Hornblower drabbles
It's been an age since I last posted anything Hornblower related (and it's all John Barrowman's fault *g*) I found a couple of things tht've been sitting on my hard drive since last year and I can no longer remember why I didn't want to post them :P
Two drabbles here, a longer fic to follow when I've tidied it a bit.
The situation was hopeless. Capture or death was imminent. For one once so quick to fight, Horatio Hornblower no longer found interest in war. He ordered the ship’s colours to be struck, a hazy disorientation accompanying his words. He was unused to surrender, and attributed his lapse to the new experience. A hand on his shoulder startled him. None of his men would be so bold as to touch him, and the weight felt familiar, soothing. He turned. His disorientation and the hand on his shoulder melded into one. Archie. The look on his face told Horatio everything. He was dead.
***
Archie curled his hands around the edge of the bed, grimacing at the effort it took to maintain a firm grip with his wasted hands. The infirmary was empty, the door unguarded and Horatio was not due to return until later in the evening. Now was the time. He felt a pang of guilt at having misled Horatio but perhaps it was better this way. Here, alone, he was no man’s burden.
His emaciated body heaved as he slowly crossed the room, finally sinking down into a tub of warm water. He may be weak, but he could still bathe.
Two drabbles here, a longer fic to follow when I've tidied it a bit.
The situation was hopeless. Capture or death was imminent. For one once so quick to fight, Horatio Hornblower no longer found interest in war. He ordered the ship’s colours to be struck, a hazy disorientation accompanying his words. He was unused to surrender, and attributed his lapse to the new experience. A hand on his shoulder startled him. None of his men would be so bold as to touch him, and the weight felt familiar, soothing. He turned. His disorientation and the hand on his shoulder melded into one. Archie. The look on his face told Horatio everything. He was dead.
***
Archie curled his hands around the edge of the bed, grimacing at the effort it took to maintain a firm grip with his wasted hands. The infirmary was empty, the door unguarded and Horatio was not due to return until later in the evening. Now was the time. He felt a pang of guilt at having misled Horatio but perhaps it was better this way. Here, alone, he was no man’s burden.
His emaciated body heaved as he slowly crossed the room, finally sinking down into a tub of warm water. He may be weak, but he could still bathe.