Moot '09 - Fic Dump #2
And the next! This was declared to be the 'creepy' one, though it was not necessarily designed to be.
Title: Sweethearts
Rating: 15
Pairings: George/Brigid, Brigid/Philip
Summary: George, Brigid and Philip; from their childhood together into adult life.
Author's Note: For hyel. WARNING: Major character death. A speculation on how things might have gone down a not-so-rosy path. Apologies for angst, and for any typos I’ve missed.
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They had started off as the best of friends. They had met at Woolcombe, a year after the old General had died, when George was only a few years out of petticoats.
“I do not like being called an uncle,” Philip had said unhappily as they were playing fives in the kitchen garden one day. “It makes me feel older than I should be, and there really are not that many years between us. We are contemporaries, you might say.”
“What are contemporaries?” George had asked, his young brow wrinkling at the unfamiliar word.
“People of the same age,” Philip said, nodding his head wisely. “But it usually means people you know when you are young, such as school friends and all that. We are not school friends, but we are friends all the same and nearly the same age.”
Suddenly he brightened, as an idea presented itself to the fore.
“Tell you what, you can call me cousin; or Philip if you wish. It is still proper, and I am sure brother Jack will not mind.”
So thus they had become cousins, and were happy to be so. They had played together, terrorised Fanny and Charlotte - George glad for once to have an ally against his sisters - and shared ambitions to go to sea, George listening eagerly to Philip’s tales of tall ships and sailors whenever he was home long enough to tell them.
It could then be said that things began to go awry when Brigid had entered the equation.
Philip had returned from sea one summer and came home to Woolcombe to find George with a new playmate; a small, slender elfin creature with serious grey eyes and a disquieting poise. The girl was quiet, with so pretty a face and fair hair; so reserved that at first she brought to mind a life-sized porcelain doll. He had been curious and she had been wary, but after Philip had introduced himself and George had reassured her of his friendliness she had become as lively as any small girl; laughing, playing and running around with energy enough to leave both he and George standing. Back then it had been harmless enough - both boys vying for Brigid’s attention, which she gave indiscriminately to both; yet as they grew older this playful rivalry began to lose its innocence. When George went away to sea as well as Philip they had left as children, on returning they were young men each with their own stories and ideas about the world; too old to play, but still firmly friends.
But Brigid, they both found, as they had become young men was now a young lady. She was scarcely out of the schoolroom, but beautiful, refined and spirited like her mother, yet with all the good nature and intellect of her father and the common sense instilled in her by her Aunt Sophie. It could be said that it was in these headstrong years that the relationship between the two cousins took a turn for the worst. Now they were two young gentlemen; now they were rivals in love instead of play, and each now clamoured for Brigid’s attention and affection - her complete affection - not as a playmate, but as a sweetheart.
Yet as time wore on Brigid still did not show any preference towards one boy over the other, and George and Philip became warier of the other. They guarded their moments with Brigid and counted their hours away, suspicious of the other’s absences and wholly jealous of his presence. Yes, jealously by now had sunk its claws firmly into both boys, and as Brigid still chose not to favour either George or Philip it became clear to the two of them that a decision had to be made by someone; her complete affection was the prize they claimed, and a state where any affection existed for another was universally decreed intolerable. They resolved, as practical sailors and gentlemen of honour, to take matters into their own hands.
It was early of a morning in October. George and Philip had gone shooting on the common, hopeful of bagging some rabbits or a couple of pheasants, leaving the house in somnolent quiet. Half an hour later, as the rest of the family sat down for breakfast, a distant cry caught their attention. Rising to look through the windows a figure was visible racing towards the house along the path from the common, and as it came closer Mrs Aubrey recognised her son, breathless and pale, running as if all the Furies were at his tail.
“Doctor!” George cried on entering the hallway, the entire household having assembled there to find out the cause of his urgency. “Doctor, come quickly, please! It’s Philip! The fowling piece, it went off and… Oh please, please hurry!”
Dr. Maturin had paused only to gather his medical bag and run after George to the common, followed closely by Admiral Aubrey and the male servants; yet even with all their haste nothing could be done. Philip’s body was carried home in silence; a bullet clear through his throat and blood still trickling from the corners of his mouth. George sat by his cousin’s body for hours in a state of shock, murmuring now and again to himself that it was his fault, that he should have seen the danger… It was unreasonable that George should feel such guilt or any responsibility for the tragic accident and many tried to console, to convince him otherwise - but without success. Only Brigid, who was as inconsolable as George, provoked any response from him, and together they sat weeping into the night.
At the funeral both Brigid and George were seen to console one another, hands clasped as the first of their happy band of three, who met so dreadful a death when his tender life had only begun, was lowered into the cold, dank earth. Two months later Master George and Miss Maturin’s engagement was announced, and another two months after that they were married in the same church that their cousin had been laid to rest in.
As his daughter left the church with her new husband Dr. Maturin stood silently watching the happy couple; a picture of solemnity on this joyous occasion, seemingly oblivious to the revelry around him. He was not thinking of the future, but of the past; thinking of the bullet that he had pulled from Philip Aubrey’s throat which had taken his life. He had noted, at the time, that the angle of entry had not suggested an accident, and his suspicions had been confirmed when he had found that the bullet had not been that from a rifled fowling piece, but from a pistol. He knew the secret of George Aubrey’s guilt; yet the young man’s grief had been enough to stay his tongue.
Now the doctor watched and waited, silent as the grave in which poor Philip lay.
Title: Sweethearts
Rating: 15
Pairings: George/Brigid, Brigid/Philip
Summary: George, Brigid and Philip; from their childhood together into adult life.
Author's Note: For hyel. WARNING: Major character death. A speculation on how things might have gone down a not-so-rosy path. Apologies for angst, and for any typos I’ve missed.
-------
They had started off as the best of friends. They had met at Woolcombe, a year after the old General had died, when George was only a few years out of petticoats.
“I do not like being called an uncle,” Philip had said unhappily as they were playing fives in the kitchen garden one day. “It makes me feel older than I should be, and there really are not that many years between us. We are contemporaries, you might say.”
“What are contemporaries?” George had asked, his young brow wrinkling at the unfamiliar word.
“People of the same age,” Philip said, nodding his head wisely. “But it usually means people you know when you are young, such as school friends and all that. We are not school friends, but we are friends all the same and nearly the same age.”
Suddenly he brightened, as an idea presented itself to the fore.
“Tell you what, you can call me cousin; or Philip if you wish. It is still proper, and I am sure brother Jack will not mind.”
So thus they had become cousins, and were happy to be so. They had played together, terrorised Fanny and Charlotte - George glad for once to have an ally against his sisters - and shared ambitions to go to sea, George listening eagerly to Philip’s tales of tall ships and sailors whenever he was home long enough to tell them.
It could then be said that things began to go awry when Brigid had entered the equation.
Philip had returned from sea one summer and came home to Woolcombe to find George with a new playmate; a small, slender elfin creature with serious grey eyes and a disquieting poise. The girl was quiet, with so pretty a face and fair hair; so reserved that at first she brought to mind a life-sized porcelain doll. He had been curious and she had been wary, but after Philip had introduced himself and George had reassured her of his friendliness she had become as lively as any small girl; laughing, playing and running around with energy enough to leave both he and George standing. Back then it had been harmless enough - both boys vying for Brigid’s attention, which she gave indiscriminately to both; yet as they grew older this playful rivalry began to lose its innocence. When George went away to sea as well as Philip they had left as children, on returning they were young men each with their own stories and ideas about the world; too old to play, but still firmly friends.
But Brigid, they both found, as they had become young men was now a young lady. She was scarcely out of the schoolroom, but beautiful, refined and spirited like her mother, yet with all the good nature and intellect of her father and the common sense instilled in her by her Aunt Sophie. It could be said that it was in these headstrong years that the relationship between the two cousins took a turn for the worst. Now they were two young gentlemen; now they were rivals in love instead of play, and each now clamoured for Brigid’s attention and affection - her complete affection - not as a playmate, but as a sweetheart.
Yet as time wore on Brigid still did not show any preference towards one boy over the other, and George and Philip became warier of the other. They guarded their moments with Brigid and counted their hours away, suspicious of the other’s absences and wholly jealous of his presence. Yes, jealously by now had sunk its claws firmly into both boys, and as Brigid still chose not to favour either George or Philip it became clear to the two of them that a decision had to be made by someone; her complete affection was the prize they claimed, and a state where any affection existed for another was universally decreed intolerable. They resolved, as practical sailors and gentlemen of honour, to take matters into their own hands.
It was early of a morning in October. George and Philip had gone shooting on the common, hopeful of bagging some rabbits or a couple of pheasants, leaving the house in somnolent quiet. Half an hour later, as the rest of the family sat down for breakfast, a distant cry caught their attention. Rising to look through the windows a figure was visible racing towards the house along the path from the common, and as it came closer Mrs Aubrey recognised her son, breathless and pale, running as if all the Furies were at his tail.
“Doctor!” George cried on entering the hallway, the entire household having assembled there to find out the cause of his urgency. “Doctor, come quickly, please! It’s Philip! The fowling piece, it went off and… Oh please, please hurry!”
Dr. Maturin had paused only to gather his medical bag and run after George to the common, followed closely by Admiral Aubrey and the male servants; yet even with all their haste nothing could be done. Philip’s body was carried home in silence; a bullet clear through his throat and blood still trickling from the corners of his mouth. George sat by his cousin’s body for hours in a state of shock, murmuring now and again to himself that it was his fault, that he should have seen the danger… It was unreasonable that George should feel such guilt or any responsibility for the tragic accident and many tried to console, to convince him otherwise - but without success. Only Brigid, who was as inconsolable as George, provoked any response from him, and together they sat weeping into the night.
At the funeral both Brigid and George were seen to console one another, hands clasped as the first of their happy band of three, who met so dreadful a death when his tender life had only begun, was lowered into the cold, dank earth. Two months later Master George and Miss Maturin’s engagement was announced, and another two months after that they were married in the same church that their cousin had been laid to rest in.
As his daughter left the church with her new husband Dr. Maturin stood silently watching the happy couple; a picture of solemnity on this joyous occasion, seemingly oblivious to the revelry around him. He was not thinking of the future, but of the past; thinking of the bullet that he had pulled from Philip Aubrey’s throat which had taken his life. He had noted, at the time, that the angle of entry had not suggested an accident, and his suspicions had been confirmed when he had found that the bullet had not been that from a rifled fowling piece, but from a pistol. He knew the secret of George Aubrey’s guilt; yet the young man’s grief had been enough to stay his tongue.
Now the doctor watched and waited, silent as the grave in which poor Philip lay.