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Entry tags:
June [OTP23]
Title: With All My Worldly Goods
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Laurence/Tharkay, Laurence & Temeraire & Tharkay
Word count: ~5k words
Summary: Soulmarks are names scrawled on wrists, Britain is not at war with France, and Laurence still doesn't visit home often enough. Fortunately, it turns out that his soulmate is fully prepared to travel with him.
Notes: The prompts were: Wedding/proposal, "you aren't what i expected", downpour, soulmate AU, sick fic, (accidental) love confession. I'm arguing that I hit all but the last two.
Relative to canon, things and characters are cheerier in this canon-aligned soulmate AU, where (1) the religious significance of soulmarks means that same-sex marriage is legal, (2) Britain is not at war, and (3) Tharkay's parents are inexplicably both alive and well. For the sake of simplicity, I am pretending that "Tharkay" is our friend's patronym, or that for some unknown reason, his 18th-19th cen. British father took his mother's family name as his own rather than vice versa. However it's spun, I am calling the whole family the Tharkays, and I'm designating their home base in Scotland.
Laurence came down the stairs from his childhood bedroom for dinner with as much dignity as he could muster despite being overly conscious of his newly issued green coat. Of course, there was also the fact that he may well have beaten his own letter home—the letter that told succinctly of the dragon egg he had found, the dragonet he had harnessed, the young dragon he had befriended. His family would not be pleased, but the deed was done, and there was little more to say on the topic. He had hoped to slip in and out of the manor quietly, without alerting the neighbours (or his family) of his presence, but on arriving, it was clear that his family was not only home but hosting guests.
Unfortunate.
He’d taken a back stair down, and now he paused in the passage between the dining hall and the kitchen and tried for some deep, bracing breaths.
“Is the door giving you trouble?” asked a wry voice behind him. Laurence turned, feeling chastised, and was so startled by the other man that he simply stared for several long, rude moments. The man was dark and handsome, dressed fashionably and well. A guest, then, not a member of the household with whom Laurence was unfamiliar. And yet, also not a family connection that Laurence himself was acquainted with.
“No, thank you, the door is fine. I’m afraid that I’m the troubled one,” said Laurence, and the stranger quirked a smile. “I do beg your pardon. I am William Laurence, Lord Allendale’s erstwhile son.”
The stranger shook his hand firmly. “Yes, I was afraid that might be the case. I am Tharkay.”
Laurence blinked in surprise, because he did recognise that name—it was the name transcribed on his own wrist in two forms of letter, a sign of someone—not just someone, a soulmate, Laurence’s soulmate—who had been bilingual from the cradle. “Tenzing Tharkay?” he asked, feeling slightly dizzy as the man nodded. They had never actually met, but of course their families had been in contact and formalised an understanding, as families of the gentry tended to do when facing the relief at an eligible match rather than trying to hide the scandal of an ineligible one. Tharkay was very eligible, according to Laurence’s father, meaning that his family was almost certainly wealthy, firmly abolitionist, and likely in possession of considerable property. But Laurence had never met him before, and now—now he tugged his new coat, even more conscious of his change in circumstances.
Tharkay’s eyes trailed down. “I had understood you to be in the navy.”
“I was,” said Laurence uncomfortably. “My ship encountered a pirate vessel that had lately engaged with a French frigate. Temeraire’s egg was onboard, and he was too near hatching to deliver him to his proper destination.”
“And so, you decided that a career change was in order, and you claimed the egg for yourself?” asked Tharkay. There was nothing judging in his tone—only cool inquiry—but Laurence was offended regardless.
“We drew lots,” he said stiffly, “to determine who would approach the egg as it hatched. But it made no difference. Temeraire ignored the man who drew his lot and came straight up to me. He chose, not I. I can only do my best to be worthy of his choice.”
Tharkay stared at him, blank-faced, for a moment. “You aren’t what I expected,” he said, which was a sentiment people often experienced on meeting Laurence. Excellent captain and fighter, said the naval officers and crew, even though he acts and talks like a right posh bastard. And, Very well-bred manners, said the tea parlour society, not at all coarse as you might expect from a navy man. Though his stories of his time asea are shocking, simply shocking. Surely they can’t be true? And the son of a peer!
Before Tharkay could continue to enumerate the ways in which Laurence failed to meet his expectations, the door to the dining hall burst open, and Laurence’s brother George peered out. “Tharkay?” he asked, and then his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he said, “Will!” He took his head out and called back into the room, “Will’s here at last!” He dragged Laurence and Tharkay into the room, and Will gaped at this manhandling of a guest. “So you got our letter after all, then? We weren’t sure; there seemed to be some confusion about your directions. But you made it on time even so.”
“I’m afraid the last letter I received was some months ago,” said Laurence urgently. “Made it on time for what?”
“The wedding, obviously!” George answered carelessly. “Mum will want you to try on the new suit she ordered as soon as possible, to make sure you won’t need any adjustments.”
“Ah,” said Laurence. Officers were most often married in their dress uniforms, but Laurence didn’t feel it wise to press the point. He glanced at Tharkay nervously. “I didn’t take any real leave. I’m en route to Loch Laggan, a covert in Inverness-shire, for training.”
“Covert? Training? Whatever for?” asked George, and then his eyes focussed in on the green of Laurence’s coat, and he paled. “Will—” His eyes darted to Tharkay.
“That shouldn't be a problem,” said Tharkay easily. “The trips shouldn’t be too onerous, as it is nearish to our home. Especially where ‘nearish’ is measured in wing beats,” he added, looking at Laurence with that wry smile.
Laurence stared at him, truly shocked at his evident ease in the situation. He had never expected acceptance rather than rejection when he came up on his new dragon with his new jacket, though he had admittedly been imagining his family and friends and colleagues, not his soulmate, in this. Tenzing Tharkay hadn’t much crossed his mind for years, not in the least because he had been nothing more than a name and a string of unfamiliar letters.
“In fact,” said Tharkay brightly, walking further into the room, “as you haven’t the time to spare, we should probably skip the larger part of the ceremony. We’ll exchange vows outside, so that Temeraire can witness, and then we’ll head on to Loch Laggan, and you can have the rest of the party without us. We can say it’s our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon,” said Laurence faintly. “Of course.” He was somewhat stuck on the way ‘Loch Laggan’ had flowed from Tharkay’s lips—a smooth transition to a Scottish brogue in the midst of his Eton-trained tea parlour accent.
“Even better, maybe we should do it tonight so that we can have an early start to Scotland.” Tharkay seemed increasingly cheerful as he mapped out his upcoming plans.
“It’s gone 8 o’clock,” said Laurence, not entirely protesting. He wasn’t certain what was going on, but Tharkay’s plan seemed like the best option regardless. They finally crossed the room to where the rest of the party was gathered.
“Yes, so not too late yet,” agreed Tharkay firmly, ignoring George’s outcry of, “We don’t have a special licence, you can’t get married until Sunday’s service!” “Captain Laurence, may I introduce my parents, Mr and Mrs Tharkay?”
“How do you do,” said Laurence, firming up his voice so that he could at least feign a mien of polite calm.
Mr and Mrs Tharkay greeted him with admirable poise, though their eyes kept slipping to his jacket and back again. Mr Tharkay looked every inch the British gentleman, and when Laurence’s eyes and mind adjusted to dismiss certain expectations of what it was to be a Briton, so did Mrs Tharkay. Her dress and manner were perfectly British, and her speech contained only the barest hint of accent from her native tongue—Nepalese, if his soulmark was any sign.
Laurence’s own parents were much less calm at his appearance, though Lady Allendale’s manners were as flawless as ever in covering her disquiet, and Lord Allendale was forced to restrain himself in front of their guests.
“It’s a grand thing that you showed up when you did,” said George, trying for joviality. “Or we would have had to marry you off by proxy!”
Laurence’s eyes narrowed, suddenly certain that this had been the plan all along.
“Very grand,” said Tharkay. “Is Temeraire awake? May I meet him now?”
Laurence hesitated. “I believe he had intended to rest, but he’s likely still awake. Shall we greet him before we eat?”
“Yes, let’s,” said Tharkay. “Mr Laurence, you’ll explain the change of plans?”
George looked as though what he wanted to do was smack Tharkay upside the head for leaving him with the explanations, but he nodded grudgingly, and Laurence obediently led Tharkay out to the clearing where Temeraire had settled.
Temeraire had been watching the little movement of life around him with scientific interest, but he looked up at their approach. “Laurence!” he said, happy as always to see him. “Are these your parents?”
“No, no, my dear,” said Laurence, startled, and as he turned to introduce Tharkay, he realised that Mrs Tharkay and his mother had followed them. “That is,” he conceded, “this is my mother, Lady Allendale. And this is our friend, Mrs Tharkay, and her son, Mr Tenzing Tharkay.” He cleared his throat. “Mr Tenzing Tharkay is my soulmate, and the plan is for us to be married.”
“Oh, splendid!” said Temeraire. “But what is married?”
As Laurence struggled to explain the concept, he was very aware of the reactions of the others. Tharkay, with his little sardonic smile, his mother, terrified but strong in the face of it, and Mrs Tharkay, who was hanging back with his mother, but seemingly out of politeness rather than fear. She curtseyed deeply on her introduction, and smiled up at Temeraire as he asked questions and offered his own answers.
“And what manner of dragon are you, Temeraire?” asked Lady Allendale with hardly a quaver in her voice.
Temeraire puffed himself up. “A Chinese Imperial,” he said proudly, and as he was inhaling to launch into an explanation of the superiority of his breed, Mrs. Tharkay said, “No.”
“No?” asked Temeraire.
“No, Mr Temeraire. I have had the very rare opportunity to see an Imperial before, and you are not one, though you look very like them. But no, I knew instantly when I saw you. You are a Celestial.” She smiled up at him, serene. “Lung Tien Temeraire.”
‘Lung Tien’ Temeraire was delighted as they explained the idea of marriage and weddings to him, but there were several sticking points which concerned him. “Giving the bride away?” he said, aghast. “Absolutely not. I shan’t give you away, Laurence. I’m afraid Tharkay will have to be the bride.”
“My dear,” sighed Laurence, “that’s not quite—”
“Your captain will join my family, and so shall you, Temeraire. You won’t have to give Laurence away at all.”
Temeraire settled himself at the reassurance. “Well, very well, then.”
As it happened, George was quite right that it was impossible for a legal marriage to take place that evening, as of course the time for evening service had already passed, and regardless, the date published in the banns had been for four days later, during Sunday’s morning service. Laurence and Temeraire were obliged to fly to Loch Laggan early the following morning—immediately after breakfast and a hurried suit fitting—to both report for duty and request leave at the week’s end, a circumstance that made Laurence’s ideas of professionalism curl into foetal position and cry.
Admiral Lenton’s stern frown transformed into an expression of amused incredulity as Laurence awkwardly explained the situation, and Celeritas, who was to be their training master, simply recalculated the training regimen accordingly, unconcerned by the delay in the absence of a war to prepare for. But as for the rest—
“Oh!” said Lily, their new formation leader. “This marriage business seems very messy. I hope that my captain will not do anything so foolish.”
“Never fear, dearest,” smiled Captain Harcourt as Captain Berkley coughed into his fist. “Did I understand that right, Laurence? You are marrying into his family?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Laurence confirmed, not certain as to where the too-young captain was headed with this line of questioning. But Harcourt only nodded, seemingly satisfied, and Laurence tried and failed to understand what sort of point had been made or understood. It must have been a good one, as Harcourt’s previously glacial attitude towards him had warmed to a brisk chill.
Then Maximus raised his giant head. “I should like to see a wedding. Temeraire, may I come to see your captain’s wedding?”
Temeraire agreed eagerly while Laurence was still choking on his own spit, and then Lily wanted to come along as well, and so Laurence spent nearly a quarter hour contemplating the horrifying future of writing to his family to notify them of the impromptu guests, some of whom would have to observe the ceremony by squinting through the stained glass windows of the chapel. Thankfully, Berkley finally intervened to explain to Maximus and Lily that weddings were dry and dull. He described the ceremony with such exacting detail that the dragons soon lost interest, and even Temeraire said hesitantly, “Laurence, can we not simply bring Tharkay with us without that nonsense?”
The only advantage of the rushed and mortifying situation was that his new formation was so amused at the absurdity that they forgot to be cold and suspicious of him, and he was not so embarrassed that he forgot to be grateful to have avoided the curt rudeness he had faced from the first members of the corps he had met after finding Temeraire’s egg.
Finally, on Saturday, he and Temeraire returned to his childhood home, where they had time for a quiet dinner and a final fitting before Laurence was shuffled off to an early bedtime.
In the bustle and business of the past week—past month, really—Laurence barely had time to let his head touch his pillow before his exhaustion snatched his consciousness away. But on this night, the last night of his life as an unmarried man, he suddenly found himself with an excess of consciousness. Now, he had the opportunity to contemplate beyond the inconvenience of the wedding, the duplicitousness of his family to arrange this without him, the concern at starting a whole new training regimen at his age, and the anxiety at his anticipation of his new comrades and their potential antipathy towards him. He found himself thinking, instead, of his husband-to-be for the first time.
Laurence had now spent perhaps a few hours' time in Tharkay’s company, split across several days. He tried to catalogue the few facts he’d been able to learn about the man with whom he was to spend the rest of his life.
Tharkay was very well educated. He was rather more educated than Laurence himself, as he had chosen to go to school for law despite being his parents’ heir, and he hadn’t run away from his governess at age 12 to explore the oceans. Cursory conversations had indicated that Tharkay enjoyed reading tremendously, could communicate in speech and letters in at least five different languages, and loved to travel.
The final point was a comforting shared preference between them, but Laurence was growing worried that his dragon might have more in common with his soulmate than he did.
He looked down at the elegant script travelling along his wrist. Laurence’s penmanship was very respectable, but it looked like a child’s scrawl next to Tharkay’s superior artistry.
He let his head fall back into his pillow with a sigh. He was bound in service to Temeraire and to the Aerial Corps, and he could be shipped out to war at any time despite their long-standing alliances with their nearest borders. Even if he remained with a domestic station, how often would he be able to spend time with his husband?
How often would his husband want him to?
He fell asleep with a cold feeling in his stomach and images of Tharkay’s dark eyes and curling smile swirling through his mind.
The following morning, Laurence put on his new suit, made himself as presentable as possible, and joined his family in the front hall with his most cheerful countenance carefully in place.
“Good lord, Will, you look as though someone has died,” said George.
“Do not embarrass us in front of the Tharkays,” added Lord Allendale sharply.
His mother took his hands into hers and kissed his cheek. “You look very handsome, my dear,” she said. “But you needn’t be so nervous. Mr Tenzing is a lovely young man, even aside from being your soulmate.”
“Yes,” Laurence agreed. “He seems so. It’s only that I don’t know him very well.”
“And whose fault is that?” snapped Lord Allendale. “If we’d waited until you were ready to get to know him, the alliance would never happen at all!”
“It hasn’t been delayed that long,” insisted George, and Laurence blinked at this unexpected defence.
“Today,” interrupted Lady Allendale firmly, “is a happy day,” and so chastised, the walk to the village church was silent and belligerent, with stormy grey clouds forming above to match their steps.
The Tharkays met them at the church, and the ceremony passed as they tend to.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship,” intoned Tharkay, and there was an intensity in his eyes then that burned through Laurence with such ferocity as Tharkay continued to speak—“and with all my worldly goods I thee endow”—that Laurence went vague for a moment, and when he came back to himself, he found that he was already kneeling, his right hand in Tharkay’s, and the minister was saying, “Those whom god hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
They were the usual words in the usual ceremony at the usual time. But hearing them now, with his hand in Tharkay’s and Tharkay’s eyes on him, he found himself blushing and was bewildered at himself.
When the sermon was finally over and they poured out of the church with their families, rain was streaming from the sky, and Temeraire greeted them eagerly from where he had been wrapped around the building with his eye and ear pressed against one of the more transparent windows. The townsfolk leaving the service with them retreated hurriedly into their homes, going out of their way to keep Temeraire at a wide distance, and the barring of their doors was audible even over the downpour. As though that would keep out even the smallest of dragons, thought Laurence, eying the proceedings with uncharacteristic irritation. Temeraire had many questions on the origins and purposes to the different pieces of the sermon, and he had criticisms, too, which Laurence hurriedly shushed, promising that they would discuss it more at length when they had some privacy.
Tharkay caught his eye and smiled, and Laurence felt himself turning red again. This was becoming ridiculous, really.
Over the wedding breakfast, Mrs Tharkay asked her son, “Will you be returning with us?”
“No,” said Tharkay, looking up at Laurence from across the table. “I have hoped my husband could find space for me in his room at the covert, at least for a time.”
Laurence thought that he maintained his complexion rather well after all the morning’s practice, but then George started fanning him with his napkin, and Laurence turned a frown—not a scowl, thank you—on his brother, and Lady Allendale sighed, “Boys,” beseechingly.
“Of course,” said Mrs Tharkay, turning her smile to Laurence. “You will visit, of course?”
“Certainly, Mrs Tharkay,” he hastened to assure her. George gave him a look, which Laurence supposed was meant to remind him of all the times he hadn’t visited his family’s estate over the years. “Visits home should be easier now that I’m stationed in Britain,” he clarified weakly.
“Glad to hear it,” said George meaningfully, and Laurence winced.
Laurence’s apartment in the covert was very small. He had been pleased with it on his arrival, but it was one thing to contemplate a tiny berth for oneself, and a whole other issue to share it with one’s husband, who must be used to much more expansive lodgings.
But Tharkay only nodded when he saw it, seemingly satisfied, and asked, “Do you mind if we share?” gesturing to the bed.
“Not at all,” replied Laurence, startled. “But it will be a tight fit.” The bed had seemed luxuriously large when Laurence had first seen it and mentally compared it to his former berth, but when he recalculated its size to accommodate two grown men, it seemed woefully tiny.
Tharkay raised an eyebrow at him, amused, and Laurence fidgeted with his neck cloth until Tharkay returned to unpacking his belongings. He was, Laurence was relieved to observe, very tidy.
The other aviators greeted Tharkay with a great deal of interest. “So you’re Laurence’s soulmate, then?” asked Harcourt, head tilted to one side as though to study him from a new angle. “I’m honestly not certain what I was expecting, only that you’re not it.”
Laurence stiffened at this remark, but Tharkay merely nodded mildly. “I rarely am.”
“Are you from China, then?” asked Martin with unconcealed curiosity.
“Scotland,” replied Tharkay. “We’re closer to my home here than my husband is to his,” and he shot one of those little smiles at Laurence that had sparks shooting through his stomach. He seemed to take pity on Martin’s confusion and explained briefly, “My mother was born in Nepal.”
“Huh!” said Martin, understanding dawning. Or perhaps not, because he followed that up with, “Where’s that?”
Laurence closed his eyes on a wince.
It was a relief when Temeraire convinced the other dragons to go swimming, with the other aviators gathered around their dragons shouting encouragement, and Laurence was able to stand with Tharkay away from the questions and the teasing and simply watch the dragons and other aviators at play. Tharkay’s calm, quiet presence was like a soothing balm to which Laurence was fast growing addicted, even as the man felt as mysterious and confusing as ever.
When Tharkay finally broke the silence, it wasn’t to broach any topic Laurence might have expected. “What do you know of Celestials, Captain Laurence?”
Laurence flushed slightly. He wasn’t certain why, but something about the way that Tharkay’s mouth worked around the syllables of his title and name was very… well. “Only that they are the highest order of dragon to be found in China,” he said.
Tharkay hummed noncommittally. “They are the companions to the Emperor and his heirs. A prince cannot ascend to the throne without being chosen by a Celestial.”
Laurence was silent for a moment, the unspoken implications of that statement ringing through the air like a death knell. “I would expect that they are kept very well protected.”
“Extremely.” Tharkay looked at him calmly.
“...Ah,” said Laurence. Then, “That French frigate…”
“I cannot comprehend the circumstances that would have led to the French gaining access to that egg, even access enough for theft.” When Laurence remained silent, clenching and unclenching his fists, Tharkay prompted gently, “Perhaps this is a topic you should raise with Temeraire himself.” Laurence blinked at him in surprise, and Tharkay added with no particular inflection, “Of course, there is no cause to keep property informed as to its own provenance,” and Laurence turned pale with fury.
“I apologise,” he said icily. “I must have been monstrous indeed in our short acquaintance if you believe those to be my thoughts.”
Tharkay’s eyes softened a little. “No,” he said simply. “And as such, you are constantly surprising me.”
“I will discuss this with Temeraire,” Laurence said firmly, not quite willing to be so easily consoled, no matter how pretty Tharkay’s eyes were. “And with the admiralty as well, given the… politics of the situation.” He hesitated. “Their questions will likely go beyond my own knowledge. Would you be willing to accompany me for these discussions?”
Tharkay’s gaze flickered over Laurence’s face, seemingly searching for something. Laurence wasn’t sure what he found, but after a moment, Tharkay said quietly, “Of course.” Then something sparked in his eyes, and that familiar wry smile twitched into life. “Anything for my dear husband.”
Tharkay adapted to life at the covert quickly—more quickly than Laurence, certainly—and while he did not navigate their new social environment with particular ease, he at least did so without any obvious discomfort at the constant culture shocks. Culture shocks, including the revelation that Harcourt was not a boy playing captain with eerie competence, but a fully grown woman. Laurence found himself a little out of sorts to realise that he, who had lived for years on the sea travelling from land to land with rough and tumble sailors, was nevertheless somehow less worldly than his pampered heir of a husband.
“I was born a culture shock,” was all Tharkay had to say in response to Laurence’s inquiries on the subject.
Tharkay seemed to find plenty to occupy himself as well, but Laurence still wondered at his decision to come live in a tiny tower room in a dragon’s covert with a stranger for a husband rather than to return to a suite in his parents’ manor. And yet, Laurence was painfully grateful for Tharkay’s steadying and increasingly familiar presence.
And at night, when the cool drafts turned frigid, Tharkay’s warm body curled around his own in a press of skin and a tangle of limbs, and Laurence thought that even if this was as far as their intimacy ever went, he would be satisfied.
When Laurence and Tharkay first met with Admiral Lenton to discuss Temeraire's origins, they were met with a vague and disinterested promise to "look into it," and there seemed nothing more to be done on their parts.
Their second meeting on the subject had a very different tone.
"Tell me again," Lenton growled. "You are absolutely positive that Temeraire is one of these Celestials? He couldn't be another species altogether? Perhaps," Lenton added with ill-disguised hope, "he's not even a Chinese dragon at all?" He stopped and scowled at where Laurence was sitting stiffly at attention, staring blankly at his left ear. "Oh, for—wipe that look off your face, Laurence! This isn't an interrogation. Do you see any thumbscrews about my person? Do you?"
Tharkay shrugged, lips twitching. "I'm no expert, Admiral. It was my mother who made the identification, and I'd take her word over anyone else's this side of India." And then, in a voice not quite soft enough to go unheard, he muttered, "Or the other side of India, either."
Lenton looked relieved. "A very charming woman, I'm sure," he said with surprising condescension for someone who had spent the greater part of his life serving alongside female aviators.
"Very charming, yes," agreed Tharkay. "More topically, she is the granddaughter of one of the most famous dragon medics in South Asia, and she assisted her grandfather in his work for many years, including on the occasion that he was called to care for an ill Celestial and her companions during an imperial visit to India." All of Lenton's previous symptoms of anxiety had returned twofold, but Tharkay drove the point home anyway: "My mother could correctly identify any dragon hailing from east of the Ural mountains at a glance, and she is absolutely positive that Temeraire is a Celestial."
"Bugger," groaned Lenton into his hands. "Tell me, Laurence, were you born onto our fair Earth simply to give me blistering headaches?"
"No, sir," said Laurence coldly.
Tharkay smirked at him. "No promises about Temeraire, though."
After that, Tharkay's means of keeping himself occupied was suddenly much more visible to Laurence, and it was terrible:
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, reviewed maps and made detailed corrections.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, calculated with exacting specificity the supplies needed by a heavyweight dragon to manage a long voyage.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, explained the political and cultural divisions of half a dozen countries off the top of his head.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, spoke in seemingly flawless Mandarin to Arthur Hammond, the irritating Chinese cultural expert they'd been assigned.
("You're sure you aren't Chinese, are you?" teased Martin, watching him.
"I'm sure that if you heard me speaking French, you'd believe me to be Parisian," replied Tharkay easily.)
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, threw on a green aviator's coat and managed to make it look good.
"Is there anything you can't do?" asked Laurence into Tharkay's neck one night, apropos of nothing.
"Hmm?" Tharkay exhaled a hot breath that seared over Laurence's skin.
Laurence winced. He'd honestly thought Tharkay was asleep. "I don't see what you get out of all this, that's all."
Tharkay's muscles didn't stiffen, precisely, but there was the sudden feeling that he was now very alert in Laurence's arms. "'What I get out of all this,'" he repeated tonelessly.
"I've heard that soulmates are supposed to balance one another," Laurence explained. "Each makes up for the other's deficiencies in some way, and each complements the other's strengths."
"And?"
"I'm not certain how we balance one another, unless the balance is that I'm wholly incompetent and you make up for me by being good at everything and bad at nothing."
Tharkay snorted. "Hardly." He pulled back from their embrace to look down at Laurence fondly, his loose hair spilling over his shoulder. "And did I not swear an oath to you, that with all my worldly goods I thee endow? Someday, I will inherit my father's wealth and home, but for now, the only worldly goods I can endow upon you are those products of my own skill and knowledge. Still, I give them to you, my husband and soulmate, as I vowed to."
Laurence swallowed. He felt a pressure all throughout his body, as though he were growing too large to be contained in his skin. "Do you take your vows so seriously then?" he asked, looking up at Tharkay and for once not bothering to mask his vulnerability.
"Yes," said Tharkay. "Don't you?"
"Yes," admitted Laurence, unashamed but almost apologetic. It had been an endless tension between him and his family, him and his superiors, him and his crews, how seriously he took the letter and spirit of the oaths he swore. Can't you bend a little? they'd ask him, but why would he want to, when the oaths he swore were so wonderful, even when the men demanding the vows were often not? But now, looking up at his soulmate in the dark, he found that for once in his life, he didn't have to justify his choices. "I can't help but remember another oath you swore to me that I would not mind seeing upheld."
"Oh?" said Tharkay, biting back a smile. "And that is?"
The small distance between them was growing steadily smaller, so Tharkay certainly understood his meaning. And yet, some things needed to be spoken aloud. "I seem to recall something about being worshipped by your body."
Tharkay seemed to ponder this for a moment, his lips hovering over Laurence's own. "I believe that can be arranged," he said thoughtfully, and Laurence yanked him down the scant millimetres separating them with a laugh.
Despite their careful handling of the situation, the mood when the imperial party landed in England was… tense. Silly fights broke out amongst the aviators, and everyone seemed nervous and on edge.
Everyone, that is, bar one.
“Laurence,” called Temeraire, brimming with excitement. “Oh Laurence, have you heard? We shall be going to China!”
Laurence couldn't hold back a smile at Temeraire's enthusiasm, even as the members of the Chinese delegation looked on in unexplained disapproval. "So we shall, my dear."
"And Tharkay, perhaps on our way back, we might visit Nepal?" asked Temeraire joyfully, and Laurence had to disguise a laugh at the sight of the sour faces of their imperial eavesdroppers.
"Certainly, Temeraire," said Tharkay easily. "If that's what you wish."
Laurence's perfect soulmate was tilting his face up to smile at Laurence's perfect dragon, the sunlight glinting off of black hair and blacker scales. Laurence's perfect soulmate, and Laurence's perfect dragon, with whom he'd soon be heading to sea.
In his wildest dreams, he hadn't imagined that life could be this good.
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Laurence/Tharkay, Laurence & Temeraire & Tharkay
Word count: ~5k words
Summary: Soulmarks are names scrawled on wrists, Britain is not at war with France, and Laurence still doesn't visit home often enough. Fortunately, it turns out that his soulmate is fully prepared to travel with him.
Notes: The prompts were: Wedding/proposal, "you aren't what i expected", downpour, soulmate AU, sick fic, (accidental) love confession. I'm arguing that I hit all but the last two.
Relative to canon, things and characters are cheerier in this canon-aligned soulmate AU, where (1) the religious significance of soulmarks means that same-sex marriage is legal, (2) Britain is not at war, and (3) Tharkay's parents are inexplicably both alive and well. For the sake of simplicity, I am pretending that "Tharkay" is our friend's patronym, or that for some unknown reason, his 18th-19th cen. British father took his mother's family name as his own rather than vice versa. However it's spun, I am calling the whole family the Tharkays, and I'm designating their home base in Scotland.
Laurence came down the stairs from his childhood bedroom for dinner with as much dignity as he could muster despite being overly conscious of his newly issued green coat. Of course, there was also the fact that he may well have beaten his own letter home—the letter that told succinctly of the dragon egg he had found, the dragonet he had harnessed, the young dragon he had befriended. His family would not be pleased, but the deed was done, and there was little more to say on the topic. He had hoped to slip in and out of the manor quietly, without alerting the neighbours (or his family) of his presence, but on arriving, it was clear that his family was not only home but hosting guests.
Unfortunate.
He’d taken a back stair down, and now he paused in the passage between the dining hall and the kitchen and tried for some deep, bracing breaths.
“Is the door giving you trouble?” asked a wry voice behind him. Laurence turned, feeling chastised, and was so startled by the other man that he simply stared for several long, rude moments. The man was dark and handsome, dressed fashionably and well. A guest, then, not a member of the household with whom Laurence was unfamiliar. And yet, also not a family connection that Laurence himself was acquainted with.
“No, thank you, the door is fine. I’m afraid that I’m the troubled one,” said Laurence, and the stranger quirked a smile. “I do beg your pardon. I am William Laurence, Lord Allendale’s erstwhile son.”
The stranger shook his hand firmly. “Yes, I was afraid that might be the case. I am Tharkay.”
Laurence blinked in surprise, because he did recognise that name—it was the name transcribed on his own wrist in two forms of letter, a sign of someone—not just someone, a soulmate, Laurence’s soulmate—who had been bilingual from the cradle. “Tenzing Tharkay?” he asked, feeling slightly dizzy as the man nodded. They had never actually met, but of course their families had been in contact and formalised an understanding, as families of the gentry tended to do when facing the relief at an eligible match rather than trying to hide the scandal of an ineligible one. Tharkay was very eligible, according to Laurence’s father, meaning that his family was almost certainly wealthy, firmly abolitionist, and likely in possession of considerable property. But Laurence had never met him before, and now—now he tugged his new coat, even more conscious of his change in circumstances.
Tharkay’s eyes trailed down. “I had understood you to be in the navy.”
“I was,” said Laurence uncomfortably. “My ship encountered a pirate vessel that had lately engaged with a French frigate. Temeraire’s egg was onboard, and he was too near hatching to deliver him to his proper destination.”
“And so, you decided that a career change was in order, and you claimed the egg for yourself?” asked Tharkay. There was nothing judging in his tone—only cool inquiry—but Laurence was offended regardless.
“We drew lots,” he said stiffly, “to determine who would approach the egg as it hatched. But it made no difference. Temeraire ignored the man who drew his lot and came straight up to me. He chose, not I. I can only do my best to be worthy of his choice.”
Tharkay stared at him, blank-faced, for a moment. “You aren’t what I expected,” he said, which was a sentiment people often experienced on meeting Laurence. Excellent captain and fighter, said the naval officers and crew, even though he acts and talks like a right posh bastard. And, Very well-bred manners, said the tea parlour society, not at all coarse as you might expect from a navy man. Though his stories of his time asea are shocking, simply shocking. Surely they can’t be true? And the son of a peer!
Before Tharkay could continue to enumerate the ways in which Laurence failed to meet his expectations, the door to the dining hall burst open, and Laurence’s brother George peered out. “Tharkay?” he asked, and then his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he said, “Will!” He took his head out and called back into the room, “Will’s here at last!” He dragged Laurence and Tharkay into the room, and Will gaped at this manhandling of a guest. “So you got our letter after all, then? We weren’t sure; there seemed to be some confusion about your directions. But you made it on time even so.”
“I’m afraid the last letter I received was some months ago,” said Laurence urgently. “Made it on time for what?”
“The wedding, obviously!” George answered carelessly. “Mum will want you to try on the new suit she ordered as soon as possible, to make sure you won’t need any adjustments.”
“Ah,” said Laurence. Officers were most often married in their dress uniforms, but Laurence didn’t feel it wise to press the point. He glanced at Tharkay nervously. “I didn’t take any real leave. I’m en route to Loch Laggan, a covert in Inverness-shire, for training.”
“Covert? Training? Whatever for?” asked George, and then his eyes focussed in on the green of Laurence’s coat, and he paled. “Will—” His eyes darted to Tharkay.
“That shouldn't be a problem,” said Tharkay easily. “The trips shouldn’t be too onerous, as it is nearish to our home. Especially where ‘nearish’ is measured in wing beats,” he added, looking at Laurence with that wry smile.
Laurence stared at him, truly shocked at his evident ease in the situation. He had never expected acceptance rather than rejection when he came up on his new dragon with his new jacket, though he had admittedly been imagining his family and friends and colleagues, not his soulmate, in this. Tenzing Tharkay hadn’t much crossed his mind for years, not in the least because he had been nothing more than a name and a string of unfamiliar letters.
“In fact,” said Tharkay brightly, walking further into the room, “as you haven’t the time to spare, we should probably skip the larger part of the ceremony. We’ll exchange vows outside, so that Temeraire can witness, and then we’ll head on to Loch Laggan, and you can have the rest of the party without us. We can say it’s our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon,” said Laurence faintly. “Of course.” He was somewhat stuck on the way ‘Loch Laggan’ had flowed from Tharkay’s lips—a smooth transition to a Scottish brogue in the midst of his Eton-trained tea parlour accent.
“Even better, maybe we should do it tonight so that we can have an early start to Scotland.” Tharkay seemed increasingly cheerful as he mapped out his upcoming plans.
“It’s gone 8 o’clock,” said Laurence, not entirely protesting. He wasn’t certain what was going on, but Tharkay’s plan seemed like the best option regardless. They finally crossed the room to where the rest of the party was gathered.
“Yes, so not too late yet,” agreed Tharkay firmly, ignoring George’s outcry of, “We don’t have a special licence, you can’t get married until Sunday’s service!” “Captain Laurence, may I introduce my parents, Mr and Mrs Tharkay?”
“How do you do,” said Laurence, firming up his voice so that he could at least feign a mien of polite calm.
Mr and Mrs Tharkay greeted him with admirable poise, though their eyes kept slipping to his jacket and back again. Mr Tharkay looked every inch the British gentleman, and when Laurence’s eyes and mind adjusted to dismiss certain expectations of what it was to be a Briton, so did Mrs Tharkay. Her dress and manner were perfectly British, and her speech contained only the barest hint of accent from her native tongue—Nepalese, if his soulmark was any sign.
Laurence’s own parents were much less calm at his appearance, though Lady Allendale’s manners were as flawless as ever in covering her disquiet, and Lord Allendale was forced to restrain himself in front of their guests.
“It’s a grand thing that you showed up when you did,” said George, trying for joviality. “Or we would have had to marry you off by proxy!”
Laurence’s eyes narrowed, suddenly certain that this had been the plan all along.
“Very grand,” said Tharkay. “Is Temeraire awake? May I meet him now?”
Laurence hesitated. “I believe he had intended to rest, but he’s likely still awake. Shall we greet him before we eat?”
“Yes, let’s,” said Tharkay. “Mr Laurence, you’ll explain the change of plans?”
George looked as though what he wanted to do was smack Tharkay upside the head for leaving him with the explanations, but he nodded grudgingly, and Laurence obediently led Tharkay out to the clearing where Temeraire had settled.
Temeraire had been watching the little movement of life around him with scientific interest, but he looked up at their approach. “Laurence!” he said, happy as always to see him. “Are these your parents?”
“No, no, my dear,” said Laurence, startled, and as he turned to introduce Tharkay, he realised that Mrs Tharkay and his mother had followed them. “That is,” he conceded, “this is my mother, Lady Allendale. And this is our friend, Mrs Tharkay, and her son, Mr Tenzing Tharkay.” He cleared his throat. “Mr Tenzing Tharkay is my soulmate, and the plan is for us to be married.”
“Oh, splendid!” said Temeraire. “But what is married?”
As Laurence struggled to explain the concept, he was very aware of the reactions of the others. Tharkay, with his little sardonic smile, his mother, terrified but strong in the face of it, and Mrs Tharkay, who was hanging back with his mother, but seemingly out of politeness rather than fear. She curtseyed deeply on her introduction, and smiled up at Temeraire as he asked questions and offered his own answers.
“And what manner of dragon are you, Temeraire?” asked Lady Allendale with hardly a quaver in her voice.
Temeraire puffed himself up. “A Chinese Imperial,” he said proudly, and as he was inhaling to launch into an explanation of the superiority of his breed, Mrs. Tharkay said, “No.”
“No?” asked Temeraire.
“No, Mr Temeraire. I have had the very rare opportunity to see an Imperial before, and you are not one, though you look very like them. But no, I knew instantly when I saw you. You are a Celestial.” She smiled up at him, serene. “Lung Tien Temeraire.”
‘Lung Tien’ Temeraire was delighted as they explained the idea of marriage and weddings to him, but there were several sticking points which concerned him. “Giving the bride away?” he said, aghast. “Absolutely not. I shan’t give you away, Laurence. I’m afraid Tharkay will have to be the bride.”
“My dear,” sighed Laurence, “that’s not quite—”
“Your captain will join my family, and so shall you, Temeraire. You won’t have to give Laurence away at all.”
Temeraire settled himself at the reassurance. “Well, very well, then.”
As it happened, George was quite right that it was impossible for a legal marriage to take place that evening, as of course the time for evening service had already passed, and regardless, the date published in the banns had been for four days later, during Sunday’s morning service. Laurence and Temeraire were obliged to fly to Loch Laggan early the following morning—immediately after breakfast and a hurried suit fitting—to both report for duty and request leave at the week’s end, a circumstance that made Laurence’s ideas of professionalism curl into foetal position and cry.
Admiral Lenton’s stern frown transformed into an expression of amused incredulity as Laurence awkwardly explained the situation, and Celeritas, who was to be their training master, simply recalculated the training regimen accordingly, unconcerned by the delay in the absence of a war to prepare for. But as for the rest—
“Oh!” said Lily, their new formation leader. “This marriage business seems very messy. I hope that my captain will not do anything so foolish.”
“Never fear, dearest,” smiled Captain Harcourt as Captain Berkley coughed into his fist. “Did I understand that right, Laurence? You are marrying into his family?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Laurence confirmed, not certain as to where the too-young captain was headed with this line of questioning. But Harcourt only nodded, seemingly satisfied, and Laurence tried and failed to understand what sort of point had been made or understood. It must have been a good one, as Harcourt’s previously glacial attitude towards him had warmed to a brisk chill.
Then Maximus raised his giant head. “I should like to see a wedding. Temeraire, may I come to see your captain’s wedding?”
Temeraire agreed eagerly while Laurence was still choking on his own spit, and then Lily wanted to come along as well, and so Laurence spent nearly a quarter hour contemplating the horrifying future of writing to his family to notify them of the impromptu guests, some of whom would have to observe the ceremony by squinting through the stained glass windows of the chapel. Thankfully, Berkley finally intervened to explain to Maximus and Lily that weddings were dry and dull. He described the ceremony with such exacting detail that the dragons soon lost interest, and even Temeraire said hesitantly, “Laurence, can we not simply bring Tharkay with us without that nonsense?”
The only advantage of the rushed and mortifying situation was that his new formation was so amused at the absurdity that they forgot to be cold and suspicious of him, and he was not so embarrassed that he forgot to be grateful to have avoided the curt rudeness he had faced from the first members of the corps he had met after finding Temeraire’s egg.
Finally, on Saturday, he and Temeraire returned to his childhood home, where they had time for a quiet dinner and a final fitting before Laurence was shuffled off to an early bedtime.
In the bustle and business of the past week—past month, really—Laurence barely had time to let his head touch his pillow before his exhaustion snatched his consciousness away. But on this night, the last night of his life as an unmarried man, he suddenly found himself with an excess of consciousness. Now, he had the opportunity to contemplate beyond the inconvenience of the wedding, the duplicitousness of his family to arrange this without him, the concern at starting a whole new training regimen at his age, and the anxiety at his anticipation of his new comrades and their potential antipathy towards him. He found himself thinking, instead, of his husband-to-be for the first time.
Laurence had now spent perhaps a few hours' time in Tharkay’s company, split across several days. He tried to catalogue the few facts he’d been able to learn about the man with whom he was to spend the rest of his life.
Tharkay was very well educated. He was rather more educated than Laurence himself, as he had chosen to go to school for law despite being his parents’ heir, and he hadn’t run away from his governess at age 12 to explore the oceans. Cursory conversations had indicated that Tharkay enjoyed reading tremendously, could communicate in speech and letters in at least five different languages, and loved to travel.
The final point was a comforting shared preference between them, but Laurence was growing worried that his dragon might have more in common with his soulmate than he did.
He looked down at the elegant script travelling along his wrist. Laurence’s penmanship was very respectable, but it looked like a child’s scrawl next to Tharkay’s superior artistry.
He let his head fall back into his pillow with a sigh. He was bound in service to Temeraire and to the Aerial Corps, and he could be shipped out to war at any time despite their long-standing alliances with their nearest borders. Even if he remained with a domestic station, how often would he be able to spend time with his husband?
How often would his husband want him to?
He fell asleep with a cold feeling in his stomach and images of Tharkay’s dark eyes and curling smile swirling through his mind.
The following morning, Laurence put on his new suit, made himself as presentable as possible, and joined his family in the front hall with his most cheerful countenance carefully in place.
“Good lord, Will, you look as though someone has died,” said George.
“Do not embarrass us in front of the Tharkays,” added Lord Allendale sharply.
His mother took his hands into hers and kissed his cheek. “You look very handsome, my dear,” she said. “But you needn’t be so nervous. Mr Tenzing is a lovely young man, even aside from being your soulmate.”
“Yes,” Laurence agreed. “He seems so. It’s only that I don’t know him very well.”
“And whose fault is that?” snapped Lord Allendale. “If we’d waited until you were ready to get to know him, the alliance would never happen at all!”
“It hasn’t been delayed that long,” insisted George, and Laurence blinked at this unexpected defence.
“Today,” interrupted Lady Allendale firmly, “is a happy day,” and so chastised, the walk to the village church was silent and belligerent, with stormy grey clouds forming above to match their steps.
The Tharkays met them at the church, and the ceremony passed as they tend to.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship,” intoned Tharkay, and there was an intensity in his eyes then that burned through Laurence with such ferocity as Tharkay continued to speak—“and with all my worldly goods I thee endow”—that Laurence went vague for a moment, and when he came back to himself, he found that he was already kneeling, his right hand in Tharkay’s, and the minister was saying, “Those whom god hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
They were the usual words in the usual ceremony at the usual time. But hearing them now, with his hand in Tharkay’s and Tharkay’s eyes on him, he found himself blushing and was bewildered at himself.
When the sermon was finally over and they poured out of the church with their families, rain was streaming from the sky, and Temeraire greeted them eagerly from where he had been wrapped around the building with his eye and ear pressed against one of the more transparent windows. The townsfolk leaving the service with them retreated hurriedly into their homes, going out of their way to keep Temeraire at a wide distance, and the barring of their doors was audible even over the downpour. As though that would keep out even the smallest of dragons, thought Laurence, eying the proceedings with uncharacteristic irritation. Temeraire had many questions on the origins and purposes to the different pieces of the sermon, and he had criticisms, too, which Laurence hurriedly shushed, promising that they would discuss it more at length when they had some privacy.
Tharkay caught his eye and smiled, and Laurence felt himself turning red again. This was becoming ridiculous, really.
Over the wedding breakfast, Mrs Tharkay asked her son, “Will you be returning with us?”
“No,” said Tharkay, looking up at Laurence from across the table. “I have hoped my husband could find space for me in his room at the covert, at least for a time.”
Laurence thought that he maintained his complexion rather well after all the morning’s practice, but then George started fanning him with his napkin, and Laurence turned a frown—not a scowl, thank you—on his brother, and Lady Allendale sighed, “Boys,” beseechingly.
“Of course,” said Mrs Tharkay, turning her smile to Laurence. “You will visit, of course?”
“Certainly, Mrs Tharkay,” he hastened to assure her. George gave him a look, which Laurence supposed was meant to remind him of all the times he hadn’t visited his family’s estate over the years. “Visits home should be easier now that I’m stationed in Britain,” he clarified weakly.
“Glad to hear it,” said George meaningfully, and Laurence winced.
Laurence’s apartment in the covert was very small. He had been pleased with it on his arrival, but it was one thing to contemplate a tiny berth for oneself, and a whole other issue to share it with one’s husband, who must be used to much more expansive lodgings.
But Tharkay only nodded when he saw it, seemingly satisfied, and asked, “Do you mind if we share?” gesturing to the bed.
“Not at all,” replied Laurence, startled. “But it will be a tight fit.” The bed had seemed luxuriously large when Laurence had first seen it and mentally compared it to his former berth, but when he recalculated its size to accommodate two grown men, it seemed woefully tiny.
Tharkay raised an eyebrow at him, amused, and Laurence fidgeted with his neck cloth until Tharkay returned to unpacking his belongings. He was, Laurence was relieved to observe, very tidy.
The other aviators greeted Tharkay with a great deal of interest. “So you’re Laurence’s soulmate, then?” asked Harcourt, head tilted to one side as though to study him from a new angle. “I’m honestly not certain what I was expecting, only that you’re not it.”
Laurence stiffened at this remark, but Tharkay merely nodded mildly. “I rarely am.”
“Are you from China, then?” asked Martin with unconcealed curiosity.
“Scotland,” replied Tharkay. “We’re closer to my home here than my husband is to his,” and he shot one of those little smiles at Laurence that had sparks shooting through his stomach. He seemed to take pity on Martin’s confusion and explained briefly, “My mother was born in Nepal.”
“Huh!” said Martin, understanding dawning. Or perhaps not, because he followed that up with, “Where’s that?”
Laurence closed his eyes on a wince.
It was a relief when Temeraire convinced the other dragons to go swimming, with the other aviators gathered around their dragons shouting encouragement, and Laurence was able to stand with Tharkay away from the questions and the teasing and simply watch the dragons and other aviators at play. Tharkay’s calm, quiet presence was like a soothing balm to which Laurence was fast growing addicted, even as the man felt as mysterious and confusing as ever.
When Tharkay finally broke the silence, it wasn’t to broach any topic Laurence might have expected. “What do you know of Celestials, Captain Laurence?”
Laurence flushed slightly. He wasn’t certain why, but something about the way that Tharkay’s mouth worked around the syllables of his title and name was very… well. “Only that they are the highest order of dragon to be found in China,” he said.
Tharkay hummed noncommittally. “They are the companions to the Emperor and his heirs. A prince cannot ascend to the throne without being chosen by a Celestial.”
Laurence was silent for a moment, the unspoken implications of that statement ringing through the air like a death knell. “I would expect that they are kept very well protected.”
“Extremely.” Tharkay looked at him calmly.
“...Ah,” said Laurence. Then, “That French frigate…”
“I cannot comprehend the circumstances that would have led to the French gaining access to that egg, even access enough for theft.” When Laurence remained silent, clenching and unclenching his fists, Tharkay prompted gently, “Perhaps this is a topic you should raise with Temeraire himself.” Laurence blinked at him in surprise, and Tharkay added with no particular inflection, “Of course, there is no cause to keep property informed as to its own provenance,” and Laurence turned pale with fury.
“I apologise,” he said icily. “I must have been monstrous indeed in our short acquaintance if you believe those to be my thoughts.”
Tharkay’s eyes softened a little. “No,” he said simply. “And as such, you are constantly surprising me.”
“I will discuss this with Temeraire,” Laurence said firmly, not quite willing to be so easily consoled, no matter how pretty Tharkay’s eyes were. “And with the admiralty as well, given the… politics of the situation.” He hesitated. “Their questions will likely go beyond my own knowledge. Would you be willing to accompany me for these discussions?”
Tharkay’s gaze flickered over Laurence’s face, seemingly searching for something. Laurence wasn’t sure what he found, but after a moment, Tharkay said quietly, “Of course.” Then something sparked in his eyes, and that familiar wry smile twitched into life. “Anything for my dear husband.”
Tharkay adapted to life at the covert quickly—more quickly than Laurence, certainly—and while he did not navigate their new social environment with particular ease, he at least did so without any obvious discomfort at the constant culture shocks. Culture shocks, including the revelation that Harcourt was not a boy playing captain with eerie competence, but a fully grown woman. Laurence found himself a little out of sorts to realise that he, who had lived for years on the sea travelling from land to land with rough and tumble sailors, was nevertheless somehow less worldly than his pampered heir of a husband.
“I was born a culture shock,” was all Tharkay had to say in response to Laurence’s inquiries on the subject.
Tharkay seemed to find plenty to occupy himself as well, but Laurence still wondered at his decision to come live in a tiny tower room in a dragon’s covert with a stranger for a husband rather than to return to a suite in his parents’ manor. And yet, Laurence was painfully grateful for Tharkay’s steadying and increasingly familiar presence.
And at night, when the cool drafts turned frigid, Tharkay’s warm body curled around his own in a press of skin and a tangle of limbs, and Laurence thought that even if this was as far as their intimacy ever went, he would be satisfied.
When Laurence and Tharkay first met with Admiral Lenton to discuss Temeraire's origins, they were met with a vague and disinterested promise to "look into it," and there seemed nothing more to be done on their parts.
Their second meeting on the subject had a very different tone.
"Tell me again," Lenton growled. "You are absolutely positive that Temeraire is one of these Celestials? He couldn't be another species altogether? Perhaps," Lenton added with ill-disguised hope, "he's not even a Chinese dragon at all?" He stopped and scowled at where Laurence was sitting stiffly at attention, staring blankly at his left ear. "Oh, for—wipe that look off your face, Laurence! This isn't an interrogation. Do you see any thumbscrews about my person? Do you?"
Tharkay shrugged, lips twitching. "I'm no expert, Admiral. It was my mother who made the identification, and I'd take her word over anyone else's this side of India." And then, in a voice not quite soft enough to go unheard, he muttered, "Or the other side of India, either."
Lenton looked relieved. "A very charming woman, I'm sure," he said with surprising condescension for someone who had spent the greater part of his life serving alongside female aviators.
"Very charming, yes," agreed Tharkay. "More topically, she is the granddaughter of one of the most famous dragon medics in South Asia, and she assisted her grandfather in his work for many years, including on the occasion that he was called to care for an ill Celestial and her companions during an imperial visit to India." All of Lenton's previous symptoms of anxiety had returned twofold, but Tharkay drove the point home anyway: "My mother could correctly identify any dragon hailing from east of the Ural mountains at a glance, and she is absolutely positive that Temeraire is a Celestial."
"Bugger," groaned Lenton into his hands. "Tell me, Laurence, were you born onto our fair Earth simply to give me blistering headaches?"
"No, sir," said Laurence coldly.
Tharkay smirked at him. "No promises about Temeraire, though."
After that, Tharkay's means of keeping himself occupied was suddenly much more visible to Laurence, and it was terrible:
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, reviewed maps and made detailed corrections.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, calculated with exacting specificity the supplies needed by a heavyweight dragon to manage a long voyage.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, explained the political and cultural divisions of half a dozen countries off the top of his head.
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, spoke in seemingly flawless Mandarin to Arthur Hammond, the irritating Chinese cultural expert they'd been assigned.
("You're sure you aren't Chinese, are you?" teased Martin, watching him.
"I'm sure that if you heard me speaking French, you'd believe me to be Parisian," replied Tharkay easily.)
Tharkay, Laurence's soulmate, threw on a green aviator's coat and managed to make it look good.
"Is there anything you can't do?" asked Laurence into Tharkay's neck one night, apropos of nothing.
"Hmm?" Tharkay exhaled a hot breath that seared over Laurence's skin.
Laurence winced. He'd honestly thought Tharkay was asleep. "I don't see what you get out of all this, that's all."
Tharkay's muscles didn't stiffen, precisely, but there was the sudden feeling that he was now very alert in Laurence's arms. "'What I get out of all this,'" he repeated tonelessly.
"I've heard that soulmates are supposed to balance one another," Laurence explained. "Each makes up for the other's deficiencies in some way, and each complements the other's strengths."
"And?"
"I'm not certain how we balance one another, unless the balance is that I'm wholly incompetent and you make up for me by being good at everything and bad at nothing."
Tharkay snorted. "Hardly." He pulled back from their embrace to look down at Laurence fondly, his loose hair spilling over his shoulder. "And did I not swear an oath to you, that with all my worldly goods I thee endow? Someday, I will inherit my father's wealth and home, but for now, the only worldly goods I can endow upon you are those products of my own skill and knowledge. Still, I give them to you, my husband and soulmate, as I vowed to."
Laurence swallowed. He felt a pressure all throughout his body, as though he were growing too large to be contained in his skin. "Do you take your vows so seriously then?" he asked, looking up at Tharkay and for once not bothering to mask his vulnerability.
"Yes," said Tharkay. "Don't you?"
"Yes," admitted Laurence, unashamed but almost apologetic. It had been an endless tension between him and his family, him and his superiors, him and his crews, how seriously he took the letter and spirit of the oaths he swore. Can't you bend a little? they'd ask him, but why would he want to, when the oaths he swore were so wonderful, even when the men demanding the vows were often not? But now, looking up at his soulmate in the dark, he found that for once in his life, he didn't have to justify his choices. "I can't help but remember another oath you swore to me that I would not mind seeing upheld."
"Oh?" said Tharkay, biting back a smile. "And that is?"
The small distance between them was growing steadily smaller, so Tharkay certainly understood his meaning. And yet, some things needed to be spoken aloud. "I seem to recall something about being worshipped by your body."
Tharkay seemed to ponder this for a moment, his lips hovering over Laurence's own. "I believe that can be arranged," he said thoughtfully, and Laurence yanked him down the scant millimetres separating them with a laugh.
Despite their careful handling of the situation, the mood when the imperial party landed in England was… tense. Silly fights broke out amongst the aviators, and everyone seemed nervous and on edge.
Everyone, that is, bar one.
“Laurence,” called Temeraire, brimming with excitement. “Oh Laurence, have you heard? We shall be going to China!”
Laurence couldn't hold back a smile at Temeraire's enthusiasm, even as the members of the Chinese delegation looked on in unexplained disapproval. "So we shall, my dear."
"And Tharkay, perhaps on our way back, we might visit Nepal?" asked Temeraire joyfully, and Laurence had to disguise a laugh at the sight of the sour faces of their imperial eavesdroppers.
"Certainly, Temeraire," said Tharkay easily. "If that's what you wish."
Laurence's perfect soulmate was tilting his face up to smile at Laurence's perfect dragon, the sunlight glinting off of black hair and blacker scales. Laurence's perfect soulmate, and Laurence's perfect dragon, with whom he'd soon be heading to sea.
In his wildest dreams, he hadn't imagined that life could be this good.