General Winter [Fan Story based on the 9th book]
Hello! I have recently finished reading the Temeraire series and the beginning scene from the 9th book stood out to me. I wondered what the French captain and his dragon could have felt, in the last moments of their lives, as they were stranded alone, cold, and hungry, in a foreign land. So, I wrote a little story based on them. Thanks for reading! Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
The title refers to the Russian winter, which helped the country withstand several invasions across its history. It's called "General Winter" / "General Frost" (or "Le Général Hiver" in French).
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His joints creaked in protest with his every move. And yet, he couldn't just lie down. Not while she was still breathing. He rose up, brushed the snow off his tattered garments, and moved in heavy strides around her. “A wretched sight”, he thought. What was the last time they had both eaten? But no, he couldn't linger on that matter. He pushed his thoughts aside. He walked up to her head and spoke, with what little courage he had left.
"You fought valiantly, my dear," he whispered. His blackened fingers drew thin, trembling lines across her jaw. He wondered whether her scales felt it, at all; but then her eye opened to him, faintly. "Pray don't lose hope", he added, watching her with warmth; as much warmth and hope as he could still muster.
"What... for?..." she asked, her eye searching his with a tired, quiet desperation. "We're dead… we're lost... we're frozen... what... for?…"
He could barely hold her gaze; her garbled voice wrenched his heart with every sound, a ghostly hand with long, bony fingers. It took him a moment to answer, and even greater strength to keep his tears at bay. And yet they betrayed him, and gathered in thin, freezing beads, at the corners of his eyes.
"Remember... Remember when we first met?" He asked, finally. That seemed to brighten her, it always did.
"Yes... I loathed drafting. I chewed on the harness... threw things around... I was quite stubborn. Who could have stopped me, anyway? And yet, we two got along, and splendidly so, I could say.” She took long moment to breathe, her weakened sides swelling faintly. “I still... share the old sentiment, however,” she resumed. “Look where it brought us…"
"I share it too, my dear, you know it all too well... and yet, we served our duty, through so many hardships that we both lost count of them."
"They're not on your coat anymore", she remarked.
"And yet, they happened. The proof is less important now", he said, his voice a little more lively. "What matters is that our duty called us, and we answered, against ourselves. And it changed us, it made us braver, stronger, more united. Think of how many lives we saved! How many our deeds will yet save! This is true -"
"Heroism, yes, yes... I know the story. You’ve told it many times. And yet, it's hard to believe it now, you know."
"Even so, my dear", he answered, his caress growing warmer on her jaw. "We did what
we could. We served our people, our Emperor, and our conscience. It is enough, it has to be. We go to rest now, so that others can rise behind us."
"Vive... la France?" She tried, one faint attempt at rekindling their hope.
"Vive la France!" He shouted with all his might, and they both laughed, in their own way.
"But, please, if you can... don't fall asleep before I do." Her voice did not give way to weaknesses, this time; it seemed, in fact, quite peaceful. He knew what she implied, however.
He closed his eyes abruptly, then pressed his forehead against her. His tears would not wait any longer. They fell in tiny, sizzling rivulets upon her battered scales. And he knew that she felt them. He stood besides her, with slow caresses and gentle words, until at last she closed her eyes; until her breath slowed down, enough for him to think she couldn't hear him anymore.
His face, at last, was gloomy. He limped, and limped, and rested against her flank. It wasn't any warmer there. The narrow path stretched and winded ahead of him, flanked by sturdy, gloomy trees. The foreign snow was covering it, layer upon layer. It didn't care about what or whom it buried.
It was a fair punishment, he reckoned. What business did they have in that remote corner of the world? He couldn't have admitted it to her face, but he shared Renée's feelings, at that moment. He'd left behind a wife and children. He'd left behind his friends, his estate, all his connections to the civilized world... He'd left behind Renée's peace and safety, her friends, her crew. He couldn't save them, as much as he tried. And so, they would all meet their end in foreign soil, for a cause they didn't quite believe in. "A wretched loss," he thought. "But... such is the fare of war. There's no great feat which wasn't soaked in blood. It is a honor, yes, a honor. So many soldiers and their beasts shared it. Why would we, at all, be different? Why run away from it?"
And yet, it hurt so much, when one felt it directly. He watched the narrow path ahead of him, unblinking; he realized, after a while, his frozen eyelids wouldn't close. Renée's side was still swelling as she breathed, with greater and greater efforts. He couldn't bear to look at her. She was so hungry, he knew it; it must have been so hard for her.
"A wretched thing," he muttered. "Wretched, wretched…”
He wished the snow did its job faster. And privately, he hoped, he still hoped, that someone would, somehow, come to their rescue.
***
Time trickled slower, so much slower. The bitter cold was winning. Unlike its victims, it had all time in the world. His members were resigning their post, one at a time. He reached a stiffened arm inside his coat, black fingers fishing for the trusty bottle. He opened it with some difficulty and emptied its meagre contents in one strained gulp. He felt guilty for it afterwards, as the impossible heat engulfed him. Renée could not enjoy such luxuries. His body mustered its strength for one last stand, his desperate heart filling his veins with liquid, blazing fire.
And then, the rhythm diminished... slower, slower... until it stopped beating at all.