"Great Promise" (Hornblower)
Great Promise
By Lokei
Recipient: killalla
Prompt: requested Hornblower/Pellew slash or mentor/student.
Universe: Hornblower
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I like to sail the ships in CSF’s bathtub. That doesn’t make them mine.
Captain Sir Edward Pellew regarded the man across the table from him with no small amount of concern. He and Captain Keene had known each other since lieutenancy, and though Keene had some years on him, those years should not be enough to have wreaked such a drastic change on the man since they had last met, just over a year ago. Clearly, the captain of the Justinian was very ill. Still, his pale blue eyes met Pellew’s worried brown ones with some of their old spark, and his voice when he spoke had lost none of its habitual acid humor.
“You see, Edward, it is true what they say. Captain Keene grows more like his anchorage every day.” He coughed painfully into a square of linen, a dry rattle that sounded as little like soggy Spithead as Pellew could imagine. He said nothing, however, and waited for Keene to gather breath enough to continue.
“You have heard, I think, of the duel between that incompetent blunderer Simpson and my new young hothead?”
Pellew inclined his head. “You and I both know the way news travels in the Fleet.”
Keene harrumphed at this acknowledgement of the Navy’s gossiping capabilities. “Doctor Hornblower’s son, Horatio. The father is a good man, fine doctor. Better at curing other people’s ills than his own, I think. No idea what to do with his moody, dreamy boy. Asked if I might be able to-“ a pause for another rasping breath-“put him in the way of something. A Grecian, if you please. Hah!”
Pellew allowed a flicker of amusement to pass over his weather beaten face, though Keene saw none of it. Those eyes, which once were said to prove Justinian’s captain was aptly named, were shadowed now despite the frank brutality of the sickening man’s tone.
“I don’t have the energy to make something of the boy, and despite his father’s best efforts, I am equally certain that I won’t have the time. Shame that.” A long cough this time, and Pellew tried not to wince.
“A shame,” Keene repeated, “because there is promise there. He’s a quick study, if a quiet one. Might go far in the service.” Pellew found himself on the receiving end of a familiar glare, made more weighty by the implication that it was also the last wish of a dying man.
“He needs your touch, Edward. There’s a reason they made you a ‘Sir Edward,’ and you and I both know it. You’ve a way of taking the lost ones and turning them into fine officers.”
Pellew frowned. “Got another man killed in his stead, did he?” It was a tacit acceptance and the smirk that curled the other’s face showed he knew it as well as Pellew did.
“Took a blow to the head from his second who then went off and got himself killed, I’m told,” Keene corrected. “But you needn’t tell him I told you that.”
“And you needn’t tell me how to handle my crew,” Pellew growled back, which prompted a final spurt of coughing laughter from his dinner companion. Business accomplished, they finished their meal in amicable small talk of the damned French and their bloodthirsty revolution.
Pellew thought little more about young Hornblower for the next two days-the Indefatigable required his full attention as she was prepared for active duty once again. Every inch of rope and canvas was inspected, every knot and grain of decking and bulwark equally so, under the close eyes of his best remaining men and then by the Captain himself. A Captain’s strength was reflected in the shape of his ship, and on that score Pellew had never found himself lacking.
When he stood, then, on the quarterdeck to address his crew old and new, he was confident enough in the seaworthiness of the vessel to concentrate entirely on the other vital mirror of a Captain’s abilities-his crew. His veterans pleased him well enough, and the few new among the pressed were not as peevish as some. He was saddened, though unsurprised, to see how sullen most of those sailors gleaned from his old friend’s command seemed to be. Pellew had already met the transferred lieutenants and they seemed diligent enough when presented with a proper chain of command, and that at least was something.
All this he processed while speaking, noting the men’s reactions, pausing at the sight of two young midshipmen, one as exuberant as a sunbeam, the other maintaining a formal stance while listening intently. The former was less interesting-Pellew had seen plenty of examples of boyish enthusiasm in his career, and he knew from past experience that it would take time to see what mettle might lie beneath. The other, though, moved to passion only by the salute to King and country, was intriguing. All awkward corners and limbs, to be sure, like hundreds of other midshipmen in the service-but there was a sharpness to his face that had nothing to do with the mold of his features, and everything to do with the weight behind his eyes. Pellew found himself rather hoping that this, rather than any of the others, was Keene’s moody twig from the medicinal branch. This young man’s was a face that sought to conceal much, and in doing so could prove most revealing, if one was willing to learn its secrets.
He wasted little time, therefore, in summoning Hornblower to the captain’s cabin, and masked his pleasure at his accurate guess with the forbidding growl he had perfected over years’ experience. He confronted Hornblower with the reports of his past conduct and was unsurprised at Hornblower’s indignant self-defense-how young he was! Pellew knew of no seventeen year old who liked being caught in the wrong, ever, be he rude or ruminative. Even a thoughtful young man was not immune from fits of pique, and thoughtful this particular boy clearly was, as evidenced by his subsequent reaction. Though railing aloud at his new midshipman’s impertinence, Pellew was inwardly well able to admire the way Hornblower straightened under rebuke, noting as well the way the boy controlled his breath, if not his blush. He was, it seemed to Pellew, indeed a quick learner just as Keene had said, and if Keene was not the most reliable judge of character these days, he appeared to have hit the target true on this occasion.
Pellew dismissed Hornblower with a final scowl and waited until his new charge had made a gawky but respectful exit to allow his tightly pursed lips to stretch into a smile. He stared thoughtfully out the cabin’s stern windows, seeing over again in memory the flush rise to Hornblower’s cheeks and the carefully marshaled fire in his eyes.
There was promise there, just as his old friend predicted-and this would be an interesting voyage indeed.
By Lokei
Recipient: killalla
Prompt: requested Hornblower/Pellew slash or mentor/student.
Universe: Hornblower
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I like to sail the ships in CSF’s bathtub. That doesn’t make them mine.
Captain Sir Edward Pellew regarded the man across the table from him with no small amount of concern. He and Captain Keene had known each other since lieutenancy, and though Keene had some years on him, those years should not be enough to have wreaked such a drastic change on the man since they had last met, just over a year ago. Clearly, the captain of the Justinian was very ill. Still, his pale blue eyes met Pellew’s worried brown ones with some of their old spark, and his voice when he spoke had lost none of its habitual acid humor.
“You see, Edward, it is true what they say. Captain Keene grows more like his anchorage every day.” He coughed painfully into a square of linen, a dry rattle that sounded as little like soggy Spithead as Pellew could imagine. He said nothing, however, and waited for Keene to gather breath enough to continue.
“You have heard, I think, of the duel between that incompetent blunderer Simpson and my new young hothead?”
Pellew inclined his head. “You and I both know the way news travels in the Fleet.”
Keene harrumphed at this acknowledgement of the Navy’s gossiping capabilities. “Doctor Hornblower’s son, Horatio. The father is a good man, fine doctor. Better at curing other people’s ills than his own, I think. No idea what to do with his moody, dreamy boy. Asked if I might be able to-“ a pause for another rasping breath-“put him in the way of something. A Grecian, if you please. Hah!”
Pellew allowed a flicker of amusement to pass over his weather beaten face, though Keene saw none of it. Those eyes, which once were said to prove Justinian’s captain was aptly named, were shadowed now despite the frank brutality of the sickening man’s tone.
“I don’t have the energy to make something of the boy, and despite his father’s best efforts, I am equally certain that I won’t have the time. Shame that.” A long cough this time, and Pellew tried not to wince.
“A shame,” Keene repeated, “because there is promise there. He’s a quick study, if a quiet one. Might go far in the service.” Pellew found himself on the receiving end of a familiar glare, made more weighty by the implication that it was also the last wish of a dying man.
“He needs your touch, Edward. There’s a reason they made you a ‘Sir Edward,’ and you and I both know it. You’ve a way of taking the lost ones and turning them into fine officers.”
Pellew frowned. “Got another man killed in his stead, did he?” It was a tacit acceptance and the smirk that curled the other’s face showed he knew it as well as Pellew did.
“Took a blow to the head from his second who then went off and got himself killed, I’m told,” Keene corrected. “But you needn’t tell him I told you that.”
“And you needn’t tell me how to handle my crew,” Pellew growled back, which prompted a final spurt of coughing laughter from his dinner companion. Business accomplished, they finished their meal in amicable small talk of the damned French and their bloodthirsty revolution.
Pellew thought little more about young Hornblower for the next two days-the Indefatigable required his full attention as she was prepared for active duty once again. Every inch of rope and canvas was inspected, every knot and grain of decking and bulwark equally so, under the close eyes of his best remaining men and then by the Captain himself. A Captain’s strength was reflected in the shape of his ship, and on that score Pellew had never found himself lacking.
When he stood, then, on the quarterdeck to address his crew old and new, he was confident enough in the seaworthiness of the vessel to concentrate entirely on the other vital mirror of a Captain’s abilities-his crew. His veterans pleased him well enough, and the few new among the pressed were not as peevish as some. He was saddened, though unsurprised, to see how sullen most of those sailors gleaned from his old friend’s command seemed to be. Pellew had already met the transferred lieutenants and they seemed diligent enough when presented with a proper chain of command, and that at least was something.
All this he processed while speaking, noting the men’s reactions, pausing at the sight of two young midshipmen, one as exuberant as a sunbeam, the other maintaining a formal stance while listening intently. The former was less interesting-Pellew had seen plenty of examples of boyish enthusiasm in his career, and he knew from past experience that it would take time to see what mettle might lie beneath. The other, though, moved to passion only by the salute to King and country, was intriguing. All awkward corners and limbs, to be sure, like hundreds of other midshipmen in the service-but there was a sharpness to his face that had nothing to do with the mold of his features, and everything to do with the weight behind his eyes. Pellew found himself rather hoping that this, rather than any of the others, was Keene’s moody twig from the medicinal branch. This young man’s was a face that sought to conceal much, and in doing so could prove most revealing, if one was willing to learn its secrets.
He wasted little time, therefore, in summoning Hornblower to the captain’s cabin, and masked his pleasure at his accurate guess with the forbidding growl he had perfected over years’ experience. He confronted Hornblower with the reports of his past conduct and was unsurprised at Hornblower’s indignant self-defense-how young he was! Pellew knew of no seventeen year old who liked being caught in the wrong, ever, be he rude or ruminative. Even a thoughtful young man was not immune from fits of pique, and thoughtful this particular boy clearly was, as evidenced by his subsequent reaction. Though railing aloud at his new midshipman’s impertinence, Pellew was inwardly well able to admire the way Hornblower straightened under rebuke, noting as well the way the boy controlled his breath, if not his blush. He was, it seemed to Pellew, indeed a quick learner just as Keene had said, and if Keene was not the most reliable judge of character these days, he appeared to have hit the target true on this occasion.
Pellew dismissed Hornblower with a final scowl and waited until his new charge had made a gawky but respectful exit to allow his tightly pursed lips to stretch into a smile. He stared thoughtfully out the cabin’s stern windows, seeing over again in memory the flush rise to Hornblower’s cheeks and the carefully marshaled fire in his eyes.
There was promise there, just as his old friend predicted-and this would be an interesting voyage indeed.