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anteros_lmcTitle: Recant
Author: Anteros
Characters: Hornblower, (Kennedy), Bush
Rating: R
Spoilers: Mutiny & Retribution
Notes: No slash, no smut, no kink. Just good old fashioned angst. With added Bush for good measure. This is really a follow up to Impression which I posted way back in December.
and I will hear in a room by myself
a ghost or two ceaselessly moving,
the ghost of each error, the ghost of each guilt,
the ghost of each time I walked past
a wounded man on a stony road,
the ghost of nothingness scrutinising
my dumb room with distant face,
I
Captain Horatio Hornblower was standing on the weather side of the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back, one finger flickering restlessly, feet apart braced easily against the roll of the ship, eyes forward, fixed on the horizon, and he was cursing Archie Kennedy. Cursing him silently and sincerely, as he did every day, as he had done every day for longer than he cared to remember. Cursing him for having lived, and for having died. "Damn it Archie, why did you have to go?" Then he recanted. As he did every day.
He often wondered how Kennedy would have judged Captain Hornblower but he was not man enough to face the answer. And what kind of man would he have been had Archie lived? What kind of captain? Foolishness. Kennedy was gone and so was the man that Hornblower might have been.
The man he was now the usages of the navy had made him. Hornblower knew this. He knew he had chosen the cowardly path, to hide behind the implacable facade of Admiralty duty and honour. It was a sham but he was afraid to step out from behind that facade. Afraid to look that man full in the face. Afraid that a single glimpse would breach the facade and bring the entire edifice tumbling down.
Kennedy had completed him. Had completed that younger, braver self before the arbitrary nature of naval law and Admiralty justice had opened his eyes to the true nature of duty and service and command. Before he'd seen the tarnish on the swab.
II
He continued to scan the horizon. Always looking forward, never looking back, always moving on, with a driven restless energy. Always trying to get away. But he could never put enough distance between them. Between the here and now and what might have been.
He had expected the pain to lessen, the wound to heal but it hadn't. It just became part of him. It left a space inside, an emptiness that would not be filled. Just as some men carry a bullet in shoulder or thigh, a reminder of an engagement that almost ended their life. The wound might ache in the damp and the cold but most carried that metal with pride, a reminder of their good fortune in living. But he felt no pride, and if this was good fortune?
It was the futility he still could not accept. It was a senseless death. If only Kennedy had died when Simpson cut the rope, or had failed to outrun the spark on the bridge or had died right there in his arms on the deck of Renown. Another bright soul lost gloriously in battle. But it hadn't been glorious it had been sordid and ignominious and unnecessary. If only Buckland had been more vigilant, the marine less .....
He could still remember it vividly, as if he was still there, as if he'd never left that precise moment. Why had he not known? Why had he not known immediately that Archie was dying? He had just sat there, ignorant, unseeing, rebuking him while he choked on his own blood. And he hadn't even noticed. If only he had seen, if only he had noticed then maybe.... But the time for maybe had passed before he had even noticed.
His words, that day tormented him endlessly. "Why?" An accusation, followed by graceless platitudes. Faced with the ultimate sacrifice he had not had the courage to speak. And so his silence haunted him. Silence and emptiness filling the spaces between duty and command. Sometimes in the dark of his cabin he let the shape of that emptiness hold him. As he had held him.
III
Bush never spoke of Kennedy. He didn't have to, he was a living reminder of his absence. At times Hornblower fancied he caught Bush looking at him accusingly. But that was an injustice, he knew what he saw was the reflection of his own failure.
A fierce jealousy gnawed at him without respite. More than anything, Hornblower wanted to know what had passed those last watches of the night. He coveted those final hours Bush had spent with Kennedy. It should have been him. He should have been there. Why hadn't Bush stopped him? That was futile. Hornblower knew Bush couldn't have stopped him. Nothing and no one could have stopped Kennedy any more than one man could stop the tide from turning or a river from flowing to the sea. That infamous damn stubbornness.
Of what had passed that final night Bush said nothing, kept close council. He was a guarded man, in perpetual storm trim. But like a cautiously rigged ship he could weather any storm. And weather he did. Impetuous squalls around the Mediterranean, the long rolling storms of the Atlantic, furious demented hurricanes in the tropics and the colder, more bitter storms of the captain's ire.
Bush was like a shuttered lantern, light and warmth shielded inside. To be called on when required, there when needed. Whereas Kennedy had shone like a beacon. But it was the same light, the same strength.
IV
Hornblower had never been easy with other men. Initially his reserve had set him apart, now rank bolstered the barricades. His first captain, Keene, had shown as little insight in this as in all else. A man of war, a vessel of hundreds of souls, was the perfect place to find solitude. He had only to ship his quarterdeck face to be alone. Truly the position of captain was a station of isolation.
Oh he knew his men were true, knew that they admired him, trusted him, loved him in their way. Knew they would die for him. But he didn't want anyone else to die for him. He had enough blood on his hands. Pointless. They were at war after all.
It had been different with Archie. He didn't have to try. Right from the first. He didn't have to do anything, he could just be. And he didn't have to be anyone. Not the earnest midshipman, the conscientious lieutenant, the upright captain, the dutiful husband. Lord how had that transpired? He could just be himself. And Archie had drawn him out, shown him facets of himself that he had never dreamed existed. But they were gone, just as he was gone. Hornblower knew that he would never again stand shaking on the quarterdeck, trying desperately not to lose his composure and dissolve into unseemly fits of laughter as Mr Kennedy stood aft with a look of utter guileless innocence. But what need had a captain of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy of laugher anyway? What need had he? It was simply conduct unbecoming. Yes, what need had he?
V
Kennedy's voice still haunted him. Light, so light. But Archie had never been afraid to speak, had never been afraid to put into words all the things that Hornblower observed but lacked the courage to voice. The folly of a futile mission, a captain's madness, the fine line between injustice and discipline. And other things, other things; friendship and love and need and want and please and god. Words that would never pass his lips.
The hardest thing was the simple absence. The fact that Archie just wasn't there. Months passed, years now, and Hornblower still expected to turn around and find him there. There was no eye to catch and that pained him the most. Even now he looked for that blue flash of assent or caution or amusement. But it wasn't there. Archie was gone.
Instead he met a cool blue grey gaze, with all the hidden depth of a winter sky.
The passage at the beginning of this piece is from Iain Chrichton Smith's poem A' Dol Dhachaidh or Going Home.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Hornblower, (Kennedy), Bush
Rating: R
Spoilers: Mutiny & Retribution
Notes: No slash, no smut, no kink. Just good old fashioned angst. With added Bush for good measure. This is really a follow up to Impression which I posted way back in December.
and I will hear in a room by myself
a ghost or two ceaselessly moving,
the ghost of each error, the ghost of each guilt,
the ghost of each time I walked past
a wounded man on a stony road,
the ghost of nothingness scrutinising
my dumb room with distant face,
I
Captain Horatio Hornblower was standing on the weather side of the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back, one finger flickering restlessly, feet apart braced easily against the roll of the ship, eyes forward, fixed on the horizon, and he was cursing Archie Kennedy. Cursing him silently and sincerely, as he did every day, as he had done every day for longer than he cared to remember. Cursing him for having lived, and for having died. "Damn it Archie, why did you have to go?" Then he recanted. As he did every day.
He often wondered how Kennedy would have judged Captain Hornblower but he was not man enough to face the answer. And what kind of man would he have been had Archie lived? What kind of captain? Foolishness. Kennedy was gone and so was the man that Hornblower might have been.
The man he was now the usages of the navy had made him. Hornblower knew this. He knew he had chosen the cowardly path, to hide behind the implacable facade of Admiralty duty and honour. It was a sham but he was afraid to step out from behind that facade. Afraid to look that man full in the face. Afraid that a single glimpse would breach the facade and bring the entire edifice tumbling down.
Kennedy had completed him. Had completed that younger, braver self before the arbitrary nature of naval law and Admiralty justice had opened his eyes to the true nature of duty and service and command. Before he'd seen the tarnish on the swab.
II
He continued to scan the horizon. Always looking forward, never looking back, always moving on, with a driven restless energy. Always trying to get away. But he could never put enough distance between them. Between the here and now and what might have been.
He had expected the pain to lessen, the wound to heal but it hadn't. It just became part of him. It left a space inside, an emptiness that would not be filled. Just as some men carry a bullet in shoulder or thigh, a reminder of an engagement that almost ended their life. The wound might ache in the damp and the cold but most carried that metal with pride, a reminder of their good fortune in living. But he felt no pride, and if this was good fortune?
It was the futility he still could not accept. It was a senseless death. If only Kennedy had died when Simpson cut the rope, or had failed to outrun the spark on the bridge or had died right there in his arms on the deck of Renown. Another bright soul lost gloriously in battle. But it hadn't been glorious it had been sordid and ignominious and unnecessary. If only Buckland had been more vigilant, the marine less .....
He could still remember it vividly, as if he was still there, as if he'd never left that precise moment. Why had he not known? Why had he not known immediately that Archie was dying? He had just sat there, ignorant, unseeing, rebuking him while he choked on his own blood. And he hadn't even noticed. If only he had seen, if only he had noticed then maybe.... But the time for maybe had passed before he had even noticed.
His words, that day tormented him endlessly. "Why?" An accusation, followed by graceless platitudes. Faced with the ultimate sacrifice he had not had the courage to speak. And so his silence haunted him. Silence and emptiness filling the spaces between duty and command. Sometimes in the dark of his cabin he let the shape of that emptiness hold him. As he had held him.
III
Bush never spoke of Kennedy. He didn't have to, he was a living reminder of his absence. At times Hornblower fancied he caught Bush looking at him accusingly. But that was an injustice, he knew what he saw was the reflection of his own failure.
A fierce jealousy gnawed at him without respite. More than anything, Hornblower wanted to know what had passed those last watches of the night. He coveted those final hours Bush had spent with Kennedy. It should have been him. He should have been there. Why hadn't Bush stopped him? That was futile. Hornblower knew Bush couldn't have stopped him. Nothing and no one could have stopped Kennedy any more than one man could stop the tide from turning or a river from flowing to the sea. That infamous damn stubbornness.
Of what had passed that final night Bush said nothing, kept close council. He was a guarded man, in perpetual storm trim. But like a cautiously rigged ship he could weather any storm. And weather he did. Impetuous squalls around the Mediterranean, the long rolling storms of the Atlantic, furious demented hurricanes in the tropics and the colder, more bitter storms of the captain's ire.
Bush was like a shuttered lantern, light and warmth shielded inside. To be called on when required, there when needed. Whereas Kennedy had shone like a beacon. But it was the same light, the same strength.
IV
Hornblower had never been easy with other men. Initially his reserve had set him apart, now rank bolstered the barricades. His first captain, Keene, had shown as little insight in this as in all else. A man of war, a vessel of hundreds of souls, was the perfect place to find solitude. He had only to ship his quarterdeck face to be alone. Truly the position of captain was a station of isolation.
Oh he knew his men were true, knew that they admired him, trusted him, loved him in their way. Knew they would die for him. But he didn't want anyone else to die for him. He had enough blood on his hands. Pointless. They were at war after all.
It had been different with Archie. He didn't have to try. Right from the first. He didn't have to do anything, he could just be. And he didn't have to be anyone. Not the earnest midshipman, the conscientious lieutenant, the upright captain, the dutiful husband. Lord how had that transpired? He could just be himself. And Archie had drawn him out, shown him facets of himself that he had never dreamed existed. But they were gone, just as he was gone. Hornblower knew that he would never again stand shaking on the quarterdeck, trying desperately not to lose his composure and dissolve into unseemly fits of laughter as Mr Kennedy stood aft with a look of utter guileless innocence. But what need had a captain of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy of laugher anyway? What need had he? It was simply conduct unbecoming. Yes, what need had he?
V
Kennedy's voice still haunted him. Light, so light. But Archie had never been afraid to speak, had never been afraid to put into words all the things that Hornblower observed but lacked the courage to voice. The folly of a futile mission, a captain's madness, the fine line between injustice and discipline. And other things, other things; friendship and love and need and want and please and god. Words that would never pass his lips.
The hardest thing was the simple absence. The fact that Archie just wasn't there. Months passed, years now, and Hornblower still expected to turn around and find him there. There was no eye to catch and that pained him the most. Even now he looked for that blue flash of assent or caution or amusement. But it wasn't there. Archie was gone.
Instead he met a cool blue grey gaze, with all the hidden depth of a winter sky.
The passage at the beginning of this piece is from Iain Chrichton Smith's poem A' Dol Dhachaidh or Going Home.
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no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 05:33 pm (UTC)Nothing and no one could have stopped Kennedy any more than one man could stop the tide from turning or a river from flowing to the sea. That infamous damn stubbornness.
Probably my favourite line -- it's an excellent assessment of Archie's character, and it's one of the things I find most intriguing about Archie and Horatio's relationship. They're both highly persistent, strong and stubborn in their own ways, yet their strengths complement each other instead of causing them to conflict. Part of why they work so well together.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 08:45 pm (UTC)I know *sigh* And you're right it's not his fault, although it's easy to understand where the guilt comes from.
They're both highly persistent, strong and stubborn in their own ways
Yes, definitely!! In fact I actually had another paragraph about this aspect of their characters but I cut it out as I think it'll sit better in a different fic. I so agree that they both seem to share the same sheer bloody minded stubbornness.
Hope this wasn't too miserable for a Friday night!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 11:03 pm (UTC)Yes ... And what makes it almost worst is, I can't say I'd react any differently -- nor, I think, would a lot of people. So it's quite understandable, and yet, it still makes for frustration as I so wish he could forgive himself!
I think it'll sit better in a different fic.
You know I'll be waiting expectantly now ...
No, not too miserable, just tearful enough to require a hot chocolate to sustain me. Chocolate cures all.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 12:28 am (UTC)That's the thing about grief isn't it? It's so rational and irrational at the same time and there's so little you can do about it. (Not that I'm speaking from personal experience I hasten to add.)
You know I'll be waiting expectantly now ...
Hmmm I had a different fic lined up to write next. Maybe I should do a poll ;)
just tearful enough to require a hot chocolate to sustain me. Chocolate cures all.
Hope the chocolate worked!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 03:15 am (UTC)That's exactly it! It's pretty much an unavoidable reaction, whether or not it objectively makes sense. The guilt, the anger, the jealousy, are all things that would plausibly be felt by any person in that scenario. The fact that it's Horatio probably increases the guilt part tenfold.
Aah, whatever you write will be read eagerly. As long as there's Horatio and at least mention of Archie!
Chocolate usually does help. Worked this time.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 09:47 pm (UTC)There's three things I love about this. First there's the burst of anger from Horatio, which is a big part of grief. Then there's the discription of Horatio's grief as being like a space missing inside him, which again I think is spot on.
Thirdly is the Bush stuff, and how there's always this barrier between them, and how Archie was, eh, the jam in thier sandwich?
That'd probably sound more profound without a jam metaphor...
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 09:59 pm (UTC)Awww, I didn't did I? Actually that means we're quits because your Modern AU made me bawl.
Horatio's grief as being like a space missing inside him
It's that sheer incomprehensible impossibility of someone who was so alive, just ceasing to exist. How can you fill a space like that?
the Bush stuff, and how there's always this barrier between them
Ah yes, the Bush stuff. I could have written a _lot_ more about that. More later.
probably sound more profound without a jam metaphor...
Jam can be profound. But only if it's posh French jam.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 10:16 pm (UTC)Well just remember that you encouraged me in my 'the Masons try and and take Richard off them' plot bunny.
It's that sheer incomprehensible impossibility of someone who was so alive, just ceasing to exist. How can you fill a space like that?
Archie's death remains the TV death that upset me the most. There's just something so unsettling about it, perhaps because that's how millions of young men have died.
But only if it's posh French jam.
I suspect Archie's more an Asda jam pretending to be Robertson's.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 10:32 pm (UTC)Shit, I did didn't I? Better stock up on hankies. But remember you also promised that you wouldn't let Horatio cheat a third time!
There's just something so unsettling about it, perhaps because that's how millions of young men have died.
Definitely. And I think the fact that it was such a futile death in many respects makes it all the more tragic. Despite the fact he got Horatio off the hook.
Asda jam pretending to be Robertson's.
Tsk!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 10:39 pm (UTC)Horatio is indeed a reformed character, like Horatio could pull a Barbara twice. :P
Despite the fact he got Horatio off the hook.
Or Horatio could have said Sawyer fell, Archie could have gotten better and one day they could have owned a pompous and demanding pet!
Actually, I think Archie's more a marmalade. It's the orangey bits.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-26 10:46 pm (UTC)I thought Horatio _was_ the pompous and demanding pet?
It's the orangey bits.
Enough!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 12:01 am (UTC)Favourite bits:
Nothing and no one could have stopped Kennedy any more than one man could stop the tide from turning or a river from flowing to the sea. That infamous damn stubbornness.
Yes. And now I'm wondering, had he lived, whether he wouldn't have had increasing difficulties reconciling that side of himself with the constraints of naval discipline.
And this is lovely and perfectly them:
And he didn't have to be anyone. Not the earnest midshipman, the conscientious lieutenant, the upright captain, the dutiful husband. Lord how had that transpired? He could just be himself.
Because yes, Horatio didn't just lose his dearest friend, he also lost that chance of being himself. He plays so many roles over the years - but they're just that - parts that he plays, incredibly successfully - in response to other people's expectations. So terribly sad for both of them. And now I've got a lump in my throat!
PS In part IV, 3rd para, fifth line - that should be "lose".
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 12:20 am (UTC)Definitely. If Archie had lived I don't think he would have tolerated Admiralty discipline and "justice" a moment longer.
Because yes, Horatio didn't just lose his dearest friend, he also lost that chance of being himself. He plays so many roles over the years - but they're just that - parts that he plays, incredibly successfully - in response to other people's expectations.
Beautifully put. And so very, very true. In some ways I think Archie gives Horatio a chance of a kind of freedom but with his death that chance is taken away from him for good.
So glad you liked this. Thank you for your very thoughtful and moving comments (and also for spotting that pesky typo :) and apologies for causing the lump in your throat!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 03:09 am (UTC)I agree! And I wonder what effect that would've had on a) his career and b) his relationship with Horatio. Because at the start they're both quite eager about the whole Navy thing ... but I can see that changing on Archie's part ... I wonder what would have happened?
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 02:42 pm (UTC)Well that's the question than has inspired some of the most inventive fic in this fandom isn't it?
In terms of realistic LKUs I adore Miss Kittie's personal canon. H&A leave the navy and stay together but it's hardly plain sailing or happy ever after. I also think
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 02:46 am (UTC)But do you know this?
I held the memory of you, and wove
Its laughter with the dancing light o' the spray,
And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love,
And sent you following the white waves of sea,
And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth,
Stray buds from that old dust of misery,
Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth.
So lightly I played with those dark memories,
Just as a child, beneath the summer skies,
Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone,
For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old,
And love has been betrayed, and murder done,
And great kings turned to a little bitter mould.
Its lesser known Rupert Brooke - thought of it immediately when read " recant" and indeed thinking of your having been in Cambridge this week.
Brooke died in an French hospital ship of blood poisoning - had he lived, his fate would have been to have fought at Gallipolli.
Of his death, his great friend who was with him when he died wrote :
“ ...I sat with Rupert. At 4 o’clock he became weaker, and at 4.46 he died, with the sun shining all round his cabin, and the cool sea-breeze blowing through the door and the shaded windows
not the heat of Kingston, but the beauty of the Aegean- but just as senseless
thank yoo so much- especially as this is a night the medication malfunctions and I am destined to stay awake !And now the Lj system refuses to let me tag anything, so any fic can't even go up on my journal page. " I despair,I really do..."
H
Ps the icon I made in honour of Recant. It is the sun on the stone floor of Imber church, where my family lived at least as long ago as 1667.Imber is an entire village sacrifriced to war and to MOD politics and expediency( see www.foreverimber.org) Last Easter Monday I went there for the first time ...it is a profoundly sad and lovely place.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 02:53 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the Rupert Brooke, I haven't read this before and it's very, very fitting. Beautiful. Incidentally the Iain Crichton Smith poem that opens this is actually about returning to the Outer Hebrides after the war but thinking of the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
the icon I made in honour of Recant. It is the sun on the stone floor of Imber church
I'm honoured! Imber eh? Very interesting....more later.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 10:11 am (UTC)Well, esmerelda_t has said it all.
It’s sad to think that when Archie died, it was not just one person that disappeared but two. It’s weird how in the blink of an eye, a whole future can just be wiped out and another, alternative one take it place. One event, one moment is all it takes sometimes.
Poor, poor Horatio. It's a good thing that I often get impatient with his constant inner drama and whining, otherwise he'd break my heart! ;)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 02:46 pm (UTC)And that's the real tragedy of Kingston isn't it?
in the blink of an eye, a whole future can just be wiped out
Oh dear, now you're going to make me cry!
otherwise he'd break my heart!
Awww sweetie. *hugs
no subject
Date: 2010-03-28 10:14 am (UTC)Oh dear, now you're going to make me cry!
Sorry! But it's your own fault. You had to write such a sad story! :p
no subject
Date: 2010-03-28 09:51 am (UTC)why indeed?
This is just heartbreaking to me, although I'm not quite sure why. Maybe its simply the thought of Horatio going on loving and hurting for who knows how long and never really finding peace again.
It feels like this is just one of the too many regrets Horatio has when it comes to Archie and how he died. Like after so many years Horatio hasn't reconciled himself to even the less significant parts of it all. But I guess that's what regret is.
I really like the ideas about Horatio's isolation from those around him too, how Archie gave him a connection to the rest of the world on an emotional level, and when he loses Archie he actually loses that human connection too.
Sorry to be so wordy, I'm overthinking other people's fic in lieu of writing my own!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-28 04:20 pm (UTC)That's definitely how I see Horatio. Perhaps that will change once I've read the books but I just can't imagine how one could ever find peace after a sacrifice like that.
after so many years Horatio hasn't reconciled himself to even the less significant parts of it all
I think when faced with such a devastating and incomprehensible loss it's often the smallest remembrances that cause the greatest pain.
how Archie gave him a connection to the rest of the world on an emotional level, and when he loses Archie he actually loses that human connection too.
So very, very true. I think you've expressed that much more clearly than I did!
Sorry to be so wordy
Not at all. I'm very touched by your insightful comments and really appreciate you sharing your thoughts. *Thank you*
no subject
Date: 2010-05-13 10:34 pm (UTC)I especially like the bit where Hornblower wishes Archie had died a death more glourious and noble. Such a Hornblower thing, to hold honour so important that losing Archie sooner would have been better.
This is going on my all-time favourites list.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-13 11:46 pm (UTC)This was something that I had in my drafts folder for months, I just kept adding to it, slowly building it up. I really don't think Hornblower would ever come to terms with the way Archie died and this is how I thought he'd react. There's no getting away from that depth of grief, all you can do is learn to live with it.
I'd funny you should comment on this now as I've been thinking of writing a sort-of-sequel to this from Bush's perspective.
Thanks again for stopping by to read and to comment. _Really_ appreciate it *hugs*