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Entry tags:
May [OTP23]
Title: A World of Sunshine
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Laurence & Temeraire & Tharkay, background Laurence/Tharkay
Word count: ~5k words
Summary: Newly hatched dragons mature much more slowly than they do in canon, and William Laurence, formerly of the navy, finds himself largely unsupported when he becomes the companion, teacher, and caretaker to an infant dragon. Enter Tharkay, who takes in a literal bird's eye view of the situation.
Notes: Did not realise that I never posted this here. Oops. This is a vaguely magical canon AU of Temeraire in which baby dragons age much more slowly than they do in canon.
“Captain,” said Riley, uncharacteristically sombre after such a total victory over the French frigate, “I think you had better see this for yourself.” He led Laurence to the hold, and, well…
It was an egg. Of course it was an egg. The men on the ship were giving it a wide berth, trying to stay as far away from it as possible while crossing themselves hurriedly. An egg, gleaming and clean, its shell around gone hard. An egg.
Laurence had been asea more or less constantly for nearly twenty years, and he had never had any problem hiding his own nature. The magic that had flowed through his fingers so smoothly as a child now served to keep the winds strong, the waters calm, and the fires away, but it did so quietly, subtly, to ensure that Laurence appeared to be simply unusually lucky and not overtly magical. No known child of magic would be permitted on a ship, after all.
But within that egg was another child of magic, one who could not hide, and that child would not survive alone. On leaving the shell, he or she or they or it would need a magical anchor, and none of the men on board had more than the tiniest glimmer—Laurence would know if they did. Laurence always knew.
And that was assuming the men wouldn’t try to slaughter the child in the shell—an unanchored dragon may not live long, but they’d live long enough to destroy a great deal of the ship, given the chance. Laurence must try to bond with the infant dragon, and then there would be no hiding his magecraft.
“What should we do with it, sir?” asked Riley anxiously.
“We could have omelettes,” said Gibbs, to nervous laughter.
Laurence didn’t speak. He simply approached the shell and put his hand against the warm, smooth surface. Yes, the child was ready to come out. And there was no turning back now—Laurence knew that the inhabitant of the shell could already sense him and was reaching out curiously, mind bright.
“I am here,” said Laurence aloud. There were probably ritualistic words to say now, but Laurence didn't know them. He had left home before he could ever have learned them, and dragons had never been his family’s calling regardless. “You can come out now. I am here.”
The men, who had edged closer when they saw their captain so fearlessly approaching the egg, backed again away. Soft murmurs were rising among them.
“Sir, I don’t think—” began Riley, and then the first crack formed with a noise like thunder.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Laurence, not sure if he was directing the comment to Riley, to the crew, to the infant dragon, or to himself. A vague memory of ancient words glimmered for a moment, and they felt right, even though he didn’t know where them came from. “Don’t be afraid, for today is a world of sunshine.”
“Oh, Laurence, can we go there?” asked Temeraire, looking up at Laurence from where he was crouched over the open book on the table.
It had been three years since he had hatched, but he was still barely larger than a lap dog, and just as excitable. They hadn’t found much information about his lineage, which they took to mean that he was a rare breed of dragon, but the experts they had visited all agreed on one thing: Temeraire would one day be massive, likely one of the largest breeds of dragons. But that was decades off. For now, he was tiny, and soft, and so, so dear. Laurence had been prepared to do his duty by the child of magic he had happened upon, but he hadn’t expected how quickly Temeraire had become his very favourite person.
“Of course, my dear,” said Laurence fondly. “We can go anywhere you like.”
“And perhaps before that, we can even speak to this Tharkay and hear about all these places he has been first hand,” added Temeraire with hope in his huge blue eyes.
Laurence reached out a hand to stroke along Temeraire’s smooth flank. “I’m sure we will,” said Laurence. Temeraire had already faced so many rejections in his short life—a heavy weight dragon in 20 years was no use to the war effort happening right now, measuring as he did at slightly under the weight of a laden tea tray, and Temeraire’s reception by Laurence’s family, former colleagues, and the college of mages in England had been upsettingly cold. Laurence understood their disapproval of him, but to take it out on an infant dragon…
But the Mr Tharkay who had written the fascinating travel memoirs they had just read would surely be different. He had no connection to the mage’s college, at least as far as Laurence could work out, and a well-travelled mind must surely be an open one. “Give me your dictation, my dear,” said Laurence. “I will write and post your letter to him.”
A letter sent without prior acquaintance or introduction was a faux pas that Laurence would not have dared commit, once, but the past three years had changed him more than he could have ever have predicted, and he did not regret the changes despite himself. Tharkay’s response, when it came, was somewhat short, but after reading his memoirs, Laurence suspected that was more his communication style than an intended slight, and he could discern no implied offence at the unsolicited letter. Tharkay invited Mr Temeraire, dragon, and his companion, to his manor near Leeds—and perhaps that was the explanation for his terse writing, Laurence thought, reminiscing briefly on the other Northern Englishmen of his acquaintance—to discuss the details of his stories and travels.
Temeraire was elated. He went over their belongings meticulously, item by item, directing Laurence’s packing with exceptional care and always wondering what Mr Tharkay might think of them. Soon enough, they were bundled up into a little carriage and on their way northwest. The journey was long, but very pleasant—for all that the scenery was very like what they encountered in their most recent home near Dover, Temeraire’s nose was constantly peeking out of where he was tucked into Laurence’s jacket and peering around with great interest. Laurence answered his questions as well as he could, reflecting as he did on how little he knew in truth about the mysteries of the everyday world around him, such as why sheep had such fluffy coats and yet goats did not, and why the geese migrated from season to season, or where they went when they did.
“When I am older and larger, I shall study the natural world,” Temeraire declared grandly. “It would seem that there is still much to be learned.”
“Do not confuse my ignorance with the ignorance of the world at large,” Laurence cautioned, but he rather liked the image that came to mind, of Temeraire as a great scholar, and Laurence as his assistant, or agent, or secretary, as the situation demanded. “But what questions should you specialise in, do you think?”
Temeraire thought on this question silently for a long while, so that they were finally turning up the path to Tharkay’s estate when Temeraire suddenly said, “I shall have to learn more about what is known and unknown to truly decide, but water is so very interesting, isn’t it? Perhaps the sea. And it would make you happy, would it not, to return to the sea? I am very sorry you had to leave it behind for me.” Temeraire’s eyes looked nervously up at Laurence, and he smiled as he rested a hand on Temeraire’s small head.
“I miss the sea, but that cannot compare to how I should miss you if we were apart.” Temeraire relaxed against him, as he always did when seeking reassurance of Laurence’s affections. “But pray pay no mind to me, my dear. I shall be happy if you are.”
But Temeraire’s attention had moved on, fickle as it was. “Why is that bird staring at us so? Isn’t that odd?”
Laurence turned his head to follow the direction of Temeraire’s snout, and there was indeed a little hawk perched on a nearby tree branch, turning its head from side to side to keep them in view. It was a gorgeous thing, with bright, coppery feathers chequered with black. “I suppose we must make an unusual sight,” said Laurence, suppressing his feelings of unease at the intelligent eye fixed upon him. “And this hawk is not the only winged creature I can think of who possesses an insatiable curiosity.
Temeraire buried his face back into Laurence’s jacket, embarrassed, but it wasn’t long before his snout was poking out again, eyes staring back at the hawk until it was out of sight. Laurence expected that to be the end of it, except—
“Oh, Laurence, there is another one!” said Temeraire, and sure enough, there was a different bird perched on a different branch ahead of them, eyes fixed on them as firmly as the previous one’s had been. This one was larger—more eagle than hawk in appearance, to Laurence’s very inexperienced eyes.
“How curious,” said Laurence stiffly. What had previously been uncertain discomfort was now a very certain discomfort. He had heard of magecraft that specialised in communion with animals, of course, but none of Tharkay’s books had implied he possessed such a skill, or even that he possessed any magecraft at all. Though, the inspiration for those tremendous illustrations looking down on cities and countryside was perhaps more evident, if that bird’s eye view had come from the actual eyes of actual birds.
They were met at the gates by a stablehand and a footman, the former of whom took charge of the carriage and the latter of whom led them to a suite of rooms to refresh themselves. The rooms, like the rest of the manor, were comfortable but plain, and Laurence would have been very pleased indeed with their accommodations if he could shake the memory of those orange eyes fixed upon him. Once they were ready, they were led down to a smallish parlour occupied by two men and a score of birds of prey of all sizes. Most were off in corners on perches, their heads tucked under their wings, but two very familiar ones were perched directly on one of the human occupants of the room. He was leaning back in a comfortable-looking worn armchair, stroking the feathers of the smaller hawk gently, dark hair covering his face. The second human was watching the first with a fixed expression, fingers twitching on his thigh as though he wished to be taking notes.
The footman left without announcing their presence, and after several moments of silence, Laurence began to say, “I beg your pardon,” only to be immediately shushed by the keen observer, who said in a distinctly London accent, “Sorry, sorry, just a moment, he’s almost done.”
Laurence could only suppose that this might be another guest of Tharkay’s, given the lack of Northern vowels and cadence, which rather supported Laurence’s earlier supposition that it was Tharkay himself, their host whom Temeraire was so excited to meet, who had sent hawks to spy on them for their journey up to the manor. And given the number and diversity of the birds, he may have been spying on them for even longer.
Temeraire was now watching Tharkay with nearly equal fixation as the Londoner, and when Tharkay finally shook himself free of his trance and looked up, sending the final birds fluttering over to perches on the edge of the room with the others, Temeraire was nearly vibrating with excitement. He was uncharacteristically shy, however, and stayed tucked into Laurence’s jacket as Tharkay asked the Londoner with a draw, amused tone, “I hope that was what you were expecting. I did warn you that it would be dull to watch.” And yes, there was a very slight flatness to his vowels, but far less than Laurence had been expecting. Despite the eccentricity of his lifestyle and hosting etiquette, Tharkay might not be out of place in Laurence’s mother’s formal drawing room, if he were to close his eyes and take his speech alone as evidence.
“It was marvellous, simply marvellous!” enthused the Londoner. “Thank you for allowing me to observe. What an opportunity!”
Tharkay’s lips twitched. “It’s hardly a rare skill,” he said wryly, but looking at the room with its multitude of avian residents of all different species, Laurence thought that the bare ability may well be common enough, but not the skill with which it was administered.
“May I ask what you learned from your exchange?” asked the Londoner, and Tharkay shrugged.
“Very little of interest, except where your interests overlap with the goings on of small forest creatures,” he said, and then he abruptly turned his head to Temeraire. He did not do so with the sliding and settling and focusing motion typical of the action, but instead as though he knew exactly where Laurence and Temeraire were positioned in the room, despite to all appearances not even noticing their presence there. The movement also brought his face into the light, and Laurence saw that despite his solidly English accent, he did not possess the anticipated English features, instead bringing to Laurence’s mind visions of the orient. It seemed that Tharkay was determined to break every expectation Laurence had had of him, and then to continue to surprise him as new expectations were formed and broken in turn. “He did let me know that he saw you arrive, though as you’re already standing in my drawing room, the news feels just a tad dated.”
“Do you talk to them, or do you see and hear what they see and hear?” asked Temeraire suddenly, and Laurence was so startled by this that he was perhaps a little harsh when he admonished, “Temeraire!”
Temeraire ducked his head down, embarrassed, and Tharkay’s eyes darkened.
However, Temeraire recovered his poise almost immediately, as he was prone to, and he said not quite correctly, “I do beg your pardon. I am Temeraire, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope you don’t mind my asking questions before proper introductions have been made.” And then, belying that statement, he continued with, “What is that technique you were using? Laurence, can you do that?” He swivelled his head around to look at Laurence, but before Laurence or anyone else could respond, he turned back to the other two men and added, “This is my Laurence,” by way of introduction.
Laurence bit back a sigh and a smile both. He perhaps should have spent more time on etiquette in teaching Temeraire about the world, but with Temeraire’s inquisitive mind, it seemed there was more to learn than the centuries he had before him to do it in.
Tharkay’s eyes had softened now that he was looking back at Temeraire. “Not at all; the pleasure is mine.” He paused, then continued, “The technique is called different things in different places, but here in the Peaks, it is often called borrowing. I can share the minds of my birds—their thoughts, feelings, and yes, what they see and hear. But I am neglecting introductions myself,” said Tharkay, smiling slightly at Temeraire. “I am Tenzing Tharkay, your honoured host, and this is my other guest, Sir Edward Howe.”
“Oh!” breathed Temeraire, delighted, as Laurence blinked in surprise at the familiar name. “Laurence read me your book on oriental dragon breeds. It was very good. I liked the pictures especially.”
“I’m glad!” said Howe, looking at Temeraire with at least as much interest as Temeraire was looking at him. “Very glad indeed. Though you must thank Tharkay for the pictures, for he was the one who illustrated them.”
“How lovely!” said Temeraire, his wings twitching in excitement from where they were folded under Laurence’s jacket, and Laurence finally gave up on any attempt at propriety, as Temeraire did not understand its utility and neither Tharkay nor Howe seemed to demand it.
“May I sit?” he asked, and Tharkay waved him lethargically into a seat, not bothering to stand himself or to apologise for his carelessness in not offering his guest a seat posthaste. Laurence gently nudged Temeraire out of his jacket and onto his lap. “No one has known thus far what breed Temeraire is,” said Laurence, setting a hand on Temeraire’s warm scales and feeling the last of the dragon’s shyness drain away at his touch. “He has been rather anxious to learn more about his lineage. Perhaps you know better, sir?” he asked Howe.
“I should think so,” said Howe. “Temeraire, may I have a better look at you?”
Temeraire entered into a series of absurd poses, growing more confident at Howe’s encouraging comments on the length of his forearms and the shape of his snout. It was all very vague, and Laurence was growing increasingly certain that Howe’s expertise would get them no closer to an identification when Temeraire turned toward Laurence and spread his wings, granting the other men a view of his wingspan from the back. It was a rather flatteringly dramatic view of Temeraire, Laurence thought, but not one that he would have expected to cause Howe to gasp loudly and go momentarily silent, or to cause Tharkay’s dark eyes to widen in evident shock.
“But—my goodness, however did you come to be bonded to a Chinese Imperial?” Howe asked Laurence, thunderstruck.
“What is a Chinese Imperial?” asked Temeraire. He looked up at Laurence, anxious. “Is that a good breed?”
“The very best, if you are the example,” said Laurence, smiling at him.
Temeraire’s tail flicked back and forth, and he nuzzled Laurence affectionately, even as Howe exclaimed, “Certainly, for only a Chinese Celestial is a rarer breed!”
“I believe I have some books featuring Imperials,” said Tharkay quietly. “Howe and I can work on translations for you directly, if you haven’t skill in that tongue.”
Temeraire tilted his head to one side. “I don’t know. Can I speak Chinese, Laurence?”
Laurence laughed at him. “I’m hardly the one to ask. It was a surprise enough to me when you started speaking French out of nowhere, and better than I could ever manage!”
Tharkay said something then, and Temeraire responded back promptly, and then Tharkay said in English, “That answers that question, at least. I can read the books out loud to you while we work on more formal translations.”
“If I know Chinese, I can read them myself, and Laurence can turn the pages for me,” Temeraire offered. “Laurence has been teaching me. He says I read very well.”
Tharkay’s eyes flickered to Laurence for a moment, assessing. “I am certain that you do,” he said to Temeraire. “But Chinese does not use the same style of letters that English and French do, and while you may have learned speech in the shell, you’ll have to learn your written language out of it.”
“That seems very inefficient,” said Temeraire disapprovingly.
“You’re right as always, my dear,” said Laurence, smiling.
It wasn’t until Temeraire had been put down for his nap that Laurence approached Tharkay about the spying.
“And what of it?” asked Tharkay indifferently. With Temeraire out of the room, he was colder, and the softness of his northern cadence and flat vowels had vanished into a rigid southern formality that would put the king to shame.
Laurence stared hard at him, somewhat taken aback by the change in his countenance. “You don’t see it as an invasion, to watch and hear our private moments?”
“I was hardly watching you in the bath, Mr Laurence,” said Tharkay with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t see what guarantee of that you can offer, nor do I find it amusing that you pretend that physical privacy is the only type worth protecting. And I cannot help but note that your identity as a mage does not seem to have made its way into any official record.” Not that Laurence was in a position to throw any stones over that last point.
“I do not need to explain myself to you while we stand in my own home.” The meaning of the words was harsh, even aggressive, but Tharkay’s tone never deviated from that gentile but detached accent, and his posture remained polite and correct.
“You do not need to explain yourself to me at all,” said Laurence stiffly. “And if it were only me, I would simply leave now and put an end to the matter altogether. But I am not alone, and Temeraire has faced more rejection in his three years out of the shell than anyone should be expected to face in thirty. He was so very excited to meet you, and so I am asking for an explanation that you do not need to give me, and that I would ordinarily not care to hear. I am asking this because I want him to be happy, and I want him to have friends he can turn to. From what I saw earlier, I think you might be pleased at such a friendship, however much you might stab your own foot rather than take the necessary steps to attain it.”
This rebuke was sharper than Laurence had wanted or intended, and his voice rose slightly as he delivered it with more emotion than politeness dictated was acceptable. And yet, something about it seemed to speak to Tharkay, as he nodded very slowly. He did not speak immediately, seemingly weighing his words, and when he did, his words seemed tangential to the topic at hand. “Have you ever met anyone like me before, Mr Laurence?”
“No, and on the contrary, I think you rather delight in defying my every expectation, Mr Tharkay,” said Laurence dryly.
Tharkay barked a laugh, which seemed to surprise him as much as it did Laurence. “Perhaps I do enjoy the opportunity for eccentricity these days,” he said, “which is something of a relief, as eccentricity is really the only option for the son of an irregular union between a British gentleman and a Nepali woman of uncertain character—at least, if you ask my paternal relatives about her.”
Society was a cruel and inaccurate source of intelligence, Laurence knew, and bitterness weighed heavy in Tharkay’s voice. “And if I were to ask her son instead?”
Tharkay looked at him for a long moment. “I was very close to both of my parents before they died,” was all he said on the matter.
They lapsed into silence again while Laurence waited for Tharkay to pick up the tangled threads of their conversation. He had almost given up on Tharkay ever doing so when the man spoke again. “You may have never met anyone quite like me before, but I have met hundreds of men like you.”
Laurence frowned, certain that he ought to be offended, but not entirely sure where the insult lay. “Only hundreds?” he said.
Tharkay quirked a tiny smile. “I went to all the best schools, you know. I met what must be every spoiled, arrogant, bigoted little English boy these isles have to offer, and they all looked and sounded and acted exactly like you.”
Ah, yes. There was the insult. “I see,” said Laurence. But he had also gone to all the best schools, and while he may not be prepared to paint ignominy with so broad a brush across his peers, he had also met his fair share of the supposed gentlemen that Tharkay described. “I hope I have failed to meet your expectations?”
Tharkay’s smile widened. “So far,” he agreed. “But whether you shall continue to do so remains to be seen.”
Laurence nodded, ignoring the alarming fluttering in his stomach at the meagre compliment of having been less terrible than the worst of English society. “Certainly, that is how acquaintanceship is developed. However, I would prefer this remainder to be seen with your eyes, not with those of your avian companions’.”
Tharkay tilted his head very, very slightly in acknowledgement. “There will be times when, due to necessity or accident, I must use the aid of my friends’ observational powers. I will not make any promises otherwise.”
“Perhaps,” said Laurence, not quite agreeing. “But you can certainly inform me when that is the case. In advance, when it is possible.”
“When it is possible,” Tharkay said.
It was a very small thing, really, to build a friendship on. More of a ceasefire than an alliance. And yet, something about Tharkay’s quiet, noncommittal statement had the air of a blood oath, more reliable than air.
Laurence and Temeraire had arranged to stay with Tharkay for a fortnight, which was a full month shorter than the visit planned by Howe. Despite this, when Howe departed, Laurence and Temeraire remained.
Tharkay had a small library that Temeraire was soaking up like a sponge, especially as his skill in reading other languages was burgeoning under Tharkay’s instruction. Laurence suspected that the library was actually expanding by the day, as topics that Temeraire expressed interest in seemed to grow after every delivery by post. Laurence was benefitting from Tharkay’s lessons as well, though not in the leaps and bounds that characterised Temeraire’s learning. Laurence struggled his way through learning the simplest of Chinese phrases and written words, while Temeraire devoured whole tomes. Laurence revisited texts on magic from his childhood only to discover that Temeraire had already just read them and found them weak in theory and inadequate in practicality, and had moved on to the works of other celebrated scholars. Tharkay began leaving updated, superior texts on magic conspicuously placed in Laurence’s favourite haunts, and it took all of Laurence’s trained grace and several practice sessions in front of a glass for Laurence to be able to look Tharkay in the eye and thank him for his trouble.
It was, to be frank, humiliating to realise how lacking his knowledge of magic was, having missed the greater part of his magical education when he ran away from home. The unstructured and instinctive skills he had picked up at sea would not be sufficient to support Temeraire as he came into his powers, and it had been the height of arrogance for him to have presumed otherwise.
He expected Tharkay’s sardonic little smirk to turn disgusted with him, or worse, disappointed, but as he fought to gain the knowledge he should have had as a child, and then as an adolescent, and then as a youth half his age, Tharkay’s wry little comments had lightened to teasing, and there was a warmth in his eyes and in the curve of his lips that Laurence coveted with a fervour he had not known he possessed.
Before he quite understood what was happening, a fortnight had turned into a season, and a season had turned into a year, and still Tharkay showed no signs of desiring them gone, and even had developed the habit of redirecting conversation whenever Laurence raised the topic of their leaving.
When Temeraire was the one to say, “Don’t you think it’s time we left? Else the weather will turn too cold for travelling,” Laurence thought their time with Tharkay was finally over.
But Tharkay replied, “That depends on where and how we travel, I suppose. What shall our destination be, Temeraire?” And Laurence felt a warmth flow through him at the thought of leaving and returning together.
“When I first read your memoirs, Tharkay, I thought it would be nice to travel through the Pamir mountains and to meet the dragons living there. But now I wonder if it wouldn’t be nicer to go to China and to see if we could perhaps meet other Imperial dragons there.”
Tharkay raised his eyebrows consideringly. “We could do both. If we take a land path to China, we would pass through the Pamirs.” He looked down at Temeraire’s eager little face, his eyes soft. “Better to attempt such a trip now, while you are small enough to fit on a camel.”
“Will it be harder to travel when I’m larger?” asked Temeraire, surprised. “I should have thought it would be much easier, as I could carry you and Laurence with me, along with any of our supplies. Then we wouldn’t need any camels at all.”
“The larger you are, the more you will need to eat and drink,” said Tharkay. “And so, the more supplies we will need to carry across an inhospitable desert. No, while we will find ways to travel across deserts and seas when you are older as well, it will certainly require more involved planning.”
Temeraire seemed very distressed by this thought, and Laurence stroked his head consolingly. “We shall still travel, dearest. And not all of our trips will come with such added complications.”
“Let me get a map, and I will show you the paths we might take,” offered Tharkay, and Temeraire nodded, now a little uncertain.
As usual, though, he cheered up quickly, and they discussed the advantages and disadvantages of different land and sea routes, and what they might see along the way.
“And of course,” added Temeraire as their discussion drew to a close, “it would be best if you were to get married before we left. That way, no one will kick up a fuss over me being left alone with Tharkay for a time if business or something or other should call you away, Laurence.”
Mages had different social laws, and so Temeraire’s statement was not quite the death knell it might have been had Laurence still been an ordinary sailor, but it still seemed to come from nowhere. When Laurence just stared at Temeraire, slack jawed, Temeraire said, “You know what trouble it was when I went on a trip with Tharkay, Laurence, and that was only to Manchester. No, I really think you had better get married as soon as possible. Whatever have you been waiting for, anyway?”
Laurence turned to Tharkay for aid, but Tharkay only stared back, a challenge in his eyes. “What indeed?” Laurence mused, and he watched as Tharkay’s face softened into a rare true smile, with no hint of his usual snark or irony. They stared at one another for a long, intense moment, as Laurence catalogued all the ways in which this turn of events was surprising and unsurprising both, and uniformly desired.
“What was it that you said when I hatched, Laurence?” asked Temeraire abruptly, and the tension building between Laurence and Tharkay dissolved into a sweet anticipation. “About sunshine.”
Laurence blinked and tried to summon the words he had uttered on that life-changing day. “Today is a world of sunshine,” he remembered.
“‘And so we may travel forth together, unafraid,’” Tharkay finished for him.
And it must have been the truth, for everything seemed so much brighter lately.
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Laurence & Temeraire & Tharkay, background Laurence/Tharkay
Word count: ~5k words
Summary: Newly hatched dragons mature much more slowly than they do in canon, and William Laurence, formerly of the navy, finds himself largely unsupported when he becomes the companion, teacher, and caretaker to an infant dragon. Enter Tharkay, who takes in a literal bird's eye view of the situation.
Notes: Did not realise that I never posted this here. Oops. This is a vaguely magical canon AU of Temeraire in which baby dragons age much more slowly than they do in canon.
“Captain,” said Riley, uncharacteristically sombre after such a total victory over the French frigate, “I think you had better see this for yourself.” He led Laurence to the hold, and, well…
It was an egg. Of course it was an egg. The men on the ship were giving it a wide berth, trying to stay as far away from it as possible while crossing themselves hurriedly. An egg, gleaming and clean, its shell around gone hard. An egg.
Laurence had been asea more or less constantly for nearly twenty years, and he had never had any problem hiding his own nature. The magic that had flowed through his fingers so smoothly as a child now served to keep the winds strong, the waters calm, and the fires away, but it did so quietly, subtly, to ensure that Laurence appeared to be simply unusually lucky and not overtly magical. No known child of magic would be permitted on a ship, after all.
But within that egg was another child of magic, one who could not hide, and that child would not survive alone. On leaving the shell, he or she or they or it would need a magical anchor, and none of the men on board had more than the tiniest glimmer—Laurence would know if they did. Laurence always knew.
And that was assuming the men wouldn’t try to slaughter the child in the shell—an unanchored dragon may not live long, but they’d live long enough to destroy a great deal of the ship, given the chance. Laurence must try to bond with the infant dragon, and then there would be no hiding his magecraft.
“What should we do with it, sir?” asked Riley anxiously.
“We could have omelettes,” said Gibbs, to nervous laughter.
Laurence didn’t speak. He simply approached the shell and put his hand against the warm, smooth surface. Yes, the child was ready to come out. And there was no turning back now—Laurence knew that the inhabitant of the shell could already sense him and was reaching out curiously, mind bright.
“I am here,” said Laurence aloud. There were probably ritualistic words to say now, but Laurence didn't know them. He had left home before he could ever have learned them, and dragons had never been his family’s calling regardless. “You can come out now. I am here.”
The men, who had edged closer when they saw their captain so fearlessly approaching the egg, backed again away. Soft murmurs were rising among them.
“Sir, I don’t think—” began Riley, and then the first crack formed with a noise like thunder.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Laurence, not sure if he was directing the comment to Riley, to the crew, to the infant dragon, or to himself. A vague memory of ancient words glimmered for a moment, and they felt right, even though he didn’t know where them came from. “Don’t be afraid, for today is a world of sunshine.”
“Oh, Laurence, can we go there?” asked Temeraire, looking up at Laurence from where he was crouched over the open book on the table.
It had been three years since he had hatched, but he was still barely larger than a lap dog, and just as excitable. They hadn’t found much information about his lineage, which they took to mean that he was a rare breed of dragon, but the experts they had visited all agreed on one thing: Temeraire would one day be massive, likely one of the largest breeds of dragons. But that was decades off. For now, he was tiny, and soft, and so, so dear. Laurence had been prepared to do his duty by the child of magic he had happened upon, but he hadn’t expected how quickly Temeraire had become his very favourite person.
“Of course, my dear,” said Laurence fondly. “We can go anywhere you like.”
“And perhaps before that, we can even speak to this Tharkay and hear about all these places he has been first hand,” added Temeraire with hope in his huge blue eyes.
Laurence reached out a hand to stroke along Temeraire’s smooth flank. “I’m sure we will,” said Laurence. Temeraire had already faced so many rejections in his short life—a heavy weight dragon in 20 years was no use to the war effort happening right now, measuring as he did at slightly under the weight of a laden tea tray, and Temeraire’s reception by Laurence’s family, former colleagues, and the college of mages in England had been upsettingly cold. Laurence understood their disapproval of him, but to take it out on an infant dragon…
But the Mr Tharkay who had written the fascinating travel memoirs they had just read would surely be different. He had no connection to the mage’s college, at least as far as Laurence could work out, and a well-travelled mind must surely be an open one. “Give me your dictation, my dear,” said Laurence. “I will write and post your letter to him.”
A letter sent without prior acquaintance or introduction was a faux pas that Laurence would not have dared commit, once, but the past three years had changed him more than he could have ever have predicted, and he did not regret the changes despite himself. Tharkay’s response, when it came, was somewhat short, but after reading his memoirs, Laurence suspected that was more his communication style than an intended slight, and he could discern no implied offence at the unsolicited letter. Tharkay invited Mr Temeraire, dragon, and his companion, to his manor near Leeds—and perhaps that was the explanation for his terse writing, Laurence thought, reminiscing briefly on the other Northern Englishmen of his acquaintance—to discuss the details of his stories and travels.
Temeraire was elated. He went over their belongings meticulously, item by item, directing Laurence’s packing with exceptional care and always wondering what Mr Tharkay might think of them. Soon enough, they were bundled up into a little carriage and on their way northwest. The journey was long, but very pleasant—for all that the scenery was very like what they encountered in their most recent home near Dover, Temeraire’s nose was constantly peeking out of where he was tucked into Laurence’s jacket and peering around with great interest. Laurence answered his questions as well as he could, reflecting as he did on how little he knew in truth about the mysteries of the everyday world around him, such as why sheep had such fluffy coats and yet goats did not, and why the geese migrated from season to season, or where they went when they did.
“When I am older and larger, I shall study the natural world,” Temeraire declared grandly. “It would seem that there is still much to be learned.”
“Do not confuse my ignorance with the ignorance of the world at large,” Laurence cautioned, but he rather liked the image that came to mind, of Temeraire as a great scholar, and Laurence as his assistant, or agent, or secretary, as the situation demanded. “But what questions should you specialise in, do you think?”
Temeraire thought on this question silently for a long while, so that they were finally turning up the path to Tharkay’s estate when Temeraire suddenly said, “I shall have to learn more about what is known and unknown to truly decide, but water is so very interesting, isn’t it? Perhaps the sea. And it would make you happy, would it not, to return to the sea? I am very sorry you had to leave it behind for me.” Temeraire’s eyes looked nervously up at Laurence, and he smiled as he rested a hand on Temeraire’s small head.
“I miss the sea, but that cannot compare to how I should miss you if we were apart.” Temeraire relaxed against him, as he always did when seeking reassurance of Laurence’s affections. “But pray pay no mind to me, my dear. I shall be happy if you are.”
But Temeraire’s attention had moved on, fickle as it was. “Why is that bird staring at us so? Isn’t that odd?”
Laurence turned his head to follow the direction of Temeraire’s snout, and there was indeed a little hawk perched on a nearby tree branch, turning its head from side to side to keep them in view. It was a gorgeous thing, with bright, coppery feathers chequered with black. “I suppose we must make an unusual sight,” said Laurence, suppressing his feelings of unease at the intelligent eye fixed upon him. “And this hawk is not the only winged creature I can think of who possesses an insatiable curiosity.
Temeraire buried his face back into Laurence’s jacket, embarrassed, but it wasn’t long before his snout was poking out again, eyes staring back at the hawk until it was out of sight. Laurence expected that to be the end of it, except—
“Oh, Laurence, there is another one!” said Temeraire, and sure enough, there was a different bird perched on a different branch ahead of them, eyes fixed on them as firmly as the previous one’s had been. This one was larger—more eagle than hawk in appearance, to Laurence’s very inexperienced eyes.
“How curious,” said Laurence stiffly. What had previously been uncertain discomfort was now a very certain discomfort. He had heard of magecraft that specialised in communion with animals, of course, but none of Tharkay’s books had implied he possessed such a skill, or even that he possessed any magecraft at all. Though, the inspiration for those tremendous illustrations looking down on cities and countryside was perhaps more evident, if that bird’s eye view had come from the actual eyes of actual birds.
They were met at the gates by a stablehand and a footman, the former of whom took charge of the carriage and the latter of whom led them to a suite of rooms to refresh themselves. The rooms, like the rest of the manor, were comfortable but plain, and Laurence would have been very pleased indeed with their accommodations if he could shake the memory of those orange eyes fixed upon him. Once they were ready, they were led down to a smallish parlour occupied by two men and a score of birds of prey of all sizes. Most were off in corners on perches, their heads tucked under their wings, but two very familiar ones were perched directly on one of the human occupants of the room. He was leaning back in a comfortable-looking worn armchair, stroking the feathers of the smaller hawk gently, dark hair covering his face. The second human was watching the first with a fixed expression, fingers twitching on his thigh as though he wished to be taking notes.
The footman left without announcing their presence, and after several moments of silence, Laurence began to say, “I beg your pardon,” only to be immediately shushed by the keen observer, who said in a distinctly London accent, “Sorry, sorry, just a moment, he’s almost done.”
Laurence could only suppose that this might be another guest of Tharkay’s, given the lack of Northern vowels and cadence, which rather supported Laurence’s earlier supposition that it was Tharkay himself, their host whom Temeraire was so excited to meet, who had sent hawks to spy on them for their journey up to the manor. And given the number and diversity of the birds, he may have been spying on them for even longer.
Temeraire was now watching Tharkay with nearly equal fixation as the Londoner, and when Tharkay finally shook himself free of his trance and looked up, sending the final birds fluttering over to perches on the edge of the room with the others, Temeraire was nearly vibrating with excitement. He was uncharacteristically shy, however, and stayed tucked into Laurence’s jacket as Tharkay asked the Londoner with a draw, amused tone, “I hope that was what you were expecting. I did warn you that it would be dull to watch.” And yes, there was a very slight flatness to his vowels, but far less than Laurence had been expecting. Despite the eccentricity of his lifestyle and hosting etiquette, Tharkay might not be out of place in Laurence’s mother’s formal drawing room, if he were to close his eyes and take his speech alone as evidence.
“It was marvellous, simply marvellous!” enthused the Londoner. “Thank you for allowing me to observe. What an opportunity!”
Tharkay’s lips twitched. “It’s hardly a rare skill,” he said wryly, but looking at the room with its multitude of avian residents of all different species, Laurence thought that the bare ability may well be common enough, but not the skill with which it was administered.
“May I ask what you learned from your exchange?” asked the Londoner, and Tharkay shrugged.
“Very little of interest, except where your interests overlap with the goings on of small forest creatures,” he said, and then he abruptly turned his head to Temeraire. He did not do so with the sliding and settling and focusing motion typical of the action, but instead as though he knew exactly where Laurence and Temeraire were positioned in the room, despite to all appearances not even noticing their presence there. The movement also brought his face into the light, and Laurence saw that despite his solidly English accent, he did not possess the anticipated English features, instead bringing to Laurence’s mind visions of the orient. It seemed that Tharkay was determined to break every expectation Laurence had had of him, and then to continue to surprise him as new expectations were formed and broken in turn. “He did let me know that he saw you arrive, though as you’re already standing in my drawing room, the news feels just a tad dated.”
“Do you talk to them, or do you see and hear what they see and hear?” asked Temeraire suddenly, and Laurence was so startled by this that he was perhaps a little harsh when he admonished, “Temeraire!”
Temeraire ducked his head down, embarrassed, and Tharkay’s eyes darkened.
However, Temeraire recovered his poise almost immediately, as he was prone to, and he said not quite correctly, “I do beg your pardon. I am Temeraire, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope you don’t mind my asking questions before proper introductions have been made.” And then, belying that statement, he continued with, “What is that technique you were using? Laurence, can you do that?” He swivelled his head around to look at Laurence, but before Laurence or anyone else could respond, he turned back to the other two men and added, “This is my Laurence,” by way of introduction.
Laurence bit back a sigh and a smile both. He perhaps should have spent more time on etiquette in teaching Temeraire about the world, but with Temeraire’s inquisitive mind, it seemed there was more to learn than the centuries he had before him to do it in.
Tharkay’s eyes had softened now that he was looking back at Temeraire. “Not at all; the pleasure is mine.” He paused, then continued, “The technique is called different things in different places, but here in the Peaks, it is often called borrowing. I can share the minds of my birds—their thoughts, feelings, and yes, what they see and hear. But I am neglecting introductions myself,” said Tharkay, smiling slightly at Temeraire. “I am Tenzing Tharkay, your honoured host, and this is my other guest, Sir Edward Howe.”
“Oh!” breathed Temeraire, delighted, as Laurence blinked in surprise at the familiar name. “Laurence read me your book on oriental dragon breeds. It was very good. I liked the pictures especially.”
“I’m glad!” said Howe, looking at Temeraire with at least as much interest as Temeraire was looking at him. “Very glad indeed. Though you must thank Tharkay for the pictures, for he was the one who illustrated them.”
“How lovely!” said Temeraire, his wings twitching in excitement from where they were folded under Laurence’s jacket, and Laurence finally gave up on any attempt at propriety, as Temeraire did not understand its utility and neither Tharkay nor Howe seemed to demand it.
“May I sit?” he asked, and Tharkay waved him lethargically into a seat, not bothering to stand himself or to apologise for his carelessness in not offering his guest a seat posthaste. Laurence gently nudged Temeraire out of his jacket and onto his lap. “No one has known thus far what breed Temeraire is,” said Laurence, setting a hand on Temeraire’s warm scales and feeling the last of the dragon’s shyness drain away at his touch. “He has been rather anxious to learn more about his lineage. Perhaps you know better, sir?” he asked Howe.
“I should think so,” said Howe. “Temeraire, may I have a better look at you?”
Temeraire entered into a series of absurd poses, growing more confident at Howe’s encouraging comments on the length of his forearms and the shape of his snout. It was all very vague, and Laurence was growing increasingly certain that Howe’s expertise would get them no closer to an identification when Temeraire turned toward Laurence and spread his wings, granting the other men a view of his wingspan from the back. It was a rather flatteringly dramatic view of Temeraire, Laurence thought, but not one that he would have expected to cause Howe to gasp loudly and go momentarily silent, or to cause Tharkay’s dark eyes to widen in evident shock.
“But—my goodness, however did you come to be bonded to a Chinese Imperial?” Howe asked Laurence, thunderstruck.
“What is a Chinese Imperial?” asked Temeraire. He looked up at Laurence, anxious. “Is that a good breed?”
“The very best, if you are the example,” said Laurence, smiling at him.
Temeraire’s tail flicked back and forth, and he nuzzled Laurence affectionately, even as Howe exclaimed, “Certainly, for only a Chinese Celestial is a rarer breed!”
“I believe I have some books featuring Imperials,” said Tharkay quietly. “Howe and I can work on translations for you directly, if you haven’t skill in that tongue.”
Temeraire tilted his head to one side. “I don’t know. Can I speak Chinese, Laurence?”
Laurence laughed at him. “I’m hardly the one to ask. It was a surprise enough to me when you started speaking French out of nowhere, and better than I could ever manage!”
Tharkay said something then, and Temeraire responded back promptly, and then Tharkay said in English, “That answers that question, at least. I can read the books out loud to you while we work on more formal translations.”
“If I know Chinese, I can read them myself, and Laurence can turn the pages for me,” Temeraire offered. “Laurence has been teaching me. He says I read very well.”
Tharkay’s eyes flickered to Laurence for a moment, assessing. “I am certain that you do,” he said to Temeraire. “But Chinese does not use the same style of letters that English and French do, and while you may have learned speech in the shell, you’ll have to learn your written language out of it.”
“That seems very inefficient,” said Temeraire disapprovingly.
“You’re right as always, my dear,” said Laurence, smiling.
It wasn’t until Temeraire had been put down for his nap that Laurence approached Tharkay about the spying.
“And what of it?” asked Tharkay indifferently. With Temeraire out of the room, he was colder, and the softness of his northern cadence and flat vowels had vanished into a rigid southern formality that would put the king to shame.
Laurence stared hard at him, somewhat taken aback by the change in his countenance. “You don’t see it as an invasion, to watch and hear our private moments?”
“I was hardly watching you in the bath, Mr Laurence,” said Tharkay with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t see what guarantee of that you can offer, nor do I find it amusing that you pretend that physical privacy is the only type worth protecting. And I cannot help but note that your identity as a mage does not seem to have made its way into any official record.” Not that Laurence was in a position to throw any stones over that last point.
“I do not need to explain myself to you while we stand in my own home.” The meaning of the words was harsh, even aggressive, but Tharkay’s tone never deviated from that gentile but detached accent, and his posture remained polite and correct.
“You do not need to explain yourself to me at all,” said Laurence stiffly. “And if it were only me, I would simply leave now and put an end to the matter altogether. But I am not alone, and Temeraire has faced more rejection in his three years out of the shell than anyone should be expected to face in thirty. He was so very excited to meet you, and so I am asking for an explanation that you do not need to give me, and that I would ordinarily not care to hear. I am asking this because I want him to be happy, and I want him to have friends he can turn to. From what I saw earlier, I think you might be pleased at such a friendship, however much you might stab your own foot rather than take the necessary steps to attain it.”
This rebuke was sharper than Laurence had wanted or intended, and his voice rose slightly as he delivered it with more emotion than politeness dictated was acceptable. And yet, something about it seemed to speak to Tharkay, as he nodded very slowly. He did not speak immediately, seemingly weighing his words, and when he did, his words seemed tangential to the topic at hand. “Have you ever met anyone like me before, Mr Laurence?”
“No, and on the contrary, I think you rather delight in defying my every expectation, Mr Tharkay,” said Laurence dryly.
Tharkay barked a laugh, which seemed to surprise him as much as it did Laurence. “Perhaps I do enjoy the opportunity for eccentricity these days,” he said, “which is something of a relief, as eccentricity is really the only option for the son of an irregular union between a British gentleman and a Nepali woman of uncertain character—at least, if you ask my paternal relatives about her.”
Society was a cruel and inaccurate source of intelligence, Laurence knew, and bitterness weighed heavy in Tharkay’s voice. “And if I were to ask her son instead?”
Tharkay looked at him for a long moment. “I was very close to both of my parents before they died,” was all he said on the matter.
They lapsed into silence again while Laurence waited for Tharkay to pick up the tangled threads of their conversation. He had almost given up on Tharkay ever doing so when the man spoke again. “You may have never met anyone quite like me before, but I have met hundreds of men like you.”
Laurence frowned, certain that he ought to be offended, but not entirely sure where the insult lay. “Only hundreds?” he said.
Tharkay quirked a tiny smile. “I went to all the best schools, you know. I met what must be every spoiled, arrogant, bigoted little English boy these isles have to offer, and they all looked and sounded and acted exactly like you.”
Ah, yes. There was the insult. “I see,” said Laurence. But he had also gone to all the best schools, and while he may not be prepared to paint ignominy with so broad a brush across his peers, he had also met his fair share of the supposed gentlemen that Tharkay described. “I hope I have failed to meet your expectations?”
Tharkay’s smile widened. “So far,” he agreed. “But whether you shall continue to do so remains to be seen.”
Laurence nodded, ignoring the alarming fluttering in his stomach at the meagre compliment of having been less terrible than the worst of English society. “Certainly, that is how acquaintanceship is developed. However, I would prefer this remainder to be seen with your eyes, not with those of your avian companions’.”
Tharkay tilted his head very, very slightly in acknowledgement. “There will be times when, due to necessity or accident, I must use the aid of my friends’ observational powers. I will not make any promises otherwise.”
“Perhaps,” said Laurence, not quite agreeing. “But you can certainly inform me when that is the case. In advance, when it is possible.”
“When it is possible,” Tharkay said.
It was a very small thing, really, to build a friendship on. More of a ceasefire than an alliance. And yet, something about Tharkay’s quiet, noncommittal statement had the air of a blood oath, more reliable than air.
Laurence and Temeraire had arranged to stay with Tharkay for a fortnight, which was a full month shorter than the visit planned by Howe. Despite this, when Howe departed, Laurence and Temeraire remained.
Tharkay had a small library that Temeraire was soaking up like a sponge, especially as his skill in reading other languages was burgeoning under Tharkay’s instruction. Laurence suspected that the library was actually expanding by the day, as topics that Temeraire expressed interest in seemed to grow after every delivery by post. Laurence was benefitting from Tharkay’s lessons as well, though not in the leaps and bounds that characterised Temeraire’s learning. Laurence struggled his way through learning the simplest of Chinese phrases and written words, while Temeraire devoured whole tomes. Laurence revisited texts on magic from his childhood only to discover that Temeraire had already just read them and found them weak in theory and inadequate in practicality, and had moved on to the works of other celebrated scholars. Tharkay began leaving updated, superior texts on magic conspicuously placed in Laurence’s favourite haunts, and it took all of Laurence’s trained grace and several practice sessions in front of a glass for Laurence to be able to look Tharkay in the eye and thank him for his trouble.
It was, to be frank, humiliating to realise how lacking his knowledge of magic was, having missed the greater part of his magical education when he ran away from home. The unstructured and instinctive skills he had picked up at sea would not be sufficient to support Temeraire as he came into his powers, and it had been the height of arrogance for him to have presumed otherwise.
He expected Tharkay’s sardonic little smirk to turn disgusted with him, or worse, disappointed, but as he fought to gain the knowledge he should have had as a child, and then as an adolescent, and then as a youth half his age, Tharkay’s wry little comments had lightened to teasing, and there was a warmth in his eyes and in the curve of his lips that Laurence coveted with a fervour he had not known he possessed.
Before he quite understood what was happening, a fortnight had turned into a season, and a season had turned into a year, and still Tharkay showed no signs of desiring them gone, and even had developed the habit of redirecting conversation whenever Laurence raised the topic of their leaving.
When Temeraire was the one to say, “Don’t you think it’s time we left? Else the weather will turn too cold for travelling,” Laurence thought their time with Tharkay was finally over.
But Tharkay replied, “That depends on where and how we travel, I suppose. What shall our destination be, Temeraire?” And Laurence felt a warmth flow through him at the thought of leaving and returning together.
“When I first read your memoirs, Tharkay, I thought it would be nice to travel through the Pamir mountains and to meet the dragons living there. But now I wonder if it wouldn’t be nicer to go to China and to see if we could perhaps meet other Imperial dragons there.”
Tharkay raised his eyebrows consideringly. “We could do both. If we take a land path to China, we would pass through the Pamirs.” He looked down at Temeraire’s eager little face, his eyes soft. “Better to attempt such a trip now, while you are small enough to fit on a camel.”
“Will it be harder to travel when I’m larger?” asked Temeraire, surprised. “I should have thought it would be much easier, as I could carry you and Laurence with me, along with any of our supplies. Then we wouldn’t need any camels at all.”
“The larger you are, the more you will need to eat and drink,” said Tharkay. “And so, the more supplies we will need to carry across an inhospitable desert. No, while we will find ways to travel across deserts and seas when you are older as well, it will certainly require more involved planning.”
Temeraire seemed very distressed by this thought, and Laurence stroked his head consolingly. “We shall still travel, dearest. And not all of our trips will come with such added complications.”
“Let me get a map, and I will show you the paths we might take,” offered Tharkay, and Temeraire nodded, now a little uncertain.
As usual, though, he cheered up quickly, and they discussed the advantages and disadvantages of different land and sea routes, and what they might see along the way.
“And of course,” added Temeraire as their discussion drew to a close, “it would be best if you were to get married before we left. That way, no one will kick up a fuss over me being left alone with Tharkay for a time if business or something or other should call you away, Laurence.”
Mages had different social laws, and so Temeraire’s statement was not quite the death knell it might have been had Laurence still been an ordinary sailor, but it still seemed to come from nowhere. When Laurence just stared at Temeraire, slack jawed, Temeraire said, “You know what trouble it was when I went on a trip with Tharkay, Laurence, and that was only to Manchester. No, I really think you had better get married as soon as possible. Whatever have you been waiting for, anyway?”
Laurence turned to Tharkay for aid, but Tharkay only stared back, a challenge in his eyes. “What indeed?” Laurence mused, and he watched as Tharkay’s face softened into a rare true smile, with no hint of his usual snark or irony. They stared at one another for a long, intense moment, as Laurence catalogued all the ways in which this turn of events was surprising and unsurprising both, and uniformly desired.
“What was it that you said when I hatched, Laurence?” asked Temeraire abruptly, and the tension building between Laurence and Tharkay dissolved into a sweet anticipation. “About sunshine.”
Laurence blinked and tried to summon the words he had uttered on that life-changing day. “Today is a world of sunshine,” he remembered.
“‘And so we may travel forth together, unafraid,’” Tharkay finished for him.
And it must have been the truth, for everything seemed so much brighter lately.