Temeraire AU what in God's name
Lalala writer's block is terrible and I have no ideas so here is 4000 words of me playing around in the Temeraire universe just to get a feel for it, what is my life. If you aren't familiar with Temeraire, it's pretty much the Napoleonic wars except with dragons. It is awesome. Unlike this. Please don't judge me. Someday I hope to know how to write again T__T
Eames was taking his breakfast quietly, alone, when Captain Arthur stomped in.
It was usual for Eames to rise before the other aviators, and there were few enough in the dining hall to make it easy for him to catch Arthur's attention and wave him over.
“Good morning, Arthur,” he said, pushing a plate of toast over when Arthur had joined him, though Arthur did not sit, only grabbed Eames' coffee and began to drink it without so much as a word of welcome. “Only just arrived, are you?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, after a terse pause, setting down his coffee. He poured himself another cup while he spoke. “And so is Cobb, and Titus, and a newly hatched Longwing.”
“Ah.” Eames raised his eyebrows. “That is what some of us would call grounds for a good mood, or has nobody told you?”
Arthur's scowl deepened. “I only came in for coffee; you may come to the courtyard and see for yourself, if you like,” and with that, he was gone, taking his cup with him. His interest momentarily arrested, Eames got up and followed him.
To his surprise, Arthur had waited for him, obviously knowing that Eames would not be able to resist. He fell into step at Eames' side.
“The dratted Longwing egg hardened too soon. Cobb and his crew were rushing it here when it started to hatch.”
“No female aviator on board?” Eames asked.
“Waiting here at Laggan, but Cobb was too worried they would not reach here in time. So,” Arthur concluded, “he descended upon the nearest household and asked for a maidservant.”
Even Eames was startled, and he had known Cobb for years. “Is he mad? What was he thinking?”
“Who knows,” said Arthur bitterly. “I suppose he only wanted to get the hatchling in harness long enough to deliver it here and hope it would take to its intended handler. But in some hellish miscommunication, he did not receive a maidservant at all; he made off with Lord Farrowby's daughter, and set her to the thing just in time.”
“Oh, Lord,” Eames groaned.
“The dragonet is only about two days old-they came by carriage-but-well, you will see. It has attached itself, that much is certain.”
Eames could see Cobb in the courtyard with two women; one was plainly an aviator, but Eames could easily have mistook the other for a maid, due to her skirts and long plaits of hair. Then he noticed the dragonet itself at her side, currently sitting up on its haunches, and studying the female aviator very critically. It was the vivid shade of blue that marked a newly-hatched Longwing, and its orange-streaked wings, far too long for its body, dragged on the ground awkwardly and could not be kept folded, giving it the gawky, gangling appearance of a newborn foal.
“No, thank you; I am quite decided,” the dragonet was piping in a reedy but masculine voice when Eames approached. “I do not see why, if I must have a captain, it cannot be Ariadne; she seems perfectly serviceable to me, after all.”
“But, Christopher,” the lady at his side said imploringly; and drawing near, Eames could see now that she was barely more than a girl, just past her school years. “Surely you can see that I am quite lost when it comes to dragons; I am sure you would be more comfortable with a proper captain.”
The dragonet drew itself up haughtily. “She has not fed me, or named me; she does not know me as you do; and him, I do not like at all-” this last was directed at Cobb, with a distasteful flick of the forked tongue “-he is a liar, and you would not want to be rid of me if he did not think it should be so.”
Towards the end of this speech, the dragonet's tone became downright mulish and sullen. Among the piles of drowsing Winchesters and Greylings, Eames saw that Arthur had located Felix and was perched sideways on his back to watch the proceedings, shaking his head with an expression of tight-lipped disapproval.
“But I do not want to be rid of you,” the girl cried. “I am only trying to think of your happiness; you mustn't think that I want to leave you, not at all!”
“Think of Miss Bishop's comfort, also, Christopher,” Cobb interjected. “She comes from society, where there are no dragons, and she will miss her family sorely if she is made to stay here to care for you.”
Only this seemed to give the dragonet pause for thought. The orange eyes narrowed contemplatively and his tail, as vibrant blue as the rest of him, twitched back and forth on the stones in uncertainty.
“I will feed you now, if you like,” the other aviator offered, sensing an opening.
Christopher did not react to this; he seemed quite deep in rumination. His tongue had rasped in and out several times before, at last, he turned to Ariadne with an air of gravity and said, “Having considered all of our options, I have come to what I think is the only clear solution: I shall go with you to live in society, where we will be with your family, and she may find herself another dragon; or not, it is all the same to me. Now I should like to sleep on these warm stones, and I think you ought to, as well, for you seem very tired.”
Having made this speech, the dragonet seemed quite pleased with himself. The other aviator cast a disparaging, angry look at Cobb, and Ariadne looked quite at a loss. Arthur was scowling more fiercely than ever, and Eames felt close to laughing at the obstinate little beast, in spite of the dreadful seriousness of the situation. He was grinning when Cobb turned and noticed him there for the first time.
“What do you think?” he asked, spreading his hands helplessly.
“Well,” said Eames carefully, schooling himself, “if you are asking me plainly, I think the admiralty is going to give you a hell of a reaming, Cobb, and just as well they should. But I suppose they cannot do very much if they desire the use of Titus, at all; and it would not be the first time we have trained somebody from outside the ranks, besides.”
“Cobb, I hope you never hear me speak ill of any of our female aviators; they are exemplary,” Arthur interjected. “But to rob a girl, who has not been raised to our lifestyle, of any sort of normal life, and of polite society, and marriage-not to mention what her family will say-”
“Oh,” said Ariadne, her cheeks going pink, “they would not make much of a noise, I am sure. I beg your pardon,” she added, turning to Eames, and went pinker. She swept her skirts, ducking her head. “Ariadne Bishop, sir, it is a pleasure.”
“Captain Eames, of Lucretia,” said Eames, taking her by the hand and shaking it firmly; she looked startled to be met this way. “I assure you the pleasure is mine, Miss Bishop, but I am afraid your family may have a word or two when they hear of your new combative vocation.”
Ariadne looked queasy. “Yes, Captain Cobb mentioned that your women go to battle with the men.”
“But we can send Christopher to the breeding grounds,” Cobb cut in hastily.
“Damnit, Cobb, we needed this Longwing,” Arthur snapped from the sidelines; Felix underneath him yawned, unconcerned.
“I suppose she need not be a captain,” Eames said doubtfully. “She may be a handler, but we could set a proper captain to him.”
“That is no damn good, he will never fly under somebody else,” Cobb said in frustration, rumpling up his hair distractedly.
“No, I shan't,” Christopher piped stubbornly. “And there is no need to talk about me as if I am not here.”
“If-if I may speak?” Ariadne said, still looking a little dazed. She put a hand on Christopher's head as if to fortify herself, and took a deep breath. “I know I only promised to come here with Christopher, and see him comfortably settled with someone else, but it seems now that that is not going to happen; and I do not mean to leave him here if his happiness is so dependent on me, so- Well, I cannot say I will be any use in battle, although it seems to me that if other woman have done it, it is my duty to Britain and to Christopher to at least try. And if your admiral allows it, I will stay here, and care for Christopher, and I will try flying, though I cannot say how I will handle it-that is all I can promise you for now.”
“It is enough,” Cobb said quickly.
“I will be very careful with you, when we fly,” Christopher told her with great earnestness, all but quivering with excitement at the mere thought.
“As for my family,” Ariadne went on quietly, glancing down at Christopher and touching the top of his head again, “well-I do not mind sending a note to say that I have met a man and eloped; it would create a small scandal, but nothing on the scale of this, I am certain.”
“We should not even be entertaining this,” Arthur started to say hotly, but Eames interrupted him.
“Mal was in a similar situation, was she not?”
Cobb seized upon this with the fervour of a drowning man upon a life preserver. “That is true. She was not an aviator when Rêveur hatched.”
“I suppose it is up to the admiral in the end, but if my opinion counts for anything, I say we should let her try,” said Eames. “Lord knows we are in precious need of Longwings, especially with Rêveur still on the mend.”
“She will never make a captain,” the other aviator said, gazing critically upon Ariadne's skirts. “She is only a girl, and far too soft at that.”
Ariadne flushed. Christopher turned his head and spat at the woman; drops of venom sizzled on the stones.
“Oh, Christopher,” Ariadne said despairingly. He turned to her and rubbed his head against her skirts, much like a cat.
“I cannot help it. She was unkind.”
“It was only the truth,” Ariadne said to him. “I am not a captain; we do not even know if I will ever make one.”
She looked so distressed that Eames could not help himself.
“Cobb, I will send a servant to wake the admiral now, if you like,” he said, “and in the meantime, shall I take Miss Bishop to meet Lucretia?”
“Oh-yes,” said Cobb, belatedly gleaning his meaning. “Yes, if you wish; only take care not to distress her, would you?”
“I would never dream of it,” said Eames, with a wink at Ariadne, who paled.
+
Christopher would only consent to stay in the courtyard after Ariadne had promised to return, and Cobb not to snatch him while he was sleeping: this seemed to be a very urgent worry of the dragonet's. Cobb ordered some of his crew, who were attending his own dragon, to bring fresh meat for Christopher, and when Ariadne left with Eames, Christopher was curling up on the heated stones in deep contentment, pressed against the warm flank of a drowsing Winchester.
“May I ask,” Eames said as they walked, “why Christopher?”
Ariadne blushed.
“I have no notion of how a dragon hatching is supposed to go, naturally,” she said, almost apologetically. “He asked me my name, and wanted one of his own; I named him after Sir Christopher Wren, who designed St. Paul's Cathedral. It was all I could think of.”
She was learned, then; that could be an asset or a hindrance, depending. Eames chuckled.
“I think it is a good name,” he said, and she smiled gratefully. “You were very quick to think of sending such a letter to your family,” he added, after a moment.
“I am a middle child of five; they will not miss me,” she said, suddenly sounding much more cool. Eames glanced down at her, and she looked away, chagrined. “My parents intend me to marry a man I do not love. I had already considered running away.”
“Christopher was a happy accident, then,” Eames said only.
As they walked a shadow flitted over them, and Arthur's grey dragon lit on the worn path just ahead of them.
“Why, Arthur,” Eames said congenially, as Arthur dismounted. “It cannot be that you don't trust me with a maiden.”
“I cannot say I trust you with anything, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said coolly, walking up to them. “I only thought I might accompany you in case Miss Bishop should prove delicate. I do not mean this as a reflection on you,” he added stiffly to Ariadne. “Eames sometimes overestimates the fortitude of groundlings.”
“Lord Wallace lost his supper all down Lucretia's hide,” said Eames bitterly.
“And I am sure that could not have had anything to do with her flying in loops at the time,” Arthur remarked.
“Miss Bishop,” Eames interrupted, before she could be scared off, which point she indeed looked to be approaching. “Have you made the acquaintance of Captain Arthur's companion?”
“No, not yet,” Ariadne said, studying the grey dragon. “He is-he is very nice, up close,” she said to Arthur uncertainly.
Eames smiled to himself, saying nothing. Arthur's dragon was an exceptionally fine specimen whose hide and harness were always kept in impeccable order, not a scuff or callous on him. He was a handsome solid grey down his back with a pale underbelly, marking him as a Greyling: the fastest breed in the Corps, and Felix was especially well-bred for speed. And Ariadne had called him nice. One would call a horse or a dog nice.
Eames was certain, for a moment, that Arthur would take this as a slight; however, at mention of his dragon, Arthur had, as usual, thawed noticeably.
“This is Felix,” he said, after a pause. The Greyling was waiting patiently behind him; Arthur turned and patted his shoulder. “Felix, this is Miss Bishop-and you know Eames, of course.”
“Mr. Eames!” Felix said happily, pushing forward to press his nose into Eames' outstretched palm.
“Hello, Felix,” said Eames, rubbing the Greyling's nose obligingly. “Been taking good care of Arthur for me, have you?”
Felix bobbed his head in vigorous agreement. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We flew over the mountains.”
“He loves the route to Laggan,” said Arthur, smiling.
“There are sheeps in the hills,” Felix told Eames, wide-eyed. “I ate one.”
“Smashing,” said Eames affectionately, still rubbing his nose. “I cannot imagine. How famous.”
“Hello, Felix,” Ariadne said shyly from behind Eames. Felix peered past Eames curiously, and Eames had to remind himself that even though Felix was a lightweight dragon, positively puny to even the least-experienced aviators, he was still well above the height of a cart-house at the shoulder; even taller than Arthur.
“He is quite safe,” Eames said, but there was no need: Ariadne was already reaching tentatively forward and touching Felix's nose, the way Eames had done. Felix snorted softly, and, encouraged, Ariadne began to rub his nose as Eames had.
“They are very soft,” she remarked quietly to Eames. “I had never guessed they would be.”
“Hatchlings are, before their scales harden,” Eames told her. “Your Christopher will be quite velvety for a while yet.”
“But he is not-?” she started, and stopped at once, at Eames' expression. He knew what she meant to ask. Christopher, at scarcely more than a couple of days old, was as well-spoken as any person, but Felix had not reached that level of intelligence, even though he could talk. This time, even without her saying it, Arthur bristled at the offense.
“Greylings were built for speed, not for intelligence; I assure you there is no faster or more skilful flyer in His Majesty's Corps,” he said sharply. “They are as able as any, and more useful than most; I find him excellent company, besides.”
“Of course!” said Ariadne, blushing furiously. “I am sorry-I beg your pardon, I meant no offense, Captain-and Felix. You are very fine,” she added to the latter, awkwardly.
“I am not offended,” said Felix. Arthur patted his shoulder again, softening.
“Find something to eat, Felix, before the big dragons wake up and eat everything in sight,” he said. Felix turned and nuzzled Arthur affectionately; then, spreading his wings, he sprang off the ground and was away.
“He is handsome,” Ariadne said to Arthur, obviously hoping to smooth over her slight. However, Arthur said only a curt “Yes,” and strolled away, leaving Eames and Ariadne to follow him.
“Pay him no heed,” Eames told her as they walked. “He is like this at the best of times.”
Ariadne nodded. “Is your dragon a Greyling, as well?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” said Eames, with amusement. He heard Arthur chuckle dryly, up ahead. “No, she is not a Greyling.”
Ariadne glanced from one of them to the other. “I am missing some joke, gentlemen.”
“Come; we are at her clearing now,” said Eames, lengthening his stride. “Lucretia, are you awake yet?”
Ariadne stopped at the edge of the clearing, struck dumb. The dragon opened one eye as Arthur and Eames entered the clearing; then lifted her head and yawned massively, showing off a vast, gleaming set of serrated teeth, and a maw they could all three stand upright comfortably in, with room for several more.
“You are a long time coming to see me this morning, Eames,” she said, beginning to stretch, slowly. She took a sniff, and squinted. “That is Arthur you have brought with you, but who is the other?”
“This is Miss Bishop,” said Eames, moving in close so that he could give her nose a thorough rub. “I brought her to meet you.”
“She is very small,” said Lucretia doubtfully. She stretched out her neck to peer very closely at Ariadne, who, to her credit, held her ground. “Is she afraid of dragons?”
“No, she has got one of her own now; a Longwing,” said Eames conversationally. Ariadne, quite pale by now, said nothing.
With a great crackle of snapping twigs and brush, Lucretia reared onto her haunches, revealing her full height; to say she was large would have been a gross understatement. As a fully mature female Regal Copper, she was bigger than most ships, and a great deal larger than plenty buildings Eames had seen. Around her neck she wore a glistening gold collar studded with rubies, complementing her gleaming red and gold hide. She flexed her wings, and blinked down at Ariadne, able to focus on her more clearly from afar.
“Hm,” she said.
“Have-have you had her very long?” Ariadne asked Eames faintly.
“Several years now, but Lu is as old as I am; to the day, in fact,” said Eames, slapping her massive haunch warmly. “My father missed my birth to be at her hatching. He is retired now, though, and she passed into my keeping.”
“Rather you into mine,” Lucretia said, and snorted affectionately when Eames cuffed her.
Ariadne swallowed audibly, then stepped forward and managed an only slightly wobbly curtsy. “It is an honour to meet you, Lucretia.”
Lucretia seemed quite pleased at this. She dropped back to all fours, and paused to rub thoughtfully at her cheek with the side of one curved talon the length of a sword; then she said, “Would you like to go for a flight?”
“Not today, I think,” said Eames, before Ariadne was forced to respond, “Miss Bishop does not have a harness, after all. I thought, if it would be agreeable, you might perhaps let her climb up, and have a look around?”
“I do not mind,” said Lucretia, swiveling her head to peer at Ariadne, who hesitated only a moment before nodding.
Eames gave her his arm to help her step into the cradle of Lucretia's massive foreclaws, while Arthur hovered anxiously close to watch.
“You will be quite safe,” Arthur said. “She is very gentle.”
“Alright, I am ready,” Ariadne said once she was kneeling in Lucretia's forehands; still pale, but with a determined expression. Eames nodded, and Lucretia carefully began to straighten up again, rearing easily above the treeline and lifting Ariadne with her.
“Oh!” they heard Ariadne's gasp, once Lucretia had reared to her full, awesome height; her voice was very faint when it reached them. “I can see everything!”
Eames could not help grinning. “I think she will do well,” he told Arthur, who frowned.
“If that were the question, I would not mind so much,” he said. “The fact is that Cobb practically kidnapped the girl, and even if she will stay for her dragon's sake, she has no idea what sort of life she is bound to, now.”
Eames' grin faded and he looked back up at Lucretia, saying nothing. It occurred to him then that he and Arthur were, effectively, quite alone with each other; a state which Eames was always very conscious of, since he had been trying very hard to avoid it for the past twelve months.
He thought about what Arthur had said for a moment. Eames had been virtually born into the Corps, as he had been Lucretia's intended future captain from birth; it was easy to forget, given how natural he was around dragons, that Arthur had come from a gentleman's family, outside the Corps.
“Did you find it difficult, then?” he asked, to break the silence as much as anything.
“Not really, I suppose,” said Arthur, thoughtful, “although I was only seven; she is much older.”
Eames nodded slowly; he could hear Lucretia, way above them, rumbling softly to Ariadne, so that he could not discern what she was saying. He cleared his throat. “Will you be leaving tonight?”
Arthur looked at him curiously. “No; Felix and I are staying,” he said, and paused. “The admiral wants a light-flyer in the new Longwing formation.”
“Ah,” said Eames, his heart sinking. His formation. “So we will be-”
“Flying together, yes,” said Arthur shortly.
Eames fell silent again, hating this chill between them. They had been such close companions, once-before Eames had effectively crushed Arthur's career and destroyed any good relations between them in one stroke. And still, he could not bring himself to regret it.
Growing more uncomfortable by Arthur's stony presence, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Lu, what are you saying to her up there?”
“Oh,” said Lucretia, and bowed her head low until she could see Eames, with Ariadne still clasped securely in her claws, “I was only telling her that Arthur used to be part of my crew, until he left to receive his own dragon, but only because it needed a very skilled handler to teach it; and I am very glad to see both of you talking to one another again, for you have been very quiet this past year, Eames, since Arthur left.”
Eames, baffled and embarrassed, had no reply to this; from the corner of his eye he could see two spots of colour appearing high on Arthur's cheekbones, and he cleared his throat again.
“Would you like to come down now, Miss Ariadne?”
“Just one more minute, please,” Ariadne said breathlessly. “Only the view is so spectacular.”
Lucretia lifted her again, and Eames clasped his hands behind his back, now more uncomfortable then ever.
After a painfully long minute had passed, Arthur began, “I-”
“I think she will do very well, indeed,” Eames cut him off, squinting up at Ariadne. Arthur nodded, after a pause, and they lapsed into mutual silence once more.
next part
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NOTES: Here is a nifty chart showing off the different dragon breeds in order of size; that's Lucretia (Regal Copper) right at the top, and waaaay at the other end of the scale is Felix (Greyling). Christopher (a Longwing, which only accept female handlers) will be at the high end of the middleweights. Titus, Cobb's dragon, is a Chequered Nettle, and Mal rides Rêveur, a stolen French Flamme-de-Gloire. A friend of mine provided massive inspiration for this, including the AWESOME names for Ariadne and Mal's dragons, all my love goes to her. :D
Eames was taking his breakfast quietly, alone, when Captain Arthur stomped in.
It was usual for Eames to rise before the other aviators, and there were few enough in the dining hall to make it easy for him to catch Arthur's attention and wave him over.
“Good morning, Arthur,” he said, pushing a plate of toast over when Arthur had joined him, though Arthur did not sit, only grabbed Eames' coffee and began to drink it without so much as a word of welcome. “Only just arrived, are you?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, after a terse pause, setting down his coffee. He poured himself another cup while he spoke. “And so is Cobb, and Titus, and a newly hatched Longwing.”
“Ah.” Eames raised his eyebrows. “That is what some of us would call grounds for a good mood, or has nobody told you?”
Arthur's scowl deepened. “I only came in for coffee; you may come to the courtyard and see for yourself, if you like,” and with that, he was gone, taking his cup with him. His interest momentarily arrested, Eames got up and followed him.
To his surprise, Arthur had waited for him, obviously knowing that Eames would not be able to resist. He fell into step at Eames' side.
“The dratted Longwing egg hardened too soon. Cobb and his crew were rushing it here when it started to hatch.”
“No female aviator on board?” Eames asked.
“Waiting here at Laggan, but Cobb was too worried they would not reach here in time. So,” Arthur concluded, “he descended upon the nearest household and asked for a maidservant.”
Even Eames was startled, and he had known Cobb for years. “Is he mad? What was he thinking?”
“Who knows,” said Arthur bitterly. “I suppose he only wanted to get the hatchling in harness long enough to deliver it here and hope it would take to its intended handler. But in some hellish miscommunication, he did not receive a maidservant at all; he made off with Lord Farrowby's daughter, and set her to the thing just in time.”
“Oh, Lord,” Eames groaned.
“The dragonet is only about two days old-they came by carriage-but-well, you will see. It has attached itself, that much is certain.”
Eames could see Cobb in the courtyard with two women; one was plainly an aviator, but Eames could easily have mistook the other for a maid, due to her skirts and long plaits of hair. Then he noticed the dragonet itself at her side, currently sitting up on its haunches, and studying the female aviator very critically. It was the vivid shade of blue that marked a newly-hatched Longwing, and its orange-streaked wings, far too long for its body, dragged on the ground awkwardly and could not be kept folded, giving it the gawky, gangling appearance of a newborn foal.
“No, thank you; I am quite decided,” the dragonet was piping in a reedy but masculine voice when Eames approached. “I do not see why, if I must have a captain, it cannot be Ariadne; she seems perfectly serviceable to me, after all.”
“But, Christopher,” the lady at his side said imploringly; and drawing near, Eames could see now that she was barely more than a girl, just past her school years. “Surely you can see that I am quite lost when it comes to dragons; I am sure you would be more comfortable with a proper captain.”
The dragonet drew itself up haughtily. “She has not fed me, or named me; she does not know me as you do; and him, I do not like at all-” this last was directed at Cobb, with a distasteful flick of the forked tongue “-he is a liar, and you would not want to be rid of me if he did not think it should be so.”
Towards the end of this speech, the dragonet's tone became downright mulish and sullen. Among the piles of drowsing Winchesters and Greylings, Eames saw that Arthur had located Felix and was perched sideways on his back to watch the proceedings, shaking his head with an expression of tight-lipped disapproval.
“But I do not want to be rid of you,” the girl cried. “I am only trying to think of your happiness; you mustn't think that I want to leave you, not at all!”
“Think of Miss Bishop's comfort, also, Christopher,” Cobb interjected. “She comes from society, where there are no dragons, and she will miss her family sorely if she is made to stay here to care for you.”
Only this seemed to give the dragonet pause for thought. The orange eyes narrowed contemplatively and his tail, as vibrant blue as the rest of him, twitched back and forth on the stones in uncertainty.
“I will feed you now, if you like,” the other aviator offered, sensing an opening.
Christopher did not react to this; he seemed quite deep in rumination. His tongue had rasped in and out several times before, at last, he turned to Ariadne with an air of gravity and said, “Having considered all of our options, I have come to what I think is the only clear solution: I shall go with you to live in society, where we will be with your family, and she may find herself another dragon; or not, it is all the same to me. Now I should like to sleep on these warm stones, and I think you ought to, as well, for you seem very tired.”
Having made this speech, the dragonet seemed quite pleased with himself. The other aviator cast a disparaging, angry look at Cobb, and Ariadne looked quite at a loss. Arthur was scowling more fiercely than ever, and Eames felt close to laughing at the obstinate little beast, in spite of the dreadful seriousness of the situation. He was grinning when Cobb turned and noticed him there for the first time.
“What do you think?” he asked, spreading his hands helplessly.
“Well,” said Eames carefully, schooling himself, “if you are asking me plainly, I think the admiralty is going to give you a hell of a reaming, Cobb, and just as well they should. But I suppose they cannot do very much if they desire the use of Titus, at all; and it would not be the first time we have trained somebody from outside the ranks, besides.”
“Cobb, I hope you never hear me speak ill of any of our female aviators; they are exemplary,” Arthur interjected. “But to rob a girl, who has not been raised to our lifestyle, of any sort of normal life, and of polite society, and marriage-not to mention what her family will say-”
“Oh,” said Ariadne, her cheeks going pink, “they would not make much of a noise, I am sure. I beg your pardon,” she added, turning to Eames, and went pinker. She swept her skirts, ducking her head. “Ariadne Bishop, sir, it is a pleasure.”
“Captain Eames, of Lucretia,” said Eames, taking her by the hand and shaking it firmly; she looked startled to be met this way. “I assure you the pleasure is mine, Miss Bishop, but I am afraid your family may have a word or two when they hear of your new combative vocation.”
Ariadne looked queasy. “Yes, Captain Cobb mentioned that your women go to battle with the men.”
“But we can send Christopher to the breeding grounds,” Cobb cut in hastily.
“Damnit, Cobb, we needed this Longwing,” Arthur snapped from the sidelines; Felix underneath him yawned, unconcerned.
“I suppose she need not be a captain,” Eames said doubtfully. “She may be a handler, but we could set a proper captain to him.”
“That is no damn good, he will never fly under somebody else,” Cobb said in frustration, rumpling up his hair distractedly.
“No, I shan't,” Christopher piped stubbornly. “And there is no need to talk about me as if I am not here.”
“If-if I may speak?” Ariadne said, still looking a little dazed. She put a hand on Christopher's head as if to fortify herself, and took a deep breath. “I know I only promised to come here with Christopher, and see him comfortably settled with someone else, but it seems now that that is not going to happen; and I do not mean to leave him here if his happiness is so dependent on me, so- Well, I cannot say I will be any use in battle, although it seems to me that if other woman have done it, it is my duty to Britain and to Christopher to at least try. And if your admiral allows it, I will stay here, and care for Christopher, and I will try flying, though I cannot say how I will handle it-that is all I can promise you for now.”
“It is enough,” Cobb said quickly.
“I will be very careful with you, when we fly,” Christopher told her with great earnestness, all but quivering with excitement at the mere thought.
“As for my family,” Ariadne went on quietly, glancing down at Christopher and touching the top of his head again, “well-I do not mind sending a note to say that I have met a man and eloped; it would create a small scandal, but nothing on the scale of this, I am certain.”
“We should not even be entertaining this,” Arthur started to say hotly, but Eames interrupted him.
“Mal was in a similar situation, was she not?”
Cobb seized upon this with the fervour of a drowning man upon a life preserver. “That is true. She was not an aviator when Rêveur hatched.”
“I suppose it is up to the admiral in the end, but if my opinion counts for anything, I say we should let her try,” said Eames. “Lord knows we are in precious need of Longwings, especially with Rêveur still on the mend.”
“She will never make a captain,” the other aviator said, gazing critically upon Ariadne's skirts. “She is only a girl, and far too soft at that.”
Ariadne flushed. Christopher turned his head and spat at the woman; drops of venom sizzled on the stones.
“Oh, Christopher,” Ariadne said despairingly. He turned to her and rubbed his head against her skirts, much like a cat.
“I cannot help it. She was unkind.”
“It was only the truth,” Ariadne said to him. “I am not a captain; we do not even know if I will ever make one.”
She looked so distressed that Eames could not help himself.
“Cobb, I will send a servant to wake the admiral now, if you like,” he said, “and in the meantime, shall I take Miss Bishop to meet Lucretia?”
“Oh-yes,” said Cobb, belatedly gleaning his meaning. “Yes, if you wish; only take care not to distress her, would you?”
“I would never dream of it,” said Eames, with a wink at Ariadne, who paled.
+
Christopher would only consent to stay in the courtyard after Ariadne had promised to return, and Cobb not to snatch him while he was sleeping: this seemed to be a very urgent worry of the dragonet's. Cobb ordered some of his crew, who were attending his own dragon, to bring fresh meat for Christopher, and when Ariadne left with Eames, Christopher was curling up on the heated stones in deep contentment, pressed against the warm flank of a drowsing Winchester.
“May I ask,” Eames said as they walked, “why Christopher?”
Ariadne blushed.
“I have no notion of how a dragon hatching is supposed to go, naturally,” she said, almost apologetically. “He asked me my name, and wanted one of his own; I named him after Sir Christopher Wren, who designed St. Paul's Cathedral. It was all I could think of.”
She was learned, then; that could be an asset or a hindrance, depending. Eames chuckled.
“I think it is a good name,” he said, and she smiled gratefully. “You were very quick to think of sending such a letter to your family,” he added, after a moment.
“I am a middle child of five; they will not miss me,” she said, suddenly sounding much more cool. Eames glanced down at her, and she looked away, chagrined. “My parents intend me to marry a man I do not love. I had already considered running away.”
“Christopher was a happy accident, then,” Eames said only.
As they walked a shadow flitted over them, and Arthur's grey dragon lit on the worn path just ahead of them.
“Why, Arthur,” Eames said congenially, as Arthur dismounted. “It cannot be that you don't trust me with a maiden.”
“I cannot say I trust you with anything, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said coolly, walking up to them. “I only thought I might accompany you in case Miss Bishop should prove delicate. I do not mean this as a reflection on you,” he added stiffly to Ariadne. “Eames sometimes overestimates the fortitude of groundlings.”
“Lord Wallace lost his supper all down Lucretia's hide,” said Eames bitterly.
“And I am sure that could not have had anything to do with her flying in loops at the time,” Arthur remarked.
“Miss Bishop,” Eames interrupted, before she could be scared off, which point she indeed looked to be approaching. “Have you made the acquaintance of Captain Arthur's companion?”
“No, not yet,” Ariadne said, studying the grey dragon. “He is-he is very nice, up close,” she said to Arthur uncertainly.
Eames smiled to himself, saying nothing. Arthur's dragon was an exceptionally fine specimen whose hide and harness were always kept in impeccable order, not a scuff or callous on him. He was a handsome solid grey down his back with a pale underbelly, marking him as a Greyling: the fastest breed in the Corps, and Felix was especially well-bred for speed. And Ariadne had called him nice. One would call a horse or a dog nice.
Eames was certain, for a moment, that Arthur would take this as a slight; however, at mention of his dragon, Arthur had, as usual, thawed noticeably.
“This is Felix,” he said, after a pause. The Greyling was waiting patiently behind him; Arthur turned and patted his shoulder. “Felix, this is Miss Bishop-and you know Eames, of course.”
“Mr. Eames!” Felix said happily, pushing forward to press his nose into Eames' outstretched palm.
“Hello, Felix,” said Eames, rubbing the Greyling's nose obligingly. “Been taking good care of Arthur for me, have you?”
Felix bobbed his head in vigorous agreement. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We flew over the mountains.”
“He loves the route to Laggan,” said Arthur, smiling.
“There are sheeps in the hills,” Felix told Eames, wide-eyed. “I ate one.”
“Smashing,” said Eames affectionately, still rubbing his nose. “I cannot imagine. How famous.”
“Hello, Felix,” Ariadne said shyly from behind Eames. Felix peered past Eames curiously, and Eames had to remind himself that even though Felix was a lightweight dragon, positively puny to even the least-experienced aviators, he was still well above the height of a cart-house at the shoulder; even taller than Arthur.
“He is quite safe,” Eames said, but there was no need: Ariadne was already reaching tentatively forward and touching Felix's nose, the way Eames had done. Felix snorted softly, and, encouraged, Ariadne began to rub his nose as Eames had.
“They are very soft,” she remarked quietly to Eames. “I had never guessed they would be.”
“Hatchlings are, before their scales harden,” Eames told her. “Your Christopher will be quite velvety for a while yet.”
“But he is not-?” she started, and stopped at once, at Eames' expression. He knew what she meant to ask. Christopher, at scarcely more than a couple of days old, was as well-spoken as any person, but Felix had not reached that level of intelligence, even though he could talk. This time, even without her saying it, Arthur bristled at the offense.
“Greylings were built for speed, not for intelligence; I assure you there is no faster or more skilful flyer in His Majesty's Corps,” he said sharply. “They are as able as any, and more useful than most; I find him excellent company, besides.”
“Of course!” said Ariadne, blushing furiously. “I am sorry-I beg your pardon, I meant no offense, Captain-and Felix. You are very fine,” she added to the latter, awkwardly.
“I am not offended,” said Felix. Arthur patted his shoulder again, softening.
“Find something to eat, Felix, before the big dragons wake up and eat everything in sight,” he said. Felix turned and nuzzled Arthur affectionately; then, spreading his wings, he sprang off the ground and was away.
“He is handsome,” Ariadne said to Arthur, obviously hoping to smooth over her slight. However, Arthur said only a curt “Yes,” and strolled away, leaving Eames and Ariadne to follow him.
“Pay him no heed,” Eames told her as they walked. “He is like this at the best of times.”
Ariadne nodded. “Is your dragon a Greyling, as well?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” said Eames, with amusement. He heard Arthur chuckle dryly, up ahead. “No, she is not a Greyling.”
Ariadne glanced from one of them to the other. “I am missing some joke, gentlemen.”
“Come; we are at her clearing now,” said Eames, lengthening his stride. “Lucretia, are you awake yet?”
Ariadne stopped at the edge of the clearing, struck dumb. The dragon opened one eye as Arthur and Eames entered the clearing; then lifted her head and yawned massively, showing off a vast, gleaming set of serrated teeth, and a maw they could all three stand upright comfortably in, with room for several more.
“You are a long time coming to see me this morning, Eames,” she said, beginning to stretch, slowly. She took a sniff, and squinted. “That is Arthur you have brought with you, but who is the other?”
“This is Miss Bishop,” said Eames, moving in close so that he could give her nose a thorough rub. “I brought her to meet you.”
“She is very small,” said Lucretia doubtfully. She stretched out her neck to peer very closely at Ariadne, who, to her credit, held her ground. “Is she afraid of dragons?”
“No, she has got one of her own now; a Longwing,” said Eames conversationally. Ariadne, quite pale by now, said nothing.
With a great crackle of snapping twigs and brush, Lucretia reared onto her haunches, revealing her full height; to say she was large would have been a gross understatement. As a fully mature female Regal Copper, she was bigger than most ships, and a great deal larger than plenty buildings Eames had seen. Around her neck she wore a glistening gold collar studded with rubies, complementing her gleaming red and gold hide. She flexed her wings, and blinked down at Ariadne, able to focus on her more clearly from afar.
“Hm,” she said.
“Have-have you had her very long?” Ariadne asked Eames faintly.
“Several years now, but Lu is as old as I am; to the day, in fact,” said Eames, slapping her massive haunch warmly. “My father missed my birth to be at her hatching. He is retired now, though, and she passed into my keeping.”
“Rather you into mine,” Lucretia said, and snorted affectionately when Eames cuffed her.
Ariadne swallowed audibly, then stepped forward and managed an only slightly wobbly curtsy. “It is an honour to meet you, Lucretia.”
Lucretia seemed quite pleased at this. She dropped back to all fours, and paused to rub thoughtfully at her cheek with the side of one curved talon the length of a sword; then she said, “Would you like to go for a flight?”
“Not today, I think,” said Eames, before Ariadne was forced to respond, “Miss Bishop does not have a harness, after all. I thought, if it would be agreeable, you might perhaps let her climb up, and have a look around?”
“I do not mind,” said Lucretia, swiveling her head to peer at Ariadne, who hesitated only a moment before nodding.
Eames gave her his arm to help her step into the cradle of Lucretia's massive foreclaws, while Arthur hovered anxiously close to watch.
“You will be quite safe,” Arthur said. “She is very gentle.”
“Alright, I am ready,” Ariadne said once she was kneeling in Lucretia's forehands; still pale, but with a determined expression. Eames nodded, and Lucretia carefully began to straighten up again, rearing easily above the treeline and lifting Ariadne with her.
“Oh!” they heard Ariadne's gasp, once Lucretia had reared to her full, awesome height; her voice was very faint when it reached them. “I can see everything!”
Eames could not help grinning. “I think she will do well,” he told Arthur, who frowned.
“If that were the question, I would not mind so much,” he said. “The fact is that Cobb practically kidnapped the girl, and even if she will stay for her dragon's sake, she has no idea what sort of life she is bound to, now.”
Eames' grin faded and he looked back up at Lucretia, saying nothing. It occurred to him then that he and Arthur were, effectively, quite alone with each other; a state which Eames was always very conscious of, since he had been trying very hard to avoid it for the past twelve months.
He thought about what Arthur had said for a moment. Eames had been virtually born into the Corps, as he had been Lucretia's intended future captain from birth; it was easy to forget, given how natural he was around dragons, that Arthur had come from a gentleman's family, outside the Corps.
“Did you find it difficult, then?” he asked, to break the silence as much as anything.
“Not really, I suppose,” said Arthur, thoughtful, “although I was only seven; she is much older.”
Eames nodded slowly; he could hear Lucretia, way above them, rumbling softly to Ariadne, so that he could not discern what she was saying. He cleared his throat. “Will you be leaving tonight?”
Arthur looked at him curiously. “No; Felix and I are staying,” he said, and paused. “The admiral wants a light-flyer in the new Longwing formation.”
“Ah,” said Eames, his heart sinking. His formation. “So we will be-”
“Flying together, yes,” said Arthur shortly.
Eames fell silent again, hating this chill between them. They had been such close companions, once-before Eames had effectively crushed Arthur's career and destroyed any good relations between them in one stroke. And still, he could not bring himself to regret it.
Growing more uncomfortable by Arthur's stony presence, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Lu, what are you saying to her up there?”
“Oh,” said Lucretia, and bowed her head low until she could see Eames, with Ariadne still clasped securely in her claws, “I was only telling her that Arthur used to be part of my crew, until he left to receive his own dragon, but only because it needed a very skilled handler to teach it; and I am very glad to see both of you talking to one another again, for you have been very quiet this past year, Eames, since Arthur left.”
Eames, baffled and embarrassed, had no reply to this; from the corner of his eye he could see two spots of colour appearing high on Arthur's cheekbones, and he cleared his throat again.
“Would you like to come down now, Miss Ariadne?”
“Just one more minute, please,” Ariadne said breathlessly. “Only the view is so spectacular.”
Lucretia lifted her again, and Eames clasped his hands behind his back, now more uncomfortable then ever.
After a painfully long minute had passed, Arthur began, “I-”
“I think she will do very well, indeed,” Eames cut him off, squinting up at Ariadne. Arthur nodded, after a pause, and they lapsed into mutual silence once more.
next part
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NOTES: Here is a nifty chart showing off the different dragon breeds in order of size; that's Lucretia (Regal Copper) right at the top, and waaaay at the other end of the scale is Felix (Greyling). Christopher (a Longwing, which only accept female handlers) will be at the high end of the middleweights. Titus, Cobb's dragon, is a Chequered Nettle, and Mal rides Rêveur, a stolen French Flamme-de-Gloire. A friend of mine provided massive inspiration for this, including the AWESOME names for Ariadne and Mal's dragons, all my love goes to her. :D
