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Tangible as Shadows (Hornblower shortfic)
Have been getting to rewatch Hornblower this week and last. Glorious. I love the chance to fall in love with these characters all over again.
Tangible as Shadows
By Lokei
Universe: Hornblower (The Duchess and the Devil)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I only play in CS Forester's mud puddle
= = = =
The crackle of the fire in the fireplace was too unfamiliar to be truly comforting. After the creak of wood and the soft sibilance of wind and waves, the crackling and smell of wood smoke were little more than further irritations to Horatio's shattered nerves.
Kennedy was in tatters and Horatio hadn't even seen it. Worse than tatters-he was flogging himself to pieces, like a loose sail in the wind, with Kennedy playing roles as both canvas and gale. Still, Archie had to have had help to get this sick and weak without Horatio noticing food left untouched or spilled on the floor. He'd seen the latter once-Hunter had said Archie's hands trembled too much and he'd accidentally spilled. Horatio had shared half his ration with Archie and thought no more about it.
Now he had the horrible vision of Hunter, hand out, a sly voice in the darkness, offering aid to a shipmate who wanted to escape as badly as he did. Hunter wanted out, Kennedy wanted out a different way, and the achievement of one would make the other more seem more possible to a man like Hunter. Hunter, who wasn’t wasting at all in captivity. Hunter, who heard and believed the stories of Kennedy’s illness and cared not for its causes. Hunter, who valued only the weight of muscle and the force it could put behind pistol and sword, and nothing else, tangible or not.
Horatio cursed quietly as he sat and stared helplessly at Archie's pale form lying on the bed the Spaniards had granted him. His eyes were heavy with sleep and heavier with worry; having lost Archie once, Horatio had no intention of losing him again. He hadn’t been able to do anything for Kennedy during that cutting-out expedition-by the time he had seen the boat drifting away Hornblower was what felt like thousands of feet above the water and paralyzed by duty as well as fear. This time-
This time would be different. This time Horatio could lift Archie in his arms and beg for mercy instead of railing against the oceans and Simpson and fate with the fury of a useless windbag. This time he would hold off the shadows and bring Archie back to himself, back to Horatio, and back to the Indy. He had no idea how, but he would figure it out, because he must. Failure once was bad enough, but to fail a spirit like Kennedy twice would kill Hornblower as surely as any French cannonball, even within the thick walls of a Spanish fortress.
Horatio stood, tended the fire, resumed his watch. Firelight traded places with shadows on Archie’s face and lent a hint of ruddy warmth to the fever-drenched pallor of his cheeks. Against the specter of defeat that bore his own face, Horatio sat, and prayed.
Tangible as Shadows
By Lokei
Universe: Hornblower (The Duchess and the Devil)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I only play in CS Forester's mud puddle
= = = =
The crackle of the fire in the fireplace was too unfamiliar to be truly comforting. After the creak of wood and the soft sibilance of wind and waves, the crackling and smell of wood smoke were little more than further irritations to Horatio's shattered nerves.
Kennedy was in tatters and Horatio hadn't even seen it. Worse than tatters-he was flogging himself to pieces, like a loose sail in the wind, with Kennedy playing roles as both canvas and gale. Still, Archie had to have had help to get this sick and weak without Horatio noticing food left untouched or spilled on the floor. He'd seen the latter once-Hunter had said Archie's hands trembled too much and he'd accidentally spilled. Horatio had shared half his ration with Archie and thought no more about it.
Now he had the horrible vision of Hunter, hand out, a sly voice in the darkness, offering aid to a shipmate who wanted to escape as badly as he did. Hunter wanted out, Kennedy wanted out a different way, and the achievement of one would make the other more seem more possible to a man like Hunter. Hunter, who wasn’t wasting at all in captivity. Hunter, who heard and believed the stories of Kennedy’s illness and cared not for its causes. Hunter, who valued only the weight of muscle and the force it could put behind pistol and sword, and nothing else, tangible or not.
Horatio cursed quietly as he sat and stared helplessly at Archie's pale form lying on the bed the Spaniards had granted him. His eyes were heavy with sleep and heavier with worry; having lost Archie once, Horatio had no intention of losing him again. He hadn’t been able to do anything for Kennedy during that cutting-out expedition-by the time he had seen the boat drifting away Hornblower was what felt like thousands of feet above the water and paralyzed by duty as well as fear. This time-
This time would be different. This time Horatio could lift Archie in his arms and beg for mercy instead of railing against the oceans and Simpson and fate with the fury of a useless windbag. This time he would hold off the shadows and bring Archie back to himself, back to Horatio, and back to the Indy. He had no idea how, but he would figure it out, because he must. Failure once was bad enough, but to fail a spirit like Kennedy twice would kill Hornblower as surely as any French cannonball, even within the thick walls of a Spanish fortress.
Horatio stood, tended the fire, resumed his watch. Firelight traded places with shadows on Archie’s face and lent a hint of ruddy warmth to the fever-drenched pallor of his cheeks. Against the specter of defeat that bore his own face, Horatio sat, and prayed.