@the-empires continued from [x]
Five years in the Caribbean had committed dramatic changes to Horatio Hornblower. He had reached a point in which he did not chase the way back fervently, for the chances were that he would have nothing to return to should he manage to find a means of returning to his proper timeline.
Having followed his mentor’s instructions on what he intended to be his last attempt, Horatio had found himself abruptly transported back to what he recognized almost vaguely as England. His attire was out of place, his questions avoided by men and women who gave him alarmed looks and wide berths. His shirt was nearly a century out of date, his hair was loose and wild at his elbows and his skin was dark next to those who spent life so far from the sun. His pants were belted by a colorful sash, a cutlass, and a series of pouches. A knife hilt could be seen in his boot.
He understood their alarm when he saw his reflection in a shop window – but that understanding did not satisfy his need for answers. Eventually, through a paperboy who seemed to think he was a pirate and was only too excited to talk to him because of that misunderstanding, Horatio gleaned that he had been gone five months ( so short a time in exchange for the understanding he had obtained! ) and was apparently some strange ghost story now. Finally, he learned he was in – of all places – Berwick-upon-Tweed.
There was a significance to it he could not place until he asked who the lord in charge of the region was, knowing his best bet of restoring himself would be approaching matters in the most direct fashion. It was with relief and trepidation both that he made his way directly to the manor house of Lord Edrington – a man he remembered as duty-oriented and far wiser than he in the ability to hold a tongue in check.
Turning to him felt strange, but he could hope, at least, that he would be recognized enough his tale would bear some merit. Although, he supposed his method of greeting was lacking – years with pirates who needed the obvious handed to them on a silver platter did take a bit of a toll. “Yes I – suppose my being here rather proves it. You’d be an odd choice to haunt,” He offered, smiling a moment despite the fact they’d never had a rapport close enough for jesting.
Sobering, he spread his hands in a placating manner, before confessing, “I honestly do not know what to do. I heard where I was, and it made sense to speak to the one person who might know me. I’m afraid I hadn’t thought past that point.” He had – but there was no easy way of getting to it, and if Edrington had no interest in assisting him with the most basic of things, there was certainly no way he could expect more, so why lay every card on the table?
Ocean Archive 