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loonymarshian · 9 months ago

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Always By Your Side

Day 8 of #BG3FicFeb - "It will be okay as long as we're together" A bit of a re-write of the end of the game, Astarion struggles as he is finally forced to confront the rest of his life in the shadows, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

Sorry ya'll, I skipped day 7, was struggling to come up with any inspiration from the prompt. Also, don't worry, part 2 of the day 6 prompt is coming, I've just decided to put it on the backburner a bit so I can focus on the daily prompts more.

The adventure was over, the netherbrain defeated. Tragedy and her companions had destroyed the tadpoles that had infected their minds all this time, and been named the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. But this was not a wholly happy ending. After the brain’s defeat, the party had gathered on the docks to watch the sunrise. They’d forgotten, for a moment, that one of them was no longer welcome in the light of day. As the sun rose over the horizon, Astarion had begun to burn, the tadpole no longer protecting him from the curses of his vampiric nature. He’d run for cover, but just as Tragedy had been about to rush after him, Karlach had collapsed, her engine finally reaching its limits. The necromancer had been forced to remain behind, to convince Karlach to return to Avernus with Wyll. Her fellow tiefling had been through too much, was loved too much, for her to die now. But through all that, Tragedy’s mind was flooded with anxiety for her love. She couldn’t bear to leave him alone out there, but convincing Karlach to live had been far more urgent than following the vampire.

As soon as she had safely seen Wyll and Karlach off, Tragedy rushed off on her own, not even taking the time to say goodbye to her remaining companions. She knew they would understand. The only thing that mattered to her was finding Astarion as she ran around the docks, praying to every god who might be listening that he had found somewhere safe to hide. The tiefling’s heart didn’t slow until she finally spotted the vampire’s familiar white hair, his form huddled in the shadows cast by a large stack of crates.

Astarion had made himself as small as possible. His face was buried in his knees, his arms wrapped around his shins. Even from 20 feet away, Tragedy could see him shaking. Tears sprang to the necromancer’s eyes as she rushed over to the man she loved. Wordlessly, she sat down beside him and pulled him into her arms, encouraging him to cry on her shoulder instead. He did so without a fight, leaning his full weight into her side as his form shuddered with sobs. Tragedy didn’t know how long they sat there before Astarion exhausted himself.

“I thought I would be okay.” Astarion’s voice was quiet and hoarse as he mumbled into his lover’s chest. “I thought I was prepared to lose the sun. I didn’t realise it would be so hard. I’m sorry.”

Tragedy held Astarion tighter, her cheek resting on the top of his head. “Don’t be sorry, love. Of course this is hard. But I’m here. You don’t have to face this alone.”

The sun had fully risen by now, and it was starting to encroach on the shadows the couple occupied. Thankfully, Tragedy was pretty sure she still had enough energy left to cast Dimension Door. All she needed was to find a safe space they could move to within the spell’s range. Glancing up, she spotted the bow of a ship jutting over the docks. The Blushing Mermaid. They should be safe there for the rest of the day, especially if Captain Grisly was willing to let them hide in Ethel’s lair.

“Hey, Astarion? I’m going to cast Dimension Door to take us to the ‘Maid, okay? We can’t stay here.”

At that, the vampire finally pulled away from Tragedy’s embrace, glancing up at the tavern above, and the shadows surrounding them, noticeably smaller than they had been when he’d arrived. He reached up to wipe away his tears, then took his lover’s hand and nodded, ready.

Pulling Astarion to his feet with her, Tragedy closed her eyes and conjured an image in her mind of the interior of the Blushing Mermaid, specifically the main upstairs space where the curtains were always drawn so there was no risk of landing in a patch of sunlight. She whispered the verbal component of the spell, and felt as the Weave wrapped around her and her love, blanketing them in darkness for a moment before they found themselves within the dark interior of the Blushing Mermaid. The tiefling made sure Astarion was comfortably situated at a table in the darkest corner of the room, before hurrying downstairs to get drinks. If there were ever a time for day-drinking, she figured, it was now.

~o~

A bottle of wine later, Astarion seemed much more himself. The ‘Maid was never empty, even at noon, and the rogue had started distracting himself by making snide comments about the rest of the patrons. Tragedy was joining in of course, partly because it seemed to be keeping Astarion in good spirits for the moment, but she had to admit, people-watching like this was entertaining. It wasn’t until a gnome walked into the room wearing a hideous red beret that did not at all match his purple attire, and Astarion didn’t respond to her pointing it out, that Tragedy realised he had slipped into melancholy once more.

The tiefling reached across the table to hold her lover’s hand, both their wine glasses abandoned.

“Is everything okay, love?” She squeezed Astarion’s hand in her grip reassuringly, wanting to remind him that he wasn’t alone, and she was here to listen.

Astarion met Tragedy’s eyes just briefly, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Just thinking about what comes next. Do you have any plans?”

The question confused Tragedy. The way he asked made it sound like he thought their plans for the future wouldn’t involve each other. She hadn’t really thought about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she did know one thing - whatever life was going to bring, she wanted to share it with this man. They’d gone through so much together in such a short time, grown together in ways she never would have expected. She loved him, and she would do anything to make him sure of that.

“I suppose we’ll have to start looking for a way for you to walk in the sun again,” she said, full of confidence. She may not have been a powerful enough wizard to attract the attention of Mystra herself, but that didn’t mean she was without power and skill. If there was any magic out there that could cure vampirism, or grant a vampire immunity to the sun’s rays, she would find it. And if there wasn’t anything for that specifically, she would dedicate the rest of her life to mastering Wish, a legendary spell that could grant an arcane caster anything they Wished for.

The declaration seemed to stun Astarion, his eyes wide and his body frozen. It took him a moment to thaw out, but when he did, his insecurity was painted clearly across his face. By now, Tragedy was pretty sure she understood what was going on in his mind. For 200 years, Astarion had been abused, his body used as a tool over and over again to lure victims back for his master, Cazador. He’d never known real love, romantic or otherwise. So, now that the tadpoles were gone and there was no outside influence keeping them together, Astarion was half-convinced that she would want to leave him.

“Really?” His question came out in a whisper at first, before he cleared his throat and continued at a higher volume. “Are you sure? Is this,” the vampire gestured between them with his free hand, “what you want?”

“It is. Whatever we’ll face in our futures, I want to face it together. I love you, Astarion.” Tragedy gripped his hand tighter, trying to infuse all her love and conviction into that one touch, this one look.

Astarion finally relaxed, his expression softening into a relieved smile at her response. “Good. Because, selfless as I am, I really didn’t want to let you go.”

Reaching over the small table with his free hand, Astarion cupped Tragedy’s cheek and pulled her into a sweet, slow kiss.

This was the end of one adventure, but their lives together had just begun.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3ficfeb #astarion/tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #ya'll have no idea how much soft astarion means to me #i'll do my best to write some of his signature sass later #but for now you're getting soft astarion because i said so #i wish i could run after astarion at the end #it makes me so sad to see him run off alone #someone get this man a million hugs

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nickyroethemarinebiologist · 10 months ago

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Hoorayy chapter five!!!!! Just about a third of the way through now, which is easily further than I have ever made it through writing before. I will admit I am not terribly proud of this one. However it is here, and so I will share it, and hope you might like it a little more than I do :)

Chapter V

The covert in Plymouth laid high upon the stony beaches of England’s south coast, looking out on the channel; a fellow standing atop the very edges of the cliffs might endeavour to see the beginnings of the Atlantic, where the grey waters familiar to England joined the rolling, deep blue swells of the ocean, mighty and furious in all her billowing prowess.

The cliffs were somewhat slanted and crumbling with recent rockslides, and topped with rolling pastures of thick, clumping masses of peat, brown against the green; these served in some part to conceal the beginnings of the covert, some ways lower inland, where the battlements were nigh invisible from such a way upwards. A dragon and his handler might miss it completely if he neglected to search the hills afoot; Linsey did have to admit, in circling curiously upon Timor’s back, it was an impressive means of deception; he might have missed it wholly himself if Franklin had not ensured to guide him.

The covert itself was somewhat sprawling, and rather crude in nature, built up within and around the remains of an old stone fortification and comprising largely of thick canvas tents. These were scattered about in a disorderly manner, and what with their differing sizes, and the few about the outskirts which edged upon the fringes of the cliffs, it presented a rather meandering appearance; Linsey likened it to the sprawl of the old port towns he frequented in sailing, far off on the coasts of the Caribbean.

He ignored the immediate weight that settled in his breast—such endeavours were painfully impassable now—and turned to heed Franklin’s call; the aviator had dipped below Timor, who was somewhat distracted in sweeping about the cliffs, and now signalled curiously; Timor swept down and craned his head inquisitively over the grounds, and after a brief perplexity Linsey found what he was indicating: a wide berth towards the middle of the covert, partially walled on one side by a wood fence, largely fallen in and leaning dangerously. Sprawled on the stones was a young dragon of a pleasant pale colour, with a long, spined tail curled about and over itself; beside were two smaller breeds, compact and beaky, of scales in impressive shades of grey and black and crimson, and smoke curling about their nostrils in sleep.

Franklin directed them to land in this courtyard, which was not so much a courtyard but a rather wide clearing, with the remnants of large cobbles protruding in clusters about the soil. Timor nosed at these curiously and sniffed the air, then shook out his head in displeasure; the spines upon his neck clattered, and Linsey was made to brace in the harness, jostled somewhat by the motion.

Linsey dismounted and stood aside in watching the proceedings of the covert, unable to keep from glancing curiously about at the sleeping dragons, and the couriers sweeping this way and that. He kept a hand upon Timor’s snout, to offer the dragon a small comfort as much as calm his own treacherous nerves; his heart fluttered in his breast, an uncomfortably familiar notion, like the first change in the air before an ocean storm.

‘Oh, what are those?’ said Timor; he had raised his head inquisitively, looking off to the side of the grounds. Linsey followed to a small flock of dragons which could be no bigger than his palm, wheeling about in great arcs over the cobbles. Occasionally they skirted too close to the sleeping dragons; the largest flicked its spiny tail and snorted loudly, and then all went away again, skipping to land momentarily upon the stones before sweeping upwards in a dark mass of little wings.

‘They are Slights, I believe.’ Linsey said. He watched the little dragons skip in flocks about the grounds, with hides flashing grey and brown in the lowering sunlight, rallying intermittently with the sparrows and shorebirds; he smiled a little in remembering a rather similar display above the pastures about his home in childhood.

‘You would be quite right. They are lovely creatures, rather, but wholly feral; there isn’t much use in taming a beast so small.’ Franklin had come upon them without notice; he smiled in watching the Slights, while Linsey fixed his expression in false apathy. ‘They fly up around the spring, we think it is our dragons; they must like the company.’

‘Do they have names?’ Timor asked, tilting his head in watching. ‘I think I might like to meet one.’

‘No, fellow, they cannot talk, unless I find myself mistaken,’ Franklin said kindly; he turned to Linsey and indicated one of the larger tents, a small ways inland. ‘Come, you might like to meet our commander; I assume he will be wanting to speak with you. Caritas will keep company with Timor, we’ll only be a short while.’

Linsey was not a little discomforted by this; already he was growing tired of his shepherding, and found himself dreading an introduction with the Fleet Commander, who no doubt held the Navy’s same reservation towards his piratical career. Still he nodded and allowed Franklin to lead; Timor reluctantly bid him farewell, then stretched out upon the stones and very deliberately turned his back to Caritas, who blinked large, curious eyes and nestled happily against Timor’s warm hide.

Linsey was directed through the sprawl to a large tent of thick green canvas; the entrance flaps were set half-open and glowing with quivering lantern light. ‘You mustn’t fret, he is a kind enough fellow,’ said Franklin, kindly; then he lifted the canvas and stepped inside.

The arrangement inside was much like a mess hall, rather than the grand study Linsey had anticipated, and disdained. Fellows were taking supper—great piles of steaming meat and potatoes—upon benches laid out in three rows, and sharing ample laughter between them; he noticed many wore their coats folded over their laps, or had discarded them entirely in favour of their simpler evening dress. All fell silent and turned in hearing them come in; Linsey paused at the entrance, feeling uncomfortably perceived.

The commander was at once obvious; he wore a coat of light blue wool, the standard for any aviator, but where their shoulders bore only bare fabric, his were adorned with golden epaulettes, similar in colour to the embroidery upon the collar, but rather more grand for dignity and prestige.

He rose from his seat to take Franklin’s offered hand; they shared brief respects in low voices, then the commander waved, and the watching fellows resumed their dinner and easy conversation. ‘Gentlemen,’ He said, coming over; his face was very unpleasant, and did not match his coat at all. ‘Admiral Chauncey told me you would be arriving; I am Commander Davis, I trust Captain Franklin has not disparaged my reputation?’

He stretched out a hand; it was clear he expected some show of respect, and Linsey disdained to give him one; he paused in considering the gesture, then very deliberately clasped his hands behind his back.

Davis marked this display of insolence with a raised brow; he looked to Franklin, who frowned in dismay and said, a little uncertainly, ‘Sir, this is Captain Linsey, he arrived on Timor.’

Davis nodded his recognition; he paused to inspect Linsey closely, frowning in apparent disdain. ‘The pirate,’ he said, with little of his polite friendliness prior. ‘I see your manners have not exceeded reputation.’

‘My manner is not any of your concern,’ Linsey said, neglecting to conceal his frown.

‘Hm. Well, you are a good deal older than most of our handlers, but you will do,’ Davis went on, ‘Your quarters have been set aside for you; Chauncey has kindly sent up an escort, he will accompany you about the grounds, I take it the admiral had little faith in your disposition to duty.’

Linsey was not a little dismayed to hear this proposal, which only served to diminish his already lowering mood; he found it required an effort to restrain his first response, and the second was hardly kinder, so he drew his lips to a thin line and stayed begrudgingly silent. The commander seemed to take this as consent, so nodded his satisfaction and said, ‘Very good; you may tell Timor I will need to see him flying—first light tomorrow, and we can fit him for harness. Gentlemen, that is all.’

He nodded politely to Franklin and dismissed them both, then turned abruptly on his heel, with hands clasped at his back, and resumed his supper, slipping easily into conversation with the fellows at his side.

They walked together back to the courtyard in silence, though Franklin did not seem spiteful, only puzzled by Linsey’s presumed distaste. Linsey was privately grateful for this moment of quiet, and set to wondering of the Delight, and the state of her crew; he had scarcely been a day without them, yet already he felt their absence keenly, and found it a struggle to repress an uncharitable resentment: if he were not Timor’s handler, he might have taken his liberty without reservation, and would be some long ways out upon the ocean now.

They came out to the courtyard and found Timor sprawled drowsing upon the cobbles, and any such sentiment vanished at once; Linsey woke him gently and laid his cheek against the warm hide, silently condemning himself for even entertaining the notion. Timor nuzzled back affectionately, rumbling his delight at Linsey’s safe return, which woke a sleeping Caritas; the little dragon blinked wide, sleepy eyes and yawned enormously, much to Franklin’s apparent amusement.

‘Well, Linsey, I suppose we will see you soon enough,’ he said, and smiled, reproval apparently forgotten; Caritas tottered over and chirruped in greeting him, to be patted affectionately in return, then Franklin knelt to adjust the straps of his harness, brow furrowing in a rather appealing expression of focus.

Linsey blinked at him, faintly puzzled. ‘You won’t be staying?’ he said, concealing his dismay; their journey together had not been pleasant, what with his dwelling unease, but he found himself reluctant to lose a familiar face.

‘No, no; we are not yet at liberty, I’m afraid,’ Franklin said; his smile bordered upon a grimace of mock displeasure. He unhooked the clasp of a rather large leather satchel fastened to the side of Caritas’s harness, then loaded into it a small stack of parcels, folded over and tied neatly in twine. ‘I am due for Gibraltar before the dawn, and no doubt they will send us off again, if we make good time.’

‘You are flying through the night?’ Linsey said, frowning a little.

‘Of course; in fact I prefer it, it is far quieter, and dear little Caritas will have no trouble with the dark.’ Franklin said. He climbed back up and petted Caritas fondly, earning him a delighted chirping. ‘Fair seas, Captain, I trust you will be treated kindly,’ he said, and smiled, and with a great fluttering of wings they were a quickly diminishing figure in the dusking light.

‘Linsey, are you feeling well?’ Timor said, after a moment.

Linsey paused, and realised after a brief perplexity that he had been frowning. ‘Splendid,’ he said, patting the warm nose. ‘Perfectly splendid. I have only been thinking.’

Timor nosed his shoulder, somewhat anxiously. ‘Was the commander unpleasant?’

‘Oh, very. You will have to meet him; perhaps you might have a taste for beef after all.’ Linsey said, with some great amusement. Timor tilted his head uncertainly, apparently misunderstanding him; Linsey smiled fondly and patted his snout. ‘He would like to see you flying tomorrow, at dawn, you will meet him then.’

Timor sniffed disdainfully. ‘I do not think I want to,’ he said, with a low grumble, and laid his head upon both forelegs. Linsey laughed faintly and settled against the golden hide, drawing the coat more closely about himself; for the night air was somewhat cool, despite Timor’s familiar warmth.

‘Linsey,’ Timor said then, a little sheepishly. ‘I think I am hungry.’

‘Again?’ Linsey said, amused. He smiled and stroked Timor’s neck affectionately; Timor flicked his ears and rumbled in delight. ‘I am not so sure there will be much about, but I will certainly make a go of it.’ He paused to resettle the coat upon his shoulders: it had become somewhat rumpled in flying, and his curled position at Timor’s side. ‘Will you be well by yourself?’

Timor nuzzled him affectionately and hummed his gratitude. ‘I should think so,’ he said, ‘But please be quick.’

Linsey smiled; he nodded and patted his neck in farewell, then walked out to the grounds in search of fresh meat, or perhaps a pasture of cows.

Several of the smaller tents had been opened on one side during his walk with Franklin, with the canvas rolled up smartly and tied at the peak; now they were set loose with the coming of night, and the faint amber glow of lantern light brimmed beneath the coverings. Linsey assumed these must be personal quarters, for the carpenters—responsible for the assembly and maintenance of a dragon’s harness—and the flight crews; Franklin had indicated the separate quarters for the captains prior, a smaller cluster of tents arranged in round, much closer to the cliffs, where the dragons presumably slept.

A cluster of lanterns had been set out at rather sporadic intervals, lighting the entrances to each tent and presenting an image rather like a small port town at dusk; the likeness was familiar, and warmed Linsey somewhat. He passed several tents whose flaps were drawn open; the fellows inside glanced up curiously, marking his unfamiliar face, but made no introductions, which Linsey was privately grateful for.

After nearly half an hour of searching and yet still no earnings to his labour, Linsey paused in the middle of a small round of tents, feeling a rather profound sense of misery: he had caught little rest in their movements from the harbour, and felt now a great fatigue, and rather off-balanced by solid ground, for his legs were accustomed to the motions of a ship, and ached oddly in walking.

He felt some reluctance to return empty-handed, and a great disappointment also: for several months he had been living off salt beef and sea biscuits, then the stale remnants dredged up from his old coat; he quite fancied a fresh cut of mutton himself.

There was a dim light a small way upwards: a tent with the canvas lifted on one side, and a lantern set out upon a small wooden table at the front, offering a little warmth. A strong-looking fellow was set to folding cloths inside; he had a face quite round but not unpleasant, softened with stubble, and dark hair tied smartly into a short queue.

Linsey stood watching him for a moment, with hands clasped firmly behind his back, lest they begin to fidget in his unease. He was unsure if the man had heard him come up, or whether he was ignoring him deliberately; he cleared his throat loudly so that he might catch his attention.

‘Yes, yes; I have been told, and I’ll have it done, have some patience,’ said the man, without glancing up. ‘If you might leave me alone for a moment—’

He stopped abruptly and stared, presumably registering Linsey’s unfamiliar face; his brow furrowed minutely in confusion.

‘Oh.’ He said, frowning; his brow pushed deep lines into his forehead. ‘Lieutenant Peter Malcolm, presently unassigned. Do you need something?’

‘If you might direct me to your pastures, or wherever else I should find food enough for a dragon, and for myself, that will be enough. Quick as you like.’ Linsey said, a little coldly; there had been an irritable quality he did not like in the other man’s tone. ‘He will take fish, if you have it, which I assume you must, being so close to port.’

This last remark was made more for Timor’s sake than his own, though he enjoyed his own belligerence, and condemned himself for it. Timor had become rather particular with his food, after having eaten nothing but cod and seabass for nearly six weeks, and though he could not be impartial to alternatives, least not when he was so hungry, Linsey knew he would much rather take what was familiar to him, and found little reserve in pressing for such.

‘We do not.’ Malcolm said shortly. ‘We have lamb, or cattle; and for you there will be very little, with a manner like that.’

He turned his back before Linsey could reply, occupying himself in neatly folding a pair of breeches onto a small pile, apparently having dismissed himself. Linsey paused, faintly baffled; he could not be wholly sure whether this was a deliberate show of insolence, and so waited quite awkwardly outside, largely wishing he had stayed with Timor in the courtyard instead.

Then Malcolm paused abruptly; he turned to Linsey and said, ‘How long were you at sea?’

Linsey frowned, somewhat perplexed by this sudden change in temper. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You are the pirate, are you not?’ Malcolm said, very sharply. ‘I am not a seaman, they puzzle me to no end, but I understand you will be wanting something fresh. Come, and quickly now.’ He discarded his flight dress, now folded, and brushed himself over momentarily, then waved a hand. ‘You certainly have some nerve coming up this close to dusk, mind. I shan’t be surprised if the cooks refuse to serve you; they have certainly done so before, pirate or not.’

What with Malcolm’s irritable tone and apparent lack of any restraint to effrontery, Linsey felt profoundly that he would easily rather starve until morning, if he might be freed from such unpleasant company. But he would not put Timor to such discomforts, and condemned the notion severely, so he put aside his reservations and begrudgingly allowed Malcolm to lead him out to the pastures, a little further downwards.

Malcolm picked out a rather scrawny sheep from the fields, and sent a young servant out to put it to slaughter. Then he brought out a fresh meal of mutton and roasted vegetables; this he loaded into Linsey’s arms, for which he was privately grateful for, and dragged the slaughtered sheep down to the courtyard himself, while Linsey picked at his meal in walking, feeling a great deal of his happiness restored.

Timor was waiting eagerly upon their return, with ears raised in delight and crest quivering; Malcolm flung the animal down before him and wiped his hands on a fresh cloth, grimacing in displeasure. He stood to the side while Timor feasted, keeping well clear of the mess and inspecting the dragon’s smooth hide, brow raised faintly in mild curiosity. Linsey ate quickly and loaded the remnants into Malcolm’s hands, without thanks or ceremony, as private revenge for his insolence prior; Malcolm frowned bitterly but stayed thankfully silent, and both men stood aside to watch as Timor lapped up the last of the meal and deftly licked his claws clean.

‘That was odd.’ Timor said; he sat back on his haunches and nosed curiously at the scraps of wool left strewn at his claws. ‘Are you sure there is no fish?’

‘Very sure, dear fellow, I am afraid.’ Linsey said, patting the warm nose fondly, and wiping the last leavings of blood from his harness. Timor rumbled gratefully, apparently quite satisfied; though he glared openly at Malcolm, dark pupils narrowed to slits, and nudged Linsey protectively closer against his breast.

Linsey grinned privately and petted him back into temper, faintly grateful for Timor’s seeming fondness over him; he was keenly aware of Malcolm’s presence close behind, and so gave Timor a final pat upon the neck, and turned to the lieutenant with his face set in rigid apathy.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant, that is all.’ He said, stiffly; it was a clear dismissal, and yet apparently not enough to send Malcolm off, for the lieutenant only frowned.

‘I had assumed you would need guiding to your quarters,’ he said, with a hint of belligerence; he seemed not hostile, only unendingly bitter, which Linsey considered a great slight to his repute. ‘You surely cannot hope to find them yourself, if you wandered far enough to seek me out at mine.’

‘I will make room enough here, and I won’t have you guiding me about, as though I am some miserable dog.’ Linsey said, his temper breaking loose; he glared at Malcolm savagely, and felt the colour coming into his face. ‘I am not bound by your laws nor your customs; you had better keep yourself civil, or by God I will hang you from the rigging, and you may go to the devil in my place.’

Malcolm blinked in momentary confusion; then he frowned and said, ‘If you insist, Captain, though I think you had better tend to your finery. I do not know how it is on your ship, but here in the Fleet there are certain standards you must attain, if you can manage it.’

It was now Linsey’s turn to fall silent; all the outrage went out of him at once, and he looked down at himself, faintly puzzled: his coat was somewhat rumpled, and the shirt perhaps a little too loose, but he did not feel as though he presented an undesirable image.

‘Your coat is creased,’ Malcolm said, noticing his confusion. ‘And an aviator is to keep his hair in tie; yours is loose. Perhaps you disdain to be called a dog, but I shan’t fault the fellow who made that mistake; it is not so easy to tell you apart.’

This last remark was made with little reservation, and perhaps a hint of amusement in the lieutenant’s expression; Linsey paused, put somewhat at odds by his open derision, for it was startlingly unfamiliar from the thinly veiled contempt he had received in his encounters with the Navy. He stared momentarily, feeling the angry colour rising again to his face, then was put to rest in his confusion, and said only, ‘If there are such issues with the men here, I have not seen them.’

‘No, and if I was of higher authority, I would tell them much the same.’ Malcolm said sharply, ‘It is all well going about in a mess, though you might at least have the experience to dignify it, of which you do not. If that is all, Captain?’ he added, in false courtesy, and so turned abruptly on his heel and left.

‘I do not think you look like a dog,’ said Timor afterwards, though of course he had never yet bore witness to such creatures, and was merely offering some small reassurance, which Linsey was quietly grateful for. He smiled without mirth or conviction, otherwise wholly occupied in thought, then went into the sea chest, which had been fastened to the front of Timor’s harness for their flight from Weymouth, and dug out the red silk scarf ordinarily worn beneath his hat; he took the adornments—two rings of gold, likely stolen, and a pleasant yellow stitching to match—in one hand, and tore a piece from the other end, with some difficulty. In the end Timor was made to tear it with a claw, and did so most carefully; Linsey laughed fondly at this small kindness and patted the smooth hide.

He took his hair into a short queue and tied it off with this strip, and spent a great deal of time afterwards pushing it into shape; for his hair was somewhat filthy, and matted with salt and sea air: it dealt well enough when set loose, but stiffened oddly in tie and would not sit comfortably, despite Linsey’s persistent coercion.

This unpleasant task completed, Linsey unhooked the sea chest from Timor’s harness and set it at his feet, rather dreading its awkward weight now that Grayson was not there to relieve him. He was most comfortable in sleeping at Timor’s side, feeling it his place, and so disdained to make use of his quarters, but he might at least take it as holdings for his effects.

There were two smaller dragons curled about each other on the further side of the courtyard; they had raised their head curiously in hearing his dispute with Malcolm, but now closed their eyes, and twitched faintly at the wings and tail in sleep. Linsey paused in watching them, marvelling quietly at their apparent placidity, and wishing impractically that he might have such quietude for himself, and for Timor.

‘Fellow, are you comfortable here?’ he said, turning to Timor.

Timor turned and looked down at him curiously, and Linsey said, ‘You might find a quiet spot out on the cliffs, if it suits you; I will meet you afterwards. I shan’t be long,’ he added afterwards, a quick reassurance.

Timor looked out over the cliffs, and the wide ocean far behind; his crest quivered along the curve of his neck, interest clearly caught. ‘Oh, yes please,’ he said; he nosed Linsey affectionately and went aloft, spiralling far out over the grounds with quick, sweeping wingbeats. Linsey stood watching him for a moment, feeling some quiet affection, and a great sadness also; then he righted himself and took up the sea chest, and walked out to the quarters set aside for his holdings.

With his things tucked away and covered loosely with old cloth, and the night quickly approaching, Linsey set out again across the covert, somewhat uncertainly; Timor was no longer visible overhead—presumably having landed further upwards on the cliffs, and likely already growing impatient—and in the coming dark he had some trouble picking his way through the meandering campgrounds. He found himself again in the courtyard and stood looking around, wholly at a loss, for the sleeping dragons had since departed, and he felt some great reluctance to seek directions from the other aviators, when the company prior had proved so disagreeable.

There was a shout and a great fluttering of wings overhead; Linsey turned in momentary confusion and watched as a large, trim-looking dragon landed across the courtyard: the same beast he had seen slumbering on his arrival. It had a rather long and narrow snout, like a heron’s beak, with teeth that poked a little from its mouth and small round eyes, yellow and shining in the low light. It was a long, supple thing, with a tail almost as long as the full length of its neck and body, and curling over and about the long, splayed talons as it settled itself upon the stones, humming delightfully.

It had, also, a set of spines running down the full length of its back and tail, and an impressive crest behind the head, which fanned twitchily when it glanced about; these were much the same as Timor’s, but a good deal longer, and largely laid flat or grew small and stubby around the end of the tail and in the natural space for a rider, just at the base of the neck.

The wings were rather impressive, long and wide, and tipped with black scales at the outermost edges, in some contrast to the blue and grey accents striped along the pale head; they stretched immensely, then furled quite neatly against its hide. It tucked its talons in beneath itself also, then sprawled the long tail out across the cobbles and laid its head turned back upon its flank.

The rider dismounted and petted its hide, very fondly, then turned and smiled to Linsey, something like surprise in the windswept expression. He was a little younger than Linsey, with brown hair plaited quite severely into a long queue, which gave him a rather sharper look than his softer face might have accounted for.

He came over and offered a hand, still smiling; he had a mild sort of expression, but a pleasant one, with kind brown eyes despite the lines beginning to form just beneath them.

‘Hullo,’ he said, hastily dropping the offered hand when he noted the furrow of displeasure in Linsey’s brow; the tone was not irritable but plainly confused, and strangely high, for a man of his age. ‘Have you just arrived? I take it you have not been given the rounds, if you’ll forgive me for saying so; you look lost.’

‘I am perfectly alright,’ Linsey said, a little sharply, in an attempt to escape any further introduction. He cast a glance across the courtyard; the grey dragon had one eye open in watching, and yawned enormously, showing off the long, serrated rows of teeth.

The captain blinked at him. ‘Oh! Well then, that is certainly favourable. Captain Mary Elliot, at yours.’ She said, gesturing to herself and smiling, pleasantly.

Linsey stared; she was wearing the standard aviator dress, with the usual shirts and breeches, and a neckcloth tied smartly almost up to her chin; her coat, well-kept, bore the gold trimmings of a captain, though Linsey had to look twice to be certain. With her hair pulled back so tightly she did look laddish, along with the clothes clearly tailored for another fellow and then adjusted hastily to fit; his mistake had not been unnatural.

Her presence there at all baffled him, more so than the startling appearance of her male dress and captain’s coat; he would not have a woman aboard his ship, the men would likely throw fits and fall into disarray, for it was well-known among sailors and pirates alike that such a presence would certainly bring foul fortune to their vessels; the notion sickened Linsey somewhat, and he found himself frowning a little. He could not imagine why the Fleet would put a woman to charge of such an impressive beast—or any beast at all. Perhaps, he reasoned silently, the aviators were not so tied to the stiff formality of their fellows in the Navy after all; or perhaps this captain had found herself in rather similar circumstances to he and Timor, and only happened upon her dragon, and the resulting duty, by chance.

‘Are you looking for the captains’ round?’ Elliot said, with a little less warmth; evidently she had noticed Linsey’s agitation, and was seemingly disheartened by it. ‘I am just going; we might fly you over, if you are having trouble, dear Fancy will manage.’

Linsey had halted in astonishment; now he fell back automatically on rebuke, and condemned her rather more harshly than he meant to; he snapped, ‘No, I am a pirate, not a fool; I am damned sure I can find my way about.’

‘A pirate? How strange.’ Elliot said, with brow furrowed somewhat; she paused to inspect Linsey more closely, perhaps marking the matting of his hair, and his work-roughened skin. Linsey passed a hand over his face subconsciously, feeling awkwardly perceived, in a rather more uncomfortable way than he had at the mess hall; he felt the stubble upon his jaw, and the faint filth dusting his cheeks, and realised he must be presenting a rather rotten image—not so much a slight to himself, for there were men in his crew who faired far worse, in face and tidiness both, but wholly out of place in the trim dress of an aviator.

‘No; certainly not so strange as your being here,’ Linsey said scornfully, less of the captain herself—for though she perplexed him to no end, she was polite as a lady, and kind enough—but more so for his own wretched predicament, and the constant woes it seemed to bring him. He felt his composure slipping gradually, and tired only more at every turn of company, used to the familiarity of his crew, and the wide ocean all around; but he could not press his anger upon Timor, a dishonourable notion which he condemned severely, so turned it elsewhere; he glared severely now at Elliot and spat, ‘There is poor fortune in your like upon the sea; you’ll have my respect, perhaps, but do not fault me for my habits, when your own are hardly desirable. Out, Captain, I want no help from a wench.’

Elliot blinked in confusion; then her brow furrowed, and she pressed her lips together into a thin, unhappy line.

‘Well then; we may see you about,’ she said, though she sounded perhaps a little restrained; the warmth in her expression had all but vanished, to be replaced with plain affliction. ‘Take care, Captain.’

With this she left; Linsey watched her climb back up into harness, then her dragon shook out its wings and went aloft, and both vanished quickly in great, sweeping wingbeats across the sky.

It was easy enough to find Timor, after a great deal of looking this way and that, and the first settings of shivers in his hands; he was grateful for his coat, what with the wind sweeping across the cliffs, and for his neckcloth also, tucked up around his chin, though the sensation of his dress folded about him so closely was still rather difficult to ignore.

Timor was curled about himself in a quiet spot a little ways out from the covert, with clumps of peat and brushwood growing all around, offering a little shelter from the cold winds blowing in from the sea. He raised his head in hearing Linsey approach, flicking his small ears impatiently; the golden hide stood out a little in the dark, and his great eyes were shining watchfully.

He lifted a wing in welcome, tucking Linsey close against his side; Linsey had taken a blanket from his quarters, and was comfortable as he could wish, curled against the warm hide.

‘Timor,’ Linsey said, hoping to ease some of his own unease; Timor heard the restraint in his voice and turned his head around to nuzzle him anxiously. Linsey smiled a little and stroked the warm nose, feeling again wholly grateful for the dragon’s presence there.

‘Is something wrong?’ Timor said softly, with marked worry in the amber gaze.

Linsey blinked at him, surprised by this quick perception, then smiled stiffly and said, ‘No, Timor, only I am beginning to lose faith in our company.’

‘Oh.’ Timor said, ‘I had wondered why you were gone so long. I would have come and found you, if I had known.’

He said this very sensibly, and Linsey felt his smile relax at once to an expression of fond amusement. ‘Thank you, dear fellow,’ he said, patting Timor’s side, ‘Though an escort is already along the way; I think I will manage well enough without you herding me about as well.’

Timor rumbled in something like delight; he was silent for another moment, then he said, more quietly, ‘Was it that foul man again?’

‘Malcolm? No.’ Linsey said, ‘No, it was another captain, though not like you would expect.’ He paused in remembering Elliot’s expression falling to dismay, feeling faintly shameful, and added only, ‘I am afraid I have been untoward.’

Timor paused to consider this, humming a little in thought. ‘They have been unkind to you.’ He said, a little uncertainly, and perhaps with the beginnings of a growl beneath his voice. ‘They have stolen us away, and put us to work here; surely they cannot expect you to be kind?’

‘No, not at all,’ Linsey said, nodding, though he was surprised to find he felt a little uncertain in his agreement. ‘Though it was not the Fleet who sent us here, and I suppose this, er, captain was not so deserving of it.’

Timor sniffed. ‘Then he can leave us alone, and let me eat the rest of them.’ He said. His eyes glimmered eagerly; Linsey laughed, with surprising ease, and patted his side.

‘And I would be very grateful for it.’ He said, and meant it wholly, for he had not before been recipient to such devotion, save perhaps from his crew, who he knew would put themselves to battle a dozen times over for him, just as he would do for them in turn.

He smiled sadly at this notion, and laid his cheek against Timor’s warm hide, trying to ignore the misery setting himself sombre.

Timor yawned enormously and made a small rumble, in such a way that reminded Linsey sharply of old Estella, the ship’s cat. He paused to scratch at a spot just behind his shoulder, where the leather straps of the harness looped around buckles set firm against his scales. Linsey inspected these with displeasure, and some quiet shame also; Timor’s scales had hardened somewhat in his weeks of growth, but they were still flexible and soft, and Linsey worried suddenly that the harness might begin to cause him discomfort. He had removed it to wipe away the remnants of Timor's meals upon the Delight, but had not thought to consider his comfort besides, and condemned himself harshly in realising he had forgotten to put it off entirely since their departure from Weymouth.

‘Timor,’ he said now, reaching up to stroke the dragon’s nose, a little anxiously. ‘I am very sorry, I had not thought to take off your harness; is it not uncomfortable?’

Timor paused thoughtfully, then he said, ‘It does not chafe.’

‘No, dear fellow, but you may have it off, if you’d prefer.’ Linsey said firmly, to be sure Timor would understand; to ignore a dragon’s discomfort until it bordered on injury was a sour notion, and it worried him somewhat that Timor might think him of such cowardice.

‘Oh,’ said Timor, brightening a little. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’

Removing the harness in the dark was a good deal more difficult than Linsey would have liked, but he was not going to refuse Timor now, and so worked slowly at the buckles mostly blind, fumbling at the straps with hands trembling somewhat in rising frustration, until finally the harness came loose; he flung it down beside, then climbed from Timor’s back and patted the smooth hide.

Timor stretched enormously, then shook out his wings and tail; the spines upon his back quivered with the motion. ‘Oh, that is much better,’ he said, with a delighted rumble, and pushed his head gratefully against Linsey’s palm. Linsey patted him in turn, smiling fondly, though his hands now ached somewhat; he shook them out and tapped the fingers of one against the palm of the other, then righted himself and folded them into his lap, resettling beside Timor, and feeling a great deal of his satisfaction restored.

‘Linsey, will you sing to me?’ Timor said then, his eyes shining.

Linsey smiled at his enthusiasm, but found himself somewhat reluctant; his easy indulgence prior had come about with the shielding of his ship, and of Richards’s presence near at the mast. ‘No, dear fellow, I do not think I can,’ he said regretfully, and stroked Timor’s side in quiet apology.

Timor drooped a little, his shoulders hunched in sulking, then he stopped and rumbled thoughtfully, small ears twitching. ‘Then you might tell me a story,’ he said, ‘If you like.’

Linsey looked up at him, faintly surprised. ‘Of course,’ he said. He thought for a moment, remembering with amusement his excursions upon the sea as a younger man, some several years before he became captain of his own vessel; then he smiled involuntarily and said, ‘You have heard of Edward England?’

‘No,’ said Timor, puzzled. ‘Was he English?’

Linsey patted his side, fondly. ‘Oh, fortunately not.’ He said, ‘No; he was my mate, we shared all holdings—gold and company both. I took it all when he passed.’

‘Oh.’ Said Timor, somewhat disheartened; evidently his interest had been caught. ‘He is dead?’

‘‘Fraid so, though he was a good pirate, and a fellow enough.’ Linsey said, ‘You might have liked him; he was a fisherman, once.’

‘Oh, that is nice,’ Timor said, wistfully; Linsey laughed and patted him heartily upon the neck.

‘We met in Tortuga; I happened upon him by fortune, and thought him a good fellow—foolishly, I suppose. I told him of the frigate I had seen on coming in—the Royal James,’ he said, ‘I had the wildest notion of making off with her. It was his ship, of course, and he flogged me for it, rightly so,’ and as he continued, Timor put his head down on his forelegs and unfurled one wing to shelter them, making grateful, quiet rumblings as he listened in the dark.

#edward england was a Real Guy btw #I LOVE historical cameos I couldn't help it #hoping ya'll like Elliot also!! She's my best friend she's my one and only she's got so much love to give #timor: here be dragons #guess we're tagging it now #enjoy <3

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