"Temeraire!" Laurence was crying out, "Temeraire, can you break it-".

Temeraire darted a look over his shoulder: The wave was still growing. He had never seen anything so vast, and a shudder trembled along the tip of his tail. They had weathered a typhoon once, in the Indian Ocean; a swirling wrath of clouds overhead, so he could not fly, and the Allegiance climbing and climbing each terrible rising wave, only to go rushing down the far side at shattering speed. But this was another thing entirely; almost not of the world. But Lien had made it; she had raised it, with the divine wind, and so surely he might break it.

The wave came on after them, swift and dreadfully silent for all its great size, the choppy surf smoothing out before it as minor courtiers yielding way to a passing monarch. With frantic wing beats he pulled away, trying to get a little more room to turn around. The ships were so very near now that he could read their names off their prows, and see men in the rigging, and darting about the deck, little specs scurrying. Temeraire was dripping with the spray, his wings streaming as he flew and flew. He could not gain elevation, he had not time to draw much breath; but he had gained all the ground there was to be gained, and he turned himself around and roared out, with all his very might. (Victory of Eagles, page 310 of hardcover)

Though Temeraire had punched a hole through the wave, it could not be stopped. Temeraire himself barely survived by folding in his wings and punching through the wave where he had weakened it with the divine wind. The cool wave hit him back hard; hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Temeraire turned around and watched in horror as fourteen ships-of-the-line were methodically destroyed, with the exception of one second class ship-of-the-line which had deployed its storm anchors in time. The ship was intact, but many of the spars were missing and the foremast look badly cracked. Temeraire noted with pride that the ship was the H.M.S. Temeraire, his namesake.

"Oh, dear." said Temeraire when he saw the wreckage and crews of the other ships washing on shore near the carnage they had just caused. "Laurence, the navy has many more ships, right…Laurence?" said Temeraire while turning his head around only to see Laurence's carabiner straps fluttering slightly, broken near where the straps would have been connected to the thick leather belt.

The dragon's anxiety increased as he turned his head the other way to speak with Roland.

"Emily, where is Laurence?" asked Temeraire. When she did not reply, Temeraire looked closer and realized she was dangling from her straps, unconscious or perhaps dead.

"Laurence!" Temeraire shouted and looked all across his back only to realize that all of his small crew were missing, save Roland. The dragon franticly scanned the ground and sea looking for Laurence or his crew.

"What the devil are you screaming about!" yelled Admiral Roland as Excidium drew nearer.

"Temeraire, where is Laurence?" Roland asked as she saw Temeraire's empty back. Then, as Excidium rounded to the far side of Temeraire, she saw Emily dangling in her straps and her eyes widened.

"No," whispered Roland as she turned her head away. Temeraire did not even notice her remorse in his anxiety over Laurence. Roland quickly regained her composure and turned back to Temeraire to say, "Temeraire you must hurry and keep the French dragons away from their precious emperor." But even as she spoke it was too late.

Temeraire turned his head despondently to the battle as Napoleon and some of his guard were rescued by a small Chasseur-Vocifére, a group of Pêcheur-Rayés covering his retreat. The remaining French surrendered once Napoleon was out of eye-sight, their beloved emperor safely away. Temeraire looked briefly at the field of slaughtered men among the crumpled bodies of dragons, and the thought of Laurence once again joining the dead made him shiver. He turned his attention once more to calling Laurence's name and searching the water and shore; searching for Laurence, dead or alive.

* * *

"Temeraire, you must remain here in camp and not go gallivanting about in search of Laurence. I would be surprised indeed if he did manage to get himself killed in this and many more battles yet to come," said Roland. She and Perscitia had eventually convinced Temeraire to land and to eat and to sleep. Once Temeraire had landed, young Roland was taken down from his back. Temeraire was only partially concerned for the Rolands. The main part of his attention was still on Laurence. About half an hour later, though Temeraire was not very sure of the amount of time passed, Admiral Roland returned to inform him that Emily was dead and she would be buried alongside honorary graves for Demane and Allen.

The next morning, Wellesley himself came to Temeraire's clearing. He looked up towards the sleek black head and said calmly, "Temeraire, I regret to inform you…" But Temeraire had stopped listening when he saw the ragged, bottle-green coat and the beautiful gold-hilted saber that he had given to Laurence, what seemed like ages ago, in China. Temeraire did not wish to hear Wellesley's words of grief.

"…his sacrifice proved his loyalty…" Wellesley continued, but this was more than enough for Temeraire. He grabbed Laurence's sword and coat and flew off with a ruffled Wellesley in his wake.

After an hour of frantic flying, Temeraire turned northwest with some notion of what to do next. He did not have much with him: his platinum breastplate that he always wore, his golden chain tied securely to his small harness, his talon sheaths that had been brought to him as a means of consolation, and Laurence's coat and saber; these being the most precious to him. Deep inside his chest, he could feel that Laurence was still alive. He just knew.

* * *

The Temeraire was in a sorry shape. Lieutenant Green had been near the stern and had been able to secure himself before the wave struck; unfortunately many others did not have as much success staying alive as he did. He was drenched from his short queue of brown hair to his now ruined stockings.

Lieutenant Green stared at Mr. Baker, the bosun whipping any man he felt was working too slow. Then, to Green's dismay, the bosun looked directly at him. The newly made third lieutenant gathered his wits and asked, "Mr. Baker, would you be so kind as to direct me to Captain Davis?"

"No," replied Baker, and he bluntly added, "He is dead. One of the railings broke off near him when the wave struck. You may find him impaled upon the foremast."

"Good Lord!" gasped Green, his formal tone disappearing completely. "What of the first and second lieutenants?"

Baker looked straight at Green, and without emotion said, "First Lieutenant Richardson was killed by a falling spar and Second Lieutenant Richards was knocked unconscious in the gun deck and drowned before the water had all drained out." Then he added with a smirk, "That makes you the acting captain, sir."

Captain Green looked around the slippery deck, littered with splinters, spars, ragged sailcloth, and the bodies of sailors and marines. He sighed and turned back to his bosun.

"What are the casualties, Mr. Baker?"

The bosun straightened his back and answered, "Half of the men who were on deck were swept away by the wave, and probably two-thirds of the men on the gun decks were drowned or crushed by the guns, sir." Then the bosun added, "I currently have the men left above clearing the deck, and what is left of the gun crews moving their guns back into their tackling."

Captain Green nodded and said, "Very good. As you were." Thus dismissed, the bosun continued to push, curse, and whip sailors into shape. Green turned his attention upward to see what damage the sails had taken and noticed a slight movement just below the crow's nest.

"Mr. Adams," said Green, and once he caught the young midshipman's attention, he beckoned him to come nearer. "Come with me into the rigging and help me clear some of this debris."

"Aye, sir," answered Adams. "May I add congratulations on your promotion, sir." The midshipman smiled but in his eyes Green could see the sadness of his comrades' deaths.

"Thank you, Mr. Adams. Pray let us get to work now."

They slowly made their way up the rigging, moving bits of sea weed and debris. Disturbingly, on the way up, they found the name plate of the Victory, Admiral Nelson's ship. Adams' face paled as Green ordered him to give the name plate to the bosun, but he obeyed. Finally, Green reached the place where he had seen the movement earlier. He discovered a man with sea bleached hair, broad shoulders, and a stern look; though the man was only half-conscious. He could tell this man was a sailor, a lieutenant or perhaps a captain of one of the other ships; but the man's bottle-green pants told Green the man was an aviator.

When he had fully uncovered the man, he said, "Sir, are you alright…sir?"

The man opened his foggy eyes and mumbled, "Who…who are you…and where am I?" He tried to lean forward, but his head started to throb.

"I am Acting Captain Green and you are aboard the Temeraire," answered Green. Then he added, "We are at the mouth of the Thames. Might I ask who you are, sir?"

The man blinked and then answered, "I am Captain William Laurence of the Reliant." Then the man frowned and looked himself over and asked, "What has happened to my coat, and how did I come to be here?"

Green blinked and stared at Laurence until Laurence stared back harshly. "Sir, the Reliant is still in dry-dock after the battle at Trafalgar. She is only a light frigate and several ships, including the Temeraire, were repaired before her," said Green, confused at the man's introduction.

"What the devil are you talking about? I was just on the Reliant yesterday," said Laurence, his well refined manners falling away. "We had just weathered a storm and were in pursuit of a French frigate. We were going to intercept her today." A look of confusion swept across his face, but not fear, definitely not fear.

Suddenly Green knew what had happened. "Sir," he asked, "what year is it?"

Laurence looked at him and replied without doubt, "It is 1805, January 1805 to be exact."

Green sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said flatly, "Sir, it is 1808. March 1808. I do not know how you came to be here, but I believe we should get you to the ship's doctor."