Fanfic -- Egalite
I wrote this back in January, when I first read His Majesty's Dragon. Of course the world of His Majesty's Dragon doesn't belong to me -- it belongs to Naomi Novik, who I fangirl!
In the combat scene over the channel while on their way to Dover, the British dragons are attacked by a French squadron. At the height of the action, the British are surprised by a French Grand Chevalier who plummets from the cloud cover and attacks Lily. This is a small story about the Grand Chevalier and her rider. For penknife, of course.
Egalité was a very young Grand Chevalier, as her name might suggest. She was eleven years out of the egg when she took off from Montreuil-Sur-Mer on that portentous morning in 1805, which made her more or less a bit younger than her rider, at least in dragon-years.
Egalité’s egg had lain on the hatching floors at Aix les Bains when the Revolution had come, abandoned by the flower of nobility who might have been expected to compete with considerable ardor for the honor of standing to her. However, in the summer of 1794, all her would-be officers had fled. A squadron of cavalry had hastily been told off to guard the hatching floors and their precious burden while superiors in Paris argued about the fate of the eggs.
One vociferous sans-culotte, an elected officer of the National Guard, was in favor of smashing them all. “Aristocrats, they are,” he said. “Bred for centuries, just like that. Eat a cow a day. Eat the People out of house and home, feeding them.”
The cavalry officer in charge, a lieutenant who seemed to have a few years left in his teens, rubbed his head. He had long black hair tied back in an untidy tail, and a face that would be pleasant enough when a few more years had brought his features back into proportion. “See here now, Duval,” he said. “That’d be like shooting fine horses because they’ve been bred by aristos. We’ll need the horses for war. How do you think we’d defend the Republic if we had no horses? And how do you think we’d do without dragons? That’s why we’re losing on the Rhine, man. The Austrians have dragons to spare, since all of our blasted émigrés took their beasts with them.”
Duval spat. “Better rid of them.”
The young man shrugged. “We need new beasts. And here’s a pretty lot of eggs. It’s our job to hold them safe until the Committee decides what to do with them. That’s not our decision, Duval. It’s theirs. And I’m not going to be the one to explain to Citizen Robespierre and the rest what happened to their dragon eggs, are you?”
At that, Duval sat down heavily. “No,” he said.
“Well, then.”
The August day was frighteningly hot. Thermidor, he reminded himself. There was no August anymore. The old calendar was gone, along with the old ways of thought.
He himself had run off from the school his parents had paid for to join the army, inspired by the stories of Valmy and Republican glory two years before. How was one supposed to sit examinations in mathematics when history was happening around one? Honoré-Charles was all of nineteen now, two years that counted as seasoning in the Army of the Republic, an officer because men liked him and he was still alive.
A soldier came up from below, his uniform soaked from the steam of the baths. He looked terrified. “Please,” he said. “Sir, come down!”
Duval looked up at the use of sir. Certainly he did not believe in the old honorifics of the traditional army. And young Honoré-Charles Reille had more sense than to ever request such from him.
“What’s the matter?” Honoré asked.
“One of the eggs is shaking something fearsome,” he said. “You must come.”
Honoré tumbled down the steps and through the steam just in time to see the egg split. A gray and silver form tumbled out almost on his feet. He tripped over it, veered wildly, and fell to the floor, cracking his head solidly on the stone. He opened his eyes to see a pair of concerned blue eyes looking down at him from a pointed charcoal colored face.
“Are you hurt?” the dragon asked. “I did not mean to injure you.”
Honoré felt his head. There was a lump rising on the back, but everything seemed still attached. “It’s quite all right. I fear I’m a little clumsy.” Especially, he thought, while charging about on wet stone wearing cavalry boots.
“What is my name?” the dragon asked. Her voice was rather high, and reminded Honoré somewhat peculiarly of his older sister when she had been ten or so. It was the faintest lilt of his own accent.
“Egalité,” he said. It was the first name that sprang to mind, and when he considered, it was a singularly appropriate one.
Satisfied, she nuzzled his shoulder, butting at him like a filly. Honoré raised one hand and touched her, feeling soft skin and warm breath. Truly, she was even more wonderful than his beloved horses.
“Do you love me?” she asked, with a wistful tone that reminded him of a very young girl trying to play the coquette.
“Absolutely,” Honoré said. “Wildly. Madly. Passionately.” And he discovered that he did.
Now, eleven years later, they took off from the camp of the Grand Army at Montreuil-Sur-Mer before dawn, before any of the other dragons with the exception of a couple of distance riders were aloft. Egalité lifted into the pearl sky, her dark gray upper body and lighter belly vanishing into the clouds.
Honoré raised his hand in farewell to the pair of officers who had come to see him off, the wind whisking away any shout.
Marshal Ney, who desired dragons with the lust of the forever earthbound, raised his arm in return. His hat blew off his head as the wind of Egalité’s backsweep passed over him.
And then they disappeared into the low cloud cover, bound out over the channel.
“Feeling good, my lady love?” Honoré asked.
Egalité’s wings beat in perfect time, and she skimmed through the clouds, rising on a slow updraft where the sea met the cliffs. “Perfect, mon vieux,” she said.
He caressed her neck. “It’s a good day,” he said. “You’re a match for any Longwing, my love. We’ve just to get aloft and blend in with the clouds. Our formation will be along later and will challenge the British formation. And then we wait for the perfect moment to drop.”
“I understand,” Egalité said. “We have done this before. There is no need to be nervous.”
“I can never be nervous with you,” Honoré said. There would be blood today, but for now he would not think of it.
The sun drenched them suddenly as they broke through the top of the clouds, and before them stretched a sea of puffy whiteness, shimmering in the dawn. He could not help it. Captain or not, he raised his arms in a whoop of sheer joy.
Feedback is greatly appreciated!
In the combat scene over the channel while on their way to Dover, the British dragons are attacked by a French squadron. At the height of the action, the British are surprised by a French Grand Chevalier who plummets from the cloud cover and attacks Lily. This is a small story about the Grand Chevalier and her rider. For penknife, of course.
Egalité was a very young Grand Chevalier, as her name might suggest. She was eleven years out of the egg when she took off from Montreuil-Sur-Mer on that portentous morning in 1805, which made her more or less a bit younger than her rider, at least in dragon-years.
Egalité’s egg had lain on the hatching floors at Aix les Bains when the Revolution had come, abandoned by the flower of nobility who might have been expected to compete with considerable ardor for the honor of standing to her. However, in the summer of 1794, all her would-be officers had fled. A squadron of cavalry had hastily been told off to guard the hatching floors and their precious burden while superiors in Paris argued about the fate of the eggs.
One vociferous sans-culotte, an elected officer of the National Guard, was in favor of smashing them all. “Aristocrats, they are,” he said. “Bred for centuries, just like that. Eat a cow a day. Eat the People out of house and home, feeding them.”
The cavalry officer in charge, a lieutenant who seemed to have a few years left in his teens, rubbed his head. He had long black hair tied back in an untidy tail, and a face that would be pleasant enough when a few more years had brought his features back into proportion. “See here now, Duval,” he said. “That’d be like shooting fine horses because they’ve been bred by aristos. We’ll need the horses for war. How do you think we’d defend the Republic if we had no horses? And how do you think we’d do without dragons? That’s why we’re losing on the Rhine, man. The Austrians have dragons to spare, since all of our blasted émigrés took their beasts with them.”
Duval spat. “Better rid of them.”
The young man shrugged. “We need new beasts. And here’s a pretty lot of eggs. It’s our job to hold them safe until the Committee decides what to do with them. That’s not our decision, Duval. It’s theirs. And I’m not going to be the one to explain to Citizen Robespierre and the rest what happened to their dragon eggs, are you?”
At that, Duval sat down heavily. “No,” he said.
“Well, then.”
The August day was frighteningly hot. Thermidor, he reminded himself. There was no August anymore. The old calendar was gone, along with the old ways of thought.
He himself had run off from the school his parents had paid for to join the army, inspired by the stories of Valmy and Republican glory two years before. How was one supposed to sit examinations in mathematics when history was happening around one? Honoré-Charles was all of nineteen now, two years that counted as seasoning in the Army of the Republic, an officer because men liked him and he was still alive.
A soldier came up from below, his uniform soaked from the steam of the baths. He looked terrified. “Please,” he said. “Sir, come down!”
Duval looked up at the use of sir. Certainly he did not believe in the old honorifics of the traditional army. And young Honoré-Charles Reille had more sense than to ever request such from him.
“What’s the matter?” Honoré asked.
“One of the eggs is shaking something fearsome,” he said. “You must come.”
Honoré tumbled down the steps and through the steam just in time to see the egg split. A gray and silver form tumbled out almost on his feet. He tripped over it, veered wildly, and fell to the floor, cracking his head solidly on the stone. He opened his eyes to see a pair of concerned blue eyes looking down at him from a pointed charcoal colored face.
“Are you hurt?” the dragon asked. “I did not mean to injure you.”
Honoré felt his head. There was a lump rising on the back, but everything seemed still attached. “It’s quite all right. I fear I’m a little clumsy.” Especially, he thought, while charging about on wet stone wearing cavalry boots.
“What is my name?” the dragon asked. Her voice was rather high, and reminded Honoré somewhat peculiarly of his older sister when she had been ten or so. It was the faintest lilt of his own accent.
“Egalité,” he said. It was the first name that sprang to mind, and when he considered, it was a singularly appropriate one.
Satisfied, she nuzzled his shoulder, butting at him like a filly. Honoré raised one hand and touched her, feeling soft skin and warm breath. Truly, she was even more wonderful than his beloved horses.
“Do you love me?” she asked, with a wistful tone that reminded him of a very young girl trying to play the coquette.
“Absolutely,” Honoré said. “Wildly. Madly. Passionately.” And he discovered that he did.
Now, eleven years later, they took off from the camp of the Grand Army at Montreuil-Sur-Mer before dawn, before any of the other dragons with the exception of a couple of distance riders were aloft. Egalité lifted into the pearl sky, her dark gray upper body and lighter belly vanishing into the clouds.
Honoré raised his hand in farewell to the pair of officers who had come to see him off, the wind whisking away any shout.
Marshal Ney, who desired dragons with the lust of the forever earthbound, raised his arm in return. His hat blew off his head as the wind of Egalité’s backsweep passed over him.
And then they disappeared into the low cloud cover, bound out over the channel.
“Feeling good, my lady love?” Honoré asked.
Egalité’s wings beat in perfect time, and she skimmed through the clouds, rising on a slow updraft where the sea met the cliffs. “Perfect, mon vieux,” she said.
He caressed her neck. “It’s a good day,” he said. “You’re a match for any Longwing, my love. We’ve just to get aloft and blend in with the clouds. Our formation will be along later and will challenge the British formation. And then we wait for the perfect moment to drop.”
“I understand,” Egalité said. “We have done this before. There is no need to be nervous.”
“I can never be nervous with you,” Honoré said. There would be blood today, but for now he would not think of it.
The sun drenched them suddenly as they broke through the top of the clouds, and before them stretched a sea of puffy whiteness, shimmering in the dawn. He could not help it. Captain or not, he raised his arms in a whoop of sheer joy.
Feedback is greatly appreciated!