Pride
Title: Pride
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Kennedy
Rating: R
Notes: eglantine_br said she wanted someone to write Under the Sky from Archie's father's point of view, so here it is. This is a bit of a mishmash of eglantine_br's cannon and mine. The castle as described here was still being built when Archie would have been a child, but why let that stand in the way of a good story!
The tiny room where his son was sleeping was dark and airless. Hardly surprising, a makeshift bed had been set up in his wife’s small dressing chamber adjoining their own room. She insisted Archie sleep close by her when he was unwell, would not leave him in the care of the nurse. The window was closed and a heavy drape had been pulled across to block out the light. Kennedy stumbled as he stepped into the room, his feet tangling in the covers that the boy had kicked onto the floor. He pulled back the drapes and dim light filtered into the room. As usual after such a turn, the child was dead to the world, though he was tossing and turning and his father could see the beads of sweat standing out on his flushed face. Kennedy reached down and smoothed a damp curl from his son’s forehead. He felt hot and sticky, even Kennedy was stifling in the little airless room. Without giving it another thought, he picked Archie up from his bed and carried him out of the room. He had only intended to take him as far as the round drawing room where there was more air and he could watch the light fading over the sea. His wife would be furious if she knew he had moved the boy, but she was as sound to the world as her child, overcome by worry and exhaustion. Kennedy wasn’t really aware that his feet had carried him down the oval staircase until he reached the armoury at the bottom. It was dark and cool down here, but outside there was still light. He manoeuvred the sleeping boy on to his left shoulder, turned the huge iron key with his free hand and pushed the heavy door open with this hip. It was a glorious night, close to midsummer, it couldn’t have been far off midnight but there was still a translucent greenish glow in the sky that reflected off the sea. At this time of year it only fell completely dark in the small hours of the morning and then it was as if the light had been snuffed out like a candle.
The heavy bundle on his shoulder shifted and sighed. Archie had struggled fitfully when his father picked him up. He was small for his age, but solid, and Kennedy had had to hold him tightly which had made the boy whine petulantly. He was much more settled now, limp in his arms, profoundly asleep. Kennedy crossed the courtyard and walked carefully down the steps to the fountain terrace. The grass was springy under his feet and the fountain sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. He made a slow unhurried circuit of the lawn before climbing back up to the courtyard and stepping up to the battlement overlooking the sea. The cliffs below the castle were in darkness but the faint luminous light hovered over the horizon merging sea and sky. He could just make out the smudged outline of Arran and Kintyre but Ailsa had already sunk into the sea. Archie shifted slightly on his shoulder and made a small satisfied sound. Kennedy could feel his son’s warm even breath on his neck, he smiled and held him close.
He knew it was his duty to accept, that it was not his place to question, but he could not suppress his furious impotent indignation. Why? Why him? Why this? What had they done to deserve this? For surely they themselves were at fault? The child could hardly be blamed for his affliction and Kennedy had no truck for pious or superstitious fools who suggested otherwise. But still it angered him. His other children were all hale and healthy. As was Archie, he was not a delicate child by any stretch of the imagination, apart from this. Of course they had consulted the best doctors and physicians in Edinburgh and London, but Kennedy gave most of their outlandish diagnosis short shrift. His wife hung on their every word, it angered him, though he knew she was only hoping for answers, anything that would save her beloved child from suffering. Not that all the medical men were charlatans. One, an elderly gentleman from Edinburgh, had assured them that there was nothing wrong with the boy, such fits were natural in some children, though he could not explain why. He assured them that their son would most likely grow out of the affliction and that in the meantime they should treat him no differently to their other children. He was a fine boy, they should be proud of him. Pride. That was something Kennedy had in spades. Not that he often put the word to it, but Kennedy loved all his children with a fierce pride, yet still he could not help but feel ashamed of his son’s affliction, and even more ashamed of himself. His shame made him angry and he knew he had a tendency to be overly brusque with the Archie. The lad deserved better.
But out here in the night, with the sound of the terrace fountain behind him and the sea in front, there was no shame. Only a faint sorrow and that huge nameless feeling that overwhelmed him in the presence of his sleeping children.
The breeze coming in off the sea was colder now, the blackness had crept out from the cliffs and spread across the sea. Kintyre was gone and all that remained of Arran was the peak of Goat Fell, faintly visible in the last afterglow of the gloaming. He had better get Archie back inside, if he caught a chill there would be hell to pay.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Kennedy
Rating: R
Notes: eglantine_br said she wanted someone to write Under the Sky from Archie's father's point of view, so here it is. This is a bit of a mishmash of eglantine_br's cannon and mine. The castle as described here was still being built when Archie would have been a child, but why let that stand in the way of a good story!
The tiny room where his son was sleeping was dark and airless. Hardly surprising, a makeshift bed had been set up in his wife’s small dressing chamber adjoining their own room. She insisted Archie sleep close by her when he was unwell, would not leave him in the care of the nurse. The window was closed and a heavy drape had been pulled across to block out the light. Kennedy stumbled as he stepped into the room, his feet tangling in the covers that the boy had kicked onto the floor. He pulled back the drapes and dim light filtered into the room. As usual after such a turn, the child was dead to the world, though he was tossing and turning and his father could see the beads of sweat standing out on his flushed face. Kennedy reached down and smoothed a damp curl from his son’s forehead. He felt hot and sticky, even Kennedy was stifling in the little airless room. Without giving it another thought, he picked Archie up from his bed and carried him out of the room. He had only intended to take him as far as the round drawing room where there was more air and he could watch the light fading over the sea. His wife would be furious if she knew he had moved the boy, but she was as sound to the world as her child, overcome by worry and exhaustion. Kennedy wasn’t really aware that his feet had carried him down the oval staircase until he reached the armoury at the bottom. It was dark and cool down here, but outside there was still light. He manoeuvred the sleeping boy on to his left shoulder, turned the huge iron key with his free hand and pushed the heavy door open with this hip. It was a glorious night, close to midsummer, it couldn’t have been far off midnight but there was still a translucent greenish glow in the sky that reflected off the sea. At this time of year it only fell completely dark in the small hours of the morning and then it was as if the light had been snuffed out like a candle.
The heavy bundle on his shoulder shifted and sighed. Archie had struggled fitfully when his father picked him up. He was small for his age, but solid, and Kennedy had had to hold him tightly which had made the boy whine petulantly. He was much more settled now, limp in his arms, profoundly asleep. Kennedy crossed the courtyard and walked carefully down the steps to the fountain terrace. The grass was springy under his feet and the fountain sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. He made a slow unhurried circuit of the lawn before climbing back up to the courtyard and stepping up to the battlement overlooking the sea. The cliffs below the castle were in darkness but the faint luminous light hovered over the horizon merging sea and sky. He could just make out the smudged outline of Arran and Kintyre but Ailsa had already sunk into the sea. Archie shifted slightly on his shoulder and made a small satisfied sound. Kennedy could feel his son’s warm even breath on his neck, he smiled and held him close.
He knew it was his duty to accept, that it was not his place to question, but he could not suppress his furious impotent indignation. Why? Why him? Why this? What had they done to deserve this? For surely they themselves were at fault? The child could hardly be blamed for his affliction and Kennedy had no truck for pious or superstitious fools who suggested otherwise. But still it angered him. His other children were all hale and healthy. As was Archie, he was not a delicate child by any stretch of the imagination, apart from this. Of course they had consulted the best doctors and physicians in Edinburgh and London, but Kennedy gave most of their outlandish diagnosis short shrift. His wife hung on their every word, it angered him, though he knew she was only hoping for answers, anything that would save her beloved child from suffering. Not that all the medical men were charlatans. One, an elderly gentleman from Edinburgh, had assured them that there was nothing wrong with the boy, such fits were natural in some children, though he could not explain why. He assured them that their son would most likely grow out of the affliction and that in the meantime they should treat him no differently to their other children. He was a fine boy, they should be proud of him. Pride. That was something Kennedy had in spades. Not that he often put the word to it, but Kennedy loved all his children with a fierce pride, yet still he could not help but feel ashamed of his son’s affliction, and even more ashamed of himself. His shame made him angry and he knew he had a tendency to be overly brusque with the Archie. The lad deserved better.
But out here in the night, with the sound of the terrace fountain behind him and the sea in front, there was no shame. Only a faint sorrow and that huge nameless feeling that overwhelmed him in the presence of his sleeping children.
The breeze coming in off the sea was colder now, the blackness had crept out from the cliffs and spread across the sea. Kintyre was gone and all that remained of Arran was the peak of Goat Fell, faintly visible in the last afterglow of the gloaming. He had better get Archie back inside, if he caught a chill there would be hell to pay.