A Chance
Title: A Chance
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: G
Notes: A wee missing scene to go with those lovely screencaps :}
“It means war Horatio.” Archie was smiling broadly, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. Horatio stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend his misplaced joy. How could he smile? Clayton was dead. Didn’t he realise? All around was a cacophony of shouting and cheering, bells were ringing, people flooding onto the streets, and somewhere in the midst of the commotion, Horatio was vaguely aware of a woman crying.
“War Horatio! Don’t you understand? This is it, this is what we’ve been waiting for, this is our chance!” Archie seized him by the shoulders and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Horatio felt the breath go from his lungs but he didn’t resist. There was something strangely comforting about the solid feel of Archie’s body against his own, the strong arms encircling him. Nothing else seemed quite real.
Archie was still grinning when he drew back from the sudden embrace. “This is our chance Horatio. Our chance to get off that stinking hulk and show Johnny Crapeau what we’re made of!”
Horatio continued to stare at Archie, horrified by his oblivious delight. He felt weak and dizzy and he staggered as a knot of cheering men pushed past. Archie caught him by the elbow as the crowd surged around them. “Come on Horatio, you need a drink, not the Lamb, best give Jack a wide berth, the Bull’s just round the corner. Come on.”
Horatio looked doubtfully back at the inn, he could still hear Simpson roaring in pain and rage above the din of the crowd. “But Clayton…I should go…”
Archie cut short his protestations. “Go where Horatio? Clayton’s dead. There’s nothing more that you can do for him. Hepplewhite’s there, leave it to him. He’ll see things right. At least he’s still sober enough to tell the dead from the living.”
Horatio shook his head in mute protest but Archie was already shouldering his way through the heaving, jostling crowd, dragging him in his wake.
The Bull was set further back from the docks but the pealing church bells had carried the news ahead of them and a raucous crowd was already filling the doorway. Archie elbowed past them and pushed Horatio towards a bench in the corner before disappearing again into the noisy throng. Horatio sank gratefully on to the bench, he felt sick and numb and his head was throbbing unbearably. He wished all the people would go away and the noise stop.
It seemed an age before Archie returned and pressed a glass into his hand. “Drink it,” he commanded, before raising his own glass in a toast. “To war!”
Horatio glared at him in dull fury “How can you think of such a thing at a time like this? Clayton is dead, Archie, does that mean nothing to you?”
The incandescent smile slid from Archie’s face. As he lowered his glass, his lips were pressed into a thin hard line.
“It should have been me,” Horatio continued in a thick hoarse whisper. “It should have been me Archie.”
“No Horatio, it shouldn’t have been you. Someone should have stopped him, Keene or Eccleston or Chadd, or…or anyone. Anyone but you.”
Archie spoke with such vehemence that he startled Horatio out of his maudlin self-pity. He looked up and saw a cold hard light glittering in Archie’s eyes but as he caught the fierce blue gaze, the cold light flickered and went out. “No Horatio,” he sighed, “it should have been me.”
There was something in Archie’s tone that chilled Horatio to the bone. Desperation, or resignation, or something worse. Something he couldn’t put a name to. But that changed nothing. Clayton was still dead and he must answer for his crimes.
“I’ll go straight to the captain, resign my commission…”
“Why? What for? You’ve done nothing wrong, and besides,” Archie snorted, “you haven’t got a commission yet.”
Horatio stared at his shipmate aghast. “Archie, Clayton is dead and it is my fault.”
“No Horatio,” Archie replied dryly, “it’s Simpson’s fault. Unless I am mistaken he pulled the trigger.”
“That is beside the point Archie, I am still to blame.”
“Oh spare me the noble sacrifice Horatio. If you want to carry Jack Simpson’s sins on your shoulders then god alone can help you. I certainly won’t.” Archie turned away and fixed a sour blank gaze on the crowded room.
Horatio could feel anger rising above his shame. “It is my duty to go to the captain. I owe that much to Clayton. It is the only honourable thing to do.”
Archie turned back to him, the corner of his mouth lifted in mock astonishment. “Your duty Mr Hornblower? I think you will find that if it is anyone’s duty it is mine. I was his second after all. Besides,” he spat bitterly “I don’t remember Henry Clayton being overly concerned with doing the honourable thing.”
“But…”
“But nothing Horatio. You weren’t even there. What would you tell the captain? That you called Simpson out? I doubt you’re the first midshipman to issue a rash challenge. Clayton’s death is…” Archie paused, searching for the right word, “unfortunate, but he took his chances.”
Horatio was at a loss to fathom Archie’s callous disregard for the only shipmate ever to have shown him any compassion, and his bewilderment brought a cold edge to his anger. “Mr Kennedy, I thought you more of a gentleman than to speak so ill of the dead.”
“Is that a challenge?” Archie sneered. “Are you going to call me out to defend my honour as a gentleman? There’s precious little left to defend Horatio.”
The sheer force of Archie’s bitterness doused Horatio’s anger and for a moment he feared he’d overstepped his mark. Archie glared at him furiously, inviting the challenge, but just as suddenly as it had flared, his temper burned out. He slumped back in his chair and ran his hand wearily over his eyes. When he looked up, Horatio saw that the shadow had passed leaving only a trace of inexpressible sorrow.
“I’m sorry Horatio, I didn’t mean to speak ill of Clayton. He died bravely. He did his best. He always did his best, it just…it just wasn’t enough.” Archie sighed and refilled their glasses from the bottle of what ever it was that passed as brandy in The Bull.
“To Henry Clayton,” he raised his glass for the toast, “he died a brave man.”
“Henry Clayton” Horatio replied, tipping the rough spirit down his throat and triggering a fit of coughing so violent that he drew curious glances from the crowd and a burst of laughter from Archie.
“I should still go to the captain…” he insisted weakly once he had regained his composure and wiped the smarting tears from his eyes.
“Look Horatio,” Archie grasped his hands across the table and held them tightly, “forget the captain, forget Keene, do you think he will care? We are at war! Nothing else matters now. Everything is going to change.”
Archie’s eyes were shining again and Horatio wanted nothing more than to believe him. To believe that he could wipe the slate clean, to start again, to be the officer he aspired to, a man to make his father proud.
“Come on,” Archie was pulling him to his feet now, “we’d better get you back to the ship, before you do yourself any more damage with that swill they have the cheek to call brandy.”
Archie’s breath was clouding the air in front of him, as the shore boat pulled away from the quay. Horatio was sitting hunched by his side in the sternsheets. Despite the heavy cloak he had wrapped around himself, he was shivering uncontrollably, though whether from the cold, the shock or the after effects of the brandy, Archie was unsure. Trying not to rock the boat and put the oarsman off his stroke, Archie shrugged out of his great coat and draped it over Horatio’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side as he did so. Horatio made no objection, he simply tucked his chin into his cloak like a roosting rook and huddled closer.
Flurries of snow were whipping across the harbour as they pulled out towards the anchorage but Archie was oblivious to the cold, his spirits were soaring and his heart pounding fit to burst. This was it. The end and the beginning. This was war. This was his chance. And out there somewhere, hidden by the haar, beyond the anchored fleet, were the frigates. Amazon, Arethusa, Diamond, Indefatigable, names to conjure with, and men he would be proud to follow, Reynolds, Warren, Smith, Pellew. Men he would fight and die for. But none more so than the young man sitting shivering by his side. All he needed was a chance.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: G
Notes: A wee missing scene to go with those lovely screencaps :}
“It means war Horatio.” Archie was smiling broadly, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. Horatio stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend his misplaced joy. How could he smile? Clayton was dead. Didn’t he realise? All around was a cacophony of shouting and cheering, bells were ringing, people flooding onto the streets, and somewhere in the midst of the commotion, Horatio was vaguely aware of a woman crying.
“War Horatio! Don’t you understand? This is it, this is what we’ve been waiting for, this is our chance!” Archie seized him by the shoulders and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Horatio felt the breath go from his lungs but he didn’t resist. There was something strangely comforting about the solid feel of Archie’s body against his own, the strong arms encircling him. Nothing else seemed quite real.
Archie was still grinning when he drew back from the sudden embrace. “This is our chance Horatio. Our chance to get off that stinking hulk and show Johnny Crapeau what we’re made of!”
Horatio continued to stare at Archie, horrified by his oblivious delight. He felt weak and dizzy and he staggered as a knot of cheering men pushed past. Archie caught him by the elbow as the crowd surged around them. “Come on Horatio, you need a drink, not the Lamb, best give Jack a wide berth, the Bull’s just round the corner. Come on.”
Horatio looked doubtfully back at the inn, he could still hear Simpson roaring in pain and rage above the din of the crowd. “But Clayton…I should go…”
Archie cut short his protestations. “Go where Horatio? Clayton’s dead. There’s nothing more that you can do for him. Hepplewhite’s there, leave it to him. He’ll see things right. At least he’s still sober enough to tell the dead from the living.”
Horatio shook his head in mute protest but Archie was already shouldering his way through the heaving, jostling crowd, dragging him in his wake.
The Bull was set further back from the docks but the pealing church bells had carried the news ahead of them and a raucous crowd was already filling the doorway. Archie elbowed past them and pushed Horatio towards a bench in the corner before disappearing again into the noisy throng. Horatio sank gratefully on to the bench, he felt sick and numb and his head was throbbing unbearably. He wished all the people would go away and the noise stop.
It seemed an age before Archie returned and pressed a glass into his hand. “Drink it,” he commanded, before raising his own glass in a toast. “To war!”
Horatio glared at him in dull fury “How can you think of such a thing at a time like this? Clayton is dead, Archie, does that mean nothing to you?”
The incandescent smile slid from Archie’s face. As he lowered his glass, his lips were pressed into a thin hard line.
“It should have been me,” Horatio continued in a thick hoarse whisper. “It should have been me Archie.”
“No Horatio, it shouldn’t have been you. Someone should have stopped him, Keene or Eccleston or Chadd, or…or anyone. Anyone but you.”
Archie spoke with such vehemence that he startled Horatio out of his maudlin self-pity. He looked up and saw a cold hard light glittering in Archie’s eyes but as he caught the fierce blue gaze, the cold light flickered and went out. “No Horatio,” he sighed, “it should have been me.”
There was something in Archie’s tone that chilled Horatio to the bone. Desperation, or resignation, or something worse. Something he couldn’t put a name to. But that changed nothing. Clayton was still dead and he must answer for his crimes.
“I’ll go straight to the captain, resign my commission…”
“Why? What for? You’ve done nothing wrong, and besides,” Archie snorted, “you haven’t got a commission yet.”
Horatio stared at his shipmate aghast. “Archie, Clayton is dead and it is my fault.”
“No Horatio,” Archie replied dryly, “it’s Simpson’s fault. Unless I am mistaken he pulled the trigger.”
“That is beside the point Archie, I am still to blame.”
“Oh spare me the noble sacrifice Horatio. If you want to carry Jack Simpson’s sins on your shoulders then god alone can help you. I certainly won’t.” Archie turned away and fixed a sour blank gaze on the crowded room.
Horatio could feel anger rising above his shame. “It is my duty to go to the captain. I owe that much to Clayton. It is the only honourable thing to do.”
Archie turned back to him, the corner of his mouth lifted in mock astonishment. “Your duty Mr Hornblower? I think you will find that if it is anyone’s duty it is mine. I was his second after all. Besides,” he spat bitterly “I don’t remember Henry Clayton being overly concerned with doing the honourable thing.”
“But…”
“But nothing Horatio. You weren’t even there. What would you tell the captain? That you called Simpson out? I doubt you’re the first midshipman to issue a rash challenge. Clayton’s death is…” Archie paused, searching for the right word, “unfortunate, but he took his chances.”
Horatio was at a loss to fathom Archie’s callous disregard for the only shipmate ever to have shown him any compassion, and his bewilderment brought a cold edge to his anger. “Mr Kennedy, I thought you more of a gentleman than to speak so ill of the dead.”
“Is that a challenge?” Archie sneered. “Are you going to call me out to defend my honour as a gentleman? There’s precious little left to defend Horatio.”
The sheer force of Archie’s bitterness doused Horatio’s anger and for a moment he feared he’d overstepped his mark. Archie glared at him furiously, inviting the challenge, but just as suddenly as it had flared, his temper burned out. He slumped back in his chair and ran his hand wearily over his eyes. When he looked up, Horatio saw that the shadow had passed leaving only a trace of inexpressible sorrow.
“I’m sorry Horatio, I didn’t mean to speak ill of Clayton. He died bravely. He did his best. He always did his best, it just…it just wasn’t enough.” Archie sighed and refilled their glasses from the bottle of what ever it was that passed as brandy in The Bull.
“To Henry Clayton,” he raised his glass for the toast, “he died a brave man.”
“Henry Clayton” Horatio replied, tipping the rough spirit down his throat and triggering a fit of coughing so violent that he drew curious glances from the crowd and a burst of laughter from Archie.
“I should still go to the captain…” he insisted weakly once he had regained his composure and wiped the smarting tears from his eyes.
“Look Horatio,” Archie grasped his hands across the table and held them tightly, “forget the captain, forget Keene, do you think he will care? We are at war! Nothing else matters now. Everything is going to change.”
Archie’s eyes were shining again and Horatio wanted nothing more than to believe him. To believe that he could wipe the slate clean, to start again, to be the officer he aspired to, a man to make his father proud.
“Come on,” Archie was pulling him to his feet now, “we’d better get you back to the ship, before you do yourself any more damage with that swill they have the cheek to call brandy.”
Archie’s breath was clouding the air in front of him, as the shore boat pulled away from the quay. Horatio was sitting hunched by his side in the sternsheets. Despite the heavy cloak he had wrapped around himself, he was shivering uncontrollably, though whether from the cold, the shock or the after effects of the brandy, Archie was unsure. Trying not to rock the boat and put the oarsman off his stroke, Archie shrugged out of his great coat and draped it over Horatio’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side as he did so. Horatio made no objection, he simply tucked his chin into his cloak like a roosting rook and huddled closer.
Flurries of snow were whipping across the harbour as they pulled out towards the anchorage but Archie was oblivious to the cold, his spirits were soaring and his heart pounding fit to burst. This was it. The end and the beginning. This was war. This was his chance. And out there somewhere, hidden by the haar, beyond the anchored fleet, were the frigates. Amazon, Arethusa, Diamond, Indefatigable, names to conjure with, and men he would be proud to follow, Reynolds, Warren, Smith, Pellew. Men he would fight and die for. But none more so than the young man sitting shivering by his side. All he needed was a chance.