fic catch-up
I noticed that I hadn't got around to posting anything I'd done in... eh, awhile, so here are the fics I've written recently(ish) and not posted:
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Title: Good English
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: A scene from a slight AU of First Impressions, where Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanies Catherine to Netherfield. Bingley decides they should all amuse themselves with a Dramatic Reading, Henry has a cunning plan, Charlotte is ambivalent, and Catherine is confused by everything.
Pairings/warnings: Darcy/Elizabeth (Catherine/Henry), Jane/Bingley, implied Charlotte-->Elizabeth(Henry) or Charlotte-->Darcy(Catherine)
Length: one-shot (1,079 words)
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They were not putting on a play, of course -- just reading Shakespeare for the edification of all.
At least, Henry supposed so; after two days of enduring Miss Darcy’s frozen presence, following her with his eyes and envying everyone to whom she spoke, he had little attention to spare for such trivial proceedings.
Perhaps, he thought hopefully, she was simply unwilling to betray her feelings further, without any hint of his own. With her sense of delicacy -- yet, he could not bring himself to make his intentions known to anybody beyond their two selves. If she were truly indifferent, she would be placed in an impossible situation, and he, humiliated. No; he must find a way to communicate with her away from the others, or so surreptitiously that nobody else would notice.
Bingley’s voice rang out: “Naturally, Hal will be the King; he is the best speaker among us. But who shall read for the princess?”
Henry’s head snapped up, and a plan instantly formed in his mind. “Miss Darcy, of course,” he said promptly.
Charlotte Lucas smiled with a peculiar twist of her lips. “Harry for Harry and Catherine for Katherine? How -- suitable.”
(Charlotte loved them both, in different ways -- the lovely heiress who offered uniform disdain to almost everyone else, but, inexplicably, friendship and patronage to her, and the childhood companion who still called himself her friend. And she had half-expected this. She approved heartily, for they were suitable, in taste and disposition and intelligence and principles and everything she could think of. Why, she could not have found a better lover for either if she had made the match herself. Yet, somehow, it was uncomfortable and bittersweet and -- and hard.)
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had accompanied his former ward to Netherfield, scowled at Henry and promptly claimed the part of the Duke of Burgundy. Though his usual agreeable self in general, he seemed unable to breathe the same air as Henry without indignation.
They all read together in the evenings, when nobody wanted to talk, and even the avowed lovers had grown tired of cooing at each other. While the others declaimed their parts, laughing as they traded three books among a cast of over a dozen, Henry delivered the King’s speeches in his most ringing tones, trying not to watch Catherine sit in abstracted silence.
She only seemed jarred into awareness when her own turn came; not so much out of attention to her own rôle, but in sheer amusement at watching Miss Bingley play Alice. When Henry, desperately trying to keep his face sober, met her eyes over Miss Bingley’s head, she even smiled at him.
He waited impatiently through his mother’s surprisingly effective stint as the Chorus, and carefully looked away as Kitty handed her book to Miss Darcy.
In a moment, he found himself addressing her, as anxious as he had ever been in his life. “Fair Katherine, and most fair,” he began, and lifted his head to look directly at her.
She seemed almost to flinch, and when her lines came, spoke them with a coldness unusual even for her.
Henry hesitated. “Do you like me, Kate?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam sat a little straighter, his clever, ugly face turning to glance from one to the other. Kitty yawned.
“Pardonnez-moi,” replied Miss Darcy, stiffly, and yet she managed to sound vaguely offended. He hoped it was what passed for acting with her.
“I am glad thou canst speak no better English,” he said, “for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love -- ”
She turned pale and looked away, but Henry determinedly continued,
“ -- but directly to say ‘I love you.’ Give me your answer, i’ faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?”
“Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.”
He bit his lip, lines tumbling out with little comprehension of what he said.
Then, slowing, he told her, “If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.”
Catherine, who had kept her eyes fixed on either the page or the ground with uncharacteristic demureness, now lifted them to meet his in considerable bewilderment.
She hesitated, then said quickly, “Is it possible that -- dat I should love the enemy of France?”
The colonel now seemed to be trying to slay him with a glance.
“But Kate,” said Henry, ignoring her outraged cousin, “dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou love me?”
He studied her face. She was flushing a little now, which might be promising, but her expression seemed almost unhappy. He considered their number of lines and cheerfully leapt ahead. “Therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand and say, ‘Harry of England, I am thine.’ ”
She glanced up again, white-faced and solemn, and dropped her hands on the book in her lap. From her, it practically constituted encouragement.
“I will tell thee aloud, ‘England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Harry B -- ” He turned a vivid red, Catherine’s eyes widened, and Charlotte Lucas smiled wryly at them. Nobody else seemed to notice. “-- Plantagenet is thine.”
Fitzwilliam, lips compressed to a thin line, took Mrs Bennet’s book and said loudly and insincerely, “God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?”
“I would have her learn,” said Henry evenly, “how perfectly I love her; and that is good English.”
Catherine gave up her book in considerable relief. Henry watched her hands tremble and did not know whether to consider his attempt a failure or not. Its general effect seemed to have been to amuse Charlotte Lucas and infuriate Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The next day, when Miss Lucas and Miss Darcy walked out together, the latter said to her friend, “Last night, Mr Bennet -- Mr Henry Bennet - seemed . . . rather peculiar, did he not?”
“A little, perhaps.”
“I suppose it must be -- Mr Bingley was right, he speaks well, with a good deal of -- feeling.” Her brow furrowed. “Still, I rather had the impression that he was trying to tell me something. If only wish I knew what it was!”
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Title: Yours, Et Cetera (1 & 2)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: First Impressions, as seen in the characters' correspondence with one another. (I originally wrote First Impressions in letters, before deciding against it and switching over to narrative. It recently occurred to me that some of you might like to have the letters as a companion to FI itself, so here they are.)
Pairings/warnings: allusions to Wickham/Georgiana, sort of
Length: WIP (3,003 words so far)
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Chapter One
Letter 1: Mr Wickham to Miss Darcy
Madam, my gratitude to your father cannot possibly be expressed. I am well aware that every blessing of education and manner I possess must be owing to his great kindness, little deserving of it though I may be, and I assure you, with all solemnity, that the debt of gratitude I owe to him will never be forgotten.
I am given to understand that Mr Darcy's benevolence did not end with his death, for which I offer the deepest condolences. -- Pray forgive the hand in which I scrawl (and I fear, blot) this letter, I still cannot contemplate my -- our -- losses with any kind of equanimity. -- You must understand. Although my inclination is not for the quiet and retirement of the church (I trust that you, more familiar with the unguarded warmth and vivacity of my disposition than anybody now living, had perceived as much), I must confess that I was loath to disregard Mr Darcy's wishes in this matter. Plainly, his desire for me to enter into the church continued to the end of his life; his recommendation of such a valuable living allows no other interpretation. The matter, therefore, required considerable reflection.
Nevertheless, I have now decided absolutely against taking orders. It is not unreasonable, I hope, for me to expect some small sum in place of the preferment -- which can be of no benefit to me now. Rather, I intend to study the law, a profession far better suited to my abilities; but the interest of one thousand pounds will be a very insufficient support therein. I am sure that your father, had he lived, would have provided for me in the profession of my choice.
Pray forgive any inconvenience this may cause you, and accept my sincerest condolences,
George Wickham
Letter 2: Miss Darcy to Captain Fitzwilliam
My dear Jack,
You know that my father particularly recommended that the Kympton living be given to Mr Wickham, whenever Mr Trent leaves this world. I pray for his continued good health.
Today I received the most extraordinary letter from Mr Wickham. It seems that he does not intend to take orders at all -- thank God! I could hardly deny my father's dying wish, yet Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. I must confess, I am surprised that he should see the matter so clearly himself, but perhaps there is hope for him after all. He claims that the law is much more suited to his abilities and temperament, which is certainly the case; he does not want social powers. He has asked for a sum of money in lieu of the living -- several thousand pounds seemed implied, which is hardly unreasonable in the circumstances.
Perhaps my doubts spring from flaws in my disposition, rather than his; if so, then of course I will be very sorry, and promote his advancement in whatever way I can. I would like to believe he is sincere. I would like to believe everybody is sincere, but I cannot. I particularly cannot when presented with such incompetent, unsubtle attempts at ingratiation.
Georgiana, poor thing, is asking for you again. Her spirits were always melancholy, but I believe she has never recovered from my father's death. I cannot seem to console her; my temper is not maternal and she has not been easy with me since she went to school. Please write to her; I believe she would confide more readily in you than me, and if not, she would at least be comforted by your interest.
I remain your affectionate cousin,
C. D.
Letter 3: Captain Fitzwilliam to Miss Darcy
Two or three thousand pounds is little enough to be finally rid of George Wickham. He will never study the law, of course.
I have written to Gee. Bring her to Ardsley for Christmas, my father adores children and my mother is already gathering her armies of nephews and nieces -- it would do Georgiana good to associate with children her own age, and the Howards and Darcys and Carterets are related in so many ways that Mama half-considers her a Howard already. Moreover, she has promised that I will be home by the 23rd if she has to swim across the Channel and fetch me herself.
J. Fitzwilliam
PS -- She also mentioned that you have not sung a note since Mr Darcy died, and believes -- as do I -- that that would be a greater comfort to your sister than anything we can do. As concerns music, at least, Georgiana is wholly my uncle's daughter.
Letter 4: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
Naturally, if you intend to resign all claim to assistance in the church -- even supposing that you would ever be in a position to receive it -- I consider it only just that you should receive more immediate assistance. I hope three thousand pounds will be satisfactory.
I am prepared to present your inheritance to you at your earliest convenience. I trust that the inevitable meeting between us will be brief.
C. Darcy
Letter 5: Mr Wickham to Miss Darcy
My dear Miss Darcy,
I have received news of your recent loss. Mr Trent was the finest sort of clergyman -- inspiring as an orator, but gentle and kindly in his charge. I can only hope that I will, in some small way, be able to live up to the memory of his many excellences.
My own circumstances are exceedingly bad; the law was most unprofitable a study, and I am now resolved upon being ordained if you will present me to the Kympton living -- an eventuality of which I trust there can be little doubt, as I am assured that your family has nobody else to provide for, and you could not possibly have forgotten your late, revered father’s intentions for me.
I am, as always, your servant,
George Wickham
Letter 6: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
Acquainted as I am with the multifarious vagaries and vices of your character, I had never before believed you to want understanding. You must recall that you received three thousand pounds in lieu of the preferment, not as a personal gift. If not, then you are certainly not capable of the duties of the office, so the entire matter is academic.
Pray do not importune me on this matter again.
Catherine Darcy
Chapter Two
Letter 7: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
I suggest that you leave Ramsgate immediately. My cousins will be here in two days, at the latest, and I cannot answer for their reactions to what I must tell them. Colonel Fitzwilliam, you may remember, is my sister's guardian.
Do not respond to this note, and do not attempt to gain entry to this house, or any other my sister or I shall ever reside in; your confederate has been removed from her charge, and if Georgiana is ever again so unfortunate as to set eyes upon you, my family will do everything within our power to blight all possibility of your ever enjoying worldly comfort or prosperity.
Letter 8: Mr Collins to Mr Bennet
Dear sir,
The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.
My mind however is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and must be acceptable to you and, particularly, your amiable daughters -- but of this hereafter.
If you should have no objection to receiving me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'nnight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.
I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and children, your well-wisher and friend,
William Collins
Letter 9: Mr Bennet to Mr Collins
Sir,
I will expect you on the 18th, with pleasure.
H. Bennet
Letter 10: Miss Bingley to Miss Bennet
My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. Miss Darcy has gone to visit her aunt at Pickering, and my brothers are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley
Letter 11: Miss Bennet to Mr Henry Bennet
My dearest Hal,
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr Jones -- therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me -- and excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.
Yours, &c.
Letter 12: Mr Henry Bennet to Mrs Bennet
Madam,
My sister does not appear to be in any danger; nevertheless, I would desire you to visit her yourself, and form your own judgment of her situation.
Yours, &c.
Letter 13: Miss Darcy to Miss Georgiana Darcy
My dearest Georgiana,
I hope you are enjoying your time at Stanton. My uncle and aunt have told me how glad they are to have you with them for awhile. I suspect that they miss the days when the house was overflowing with young people; with nearly all of Lady Harrington's nieces married, her son and half her nephews in the army, and the Carterets fixed at their Irish estates, such occasions are quite rare now. If you would like any of our Darcy cousins with you, I am sure they would be only too welcome. When I called on Lady Darcy at Pickering -- it is only about twelve miles away from Netherfield, and I was only too glad to escape this dull, uncultured market-town for a day -- she told me that Phylly and Lavinia are quite miserable by themselves.
Miss Bingley wishes for me to say that she longs to see you. -- Consider it said.
I would exhort you to practise your music and drawing, but I know that you will do so regardless. If I had a quarter of your dedication, dearest sister, I would be as accomplished as any woman (or man, I suppose) could desire; but I have not your patience. So while you, undoubtedly, practised on the pianoforte and harp until your fingers were sore and unsteady, and studied twice as much as your masters commanded, I persuaded Miss Bingley to accompany me for an hour -- though she is so eager to oblige my every whim, that rhetoric is rather wasted on her -- and considered that quite sufficient for the entire week.
I suppose I might have performed in company, for we have been compelled to associate with Mr Bingley's neighbours -- Sir William Lucas requested a song, but of course I refused. To sing in such a place! Moreover, though I do not consider myself at all timid or fearful, I can admit to you that the very idea of performing before a room full of strangers is highly disagreeable to me. I felt my hands shaking, and then was furious with myself for being so silly.
I have just realised that of course, you know nothing about Sir William or anybody else here. As I expect you shall join us by January, you ought to be prepared -- so I shall provide the dramatis personae forthwith.
Sir William Lucas, I understand, was formerly mayor of Meryton and, for reasons which defy all understanding, made a small fortune in trade, and then received a knighthood from His Majesty. At present he is a slightly presumptuous, very stupid, but rather kindly magistrate-cum-village fool. His wife is a sort of shrill caricature of himself, and there is an army of children -- ranging from an ill-behaved boy to the eldest, a lady of about twenty-seven. The latter is clever, very sensible, and rather plain; all of the former are noisy children, or ill-bred young men and nonsensical girls. They are certainly irksome, to their sister as well as all their neighbours, but I hope to see more of her. I have missed intelligent company.
Then there are the Bennets, neighbours and friends to the Lucases -- or rather, the other way around. They are by far the most prominent family in the area. Mr Bennet is master of the aptly-named Longbourn, a modest, but respectable estate, and rarely appears to either his family or neighbours. Perhaps the dereliction of his duties ought to be condemned; but, as I have been so unfortunate as to spend many hours in the company of both, his motives are entirely understandable. Whenever his wife enters any room I occupy, I only wish it were possible to emulate him. Her utter vulgarity, avarice and imbecility are almost beyond the power of words to describe. Even her low birth and connections cannot fully account for them.
There are five children -- a son of about five- or six-and-twenty, and four daughters. The eldest girl, perhaps a year or two younger than I, is lovely, good-humoured and well-bred; an angel, as Mr Bingley constantly avers. He is madly in love, again, but she really is a picture of perfection. I ought to like her better than I do. The younger three are much worse -- Miss Mary a prosing, surprisingly silly pedant, while Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia are prattling flirts.
Fortunately for his father's sanity and mine, the younger Mr Bennet is far superior to his sisters in understanding. I like him; I do not know if he means half of what he says, but he is always amusing. However, I must confess that it is disconcerting to speak to someone who has the wit to comprehend me -- particularly a handsome young man. I did not think so at first; indeed, I was initially more struck by his want of striking beauty than anything else; but I now find him quite pleasing to look upon.
He is light and rather tall, and altogether there is an elasticity about his walk that I admire. And although I was at first convinced that he had scarcely a good feature in his face, I had no sooner told my friends so when I saw that his countenance is rendered unusually intelligent by the expression in his dark eyes.
It is all very humiliating. It is, however, also very worthwhile, as my changed opinion gave me the opportunity to deliver a crushing set-down. Miss Bingley is really quite presumptuous sometimes. Moreover, Mr Bingley's infatuation with Miss Bennet, and our shared regard for Miss Lucas, have necessarily thrown us together a good deal, and it is much pleasanter to look at a handsome man than a plain one.
There are also the Longs, Gouldings, &c -- I do not know any of them well, and do not care to, as they all seem hopelessly dull. Mrs Long, who once sat beside me for half an hour without saying anything but "how d'ye do," apparently took umbrage at my silence. Miss Lucas tells me that it has something to do with a hack chaise. I do not pretend to understand this.
Speaking of Mr Bennet, he arrived at Netherfield yesterday. It seems that the day before that, when I went to see my great-aunt Darcy, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst invited Miss Bennet to Netherfield. She was caught in the rain, developed a cold, they sent for the apothecary, Mr Bennet rushed here to see her for himself, she begged him to stay with her, Mr Bingley naturally invited him to remain until she recovers, et cetera. Miss Bingley is convinced that all of this, somehow, is the consequence of a complex plan of Mrs Bennet's, which I rather doubt. Mrs Bennet scarcely has the capacity for complex thought of any kind -- or, unless she is the Almighty in disguise, command over the elements.
Regardless of how it has happened, Mr Bennet is in this room at this very moment. It is a little unsettling; I cannot see him well enough to tell what he is doing, but he seems to be listening to Miss Bingley's rhapsodies over my penmanship. Even Mr Bingley must have a book that is more interesting than that. -- I am almost out of paper, so you shall not hear her rhapsodies over you until January. Pray forgive me. -- And now that her brother has begged for an end to Mr Bennet's argument with me, there is nothing else to report. I will expect your lovely long letters as often as you can write them, and am, as always, your devoted sister,
Catherine Darcy
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Title: Where Will Wants Not
Fanverse: canon-compliant
Blurb: I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?
Pairings/warnings: suicidal thoughts
Length: drabble (103 words)
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She wanted to die.
Not a long, slow, creeping death. A death befitting Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, Théoden's sister-daughter, last of a house of kings-and warriors, too, not mere nursemaids to Edoras. She had endured through long years of misery and drudgery, while Wormtongue haunted her steps and poisoned the very air of Meduseld. Duty had been her only comfort for all that time; she had served, and served, and she deserved this much.
She would die today.
Éowyn's heart thrilled in her chest as she followed her uncle onto the Pelennor, and she laughed and sang with every other rider of Rohan.
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Title: Almost Human
Fanverse: canon-compliant/Quality of Mercy
Blurb: Luke, after Bespin.
Pairings/warnings: cyborgs!
Length: drabble (130 words)
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He was a cyborg.
It was on all his records, now. It'd always been human before. Not that they'd checked, or anything. With the Rebellion, it was enough to say so. Except now, because everyone knew about the hand.
Oh, it was better than the stump, but it didn't itch, it fumbled, it was too strong, it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same. He was part machine now, just like-just like-just like he'd been in his vision. How much longer before-
No. No. It wouldn't happen, he'd stop it, always in motion, do something, not do something. He wasn't going to turn, wasn't going to turn into that, would never threaten his own child's life.
Though Vader hadn't killed him, in the end. Distantly, Luke wondered why.
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Title: If There Be Any Sorrow
Fanverse: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker
Blurb: Three years after Lucy flew off with Han and Chewbacca, she discovers the truth. Spoilers: (Compliant w/ the fic, AU for the verse)
Pairings/warnings: Han/Luke(Lucy), character death
Length: double drabble (263 words)
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Lucy screamed.
Han jerked awake. His cabin was pitch-dark and he heard nothing but the sound of Lucy's breaths. He might have thought he'd dreamed it if the breaths weren't quick, shallow gasps, followed by a rustle of blankets. Or if it hadn't happened dozens of times before.
He'd half-expected it, this time.
There was another, harsher rustle: Lucy shoving her arms into her robe. Han tried to squint in her direction.
“Lucy? You -” He yawned.
“Sorry. Just Yavin,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him. “Go back to sleep. It's all right.”
The door was closing behind her before he could reply, but she obviously hadn't used one of her magic tricks on him. He was wide-awake now.
Three years ago, he'd been rather sorry to see the Rebel base blasted out of the sky, rather regretted the death of their sharp, fierce princess-he'd liked her, by the end. But it'd been something else for Lucy, who grieved as if she'd lost a lifelong friend, did her very poor best to hide it, and seemed as confused by herself as Han. Now they knew why.
Lucy had been white and shaking when she returned from Dagobah. “Yoda's dead,” she'd said, and “he told me everything-it's true-and there's more. I'm not the only child. Except now.” She gave a high, screeching laugh that Han felt reasonably sure would haunt his dreams. “We were twins. The Skywalker twins.”
“Twins?” he said blankly.
“Leia and me. She was my twin sister.” Her face crumpled even as she kept laughing. “My sister.”
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Title: Good English
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: A scene from a slight AU of First Impressions, where Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanies Catherine to Netherfield. Bingley decides they should all amuse themselves with a Dramatic Reading, Henry has a cunning plan, Charlotte is ambivalent, and Catherine is confused by everything.
Pairings/warnings: Darcy/Elizabeth (Catherine/Henry), Jane/Bingley, implied Charlotte-->Elizabeth(Henry) or Charlotte-->Darcy(Catherine)
Length: one-shot (1,079 words)
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They were not putting on a play, of course -- just reading Shakespeare for the edification of all.
At least, Henry supposed so; after two days of enduring Miss Darcy’s frozen presence, following her with his eyes and envying everyone to whom she spoke, he had little attention to spare for such trivial proceedings.
Perhaps, he thought hopefully, she was simply unwilling to betray her feelings further, without any hint of his own. With her sense of delicacy -- yet, he could not bring himself to make his intentions known to anybody beyond their two selves. If she were truly indifferent, she would be placed in an impossible situation, and he, humiliated. No; he must find a way to communicate with her away from the others, or so surreptitiously that nobody else would notice.
Bingley’s voice rang out: “Naturally, Hal will be the King; he is the best speaker among us. But who shall read for the princess?”
Henry’s head snapped up, and a plan instantly formed in his mind. “Miss Darcy, of course,” he said promptly.
Charlotte Lucas smiled with a peculiar twist of her lips. “Harry for Harry and Catherine for Katherine? How -- suitable.”
(Charlotte loved them both, in different ways -- the lovely heiress who offered uniform disdain to almost everyone else, but, inexplicably, friendship and patronage to her, and the childhood companion who still called himself her friend. And she had half-expected this. She approved heartily, for they were suitable, in taste and disposition and intelligence and principles and everything she could think of. Why, she could not have found a better lover for either if she had made the match herself. Yet, somehow, it was uncomfortable and bittersweet and -- and hard.)
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had accompanied his former ward to Netherfield, scowled at Henry and promptly claimed the part of the Duke of Burgundy. Though his usual agreeable self in general, he seemed unable to breathe the same air as Henry without indignation.
They all read together in the evenings, when nobody wanted to talk, and even the avowed lovers had grown tired of cooing at each other. While the others declaimed their parts, laughing as they traded three books among a cast of over a dozen, Henry delivered the King’s speeches in his most ringing tones, trying not to watch Catherine sit in abstracted silence.
She only seemed jarred into awareness when her own turn came; not so much out of attention to her own rôle, but in sheer amusement at watching Miss Bingley play Alice. When Henry, desperately trying to keep his face sober, met her eyes over Miss Bingley’s head, she even smiled at him.
He waited impatiently through his mother’s surprisingly effective stint as the Chorus, and carefully looked away as Kitty handed her book to Miss Darcy.
In a moment, he found himself addressing her, as anxious as he had ever been in his life. “Fair Katherine, and most fair,” he began, and lifted his head to look directly at her.
She seemed almost to flinch, and when her lines came, spoke them with a coldness unusual even for her.
Henry hesitated. “Do you like me, Kate?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam sat a little straighter, his clever, ugly face turning to glance from one to the other. Kitty yawned.
“Pardonnez-moi,” replied Miss Darcy, stiffly, and yet she managed to sound vaguely offended. He hoped it was what passed for acting with her.
“I am glad thou canst speak no better English,” he said, “for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love -- ”
She turned pale and looked away, but Henry determinedly continued,
“ -- but directly to say ‘I love you.’ Give me your answer, i’ faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?”
“Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.”
He bit his lip, lines tumbling out with little comprehension of what he said.
Then, slowing, he told her, “If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.”
Catherine, who had kept her eyes fixed on either the page or the ground with uncharacteristic demureness, now lifted them to meet his in considerable bewilderment.
She hesitated, then said quickly, “Is it possible that -- dat I should love the enemy of France?”
The colonel now seemed to be trying to slay him with a glance.
“But Kate,” said Henry, ignoring her outraged cousin, “dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou love me?”
He studied her face. She was flushing a little now, which might be promising, but her expression seemed almost unhappy. He considered their number of lines and cheerfully leapt ahead. “Therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand and say, ‘Harry of England, I am thine.’ ”
She glanced up again, white-faced and solemn, and dropped her hands on the book in her lap. From her, it practically constituted encouragement.
“I will tell thee aloud, ‘England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Harry B -- ” He turned a vivid red, Catherine’s eyes widened, and Charlotte Lucas smiled wryly at them. Nobody else seemed to notice. “-- Plantagenet is thine.”
Fitzwilliam, lips compressed to a thin line, took Mrs Bennet’s book and said loudly and insincerely, “God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?”
“I would have her learn,” said Henry evenly, “how perfectly I love her; and that is good English.”
Catherine gave up her book in considerable relief. Henry watched her hands tremble and did not know whether to consider his attempt a failure or not. Its general effect seemed to have been to amuse Charlotte Lucas and infuriate Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The next day, when Miss Lucas and Miss Darcy walked out together, the latter said to her friend, “Last night, Mr Bennet -- Mr Henry Bennet - seemed . . . rather peculiar, did he not?”
“A little, perhaps.”
“I suppose it must be -- Mr Bingley was right, he speaks well, with a good deal of -- feeling.” Her brow furrowed. “Still, I rather had the impression that he was trying to tell me something. If only wish I knew what it was!”
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Title: Yours, Et Cetera (1 & 2)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: First Impressions, as seen in the characters' correspondence with one another. (I originally wrote First Impressions in letters, before deciding against it and switching over to narrative. It recently occurred to me that some of you might like to have the letters as a companion to FI itself, so here they are.)
Pairings/warnings: allusions to Wickham/Georgiana, sort of
Length: WIP (3,003 words so far)
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Chapter One
Letter 1: Mr Wickham to Miss Darcy
Madam, my gratitude to your father cannot possibly be expressed. I am well aware that every blessing of education and manner I possess must be owing to his great kindness, little deserving of it though I may be, and I assure you, with all solemnity, that the debt of gratitude I owe to him will never be forgotten.
I am given to understand that Mr Darcy's benevolence did not end with his death, for which I offer the deepest condolences. -- Pray forgive the hand in which I scrawl (and I fear, blot) this letter, I still cannot contemplate my -- our -- losses with any kind of equanimity. -- You must understand. Although my inclination is not for the quiet and retirement of the church (I trust that you, more familiar with the unguarded warmth and vivacity of my disposition than anybody now living, had perceived as much), I must confess that I was loath to disregard Mr Darcy's wishes in this matter. Plainly, his desire for me to enter into the church continued to the end of his life; his recommendation of such a valuable living allows no other interpretation. The matter, therefore, required considerable reflection.
Nevertheless, I have now decided absolutely against taking orders. It is not unreasonable, I hope, for me to expect some small sum in place of the preferment -- which can be of no benefit to me now. Rather, I intend to study the law, a profession far better suited to my abilities; but the interest of one thousand pounds will be a very insufficient support therein. I am sure that your father, had he lived, would have provided for me in the profession of my choice.
Pray forgive any inconvenience this may cause you, and accept my sincerest condolences,
George Wickham
Letter 2: Miss Darcy to Captain Fitzwilliam
My dear Jack,
You know that my father particularly recommended that the Kympton living be given to Mr Wickham, whenever Mr Trent leaves this world. I pray for his continued good health.
Today I received the most extraordinary letter from Mr Wickham. It seems that he does not intend to take orders at all -- thank God! I could hardly deny my father's dying wish, yet Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. I must confess, I am surprised that he should see the matter so clearly himself, but perhaps there is hope for him after all. He claims that the law is much more suited to his abilities and temperament, which is certainly the case; he does not want social powers. He has asked for a sum of money in lieu of the living -- several thousand pounds seemed implied, which is hardly unreasonable in the circumstances.
Perhaps my doubts spring from flaws in my disposition, rather than his; if so, then of course I will be very sorry, and promote his advancement in whatever way I can. I would like to believe he is sincere. I would like to believe everybody is sincere, but I cannot. I particularly cannot when presented with such incompetent, unsubtle attempts at ingratiation.
Georgiana, poor thing, is asking for you again. Her spirits were always melancholy, but I believe she has never recovered from my father's death. I cannot seem to console her; my temper is not maternal and she has not been easy with me since she went to school. Please write to her; I believe she would confide more readily in you than me, and if not, she would at least be comforted by your interest.
I remain your affectionate cousin,
C. D.
Letter 3: Captain Fitzwilliam to Miss Darcy
Two or three thousand pounds is little enough to be finally rid of George Wickham. He will never study the law, of course.
I have written to Gee. Bring her to Ardsley for Christmas, my father adores children and my mother is already gathering her armies of nephews and nieces -- it would do Georgiana good to associate with children her own age, and the Howards and Darcys and Carterets are related in so many ways that Mama half-considers her a Howard already. Moreover, she has promised that I will be home by the 23rd if she has to swim across the Channel and fetch me herself.
J. Fitzwilliam
PS -- She also mentioned that you have not sung a note since Mr Darcy died, and believes -- as do I -- that that would be a greater comfort to your sister than anything we can do. As concerns music, at least, Georgiana is wholly my uncle's daughter.
Letter 4: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
Naturally, if you intend to resign all claim to assistance in the church -- even supposing that you would ever be in a position to receive it -- I consider it only just that you should receive more immediate assistance. I hope three thousand pounds will be satisfactory.
I am prepared to present your inheritance to you at your earliest convenience. I trust that the inevitable meeting between us will be brief.
C. Darcy
Letter 5: Mr Wickham to Miss Darcy
My dear Miss Darcy,
I have received news of your recent loss. Mr Trent was the finest sort of clergyman -- inspiring as an orator, but gentle and kindly in his charge. I can only hope that I will, in some small way, be able to live up to the memory of his many excellences.
My own circumstances are exceedingly bad; the law was most unprofitable a study, and I am now resolved upon being ordained if you will present me to the Kympton living -- an eventuality of which I trust there can be little doubt, as I am assured that your family has nobody else to provide for, and you could not possibly have forgotten your late, revered father’s intentions for me.
I am, as always, your servant,
George Wickham
Letter 6: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
Acquainted as I am with the multifarious vagaries and vices of your character, I had never before believed you to want understanding. You must recall that you received three thousand pounds in lieu of the preferment, not as a personal gift. If not, then you are certainly not capable of the duties of the office, so the entire matter is academic.
Pray do not importune me on this matter again.
Catherine Darcy
Chapter Two
Letter 7: Miss Darcy to Mr Wickham
Mr Wickham,
I suggest that you leave Ramsgate immediately. My cousins will be here in two days, at the latest, and I cannot answer for their reactions to what I must tell them. Colonel Fitzwilliam, you may remember, is my sister's guardian.
Do not respond to this note, and do not attempt to gain entry to this house, or any other my sister or I shall ever reside in; your confederate has been removed from her charge, and if Georgiana is ever again so unfortunate as to set eyes upon you, my family will do everything within our power to blight all possibility of your ever enjoying worldly comfort or prosperity.
Letter 8: Mr Collins to Mr Bennet
Dear sir,
The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.
My mind however is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and must be acceptable to you and, particularly, your amiable daughters -- but of this hereafter.
If you should have no objection to receiving me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'nnight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.
I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and children, your well-wisher and friend,
William Collins
Letter 9: Mr Bennet to Mr Collins
Sir,
I will expect you on the 18th, with pleasure.
H. Bennet
Letter 10: Miss Bingley to Miss Bennet
My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. Miss Darcy has gone to visit her aunt at Pickering, and my brothers are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley
Letter 11: Miss Bennet to Mr Henry Bennet
My dearest Hal,
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr Jones -- therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me -- and excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.
Yours, &c.
Letter 12: Mr Henry Bennet to Mrs Bennet
Madam,
My sister does not appear to be in any danger; nevertheless, I would desire you to visit her yourself, and form your own judgment of her situation.
Yours, &c.
Letter 13: Miss Darcy to Miss Georgiana Darcy
My dearest Georgiana,
I hope you are enjoying your time at Stanton. My uncle and aunt have told me how glad they are to have you with them for awhile. I suspect that they miss the days when the house was overflowing with young people; with nearly all of Lady Harrington's nieces married, her son and half her nephews in the army, and the Carterets fixed at their Irish estates, such occasions are quite rare now. If you would like any of our Darcy cousins with you, I am sure they would be only too welcome. When I called on Lady Darcy at Pickering -- it is only about twelve miles away from Netherfield, and I was only too glad to escape this dull, uncultured market-town for a day -- she told me that Phylly and Lavinia are quite miserable by themselves.
Miss Bingley wishes for me to say that she longs to see you. -- Consider it said.
I would exhort you to practise your music and drawing, but I know that you will do so regardless. If I had a quarter of your dedication, dearest sister, I would be as accomplished as any woman (or man, I suppose) could desire; but I have not your patience. So while you, undoubtedly, practised on the pianoforte and harp until your fingers were sore and unsteady, and studied twice as much as your masters commanded, I persuaded Miss Bingley to accompany me for an hour -- though she is so eager to oblige my every whim, that rhetoric is rather wasted on her -- and considered that quite sufficient for the entire week.
I suppose I might have performed in company, for we have been compelled to associate with Mr Bingley's neighbours -- Sir William Lucas requested a song, but of course I refused. To sing in such a place! Moreover, though I do not consider myself at all timid or fearful, I can admit to you that the very idea of performing before a room full of strangers is highly disagreeable to me. I felt my hands shaking, and then was furious with myself for being so silly.
I have just realised that of course, you know nothing about Sir William or anybody else here. As I expect you shall join us by January, you ought to be prepared -- so I shall provide the dramatis personae forthwith.
Sir William Lucas, I understand, was formerly mayor of Meryton and, for reasons which defy all understanding, made a small fortune in trade, and then received a knighthood from His Majesty. At present he is a slightly presumptuous, very stupid, but rather kindly magistrate-cum-village fool. His wife is a sort of shrill caricature of himself, and there is an army of children -- ranging from an ill-behaved boy to the eldest, a lady of about twenty-seven. The latter is clever, very sensible, and rather plain; all of the former are noisy children, or ill-bred young men and nonsensical girls. They are certainly irksome, to their sister as well as all their neighbours, but I hope to see more of her. I have missed intelligent company.
Then there are the Bennets, neighbours and friends to the Lucases -- or rather, the other way around. They are by far the most prominent family in the area. Mr Bennet is master of the aptly-named Longbourn, a modest, but respectable estate, and rarely appears to either his family or neighbours. Perhaps the dereliction of his duties ought to be condemned; but, as I have been so unfortunate as to spend many hours in the company of both, his motives are entirely understandable. Whenever his wife enters any room I occupy, I only wish it were possible to emulate him. Her utter vulgarity, avarice and imbecility are almost beyond the power of words to describe. Even her low birth and connections cannot fully account for them.
There are five children -- a son of about five- or six-and-twenty, and four daughters. The eldest girl, perhaps a year or two younger than I, is lovely, good-humoured and well-bred; an angel, as Mr Bingley constantly avers. He is madly in love, again, but she really is a picture of perfection. I ought to like her better than I do. The younger three are much worse -- Miss Mary a prosing, surprisingly silly pedant, while Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia are prattling flirts.
Fortunately for his father's sanity and mine, the younger Mr Bennet is far superior to his sisters in understanding. I like him; I do not know if he means half of what he says, but he is always amusing. However, I must confess that it is disconcerting to speak to someone who has the wit to comprehend me -- particularly a handsome young man. I did not think so at first; indeed, I was initially more struck by his want of striking beauty than anything else; but I now find him quite pleasing to look upon.
He is light and rather tall, and altogether there is an elasticity about his walk that I admire. And although I was at first convinced that he had scarcely a good feature in his face, I had no sooner told my friends so when I saw that his countenance is rendered unusually intelligent by the expression in his dark eyes.
It is all very humiliating. It is, however, also very worthwhile, as my changed opinion gave me the opportunity to deliver a crushing set-down. Miss Bingley is really quite presumptuous sometimes. Moreover, Mr Bingley's infatuation with Miss Bennet, and our shared regard for Miss Lucas, have necessarily thrown us together a good deal, and it is much pleasanter to look at a handsome man than a plain one.
There are also the Longs, Gouldings, &c -- I do not know any of them well, and do not care to, as they all seem hopelessly dull. Mrs Long, who once sat beside me for half an hour without saying anything but "how d'ye do," apparently took umbrage at my silence. Miss Lucas tells me that it has something to do with a hack chaise. I do not pretend to understand this.
Speaking of Mr Bennet, he arrived at Netherfield yesterday. It seems that the day before that, when I went to see my great-aunt Darcy, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst invited Miss Bennet to Netherfield. She was caught in the rain, developed a cold, they sent for the apothecary, Mr Bennet rushed here to see her for himself, she begged him to stay with her, Mr Bingley naturally invited him to remain until she recovers, et cetera. Miss Bingley is convinced that all of this, somehow, is the consequence of a complex plan of Mrs Bennet's, which I rather doubt. Mrs Bennet scarcely has the capacity for complex thought of any kind -- or, unless she is the Almighty in disguise, command over the elements.
Regardless of how it has happened, Mr Bennet is in this room at this very moment. It is a little unsettling; I cannot see him well enough to tell what he is doing, but he seems to be listening to Miss Bingley's rhapsodies over my penmanship. Even Mr Bingley must have a book that is more interesting than that. -- I am almost out of paper, so you shall not hear her rhapsodies over you until January. Pray forgive me. -- And now that her brother has begged for an end to Mr Bennet's argument with me, there is nothing else to report. I will expect your lovely long letters as often as you can write them, and am, as always, your devoted sister,
Catherine Darcy
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Title: Where Will Wants Not
Fanverse: canon-compliant
Blurb: I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?
Pairings/warnings: suicidal thoughts
Length: drabble (103 words)
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She wanted to die.
Not a long, slow, creeping death. A death befitting Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, Théoden's sister-daughter, last of a house of kings-and warriors, too, not mere nursemaids to Edoras. She had endured through long years of misery and drudgery, while Wormtongue haunted her steps and poisoned the very air of Meduseld. Duty had been her only comfort for all that time; she had served, and served, and she deserved this much.
She would die today.
Éowyn's heart thrilled in her chest as she followed her uncle onto the Pelennor, and she laughed and sang with every other rider of Rohan.
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Title: Almost Human
Fanverse: canon-compliant/Quality of Mercy
Blurb: Luke, after Bespin.
Pairings/warnings: cyborgs!
Length: drabble (130 words)
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He was a cyborg.
It was on all his records, now. It'd always been human before. Not that they'd checked, or anything. With the Rebellion, it was enough to say so. Except now, because everyone knew about the hand.
Oh, it was better than the stump, but it didn't itch, it fumbled, it was too strong, it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same. He was part machine now, just like-just like-just like he'd been in his vision. How much longer before-
No. No. It wouldn't happen, he'd stop it, always in motion, do something, not do something. He wasn't going to turn, wasn't going to turn into that, would never threaten his own child's life.
Though Vader hadn't killed him, in the end. Distantly, Luke wondered why.
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Title: If There Be Any Sorrow
Fanverse: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker
Blurb: Three years after Lucy flew off with Han and Chewbacca, she discovers the truth. Spoilers: (Compliant w/ the fic, AU for the verse)
Pairings/warnings: Han/Luke(Lucy), character death
Length: double drabble (263 words)
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Lucy screamed.
Han jerked awake. His cabin was pitch-dark and he heard nothing but the sound of Lucy's breaths. He might have thought he'd dreamed it if the breaths weren't quick, shallow gasps, followed by a rustle of blankets. Or if it hadn't happened dozens of times before.
He'd half-expected it, this time.
There was another, harsher rustle: Lucy shoving her arms into her robe. Han tried to squint in her direction.
“Lucy? You -” He yawned.
“Sorry. Just Yavin,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him. “Go back to sleep. It's all right.”
The door was closing behind her before he could reply, but she obviously hadn't used one of her magic tricks on him. He was wide-awake now.
Three years ago, he'd been rather sorry to see the Rebel base blasted out of the sky, rather regretted the death of their sharp, fierce princess-he'd liked her, by the end. But it'd been something else for Lucy, who grieved as if she'd lost a lifelong friend, did her very poor best to hide it, and seemed as confused by herself as Han. Now they knew why.
Lucy had been white and shaking when she returned from Dagobah. “Yoda's dead,” she'd said, and “he told me everything-it's true-and there's more. I'm not the only child. Except now.” She gave a high, screeching laugh that Han felt reasonably sure would haunt his dreams. “We were twins. The Skywalker twins.”
“Twins?” he said blankly.
“Leia and me. She was my twin sister.” Her face crumpled even as she kept laughing. “My sister.”