Writing: Joy
Title: Joy
Beta: SLWatson
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Original canon by C.S. Forester, everything else by A&E or me.
Relative Date: Christmas, 1795 (Age 20)
Joy.
He had been going through every word his mind, trying to explain the feeling inside his chest, but none struck the mark as clearly and precisely as joy. Despite his love of literature, and a yearning for the high-blown words of Shakespeare, Archie Kennedy had to tip his head to that simple, three letter word.
Shielding his face from the biting wind and snow, he grinned and pulled his ravaged uniform jacket tightly around himself. He couldn't see where he was going, but he knew he had to keep moving; there was no going back to the stone prison that sat close to the port of El Ferrol. There was more than a kilometer between them now. He was practically home free.
His laugh was muffled by the thickening blanket of snow, but it was loud and righteous, nonetheless. Joy was making itself known to him, and he was more than happy to let it sink in and mix dutifully with the adrenaline that was keeping him from feeling the full extent of the harsh northern Spanish winter. The weather made little difference to him; he'd made his escape.
Kennedy didn't look back -- didn't think of covering the boot tracks in the snow, or finding himself some warmer clothes. Strategy had little to do with his departure from the prison, really, and he didn't have enough time to think of it now. He had one objective, and that was to just keep going. Eventually, he would reach a more friendly destination, and a good part of the year he had spent in the prison would be nothing but a distant memory.
It would be a far cry to say he had been treated poorly by the Spaniards. While many of the guards had looked unkindly on him in the beginning, they had all seemed to come to a nonverbal understanding: Archie was strong and fiercely determined to go home, but never took a step towards making sure that the Spanish guards didn't. This earned him a bit of respect that the other prisoners weren't afforded. When meals were brought, he was cordial and thankful. When the guards would come in to check the soundness of his cell, he stood back and stayed out of their way. He was nothing, if not polite, even for a prisoner of war.
Opportunity had struck, though, in the form of a Christmas gift; opportunity that would probably ruin his chances of favor from the guards, should he be captured again. On that very evening, before the snow storm had taken siege of the port, Archie Kennedy had struck out against his captors: On Christmas Eve, he had taken the life of a Spanish guard, and amidst the flurry of festive celebrations, made his escape.
This was war. The Spanish were not his allies, and Archie knew that had the roles been reversed, he could have easily been that man laying on the floor of the cell. Instead, he had taken advantage of the guard's one moment of indecision and used every bit of his strength to wrestle the Spaniard to the ground. There were no misgivings or moments of weakness for the prisoner, and the joy had first sunk into his chest when he'd fallen back from that mess of a man, realizing the moment was done and over with.
One man was not going home for Christmas, another was.
As the wind died down, Kennedy stopped and tried to get his bearings. The darkness had done nothing to help him, and the torrent of snowfall was enough to confuse anyone. He wasn't even sure what direction he was going anymore, but as long as it felt like it was away from the prison, it was right direction for him.
A boost of excited energy pushed him forward once more. He doubted he would ever be cold again, considering how wonderful and warm freedom had come to feel. And joy -- he would never forget the sheer pleasure it brought to him, even in a cold, unfamiliar land. He had been strong and consistent, and best of all, he had made his escape without anyone else's help. No one had handed him this small victory; he'd created it for himself, and was reveling in the thought of it. It would make such an excellent story to tell; a personal achievement that could only be shared by him.
As the snow started to lighten, so did the sky. The tell-tale signs of morning were beginning to show on the horizon -- a soft blue color, lined against the darkness of the night. Kennedy kept a keen eye on the lightening sky, finally able to drop his arm away from his face. His next goal was somewhere along that line. One step after another, he would make it there.
Time seemed to be passing quicker than he wanted it to, and by the time that he figured himself another half kilometer away, he'd probably been gone for nearly two and a half hours. He was slowing down and the cold was starting to sink into the ends of his limbs. Pumping one fist after the other, he did his best to keep his blood moving, but the chilly air was making that difficult. Even then, the cold didn't mean as much to him as the joy.
And then, something extraordinarily different presented itself to him. The edge of the cliffs became more apparent as the sun started closing in on the horizon line.
His footfalls slowed and stopped at the edge, just as a soft pattering of sound started becoming noticeable in the distance. A slow smile spread across his face; he'd most certainly been tracked down by the Spaniards, but it mattered little. He felt free and the joy was still there.
For the first time in almost a year, Archie Kennedy was looking out over the ocean. His ocean. Long had he wanted to be out on the water again, sailing for God and country. He had dreamt of the swell, imagined the surf on his face, and tasted the salt in everything he ate, but none of it compared to actually seeing the water again.
His escape might not have taken him to England, but it did take him home, ever so briefly.
The moment lasted no longer than two or three minutes before the Spaniards' horses were along each side of him. Neither of his trackers said anything -- the language barrier was enough that they doubted he would understand anyway -- and they allowed him a moment to look at the water.
Archie took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, capturing the smell of the ocean for as long as his lungs would hold it. The sun has risen on Christmas Day, and God had seen fit to give him the gift of one glorious peek into the life he once had. Silently, he thanked the heavens and the ocean, then let the breath go.
- --------- - --
The walk back to the prison at El Ferrol was a long and hard journey. No words had been exchanged, and Archie had given himself freely to be taken back. There would be other days where he could fight harder for his freedom, but that was not the day for it. He'd seen the ocean, and that was one step towards being away for good.
By the time he was nudged back through the gates, the snow had stopped completely and the sun was overhead. Casting his eyes upwards, he basked for one last moment in the sunlight, while he could. He wasn't sure when he'd see it next, but it would probably be a while.
The butt of a rifle was pushed into the small of his back and he stumbled forward. Through the doors, down the winding hallways, and past countless other cells, Archie smiled all the way. It was all right to be going back to that cell today; the joy was still there.
Closing the door behind their prisoner, the guards peeked in through the barred window and made sure that everything inside was secure. One after the other, their darkened faces appeared, obviously unhappy with the prisoner who was once nothing more than a polite captive. For their trouble, Kennedy looked right back into the window and gave them the biggest grin he could, and an excited wave. He had bid his time well, and now had demonstrated how serious he was about escape.
When it was apparent that no one else would be looking in on him, Archie turned and went to finally rest after a long night of walking. He was surprised, though, to find that a note had been left for him, and he tilted his head, wondering what it could be. Next to it, sitting on a dirty tray, was what seemed like the scraps from a long-finished Christmas dinner.
Grabbing up a roll, he stuffed it into his mouth hungrily and moved over towards the window, holding the note up to the light. He munched happily on the roll, and when it was all gone, he smiled and finished reading the note. Another gift had been given, and he was thankful for it. So little had been expected, and so much had been gained. It was probably the best Christmas he'd ever had, and joy was still the only word to describe the feeling it gave him.
- --------- - --
"Dear Mr. Kennedy,
Please accept this meal as a token of good faith. Tomorrow is another day, and when the holiday has passed, you will be punished for taking the life of one of our men. For today, sleep soundly in the knowledge that no harm shall come to you, and have a Merry Christmas."
Beta: SLWatson
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Original canon by C.S. Forester, everything else by A&E or me.
Relative Date: Christmas, 1795 (Age 20)
Joy.
He had been going through every word his mind, trying to explain the feeling inside his chest, but none struck the mark as clearly and precisely as joy. Despite his love of literature, and a yearning for the high-blown words of Shakespeare, Archie Kennedy had to tip his head to that simple, three letter word.
Shielding his face from the biting wind and snow, he grinned and pulled his ravaged uniform jacket tightly around himself. He couldn't see where he was going, but he knew he had to keep moving; there was no going back to the stone prison that sat close to the port of El Ferrol. There was more than a kilometer between them now. He was practically home free.
His laugh was muffled by the thickening blanket of snow, but it was loud and righteous, nonetheless. Joy was making itself known to him, and he was more than happy to let it sink in and mix dutifully with the adrenaline that was keeping him from feeling the full extent of the harsh northern Spanish winter. The weather made little difference to him; he'd made his escape.
Kennedy didn't look back -- didn't think of covering the boot tracks in the snow, or finding himself some warmer clothes. Strategy had little to do with his departure from the prison, really, and he didn't have enough time to think of it now. He had one objective, and that was to just keep going. Eventually, he would reach a more friendly destination, and a good part of the year he had spent in the prison would be nothing but a distant memory.
It would be a far cry to say he had been treated poorly by the Spaniards. While many of the guards had looked unkindly on him in the beginning, they had all seemed to come to a nonverbal understanding: Archie was strong and fiercely determined to go home, but never took a step towards making sure that the Spanish guards didn't. This earned him a bit of respect that the other prisoners weren't afforded. When meals were brought, he was cordial and thankful. When the guards would come in to check the soundness of his cell, he stood back and stayed out of their way. He was nothing, if not polite, even for a prisoner of war.
Opportunity had struck, though, in the form of a Christmas gift; opportunity that would probably ruin his chances of favor from the guards, should he be captured again. On that very evening, before the snow storm had taken siege of the port, Archie Kennedy had struck out against his captors: On Christmas Eve, he had taken the life of a Spanish guard, and amidst the flurry of festive celebrations, made his escape.
This was war. The Spanish were not his allies, and Archie knew that had the roles been reversed, he could have easily been that man laying on the floor of the cell. Instead, he had taken advantage of the guard's one moment of indecision and used every bit of his strength to wrestle the Spaniard to the ground. There were no misgivings or moments of weakness for the prisoner, and the joy had first sunk into his chest when he'd fallen back from that mess of a man, realizing the moment was done and over with.
One man was not going home for Christmas, another was.
As the wind died down, Kennedy stopped and tried to get his bearings. The darkness had done nothing to help him, and the torrent of snowfall was enough to confuse anyone. He wasn't even sure what direction he was going anymore, but as long as it felt like it was away from the prison, it was right direction for him.
A boost of excited energy pushed him forward once more. He doubted he would ever be cold again, considering how wonderful and warm freedom had come to feel. And joy -- he would never forget the sheer pleasure it brought to him, even in a cold, unfamiliar land. He had been strong and consistent, and best of all, he had made his escape without anyone else's help. No one had handed him this small victory; he'd created it for himself, and was reveling in the thought of it. It would make such an excellent story to tell; a personal achievement that could only be shared by him.
As the snow started to lighten, so did the sky. The tell-tale signs of morning were beginning to show on the horizon -- a soft blue color, lined against the darkness of the night. Kennedy kept a keen eye on the lightening sky, finally able to drop his arm away from his face. His next goal was somewhere along that line. One step after another, he would make it there.
Time seemed to be passing quicker than he wanted it to, and by the time that he figured himself another half kilometer away, he'd probably been gone for nearly two and a half hours. He was slowing down and the cold was starting to sink into the ends of his limbs. Pumping one fist after the other, he did his best to keep his blood moving, but the chilly air was making that difficult. Even then, the cold didn't mean as much to him as the joy.
And then, something extraordinarily different presented itself to him. The edge of the cliffs became more apparent as the sun started closing in on the horizon line.
His footfalls slowed and stopped at the edge, just as a soft pattering of sound started becoming noticeable in the distance. A slow smile spread across his face; he'd most certainly been tracked down by the Spaniards, but it mattered little. He felt free and the joy was still there.
For the first time in almost a year, Archie Kennedy was looking out over the ocean. His ocean. Long had he wanted to be out on the water again, sailing for God and country. He had dreamt of the swell, imagined the surf on his face, and tasted the salt in everything he ate, but none of it compared to actually seeing the water again.
His escape might not have taken him to England, but it did take him home, ever so briefly.
The moment lasted no longer than two or three minutes before the Spaniards' horses were along each side of him. Neither of his trackers said anything -- the language barrier was enough that they doubted he would understand anyway -- and they allowed him a moment to look at the water.
Archie took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, capturing the smell of the ocean for as long as his lungs would hold it. The sun has risen on Christmas Day, and God had seen fit to give him the gift of one glorious peek into the life he once had. Silently, he thanked the heavens and the ocean, then let the breath go.
- --------- - --
The walk back to the prison at El Ferrol was a long and hard journey. No words had been exchanged, and Archie had given himself freely to be taken back. There would be other days where he could fight harder for his freedom, but that was not the day for it. He'd seen the ocean, and that was one step towards being away for good.
By the time he was nudged back through the gates, the snow had stopped completely and the sun was overhead. Casting his eyes upwards, he basked for one last moment in the sunlight, while he could. He wasn't sure when he'd see it next, but it would probably be a while.
The butt of a rifle was pushed into the small of his back and he stumbled forward. Through the doors, down the winding hallways, and past countless other cells, Archie smiled all the way. It was all right to be going back to that cell today; the joy was still there.
Closing the door behind their prisoner, the guards peeked in through the barred window and made sure that everything inside was secure. One after the other, their darkened faces appeared, obviously unhappy with the prisoner who was once nothing more than a polite captive. For their trouble, Kennedy looked right back into the window and gave them the biggest grin he could, and an excited wave. He had bid his time well, and now had demonstrated how serious he was about escape.
When it was apparent that no one else would be looking in on him, Archie turned and went to finally rest after a long night of walking. He was surprised, though, to find that a note had been left for him, and he tilted his head, wondering what it could be. Next to it, sitting on a dirty tray, was what seemed like the scraps from a long-finished Christmas dinner.
Grabbing up a roll, he stuffed it into his mouth hungrily and moved over towards the window, holding the note up to the light. He munched happily on the roll, and when it was all gone, he smiled and finished reading the note. Another gift had been given, and he was thankful for it. So little had been expected, and so much had been gained. It was probably the best Christmas he'd ever had, and joy was still the only word to describe the feeling it gave him.
- --------- - --
"Dear Mr. Kennedy,
Please accept this meal as a token of good faith. Tomorrow is another day, and when the holiday has passed, you will be punished for taking the life of one of our men. For today, sleep soundly in the knowledge that no harm shall come to you, and have a Merry Christmas."