MFU Fic (Napoleonic AU): My Dear Fellow
With my attentions focused on uni and exams, I've been suffering a bit of a writer's block lately. Tonight I'm taking a break from my studies and looking over my WIP folder, and I've found a couple of fics that were intended to be much longer but are semi publishable in their current form.
This is one of them.
FANDOM: Man From Uncle/Napoleonic Wars RPF
PAIRING: Illya/Napoleon
CHARACTERS: Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo, Horatio Nelson
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 1800
DISCLAIMER: MFU and the boys below to MGM
SUMMARY: The first meeting of Lieutenant Leonard Solo and Acting-Lieutenant Elijah Kuryakin aboard the Captain.
NOTES: This was intended to be the first part of a long and epic prequel to Like a Drowned Rat, set during the Napoleonic Wars. I think I wrote this almost two years ago, and my oh my how much my writing style has changed since then!
December, 1796, HMS Captain, off Gibraltar
“My dear fellow, what, pray, did you say his name was?”
Captain Miller grinned at the inquisitive expression on the Commodore’s face. Horatio Nelson was interested, as well as he might be. The tale he’d just been told by his new Flag Captain was singular enough to provoke anyone's curiosity.
“Elijah Kuryakin, sir. His father is of Russian origin, but the Kuryakins have been living in London since the Restoration. His mother is French, which is one of the main reasons why he hadn’t been able to get a commission yet.”
“French, you say?” Nelson tapped his quill thoughtfully. “Well then, I am certainly not surprised he was rejected in that manner you described. We can’t have officers who may have a conflict of interest, or those who hold questionable loyalty towards England, Miller.”
“But sir-”
“However I am inclined to believe the best of a man, Miller, whatever his heritage. Especially a man with such talents as you described, and it is definitely about time we found a replacement for poor Mr. Kenneth. Very well, Miller, do show him in, I would like to meet this Mr. Kuryakin.”
Miller opened the cabin door and exchanged a few words with the marine sentry, who promptly left and a few seconds later came back with a small blond form in tow. Miller smiled reassuringly and ushered other man into the Great Cabin.
“Commodore Horatio Nelson, may I present Midshipman Elijah Kuryakin?”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me sir,” said Kuryakin gratefully as he shook hands with the Commodore.
“I understand that you are seeking a commission for lieutenant, Mr Kuryakin?” enquired Nelson.
“Yes, sir.”
“When were you passed for lieutenant?”
“September 19th, sir.”
“I am given to understand that your previous attempts at applying for a position have been rejected because of certain…objections.”
Kuryakin visibly stiffened. “Yes sir.”
Nelson’s tone softened. “I certainly understand the animosity shown towards you by the other captains, Mr. Kuryakin, but I do not share it. From what I’ve heard, you are a brave young lad who has proven himself in battle many times over.”
Kuryakin’s lips twitched. “Thank you sir.”
“Captain Miller here told me that you speak fluent French and Russian, is that correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you speak Spanish too, by any chance?” asked the Commodore wistfully, and both officers were pleasantly surprised when Kuryakin replied in the affirmative.
“Well you are most certainly one of many talents, Mr. Kuryakin. Will you be able to get your luggage aboard by four bells?”
“Sir?”
Nelson grinned. “I will need to write to the Admiralty for confirmation, Mr. Kuryakin, but I do not foresee any trouble on that front. From this moment onwards, consider yourself appointed as Acting Lieutenant.”
A wide grin spread across Kuryakin’s face as he took the Commodore’s hand and thanked him profusely. Nelson smiled and basked awhile in the younger man’s gratitude before flippantly gesturing at the now open door. "Now begone with you! Miller will show you to your boat. I need not remind you not to be late."
Once he had seen Kuryakin over the side into his waiting vessel, Miller returned to the Great Cabin to find Nelson pouring over a note to Sir John Jervis. “Ah, my good Miller! That was a wonderfully pleasing interview.”
“It was indeed, sir.”
“How old did you say he was?”
“He told me he was born in ‘76.”
Nelson sat up with a start. “Are you in earnest, Miller? Tell me you are not in earnest!”
“I’m afraid I am, my Lord.”
“Why, he doesn’t look a day over twelve!” The Commodore turned to examine his reflection in the stern windows, playing with his pepper black hair as he did so. “Dear God, Miller, I am getting on in years aren’t I?”
***
When the newly promoted acting lieutenant Elijah Kuryakin packed his meager possessions into a small compact sea chest and reported aboard HMS Captain at four bells, he found the ship, along with the rest of the Mediterranean fleet, in a state of ordered exertion. Captain Miller received him with appropriate courtesy but hurriedly informed him that Commodore Nelson was shifting his flag onto La Minerve on the orders of Admiral Jervis to evacuate the last of the troops from Elba, hence the activity. Meanwhile, won’t Mr. Kuryakin store his luggage in his berth and get himself acquainted with the ship and her officers? He will call for one of the younger lieutenants to assist Mr. Kuryakin, if any can be spared.
Kuryakin, feeling slightly overwhelmed, found his way to the junior lieutenants’ berths easily enough and, on finding the aftmost compartment empty, deposited his sea chest upon the floor. His hammock was soon hung up and he was in the process of looking for his pistols when a cheerful, deep voice sounded from behind.
“You must be our new lieutenant. Mr. Kuryakin?”
Kuryakin turned slowly and beheld a lieutenant in his mid-twenties, with short-cropped wavy black hair and brown eyes that were regarding him inquisitively.
“Yes, Elijah Kuryakin at your service. But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me sir.”
The man grinned and held out a hand. “My name is Leonard Solo. Third Lieutenant.”
Kuryakin shook the offered hand. “Forgive me for asking, but are you any relation to the late Admiral Solo?”
Solo scowled darkly and Kuryakin damned himself a fool for being so inquisitive. “I apologize for my impudence, sir,” he said with feeling. “It was stupid for me to be so forward.”
“No, no, please don’t be sorry,” begged Solo earnestly. “Hector Solo was my father. It’s me that should be apologizing for being such a curmudgeon whenever his name is mentioned- I bear no grudge against you for being curious. You would’ve thought after three years one would have adjusted and gone on, so to speak.”
“There is nothing wrong with grief, Mr. Solo. I thank you for being so forthright with me and I am sorry for your loss. The country has lost a fine sailor by his death.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, which Solo broke first.
“Captain Miller asked me to show you around the ship and see to it that you are well taken care of, so why don’t we get started right away?”
“If I am not interrupting your work?”
“Most certainly not, I assure you!”
“Very well,” said Kuryakin and slammed shut his sea chest. “I am ready to go.”
Lieutenant Solo frowned.
“Is something the matter, sir?”
“I don’t wish to be rude, Mr. Kuryakin…” he said slowly, “but I assume that you haven’t had time to obtain your Lieutenant’s uniform?”
Kuryakin realized with a start that he was still wearing his shabby midshipman’s coat that was slightly threadbare and patchy in the knees and elbows. He had completely forgotten to purchase himself a new uniform and, though he was loath to admit it to himself, even if he had somehow remembered he wouldn't have been able to afford one. Since being abandoned in Gibraltar and unable to obtain a commission, he’d spent almost every penny of the money he had on his person.
Taking Kuryakin’s silence for an affirmation, Solo smiled reassuringly and, taking the younger man by the shoulder, lead him into a berth further forward. “Captain Miller is not a sticker for dress,” he said reassuringly. “And neither is the Commodore, though one wouldn’t guess it, looking at him. But I do think that officers should set themselves above the rest of the men by dressing properly, if not to lead by example than to convey authority and respect. I have several sets of the uniform, and I can definitely lend you one until you have the time to get your own.”
Kuryakin protested that he didn’t want to deprive Mr. Solo of his clothing.
“Nonsense. Like I said, I have several sets, and you’re more than welcome to one. We can’t have you being mistaken for a midshipman now, can we?”
Kuryakin nodded his assent, but Solo was already fumbling through his extraordinarily large sea chest. While silk stockings and fine cotton shirts were being flung on the cot, Kuryakin took a look around his senior officer’s berth. It was lavishly decorated, with a few sketches of what he assumed were Solo’s family hanging on the wall. There was a miniature of a young woman set apart from the rest of the portraits and he squinted to read the writing. “Theresa Warren”
“Ah here we are!” Solo, standing with a pile of clothing in his arms, was wearing such an irresistibly silly expression on his face that Kuryakin couldn’t help smiling along. He bowed comically and flourished the clothes. “Your new uniform, Lieutenant Kuryakin.”
Kuryakin wordlessly accepted the clothes and placed them on Solo’s cot. He isolated the coat from the rest and curiously studied the fine dark blue broadcloth, noting the neat stitching of the seams that bespoke a tailor of not so inconsiderable skill. It was no surprise, for he knew that the Solo family were rather well off due to the late Admiral’s time in the West Indies during the American Revolutionary Wars, where he captured many privateers and merchants and earned a fortune in prize money. He looked up to see Solo studying him intensely. There was something in the other man’s expression, an almost brotherly affection, that brought a lump to Kuryakin’s throat and it was seconds before he could open his mouth to speak.
“Thank you sir…” Kuryakin swallowed. “This is a very expensive coat and I promise you I will return it to you in its current condition as soon as I am able to obtain one of my own.”
Solo inclined his head, though his probing eyes continued to stare inquisitively at Kuryakin. He smiled back, not a little nervously, and desperately scanned the cabin for something to break the ensuring silence.
“Is that Captain Warren’s daughter?” He asked, indicating the miniature he noticed before.
Solo’s face relaxed into a content smile. “A niece, actually. We were married last fall. I believe she’s expecting a child, sometime soon, I gather, from her latest letters.”
Kuryakin fervently shook Solo’s hand. “I give you joy, sir! My blessings to you and your wife.”
“Thank you, Mr Kuryakin.” Solo smiled and clasped his hands around Kuryakin’s wrist. “Now, if you’ll care to change into your new clothes, I will introduce you to this dear lady and the longsuffering souls who slave daily to her whims.”
(A/N: I have another WIP set in this universe that is almost publishable, but it does need a slight bit of fixing up, where Leon Solo meats Admiral Alexander Waverley and is "recruited" by him. Let me know if you're interested in seeing it)
This is one of them.
FANDOM: Man From Uncle/Napoleonic Wars RPF
PAIRING: Illya/Napoleon
CHARACTERS: Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo, Horatio Nelson
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 1800
DISCLAIMER: MFU and the boys below to MGM
SUMMARY: The first meeting of Lieutenant Leonard Solo and Acting-Lieutenant Elijah Kuryakin aboard the Captain.
NOTES: This was intended to be the first part of a long and epic prequel to Like a Drowned Rat, set during the Napoleonic Wars. I think I wrote this almost two years ago, and my oh my how much my writing style has changed since then!
December, 1796, HMS Captain, off Gibraltar
“My dear fellow, what, pray, did you say his name was?”
Captain Miller grinned at the inquisitive expression on the Commodore’s face. Horatio Nelson was interested, as well as he might be. The tale he’d just been told by his new Flag Captain was singular enough to provoke anyone's curiosity.
“Elijah Kuryakin, sir. His father is of Russian origin, but the Kuryakins have been living in London since the Restoration. His mother is French, which is one of the main reasons why he hadn’t been able to get a commission yet.”
“French, you say?” Nelson tapped his quill thoughtfully. “Well then, I am certainly not surprised he was rejected in that manner you described. We can’t have officers who may have a conflict of interest, or those who hold questionable loyalty towards England, Miller.”
“But sir-”
“However I am inclined to believe the best of a man, Miller, whatever his heritage. Especially a man with such talents as you described, and it is definitely about time we found a replacement for poor Mr. Kenneth. Very well, Miller, do show him in, I would like to meet this Mr. Kuryakin.”
Miller opened the cabin door and exchanged a few words with the marine sentry, who promptly left and a few seconds later came back with a small blond form in tow. Miller smiled reassuringly and ushered other man into the Great Cabin.
“Commodore Horatio Nelson, may I present Midshipman Elijah Kuryakin?”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me sir,” said Kuryakin gratefully as he shook hands with the Commodore.
“I understand that you are seeking a commission for lieutenant, Mr Kuryakin?” enquired Nelson.
“Yes, sir.”
“When were you passed for lieutenant?”
“September 19th, sir.”
“I am given to understand that your previous attempts at applying for a position have been rejected because of certain…objections.”
Kuryakin visibly stiffened. “Yes sir.”
Nelson’s tone softened. “I certainly understand the animosity shown towards you by the other captains, Mr. Kuryakin, but I do not share it. From what I’ve heard, you are a brave young lad who has proven himself in battle many times over.”
Kuryakin’s lips twitched. “Thank you sir.”
“Captain Miller here told me that you speak fluent French and Russian, is that correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you speak Spanish too, by any chance?” asked the Commodore wistfully, and both officers were pleasantly surprised when Kuryakin replied in the affirmative.
“Well you are most certainly one of many talents, Mr. Kuryakin. Will you be able to get your luggage aboard by four bells?”
“Sir?”
Nelson grinned. “I will need to write to the Admiralty for confirmation, Mr. Kuryakin, but I do not foresee any trouble on that front. From this moment onwards, consider yourself appointed as Acting Lieutenant.”
A wide grin spread across Kuryakin’s face as he took the Commodore’s hand and thanked him profusely. Nelson smiled and basked awhile in the younger man’s gratitude before flippantly gesturing at the now open door. "Now begone with you! Miller will show you to your boat. I need not remind you not to be late."
Once he had seen Kuryakin over the side into his waiting vessel, Miller returned to the Great Cabin to find Nelson pouring over a note to Sir John Jervis. “Ah, my good Miller! That was a wonderfully pleasing interview.”
“It was indeed, sir.”
“How old did you say he was?”
“He told me he was born in ‘76.”
Nelson sat up with a start. “Are you in earnest, Miller? Tell me you are not in earnest!”
“I’m afraid I am, my Lord.”
“Why, he doesn’t look a day over twelve!” The Commodore turned to examine his reflection in the stern windows, playing with his pepper black hair as he did so. “Dear God, Miller, I am getting on in years aren’t I?”
***
When the newly promoted acting lieutenant Elijah Kuryakin packed his meager possessions into a small compact sea chest and reported aboard HMS Captain at four bells, he found the ship, along with the rest of the Mediterranean fleet, in a state of ordered exertion. Captain Miller received him with appropriate courtesy but hurriedly informed him that Commodore Nelson was shifting his flag onto La Minerve on the orders of Admiral Jervis to evacuate the last of the troops from Elba, hence the activity. Meanwhile, won’t Mr. Kuryakin store his luggage in his berth and get himself acquainted with the ship and her officers? He will call for one of the younger lieutenants to assist Mr. Kuryakin, if any can be spared.
Kuryakin, feeling slightly overwhelmed, found his way to the junior lieutenants’ berths easily enough and, on finding the aftmost compartment empty, deposited his sea chest upon the floor. His hammock was soon hung up and he was in the process of looking for his pistols when a cheerful, deep voice sounded from behind.
“You must be our new lieutenant. Mr. Kuryakin?”
Kuryakin turned slowly and beheld a lieutenant in his mid-twenties, with short-cropped wavy black hair and brown eyes that were regarding him inquisitively.
“Yes, Elijah Kuryakin at your service. But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me sir.”
The man grinned and held out a hand. “My name is Leonard Solo. Third Lieutenant.”
Kuryakin shook the offered hand. “Forgive me for asking, but are you any relation to the late Admiral Solo?”
Solo scowled darkly and Kuryakin damned himself a fool for being so inquisitive. “I apologize for my impudence, sir,” he said with feeling. “It was stupid for me to be so forward.”
“No, no, please don’t be sorry,” begged Solo earnestly. “Hector Solo was my father. It’s me that should be apologizing for being such a curmudgeon whenever his name is mentioned- I bear no grudge against you for being curious. You would’ve thought after three years one would have adjusted and gone on, so to speak.”
“There is nothing wrong with grief, Mr. Solo. I thank you for being so forthright with me and I am sorry for your loss. The country has lost a fine sailor by his death.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, which Solo broke first.
“Captain Miller asked me to show you around the ship and see to it that you are well taken care of, so why don’t we get started right away?”
“If I am not interrupting your work?”
“Most certainly not, I assure you!”
“Very well,” said Kuryakin and slammed shut his sea chest. “I am ready to go.”
Lieutenant Solo frowned.
“Is something the matter, sir?”
“I don’t wish to be rude, Mr. Kuryakin…” he said slowly, “but I assume that you haven’t had time to obtain your Lieutenant’s uniform?”
Kuryakin realized with a start that he was still wearing his shabby midshipman’s coat that was slightly threadbare and patchy in the knees and elbows. He had completely forgotten to purchase himself a new uniform and, though he was loath to admit it to himself, even if he had somehow remembered he wouldn't have been able to afford one. Since being abandoned in Gibraltar and unable to obtain a commission, he’d spent almost every penny of the money he had on his person.
Taking Kuryakin’s silence for an affirmation, Solo smiled reassuringly and, taking the younger man by the shoulder, lead him into a berth further forward. “Captain Miller is not a sticker for dress,” he said reassuringly. “And neither is the Commodore, though one wouldn’t guess it, looking at him. But I do think that officers should set themselves above the rest of the men by dressing properly, if not to lead by example than to convey authority and respect. I have several sets of the uniform, and I can definitely lend you one until you have the time to get your own.”
Kuryakin protested that he didn’t want to deprive Mr. Solo of his clothing.
“Nonsense. Like I said, I have several sets, and you’re more than welcome to one. We can’t have you being mistaken for a midshipman now, can we?”
Kuryakin nodded his assent, but Solo was already fumbling through his extraordinarily large sea chest. While silk stockings and fine cotton shirts were being flung on the cot, Kuryakin took a look around his senior officer’s berth. It was lavishly decorated, with a few sketches of what he assumed were Solo’s family hanging on the wall. There was a miniature of a young woman set apart from the rest of the portraits and he squinted to read the writing. “Theresa Warren”
“Ah here we are!” Solo, standing with a pile of clothing in his arms, was wearing such an irresistibly silly expression on his face that Kuryakin couldn’t help smiling along. He bowed comically and flourished the clothes. “Your new uniform, Lieutenant Kuryakin.”
Kuryakin wordlessly accepted the clothes and placed them on Solo’s cot. He isolated the coat from the rest and curiously studied the fine dark blue broadcloth, noting the neat stitching of the seams that bespoke a tailor of not so inconsiderable skill. It was no surprise, for he knew that the Solo family were rather well off due to the late Admiral’s time in the West Indies during the American Revolutionary Wars, where he captured many privateers and merchants and earned a fortune in prize money. He looked up to see Solo studying him intensely. There was something in the other man’s expression, an almost brotherly affection, that brought a lump to Kuryakin’s throat and it was seconds before he could open his mouth to speak.
“Thank you sir…” Kuryakin swallowed. “This is a very expensive coat and I promise you I will return it to you in its current condition as soon as I am able to obtain one of my own.”
Solo inclined his head, though his probing eyes continued to stare inquisitively at Kuryakin. He smiled back, not a little nervously, and desperately scanned the cabin for something to break the ensuring silence.
“Is that Captain Warren’s daughter?” He asked, indicating the miniature he noticed before.
Solo’s face relaxed into a content smile. “A niece, actually. We were married last fall. I believe she’s expecting a child, sometime soon, I gather, from her latest letters.”
Kuryakin fervently shook Solo’s hand. “I give you joy, sir! My blessings to you and your wife.”
“Thank you, Mr Kuryakin.” Solo smiled and clasped his hands around Kuryakin’s wrist. “Now, if you’ll care to change into your new clothes, I will introduce you to this dear lady and the longsuffering souls who slave daily to her whims.”
(A/N: I have another WIP set in this universe that is almost publishable, but it does need a slight bit of fixing up, where Leon Solo meats Admiral Alexander Waverley and is "recruited" by him. Let me know if you're interested in seeing it)