An Ill Wind

Warning: Death Fic

Preston walked through the pantry into the dining room to begin his usual morning rounds, make sure that all was well and that the house was ready to start another day. The Commodore would be awake in another hour or so, and would expect everything to be prepared for him.

Preston had been the Commodore's butler for almost a decade now, knew him well and both liked and respected his employer. He was a stern man, and demanding, but fair and kind under all the bluster. He simply expected that the people in his employ do their jobs, were there when they were expected to be and maintained discretion about the people who passed through the front door. It wasn't unreasonable. In return they were given a generous wage and, with Sir Edward often gone for months at a time, much freedom. Theirs was an enviable position.

He passed through the dining room, with the table set for one for breakfast, into the hallway and from there to the study, the remains of the card game from last night were still sitting on the game table. The maid would have to see to that quickly. Sir Edward was considerate about not requiring the servants to stay up for minor things that could be done in the morning but there were standards to maintain. Closing the door, he continued on to the front hallway and was surprised to see a bag, a portmanteau sitting by the door. There were a Navy officer's cloak and hat lain on the table as well. A quick look confirmed the name inside both garments, "Hornblower".

Ah, good, the Commander was home. Most likely he had used his own key to let himself in. Always so considerate, that one, a lovely, charming man. The Commodore would likely be late coming down then. They always were late when the Commander first arrived back, and always so very happy. It really was a lovely thing to see, the two of them together.

Preston made his way back to the pantry to alert the cook that there would be two eating here for a while, if she would be so kind as to make the changes. Oh, and be sure to have the coffee made fresh when it was called for. The Commander did so enjoy his coffee. Mrs. Conroy, the housekeeper entered the room and poured herself a cup of tea, sitting down to get her breath before she began her day.

"Did you see that Mr. Hornblower is back? He must have come in just a few hours ago. Have Sarah go through his bag and see what needs mending and a good wash, would you, Kate?"

"That can't be right, George. I was just in the Master's room not ten minutes ago putting another log on the fire for when he wakes and he was quite alone."

"Well, then, the Commander must have been in the water closet or some such."

The housekeeper shook her head. "No, he wasn't. And there were none of his clothes laying about, either. You don't think they've rowed, do you? That wouldn't be like them."

Preston made a face. "I hardly think that likely. I'll see what's happened up there."

"I'll come with you." She determinedly followed him out the door.

The Commander was a favorite with the staff. Kind and soft-spoken, he was the one who could make Sir Edward forget his burdens and his worries, put the smile on his face. And he was so thoughtful about the help. Letting himself in was typical of him, not making anyone get up in the middle of the night just to unlock a door. The maids all seemed to set their caps for him, too. It usually wasn't long before they realized that his attentions were fixed elsewhere and had been for a decade now. That wasn't likely to change anytime soon. He was a dear young man, and one they had watched change from a boy to a man under the Commodore's care. He had grown so that they were all proud of him, all taking some pride in how he had turned out. It was almost as if he was their own, as though he were the son of the house, the Young Master. Mrs. Conroy in particular felt quite protective of him.

Arriving at the Commodore's door, Preston silently pushed it open and peered into the room. Indeed, Sir Edward was still asleep, alone. It was apparent from the look of the bed that he'd had no company last night. Closing the door behind him, the butler walked the few steps down the hallway to the first guestroom. Just as silently as he had with the first, he pushed the door open and looked in. Sure enough, sleeping dead to the world was Commander Hornblower. Likely he had come in here so as to not wake Sir Edward last night. His clothes had been laid across a chair and he was wrapped up in a blanket. Just as he was about to close the door to let the man sleep, Kate stopped him, quietly going into the room.

Thinking that she was probably just getting his clothes to wash, he let her go, surprised when she walked right over to the bed and peered closely at the young man. Gently and carefully, she put her hand lightly on his forehead and then on the back of his neck. Somehow she did so without waking him. Preston thought that a miracle, knowing how lightly the two officers slept. It was all that time being on ships that made them that way.

Her face set in serious lines, she gestured to Preston to come with her as she walked out of the room, the door closed behind them.

"He's burning up with fever. I thought that his color didn't look right. There, you see that rash? He's likely gotten something in one of those damn foreign ports they're always going into. We should have the doctor in, and that's no lie."

"Kate, you don't really think that it's serious, do you? Good Lord, the Commodore will be beside himself if anything were to happen to that lad."

"Better to be safe, I always say. I'll have Sarah fetch the doctor from the next street over. I hear tell that he's a good one and then we'll see what's what."

Preston looked at Kate. They had both started here within weeks of each other and knew each other well. "Yes, you're likely right. I'll inform the Commodore."

Two minutes later Preston was standing beside the large canopied bed in the master suite. "Forgive me for waking you, Sir Edward."

"Yes, what is it?" He had opened his eyes, instantly alert, the result of a lifetime in service.

"Sir, it's the Commander. He's here, in the red guestroom. I'm afraid that he seems to be unwell. We've sent for the doctor."

Immediately, Edward was out of bed and slipping on the dressing gown Preston was holding for him. Barefoot, he walked across the hall and opened the door. Going in he sat on the edge of the bed, the movement waking Hornblower. The dark eyes seemed glazed and he was groggy as he focused on his lover.

"Edward? You shouldn't be in here. I don't want you to become ill. Please, go back to the other room." His voice was hoarse; his lips dry and slightly cracked.

"Small chance of that. Preston, would you please be so good as to fetch me a bowl with cool water in it and a cloth."

In minutes it was on the table by the bed and the Master was carefully stroking the cooling liquid onto the overheated skin as he made gentle, comforting sounds to the now obviously sick man.

Horatio began speaking, in gasps and whispers, how it had come to pass. "We were out of Gibraltar, running dispatches into London when a storm came up. You know how they can be in the channel. It was all we could do to keep the pumps going. Finally we had to take all the sails in. I've never seen a blow that hard last that long. Never, not even in the Indies."

"Shhhhh, you need to rest, you can tell me this later." Edward could feel the heat seeming to radiate up from the bed. There was a sheen of sweat on Horatio's face; his hands were hot and dry, his breathing becoming labored.

"I had to stay on deck, you know how that is, Edward. I had to set the example. It lasted for five days before it even began to lessen the slightest. By the time we could actually hoist sail and steer again, we were over a hundred and fifty miles off course and had to beat back, then I had to stay on deck for most of that." His eyes held Pellew's, it was important that he say this, that Edward know what had happened. " Bush was exhausted, you see, and the men were about at the end of their strength. I couldn't go below, Edward."

"I know. Sometimes you must do that. I know." He continued to stroke the cool water on the heated skin. "I understand, but now you must rest. For me, love. Please."

Hornblower nodded slightly.

"Could you keep any food down? Some broth or some tea?"

A slight shake of the head, an apologetic one. "No, I haven't been able to for a couple of days." If Horatio would admit to not eating for two days then it was likely more like four since he'd had solid food. "We put into London six days ago. I had to sign the ship in then see to the beginnings of the refit. After that, it took three days to get here. The roads were almost impassable from all the rain, the horses could barely pull the carriage."

Edward kissed his brow and saw the eyes welling.

"I was so looking forward to us being together, I wanted to see you, and now I'm ill. I'm so sorry, Edward, please forgive me. I so wanted us to be able to be together."

"Shhh, we are and you'll be well before you know it." Horatio looked at him, knowing that he was lying, closed his eyes and seemed to drift back to sleep.

Edward remained where he was, Preston bringing him his breakfast on a tray. It wasn't touched an hour later when the doctor arrived to look at Hornblower. It was only with the greatest of difficulty that Sir Edward was convinced to leave his side long enough to dress. He was back within five minutes.

The doctor, a Mr. Epson, seemed a calm and quietly competent man and proceeded with his examination methodically, asking the correct questions. Edward answered as well as he could. Yes, he had been at sea for months, yes, he had likely become exhausted, yes, he had been exposed to the elements, yes, he was generally healthy, no, he had likely not been eating as well as he should have been. Horatio endured this, along with the poking and prodding and the questions with apathy. He likely felt too poorly to put up any resistance.

They moved to the hallway so that the patient wouldn't hear the diagnosis. Typhus.

Edward looked at the man in horror. Typhus. Everyone in the military was familiar with it. Jailhouse Fever, Shipboard Fever, common where men were forced to live close together, where lice and vermin were almost impossible to completely eradicate. One in every four or five died of the disease, the convalesce was notoriously long and drawn out, and if Horatio had already been rundown, tired and ill fed then the disease would have a stronger hold on him.

Dear God, Typhus.

Mr. Epson then spoke to Edward about the course that the disease would take. It was apparent that Horatio had already been ill for several days "He can be expected to maintain a fever and experience extreme thirst, the rash will remain and possibly become more pronounced over the next week or so, he'll likely be only semi-conscious and a low grad delirium could be expected. Quiet muttering, some thrashing about, that sort of thing." He took off his glasses and replaced them in the case he had in his jacket. "Of course, should he actually become violent, well, that's not good.

"He'll also exhibit a profound weakness as the illness progresses. At the end of the second week or the beginning of the third, he'll likely reach the crisis. Now, should he pass through this his fever will drop to normal, as will his pulse. His appearance will have more of an air of lucidity and intelligence. He'll cease to thirst quite as much. In fact, when he begins to ask for food, and can keep it down, well, then you'll know that he's on the road to recovery."

Sir Edward knew most of this, having seen typhus a number of times while he had served with His Majesty's Navy. It was not all that uncommon, though that knowledge hardly made the reality any less intimidating.

Edward thanked the doctor, asking that he be sent the bill and was assured that the man would return later to check on the patient, but added that there wasn't all that much to be done, other than just general nursing. Try to keep him comfortable and clean, give him water and clear broth-that sort of thing. Really, it just had to run its course. Preston saw him out.

Edward returned to the sickroom, sitting in the bedside chair and continuing to stroke to cooling water over Horatio. The dark eyes were more glazed than they had been even just a few minutes ago and the lethargy was more pronounced. "What did he say?"

Edward tried a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He said just what I told you, you're going to be fine in a couple of days."

"Edward, please…what did he say?"

He abandoned the attempted good spirits. Even ill, Horatio was too intelligent to not know when he was being lied to. "It's typhus, he believes that you've had it for at least several days. It will have to run it's course, but you're young and strong and you'll be well out of this in a couple of weeks."

His eyes closed with his exhaustion. "God, I'm so sorry, Edward." It was barely a whisper.

He put down the damp cloth and took Horatio's hand, rubbing it carefully. "Nonsense. You did exactly the right thing in coming here. You came home, Horatio, just as you know I would wish you to. We'll take care of you and you'll get well and then you'll regain your strength."

"Typhus…"

"You'll get through this. We both shall." Edward leaned over to kiss the hot forehead, his hand moving to caress the stubbled cheek. "I promise."

That morning a schedule was arranged that would remain in place for the next couple of weeks, the household worked in shifts around the clock to tend to the Commander. Preston would sit with him, carefully washing the sweat off of him and making sure that he was kept quiet, Mrs. Conroy would wash his hair when it became greasy and make sure that the linens were fresh for him to lie upon. The young maids and the footman were constantly asking if there were anything that they might fetch or any messages that might need delivering, bringing the endless pitchers and buckets of water without complaint. Edward would rarely leave his side, holding his hand, stroking him with the cool water and reading his beloved Homer to him, though knowing he likely was incapable of comprehending what he was hearing.

It was good that the arrangements of care were in place.

The next day the delirium started.

Horatio's eyes were open, unseeing and he was mumbling something incomprehensible, sounding angry. His arms began moving, his hands clenching and releasing. By noon he was tossing his head in an attempt to get away from whatever demons were tormenting his dreams. No one could get through to him, only Edward could calm him even slightly.

The doctor made a comment about Hornblower's remaining on deck during a storm for days and nights on end when he was coming down with the disease certainly hadn't helped. Edward quietly informed the man, that he could have done nothing else under the circumstances. "That decision may cost him his life, sir."

The fourth day of this, the doctor asked Pellew if Hornblower had any family who should be informed of his illness, as they might wish to see him. Unspoken was the obvious thought that if they were to arrive before the end, they should come now?

"He has just his father living in Kent. I could send the carriage if you think that wise. He is somewhat elderly."

"Commodore, I would suggest that the carriage leave as soon as is possible it may be that the father might be able to reach him." Nodding, Edward gave the order. The carriage would leave within half an hour, he moved over to the desk to write the letter that must accompany it. In all his years as a Navy Captain he'd had to write countless letters to any number of families regarding their loved ones. None had proved as difficult as the one he now had to pen.

Jacob Hornblower knew of the relationship between the two men, had known about it for several years and had come to accept it, knowing that Horatio was content with his choices and his life. Edward and Jacob had even, after the initial awkwardness, become friends to a degree. Certainly there was a mutual respect between them, along with the love they each had for Horatio. Edward knew that if Horatio were to die, Jacob would likely follow soon after.

The letter written and sent, Edward returned to the sick room, aghast at the changes in his lover in less than a week. His face was shaded with five or six day's growth of beard, his eyes circled and his cheeks sunken. His color was flushed from the fever, but under the flush was a sickly pallor. He was moving restlessly, muttering to himself. Meeting the doctor's eyes, Edward saw that he was discouraged by the state of his patient and couldn't resist asking, hoping for some small reassurance.

"Doctor?" Edward was truly frightened.

"He's extremely ill, Commodore. We must hope that his youth and general good health stands him in good stead. If he can get through this week, then we may hope for the outcome we all wish for."

Ever blunt, Edward pressed. "You don't think that he'll live, do you, Doctor?"

"I've not given up, sir. Your people have been telling me something about this young man; I would think that he'd not give up easily. I would suggest that you take your cue from your young friend here. He's still fighting, you must help him do so."

He sat in the chair by the bed, taking Horatio's hand, which convulsively clenched around his own. It was hot and damp with sweat, but held him with a death grip. The dark eyes turned to him, actually seeming to focus for a moment on his lover. The whispered single word, almost a plea, "Edward…" begging him for some respite from the agony he was enduring before they glazed again and he was lost once more to the dreams tormenting him. It was almost more than Edward could bear.

His head down, Edward managed-just-to compose himself. "You think he's now somewhere in the second week of his illness, Doctor?" The man nodded. "If there is to be improvement, might it come soon?"

"I would begin to look for signs within the next few days, Commodore, if there are to be any."

To himself, Sir Edward commented, "But how much more of this can he take?"

"You've sent for his father? As I said, perhaps a parents voice will be able to reach him. When might he arrive?"

"If he responds immediately, I would hope to see him within twenty-four hours."

Dr, Epson nodded, that was good. The sooner the better. The young man seemed to be failing and it was obvious that something was needed to bring him back or he would be lost. He made his way down to the front door, letting himself out. The household was taking as good care of the Commander as anyone could hope and it was apparent that he was greatly loved and respected here. As he walked, he thought it unusual that a man such as this one would be brought so low by the disease. It was usually the very young or the old, the weak who were the fatal results of this one, not the young men in their prime such as Hornblower. Well, he must have simply allowed himself to become weakened by the strain of command and the storm he had heard about them going through a few weeks ago. That would sap the strength of anyone.

It was unfortunate.

The hours passed slowly, stretching out minute by minute with the repetition of nursing. Edward would read to Horatio, Mrs. Conroy would help keep him clean and as comfortable as possible, Preston made sure that the household continued to run smoothly and that the Commodore wasn't disturbed by anything. The patient continued as he had been, tossing in his delirium and bathed in sweat. They would get nourishment into him when they could and had him drink water, but it was difficult.

The water he seemed to crave, but even the clear broth came up as soon as he managed to swallow even a few spoonfuls. He would occasionally rise up to consciousness, as though breaking the surface in some endless sea, only to be dragged down again into a nether world of dreams and nightmares. Sometimes the Commodore could calm him, but often even he couldn't penetrate the depths. Even through the haze, they could see that he was close to the end of his strength, that his reserves were almost depleted. If he didn't rally soon, they feared that he never would.

Late that night, after midnight, Preston pushed the sickroom door open to ask Sir Edward if he required anything, if he would like a glass of brandy or a hot cloth to wash his face. A single candle was burning as more seemed to upset the Commander. Sir Edward sat beside him on the chair he'd barely left for over a week now. He held one of Horatio's hands; the other gently wiped the damp cloth over the sick man's forehead. Preston stopped, hearing the Master speaking to his lover, begging him to recover.

"It's been ten years now, and you know that I depend on you. You know that it's you I always look to for advice and counsel. How am I to carry on if you're not beside me? How am I to sleep in that large bed without you to warm the other side or to hold me when the world had become cold?

"You promised that you wouldn't leave me, don't you remember that? The Christmas your father came to spend the holiday with us, we had finally put everything right between us and that was when I gave you your chain. It's still there around your neck, just as when I put it there as mine is still where you placed it. We agreed that the chains were our wedding rings, worn under our uniforms so others wouldn't see them. You remember that night, don't you? You must, Horatio. Try to remember that night. We were just across the hall in our room. We had finished opening presents downstairs, the servants were away for the holiday and your father had moved to the room further down the hall. You joked that we wouldn't have to be quiet, remember that? Then you found the box on your pillow, the box with the chain in it.

"We exchanged our own vows, made our own declarations and promises and then we made love. I still think of that as our wedding night. I think that you do, also.

"Then after you were transferred to Renown, you've no idea how desperately I missed you. You had been on my ship for almost five years, we'd seen each other daily and then you were gone. The trial in Kingston, God that was a nightmare. I had looked forward to seeing you there, imagining that we would be able to slip away to some private cove to swim those warm waters, but there was the trial instead and the deaths and then you were gone on your first command.

"After that, we could only see each other now and then, but I had such a surprise for you this time. I wasn't going to tell you, but I will. You must listen to me. This time we aren't going to be separated. I've been given the western Med fleet and I've requested you as one of my Captains. It was just approved, Horatio. You see? We'll be able to be together. I'll arrange Captain's dinners and we might even resume our whist games. You'd like that, you know that you would.

"Can you see us bashing about the Med? It will be glorious, Horatio! Me with my broad pennant and you with your own command-what fun we'll have!

"But you must get well, love. That's what I need you to do for me. Just get well. You'll stay here as long as it takes. You know I'll keep your place on my active list, you know that I'll do that. You're not to worry on that score. You'll stay here and Preston and Mrs. Conroy will feed you and spoil you and you'll grow so fat that I'll not know you.

"Just get well, Horatio. Please, you must do this for me. In fact, I really must insist on it-your getting well. You must and you will, you're stronger than anyone I know. You'll have no trouble doing this one small thing for me. I need you to get well for me.

"I need you so very much, Horatio. I love you so very much."

The next day, about four in the afternoon, Jacob Hornblower arrived at the Commodore's home. He was tired from the journey and sick with worry for his son. Their relationship had been a troubled one for years, but they had put their troubles behind them and become close in the last few years. Edward had become quite fond of the old man, himself, looking at him almost as he would have looked at a beloved uncle or older brother.

He was shown into the study and as he walked into the room his mind went back to that Christmas seven years before when he had inadvertently witnessed Horatio and Edward making love before the fire in this very room. At the time he had been struck by the passion they had displayed for one another, and the love. It had moved him greatly and he had begun to understand the depth of feeling between the two men.

He had accepted them from then on, with no reservations.

Edward was sitting in one of the chairs before the fire when he was announced and entered the room. He was surprised that Edward didn't stand to greet him, but he appeared exhausted, pale and drained.

"It was good of you to come so quickly, Jacob." His voice was flat, his attempt at a welcoming smile a failure.

"Edward, how …?"

"Horatio died an hour ago."

Preston assisted Jacob to the other chair, handing him a brandy and retiring silently. Edward seemed stunned, in shock and detached from what he had just said.

"I'm so sorry for you, Jacob. It's wrong for a parent to bury a child, but there' so much of that in my business. You would think that I'd start to get used to it, but I never have." He paused, looking at his own glass for a moment. "I think that I'm in shock. You know how people say that they go numb? It seems to be true. I truly can't seem to feel anything."

Jacob, a doctor, knew what the risks of typhus were and knew that when he was summoned things must have become dire, but somehow he thought that his son would live. He was so strong; his spirit was too strong to die.

"He would want to be buried at sea. I'll arrange that."

Jacob nodded. "Yes, I'm sure that is what he would wish. Thank you."

Staring again into the fire, Edward started, turned and looked at Jacob. "Forgive me, would you like to see him?" Mutely, his father nodded. Edward rose, moved to place his drink on the table, but missed the edge and watched the crystal shatter as it hit the edge of the fireplace. The sound of the smashed glass seemed to break something in the Commodore and his face crumpled, his hand on the mantle for support and his shoulders shaking with the sobs that had been inside of him. Jacob stood, crossed the small distance to the other man, his arms going about him, giving comfort.

"He said that he wouldn't leave me, Jacob. He told me that and he promised. He told me that he'd be here, that he'd always come back. He said we'd grow old together."

Jacob tightened his grip on the man.

"He should have been killed in battle defending his ship, fighting the enemy, a hero's death, not sick in bed. God, this is wrong, Jacob. This is so terribly wrong."

The quiet voice in his ear cut through the noise in his mind. "When is death ever right, Edward? When is it fair?" Jacob could hear the change in Edward's breathing, could feel the iron control reasserting itself. "My son should have lived another fifty years, he should have known more joy with you and he should have died an old man secure in his bed. He should have buried both of us."

"Now we will each grow old alone, Jacob."

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