☆ Round Two!

[jsmn_kink]

Welcome to the second round of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Kink Meme at jsmn_kinkmeme!

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■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
■ Fillers please link your fills in the Fills Post!
■ Have fun! :)

Keep in mind:
■ Any kinks welcomed!
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■ Multiple fills are allowed.
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■ Would fillers please make sure when posting a fill in multiple parts that they thread their comments by replying to previous parts.

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☆ Previous Rounds: Round One

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Fill - To Speak of Trouble 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Walter was standing at his study window when the knock came, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed blindly out into the early afternoon. His thoughts did not match the view. Where the sky outside was clear and bright, his mind was more clouded and overcast than he ever remembered previously. Even when Emma had been dying, his thoughts had not been so dark, although in truth he had barely known her then. There had been no question of fault, however. There had been no blame, no action to be taken. Now ... Now there was.

"... Your pardon, sir," Stephen said quietly, from the doorway behind him. "Mr Norrell's man is here to see you, about her ladyship? Mr Childermass, sir."

His familiar face was tired and gravely sympathetic, when Walter turned to face him. Of course, Stephen had taken her ladyship's situation as badly as anyone. There had always been a certain gentility in Stephen. It was a comfort, even if it was not always appropriate.

"... Childermass?" Walter managed eventually. The name startled him, for a variety of reasons, but one in particular. He had thought ... "Wasn't he the one who was ... That her ladyship ...?"

"Yes sir," Stephen said, almost gently. "I believe he was."

Walter blinked at him. "But," he said, a little foolishly. "But it was only a week ago. Is he ... That is to say, should he be ... Well. Should he be here, in his condition?" He was rather pleased to say that he had relatively little experience of people being ... being shot in his vicinity, but he thought it should take rather longer to recover from than a mere few days. Surely the man should still be abed?

Walter would certainly prefer that he were, he admitted to himself, and not entirely for altruistic reasons either. This conversation was going to be difficult enough without it being ... well. Without having to face the man himself. Childermass was a mildly daunting prospect at the best of times, which this most certainly was not. Unworthy a thought as it was, was it too much to ask to be spared him now?

Stephen only shook his head carefully, however. "I cannot say, sir," he said softly. "I can only tell you that he is here. Shall I show him up? To the drawing room, perhaps?"

Walter shook his head. He was ... he couldn't think. Not at all. But he had to.

"No," he said at last. "Or, that is. Not the drawing room, Stephen. Show him here, if you wouldn't mind. And ... I don't know. Tea? Something? What does one offer a man one's wife has shot?"

The question was slightly hysterical, perhaps. Walter struggled to master himself. He couldn't afford to be so scattered. Emma's fate rested in his hands right now, his and those of the man Stephen would shortly be showing into the room. The man she had shot, and who represented the man she had been trying to shoot. He had to have his wits about him. If he was to be any good to her at all, he must gather his wits and his nerves post haste.

Stephen helped. Even just looking at Stephen helped. If anyone could summon strength and calm in a crisis, it was and always had been Stephen. Even just his presence was enough to calm shot nerves.

"I will have tea sent up, sir," the man said, with calm reassurance. "Perhaps you might offer him a chair? It would be irregular, but Hanover Square is a long way to come with a wound. I think perhaps he might be grateful for the consideration."

Walter blinked. "Of course," he said distantly, before shaking himself a little bit. "Thank you, Stephen. I'll, ah. I shall be sure to do that. Please ... Please show him up, would you?"

Stephen bowed out, leaving Walter to return briefly to the window and try to gather himself somewhat more convincingly for the conversation ahead. He felt his hands knot somewhat helplessly into fists. Responsibility. It had always been something he felt very keenly. With a father and a grandfather like his, one could scarcely help it. That had never made it any easier, however. There were times and situations where responsibility was not at all enjoyable.

"My lord?" a voice that was not Stephen's asked softly from the doorway, a little rasped and ragged around the edges. Walter turned, and looked at the man his wife had injured. He felt his breath hitch a little at the sight of him. Childermass looked back at him calmly enough, with that slightly imbalanced mixture of deference and confidence that was familiar from time spent at Hanover Square. He looked almost exactly as he should, in fact, were it not for the pallor and the way he was trying to lean very surreptitiously on the doorknob. For all his attempts to look otherwise, here was very clearly a man who had been badly wounded.

"Oh god," Walter said, without entirely meaning to. He moved a step towards the man, raising a hand as if to do ... something, and Childermass blinked at him a little bit. "Are you ... Should you be about, man? Are you all right? Come sit down!"

Childermass blinked again, very slowly. "I'm fine, sir," he said, with what looked like mild bemusement. "I ... Thank you for your consideration, my lord. I am well enough. Though, if you'll forgive it of me, I would not say no to a chair." He grimaced faintly, as if he wished he did not have to admit this. "I would not normally impose, sir, it is only ..."

"Yes, of course," said Walter, as much to keep the man from saying it as anything else. He held out an arm, though Childermass ignored it, and gestured quickly to one of a set of armchairs. "Please, sit down. Stephen is sending up some tea. Are you really sure you should be up, Mr Childermass? I had not thought ... That is, you are not who I expected to see."

A rather impenetrable expression came across Childermass' face at that, one that Walter could not read at all. He shook his head as he sat down, and Walter could not help but notice faint lines of pain easing on his face as he did so. He moved somewhat awkwardly to his own chair, and let himself drop rather heavily into it. If Childermass begrudged him the lack of composure, he did not show it.

"My master thinks that this matter should be dealt with as quickly as possible," Childermass said at last, once he had recovered himself slightly. He looked across at Walter, his gaze open and frank, if a little cautious. "Not only for his own good, sir, but for that of everyone concerned. It is not a matter in which he has much experience, however. As his man of business, I had hoped that you might be willing to discuss the matter with me instead. I understand there are ... many arrangements to be made, for her ladyship's sake?"

Walter pressed his lips together. For her ladyship's sake. Arrangements. God. He did not voice the first few thoughts that came to mind, however. They were unworthy, and undeserved. The situation was patently no more of Childermass' making than his.

"Yes," he said at least, perhaps a little repressively. "My wife has ... I am aware of the great injury she has done Mr Norrell and yourself, sir. I am grateful that ... that Mr Norrell at least has not asked for more stringent measures to be taken. I know it would be within his rights."

He did not say 'and yours'. Such a right would be difficult for a man of Childermass' position to demand, though whether that should or should not be the case was a different question. Walter could not help but be aware, however, that should Childermass wish to demand it, to exact some more severe form of justice for his injury, Mr Norrell had put him in quite a good position to do so. By placing the matter in his servant's hands, Mr Norrell had given the man a very good opportunity to exact his vengeance, if he so wished.

Walter was not entirely sure what he would do, if that turned out to be the case. Fight it, his instinct said, yet seeing the man, the pain he was in, a part of him could not help but wonder if he would be wholly right to do so. It was ... God. It was impossible. The whole situation. Yet he could not allow her to be harmed. He simply could not.

Childermass did not give any immediate indication of a burning desire for vengeance, at least. He shrugged in the face of Walter's concern, a little uneasily, and offered a reasonable attempt at diplomacy instead.

"I'm sure Mr Norrell is conscious of her ladyship's ... fragile condition," the man said carefully. "I do not pretend to know all of the circumstances, sir, yet I understand that her ladyship has been ... troubled? For some time. I'm sure my master does not begrudge a more discreet handling of the situation, not when her ladyship was not in her right mind when she ... acted as she did."

It was a carefully qualified speech. Walter, with some experience of such things, could see how very careful the man was being to frame things correctly, to not cause offence. He wondered to what extent he might believe him. Somehow, he didn't think Mr Norrell overly cared about Emma's 'fragile condition'. That did not necessarily matter. Mr Norrell, at least, could usually be relied upon to choose the most discreet handling of anything. Childermass, on the other hand, was a much more uncertain prospect. Walter could not tell what he thought at all, save that there had been no overt scepticism towards his wife's madness, or the effect it may have had on her actions. Was that enough cause for hope that he might not bear her ill will? Walter could not be sure.

Stephen chose that moment to appear with a tea service, which granted him some small reprieve to think. It didn't quite grant Childermass the same, he saw, with what might have been amusement under better circumstances. The man accepted the cup Stephen offered him with an expression that was half affronted chagrin and half gratitude, taking it in his right hand to spare the wounded one tucked against his side, and Walter had a moment to consider that perhaps the man might be just as uneasy with the circumstances of their conversation as Walter himself. For different reasons, perhaps, but it might be that Walter was not the only one fumbling here. That was, at least, a somewhat heartening thought.

"Either way," he said quietly, once Stephen had swept calmly back out of the room once more, "I am grateful for Mr Norrell's forbearance. I understand that it may not be a sentiment you can share, Mr Childermass, and under the circumstances I cannot say I blame you, but I ... I cannot help but be concerned for my wife. I'm sorry for it, but I cannot."

Childermass set his cup back down. More to disguise the tremor in his hand than to make any sort of a point, Walter thought. His expression was not cold, when he looked up. It was carefully noncommittal, as befitted his purpose and his station, but there did not seem to be malice disguised beneath it. That might be only blind optimism on Walter's part, of course, but he did sense any ill intent beneath the man's facade.

"I do not think you can be blamed for that, sir," Childermass said softly, and Walter honestly could not sense a lie from it. He had some experience of liars. He was a politician, for god's sake! He did not sense any here. "Forgive me. I know this is a difficult position for any man to find himself in. I had hoped that we might come to arrangement which ... which satisfies everyone, my lord. I'm sure no one has any wish to see her ladyship harmed. Perhaps, between us, we might come to an agreement that is as much to her benefit as anyone's?"

Walter blinked. He looked away, pressing his lips tightly together. "I am no longer sure that is possible," he said after a moment, and did not think he had quite succeeded in disguising the grief of it. He had been so delighted when Norrell had saved Emma. So hopeful and so awed. And now ... now he wasn't sure there was any saving her. Death may have been waylaid, but madness had gleefully taken its place, and now she had all but killed someone in its throes. Walter didn't know any longer how much hope there might be for Emma. With the best will in the world, he wasn't sure that anyone could help her.

And that was, of course, when those in command of her fate had the best will. Which might no longer be the case.

He looked back at Childermass. The man's face was drawn, and very pale. He quite probably should not have left his bed yet. Under less fraught circumstances, Walter might have entertained uncharitable thoughts towards Norrell for making him. Certainly it was nothing he would ever have demanded of Stephen. Yet Childermass seemed unmoved. He was uneasy, yet Walter did not think he doubted his purpose in coming here, nor the necessity of it. Childermass had the look of a man determined to do his duty.

It only remained to be seen, then, what the man thought that duty entailed. Walter did not care to prevaricate any further. He rather thought the time for it had passed.

"... What do you think I should do, Mr Childermass?" he asked quietly, and not without some genuine appeal in it. Childermass often gave sound advice. When he had not been injured, when he did not have just cause for anger, Childermass could often be relied upon to be reasonable. "You are the one she has injured. What do you think should be done with my wife?"

Childermass blinked warily at him. He did not answer immediately, and when he did his tone was still cautious. "I understand," he said carefully, "that the option of placing her ladyship in a madhouse was raised? That was what my master informed me, at any rate. I believe that he and Mr Lascelles at least briefly discussed the matter with you?"

Walter closed his eyes. He bowed his head, a surge of emotion running through him, and Childermass had the courtesy to remain silent through it. Walter had not the presence of mind to be grateful. An asylum. It had made sense when Mr Lascelles had said it. It had seemed a mercy, when Emma might have killed someone in her madness. Walter had thought about it since then, however. He had given it a great deal of thought indeed, and he had found that ... that he did not like the thought at all.

He had heard rumours. There had been scandal growing around Bethlem for years, to the point that people in certain quarters were making motions in Parliament to have something done about it. Walter knew what happened to people in such places. It hadn't ... God forgive him, it hadn't meant all that much to him previously, but the thought of Emma in such a place, the thought of those things being done to her ...

He stood up. Childermass stiffened a little, watching him warily, but Walter could not muster the composure to speak to him just yet. He shook his head, a half gesture of apology, and turned to move back to the window. To stand there, his hands laced behind his back in an effort to quell the shaking of them. He needed a moment. He could not speak just yet.

And Childermass, to his credit, did not seem to begrudge him it.

Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

"... I understand the necessity," Walter said at last, speaking to the sky beyond the windowpane. "Believe me, sir, I understand that something must be done. My wife has shot someone while in my care. It is clear that I cannot ... that my house cannot contain her madness. I do understand that. And yet ... I don't know if you know, Mr Childermass, what happens in such places. I don't know if you have heard ..."

"I have," the man interrupted. Gently, really. Calmly, and gently, and when Walter glanced at him there was ... something in his expression. Something genuine, though he could not quite tell what it was. Something very grim, anyway. "I do know, sir. I don't know if Mr Lascelles did when he suggested it. It was said in the heat of the moment. But I have heard stories of Bedlam, as most people have. I understand your reluctance to place her ladyship in any such circumstance. It is not a fate I would wish on anyone."

Walter stared at him. "Not even a woman who had almost killed you?" he heard himself ask, at such a remove that he could not keep the raw disbelief from it. He did not dare hope, not just yet. He could not. Childermass blinked at him, and nodded carefully.

"Not even then," he answered quietly. "In truth, sir, I do not know if there is anyone I would willingly send to such a fate. I know I would rather be shot myself than face it, and more fatally so than her ladyship managed. For my part, I would not ask it of anyone."

Walter felt himself slump. It was a fatal move, in any real debate, especially when the outcome was still uncertain. A man who showed such weakness on the floor of parliament would not survive in his job for very long. There was still no lie in what Childermass said, however. He would swear to it. There was no shade of doubt or falsehood in his expression. It was hard, and uncompromising, but for the first time in this meeting Walter dared to hope that that surety of purpose might, in fact, fall to Emma's benefit. Childermass was a reasonable man. He had always seemed so. Maybe ... Maybe there might be cause for hope.

"Then ..." he started, moving back towards the man and resting his weight against the back of his chair. He needed the support, just now. He needed something to hold him up. "Then you might see fit to ... to make some other arrangement? I cannot think of her in such a place, Mr Childermass. I know under the circumstances that it is not my right to demand such a thing, and of you of all people, but I cannot bear to imagine her being treated that way."

Childermass looked away. He looked down at his hands, his lips pressed tightly together, and Walter felt his heart plummet once again. That was not an encouraging expression.

"My master believes a madhouse would be best," Childermass said, after a moment. He looked back up at Walter, wearing that impenetrable expression once again. "Perhaps he is not entirely wrong. Her ladyship has been troubled since her ... her return. Perhaps he is not wrong to think that she should be somewhere where they know how to care for her."

"She will not find such a thing at an asylum," Walter whispered. Vehemently, though he could not regret it. He stared fiercely at Childermass. "You must know that, sir. Bethlem is coming to the point where the government itself may have to intervene, and I doubt many other institutions are much better. She is my wife. You cannot think that I--"

"There are more sorts of madhouse than the kind you find at Bethlem," Childermass cut in. He leaned forward, wincing a little as it disturbed his injury, and met Walter's eyes calmly and intently. "I do not know if they can be found in London, my lord, but I do know that they can be found elsewhere. In Yorkshire, for example."

Walter blinked. He had a vague memory ... "The York Retreat?" he asked cautiously. He had heard something about it. People who decried Bethlem sometimes mentioned it. Run by Quakers, if he remembered correctly, and in a wholly different manner to other madhouses. Indeed, if he was thinking of the right thing, it had been established in protest against such institutions. It had been founded by someone whose wife or daughter or ... or some such relation had suffered in another asylum. He had a very strong sympathy for that person, suddenly. He could not remember their name, but he felt some kinship for them now.

Childermass looked briefly startled, but nodded. "I had not thought the Retreat itself," he said, waving his uninjured hand vaguely. "I thought that your lordship might prefer something more private. I think my master would as well, though I understand that that is far from your primary concern. I know of a man, sir. His name is John Segundus. He runs a house in Yorkshire called Starecross Hall. It is a recent establishment, but it is quiet, remote. Her ladyship would not be troubled there, nor would she draw unwanted attention in her illness. I know this man, sir. He is as respectable and kind a caretaker as anyone could wish. If I fell ill myself tomorrow, I would trust myself to his care without a thought. I have no doubt that, if her ladyship were placed with him, he would treat her with the utmost care and gentility. He was the first person I thought of, when my master explained the situation to me."

Walter blinked some more. He eased himself back down into his chair, and reached blindly for his teacup while he thought about it. The tea had cooled somewhat. He didn't mind, though. He barely tasted it.

"This man is a doctor?" he asked, after a moment. "You think he can help her?"

Childermass shook his head. "He is not a doctor," he said. "He is a gentleman, though, and he has a talent for ... such troubles as beset her ladyship. I truly think, sir, that if anyone can begin to understand what is happening to your wife, it is Mr Segundus. Her ladyship cannot stay in London. I think we are all agreed on that. If you would have my opinion, my lord, I think that Starecross would be the best place for her. I trust Mr Segundus, sir. It is not his nature to mistreat anyone or anything. Her ladyship would be safe in his hands. I do not doubt it."

Walter could see that. The lack of doubt, at least. There was absolute certainty in Childermass' face as he said it. And it was ... He did not doubt that the wish for privacy was Norrell's doing, but he also could not fault it. He could not imagine Emma being stared at as she would be at Bedlam, like some sort of ... of travelling show attraction, laughed at and mocked in her illness. The thought was a horror to him. A private place, a good house, where she might be safe ... He did not think Childermass would lie to him, either. Not about someone's safety. If Childermass said this Mr Segundus was a good man, that he would not mistreat Emma ...

"... Would he be willing to take her?" he asked wearily, and thought he saw something close to relief in Childermass' eyes. "If you say to me that my wife will be safe and well-cared for in this place, Mr Childermass, I will believe you. I must, since I have very little choice. Do you think that your Mr Segundus will accept care of Lady Pole?"

"I have written to him, sir," Childermass answered. "Only to ask if he might take her, not to say that he must. I would not have presumed without your permission. I think he will, though. As I said, the establishment is recent. It could use support. Aside from that, I have never known Mr Segundus to refuse to help anyone. It is not his nature."

Walter blinked slowly. "You think very highly of him, don't you?" he noted quietly, with maybe half a smile. "You respect this man very much, Mr Childermass?"

Childermass looked slightly startled. Apparently that was not an observation he had expected. He nodded, though, after a moment. Thoughtfully, as if he had not quite noticed his own respect before.

"I do not meet so many men of such a compassionate nature that I should forget one," the man answered softly. "It is a rare enough thing to find a man without malice. Mr Segundus is one such. I would stake my life on it. It is not in him to cause willful harm to anyone."

Walter did not say anything, for a moment. For some reason, that statement brought him close to tears. He had never ... He had never had to consider, before, that anyone might cause willful harm to someone close to him. He had never had to weigh his acquaintances based on who he might trust, in extremity, not to hurt those he loved. Emma was ... She was so fragile. She was so beset by horror and by madness, and anyone might hurt her for it. That Mr Norrell had not outright had her hanged for her actions, that Childermass himself had ... He shook his head. He swallowed carefully, and shook his head.

"You have behaved somewhat without malice yourself, Mr Childermass," he said, very quietly indeed. The man blinked at him, a fleeting expression of confusion, denial, flickering across his pale features, and Walter leaned forward abruptly. He met the man's eyes, with a desperate sort of gratitude in his own. "She almost killed you, sir. She did not mean to, or Norrell either. It was the madness. I believe that with all my heart. Yet she almost killed you nonetheless. I do not know that there are many men who would take time to reassure her husband that she would be well cared for, after such a thing was done to them."

Now Childermass looked uneasy. Extraordinarily so. "I am not ..." he said, stammering slightly. "That is. You misrepresent me, sir. It is only my duty. The lady has suffered for some time, and was not in control of her actions. It harms no one to ensure that she is in good hands."

Walter ducked his head, smiling painfully. "Do you know how many would have asked that she hang?" he asked softly. "Do you know how many would not have cared what manner of prison she was thrown in? I have been thinking on it a great deal these past few days, Mr Childermass. I have never had to think such things before. I have never been so afraid for anyone in my life as I have been afraid for Emma this last week. And I knew I had no right to be. You were wounded. You might have died. Mr Norrell, had you not saved him, might have died. Emma did that. I had no right to fear for her. Yet I could not help it. Can you understand that? My wife was almost a murderer, and yet I could not bear ..."

"Sir Walter," Childermass said, low and rapid. He had leaned forward across the small table between them, held out his uninjured arm as though to touch Walter on the shoulder. To try and comfort him, or to shake him out of it, Walter wasn't sure. Childermass had checked himself out of propriety, he thought. "You love your wife, sir. No man could fault you for that. No one is dead, my lord. The wound will heal. There was no need for anything drastic to be done."

He looked mildly disturbed, when Walter managed to look up at him. He also looked very pale, and his injured arm was crooked oddly across his chest. Oh, well done Walter. On top of sparing your wife, now the man must injure himself all over again trying to bring you back to your senses. Get a hold of yourself, for god's sake!

"Forgive me," he said, mopping hastily at his face. He had not cried, at least. There were no tears to dash away. "I'm sorry, Childermass. It has been ... Well. Probably a better week than yours, but not a good one, nonetheless. I apologise for my lack of composure."

Childermass waved that off, watching him somewhat warily. "It is no trouble, sir," he said, leaning carefully back in his seat and unable to keep himself from grunting a little in pain in the process. Walter stood, at the sound of it. He twitched nervously to his feet.

"Will you stay a little?" he asked quickly. Childermass stared at him, in what looked like growing alarm. "That is. Now that the matter is dealt with for the moment. We may discuss the details later. Norrell does not expect you back immediately, does he? You should rest a bit. You don't look well, sir. I can send for a doctor, if you need it."

"No," Childermass said immediately, and rather forcefully. He grimaced immediately afterwards. "Forgive me, sir. I mean, that is not necessary. I have not torn anything. And I believe my master will be expecting me shortly enough. Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I will not keep you from your business any further."

Walter nearly laughed. "My business?" he said. "I do not know that I have given a single thought to business in days. Not a coherent one, at any rate. Do you think I could think while I was waiting for ... You have given me relief, Mr Childermass, and more hope than I have had in a week. Come, sir. You are dead on your feet. It does no harm to recover yourself a little. Mr Norrell will not know when we might have finished our business, surely? What if I had been difficult? What if I had ignored all your advice and been determined to argue? Surely he might expect you to be hours yet."

Childermass blinked at him, bemused all over again, and exhausted on top of it. Perhaps it was that his duty was done, for the moment. Perhaps it was that he had allowed himself to feel tired. Or perhaps Walter had, in fact, done him some damage by his little descent into grief and panic.

"... I will stay if it is your wish, sir," the man said at last. "For a little while, if it will reassure you. I do not wish to disturb your household any more than it has already been."

Walter shook his head. "It would be very difficult to disturb us more than we have already been disturbed," he said, more than a little tiredly. "You will do no harm, Mr Childermass. You have done the opposite, in fact. The least I can do is ensure that you have not further injured yourself in the process. You may rest here for a bit, and then I will have Stephen drive you home. Are you sure you do not require a doctor?"

Childermass opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He shook his head. "I'm sure," he said. "I do not think I will need a carriage home, either, not if I have the chance to rest first. Hanover Square is not so far as that. Really, sir, you must not trouble yourself."

Walter looked at him for a moment. He was sure that everything he was feeling, everything he had felt over the course of this absolute hell of a week, must show clearly in his face. Certainly he was not attempting to hide it. Childermass went still, in the face of it. Something very strange and not a little fearful seemed to fill the man's eyes. Walter shook his head carefully, and smiled at him.

"It is no trouble," he said quietly. "Please believe me, Mr Childermass. What you are doing for Emma, after what she has done to you ... No. This is no trouble at all. It is the very least that I can do. Now. Will you stay, sir? Until you have regained your colour, at least. Will you stay?"

And after another brief moment, seemingly speechless, Childermass nodded.


A/N: For quick reference, Bethlem/Bedlam (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlem_Royal_Hospital) and the York Retreat (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Retreat)

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Oh anon, I really enjoyed reading this! It's extraordinarily true to character for both of them. I love the awkwardness of it, when their motivations are unclear - how unwilling Sir Walter is to trust or hope and how Childermass finds his concern so unexpected at the end. I want to give Mr Norrell a good shake for making him go out so soon. I feel for his suffering, and for Sir Walter's even though it's emotional not physical. .

As a Segundus fan girl, I also loved how highly Childermass thinks of Segundus, and how he doesn't even notice or see the same behaviour in himself.

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Author!Anon here. I'm very glad you enjoyed this. I've never tried to write Sir Walter before, and I may have projected onto him a bit. Also, to be fair to Mr Norrell here, the fact that Childermass is up and about might have as much to do with Childermass' own stubbornness as Norrell's anxiousness to see things dealt with. Though that undoubtedly didn't help.

Segundus is adorable and really, saying he's a good man who would never harm someone in his care isn't even a compliment, it's just a statement of fact. A more inherently trustworthy fellow it would be hard to find. I figure Childermass caught onto that quickly, although it possibly surprised him just how seriously Segundus would then take his duty of care ;)

I'm glad you enjoyed!

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

I enjoyed it so much it has stayed with me all day. I could even say it haunted me. Not so much what happened but the awful feeling of what might have been. If you were projecting onto Sir Walter it worked well. I feel for him so much. Thank goodness for Childermass and his stubbornness in going to see that the right thing is done. (I should have seen it more like that but I still feel a bit cross with Mr Norrell for his behaviour to both Childermass and Lady Pole.)

Segundus is a sweetheart. Fact and compliment combined!

This fic slots so well into canon I might forget it didn't happen. It's certainly my head canon now.

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

I should have seen it more like that but I still feel a bit cross with Mr Norrell for his behaviour to both Childermass and Lady Pole.

A!A again. I get that. I have ... violently conflicting feelings about Norrell, particularly when it comes to Lady Pole. Partly because of, as you said, that horrible feeling of 'there but for the grace of God' (or Childermass, in this case). I try to be fair to him, because to be honest I hated his guts for most of the middle five episodes, and I'm aware that I might not be particularly rational towards him when it comes to Emma's situation. A lot of it genuinely isn't his fault, and she did legitimately try to kill him, but then he says something, 'people will talk' while she's threatened with Bedlam, and I have to go take deep breaths for a while.

Um. Which is slightly besides the point, maybe. I'm glad the fic worked so very well for you, and thank you!

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

I adore this. Walter's inner conflict between what he thinks he should feel and what DOES feel and want is amazing and heartbreaking. I love how you've handled the complexities of class and mental health here, too. Excellent fic!

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Author!anon here. *nods* I do not envy Walter his position in that episode at all. Or in general, really. I'm glad you enjoyed, and thank you!

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

wonderful job! i've always wanted to see this scene played out and you did it so gracefully. it's not heavy-handed at all (as it might have been) and the pacing is just right. poor Sir Walter :( they both need a hug right now... and stephen too, though Walter is still clueless about that! thank you A!A!

Re: Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

This is brilliant! I love your take on this "hidden scene" - it is now my headcanon of how things went down :) Have nothing further coherent to add, so I'll just give you a one person standing ovation, bravo!