singillatim | (closed)

The discomfort of that realisation is still sitting inside him but Raju finds that he's smiling, and that this time the smile is coming to him, instead of him going to it; there's something about imagining a holiday that way, chaotic with family, most of the family running around in one direction or another and looking in Raju's mind something like Francis, only with some of them younger or in dresses. The image gets his foot moving, rolling on its heel from one side to the other to start tapping out a cheerful rhythm against Francis' again.

"How much older? They're the eldest daughters?"

“Jane was already out of the house when I was born and had a wean of her own on the way. Sarah…hm. Must have been 17, 18? Rachel wasn’t much younger.”

They’d cared for him, and in turn when he was grown he cared for them. He hoped the meager pension and insurance after his ‘death’ was keeping them well.

“I was the eleventh child, the fifth son. All my elder brothers were lawyers, like my father, or went into the church as ministers.”

“But not you.” Raju leans forward again a little bit, fascinated, food completely forgotten now. Francis seems remarkably comfortable sharing that part of his life, the place he had been raised in, the people that he’d loved. It’s always been different for Raju, the kinds of questions that he’s asking now more of a challenge to put the right pieces together so that he can try to seem that way while sharing nothing that’s too dangerous to think of out loud. But to all appearances, Francis really is. It’s a lucky thing, too; if he wasn’t Raju would keep himself from asking but he’d still want to know everything, and he’s happy to take the opportunity now. “Why not? Were you the only son who didn’t, no younger ones following in your footsteps?”

"No, no. I was always destined for something else. My name alone --"

He frowns softly. "Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, fifth child of George Crozier, named after the 2nd Earl of Moira and Marquess of Hastings. My father was desperate for recognition, so he named me after an aristocrat and sent me to sea at thirteen."

It could have been worse, he could have been younger than that. He met boys who were ten, eleven when he first went to sea.

"When I disappeared I assume no one else went to sea, but I suppose I won't ever know for certain."

Raju doesn't look away from Francis' face, one hand curling into a loose fist on the table while the other taps its thumb against his leg. It's remarkable, the way Francis lets Raju look into his life and Raju sees— Well, it isn't the same. It can't be. But it's so close. More than once now, it's been so close.

It isn't that Raju's looking for similarities. They're already there.

"Why you?" he asks, intent. "Was there something about you, something different that he saw, or..."

Raju shakes his head, frowning with focus. He can't think of an or. There's no reason to send only one son away to sea when the rest were lawyers or priests unless he was more suited for it than anyone else. But he doesn't know much about the navy. Maybe he is looking too much for similarities and it was really something else. But the outline of it, of the life and the destiny, is still there.

Why him? It’s a good question, but not one he’s ever been given a satisfying answer to, even after careful probing of older, drunken relatives. His father was offended by the question - it was an honor to serve! And look, look how far he’d climbed in the Navy!

“I used to think I was just expendable,” he says, shrugging very gently. He doesn’t want to sound flippant, but it had been true for a number of years. “I think he wanted me to measure up to my name.”

Edited 2024-03-23 03:16 (UTC)

"If you were expendable, he wouldn't expect so much." Raju's tone is just a little bit softer, steadier in sympathy. Every father's reasons aren't as clear as— well, they aren't always clear. It speaks well of Francis that he'd been so dedicated even when the purpose behind the duty was so difficult to see, and if seen, so impossible to be sure. Francis wouldn't be saying I think now if he'd ever gotten a certain reason for it. "Were your other brothers told to go where they ended up, too? Or did they all go into law and the church on their own?"

He used to believe that was true even with his father’s high expectations of him; none of the others had to leave, none of the others were pulled from the family when they’d just turned thirteen. George Crozier could have just been hedging his bets.

“Oh, no. My father always assumed at least one boy would take over his practice, but the others could do as they pleased so long as they were educated.” And Crozier, who’d adored school and listening to lectures and learning, had been taken out of school and shipped off to sea. They were at war then too.

“Fathers,” he adds with a soft shrug. “Who knows why they do anything?”

Raju huffs out a soft breath, looks down with a polite smile. Picking up the spoon gives him something to focus on, because every answer he has would only invite questions he can't answer.

He gives himself time enough to take a bite, and chew it this time. "You kept at it, though. Even when you didn't know why you were sent into it. You wouldn't have gotten promotions if you hadn't."

"I kept at it because I wound up falling in love," he laughs. "The sea first, of course, the most demanding mistress, then sailing itself, and then the ice. Oh, I adored the ice. I loved the unknown, I was hungry for it. Out on the ice one feels so small and the world is so big and wide, and I just want to know it all."

There's something in his expression, something genuinely happy when he speaks about this part of his life. Yes, the ice is harsh and frightening, it can warp metal and sink battleships, but he loves it all the same.

"It was all luck, of course. I might never have known I enjoyed sailing had it not been for my father."

Raju nods, gaze held by the look on Francis' face. Raju is smiling too, faintly, fascinated. He'd seen this the first time they'd met, the way this man can talk about these things. Before Raju had known anything about Francis' last voyage, seen the damage it did to even the man who survived. There's something even more powerful about it now in the wake of that, seeing the damage with his own eyes and listening to the tone of Francis' voice now, still alive with passion for the thing which did so much damage to him. There's something powerful in Francis' expression. Raju doesn't want to look away from it.

"I've read that. That sights like that can make a man feel small that way. I can't imagine it."

Crozier isn't a man naturally gifted for speaking. He knows he can be clipped and unimpressive at times, especially when others have built him up as something more in their minds. But every once in a while, every once in a long while, he finds some eloquence hidden deep down by all those years of cynicism.

"The damage the ice does...there's nothing quite like it. If we didn't find a place to carefully over-winter our ships would become stuck in it, the frozen sea. You can walk right over it, the sky above so clear and so filled with stars. Then the ice moves, it crashes into itself, pushes itself into high pressure ridges and seracs. The smooth sea becomes a maze of ice taller than the ship itself, and it groans and screams as it crushes into itself. It's haunting."

The more Francis describes it the more Raju's smile grows, slowly and delighted. These are the kinds of things he'd been wanting to hear back when they'd first met, too. Maybe if he'd known a little more about exploring the ocean he might have tracked someone down back home to ask for stories. Sailing the river there is as much about the river itself and the destination; the ocean and the poles sound like something else again, dangerous and unconquerable in a way he might not otherwise have thought this quiet, practical man so hungry for.

Maybe he's glad, a little, that he hasn't asked anyone else before.

"Taller than the ship? How can you tell where it's going to be so your whole ship isn't crushed?"

"You can't," he says, still sounding delighted. It's a horrible, terrifying thing to experience firsthand, but he can't deny that it's absolutely incredible. There's no taming something like that, even if the Empire was so confident that all its technology and reinforced hulls would stand a chance.

"The ice does what it wants, and when you're in it there's no getting out until the next thaw. It'll either drive the ship under and sink it, or it'll push it up like the crest of a wave."

"That's mad," Raju grins, leaning forward and reflecting Francis's mood completely. His hand is curled thoughtlessly around the spoon like it's a weapon; remains of stew drips down onto the table. "You can't tell me the crown sends its ships into that on purpose. There must be some way to avoid it, or survive it. You don't just sit there and hope that the ship makes it through?"

“Oh, it’s barmy, but the Admiralty’s been throwing men at the Northwest Passage for nearly a century at this point. We’ve figured out a few tricks, only lost a few ships here and there. The way to do it is fine a safe harbor to make berth during the winter months. The ships will still freeze in, but the crush won’t be as great.”

Which he’d recommended time and time again to Sir John when they’d spotted pack ice, but…well. There’s no going backwards, is there?

Raju nods, fascinated. "And the land keeps the worst of it away? What do you do while you're frozen in like that, sit there and wait for the whole winter?"

That idea he really can't imagine. At least here there are things that need to be done, even if none of them make a difference to anything but day to day matters like comfort and warmth. He can go outside, even if here he hates the outside air, and all of it hates him back. He can search for old dry wood and something edible, even on days when he can't actually find any. It's something. At least it doesn't always feel like waiting.

"And what do you even do on a ship that can't sail?" he asks as it occurs to him. "Try to go fishing? Sit there and braid rope?"

He laughs loudly, his own meal completely forgotten. “Oh, I’m not sure you’ll believe me if I tell you…”

Crozier sits back slightly and reaches for some water. “We teach the men to read and write, draw, paint, climb, hunt, but there’s a very noble tradition of dressing up and putting on plays or having galas. The further away from home the more ridiculous things seem to become.”

"You're right. I don't believe you," Raju says in a tone that might say the opposite, or that even if he didn't believe him, he's enjoying it enough not to mind. He studies Francis for a moment, smiling, then: "What plays? Tell me about one. I want to be convinced."

It would be a joke if it wasn't true. This is another picture painting itself vividly in Raju's mind, and the one that he'd least expected to be there. "Did you ever play a part? Your officers?"

He can only imagine how the men in the barracks would have liked that, seeing the superior officers that way. It never would have happened, of course. But things might well be very different, so isolated with each other out at sea.

“Of course I did! Played the part of a servant in one pageant when I was still a lieutenant. We all did though, helps morale. Parry, my commander for my first polar expedition, was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. I think he played a queen…hell, it might have been a goddess, I can’t quite remember. The Discovery Service is far less serious than a navy at war.”

He does believe the morale bit is important, especially here. Without it people can lose their damn minds.

Raju laughs a little, ducking his head over it then grinning back up. "It must be. My commanders would have died before wearing a dress and a wig in front of their men. How did you do at it, acting? Were you any good?"

“I was terrible,” Crozier chuckles. “Forgot all my lines, wound up just playing scenery in the end.”

He thinks on another winter gala, the New Year’s party he and James Clark Ross had encouraged their men to throw. “Ross, the friend I’ve told you about, when he was commander he threw a large ball in honor of the New Year. I wore my dress uniform, and he a lovely gown, and we led the men in a quadrille.”

Dancing with ‘Miss Ross’ on the ice had certainly made a lasting impression on Francis Crozier.

Raju folds one forearm over the other, smiling. "He sounds like a fine man to serve under. Not many would be so willing to be laughed at like that for a bit of fun. What kind of leader was he? The Discovery Service might be different when you're stranded for the winter, but there's still order to be kept, isn't there?"

“He…” How to best describe Edward William Parry. He was evangelical, but not to the point of naivety like Sir John. He was genuine and sincere, and brave and meticulous.

“He was a man of god. He believed in the betterment of his crew, and let very little stop him in his pursuit of that. I was a midshipman when I served under him, and I remember the conversation when the idea of a crew newspaper was proposed. He so damned tickled, I think he was more proud of that than his discoveries.”

"A newspaper?" Again Raju's voice is a play at disbelief; it isn't believable, sort of, but he's enjoying believing it anyway. "About what? The crew? I imagine that turned into a gossip rag fairly quickly. What else is there to report on?"

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