Naomh Pádraig | Saint Patrick (naomh_padraig) wrote in nevermore_past, @ 2012-07-19 17:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint george, saint padraig |
Who: Padraig and English!George
What: Tearful and happy reunions
When: December 6th, 1921
Where: George's house, London
Notes: Started in post, finished in comments. Thank you Gdocs.
Not six months after Padraig had been rescued from his brother's house by watching his little sister shoot said brother in the chest, the fighting between England and Ireland had reached a stalemate. Padraig felt angry that his brother had had to die for his freedom, especially since Padraig was pretty sure he could have survived six months in that room in George's house. Probably... So George's death had been unnecessary. But it was also impermanent, thanks to George being a saint.
A lot of people had died in the name of freedom, and when the fighting was over, Padraig was relieved. After the truce was called on the 11th of July, Padraig's focus shifted from tactics of war to tactics of peace. There was negotiating to do and a republic to hope for.
Padraig knew a republic was too much to hope for, but he had held that fire in himself anyway. For six months he had run around the country, discussing terms and tactics and governments. When the Anglo-Irish negotiations had started up in October, Padraig had stuck to President De Valera's side after the negotiators had been sent to London.
The treaty had been drafted up. By December it was ready to be signed. And Padraig had left for London so he could be there for it.
A republic wasn't part of the deal. They had been offered an Irish Free State within the British Empire and to Padraig that was enough for now. The right to govern themselves wasn’t nothing. They could push to leave the British empire later. In the political arena, where a fight like that belonged.
Sitting in the room where the signing happened, trying not to draw attention to the fact that he knew George was difficult. After the signing, Padraig couldn't help himself. He needed to see his brother right then. There was no war between them now. No animosity. They were on the same side. The treaty had been signed.
And so, Padraig, who hadn’t spoken to George since his brother had died in front of him, knocked on George’s door and he waited for George to answer.
George, for his part, had refused to fight in the war against the Irish rebels ever since he’d woken up alone on the floor of his house, covered in a blanket and dried blood. He’d kept the shamrock that Padraig had left him with him at all times, and focused his energy on other things. Anything that wasn’t Ireland.
The change in his behavior didn’t go unnoticed, but he refused to explain it to anyone. Not even Churchill, and the man could nag like no one else. Especially when he was drunk. But George had just kept silent and waited.
It had been a little unreal, sitting down for the treaty signing with Padraig in the same room. George had done his best not to stare, not to draw attention to the fact that they knew each other. One day, it would be safe to do so. Maybe someday soon. But not quite yet.
So he’d hurried home, almost afraid to hope. Because what if Padraig really didn’t want anything to do with him, after it was all said and done? It was a possibility, one that made George feel sick.
The knock at the door was a bit like his prayers being answered. He threw it open and stared at his brother for a long moment. Then he reached forward and pulled Padraig into a hug, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder.
Padraig hugged George right back, clinging ever so much more than slightly. “George,” he whispered, “can I come in?” Then he grinned and buried his face into George’s neck. “I missed you so much. Are you okay? George, tell me you’re okay.” He didn’t look anything like the corpse Padraig had left behind nearly a year ago now, but Padraig still felt slightly panicky and protective as if it had just happened.
“I’m okay,” George said, not wanting to let go of Padraig. He couldn’t stop smiling, and had to blink away happy tears. So much for keeping a stiff upper lip. “I’m fine, I promise. I’m too stubborn to stay hurt for long, you know that.”
He pulled Padraig into another hug, closing the door behind him gently. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? I have food here that hasn’t been cooked by me, so it should be edible...”
Padraig snorted and he gave George a squeeze before backing away, though Padraig still kept ahold of George's arms. "I would love something to eat, actually. I'm feeling a little peckish. And tea sounds wonderful too. Mostly I'm just glad to see you. I'm so sorry, George, I didn't know Dee would do that to you." Glancing upstairs where he had been imprisoned in George's house for a month and then had to watch Darerca shoot George, Padraig shuddered a little. "And I hope you don't mind if I just don't get anywhere near that room."
"That's fine," George said, glancing at the room with a small, sideways look. "I try to avoid it myself. The stain's mostly gone from the floor, but..."
He shook his head. No point in dwelling on that, not when Padraig was here of his own free will and there might finally be some peace between England and Ireland. "Let's go and get some tea."
Padraig followed George, unwilling to let his brother out of his sight. It had been nearly half a century of pure animosity between their countries. Half a century of awkward meetings and arguments, and now it seemed like it was over. Really over.
"I stayed with Brigid for a little while after getting back to Ireland," Padraig said, as if it were a normal conversation to be having. Brigid and Padraig had always been close, and Brigid, as a Celtic goddess who had been fashioned into a saint, had remained removed from the war. She hadn't involved herself at all, beyond being someone who Padraig went to often to calm himself down and take time out. "I couldn't fight any more."
"It's been the same for me," George said, heading into the kitchen with Padraig close behind. He poured out a cup of tea for his brother and another cup for himself. George had been going through huge amounts of tea lately, even by his standard. "It just seemed better not to fight. Er, how is Brigid?"
"She's well," Padraig said, taking a sip of the tea before setting it aside. "She had to spend a few weeks convincing me I wasn't a terrible person who deserved terrible things," he said with a frown. "George, I think I need another hug."
George pulled Padraig into a tight hug immediately, having been holding off the urge to ask for another hug himself. He rested his chin on Padraig's shoulder.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Padraig," George said, not letting go of his brother. "You've got nothing to feel bad about."
"That's not true," Padraig said, clinging to his brother just as much. "I left you there. You have stayed by my side in everything, and I left you there. George, I am so sorry."
"You stayed with me until I was gone," George said, petting his brother's hair. "You stayed when it mattered. That's what matters. And I'm okay, Patty, I promise. I woke up about thirty minutes afterwards, no worse for wear besides that I missed you."
Padraig gritted his teeth and he pulled away so he could look at his brother's face. "I took the first opportunity to abandon you," Padraig said, shaking his head.
Padraig was a brave man and he didn't fear much. He had always struggled with guilt, however, and now he feared losing George even though George was clearly not of a mind to make Padraig leave.
"I was keeping you there, Padraig," George said, shaking his head. "I expected you to leave if you could. It's...I'm not angry at you. I promise. A little angry at Darerca, but never at you."
Padraig made a face and then he gave George's arm a squeeze. "It was never you I wanted to leave, George." Padraig let out a breath, glad to be saying words he had held inside him for almost a year. "It was that room. I was shocked at how quickly I...reverted." Padraig wasn't aware if George would know what he meant.
George nodded, squeezing Padraig's shoulder. "Here, sit down," he said, nudging Padraig towards the table and grabbing one of the packets of biscuits he kept around.
"Do...would you like to talk about it?"
Padraig sat and he ate one of the biscuits when it was offered to him. "It's not something that has plagued me, I was just surprised how quickly I gave up fighting." Padraig leaned on the table, his head in his hand. "I became...subordinate. I viewed you as-" Padraig shook his head and he sighed. "I'm worried you will take this badly. I'm not saying it to cause you guilt. But I viewed you as a master. One who loved me and treated me well, surely, but still someone I was subordinate to."
George felt the bile rise in his throat, and took a long sip of tea to try and cover it. He understood, in an academic sense, that Padraig's reaction was natural and hadn't happened because George was some kind of monster. He'd been taken prisoner enough to know that it was generally much safer to learn how not to be punished and adjust your behavior accordingly.
He still felt sick. He still felt like a monster.
"It's something that happens when people are held captive" George said, not looking at Padraig.
"It is," Padraig nodded, because he understood it too. It was engrained into him. His captivity was one of the most well-known facts about him and it remained steadfast in people's minds when they thought about him, right alongside erroneous beliefs such as snake-banishing. He had so easily slipped into the role of submissive prisoner so George didn't have to punish him. He had gone so far as to show George he had no mind to disobey by sitting far from the door every time it opened. Good slaves who made no attempt to misbehave were rewarded. And those tiny rewards meant everything.
"And it's not your fault, George. But I am glad to be your equal again instead."
"I never thought of you as being less than me," George said, and it was terribly important that he make Padraig believe that. "Ever. I want you to know that. It's why I drugged you. It's why you were chained."
"I know," Padraig said, reaching out for his brother. "But other men chained me, and they did think of me as less than themselves. If they thought of me at all. I do not expect you to take on the guilt of other man's sins, George. I know you love me. It's why I didn't want to leave you, even after the chains were gone and the door was open."
George pulled Padraig into another hug, being careful not to squeeze down too tightly. He rested his forehead against Padraig's shoulder.
"I should never have chained you in the first place. I'm sorry. I was so angry and...and stupid."
Padraig wasn't going to tell George that was okay, even though he understood. Padraig had hated feeling the powerlessness that brought, and a lot of his behaviour after he had been released from the chain had been to avoid getting it put back on him again. He still didn't hold it against his brother.
"George...nevermind. Just nevermind it all. We're okay now. We don't have to fight any more," Padraig said with a wide smile. "And I'm inviting myself to your house for Christmas. Can I spend it with you?"
George nodded and smiled, wiping at his eyes surreptitiously. When had he become so emotional?
"I'd love to have you. Stay as long as you want." He laughed a little. "It's lonely without you here."
"Then I'll stay for a little while," Padraig said easily. "There's no pressing reason for me to go home yet, considering I don't have a home to return to. The Free State will take some time to come to fruition, and they don't need me for their cabinet meetings." Staying with George would do them a lot of good. It would repair their relationship. They could be in the same place without the war between them. And Padraig could stop seeing himself as George's subordinate.
"How uncomfortable did everyone look?!" Padraig finally said with a laugh. Churchill was forced to sit in a room with a bunch of Irish ministers who had once cooled their heels in his prisons. Oh goodness, the look on his face!"
George couldn't help but cackle. He was close friends with Churchill, but even he would admit (and often to Churchill's face) that the man could be a huge, loud pain in the arse. It was more than a little entertaining to watch him try to be polite to people he'd arrested.
"It was hilarious," George said, leaning back in his chair. "And no one started cursing at anyone else. It's going so well."
"It did indeed," Padraig said with a grin. "I was proud of both sides. It was the picture of civility. Here," Padraig stood and he clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "How about I make us something to eat and you can tell me what you've been doing for the past year?"