Crossing The T (1/2)
anonymous
February 22 2010, 18:21:48 UTC
21 October 1805 It takes something special to impress England where madness is concerned. Madness is something he calls eccentricity and cultivates like a particularly distinctive rose.
This explains a lot about England, such as why, when Nelson tells him he intends to defeat the combined French-Spanish fleet by 'Crossing the T', England only raises an eyebrow and continues spreading jam very evenly over his perfectly buttered crumpet.
On the other hand, the ghost of Francis Drake (who can scent a naval battle from Portobelo, for god's sake, and insists upon attending) is duly impressed. "The man hath balls of brass," Drake says, the expression in his eyes a tad too heated to be admiration alone, "And I do not speak of cannon-shot."
England coughs. "So," he says, valiantly ignoring the way the ghost straightens his ruff and doublet as if he can be seen by anyone other than England, "What you're telling me is that you want to sail straight towards the flanks of the French and Spanish line, in full view of their broadside, in the hope of getting close enough to break up their formation...?"
"Exactly so," Nelson agrees.
England suspects Drake may be in love, the way he mutters 'brass balls under his breath. He doesn't have the heart to remind him that he's dead and Nelson is quite happy with Lady Hamilton (and her husband, if rumours are to be believed). He puts rum into his tea instead, never mind that it's probably some poor sod's ration.
England too may be a little infatuated, but that's understandable as far as he is concerned. Nelson loves him in that fervent glory-hound way that provides stunning victories to boast about, hates Frances as virulently as England himself does, knows the proper place for a scandal (on the broadsheets) and talks pleasantries while about to attempt something utterly mad. He meets every one of England's peculiar standards for a hero, save the dying gloriously in battle bit, which England is quite hoping to forgo this time, having been promised a celebratory glass of brandy with the Hamiltons when they return to London.
It is a terrible pity, he thinks, that he will probably be remembered by giving his name to something utterly inconsequential, like most of England's great men.
Earl Grey, for instance. It'll be a while yet before Charles has the power to actually implement any of his grand plans - to reform the government (much as that particular entity can be reformed, before it snaps back into place and continues as it had always been, having absorbed the mildly useful and discarded everything too progressive) and abolish the slave trade throughout the Empire. He'll still be best remembered for giving his name to a brand of tea, which says a lot about England's priorities where liberty and tea are concerned. It's probably because liberty sounds a bit French, and England has been putting herbs into boiling water since he was painting himself blue, though the discovery of tea leaves has since raised one tisane from 'medicinal' to 'essential to daily life'. Tea is serious business.
"Good weather for it," England says, eats the finished crumpet in neat careful bites.
Nelson's eyes (even the blind one, which is a tad worrying) gleam with that special kind of pre-battle madness that makes England think of woad. He's not sure if he's reassured by that; he remembers perfectly the moment he had to accept superstition and tattoos were no match for discipline and armour.
England hopes this is going to be the glorious victory Nelson clearly thinks it is, because much as he glories in gallant dreamers, charismatic losers and determined underdogs, France's assistance to that-country-that-he-no-longer-acknowledges in that-war-that-definitely-did-not-happen is a little too fresh in his memory.
And anyway: France. The day England doesn't want to punch his face in is the day the apocalypse begins.
Quick note: Charles Grey, 2nd Earl Grey was born in 1764 and became Prime Minister in 1830, which means.... England can see the future?
Crossing The T (2/2)
anonymous
February 24 2010, 18:43:16 UTC
“God willing, sir, Nelson says, smug with assumed victory, “today you will see history made.”
“I expect I’ll be seeing it regardless,” England says, in a tone that in no way implies he thinks his Admiral is several men short of a crew and the rest had probably been press-ganged.
“Every man aboard will do his duty,” Nelson says firmly, which seems to imply in some manner that their duty is to give England a glorious victory, rather than to do what their officers tell them to.
“As if that was ever in doubt,” England says. “There’s no rum ration if they don’t.”
“And where the rum is not, the lash will be,” Nelson agrees.
“Methinks the lash will prove the more efficacious half of the equation,” Drake remarks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Nelson for the last five minutes, and England finds himself somewhere between amused and appalled by this. He doesn’t tell Drake that he sounds like a lovesick mooncalf, but he’s pretty sure the ghost can tell he’s thinking it.
“Carrot and stick, working together in beauteous harmony,” England says mildly, raises his cup in Nelson’s direction as a salute.
“Not so beauteous for the French,” Nelson remarks as they stroll towards the upper deck. “There’s many a sailor will brawl for the sake of his rum, and many more will fling themselves into hell to avoid the lash.”
Which, depending on how many strokes they received, was where they’d likely end up anyway, but England forbore to mention it. Discipline has been the navy’s watchword ever since it was discovered that it really needed to work regardless of whether or not there was a Drake available to lead it. The other watchwords - bureaucracy and examinations - he's a little less enthused about.
“It will be glorious,” England says, because it makes Nelson grin and he is very fond of the word where his navy is concerned.
“Of course,” Nelson says, as if there can be no doubt, looks at England and smiles as he mutters something or other to one of his men about which flags should be flying.
For an upcoming battle, everything is actually quite pleasant, all things considered, until Drake realises what colours some of the other ships are flying. “Spain?!” He bellows with outrage, proving once and for all that naval genius he might be, rational he is not.
England finds himself missing Bess rather violently, listening to some of the invectives Drake hurls at the Spanish fleet. He smirks at the thought of what she’d say to having England’s two great enemies in one place.
He looks up and grins widely at the sight of flags declaring ‘England expects every man will do his duty’. Cheeky bastard.
“Ready, gentlemen?” Nelson says, as the two fleets draw ever closer to each other. England’s special breed of rose blooms; suddenly, in all their stiff uniforms, none of the men would look out of place in blue and charging blindly at a vastly superior enemy.
Drake stares after Nelson as he moves to starboard with an expression that greatly resembles love. England reaches over and gently pushes his mouth shut.
“Brass,” Drake says, shaking his head.
“Indeed,” England says, remembers the cup in his hand and even manages to finish his tea before a stray musket ball smashes both cup and saucer out of his hands.
Nelson is grinning, sea-spray in his face, and Drake laughs like he should smell of gunpowder and smoke, and England is going to remember this forever.
Re: Crossing The T (2/2)
anonymous
February 25 2010, 15:21:16 UTC
This is one of the best fucking fills I've ever read. Absolutely class.
And your addition of Drake is perfect. Everything is perfect. You've made me love the Battle of Trafalgar even more than I did before.
Nrrrgh. And your point about how most of England's greatest heroes are absolute nutters is so true.
Finally, my last point in this gushing comment that is almost as gay as Drakey's being: England's characterisation was beautiful. He's so him, and yet you were so mindful of the times that he was in, in the way that he acted, and spoke, I- huff. Congratulations, anon. I think I fell a little bit in love with you.
Re: Crossing The T (2/2)
anonymous
February 26 2010, 01:05:44 UTC
THIS IS INCREDIBLE, AUTHORANON ♥ OMG, ghost Drake in love with Nelson, that alone would put this fic OVER9000, but then we get England's ramblings on his standards for a hero, and what things are great men remembered for, and what he thinks about his nation's concern regarding tea and liberty, which sounds too French. And Bess, and mentions of painting himself blue, and some of the best lines Ever, and the Country Who Must Not Be Named, and Nelson's fascinating menage a trois (oops, FrenchXD), and I may be a little infatuated with you, anon =^:^=
The day England doesn't want to punch his face in is the day the apocalypse begins.
It takes something special to impress England where madness is concerned. Madness is something he calls eccentricity and cultivates like a particularly distinctive rose.
This explains a lot about England, such as why, when Nelson tells him he intends to defeat the combined French-Spanish fleet by 'Crossing the T', England only raises an eyebrow and continues spreading jam very evenly over his perfectly buttered crumpet.
On the other hand, the ghost of Francis Drake (who can scent a naval battle from Portobelo, for god's sake, and insists upon attending) is duly impressed. "The man hath balls of brass," Drake says, the expression in his eyes a tad too heated to be admiration alone, "And I do not speak of cannon-shot."
England coughs. "So," he says, valiantly ignoring the way the ghost straightens his ruff and doublet as if he can be seen by anyone other than England, "What you're telling me is that you want to sail straight towards the flanks of the French and Spanish line, in full view of their broadside, in the hope of getting close enough to break up their formation...?"
"Exactly so," Nelson agrees.
England suspects Drake may be in love, the way he mutters 'brass balls under his breath. He doesn't have the heart to remind him that he's dead and Nelson is quite happy with Lady Hamilton (and her husband, if rumours are to be believed). He puts rum into his tea instead, never mind that it's probably some poor sod's ration.
England too may be a little infatuated, but that's understandable as far as he is concerned. Nelson loves him in that fervent glory-hound way that provides stunning victories to boast about, hates Frances as virulently as England himself does, knows the proper place for a scandal (on the broadsheets) and talks pleasantries while about to attempt something utterly mad. He meets every one of England's peculiar standards for a hero, save the dying gloriously in battle bit, which England is quite hoping to forgo this time, having been promised a celebratory glass of brandy with the Hamiltons when they return to London.
It is a terrible pity, he thinks, that he will probably be remembered by giving his name to something utterly inconsequential, like most of England's great men.
Earl Grey, for instance. It'll be a while yet before Charles has the power to actually implement any of his grand plans - to reform the government (much as that particular entity can be reformed, before it snaps back into place and continues as it had always been, having absorbed the mildly useful and discarded everything too progressive) and abolish the slave trade throughout the Empire. He'll still be best remembered for giving his name to a brand of tea, which says a lot about England's priorities where liberty and tea are concerned. It's probably because liberty sounds a bit French, and England has been putting herbs into boiling water since he was painting himself blue, though the discovery of tea leaves has since raised one tisane from 'medicinal' to 'essential to daily life'. Tea is serious business.
"Good weather for it," England says, eats the finished crumpet in neat careful bites.
Nelson's eyes (even the blind one, which is a tad worrying) gleam with that special kind of pre-battle madness that makes England think of woad. He's not sure if he's reassured by that; he remembers perfectly the moment he had to accept superstition and tattoos were no match for discipline and armour.
England hopes this is going to be the glorious victory Nelson clearly thinks it is, because much as he glories in gallant dreamers, charismatic losers and determined underdogs, France's assistance to that-country-that-he-no-longer-acknowledges in that-war-that-definitely-did-not-happen is a little too fresh in his memory.
And anyway: France. The day England doesn't want to punch his face in is the day the apocalypse begins.
Quick note: Charles Grey, 2nd Earl Grey was born in 1764 and became Prime Minister in 1830, which means.... England can see the future?
Reply
“I expect I’ll be seeing it regardless,” England says, in a tone that in no way implies he thinks his Admiral is several men short of a crew and the rest had probably been press-ganged.
“Every man aboard will do his duty,” Nelson says firmly, which seems to imply in some manner that their duty is to give England a glorious victory, rather than to do what their officers tell them to.
“As if that was ever in doubt,” England says. “There’s no rum ration if they don’t.”
“And where the rum is not, the lash will be,” Nelson agrees.
“Methinks the lash will prove the more efficacious half of the equation,” Drake remarks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Nelson for the last five minutes, and England finds himself somewhere between amused and appalled by this. He doesn’t tell Drake that he sounds like a lovesick mooncalf, but he’s pretty sure the ghost can tell he’s thinking it.
“Carrot and stick, working together in beauteous harmony,” England says mildly, raises his cup in Nelson’s direction as a salute.
“Not so beauteous for the French,” Nelson remarks as they stroll towards the upper deck. “There’s many a sailor will brawl for the sake of his rum, and many more will fling themselves into hell to avoid the lash.”
Which, depending on how many strokes they received, was where they’d likely end up anyway, but England forbore to mention it. Discipline has been the navy’s watchword ever since it was discovered that it really needed to work regardless of whether or not there was a Drake available to lead it. The other watchwords - bureaucracy and examinations - he's a little less enthused about.
“It will be glorious,” England says, because it makes Nelson grin and he is very fond of the word where his navy is concerned.
“Of course,” Nelson says, as if there can be no doubt, looks at England and smiles as he mutters something or other to one of his men about which flags should be flying.
For an upcoming battle, everything is actually quite pleasant, all things considered, until Drake realises what colours some of the other ships are flying. “Spain?!” He bellows with outrage, proving once and for all that naval genius he might be, rational he is not.
England finds himself missing Bess rather violently, listening to some of the invectives Drake hurls at the Spanish fleet. He smirks at the thought of what she’d say to having England’s two great enemies in one place.
He looks up and grins widely at the sight of flags declaring ‘England expects every man will do his duty’. Cheeky bastard.
“Ready, gentlemen?” Nelson says, as the two fleets draw ever closer to each other. England’s special breed of rose blooms; suddenly, in all their stiff uniforms, none of the men would look out of place in blue and charging blindly at a vastly superior enemy.
Drake stares after Nelson as he moves to starboard with an expression that greatly resembles love. England reaches over and gently pushes his mouth shut.
“Brass,” Drake says, shaking his head.
“Indeed,” England says, remembers the cup in his hand and even manages to finish his tea before a stray musket ball smashes both cup and saucer out of his hands.
Nelson is grinning, sea-spray in his face, and Drake laughs like he should smell of gunpowder and smoke, and England is going to remember this forever.
Reply
I love England's characterization in this.
Reply
Absolutely class.
And your addition of Drake is perfect.
Everything is perfect.
You've made me love the Battle of Trafalgar even more than I did before.
Nrrrgh. And your point about how most of England's greatest heroes are absolute nutters is so true.
Finally, my last point in this gushing comment that is almost as gay as Drakey's being: England's characterisation was beautiful. He's so him, and yet you were so mindful of the times that he was in, in the way that he acted, and spoke, I- huff. Congratulations, anon. I think I fell a little bit in love with you.
Reply
Found and read this by chance.
Your England is as crazy as his heroes you describe!
Reply
OMG, ghost Drake in love with Nelson, that alone would put this fic OVER9000, but then we get England's ramblings on his standards for a hero, and what things are great men remembered for, and what he thinks about his nation's concern regarding tea and liberty, which sounds too French. And Bess, and mentions of painting himself blue, and some of the best lines Ever, and the Country Who Must Not Be Named, and Nelson's fascinating menage a trois (oops, FrenchXD), and I may be a little infatuated with you, anon =^:^=
The day England doesn't want to punch his face in is the day the apocalypse begins.
2000 years of history summarised in one lineXD
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