8A/N: Frightened of the summer storms that herald the week of her birth, Julia finds solace in the comfort of her father and in turn Ross finds comfort within the family he has fought so hard to keep together.
An AU set sometime after the third book; in which *spoiler alert if you haven't read the books* Julia , I am very, very much in denial about that- my apologies if I accidentally spoil the events of the next few episodes for some readers!*
As I am not Winston Graham or the writers of the recent BBC adaptation- how can I possibly own 'Poldark'? I am simply trying to convey my love with both the books and the show into something cohesive- please don't sue me!
(Oneshot)
In His Arms
The storm comes in the middle of May; a week before Julia's seventh name-day; a day of wet squalls and heavy, steel grey clouds. It is the wind that is the worst of it; Ross thinks, as he sits at the desk in the study and scans his latest batch of figures from the mine. On the trestle table beside him, the candle gutters slightly; the flame flickering against the rough howl of the wind as it charges its' way through the yard and rushes back across the cliffs to Namapara Bay.
At his feet, Garrick, old and grey muzzled now, but still obstinately faithful, stretches and twitches in his sleep, the stump of his tail thumping feebly at the floor. Bending, Ross reaches to scratch behind the dogs' ears and smiles slightly; remembering him as the large eyed, long legged mutt that had been almost like a second shadow to Demelza; following her anywhere and everywhere; even when he was explicitly not wanted.
The candle gutters a second time; its shadow flicking over the tables, the figures, their livelihood; throwing shadows across the wall. Inexplicably, the shadows make him think of Julia and how, when she was much younger; she had been frightened of the storms, how she would crawl onto the big, box bed that they said that his Father had died in during the summer before he had returned from the Wars and bury herself into a cocoon of blankets and warmth and love that was the safe steadiness of her parents sleeping bodies.
He sees her now; a skinny, leggy seven -year old, with her mothers' mane of auburn curls and his own piercing dark eyes curled up in the room that had once been Jud and Prudie's. She seems to come alive in his minds' eye, her sharp cheekbones and almond shaped eyes with their flecks of hazel fire, the smattering of summer freckles caressing the bridge of her nose… Sees her playing with Jeremy who has lost his infant chubbiness and is growing into a dark, ruddy five year old, tumbling through the hot, dry grass with Garrick during last year's hay making…
A knock at the door makes him start for a sudden moment, the hinges grumbling audibly as they are pushed apart. At his feet, Garrick stirs; ears pricked as he lifts his head towards the source of this recent disturbance.
'Demelza? Is everything alright, my love?' His mind flicks back to when he had left her still abed; her hair thrown in a wave of auburn curls across the pillows; her face peaceful yet tight in sleep; the soft bruising that caressed her lower lids all the more prominent from the worry of two young children. He remembers the soft sleep filled scent of her skin as he had traced the lines of her cheek, letting his lips trail against the soft fall of her larynx; remembers the soft murmur of sleep filled love escaping her lips…
'Father? Father… I…'
Not Demelza then. Not Demelza, but Julia; her hair falling about her shoulders; her eyes wide with a sense of sleep-filled fear that he remembers all too well from those long, lonely nights he had spent in this very house after his return from the Wars. Nights that had been filled with the sounds of Jud and Prudie's snores, with the stench of rum seeming to seep through his pores, with the desperate, agonising images of Elizabeth at Trenwith replaying themselves over and over again through the darkness of his tortured mind…
A moment of silence passes between them and then she is in his arms; head buried within the dark safety of his chest.
'What is it little one?'
Without warning he remembers when Demelza had broken down in this way; years ago; wearing his mother's dress; the fabric stitched with years of memories that he had wanted to forget and yet found it impossible.
'The… The storms… The wind was so loud an' the… The waves an'… I… I thought…' The words are muffled through the combined weight of the supressed sobs and the cambric of his shirt but are coherent enough. She snuffles herself into silence at that and a freckled hand reaches down to fondle Garrick's ears as the old dog rests his head on Ross's knee.
'They can't hurt you my love', he whispers, breathing in the scent of soap that still clings to her hair. 'They are sea spirits, crying for their lovers', a small smile begins to tug at his lips as he remembers Great-Aunt Agatha telling him, Francis and Verity the exact same tale when they were children back at Trenwith; her voice creaky with age, her small, dark eyes flashing with mystery as the tale unfolded.
'They be but legends Julia', the soft fall of footsteps on the flagstone floor makes Garrick's ears prick as the door creaks open again and Demelza stands there; tall and willowy with the soft roundness of motherhood beginning to cling to her young, lithe body; Jeremy's podgy finger clinging to her own as his sleep filed eyes travel from father to sister to dog and back again. The child's eyes seem to soften as the wirey form of Garrick seems to flow past Ross's chair to greet his mistress and give Jeremy a slathering kiss.
'We are safe here. The spirits cannot touch us', she comforts Julia; reaching over to place her candle beside Ross's worn leather folder bulging with old papers before sweeping over to join the pair and pulling Jeremy up onto her lap. Ross cannot help to smile down at her as their multi-limbed body settles into its' candle-lit nest to listen to the white flecked screech of the waves as they continued to wage war against the cliff face.
'They are but spirits my love', Ross hears Demelza murmur to Julia as the child nestles herself deeper in the security of his shirt; continuing to worry at a thin skein of hair caught around a finger. 'They cannot hurt us here'. And from somewhere deep within himself, Ross wishes that all his might that his children might remain this way; safe in the company of those who loved them.
Fin
A/N: Please feel free to read and review! Comments, suggestions, questions, constructive criticism etc are like chocolate to my brain!
Much love and enjoy x