Archive of Our Own

Everything hurt.

His body ached so much. He felt weak. His hand trembled to the point that the Doctor had to help him steady his hand as he wrote.

He looked up from the paper and at the Surgeon, with tears in his eyes not just from the physical pain he was experiencing.

“D-do I tell them, D-doc?”

“...I would advise not.”

“Y-ye… they’d be heartbroken to find out…”

He wondered if the suffering he was going through was but a fraction of what would befall his family.

Agnes Erskine (soon to be MacDonald), truly loved her fiancé and his family.

She had been first introduced to Allie by her brother Simon at one of his gatherings. They had already been good friends with each other for about a half-year at that point, and when she finally met him face-to-face, she could say that she saw why.

Alistair MacDonald was by all means an incredibly charming young man. Putting aside his handsomeness altogether, he always had the brightest of smiles on his face and was very social with the other attendees, often offering to assist them in one way or the other in such courteous manners that would make the Vice-Chamberlain proud. His boisterous laughter combined with a bright and polite demeanour, but somehow yet with a good presence of friendliness and casual manner made everyone naturally attracted to him. He was a popular fellow among the high-strung social circles of the gentry despite his family’s relatively humble stock.

When they had met, Allie’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he introduced himself. And like any other of his friends, she had been charmed immensely. She remembered her brother’s eyebrow raising as, he would later note, Allie looked at her more intensely and spoke in a slower and softer tone than he had with the other guests. Likewise, she had felt much more flattered with him than with any of the other partygoers. They exchanged pleasantries and afterwards launched into a lively talk of each other’s backgrounds which somehow deteriorated (to Simon’s exasperated and chagrined groans) into gossip of the people present, sometimes literally behind their backs.

Needless to say, she could never look at the old Colonel the same way ever again.

One thing led to the other - they kept on coming across each other at events, and sometimes he would go out of his way and find her and her brother unaware with a knock on the door with a good book. And their feelings grew slowly but surely. His kindness, his charm, his relentless optimism, it all glowed like the sun, radiating warmth and comfort and drawing herself to him. Likewise, as she would later know, he was enraptured by her grace, her patience, and her calmness, how she had herself always poised and polite. Her brother had simply watched on with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Before long, he approached Simon for her hand in marriage in an uncharacteristically anxious and hesitant manner, stuttering in front of them for perhaps the first time in his life… she had blurted out yes before he could reply, and her dear brother choked out an agreement in between his fit of laughter at how red they had turned.

He had taken her to meet his family personally the next day in a formal introduction. Though, they weren’t completely unknown to each other, as he often talked about their various characteristics. She would often hear all of his family’s virtues from his never-ending mouth such as his father’s bravery, his mother’s kindness, his sister’s decisiveness, and so on and so on. She would not be surprised if he had rambled about her to his parents as well. They were all nice company, and they quickly accepted her as one of their own.

His parents were quite alright to have around. Despite his imposing appearance - wearing an old military uniform that predated the epaulettes of the modern navy, several medals on his chest, what she guessed were splinter wounds around his neck, and a conspicuously missing arm under his left sleeve, the Commander had mellowed significantly from his previous times in war and mostly spent his time managing his naval manufactory. When he had met her, he had squinted and pursed his lips while nodding as if she were an agreeable shipment or a plan guaranteeing victory over the French. She should have felt surprised or even unnerved by that kind of observation, but the only emotion in her was relief that he had gained his support. Mrs. MacDonald meanwhile was more genial and kind and, as she found out later, was the orchestrator of the entire proposal. She had embraced her as if she were her own, giving congratulations and encouragement and remarking upon her beauty. She wondered if the laugh afterward was from both Allie and her finding their cheeks red. 

The two genuinely loved each other, and would often have silent physical displays of affection, and they could often be seen holding hands with each other at the table as they ate.

Allie had an extraordinarily close relationship with his siblings, including Charlie despite his occupation pulling himself away from the family. He often assisted Mary and Canten on various things and talked the Lieutenant’s ear off about the events that had been happening in the past few months while he just nodded on to be polite. They bickered, especially between Allie and Mary, sometimes over the most trivial subjects. Most of the time they were of a playful manner, so no real harm was done.

She does not recall her relationship with Simon being this interesting.

His siblings grew close to her, and they were quick to call each other family of their own.

Mary was especially delighted to find that her elder brother had found a soon-to-be wife and another woman in their family other than their mother, and she had found herself surprised by his sister’s wit, intelligence, and strong will. She could often find her playing chess or some card game in the afternoon with the Lieutenant if he was here, or most of the time her father, sometimes with the man at a disadvantage. If she was not on the tables, she could find her pouring over a book from their library or surprising other people with sudden sarcastic remarks.

Sometimes, however, she would grow… concerned with the stunts that she would pull. She was charming like her brother, and even the Commander could not resist her. However, unlike the passive tendencies of Canten or even the productivity of Allie, she used her abilities in order to do… certain things with her band of marauders that she called her friend group.

The sudden silence of Ensign Brooks after he had sworn a rivalry with both her brother and father? Probably blackmail. No, hopefully, blackmail and nothing worse.

The appearance of scandalous papers detailing the past affairs of the old, grumpy, grand dame Antonia Wood? Probably her doing. She wondered why she had been heading off to the printing press that Wednesday.

The fire at the marketplace? Probably her fault.

The fire at the Kerr’s house? Probably her fault as well as the Kerr daughter's. 

The crude imitation of Guy Fawkes in the form of the scarecrow of the very flammable fields that woke up the local farmers in a blaze? …most probably hers.

She was dumbfounded to find that the Commander still entrusted her with lanterns at night.

Despite this inclination towards… mischief, Allie’s younger sister was still nonetheless very fun and entertaining to talk to. She found herself learning the rules of the card games they played as she sat at the table on weekends, finding herself sandwiched between the unimpressed looks of the Commander and Canten and the arguing between her and her other brothers over whether the ace was higher than the king or vice-versa, calling each other names affectionately .

(“It’s one! Mary, I tell ya, it’s supposed to be the lowest rank! What else?! Simply logical!”

“The convention is to place it above the King, you idiot!”

“Mary- have some manners. Though I have to agree with you.”

“Not you too Charlie!” )

They talked to each other often in the afternoons, and she could trust in her to be able to listen and give creative feedback, however… blunt or snarky it may be.

With the Commander’s sons at sea, she really only had her and Simon left to talk to. She was quite glad to have her, someone who could share her loneliness.

Canten was only thirteen or fourteen when he met her. Apparently he had been found completely unaware to find that Allie had found himself a spouse, and he was still quite shocked by the whole reveal when she visited. He scrutinized her himself with no small amount of fright hiding behind his expression and found herself suitable to his palate after some few minutes before promptly becoming one with the room’s corner.

He was an incredibly quiet boy and the meekest of all of Allie’s family. When she would visit, she would usually find him huddled close to one of his siblings or his parents, and he would rarely approach her. When she did approach him, she could tell he was very shy and scared of her despite Allie’s words of comfort. She recognized that he tried to remain polite, and her heart melted at how sweet and adorable he was.

They often bonded over art, and it was one of the factors that broke through the whole social inertia that they initially had. They had been both delighted to know that the other had an affinity for carving. Canten’s eyes immediately lit up in excitement when he recognized the chisels and knives she carried, and she would lie if she hadn’t felt celebratory in breaking the final mask that Canten wore. She would often find and join him in the tool- and shaving-littered garden as their knives worked away at the designated piece of wood subjected to its transformation. Her preferred subjects were miniature replicas of people or their faces - indeed, she had been commissioned several times by her brother to create woodcuts of some… people, who he was not on good terms with (she would usually find it shattered the next day). Canten was much, much more peaceful in his creation, preferring to carve animals and especially birds to an especially detailed and lifelike degree. His finished works often found themselves decorating the MacDonald household.

She had also introduced him to different fields of art as well. He would often find her doing repeating sketches of people in various kinds of cloaks and clothing, folds working their way into a complex and chaotic pattern. Later on, she came across his attempts to imitate such works, and she was quite touched. He also stood by with interest as she went to various locations in Stirling and painted those too.

She was at first somewhat daunted to meet Charlie. The naval officer was a veteran of the Battle of Trafalgar and the campaigns in the Mediterranean, and he had travelled back to Stirling for a while after the Leviathan had to be rebuilt in Plymouth. He was physically tall, and he certainly made a successful attempt to put up an imposing face.

But as Allie seemed to repeat in his countless conversations with her: “ Despite his rough and mighty shell, if ya manoeuvre the right way he’s going to find himself unable to say no! ”

While the Commander talked and bragged about the Lieutenant’s letters about his life at sea and constant recognition and accolades, Alistair would continuously tack on some trivia that made him less of a statue of great victory and more human. His tendency to go silent, turn red, and grumble in embarrassment at the slightest bit of teasing from his friends and family (oh she had certainly seen this many times. Especially from Mary), his unabashed love for whatever hound the Commander had gotten, ( “We never really had pets then. Ma was scared of them mauling Canten to death” ), his secret supply of sweets that Allie, Mary, even the Commander frequented. Commander MacDonald did not object to him telling her this despite the silent protest of the subject in question in the form of squirming in his seat. Like the adorable person that Allie described.

When she got to interact with him, however, she found herself liking him more and was drawn to his character. He was a kind-hearted and soft-spoken man, a sort of gentle giant who would mediate between his family whenever they went into another one of their petty squabbles. Several times she had found herself alone with him, and they enjoyed quiet conversation with each other while reading books. It was quite calming, to say the least, a good break from the wildfires that were known as Allie and Mary.

It had been quite a while since he had returned to Naval life, but safe to say she was quite excited to meet him again.

She loved Allie to the ends of the earth, she truly did. She was so incredibly grateful to find the love of her life in the usually cold and heartless market of marriage. His charm and handsomeness certainly drew many people to him, but his unhampered kindness, diplomacy, and aptitude as a companion really endeared him to her and grew them only closer. He often publicly displayed affection to her and showered her with nicknames and praise, to which his mother would often suppress a squeal, and sometimes Mary would roll her eyes at the blatant expression. However, his attempts at pleasing everyone in life and rarely wishing for enemies sometimes… endangered him from more scheming groups.

Though it also had its benefits. Take the time he had simply charmed a group of thieves into giving his wallet and pocket watch back through the power of generosity, smiles, and pure charisma.

He had also gone there a few weeks later with a fat purse in order to help them from starvation. As she said, an incredibly kind soul.

She especially loved trying to make him flustered. He was somewhat like his older brother in a way - Charlie was outwardly a war hero, but even at the smallest flirt from one of the ladies or a pointed tease from either of his siblings, he had the tendency to turn incredibly silent, red, and, she guessed his true bashful nature. Canten was even more shy and meek, though he was probably the one who accepted his compliments the most readily - he just had some uncomfortableness meeting new people. Allie meanwhile would have his confidence falter ever so slightly, and he would even stutter in his endless praises to her as he blushed.

What truly made him stop and turn the most extreme shade of red was when she would whisper seductively, something that she learned from Simon and that Mary and both of her (future) parents-in-law had helped hone. It did not matter if it was a “You are so damn handsome , don’t you know…” or a “How did I ever catch such a man like you?”, or any honey-dripping nickname like My Dearest, or My Rose , or her favourite, My Apollo , from the Hellenic God of merrymaking and the sun, if she breathed it into his ear in that quiet, sickeningly sweet voice, his cheeks would erupt crimson as he stood there stuttering, trying to regain his words.

Though she would be lying if she told you she didn’t mentally cringe at her courtesan act and feel a bit flustered herself.

She wondered if it was inheritable. Though she could never think of the Commander as such a man.

They would often go on little escapades or do things in tandem with each other. Sometimes, they would go for strolls around the parts of Stirling more untouched by civilization, taking with them some food to eat on the way. Usually sweetbreads or pastries with raisins prepared by the bakery. On other days, they would go into the marketplace and buy themselves some colourful clothing and accessories. Allie gladly indulged her fascination with beads, dresses of different colours (which… may have broken some biblical verse now she remembered), and of those seashell necklaces, and sometimes just the shells themselves because of their interesting shapes.

He would often write down the stories that he thought or heard of, and she would usually gladly lend her expertise in illustration. They had spent countless hours by the candlelight as he jotted down his works in his barely legible handwriting, or her attempts at deciphering and converting them into lively and fantastical sketches with the help of her trusty pencil. They had a full volume of such works, and when he was back home, she would have gladly helped with the next.

To be honest, she was completely satisfied with this life.

She never wished it would end.

She was excited to finally marry him and start their family.

But, it was not to last.

Allie had visited one day some two or so years ago, looking incredibly distressed as he went in. She naturally inquired about his condition with worry for her fiancé.

It appeared that he and his father had fought over his career choice. She had known he had been studying to go into law and the courts, as Simon had told her as he was the one who got him connected with his teacher. But his hushed tone in which he had been talking to her became completely clear now. His father (for reasons that she still cannot comprehend), vehemently opposed it.

Instead, he and the Lieutenant pushed for him to join the Navy in some sort of fit of patriotism and ‘knowing what’s best’.

But she did not expect him to tell her that he was actually going to join.

She felt many emotions as he uttered those words over his tea. She felt, first of all, scared for her fiancé, who was probably going to throw away his life in the name of the country, and she was desperately looking for a way against it. She felt resentment against the Commander, she felt selfish and she wanted to keep Allie for herself. She felt like she didn’t understand.

They had a spat between each other if one could call it that. Allie was somewhat passive and a tad bit scared all the way as she talked on and on about how she needed him here, about how he was throwing away his future in the name of the Crown, about how he was leaving not only her but his family alone in order to die. She at first thought that this was due to his innate nature of pleasing people, and it had perhaps gone too far.

“It’s not that!” he had half-yelled, frowning sadly, “I would have ran away with you if it was any other circumstance! Aggie, I would. But… ya see, Canten is joining the Navy too. I can’t leave him behind.”

She was stunned at the revelation, but she had been ultimately surprised. Why Canten? The boy, she was unsure if he had the mentality or the physique to bear the heat of the Mediterranean. He would probably have been the first one to be killed while frozen in fear from a retreat or the first one to bleed out after being shot. And he was joining the Navy?

She forced herself to let go of whatever remained of her selfish desire to hold on to her beloved and understand that he was trying to be a good brother.

 It had been hard, but she had to spit out a response.

They had a teary goodbye, holding on underneath the evening sky as they grasped each other desperately. In the months afterward she received both Canten’s and Allie’s letters with great joy and excitement. Little updates that they provided her, always started off with a kind greeting for Canten and a bursting and joyous, long-winded introduction for Allie. Of course, he had already befriended the entirety of the ship, and she was quite pleased to find that Canten had been included in such efforts as well and was steadily gaining the favour of his superiors and finding a friend of his own. They were something to look forward to, and she craved to touch her engaged again.

But she remained scared for him, despite only patrolling the North Sea and the reassurances of the Commander. She felt this increasing dread every day when she stared at those letters that merely echoed their voices. Despite her reassurances that everything would all be back to normal, she always pondered over the situations which had a more-than-zero chance of happening.

What if they got hurt?

What if they went into an accident?

What if they ran out of supplies?

What if the letters just stopped altogether?

With every night she had away from him, she grew even more wanting and lonely.

Her dearest Apollo, his little brother. Please come back safe. Please come back soon.

Commander Archibald MacDonald’s family lived rather well, but it was a relatively recent development.

His grandfather, James, had been but a lowly foot soldier who fought for the Crown during the Jacobite Rebellion, and he had been there when Bonnie Prince Charlie took Stirling. Later on in life, he turned to blacksmithing to provide for his family, and from what he remembered he had no further ambition in the military.

His sons, especially his own dear father Edward, meanwhile, were much less restricted, much more hard-working, and definitely much more ambitious. Most of his many uncles had served in the Navy and reached the respectable stations of Petty Officers or Deck Captains. Meanwhile, his father and some other of his brothers had served in the army during the last war on the continent, and he reached the rank of Captain-Lieutenant of the Colonel’s Company through his blood, sweat, tears, and pride, manoeuvring through all social barriers and being granted a commission despite starting off as a regular rank-and-file soldier. It was a miracle, to say the least, to find this son of a blacksmith as an officer in the Army amidst all the nobles and the “gentlemen.”

His father had been an honest, patriotic, and determined man full of grit with a sarcastic wit to go with it, and he had instilled his values to his young self at an early age. He was always taught to be zealous and steadfast against the Crown’s enemies, to work to the utmost best of one’s ability, and to not let any barrier get in his way - to always reach for the stars despite everything in between them.

Perhaps the last one was spurred on and inspired by pure spite that was shaped by his time in the army. He never concealed his disdain for the incompetent sons of the landed gentry that he had often encountered during his service, and oh how he hated them. Often, he would rant endlessly about how Lord Doe and the son of Sir so-and-so were uneducated and spoiled fools who spent most of their time sleeping with the German women and drunkenly gambling away the finances of their families rather than answering the resigned calls of their Lieutenants. He told him stories about how they would find them drunk in a ditch, half-naked, or with the entire male population of the town they were stationed in after them for attempting to take their wives, daughters, and mothers all at once. He vividly remembered Father showing him the commission tables listing all of the prices as he continued angrily speaking about how they had not worked a single day in their life for those positions and titles and how they should be forfeited immediately.

Then he would also talk strongly against the related corruption and nepotism that laced itself through the politics of the land and by extension the Army, specifically citing his brother Francis. Uncle Francis had joined the ranks of the dominant Whig Party after receiving financial aid from Father, similarly looking to find a name for himself. He had gone under the patronage of one of the aristocrats in Edinburgh, and Father was horrified to find him engaged in embezzlement and wasting his life away with vices and decadence. Contact was quickly cut off, and he doesn’t know what happened to him afterwards.

‘Not one honest man exists in that damned institution. Anyone who had good intentions will only be another one of the gears, another one of the waltzers of that horrid dance in due time. It’s better to die fighting for the Crown than to disgrace yourself and your bloodline by staining your hands!“

It had always been hammered into him throughout his boyhood. Again, and again, and again.

Father didn’t wish for him and his brothers to join the Army or the Government, after having been thoroughly disgusted by his time in the service and going through lots of barriers in the meantime. He advocated for achieving glory no matter what, but he still had the sense to give them the mercy of an easier path. Rather, he pointed to His Majesty’s Royal Navy. The grand hearts of oak were far away from the corruption of the land, and the sheer amount of technical expertise and experience needed to commandeer and work the many parts of the ship allowed for the sea to show for more meritorious officers.

And so, they did. He and his brothers joined the Navy and served from his teens to his twenties, and Father’s words rang true. He was ardent, was promoted from Mate to Midshipman, and was commissioned as an experienced First Lieutenant and second-in-command to his Captain, guiding his juniors with a steady and just hand. Soon enough, he was able to find command of his own ship, the sloop HMS Boreal , with a most splendid crew to rally behind him while they fought in defence in Europe against the continental enemies, as the rebellion raged on in the Americas. 

As he was given much recognition from a rather young age, he inevitably dealt with the same people that his father battled with, though to a thankfully lower magnitude. It didn’t make their sheer annoying and arrogant nature any less frustrating to deal with.

Among those people were the French. He understood why he had pontificated against them.

He would have progressed further, he could have even been Admiral of the Red or Fleet if he so desired… if a damned French cannonball had not ripped his arm off.

At least he still had his managerial wit, and unlike his peers and Captains who lived out their retirement in extravagance expected of men of their station, he decided to work beyond that and founded a small Naval Equipment Manufactory to provide for himself and help supply the sailors. Soon he had enough money to buy a decent enough house to work from and hire a few servants whom he compensated justly.

And at least, he found Joan afterwards. Once a daughter of one of the local magistrates and now his beloved wife.

They had met each other by chance at the docks when she was meeting with one of her friends and he had been talking with one of his former naval comrades. She had been quite curious about the missing limb that he had. So much in fact that she had approached him and asked him directly about it and if he was okay, to the utter horror and chagrin of her company.

He had tried to hide his amusement as he entertained her curiosity, preparing himself to once again tell the old story.

A few years later, he suddenly found himself happily married to this kind, caring, glowing, and as he later discovered, utterly sly, and, if he may, perfect woman. And with four whole children to show for it.

As for their children, he was incredibly proud of them.

His eldest, Charlie, he’d say, probably takes more after himself. He always had a penchant for leadership and camaraderie, finding himself usually as a calm-headed and diplomatic head of whatever group he found himself in, coordinating everything to a degree and leading at the front. And, bless him, he tried his best to rein in his siblings as the eldest but also often showered them with both hugs and kisses and protection. He instilled in Charlie the same values that his Father before him taught him, and his son followed him into the Navy. And look at him now! Lieutenant and Officer of the HMS Leviathan with a long career in Spain, on the cusp of promotion! He couldn’t be prouder.

Though he often wondered what the crew thought of him. Despite his tall, imposing, and athletic stature, and noting his ability in armaments and technical leadership, he didn’t exactly change from his personality as his little boy - despite his insistence that he was a perfectly responsible and disciplinary eldest son, his siblings would often dispute that. He was soft-spoken, kind, and easily flustered. Very easily flustered. Hopefully, he managed to maintain some kind of respect with them, but a part of him (and the majority of his wife) remained comforted that the young boy that he had seen grow up who had insisted on sleeping next to his baby siblings still remained.

His middle son, Allie, was on the opposite side of the spectrum and more like his mother. He was very loud, curious, energetic, and playful as a child, and he brought most of the life into the room wherever he went with his bright smiles that would charm anyone that he met (and what he would occasionally use to get out of trouble). Compared to Charlie, he was more of the sails, the working, the foundation of a team - he was very accommodating and he would also scurry to ask him or his employees if they needed help with some records, or to Joan or the servants if they needed some extra manpower in some physical work, often doing the vast majority of the tasks at hand. He deeply loved his siblings, and he was their best playmate at day, and at night he used his creativity to make wondrous stories that always put Canten and Mary to sleep with smiles on their faces when they were babes 

As he grew older, he turned into a confident, optimistic, and incredibly charismatic young man forming a complex social web of friends and associates, with good skill in management and his creativity remaining intact. Doubtless, he will succeed in life. Though, he sometimes worried about his tendencies to not hold grudges and his need to please people. Paired with the wrong people…

Mary… Mary was certainly a handful. Out of all the people in their family, it was their daughter who was blunt, determined, fiery, reckless, mischievous, quite boyish, and the main source of chagrin for them and Charlie. She was very Edwardian in nature, even down to her birthday being the same as her grandfather’s, and he was quite sure out of all of his grandchildren it was her who had been his favourite. He respected her nature, one shouldn’t misinterpret his words, and he could understand her constant banter between her two elder brothers… but sometimes he would find himself rudely woken awake when an angry neighbour came in the morning banging at their door about a collapsed structure, or a mess, or another one of those damned fires at their house, with his daughter just smiling sheepishly.

Now he thought about it, she had a bit of her mother in herself too.

She was additionally a bright girl, even more than most children her age, Joan would often say, finding her place behind a chessboard. Many times he’d been beaten at their afternoon games, and she was always thirsting for more knowledge, not just limited to the board. Always looking to see how everything worked, and always asking questions. Allie and himself indulged in her desires frequently, often bringing books and in Allie’s case more handwritten stories. Whether this flow of information played a part in her incidents… perhaps, but all for his little girl.

It was amusing to see Agnes and Mary interact at first. Allie’s fiancée had been taken aback by the free-spirited nature of his daughter, but they had warmed up to each other in due time.

Their youngest, Canten had always been a quiet and shy boy since his birth, on the opposite extreme of Allie and with Charlie in the middle. He never spoke much, and he would cling bashfully to his mother to the barely concealed squeals of the maids or to the delighted smiles of his employees. He rather was found around with him, Joan, or his elder siblings. Especially his elder siblings, he idolized them very much. Under all of that, however, laid a kind and incredibly passionate person. He often was there to listen to Mary and Charlie air their grievances, and he would listen on end to the elders in the town for the old stories or folk songs, committing them to memory in an almost perfect manner. He loved carving as well, and Joan would come into his office and place whatever detailed sculpture he had recently finished into his view: He would in turn stop what he was doing and devote all of his attention to the masterpiece in front of him.

He had always passed down his Father’s tenets down to his sons. Patriotism, loyalty to the Crown, ardence, ambition, he remembered the words from all those years ago and gave his wisdom to a new generation, including all the technical details of Naval life. He entertained them by giving them the actual equipment and models of the guns and parts of the ships, how they worked and educated them on the basics of their operation. Especially with the resurgence of the French menace in the continent threatening the safety of the Isles, he increasingly urged his eldest sons to join the Navy to participate in its defence, despite his wife’s concerns for their safety.

Mary, in her search for knowledge, seemed to also inherit the same objections to service from her mother, and once asked him why he insisted on having her brothers join the Navy. “Un-sailor-like” and “Exceptionally land-loving” were her exact words to describe them.

“Firstly, I do wish to honour your grandfather and our family, Mary, ” he’d said. “ We have quite the legacy here. They are brave and able men, and I wish for your brothers to follow in their footsteps and desires for a continuation. Well, your grandfather also hated the French with a passion, and I fear if I don’t do this he will rise from the grave and take me with him.”

“Secondly, though, and perhaps most importantly, your brothers are not ‘un-sailor-like’. Conversely, they both have a great aptitude for leadership. The Navy gives them grounds to run wild. I wish to see them grow, and here I am giving them something to satiate their endless desire and ambition. Yes, counting Charlie. He does have a sense of such emotion despite how he may seem.”

Charlie followed in his footsteps and boarded the Leviathan some ten years ago, and emerged with honours and prestige, already on the rise.

Allie, however…

When the Leviathan was finishing repairs and his elder brother was about ready to go back to sea, Allie had approached him and Charlie saying that he wanted to enter law, and perhaps politics. He had studied in secret for a few months already by then with the father of one of his acquaintances via his future brother-in-law.

The situation seemed to deteriorate after that.

Almost immediately, he had objected with severity, a great and stern no had echoed from his mouth, with a good many reiterated reasons spilling out afterwards. He pointed towards the Navy, and it almost surprised him just how much it seemed as if his own father had possessed him. Charlie similarly shook his head in disapproval.

Allie… he had responded with something they hadn’t really seen before. For most of his life, he had an almost eternal and constant attitude of understanding and would be annoyed or disappointed before recovering, but at most would have stern yet polite disapproval over his face.

Here, he stood his ground. He was genuinely annoyed or even offended to a new degree and what they could see as cool anger entered his eyes for the first time in his life. He and Charlie were somewhat unsure how to process it as he replied with longer intervals and more emphasis in his words, not exactly bursting with flame, but still shaky.

“Why not?” he’d said, “Why do you want me to join His Majesty’s Navy? Do you wish to get me killed? I want to follow in Pa’s legacy! I want to become a Magistrate and help dedicate myself to the laws! I want to be able to help people and serve the Crown just as ya wish for us to do- I don’t get it! Do ya want me to die? Are ya spurred on by the French? Are ya just putting me to the sword just for the sake of Grandad? Any other family would be proud, but…”

“Alistair! You must understand that that realm of service is dishonest and entirely corrupt.” He had found himself quoting his Father’s words. “The Whigs have a far-reaching hand across every sector of life on land. They have a hegemony over everything, and if you join, no matter how good your intentions are, you will be assimilated . Trust me, I have seen it with my own eyes. I don’t want that to happen - this is for your own good! If you wish to serve the Crown, you can join the Navy! You have potential in you, Allie, and I want you to prosper without you finding yourself amongst the scum of the earth! You have a lot of potential in you, you are a commander, a social negotiator, and instead of bringing you to the land of decadence, you can use those abilities to increase your prestige, to mediate between your crew! Not politics or the Army!”

They had argued back and forth with Charlie adding appropriate comments whenever possible. He had noticed that Allie only seemed more hurt as it went on, slightly faltering and looking sadder as it went on.

“But I can bring change, Dad! ” He had cried out, looking distressed. “I- do ya doubt me?! Do you think I’m as susceptible to vice as they all are? …Do you not trust me?”

It had all ended with Allie looking at him with a hurt expression that definitely didn’t belong on his face, before silently turning away and walking out.

Allie tried to amend things afterwards, visiting him in his study and trying to give a genuine, although sad smile while serving him tea. Unlike all the other times in this life, it seemed that he hadn’t fully accepted everything as he did with others.

It hurt him to see it, but he was only wishing the best for him.

Why did he do this?

He was told that it was fostered by Joan telling him stories of his maternal grandfather to him. About how he would deliver justice, about how he would right wrongs and deliberate on issues. How he had a local political career as well and how he contributed towards the commonwealth of everyone.

His view of her father was less… favourable. George Halkett had been a polite man when he first met him, and he seemed to love his family somewhat more than the required amount for a gentleman, he regularly spoiled them with gifts, but something seemed off whenever he had talked with his father-in-law.

When he had first dined at the Halketts’ house, he couldn’t help but be blinded by the opulence that they had despite his father-in-law’s local occupation. Richly decorated cabinets that seemed to serve no other purpose than housing this one specific type of useless item, carpets with hundreds of colours fighting for dominance on their surfaces, gold and silver glinting from everywhere, the ridiculous amount of specialized utensils that lay on the table dedicated for a single type of food, grand and complicated clothing with lace and fabrics from all corners of the earth that rested on the shoulders of everyone, even the servants: even putting aside his like for simplicity it just hurt his eyes.

He would talk in a way that seemed to hide some sort of cool, calculating mind. His tongue seemed used to giving sweet nothings and praise, meant or not, he wasn’t sure. It really disoriented him and his intuition told him to be wary.

And not to mention the fact that he swore he encountered him taking “donations” frequently. He had been passing by the open doors of his study to find whom he recognized as one of the local members of the Whig party passing him a noticeably fat purse of coins across his desk that made a loud racket. They were speaking in hushed whispers, and his father-in-law did not hesitate in accepting it.

Charlie had started to doubt a few days after, and he seemed to change his mind on the matter. He approached him requesting perhaps that he could instead be groomed to take up the company as a successor. His wife, after hearing about this, put increasing pressure on his efforts, and she thought that he should have not been as harsh on the boy.

A few days passed, and to not unwelcome surprise, Canten announced that he wished to join the Navy, just like Charlie, just like Dad, against the French, whose hegemony was growing to an alarming degree. He encouraged it with a proud smile, telling him where he could go, though he did notice a sense of hesitation across his wife and eldest son.

To their shock, Allie followed soon after, requesting to join Canten on his service.

They were all taken aback, and they had asked why he suddenly changed his mind about it.

“...Canten,” He had said, hands clasped around his back. “He’s just fifteen and he wants to join the Navy. He’s so small and quiet, I don’t think he can support himself. Even if he follows through on his plans of joining another ship in order to distinguish himself separately from you two, what will happen when he’ll become homesick? I- I need to be there for him. Charlie will go back to Spain in a few weeks, you’re too old and have an arm missing - he doesn’t even have any friends to make rash decisions with! Who else but me?”

“But what about Agnes?” His wife had asked.

Allie had looked hurt thinking about her. “I… will miss her but… I will return, right? It will only be until everything is done. For now, Canten needs me.”

A few weeks later, Charlie left for the Leviathan . Mary had been close on his tail, very unwilling to let go and more desperate than the previous times he had left.

He had been at least allowed to give some mercy to his unwilling and young sons by having them board the Undaunted instead. The new fifth-rate had been patrolling the North Sea after it had been constructed, especially in parts with limited French presence. At least Allie can have a bigger chance to get home soon, and at least Canten would be safer.

A few days later, they set out for the ship. Mary had been very resistant, and she seemed to return to a younger age when she pleaded for them to not go with tears in her eyes, almost clawing at their clothes. Her brothers had enveloped her in one last embrace (Allie with more intensity), but it hadn’t been to last forever. She had clung to her mother while he watched the last of his sons join the service of the Crown.

In these last two years, it was eerily quiet. It was just him, his wife, Mary, and Agnes.

Archibald silently drank his tea and stared at the sunset outside the window of his study disappearing behind the landscape. A book had been opened, but it remained untouched for quite a while now as he committed towards consuming the refreshments that lay in front of him. Next to the teacup, a plate of half-eaten bread sat waiting to be finally finished despite his slow eating speed.

“Dear?”

He turned to his wife, who had been sitting in front of him, her own tea and food since finished.

In her hands, she held the recently opened letters from Allie and Canten. They had just received these ones that were dated a few weeks ago. Most of the words from Allie’s was just information on his ever-growing list of acquaintances and friends and complaints about the blizzard that was setting in. Canten’s meanwhile talked of the more mundane aspects of naval life. They had been pouring over these for a good few minutes beforehand with smiles on their faces, but the one his wife wore was nowhere to be found.

“Hm? Yes?” He responded simply, taking a sip from his cup.

Joan sighed and placed the letters down on the table.

“I have been thinking of some things… you do know how Allie always ends his letters to us with ‘I miss you all dearly’, or ‘I can’t wait to get back home’, Dear? Or even a postscript detailing things that we should pass on to Mary or Agnes?”

He nodded again.

“I’m fully aware, Dear.”

“Well… I cannot help but notice a growing sombreness and severity in such endings throughout these past months.” She seemed to become sombre as well while mentioning it.

“Homesickness is simply natural, dear. It’s not limited to life at sea.”

Joan shook her head. “I know, I know, but it has been giving me a reminder of the topic from a few years ago… on his willingness to go on board in the first place.” 

Ah, it was this again.

“...Dear, please, I need you to understand,” Archibald put down his cup and looked at his wife fondly. He put his hand on her cheek and caressed it gently, while she looked at him sadly. “We have talked about this before, this is all for his own good.”

His wife shook her head.

“Archie… will he be happy in such a life that you insist upon? He only joined in order to provide support for Canten, otherwise, he would have not gone any other way… and especially in an occupation that will most likely kill him-”

She paused, frowning. “I cannot bear to lose him. You love him too, don’t you? Why place him at the front of cannon fire?”

The Commander’s eyes seemed to look away as he thought of something.

“Dear, he is off the extreme northern coast of Russia and Scandinavia. The French can’t reach there. He will not die there, simply…”

His wife still had worry in her eyes, and he frowned while sighing softly.

“...to be honest, dear, I also pushed for it in fear of losing him.”

His wife blinked and looked at him.

Her husband, despite his occupation and past, always had a tender side to him. Always resting behind the imposing and hard exterior was an incredibly caring, genuine, and loving father and spouse. She doubted she had seen anyone else who showcased such amounts anywhere else.

But less common, however, was it overtaking him. She could see his face softening ever so slightly, his caresses becoming gentler and his features glowing in the orange glow of the sunset.

“...pray, I do not understand how sending him off to the Navy will help with that, Archie.” She simply muttered.

Archibald reclined back into his chair, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

“Allie is an incredibly kind soul, is he not dear?”

“Yes, yes he is.” She nodded

“Do you remember, how, when he was younger, when the staff was feeling uneasy with disease, he’d always sneak food from the kitchen for them to relieve themselves with a distraction?”

A small smile encroached on her face. Archibald seemed to copy her as he had one of his open up again. Allie was always welcome to anyone and everyone, the maids adored him and Canten, and the Secretary was especially relieved to see him as he made his way there to help organize the files.

“Oh, always.”

“And his seeming inability to stay mad at any person for more than a few days?”

“Of course, not a single drop of pettiness is in his body,” she moved her hands close to her chest and pondered for a bit. “Do you remember the time when he hounded that young gentleman that had been feuding with him with so much positivity he dropped his animosity because he was too baffled?”

“How could I forget?” He snorted. “Just like that, up in smoke, as if it did not exist in the first place.”

He paused.

“But, here, I also recognize something else.”

He moved his hand to the table and tapped along it slightly.

“He is very pure . If he was not so tall and if his voice were not as deep, I would confuse him for a child. He is very optimistic, he always sees the best in everyone, he can’t hold grudges for extended periods of time, he’s incapable of doing wrong, and he always wishes to help everyone to the highest degree.”

He took his cup and sipped it in between his talking.

“And that last portion is what I am concerned with the most.”

Joan cocked her head.

“Are you angry that your son has a moral system and loyalty? I cannot see where you are getting at.”

“No, Joan, I am not disappointed with him for being a decent, even virtuous man. As a person, I’m so incredibly proud of him, no better man exists in the world, not even myself.”

“But where he wishes to go, law, and politics… there are no permanent friends nor enemies in that world. It’s a fickle part of society, it’s deadly, and everyone has ulterior motives there,” he looked at his wife, “What do you think will happen if he goes into the officers for the first time, with the fights for patronage and offices, the endless bribes, the ostracization, the manipulation? All of them the exact opposite of our son and what he stands for."

Joan stared at him blankly as he drank his tea. He finally finished it and was finally heading towards the cold bread that had been begging for its end for the past hour now.

“But our son is different from them,” she responded. Archibald seemed to hear his son’s voice entwined with his mother’s as she moved her hands in motions. In times like these, he is reminded how similar they were. “He actually has morals - which I must remind you, that you taught to him - and would make for a welcome change for everyone involved. With a bit of manoeuvring, he can genuinely be doing good.”

He felt a twinge bad for countering his wife’s heritable optimism, but he leaned forward, sighing.

“The Government moulds people to become completely different. I know what happens in there. I have seen old comrades of mine fall to the opulence and extravagance that can be easily accessed within a few days. It assimilates people into the system. The Whigs have enough money to pay off everyone and anyone. I still remember when their dominance was hegemonic some few decades ago as a young boy.”

“Allie, he always wishes to please other people. Do you not remember the times he went without sleep just so that he could study up on the habits of social life and create perfectly tailored presents? Especially the first event he went to? His charisma has to come from somewhere, and personality can only get oneself so far. He always wants to gain favours and be praised. Combined with his ambitious tendencies, if he goes into the government, he will be utterly destroyed . He is easy to fall prey to become assimilated into the system, I can see him becoming an accessory, a yes-man to the influential barons and officials, or worse, a martyr . Joan, he is very susceptible.”

Both of them seemed to look away for a moment.

“I… I don’t want him to suffer the same fate as many other well-meaning, talented individuals. I don’t want him to have his knees forcefully - or worse, willingly - bent to servitude. I don’t want him to have to pander to spoiled brats as a prerequisite to advancement, because I know he will not be contained to Stirling or even Scotland. I don’t wish for him to be killed when he inevitably stands up for justice and be thrown into the Forth. Or worse, I don’t wish for him to become disillusioned with everything, losing that zeal and light in his eye when he sees that his optimistic view of the world is not entirely applicable.”

“I want him to join the Navy, not just for the legacy of Father… the boy is ambitious to a great degree. There is a good deal of management, morale improvement, record-keeping, and leadership needed there. Merit is highly valued, so he will not get passed over like in the army, and unlike them, there is a deeper bond and camaraderie between him and his mates. Mercy , believe it or not, actually exists in that theatre of life. I can’t give him what he wishes for, but perhaps this can suffice. And he will thrive.”

Joan gave her husband a sorry and pleading look.

“Archie… you know he wants to help people. He has always wanted to help people. Not just the Crown, nor the Captains. He will not be content with isolation either, and even if you prepare him to take over the manufactory, he won’t be satisfied. There is rarely a person with as much zeal and genuine kindness in themselves, what if he is the change he says he wishes to bring?”

Archibald leaned forward even more, grasping his wife’s hand as a genuinely sad look of concern spread over his face.

He had always protected him ever since the day he was born. He knows how much of a bright and guiding light his son could be, but it could all be gone with how cruel the world was.

Despite him being more than twenty years old, he could still see that sweet boy that he had laid his eyes on all those years ago.

“But where he will go, he will get hurt.”

And he was determined to protect him until the day he died.

Lieutenant Charlie MacDonald loved his siblings, and he admitted he missed them a lot.

Mary MacDonald could definitely say likewise.

Charlie served many years at sea, over a decade now. He had served on the Leviathan at Trafalgar, then transferred between various ships while fighting in the Mediterranean before going back to the Leviathan after gaining his commission as Lieutenant. He was still waiting on that promotion to Master and Commander just like his father, but it seemed like it would take time.

He had made many friends during his service through his leadership and a bit of a silver tongue, and they were all jolly good fellows and loyal mates themselves. But there was a surprising emptiness in his heart as he sat in his quarters.

Mary had always mingled with the girls and sometimes the young boys around Stirling. Through one way or the other, whether it be subtle nudges in the direction she wished to go or just simple annoyance until broken, she inevitably ended up entangling them in her ventures. The more uptight ones fled away, but what was left were good and close friends always up for some mischief and good-natured fun. But despite that… they simply couldn’t replace them.

She missed Allie, his dumb and friendly demeanour, despite his insistence of poking in everything sometimes being a tiny bit annoying at times, it really brightened up the home and she had been sensing his disappearance without it. He was always so supportive to all of them. She remembered the times he’d come home on the weekends bringing a new book from his own pockets as a clerk’s assistant for her to pour over, and how it would somehow be just perfect when she laid her eyes on it. Or when he would engage in lively banter with her for unnecessary and stupid subjects and their father would raise his eyebrow in concern for their fake anger and dramatic acting. He had been such a constant in their life, and now she was unsure what to do without him.

He missed Alistair. He remembered how he was always so helpful even in his younger years, always asking “Charlie! Help?” in his little baby voice for even the smallest of things and melting his heart with how adorable it was. He could not ever say no to him, seeing him sad and disappointed would always make him feel overwhelming guilt and shame, so he always, always had to concede. How he would always tag along with him, almost holding on to his leg. He never failed to greet everyone a good afternoon or in wishing them well. He was always so dear to everyone, and he wanted him to prosper. As he grew up, he found himself almost in shock at the amount of friends he had, how many bonds he was forging, and how he was simply elevating himself through the world.

When he announced he had a fiancée, it hit him squarely on the head. He definitely did not get emotional thinking of his little brother already having a love. At least Mary’s quickly deployed insults of being alone allowed him to be distracted for a bit.

She missed Canten. He always loved his elder siblings when he was young, and she would lie if they had not gotten into competitions that fought over the favour of the young baby. She did not even know if he actually understood how much chaos he had indirectly caused, he genuinely loved each and every one of them. As he grew up, he was like her best friend. Doesn’t like banter as much as Allie, and not easy to fluster like Charlie, no, he was a very patient and surprisingly analytical mind, and without anything to tease, she just decided to embrace his nature. He was simply always there to listen to her when she got angry at any of the old gentry whom she rightly thought was overstaying their welcome on the surface and should be under a tombstone, and he pushed her, ever so slightly , in the more boring direction every time, and consider that perhaps insulting them with curses cobbled together from fifteen different dictionaries and languages was perhaps, not the best idea.

Lord, she missed him so much.

Charlie missed his meek and frightened little brother. He remembered when he first held him, how tiny he was, how delighted he was to find a new baby brother in his arms with little Mary and Allie clamouring to see him next. He was not even sure if he grew much during his first few years of life, being somewhat physically weak, and his shy personality just urged him to protect him from all harm and danger with all his heart. He had seen him grow over the years to become an ardent and hard-working young man. His hobbies required a lot of patience, and he deeply respected and was very, very impressed with him when they turned out to be of an exceptionally high quality. He could not believe his youngest brother - whom he had seen babble and crawl on the floor - made all of these. He wondered many times how he fared on the Undaunted and how the cold was treating him. If the French ever do decide to go north…

They missed the both of them telling stories, of Canten eager to listen to the old men in the marketplace and becoming the next in the line of passing down an oral tradition stretching back centuries, of Allie deciding to make one of his own and jotting it down onto paper and reading it out to all of them in the afternoons. There was rarely a night or day that they would go without entertainment.

She missed Charlie. Despite her relentless jokes, despite her arguments, she genuinely missed her eldest brother. She missed his mere presence, not the one of the Veteran and Lieutenant of the Leviathan , but the one of an extremely kind and caring soul who would always look out for her, who would always protect her, who would always be there for her, despite his exasperation. She missed his red face and his stammers, she missed, despite what everyone would assume, everything that she teased about him. The way he would always have something sweet in his pocket to chew on as he thought, his unrestricted love for the animals of the town, his little dances and happy movements that he would sometimes do when he accomplished something - it all made him look human and endeared herself to her. His brief return back to home seemed to have spoiled her, and she was not sure how much longer she could have without him.

He missed little Mary, although she wasn’t as little as she had been. He missed her despite the, if he may, the sly but adorable manipulation of that little troublemaker, always getting out of trouble by putting on that façade of an innocent little girl or smiling sheepishly. It was always unexpected (or not) when she got into her escapades, and though he was originally increasingly tired of them, oh how he would give anything to be close to them again. He missed playing games with her. Despite all the virtues that his mates had, chess was somehow not one of them. He missed her wit, her moves, her risky strategies in the game that somehow put him at a disadvantage, the card games they would usually play with each other.

She already had aspiring suitors that she played off against each other, the fact that she was already ready for marriage still confused him.

Because that was not the Mary he remembered. Most of all, he missed the Mary who was so close and so unwilling to part with her family. Behind all that pomp, fire, and scheming, there was a little girl that he remembered from decades ago who would refuse to separate from any of them despite their parent’s tired insistence. All of her brothers? They were her world to her. She was faithful unto death, and when he joined the Navy, she cried so hard that he considered going off of the ramp and picking her up to comfort her. 

Mary had gotten used to a household filled with lots of events happening, one that was sufficiently loud with laughter and emotion. It had already been hit hard with Charlie going away, and now, it was completely silent apart from the Commander turning his newspaper pages.

It was eerie and lonely.

She found solace with Agnes. With no one else closer to fill the void, they had talked with each other and bonded over these past two years without Alistair, without Canten in their lives. She became one of her closest friends and she was very thankful there was someone who could share her feelings with.

With every passing day, she resented her father more and more

The singular cause of all of her brothers joining the navy, she would say.

She always shared in her mother’s views that this was endangering her brothers. Her father was walking proof of the perils of Naval life - he was missing an arm for God’s sake! She heard his stories and the stories of other veterans in Stirling, and she always questioned, why did he insist that his sons share the same fate? They were all perfectly fine on their own, safe paths.

She may have cried for a few days after Charlie went into the Navy, and she may have sulked for several weeks more, but that was Charlie going in the pre-destined career that he legitimately wished to do. He had the faculty to do it, and he had the desire to do so, so she had to begrudgingly accept that she wasn’t one to stop it. 

But for her two other brothers?

Why did he cut down Allie’s dreams? She heard second-hand from Charlie about the conflict that had transpired, and both of their parents miraculously did not know of the exclamation that she had pelted out before being shushed by her brother.

She couldn’t even remember if he asked for anything else in this life. Allie was so selfless and to a point a fool, to even care for himself. She had always noticed that it was others first and foremost before him. To be so harshly put down like that? She knew it broke him in one way or the other.

Why did he indoctrinate and allow Canten to join the Navy? Look at him! He was small, both in stature and personality! He always preferred to sing songs and chisel away at the trees, she was incredibly certain he was not made for cannonballs ripping through their bodies, or even in what her father deemed as safe for them, the blizzards in the extreme north of the continent. Why did he have to place poor little him in the middle of the Arctic?

She feared for her younger brother so much. Sometimes, it kept her awake at night when she read his letters.

Her father…

Why did he insist on taking away the equivalent of the sun - so bright and so joyous, and displacing him into a hostile climate and a job?

Why did he insist on taking away the boy, so young and delicate, just like the paper he draws on and the clay he moulds, and pushing him into an environment filled with countless pressures?

Why did he take away her brothers?

Why did he take away his sons?

Not only from herself, not only from her mother but from himself as well.

Charlie had had time to reflect these past few years, Canten was doing well despite everything, and he felt relieved that he was taking everything well.

But his regret for pushing Allie to get into the Navy seemed to grow more and more, like something eating him from inside.

He had joined Father partly in a fit of patriotic pride against the French and in a push for the recognition of their family’s legacy, originally been as equally enthusiastic as Father over the continuation of a tradition that stretched back to their great-grandfather. Just like Canten was doing now.

But Allie? He showed no interest in fighting against the French, he was perfectly content in the island he loved so much and wished to marry his new fiancée. He only joined to provide support to Canten, no other reason but that.

He was selfless to a harmful degree. It did wonders for him, but now he was really seeing the consequences.

He understood that his father shied away from the political sphere and the army, and he respected him for being wise in his recognition of the corruption there and his reverent persuasion and lessons to not fall into vices. He recognized that he only wished to protect them all.

Allie… he truly believed that he could use his talents to fight against all of this. He only had everyone else’s goodwill in mind.

But…

Was forcing him to join the Navy worth it?

He changed his mind at the last moment, but that pressure was already too far gone. It had left his mark.

He has repeatedly said he was happy over the letters and messages, but it was so easy for one to lie. 

He had a part of him, nagging at the back of his conscience, that he may be miserable there.

Did a good brother sacrifice their sibling’s happiness and well-being for a legacy and protection?

Did a good brother sacrifice their sibling’s reasonable dreams for potential glory?

Traditionally the answer was yes.

But he doubted himself.

Did Allie see him as a good brother?

Was he even a good brother at all ?

It had been a relatively quiet day in the MacDonald Household.

The Commander sat at his table, reading the well-read and dusty book on naval biographies of admirals he seemed to enjoy again and again, practically falling at the seams. His wife sat next to him, humming as she daydreamed and stared out of the window to see the horizon of Stirling and the birds flying into the sky. Agnes and Mary sat at another table, discussing amongst themselves only God knows what. Considering that they were whispering scandalously, it was probably nothing pleasant to hear.

There was a prompt knock at the door, breaking Joan out of her trance. Archibald similarly looked up from the weathered page he was looking at and put down his reading glasses. The two girls meanwhile were far too invested in their chat to notice.

"Ah, dear, it must be their letters! Why don't you go get it?" Joan said excitedly, tapping the rest of the armchair. But her husband was already rising from his chair to do so.

Archibald only replied with a nod as he stretched, grunting a bit while doing so. He walked into the hallway and opened the front door.

"Oh, good afternoon, sir!" A cheery voice called out.

He was greeted by the friendly yet unassuming mailman, Peter Hobbes, standing at attention, neatly dressed and with a smile plastered on his face. Over the past two years, he had somehow been the one that had travelled to their house in order to deliver the constant back-and-forth between the Undaunted and Stirling, and as such they had gotten to know each other well with familiarity, sometimes opening up over the contents of the letters. Especially with Mary, but he was not to comment on that yet.

"Good afternoon Peter," he replied simply. "I assume those are my sons' letters?" 

But, as he looked down at him, there was something quite off. Peter's expression was somewhat confused.

And as he looked at his bearing, he saw why.

He brought with him a large bag that looked quite heavy. Usually, when Allie or Canten sent along their gifts or souvenirs to them, it was nothing more than a single wooden carving or a curious piece of nature or shell. The bag seemed to be full and sagging down.

And the letters... There were two of them.

Allie and Canten always sent them in the same envelope.

Peter nodded, although a bit unsure.

"I... I believe so, sir?" He helped the Commander sling the bag around his forearm and placed the letters in his hand. "This came from Aberdeen and the Undaunted as usual, and specifically addressed to you, sir."

Archibald nodded and hummed in response. Odd. He put the letters in his pocket while carefully balancing the bag. It moved for a bit, counting out a few silver shillings and tanners before placing it in the mailman’s hand.

"Well, thank you, Peter. Hopefully we’ll be seeing each other again soon."

“Right, sir!” Peter grinned before Archibald closed the door.

He started to walk back to the living room.

“Please greet Mary for me!”

An amused look spread across his face as he heard the muffled cry from the door.

“Of course, Peter. Of course.”

“Thanks, sir!” He nodded along to the muffled excitement, continuing to return to the living room while careful to balance the package. Mary and Agnes looked at the bag with interest after breaking out of their conversation.

“Ah, finally! Are the letters here, Dad?” Mary asked excitedly.

“Two of them,” he responded, placing his hand in his pocket and slowly waving around the two envelopes. The two younger women cocked their heads in confusion.

“...Huh.” She blinked.

Agnes leaned forward from her chair as he let the bag slide down from his arm and onto the table with a rattle and a thud. Archibald fanned out the letters and read the words plastered on the envelopes.

“This one is from... Ashman? Edgar?” He squinted at the words. Joan went ahead bearing his reading glasses and the letter opener. He accepted and put his glasses on. “Thank you, Joan.”

“Why is there another letter from another person?” Agnes asked softly.

“I’m not sure myself,” the Commander leaned a bit, letting his wife open the one labelled “From: Canten,” before straightening himself back up and taking the letter out of the envelope. His eyes squinted further at the words, having to move his head closer in order to read it.

Why was Canten’s handwriting so shaky ?

He began to decipher, to the best of his ability, the lines on the letter, and read them aloud.

December 23rd, 1812

Dearest Mother and Father,

I write to you from the Undaunted, off the coast of Norway.

If I don’t write another letter to you in the following days, let it be known I have passed away.

An outbreak has spread throughout the Undaunted, taking many sailors with it. Allie is among those numbers. He was assisting in the medical bay when he fell sick, and he later died a few days afterwards. I wasn’t able to find any letter from him that he could have sent to you.

In the same week, an accident involving one of the ship’s towboats had disconnected and found itself lost around one of the Norwegian Islands. I joined the expedition to retrieve it, but an incident occurred, and my arm has since become badly infected.

I’m scared. Everything hurts so horribly, the condition of the wound has worsened to an extreme extent, and all I can think of apart from the pain is all of the stories that you told me, Dad, about the deaths of your mates to similar or even lesser things.

I just wanted to let you know some things. In case if everything goes the wrong way.

Firstly, I love and miss you all.

Ma, I miss you so much. Lots of times I lay in the hammock and I imagine your hands running through my hair. I imagine your voice giving me comforting words, and my pain ceases for a moment. I wish you were here. Your presence always healed me when I was home, and I hope I  can be there to rest with you over me. Sometimes, I cry out to you when I’m scared. And this letter is perhaps another one of those cries. All I want is to be in your arms again, safe and warm.

Dad, I wish you were here. You always know what to do. You are always so steadfast and strong in the face of misfortune and adversity. Your advice would do so well now, and I have felt lost in these trying times without you to guide me. I cling to every last one of your sentences and execute them to the best of my ability. I hope that, over these past two years, in the letters that Allie and I have sent you, I have lived up to your legacy, I have lived up to grandfather’s name, that I have made you proud.

Mary. You were always lively, and your stubbornness and pure spite against everything that fate throws at you would be a good thing to have in my condition. But alas, I am not Mary, I am but Canten, and I feel drained. I thank you for being such a good sister to me. You always gave me something to look forward to in the letters - Mother and Father’s tired addendums in your name were always entertaining. You always loved me no matter what, and I wish to say I could have been there more for you before I went to sea and left you alone in a silent house. I hope life has not been treating you harshly, and I know how much you didn’t like Charlie leaving, so I can only imagine being alone without any of my wonderful siblings to be with me.

Agnes - I am sorry.

Alistair has passed away, and I have felt empty inside. I cry myself to sleep most of these days, and who can blame me? We have lost our dear Allie in just a few nights. He’s been nothing but supportive of me the entire time I’ve been on the ship, and without him, I just don’t know what to do anymore. It may be cruel saying this to you, his betrothed, who was to be wed after he returned from sea, but I can share my grief with you, the one with perhaps the biggest loss with his passing. I miss him so much, and he has done nothing but talk about you again and again throughout our journeys - he missed you dearly too.

Allie missed you all as well. He missed you all so badly. I pass on his words as he is not here to do so himself.

He missed everything about you all. He always talked fondly and favourably to our comrades on the ship. He missed your fire, Mary, your sense of humour and your ardence for everything right. He missed your kindness, Ma, how you would always go and take care of us all and how you would look into his best interests. He mentioned even you, Dad, how you always strived for a better future for us all.

It’s been hard without him. I’ve sent you his books that he loved so much so that, perhaps, you can look at him once more.

I’ve also sent a few doves I have been working on for you all. They are yet rough, but I haven’t gotten enough time to finish them

I hope everything will be well in the future, I’ll try my best to survive.

Yours faithfully,

Canten.

A chill filled the room as Archibald read from the letter. Everything was completely silent as a growing sense of horror could be seen in the eyes of the family

One could see Agnes’ heart stop and her body grew tense as they reached the part detailing the whole thing.

Mary and Joan could not speak, still processing the information.

After the Commander finished the letter, he sat in silence for a moment, before immediately going to open the other letter.

A part of Mary wished - no, screamed, for him not to, but he had already sliced open the envelope and began reading from the other letter.

Salutations, Commander MacDonald.

This letter is to inform you that your son, Canten MacDonald, has passed away at eleven past five on the 23rd of December, 1812.

I have sent you the letter written by him alongside his belongings upon his request that was made a few hours before he died.

His constitution had been weakened by the aforementioned outbreak on the ship, and it was unfortunate to note, and as he may have already noted, that after a towboat had been lost to a Norwegian Island, an accident had occurred while he was on the expedition to retrieve it involving an accidental fall on a nail, infecting his arm.

We tried to save him by amputating it, but it had deteriorated to an unsalvageable degree, and he died shortly afterward due to complications.

I am sorry.

I had done everything in my power to try and save him, and I am sorry that despite everything, his body has decided to pass on.

I also regret to inform you that your other son, Alistair MacDonald, who served as the Clerk’s Assistant, has also passed away in the previous week, on December 12th. A tuberculosis outbreak had spread on the ship, and in his assistance in tending to the ill, he fatally caught the disease and passed away.

His books and your other son’s sculptures can be found in the bag I have sent you.

My condolences,

Edgar Ashman, Surgeon of the HMS Undaunted.

They were all too stunned to speak. Everything seemed frozen in time as they attempted to comprehend the situation

Just like that, they were gone, without them even knowing the moment they did.

Agnes was the first to break out of her stupor. She quietly reached forward and opened the bag, looking into it.

Lo and behold, there lay four wooden doves in pristine and detailed condition. And... two familiar books.

She slowly moved her hands towards them, placing the more decorated book on the side. She took the blue one and opened it.

And it was the same as she had seen it about two years ago. Compared to the last time she had held it, it was filled to the brim with a familiar, lively, and messy handwriting.

And they were not going to be seeing any more of it.

She shook as she turned the pages. The others watched on in complete silence, also watching the other items on the table.

She read the text, and her breathing only became quieter as she looked at all the hopeful declarations, all of the little comments and mutterings. His desires and his hardships.

And then, it stopped at one page, with a good few pages left after it.

Agnes sniffed.

Joan moved over to her and placed her hand on her shoulder for comfort, despite looking devastated as well.

In no time at all, she was crying softly, tears dripping down and staining the paper. She sobbed as she held the diary as if it were a holy relic, Joan caressing her back with a sad expression on her face.

“You promised me they would be safe…” she managed to put out.

The Commander looked completely still. Neutral, almost like a statue. But his eyes signalled disbelief and regret. He stared almost lifelessly at the items on the table while her sobs seemingly fell on deaf ears.

Mary's hand grabbed one of the doves in the bag and she stared at it, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape.

Gone? Just like that? In one fell swoop?

Just one last final goodbye that they couldn’t even answer and they were never to be seen again?

She felt her grip tight around it.

And in almost an instant, she exploded.

"YOU!" She screamed, pivoting towards her father. He blinked and flinched in surprise.

She held the dove in front of his face, like evidence to a guilty party.

It was so detailed, but one can see the love that was put into it. Hours and hours of passion poured into this little bird.

And like a flame it was so often described as, it was snuffed out in an instant. 

"You did all of this!" The two other women in the room looked on. Agnes’ eyes widened in shock and slight fear as she saw her friend lose her temper against her own Father . She continued brazenly with an angry expression on her face. “You spent their lives indoctrinating them saying all those lies, about how the Navy will bring glory and fame to them with a small case of death on the side! And even those deaths are but glorious!”

“Are you blind?!” She motioned to the missing arm that Archibald had. Her father stared at her, unresponsive, but his mouth was open in surprise. She continued waving the sculpture madly. “You knew full well what the whole world could entail, and look where your sons, my brothers are now! He always preferred to bring life to whatever his hands created, and now you just snuffed out his life like that by bringing him to the exact opposite of what he does!”

She moved around in a crazed frenzy. “His death was not even heroic nor worthy of mention anywhere! He died of an infection that he wouldn't have gotten if he hadn’t gone on that damned island- if he had not joined! He had so much that he could have done, he had so much he had left unsaid, and you forced him into that wretched boat so that he could die ‘with honour’ - suffering as everything in his body hurts! Are you happy?!”

The Commander looked at his daughter with a combined look of resignation and sadness on his face. Mary was shaking and she looked up at him fearlessly, spite in her eyes.

"And Allie!" Her breathing was unstable and she trembled as she mentioned his name. Her grip around the dove became even tighter. "He didn't even want to be there and now he's dead ! He wanted to be a genuine change in the world, he wanted to be something that would make most families proud, but no , you decided that he should risk his life while serving the Crown so that he could lead without the danger - such a stupid sentence to ever come out of anyone’s mouth ever!"

“Mary-” Her mother tried to speak up but she interrupted her.

“It was the one thing that he ever wanted in his life. He wanted to bring justice and happiness to people and you just shut him down brutally. He was only there for Canten, and he died while helping people and while miserable. How cruel can you be?!”

There was so much pain and anger in her voice. They could hear her cracking a slight bit.

"You sent them to die!" Again and again, she cried out, forcing herself not to swing towards the perpetrator’s face.

Tears pricked her eyes as she kept on shouting at the Commander. Joan tried to approach her as well but she threw her off in a fit of rage.

The Commander stood up, face seemingly unchanged, but hints of breaking started to crack through.

He started to walk out of the room and into the hallway, towards his office most likely.

“Oh don’t you-” Mary called out, scrambling to his side, “You sent them to their deaths and you will deal with what you’ve done-” 

Mary tried to pursue him. But she felt her hand gripped by her mother. From the corner of her eyes, she found Agnes who seemed to stop crying for a bit and her face frozen in shock. Her Father left, and she redirected her shouting to her other parent.

"Please, Mary," Joan begged with her. She was also clearly grieving, but she had to convince her first."Please, it's not-"

"He left them to die!" She cried out, still breathing in and out rapidly. "He killed them- he- he forced them to join and they're dead- From things that they could've-"

“Mary, please.” She pulled her daughter closer to herself, and she looked at her in the eyes.

She could see the pain growing ever larger.

She could hear her breathing become heavier and more unstable. Her body trembled more and her lips quivered. The flame and anger that she had displayed mere seconds ago flickered. Agnes also stood up and moved closer.

"Mary-"

Joan found the back of her dress grasped by her daughter, nearly clawing into her skin. Her fire had been completely put out, and all that remained was the miserable girl that had been left behind.

She sobbed violently and intensely, hiccuping and letting everything out in hurt cries. Both of the other women reached out to comfort her

"They're dead-" she wailed, hair being brushed by her mother. "They're dead- they're dead- they're gone."

“I know,” she managed to choke out in response, her own tears forming in her eyes. Agnes hugged her side from behind as she continued crying.

“C-Canten- see us a-all- and- w-we weren’t- there- A-Allie j-just- c-couldn’t h-hate-”

They all simply sat there for several hours more. 

Sharing their grief.

The rock of Gibraltar stood high and tall as the Leviathan went into harbour.

The sunny weather was a welcome sight to the British natives on the ships, and after several years in the Mediterranean, most would honestly much rather stay here than go back to the dreary place that they called home.

Throughout these past years, the port has served as a sanctuary, a military base, and a great bastion against the French scourge in Spain. It has remained uncaptured despite the continuous battles occurring off the coast of Iberia. Ever since the victory at the Siege of Tarífa, the base has remained wondrously safe and undisturbed throughout the past year.

Lieutenant Charles MacDonald observed the great mountain as he stood on the ship’s deck, a familiar and welcome sight - immovable like the might of the British Navy.

He could see the Purser’s Assistant and several sailors of the Leviathan walking in the harbour and transferring the supplies onto the ship, preparing her for the next patrol off of Spain. A few of them were… arguing quite a bit.

As they boarded the ship, he could hear the arguing louder and more coherently.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Bill, just admit you got swindled!”

Ah.

The “Bill” in question, Able Seaman William Carpenter, vehemently shook his head as he dragged up a crate from the pier. Further down from the dock was the face of an increasingly amused yet tired Frederick Maxwell, one of the Royal Marine Sergeants, who had been the one yelling at him for the past half-hour.

“I was not swindled” He insisted stubbornly, yelling over his shoulder while he hauled the supplies onto the ship. "The other traders assured me - even got the damn pricing numbers with him and gave it to me! It's a regular price for a regular good, why the hell do you keep on saying that?"

A third figure, the young Quartermaster’s Mate, Neville Radcliffe, hurried up the board with a book in his hand.

"Bill. This is in Portuguese." he groaned, a hint of horror reaching into his voice. "It says réis . Not reales . They just charged you at least tenfold the regular price. They just scrawled the name of the city-"

He looked closer and paused. The horror on his face became more apparent.

“This city doesn’t even exist!” He exclaimed. “You got swindled either way!”

"Well- how would you know if that's true!"

"Bill.  am literally the Quartermaster’s Mate," he said simply, with no limit to exasperation, "I bloody look at maps and steer there for a living. I have never once in my life seen 'Bobonivia' on any one of them."

"Well, maybe the cartographers just missed them!" Bill looked away, huffing and with a slight blush creeping onto his face. “Perhaps it’s an inland town - you thought of that?”

Fred guffawed at both his friend's ridiculous stubbornness and the absolutely baffled expression on the other's. He boarded the ship while next to them as they continued spitting pointless words back and forth.

Neville moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. Other Sailors watched, some annoyed, some enjoying the spectacle in front of it. 

Neville raised his hands wildly. "How the hell are you so bloody stupid? That much silver and not once you consider tha-"

Charlie cleared his throat. They immediately stopped their bickering, partly embarrassed. The two young men who had been fighting amongst themselves blinked in surprise and sheepishly looked up at the Lieutenant, while Fred simply chuckled.

“Radcliffe. Carpenter.” Charlie said simply, his tone not one of a disciplinarian commanding officer, but one of a mother.

“Oh, apologies, sir!” Neville bit his lip and hurried up the ramp (giving Bill a tired look in passing). The seaman scoffed and stuck his tongue out.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Fred paced up the ramp next and took off his hat in respect to the officer, though with a casual air around him. “Ahoy, Charlie.”

The Lieutenant looked at the Sergeant fondly, smiling.

They were old friends ever since when they had fought side-by-side at Trafalgar. The Sergeant had always been a reliable person who supported him whenever he needed. Not only that, but he was a friendly and good-humoured individual.

He crossed his arms. “Good afternoon, Sergeant.”

He was greeted with a face of mock offence and a huff.

“What, are we strangers all of a sudden?” Fred replied, scandalized. Charlie hid his mouth behind his hand in an attempt to stifle his laugh. An unsuccessful attempt at that. “I’ve told you that I’m just a man, don’t need a title to parade around in. Or have you forgotten already? Perhaps two entire months saying that wasn’t enough.”

Charlie waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes, Fred. Of course, of course, whatever you say. I trust that the Marines have not been rowdy to you as of lately?”

“Well behaved, as of now,” he hummed and pointed down the pier at a combined mass of blue and red uniforms dragging supplies down the harbour. Some seemed to be singing or shouting as they did so. “They’ve been working well with the sailors, Cap’s quite relieved and so am I.”

“How do you keep on managing to get them in order? Marine Lieutenant Jackson and your Captain keep on failing miserably.”

“Listening to them rant about their issues can come a long way, you know. Combined with a bit of charm and before you know it, they’re ready to obey you at your every whim.”

“If only they liked anyone else,” he peered at the boxes they were carrying. “Are those the munitions?”

“Yes, Charlie. Armaments, muskets, gunpowder and those good things. Speaking of good things, one of them is that Johnnie isn’t isn’t there at this moment, that’s for sure.”

“The one always puffing and huffing on his pipe?”

“Aye, that’s the one.” He laughed.

Neville had been pacing a few steps away from them with the book in hand, scrutinizing the pages with disdain. Bill watched from his position he had taken near the side of the ship with a frown on his face, but the Quartermaster’s Mate did not notice as something reappeared in his head. He stopped idly wandering and went over to Charlie while procuring something from his pockets.

“Sir!” He greeted them loudly and energetically. His hand exited his pocket to reveal that it bore two letters and a small package in his hands. “These letters arrived addressed to you today! I nearly forgot to tell you, damn me!”

Charlie took the items from his friend with a kind nod. Fred whistled. “Is it from the Admiralty? ‘bout time they got you that promotion, you know.”

“No red seal, unfortunately,” Charlie replied as he looked at them. Fred tutted in disapproval. “I will be going to the side for the meanwhile - Neville, earlier you wished to talk about something?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” He bobbed up and down in his imitation of a nod. “The Master said we needed to talk about the supplies and the repairing of our mast and hull, would you be kind so as to pass on the details to the Captain?”

“Of course Neville,” He smiled. Neville beamed and it took him all of his might to not ruffle that fluffy and disorganized mess on top of his head that he called his hair. He must remind himself he was only four years older than this boy. How was he already a Quartermaster’s Mate while looking like this? He seemed more like a landsman.

“Alright, please excuse me for a moment.” He said. Fred smirked at the hints of restraint and disappointment in his voice.

He walked away.

“And I do say what if they miss-”

“Oh damn you, Bill, you just wasted a good portion of your annual pay for this!”

“Well it looked alright and good, wasn’t it? Even if it is a fake, and I must make clear I am not concedin-”

“Bill I swear to the Lord above-”

Charlie rolled his eyes as they resumed their fight, but decided to leave it for now. Real siblings the two of them were.

He looked at the letters as he grabbed his letter opener from his pocket, but then he froze.

They were indeed not from the Admiralty.

One was addressed from Canten, and the other was addressed from an Ashman, an officer from the Undaunted .

That was odd. Incredibly odd.

He put Ashman’s letter back in his pocket and shook his head. He’ll deal with that later. But for now, Canten was calling to him.

He slid the opener through the envelope and opened the letter inside it to find the familiar handwriting of his youngest brother. But immediately he noticed that something was off.

The handwriting was shaky.

He usually had a good poise and flow when he wrote, but this was a messy imitation, attempting to be steady despite everything. It was like Allie’s handwriting, if not a tad bit worse.

He looked at the top of the paper with a growing sense of concern.

December 23rd, 1812

Charlie,

I write to you from the Undaunted

If I don’t write another letter to you in the following days, let it be known I have passed away.

The blizzard has been harsh on us. There has been a deadly outbreak on the ship on her voyage, and it has taken many of the sailors’ lives.

Allie succumbed to it a fortnight or week ago after spending his time in the sick bay. That’s why he hasn’t sent you a letter.

Meanwhile, I had gotten into an accident while searching for a tow-ship. Wound’s infected, and before I knew it, I found myself aching all over.

The pain is so hard, Charlie, and I feel so scared.

I am writing to you separately from the main letter I am sending our family, and I just wanted to say some things.

I miss you Charlie.

You were always a good brother to me and everyone else. Always so loving to us. Despite your tendency to maintain order and that mask of yours, you’ve never fooled us. You always wish to pinch our cheeks and are weak to the babied faces that we had when we were younger, and you seem to miss us as well despite everything.

You always wanted the best for us, and I thank you again and again for being someone who I could look up to, for being someone who I could lean on and who could support me. I could really use your help now.

I hope I can be there again with you.

If I don’t live, I just want to ask of you: please, please, live for us.

I know you are already doing this to a certain level, but please, don’t run into any risky situations and stay healthy, for everyone else’s sake, if not yours.

Compared to our route, yours has the threat of attacks in the south. I don’t know what will happen if I die and then you die in battle.

Losing all three sons will be devastating to our family. Think about the grief and worry that Dad and Ma are going through after realizing we all are dead.

Think about Mary. She never, never wished for any of us to leave, she talked to me about how she vehemently opposed Dad on these matters. and now her worst fears are being given form. I don’t know what she will do if you die. If everything goes bad over here, you’re the only one she has left.

That is all I wish to ask of you before I go into this uncertain future. My arm is aching crazily, and I don’t know if I’ll survive, despite my hopes.

I love you Charlie, I hope you’re doing well.

Hopefully we see each other soon.

- Canten

…what?

As he read more and more, he felt his dread and concern increase exponentially and wash over him. His body became tense as his eyes were the only thing that moved.

It read like a last will, a farewell.

It broke his heart as he went to the end. He could sense Canten becoming more desperate. The handwriting was even more disorderly as he went on.

He was pretty sure that it was only the shock that left him standing despite being informed of the horrible news that Canten brought to him. Of Allie dying. His pleads to keep Mary safe and well.

When he was ten, Allie swore they would be there to see them by his bedside as they saw him off.

He never even considered the fact it would be them that would go.

And he was not even there-

A stubborn part of his mind just told him that this was all not real. This was just a hallucination, that he was just thinking of the worst. The heat probably got to him or whatever.

But he felt his mouth dry up as he pulled out the next letter. He folded up Canten’s and put it in his pocket.

What was this then?

He dreaded it as he used his letter-opener, slightly trembling, to see what was in the next one.

Salutations, Lieutenant MacDonald.

This letter is to inform you that your brother, Canten MacDonald, has passed away at eleven past five on the 23rd of December, 1812.

I have sent you the letter written by him alongside one of his sculptures upon his request that was made a few hours before he died.

His constitution had been weakened by the aforementioned outbreak on the ship, and it is unfortunate to note that after a towboat had been lost to a Norwegian Island, an accident had occurred while he was on the expedition to retrieve it involving a fall on a nail, infecting his arm.

We tried to save him by amputating it, but it had deteriorated to an unsalvageable degree, and he died shortly afterwards due to complications.

I am sorry. 

I had done everything in my power to try and save him, and I am sorry that despite everything, his body has decided to pass on.

I also regret to inform you that your other brother, Alistair MacDonald, who served as the Clerk’s Assistant, has also passed away in the previous week, on December 12th. A tuberculosis outbreak had spread on the ship, and in his assistance in tending to the ill, he fatally caught the disease and passed away.

My condolences,

Edgar Ashman, Surgeon of the HMS Undaunted.

He felt his heart stop as he read the formal and otherwise emotionless letter from the Surgeon.

For two people who were so lively, this letter was unfitting for their end.

All his doubts, his last vestiges of hope just simply evaporated in an instant. He froze with his mouth slightly agape as only his eyes moved, reading Edgar’s letter.

He knew he should have expected it but, he still couldn’t, he should have gotten more time with them-

“Sir, you alright over there?” Neville called out to him with a worried expression on his face, cut off from his previous rant. Bill, Fred, and a few of the other sailors had turned to face him with similar emotions starting to show as their normally jolly and calm officer simply froze in shock.

“Oh, er, yes, yes…” his mouth seemed to move automatically despite his mind not really meaning it. The Quartermaster's Mate’s eyebrow remained raised in doubt, but he turned back to whisper with his comrades. 

He stared at the small wrapped object that was in his hand the whole time and slowly removed it from the packaging. His eyes widened.

In his hand was a wooden dove.

Throughout the past years of his life, those doves, birds, and sculptures were always something he greatly encouraged in his youngest brother. He always smiled and was genuinely proud of his creations, and as they grew older he could see the quality grow to, if he dared say, magnum opuses, masterpieces deserving to display in palaces. But it was also something made with the skill and complete love of his little brother, whom he had seen grow from but a babe. It was infinitely more valuable than any other gold trinket that he ever laid his hands upon - it symbolized his youngest brother’s passion, and with every improvement was a growth to his life.

The resined sculpture shone in his hands, and it was magnificent. He ran his finger down the bumpy and almost realistic feathers, and it showed all of the toil and work that had been devoted to it. The dove stared at him, almost with a conscience of its own.

There were also blemishes that he could notice. One of the eyes was bigger than the others, a part of the sculpture seemed to be less detailed and stood out a bit compared to the surrounding textures. The legs were perhaps a bit too short.

He realized.

He would never touch another of these doves - the representation of the passion and love of Canten - again.

He would not see those blemishes be fixed. He would never see any improvement.

He would never see him grow up.

He would never see them live their lives to their fullest potential. To their greatest ambitions

He had been so fortunate to survive all these years. Sometimes, he wondered how he could have gotten this far.

Now it seems like his debt was repaid.

Why Canten? Why Allie? Why his precious little brothers? He had cradled them when he was a boy, and he had done everything in his power to help them.

Thy were supposed to have so much ahead of them.

Canten was supposed to become an old man himself, telling stories to his grandchildren.

Allie could have become one of the greatest jurists in all of the Isles.

And fate cruelly smothered their flames, leaving him without a chance to see them one last time.

…

Fred was the first one to notice. He looked away by chance from his previous discussion when he noticed the Lieutenant standing completely still with his back away from them, except for a slight tremble from his shoulders.

“I will go to these ‘merchants’ and run them through with an axe the next time I see them-”

“Bill. Neville,” the two turned to the now suddenly worried Sergeant as he went up from his lean, moving slowly as he dropped his musket, “Look at Charlie.”

Bill looked at their officer and blinked. Why was he silent?

Neville started walking towards the Lieutenant, book still in hand. Fred followed suit. 

“Sir?” He called out.

It seemed to fall on deaf ears. Charlie almost stumbled to his left in order to grab the Ship’s railing. He kept his right hand close to his heart, as if he was cradling something in it.

“Sir?”

Without warning, he collapsed onto his knees with a thud, bringing his left hand to support his right. It looked as if he were holding something. The Sailors’ eyes grew wide as they heard quiet sobbing from the Lieutenant.

“Charlie!” Fred ran to his side. Bill had abandoned the crate and sprinted towards the direction of their officer, and several of the sailors had stopped what they were doing to look on in concern, to murmur about, or also approach the Lieutenant.

Fred put a hand on his shoulder, and Charlie seemed to curl up into a ball, protecting whatever he was holding from the forces outside. He just kept on sobbing without properly responding to his colleagues who were starting to approach his position.

An underlying sense of panic began implanting itself into his subordinates.

He was a calm, level-headed, and patient man. To break him like this?

“Sir, are you alright?” Bill kneeled and held the other side of his body. The Lieutenant seemed to shake even more as he pulled his arms closer to his chest, as if to leave an impression on his skin.

“Charlie, what has gotten into you man?” The Sergeant’s words, which would usually be uttered in exasperation, came out nothing but concerned.

The Lieutenant remained in that position, sorry and vulnerable. Neville’s fear seemed to grow as he started to wring his wrists.

“He’s dead, F-Fred-” he finally whispered. He choked and whimpered, making the Marine pat his pack in an attempt to comfort him. “C-Canten, h-he-”

He broke down even more, composure thrown out entirely.

Neville stared wide-eyed at Fred, his look asking hundreds of questions laced with fear and panic.

The Sergeant replied with one of sadness. Bill looked on in shock

A few of the other sailors and marines went to the side of their Lieutenant. They could see Albert and Henry also joining in with a confused and concerned chorus of “Sir!” from their mouths. They all had looks that simply said: “I don’t know what to do”

Charlie had so many people willing to help him, so many people concerned and worried for him.

But all of that didn’t matter to him at the moment.

Right now, he was contemplating things he could have done.

Right now, he was demonizing himself and regretting all of his actions up until that point.

Right now, he was alive.

Right now, his little brothers were dead.