#and amidst all the chaos made his only priority locating his ship

[viric-dreams]

Weeks after learning of the Commodore's death--when he could no longer lie in bed consumed by grief, after he was forced to get up, to feed himself, to keep going--Roberts had visited the Dark-Spectacled Admiral. There was no love lost between the Admiral and the Commodore over the years. Roberts had heard plenty of the stories of the Commodore's frustrations upon return from his many trips to London. He hadn't seen the Admiral himself since he was barely more than a child. Yet he had to try.

As the years had gone by, the old guard had slowly faded out of the picture, until there were so very few people left who remembered the olden days. Remembered the Commodore as Roberts knows--knew him. The man who was full of jokes and life, whose charisma captured a room. One who cared. A man who'd spent hours yelling encouraging words through a layer of crumpled steel, trying to grant some level of comfort to a trapped and terrified child, to at the very least abate some of that terror in what could've likely been his final moments. The man who had slowly faded into placidity and smiles and bright nothingness as the years had gone on.

The Admiral was no friend to either of them, not since the schism, but perhaps he might remember the friendship the two had once had. Perhaps he might care that he died. Perhaps there is someone else who remembers the man, the same one Roberts does, and feels something at his passing. He has to try.

He adjusts his spectacles, hiding the puffiness of his eyes from view, and knocks on the door.