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hufflepuffhermione · 6 years

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Beside Him

So I’m new to Carolight fic (but definitely not to fanfiction) but I managed to get this done in time for Carolight appreciation week! It’s a missing scene from 3x05, after Dwight and Caroline’s reunion. Enjoy!

The room is silent, save for the sound of Dwight’s breathing, and Caroline wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course she wants to eagerly share with him all the news that he had missed in the past year, of course she wants to banter with him in the way that only they can, of course she wants to hear his unfailingly compassionate words in response to some acrimonious remark she will no doubt unthinkingly make. And she will, in time. There is no doubt in her mind that soon enough, the conversation that she had so fallen in love with would return to her.

But not today, it seems. Dwight is quiet- she has never known him to be particularly talkative if not provoked, but this is a new level of quiet- and his eyes, normally so bright and sparkling, are dull and seem to stare at nothing particular. His answers to her questions are brief and stilted, and aside from a few expected pleasantries, he asks her nothing. Her heart aches to see him, to sense his distress that he is trying to keep under wraps, but she has very little understanding of what he has been through aside from what Demelza and Ross have briefly filled her in on.

“I’d best prepare you,” Demelza begins, as she and Caroline mount their horses for the ride back to Nampara, “Dwight’s not well, and he looks it. He looks as if the slightest breeze could knock him off his feet. Seems that in the prison, the men were lucky to eat once a day.”

Caroline’s heart constricts painfully, but she puts on a brave face. “So he is malnourished. Very well, we shall have to feed him until he can eat no more. Perhaps oranges, he once enumerated their nutritional qualities to me.”

Demelza sighs, unsure whether Caroline’s cheer is simply an act or if she truly doesn’t understand the state Dwight is in. “I’m afraid he does have scurvy due to the malnourishment, or at least that’s what he diagnosed himself with.”

“All the more reason for oranges,” Caroline says softly, clicking her tongue so that her horse takes off. As the woods go by, she thinks of herself and Dwight, years younger, riding along the cliffs and down to the beach, happy and young and free from the distress that has clouded every minute of their marriage. He is home, she reminds herself. He is home and with her to stay and she will not allow him to leave. He may not be well, not now anyway, but she will stay by his side until he is hearty and strong again, and for all the years after that.

The first part of their accelerated ride back to Nampara is silent, Caroline absorbed in her thoughts. Demelza appears the same, but there is something weighing on her.

“Demelza, is everything alright?” Caroline asks.

Demelza presses her lips together and shakes her head. “I’m afraid you might be distressed when you see him. He’s different- and I only know what I’ve gleaned from Ross but it sounds like the prison was a sort of hell on earth, and a body experiencing that... mightn’t be the same after.”

“I understand,” Caroline replies, although her own ignorance of what Dwight has experienced is beginning to weigh on her. “I’m not so naive as to believe this will be easy. But whatever state he comes back in is infinitely easier to accept than if he had come back dead.”

Demelza smiles weakly as their horses bound through the gate at Nampara. “Tis fortunate for Dwight he married a woman of such strength.”

Caroline shakes her head as she dismounts. “Tis fortunate for me that I married a brave and honorable man such as Dwight.”

She has half a mind to interrogate Ross on the rescue mission before she sees Dwight, so that she might understand the circumstances surrounding his homecoming, but any thought of delay escapes her mind once she steps across the threshold and realizes that, after so long, she is in the same house as him again. She cannot wait a moment longer to see him.

“Caroline!” Ross says, as she comes through the door. “You may want to wait down, I’ll go get him prepared...”

“Prepared to see me? He needs no preparation, not to see his wife.”

Ross sighs. “I’m concerned you might... be distressed. And he...”

Caroline gazes at him with determination. She knows he means well, and is likely doing as Dwight instructed, but she has never paid much attention to anyone who told her she was not allowed to do something. “Demelza appraised me of his condition, and I have no qualms. I have not yet forgotten my wedding vows. ‘In sickness and in health, till death do us part’? Well, death has not managed to part us, so my place is beside him.”

She pushes past him to the stairwell, and he and Demelza follow close behind.

Caroline closes her eyes, reliving the emotions that had coursed through her upon seeing Dwight. She had been shocked at his appearance, of course; all of Demelza’s warnings had not prepared her to see him so gaunt, so ragged, so unlike the beautiful man she fell in love with. And yet, she was relieved because despite everything, it was Dwight, and nothing could change that. But her heart beat heavy in her chest as she greeted him, her head full of so many thoughts and fears and exclamations that it overwhelmed her, and she could think of nothing but to comment on the scurvy that he now suffered from. But their few words were meaningless, compared to their kiss which had held the desperation of a year of separation and the joy of reunion despite everything. It was not a perfect kiss, by any means. His overgrown beard tickled her to a point where she almost sneezed, and their breathlessness was not so much passion as a frenzied need for each other, to confirm their dreamlike reality. But it was enough, or at least it was then.

It has been mere hours since she came in. And she is once again desperate to kiss him. She notices that she keeps holding her breath until he breathes again, worried that any moment he might slip away, that any moment she might wake up from this dream. The silence is comforting because she can hear his breathing, but even though she is not even a foot away, a part of her still misses him. A part that will only be satisfied by another kiss.

But before she kisses him, something must be taken care of.

“Do you mind if I leave you for a minute? Don’t fear, I’ll come back,” she says, squeezing his hand.

“My haggard appearance hasn’t frightened you away?” he mutters in reply, half sarcastically.

Caroline laughs. “No, I’m afraid you’ll have to work much harder if you want to be rid of me. But as a matter of fact, that’s what I want to work on,” she says, flashing him a grin.

Dwight barely has time to lift his head and mutter a “What?” before Caroline has escaped the room.

She hurries down the stairs, almost running into Demelza on the way down. “Oh, Demelza! Does Ross happen to have a shaving kit?”

“Far as I know,” Demelza responds, raising an eyebrow. “It’d be on the table in our bedroom.”

Caroline nods, heading back up the stairs before turning around and requesting, “Could you warm up some water?”

Demelza has a pretty good idea of what Caroline wants to do, and she smiles to herself, wondering how she plans to go about it. “I’ll get on that,” she says, but Caroline is already up the stairs and headed toward the bedroom.

She finds the shaving kit quickly, observing it to make sure all the pieces are there. The one she has seen before was, of course, much nicer, but this will do.

Kit in hand, she thunders down the stairs, perhaps overly eager to carry out her task. Or perhaps, already aching to be back with her husband. She has been away from him for over a year- she cannot be away from him for another minute.

When Caroline reaches the kitchen, Demelza is pouring steaming water out of a kettle into a basin. “Here you are, then. Let Dwight know that I’m making some supper, and I expect he eats it all.”

“Thank you,” Caroline responds, and really, she is thankful for more than the warm water. She is beyond grateful for Ross and Demelza and their unwavering support and willingness to take action to bring her husband home. Without them... Dwight would still be in Quimper, or worse.

She tries not to think about the alternatives; Dwight is home and safe, and will soon enough be well if she has anything to say about it. She cannot allow herself to linger on the fears that plagued her for the last year; her fears have not come to fruition, and she has nothing but joy. Even if his homecoming is not easy, she cannot complain. Anything is better than his absence.

She enters his room again, just as eagerly as the last, carrying the basin and the shaving kit. She sets them down on the bed beside him, and a little bit of water sloshes out. Dwight looks to the side with a tiredly curious glance. “What is this?”

“I figured it was time to take this hideous growth off your face,” Caroline says, running her fingers through his tangled beard. “I mean, it could be quite dashing if it were not so overgrown, but I fear I prefer my clean-shaven doctor.”

Dwight presses his lips together and shakes his head. “It may not be such a pleasing sight as you imagine- scurvy has left its marks.”

“I did not marry you for your looks, you know,” Caroline replies, kissing the top of his head and sitting on the bed next to him, again sloshing the water slightly. She puts the basin on his lap and smiles at him, “Although no matter what, you’re handsome to me.”

“Even with this ‘hideous growth’, as you call it?” he asks, raising his eyes to meet hers.

Caroline opens up the shaving kit and pulls out the soap. “Now, I only take issue with the fact that it’s so much harder to kiss you with a beard. I’d like to be in as close a proximity to your lips as possible.”

“Oh Caroline,” he whispers, and it is both humored and mournful. He reaches to take the soap from her, and she bats his hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Dwight creases his eyebrows. “Um... shaving myself?”

“No you’re not. Sit back and relax, I’ll do this for you,” Caroline says, as she pulls out Ross’s blade.

“Caroline, I’m perfectly capable of...”

“Shh. You’ve been caring for others for far too long. Let yourself be cared for,” she insists.

“Have you ever shaved a man before?” he asks, watching as she sharpens the blade.

“As a matter of fact, I have. When Uncle Ray... was in his last days, and couldn’t do it himself, I did it,” she replies, suddenly cool and detached. “It was some way I could be of use.”

Perhaps this is what this is all about. Caroline wants to be, needs to be of use in Dwight’s recovery. She could hardly go and rescue him, and she was not a natural nurse. But anything she could do, she needed to.

Dwight is silent as Caroline continues the rest of the preparations. There is little he can say, and lately, there has been little he wants to say.

Finally, Caroline is ready, and she wets her hands and moves them to Dwight’s cheeks. She does this again and again, splashing him with water a little bit each time. Dwight patiently waits until his whole face is dripping wet. “Perhaps the bed was not the best place to do this,” he murmurs.

“Perhaps, but you’re not getting up and I wasn’t about to wait to take care of this, so here we are,” Caroline replies, taking the soap and lathering it on him.

He closes his eyes and tries not to gasp from the tenderness of her ministrations. This is so far removed from the last year, so strange and so dreamlike. He doesn’t open his eyes; he fears that if he does, he will wake up and be back in Quimper.

Once she is satisfied that his face is well lathered, Caroline begins with the blade, tilting his chin up with one hand, making gentle but halting motions to remove the hairs that had grown quite long. Part of her wants to take anger out on the beard, for it symbolizes the hell that her husband went through, and she hates the French and anyone else who forced Dwight to live through that. No one deserved that less than him. But she must be gentle, both because his face is marked by sores that she is careful not to irritate, and because she knows Dwight has not felt gentleness in so long. Caroline does not have a particularly gentle nature, but she carefully trains her hands to be so.

There is something immensely satisfying about it; the closeness, the intimacy that they have been deprived of for so long, the sweet smell of the soap washing away the months of dirt and grime and blood that had been caught up in his facial hair, the feeling of his pulse, beating under her fingers, to assure her that he is truly alive, that he is truly there with her.

Her fingers softly run over a now-bared cheek, as she moves on to the other side of his face. Yes, his skin is marked, and she wonders if he might be scarred from it, but it only makes him all the more beautiful to her. She cannot stop touching him; if she does, he might slip away from her. She keeps her hand firmly under his chin, turning his head toward her.

As her fingers still run over his cheek, she accidentally touches one of the sores. He hisses loudly, and she pulls away instinctually. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, backing away from him.

Dwight sighs and lowers his head. “No, no, please, don’t feel bad. It’s simply a bit sensitive, that’s all. And now doubt I look, as you said, quite hideous.”

“Oh, you mustn’t worry about that,” Caroline insists. “To me, even they are rather beautiful. They tell a story of a man who come back to me, alive. They are evidence of how strong, how resilient you are.”

He frowns. “You overestimate me.”

“You underestimate yourself. From what I’ve heard from Ross and Demelza, it’s a miracle you’re here after that place, and yet the whole time, you tended the ill and injured without a second thought for your own health, your own well-being. That, to me, is a mark of a strong man,” she says. As he begins to protest, she holds up a hand. “You may not feel it now, but you mustn’t doubt it.” She leans over to kiss one of the sores on his smooth cheek. “You are here. That’s all that matters to me.”

He closes his eyes again, feeling too tired to protest.

Caroline moves around to the other side of the bed, beginning to shave his other cheek. While her first strokes had been tentative and halting, she has found a rhythm, and every stroke is clean and soft. Her fingers follow, now carefully avoiding any spot that may be sensitive, but drinking in the feeling of his warm skin. She manages not to cut him; she won’t claim that feat in front of Dwight, who surely could have managed the same and much more cleanly, but she is proud of her achievement.

Finally, she moves onto the hair over his lip and chin, and as his beautiful lips are revealed to her once again, she cannot help but rub her thumb over them, chapped as they are. She sits back and takes in his whole face, her fingers never leaving his chin. He is even gaunter than he had looked before, and of course he is marked, but she prefers this sight much better. Despite everything, he is still her husband, her Dwight, and no French hell could steal him forever.

She puts the basin and the shaving kit on a bedside table, and moves closer to him. “Dwight,” she whispers in his ear.

He whimpers in response, seeming almost afraid at the sound of his own name.

“It’s done. Open your eyes,” she continues softly. Her hand goes to his cheek once more; she never wants to stop touching him. If she is with him, he cannot slip away from her.

“I’m afraid,” he whispers back, his beautiful eyes still stubbornly shut.

“Why?” Caroline asks. She is so far from understanding, and once again her pulse beats a little faster, because everything is not all well.

He is silent for a minute, and then almost under his breath, begins. “This whole experience, it’s rather like a dream. When Ross came into the prison, I was certain I was dreaming and everything after; it all feels like an elaborate story that my mind has made up to distract me from the reality and give me hope. I’m afraid that when I open my eyes, I’ll wake up and I’ll be back there. I’d like this to keep going as long as possible.”

Caroline isn’t sure what to make of this; it is unlike anything she has ever experienced. “I promise you, you’re not in a dream. You really are home, back in Cornwall. You really are with me. Allow me to prove it to you,” she says.

She takes both of his cheeks in her hands and presses her lips to his firmly, with a softer, more elongated kiss than before. “Open your eyes,” she murmurs.

He does, those brilliant blue eyes that she missed so much. He looks up and down her face, and tears begin to well up in his eyes and he kisses her back.

Caroline finds herself tearing up, rather unusually, and she pulls away from him. She is convinced that he is here now, both in body and in spirit, and nothing will take him away from her.

“I expect you’ve never had a dream quite so pleasant,” she says, sitting back on the bed next to him.

“No, I don’t believe I have,” he answers, between tearful sniffs.

She grabs his hand again and turns her head to look at him, as he looks back at her. He looks more like himself, more like the man she fell in love with. This is her husband, she realizes with joy, and nothing can take him away from her now. Conditions are far from perfect, but they are together. It is nothing short of a miracle, and Caroline intends to make the most of it.

This, of course, includes several more kisses, just as she prescribed.

#carolight #dwight enys #caroline penvenen #poldark #carolight appreciation week #alli's writings #this scene just would not get out of my head and i had to write #which i mean was nice to have so much inspiration #i'm a little nervous because i've never written them before #but i'm actually pretty proud of what i came up with #also it turned out way longer than i expected

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rather-impertinent · 7 years

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Horace

A/N: silly wee drabble for day 2 of @poldarkweeks’ Caroline Penvenen appreciation week for Horace! Sorry for any errors I am SO hungover ahahaha! Enjoy friends :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is a cold evening in late December and Killewarren is imprisoned by several feet of snow. The fire burns brightly in the parlour, which is occupied by three figures.

“Why do you not feed me jellies?” Dr Dwight Enys taunts his wife from an armchair by the roaring fire, the corner of his mouth twisted up in amusement, as he observes her rewarding their obese family pet with the aforementioned treat in payment for doing the most basic of tricks.

Having placed the delicacy into the pug’s mouth, Caroline smoothes Horace’s wrinkled brow fondly, cooing words of praise into his dangly, dark ears. Seeking more attention from his mistress, whose attentions are divided nowadays, Horace - with considerable effort - manages to lie on his side, awaiting soothing belly rubs. Caroline scratches the area with her neat nails and peeks over her shoulder at her husband; flashing him a wicked smile. “Well, Dr Enys, did you not say that jellies are bad for the health? Besides, I do pay you the same attention as dear Horace in one regard: I rub your belly. Well...,” Her eyebrow raises devilishly, “not your belly, exactly,” she chuckles, delighting in the scarlet colour her husband has become in mortification.

Dwight coughs awkwardly, glad his loosened neckcloth helps to conceal the bright red colour of his neck. He laughs, somewhat shocked by Caroline’s brazenness. “Well, I am now rather sorry I asked!” He is smiling widely and Caroline is glad he found the humour in her scandalous jest. She stands up from her kneeling position and saunters towards her husband - neglecting the perfectly plump, empty armchair beside Dwight in favour of sitting on his lap.

She takes her seat elegantly and without hesitation, quickly smoothing her skirt as it spills over his knees. Caroline opens her mouth to retort but is distracted by her wheezing pug who has seen fit to join them on the armchair. Horace settles into Caroline’s lap, panting with exertion after having completed such a taxing leap.

Dwight swipes a thumb across Caroline’s rosy cheek, causing Horace to stiffen on her lap.

“He has not yet entirely warmed to me,” Dwight observes, laughing at the quietly growling beast who paws at the buttons of his waistcoat.

“He knows you neglect me,” Caroline taunts, turning her head away from him in only part-mocking.

Dwight kisses the exposed corner of her jawline and Caroline fights the urge to physically shiver, lest their pleasant jesting contest come to a premature end. “Do I so?”

She turns her head back to face his, their noses mere millimetres apart, her eyebrows raised in the queer manner where it is impossible to tell if she is teasing or being serious. “You know you do!” she chides, stroking Horace for comfort at the thought of such daily abandonment.

Dwight covers Caroline’s hand with his own and takes over the pampering of their spoiled pug. “What would you have me do?” He asks her gently. He then looks to small dog on his wife’s lap, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What would Horace have me do?”

Caroline notes that Horace makes no protest at being under Dwight’s hand and in fact closes his eyes and sticks his panting tongue out in contentment. She considers her husband’s question with girlish amusement. “I believe,” Caroline begins in a light tone, “that Horace would prescribe bonbons,” Dwight grins at her wit, “perhaps some oranges, fewer patients and most assuredly more kisses,” she concludes sweetly.

The doctor’s eyes darken as he leans into wife, his hand leaving Horace to rest on the small of Caroline’s waist. “Well, in the light of the somewhat difficult weather conditions, I think that could be arranged, my love,” Dwight purrs before his lips find hers. Caroline immediately deepens the kiss, her fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck as he caresses her cheek. The lovers are quite oblivious to the world for ten glorious seconds until a disgruntled Horace pipes up in utter fury at such reckless abandonment. He yaps angrily at Dwight for displacing him as the sole receiver of Mistress’ attention; the brief male truce shattered into oblivion.

Caroline faces falls into Dwight’s shoulder as she shrieks with laughter, the contact only aggravating the jealous pug more as he continues his incessant protest.

Dwight’s body shakes with laughter and tears threaten to leak from his eyes. “You appear to be have been wrong about Horace’s prescription, my dear!”

Still laughing breathlessly, Caroline hands finds Horace’s ears and shakes them vigorously in an effort to soothe his rage. “Twould appear so, Dr Enys!”

#carolight #horace the pug #poldark fanfic #caroline penvenen appreciation week

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