#dauntlessgrit

“Mr. Blanky!” Harry called, jogging across the way lit by torchlight. “Are you free? Do you have a moment?”

NE PLUS ULTRA SIR

“And who might you be?” she inquired pointedly, without looking back at the man. He was clearly stepping out of line, even speaking to her.

“You and I both know that if either of us are going to Hell, we’ll be going together.” Maybe he had overstepped? No, Thomas would tell him straight if he had. “Might as well make an entrance.”

“I do not like your tone, Mister Blanky,” Fitzjames complained halfheartedly, as he watched the men from both Erebus and Terror larking about in the snow. “It was long overdue for them to have some time off, and you know well what I think of Francis’ far too strict regimen on his crew. A little fun will hardly cause a mutiny.” Though James himself was strict about some things, such as the appearance of his sailors, he was determined not to let Francis’ sour mood affect the entire crew. “You should join them, instead of brooding up here much like your Captain. I am starting to think he is a bad influence on you.”

Oh, no. Nononononono. “Mister Blanky?” Fitzjames is on his knees, the snow beneath himself and the man in front of him, slumped against the outer hull of the Erebus, tinted a dark red in the waning sunlight. “Mister Blanky, you will be alright,” he is ripping what clothing he can to stem the bleeding on the man’s stomach, where the blasted bear had got at him yet again. “Doctor Stanley! Get me Stanley immediately!” He roars and clutches Mister Blanky in an attempt to keep him upright as best he can, “You will be alright. Blanky. Thomas, look at me. Look at me, you will be alright. I have sent for Francis, he will be here soon. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare leave Francis here alone, that is a bloody order. Do not die. Not now.”