Chapter Text
It was the Emperor’s latest edict that had even his closest advisors questioning him.
Quietly, of course.
It must be a joke. Or, worse, a sign of his dotage, being an aging folk and all. But then shouldn’t the Empress — with her sharp, younger mind as an elf — have stepped in?
Either way, sending a mad orlan godlike as the imperial envoy to the Living Lands was a disaster waiting to happen.
Despite having spent ten years as one of Aedyr’s operatives in the Dyrwood and the Deadfire Archipelago, the murmurings of court said that there was no way that this woman could truly be faithful to the empire. Her parents had come to Aedyr from Eir Glanfath — not willingly, and not for very long before a soul-sickness took them. Over there those Glanfathan savages might have worshiped the godlike due to the strange horns arcing from her broad nose and along her brows — crystalline, green, and iridescent like adra. But growing up in Aedyr, she was a freak even among other nature godlikes. Her behavior reinforced that, and rumors said that she was institutionalized from a young age for speaking in tongues, lashing out in fits of violence, and terrorizing her guardians and peers with what seemed to be innate cipher abilities.
Rumors said that whatever she saw while operating on the empire’s behalf in the Dyrwood and the Deadfire Archipelago drove her mad.
Rumors said that the madness never truly left her.
Supposedly, she infiltrated Dunryd Row as one of their ciphers. Supposedly, she was institutionalized once more in Defiance Bay. Supposedly, she escaped and became a pirate. Supposedly, she intentionally let herself be enslaved by the infamous Crookspur slavers. Supposedly, she had gotten herself hired onto the crew of the Watcher of Caed Nua himself.
Supposedly, it was Woedica’s will that the Envoy survived when so many other godlikes had fallen dead where they stood.
The Third Aedyran Fleet’s quarter gunner, Garryck, had often heard wild tales from the Deadfire of giant adra statues, promised lands of gold, and more. If the Envoy truly was there, then the tales surrounding her adventures — like orlans such as the Envoy and him — couldn’t be that tall.
But they were all hearsay Garryck heard through the gossip of his crew about Envoy Cynweth. He imagined that there was far more to her story. No mad orlan would be promoted to a vital role like hers without having earned it.
After all, Garryck had to work especially hard for his position. He wasn’t the only orlan in the Aedyran navy, but he was the only one who became a petty officer in his fleet. He hoped to go from quarter gunner to become the gunner one day.
It was because of his ambition that he gathered up the courage to approach the Envoy partway into their voyage together.
Despite her diminutive stature among the other kith, Envoy Cynweth was naturally a striking figure with her adra-like horns and a mane of coppery curls. Garryck wondered if it was her god’s blessing or her cipher abilities that created a sort of aura around her. It was a brooding uneasiness that had him hesitating.
But he had come this far — in multiple ways.
He tried to remember how to talk proper around these Aedyran bureaucrats.
“Your grace,” he began.
“Pheh!” the Envoy spat upon the deck. She turned her eyes to the other orlan — all four of them silvery discs squinting beneath furrowed brows. Three of them were clustered on the left side of her face, while there was only one larger eye on the other. There might have once been two more to complete the set, but those lids were sealed shut with crystalline scar tissue.
“None of that,” she grumbled at Garryck’s surprise. “Who you be, sailor?”
“Uh, Garryck, ma’am,” he gave a flustered half-bow. “Quarter gunner of the Third Aedyran Fleet. Forgive me for bothering you, but…”
“Depends why you’d be bothering me,” the Envoy chortled. “And why you’d be calling me ‘Envoy’ and not Cynweth.”
“Rightly so,” Garryck said hastily. “Envoy. Cynweth. Ma’am. I’ve heard tales of your adventures over the past decade of your career. I’ve heard you were in the Dyrwood, then the Deadfire when they say the Wheel was destroyed. Allegedly. I reckon I just wanted to know…”
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulders at the other sailors. They seemed to be either busy or lazing about, well out of earshot with their tiny ears.
“Which of those stories are true?” he continued quietly. “And what do you reckon they mean for us?”
The Envoy — Cynweth — cracked a smile.
“Don’t you know? Those missions were classified,” she said. “You seem to know plenty more than the rest of Aedyr. So what do you ‘reckon’ is true?”
Garryck thought to himself.
“Well, firstly… Eothas can’t have come back in a statue, let alone one wading through the ocean. I think it was likely the work of those Dyrwood animancers. They’re always running mad experiments like that, and they’re always going awry.”
Cynweth picked at her teeth.
“And what else?” she prompted him.
“I think all the tales of your exploits are true,” Garryck confessed. “Well, I wasn’t sure about the Dunryd Row one earlier. I’ve heard they’re very particular about who they take in. And they read minds too, so surely they’d know if you were an Aedyran… intelligence.”
“The word you meant was spy,” Cynweth smirked. “And they knew. They liked that I let ‘em read me back. Didn’t like what they saw though. Not one bit. So I bet you heard what happened next then?”
“Were they who sent you to the animancers at the Sanitarium?” Garryck’s eyes widened.
Cynweth eyed him knowingly.
“How wretched of them!” Garryck exclaimed.
“Wretched? Nah. It was the most fun I’d had during that job before I got back on the sea,” Cynweth chuckled. “The things the animancers could do… never seen things like that. My first hospital? They didn’t bother trying to cure us. They just kept us quiet and let us rot. But Brackenbury…”
She whistled.
“Madmen running a madhouse. But brilliant madmen. I think they could’ve done a whole lot of good… if the Dyrwoodians hadn’t burned them out.”
“Yeah… I mean, yes, I see,” Garryck murmured. “But you survived that.”
Cynweth blinked.
“Obviously,” she drawled. “I wouldn’t be much use if all I did was sit and roast. Like some of the other sorry sods.”
Garryck grimaced. “And… then what, ma’am?”
“I think you know,” she sighed. “My handler had me transferred to the Deadfire after that. Didn’t make much sense. Figured they would’ve wanted more eyes on the bloody situation. But I always go where they want me to.”
She motioned brusquely at the ship around them.
“I heard some things about the Deadfire, too,” Garryck said cautiously.
Cynweth groaned.
“Tell you what — you get one more question. The rest…” she made a dismissive gesture. “Save ‘em for another day.”
“Right, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”
“Oh stop that shite,” Cynweth scowled. “Just ask.”
Garryck summoned the rest of his dwindling courage to ask the question that had really been itching at him, ever since he heard the rumor.
“They say the Emperor made you envoy because you rescued a paladin of Woedica, whilst in the Deadfire,” he recalled.
Cynweth briefly froze where she was still picking at her teeth.
“I don’t hear a question, gunner.”
“Quarter gunner, ma’am. Not that it… anyway,” Garryck cleared his throat. “But… is it true that… that the paladin was… Inquisitor Lödwyn herself?”
Cynweth gave a preoccupied grunt.
Garryck gawked at her. He had heard the rumors, but still!
“Oh,” he gasped in a hush. “Is that why they sent you here? Did she request you personally?”
Cynweth shot him a glare.
“I said you’d get one more question, didn’t I?” she said sharply. Her voice was different now — more clipped and authoritative than the crass drawl she had earlier.
Garryck gave an apologetic babble and a bow before hurrying off.
A paladin of Woedica — no, an inquisitor rescued by a simple orlan spy? Who would have thought?
Garryck already felt a bit lighter. If Envoy Cynweth could manage to do a thing like that, then maybe this venture of hers wouldn’t be a disaster after all.
—
And yet a disaster nearly happened halfway through the voyage.
As usual, a few sailors decided to pass the time with a game of Orlan’s Head. It was a typical sight — the sailors flicking knives at a crude carving of an orlan in the cargo hold. During these games Garryck sensibly kept himself busy and out of range as usual, though he winced every time he heard the thunk of a knife.
He didn’t survive twelve years of the Aedyran navy’s “good-natured” hazing to be skewered now.
There was admittedly another cause to be nervous. He could feel the Envoy loitering nearby. She had been rather testy lately, likely due to the fact that despite having been a sailor herself, the crew was on strict orders not to let her work with them. From what Garryck could tell, she was lingering on the deck above the cargo hold, observing the game from above with unblinking silver eyes.
Then, wordlessly, Garryck saw her straighten up and march past him down the stairs.
“Envoy?” Garryck called after her in alarm. “Ma’am?”
His fur was all a tingle on his neck. He dropped what he was doing and raced down after her.
He knew that she had served on a ship before. Surely Orlan’s Head wasn’t a new phenomenon to her. But if that was the case, why would she be so bothered about it now?
What he found below had him aghast. Cynweth had joined the small gathering, hooting with laughter and clapping so loudly that the sailors looked rightfully uneasy.
“Aye, that’s a Hel of a shot!” she guffawed, marching up and flicking the handle of the latest knife. It stuck out of the orlan effigy’s nose like an exaggerated snout.
To Garryck’s horror, she stepped pointedly into the next thrower’s path, raising up her arms.
“Now how about you try with a real one?” she grinned with sharp, yellow teeth.
The sailors balked.
“No one wants to try?” Cynweth sneered. “Well! How about I go?”
She plucked out the knife from the nose before strolling towards the furthest mark upon the floor. Then, without fully turning around, she flicked the knife and sent it hurtling towards the wood.
Splinters exploded from its impact, right in the orlan’s left eye.
Cynweth howled with laughter, doubling over and slapping her knee.
“Now how about another?” she roared.
She snatched another knife from a dumbfounded sailor’s hand and sent it spinning, hitting the wood beside her last one into the right eye. In the resounding silence, it vibrated with a twang.
“And another!” she crowed.
“Envoy!” Garryck piped up, pleading through his mortification. “Surely… surely that’s enough?”
The majority of the sailors were retreating back to their duties, eyes averted from Cynweth.
“Why?” Cynweth barked. “We’re having so much fun ain’t we?”
Garryck finally noticed the bottle sticking out of her coat’s pocket.
“You’re drunk, ma’am,” he surmised miserably. It was a miracle she hadn’t managed to throw the knives wildly off aim herself.
“Nah… I’m not,” Cynweth swayed with the boat, as if suddenly remembering they were at sea. “I’m… tired.”
She sighed heavily.
“I’m so tired of this bloody ship. Not doing any bloody work. I’m tired, and we haven’t even gotten to the bloody place yet.”
Garryck approached her and hesitated. Then, in a bold move, he pushed past the anxious aura around her and patted her shoulder. He hoped it was reassuring, despite his station. It seemed to work as her shoulders sagged.
“Even if it’s not gunpowder and ropes, surely we’ll find something with which to distract you,” he offered gently. “Captain said she’s got some reading on the Living Lands. Been lending it out to the officers who’ve never been. Maybe that’ll give you something to look forward to?”
Never mind that the captain seemed to be going out of her way to avoid the Envoy herself, and that Garryck wasn’t entirely sure Cynweth was much of a reader. At least she did perk up at his suggestion.
But as she opened her mouth to reply, a sailor cleared his throat from nearby.
There was a crooked smile on his lips, a swagger to his tanned, shirtless body.
“You know,” the sailor drawled, “the whole point of Orlan’s Head is to hit the nose. That’s how you get the most points.”
Cynweth raised a crystalline brow at him. “That right?”
As if she didn’t know, Garryck thought to himself exasperatedly.
“Yep,” the sailor grinned. “So really, I still have the highest score.”
“Oh?” Cynweth took the challenge with a sharp grin. “Not for long, Blue Eyes.”
Garryck didn’t like the look in those Blue Eyes. Not one bit. He was vaguely aware of the Envoy and sailor’s continuing conversation as he turned to leave. He heard them laughing even from above deck.
As it turned out, Cynweth was full of wild laughter and shameless flirting that would’ve made anyone else but a sailor blush. Her overtures seemed to succeed in the end, when Blue Eyes leaned against the crates, his gaze level to Cynweth’s.
“Looks like it’s a tie,” he murmured.
Cynweth leered closer.
“Shall we settle it in my quarters?” she purred.
Garryck groaned and hurried well out of earshot.
The next few days were a headache and a half for him. From the officer cabin next door to his hammock, he could hear all too clearly the Envoy settling the score with the sailor with raucous abandon. He covered his ears, wishing for once that they could be as tiny and dull as a folk’s.
“Berath take me,” he groaned. “Please. Please.”
—
Though his nights had been made miserable by the clamor coming from the officer’s quarters, Garryck was pleasantly surprised that the Envoy had begun to invite him along for walks about the ship’s deck. Sometimes, they would even take tea at the forecastle together.
During those afternoons, Cynweth was a completely different kith. She sat still and straight, her eyes relaxed but tired as she gazed out over the horizon. She even stuck her pinky out when she drank from the delicate porcelain cup.
The other sailors would always tease Garryck for taking tea and abhorring the ale and arrack they favored, but Hel, he liked the stuff. And he liked sharing it with their honored guest day after day, just as he liked exchanging tales from their respective careers at sea.
He began to relax after the first meeting. He was pleased that he could keep up with Cynweth’s strange, dark jokes. He was pleased he could make her laugh a little with his own awkward ones.
What didn’t please him was that outside of these conversations, Cynweth remained a menace.
She argued frequently with the Captain in full earshot of the crew. She barged in on meetings to insist upon changes to their course and their rations. And when she didn’t get her way, she had to be dragged screeching out of the Captain’s quarters and locked in her cabin.
Whenever it was finally unlocked, Blue Eyes would stop by to ‘check in’ on her and they wouldn’t leave for hours.
For one of the only other orlans on the crew, it was embarrassing.
Garryck had been up all night thinking about it, tossing and turning in his hammock as he considered how to broach the subject gracefully with someone well above his station.
The opportunity availed itself during one of their teas.
“Something’s ripe on your mind,” Cynweth remarked. She took a noisy sip of tea. “Don’t need to be a cipher to tell that.”
“Right. Of course,” Garryck set his cup and saucer aside. “May I speak plainly, ma’am?”
It was no longer such a frightening thing to ask, after their past few conversations.
“By all means,” Cynweth shrugged.
Good. Great start.
“I… I am concerned that your behavior is only further enforcing Aedyran stereotypes of orlans," Garryck admitted.
Cynweth snorted, “Such as?”
Garryck flushed beneath his fur. “It doesn’t stand to repeat them ma’am…”
“Oh, let me guess, that we’re rowdy little beasts that can’t stop rutting and fighting?” Cynweth guffawed. “That we can only use our teeth, not civil words? That you’ve got to hide your purses, lest they take a slice or take a bite…”
“Yes!” Garryck sputtered. “All that!”
Cynweth shrugged.
“Well it’s just too bad that I align with all those characteristics,” she said. She took a delicate sip of tea. “I’m damned good at them, too.”
Garryck groaned, massaging at his brow. “No, Envoy, it’s just…”
“Would you rather I be like those on the other end of the scale?” Cynweth scoffed. “Meek. Submissive. Little pacifists that let colonists roll their carts right over them. Lying down so that they’d do it without a fight? Letting ‘em pat our heads and pinch our ears and call us pets?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Garryck insisted. “I just meant—”
“Sometimes I do like a little pat, you know?” Cynweth chortled. “But not without a little fight to get the blood pumping…”
“WILL YOU HAVE SOME BLOODY DECORUM?” Garryck roared.
There was a silence above deck as Cynweth ogled at him. By habit around his betters, Garryck had an apology on his tongue, but to his disbelief Cynweth’s lips spread into a smile.
Not a deranged and feral one, but a real, rather nice smile.
“There we go,” she said, setting down her cup and saucer with satisfaction. “That’s the Garryck I wanted to meet.”
Garryck sighed, massaging at his neck.
“It’s not the Garryck I want to be,” he said. “Envoy… I may not have fought and spied across land and sea like you have. I may not have rescued a paladin, or served my emperor and empress directly. But I’m an Aedyran through and through. And I have fought all my life to reach my position. To be respected as an equal among my crew, to have my intelligence respected to become an officer. A petty officer, anyway. It was an honor to be entrusted with protecting you — an Aedyre envoy, and an orlan one at that.”
He looked beseechingly at her.
“I… I can’t mess this up now. And while it’s true that I want you to succeed… selfishly, I want to succeed too. For myself. For our people. I want other Aedyre kith to look at us differently. To look at us better.”
Cynweth studied him.
“Oh Garryck,” she sighed. “You’ve had to file down your teeth and nails, trim and braid back your mane, tame yourself to fit their ideals. You’ve made yourself meek and subservient so they think you’re one of the ‘good ones.’
“Remember what they say?” she grinned unpleasantly. “‘Face of skin, let them in. Face of fur, then let them burn.’”
Garryck frowned.
“I… don’t think that’s how the phrase goes, ma’am.”
“It may as well,” Cynweth shrugged. “Anyway, if you’re going to protect me, Garryck, I don’t need some obsequious yes-man. I need someone I can trust to be loyal to themselves. Not to me. Not to the captain. Not to the empire.”
Garryck shrugged helplessly. “But Envoy… they aren’t mutually exclusive. I… am loyal to the empire. I made a vow when I joined the navy, after all. But, as it stands right now… I’m also loyal to you, as your ally among those folk and elf.”
Cynweth smiled ruefully at him.
“I’m sure the rest of our journey will test that,” she said. “It will test me too, and all these blighters as well.”
She hummed to herself.
“Speaking of which, I’ve got a wrestling match with Mister Blue Eyes,” she said blithely, setting her tea aside.
Garryck sighed.
“Do you even know his name, ma’am?”
“Sure,” Cynweth shrugged. “Sometimes it’s ‘Blondie.’ Other times it’s ‘Sweet Lips.’”
“His given name, ma’am.”
She shrugged. “I think I’ve heard the crew call him ‘Ben.’”
“It’s Toben,” Garryck informed her. “Toben Thrfwyn. From Defiance Bay. A Dyrwoodian, like your parents before.”
“My parents were Glanfathan,” Cynweth said curtly.
Garryck winced.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Cynweth nodded and stood up. She tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Toben, eh?” she hummed. “Cute. Let’s see how he reacts when I scream it in the bunk.”
She began to leave, but stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
“Garryck.”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Stop ma’am-ing me,” she huffed.
“Then what should I call you… Envoy?”
“Sin.”
Garryck closed his eyes.
“No, ma’am.”
“No, not sin,” Cynweth chuckled. “Cyn.”
She reached down and patted him on the cheek.
“It’s what my friends call me,” she murmured. “So you should too.”
—
The last time Garryck saw Blue Eyes, they were half-open and clouded where the sailor’s body had washed up on the beach. Cynweth stood above him, staring blankly down at his twisted, water-logged corpse. The crabs hadn’t yet begun to feed on him, but Garryck knew it was only a matter of time.
“We should get moving, Envoy,” he called.
When she didn’t respond, he tried again.
“Cyn!”
She turned to him, face blank.
“I’ve gathered all your papers I could salvage. Some weapons and supplies,” Garryck said. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more to be done.”
He glanced down at Blue Eyes — soon to be no-eyes.
The waves thundered in the distance. Close by, the water was a gentle, but relentless pulse upon the wet and crackling sand.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I know you two became close.”
Cyn scoffed, turning her back on the sailor and walking towards Garryck.
“We were nothing,” she said flatly. “But you’re right. Let’s go.”
She wordlessly took the sabre Garryck held out to her, and despite being the one who knew this port better, he was the one who followed her off of the beach.
He had a sneaking feeling that if he wasn’t careful, he might be following her for the rest of his life.