Moot '09 - Fic Dump #1
What it says on the tin. :D
Some of you may be aware by now that every year a small group of us fellow Aubreyad nutcases fans get together for a few days for some serious squee and scholarly discussions (e.g. Is it Stephen who wears the wig, or is it the wig that controls Stephen? >.>). I usually use this as an excuse to write fic and enforce it on everybody - so this year I wrote each mooter a short fic. Below the cut you shall find the first, and the other three shall follow.
Title: Sirens
Rating: 12
Pairings: Jack/Stephen
Summary: TIM; The captain of the Surprise speculates about Sirens.
Author's Note: For des_pudels_kern. Whilst reading “The Ionian Mission” I came across the part where Jack mentions the Sirens - and me being me, the idea of the Surprise coming across such creatures prompted the following result. We all know what a musical soul Jack is...
“A lady with a violin,
Playing to the seals.
Hearken to the sound of calling.
Who tied my hands to the wheel?
The Zodiac turns over me!
Come to me...
Somewhere there my fate revealed...
Oh, I hear but how will I see?” - ‘The Siren’, Nightwish
[N.B. The text at the beginning in Italics is O'Brian's own text.]
-------
“I am afraid I played worse than usual, with the floor bounding about in this irregular, uneasy fashion. It is my belief we have turned round, and are now facing the billows.”
“Perhaps we have,” said Jack. “The squadron wears in succession at the end of every watch, you know, and it is now just a little after midnight. Shall we finish the port?”
“Gule, or gluttony, is a beastish sin,” said Stephen. “But without sin there can be no forgiveness. Would there be any of the Gibraltar walnuts left, at all?”
“If Killick has not blown out his kite with them, there should be plenty in this locker. Yes. Half a sack. Forgiveness,” he said thoughtfully, cracking six together in his massive hand. “How I hope Bennet may find it, when he rejoins. If he has any luck he will come into the fleet tomorrow. The Admiral is less likely to blast him on a Sunday, and this is still a fine leading wind from Palermo.”
“He is the gentleman who commands Mr. Martin’s ship?”
“Yes. Harry Bennet, who had Theseus before Dalton. You know him perfectly well, Stephen: he came to Ashgrove Cottage when you were there. The literary cove, that read Sophie a piece about the school at Eton and teaching the boys how to shoot, while she was knitting your stockings.”
“I remember him. He made a particularly happy quotation from Lucretius - suave mare mango, and so on. Why should he be blasted, so?”
“It is common knowledge that he stays in Palermo far, far longer than he should because of a wench, a red-haired wench. The Spry and two victuallers saw the Berwick at single anchor, yards crossed, ready for the sea on Monday, and yet there was Bennet driving up and down the Marina in an open carriage with this nymph of his and an ancient gentlewoman for decency’s sake, looking as pleased as Pontius Pilate. No one could mistake that flaming hair. In all sober earnest, Stephen, I do hate to see a good officer-like man such as Bennet jeopardize his career, hanging about in port for a woman. When he rejoins I shall ask him to dinner: perhaps I could drop a few tactful hints. Perhaps you could say something in the classical line, about that fellow who contrived to hear the Sirens, listening to them while seized to the mainmast, the rest of the ship’s company having their ears blocked with wax: it happened in these waters, I believe. Could you not bring it in by some reference to Messina, the Straits of Messina?”
“I could not,” said Stephen.
“No. I suppose not,” said Jack. “It is a most infernally delicate thing to take notice of, even to a man you know very well. But there it is.”
Jack lay aside his fiddle, rose and stretched his bear-like arms and heard a satisfying crack from his shoulders, whence he loosened his neck by turning his head from side to side once, twice.
“I should go on deck now,” he stated, fetching his boat cloak from where it had been left on the stern locker. “If we have worn I shall take her station and then leave Tom in peace again. It is not such a fantastic night that I should wish to linger on high.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Stephen mumbled, cracking another walnut. “Though should you happen to come across a Siren I urge you to fetch me immediately. Such fantastical entities are always worth viewing; even if it is only to discover what poor creature has been mistakenly maligned for centuries by ignorant sailors.”
“I very much doubt you shall be so fortunate; the wind is rising somewhat and will make for an unpleasant few hours. Were I a Siren I would not care to be a-luring tonight.”
“To be sure, my dear, I fear your powers of allurement may be lost somewhat on the likes of Awkward Davies.”
“Be damned odd if they weren't! Do be a decent chap and save me some of the nuts.”
Stepping up on deck Jack found that the wind had strengthened to a stiff breeze; the sails taught and straining, the spray whipped and caught up in the air to form a fine mizzle - a soft, creeping cold that soaked into the men’s coats and hair and made it heavy and damp. Not a wholly foul night, but unpleasant. Jack's cloak billowed around him and he pulled it close as he asked the position of Pullings, saw the squadron had worn in succession and was satisfied that they were on station. Routine, dull, but necessary. The constant wearing of the ship back and forth, slow and monotonous, had not yet got to him, but he knew it would sooner or later - the wearing would become most wearing indeed! Jack smiled at this flash of wit. Not one of his best, but he would certainly tell Stephen when he next had the opportunity. Being still in a musical, as well as humorous, mood he tried to think of it as a bass line. Yes, a bass line upon which all the various harmonies and melodies of the rigging, wind, sails and the creaking hull applied over the top. He glanced up to study the topmasts, taught against the wind, howling and whistling through the rigging, making the ropes sing… How it sang! It was singing; he could hear singing.
Puzzled, Jack left Pullings and the wheel and stepped over to the leeward side, gazing out across the black mass of rocks a mile or so away in the darkness, listening intently for any indication of the music. The gale wantonly snatched the ribbon from his hair, sending the yellow locks streaming across his face as he strained to hear above the wash of the ocean. There it was again; definitely this time. Short snatches of song that were at first distant, but became clearer and clearer the longer he listened.
“O mariner sailing in ship so tall, you grow tired of your journey.
How far you are from your resting place - how far you are from home!
Hear the lap of the waves on your bow; hear the wind catch in your sails.
O mariner, listen to our song; hear the call of sea and stars…”
The music fell in perfect time with the pitch and roll of the ship. A steady rise and fall of strings, flutes and voices, enchanting and changeful as the sea itself.
“Hear our song, O weary mariner, hear our song and heed our call.
Let the calm of the sea enthral you; feel her peace now as you fall.”
The words moved with the waves; slow, beautiful and stately, and gradually before his eyes the waves parted to reveal three maidens. Jack's eyes widened. Yes, there were three maidens - exquisitely pale in their perfection of looks - dancing upon the water and playing instruments as they sang; a harp, a flute and a violin. They were all beautiful, all with green-grey eyes and black, black hair; their skins almost pearlescent blue, clothed in thin snow-white silk as if they were born from the sea and the moonlight themselves. He looked and listened, entranced by their voices and beauty.
“Come to us, O tiring mariner; let the sea draw you into her breast.
Come to us, O weary mariner; come to us and find your rest.”
A yearning welled within him to hear more and move closer. The tallest and the nearest of the maids, the one playing the violin, locked gazes with him and smiled; her eyes enticing, beckoning as she sang her song for him. He suddenly realised that the violin she was playing was his own; she had taken it so that he might play for her, so that he would no longer regret the choice he had made.
“Do not fear, O fading mariner; let your senses no longer resist...”
His boot was in the scuppers, his hand upon the rail.
“...We will hold you to us and caress you, as the sea seals your fate with her kiss.”
You could imagine his stunned surprise when in that exact moment the form of the mermaid suddenly took on the face of Stephen Maturin; a very angry-looking Stephen Maturin that frowned, placed its hands on its hips and bellowed sharply in his face.
“Jack! For all love, will you gather your senses and wake up!”
Jack’s eyes snapped open and in a rush of wakefulness he found himself back on the quarterdeck; Pullings, Killick, Bonden and several of the hands looking at him with concerned expressions.
“What?” he asked, blinking. Confusion as well as tiredness made him stupid and he stood staring at his friend, one hand still gripped upon the leeward rail. “Stephen, what was I…?”
“Brother, you have seemed to have adopted the trait of horses and fallen asleep standing up. Mr. Pullings called me because he could get no reply from you. I supposed you had imbibed too freely this evening and too late, and as I have now been proved correct I urge you to go below immediately and get some rest. Not a word!” he exclaimed as Jack made to protest. “Below!”
The last word was given with such firm authority that Jack was obliged to obey, reluctantly shuffling off the quarterdeck with a last glance to the now empty sea to leeward, and down into his cabin, feeling cold and somewhat ashamed - though he had no clue as to why he should feel so. Remembering the details of the dream, once below he dashed over to the locker where he kept his violin. Yes, here was the case, solid and very real under his touch, and when he opened it the violin was still there - all in one piece; strings, bow and all. No rosin of course, but then that had always been the case. The peace that establishing these facts gave his troubled mind was immense, and only now he could begin to convince himself that it had only been a dream.
“You are in a most agitated state, joy. Why not tell me what is wrong?”
Jack started, nearly dropping his violin, and whirled round to see that Stephen had followed him below, a curious expression in his pale grey eyes. Jack laughed - though it was a nervous laugh - wiping cold spray from his brow and replacing the instrument in its case with an unsteady hand.
“Oh, a dream. Just a dream.”
“A most distressing dream I would presume to make you tremble so. Will you not tell me about it?”
“Tomorrow. I will tell you tomorrow.”
Stephen regarded his friend shrewdly, but finally gave a nod of consent.
“Aye, tomorrow then. But until then I will stay close to you tonight. I would consider it my duty as ship’s doctor, if not your friend, to see to my captain’s peace of mind.”
Jack gave the doctor a watery smile, though his hand had steadied somewhat and his breathing eased.
“Thank you, Stephen; thank you. You know that would mean the world to me.”
Stephen returned his own smile.
“I would not stay were I ever to think it otherwise,” he said softly.
-------
A/N: The lines from the Sirens' song come from a poem; one of my few pieces of original work that I any pride in. So for the sake of some shameless pimping you may find the complete poem beneath. Sorry.
"Song of the Sirens" - by latin_cat
"O mariner sailing in ship so tall, you grow tired of your journey.
How far you are from your resting place - how far you are from home!
Hear the lap of the waves on your bow; hear the wind catch in your sails.
O mariner, listen to our song; hear the call of sea and stars!
You grow weary of the long voyage and the night draws ever near.
With her cloak of stars she enfolds you and embraces you with sleep.
You grow tired of the sun and the loneliness and you long to rest your head;
Come unto us, O restless mariner, and lay down upon the seabed.
Hear the sigh of the breeze in the rigging, feel the sway of the ship beneath;
Lay your head down, weary mariner - hear the call of sea and stars!
Come to us and never tire. Feel our touch on your roughened skin,
Feel the love of the sea embrace you; sleep with us with no fear of sin.
Hear our song, O weary mariner, hear our song and heed our call.
Let the calm of the sea enthral you; feel her peace now as you fall.
Come to us, O failing mariner, come to us and have no fear.
Come to us, O lonely mariner, come to us; we call you here!
Do not fear, O fading mariner; let your senses no longer resist.
We will hold you to us and caress you, as the sea seals your fate with her kiss.
Come to us, O tiring mariner; let the sea draw you into her breast.
Come to us, O weary mariner; come to us and find your rest.
Feel the waves lapping up in the water, feel the cool of the ocean beneath;
Feel the catch of the breeze in your sails; find an end to your pain and your grief.
Come to us, O fateful mariner; hear the call of sea and stars -
Come to us, O wind-swept mariner, and forget your lonely hours.
Feel the wash of the spray below you, hear the cry of the gull in the sky;
Sleep with us, O weary mariner; hear the call of sea and stars!"
Some of you may be aware by now that every year a small group of us fellow Aubreyad nutcases fans get together for a few days for some serious squee and scholarly discussions (e.g. Is it Stephen who wears the wig, or is it the wig that controls Stephen? >.>). I usually use this as an excuse to write fic and enforce it on everybody - so this year I wrote each mooter a short fic. Below the cut you shall find the first, and the other three shall follow.
Title: Sirens
Rating: 12
Pairings: Jack/Stephen
Summary: TIM; The captain of the Surprise speculates about Sirens.
Author's Note: For des_pudels_kern. Whilst reading “The Ionian Mission” I came across the part where Jack mentions the Sirens - and me being me, the idea of the Surprise coming across such creatures prompted the following result. We all know what a musical soul Jack is...
“A lady with a violin,
Playing to the seals.
Hearken to the sound of calling.
Who tied my hands to the wheel?
The Zodiac turns over me!
Come to me...
Somewhere there my fate revealed...
Oh, I hear but how will I see?” - ‘The Siren’, Nightwish
[N.B. The text at the beginning in Italics is O'Brian's own text.]
-------
“I am afraid I played worse than usual, with the floor bounding about in this irregular, uneasy fashion. It is my belief we have turned round, and are now facing the billows.”
“Perhaps we have,” said Jack. “The squadron wears in succession at the end of every watch, you know, and it is now just a little after midnight. Shall we finish the port?”
“Gule, or gluttony, is a beastish sin,” said Stephen. “But without sin there can be no forgiveness. Would there be any of the Gibraltar walnuts left, at all?”
“If Killick has not blown out his kite with them, there should be plenty in this locker. Yes. Half a sack. Forgiveness,” he said thoughtfully, cracking six together in his massive hand. “How I hope Bennet may find it, when he rejoins. If he has any luck he will come into the fleet tomorrow. The Admiral is less likely to blast him on a Sunday, and this is still a fine leading wind from Palermo.”
“He is the gentleman who commands Mr. Martin’s ship?”
“Yes. Harry Bennet, who had Theseus before Dalton. You know him perfectly well, Stephen: he came to Ashgrove Cottage when you were there. The literary cove, that read Sophie a piece about the school at Eton and teaching the boys how to shoot, while she was knitting your stockings.”
“I remember him. He made a particularly happy quotation from Lucretius - suave mare mango, and so on. Why should he be blasted, so?”
“It is common knowledge that he stays in Palermo far, far longer than he should because of a wench, a red-haired wench. The Spry and two victuallers saw the Berwick at single anchor, yards crossed, ready for the sea on Monday, and yet there was Bennet driving up and down the Marina in an open carriage with this nymph of his and an ancient gentlewoman for decency’s sake, looking as pleased as Pontius Pilate. No one could mistake that flaming hair. In all sober earnest, Stephen, I do hate to see a good officer-like man such as Bennet jeopardize his career, hanging about in port for a woman. When he rejoins I shall ask him to dinner: perhaps I could drop a few tactful hints. Perhaps you could say something in the classical line, about that fellow who contrived to hear the Sirens, listening to them while seized to the mainmast, the rest of the ship’s company having their ears blocked with wax: it happened in these waters, I believe. Could you not bring it in by some reference to Messina, the Straits of Messina?”
“I could not,” said Stephen.
“No. I suppose not,” said Jack. “It is a most infernally delicate thing to take notice of, even to a man you know very well. But there it is.”
Jack lay aside his fiddle, rose and stretched his bear-like arms and heard a satisfying crack from his shoulders, whence he loosened his neck by turning his head from side to side once, twice.
“I should go on deck now,” he stated, fetching his boat cloak from where it had been left on the stern locker. “If we have worn I shall take her station and then leave Tom in peace again. It is not such a fantastic night that I should wish to linger on high.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Stephen mumbled, cracking another walnut. “Though should you happen to come across a Siren I urge you to fetch me immediately. Such fantastical entities are always worth viewing; even if it is only to discover what poor creature has been mistakenly maligned for centuries by ignorant sailors.”
“I very much doubt you shall be so fortunate; the wind is rising somewhat and will make for an unpleasant few hours. Were I a Siren I would not care to be a-luring tonight.”
“To be sure, my dear, I fear your powers of allurement may be lost somewhat on the likes of Awkward Davies.”
“Be damned odd if they weren't! Do be a decent chap and save me some of the nuts.”
Stepping up on deck Jack found that the wind had strengthened to a stiff breeze; the sails taught and straining, the spray whipped and caught up in the air to form a fine mizzle - a soft, creeping cold that soaked into the men’s coats and hair and made it heavy and damp. Not a wholly foul night, but unpleasant. Jack's cloak billowed around him and he pulled it close as he asked the position of Pullings, saw the squadron had worn in succession and was satisfied that they were on station. Routine, dull, but necessary. The constant wearing of the ship back and forth, slow and monotonous, had not yet got to him, but he knew it would sooner or later - the wearing would become most wearing indeed! Jack smiled at this flash of wit. Not one of his best, but he would certainly tell Stephen when he next had the opportunity. Being still in a musical, as well as humorous, mood he tried to think of it as a bass line. Yes, a bass line upon which all the various harmonies and melodies of the rigging, wind, sails and the creaking hull applied over the top. He glanced up to study the topmasts, taught against the wind, howling and whistling through the rigging, making the ropes sing… How it sang! It was singing; he could hear singing.
Puzzled, Jack left Pullings and the wheel and stepped over to the leeward side, gazing out across the black mass of rocks a mile or so away in the darkness, listening intently for any indication of the music. The gale wantonly snatched the ribbon from his hair, sending the yellow locks streaming across his face as he strained to hear above the wash of the ocean. There it was again; definitely this time. Short snatches of song that were at first distant, but became clearer and clearer the longer he listened.
“O mariner sailing in ship so tall, you grow tired of your journey.
How far you are from your resting place - how far you are from home!
Hear the lap of the waves on your bow; hear the wind catch in your sails.
O mariner, listen to our song; hear the call of sea and stars…”
The music fell in perfect time with the pitch and roll of the ship. A steady rise and fall of strings, flutes and voices, enchanting and changeful as the sea itself.
“Hear our song, O weary mariner, hear our song and heed our call.
Let the calm of the sea enthral you; feel her peace now as you fall.”
The words moved with the waves; slow, beautiful and stately, and gradually before his eyes the waves parted to reveal three maidens. Jack's eyes widened. Yes, there were three maidens - exquisitely pale in their perfection of looks - dancing upon the water and playing instruments as they sang; a harp, a flute and a violin. They were all beautiful, all with green-grey eyes and black, black hair; their skins almost pearlescent blue, clothed in thin snow-white silk as if they were born from the sea and the moonlight themselves. He looked and listened, entranced by their voices and beauty.
“Come to us, O tiring mariner; let the sea draw you into her breast.
Come to us, O weary mariner; come to us and find your rest.”
A yearning welled within him to hear more and move closer. The tallest and the nearest of the maids, the one playing the violin, locked gazes with him and smiled; her eyes enticing, beckoning as she sang her song for him. He suddenly realised that the violin she was playing was his own; she had taken it so that he might play for her, so that he would no longer regret the choice he had made.
“Do not fear, O fading mariner; let your senses no longer resist...”
His boot was in the scuppers, his hand upon the rail.
“...We will hold you to us and caress you, as the sea seals your fate with her kiss.”
You could imagine his stunned surprise when in that exact moment the form of the mermaid suddenly took on the face of Stephen Maturin; a very angry-looking Stephen Maturin that frowned, placed its hands on its hips and bellowed sharply in his face.
“Jack! For all love, will you gather your senses and wake up!”
Jack’s eyes snapped open and in a rush of wakefulness he found himself back on the quarterdeck; Pullings, Killick, Bonden and several of the hands looking at him with concerned expressions.
“What?” he asked, blinking. Confusion as well as tiredness made him stupid and he stood staring at his friend, one hand still gripped upon the leeward rail. “Stephen, what was I…?”
“Brother, you have seemed to have adopted the trait of horses and fallen asleep standing up. Mr. Pullings called me because he could get no reply from you. I supposed you had imbibed too freely this evening and too late, and as I have now been proved correct I urge you to go below immediately and get some rest. Not a word!” he exclaimed as Jack made to protest. “Below!”
The last word was given with such firm authority that Jack was obliged to obey, reluctantly shuffling off the quarterdeck with a last glance to the now empty sea to leeward, and down into his cabin, feeling cold and somewhat ashamed - though he had no clue as to why he should feel so. Remembering the details of the dream, once below he dashed over to the locker where he kept his violin. Yes, here was the case, solid and very real under his touch, and when he opened it the violin was still there - all in one piece; strings, bow and all. No rosin of course, but then that had always been the case. The peace that establishing these facts gave his troubled mind was immense, and only now he could begin to convince himself that it had only been a dream.
“You are in a most agitated state, joy. Why not tell me what is wrong?”
Jack started, nearly dropping his violin, and whirled round to see that Stephen had followed him below, a curious expression in his pale grey eyes. Jack laughed - though it was a nervous laugh - wiping cold spray from his brow and replacing the instrument in its case with an unsteady hand.
“Oh, a dream. Just a dream.”
“A most distressing dream I would presume to make you tremble so. Will you not tell me about it?”
“Tomorrow. I will tell you tomorrow.”
Stephen regarded his friend shrewdly, but finally gave a nod of consent.
“Aye, tomorrow then. But until then I will stay close to you tonight. I would consider it my duty as ship’s doctor, if not your friend, to see to my captain’s peace of mind.”
Jack gave the doctor a watery smile, though his hand had steadied somewhat and his breathing eased.
“Thank you, Stephen; thank you. You know that would mean the world to me.”
Stephen returned his own smile.
“I would not stay were I ever to think it otherwise,” he said softly.
-------
A/N: The lines from the Sirens' song come from a poem; one of my few pieces of original work that I any pride in. So for the sake of some shameless pimping you may find the complete poem beneath. Sorry.
"Song of the Sirens" - by latin_cat
"O mariner sailing in ship so tall, you grow tired of your journey.
How far you are from your resting place - how far you are from home!
Hear the lap of the waves on your bow; hear the wind catch in your sails.
O mariner, listen to our song; hear the call of sea and stars!
You grow weary of the long voyage and the night draws ever near.
With her cloak of stars she enfolds you and embraces you with sleep.
You grow tired of the sun and the loneliness and you long to rest your head;
Come unto us, O restless mariner, and lay down upon the seabed.
Hear the sigh of the breeze in the rigging, feel the sway of the ship beneath;
Lay your head down, weary mariner - hear the call of sea and stars!
Come to us and never tire. Feel our touch on your roughened skin,
Feel the love of the sea embrace you; sleep with us with no fear of sin.
Hear our song, O weary mariner, hear our song and heed our call.
Let the calm of the sea enthral you; feel her peace now as you fall.
Come to us, O failing mariner, come to us and have no fear.
Come to us, O lonely mariner, come to us; we call you here!
Do not fear, O fading mariner; let your senses no longer resist.
We will hold you to us and caress you, as the sea seals your fate with her kiss.
Come to us, O tiring mariner; let the sea draw you into her breast.
Come to us, O weary mariner; come to us and find your rest.
Feel the waves lapping up in the water, feel the cool of the ocean beneath;
Feel the catch of the breeze in your sails; find an end to your pain and your grief.
Come to us, O fateful mariner; hear the call of sea and stars -
Come to us, O wind-swept mariner, and forget your lonely hours.
Feel the wash of the spray below you, hear the cry of the gull in the sky;
Sleep with us, O weary mariner; hear the call of sea and stars!"