A/N: I would like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed my one-shot, "Her Captain". You encouraged me to write a longer Laurence/Emily fanfic, so here it is. :) This story can be considered as a sequel to "Her Captain", but I can assure you that you will perfectly understand it even if you have not read that one.
If you read carefully, you might discover a tribute to Harry Potter: The Half-Blood Prince. Can you find it?
Warning: this fic might cause serious damage to your brain cells or your computer screen, should you be eating or drinking while you read it.
Disclaimer: all yours, Miss Novik. I'm just borrowing your brilliant characters.
Big thanks to my beta and friend Michael for his help!
CONSEQUENCES OF WATERLOO
Chapter 1
The Letter
Covert near Sydney, 5th November, 1815
The air in the dining room was heavy with sweat mixed with the delicious smell of roast beef and the usual murmur of aviators; clinks of goblets and jingles of forks serving as background music to their hushed and not-so-hushed discussions. Laurence tried not to listen in, and was delighted to find he had managed to learn how to shut his ears to comments he did not want to hear. Comments about him, sitting at the very end of the long table, among aviators of lowest ranks. Sometimes he thought they would some day get tired of disparaging him, but after all these years he still was Public Enemy Number One, target of nasty remarks and haughty glances.
He no longer cared. As long as he had Temeraire and Allen and Roland, all of whom remained wholly faithful to him, he had no reason to complain. He still had more than a traitor could ever hope for.
Laurence bent as close to his plate as possible, hoping that the smell of his meal would quench the stench of body odours, including his own, but to no avail. He had spent seven years on Terra Australis, but still had not got used to the way all aviators smelled by the end of the day. He reminded himself that sailors too tended to stink, but at least in his naval days he had been careful not to belong to the smelly ones. Here, in Australia, it was impossible not to smell. The heat was nearly unbearable, the sun shone mercilessly upon those unfortunate enough to live here, and most were so tired by the evening, returning from their days of clearing land, that they did not even bother to go up to their rooms to wash before they fell onto their chairs in the dining room. And Laurence could not even blame them, as he himself had long given up most habits of a British nobleman.
Someone flopped down on a chair on his right, but he did not look up from his plate – it was probably just a runner or an ensign, one of those pesky little rascals who took the most delight in mocking him. He would naturally never stoop so low as to take revenge on an ill-behaved child who did not even belong to his crew, but he could not help but grin as he recalled the memory of Roland punching an ensign, an older and taller ensign than her, for jeering at her captain. Thankfully it had happened out in the forests with not many people around, and the male ensign had been so ashamed of being beaten by a short female that he kept his humiliation a secret. Laurence did not dare imagine what would have happened to Emily, still an ensign back then, had the fight happened in a crowded place. The last thing he would have liked to see was her being flogged for breaching the rules.
"Not bad, eh, sir?" the person on his right asked, making Laurence finally look up. It was Roland, pointing at her own plate. "It is not often we get to eat something as decent as this…"
"True," Laurence nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious in his sweaty clothes – Roland had obviously taken her time to go upstairs and change. Years ago it would have been him insisting on a wash and a change of clothes before dinner, giving his appearance utmost attention, and it would have been Roland dirtying herself and shrugging off a rebuke. Tonight, however, she looked almost ladylike – as much as one could look ladylike in a male uniform. But he had to give it to her – she had turned into a rather pretty young woman, and not even her male uniform could conceal her feminine curves. How old was she again? Twenty? Twenty one?
He must have been looking at her rather oddly, because she arched an eyebrow at him questioningly. Laurence forced himself to look away.
At that moment a young captain, Jacobs, if Laurence recalled his name well, burst into the dining room, swinging a crumpled letter in the hand, and yelling at the top of his lungs: "We have won! Napoleon surrendered at Waterloo! The war is over! Just got this letter from Admiral Roland!"
A long, silent second followed, then, as though a bomb had exploded in the room, everyone started shouting at once.
"Did you hear that, sir? We have won! We have won!" squealed Emily, and the next instant her lips were on his, her arms around his neck, and she kissed him hard and long until both of them ran out of breath. Laurence did not even try to entangle himself from her embrace, he was practically paralysed by Roland's boldness.
"We have won!"
"The frogs are routed!"
"Peace, at last!"
"Long live the King!"
Once Emily pulled back, a blush on her face and a spark of joy in her eyes, murmuring a hushed "Beg your pardon, sir, I was just so happy", Laurence found his cheeks burning, and quickly scanned the dining room to check if anyone had seen them. Thankfully the news of the marvellous victory made the aviators deaf and blind to anything else – there were still hats in the air, showering on the ecstatic Brits, and Captain Jacobs was pushed onto the tabletop so that he could read out Admiral Roland's letter to everyone's delight. The letter was dated 1st July, 1815, so it had taken four months to reach them, and yet they rejoiced as though Napoleon's defeat had been just yesterday.
"The Seventh Coalition…the Anglo-Allied Army…"
"… under the command of Duke of Wellington and Gebhard von Blücher of Prussia…"
"Twenty-two thousand people and fifty-one dragons on our side killed or wounded…"
"Napoleon lost forty-seven thousand people and eighty-five dragons…"
"…finally banished to St. Helena…"
The room was abuzz with excited comments for a long time, and since after news of such magnitude no one cared to mock a stripped-of-rank captain, Laurence for once was in no hurry to leave the dining table – he wanted to hear everything there was to learn about Napoleon's defeat. However, as seconds grew into minutes, he got more and more annoyed to realise that he could not pay as much attention to the gory details as he would have liked to, as his thoughts rebelliously wandered from the battlefield of Waterloo to a certain female lieutenant sitting right next to him.
It was past ten when he finally rose from the table, excused himself from Emily, trying not to blush as he did so, and headed for the exit to look for Temeraire. The dragon would surely be excited to learn the news, and would probably be hurt if he learned them from someone else in the morning, not his captain tonight. However, as he was about to leave the building, Jacobs called after him.
"Hey, Laurence! You too have a letter! From the Admiral no less!"
Laurence looked politely puzzled as he took the carefully sealed envelope from Captain Jacobs, and try and he might, this time he did not manage to employ his 'selective hearing'.
"The Admiral, still sending messages to Mr. Traitor here?"
"Oh, they used to be rather… friendly to each other back in England, did you not know?"
"And apparently the daughter takes after the mother, doesn't she?"
Laurence took the first two remarks with relative coolness, but the third one definitely struck home. His anger was boiling, bubbling inside, threatening to spill… His hands were already clenched into fists, his teeth gritted… And then his eyes met Emily's across the room; she was silently pleading him to hold back. She must have heard everything – the comments about her captain and her mother being 'friendly', and the last one that obviously meant that their involuntary display of affection had not gone entirely unnoticed.
Had Emily's eyes not been beseeching him to control his temper, he would have hit the man, rules be damned. But her eyes made him realise that fighting would only make things worse – it would not only breach the rules of the Corps, but would irrevocably sow the seeds of suspicion. Suspicion, that was completely unfounded.
Laurence took a deep breath to calm himself, shot the whisperers a withering glance, nodded his head towards Jacobs in thanks for the letter, and left the room.
oOo
As he had expected, Temeraire was more than happy to learn about Napoleon's defeat.
"Oh, and I hope Lien was among those eight-five dragons killed..." he said with a bit more than a healthy dose of malice.
Laurence just shook his head with an indulgent smile – he knew better than anyone that Temeraire would never wish for the death of other dragons, that is why they had become traitors in the first place, but Lung Tien Lien was a wholly different matter.
"…but you do not seem exactly happy about the victory," the dragon remarked after a while. "Is something bothering you, Laurence?"
"It is nothing, really, my dear," the man gently patted the dragon's neck. "And I can assure you that I am perfectly happy about the victory. This is the best news I have received in many years."
"But it is not nothing, Laurence," Temeraire said, ignoring his captain's last words. "Even if I cannot see it in the dark, I can feel it in your voice. Something is bothering you. Can I help somehow?"
"I doubt if you can… and I doubt if anything need be done. It was just spontaneous, after all… she did not mean it in the least."
"She? Who are you talking about?"
"Emily," Laurence said with a wistful smile. "You would not believe it, but she just… kissed me."
"Where?"
"By the table."
"No, I mean… where?"
"Oh," Laurence blushed, thankful for the darkness engulfing them. "On the lips. But… it was nothing but a spur of the moment thing, I am sure of it. She was just too happy to hear about the victory…"
"And what exactly bothers you? The fact that she kissed you, or that you think she did not really mean the kiss?" the dragon enquired.
"What kind of a question is that, Temeraire?" Laurence snapped, exasperated. "Of course the only reason I am annoyed is that she kissed me before the whole dining room! People will start to… gossip, and such gossips could ruin her reputation."
"In all honesty, I do not think Emily Roland cares much about her reputation. She is like Catherine Harcourt in that respect."
"O God, do not even mention Harcourt," Laurence sighed. "The least I want is for people to think that something… anything… improper happened between Emily and me. She is but a child, after all…"
"I should say a young adult," Temeraire yawned.
"Whatever," his captain waved impatiently. "You had better sleep, tomorrow is going to be another tough day."
"Oh, yes. And Laurence, you had better wash. You smell."
oOo
Laurence usually enjoyed his nice, long, refreshing soaks in the bathtub, and believed he had every right to enjoy them, having spent a small fortune on getting a proper bathtub that counted as a luxury item here, at the back of beyond. Tonight, however, the soak was not a bit refreshing, and although it did manage to ease his stiff muscles a bit, it did not help with his state of mind.
His lips were still tingling from the kiss that Roland had so carelessly given him, and chided himself for being so childish – because it was childish, he had not felt like this since the day he had playfully promised Edith Galman to marry her. She had kissed him then – she being nine, he thirteen – and the kiss had tingled just like this, even hours after it had ended.
There had been women in his life – the young Lieutenant Laurence had probably broken a few hearts in various ports of the globe, but none of those fleeting relationships had meant anything to him, and none of the kisses of those women had made his lips tingle. His heart had, after all, always belonged to Edith Galman.
Then came along Jane Roland, and she definitely meant more to him than any woman save Edith, but her kisses still did not give him a tingling sensation. So why did Emily's?
He shook his head, trying to clear it of disturbing thoughts, but instead of Emily's kiss now another picture flashed into his mind: the smirks on the faces of various captains and lieutenants, their voices as they mocked him about his erstwhile relationship to Admiral Roland… And that was when he realised he had not even read her letter yet.
He still had not got over his surprise at having received a letter from the Admiral, because she had not cared to contact him for four years. The only letter he had received from her in Australia let him know that Iskierka and Temeraire's egg had hatched and the dragonet had the divine wind, but did not possess the ability to breath fire. Laurence had been shocked to find that the dragonet's newly appointed captain, Hezekiah Martin, had decided to call her Gwendolyn. Apparently Martin possessed as little talent for choosing names as his own parents had.
Laurence stood up in the tub and reached for his coat to fish out the envelope from its pocket, then settled back into the tub, careful to open the folded paper by holding only its edges, not to smudge the ink with his wet fingers.
Laurence,
Jane had written, without adding any "Captain" or "Mr" or "dear", even though he did not expect to ever hear her utter or see her write down the word "dear" in connection with him again.
You must be surprised to receive a letter from me, as I have not contacted you for ages, but I can assure you that I have known everything of your accomplishments in Australia. No, you need not suspect me setting spies on you, I should consider such actions to be beneath me. It is Emily who has been rather enthusiastic about informing me of everything happening on your side of the world. I must admit I am most pleased to hear that neither you nor Temeraire have started a revolution, and I strongly discourage you to try it in the future. But I digress.
The reason why I am writing you is to remind you of a certain discussion between us ten years ago. You might not remember, but I perfectly recall your dumbfounded expression upon hearing that from time to time we feel compelled to not only breed dragons but ourselves as well.
Laurence bit into his lower lip. Dumbfounded expression, indeed… Jane had never been a person of fine words… And what about this whole breeding? Laurence suddenly felt a knot in his stomach and the nicely hot water around him seemed to have cooled by several degrees.
I also mentioned back then, once your dragon turns ten, you too might be asked to provide a few officers for the Corps. I am not the type to beat around the bush. Laurence, Temeraire has turned ten. It is time for you to consider finding yourself a suitable woman to bear your child. Or children. Now that I think of it, it is better to make it two. Why? I am explaining.
By this time Laurence's right hand holding the letter was shaking so madly that he had to grab the paper with his left as well to make sure he would not let it fall into the water.
Not beating around the bush, he allowed himself a snort. No, Jane definitely never did that.
It so happens that in the battle of Waterloo, our honoured Captain Granby got injured. Not a serious injury, but a rather, how to put it, awkward one. I am afraid he will never be able to give Iskierka a future captain. Upon hearing the news, Iskierka established that if she cannot receive the offspring of Granby as her future captain, then she wants to have yours.
At this, the letter fell out of Laurence's hands. Thanks to his battle-honed reflexes, only the lower two or three inches of the paper got submerged into the water before he caught it, and as he lifted the paper, the signature "Jane Roland, Admiral of the Air" dissolved into rivulets of dark blue ink.
Iskierka? Holy heavens, he sighed.
Curious, is it not? For some reason she holds you in rather great esteem. Do not ask me why, she has never been exactly reasonable.
To make a long story short, your 'services' are needed by the Corps. After Iskierka had left England to breed with Temeraire, her presence was sorely missed in battles. Even if the war with Napoleon is over, we still cannot risk losing our only firebreather, and we all know how stubborn she is: she would never accept a captain she does not like. We can only hope she will be satisfied with your son or daughter.
Please, do not get me wrong: this is not an order, after all, it would be nothing short of sexual exploitation if it were, but take it as a strong recommendation. A very strong one. I do not care how you manage it, Laurence, just make sure that you do.
I hope my request will not be taken harshly, and I, along with your fellow aviators in England, wish you a good luck in your endeavours. As I finish this letter, I see Berkley madly winking at me. He knows what I am writing. I believe those winks are not directed at me, so I am forwarding them to you. You know how Berkley is…
Yours sincerely,
Laurence stared at the ugly blotches where Jane's name had been until recently. The water around him felt icy cold, and his whole body was shaking. This could not be happening to him! This could not…
He let the letter fall to the ground, and slipped completely into the nice-smelling foam, then sat up again, spitting and sneezing as water had filled his nostrils. And yet, not even the water managed to clear his mind or wash away his doubts or… just make him wake up from this nightmare.
For it was not a nightmare.
At that moment Laurence felt he would gladly submit himself to another flogging in the court of an African prince, or fight a dozen sea serpents all alone rather than do this…
Running his fingers through his dripping, greying blond hair, he felt ashamed. Ashamed, because instead of feeling sorry for poor Granby, he felt sorry for himself. Had Iskierka not wanted him to 'give her a future captain', Admiral Roland might not have forced him to… breed. After all, the Admiralty had wanted to get rid of Temeraire by sending him off to Australia, meaning they might not insist on keeping him in military service after his captain's death.
For the second time that evening, Laurence's hands clenched into fists. He had never been so angry at Iskierka before…
O God, how am I going to do this? And with whom???
oOo
A/N: review please, and you'll see how Laurence's trials continue… :P