The notion of writing that fic makes my heart hurt, but man. The crack potential of a nineteen year old Richard meeting his father for the first time in decades in France makes me go O.O. The ride up to the fairy-tale castle, the river on one side, the fields of the village below on the other making sort of an eerie parallel to Smallbridge?

I weep, too, for the notion of Hornblower in France who has had a couple kids by Marie.

Including, you know. A son named William.