LordsFire
Internet Wizard
AN: So, this story is very much meant to be read by those who've read His Majesty's Dragon. It operates on the assumption that the reader has, and unlike some of my other projects, does not try to introduce completely unfamiliar readers to the setting; it actually somewhat relies on knowing the arcs of the first novel.
As per usual with my work, there will be some degree of expanding on the background of the setting, and trying to make it a bit more rational. The basic setup of Temeraire is pretty reasonable (once you accept the 'dragon air force' premise), even if the later books started getting silly, so don't expect huge deviations from the canon of the first book.
The title is chosen because I believe a large portion of the appeal of the first book, is because of Laurence's integrity.
Please forgive the terrible attempts at accent, but I wanted to make that a more 'real' thing in this.
((()))
Captain William Laurence of the HMS Reliant wasn't prone to paying overly-much attention to his ship's cabin boys; unless they were attending to his own cabin, that was the Bosun's duty, much as seeing to the tutelage of the Midshipmen was Laurence's.
Not noticing 'Non' would have been rather difficult, given the lad's violently red hair, thick Scottish brogue, and the very methodical beating he laid upon one of the other cabin boys not long after their departure.
“I am not accustomed to needing to discipline cabin boys,” Laurence said, staring down at Non, “In case you were unaware, this is not something you should desire either.”
“Ae unnerstan', Cap'n,” Non replied, staring fixedly down at the deck, “Whut'll me pounishmen' be?”
“I have not yet decided,” Laurence said, rising from his chair to begin walking slowly around Non, “If I had not seen the fight myself, perhaps I'd simply order you five lashes and be done with it. But you beat Eustace with a certain precision which suggests this was not just a fit of temper. Why did you start a scrap with a fellow member of the crew, Non?”
“Ae dun like bein' tuched,” Non replied, not seeming the least unsettled by Laurence's circling, “An' ae told him t' get his hand off. If he won' listen, an' grabs a secon' time, I'll touch 'im with me fist.”
“Why did you keep hitting him?” Laurence demanded.
“This weren' the first time he won' let go,” Non said, still staring fixedly down at the deck, “One smack weren' learnin' him, so ae had t' make it a lesson.”
“And simply hitting him harder wouldn't do?” Laurence asked.
“If ah'd broke sumthin',” Non replied, “E'd not uv bin able t' do 'is duties.”
“And the reason you didn't take this to the Bosun?” Laurence pressed.
“An' tell 'im what?” Non said, glancing up for the first time, disbelief in his voice, “'E won't stop touchin' me?' This is a warship, not a parsonage!”
“A fair point,” Laurence said somewhat amused, “That still doesn't make it your place to discipline your shipmates. You're not an officer or a crew chief.”
“Ae'll take mah punishment,” Non said, staring at the deck again.
“Will you do it again?” Laurence pressed.
“If'n he won' stop touchin' me again,” Non said, “Someone needs t' learn 'im, and if it won' be an officer or th' Bosun, it'll be me.”
“I see,” Laurence said, stopping his pacing directly in front of Non and staring down at the skinny lad, and considering the situation at hand.
One crew-member touching another was hardly worth troubling the Bosun over, unless it entered into bizarre territory, and it would set an absurd precedent for the Captain to order such besides. That didn't mean involuntary contact was appropriate conduct either, so something needed to be done.
“Are you literate?” Laurence asked, before frowning slightly at his choice of words, “Meaning, can you read?”
“Ae can read, Cap'n,” Non replied.
“Do you know how to care for a uniform?” Laurence asked.
Non nodded.
“It'll be five with the padded stick,” Laurence declared, naming the substitute for an outright whip customarily used on cabin boys or for very minor infractions from the crew, “And I'll see about having you assigned to my cabin; that should keep you away from trouble with Eustace or the other cabin boys.”
“Yes, Cap'n,” Non replied, the lad having gone quite stiff, but not trying to protest the punishment.
((()))
Non proved to be quite competent indeed with serving as something between a valet and a secretary for Laurence. He neither tried to escape his punishment nor complained afterwards, something which raised the lad in Laurence's esteem. Non proved not just capable of reading, but also of writing in a surprisingly legible hand for a boy of, in Laurence's estimation, no more than eight years. Within a week Laurence was quite content with the arrangement, and was slightly impressed with his ability to keep Laurence's uniforms properly cleaned and pressed, in spite of his seeming complete inability to keep himself clean.
Laurence knew from memories of his own childhood that little boys tended to get quite dirty, but Laurence didn't think he'd ever seen Non's face when it wasn't smeared with dirt, grease, or boot-black, and he had the most particularly ragged hair cut. Laurence suspected it was the result of attempts to shorten his hair enough that it would be less noticeable, but it would have taken a razor to completely hide such hair, and a bald child would draw attention (and likely harassment from his peers, given Non's track record) even more than obviously Scottish hair.
Non also had the unfortunate tendency to stiffen up slightly whenever Laurence came too close while they were alone in his cabin, which seeded suspicions that the lad had run away from an abusive home to join the navy. Being accustomed to violence would also explain why Non resorted to it so readily, but Laurence was confident that time under watchful eyes and good leadership would help him learn better when it was and was not appropriate.
All of this very much fell to the back of Laurence's mind when the Reliant came across the French ship Amitie one evening.
((()))
Thunder echoed outside the cabin, and the deck shuddered. Non lay curled into a ball beneath the Captain's desk, but managed to avoid flinching when a more distant roar marked the enemy ship firing off an answering volley.
The Reliant's hull shivered again, but wherever it'd been hit, no cannonball came anywhere near Non.
Cabin boys were considered too young to contribute directly to battle, though this had hardly been the first Non had experienced at sea, and one of the tasks they would be set about to 'keep them busy' was keeping watch over the logbook and charts in the Captain's cabin. Non found this quite preferable to serving as assistant to the ship's surgeon, even if the third time serving as such had been sufficient to quell the queasiness Non had experienced at the work.
There were any number of important documents and instruments kept in the Captain's cabin, and if there was a hit, it was Non's job to ensure they be saved from fire, being washed overboard, or any similar fate. Non had heard of, but not seen, battles where a cannonball struck the Captain's desk directly, destroying much of what was to be protected, and had no interest in experiencing such in person.
The Reliant's port broadside roared a second time, and Non braced for the return volley, but after long seconds of tense near-silence, none came. The silence went on so long that Non had started to wonder if the enemy ship had somehow already been sunk, when the Reliant fired a third volley.
“I guess this means we're winning,” Non whispered, wishing there was something more solid than an Oak desk to hide behind.
The enemy ship again failed to return fire, and a minute and some later, the entire hull of the Reliant bucked, scattering bits and bobs all about the cabin.
“Board her, lads!” Captain Laurence shouted, his stern voice of command clearly audible even through inches of hull and decking between the Captain and his cabin.
Non breathed a faint sigh of relief; in the boarding action the HMS Silverfish had experienced before Non had shifted to the Reliant, no heavy cannon had fired further after the boarding action had begun. Some carronades on the top deck had been used, but they had fired grapeshot not ball, and it was unlikely Non would have to worry about such while inside of the cabin.
That didn't mean that musket or pistol shot couldn't strike through the windows, so Non kept to a low crawl while skittering about the deck to collect what had been jarred loose by the two ships striking each other.
Gunshots, the clash of steel, and battlecries mixed with screams of pain outside on deck. Part of Non was glad not to be involved in the bloodshed, and part wished that the Bosun hadn't shut down attempts to practice with a pistol in the days right after Non had first boarded the Reliant. There was none amongst the crew that Non had any particular personal attachment to, but that didn't prevent the young cabin boy from feeling some desire to fight in their defense.
Blessedly, the action was almost shockingly short. In well under a quarter hour, the sounds of combat died down, and all that was left were the cries of the wounded and orders being shouted sharply. Orders in English, fortunately; Non did not fancy the personal consequences of the French. It only took a few minutes to finish putting the cabin in order, and if it weren't for Captain Laurence personally giving the order to stay in the cabin until an officer said otherwise, Non would have gone above to see what tasks could use another small set of hands to aid in.
Another quarter hour passed while Non tried to watch what was happening through the cabin windows.
“Non,” Laurence eventually called from the outside cabin doors, “Clear a space, two feet by two, beside my desk.”
Non set about the task swiftly, which mostly involved moving the rarely-opened chest that contained Laurence's dress uniform and other formal clothing. It wasn't terribly heavy, but Non wasn't terribly large, and it still took quite a bit of effort to move.
Only a few moments later, two members of the crew preceded Laurence into the cabin, carrying a crate stuffed with straw; once they gently put it down in the freshly cleared space, Non could see that a large egg-shaped-
“Is tha' a dragon egg?” Non asked, startled.
“Indeed it is,” Laurence said, waving the two crewmembers back out of the cabin, “And caring for it will be your primary responsibility from here on.”
“...Ae keep it warm 'n make sure it doan fall out've th' box?” Non asked, looking up at the Captain, a little confused.
“It is a rather simple task when described in such a way,” Laurence acknowledged, “But nonetheless extremely important. I shall be quite cross if you fail at this.”
“Doan worry 'bout it, Cap'n,” Non said, “Ae'll sleep righ' next t' it if'n need be.”
((()))
After getting only a few pages into one of the books on Dragons the ship's surgeon had on hand, Laurence felt constrained to make caring for the egg Non's primary duty. Dragon eggs were apparently sensitive to temperature, and there was no time to try to establish a hot-room to keep it in like the Amitie had hosted.
Instead, Non spent much of his time sweating beneath an improvised tent made from sail canvas, managing three oil lamps and their fuel supply to carefully sustain the temperature around the egg. The little tent set up on the floor of his cabin made the space noticeably warmer even for Laurence, and had a Dragon for His Magesty's Aviator Corps not been on the line, he would have opened several windows.
“I'm surprised you've not gone down to your breaches,” Laurence remarked one day, as Non squirmed out of the tent, sweat running down his face and making trails through his still grease-stained face.
“Ya're a proper sort, Cap'n,” Non replied, “Ae'd no' like a canin' fer shuckin' me shirt.”
“I'd not have you caned for such a common bit of impropriety,” Laurence said, shaking his head, “You're a cabin boy, not an officer.”
“Rules 'aught be th' same fer all,” Non said, shaking his head, “Else they's no kind o' rules.”
“That is true,” Laurence observed, “But in exceptional circumstances, less important rules may be relaxed for a time, and this heat is quite exceptional.”
“Ae'll be down t' me breaches when ye are, Cap'n,” Non replied, turning around to make sure the canvas wasn't touching the lamps directly anywhere.
Laurence smiled faintly at that before heading up onto deck to beginning to consider sponsoring the lad for a promotion to Midshipman.
((()))
Almost a week later, Non watched the egg as it started to hatch, feeling something between excitement and a sense of relief. Tales of what Dragons were like were common gossip more or less everywhere in both Britain and the Royal Navy; nobody outside of the Aviation Corps seemed to actually know what they were like though, especially when they hatched. Knowing the truth would be interesting, and Non was definitely looking forward to some less-interrupted sleep.
Non was laying low on the stairs up to the aft deck, where the egg had been moved once it started hatching, staying well out of the way but with a large bowl of meat on hand for once the hatching was completed. Captain Laurence was overseeing the entire affair of course, while Midshipman Carver stood close watch over the egg, and a handful of more reliable crewmen stood nearby in case something untoward should happen.
Non had good eyes, and could see when the first cracks appeared almost as quickly as the officers could, and for the first time in many years, experienced a sense of wonder.
The egg didn't break all at once; it took quite a bit of effort for the dragonet to force first one, then several holes into the shell. Part of the little creature's snout managed to poke through the larger of the two holes, and then it seemed to go into a downright frenzy as it determined to batter its way through now.
The egg rapidly disintegrated, releasing a pitch-black little dragonet to flop onto its side. Intelligent eyes cast around, and to the great surprise of everyone, it began to speak.
“Well hello there,” it said, “Why are the lot of you all standing around and looking at me?”
Midshipman Carver, Non knew, was supposed to be the one to harness the dragon, but instead the young man just stood there, mouth hanging open like a fool at having seen the dragon speak. Non knew that word had been passed about the ship that dragons were supposed to be capable of speech at hatching, and had in fact read the relevant passage of Doctor Pollitt's book aloud at Captain Laurence's behest.
But the boy was apparently a lackwit, and none of the others around had the spine to take the initiative, so it was left to the Captain to reply to the freshly-hatched dog-sized creature.
“We gathered to see you hatch,” Laurence said, “None of us has seen the birthing of so exceptional a creature as yourself. Pardon my manors; I am Will Laurence, Captain of the HMS Reliant; could I have your name?”
“I do not have a name,” the dragonet said, rearing up on its hind legs to stare Laurence in the face, “What is a 'Reliant'?”
“It is this ship upon which you stand,” the Captain replied, as inflappable as ever, “Would you like for me to give you a name?”
“I suppose I should not mind,” the dragonet said, looking away in a childish attempt to seem disinterested, one which Non thought even Carver would be able to see through.
The Captain stared down at the dragonet for a few moments. Even up on its hind legs, its tail stretched out to balance it, it wasn't as tall as a full-grown man, though it was perhaps as large as a full-grown hound, if not so full in the body.
“Temeraire,” Captain Laurence declared, “If you shall have it, I will call you Temeraire.”
“It isn't a disagreeable name,” Temeraire declared, “Now is there any chance of food? I am terribly hungry.”
The Captain nodded to Non, who proceed to heaved the large bowl of meat up onto the deck and bring it forward for the young dragonet to eat.
((()))
Later that evening, Temeraire took his second meal in Laurence's cabin, and he was much relieved that Non took to cleaning up after the mess the dragonet made without needing to be asked or ordered. Passing the command to Lieutenant Tom Riley was the right thing to do; the man would make a fine Captain, but Laurence mind was awhirl from the abrupt end to his naval career.
William Laurence was the second son of a landed noble, and while Lord Allendale had not approved of young Will Laurence running away to join the navy at thirteen, the man was reluctantly approving of the honors William's successful career had brought to the family name. The Amitie was not the first prize taken under Laurence's command, and between the taking of a dragon's egg, his own connections within the fleet, and the support of his father amongst the peerage, William had stood a very real chance of joining the admiralty.
If nothing else, the prize money from the Amitie and Temeraire's egg would have finally put him on solid enough financial ground to possibly marry.
Now all of that was in question, and Laurence knew very little of the new future awaiting him in the aerial corps, and he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it all.
“I know your voice,” Temeraire declared, drawing Laurence from his thoughts as Non set aside the bucket of wash-water and rag he'd been using, “Why do you speak differently from the rest of the crew?”
“Ae'm Scottish,” Non said, “And ae took care o' yer egg 'afore ye hatched.”
“What is 'Scottish?'” Temeraire asked.
“Britain is a united kingdom comprised of four constituent nations,” Laurence declared, glad of a distraction, “England, which I am native to, Scotland, where young Non is from, as well as Wales and Ireland, though they are little represented amongst the Reliant's crew.”
“Why not?” Temeraire asked.
“...I could not entirely say,” Laurence admitted, glancing at Non, “It is actually somewhat rare for Scotsmen to serve in the navy, though obviously not unheard of; usually they favor the aerial corps or marines for service.”
“Why?” Temeraire asked.
Laurence found himself unable to answer that question; he genuinely did not know why the English favored the sea more than the other peoples of Great Britain.
“'S because th' sea an' sun are nae kind t' Scots or Irish with fair skin,” Non said, “As me Da told me, 'why let the sun crisp yer skin on a ship, when ye can do it on th' back of a dragon?”
“And the Welsh?” Temeraire asked.
Non shrugged, and Temeraire turned his curious eyes to Laurence, who had a feeling that there would be a great many questions in his future that he could not readily answer.
((()))
Non found the next few days to be a bittersweet experience. Temeraire was a pleasant enough companion, and while immensely curious about everything around him, Captain Laurence was as diligent in attending to the dragon's needs and questions as he had been to captaining the Reliant. The dragonet slept quite a bit however, and this left the Captain with a fair bit of spare time on his hands; for whatever reason, he saw fit to spend a significant portion of his time on expanding Non's education.
“I passed the command to Tom Riley,” Captain Laurence explained when Non finally asked him about it, “Because he is a good officer, and in truth the Amitie should have been him. My own career in the navy is no excuse for not advancing his as best I may. It is no longer in my power to ensure, but when we make port, I will pass you into Tom's keeping, and ask him to sponsor you for promotion to Midshipman. You are altogether too sharp to become just another crewman.”
It was an incredibly generous act on the Captain's part, which both warmed Non and led to some discomfort in the amount of attention it involved. Combined with an immensely curious and naive proxy younger sibling to care for, it tugged at many painful memories of the past.
Unlike Non's flesh-and-blood siblings though, Temeraire lacked the sense to avoid revealing things that he should not.
((()))
“You are bleeding,” Temeraire said, sniffing about Non as the human cleaned himself, “Do you need Doctor Pollitt?”
“No,” Non said, his voice strange as he scrubbed hastily at his shoulders, before dipping the rag into the clean water in the bucket he usually used to clean Temeraire after meals, “Is' just a wee thing, no need t' worry 'bout it.”
“Aren't you supposed to bandage wounds?” Temeraire said with a frown.
“Th' wound is already covered,” Non said, “Ye doan need t' trouble yerself.”
Temeraire frowned and watched as Non continued with his swift scrub-down, facing away from the young dragonet, and decided to go and fetch Laurence; the Captain should know what to do about the injury, or failing that had the authority to call Doctor Pollitt.
((()))
Laurence was not terribly keen on being taken away from dining with Riley and the other officers, but keeping Temeraire from disturbing the crew was one of his primary responsibilities now.
“Do you know where this injury Non wishes to brush off is?” Laurence asked.
“Somewhere in his middle,” Temeraire said, noticeably anxious, “He tries to insist it's already bandaged, but Doctor Pollitt did not come by, so I do not see how that can be the case.”
Laurence was fairly confident it was some minor wound, and that Temeraire simply had a distorted understanding of how often the ship's surgeon's attention was needed, given Pollitt's fascination with dragons had brought him to visit daily since Temeraire had hatched.
“We shall see,” Laurence said as they reached the door to his cabin, pulling it open before stepping inside.
Non was in the process of yanking his shirt back over his head when Laurence entered, and stood quite abruptly from where he had been seated on a stool.
“Now what's this about you being wounded, Non?” Laurence asked.
The cabin boy turned to face him, then his eyes widened and his face went as white as a sheet, before he raised his hands to cover it so swiftly he slapped himself in the cheeks.
Laurence blinked, not entirely sure for a moment of what he had just seen; for the first time since he had laid eyes on the cabin boy, Non's face had been clean. It was covered now, but the memory of seeing it exposed was quite fresh, and connections started to form in Laurence's mind.
The feature's of Non's face weren't so much youthful and unformed, as they were delicate. Non wasn't just small, but slender, and bleeding from about the middle…
“How old are you?” Laurence demanded, swiftly shutting the door behind him before striding across the cabin.
Non remained tight-lipped, eyes flickering to the door, before he-she rapidly retreated backwards across the cabin to its edge, reaching behind to unlatch and then open one of the windows without taking her eyes off of Laurence.
With her face fully revealed again, Laurence could see that 'Non' was in fact quite a pretty girl; if her 'injury' was what he thought, she was also on the verge of becoming a young woman.
“How old are you?” Laurence demanded again.
Non still refused to answer, a hard look coming into her eyes, and as Laurence continued his approach, she raised one foot and stepped onto the window-sill.
“Whatever are you doing?” Temeraire demanded, “There's nothing out that window but the sea!”
Non moved her body halfway over the window-sill, and Laurence came to a dead stop a single pace out of arm's reach, suddenly making the unfortunate connection as to why she was halfway to throwing herself overboard.
“Eustace wasn't just 'touching' you, was he?” Laurence said stiffly.
Non shook her head slowly, still not saying a word.
“I will have the boy flogged,” Laurence said, a thunderous scowl growing on his face, “Now come down from there.”
Non shook he head again, more swiftly this time.
“You have never refused an order before,” Laurence said shortly, “Why do you refuse now?”
“Ae don' take no orders t' stay in a man's bedroom,” Non said, his accent noticeably thicker than usual, “Nae once they know 'm a lass no a lad.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Laurence said stiffly, “I am an officer and a gentleman.”
“Tha did no stop the Captain o' the Silverfish from tryin',” Non said, shaking her head a third time, “Why d'you think ae jumped ship?”
In a rare breach of composure, Laurence's hands clenched into fist, and he very much suspected that his face was starting to turn red. To the benefit of curbing his temper, Laurence turned sharply about, and marched over to his desk.
As usual since Non had begun managing his personal effects, the desk was in perfect order, with the writing utensils properly secured to prevent them from skittering about should Reliant come upon heavy seas.
“Get out of that window,” Laurence said sharply, “I'll not have a woman drown because of the indiscretion of a man on another ship. We need to get you safely back to Britain.”
“Yeh leave me on shore,” Non said, Laurence trying to gauge whether or not she had moved out of the window by the sound of her voice, “An ae might as well jump out th' window, ae'll be just as dead.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?” Temeraire asked, “Is there some sort of shark waiting for you in Britain?”
Non was not quick to reply; deciding it would make him seem less of an immediate threat, Laurence pulled out his desk chair, and sat down on it rather stiffly, still facing away from Non.
“I take it you did not simply run away from parents prone to violence?” Laurence asked stiffly, his temper starting to recede a bit again.
“My Ma and Da were wunnerful people!” Non snapped sharply, “Yeh insult them an' I'll put pepper in yer neck-cloth!”
An inane bout of humor welled up within Laurence for a moment, and he abruptly realized how absurd the whole situation was. Here he was, newly-attached to a dragon of all things, suddenly discovering that his cabin boy was a cabin girl, and didn't just term make his sense of propriety want to scream? And her threat was so childish…
“How old are you?” Laurence asked again, finally turning to face Non.
The girl was still eyeing him warily, but at least had moved back inside the window, even if both hands were gripping the frame as she watched him.
“I had thought you to be seven,” Laurence said stiffly, “Perhaps eight. If you were so young, you would not be bleeding. You must be aware that your gender has started to show, something which will only become more obvious in time. How old are you?”
“Eleven,” Non said reluctantly, “Ae'll be twelve in J'ly. Why's it matter?”
“Because that means you are old enough that I can send you to my mother's care without her assuming you are the product of a youthful indiscretion on my part,” Laurence said with a sigh, “Now-stop that!”
The last was barked as an order in true, for Non had started to pull herself back out the window again.
“I had thought you sensible!” Laurence snapped, his patience truly starting to find its limits, “Cease this ridiculousness about throwing yourself out the window at once! Surely you must see that as difficult as it is to hide your beauty now, it will be impossible within a few months or years!”
“Break m'nose a few times,” Non snapped back, “Then ae'll have a mug same's any other sailor.”
“I will not raise my hand against a woman!” Laurence hissed, “No matter how tempting you may make it seem!”
Non's expression twisted at that, the harsh mask starting to give way to a mixture of anger and grief, as her white-knuckled grip on the window frame started to tremble. Laurence felt altogether boxed in, with no obvious way out of the situation at hand, when Temeraire decided to take things into his own paws.
Having slowly crept up along the bulkhead beside the window Non stood half-within, the young dragon hurled himself at the girl, and knocked her sprawling over onto Laurence's bunk. The two thrashed about briefly in a tangle of limbs, and Laurence lunged up out of his chair and rushed over. He almost seized Non by the shoulders, with no clear thought in his mind as to what he would do after that, when he caught sight of the young girl's eyes.
She was staring up at him in absolute terror, tears starting to leak out the corners of her eyes as she hyperventilated. Laurence stood stock still, heart feeling as though it was caught in a vice, and after a moment's thought he backed away.
“Temeraire,” he called sharply, “Get off of her.”
The dragon looked at Laurence askance, then complied as Laurence moved over to re-secure the window that Non had almost jumped out of. Scowling once that task was achieved, Laurence wracked his mind for a path forward. He almost turned to face Non again, but knew that would do nothing for his ability to think clearly, and decided not to.
After a few moments, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, and withdrew the key to his own quarters. He frowned at it for a few seconds, before turning and tossing it to Non. The girl was still too out of sorts to catch it, and it bounded off her chest, before flopping onto the blanket atop Laurence's bed.
“That is the key to this cabin,” Laurence declared, “If you wish, you may lock it after Temeraire and I leave. I shall tell the crew that Temeraire and I are trying out sleeping up on the deck, as he is starting to get rather large to keep staying within my quarters, which is true in any case. I expect the door to be unlocked by eighth bell, so that I may not be embarrassed in front of the crew when I try to return to my own quarters in the morning.
“As you are aware, we are currently sailing for Funchal, not Britain, so whatever your fears about going ashore in Britain need not be so urgent as to drive you to any further foolishness tonight. Good night, miss, and we shall be speaking in the morning.”
So saying, Laurence turned and left, Temeraire trotting along behind him worriedly.
((()))
“Why is Non behaving so strangely?” Temeraire asked quietly late into the night.
Laurence was surprised that it had taken so long for the inquisitive dragon to inquire of the issue, and was quite thankful indeed that he had waited until none of the crew were nearby.
“Someone,” Laurence said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper as he glanced around quarterdeck to ensure none of the crew were within earshot, “Has done her a very great injury in the past, and now she is afraid of experiencing the same once more.”
“But you would never do such a thing!” Temeraire insisted indignantly, “She has known you longer than I, this should be quite obvious!”
“Thank you,” Laurence said, reaching over to stroke the dragon's head, already coming up on being larger than his own, “But you must understand that fear is not entirely rational. Up until now, I have considered Non to be a stalwart, sensible sort, and in the morning we shall see if that nature proves true, once the initial rush of fear has passed.”
“And if it has not?” Temeraire asked worriedly.
“I may need to have you sit on her,” Laurence said dryly, “To keep her from hurting herself, until we can talk sense into her.”
“She didn't seem to much like it when I jumped on her earlier today,” Temeraire said.
“No,” Laurence said reluctantly, “And I would prefer not to inflict it upon her again, but people who will not behave sensibly inevitably must put up with things they do not like in the least. In truth, all men, and women I suppose, must do so. Life has a great deal of hardship to it, as well as labors both satisfying and onerous. Behaving without sense will simply heap more unpleasantness on top of what already must be borne.”
“Let us hope she will be reasonable again,” Temeraire decided.
“Yes,” Laurence said, “Let us hope.”
((()))
When Laurence and Temeraire returned to his quarters the next morning, the door was not locked, and the place had been cleaned to the point of nearly being spotless. Non was sitting on a stool by one of Laurence's seachests, shining his second pair of boots.
“Ae'm sorry,” Non said, the words bursting out in a rush as soon as Temeraire pushed the door shut behind them, even if the girl was pointedly keeping her eyes on her work, “Me Da woulda' been ashamed. Just 'cause yer a cap'n doan mean you won' do sumthin' wrong, but just 'cause another cap'n did, doan mean you will either.”
“Thank you for the apology,” Laurence said, “And I am sorry that an officer of His Majesty's Navy would be so dishonorable as to threaten you in such an unthinkable way.”
“Twaren't yer fault, Cap'n,” Non said, still not looking up from the boots, “Yeh've bin nothin' but fair t' me.”
“Again, thank you,” Laurence said, crossing the cabin to sit on the edge of his bed, and start removing his uniform, “Are you ready for a reasonable discussion about your future then?”
“Nae ready,” Non said, shaking her head, “But ae'll have it all th' same.”
“That will have to do,” Laurence said with a sharp nod, “Now where are you from?”
“Ae'm no pickpocket or such,” Non said, shaking her head, “'Side from that, yeh said we'd talk 'bout mah future, not mah past, so ae'll thank ye not to ask more 'bout it, Cap'n.”
Laurence frowned slightly, but after a few moments, decided to leave the subject lie for the time being. He had little doubt it should and would come back up again, but it was not essential to more pressing matters.
“Very well,” Laurence said, “When the Reliant reaches Funchal, I will be disembarking permanently from the Reliant. I cannot in good conscience leave you aboard ship when I go. While I am not particularly wealthy, I am a man of some means, and am willing to employ you in a role much as you serve now.”
“Valet an' maid,” Non said, relaxing slowly as she set aside one boot, and picked up the other to start working on it, “Ae kin do that. An' when yeh leave Funchal?”
“You have made it clear that you consider living in Britain completely unacceptable,” Laurence said, “If you will not tell me why, I am left quite constrained in my ability to work around this limitation.”
Non said nothing, keeping her eyes on the boot.
“Clearly you have not thought your life in danger when ships you have served on made port in Britain,” Laurence said with a sigh, “Would Gibraltar be a place you believe safe?”
After a moment's thought, Non nodded.
“Then for the time being,” Laurence declared, “The plan shall be for you to stay with me at Funchal, and then we will either travel together to Gibraltar, or I will send you on if my own orders do not permit it. I have some friends in the service in Gibraltar who could likely use a more competent maid and secretary.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Non said, making the effort to pronounce the words more clearly, and turning to face Laurence for the first time since he had entered.
Her expression was still stiff, and her eyes conflicted, but the terrible bleakness that had ruled them when she had put herself halfway through the window was no longer present, and Laurence found some relief in that.
“I should like to come to a more solid arrangement for your future before then,” Laurence declared, “But I will not try to force it upon you.”
“...Thank you Cap'n,” Non said again, and for a moment, Laurence was afraid the girl might cry again, before she swallowed and turned her attention back to the boot in her lap.
((()))
A week passed, and after a day and a half of awkwardness, the two humans fell into a reasonably comfortable rhythm again. They worked together to care for the rapidly-growing dragonet, and when Temeraire slept but neither of them did, Laurence again pushed to expanding Non's education. He was somewhat surprised to learn that she was trilingual, being fluent in Gaelic and French, as well as her semi-passable efforts at English.
He discovered this at the same time as he discovered Temeraire was also apparently fluent in French, something Doctor Pollitt attributed to the language being spoken around his egg during its incubation. It was not difficult to discern that Non preferred talking about how Temeraire came by the language to how she did.
Soon thereafter the Reliant was caught up in a storm, and Temeraire and Laurence pulled a member of the crew from the ocean after he had been washed overboard.
A week after that, they arrived in Funchal.
((()))
Funchal was the Principle city on the island of Madeira, which while controlled by the Portuguese, had hosted a British naval station by treaty for quite some time. Four hundred-some miles West of Morocco, and two hundred and fifty North of the Canary islands, it was an important waystation for ships traveling to the Pacific or South Africa. That it had a population in the tens of thousands, and supplied its own food and lumber played heavily into its utility.
Non thought the modest mountains which looked out over Funchal from the spine of the island were quite beautiful, and was quite content to study the city and island from afar while waiting for Captain Laurence to return from reporting to the naval station's commanding admiral. Temeraire was eating, which was more than enough to keep the locals away from the Reliant for the time being.
Non suspected she would need to learn Portuguese soon, or at least some part of it. The Portuguese were not particularly close allies of Great Britain, but they certainly maintained a close enough relationship to keep the Spanish firmly interested in their declining colonial assets, rather than trouble on their closer borders. While the French colonies might be accessible across the Mediterranean, at distances reasonably patrolled and covered by France's large aerial corps, Spain needed free access to the seas to maintain what grip it still had on its colonies, and no fleet crossed the Atlantic without the permission of His Majesty's Royal Navy.
“That was quite agreeable,” Temeraire declared once he'd finished his first taste of mutton, “Do you suppose Laurence will return soon?”
“Tha'll be up t' th' brass,” Non declared, hefting her bucket and rag, then setting about cleaning Temeraire's snout and claws, “Now hold still, yeh big beastie.”
Temeraire obliged, and by the time Non had finished cleaning him, Laurence was making his way back across the docks from wherever the admiral's office lay.
“A message is to be sent to the covert at Gibraltar,” the Captain declared, “For the time being, Temeraire and I shall remain here at Madeira.”
“Ae'll start movin' yer trunks,” Non declared with a nod.
((()))
While Laurence found leaving the Reliant to be painful, settling in at Madeira, for however brief a period, was quite remarkably easy. Laurence rented a comfortable little cottage up above the city, and Temeraire was more than capable of hauling his possessions (and Non's single canvas bag of personal belongings) up from the port. Once they had arrived, Non industriously set about seeing the house in order, and Laurence very quickly started to feel like he was simply on vacation.
Temeraire's voracious appetite was more a matter of fascination than concern, now that the limited shipboard supplies were not in danger of being exhausted, and there were plenty of sheep and cattle on the island available for purchase. The dragonet was steadily growing into being a dragon, and rather than taking turns cleaning Temeraire after he ate, Laurence and Non started to work together at the task, one working on his muzzle, while the other worked on his claws.
After eating his evening meal, Temeraire usually slept, which left Laurence at liberty to walk down into the city to dine with Riley and his other friends in the navy. In some ways, it was superior to the leaves he had taken in the past, still being close enough to the sea he so loved to smell the salt and feel the breeze, and not needing to leave the company of intimate friends. If he had not been worried for the fallout of his relationship with his father and Miss Edith Galman, it might have been one of the happiest times of his life.
When Laurence returned from the city each evening, he would usually find Non reading to Temeraire, a task which he would relieve her in before the night turned too late. Non insisted on rising early enough to prepare breakfast for Laurence before he rose from bed, something he thought was her attempting to express gratitude without being direct about it, and Laurence would not see her deprived of sleep.
Part of him still recoiled at a woman being subject to the rough conditions of being a crew member aboard a navy vessel, and Laurence decided to do what he could to rectify the situation post-haste. His first efforts in that regard, however, did not meet the response he had expected, even if he hadn't had any terribly clear expectations in regards to a response.
((()))
“Wha' is it?” Non asked, slightly befuddled as Laurence passed her a small basket of clothing upon returning from Funchal.
“If the seamstress fulfilled the order correctly,” Laurence said, “It should be five dresses suitable for country work, and five sets of underthings. Normally when giving custom to an unfamiliar craftsman, I would inspect the order, but it would be unseemly for me to be pawing through a lady's undergarments, so I must ask you to confirm it yourself.”
“...Dresses?” Non said, setting the basket on the cottage's small dining table and picking up the article of clothing on top, a simple navy-blue dress, “Why?”
“I could not in good conscience leave you inadequately attired,” Laurence declared, “It was one thing when we were at sea and you had to continue to conceal your gender, it is quite another now that the means to rectify the situation are available.”
Several conflicting emotions passed across Non's face, and Laurence was struck by the stark contrast to how she carried herself aboard ship. With a bit of thought, it was really no surprise that she had made a deliberate point of presenting a strong, masculine front, and worked greatly to conceal her emotions from the entirety of the ship's company.
Now, gratitude, sorrow, uncertainty, and what looked a distressingly lot like fear crossed Non's face quite visibly as she studied the dress.
“'Scuse me, Cap'n,” Non choked out, before picking up the basket and bustling off to her small room in the cottage with uncharacteristic haste.
A bit confused by Non's abrupt departure, Laurence left the cottage to check on Temeraire, and before long was reading aloud to him from a recounting of the Punic Wars.
It took almost a half an hour for Non to emerge from the cottage, and aside from the ragged state of her hair, looking very pretty in the deep blue dress. Laurence realized with a start that between his own appearance, the price he'd accepted paying from the seamstress, and the language barrier between them, she must have assumed that he was a minor nobleman asking for something like a country riding dress for his daughter. The dress was made of durable material and not elaborately embroidered in the least, but it was cut to flatter in a way that a work-dress for a commoner would not have been, and there was some simple decoration around the high neckline.
Non's eyes were also slightly red, and it wasn't hard to tell that she had been crying. Laurence was grateful she had spared him from being exposed to such a demonstration; while he had no discomfort with children like some of his fellow officers, he was neither terribly able nor at ease rendering comfort to them when greatly distressed.
“Thank you, Cap'n,” Non said thickly, deliberately enunciating the words properly as she did when trying to convey something she considered particularly important.
“You are quite welcome, Non,” Laurence said with a pleased smile, “It is only what you ought already have, had not life been unfairly harsh to you.”
“Oh,” Temeraire declared, “You do look quite nice, whyever did you not dress like this before?”
“Ae was in disguise,” Non said, walking over to seat herself on one of Temeraire's forelegs, “Nae women s'posed t' be on a navy ship.”
“Indeed,” Laurence said with a sharp nod, “And while you did and continue to fulfill your duties very diligently, I am quite pleased to have you in safer quarters now, Non.”
“Thank you,” Non said again, more quietly this time, as she leaned back against Temeraire's flank.
Laurence nodded again, and turned his attention back to his book. The rest of that afternoon passed pleasantly in tales of historic bravery in daring, Laurence passing the book off to Non to read from once his own voice began to tire.
((()))
One day perhaps two weeks after they'd arrived at Madeira, Non woke from a nap she had been taking leaning against Temeraire's flank, to find an enormous dragon on close approach, about to set down. For a moment, she nearly panicked, before recognizing it as a Regal Copper from the books on dragon physiology they had been reading.
The men attached to it by a sophisticated harness were something she had not seen in quite some time. Most of Britain's coverts were in the highlands of Scotland, and while it had been four years since she had last lived close to them, some faint memories of seeing dragons overhead with crews attached did remain to her.
“I say,” Temeraire said as the Copper landed, “She is very large; do you think I will grow to be so big?”
“Ae doan know,” Non said, pulling herself upright and straightening her dress, “Ser Howe didnae say.”
“Hail!” a man declared as the Copper deftly lifted him from the harness and lowered him to the meadow, “I am Captain Portland, and this is Laetificat, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Ae'm Non, Cap'n Portland,” Non called in return, “An' this is Temeraire.”
She felt the urge to ask if there was another juvenile dragon colored jet black they might be looking for, but suppressed it. With Captain Laurence, she might have made the jest, but it would not be proper with a strange officer of unfamiliar temperment.
“Then we have come to the correct place,” Portland said, striding up to where Non stood beside Temeraire, a younger officer dismounting to follow after him, “You have the sound of Scotland on your tongue young miss, and you seem comfortable around Temeraire. Are you from one of the villages around Loch Laggan?”
“Nae ser,” Non replied, shaking her head, “Temeraire 's a friend, no reason for me t' be afraid o' him.”
“I see,” Portland said as he came to a stop in front of Temeraire, looking the dragon up and down, before turning his attention back to Non, “If you would do me the kindness of showing me to your cottage, I could do with a cup of tea, and Lieutenant Dayes here has news for Temeraire.”
Non looked up at Temeraire, who nodded towards the cottage.
“Do go on,” the Imperial said, “You know Laurence would want us to be hospitable.”
“Aye,” Non said, turning to trot off towards the cottage, “This way ser, ae'll have a cuppa ready right quick.”
Portland followed Non into the cottage, and doffed his hat and coat while she fetched both kettles in the cottage and set them both over the stove.
“How many in your crew, ser?” Non asked as she set about gathering every mug and cup she could find, “Ae'm not sure if'n ae'll have enough cups.”
“Do what you can,” Portland said smiling faintly, “Captain Laurence mentioned you were an industrious sort, and given it shall be time for Temeraire to depart Madeira shortly, asked if I might see you to Gibraltar, though he was not entirely clear as to why.”
“We will be departing so soon, ser?” Non asked as she began laying mugs out on the table, deliberately avoiding the implied question.
“Britain needs every dragon we can fly,” Portland said, not commenting on her evasion, “Especially heavyweights as Temeraire is supposed to be. Now, seeing as how at ease you are around Temeraire, I would make you a counter-offer to traveling to Gibraltar, if you can keep a secret.”
“A secret, ser?” Non said, glancing up at Portland in confusion, before returning to the stove to check on the kettles there, “Ae kept Cap'n Laurence's desk for 'im, he 'splained military secrecy t' me.”
“This is more of a social matter,” Portland said, watching Non curiously, “Will you swear to keep what I am about to tell you secret?”
“If'n it isn't unrighteous t' do so,” Non said, turning to face Portland again, a challenging look in her eyes.
“That will do,” Portland said with a sharp nod, “You see, the aviation corps recruits women, for Longwings will only accept female captains.”
“Th' acid spitters, ser?” Non said, visibly surprised.
“Just so,” Portland said with a sharp nod, “The most important combat breed in all of Britain. We can scarce make do without them, and the corps is never terribly long on female cadets. You already seem well-acclimated to working around dragons, which by my judgement would mean you might make an apt cadet, in spite of starting a year or two older than most inducted into the service. Would you care to join the aviation corps?”
“...Wuld ae be able t' keep servin' with Cap'n Laurence?” Non asked after a long moment of thought.
“Ah,” Portland said, grimacing slightly, before realization struck him, and he visibly chose to shift subjects, “Keep serving? Whatever was a young lady doing serving in the navy?”
Non frowned, but before their conversation could continue any further, a terrible roar arose from outside the cottage, followed by Temeraire shouting far louder than Non had ever heard before.
“No!” the dragon bellowed, “I shan't believe it, you, you frenchman you! Non! Non, where are you?”
Non rushed outside, to see Lieutenant Dayes scrambling back across the meadow, away from Temeraire, who looked fit to be tied.
“Whas wrong?” Non demanded, hurrying over to lay a calming hand on Temeraire's shoulder, which was by now so high she could barely reach it.
“This man,” Temeraire hissed, “Has been saying the most terrible things about Laurence, that he does not wish to be my Captain anymore, and that he has gone back to command the Reliant once more, and I shall never see him again!”
“Tha's daft,” Non snapped, turning to glare at Lieutenant Dayes alongside Temeraire, “Cap'n do luv the sea, no mistake, but he wouldn' come read t' you ev'ry day if he didn' luv yeh too.”
“William Laurence is a navy man,” Dayes said, having regained his feet and standing as tall as he could to stare down at Non, “And captains a ship, not a dragon.”
“Yeh speak an awful lot fer sumone who's scarce met th' man,” Non retorted, no more intimidated by Dayes glare than Temeraire was, “Cap'n Laurence is a man of honor. If'n he were t' go back t' sea, he would tell Temeraire he had t' leave himself. Yer a lousy liar, l'tenant.”
“Quite right,” Temeraire said, nodding sharply, “If Laurence were to go back to the Reliant, I shall simply accompany him.”
“Yer gettin' a wee bit big fer th' Reliant,” Non said, patting Temeraire on the shoulder.
“Then we shall go and seize a larger vessel from the French,” Temeraire declared, “If Laurence could take the Amitie without my help, I am quite certain we could take a larger one with it, perhaps the one which he named me after.”
Dayes opened his mouth to retort again, but Captain Portland stepped out of the cottage and cut him off.
“Lieutenant,” Portland called sharply, “Return to Laetificat. I should think that if Will Laurence were not Temeraire's Captain, young miss Non here would be.”
“I will have none other than Laurence for my Captain,” Temeraire declared with finality, “But Non has also cared for me since before I hatched, and I could ask for no finer friend.”
“There you have it,” Portland said, faintly amused, “Now miss Non, I do believe I can in good promise you that if you should join the corps, you will be able to serve under Captain Laurence.”
“If he'll have me,” Non said, “Ae'll join the corps.”
((()))
“I must protest this,” Laurence said stiffly as they climbed aboard Temeraire the next day, making ready to fly North, “I would not have you put in any further danger than you already have been.”
“Cap'n,” Non replied, moving more cautiously than Laurence, as she had never mounted Temeraire for flight before, “Yeh heard it from Portland yerself. They need women t' serve with th' Longwings. Why no' me?”
“You have already had to deal with more than enough hardship than any woman should be forced to suffer through,” Laurence insisted, barely resisting the urge to frown as one of the ensigns from Laetificat checked over the straps holding him to Temeraire's harness.
“So yeh would have passed up yer duty,” Non replied, leaning forward to stare Laurence directly in the eye once the ensign had finished his work, and scrambled back towards Laetificat, “So's sumone else could do it?”
Laurence could not find an answer to that without either contradicting himself, or approving Non putting herself directly in harm's way, both of which he mightily objected to.
“Ready to fly,” Laetificat declared, distracting Laurence from his thoughts, at least for the moment.
“Yeh showed me duty yerself,” Non said quietly, the both of them watching as Laetificat lifted Portland up onto her shoulders, where he clipped himself into place, “Like me Da. Tha's why ae trust you.”
“Temeraire,” Laetificat called as she lowered her stance, preparing to leap into the air, “Follow a half-length behind me, so that I may break wind for you. It will be more than a hundred miles to the Dragon Transport, and be sure to tell me if you tire, for I can carry you for a brief while.”
Then the Regal Copper leaped into the air, and a moment later, Temeraire followed after, causing his back to shift forcefully beneath the both of them. For a few moments, the rapid flurry of take-off occupied all of Laurence's attention, and he felt a pair of small arms wrap tightly around his waist as Non clung to him for some stability. It was the most physical contact he had ever had with her, and it reminded him once again just how small she was.
Once their flight evened out and they started to move around the mountain at Madeira's center, Laurence felt Non's grip on him relax, and the girl gasped.
Looking down and to his left, he saw her head peaking around his flank. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she liked out over the land and ocean beneath them, and the wind whipped at her scraggly hair.
For the first time since she had first come to his attention for disciplining more than a month ago, Non looked like the child that she was supposed to be, and Laurence could not find it in him to deny her the skies.
Perhaps a courier dragon will take to her, Laurence tried (and failed) to convince himself.
((()))
AN: This is the most recent side-project to win a vote from my supporters, and it'll have three more chapters following up, after which I will be aiming for one a month until the project is complete. For those not familiar, this is a crossover with my main project over the last five years, Brucequest. You don't need to read it to follow this story, but pretty much all the new cast here will be from that.
As per usual with my work, there will be some degree of expanding on the background of the setting, and trying to make it a bit more rational. The basic setup of Temeraire is pretty reasonable (once you accept the 'dragon air force' premise), even if the later books started getting silly, so don't expect huge deviations from the canon of the first book.
The title is chosen because I believe a large portion of the appeal of the first book, is because of Laurence's integrity.
Please forgive the terrible attempts at accent, but I wanted to make that a more 'real' thing in this.
((()))
Captain William Laurence of the HMS Reliant wasn't prone to paying overly-much attention to his ship's cabin boys; unless they were attending to his own cabin, that was the Bosun's duty, much as seeing to the tutelage of the Midshipmen was Laurence's.
Not noticing 'Non' would have been rather difficult, given the lad's violently red hair, thick Scottish brogue, and the very methodical beating he laid upon one of the other cabin boys not long after their departure.
“I am not accustomed to needing to discipline cabin boys,” Laurence said, staring down at Non, “In case you were unaware, this is not something you should desire either.”
“Ae unnerstan', Cap'n,” Non replied, staring fixedly down at the deck, “Whut'll me pounishmen' be?”
“I have not yet decided,” Laurence said, rising from his chair to begin walking slowly around Non, “If I had not seen the fight myself, perhaps I'd simply order you five lashes and be done with it. But you beat Eustace with a certain precision which suggests this was not just a fit of temper. Why did you start a scrap with a fellow member of the crew, Non?”
“Ae dun like bein' tuched,” Non replied, not seeming the least unsettled by Laurence's circling, “An' ae told him t' get his hand off. If he won' listen, an' grabs a secon' time, I'll touch 'im with me fist.”
“Why did you keep hitting him?” Laurence demanded.
“This weren' the first time he won' let go,” Non said, still staring fixedly down at the deck, “One smack weren' learnin' him, so ae had t' make it a lesson.”
“And simply hitting him harder wouldn't do?” Laurence asked.
“If ah'd broke sumthin',” Non replied, “E'd not uv bin able t' do 'is duties.”
“And the reason you didn't take this to the Bosun?” Laurence pressed.
“An' tell 'im what?” Non said, glancing up for the first time, disbelief in his voice, “'E won't stop touchin' me?' This is a warship, not a parsonage!”
“A fair point,” Laurence said somewhat amused, “That still doesn't make it your place to discipline your shipmates. You're not an officer or a crew chief.”
“Ae'll take mah punishment,” Non said, staring at the deck again.
“Will you do it again?” Laurence pressed.
“If'n he won' stop touchin' me again,” Non said, “Someone needs t' learn 'im, and if it won' be an officer or th' Bosun, it'll be me.”
“I see,” Laurence said, stopping his pacing directly in front of Non and staring down at the skinny lad, and considering the situation at hand.
One crew-member touching another was hardly worth troubling the Bosun over, unless it entered into bizarre territory, and it would set an absurd precedent for the Captain to order such besides. That didn't mean involuntary contact was appropriate conduct either, so something needed to be done.
“Are you literate?” Laurence asked, before frowning slightly at his choice of words, “Meaning, can you read?”
“Ae can read, Cap'n,” Non replied.
“Do you know how to care for a uniform?” Laurence asked.
Non nodded.
“It'll be five with the padded stick,” Laurence declared, naming the substitute for an outright whip customarily used on cabin boys or for very minor infractions from the crew, “And I'll see about having you assigned to my cabin; that should keep you away from trouble with Eustace or the other cabin boys.”
“Yes, Cap'n,” Non replied, the lad having gone quite stiff, but not trying to protest the punishment.
((()))
Non proved to be quite competent indeed with serving as something between a valet and a secretary for Laurence. He neither tried to escape his punishment nor complained afterwards, something which raised the lad in Laurence's esteem. Non proved not just capable of reading, but also of writing in a surprisingly legible hand for a boy of, in Laurence's estimation, no more than eight years. Within a week Laurence was quite content with the arrangement, and was slightly impressed with his ability to keep Laurence's uniforms properly cleaned and pressed, in spite of his seeming complete inability to keep himself clean.
Laurence knew from memories of his own childhood that little boys tended to get quite dirty, but Laurence didn't think he'd ever seen Non's face when it wasn't smeared with dirt, grease, or boot-black, and he had the most particularly ragged hair cut. Laurence suspected it was the result of attempts to shorten his hair enough that it would be less noticeable, but it would have taken a razor to completely hide such hair, and a bald child would draw attention (and likely harassment from his peers, given Non's track record) even more than obviously Scottish hair.
Non also had the unfortunate tendency to stiffen up slightly whenever Laurence came too close while they were alone in his cabin, which seeded suspicions that the lad had run away from an abusive home to join the navy. Being accustomed to violence would also explain why Non resorted to it so readily, but Laurence was confident that time under watchful eyes and good leadership would help him learn better when it was and was not appropriate.
All of this very much fell to the back of Laurence's mind when the Reliant came across the French ship Amitie one evening.
((()))
Thunder echoed outside the cabin, and the deck shuddered. Non lay curled into a ball beneath the Captain's desk, but managed to avoid flinching when a more distant roar marked the enemy ship firing off an answering volley.
The Reliant's hull shivered again, but wherever it'd been hit, no cannonball came anywhere near Non.
Cabin boys were considered too young to contribute directly to battle, though this had hardly been the first Non had experienced at sea, and one of the tasks they would be set about to 'keep them busy' was keeping watch over the logbook and charts in the Captain's cabin. Non found this quite preferable to serving as assistant to the ship's surgeon, even if the third time serving as such had been sufficient to quell the queasiness Non had experienced at the work.
There were any number of important documents and instruments kept in the Captain's cabin, and if there was a hit, it was Non's job to ensure they be saved from fire, being washed overboard, or any similar fate. Non had heard of, but not seen, battles where a cannonball struck the Captain's desk directly, destroying much of what was to be protected, and had no interest in experiencing such in person.
The Reliant's port broadside roared a second time, and Non braced for the return volley, but after long seconds of tense near-silence, none came. The silence went on so long that Non had started to wonder if the enemy ship had somehow already been sunk, when the Reliant fired a third volley.
“I guess this means we're winning,” Non whispered, wishing there was something more solid than an Oak desk to hide behind.
The enemy ship again failed to return fire, and a minute and some later, the entire hull of the Reliant bucked, scattering bits and bobs all about the cabin.
“Board her, lads!” Captain Laurence shouted, his stern voice of command clearly audible even through inches of hull and decking between the Captain and his cabin.
Non breathed a faint sigh of relief; in the boarding action the HMS Silverfish had experienced before Non had shifted to the Reliant, no heavy cannon had fired further after the boarding action had begun. Some carronades on the top deck had been used, but they had fired grapeshot not ball, and it was unlikely Non would have to worry about such while inside of the cabin.
That didn't mean that musket or pistol shot couldn't strike through the windows, so Non kept to a low crawl while skittering about the deck to collect what had been jarred loose by the two ships striking each other.
Gunshots, the clash of steel, and battlecries mixed with screams of pain outside on deck. Part of Non was glad not to be involved in the bloodshed, and part wished that the Bosun hadn't shut down attempts to practice with a pistol in the days right after Non had first boarded the Reliant. There was none amongst the crew that Non had any particular personal attachment to, but that didn't prevent the young cabin boy from feeling some desire to fight in their defense.
Blessedly, the action was almost shockingly short. In well under a quarter hour, the sounds of combat died down, and all that was left were the cries of the wounded and orders being shouted sharply. Orders in English, fortunately; Non did not fancy the personal consequences of the French. It only took a few minutes to finish putting the cabin in order, and if it weren't for Captain Laurence personally giving the order to stay in the cabin until an officer said otherwise, Non would have gone above to see what tasks could use another small set of hands to aid in.
Another quarter hour passed while Non tried to watch what was happening through the cabin windows.
“Non,” Laurence eventually called from the outside cabin doors, “Clear a space, two feet by two, beside my desk.”
Non set about the task swiftly, which mostly involved moving the rarely-opened chest that contained Laurence's dress uniform and other formal clothing. It wasn't terribly heavy, but Non wasn't terribly large, and it still took quite a bit of effort to move.
Only a few moments later, two members of the crew preceded Laurence into the cabin, carrying a crate stuffed with straw; once they gently put it down in the freshly cleared space, Non could see that a large egg-shaped-
“Is tha' a dragon egg?” Non asked, startled.
“Indeed it is,” Laurence said, waving the two crewmembers back out of the cabin, “And caring for it will be your primary responsibility from here on.”
“...Ae keep it warm 'n make sure it doan fall out've th' box?” Non asked, looking up at the Captain, a little confused.
“It is a rather simple task when described in such a way,” Laurence acknowledged, “But nonetheless extremely important. I shall be quite cross if you fail at this.”
“Doan worry 'bout it, Cap'n,” Non said, “Ae'll sleep righ' next t' it if'n need be.”
((()))
After getting only a few pages into one of the books on Dragons the ship's surgeon had on hand, Laurence felt constrained to make caring for the egg Non's primary duty. Dragon eggs were apparently sensitive to temperature, and there was no time to try to establish a hot-room to keep it in like the Amitie had hosted.
Instead, Non spent much of his time sweating beneath an improvised tent made from sail canvas, managing three oil lamps and their fuel supply to carefully sustain the temperature around the egg. The little tent set up on the floor of his cabin made the space noticeably warmer even for Laurence, and had a Dragon for His Magesty's Aviator Corps not been on the line, he would have opened several windows.
“I'm surprised you've not gone down to your breaches,” Laurence remarked one day, as Non squirmed out of the tent, sweat running down his face and making trails through his still grease-stained face.
“Ya're a proper sort, Cap'n,” Non replied, “Ae'd no' like a canin' fer shuckin' me shirt.”
“I'd not have you caned for such a common bit of impropriety,” Laurence said, shaking his head, “You're a cabin boy, not an officer.”
“Rules 'aught be th' same fer all,” Non said, shaking his head, “Else they's no kind o' rules.”
“That is true,” Laurence observed, “But in exceptional circumstances, less important rules may be relaxed for a time, and this heat is quite exceptional.”
“Ae'll be down t' me breaches when ye are, Cap'n,” Non replied, turning around to make sure the canvas wasn't touching the lamps directly anywhere.
Laurence smiled faintly at that before heading up onto deck to beginning to consider sponsoring the lad for a promotion to Midshipman.
((()))
Almost a week later, Non watched the egg as it started to hatch, feeling something between excitement and a sense of relief. Tales of what Dragons were like were common gossip more or less everywhere in both Britain and the Royal Navy; nobody outside of the Aviation Corps seemed to actually know what they were like though, especially when they hatched. Knowing the truth would be interesting, and Non was definitely looking forward to some less-interrupted sleep.
Non was laying low on the stairs up to the aft deck, where the egg had been moved once it started hatching, staying well out of the way but with a large bowl of meat on hand for once the hatching was completed. Captain Laurence was overseeing the entire affair of course, while Midshipman Carver stood close watch over the egg, and a handful of more reliable crewmen stood nearby in case something untoward should happen.
Non had good eyes, and could see when the first cracks appeared almost as quickly as the officers could, and for the first time in many years, experienced a sense of wonder.
The egg didn't break all at once; it took quite a bit of effort for the dragonet to force first one, then several holes into the shell. Part of the little creature's snout managed to poke through the larger of the two holes, and then it seemed to go into a downright frenzy as it determined to batter its way through now.
The egg rapidly disintegrated, releasing a pitch-black little dragonet to flop onto its side. Intelligent eyes cast around, and to the great surprise of everyone, it began to speak.
“Well hello there,” it said, “Why are the lot of you all standing around and looking at me?”
Midshipman Carver, Non knew, was supposed to be the one to harness the dragon, but instead the young man just stood there, mouth hanging open like a fool at having seen the dragon speak. Non knew that word had been passed about the ship that dragons were supposed to be capable of speech at hatching, and had in fact read the relevant passage of Doctor Pollitt's book aloud at Captain Laurence's behest.
But the boy was apparently a lackwit, and none of the others around had the spine to take the initiative, so it was left to the Captain to reply to the freshly-hatched dog-sized creature.
“We gathered to see you hatch,” Laurence said, “None of us has seen the birthing of so exceptional a creature as yourself. Pardon my manors; I am Will Laurence, Captain of the HMS Reliant; could I have your name?”
“I do not have a name,” the dragonet said, rearing up on its hind legs to stare Laurence in the face, “What is a 'Reliant'?”
“It is this ship upon which you stand,” the Captain replied, as inflappable as ever, “Would you like for me to give you a name?”
“I suppose I should not mind,” the dragonet said, looking away in a childish attempt to seem disinterested, one which Non thought even Carver would be able to see through.
The Captain stared down at the dragonet for a few moments. Even up on its hind legs, its tail stretched out to balance it, it wasn't as tall as a full-grown man, though it was perhaps as large as a full-grown hound, if not so full in the body.
“Temeraire,” Captain Laurence declared, “If you shall have it, I will call you Temeraire.”
“It isn't a disagreeable name,” Temeraire declared, “Now is there any chance of food? I am terribly hungry.”
The Captain nodded to Non, who proceed to heaved the large bowl of meat up onto the deck and bring it forward for the young dragonet to eat.
((()))
Later that evening, Temeraire took his second meal in Laurence's cabin, and he was much relieved that Non took to cleaning up after the mess the dragonet made without needing to be asked or ordered. Passing the command to Lieutenant Tom Riley was the right thing to do; the man would make a fine Captain, but Laurence mind was awhirl from the abrupt end to his naval career.
William Laurence was the second son of a landed noble, and while Lord Allendale had not approved of young Will Laurence running away to join the navy at thirteen, the man was reluctantly approving of the honors William's successful career had brought to the family name. The Amitie was not the first prize taken under Laurence's command, and between the taking of a dragon's egg, his own connections within the fleet, and the support of his father amongst the peerage, William had stood a very real chance of joining the admiralty.
If nothing else, the prize money from the Amitie and Temeraire's egg would have finally put him on solid enough financial ground to possibly marry.
Now all of that was in question, and Laurence knew very little of the new future awaiting him in the aerial corps, and he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it all.
“I know your voice,” Temeraire declared, drawing Laurence from his thoughts as Non set aside the bucket of wash-water and rag he'd been using, “Why do you speak differently from the rest of the crew?”
“Ae'm Scottish,” Non said, “And ae took care o' yer egg 'afore ye hatched.”
“What is 'Scottish?'” Temeraire asked.
“Britain is a united kingdom comprised of four constituent nations,” Laurence declared, glad of a distraction, “England, which I am native to, Scotland, where young Non is from, as well as Wales and Ireland, though they are little represented amongst the Reliant's crew.”
“Why not?” Temeraire asked.
“...I could not entirely say,” Laurence admitted, glancing at Non, “It is actually somewhat rare for Scotsmen to serve in the navy, though obviously not unheard of; usually they favor the aerial corps or marines for service.”
“Why?” Temeraire asked.
Laurence found himself unable to answer that question; he genuinely did not know why the English favored the sea more than the other peoples of Great Britain.
“'S because th' sea an' sun are nae kind t' Scots or Irish with fair skin,” Non said, “As me Da told me, 'why let the sun crisp yer skin on a ship, when ye can do it on th' back of a dragon?”
“And the Welsh?” Temeraire asked.
Non shrugged, and Temeraire turned his curious eyes to Laurence, who had a feeling that there would be a great many questions in his future that he could not readily answer.
((()))
Non found the next few days to be a bittersweet experience. Temeraire was a pleasant enough companion, and while immensely curious about everything around him, Captain Laurence was as diligent in attending to the dragon's needs and questions as he had been to captaining the Reliant. The dragonet slept quite a bit however, and this left the Captain with a fair bit of spare time on his hands; for whatever reason, he saw fit to spend a significant portion of his time on expanding Non's education.
“I passed the command to Tom Riley,” Captain Laurence explained when Non finally asked him about it, “Because he is a good officer, and in truth the Amitie should have been him. My own career in the navy is no excuse for not advancing his as best I may. It is no longer in my power to ensure, but when we make port, I will pass you into Tom's keeping, and ask him to sponsor you for promotion to Midshipman. You are altogether too sharp to become just another crewman.”
It was an incredibly generous act on the Captain's part, which both warmed Non and led to some discomfort in the amount of attention it involved. Combined with an immensely curious and naive proxy younger sibling to care for, it tugged at many painful memories of the past.
Unlike Non's flesh-and-blood siblings though, Temeraire lacked the sense to avoid revealing things that he should not.
((()))
“You are bleeding,” Temeraire said, sniffing about Non as the human cleaned himself, “Do you need Doctor Pollitt?”
“No,” Non said, his voice strange as he scrubbed hastily at his shoulders, before dipping the rag into the clean water in the bucket he usually used to clean Temeraire after meals, “Is' just a wee thing, no need t' worry 'bout it.”
“Aren't you supposed to bandage wounds?” Temeraire said with a frown.
“Th' wound is already covered,” Non said, “Ye doan need t' trouble yerself.”
Temeraire frowned and watched as Non continued with his swift scrub-down, facing away from the young dragonet, and decided to go and fetch Laurence; the Captain should know what to do about the injury, or failing that had the authority to call Doctor Pollitt.
((()))
Laurence was not terribly keen on being taken away from dining with Riley and the other officers, but keeping Temeraire from disturbing the crew was one of his primary responsibilities now.
“Do you know where this injury Non wishes to brush off is?” Laurence asked.
“Somewhere in his middle,” Temeraire said, noticeably anxious, “He tries to insist it's already bandaged, but Doctor Pollitt did not come by, so I do not see how that can be the case.”
Laurence was fairly confident it was some minor wound, and that Temeraire simply had a distorted understanding of how often the ship's surgeon's attention was needed, given Pollitt's fascination with dragons had brought him to visit daily since Temeraire had hatched.
“We shall see,” Laurence said as they reached the door to his cabin, pulling it open before stepping inside.
Non was in the process of yanking his shirt back over his head when Laurence entered, and stood quite abruptly from where he had been seated on a stool.
“Now what's this about you being wounded, Non?” Laurence asked.
The cabin boy turned to face him, then his eyes widened and his face went as white as a sheet, before he raised his hands to cover it so swiftly he slapped himself in the cheeks.
Laurence blinked, not entirely sure for a moment of what he had just seen; for the first time since he had laid eyes on the cabin boy, Non's face had been clean. It was covered now, but the memory of seeing it exposed was quite fresh, and connections started to form in Laurence's mind.
The feature's of Non's face weren't so much youthful and unformed, as they were delicate. Non wasn't just small, but slender, and bleeding from about the middle…
“How old are you?” Laurence demanded, swiftly shutting the door behind him before striding across the cabin.
Non remained tight-lipped, eyes flickering to the door, before he-she rapidly retreated backwards across the cabin to its edge, reaching behind to unlatch and then open one of the windows without taking her eyes off of Laurence.
With her face fully revealed again, Laurence could see that 'Non' was in fact quite a pretty girl; if her 'injury' was what he thought, she was also on the verge of becoming a young woman.
“How old are you?” Laurence demanded again.
Non still refused to answer, a hard look coming into her eyes, and as Laurence continued his approach, she raised one foot and stepped onto the window-sill.
“Whatever are you doing?” Temeraire demanded, “There's nothing out that window but the sea!”
Non moved her body halfway over the window-sill, and Laurence came to a dead stop a single pace out of arm's reach, suddenly making the unfortunate connection as to why she was halfway to throwing herself overboard.
“Eustace wasn't just 'touching' you, was he?” Laurence said stiffly.
Non shook her head slowly, still not saying a word.
“I will have the boy flogged,” Laurence said, a thunderous scowl growing on his face, “Now come down from there.”
Non shook he head again, more swiftly this time.
“You have never refused an order before,” Laurence said shortly, “Why do you refuse now?”
“Ae don' take no orders t' stay in a man's bedroom,” Non said, his accent noticeably thicker than usual, “Nae once they know 'm a lass no a lad.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Laurence said stiffly, “I am an officer and a gentleman.”
“Tha did no stop the Captain o' the Silverfish from tryin',” Non said, shaking her head a third time, “Why d'you think ae jumped ship?”
In a rare breach of composure, Laurence's hands clenched into fist, and he very much suspected that his face was starting to turn red. To the benefit of curbing his temper, Laurence turned sharply about, and marched over to his desk.
As usual since Non had begun managing his personal effects, the desk was in perfect order, with the writing utensils properly secured to prevent them from skittering about should Reliant come upon heavy seas.
“Get out of that window,” Laurence said sharply, “I'll not have a woman drown because of the indiscretion of a man on another ship. We need to get you safely back to Britain.”
“Yeh leave me on shore,” Non said, Laurence trying to gauge whether or not she had moved out of the window by the sound of her voice, “An ae might as well jump out th' window, ae'll be just as dead.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?” Temeraire asked, “Is there some sort of shark waiting for you in Britain?”
Non was not quick to reply; deciding it would make him seem less of an immediate threat, Laurence pulled out his desk chair, and sat down on it rather stiffly, still facing away from Non.
“I take it you did not simply run away from parents prone to violence?” Laurence asked stiffly, his temper starting to recede a bit again.
“My Ma and Da were wunnerful people!” Non snapped sharply, “Yeh insult them an' I'll put pepper in yer neck-cloth!”
An inane bout of humor welled up within Laurence for a moment, and he abruptly realized how absurd the whole situation was. Here he was, newly-attached to a dragon of all things, suddenly discovering that his cabin boy was a cabin girl, and didn't just term make his sense of propriety want to scream? And her threat was so childish…
“How old are you?” Laurence asked again, finally turning to face Non.
The girl was still eyeing him warily, but at least had moved back inside the window, even if both hands were gripping the frame as she watched him.
“I had thought you to be seven,” Laurence said stiffly, “Perhaps eight. If you were so young, you would not be bleeding. You must be aware that your gender has started to show, something which will only become more obvious in time. How old are you?”
“Eleven,” Non said reluctantly, “Ae'll be twelve in J'ly. Why's it matter?”
“Because that means you are old enough that I can send you to my mother's care without her assuming you are the product of a youthful indiscretion on my part,” Laurence said with a sigh, “Now-stop that!”
The last was barked as an order in true, for Non had started to pull herself back out the window again.
“I had thought you sensible!” Laurence snapped, his patience truly starting to find its limits, “Cease this ridiculousness about throwing yourself out the window at once! Surely you must see that as difficult as it is to hide your beauty now, it will be impossible within a few months or years!”
“Break m'nose a few times,” Non snapped back, “Then ae'll have a mug same's any other sailor.”
“I will not raise my hand against a woman!” Laurence hissed, “No matter how tempting you may make it seem!”
Non's expression twisted at that, the harsh mask starting to give way to a mixture of anger and grief, as her white-knuckled grip on the window frame started to tremble. Laurence felt altogether boxed in, with no obvious way out of the situation at hand, when Temeraire decided to take things into his own paws.
Having slowly crept up along the bulkhead beside the window Non stood half-within, the young dragon hurled himself at the girl, and knocked her sprawling over onto Laurence's bunk. The two thrashed about briefly in a tangle of limbs, and Laurence lunged up out of his chair and rushed over. He almost seized Non by the shoulders, with no clear thought in his mind as to what he would do after that, when he caught sight of the young girl's eyes.
She was staring up at him in absolute terror, tears starting to leak out the corners of her eyes as she hyperventilated. Laurence stood stock still, heart feeling as though it was caught in a vice, and after a moment's thought he backed away.
“Temeraire,” he called sharply, “Get off of her.”
The dragon looked at Laurence askance, then complied as Laurence moved over to re-secure the window that Non had almost jumped out of. Scowling once that task was achieved, Laurence wracked his mind for a path forward. He almost turned to face Non again, but knew that would do nothing for his ability to think clearly, and decided not to.
After a few moments, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, and withdrew the key to his own quarters. He frowned at it for a few seconds, before turning and tossing it to Non. The girl was still too out of sorts to catch it, and it bounded off her chest, before flopping onto the blanket atop Laurence's bed.
“That is the key to this cabin,” Laurence declared, “If you wish, you may lock it after Temeraire and I leave. I shall tell the crew that Temeraire and I are trying out sleeping up on the deck, as he is starting to get rather large to keep staying within my quarters, which is true in any case. I expect the door to be unlocked by eighth bell, so that I may not be embarrassed in front of the crew when I try to return to my own quarters in the morning.
“As you are aware, we are currently sailing for Funchal, not Britain, so whatever your fears about going ashore in Britain need not be so urgent as to drive you to any further foolishness tonight. Good night, miss, and we shall be speaking in the morning.”
So saying, Laurence turned and left, Temeraire trotting along behind him worriedly.
((()))
“Why is Non behaving so strangely?” Temeraire asked quietly late into the night.
Laurence was surprised that it had taken so long for the inquisitive dragon to inquire of the issue, and was quite thankful indeed that he had waited until none of the crew were nearby.
“Someone,” Laurence said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper as he glanced around quarterdeck to ensure none of the crew were within earshot, “Has done her a very great injury in the past, and now she is afraid of experiencing the same once more.”
“But you would never do such a thing!” Temeraire insisted indignantly, “She has known you longer than I, this should be quite obvious!”
“Thank you,” Laurence said, reaching over to stroke the dragon's head, already coming up on being larger than his own, “But you must understand that fear is not entirely rational. Up until now, I have considered Non to be a stalwart, sensible sort, and in the morning we shall see if that nature proves true, once the initial rush of fear has passed.”
“And if it has not?” Temeraire asked worriedly.
“I may need to have you sit on her,” Laurence said dryly, “To keep her from hurting herself, until we can talk sense into her.”
“She didn't seem to much like it when I jumped on her earlier today,” Temeraire said.
“No,” Laurence said reluctantly, “And I would prefer not to inflict it upon her again, but people who will not behave sensibly inevitably must put up with things they do not like in the least. In truth, all men, and women I suppose, must do so. Life has a great deal of hardship to it, as well as labors both satisfying and onerous. Behaving without sense will simply heap more unpleasantness on top of what already must be borne.”
“Let us hope she will be reasonable again,” Temeraire decided.
“Yes,” Laurence said, “Let us hope.”
((()))
When Laurence and Temeraire returned to his quarters the next morning, the door was not locked, and the place had been cleaned to the point of nearly being spotless. Non was sitting on a stool by one of Laurence's seachests, shining his second pair of boots.
“Ae'm sorry,” Non said, the words bursting out in a rush as soon as Temeraire pushed the door shut behind them, even if the girl was pointedly keeping her eyes on her work, “Me Da woulda' been ashamed. Just 'cause yer a cap'n doan mean you won' do sumthin' wrong, but just 'cause another cap'n did, doan mean you will either.”
“Thank you for the apology,” Laurence said, “And I am sorry that an officer of His Majesty's Navy would be so dishonorable as to threaten you in such an unthinkable way.”
“Twaren't yer fault, Cap'n,” Non said, still not looking up from the boots, “Yeh've bin nothin' but fair t' me.”
“Again, thank you,” Laurence said, crossing the cabin to sit on the edge of his bed, and start removing his uniform, “Are you ready for a reasonable discussion about your future then?”
“Nae ready,” Non said, shaking her head, “But ae'll have it all th' same.”
“That will have to do,” Laurence said with a sharp nod, “Now where are you from?”
“Ae'm no pickpocket or such,” Non said, shaking her head, “'Side from that, yeh said we'd talk 'bout mah future, not mah past, so ae'll thank ye not to ask more 'bout it, Cap'n.”
Laurence frowned slightly, but after a few moments, decided to leave the subject lie for the time being. He had little doubt it should and would come back up again, but it was not essential to more pressing matters.
“Very well,” Laurence said, “When the Reliant reaches Funchal, I will be disembarking permanently from the Reliant. I cannot in good conscience leave you aboard ship when I go. While I am not particularly wealthy, I am a man of some means, and am willing to employ you in a role much as you serve now.”
“Valet an' maid,” Non said, relaxing slowly as she set aside one boot, and picked up the other to start working on it, “Ae kin do that. An' when yeh leave Funchal?”
“You have made it clear that you consider living in Britain completely unacceptable,” Laurence said, “If you will not tell me why, I am left quite constrained in my ability to work around this limitation.”
Non said nothing, keeping her eyes on the boot.
“Clearly you have not thought your life in danger when ships you have served on made port in Britain,” Laurence said with a sigh, “Would Gibraltar be a place you believe safe?”
After a moment's thought, Non nodded.
“Then for the time being,” Laurence declared, “The plan shall be for you to stay with me at Funchal, and then we will either travel together to Gibraltar, or I will send you on if my own orders do not permit it. I have some friends in the service in Gibraltar who could likely use a more competent maid and secretary.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Non said, making the effort to pronounce the words more clearly, and turning to face Laurence for the first time since he had entered.
Her expression was still stiff, and her eyes conflicted, but the terrible bleakness that had ruled them when she had put herself halfway through the window was no longer present, and Laurence found some relief in that.
“I should like to come to a more solid arrangement for your future before then,” Laurence declared, “But I will not try to force it upon you.”
“...Thank you Cap'n,” Non said again, and for a moment, Laurence was afraid the girl might cry again, before she swallowed and turned her attention back to the boot in her lap.
((()))
A week passed, and after a day and a half of awkwardness, the two humans fell into a reasonably comfortable rhythm again. They worked together to care for the rapidly-growing dragonet, and when Temeraire slept but neither of them did, Laurence again pushed to expanding Non's education. He was somewhat surprised to learn that she was trilingual, being fluent in Gaelic and French, as well as her semi-passable efforts at English.
He discovered this at the same time as he discovered Temeraire was also apparently fluent in French, something Doctor Pollitt attributed to the language being spoken around his egg during its incubation. It was not difficult to discern that Non preferred talking about how Temeraire came by the language to how she did.
Soon thereafter the Reliant was caught up in a storm, and Temeraire and Laurence pulled a member of the crew from the ocean after he had been washed overboard.
A week after that, they arrived in Funchal.
((()))
Funchal was the Principle city on the island of Madeira, which while controlled by the Portuguese, had hosted a British naval station by treaty for quite some time. Four hundred-some miles West of Morocco, and two hundred and fifty North of the Canary islands, it was an important waystation for ships traveling to the Pacific or South Africa. That it had a population in the tens of thousands, and supplied its own food and lumber played heavily into its utility.
Non thought the modest mountains which looked out over Funchal from the spine of the island were quite beautiful, and was quite content to study the city and island from afar while waiting for Captain Laurence to return from reporting to the naval station's commanding admiral. Temeraire was eating, which was more than enough to keep the locals away from the Reliant for the time being.
Non suspected she would need to learn Portuguese soon, or at least some part of it. The Portuguese were not particularly close allies of Great Britain, but they certainly maintained a close enough relationship to keep the Spanish firmly interested in their declining colonial assets, rather than trouble on their closer borders. While the French colonies might be accessible across the Mediterranean, at distances reasonably patrolled and covered by France's large aerial corps, Spain needed free access to the seas to maintain what grip it still had on its colonies, and no fleet crossed the Atlantic without the permission of His Majesty's Royal Navy.
“That was quite agreeable,” Temeraire declared once he'd finished his first taste of mutton, “Do you suppose Laurence will return soon?”
“Tha'll be up t' th' brass,” Non declared, hefting her bucket and rag, then setting about cleaning Temeraire's snout and claws, “Now hold still, yeh big beastie.”
Temeraire obliged, and by the time Non had finished cleaning him, Laurence was making his way back across the docks from wherever the admiral's office lay.
“A message is to be sent to the covert at Gibraltar,” the Captain declared, “For the time being, Temeraire and I shall remain here at Madeira.”
“Ae'll start movin' yer trunks,” Non declared with a nod.
((()))
While Laurence found leaving the Reliant to be painful, settling in at Madeira, for however brief a period, was quite remarkably easy. Laurence rented a comfortable little cottage up above the city, and Temeraire was more than capable of hauling his possessions (and Non's single canvas bag of personal belongings) up from the port. Once they had arrived, Non industriously set about seeing the house in order, and Laurence very quickly started to feel like he was simply on vacation.
Temeraire's voracious appetite was more a matter of fascination than concern, now that the limited shipboard supplies were not in danger of being exhausted, and there were plenty of sheep and cattle on the island available for purchase. The dragonet was steadily growing into being a dragon, and rather than taking turns cleaning Temeraire after he ate, Laurence and Non started to work together at the task, one working on his muzzle, while the other worked on his claws.
After eating his evening meal, Temeraire usually slept, which left Laurence at liberty to walk down into the city to dine with Riley and his other friends in the navy. In some ways, it was superior to the leaves he had taken in the past, still being close enough to the sea he so loved to smell the salt and feel the breeze, and not needing to leave the company of intimate friends. If he had not been worried for the fallout of his relationship with his father and Miss Edith Galman, it might have been one of the happiest times of his life.
When Laurence returned from the city each evening, he would usually find Non reading to Temeraire, a task which he would relieve her in before the night turned too late. Non insisted on rising early enough to prepare breakfast for Laurence before he rose from bed, something he thought was her attempting to express gratitude without being direct about it, and Laurence would not see her deprived of sleep.
Part of him still recoiled at a woman being subject to the rough conditions of being a crew member aboard a navy vessel, and Laurence decided to do what he could to rectify the situation post-haste. His first efforts in that regard, however, did not meet the response he had expected, even if he hadn't had any terribly clear expectations in regards to a response.
((()))
“Wha' is it?” Non asked, slightly befuddled as Laurence passed her a small basket of clothing upon returning from Funchal.
“If the seamstress fulfilled the order correctly,” Laurence said, “It should be five dresses suitable for country work, and five sets of underthings. Normally when giving custom to an unfamiliar craftsman, I would inspect the order, but it would be unseemly for me to be pawing through a lady's undergarments, so I must ask you to confirm it yourself.”
“...Dresses?” Non said, setting the basket on the cottage's small dining table and picking up the article of clothing on top, a simple navy-blue dress, “Why?”
“I could not in good conscience leave you inadequately attired,” Laurence declared, “It was one thing when we were at sea and you had to continue to conceal your gender, it is quite another now that the means to rectify the situation are available.”
Several conflicting emotions passed across Non's face, and Laurence was struck by the stark contrast to how she carried herself aboard ship. With a bit of thought, it was really no surprise that she had made a deliberate point of presenting a strong, masculine front, and worked greatly to conceal her emotions from the entirety of the ship's company.
Now, gratitude, sorrow, uncertainty, and what looked a distressingly lot like fear crossed Non's face quite visibly as she studied the dress.
“'Scuse me, Cap'n,” Non choked out, before picking up the basket and bustling off to her small room in the cottage with uncharacteristic haste.
A bit confused by Non's abrupt departure, Laurence left the cottage to check on Temeraire, and before long was reading aloud to him from a recounting of the Punic Wars.
It took almost a half an hour for Non to emerge from the cottage, and aside from the ragged state of her hair, looking very pretty in the deep blue dress. Laurence realized with a start that between his own appearance, the price he'd accepted paying from the seamstress, and the language barrier between them, she must have assumed that he was a minor nobleman asking for something like a country riding dress for his daughter. The dress was made of durable material and not elaborately embroidered in the least, but it was cut to flatter in a way that a work-dress for a commoner would not have been, and there was some simple decoration around the high neckline.
Non's eyes were also slightly red, and it wasn't hard to tell that she had been crying. Laurence was grateful she had spared him from being exposed to such a demonstration; while he had no discomfort with children like some of his fellow officers, he was neither terribly able nor at ease rendering comfort to them when greatly distressed.
“Thank you, Cap'n,” Non said thickly, deliberately enunciating the words properly as she did when trying to convey something she considered particularly important.
“You are quite welcome, Non,” Laurence said with a pleased smile, “It is only what you ought already have, had not life been unfairly harsh to you.”
“Oh,” Temeraire declared, “You do look quite nice, whyever did you not dress like this before?”
“Ae was in disguise,” Non said, walking over to seat herself on one of Temeraire's forelegs, “Nae women s'posed t' be on a navy ship.”
“Indeed,” Laurence said with a sharp nod, “And while you did and continue to fulfill your duties very diligently, I am quite pleased to have you in safer quarters now, Non.”
“Thank you,” Non said again, more quietly this time, as she leaned back against Temeraire's flank.
Laurence nodded again, and turned his attention back to his book. The rest of that afternoon passed pleasantly in tales of historic bravery in daring, Laurence passing the book off to Non to read from once his own voice began to tire.
((()))
One day perhaps two weeks after they'd arrived at Madeira, Non woke from a nap she had been taking leaning against Temeraire's flank, to find an enormous dragon on close approach, about to set down. For a moment, she nearly panicked, before recognizing it as a Regal Copper from the books on dragon physiology they had been reading.
The men attached to it by a sophisticated harness were something she had not seen in quite some time. Most of Britain's coverts were in the highlands of Scotland, and while it had been four years since she had last lived close to them, some faint memories of seeing dragons overhead with crews attached did remain to her.
“I say,” Temeraire said as the Copper landed, “She is very large; do you think I will grow to be so big?”
“Ae doan know,” Non said, pulling herself upright and straightening her dress, “Ser Howe didnae say.”
“Hail!” a man declared as the Copper deftly lifted him from the harness and lowered him to the meadow, “I am Captain Portland, and this is Laetificat, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Ae'm Non, Cap'n Portland,” Non called in return, “An' this is Temeraire.”
She felt the urge to ask if there was another juvenile dragon colored jet black they might be looking for, but suppressed it. With Captain Laurence, she might have made the jest, but it would not be proper with a strange officer of unfamiliar temperment.
“Then we have come to the correct place,” Portland said, striding up to where Non stood beside Temeraire, a younger officer dismounting to follow after him, “You have the sound of Scotland on your tongue young miss, and you seem comfortable around Temeraire. Are you from one of the villages around Loch Laggan?”
“Nae ser,” Non replied, shaking her head, “Temeraire 's a friend, no reason for me t' be afraid o' him.”
“I see,” Portland said as he came to a stop in front of Temeraire, looking the dragon up and down, before turning his attention back to Non, “If you would do me the kindness of showing me to your cottage, I could do with a cup of tea, and Lieutenant Dayes here has news for Temeraire.”
Non looked up at Temeraire, who nodded towards the cottage.
“Do go on,” the Imperial said, “You know Laurence would want us to be hospitable.”
“Aye,” Non said, turning to trot off towards the cottage, “This way ser, ae'll have a cuppa ready right quick.”
Portland followed Non into the cottage, and doffed his hat and coat while she fetched both kettles in the cottage and set them both over the stove.
“How many in your crew, ser?” Non asked as she set about gathering every mug and cup she could find, “Ae'm not sure if'n ae'll have enough cups.”
“Do what you can,” Portland said smiling faintly, “Captain Laurence mentioned you were an industrious sort, and given it shall be time for Temeraire to depart Madeira shortly, asked if I might see you to Gibraltar, though he was not entirely clear as to why.”
“We will be departing so soon, ser?” Non asked as she began laying mugs out on the table, deliberately avoiding the implied question.
“Britain needs every dragon we can fly,” Portland said, not commenting on her evasion, “Especially heavyweights as Temeraire is supposed to be. Now, seeing as how at ease you are around Temeraire, I would make you a counter-offer to traveling to Gibraltar, if you can keep a secret.”
“A secret, ser?” Non said, glancing up at Portland in confusion, before returning to the stove to check on the kettles there, “Ae kept Cap'n Laurence's desk for 'im, he 'splained military secrecy t' me.”
“This is more of a social matter,” Portland said, watching Non curiously, “Will you swear to keep what I am about to tell you secret?”
“If'n it isn't unrighteous t' do so,” Non said, turning to face Portland again, a challenging look in her eyes.
“That will do,” Portland said with a sharp nod, “You see, the aviation corps recruits women, for Longwings will only accept female captains.”
“Th' acid spitters, ser?” Non said, visibly surprised.
“Just so,” Portland said with a sharp nod, “The most important combat breed in all of Britain. We can scarce make do without them, and the corps is never terribly long on female cadets. You already seem well-acclimated to working around dragons, which by my judgement would mean you might make an apt cadet, in spite of starting a year or two older than most inducted into the service. Would you care to join the aviation corps?”
“...Wuld ae be able t' keep servin' with Cap'n Laurence?” Non asked after a long moment of thought.
“Ah,” Portland said, grimacing slightly, before realization struck him, and he visibly chose to shift subjects, “Keep serving? Whatever was a young lady doing serving in the navy?”
Non frowned, but before their conversation could continue any further, a terrible roar arose from outside the cottage, followed by Temeraire shouting far louder than Non had ever heard before.
“No!” the dragon bellowed, “I shan't believe it, you, you frenchman you! Non! Non, where are you?”
Non rushed outside, to see Lieutenant Dayes scrambling back across the meadow, away from Temeraire, who looked fit to be tied.
“Whas wrong?” Non demanded, hurrying over to lay a calming hand on Temeraire's shoulder, which was by now so high she could barely reach it.
“This man,” Temeraire hissed, “Has been saying the most terrible things about Laurence, that he does not wish to be my Captain anymore, and that he has gone back to command the Reliant once more, and I shall never see him again!”
“Tha's daft,” Non snapped, turning to glare at Lieutenant Dayes alongside Temeraire, “Cap'n do luv the sea, no mistake, but he wouldn' come read t' you ev'ry day if he didn' luv yeh too.”
“William Laurence is a navy man,” Dayes said, having regained his feet and standing as tall as he could to stare down at Non, “And captains a ship, not a dragon.”
“Yeh speak an awful lot fer sumone who's scarce met th' man,” Non retorted, no more intimidated by Dayes glare than Temeraire was, “Cap'n Laurence is a man of honor. If'n he were t' go back t' sea, he would tell Temeraire he had t' leave himself. Yer a lousy liar, l'tenant.”
“Quite right,” Temeraire said, nodding sharply, “If Laurence were to go back to the Reliant, I shall simply accompany him.”
“Yer gettin' a wee bit big fer th' Reliant,” Non said, patting Temeraire on the shoulder.
“Then we shall go and seize a larger vessel from the French,” Temeraire declared, “If Laurence could take the Amitie without my help, I am quite certain we could take a larger one with it, perhaps the one which he named me after.”
Dayes opened his mouth to retort again, but Captain Portland stepped out of the cottage and cut him off.
“Lieutenant,” Portland called sharply, “Return to Laetificat. I should think that if Will Laurence were not Temeraire's Captain, young miss Non here would be.”
“I will have none other than Laurence for my Captain,” Temeraire declared with finality, “But Non has also cared for me since before I hatched, and I could ask for no finer friend.”
“There you have it,” Portland said, faintly amused, “Now miss Non, I do believe I can in good promise you that if you should join the corps, you will be able to serve under Captain Laurence.”
“If he'll have me,” Non said, “Ae'll join the corps.”
((()))
“I must protest this,” Laurence said stiffly as they climbed aboard Temeraire the next day, making ready to fly North, “I would not have you put in any further danger than you already have been.”
“Cap'n,” Non replied, moving more cautiously than Laurence, as she had never mounted Temeraire for flight before, “Yeh heard it from Portland yerself. They need women t' serve with th' Longwings. Why no' me?”
“You have already had to deal with more than enough hardship than any woman should be forced to suffer through,” Laurence insisted, barely resisting the urge to frown as one of the ensigns from Laetificat checked over the straps holding him to Temeraire's harness.
“So yeh would have passed up yer duty,” Non replied, leaning forward to stare Laurence directly in the eye once the ensign had finished his work, and scrambled back towards Laetificat, “So's sumone else could do it?”
Laurence could not find an answer to that without either contradicting himself, or approving Non putting herself directly in harm's way, both of which he mightily objected to.
“Ready to fly,” Laetificat declared, distracting Laurence from his thoughts, at least for the moment.
“Yeh showed me duty yerself,” Non said quietly, the both of them watching as Laetificat lifted Portland up onto her shoulders, where he clipped himself into place, “Like me Da. Tha's why ae trust you.”
“Temeraire,” Laetificat called as she lowered her stance, preparing to leap into the air, “Follow a half-length behind me, so that I may break wind for you. It will be more than a hundred miles to the Dragon Transport, and be sure to tell me if you tire, for I can carry you for a brief while.”
Then the Regal Copper leaped into the air, and a moment later, Temeraire followed after, causing his back to shift forcefully beneath the both of them. For a few moments, the rapid flurry of take-off occupied all of Laurence's attention, and he felt a pair of small arms wrap tightly around his waist as Non clung to him for some stability. It was the most physical contact he had ever had with her, and it reminded him once again just how small she was.
Once their flight evened out and they started to move around the mountain at Madeira's center, Laurence felt Non's grip on him relax, and the girl gasped.
Looking down and to his left, he saw her head peaking around his flank. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she liked out over the land and ocean beneath them, and the wind whipped at her scraggly hair.
For the first time since she had first come to his attention for disciplining more than a month ago, Non looked like the child that she was supposed to be, and Laurence could not find it in him to deny her the skies.
Perhaps a courier dragon will take to her, Laurence tried (and failed) to convince himself.
((()))
AN: This is the most recent side-project to win a vote from my supporters, and it'll have three more chapters following up, after which I will be aiming for one a month until the project is complete. For those not familiar, this is a crossover with my main project over the last five years, Brucequest. You don't need to read it to follow this story, but pretty much all the new cast here will be from that.
