#but instead of immediately killing it nd getting a root fill he said that we should give the tooth a chance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oriigami · 4 years

Text

we slept on the ocean last night

(My gift for @cozza for the @setsailexchange! Strawhat feel-good fluff, feat. nightmares, love, and platonic intimacy. Also on ao3 here!)

It starts like this: Luffy can’t sleep alone.

Zoro discovers this about six hours after they set out to sea from Shells Town, just the two of them in Luffy’s little dinghy and no destination to speak of. The sun has sunk past the horizon, and the water all around their tiny boat is pitch black, scattered with the shimmering reflections of stars.

Luffy yawns, stretching his jaw open wider than a human’s should rightly be able to go (and maybe the rubber thing still freaks Zoro out just a little bit, okay, he’s working on it) and then, without a word of warning, crawls over to where Zoro’s sitting and drops bonelessly into his lap, sprawling against his chest with his head pillowed over Zoro’s heart.

Zoro goes tense immediately, only barely resisting the instinct to shove him away immediately; in a boat this size, that would definitely send Luffy over the edge, and his new dumbshit captain can’t swim. “What. Are you doing.”

Luffy yawns again, and snuggles closer. “Mm. Sleepin’.”

“Okay,” Zoro says, with what he decides is a truly admirable degree of forced calm. “Why on me.”

“Comfy,” Luffy mumbles into his shirt. “‘nd warm.”

“Well, get off,” Zoro says, and then, when there’s absolutely no response, “Luffy? Hey-”

He looks down at Luffy’s face, already slack with sleep and dead to the world, and the rest of the sentence dissolves into a sigh. “...Nevermind.”

Because- see, Zoro’s not a touchy kind of person. It’s probably been more than a year since he was last hugged, and even that was just because Johnny tended to get kind of over-affectionate when he was drunk. Sometimes he shakes hands when handing over a captured pirate for the bounty, and that’s about it. And that’s fine.

Luffy’s whole weight is on top of him, warm and heavy and snoring softly against his chest, and Zoro’s pretty sure he can’t even remember the last time he was in this much contact with another person for this long. Luffy’s hair is unwashed and salt-encrusted, and it tickles his chin.

But. Well. It’s not bad. It’s definitely weird, and something about it makes Zoro feel oddly warm, but it’s not bad. So he just sighs again, and leans back to look up at the stars, and absently reaches up to rest an arm around Luffy’s shoulders.

He falls asleep a lot faster than usual, that night.

It goes like this: Nami has nightmares.

She’s good at hiding them. Her sobs are nearly silent, muffled into her pillow and rendered all but inaudible by the doors between her room and the boys’. But Usopp is nothing if not observant- and besides, he doesn’t sleep all that well either. When he closes his eyes he’ll see his mother’s face, too still and too pale with a cloth draped over her kind, sightless eyes. More recently, there have been fresher terrors filling up the inside of his head when he tries to sleep; chief among them Kaya, carved to pieces by Kuro’s claws.

The point is this- when Nami slips out of her room in the middle of the night, her breaths uneven and stuttery from crying, and pads almost soundlessly up to the deck on unsteady feet, Usopp is already awake. He lies still for a minute or two, worrying his lower lip and deliberating on whether to follow her. It’s obvious she’s trying to keep to herself. If it’s something secret, he doesn’t want to bother her. It’s not like he knows that much about her, or about any of them, really.

But at the same time- they’re crew now, right? Even if they’re only been sailing together for a few days. And crew look after each other. Usopp might not have much experience with being a pirate yet, but he has spent years crying into his pillow, so that makes him qualified to deal with this, maybe. He cautiously maneuvers his way out from under Luffy’s arm and tiptoes to the door, careful not to wake his other two crewmates up.

He finds her at the bow, sitting with her back against the railing and her head resting on her knees, shoulders shaking. She startles a little when he steps up onto the deck, jerking her head up and glaring over at him, but her shoulders slump again after a moment.

After another moment of indecision, he sits down next to her. He’s never been good at staying quiet- his mouth has a tendency to open up on its own whenever he’s nervous- but he manages it this time, and just sits there with his arm pressed against hers as she cries.

Once she’s worked herself down to what seems like relative calm again, he offers, “Do you, um. Wanna… talk about it?”

“No,” she says immediately, and then, quieter, “I… no. It’s fine. There’s nothing to talk about.”

It’s one of the most blatant lies he’s ever heard, and he’s been responsible for some real whoppers, but he’d be a hypocrite to point it out. Instead, he says, “Okay, um… do you wanna hear about the time a giant eagle carried me away to its nest, and I had to climb all the way down a tree that was so tall it touched the clouds?”

Nami chokes on a laugh, and it’s an ugly, wet sound, half a sob, but she leans her head against his shoulder, all the remaining tension running out of her body. “Y’know what? Sure. Tell me.”

Usopp’s just reached the part of the story where he finds a whole village of people living in the tree’s roots when he realizes she’s fallen asleep, and he trails off. The ends of her short orange hair poke at his skin, and her cheek is pillowed against his shoulder.

He guesses he’s not moving for the rest of the night, so he carefully wraps an arm around her narrow shoulders and lets his head tip against hers, and closes his eyes.

For once, he doesn’t have any nightmares.

It goes like this: Sanji doesn’t sleep.

“Oi, dumbass,” Zoro says, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. “Why are you still awake?”

It’s well into the dead silent hours of night, and even varying as bedtime tends to be on the Going Merry, everyone else is already long since asleep, aside from Usopp, on the lookout in the crow’s nest. It had been a long and tiring day, and most of them had hit the sack immediately after dinner- except for Sanji, who’s still mindlessly moving around the kitchen, like he’s killing time until daybreak.

It’s a measure of how exhausted Sanji must be that he barely even bristles at the insult, only blinks a little and glances over at Zoro. Even with his stupid bangs hiding his face, the sleeplessness is still plain to see in his visible eye. “Hm?” He blinks again, then says, “Oh. It’s you.”

“Why are you still awake?” Zoro asks again, because he still hasn’t got an answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sanji says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. “So I came up here to…” he trails off, makes a vague gesture at the pot bubbling on the stove. “It’s fine. I’m not even tired. I’m used to waking up early, for the breakfast crowd, so.”

There’s a lot of retorts hovering on Zoro’s tongue, but he bites them all back and just says, “Fuck that,” and reaches out and grabs Sanji by the wrist and drags him out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.

“Jackass, what are you- let go of me- what the fuck, I said I’m fine- at least let me turn off the stove-” (Zoro does grant that one. Wouldn’t do for the kitchen to burn down.)

He’s probably lucky Sanji is so out of it, he muses as he hauls the cook belowdecks to the sleeping quarters- if not, he probably would have taken at least one bone-shattering kick to the skull by now. But then again, if Sanji wasn’t dead on his feet (and wasn’t a fucking idiot), Zoro wouldn’t be having to do this in the first place. They’ve just entered the most dangerous sea in the world. They need to get their sleep when they can get it so they’ll be ready for trouble when it comes.

As usual, the shared bedroom is piled with pillows and slightly ragged blankets, transforming it into a comfortable little nest. Luffy is sleeping half-propped up against one of the walls, Nami napping with her head on his lap, and Sanji’s cursing goes quiet so as to not wake her up as soon as Zoro tows him inside, which Zoro is grateful for. It was starting to get kind of repetitive.

He drops Sanji down directly next to Luffy, half on top of him, and nods to himself when a rubber arm almost immediately tightens around the cook’s chest, gently but firmly trapping him in place, and the captain snuggles up against Sanji’s side in his sleep.

Sanji glares up at him and hisses, “I hate you,” or tries to, but he interrupts himself in the middle of the sentence with a yawn, which diminishes the impact considerably.

“Yeah, yeah.” Zoro rolls his eyes and then drops down on Sanji’s other side, letting his head flop onto Sanji’s shoulder and letting his eyes slide shut. “Just go to sleep.”

It goes like this: Robin doesn’t touch people.

It takes a couple days for Chopper to notice, because she does tickle his sides and ruffle his ears, but… she only ever does that with the false hands she creates with her devil fruit, the ones that dissolve into cherry blossoms that tickle his nose. She keeps her real hands close, only touches out of necessity, never when she doesn’t need to, and even then it’s always fleeting.

And she sleeps apart from everyone else, too.

Theoretically, Chopper knows, there’s a boys’ room and a girls’ room. In practice, though, there’s really one room for everybody, and another room where Robin sleeps and Nami changes and keeps her things.

(He asks Zoro, one of the first nights, why Nami often doesn’t sleep in the girls’ room, why the crew instead sleeps all piled up and tangled together when he hasn’t ever heard of humans doing that before. Zoro just shrugs in response. “It’s a comfort,” he says simply. “Won’t air out secrets that aren’t mine, but people don’t become pirates just for fun. Most of us have trouble sleeping.”)

Chopper finds Zoro is right. He likes sleeping together with the others. It’s just easier, when he’s got Luffy’s fingers tangled in his fur and Usopp’s head pillowed on his side, to stop the Doctor’s last words from echoing in his head.

(Luffy also declares him the second-best pillow on the crew, after only Zoro, which absolutely doesn’t make him happy at all.)

It happens just after Skypiea, when they’re all still just beginning to recover, sheltered in the sky while they heal from the battle against the mad god. Robin easily concedes when Chopper asks her to come to the sickbay so he can check for lasting damage from the lightning bolt, and lies down on the cot to let him check her ears, her eyes, her heartbeat.

He’s finished his checkup (no apparent lasting problems, miraculously) and is noting down her baselines in his notebook for future reference when he glances up and realizes she’s slipped into slumber, her eyes closed and her breaths slow. It’s not a surprise; they’re all exhausted.

But… maybe it’s because Chopper still doesn’t have that much real experience with humans, but he can’t help but think the way Robin is sleeping doesn’t look all that restful. She’s kind of curled up, her arms folded up against her chest, fingers digging into her forearms tight enough to bruise.

Zoro’s voice rings in his ears. It’s a comfort. People don’t become pirates just for fun.

He slips down from his stool and shifts into his full reindeer form, and carefully climbs up onto the narrow cot beside her, folding his legs up underneath him and letting his side press against her back. He can feel the miniscule trembles running through her body, tight with tension.

He rests his head on the pillow next to hers and closes his eyes, and slowly, slowly, she stills, relaxing into his side, her tremors calming little by little.

He thinks he hears her murmur something that might be, “Thank you, Doctor-san,” just before he drifts off to sleep, too.

It goes like this: It’s a comfort.

They’re all hurting after Enies Lobby, all aching and grieving and above all tired, a bone-deep weariness borne of running and fighting and crying and nearly dying over and over again. They can barely stay on their feet for the boat ride back to Water Seven. Robin can’t seem to stop smiling, even through the painful abrasions around her wrists and the tear tracks drying on her cheeks and the ache that digs down to her bones.

Iceberg gives them a whole suite of rooms to use in Galley-La’s temporary headquarters, all comfortable, all with their own big soft beds to sleep in. He means well, she’s certain, but he just doesn’t know how the Strawhat Pirates do things. But, then, there’s nobody else who does things quite like them.

Iceberg is barely out the door before Robin is folding her arms across her chest, ferrying mattresses and bedding and pillows and comforters into the main lounge, gathering them into a piled-up nest of comfort. The shared bedroom on the Going Merry had been outfitted much the same, she remembers, and the warmth of familiarity is the least she can offer them after all they’ve given her.

(Later, Franky will see this, and make a bed big enough to hold all of them, soft and comfortable and warm; but for now, they’re all safe and all alive, and so pillows on the floor are plenty.)

They don’t lie down so much as they all fall together at once in a tangle of limbs and pillows, now that the adrenaline has long since faded away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Robin finds herself with her head on Nami’s chest and one of Luffy’s arms slung across her shoulders, and Chopper cuddled against her stomach.

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to melt into the embrace, to let go of the constant vigilant caution that’s kept her alive for so long, but she trusts these people, like she’s never trusted anyone in her life. She was ready to die for them, and they responded by telling her to live for them instead, and remembering that fills her heart with such soft fondness it nearly hurts.

But they’re not quite all together. Not yet.

She shifts to cross her arms again, careful not to disturb any of the crewmates already fast asleep around and on top of her, and lets an arm blossom from a doorframe in the hall outside to catch Usopp by the collar before he can slip away. She hears his yelp of surprise from just outside the door, quickly muffled, and smiles to herself.

A moment later, he peers inside, hiding behind the mostly-closed door. She meets his eyes and smiles with all the gratitude she can’t begin to put into words, and nods towards an unused mattress and pillow at her side. He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncertain, caught between anxiety and hope, so she takes his hand in a succession of hers and tugs him over. He stumbles, but doesn’t resist, and she can see the exhaustion in him when he practically topples over onto the mattress.

Within minutes, he’s asleep too, face buried in the pillow, snoring softly, one warm hand still clasped in Robin’s. She knows he still has things to work out with Luffy, with the rest of the crew, and there’ll be time for that later. Right now, though, they’re alive, and she’s free, and it’s time to rest.

She falls asleep smiling for the first time in years.

It goes like this: Luffy can’t sleep alone.

So Rusukaina is… it’s hard. He’s not alone, Rayleigh’s there, and sometimes Hancock and the others visit and let him hug them as long as he wants, and that’s nice, but it’s not the same, not really. He misses his crew, misses Zoro’s solid warmth and the fluffy cushion of Usopp’s hair and the fleecy softness of Chopper’s fur and Robin’s low, rhythmic breathing.

(He’s never slept better than when he was seven, piled together with Ace and Sabo and some ratty stolen blankets on the rough-hewn floor of their treehouse, with the crickets singing outside and the stars shining bright through the window.)

(But now there’s no Ace and Sabo, not ever again, and no crew to keep him warm and chase away the nightmares in their absence, and so he doesn’t sleep well.)

He fights through it, because that’s what he always does, what he’s always done- press through. He has to get stronger for the people he has left.

Going back to the Sunny is nothing less than going home.

When night comes, they’re deep underwater, en route to Fishman Island, the sunlit waters of the surface long since gone. Past the railings of the Sunny, the world is nearly pitch black, lit only by the occasional bioluminescent creature wriggling past.

Luffy couldn’t care less, because right here and right now, the Sunny is the world, and nothing past their bubble of light and warmth and safety matters at all. He grins, and throws his arms out to drag his whole crew together into a messy pile in the middle of the deck- Sanji swears and Chopper shrieks and so does Nami, but not one of them tries to dodge- before flopping into the midst of the chaos himself.

He winds up sprawled half on Brook and half on Sanji, who complains but doesn’t kick him off, his head on Robin’s thigh and his arms tangled through all of them, holding on tight to every member of his crew, the most important treasures in the world, the touch promising him they’re there, really there.

He’s not letting go of any of them, not again, not ever.

He’s reaching the crown with all of them or not at all.

Someone runs a hand through his hair, and it feels nice. Someone says, “Get some sleep, captain. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

He knows they will be.

#opfic #my writing #one piece #opfanfic #luffy #roronoa zoro #sanji #nami #usopp #nico robin #chopper #strawhat pirates

340 notes · View notes

whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

Text

Tuesday 24 July 1838

4 ¾

Charles called us – fine morning – ready in ¾ hour – I had ordered breakfast (café au lait) for A- only .:. I merely took a mouthful or 2 of bread and drank a little water meaning to breakfast on the mountain chez le beau frère de Charles – thankful afterwards that A- had breakfasted odd at 6 10 all clear – the views of this valleys and mountains charming – but in about ½ hour some little clouds passing before us that we should probably come into by and by – in the skirts of them for ¼ hour or 20 minutes and no view till they began to clear off just on our reaching the Plateau de [Marborisa] at 7 33 where we found the man from Gèdre who is to be my guide to the Vignemale waiting for us – a gentleman a few years ago employed him to find the way to the top of this mountain inaccessible on this (the French) side – whether the gentleman was killed in the revolution or what has become of him, the man does not know but he paid him 125fr. on his having discovered the way in doing which the man and his companion who crossed a glacier in the ascent were very nearly lost in a crevasse – the man shewed a little mark or 2 on his hand of hurts then received – but the way he discovered is easy – no glacier to cross, and very little snow to cross – not more difficult than the ascent of Mt. Perdu – 8 hours walking from the last cabane but on Charles’ telling him I was a good walker the man said it would take 6 hours from the last cabane which cabane is 4 hours ride from Gavarnie in the vallée d’Ossonne – the descent upon Boucheron 6 hours – and 6 hours de marche from Boucheron to Penticouse – the descent upon Penticouse 6 hours – For taking us (myself and Charles) to the top of the pic the man asked 30fr. – I said I had been thinking of 20/. to which the man agreed at once I being to find his nourriture (not much) and give him something on reaching the top, to drink my health with – agreed – (said nothing but mean to give him 5fr. piece) – the man to meet us at Gavarnie this evening and all 3 to sleep at the Cabane leaving A- to sleep at Gavarnie and meet me and Charles at Bouchero at 3pm tomorrow – all settling took about 10 minutes or more .:. it was about 7 ¾ when we were off again – had had a steepish ascent so far ‘une montée rude’ said Charles – 2 hours more of ascent before we reached the cabane at [Poyerabie] at 9 ¾ but it had been clear since leaving the Plateau de Marborisa, and sunny, and the morning delightful – en passant, had had a moments’ peep at the Chapelle de Héas – but we left the cascade de Gloriette at a little distance (left) saw nothing of it – or the pretty wooded slope down into the valley de Héas and this upper part of the valley d’Estaubé, after reading of M. Chausenques’ preferring the valley d’ Estaubé to every other valley of the Pyrenees to pass 2 or 3 weeks in disappoints me? I observed to A- that the meadows looked like English grass plots – the hay just what would come off an English grass plot after 2 or 3 weeks from the last mowing – several peasants mowing and busy in their hay – but very few granges – 2 fine large flocks of sheep on the opposite side the valley farther on – the pasturage let to strangers to people from near Tarbes – Thankful again and again that A- had breakfasted – I began to feel the want of mine – the cabane here (at [Poyerabie]) in the style of that at [Golles] (on the ascent to Mt. Perdu) – but instead of being roofed by impending rock, all built up with stone and roofed with wooded spars and sods – about 4ft. high within, and long enough and broad enough for the five bergers to sit and churn in (shake their sheep-skin-bags with the milk in them till the butter forms) and to lie down in – perhaps 9 or 10 ft. long and 6ft. bread within § - Charles asked if I would have pâte – yes! would taste it – a little of dead dried grass gathered from the mountain side served to light the little fire of jumper roots and branches which smelt quite fragrant while burning – a largeish pan full of crème (it seemed like one butter milk) with [Q.S.] of Indian corn flour and a little salt was set to boil slowly, and in an hour the pâte was ready – a thick porridge – I should have thought they had put some grease (as in the Gollis soup) in it, if they had not assured me to the contrary – it tasted strong – but really very tolerable – A-liked it – I cautioned her not to eat much saying it was strong – Charles thought it could not hurt anybody – the bergers have no meat – but bread and milk for breakfast and supper and pâte at noon – I did not take much but more as I found afterwards than my stomach would bear – had before eaten some bread (which had luckily been put into A-‘s basket at home to fill up with) and drunk a little old milk (skimmed – petit lait) and I now ate up the bread with butter just fresh churned from the sheep-skin bag, and had also some of the shepherd s’ bread (wheat ½ rue) and made a good breakfast at 11 – having had plenty of time to look about me – the entrance

§ to the cabane about 3ft. high and 2ft. or not so much wide the little fire-place close to it in the south end of the place towards les murailles d’Estaubé

SH:7/ML/E/21/0151

opposite the little fireplace at the south end a little open hole in the north end wall perhaps about a foot square or not so much for the light let in by it and by the door hole or rather entrance hole for no door not enough to shew the countenances of the 2 bergers sitting at a. and b. churning – the middle part the hollow between the 2 bancs was covered with the capes of the bergers and so dark I could distinguish nothing even after I had sat a minute or 2 in the cabin shewing the men my clasp knife which interested them much – but the smoke affected my eyes and sent me out to A- sitting on the sunny walled up (stones and mud) banc at the south outside end of the cabane in which the present 5 bergers had lived 3 seasons – but would be away on the mont de Bergons on the 1st of next month the pacage ici being let aux étrangers from that day – Mt. Perdu from here like a little mammelon [mamelon] on the top of the Marboré – can go by the valley de Cambiel to the vale d’Aure on horseback (Charles’s beau frère, married his wifes’ sister, would be our guide with Charles) but not by the pont de Canaa could only go on foot by the Pont de Canaa – cannot see this port from here – it is at the extremity of the valley de Héas, and hid from here by the mass of mountain parting the 2 valleys (of Héas and Estaubé) could go from here on horseback by the Pont de Pinède, but could not get the horses down on the Spanish side – From the P. de Pinède, Port Vieux, and P. de la Canaa one descends upon Notre dame de Pinède (chapel) – sitting on the outside banc of the cabane, en face des murailles d’Estaubé, le cylindre forms the right end of the cirque; about 1/3 from that a brêche laisse voir la neige sur le versant Septentrionale du Mt. P- and a glacier reaching down to the bottom of the brêche § (i.e. about midway the whole height of the cirque or murailles and about the level of the Pont de Pinède) and Mt. Perdu itself does not appear from here higher than the rest of the cirque, or murailles – glittering cone of snow a mere filling up the end of the brêche – at 1/3 farther the Pont de Pinède, a brêche seeming about twice the breadth of the other brêche – and at 1/3 farther the cirque or murailles terminates in a 2 pointed (rather obtuse-pointed) conical mass of rock and another brêche seeming about ½ the depth of the other brêches, wider than the 1st and less wide than the 2nd, and this last forms the Port Vieux – the left side of this last brêche being formed by the rocky mountain (not lower than the right side 2 pointed mass) that in a long line of mountain which almost immediately from the Port Vieux becomes more or less striped with lines of green – separates our valley of Estaubé from that of the Héas - §Ramond escaladé (got up) this glacier steep as it is, but his trouble in vain, Mt. P- being quite inaccessible de ce côté – Spanish smugglers have come along the foot Mt. P- and have descended this glacier –

sometime before arriving at the cabane (from the plateau de Marborisa) perhaps about ½ way Charles pointed out the place near the gave where the man was shot by a Spaniard during the 1st French revolution in the evening of the same day, and with a ball in the forehead in the same place respectfully in which he the man had shot a ball into the forehead of the virgin Notre dame at Héas, in the morning! –

Delighted with our view from the cabane of the murailles (or cirque) d’Estaubé – off from the cabane at 11 50 – our views of Mt. P- now clear, now tipped or streaked with cloud, very fine – to me very interesting, as we climbed up from the cabane higher and higher over l’herbe glissante, or rough slippery rock on which my own feet were scarcely much more those of my little horse (mare) but Charles would make me ride as well as A- who said nothing but went on very quietly – for said Charles you will have plenty to do yet – it was always agreed to take Charles’ beau frère as guide from the cabane but Charles had luckily taken also another of the bergers who, as he said at 1st, had merely gone because he chose to walk a little of the way with us – but a la suite, I know not what we should have done without him – at 12 ¾ stopped 10 minutes for the 2 guides and our 2 bergers to sit down, and wet their lips – (no wonder – la montée était bien rude) – and here the Marboré just in sight – several specimens of contorted rock here – and on the side of the Piméné up to the green just under the Pic – after a desperately hard [?] of it for the horses, alighted at 1 – my horse turned loose and A-‘s and the baggage given in charge of the berger and Charles’s beau frère mounting with us to carry A-‘s basket and cloak and my light tartan ditto and the 2 guides, one on each side of A-, got her on very nicely, I following – we had walked or climbed about 10 minutes or ¼ before and were halting on a little bit of level when my horse cam frisking up to us having scrambled up somehow – the opportunity too good to be lost – A- was mounted – the bridle had been taken off to let the animal graze but the halter was round its neck – and A- literally rode to within a very short distance of the Petite Pic – for we arrived there at 1 48 and out of the 48 minutes from the time of alighting at 1 she had only walked 18 minutes a few stone rudely piled together to mark the Petit to which we had had about ¼ hour of scramble up the bare, scaly (argillo [argile] schisteuse) rock with here and there little while saxifrage and a very pretty little pink flower and pencil geranium etc. growing on the little hedges – very fine, magnificent view from the petite pic of the Marboré, the cirque de Gavarnie and all the sea snow-spotted of mountain tops around, and here we sat down - I saw that A-‘s head would not, even if her legs would, carry her much higher; for the crête was indeed a crête a giddy narrow ridge along which I felt that my own head in its then aching state would not be trop forte – my breakfast had disagreed with me and I had had more or less of bilious head-ache for the last couple of hours – advised A-‘s not going higher and she willingly took my advice, and we left Pierre with her, and in seven minutes at 1 58 had reached the smutty – it was a glorious sight to look upon – a noble congregation of mountain tops – Vignemale and its glacier the largest in the Pyrenees – the Marboré and its cirque, and its cascade – but the pic d’Astazou hid the glacier-vallon of its source, and thus shut out 1/3 (400ft.) of its fall – Mt. Perdu shewed his head quite clear and towering Spanish mountains formed a fine background on each side the Marboré – the Pont de Bouchero seemed easy – snow lying near the top; but Charles said it did reach the road and A- would get on well tomorrow – the higher valley of Las Espessières seemed parallel with the valley of the P. de Bouchero – Charles pointed out the spot where lay the Cabane at which we were to sleep

SH:7/ML/E/21/0152

tonight, and the 2 pointed hill or lower mountain at the foot of which we were gain the Spanish side of the Vignemale evidently inaccessible from the French side – the 2 men lost 2 years, were lost near the foot of the Glacier (on their way from Cautertz [Cauterets]) – Poor Charles he seems not particularly anxious for the montée – sure we shall have plenty to do – and not sure of the weather – began to doubt what the Gèdre said about the facility of getting up – would like to consult the other man – thought we could hardly get to the cabane tonight– I merely said nous verrons – clouds were already in the distance over Tarbes and the mountains beyond Argeles [Argèles] – the fine clear on the summit had rather relived my head, so that I got down again in 7 minutes better than I had got up – not difficult climbing but so precipitous my head would scarcely carry me – Charles walked down and bade me to do the same which I did in fact he taking hold of my hand saying n’ayez pas peur – marches hardiement [hardiment] – as we stopt cautiously from ledge to ledge – but on getting back to A-, and looking up again, I felt as if I could not tell how we had managed to get up – the crête is so narrow one cannot go along it without seeing down the precipice on each side – poor A- turned her head away and could not bear to see us come down – the grand pic seems a cone with just one ridgy line 4 or 5 ft. or less broad so ledgy that one get up – the area at the top is very small indeed rather oval – perhaps 6 or 7 yards the smaller diameter and 10 or 11 the larger – if so much – the whole of the cone or pic quite bare –

on the Piméné up to the little pic

Thrift

pencil geranium

Daisies

Gentinella

centaury? or a little saxifrage?

little pink flowers the whole plant not growing on the little narrow ledges of the grand pic

Azalea procumbus Wednesday 12 September (vide 4 September)

on the [Coumélie]

lis Martagon

Iris

jumper

rhododendron ferrugineum

aconite

garance sauvage? the root good for toothache

anisette in the wood close above the road from Gèdre to St. Sauveur

Left the high pic at 2 25 Friday 27 July back again to A- at 2 32 she had the yolk of a hardboiled egg and we sat looking about us till 3 – the princess! de la Moscowa had been got up to the grand pic – but A-‘s head could hardly bear the petit pic – and indeed the little ridge or crête we sat upon was not more than a few feet (5 or 6ft.) board but the grand pic above the mass of mountain we had ascended below, and the 3 men standing on one side a lower ledge towards the cirque de Gavarnie (west) and on the other the precipice being rather less perpendicular, we sat comfortably – off on our way down again at 3 A- between the 2 guides and getting on very slowly, her head evidently not stronger than the occasion required – at 3 18 reached the place where A- had dismounted we had sent one of the bergers round with the horses to meet us down below on the montagne d’allanz and we had a steep, rough, shingly rocky, untracked scramble down A- getting on slowly till about 3 ¾ when after a scramble down an arête of rock (a wall) we were obliged to cross a piece of steep slippery snow which took us 10 minutes or ¼ hour A- still between her 2 guides and apparently hardly able, from fright or fatigue or both, to drag one foot after the other, or I think we should have passed this only bit of snow in 5 or 6 minutes – dragged on poor A- about ¼ hour farther to warm her feet till 4 20 and she then sat down on a piece of rock, and had a couple of little humps of sugar steeped in brandy which seemed to refresh her – we sat down again at 4 40 but here we had l’herbe glissante – my sick headache which had latterly been very bad here relived itself and as I lay down at a yard or 2 distance from A- my stomach rid itself of the pâte without anybodys’ knowing anything about it till I told A- I felt relived – it was 5 10 before we got to the horses and then a good deal of cloudiness striped (in striped) across the pic d’Astazou and towards the cirque de Gavarnie – we were only just up in time – A- mounted but got off two or 3 times afterwards and walked very well – I walked all the way back till about 10 minutes from the Inn at Gavarnie where we arrived at 7 I more tired from sickness and headache than anything else – the Inn full – but on my saying we must go to Gèdre, the people seemed determined to exert themselves – we dined as I proposed in the garret, and I proposed sleeping there but A- thought it would be close, and some country people turned out of the 4 bedded room over the kitchen and I was comfortable enough tho’ there was about a board-floor between the kitchen and us and every sound was heard – dinner about 7 ½ - A- had a veal cutlet and bread and butter and cheese – I a little weak brandy and water and then a basin of boiled milk and dry bread with a little butter – Charles came at 7 ¼ to say the Vignemale guide was come – Charles afraid of the cloudiness and advised waiting for moonlight – so did A- too late at any rate to go to the cabin tonight and without sleeping there could not possibly reach the summit of the Vignemale in time - .:. sent word by Charles that I should probably go to the Vignemale a few days hence, 10 days or a week, sooner or later and would let the man know – considering the terms and all that to be fixed – but that if it should happen that I did not go at all, I would give the man a 5fr. piece for the trouble he had already had – this last part of the story Charles thought very handsome, and seemed pleased saying that by this means I was sure of always being attended to – came to our room at 8 ½ - very fine day

2 notes · View notes