Chapter Text
“Cap’n, I think ye’ll want to come take a look at this!”
Carvallain sighs and stands from the crate he’d been picking through, hoping to find a trace of anything interesting or valuable. Mostly valuable. Interesting can only get you so much, and usually only if you know how to market it right. A few members of the crew have just returned from another scouting mission. They had chanced upon a covert Garlean arms supply ship which proved to be no match for the Kraken’s Arms, and now just had to collect the cargo before it sank to the ocean floor
He wonders as he makes his way across the deck, if they found something that would be worth notifying the Admiral about. What he’s not expecting to find when he reaches his crewmates is a body, unmoving - fine heavy clothing soaked through and sopping water onto his ship.
“Is it dead?” He asks with a frown, reaching out a foot to nudge it, but deciding against it. It’s not like his shoes aren’t already wet and dirty, but it’s the principle of the thing.
“Tha’s what we thought at first, yeah.” Whysbryn begins, “Since he was lyin’ face down in the water, but when we checked the body he was still alive.”
This time Carvallain does use his boot to turn the body to get a better look at it, and immediately wishes he hadn’t done so. Now these shoes are absolutely defiled. The most notable feature on the admittedly many notable featured man is the so-called third Garlean eye on his forehead, marking him of the empire.
“You bloody fools!” he swears at them, “He’s a Garlean, you should have let him drown.”
“I told you!” Grambonn yells at Whybryn
Whysbryn holds up his hands defensively, ignoring Grambonn and looking pleadingly at his captain. “I know, I know! Just… he doesn’t look like a soldier, ya know? This was a weapons cache, ya? So what’s some empire fancy-pants doing on board?”
Even as he explains, Carvallain is also taking note of the man’s attire. Empire finery, the finest even if he’s any judge, and considering the amount he’s managed to smuggle and resell, he’s a pretty decent one. These clothes are more or less ruined from the amount of water damage they’ve taken, but it doesn’t change the fact that they must have been expensive, which makes this half-drowned man important or a really good thief.
A pit begins to form in his gut the longer he considers the body. Everything in him tells him he should just shove him back over the edge and let him drown, or let the sharks eat him, whatever fate the ocean might have in store. But logic and reason, his two least favorite aspects win out. This man could make a potential hostage, have pertinent information, he could be a defector for all they knew. Unlikely, but they had no information to go on other than where he’s from.
“You make an excellent point. We’ll turn him over to the Maelstrom. If he even survives that long.” Another sideways glance at the limp form tells him that if he does, it will be a close call. He can’t even see that the man is breathing, but there’s still color in him. Carvallain’s seen enough dead bodies to know that this one isn’t there quite yet.
“I told you!” Whysbryn throws back at his companion as Carvallain turns to walk toward the cabin.
The pit in his stomach grows with each step. Is it a sense of recognition? There had been something vaguely familiar, like a face seen only in passing and never noted. But why would he have seen this man, if only at a glance? The idea that something is off niggles at the back of his mind, and he’s thinking maybe the Admiral isn’t the one they take this to.
~ ~
Xelinah adjusts the basket under her arm, exiting the Drowning Wench and making a beeline for the Missing Member. With a rare moment of downtime while everyone tries to figure out the Empire’s next move, or until they make it, she has not much to do but wait. Something she’s never been good at. With the spare time she’s looked at some of the hobbies she let fall to the wayside, and cooking has always been one of her favorites. So why not introduce Eorzea to one of Norvrandt’s favored delicacies, the coffee biscuit!
Of course, the best place to start is with her culinary mentor Lyngsath. He, unsurprisingly, had loved them, and bid she share the wealth. Naturally Melkoko and the Member would be her next stop. They seem like a snack Rhoswen would like, and Xelinah knows just how hard that woman is to please.
“Oh thank the Twelve, I was hoping you would be in Limsa.”
Speaking of being unable to please Rhoswen, Captain Carvallain is marching straight up to her. It’s almost unusual to see him outside his ship, or his little corner hideaway, but judging by the serious look on his face her spare time is about to come to an end. All the better, really.
“Captain, always a pleasure.” She sweeps an Ishgardian bow and sees his mild if momentary frown.
“Would but this be a meeting for pleasure. I would love nothing more.” he makes his own bow, brief and a mere formality not the normal dramatic gesture it might usually be.
“Is something wrong?”
He tilts his head, considering his words. “I’m not certain “wrong” would be the right word. No immediate danger if that’s your concern. If you’ll follow me, Lady Xelinah.”
She nods in response and falls into step, just behind him. It seems like the Kraken’s Arms will be getting these coffee biscuits instead. Carvallain leads her through the winding paths of the ocean side city, into areas she doesn’t often find herself. Eventually they come to one of the many piers, where the Misery is docked and she follows him aboard the ship, thinking back to the last time she was here. He’d been bringing her and the others to Kugane.
Once aboard, he stops before the door of his personal cabin. If she couldn’t tell this is something of an urgent matter, she’d wonder exactly what he was planning. Leaning against the wall he explains. “My crew and I were making a ‘spice’ run, fairly run of the mill. Yet as we were collecting our spoils, the boys found something rather… interesting…. Unique.”
Xelinah arches a brow. She knows exactly what his ‘spice’ runs are. “Sounds like a lucky haul,” she comments dryly.
He chuckles giving her a wry look, “Oh yes, normally ‘interesting’ and ‘unique’ would be. Yet… it’s best you see this for yourself.”
He reaches over to open the door, letting her enter before him. She’s never been in his actual quarters before. She supposes it’s rather like she expected. Simple with a minor flair of dramatic extravagance. The furniture is made of high-quality wood and intricately carved, similarly the curtains and blankets are thick, rich fabrics ornate designs embroidered into them.
It’s the person on the bed who really catches her attention, and the basket falls from her grip. Everything in her body tenses as she moves over to examine the figure. She almost reaches out to touch him, to see if he’s real, because he can’t be. There is no way he could possibly be real, but she stops just before. What if he is?
“This is impossible,” she says out loud, but more to herself than to anyone else.
“You know him, then?” Carvallain asks.
“He should be dead!” she spits out, fists clenching as she drops her hand to her side. There is a veritable turmoil of emotions happening inside of her right now, and she doesn’t have the time or the inclination to sort through them, or even acknowledge some of them. Like the vague sense of relief battling with the adrenaline of an enemy long thought gone.
“I rather say he should be. My boys say they found him face down in the water. I thought to throw him back in, but upon further consideration realized he could be someone of import, and therefore of use to the alliance, or the scions.”
For a moment Xelinah closes her eyes to collect herself. Too many thoughts, and emotions going on at once. She breathes in, breathes out, and does what the warrior of light does best. Focuses on the situation in front of her. Everything else can be sorted out later.
“Have you informed the Admiral yet?”
“We’ve hardly been back in port a full day. Nymeia’s blessings that I came upon you, for my instincts told me this was a warrior of light matter, more than an alliance matter.”
She nods. “Your instincts were correct.”
“They usually are. My instincts also strongly urged me to toss him back into the ocean.”
She looks back at the eerily familiar figure. He looks almost peaceful lying there unconscious. No trace of his usual smug arrogance, or the boredom of having to suffer other people. He’s been redressed into simple bedclothes, but she can see the robes laid neatly over a chair. He hardly looks like a man planning to end multiple worlds.
“They were correct then too,” she scowls.
“Pray, might you tell me who this man is?” Carvallain crosses his arms, raising an expectant eyebrow.
She bites back the bitter laugh that bubbles inside her. Carvallain doesn’t need to see how much this is affecting her. “That one is quite complicated, and dare I say above your pay grade.”
Throwing rank is never a tactic she is fond of, but in this case it saves hours of explanation for something that has no particular connection to the pirate captain, and would only serve to spread rumors and panic.
“Understood.” his tone is clipped, and he appears put off, but he doesn’t push the matter. It isn’t the first time he’s been stopped in his tracks when things get official.
The figure on the bed groans, and both their heads snap that direction. Xelinah’s fingers rest above the chakrams at her sides, but she finds she dearly wishes she had her lance on her.
He groans again, brows furrowing and turns his head. After a moment he blinks his eyes open, only to close them instantly against the onslaught of light.
“...W-wh...Where...am I?” the voice is raspy, cracked from misuse, but unmistakabley his.
“Hades,” she hisses, the name foreign but oh so right on her tongue.