TITLE: The Pirate Lord: A Love Too Proud
AUTHOR: Spittle is Unclean
DISCLAIMER: We do not own the rights to the Hornblower books or miniseries.
NOTES/WARNINGS: This story, set at an indiscriminate point in time between the first two seasons of the Horatio Hornblower miniseries, deals with serious issues. The world of illness is filled with gritty hardships and night sweats, and the sailor sex is hurried and fraught with the danger of discovery. Please do not read this fic if you do not feel fit to deal with the emotional repercussions.

CHAPTER ONE: Horatio's Discovery

It was on a bright and balmy day that Horatio Hornblower learned his captain's darkest secret.

He had come to Captain Pellew's chambers to alert him of the theft of the midshipmen's underwear. It was the third such theft in the last two months, and Horatio was hoping that perhaps this time, Captain Pellew would resort to random floggings until the thieves had been discovered. Were this the case, Horatio would be mercifully saved from having to listen to the midshipmen's long conversations regarding the chafing of their more delicate parts, a subject that always left him thoroughly embarrassed.

So eager to suggest punishment was the young lieutenant that he forgot to knock on his superior officer's door before bursting in to share the scandalous news.

Mr. Hornblower! Captain Pellew barked, the tension in his voice betraying his surprise. He seemed about to say something else, but instead he gave a hacking cough. A rosy spot of blood appeared on the lacy handkerchief he held to his lips, and Horatio gasped audibly.

Captain! Sir, might I inquire as to what ails you?

Captain Pellew, who had crumpled the handkerchief secretively in his palm in the hopes that young Hornblower might not see, now tossed it onto the table violently. I believe it is plain enough, Mr. Hornblower.

You...you are... He paused, a chilling feeling of hopelessness suddenly filling his heart.

A consumptive, Mr. Hornblower. Yes, he added, as Horatio's face fell into the troubled look of near-vomitting the captain knew so well, I am a consumptive.

Horatio gulped and looked down again at the horrible object, which lay between the two men on the table, beside a blood-speckled map of England. The red was already fading to a rusty brown on the frilly edges of the handkerchief. How many handkerchiefs had been stained before this one? How many more were to be stained in the days to come?

Whatever I can do, Horatio whispered, I shall.

Captain Pellew had not heard him, however, as he had gone into another coughing fit. When this one subsided, he turned his eye on Horatio. But his eye did not sparkle with the usual rascally glint he reserved for his favorite lieutenant. It was absent of light, clouded with the heaviness of the knowledge of his impending doom.

Fetch my nightgown, sir, he ordered weakly, before promptly fainting away.