InsaneJournal

Laurence hadn’t been sure how to bring this up to Temeraire. It had been nearly two months since Laurence had come home from the Heirloom Sphere injured, and two months since Temeraire had had him very nearly under house arrest for it. He’d been able to press upon Temeraire the importance of his continuing to go on patrol, his need for both an occupation and an income, and had even been able to convince Temeraire that sometimes his friends needed his presence for one reason or another, but that had been the extent of his movements.

He’d been willing enough at first to bear it, sure that Temeraire would, after a time, grow lax again in his protective instincts. He’d been sure once the shock of being transported to a new world and of seeing Laurence in that state, Temeraire would grow less anxious. It seemed instead that the opposite was true. That the longer Laurence allowed himself to be put under these restrictions, the more pleased Temeraire became with them.

He should have known better, really. If Granby were here, he most certainly would have told Laurence that Temeraire would not become less protective on his own. He had, for a time, thought that perhaps he had left matters too long, that he should have put his foot down a month ago, or have never allowed Temeraire to so limit his comings and goings in the first place.

He felt a little better about it after having spoken to Lan Xichen. While Laurence still had trouble reconciling the fact that Temeraire was nine, and not five like Laurence remembered, he had never quite acknowledged that Temeraire still had less than a decade worth of experiences under his proverbial hat. And most of those nine years had involved war – violence and the certainty of death. Of course Temeraire would be anxious about Laurence’s safety. He’d assured Laurence that he’d likely done the right thing, and that letting Temeraire mother him for two months wasn’t unforgivable, and may have even been the correct course.

Still, he needed some degree of freedom back, and he hoped he could make Temeraire understand.

He closed the book he’d been reading to Temeraire – some book on magic that Mr. Courcey had loaned them – and looked up at his dragon from where he was seated on Temeraire’s forearm. Hard to remember that for all of Temeraire’s intelligence and size, he was still only a child in human years. In dragon years too, perhaps. He’d never thought to ask any of the other dragons, the older dragons, what they considered childhood to be, but Temeraire had centuries of life to look forward to and hadn’t even lived a decade yet.

“Temeraire, I was hoping that we might have a bit of a talk,” he said, setting the book down on his lap.

Temeraire looked up from where he’d been listening with his eyes half-closed. It was quite wonderful to be able to read in English - or any language he pleased - on his own, now he was able to enlarge the text as much as he would like, or even to ask his device to read aloud to him in a monotone voice if he got tired, but of course that wasn’t anything like as nice as having Laurence read to him, which was always preferable unless the language was one with which he had particular difficulty.

“Of course,” he said, pleased. He wondered if Laurence was finally going to ask for some details on the last few years which Temeraire remembered and he did not. Temeraire had had to catch himself more than once before accidentally revealing some news which might temporarily cause Laurence some distress or confusion. Laurence was so happy here, and Temeraire did not want to concern him unduly over things which had already happened and could not be avoided. But it was quite difficult, when he remembered some anecdote he would like to recall, or to reference a conversation Laurence would not remember. And there were plenty of good things which had happened which could not be properly explained without some distressing news also, so it was all quite muddled.

“You can talk to me about anything, Laurence,” he added, blinking himself properly awake so that he could focus wholly on the conversation.

Laurence felt very nearly duplicitous. He'd known, of course, that reading to Temeraire would put him in an exceptionally good mood, more prone to go along with whatever Laurence suggested. He had, in fact, planned on making sure Temeraire was as relaxed and comfortable as he could be before having this discussion. But now that the time was here, seeing Temeraire so thoroughly lulled, he wondered if he shouldn't instead discuss with him plans for the pavilion, save this particular conversation for a time that felt less dishonest. Perhaps after a flight, or after a bath in the lake, when Temeraire would be pleased but also fully awake and invigorated.

He frowned. No, now was just as good a time as any. His logic was still sound: it was better to discuss this while Temeraire was relaxed than if he were worked up over something.

"I know you've been concerned over my safety, my dear," Laurence said, placing a hand on Temeraire's leg. "And you've often had good cause to. We've faced danger together often, you and I, and I know how concerning it must have been to see me come back from the Sphere after being banged around. But I hope these last two months have helped to assure you that Vallo is really quite safe. Safer, even, than home often proved to be."

Temeraire’s ruff pricked a little, already sensing nonsense. He tried not to think about how pale Laurence had looked after being ‘knocked about’, how shallow his breathing had been, almost imperceptible. “I do not see that it is so at all,” he said, gruffly. “When not so long ago there were people being killed over and over, somewhere else where no one could get to them.” He shuddered; he had watched some of the footage in horror before he couldn’t take anymore. If he had had to see anything like that happen to Laurence... “Just because no one is trying to assassinate you, specifically... that we know of,” he added, cautious to include all possibilities in his reasoning, “does not mean something terrible might not happen, at any time.”

Laurence grimaced. It wasn't that he's forgotten the murder mansion – he had, in fact, been rather disturbed by the entire incident – but he'd hoped that Temeraire might have, especially as he didn't think Temeraire had had any friends in the mansion.

He resisted the compulsion to tell Temeraire that if something like that were to happen again, there would be little the dragon could do to stop it. He was relatively certain that would accomplish nothing but to have Temeraire coil possessively around him and declare that he would find a way to stop it.

"That is true, but it was just as true back home as it is here," he said, hoping that he wasn't about to discover that Temeraire kept him on an even shorter leash back home, or that he wasn't somehow about to convince Temeraire to start fussing over him like a mother hen back home, even though they were supposed to forget about Vallo if they ever left it. "I thought, perhaps, we might come up with a set of," he bit back the word rules, which was likely to help his cause not at all, "shared expectations for when I leave the covert without you."

“I don’t really see why you should ever want to go without me,” Temeraire said, “unless you are patrolling, with other people to protect you,” not that he was particularly happy about that either, “and I am quite happy to escort you, if you need to visit Lan Xichen, or someone else.” His ruff prickled a little more. “But we can discuss it,” he said, rather stiffly, “I hope I may not be called unreasonable on the subject.”

"I have friends who live in the city, and sometimes have other business that takes me there," Laurence said, stroking Temeraire's leg. "But I thought, to start with, that when I leave I can tell you where I'm going and when I expect to be back, and that I might text or call you at agreed upon times, so that you know no harm has come to me. If for any reason I cannot check in at the agreed time, or expect to be home late, I will promise to do my best to let you know as soon as I'm able."

Temeraire blew hot air from his nostrils, doing his best not to react without consideration. He did not at all see what might be so inviting about the city, where the streets were so tiny and narrow and the buildings were so tall that he was sure they must topple over at any moment. It was pretty to fly over, especially at night, and there must surely be a lot of books and other interesting things to see between its narrow walls, but it was not enough in his opinion to take any unnecessary risks. “But if something does happen,” he said, “you will already be taken away somewhere, where I cannot get to you, so it does no good to know that if you had not been in danger you would have let me know.” He knew he would feel much better if he could see Laurence, and if someone or something tried to take him away, perhaps he might be able to stop it.

Laurence frowned to himself. It was true that the suggestion was mostly made with the intention only of relieving Temeraire’s anxieties, with the assumption that nothing bad would happen, and with no real intention of mitigating any sort of danger. Laurence should have known that Temeraire was too intelligent to not have immediately seen through it.

“I’m afraid, dear heart, that I don’t know if there’s anything that one can do to avoid all danger altogether,” he confessed. “But this way, at least, if something unexpected were to happen, you would know much sooner than otherwise and can begin to devise a plan for my return much sooner than otherwise. I have heard of an app, too, whereby you can use GPS to track where your loved ones are at all times. Perhaps we might install it on one another’s phones, so that you’ll always know precisely where my last location was.”

“Oh,” Temeraire said, mollified a little and very interested. “That would be very good; it would be almost the same as being able to see you all the time. Only imagine if we had had such a thing in Africa, when I had to chase you over half the continent.” He turned the idea over in his mind, considering; the only downside he could see was that it was not, in fact, the exact same thing as being in close enough proximity to be able to protect Laurence if he needed to. He had found Laurence in Africa by sheer stubbornness because he was at least still in the same dimension, and there was no guarantee of that, here. His ruff prickled with anxiety and he had to resist the very real urge to tuck Laurence under his breastplate and keep him there. “But perhaps, if you need to visit people, they could just come here?” he suggested, mulishly. “I am sure it must be a lot less dangerous, just to stay in one place.”

"I can think of a number of times such technology would have been helpful beyond anything. Imagine how much time we might have saved in Australia, had we a proper GPS and hadn't constantly been getting turned around." He settled more comfortably in the crook of Temeraire's elbow now that it seemed that Temeraire was becoming accustomed to the idea. "I promise that I'll try to invite people over as often as I can, though it's not entirely fair to them to always need to come here. And sometimes, there might be an event in the city which I wish to attend." He frowned. "Would that there were a way to make you a little smaller, so that you might come with me sometimes."

He was impressed with how much was accessible to Temeraire here – tea, and wine, and sweet desserts made large enough to satisfy a dragon – and yet still Temeraire couldn't attend the opera or theatre, or the occasional ball. He thought the dragon would enjoy such things immensely if he could.

“Yes,” Temeraire said, a little doubtfully; he vaguely remembered what it was like to be small, and he was not entirely convinced he would enjoy it a second time. He supposed it would be all right if it were only temporary, and he would at least still have claws and teeth with which to fight off any attackers. To fit inside a regular building he would have to be so small that he would not be able to carry Laurence away in an emergency, which was his main concern at the moment over attending any human-sized event. He put his head down beside his foreleg so that Laurence might reach out to pat his soft nose if he liked to. “I do not want you to get hurt again,” he said, very low. “It was very terrible, when I thought you were dying. You might think I would be used to it by now, with how often you almost manage it, but I am not.”

Laurence bit back the immediate impulse to deny that he'd been badly injured at all; he'd been injured worse half-a-dozen times over, he was sure. But arguing about it would accomplish little but to make Temeraire defensive, and that was not Laurence's intention. Instead, he rested his cheek against Temeraire's muzzle.

"I know, dearest; it must have been a very unpleasant shock." He wished he could promise that it wouldn't happen again. "I will do my best to be careful," he promised instead. "I didn't mean to worry you so badly."

“I know you did not mean to, you never mean to,” Temeraire muttered. It was s strange point of personal pride that Laurence was not as quick to hide himself away as the other captains, which Temeraire chose to see as faith in him not to react in a way that might be harmful to himself or his companions, should the worst occur, and not as a dismissal of Temeraire’s potential feelings. “I had hoped that once we retired I might not have to worry quite so much,” he admitted.

Laurence hesitated, awkwardly. He had not retired, though he could hardly be considered a captain in the timeline he remembered. He would be again, he knew, and would see the war through to its end, and he could think of no greater purpose, no higher duty. But when it had come to it, he hadn't minded the work of a farmer. There had been something immensely satisfying in building something, in seeing his crops begin to sprout, in knowing that he was contributing something instead of always taking away.

The Defense Teams weren't like the military. There was no strict chain of command, no orders to follow or disobey. He was not always killing and destroying. But neither did Laurence feel a true sense of purpose in the work, a sense of answering the call of duty. He'd taken the job because it was the closest to the work he'd always known. And while it wasn't always fighting off threats – he took pride in being able to help the locals at their farms, or escorting new arrivals to the DOA, it helping anyone who'd found themselves lost in the forest following one of those disconcerting shifts in geography – he could admit that it was a job most likely to put him into the line of danger. He didn't mind for his own sake, only…

"Would you like me to?" he asked after a moment. "Not to retire, not exactly, but I might find another job, if you would like. There are positions open at the DOA on the Welcoming Committee, or we've enough land here that we might try starting a small farm."

“Only if you would like it, Laurence,” Temeraire said after some consideration. “I would not like you to stop patrolling if you enjoy it so much - although it sounds very boring to me,” he added, unnecessarily, as even the word ‘patrol’ had taken on a distasteful flavour in his mouth since before he was a year out of the shell. “But perhaps you would like something else just as much; after all, you were perfectly happy to settle down with Tharkay.” His ruff softened against his neck, now he was relieved of some of his earlier anxiety.

Laurence had been prepared to tell Temeraire that while he enjoyed patrolling, he didn't enjoy it so much that he'd resent being asked to stop, if it caused Temeraire any anxiety, and he was certain he could find another job he enjoyed as much, when Temeraire continued and a other thoughts were wiped from his mind.

He drew back from Temeraire in surprise. "With Tenzing?" he asked, as though there were some other Tharkay he might settle down with. Now that he thought of it, the prospect wasn't altogether unappealing, even if he could scarcely imagine Tharkay settling down at all. A lot could change in four years. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Whatever do you mean? Not as… not as Huan and I have, surely."

‘Oh,” said Temeraire, suddenly wondering, “no… at least I do not think so, I am quite sure I would have noticed something like that.” He hesitated mid-thought. “Or perhaps you would not have mentioned it to me, if it were so illegal? But no; Iskierka has always known about Granby, so I am sure I would know. Tharkay was only very generous in letting us live on his estates, so that I might take the seat which was open to dragons in the peaks.”

"I certainly would have told you, provided Tenzing had no great objection to it," Laurence answered, relatively sure that Tharkay would have had no such objections. He was, in fact, thinking about that when he started to ask, "What has Iskierka always known –" when he suddenly knew the answer to his own question and broke off clumsily with an “Oh dear.”

Laurence had never once thought of Granby as anything but uncommonly chaste, which now seemed evidence enough. He wondered, for a moment, if Granby had a lover, perhaps within the Corps, and then decided that he very much did not want to know. If Granby had wanted Laurence to know, he would have said as much; it seemed obvious enough that this was something Iskierka had told Temeraire, not meant for Laurence's ears, and he could only hope no other aviators had been nearby when she'd mentioned it.

“I suppose there’s no harm done between us, especially not here in this other world.” Both because there seemed to be little-to-no stigma attached to it here, and because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see Granby again. “But I hope the importance of keeping news like that a secret back home has been pressed upon you.”

“Oh yes,” Temeraire conceded, sighing, “you were very clear about it, even though it does not make any sense - I do wish you could remember these conversations we have already had, Laurence, it is very confusing, and perhaps I ought not have said anything now, only it is hard to recall when we spoke about things, exactly.” He clawed a little at the flagstones, which fortunately were hard stone where he couldn’t leave much of a mark. “I think Granby must have told you about it while we were in South America, as an excuse not to marry the Empress, although Iskeirka did not think it very much of an excuse. Of course,” he added, “I would never insist upon you marrying anyone you did not like; I still think it was very bad mannered of her.”

They had made the egg there, he remembered, softening a little at the memory; for all Iskierka’s faults she was at least good at that, and Ning was a hatchling to be proud of even if she had inherited all her stubborn and unmanageable nature from her dam.

“Marry the –” Laurence started, staring, not sure if he was more shocked to learn of Granby’s orientation or that Granby’s marriage to the Incan Empress had been sure enough that he’d felt it necessary to tell Laurence of it himself, rather than the information having come from gossip among dragons.

Laurence had been avoiding questioning Temeraire too closely about his future so far, though he knew some of the broaders strokes – such as their defeat of Napoleon, and Laurence’s return to England. He hadn’t wanted to learn more, both from a superstitious fear of knowing in too fine of detail his own future, and the worry of learning something particularly unpalatable, to say nothing of the uncomfortable feeling that learning of the fates of his friends, of Jane and Granby and Tharkay, seemed, somehow, presumptuous. He’d wanted to learn all about Temeraire’s adventures in the intervening years, though knowing how tightly their fates were entwined meant that there’d been very little he could question Temeraire on: his position as a minister, his hatchling, the state of Temeraire’s work toward dragon rights, with nothing but empty, formless years between their transport to New South Wales and the end of the war.

It was untenable, and some part of Laurence had always known it would be. He hadn’t thought of how keeping it all to himself must’ve affected Temeraire either, until beneath him, he felt the dragon attempting to furrow through the flagstones.

“I think, Temeraire, you must tell me a little of our adventures after we were restored to the ranks,” he said, reaching to stroke Temeraire’s muzzle. “All that you should like to tell, I think.”

Temeraire turned his head with pleasure into Laurence’s touch. “Oh, I would like to,” he said, with relief. “I am afraid it will take a long time, to tell properly, but perhaps I could spread it out over some evenings?” He liked the idea the more he thought about it. Laurence read to him so often, and now he could repay the favour.

“I would like that very much,” Laurence said, and found that he wasn’t entirely dishonest. Some part of him was trepidatious about the whole thing, but he and Temeraire were apart seldom enough that Laurence very rarely got to hear Temeraire tell stories of his adventures. And while Laurence was certain to be part of these tellings, they would still be entirely new to him. If nothing else, he was eager to hear how exactly, Temeraire would relay it. “Very much indeed.”