Mariette
Title: Mariette
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower, Mariette
Rating: G
Notes: I wrote this ages ago and forgot all about it until I watched The Frogs and The Lobsters again recently. It's just a sort of small "missing scene" that adds to Just A Man.
Strange. He could see her face so clearly; a small, pretty face, but pale and drawn. Fine tawny hair mingling with the dust, stirred by the wind that had blown over the river for the last three days. She looked young, too young, like a little bird. Archie was reminded of a sparrow he had once found as a boy, lying in the frost beneath the great Douglas Fir. He had picked it up carefully, carried it inside and placed it by the hearth in the kitchen. Then he had sat patiently, waiting for the warmth to revive the tiny creature until the cook had shooed him away. Archie could not help wondering how old the little bird was, wondering about her family, whether they were alive or dead. Wondering whether she had left a sweetheart in the village, whether there was anyone left to mourn her. Whether in the madness and the butchery, anyone would even realise she had gone.
He had barely even noticed her at the time; all he had been aware of was Horatio and the fuse. She was just another body, dying in the dirt. Every shred of his being had been focused on getting Horatio off that bridge before the fuse burned out and they were both blown to kingdom come. The wave of relief that had washed over him when Horatio finally appeared over the brow of the hill on the far side of the river had instantly been swamped by a wave of panic as he realised that the bridge was about to blow, taking Horatio with it. Then he had been off running, with neither thought nor sense, panic spurring him on. The same panic that had unmanned him on the same bridge earlier that very morning. There had been no time to think, no time to notice the body left lying in the dust. There was just Horatio and the fuse. Nothing else mattered.
So it was strange that he could see her so clearly now, as he lay in his cot in the dark of the middle watch. Lying silently, listening to Horatio tossing and turning on the other side of the thin canvas partition. Listening as he cried out her name in the dark. Mariette.
It had not taken him long to realise that she was more than just another nameless casualty of the endless French wars. She had a name, she meant something. Oh they all meant something to someone. Archie had seen enough of war to know that every man, every woman, every single child that died, left a gaping hole in someone’s world. But she was different; she had meant something to Horatio.
He would have known even if Edrington had not told him everything that had happened in the village. Horatio had returned to the ship grim and silent, and when he emerged from Pellew’s cabin his cheeks had been streaked with tears. There was something in his grief that spoke of more than just the failure of the mission. Archie recognised loss when he saw it, and that was when he had realised who she was.
He supposed he should feel angry, and on one level he was. Somewhere buried deep a small spark of fury was smouldering, but even that bright pain was smothered by the inevitability of it all. It was inevitable that Hornblower would cast him aside, that he would find a more natural object for his affections. What man deserving of the name would not? Archie could not blame Hornblower for that, and he could not blame her for catching his eye, for seizing the vain hope of escaping from the carnage that had descended on the village.
There was no sense in blaming her, she was gone now, her brief life snuffed out like a may fly. All that mattered, he told himself, was that Horatio was here, that Horatio had escaped the madness and the chaos and returned safe to the Indefatigable. Only Horatio wasn’t here. Lieutenant Hornblower had returned to his ship, but despite the thin canvas wall that separated them, Horatio was as distant as when they had been separated by the river, by the bridge and by all the carnage and the chaos of war. Archie couldn’t reach him then and he couldn’t reach him now.
The watch bell sounded. Four bells, middle watch. Archie sighed; he would have to be up for morning watch. He turned over and tried not to listen to the murmured name that drifted through the canvas partition by his head.
Mariette.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower, Mariette
Rating: G
Notes: I wrote this ages ago and forgot all about it until I watched The Frogs and The Lobsters again recently. It's just a sort of small "missing scene" that adds to Just A Man.
Strange. He could see her face so clearly; a small, pretty face, but pale and drawn. Fine tawny hair mingling with the dust, stirred by the wind that had blown over the river for the last three days. She looked young, too young, like a little bird. Archie was reminded of a sparrow he had once found as a boy, lying in the frost beneath the great Douglas Fir. He had picked it up carefully, carried it inside and placed it by the hearth in the kitchen. Then he had sat patiently, waiting for the warmth to revive the tiny creature until the cook had shooed him away. Archie could not help wondering how old the little bird was, wondering about her family, whether they were alive or dead. Wondering whether she had left a sweetheart in the village, whether there was anyone left to mourn her. Whether in the madness and the butchery, anyone would even realise she had gone.
He had barely even noticed her at the time; all he had been aware of was Horatio and the fuse. She was just another body, dying in the dirt. Every shred of his being had been focused on getting Horatio off that bridge before the fuse burned out and they were both blown to kingdom come. The wave of relief that had washed over him when Horatio finally appeared over the brow of the hill on the far side of the river had instantly been swamped by a wave of panic as he realised that the bridge was about to blow, taking Horatio with it. Then he had been off running, with neither thought nor sense, panic spurring him on. The same panic that had unmanned him on the same bridge earlier that very morning. There had been no time to think, no time to notice the body left lying in the dust. There was just Horatio and the fuse. Nothing else mattered.
So it was strange that he could see her so clearly now, as he lay in his cot in the dark of the middle watch. Lying silently, listening to Horatio tossing and turning on the other side of the thin canvas partition. Listening as he cried out her name in the dark. Mariette.
It had not taken him long to realise that she was more than just another nameless casualty of the endless French wars. She had a name, she meant something. Oh they all meant something to someone. Archie had seen enough of war to know that every man, every woman, every single child that died, left a gaping hole in someone’s world. But she was different; she had meant something to Horatio.
He would have known even if Edrington had not told him everything that had happened in the village. Horatio had returned to the ship grim and silent, and when he emerged from Pellew’s cabin his cheeks had been streaked with tears. There was something in his grief that spoke of more than just the failure of the mission. Archie recognised loss when he saw it, and that was when he had realised who she was.
He supposed he should feel angry, and on one level he was. Somewhere buried deep a small spark of fury was smouldering, but even that bright pain was smothered by the inevitability of it all. It was inevitable that Hornblower would cast him aside, that he would find a more natural object for his affections. What man deserving of the name would not? Archie could not blame Hornblower for that, and he could not blame her for catching his eye, for seizing the vain hope of escaping from the carnage that had descended on the village.
There was no sense in blaming her, she was gone now, her brief life snuffed out like a may fly. All that mattered, he told himself, was that Horatio was here, that Horatio had escaped the madness and the chaos and returned safe to the Indefatigable. Only Horatio wasn’t here. Lieutenant Hornblower had returned to his ship, but despite the thin canvas wall that separated them, Horatio was as distant as when they had been separated by the river, by the bridge and by all the carnage and the chaos of war. Archie couldn’t reach him then and he couldn’t reach him now.
The watch bell sounded. Four bells, middle watch. Archie sighed; he would have to be up for morning watch. He turned over and tried not to listen to the murmured name that drifted through the canvas partition by his head.
Mariette.