AN: Still pushing this through towards completion.
((()))
“I’m Roland,” the other young redhead said, “And if you weren’t already Captain Laurence’s favorite, I’d be lead runner on Temeraire’s crew. ‘M not saying that to challenge you, just so you know I’m the best of the runners who hadn’t already been assigned to a crew.”
Non studied her quietly for a long moment, before nodding sharply.
“Show me what yeh can do in th’ air,” she said, “We’ll talk more after that.”
((()))
Roland watched Non with careful eyes as she followed the older (though only slightly larger) girl around Temeraire’s rigging. It wasn’t hard to see that she’d learned quickly, and had the same strange way of planting her boots that Captain Laurence had, but even if she placed her feet well, and naturally compensated for Temeraire’s movement as he flew, there were still little details she got wrong.
The angle of her foot, not knowing that sometimes you should lead with your heel instead of your toe when moving on dragonhide, and when you could afford to release both clips at the same time, even if just for a moment.
If a cabin ‘boy’ could pick up riding a Dragon so quickly, Roland wondered how quickly she could pick up working aboard a ship, though obviously sailing was far inferior to flying.
((()))
“D’you think you could show me around the rigging on a ship?” Roland asked, “You’re too good on the harness not to have learned some of how to scurry about before.”
“Whare would we find a ship ‘round here?” Non asked, staring at Roland like she’d said something stupid, “We’re in the mountains.”
“The shore’s only an hour’s flight away on dragonback,” Roland said, rolling her eyes at the older girl, “Stop thinking like a sailor, and think like an aviator. There’s no reason to walk when you can fly.”
“I’ll show yeh sum time then,” Non agreed, “When we get t’ see a proper Navy ship, nae one of th’ merchant galleons.”
((()))
The most immediate change Laurence saw in Non in the weeks after he recruited assistant runners for her, was the bags under her eyes fading away. It was not fitting for one so young to constantly appear to be on the brink of illness. Frustratingly, her natural talent as an aviator seemed to blossom all the more with children of like age to work with, Roland in particular showing a facility for teaching her fellow runner, that Laurence already had her in mind as future officer material.
Which was just as well; according to Captain Harcourt, she was the daughter of Excidium’s current Captain, and thus almost certain to inherit the Longwing’s captaincy, unless she proved altogether unsuitable.
Laurence found it irritating, how his own need to continue to develop his core competencies as an aviation officer kept him from being able to spare as much time watching his junior crew as he would have liked. Still, he was able to see how Roland working with Non allowed his secretary’s skills at moving about rigging and handling signal flags to increase all the faster. He suspected that Non was also aiding the younger girl with her studies, but he had no way to be certain of it.
With that aspect of his command responsibilities cared for, he was left with more time and energy to dedicate to the most salient remaining issue before him.
His alienation from every aviator below the rank of Captain.
Harcourt now regularly engaged him in cordial discussion at the mess, and if Berkley had the time he would sit with him, but both of the other Captains were just as busy bringing their Dragon crews up to speed as he was. Rankin was the only other Captain semi-regularly at Loch Lagan, and the miserable excuse for an officer avoided him like the plague.
While Laurence had quickly come to appreciate Celeritas’ excellent skill at aviation and as a trainer, he was neither in the appropriate places, nor of the appropriate social role to aid Laurence in overcoming the tension between Laurence and the lower ranks. He understood that there was a shortage of top-flight aviators, and only a handful of admirals in the entire corps, but he still keenly felt the lack of a human base commander at the Loch.
While Laurence was cautious about openly criticizing the way the corps was run in comparison to the navy, he was forming a list of things that he would change if he ever rose to flag rank himself. Mindful to be judicious, Laurence endeavored not to forget that newcomers to the Aviation Corps such as himself were exceptionally unusual.
In order to have any future opportunity to act on such, however, he would first need to resolve the problem directly in front of him. Unfortunately, the Lieutenants and Midwingman seemed to have no interest whatsoever in initiating any form of amicable interaction with him, and the means he could use for doing so himself without undermining his own authority were quite limited.
The first reasonable possible solution came when someone raised a different issue to him, some four months after he had arrived at Loch Lagan.
((()))
“Non needs new clothes,” Harcourt told him directly over dinner, “She’s been letting the hems out for the last month, but that will only take a girl so far.”
“She is at the age where growth comes in spurts,” Laurence said after a moment’s thought, “Captain Devereaux at Dover was kind enough to help her do some shopping. You seem to be a great deal busier than she was at the time, but could I prevail upon you to recommend another lady for the task?”
“Laurence,” Harcourt said, smiling slightly, “You do know that we are permitted leave from time to time?”
“I couldn’t trouble you to take your rare time off for a young woman who is my responsibility,” Laurence said.
“You’re quite right,” Harcourt said, her smile broadening, “I do believe you took a great deal of prize money for Temeraire. If you will cover the shopping expenses for both of us, it will be my pleasure to take her to Inverness to restock her wardrobe.”
“I would be most grateful if you were to care for Non in this way,” Laurence said.
“It would be my pleasure,” Harcourt replied.
((()))
“Do try not to dally,” Lily insisted as they glided in towards Scotland’s capital, “You know how I worry when you’re in the city too long.”
“This is only your third time visiting,” Harcourt said with fond amusement, “I’ve been here scores of times, and always returned none the worse.”
“’S a city,” Non said, “No a bat’l-field.”
“Yes,” Lily replied, “But it’s full of silly humans who are too afraid to talk with other civilized people just because Dragons are larger than them.”
“An’ because you’re carnivores,” Non said with a laugh, “Great big teeth’n claws. You’d be a wee bit ‘fraid if you ran into somethin’ that much bigger with sharper teeth too.”
“Maximus and Temeraire are the only ones bigger than me,” Lily insisted, “And they’re quite civilized. Temeraire has a lovely singing voice.”
“He does,” Harcourt agreed, “I still think you should try a duet with him some time. We’ll come back to take lunch with you, but otherwise we will likely be in the city for the full day.”
“What’ll take so long?” Non asked, visibly working at controlling her accent.
“You’re going to need to get proper clothing for an aviator,” Harcourt said with amusement, “While Captain Laurence provided you with a very nice set of clothing for the daughter of a minor nobleman, riding skirts simply aren’t the best for in the air, and you need heavier clothing for long patrols at higher altitudes, especially in rainclouds.”
“Does get beastly cold up there,” Non agreed as Lily started gliding in to land at the small field outside the city set aside for aviators to land at, “Would be nice t’ have sumthin’ warmer.”
“Well,” Harcourt said, “Now will be the time to close that gap.”
((()))
Four hours later, when they returned to the field, they found Temeraire coming in to land beside Lily, his back veritably festooned with aviators, Captain Laurence at their head.
“Laurence?” Harcourt called as she laid a hand on Lily’s snout, “Has something gone wrong?”
“No,” Laurence said as he smoothly dismounted, “It simply occurred to me that there were a few matters of business which I needed to attend to in town as well, and as we were coming nonetheless, it seemed appropriate for Temeraire and I to bring any of the other aviators who had business of their own.”
“Even if that business is spending the day at a pub?” Harcourt asked dryly as she watched several of the enlisted slink off out of the field.
“So long as they report on time in fit shape to fulfill their duty,” Laurence said, “What they do during their leave time is none of my business. I hope your day has gone well thus far?”
“Quite,” Harcourt replied, “I would say we are better than half done, and may be able to return to the Loch in time for dinner.”
“Very good,” Laurence said, pausing for a moment to run a hand through Non’s steadily-regrowing hair fondly, “Then I shall trouble you no further.”
((()))
The Belly of the Dragon was a pub that was clearly intended to cater to aviators, and Laurence quickly discerned that it also catered to those who hungered for a glimpse of the sky. When he was still Captain of the Reliant, Laurence would not have been able to understand those who yearned for the sky, as his childhood yearning had always been for the sea.
Now that he had flown atop the clouds on Temeraire’s back, it was something he could understand, even if he found himself wishing he could have both a sail at his back and a Dragon beneath his feet.
Lurking in a pub was not a difficult task; simply wearing a different coat, taking a seat at the end of the bar, and tilting a new hat low over his face. It made him out to be the epitome of a shiftless knave, but unusual measures must be taken if he wished to demolish the wall of ice between himself and almost the entirety of the Aviation Corps.
It did not take long for some of the enlisted to start trickling in to the pub, and as soon as the first round of drinks arrived, so the stories began.
The first of them were much as he would have expected to hear from sailors, tales of battle, valor, near escapes, and hard-won victories. The details differed; harness instead of rigging, Dragon-back instead of deck, and the occasional mention of falling from the sky rather than overboard, but the core was the same:
Men fighting against men, struggling with blood and sweat for life and victory.
It was something that he could respect regardless of what branch of the service he found it in, and he hoped that when the time came, the respect would become mutual.
Hours passed as Laurence listened, slowly nursing one watered down ale after another. At one point he realized that some of the others present in the pub were actually employing similar strategies to his, lurking near aviators while drinking slowly in the hopes of hearing stories of the war and the skies above. Judging by their dress and bearing, the rest of the eavesdroppers were civilians, but Laurence was grateful for the cover they offered nonetheless.
Eventually, the opportunity he had been waiting for came.
“Why d’you think Captain Thunderhead had a change o’ heart and gave us all a lift into town?” one of the airmen asked, drunk enough to be slurring his words ever so slightly, but not so much to be difficult to understand.
“Who knows?” another, more sober of the airmen asked, “That’s officer’s business; I just thank the good lord that I can have a proper drink without waitin’ for the end of the month.”
Milner, Laurence recalled the man’s name was; the stocky fellow was a skilled bombardier, and Laurence had eyes on him as one of his potential permanent crew. He had shown Laurence no special kindness nor respect, but neither had he shown any great hostility, and he followed orders dutifully.
“E’s probably courtin’ Harcourt,” a third airman said, “They just ‘happen’ to go to town th’ same day, an’ ‘afore you know it, he’s got her in the nicest pub in town, wining and dining her.”
Laurence’s face contorted slightly at the thought; Harcourt was far too fresh-faced to suit his fancy.
“Doesn’ he have a woman already?” the first airman asked, “‘Non ‘ad to come from somewhere.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Milner said, a faint smack suggesting he’d cuffed the first airman around the head, “Captain Laurence an’ the girl ‘ave both made it clear she’s not his bastard. ‘Sides, they look nothin’ alike.”
“E’s a nob,” the first airman insisted, “Nobs all ‘ave bastards.”
“You’ve been listenin’ to Rankin again, haven’t you?” Milner said, and Laurence turned enough to see the stocky man shaking his head, “Nothing good ever comes o’ that. ‘As Captain Laurence ever said anythin’ but exactly what he thinks about any given matter? Don’t forget why the harness-men are taking care of Levitas now?”
“True, true,” the third man said, nodding earnestly, “Captain Thunderhead has a tongue like a right lash if everything isn’t in its place; I thought he was about fit to strangle Loffy the one time ‘e signaled wrong with the bells.”
“Most scared I’ve ever been,” the first aviator, Loffy apparently, said while shaking his head, “Those lightning-bolt eyes are worse starin’ you down than the jowls of a Flamme-de-gloire.”
“I still don’ unnerstand how a strict navy man like ‘im managed to harness a Dragon,” the third aviator said, shaking his head before taking a draught of his ale, “‘Specially a kind one like Temeraire.”
There is my opening, Laurence decided, rising from his seat and moving to strike with all the decisiveness of a man twenty years experienced in the military.
“It is a tale I would be happy to share,” Laurence declared, seating himself opposite Milner at the small table they occupied, “If you would but care to ask.”
All three of the airmen froze, Loffy’s eyes going wide enough that for a moment, Laurence could believe the enlisted man really did find him more frightening than a fire-breathing Dragon. All three of them hesitated in formulating their response to Laurence’s sudden arrival, and once again he decided to take the initiative.
“Barkeep!” Laurence called, his voice cutting clearly through the crowd noise of the half-full pub, “Another round for my companions here, from the third cask.”
Loffy became frightfully still, the third airman (whose name Laurence still had not caught) shifted nervously, and Milner sized Laurence up thoughtfully.
“Captain Laurence,” he said respectfully, “I must confess I have never seen you out of uniform before.”
“I do believe this is the first day outside the sabbath that I have been out of uniform since I came to Loch Laggan,” Laurence replied, “It is good to loosen the tight demands of discipline, and relax with comrades in arms from time to time, isn’t it?”
“So it is,” Milner agreed, slowly smiling as the barmaid came by with a round of the pub’s finer brew, “And I’d be muchly pleased to hear of how you harnessed Temeraire.”
The other two at the table looked much less pleased than Milner, but trapped by a combination of shame at being caught in their gossip, and social obligation to the man that had just spent good silver on their drinks, they sat still and listened.
Perhaps, Laurence mused wryly, they hope that Milner will keep my attention upon himself.
“The tale of how I came to harness Temeraire requires some context,” Laurence began, “Firstly, you must understand that I am somewhat lacking in perspective when it comes to Captaincy in the Aviation Corps, given the only Captains I have seen more than in passing are myself, Harcourt, Rankin, and Berkley. I should think this is not a representative selection of Captains amongst the corps.”
“Tis not,” Milner said, shaking his head, “By the reckoning and customs of the corps, neither Rankin nor you are ‘proper’ Captains in the first place. Harcourt is young, but Captains’ a Longwing, so there’s nothing to be done; Berkley is much like what you might expect to see in the rest of the corps, his odd mannerisms aside.”
He watched Laurence closely as he said aloud what had been mostly left silent since Laurence had been forced out of the Navy. When Laurence simply nodded in acknowledgment rather than react with poor temper, Milner saluted him with his flagon, before taking a sip and smiling at the fine flavor.
“I joined the Navy when I was twelve years of age,” Laurence said, “I spent a year as a cabin boy, then three as a midshipman before becoming a proper officer. I was closer to thirty than twenty before I earned my Captaincy, and I miss the Reliant as dearly as I imagine many of you miss Dragons you have served upon in the past.”
“I didn’t know you were a Captain in the Navy,” Milner said, respect growing in his eyes, “A Ship of the Line?”
“No,” Laurence said, shaking his head, “The Reliant is a fine Frigate, and it was her excellent speed that lead to Temeraire and I meeting. Last Summer, while patrolling off the West coast of Africa, we came upon a French vessel, the Amitie, and ran it down in the wake of a storm…”
Like most any career soldier, Laurence had learned a way of telling stories, and while he lacked the flamboyant touches that some added to a tale, it was his personal opinion that sticking to the truth was a finer drama than any fantasy. After all, no matter that the Amitie’s crew had been weak from disease, they had fought with fierce tenacity, and the Reliant’s crew had won victory all the same.
As the story unfolded, Laurence could see that the three airmen were being sucked into the retelling, and they were very nearly spellbound when he came to the moment of Temeraire’s hatching.
“...And out comes Temeraire,” Laurence declared, “And immediately demands to know why we were all standing around looking at him. Asking questions the moment he hatched was most certainly an appropriate way for him to begin, as he has continued in such a manner ever since.”
“That he has, Captain,” Milner said, toasting Laurence once more with his freshly-refilled flagon, “I’ve no’ yet heard him stop asking questions while e’s awake an’ off duty.”
“Quite,” Laurence said, “We had originally intended for Temeraire to select a Captain from among the other officers or senior enlisted among the Reliant’s crew, but he bypassed them all to approach me, and asked me for a name.”
“Temeraire chose you?” Milner said, leaning forward in his chair.
“He did,” Laurence said, nodding sharply, “In truth, I would have preferred to remain with the Reliant, but knowing Britain’s great need for Dragons, duty compelled me to hand the Captaincy of Reliant over to Lieutenant Riley.”
Milner studied Laurence thoughtfully for a few moments before speaking again.
“Yeh seem very fond o’ Temeraire fer someone only bound by duty,” he said.
“Duty compelled me at first,” Laurence said, “In time, friendship also came to bind me to Temeraire’s side. It takes time for friendship to form, but mutual service is one of the finest glues for binding such, one brother in arms to another.”
“I’ll drink to tha’,” Milner said, raising his flagon yet again, “So you’ve mentioned Non a few times in the tale so far, how’d you find out she was a girl?”
“The first time I saw her with a clean face,” Laurence said dryly, “It became quite clear. Once I knew, of course it was quite impossible for her to remain on the Reliant, as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and so I took her into my service as a maidservant when we disembarked at Madeira. I offered her a number of opportunities at a more suitable life, but she would have none of it, and after the Aviation Corps' execrable conduct during our first meeting-”
“Their what?” Loffy asked, clearly now well-and truly sloshed as he interrupted Laurence for the first time since the story had begun.
“Their horrid behavior,” Laurence said, his expression tightening somewhat at memory, “They attempted to force a new Captain on Temeraire, telling him lies about me abandoning him, and filled Non’s head with ideas about flying just when I was on the verge of convincing her to take a safe position in the household of a friend of mine in Gibraltar.”
“Temeraire refused another Captain?” Milner said, his eyes sharp.
“He accused the man of being French,” Laurence said tartly, “To hear Non’s retelling of it.”
Milner burst out into uproarious laughter at that, laughing until he wheezed, then downing the entirety of his flagon in one go, before reaching out to clasp Laurence’s hand.
“Ne’er a fouler insult than being accused of bein’ a frog,” Milner chortled, “It has indeed been my pleasure to hear your story this day, and when the time comes, I hope you’ll choose me for your crew.”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” Laurence said, shaking his hand firmly in return.
((()))
As they returned to the Dragon paddock, Harcourt and Non found that Temeraire was still waiting there, with Roland haltingly reading aloud to him from a treatise on aerial buoyancy.
“Did the Cap’n say when e’d be back?” Non asked as Lily started loading up their purchases.
“Laurence did not expect to return until quite late,” Temeraire replied, conspicuously glancing around before continuing, “He wished to allow the crew to ‘wet their noses,’ which I understand is traditionally an activity that stretches into the late evening.”
“He’s letting them get drunk,” Harcourt said with some confusion, “I wouldn’t have expected it of him.”
“Ev’ry sailor needs time t’ get drunk,” Non said, “As th' Cap’n said, make sure they did it off-duty.”
“I suppose he did at that,” Harcourt said, “Well, no point in dallying to wait for him then. Roland, would you like to return with us?”
“I’ll keep reading for Temeraire,” Roland said, waving the book briefly, “Thanks for the offer though, Captain Harcourt.”
“Very good,” Harcourt said, “Let’s go then, Non.”
“...I should probably stay too,” Non said, eyes on Temeraire as he pretended not to watch her possessively around Lily, “Roland’s nae used to readin’ for long, she’ll wear her voice out.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Temeraire said eagerly, “Roland is learning nicely, but she’s not as good as you or Laurence, of course, and there are some words she simply doesn’t know at all.”
“Well then,” Harcourt said, not quite managing to keep all the amusement from her voice as she mounted up on Lily, “I’ll entrust Non to your care, Temeraire, and see you back at the Loch; goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Captain Harcourt,” all three of the others said.
((()))
When Laurence returned to the Dragon paddock, with much of the rest of the crew in tow that night, Non, for the first time since she had met him, found out what Laurence was like when drunk.
It truly made little difference; in large part because he was far too uptight to get more than slightly drunk.
“Temeraire,” Laurence said cordially as he approached, “Non. Roland. I trust that you are well?”
“Quite,” Temeraire said, “It has been fascinating seeing the city light up as night fell. I don’t suppose I could go in and visit?”
“...Perhaps after we can give adequate warning,” Laurence said, moving up to stroke Temeraire’s muzzle in an open display of affection, “So that the local authorities may make an announcement. We wouldn’t want to frighten the good people of Inverness.”
“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” Temeraire agreed, leaning in to Laurence’s touch, “Laurence, why do you smell like Rum and Wine?”
Laurence laughed at that, a short, sharp sound that had more than a few of the enlisted started slightly in shock.
Non just smiled and moved to mount up alongside her Cap’n.
((()))
AN: As I've said in prior AN's, there's not a huge amount of plot divergence from the canon in this, which is why I've been trying to focus on developing other story bits (and obviously Non) rather than what got the attention in His Majesty's Dragon. Obviously there's some divergence, but it won't be until the second book (if I ever write that far with this) that the plot more completely changes.
Next chapter should wrap up time in Loch Lagan.
