's cabin with him, and then man. I wonder if he would be able to take Archie's things to his parents and whether munitying officers were put back in uniform for burial.

If they weren't, I imagine that Archie's dress uniform would still be inside the seachest. *___*

*drags self to computer*

[randomalia.livejournal.com]

Yes, EXACTLY. Can you imagine the social reaction? Everyone would know, and it would be gossiped about, by all sorts of people who would never know the real situation or who Archie was.

What does happen to the sea chests of dead officers, generally? I think Horatio would have taken it with him, or at least made sure it was sent back. But I wonder if he thought about keeping something from it. He would probably believe it would be wrong to do so, but the *thought* that maybe he could keep something of Archie's with him. Argh.

Re: *drags self to computer*

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

I can't imagine that he'd be able to convince himself to keep something from it, and somehow, I don't think he'd be able to ask Archie's parents. *______* So it'd be a little play with all of those fics that always have Hornblower able to save things, you know? After Archie's gone, he doesn't have anything left to him from that period except his career and his friendship with Bush.

Terrible. Terrible.

Re: *drags self to computer*

[randomalia.livejournal.com]

Exactly, he WOULDN'T, but I love the thought of that little moment when he thinks about it. Maybe keeps his hand on something a bit longer than necessary. Maybe feels ashamed and weak and stupidly sentimental.

And his friendship with Bush is the best thing he could have, really.

the deep dark teatime of hornblower's soul.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Man. Oh man. I bet he doesn't realize it then, though. He hasn't seen Bush since he left the Renown in the West Indies, and Hornblower at that point, man. Pretty much stripped of his worldy goods, and feeling like he's been stripped of all of his friends, too. And his career is in, like, negative gear.

I wonder at what point he learns about his father being dead. *____*