FIC: In the Bleak Midwinter

Title: In the Bleak Midwinter
Author: australienne
Fandom: Naomi Novik's Temeraire novels
Rating: P for pessimism and purple prose. (G for content)
Pairing: None
Word Count: About 6000
Spoilers: All the books, plus the excised part of Empire of Ivory on the website.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Disclaimer: The characters are obviously not mine. All rights lie with Naomi Novik and her publishers. The title and quotation are from A Christmas Carol/In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rosetti.
Background: For tokoyosalterego in the Temeraire ficathon.

Summary: Laurence had been prepared to take his tattered honour to the grave but must perforce live a traitor. Temeraire, on the other hand, had no mixed emotions to reconcile.


Author's Notes: This is an admittedly delayed ficathon pinch hit. tokoyosalterego requested more stuff from the French and French dragons' perspective, language in the same style as the book, or places/cultures unexplored in the books. I've managed the language and the unexplored dragon culture, and the French get a cameo at the end. Unfortunately I didn't notice the request for an absence of angst until I'd finished - I wouldn't necessarily describe this as Angsty!Laurence, but he's certainly suffering from a severe case of introspection. I do apologise. I hope it's in character and that you enjoy reading it anyway.

Thanks to sahiya for the initial beta and for pointing out that I had a metaphor but no idea what it meant. Any confusion that remains is entirely my fault. ;) BTW, my prose style is not particularly conducive to plot; if my tenses are awry it gets clearer after the flashback.

Historical notes at the end.

---

In the Bleak Midwinter


April 1809

Laurence wrapped his coat closer around him and stamped his feet on the snow-covered ground several times in a vain attempt to restore circulation. It was a scant few days before the start of May, but there was no sign of a thaw. Temperatures in the Highlands had turned freezing just after the New Year, and seemed well set to continue that way. It was one of the coldest winters in living memory, and muttered stories of Jacobite risings and vengeful spirits were circulating among the servants ever more frequently. Many of those on the ground crews were equally uneasy, and even the youngest cadets had stopped throwing snowballs after the second month of swirling snow and ice. Laurence had recently heard several of the more nervous officers - and their dragons - call the sustained chill a portent of disaster, and had singularly failed to muster the scorn appropriate to so irrational a notion. Though his logical side doubted the fates could possibly concoct anything to surpass the events of the previous year, he was sometimes hard-pressed to silence a more insistent inner voice, which declared such bleakness an apt natural echo of the mark treason had left on his soul.

While struggling to ignore his conscience, Laurence was nonetheless prepared to acknowledge that he had never in his life felt so consistently cold. A three day gale in January in the North Sea was barely worth a shudder when compared to twelve weeks of bone-shaking temperatures. And there was painfully little that could be done. Bathing helped; but time in the baths had been rationed to allow everyone a brief spell of warmth and to avoid disturbing the many eggs which were the product of frantically renewed breeding in the aftermath of the epidemic. The wind whistled through every crack in stone and wood, and Laurence had taken to sleeping in scarf and gloves. He had wondered how Demane and Sipho were managing, raised as they were in heat and dust, until he had peered into the cadets’ quarters one evening and found them huddled together, wrapped in so many blankets that they appeared almost mummified. Even drink had its limits as a source of temporary warmth, especially since the virtual isolation of the covert due to storms had left supplies of anything other than throat-burning, foul-tasting and quite possibly poisonous spirits extremely low. The subsequent tea consumption had been enough to float half the company back to China.

It was worse in the air. New formations were being trained at a frantic pace for the fighting that would no doubt be renewed now that both sides were recovered. Older dragons were also being put through their paces after the long months of illness had left them well short of their old precision. No longer trusted on independent duty, Temeraire had been ordered north alongside his old formation. For all of them, whether raw recruits or veterans, the long, often tedious hours on a dragon’s back during training were a test of endurance. Noses and toes froze, and precision manoeuvres became impossible with aching fingers fumbling to snap carabiners into place.

Though Laurence would never say as much aloud, the experience was sufficiently unpleasant for him to sympathise with some of the younger aviators, who responded with audible glee on days when the danger of wing joints icing over kept everyone grounded. While he still demanded - and largely received - rigid discipline in behaviour, the conditions were severe enough for him to relax his expectations as to uniform tidiness. His crew had duly turned out in a remarkable assortment of wool and fur. The sight offended his sense of order, but the grumbling did stop. His own concession to the cold was to take to the air wearing an old navy greatcoat over his flying coat. It left him with little range of motion in his shoulders, but had so far prevented frostbite.

On this occasion, the most recent blizzard had blown itself to shreds in the night, leaving Laurence to make his way over to Temeraire under a clear blue sky. It was another bitterly cold day despite the brightness and he began to regret his decision to breakfast early. Still, the early morning was a good opportunity to spend some time alone with his dragon in the overcrowded covert, and Laurence could hardly turn back now. He braced himself against the prospect of another day spent shivering and tried instead to enjoy what would undoubtedly prove to be only a brief period of sunshine.

Temeraire was looking skyward in consternation when Laurence arrived, and the dragon’s first question revealed his own frustration with the weather.

"Laurence, how is it possible for the sun to be shining on us directly, and yet produce no heat at all?"

Although generally an unenthusiastic student, the science of weather had been one of the few subjects to interest Laurence in the schoolroom, given its utility for life at sea. "This may not explain the weakness of winter sunlight precisely, but I do know that seasonal variations in temperature are related to the angle of the earth as it rotates."

Temeraire brightened at the response. "Oh, that is entirely possible! In China I recall reading a treatise by Su Song that dealt at some length with the position of celestial objects and their relationship to..."

Laurence let the flow of information wash over him as he began to turn down an enormous blanket that covered the dragon from head to tail. Gong Su would arrive with Temeraire’s breakfast shortly, and the knit and canvas mass was impossible to wash. Fastidious as ever, Temeraire refused to be draped with something that smelt of last week’s stew, and preferred to eat without the extra warmth.

Gong Su duly appeared, and while Temeraire set to demolishing several sheep’s worth of roasted mutton with a cauldron of tea to follow, Laurence found his thoughts wandering.

---

Earlier that winter

"A blanket? Blankets are for horses! Dragons require pavilions. A silk rug might be acceptable, but no dragon with any sense of dignity would ever allow himself to be covered with something so ugly." Temeraire’s ruff prickled with disapproval.

Despite the brutal temperatures, the Admiralty had refused point blank all requests to make enough money available for pavilions. With the dragons stationed in the north at very real risk of exposure, and three cases of frostbite already reported, the search for an affordable solution became desperate. After a series of increasingly outlandish experiments, the blankets were declared the least unsatisfactory method of keeping out the unusual cold. Production duly commenced, with the local villagers taking up their needles with enthusiasm at the prospect of extra income during the lean winter months. The sheer mass of material required eventually led to the conscription of half the covert, despite the crewmen’s evident unfamiliarity with the art of sewing.

Many of the dragons at Loch Laggan looked askance at the oversized coverlets when they first appeared and simply refused to use them. Maximus contributed much to the success of the eventual project when he allowed the largest specimen to be draped across his back without complaint. His subsequent comment, punctuated by sneezes, that it was better to look silly than to freeze, convinced the smaller dragons to follow his example. The sight of the Regal Copper and his friends snoring under patchwork coverings which even a colour-blind lunatic would have disdained was indeed ridiculous, although most officers managed to keep their laughter in check and their smiles hidden until they reached the relative safety of the club. The bilious garments kept the dragons warm, which was all that really mattered.

However, Temeraire himself refused to capitulate. When presented with his own unwieldy blanket, the dragon sniffed at it with all the considerable scorn a Celestial could muster.

Laurence explained, for what seemed like the thousandth time, that the blankets were the only sensible option for shelter. Parliament would not act and Laurence’s own funds were stretched painfully thin by the suit for damages. Holding a low opinion of the virtues of either the government or self-denial, Temeraire remained deaf to Laurence’s persuasions and launched his own campaign for adequate dragon housing. He was watched too closely after his previous escapades to raise funds as Iskierka did, so instead bombarded Parliament, the Lords, the Admiralty and everyone else he could think of with his request, "as the chosen representative of the British Dragons", for accommodation fit for "the Bravest Defenders of the Realm."

While support for the emancipation of dragons was low under normal circumstances, any claim made in the name of a known rabble-rouser could only serve to harden the resolve of its opponents. The flood of rejections thus surprised no-one but Temeraire, who stubbornly failed to see what his individual reputation had to do with an improvement to the lives of dragons in general.

"Why, Laurence, I know we went to France, but the others have done absolutely nothing. Why should they suffer as a result?" Temeraire scratched at his forehead. "Not that our own actions were wrong, of course; the situation left us no alternative."

Only the most slippery of solicitors would have said the other British dragons had done "absolutely nothing" in the aftermath of his mad excursion; even the most literal definition of the phrase seemed ill-suited when applied to their behaviour. The dragon’s inactivity had in fact been their most powerful weapon.

---

It was a mild night for late October, and the fresh air blew cool and soft on Laurence’s face. He and Berkley had seen their dragons settled in virtual silence, and they were halfway back to headquarters before Laurence managed to force the question past the constriction in his throat.

"What in heaven’s name has happened?" he asked Berkley. "Temeraire and I were given our liberty with no notice and for no apparent reason; we were only told to rejoin the rest of the formation at Dover." Talking seemed to grow easier with practice, so Laurence went on. "I cannot for the life of me imagine anything that would make the Admiralty give way so rapidly."

"Only been an aviator for a few years - your imagination needs time to expand," said Berkley dryly. "That pack of scoundrels," Berkley jerked his chin in the direction of the sleeping dragons, "did exactly what Maximus and Lily had promised at Laggan and refused to see you hang. They refused to do anything, in fact - no patrols, no training flights, and certainly no carrying us about to face those fools in London. The whole damn formation just sat there and said they wouldn’t fly again until you and Temeraire were released."

Berkley snorted. "They simply would not move. God knows the rest of the Corps was not in the mood to attack their own saviours, and the army baulked at arguing with two hundred tonnes of dragonweight, especially when Iskierka arrived to join the fun and shot flames twenty feet into the air."

Laurence shuddered at the last piece of news, although he supposed it was some consolation that the Kazilik had not flamed the soldiers directly. "And where were the rest of you?" Laurence could not properly muster any real condemnation of a scheme which had likely set him free, but hated to think he had inspired an epidemic of resistance.

If Berkley caught the hint of accusation, he ignored it. "After the first few days, the Marines had us under guard half a mile away, though they let Harcourt off. Would have been an awkward business if she’d delivered there, and Lily was fussing like an old mother hen."

Laurence nodded.

"Anyway," Berkley continued, "They had us so pinned up we could scarcely talk to our dragons, but that naturally riled the dragons even more, so the wretched creatures" - this was said with affection - " cut off negotiations, sent Nelson and Grenville packing, and kept refusing to fly. Then those odd ferals of yours turned up with reinforcements from wherever their homeland is, and it all got a bit out of hand."

It was clearly a case of mutiny, even if Berkley refused to put a name to the disorder. However, it was of some relief to Laurence that his fellow captains appeared not to have taken much part in the dragon-led plot. He idly wondered whether they would have done, given a free hand, but he could hardly ask the question and was fairly sure besides that he would not like the answer.

"Since the aerial war was at a complete standstill and the Channel was gaping open, there was nothing else for the Admiralty to do but yield. I doubt they were at all happy about it, however." Berkley delivered the last of his account matter-of-factly; events spoke for themselves. "At any rate, we are glad to have you back, even if no-one else is." He gripped Laurence’s hand tightly, and went off to find his bed without waiting for a response.

---

While most of Berkley’s account had come as an unwelcome surprise, Laurence had already been well aware that the Admiralty were furious. Lord Nelson had met him at the entrance to Newgate at the very moment of his release, and made it quite clear that his actions had been neither forgiven nor forgotten. The presence of another senior officer in the carriage that took Laurence to the old covert outside London for his reunion with Temeraire (newly freed from some disused breeding grounds on the Isle of Wright) merely reinforced the point.

Laurence had never told his dragon of the lingering threat, which was a costly mistake. Temeraire blithely assumed he was back in favour and thus able to keep making a stand on the pavilion issue. It took a visit from Admiral Roland in full panoply to break the impasse, but even then Temeraire continued muttering until Excidium’s baleful gaze shamed him into (temporary) silence.

---

April 1809

Temeraire seemed disinclined to chat as his captain wiped away the worst of the breakfast dirt with a damp cloth, and Laurence was grateful for the silence. The blanket affair had sharpened a feeling of mutual incomprehension, present and growing since their reunion, and Laurence now found himself sadly constrained whenever he and Temeraire exchanged much more than pleasantries. He had never thought to be at odds with Temeraire; and yet at odds they seemed to be, with no apparent prospect of a thaw.

In truth, Laurence had never imagined he would have to take stock of his tangled emotions. He had been prepared to take his tattered honour and his doubts to the grave and had never contemplated returning to the service with treason on his conscience and disillusionment in his heart. Now that the shadow of the gallows had receded, he must perforce live a traitor. With no natural inclination towards philosophy, he could scarcely comprehend what such a life would entail. Surely it was impossible to continue with the unquestioning obedience demanded by military discipline, when duty would have asked for silent consent to murder. Yet love for his country and a desire to protect it were as much a part of Laurence as his right arm, and as difficult and painful to lose.

Temeraire, on the other hand, had no mixed emotions to reconcile. As he had told Laurence at in London, he reserved his loyalty for those who deserved it, and the Admiralty and Parliament had shown they did not. He would stay in the Corps because there were no other options in Britain, but reserved the right not to follow orders in situations where his own judgement was clearly superior. The dragon clearly expected Laurence to feel the same, and was shocked when he learned otherwise. Temeraire thought it entirely mad that Laurence still bothered to respect an institution which had been quite happy to hang him, and told him so repeatedly.

Laurence agreed with Temeraire more than he cared to admit, but told him instead that such dedicated insubordination was ill-advised. Temeraire did not take it well, and the disagreement festered.

---

Laurence’s gloomy reverie was eventually interrupted when Temeraire expressed his doubts over the day’s agenda

"Must we really spend another day pacing hatchlings in the cold? Surely it would be more productive to fly a patrol or find a convey to disrupt!"

He sounded so much like Iskierka that Laurence had to laugh. "You will forgive me for preferring a quieter life. Besides, there is little fighting at present. The blockade is holding again, and I believe large-scale action is now moving north towards Denmark. The conditions there are too poor in winter for more than the occasional skirmish."

Given that Temeraire still suffered the occasional pang of guilt over his own good health, Laurence preferred not to add that the British dragons’ exposure to such fierce cold so soon after their recoveries had left them sadly out of condition for intense combat. He also forbore from any mention of their new, more restrictive orders. Laurence may have resigned himself to the fact that it would be a very long time before the authorities trusted them aloft outside a formation, and indeed thought himself fortunate to be flying at all, but Temeraire chafed at the control.

Fortunately, the mention of Denmark was sufficiently diverting, and Temeraire nodded. "I remember the Danish ferals we saw on the way back from Danzig. I wouldn’t want to meet them again in winter. They were good fighters." He looked vaguely envious. "And extremely good at fishing."

Temeraire’s doleful expression invited a compliment, and Laurence obliged. "They were accustomed to the local conditions. Given time, you would meet with the same success." He put down the damp cloth he had been holding, and turned to stroke his dragon’s nose.

"That may be the case, but this winter has provided us with enough experience of cold weather to last a lifetime. I will leave the Danish coast to those foolish enough to want it!" Temeraire accompanied this bold statement with a theatrical shudder.

"I think that is an excellent idea," said Laurence, voice muffled by his handkerchief. He was trying to stifle a sneeze, the task made more difficult by a nose burnt red raw in the icy wind.

Temeraire looked complacent. "It’s my idea; of course it is an excellent one!"

Their recent travails had done little lasting damage to Temeraire’s high opinion of himself. Laurence was half-inclined to check his ego, but this was the most pleasant conversation the two of them had had in some time. It would have been foolish to shatter the fragile peace just to make a point that the a remark rang slightly hollow in the current situation. He nodded instead, which Temeraire correctly read as an invitation to continue.

"Danzig is likewise not on my list of places to visit again, but I would dearly love to spend some more time in the sun." He glanced up at the blue sky, whose brightness remained illusory. "In a place where the sun is actually hot," he added decisively.

Laurence laughed. "I share your sentiments entirely, but alas, there is no prospect of leave for some time." He left it at that, happy enough to indulge Temeraire, even though there was more chance of dragons gaining the vote than the pair of them being granted the freedom to roam in the foreseeable future.

Temeraire didn’t seem particularly discouraged. "When the fortunes of war allow it, we shall go. Have you any notion of a destination? Not Africa, of course, but there must be other places with pleasant climates."

Laurence was quite sure Temeraire could name half-a-dozen temperate countries himself, but he recognised an olive branch when he saw one. "I believe the colony in Australia might be a good choice, if we were ever in a position to travel."

The idea of a pleasure jaunt to Australia was pure fantasy, and Temeraire had to know it. He ploughed on regardless. "You do make nice suggestions, Laurence." He paused. "Is Australia near China, by any chance? It would be nice to see Mei again."

"Not very near, no. And to visit both countries would take too much time when the journey is so very long." Even a fantasy trip had its limits.

"Oh, that is a shame," Temeraire said. "Still, I am sure we will be able to find enough to do in Australia." He looked slightly embarrassed. "Although I don’t actually know what there *is* to do in Australia, apart from enjoy the sun. Are there any dragons?"

By purest chance, Laurence had spent some of his lonely hours in Newgate with a collection of the letters of Sir Joseph Banks, left surreptitiously for him by the prison doctor after an otherwise inconsequential visit. He had been reluctant to tackle the volume at first, as the letters included the sort of detail Temeraire adored; the fact that in all probability Laurence would never be able to share the information with his dragon was too painful for contemplate. He had eventually begun to read as a distraction from his grim surroundings, and been intrigued almost against his will.

After his release, weather and their half-quarrel had been a further hindrance, but it seemed Laurence had been granted an opportunity to discuss the work with Temeraire after all. "There are a great many dragons in the Antipodes, as it happens. Sir Joseph Banks has catalogued some of their peculiarities, much as Sir Edward Howe did for the Oriental breeds.

"Who is Sir Joseph Banks?" asked Temeraire blankly.

"He is the current President of the Royal Society, and has spent a considerable amount of time travelling in the South Pacific." Impressed, Temeraire waited for more.

Laurence cast his mind back to the closely printed pages. "Sir Joseph was particularly taken by the yellow-crested dragons of New South Wales. I understand they are quite small, but can fly for extraordinarily long distances in the heat.

Temeraire shivered. "Heat? That would lovely right now."

Having completely lost feeling in his extremities, Laurence agreed entirely. "Quite. There are also the Echidna Dragons of Victoria, who come equipped with their own spiky armour." He smiled. "Quite useful for defence, no doubt, but impossible to equip with harness and crew."

Temeraire had evidently been thinking along slightly different lines. "It would make mating almost impossible. I shouldn't like to give an egg to a spiky dragon!

Laurence felt a blush rise to his cheeks and changed the subject with as much dignity as he could manage. "I think you would find the coastal dragons in the north more appealing- Sir Joseph claims they spent more time in the sea than on land or in the air, as if swimming were as natural to them as flying."

"That sounds a far better characteristic to have," Temeraire agreed. "It would be a pleasure to spend time with those dragons, assuming they are welcoming of strangers." He looked slightly nervous, as well he might, given their experiences among the African dragons.

"Australian dragons seem to have a better reputation," Laurence said reassuringly. "Many naturalists and explorers have found them to be remarkably tolerant and even friendly. Captain James Cook wrote in his diary of the particularly kindness of some rainbow-coloured dragons, who even helped his party to find water and food." Admittedly, Cook had been murdered by a group of native ferals in Hawaii on a later voyage, so Laurence was reluctant to trust him as a judge of dragon temperament, but it was unlikely that he would ever have to.

As Temeraire knew nothing of Cook’s fate, he remained undisturbed. "When the dragons are so nice, it seems a shame to keep them on the other side of the world." He paused hopefully. "Perhaps they will bring one over here for breeding?"

Laurence shook his head slowly. "Given the impact of the recent disease, the Admiralty and the breeders will be extremely reluctant to import anything truly unknown for some time to come."

For once, Temeraire agreed with the Admiralty. "Perhaps it is best to study other dragons from afar, at the moment."

Laurence remembered something else. "It would make no difference in this case; we have never been in a position to obtain any eggs. Many of the Australian native tribes live among the dragons, and it would take a great deal of persuasion for them to offer a white outsider an egg."

"Like Africa, then," said Temeraire gloomily. "But surely it would be possible if we offered an egg in return?"

"You know we have no eggs to spare." Laurence winced at his own evasion. Even if there were a major surplus of eggs, anyone rash enough to suggest that natives receive one would face instant political ruin. He continued with rather more candour. "Besides, I am afraid colonial policy would never countenance such an exchange."

Temeraire pricked up his ruff at that. "Oh; so it is acceptable for the British to get whatever they want," he said hotly, "but no-one else has the right to ask for something in return?" The dragon did not wait for a response. "I am surprised they have not just stolen an egg or three, since they certainly have no qualms about stealing *people*."

Temeraire was right, of course. There had already been a number of violent clashes between settlers and natives, despite the latter’s peaceable ways. There was also an official policy denying all indigenous claims to the land and promoting British occupation; that it had never been put into action in regions where the small Australian dragons lived was more a matter of luck than judgement. Governors King and Bligh had both tried to advance further into native territory, but terrible judgement and then mass desertion had put paid to the attempts - the soldiers of the New South Wales Corps were even worse than aviators in their approach to discipline. It was to be hoped that the African example would promote more cautious engagement elsewhere in the Empire, but Laurence doubted the underlying morality would change.

He could hardly tell Temeraire that. It would make the dragon’s argument for him. While Laurence considered how best to respond, Temeraire took his silence for guilt, and remarked cuttingly, "I can see why the Chinese hold the British in contempt- they are nothing but brutes. I do not understand why you can continue to feel loyalty to anyone other than your friends."

It was hardly the first snide remark Temeraire had made recently, and in light of the slave trade Laurence could not wholly dismiss the sentiment. But with his experience of treason still a raw wound, it was more than he could take.

"I cannot deny that some British colonists have not behaved as they should; there is no doubt that Parliament has aided and abetted them and that there is no sign of change or remorse among most of the public." Laurence’s voice was low and angry. "But you know perfectly well that I abhor slavery and exploitation. I have spoken out against it in the strongest terms, and am far from the only man to have done so. I will never support this government’s policies, but her government is only a small fragment of Britain. I cannot lightly abandon the whole nation I have spent my life defending out of frustration with a part of it."

It was the statement he had been wanting to make for months, and been unable to. Anger and confusion had finally loosened his tongue. He was only glad he had spoken in relative privacy - the crew had permission to linger over breakfast as long as the cold held and were not due to appear for another few minutes.

Embarrassed and relieved by his outburst in equal measure, it was some time before Laurence could bring himself to look Temeraire in the eye. To his surprise, the dragon had a distinctly shamefaced air about him.

"I know, I know!" Temeraire cried. He took a deep gulp of air and carried on more calmly. "I know I have been running down your beliefs, and it was unjust. It does not follow that a whole nation is worthless just because its lords have no shame - it is not a sensible postulate," he added mathematically "But I was certain you would die; and I hated the Admiralty for trying to take you away from me; and I thought you should hate them as well so you could stop worrying about their orders; and then we could make our own decisions and you would never be in danger again." Another gulp. "When you said I should be more obedient, I thought you might regret having gone to France, and maybe you no longer cared about the plight of dragons."

It was difficult to follow such breathless arguments, but the gist was clear enough. Laurence put as much affection in his voice as he could muster. "My dear, I could never regret an action in aid of so many lives, and I am committed to improving the circumstances of my friends. Yet the political struggle is a long and weary one, and nothing will be gained by a direct attack."

"I have heard from you before," Temeraire sniffled. "I thought you were being overcautious, but now I can that see we must convince people gently or else they will not listen." The dragon frowned, as though calculating a complex equation. "Since it was not gentle to thwart the Admiralty and spread the cure, even though it was right, they ignore our requests and there is no sympathy for our cause. We will have to remain quiet until we are forgiven and then start over."

It was the most accurate dissection of the reality of politics Laurence had heard for some time, though he wished Temeraire had not had to abandon his idealism in the process. But Laurence had his own concession to make.

"You are perfectly right, Temeraire. Nevertheless, there are times when it is better to act and deal with the consequences than to stand by and wait. I would rather a setback to our campaign in Britain than complicity in the murder of dragons in France. And I will admit to preferring freedom won on our behalf by the formation, however irregularly, than a sentence of death issued with perfect legality by the courts."

"Surely that is obvious," Temeraire muttered.

"Obvious to you, perhaps, but a hard thing for me to learn after more than half a lifetime at war." And an even harder thing to say. But the die had been cast, and Laurence could not - would not retreat.

Temeraire’s reply was very earnest. "Laurence, I hope you will not misunderstand me when I say that I respect your dilemma but do not share it."

"Of course not, my dear - that is at the very heart of civilised discussion."

Temeraire looked downcast. "We have not talked very much of late, have we?"

Laurence smiled. "No, but we are talking now. I hope it has gone some way to repairing the damage."

Temeraire had to be content with that, as the ground crew were waiting to help him into his harness, and their aerial colleagues were not far behind.

---

Temperatures had risen slightly during the day, though it was still far from warm when they landed. Laurence relieved the crew of their duties as soon as Temeraire’s harness was off and stored, and they hurried indoors with relief.

Laurence himself was longing for the baths and a cup of tea, but being somewhat shy of company since his release, preferred to wait until the first rush had passed. It meant dining late, but he was usually able to make up a party with at least Harcourt and Berkley, and often Warren and Chenery as well. The other captains had shown a sudden and wholly unconvincing preference for late suppers since their return to Loch Laggan, and refused to let Laurence eat alone. Berkley had brushed off Laurence’s stammered thanks with brusque proclamations of a new-found dislike of crowds. Harcourt, delivered of a daughter two months past, had told him the later hour better suited her feedings, a statement which Laurence had been desperately eager not to question.

On this occasion, the extra time also gave Laurence the opportunity to discover whether his renewed amity with Temeraire had solid foundations. He adjusted his double layer of coats and watched quietly while Temeraire ate his evening meal. That night’s portion was, to judge by the smell, beef stewed in a large quantity of distinctly inferior red wine, but the dragon noticed no deficiencies, and chewed away with great enthusiasm.

"I wonder how Validus fares," said Temeraire, mid-swallow.

Laurence’s thoughts had been some distance away. "Who?" he asked.

"My guard in France - he was the one who suggested cooking with wine."

It felt odd to be considering the fate of an enemy, because Laurence had never spared a moment’s thought for ships he had left mauled but untaken. But then, the sleekest of frigates was but a toy when compared to the company of a dragon.

"The cure seemed well established when we left France, so I am sure he is on the mend, if not already recovered." Laurence paused, then asked curiously, "Do you often think of the dragons you met there?"

Temeraire looked surprised at the question. "Why, of course! I did not want to give them any eggs that would grow up and attack us, and I could not have stayed there, but I hope the dragons are all much better. Most of the ones I encountered were very nice. Except Lien, of course," he added decisively. "It is a pity we all have to fight."

Laurence hoped this would not trigger another argument. "I know you think little of nations or honour, but I am sure you can see why the people of Britain might prefer not to be attacked in their homes."

"Oh, I can see *that*", Temeraire said. "But war still seems rather wasteful when there is so much else to be done in the world."

Laurence could not really disagree.

Temeraire finished his dinner, and looked up at his captain hopefully. "Will you tell me some more about the Australian dragons?"

"By all means, but might we wait until tomorrow? My feet have long since frozen, and the rest of me is about ready to follow."

"If we must." Temeraire gave a mock huff, as if agreeing to the delay had been a major sacrifice. He added more apologetically, "in truth, I already have a great deal to think about, and I am rather tired myself. I will be happy to wait."

Laurence tried not to let his relief show. "I have heard there are a number of interesting stories about Australian dragons, similar to those Sir Edward Howe published about the Orient. If you can stretch your patience a little further, I will try to find a book of them."

Temeraire nodded his approval. "An excellent idea. I will look forward to the stories, and perhaps I will meet the dragons themselves one day."

Laurence had to admire his optimism. "Stranger things have happened."

---

Laurence took his leave of Temeraire with some reluctance, but he was too chilled to stay.

Despite the cold, he had a spring in his step. He and Temeraire were reconciled, and his burden of guilt and confusion felt somewhat lighter to boot. Had anyone suggested five years ago that a dragon - a dragon, of all creatures! - would one day make him question the ideas had spent a career defending, Laurence would have held them for mad. Now, it was the status quo which seemed that way.

Laurence would not go as far as admitting he was *grateful* for the upheaval in his life and in his understanding of the world, but it was a salutary experience to have been forced into examining the assumptions of a lifetime. He was no longer certain what to believe or where he belonged, which was a grave handicap in a society where everyone was expected to know the rules. But if he had to keep floundering for a while, at least he had Temeraire to keep him company

He squared his shoulders and headed for the baths.

---

Later that night, the snow began to melt.



"In the bleak mid-winter
frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron,
water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow,
snow on snow,
in the bleak mid-winter
long ago."

Christina Rosetti

---

Historical Remarks

Su Song did exist, and compiled a celestial atlas in the 9th century. I've obviously taken certain liberties with the lives and careers of Joseph Banks, James Cook, Phillip King and William Bligh. (The latter two had enough problems without an attempted attack on an Aboriginal dragon encampment!) The New South Wales Corps were indeed rather rebellious, particularly when rum was involved.

The brief mention of colonial policy was inspired by the concept of 'terra nullius', which essentially justified Aboriginal dispossession. (For the purposes of accuracy, it wasn't tested in the courts until the 1820s, but the idea had been around for a while.) Its legacy is still being dealt with.

The winter of 1809 was not particularly cold, but I've borrowed the features of other bad period winters, notably 1794 and 1813. Anyway, it's not that unusual for northern Scotland to be cold well into May - and the wind chill is based on personal experience. Brrr!

Oh, and Danzig - now Gdansk - and the Danish coast are both very nice places to visit - in summer.