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“I have been thinking,” Temeraire starts, and Laurence snaps his book shut with alarm.
Only three days ago Laurence received a long, raking cut down his chest. The blood alarmed Temeraire so much he nearly quit the field (though after a moment's consideration he decided to savage the enemy Petit Chevalier, instead, which later fled the field crying its pain.)
They've only been patrolling for a few months; it's understandable that Temeraire is still uncertain about the consequences of war. Lt. Granby assures Laurence it's normal for a young dragon to respond to their captain's injuries with some... overprotective behavior for awhile.
But Temeraire, Laurence thinks, might be taking it to extremes.
“I would like you to wear armor,” Temeraire says, meeting his fears exactly.
“People do not wear armor anymore, my dear.”
“Why not? You said knights used to wear it; you are a captain; is that not the same?”
In fact, it is not. But that's a different conversation. “Armor fared well against arrows and swords; pistols are another matter.”
“But you were hurt by a sword,” says Temeraire logically. “And you said armor was used against dragons too. You do not have scales, Laurence, but metal should suffice.”
“It would be impractical. Only try to imagine someone climbing your harness, weighed down with metal. Even in previous centuries, armor was for the army, Temeraire.”
“Then perhaps we can build you a small castle on my back,” comes the next suggestion.
“...perhaps we can read you a book on architecture next,” says Laurence, now reluctantly amused. “That is also not feasible, for reasons too numerous to mention.”
“...We can surround you with splendid spiked shields. And guards.”
By this point Laurence laughs and dismisses the idea without much elaboration.
Perhaps, he thinks later, he ought to have taken Temeraire's concerns a bit more seriously.
In the morning Laurence takes an early stroll, forgoing his usual fast. When he makes his way to Temeraire's clearing he's met with a curious sight.
Temeraire, Lily, Maximus, and Nitidus are all sitting snug in a heap. A variety of officers surround them, some from every crew. Captain Sutton is also present, standing next to Mr. Granby as they argue with Temeraire.
Laurence quickens his stride. “Temeraire! What is going on?”
Lt. Granby whirls around, plainly horrified. Several officers shout at him. Laurence catches a glimpse of Sutton sighing heavily before black claws jerk him into the air.
“Laurence! I knew you would come. Here – you will be safe with the others,” Temeraire declares. He twists to settle Laurence gently between the four interlocked dragons.
In the small space between the unharnessed creatures Laurence meets Harcourt, Berkley, and Warren.
“Ah, damn,” says Harcourt. “Sutton sent someone to warn you, too. Did you not hear?”
“Maybe he can talk some sense into them – this is all your rabble-rouser's fault,” Berkley tells Laurence.
Laurence looks around, baffled. They're solidly encased on every side by smooth walls of scaled hide. “What, exactly, is Temeraire's fault?”
Temeraire twists his head around to peer at them. “We are keeping you protected, of course. Clearly the rules of the Corps are not enough; you will stay here until we sort things out.”
“Nitidus does this at least twice a year,” Warren confides gloomily.
Laurence is aghast. “Temeraire! You cannot hold officers hostage merely because I was injured.”
“I can, though,” says Temeraire, baffled in turn. “We all agreed.”
“I like having Harcourt with me all the time,” is Lily's sleep contribution.
“I find that a good hunger-strike usually does the trick to stop this,” Warren mutters.
Ridiculous. “Temeraire, injuries happen; it is the nature of the service. You cannot protect us from everything.”
“Yes, that is the problem, Laurence. So we need to find a better way. Pray be patient; we'll deal with this.”
Saying so, Temeraire turns away and ignores all further protests to begin lecturing Mr. Granby. “So we have decided we want armor,” Temeraire declares, “and perhaps a moat, around the officers' building, since no dragons fit inside. And...”
At Warren's advice they refuse the food brought by a blithely-cheerful Volly. Captain James, apparently, is not permitted near.
Maximus seems concerned when Berkley won't eat. Nitidus assures him humans are perfectly fine for a few days without food, “just like dragons.”
“Well it's damn well not pleasant, you great lunatic!” Warren calls. Nitidus pretends not to hear.
Volly also brings a pack of cards, so they all resign themselves to a hand of piquet while straining half an ear to the arguments outside. Evidently Messoria, Immortalis, and Dulcia declined to participate in this debacle, and patrols must have been shifted to another team entire, because Laurence catches snatches of the other captains trying to reason with their belligerents.
Late afternoon a familiar shadow dips overhead, circling low - Obversaria. Laurence's heart plummets.
They all abandon the game to listen.
Lenton's voice is too muffled to discern. “I don't see why not,” Temeraire says in response to something. It's become clear over the course of the day he's been elected spokesperson. “No? That is unfair, it was my idea!”
“Probably threatening punishment,” says Berkley, low. Then, catching the anxiety on Laurence's face, “Mostly a bluff. This happens all the time. Lenton won't blame us, but best to let the dragons think so.”
Surely all the time is an exaggeration, Laurence despairs. No service can function with regular mutiny like this!
Lenton departs eventually; whatever he said leaves the dragons dispirited awhile. Even moreso when the captains refuse dinner also. And Laurence blushes over the arrangements made for necessities, mainly due to Harcourt's presence.
“Surely you understand why we must do this,” Temeraire wheedles around dusk.
His voice is shyly pleading, guilty. Laurence is not in the mood to sympathize. “I understand you would have me be a coward, and rest in safety while our fellows defend our home,” says Laurence coldly.
“Oh! That is not it at all!” Temeraire cries. The effect is rather contrasted by Nitidus piping, “I do not mind if Warren is a coward!”
Warren sighs. Temeraire looks abruptly uncertain.
Laurence presses, “Men will always be hurt in war, my dear. I certainly did not enjoy it when you were injured in battle; how would you have felt, if I demanded you were too delicate for fighting, and must quit the field forever?”
Temeraire's ruff flattens. “But that is not the same thing at all, you see, because you are all very small.”
“Perhaps I ought to return to the navy,” Laurence snaps in sudden pique. “My ship certainly never held me hostage!”
Laurence feels guilty even as he says it. But this does, at last, make Temeraire move aside.
The other dragons take a little convincing, but Maximus and Lily soon enough follow Temeraire's lead.
Nitidus snatches away Warren to go brood on a cliff. No one else seems worried by this, so Laurence lets it go.
“The nap was nice,” proffers Maximus, unfazed by Berkley's outrage.
Laurence doesn't want to encourage Temeraire's fit by cleaving to his side after such a spectacle, so he squashes the urge to apologize for his comment – at least for the time being. Instead he joins the other captains for a long-overdue meal. It's near on midnight, but a yawning servant appears ready for them in the quiet dining hall.
“I'm just glad to get it over with,” says Harcourt, eating with a shocking lack of grace. Between mouthfuls, she adds, “Every dragon does it at least once. Usually after a bad injury, though; a day isn't too bad, and maybe they will think better of it, next time they're fretting.”
“Next time!” Laurence demands.
“Oh, Temeraire doesn't seem the nervous type,” Harcourt assures. “I'm sure it won't be too often.”
Privately, Laurence determines he will have a long talk with Temeraire in the morning. Surely this is some youthful impetuousness.
And surely Temeraire is too sensible to take such measures again. Laurence is certain of that.