Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of the Hornblower series, nor do
I own either Methos or the idea of Immortals, I believe they belong to their
respective creators, producers and market people. Anyway, I hope that my very
temporary usage of these characters is entertaining and not offensive in
anyway. No doubt someone won't be happy, but I hope that you can channel your
aggression into something creative and productive like macrame, belly dancing
or possibly writing hit songs for Britney Speares. Although on second
thoughts, don't do that because it might create even more public anger. To
conclude, I hope no one feels the need to sue me over this, as I have neither
money, fame, nor as it seems a life, so please pity me, instead of hating me.
I only wanted to be loved! Actually, I also wanted to be an exceptionally
great artist, a megolamaniac champion for World Domination Inc.(r)(tm) and a
slack-jawed Scottish goat-farmer, but I'd settle for some good quality
affection.
I would like to thank Britt for her support (being the only one who knows what
I'm talking about can be a heavy burden) as well as for her amazing technical
know-how. Without you, I would write these stories and no one would hear them
except for my long-suffering sister and my three guinea pigs. Thanks also goes
out to my sister whose morbidity exceeds my own and supplied the title.
If in the unlikely event that you actually want to use this story for
something other than personal use, can you please ask me first by emailing me
at troggie@hotmail.com with the title of the fic in the header.
"A Rigorous Adventure"
By Sally Manda
Prologue:
The thunderous roar of crashing waves engulfed the fragile senses of Horatio
and his crew as the terrible storm raged on around his small jollyboat. Within
the craft, the able-bodied seamen were struggling against two enemies: the
churning, boiling sea that threatened to suck them down into the murky depths
of its keep forever; and their own icy fear.
Rain lashed at their faces, driven by the merciless wind which keened and
howled like some demented banshee calling for the souls of the men that would
no doubt be taken before this night was over. Horatio's stomach churned with
the movement of the boat and with his own panic. He had little hope for either
himself or for his crew. No number of cunningly devised plans or defensive
moves could save them from the grasping clutches of this tempest. He realised
that this was it - that within the night, be it within minutes or maybe hours,
his bloated body would lie under the waves, resting with all the other lost
souls who were the domain of the ocean. He steeled himself and squared his
jaw. It would not do to show any of this fear to the men. Maybe if he
swallowed the panic, he wouldn't be so terrified when his time came.
Another monstrous wave grew, its crest rising high above the boat until it cut
out all view of the sky. The bulging waterlogged clouds, the violent cracks of
lightning that illuminated the scene -all was blocked out by the petrifying
wall of water that had slowly begun to curl over, enveloping the pathetically
small craft in a solid tunnel of crushing, heavy liquid.
Horatio's breath caught in his throat as time seemed to slow down to an
unbearable speed. Quietly, he reached over and took Archie's hand, before
closing his eyes to calmly await their inevitable fate.
~*~
The gritty texture of warm sand filled Horatio's mouth, coating his tongue
with an unbearable carpet that made him want to retch. While he waited for his
brain to gather the strength to cope with incoming information, Hornblower
concentrated on each of his senses at a time. He could taste the briny tang of
sea water, and smell the salt in the air, as well as rotting seaweed. Below
him, Horatio could feel ground: warm, soft and moist, supporting his bruised
and battered body. Lying quietly, he managed to determine the shrill screeches
of squabbling seabirds as well as the soft lap of water onto sand.
Horatio's mind clicked into gear and he smiled inwardly. Of course, all these
things made sense: he must be in the sick berth! *Wait a minute!* Horatio's
brow furrowed as he tried to identify what was wrong with this conclusion.
After a few confused minutes of internal debate, he decided to open his eyes
and see where he really was. Satisfied that he had come up with the most
courageous and decisive course of action, the intrepid maritime adventurer
cracked open his leaden eyelids to the harsh morning sunlight.
In actual fact, Horatio had been washed up like a slightly more dainty beached
whale onto the fair shores of a seemingly deserted island. After some gallant
exploring on behalf of Horatio Hornblower, some more of the crew was
discovered. Styles, Matthews, Oldroyd and those faceless nameless members of
the crew that we know exist, as well as, to Horatio's great relief, Archie
Kennedy, were all safe and sound, if you didn't count a few cuts, bumps and
bruises.
After the crew had been rounded up, they ventured up under the cool shadows of
some island trees to discuss their miraculous escape and to decide what they
were going to do next. More to the point, for Horatio to decide what they were
going to do.
They had little supplies or tools ('little' meaning 'none') except for those
that grew on the island. Seeing as island trees don't normally grow tools such
as axes, saws or rivets, Horatio didn't see their chances at building another
boat to be particularly high. It would be much better to stay put until they
could be rescued by a passing ship. There was plenty of food to live on, a
clean supply of fresh water, seemingly no other residents and the crew had had
plenty of time to get used to one another over the past few years, so it
didn't seem too bad for the moment. Hornblower just hoped that they hadn't
been swept too far away from the usual hunting ground of English ships, and
that the next ship to pass by wouldn't be French.
In true Hornblower style, Horatio decided to blame himself for the way that
the mission had gone pear-shaped, regardless of the fact that he wasn't some
kind of rain god and couldn't actually control the weather patterns in his
immediate vicinity. He hated letting men down, especially Pellew and
consequently spent the next two days alternately hoping that he hadn't
disadvantaged Pellew's attack too much as well as inwardly cursing himself for
not having a better "bad weather strategy."
~*~
And so it happened that the days slowly meandered by, the world continued on
its infallible course and the men became used to living on the island. It was
really quite an idyllic spot. A golden oasis amongst the suffocating sands of
structure and discipline that Whoreatio [[I mean Horatio]] had grown up
surrounded by. And the days continued to flow by, and yet they could not be
called months. For on this island, time was no longer a commodity - a force
that needed to be carefully monitored and ordered, so that men might feel that
they commanded it. No, in this haven, the days trickled by uncounted. On some
nights, as the sun sunk slowly beneath the rippling current, leaving only its
faint dying aura in the darkening sky, Horatio could almost sense the river of
time - a continuous golden cord stretching into dark infinity, untouched by
man's pitiable attempts to control it.
Hornblower could feel himself changing [[into an evil monster of the night
with gnashing vicious teeth, slashing claws and a whipping tail who fed on the
blood of innocents...Sorry. That's not what happened.]]. He was becoming more
relaxed; he felt more in touch with the world around him - this tactile, lush
green abundance of organic matter. For the first time in his life, Horatio
felt truly alive, truly free.
Archie, however, did not share his friend's new-found exuberance for life. As
Horatio became more involved in his search for the secrets of the natural
world, Archie became more and more withdrawn. His dark musings were punctuated
by an increasing number of fits and nightmares that threatened to engulf him
with their intensity and fling him into the deep pit of despair that he felt
lay directly before him. One small trip, a single rut, and he would be caught,
and never again be able to escape from the irresistible pull of his
melancholy. The black shadows of his soul sang siren songs nightly, calling
him to take the plunge, and as the days wore on, Archie felt it becoming
increasingly harder to resist.
The strain of keeping his demons hidden began to show. Eventually, even
Horatio noticed the heavy phantom that lay upon his friend's brow and wondered
how it came to be. Encountering Kennedy as he stood morosely staring out to
sea, Hornblower enquired about his mood.
"I don't know, Horatio," Archie sighed, as he played with a broken twig. "It
just seems so overwhelming. When I was on a ship, I guess I could block a lot
of the pain out. I worked until I didn't have to think about it, then I would
be so tired after working that I would just sleep. Blank, dreamless sleep.
Now, I don't have anything to hide behind. It's like I've cut loose the ties
that hold it all out and it's flooding back in. I...I've started having
nightmares about Simpson again. I'll remember some small detail. Some small,
insignificant detail, yet it will turn my world upside down and eat away at me
for weeks. Horatio, I don't think I can hold out much longer." Archie turned
his gaze towards his friend, and the honesty and despair in his imploring blue
eyes struck deep into Horatio's heart.
~*~
It was around this time that Styles broke his leg. According to Styles, it had
happened while hunting a particularly cunning wild pig, in the dark, near the
crew's camp. While Styles would never change his story, many of the crew
believed his injury had more to do with sneaking around after Matthews with
the object of putting something unpleasant in his bed, after a particularly
bitter fight over who should get to eat the last remaining pig's ear from
dinner.
However, the origins of the fracture in Styles left pin are not particularly
relevant. What is relevant are the consequences of this seemingly
insignificant accident. As several of the crew were also sick at the time, it
was left to Horatio and Archie to go hunting for something to eat. Horatio -
eager to show off his newfound nature boy skills - took the makeshift spear
the crew had assembled with pride and merrily trotted off into the verdant
vegetation. Archie followed behind him: less enthused, but also more cheerful
than he had been in days. Styles and Matthews - having made up again - watched
them go, paying special attention to Archie's countenance.
"Looks like 'e may be out o' the woods," Styles remarked to his equally
watchful friend.
"I 'ope so," Matthews replied. "God knows 'e's 'ad a 'ard enough time."
~*~
I own either Methos or the idea of Immortals, I believe they belong to their
respective creators, producers and market people. Anyway, I hope that my very
temporary usage of these characters is entertaining and not offensive in
anyway. No doubt someone won't be happy, but I hope that you can channel your
aggression into something creative and productive like macrame, belly dancing
or possibly writing hit songs for Britney Speares. Although on second
thoughts, don't do that because it might create even more public anger. To
conclude, I hope no one feels the need to sue me over this, as I have neither
money, fame, nor as it seems a life, so please pity me, instead of hating me.
I only wanted to be loved! Actually, I also wanted to be an exceptionally
great artist, a megolamaniac champion for World Domination Inc.(r)(tm) and a
slack-jawed Scottish goat-farmer, but I'd settle for some good quality
affection.
I would like to thank Britt for her support (being the only one who knows what
I'm talking about can be a heavy burden) as well as for her amazing technical
know-how. Without you, I would write these stories and no one would hear them
except for my long-suffering sister and my three guinea pigs. Thanks also goes
out to my sister whose morbidity exceeds my own and supplied the title.
If in the unlikely event that you actually want to use this story for
something other than personal use, can you please ask me first by emailing me
at troggie@hotmail.com with the title of the fic in the header.
"A Rigorous Adventure"
By Sally Manda
Prologue:
The thunderous roar of crashing waves engulfed the fragile senses of Horatio
and his crew as the terrible storm raged on around his small jollyboat. Within
the craft, the able-bodied seamen were struggling against two enemies: the
churning, boiling sea that threatened to suck them down into the murky depths
of its keep forever; and their own icy fear.
Rain lashed at their faces, driven by the merciless wind which keened and
howled like some demented banshee calling for the souls of the men that would
no doubt be taken before this night was over. Horatio's stomach churned with
the movement of the boat and with his own panic. He had little hope for either
himself or for his crew. No number of cunningly devised plans or defensive
moves could save them from the grasping clutches of this tempest. He realised
that this was it - that within the night, be it within minutes or maybe hours,
his bloated body would lie under the waves, resting with all the other lost
souls who were the domain of the ocean. He steeled himself and squared his
jaw. It would not do to show any of this fear to the men. Maybe if he
swallowed the panic, he wouldn't be so terrified when his time came.
Another monstrous wave grew, its crest rising high above the boat until it cut
out all view of the sky. The bulging waterlogged clouds, the violent cracks of
lightning that illuminated the scene -all was blocked out by the petrifying
wall of water that had slowly begun to curl over, enveloping the pathetically
small craft in a solid tunnel of crushing, heavy liquid.
Horatio's breath caught in his throat as time seemed to slow down to an
unbearable speed. Quietly, he reached over and took Archie's hand, before
closing his eyes to calmly await their inevitable fate.
~*~
The gritty texture of warm sand filled Horatio's mouth, coating his tongue
with an unbearable carpet that made him want to retch. While he waited for his
brain to gather the strength to cope with incoming information, Hornblower
concentrated on each of his senses at a time. He could taste the briny tang of
sea water, and smell the salt in the air, as well as rotting seaweed. Below
him, Horatio could feel ground: warm, soft and moist, supporting his bruised
and battered body. Lying quietly, he managed to determine the shrill screeches
of squabbling seabirds as well as the soft lap of water onto sand.
Horatio's mind clicked into gear and he smiled inwardly. Of course, all these
things made sense: he must be in the sick berth! *Wait a minute!* Horatio's
brow furrowed as he tried to identify what was wrong with this conclusion.
After a few confused minutes of internal debate, he decided to open his eyes
and see where he really was. Satisfied that he had come up with the most
courageous and decisive course of action, the intrepid maritime adventurer
cracked open his leaden eyelids to the harsh morning sunlight.
In actual fact, Horatio had been washed up like a slightly more dainty beached
whale onto the fair shores of a seemingly deserted island. After some gallant
exploring on behalf of Horatio Hornblower, some more of the crew was
discovered. Styles, Matthews, Oldroyd and those faceless nameless members of
the crew that we know exist, as well as, to Horatio's great relief, Archie
Kennedy, were all safe and sound, if you didn't count a few cuts, bumps and
bruises.
After the crew had been rounded up, they ventured up under the cool shadows of
some island trees to discuss their miraculous escape and to decide what they
were going to do next. More to the point, for Horatio to decide what they were
going to do.
They had little supplies or tools ('little' meaning 'none') except for those
that grew on the island. Seeing as island trees don't normally grow tools such
as axes, saws or rivets, Horatio didn't see their chances at building another
boat to be particularly high. It would be much better to stay put until they
could be rescued by a passing ship. There was plenty of food to live on, a
clean supply of fresh water, seemingly no other residents and the crew had had
plenty of time to get used to one another over the past few years, so it
didn't seem too bad for the moment. Hornblower just hoped that they hadn't
been swept too far away from the usual hunting ground of English ships, and
that the next ship to pass by wouldn't be French.
In true Hornblower style, Horatio decided to blame himself for the way that
the mission had gone pear-shaped, regardless of the fact that he wasn't some
kind of rain god and couldn't actually control the weather patterns in his
immediate vicinity. He hated letting men down, especially Pellew and
consequently spent the next two days alternately hoping that he hadn't
disadvantaged Pellew's attack too much as well as inwardly cursing himself for
not having a better "bad weather strategy."
~*~
And so it happened that the days slowly meandered by, the world continued on
its infallible course and the men became used to living on the island. It was
really quite an idyllic spot. A golden oasis amongst the suffocating sands of
structure and discipline that Whoreatio [[I mean Horatio]] had grown up
surrounded by. And the days continued to flow by, and yet they could not be
called months. For on this island, time was no longer a commodity - a force
that needed to be carefully monitored and ordered, so that men might feel that
they commanded it. No, in this haven, the days trickled by uncounted. On some
nights, as the sun sunk slowly beneath the rippling current, leaving only its
faint dying aura in the darkening sky, Horatio could almost sense the river of
time - a continuous golden cord stretching into dark infinity, untouched by
man's pitiable attempts to control it.
Hornblower could feel himself changing [[into an evil monster of the night
with gnashing vicious teeth, slashing claws and a whipping tail who fed on the
blood of innocents...Sorry. That's not what happened.]]. He was becoming more
relaxed; he felt more in touch with the world around him - this tactile, lush
green abundance of organic matter. For the first time in his life, Horatio
felt truly alive, truly free.
Archie, however, did not share his friend's new-found exuberance for life. As
Horatio became more involved in his search for the secrets of the natural
world, Archie became more and more withdrawn. His dark musings were punctuated
by an increasing number of fits and nightmares that threatened to engulf him
with their intensity and fling him into the deep pit of despair that he felt
lay directly before him. One small trip, a single rut, and he would be caught,
and never again be able to escape from the irresistible pull of his
melancholy. The black shadows of his soul sang siren songs nightly, calling
him to take the plunge, and as the days wore on, Archie felt it becoming
increasingly harder to resist.
The strain of keeping his demons hidden began to show. Eventually, even
Horatio noticed the heavy phantom that lay upon his friend's brow and wondered
how it came to be. Encountering Kennedy as he stood morosely staring out to
sea, Hornblower enquired about his mood.
"I don't know, Horatio," Archie sighed, as he played with a broken twig. "It
just seems so overwhelming. When I was on a ship, I guess I could block a lot
of the pain out. I worked until I didn't have to think about it, then I would
be so tired after working that I would just sleep. Blank, dreamless sleep.
Now, I don't have anything to hide behind. It's like I've cut loose the ties
that hold it all out and it's flooding back in. I...I've started having
nightmares about Simpson again. I'll remember some small detail. Some small,
insignificant detail, yet it will turn my world upside down and eat away at me
for weeks. Horatio, I don't think I can hold out much longer." Archie turned
his gaze towards his friend, and the honesty and despair in his imploring blue
eyes struck deep into Horatio's heart.
~*~
It was around this time that Styles broke his leg. According to Styles, it had
happened while hunting a particularly cunning wild pig, in the dark, near the
crew's camp. While Styles would never change his story, many of the crew
believed his injury had more to do with sneaking around after Matthews with
the object of putting something unpleasant in his bed, after a particularly
bitter fight over who should get to eat the last remaining pig's ear from
dinner.
However, the origins of the fracture in Styles left pin are not particularly
relevant. What is relevant are the consequences of this seemingly
insignificant accident. As several of the crew were also sick at the time, it
was left to Horatio and Archie to go hunting for something to eat. Horatio -
eager to show off his newfound nature boy skills - took the makeshift spear
the crew had assembled with pride and merrily trotted off into the verdant
vegetation. Archie followed behind him: less enthused, but also more cheerful
than he had been in days. Styles and Matthews - having made up again - watched
them go, paying special attention to Archie's countenance.
"Looks like 'e may be out o' the woods," Styles remarked to his equally
watchful friend.
"I 'ope so," Matthews replied. "God knows 'e's 'ad a 'ard enough time."
~*~