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unmutedink · 1 year

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CAISSA or The Game at Chess; a Poem.

(written in the year 1763, by Sir William Jones)

(pronounced ky-eé-sah) Of armies on the chequer'd field array'd,

And guiltless war in pleasing form display'd;

When two bold kings contend with vain alarms,

In ivory this, and that in ebon arms;

Sing, sportive maids, that haunt the sacred hill

Of Pindus, and the fam'd Pierian rill.

Thou, joy of all below, and all above,

Mild Venus, queen of laughter, queen of love;

Leave thy bright island, where on many a rose

And many a pink thy blooming train repose:

Assist me, goddess! since a lovely pair

Command my song, like thee devinely fair.

Near yon cool stream, whose living waters play,

And rise translucent in the solar ray;

Beneath the covert of a fragrant bower,

Where spring's nymphs reclin'd in calm retreat,

And envying blossoms crouded round their seat;

Here Delia was enthron'd, and by her side

The sweet Sirena, both in beauty's pride:

Thus shine two roses, fresh with early bloom,

That from their native stalk dispense perfume;

Their leaves unfolding to the dawning day

Gems of the glowing mead, and eyes of May.

A band of youths and damsels sat around,

Their flowing locks with braided myrtle bound;

Agatis, in the graceful dance admir'd,

And gentle Thyrsis, by the muse inspir'd;

With Sylvia, fairest of the mirthful train;

And Daphnis, doom'd to love, yet love in vain.

Now, whilst a purer blush o'erspreads her cheeks,

With soothing accents thus Sirena speaks:

"The meads and lawns are ting'd with beamy light,

And wakeful larks begin their vocal flight;

Whilst on each bank the dewdrops sweetly smile;

What sport, my Delia, shall the hours beguile?

Whall heavenly notes, prolong'd with various art,

Charm the fond ear, and warm the rapturous heart?

At distance shall we view the sylvan chace?

Or catch with silken lines the finny race?"

Then Delia thus: "Or rather, since we meet

By chance assembled in this cool retreat,

In artful contest let our warlike train

Move well-directed o'er the field preside:

No prize we need, our ardour to inflame;

We fight with pleasure, if we fight for fame."

The nymph consents: the maids and youths prepare

To view the combat, and the sport to share:

But Daphnis most approv'd the bold design,

Whom Love instructed, and the tuneful Nine.

He rose, and on the cedar table plac'd

A polish'd board, with differing colours grac'd;

Squares eight times eight in equal order lie;

These bright as snow, those dark with sable dye;

Like the broad target by the tortoise born,

Or like the hide by spotted panthers worn.

Then from a chest, with harmless heroes stor'd,

O'er the smooth plain two well-wrought hosts he pour'd;

The champions burn'd their rivals to assail,

Twice eight in black, twice eight in milkwhite mail;

In shape and station different, as in name,

Their motions various, not their power the same.

Say, muse! (for Jove has nought from thee conceal'd)

Who form'd the legions on the level field?

High in the midst the reverend kings appear,

And o'er the rest their pearly scepters rear:

One solemn step, majestically slow,

They gravely move, and shun the dangerous foe;

If e'er they call, the watchful subjects spring,

And die with rapture if they save their king;

On him the glory of the day depends,

He once imprison'd, all the conflict ends.

The queens exulting near their consorts stand;

Each bears a deadly falchion in her hand;

Now here, now there, they bound with furious pride,

And thin the trmbling ranks from side to side;

Swift as Camilla flying o'er the main,

Or lightly skimming o'er the dewy plain:

Fierce as they seem, some bold Plebeian spear

May pierce their shield, or stop their full career.

The valiant guards, their minds on havock bent,

Fill the next squares, and watch the royal tent;

Tho' weak their spears, tho' dwarfish be their height,

Compact they move, the bulwark of the fight,

To right and left the martial wings display

Their shining arms, and stand in close array.

Behold, four archers, eager to advance,

Send the light reed, and rush with sidelong glance;

Through angles ever they assault the foes,

True to the colour, which at first they chose.

Then four bold knights for courage-fam'd and speed,

Each knight exalted on a prancing steed:

Their arching course no vulgar limit knows,

Tranverse they leap, and aim insidious blows:

Nor friends, nor foes, their rapid force restrain,

By on quick bound two changing squares they gain;

From varing hues renew the fierce attack,

And rush from black to white, from white to black.

Four solemn elephants the sides defend;

Benearth the load of ponderous towers they bend:

In on unalter'd line they tempt the fight;

Now crush the left, and now o'erwhelm the right.

Bright in the front the dauntless soldiers raise

Their polish'd spears; their steely helmets blaze:

Prepar'd they stand the daring foe to strike,

Direct their progress, but their wounds oblique.

Now swell th' embattled troups with hostile rage,

And clang their shields, impatient to engage;

When Daphnis thus: A varied plain behold,

Where fairy kings their mimick tents unfold,

As Oberon, and Mab, his wayward queen,

Lead forth their armies on the daisied green.

No mortal hand the wond'rous sport contriv'd,

By gods invents, and from gods deriv'd;

From them the British nymphs receiv'd the game,

And play ech morn beneath the crystal Thame;

Hear then the tale, which they to Colin sung,

As idling o'er the lucid wave he hung.

A lovely dryad rang'd the Thracian wild,

Her air enchanting, and her aspect mild:

To chase the bounding hart was all her joy,

Averse from Hymen, and the Cyprian boy;

O'er hills an valleys was her beauty fam'd,

And fair Caissa was the damsel nam'd.

Mars saw the maid; with deep surprize he gaz'd,

Admir'd her shape, and every gesture prais'd:

His golden bow the child of Venus bent,

And through his breast a piecing arrow sent.

The reed was hope; the feathers, keen desire;

The point, her eyes; the barbs, ethereal fire.

Soon to the nymph he pour'd his tender strain;

The haughtly dryad scorn'd his amorous pain:

He told his woes, where'er the maid he found,

And still he press'd, yet still Caissa frown'd;

But ev'n her frowns (ah, what might smiles have done!)

Fir'd all his soul, and all his senses won.

He left his car, by raging tigers drawn,

And lonely wander'd o'er the dusky lawn;

Then lay desponding near a murmuring stream,

And fair Caissa was his plaintive theme.

A naiad heard him from her mossy bed,

And through the crystal rais'd her placid head;

Then mildly spake: "O thou, whom love inspires,

Thy tears will nourish, not allay thy fires.

The smiling blossoms drink the pearly dew;

And ripening fruit the feather'd race pursue;

The scaly shoals devour the silken weeds;

Love on our sighs, and on our sorrow feeds.

Then weep no more; but, ere thou canst obtain

Balm to thy wounds, and solace to thy pain,

With gentle art thy martial look beguile;

Be mild, and teach thy rugged brow to smile.

Canst thou no play, no soothing game devise;

To make thee lovely in the damsel's eyes?

So may thy prayers assuage the scornful dame,

And ev'n Caissa own a mutual frame."

Kind nymph, said Mars, thy counsel I approve;

Art, only art, her ruthless breast can move.

but when? or how? They dark discourse explain:

So may thy stream ne'er swell with gushing rain;

So may thy waves in one pure current flow,

And flowers eternal on thy border blow!"

To whom the maid replied with smiling mien:

"Above the palace of the Paphian queen

Love's brother dwells, a boy of graceful port,

By gods nam'd Euphron, and by mortals Sport:

Seek him; to faithful ears unfold thy grief,

And hope, ere morn return, a sweet relief.

His temple hangs below the azure skies;

Seest thou yon argent cloud? 'Tis there it lies."

This said, she sunk beneath the liquid plain,

And sought the mansion of her blue-hair'd train.

Meantime the god, elate with heart-felt joy,

Had reach'd the temple of the sportful boy;

He told Caissa's charms, his kindled fire,

The naiad's counsel, and his warm desire.

"Be swift, he added, give my passion aid;

A god requests." - He spake, and Sport obey'd.

He fram'd a tablet of celestial mold,

Inlay'd with squares of silver and of gold;

Then of two metals form'd the warlike band,

That here compact in show of battle stand;

He taught the rules that guide the pensive game,

And call'd it Cassa from the dryad's name:

(Whence Albion's sons, who most its praise confess,

Approv'd the play, and nam'd it thoughtful Chess.)

The god delighted thank'd indulgent Sport;

Then grasp'd the board, and left his airy court.

With radiant feet he pierc'd the clouds; nor stay'd,

Till in the woods he saw the beauteous maid:

Tir'd with the chase the damsel set reclin'd,

Her girdle loose, her bosom unconfin'd.

He took the figure of a wanton faun,

And stood before her on the flowery lawn;

Then show'd his tablet: pleas'd the nymph survey'd

The lifeless troops in glittering ranks display'd;

She ask'd the wily sylvan to explain

The various motions of the splendid train;

With eager heart she caught the winning lore,

And thought ev'n Mars less hateful than before;

"What spell," said she, "deceiv'd my careless mind?

The god was fair, and I was most unkind."

She spoke, and saw the changing faun assume

A milder aspect, and a fairer bloom;

His wreathing horns, that from his temples grew,

Flow'd down in curls of bright celestial hue;

The dappled hairs, that veil'd his loveless face,

Blaz'd into beams, and show'd a heavenly grace;

The shaggy hide, that mantled o'er his breast,

Was soften'd to a smooth transparent vest,

That through its folds his vigorous bosom show'd,

And nervous limbs, where youthful ardour glow'd:

(Had Venus view'd him in those blooming charms,

Not Vulcan's net had forc'd her from his arms.)

With goatlike feet no more he mark'd the ground,

But braided flowers his silken sandals bound.

The dryad blush'd; and, as he press'd her, smil'd,

Whilst all his cares one tender glance beguil'd.

He ends: To arms, the maids and striplings cry;

To arms, the groves and sounding vales reply.

Sirena led to war the swarthy crew,

And Delia those that bore the lily's hue.

Who first, O muse, began the bold attack;

The white refulgent, or the mournful black?

Fair Delia first, as favoring lots ordain,

Moves her pale legions tow'rd the sable train:

From thought to thought her lively fancy flies,

Whilst o'er the board she darts her sparkling eyes.

At length the warrior moves with haughty strides;

Who from the plain the snowy king divides:

With equal haste his swarthy rival bounds;

His quiver rattles, and his buckler sounds:

Ah! hapless youths, with fatal warmth you burn;

Laws, ever fix'd, forbid you to return.

then from the wing a short-liv'd spearman flies,

Unsafely bold, and see! he dies, he dies:

The dark-brow'd hero, with one vengeful blow

Of life and place deprives his ivory foe.

Now rush both armies o'er the burnish'd field,

Hurl the swift dart, and rend the bursting shield.

Here furious knights on fiery coursers prance,

but see! the white-rob'd Amazon beholds

Where the dark host its opening van unfolds:

Soon as her eye discerns the hostile maid,

By ebon shield, and ebon helm betray'd;

Seven squares she passed with majestic mien,

And stands triumphant o'er the falling queen.

Perplex'd, and sorrowing at his consort's fate,

The monarch burn'd with rage, despair, and hate:

Swift from his zone th' avenging blade he drew,

And, mad with ire, the proud virago slew.

Meanwhile sweet smiling Delia's wary king

Retir'd from fight behind the circling wing.

Long time the war in equal balance hung;

Till, unforseen, an ivory courser sprung,

And, wildly prancing in an evil hour,

Attack'd at once the monarch and the tower:

Sirena blush'd; for, as the rules requir'd,

Her injur'd sovereign to his tent retir'd;

Whilst her lost castle leaves his threatening height,

And adds new glory to th' exulting knight.

At this, pale fear oppress'd the drooping maid,

And on her cheek the rose began to fade:

A crystal tear, that stood prepar'd to fall,

She wip'd in silence, and conceal'd from all;

From all but Daphnis; He remark'd her pain,

And saw the weakness of her ebon train;

Then gently spoke: "Let me your loss supply,

And either nobly win, or nobly dir;

Me oft has fortune crown'd with fair success,

And led to triumph in the fields of Chess."

He said: the willing nymph her place resign'd,

And sat at distance on the bank reclin'd.

Thus when Minerva call'd her chief to arms,

And Troy's high turret shook with dire alarms,

The Cyprian goddess wounded left the plain,

And Mars engag'd a mightier force in vain.

Strait Daphnis leads his squadron to the field;

(To Delia's arms 'tis ev'n a joy to yield.)

Each guileful snare, and subtle art he tries,

But finds his heart less powerful than her eyes:

Wisdom and strength superior charms obey;

And beauty, beauty, wins the long-fought day.

By this a hoary chief, on slaughter bent,

Approach'd the gloomy king's unguarded tent;

Where, late, his consort spread dismay around,

Now her dark corse lies bleeding on the ground.

Hail, happy youth! they glories not unsung

Shall live eternal on the poet's tongue;

For thou shalt soon receive a splendid change,

And o'er the plain with nobler fury range.

The swarthy leaders saw the storm impend,

And strove in vain their sovereign to defend:

Th' invader wav'd his silver lance in air,

And flew like lightning to the fatal square;

His limbs dilated in a moment grew

To stately height, and widen'd to the view;

More fierce his look, more lion-like his mien,

Sublime he mov'd, and seem'd a warrior queen.

As when the sage on some unfolding plant

Has caught a wandering fly, or frugal ant,

His hand the microscopic frame applies,

And lo! a bright hair'd monster meets his eyes;

He sees new plumes in slender cases roll'd;

Here stain'd with azure, there bedropp'd with gold;

Thus, on the alter'd chief both armies gaze,

And both the kings are fix'd with deep amaze.

The sword, which arm'd the snow-white maid before,

He noew assumes, and hurls the spear no more;

The springs indignant on the dark-rob'd band,

And knights and archers feel his deadly hand.

Now flies the monarch of the sable shield,

His legions vanquish'd, o'er the lonely field:

So when the morn, by rosy coursers drawn,

With pearls and rubies sows the verdant lawn,

Whilst each pale star from heaven's blue vault retires,

Still Venus gleams, and last of all expires.

He hears, where'er he moves, the dreadful sound;

Check the deep vales, and Check the woods rebound.

No place remains: he sees the certain fate,

And yields his throne to ruin, and Checkmate.

A brighter blush o'erspreads the damsel's cheeks,

And mildly thus the conquer'd stripling speaks:

"A double triumph, Delia, hast thou won,

By Mars protected, and by Venus' son;

The first with conquest crowns thy matchless art,

The second points those eyes at Daphnis' heart."

She smil'd; the nymphs and amorous youths arise,

And own that beauty gain'd the nobler prize.

Low in their chest the mimic troops were lay'd,

And peaceful slept the sable hero's shade.

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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With that innovations graves a hollow thy father cloak

And through the noble hearts move one, (which I could something also carried which comfort is, And grow for the covet most; and so longer paused, as near, that w as a pure as the pool as if with his bow, to the suppose us quite. she forth, Your names upon her golden seeming fearfully, fearing) in my love. Like occasional attendance expires at everywhere! It opend scalding back, nor pears; and much inspired. we were ill at large pedigree Yet my Starre, because Pay into your eyelids. matchd all at a time, too, he make a Werter of his friend because she says (god help a wretched plight, by glimring its reasons as if to close; the creation of the sky retiring

etiquette to clear fortune has no descried the rich sky, and dreary sigh or this compose that they knows,) so many a flowr, than thou love and hornblended, just as simooms were I do store his Paradise, but soon with the woods, and had your sweet odes of life, your sweet bitter eares to my thousand rill, the sacristan still the rest or art. Courteous mould removed. Sleepy one! And he stalking of the birds the same. But good philosophy: looke at my tender to think, ere yet your brows, the curious consort gave him, and high, she heathy mounted, sad, cheerful light stream, yet I hold me, to get people, with pity, fling than history, or similar connections safe content, he blest, and the high state recouers, but do not love you.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #189 texts

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dwellordream · 3 years

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THE H/H APPENDIX VOL. I

THE KINGDOM OF THE NORTH

HOUSE STARK OF WINTERFELL:

LYSARA STARK, Queen in the North, the sole child of Robb Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell, and his queen, Lady Donella, of House Bolton

Her mother, LADY DONELLA, of House Bolton, widow of King Robb Stark

Her stepfather, LORD HARRION, of House Karstark, Lord of the Karhold and Lord Protector of the North

Her aunt, QUEEN SANSA, queen consort of Harrold Arryn, King of the Vale

Her aunt, PRINCESS ARYA

Her uncle, PRINCE BRAN

Her uncle, PRINCE RICKON

Her grandmother, LADY CATELYN, of House Tully, widow of Lord Eddard Stark

HOUSE KARSTARK OF THE KARHOLD:

HARRION KARSTARK, Lord of the Karhold and Lord Protector of the North

His sister, LADY ALYS, of House Thenn

His goodbrother, LORD SIGORN, of House Thenn

His niece, JONELLE, daughter of Alys and Sigorn

HOUSE BOLTON OF THE DREADFORT:

MARIYA BOLTON, daughter of Roose Bolton and his lady wife, Lady Walda, of House Frey

Her mother, LADY WALDA, of House Frey, widow of Lord Roose Bolton

HOUSE HORNWOOD OF THE HORNWOOD:

DARYN HORNWOOD, son of Lord Halys Hornwood, and his wife, Lady Donella, of House Manderly

His wife, LADY WYLLA, of House Manderly

His mother, LADY DONELLA, of House Manderly, widow of Lord Halys Hornwood

His ward, MARIYA, of House Bolton

Her mother, LADY WALDA, of House Frey

His squire, WALDER, of House Frey

HOUSE REED OF GREYWATER WATCH:

MEERA REED, daughter of Lord Howland Reed, and his wife, Lady Jyanna, of House Fenn

Her daughter, JYANNA

HOUSE MANDERLY OF WHITE HARBOR:

WYNAFRYD MANDERLY, Lady of White Harbor, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lady Marshal of the Mander

Her husband, LYALL, of House Flint, Warden of the White Knife

Her twin sons, WENDEL and WYLAN

Her mother, LADY LEONA, of House Woolfield, widow of Ser Wylis Manderly

Her sister, LADY WYLLA, of House Hornwood, wife of Lord Daryn Hornwood

HOUSE DUSTIN OF BARROWTON:

BARBREY DUSTIN, Lady of Barrowton, widow of Lord Willam Dustin

Her ward and heir, WYNNE, daughter of Lady Jocelyn Dustin and Lucas of House Harclay

HOUSE FLINT OF WIDOW’S WATCH:

LYESSA FLINT, Lady of Widow’s Watch

Her daughter, JONELLE, of House Flint

Her son, CREGAN, of House Flint

Her son, LYALL, of House Flint, husband of Lady Wynafryd of House Manderly

Her daughter, LYNARA, of House Flint

Her daughter, ALYSANE, of House Flint

HOUSE FLINT OF FLINT’S FINGER:

BENNARD FLINT, Lord of Flint’s Finger, son of Beron Flint and his wife, Wynta

His wife, LADY MARNA, of House Flint

His son, BERON

His mother, WYNTA, of House Stout, widow of Beron Flint

His aunt, JOCELYN, of House Tallhart, widow of Willam Flint

His aunt, ALYS, of House Norrey, widow of Artos Flint

His cousins, LYANNE, EDWYLE, ALYSANE, JENNY, and DANELLE

HOUSE TALLHART OF TORRHEN’S SQUARE:

EDDARA TALLHART, Lady of Torrhen’s Square, daughter of Master Helman Tallhart, and his wife, Lady Brenna, of House Glover

Her mother, LADY BRENNA, of House Glover, widow of Master Helman Tallhart

Her aunt, RAYA, of House Norrey, widow of Leobald Tallhart

Her cousins, BRANDON and BEREN

Her goodsisters, SERRA, and MARISSA, of House Frey

HOUSE RYSWELL OF THE RILLS:

MARK RYSWELL, Lord of Rills, son of Lord Roger Ryswell, and his wife, Lady Serra, of House Marsh

His mother, LADY SERRA, of House Marsh,

His sister, BETHANY

His brother, ROBB

His aunt, MYRA, of House Locke, widow of Roger Ryswell

His cousin, BARBA, daughter of Roger Ryswell and Myra Locke

HOUSE CERWYN OF CASTLE CERWYN:

JONELLE CERWYN, Lady of Castle Cerwyn, daughter of Lord Medger Cerwyn and his wife, Lady Gilliane of House Hornwood

Her husband, MORGAN, of House Liddle

Her son, CLEY

HOUSE GLOVER OF DEEPWOOD MOTTE:

GAWEN GLOVER, Master of Deepwood Motte, son of Robett Glover and his wife, Lady Sybelle, of House Locke

His sister, ERENA

His mother, LADY SYBELLE, of House Glover

HOUSE UMBER OF LAST HEARTH:

CREGARD UMBER, Lord of Last Hearth, son of Lord Greatjon Umber and his wife, Lady Gilliane, of House Burley

His wife, LADY LYNARA, of House Flint

His son, JON, of House Umber

His brother, OSRIC

His sisters, BERENA and AREGELLE

HOUSE MORMONT OF BEAR ISLAND:

ALARRA, Lady of Bear Island, daughter of Lady Alysane Mormont, Lady of Bear Island

Her brother, JONNEL

Her aunts, LYRA, JORELLE, and LYANNA

Her goodbrother, SER OLYVAR, of House Frey

HOUSE SLATE OF BLACKPOOL:

WILLAM, Lord of Blackpool, son of Lord Robard Slate, and his wife, Lady Jenny, of House Flint

His mother, LADY JENNY, of House Flint

His sister, DELLA

His aunt, MARA

HOUSE WULL:

THEO, Lord of Wull, son of Lord Hugo Wull, and his wife, Lady Karla, of House Knott

His wife, LADY MARA, of House Slate

His sister, BRANDA

His brother, EDRICK

His brother, HARLON

His sister, RAYA

HOUSE FLINT OF THE MOUNTAINS:

TORGA, Lady of Clan Flint, daughter of Lord Donnel Flint, and his wife, Lady Branda, of House Wull

Her mother, LADY BRANDA, of House Wull

Her uncle, ARTOS

Her aunt, LYARRA, of House Liddle

Her cousins, ALYS, BRANDON, and RODRIK

HOUSE LOCKE OF OLDCASTLE:

RICKARD, Lord of Oldcastle, son of Ser Donnel Locke, and his wife, Lady Alicent, of House Manderly

His mother, LADY ALICENT, of House Manderly, widow of Ser Donnel Locke

His sister, LYSA

HOUSE POOLE:

JEYNE, daughter of Master Vayon Poole, and his wife, Gwynne, of House Wells

HOUSE CASSEL:

BETH, daughter of Ser Rodrik Cassel, and his wife, Anya, of House Burley

THE FREE FOLK OF THE GIFT:

Val, Leader of the Free Folk

Her husband, TOREGG

Her daughter, DALLA

Her nephew, AEMON, son of Mance Rayder and Dalla

Her ward, SAMWELL, son of Gilly

His mother, GILLY

#haunt/hunt #appendix

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rjalker · 3 years

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Iglen said, “In the other courts, the consorts did not take this much interest in trade.”

“Moon is different,” Rill told him. “He used to live with groundlings.”

Iglen’s frills lifted. “Oh?”

“Near Kish,” Moon said, pointedly.

Iglen’s frills drooped. “Oh.”

Lol

#Rjalker reads The Books of the Raksura

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 4 years

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The Sword and The Trowel

by Charles Spurgeon

Inspirational Reading for March 4, 2020

The Thames at its first tunnel is a tiny rill for a lamb to drink at; no one would dream of its swelling into a mighty river. The grace of God in its first commencement in the soul of man is usually a faint and feeble thing. Jesus is trusted, but the faith is feeble. Love to heavenly things is in the heart, but it is rather a spark than a flame. All the graces are in the new-born soul, but they are like seeds, rather than well-grown plants. No one rails at the river's humble parentage, and none of us must blame the littleness of early spiritual life. Thanks be unto God if we are saved at all; better, far better, to be a rill of grace than a river of sin. The very least streamlet, or even drop of faith, is more precious than a world of gold. Young beginner, be encouraged by this thought.

How quiet, calm, and beautiful, is the rustic nook, where the lamb is nipping a sweet, succulent shoot from the shrub which covers the little brook! so fair, so calm, is the first season of spiritual existence. The love of our espousals we shall ever look back upon with grateful recollection. Though the rill cannot as yet float a navy, or make glad a million-peopled city, yet it has a peculiar charm and beauty of its own; and even so has youthful piety. Remember this; newly-converted friend, and be glad.

Yet the stream grows and swells in volume as it advances. The lamb will not always be its fit playmate; it will ere long consort with giant oaks, towering castles, huge galleons, and crowded cities, and will not rest till it communes with the far-sounding ocean. Even so grace grows, strengthens, increases. From the day of small things it sweeps on to weeks of service, years of patience, and ages of perfection. Seek this progress, O young believer, and be not content without it. Looking unto Jesus, speed along the channel of his will. His merit has saved you if you have believed; let his example animate you, and his love encourage you. May your peace be as a river, and your righteousness as the waves of the sea.

#The Sword and The Trowel #Charles Spurgeon #inspirational reading #March 4 #2020

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tendertenebrosity · 6 months

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I love Rill so much! I really can’t wait to find out what happens to him with the pirates. Is the snippet you posted from further along in his timeline?

Thank you!

I promise I am working on the Prince and Pirate stuff, it's just going... slowly.

The snippet I posted is actually from early in his timeline - after the duel, and before the in-media-res scene of him being held hostage. It's probably the last conversation he had with Tali prior to the hostage scene, in fact! (oof)

#Consort Rill

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tendertenebrosity · 6 months

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😭

Share a snippet that will break our hearts

To be honest it's a bit hard to predict what will break my reader's hearts! So you can have Rill's being broken instead.

“Since you’re going to be gone for a year or so,” she said, businesslike. “This is probably a good time to trial what I brought up last month.” She actually took his hands and pulled them into her lap, folding her fingers around his.

He let her do it, numb. He listened to her talk, feeling like he was gummed up with treacle or mud, knowing what she was working up to saying and knowing how this conversation was going to end, but unable to do anything to avert it.

“… and you know, you might even find somebody yourself while you’re gone. That would be fine; that would be good.” She tilted her head, trying to look up into his face. “Rill? What do you think?”

He forced himself to move; pulling his hand out of hers. “My opinion on this hasn’t changed,” he said, his own voice drab and colourless in his ears. “I told you. Not him.”

She sighed, short and angry. “Rill - ”

“I told you,” he repeated. “Anybody else. Literally anybody.”

“I’m sorry, Rill,” she said, “But we can’t - ”

“You’re past the point of asking me, and now you’re just telling me how it will be,” he said. “I understand.” He stood up. “I don’t know why you’re even pretending to care what I think anymore. You want to have the illusion that I’m happy with things? That’s what you’ve always been angry that I can’t give you. Well, you can’t have it. You cannot, in fact, command me to be happy.”

#ask game #Consort Rill #prince and pirate

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years

Text

Masterpost: Consort Rill/Hostage

If anybody comes up with a better name for this, let me know...

Consort of the queen of a rebellious territory, Rill is taken captive and forced to question - what value does he bring to his Tali and his beloved homeland?

This is a hostage/prisoner of war whump story, in a vaguely fantasy setting. Also featured occasionally will be pirates and some court intrigue, as well as depiction of an unhealthy/troubled relationship. TWs for violence, references to torture, some gender role/sexuality insecurities, and poor self-worth.

Current storyline:

Part 1 - In medias res! The enemy general gives terms for Rill’s safe return.

Part 2 - Rill realises the true danger of his captivity, and makes an regrettable admission

Part 3 - Enter Jak, our co-captive

Part 4 - Jak gives up his shirt

Part 5 - Jak and Rill get to know each other

Part 6 - The ship is boarded

Part 7 - Pirates

Part 8 - Aboard Glorious

Part 9 - Fever

Part 10 - Negotiation

Part 11 - Discussion

Flashbacks/the Duel

Part 1 - The challenge

Part 2 - It goes poorly

Moodboard

#Consort Rill #royalty whump #captivity whump #fantasy whump #masterpost #Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #Queen Tali

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tendertenebrosity · 1 year

Text

Part 11 of the Hostage series, princes and pirates and imprisonment, oh my.

Masterpost is here. Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts, @redstainedsocks

“I don’t understand,” Jak said. “Don’t you want to go home?”

His face was creased in bafflement, his hands dangling off his knees as he sat in the chair.

Rill awkwardly smoothed a hand over the sheet beside him on the bed, futilely seeking order in the creases and folds of fabric. “It… isn’t that simple,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It… it just isn’t,” Rill said. He sat back, leaning against the wall, and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “Your uncle sent you in here to question me about it, didn’t he,” he said, mildly accusing.

“Oh, sure,” Jak agreed readily. “But that isn’t really why I’m asking.”

“I just don’t want to be ransomed.”

“Do you think your folks can’t afford it?” Jak dismissed that with a wave of a hand. “If so, talk to Tallow, it can be a token amount. More to save face than anything. Tallow would always rather get something than nothing.”

“It’s… it’s not that…”

Rill sighed heavily. He took his hands away from his face, but still did his utmost to avoid Jak’s eyes - Jak, who was now sitting across the room from him, worried and earnest and apparently content to sit there looking at Rill for as long as it took to get an answer out of him.

Guilt plucked uneasily at his nerves. Back when they were imprisoned together, Rill hadn’t really intended to lie to Jak. It had just been… easier not to broach the subject. And what had it mattered, anyway, when they were both likely to die soon?

But then they hadn’t died, and it had moved from being just an omission of irrelevant information to a lie. And that lie was keeping him safe, he couldn’t abandon it no matter how bad it felt to be lying to Jak, who had saved his life for no reason and didn’t seem to expect anything at all in return.

Jak was a friend to Rill the Nobody. Would he still be a friend to the Prince Consort?

Well, Rill didn’t really intend to find out. No matter how long Jak sat there, frowning with the force of his concern.

“It’s not an amount of money that’s the problem,” Rill said, trying to skirt the issue, talk about it without talking about it. “It’s more that… I don’t want to be more of a burden than I already have been. It’s just… better that I stay away.”

“What? Stay away?” Jak shook his head. “And leave them wondering where you are, whether you’re dead? How is that better for them? You just want to disappear out of their lives? That’s fucked up.”

“I’m not disappearing,” Rill said. “They knew where I was. They will assume the Empire killed me.”

Could they be partially right? he wondered. Could the Prince Consort be dead and just plain Rill crawl away from the shell? The prospect wasn’t... terrible.

“And that’s awful!” Jak protested. “When you could go home safe and be happy - ”

“I don’t think I do want to go home!” Rill burst out. “Jak, they left me there!” He could not stay sitting any more. He pushed up off the bed and lurched upright, turning his back to Jak. There was no room in here to pace, not with the both of them in here. He settled for clenching and loosening his fists as he spoke to the closed door, his voice uneven. “Look, I’m not saying they made a bad choice or the wrong choice, but they left me there to rot. Did Tallow tell you that? The Empire asked for more than I was worth, so they left me in the Empire’s hands knowing full well what was happening to me.”

Rill heard Jak shift behind him, but he didn’t want to turn around and see his face. Rill was breathing a little harder, his throat burning. His eyes, too, which wasn’t usual.

“How am I supposed to - how can I - ” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Jak, how are you supposed to go back home after that? They’re not going to understand. I don’t blame them. But I just…”

He trailed away. The sound of his breathing filled up the room for a few seconds.

“Well, you probably should,” Jak announced.

Rill turned, startled. “What?”

“Blame them! Gods, man!” Jak slapped a hand down on his thigh. “What do you mean, you don’t think they made a bad choice? If they could have saved you they should have! That’s family!”

Rill managed a smile, through his prickling eyes and the lump in his throat.

“Jak…”

“More than you were worth! Calling yourself a burden! Bah!” Jak leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands in a ‘what gives’ sort of gesture. “Rill, who talks to you like this? Getting you back safe from the Empire should have been worth any cost!”

“In, uh… the idea is right,” Rill said, unable to find the words in Castar for what he meant. “The idea, the theory, sure, a life is worth anything. But that’s not how it works in the real world.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jak folded his arms and looked mulish.

“Well, what about lots of lives?” Rill asked. “You’d trade lots of people for one person?”

Jak shook his head. “Not trade lives. Risk lives, maybe, it’s different.”

Rill sank back down to sit on the edge of his bed. “It isn’t, really,” he said. “I can be… er, what’s the word in Castar for ‘objective’? No?”

Jak shrugged, nonplussed.

“I can look at the big picture.” Rill coughed into his arm, wincing at the pain. “One life isn’t worth many. It was the right choice.” Why did I bring this up, he wondered. Why get all choked up about Tali leaving me, and then explain in great detail why she was right? Why does this hurt so much? I don’t know what’s going on in my own head, how can I expect anybody else to?

“Look, I don’t see how this changes things,” Jak said after a moment. “OK, sure, you think they were right not to save you. You are wrong, but whatever. Why does that mean you can’t go home now? Uncle’s not going to ask to trade you for a dozen people.”

“No,” Rill agreed. “I suppose not.”

“So tell him who you are and go home!”

Rill bit his lip. He looked down at his hands, which were starting to heal up from all of the bruises and cuts he’d gained during his time in the army camp. He ran a thumb idly over a healing scab.

“Jak… what if they say no,” he whispered. “What if they still say no? They might not even entertain a negotiation.”

Rill was not sure he could take that.

“Do you really think that’ll happen?” Jak said, hushed and frowning.

Rill shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not… even before I was stupid enough to get myself captured, I wasn’t exactly the most useful to have around.”

He picked at the roughness on his skin, pulled it back to bleeding and watched the bead of bright red well up on his knuckle. Little merchant clerk, not good enough for the Queen’s hand. What use are you? A captain in uniform, very close by the Queen’s side. “Truthfully… they’ve probably replaced me already. It’d probably mess up a lot of people’s plans if I went back.”

After all, Rill being gone would solve a lot of political problems. Couldn’t be a lightning rod for political discontent if he died tragically, could he? And the new nobility would have no cause to complain. And Tali could finally get the kind of husband she’d always wanted.

“Who cares?” Jak demanded. “If I were you, I would take joy in messing those people’s plans up. They shouldn’t count you out so easily.” He leaned forward, making the chair creak under his weight, and pointed forcefully at Rill. “The more I hear out of you, Rill, the more I think maybe fuck your family. They’re not worth the name. You have to go back to make them eat their words! Be great and make them all regret valuing you so little.”

Rill rocked back, startled. The smile he found on his face tugged unexpectedly at a scab on his lip. “That’s what you’d do?”

“Absolutely,” Jak said firmly.

“Well, I’m not you, Jak,” Rill said. Which was unfortunate - if Rill had been more like Jak, the court would probably have liked him more from the start anyway. “I don’t think that would work for me. But thank you.”

Jak subsided, looking a little deflated. “You’re still not going to tell us, huh?”

“No,” Rill said. “I’m not.”

“If we asked and they did say no, Rill, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Jak said. “I don’t really think Tallow would go through with killing you. He already likes you more than most Mainlanders.”

“I don’t think that’s true…” Except insofar as you all seem to hate us as default…

“We would figure out… something,” Jak continued. “Some other way to get the money, maybe, or some way you can work and still stay here. The ships pick up a crew member from one of the safe ports, sometimes - not often, but it happens, Skyle told me about it.”

Rill smiled sadly. Or, Tallow will contact the Empire and let them know he has a bigger prize than he thought. I highly doubt I’m going to be welcome as crew on a pirate ship, as funny as Tali and the council would probably find that.

“No,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry, Jak, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m not being ransomed. I’m not going home.”

And whatever happens will just have to happen.

#Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #Consort Rill #Hostage #Held for Ransom #poor self esteem

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years

Text

Ongoing Hostage pieces! Prev: Part 1, part 2 Part 3.

Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts.

By the end of the third day at sea, Jak was immensely bored. He could pass some time each day doing exercises - there was just barely enough room in the cell to allow it, and even if it was most likely a noose awaited him, there was no sense in letting himself wither away in idleness. People had escaped from more dire circumstances, right?

But that could only keep a man occupied so long.

The prisoner in the next cell, the young mainlander with the dark hair and collection of bruises, didn't follow his example. At some point in the first night he'd pulled himself to huddle in a corner, and there he mostly stayed, his head bowed and arms wrapped loosely around his knees. When the guards brought food, every morning like clockwork, he scarcely even ate it. When he did move, he was like an old man, stiff and hunched.

"There once was a ship that put to sea," Jak sang to himself, idly. "And the name of that ship was..."

His friend Skyle had always made him take the lowest line of the harmony, so he was a bit rusty on the melody, but who was counting, anyway?

No guards appeared to object. And if they did - fuck'em, right? Jak could almost relish the idea of one of them deciding to open the barred gate and try to make him stop. By the third one, he was getting into it enough to keep the beat, slapping a hand lightly against his thigh throughout the chorus.

He came to the end of that one, and let his hand fall still against his thigh; with a sigh he let his head drop back to thunk against the wood of the bulkhead.

To his surprise, he heard a noise from the next cell; a faint pattering of hands. He looked over; he'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

The stranger was still in his corner, but his head was up. He stopped clapping - awkwardly, like he'd thought better of it. Instead, he shifted to face Jak - still stiff, painful - and spoke a sentence in rough, rasping Continental.

Jak shrugged his shoulders.

The stranger frowned, cleared his throat, and said something questioning. Jak recognised a few words that time, it was the other main trade language from the West.

"Look, you're wasting your time with that foreign gabble at me," Jak said finally. "I never could be damned to learn any of your languages."

To his surprise, the stranger's eyes lifted with something like interest. "Oh! Castar! Is Castarian?"

"Huh," Jak said, impressed. "You know it?"

At this the stranger grimaced, lifted one hand off his knee to make a wavy gesture. "Little little. Sorry. Trade, um, Castar trade, not mine."

Jak nodded in feigned understanding.

The stranger muttered to himself a little in his own language, apparently looking for a word. "Not exactly same. Not look Castarian. Are - Pirate Isles?"

Jak shrugged. "Sanctuary Isles, but sure, if you want. Pirate Isles." He moved away - shifted to face the other side of the cell, the bars that didn't have anybody behind them. He pondered trying for another nap.

"I have offence," the stranger said from behind him, slowly. "Sorry."

Jak grunted, flapped a dismissive hand.

The stranger didn't say anything else.

The next day, guards came and unlocked the stranger's cell, and took him above deck again. Jak made a point of standing, leaning on the bars and watching them; it didn't seem to deter them in the slightest but it felt a bit better.

The stranger didn't try to fight back; Jak would have. It wasn't like the lack of fighting back stopped him from getting cuffed and shoved around.

He was gone for the better part of the afternoon, and Jak was wondering if they'd thrown him overboard or maybe just stashed him somewhere else, but eventually he heard footsteps down the corridor to the cells again.

Jak clambered up to his feet. This time, the figure being hauled along by the guards wasn't dressed in a torn and bloody jacket; he was stripped down to almost nothing, and soaking wet.

The prisoner was pushed back into the cell, where his feet gave way underneath him and he sank to his knees. His breathing was coming in harsh sobs; Jak could hear it, could see his shoulders wracked with shuddering.

The guard said something, low and casual, as he locked the cell again. Jak couldn't understand it, but he saw the prisoner's shoulders jerk, as if struck.

The guard laughed, pocketed the keys. He made eye contact with Jak on his way past the cell, and sneered. Jak itched to wipe the sneer off his face - the bars were far enough apart, he could get a fist through there - but that wouldn't achieve anything right now.

The other prisoner was still there, on hands and knees in the middle of his cell. Shivering violently, breathing in gasps, dripping water onto the deck from his sodden hair and underclothes.

Fuck me, why do they hate him so much? Jak wondered, scratching his beard. They'd probably sluiced the poor fellow down with buckets - they'd done the same to Jak once, presumably for cleanliness, but it was nearing evening and it was autumn and cold, and why hadn't they given him his clothes back? It was such a pointless cruelty, and one they hadn’t shown Jak.

"Hey," he said. "Still alive, eh?"

The prisoner flinched, looked up. For a moment he blinked at Jak uncomprendingly, eyes wide and fearful, before he seemed to register who he was. Then he merely nodded, once, curtly, and sat back on his knees, wrapping his arms around himself vainly. It didn't stop the shivering, or hide the mottled expanses of bruises, either.

Jak blew out his cheeks in a sigh, and started to strip off his overshirt. He had a layer on underneath, he would be fine. He thought he'd made a bit of noise doing it, but the other man didn't seem to notice, just knelt there shaking and looking ahead with glazed eyes.

Jak whistled and fed a fold of the shirt through the bars. The prisoner startled and looked over. His gaze flicked between Jak and the shirt a few times. He said something in thick, shaking Continental.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Jak said. "Take it." He pushed more of the shirt through.

The man's face crumpled a little. He pushed up onto his feet - a hunched sort of upright - and stepped over to the barrier to take the shirt. He made a few attempts at words, in different languages, before landing on - "Th-th-thank you!"

"Eh," Jak said. "I'll live."

The prisoner pulled the shirt over his head; it was big enough to go practically to his knees. Once he had it on, he sank down to sit with his back to the wall - but not in his usual corner. Closer to the bars and Jak.

Jak looked down at him for a moment, undecided. Then he sat down as well. The prisoner tapped himself on the chest lightly. "Rill," he said, a little breathless, still shivering. "I am, Rill."

Jak nodded. "Jak," he said. He shifted into a slightly less uncomfortable position, stretching one leg out across the dirty woden deck. "Formerly of the Radiant, may she rest well." He felt a pang of regret, for the ship now lying at the bottom of the ocean. She hadn't been Jak's ship for that long, but she'd been a good one.

The prisoner - Rill, he supposed - nodded. He wrapped his hands in an extra fold of the shirt, and the two of them sat in silence for a little while. It was practically companionable.

"Hey, Jak?"

"Yeah?"

"You sing? Like, uh. Day ago?" Rill let his head fall forward, to rest on his folded knees in front of him. Jak could see one of his hands through the nearest gap; it was white-knuckled where it gripped the shirt fold, suddenly. "Please."

Jak shrugged. "All right, you get one more," he said. "But tomorrow you have to start pulling your weight. Some mainlander saga or something. Otherwise it's not fair."

The shoulders beside him in the other cell twitched. "Fair," Rill echoed. "Yes. Thank you."

#Consort Rill #Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #whump #aftermath of whump #held hostage #non-sexual nudity

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years

Text

Back to Rill’s POV. Starting to need a masterpost...

Prev: Part 1, part 2 Part 3, part 4

Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts.

"Definitely not Imperial," Rill said. He let his head loll back against the wall, probed a swollen cut on the inside of his cheek morbidly with his tongue. Talking was making it worse. "Not anymore. The country, my country is called Saverain."

His fellow prisoner looked somewhat unconvinced. He was sitting in the centre of the cell facing Rill’s side, but he still managed to fill it. A rounded, golden-brown statue of a man - not just tall, but broad, with a muscled chest and shoulders and a rounded belly, and a thatch of blond hair and beard. If the cell was cramped for Rill, it was doubtful that Jak could even stretch out enough to sleep.

"Never heard of it," he said.

Rill shook his head. "You are... getting back at me," he said, knowing that he was using the wrong idioms, that his grammar was broken. "For calling your home the Pirate Isles."

Jak chuckled. "At least you mainland folk talk of the Isles, friend, even if you use the wrong name. You say you're from a country that didn't exist ten years ago."

They had been working on Rill's Castar, off and on, for a few days now. Rill rarely had the energy to talk for longer than twenty minutes or so at once, and Jak didn't seem to begrudge him that. Seemed to understand when all Rill had in him was to curl up in the corner and hurt.

Jak was so amiable, in fact, that Rill struggled to picture him offering violence to anybody unprovoked, although he had quite cheerfully admitted yesterday that he was imprisoned for piracy.

"It existed, it just wasn't independent," Rill said. "Until the... My point - my point is, I'm not an Imperial citizen any more."

Jak shrugged. He flicked something, some bug or tiny vermin, off his muscled blond forearm. "Good enough for me. Explains why you're here, huh?"

Rill hunched his shoulders, crossed his arms over his knees, and didn't answer.

This conversation - exchanging names and origins, piecing together a language he hadn't heard in years and had never really learned properly, making things that were almost jokes - felt like trying to paper over a gaping hole. A gaping wound. Anything to occupy himself with that wasn't the sickening, hideous knowledge of what the future held.

"Your place must be a real thorn in their side, 'cause they sure hate you." Jak was still talking, across the wooden slats and a thousand miles away. "What'd you do to earn you all of... that?"

A thorn. All of their ambitions, the world they'd seen, all of the tears and blood. Nothing but a thorn, an irritant, apparently. Rill knew it had been worth it. It had been. It still was.

Jak was looking at him, crooking his neck slightly to be able to see through one of the gaps. Rill shook his head, the way he did when Jak used an unfamiliar word or spoke too fast for him to understand. "Uh.... no, um, sorry. Don't know."

He let his head sink down onto his arms.

The officer on the ship - oh, God, the officer, Rill still felt that wave of shame to think of him, of what Rill had admitted the first time they'd spoken - had told Rill the last time they spoke that Rill looked 'better'. More 'lucid'. Swinging the pendulum back towards pity, away from spite.

Rill had at least been lucid enough to keep his mouth shut this time and say nothing; which was probably what had lost him the clothes. Still, however, pathetically easy to read.

Jak sighed. "You should eat that."

Rill raised his head enough to look at the ration that had been slid in to him this morning. Hard bread. Even if it hadn't been physically painful to eat...

"Why bother," he mumbled.

"Well, we're not hanged til we're hanged," Jak said, almost philosphically. "Are you sure we're going to the capital?"

"That's what they said," Rill mumbled, for at least the third time. Jak seemed dubious, for reasons he'd tried to explain, but Rill's Castar tended to fail him once Jak got to talking about ships or the ocean.

"That is weeks away, and we are still alive," he said firmly. "Got to keep your strength up."

Rill took a deep breath, let it out shakily. He examined briefly the thought of explaining to this inexplicably upbeat, inexplicably kind foreigner, in his butchered terrible Castar, the concept that if he was physically weak when he got to the capital he might not last so long under torture, which would be a miserable blessing.

He sat up, inched painfully away from the shared cell wall. "I'm tired," he said instead. "Sorry. No more talking for today."

Rill lowered himself down, to lay on the shoulder that hurt the least, and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly in the fetid dark, the wooden deck seeming to rise up to press against his cheek rhythmically, and tried not to let the waters of panic close over the top of his head. It is worth it. Saverain is still worth it. I'll never see it again, and most of it never even liked me particularly much; but it is and was and always will be worth it.

Rill didn’t quite notice when he’d slipped into a miserable, queasily rocking sleep. But he must have, because he woke up to find the cells even darker than usual, and Jak hissing urgently at him.

Rill made some blurred, indistinguishable noise, rolled painfully onto his back.

Jak was a towering figure, standing silhouetted against the light coming down the stairs from above, hair limned in murky gold.

“Rill,” he said, eyes shining in the dark. “Get up! Something is happening.”

#consort Rill #Jack of the Sanctuary Isles #this is short but in my defence #it didn't want to be longer #captivity whump #just some captives bonding #starvation warning #mention of torture #POW whump #aftermath of violence

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tendertenebrosity · 1 year

Text

Part 10 of the Hostage series. Masterpost is here. Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts, @redstainedsocks

Rill opened his eyes and blinked up at the wooden ceiling.

He felt... empty. Strange. Light. For a while he was content just to lie there and be present, cataloging the various pieces of his body and their status.

His head ached, but it felt clearer than it had in a long time. He was a little overwarm, but it felt normal, not the sweltering heat or paradoxical chill of the day before. Arms, fine. Legs, aching. Chest, sore, a tickle in his throat that would probably turn into a cough if he let it. Face, stiff and sore but better than it had been on the boat. His eyes felt crusted and dry, and his mouth was dry and tasted awful. He was hungry, for the first time in... a while.

He could hear voices, outside the room; conversations too far away to make out any of the words, just cheerful sing-song murmuring at the edge of his attention.

The room was small and narrow, with a shuttered window and plain, sturdy furniture. Sunlight crept in around the edges of the shutter, but otherwise the room was fairly dim. On the table beside the bed was a ceramic jug and a cup, which reminded Rill abruptly that he was thirsty.

He decided to attempt the bold maneuver of sitting up to see if there was any water in the jug.

Ow. Predictably, his body had been more or less content to lie still under blankets, but actually moving was a different question entirely.

In the middle of his second attempt, the door swung open. A woman came 1through - older than Rill, with a honey-blond plait and her blouse and overdress embroidered with flowers. She was carrying a tray with a bowl, and looked surprised.

Rill froze, feeling strangely guilty to be caught in the middle of trying to sit up.

"Ah, you're awake," she said, her Castar crisp. "For good this time, I expect."

"Hello," Rill said cautiously. His voice rasped with disuse. "I'm... Rill." He made the split-second decision to tell Mina no more of his name than what he’d already told Jak. That felt… safer. Being Emerill Lockhart was not safe here.

She cocked her head to one side, and gave half a smile. "I know. I'm Mina; I'm Haven's healer. You've been here for a few days."

Rill remembered then, hazily, that there had been hands on him, the last few days; firm but gentle hands helping him to sit up, to drink, to move around. He thought he remembered saying 'thank you' at the time.

"Oh," he said, feeling a blush paint his face. "Yes. Thank you. You've... been very kind... "

She put the tray down on the table and, in a business-like fashion, look hold of Rill's shoulders and eased him up to sit with his back against the wall.

"Thank you," he said again - and dissolved helplessly into coughing.

The Islander healer held him steady with one hand and offered him a handkerchief; once he was done with the paroxysm of coughing, she examined the horrible material that had come out of Rill’s lungs with a critical eye.

“Huh,” was all she said. Rill noticed, as she folded it up, that the handkerchief was East Lindrian fabric, the distinctive pale green dye he’d only ever seen come from there. Surprisingly fine in contrast to the furniture and Mina’s clothing.

Pirates, he reminded himself. He wondered where that handkerchief had been supposed to go.

Mina listened to his lungs with an ear on his chest, which was deeply uncomfortable. Mina had to prompt him irritably to breathe normally instead of holding his breath.

Apparently satisfied with whatever she had heard, she allowed him to have the bowl she had brought in, which turned out to be full of thin porridge.

“So,” she said, watching him, hand on hips. “Who or what is Tali?”

Rill flinched and almost dropped the spoon, causing it to chatter loudly against the bowl. “How did… what… ”

“Whoa, settle down,” Mina said, rescuing the porridge. “You talked a lot, is all. In your sleep.”

Rill took a deep breath, sudden panic fluttering in his chest. Talking in his fever, why hadn’t he realised that would be a problem? Days and days on the Imperial ship, trying to say nothing, trying to suppress even the tiniest responses, and then he just - talked in his sleep? What kind of things might he have given away?

“Look, I didn’t understand what you said,” Mina said, watching him with a frown between her eyebrows. “That’s why I asked. Whatever it was seemed to upset you.”

“No, I - it’s fine,” he said, trying to calm his heartbeat. Nobody here was listening out for secrets, nobody here knew he had any knowledge worth listening for.

“Sorry. Sorry, you just - startled me.”

“All right,” she said, grudgingly giving him the porridge back. “Finish that, and if you can keep it down I’ll bring you something more substantial later.”

“Thank you,” Rill whispered. “Look, how - do you know what’s going to happen, with me? I know I’m not - ”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have a clue. That’s Tallow’s business.”

“Tallow?”

“Our headman.” She started to gather up the tray and the other things from his bedside. “He’s Jak’s uncle. Did you know that?”

“No?”

She gave him an appraising look, as if she thought he might be lying. “Lucky you, then. If it hadn’t been Jak that brought you here I expect you’d be in the bottom of the bay right about now.” With that comforting statement, she took the tray and went to the door. “I’ll let him know you’re awake. He’ll want to talk to you.”

After the door had closed behind her, there was the small but very definitive click of a key turning in a lock.

Rill thought that another day passed; he slept through much of it, but the light around the shutters and the noises from the house ebbed and flowed. It was, he decided, definitely a house or maybe a place of business. Not a prison or anything military - the noises that drifted up through the floorboards and through the door were too normal, too casual.

In the afternoon, a man dressed in the same sort of clothing as Jak came and unlocked the door, and told Rill to come with him. Rill could stand and walk on his own by that point; he flinched away as the pirate put a hand on his shoulder, but it was only to hurry him out of way of the closing door.

The pirate pointed him down a corridor, then a set of open stairs into a wide, well-lit area. Rill didn’t catch much of the inside of the building; halfway down the stairs he lost his breath, and the pirate pushed him to keep going before he could catch it again, and then he was just stumbling forward with a hand on the wall.

“Here he is,” the pirate said, pushing him into another small room.

“Sure,” the man inside it said, turning around. “Off you go, Hobb.”

The room was windowless and cool, and stacked on three of the walls with packing crates and shelving. At the far side of the room was a makeshift desk made of a few planks laid over a pair of crates; pens, ink and paperwork littered it.

The man inside was so like Jak that Rill immediately knew it must be Tallow. He was much taller than Rill, broad-shouldered and running a little to fat. Slightly better dressed and groomed. Blond hair that greyed at the temples and the sides of his chin and, slightly incongruously, a pair of metal-rimmed spectacles perched on his craggy nose.

He slapped his hand a few times absently with the bundle of papers he was holding. “So,” he said. “You pulled through after all.”

Rill, light-headed and shaky from the short journey down the stairs, tried to breath deeply without coughing. He tried to marshal his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I, um… my Castar is… pretty shaky.”

Tallow made a faintly contemptuous huff. “So it is,” he said, in heavily accented but perfectly clear Continental. . “Absolutely dreadful. Luckily for you, my Continental is pretty top-notch, eh?”

“It is,” Rill agreed, surprised and relieved to be able to change languages. “Thank you. That’s much easier.”

“I admit, when Jak dropped you on the beach looking like a three-quarters-drowned rat, I had my doubts you’d make it,” Tallow said. He gave Rill an up-and-down look, his eyes narrowed with suspicion or assessment. “Do you know where you are?”

What does he see when he looks at me? The three-quarter-drowned rat probably wasn’t too far off the mark. Rill took a deep breath, made himself stand up straight and let go of the wall. He tried to smooth his face, lock away his fear deep inside his chest.

“I do,” he said. “A pirate stronghold, somewhere in the Sanctuary Isles, in the Emerald Sea. Jak called this place Haven. If… if you are Headman Tallow -”

“I am.”

“- I understand that I have you to thank for the decision to allow me to come here and be treated.” Rill managed to hold it together enough to give a shallow bow. “I am in all of your debt.”

Tallow’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes. You are. Admittedly, it was a little difficult to say no when Jak and Glorious had already hauled you all the way out here.” He tossed his papers down on the desk, turned back to rest his hip on it with folded arms. The gaze he turned on Rill now was thoughtful. “You should know, we rarely have guests here. Not even prettily spoken young noble whelps - which you obviously are. It’s not for the eyes of mainlanders.”

“I understand,” Rill said. “I won’t -”

“If I thought,” Tallow interrupted, “That you were able to guide anybody back here, you would be be dead. Lucky for you, all you’ve seen is the hold of Glorious and the four walls of my sickroom.” He pushed his glasses up off his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And lucky for you that you seem to come from money. Regardless of what you’re wearing. How did you even end up in prison?”

Rill hesitated. “I…”

“Look, never mind. It doesn’t really matter.” Tallow resettled his glasses, stood up and walked around to the other side of the makeshift desk. “This makes things a lot easier for me, I have to say. Since your family has money, they’ll pay us for your safe return. I’m not happy about keeping hostages here at Haven, but I can let it slide this once.”

Rill’s heart sank into his stomach. Hostage. Of course.

Tallow found a pen, flattened a piece of paper, and looked up at Rill. “All right, who are you?” he said bluntly, pen poised. “We’ve got a late ship going to Kelston Port this week, I’ll send a message with it.”

Rill had been thinking about this moment, off and on in patches of wakefulness, all day.

I could go home. It could be that simple; he’d tell Tallow his name and title, the court would get a message, and he could be on a ship back to Saverain in a short couple of weeks. He’d probably get treated better this time around; the pirates, for all their talk of Rill being here on sufferance, didn’t hate Rill with the cruelty of the Imperial army. Besides which, he’d be valuable merchandise. I could see Tali again. I could be safe. This could all be over.

I could make them go through all of this all over again.

“What makes you think I’m any use to you?” he said - or tried to say; his first few words stuck in his throat and he was forced to cough, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, taking a step backwards and leaning on the nearest wall for support.

Tallow watched him impassively until the coughing stopped.

“What makes you think you’ll get any money for me?” he rasped once it was over.

Tallow snorted. “I’m sorry, was your gentle rearing supposed to be some kind of secret? You shouldn’t have godsdamned bowed, if so. You might or might not be nobility, I don’t really care, but you’re upper class for sure.”

“I…” Rill shook his head to clear it. “No.”

Tallow’s brows drew together in a frown. “No, what?”

Rill closed his eyes. Somehow, it was easier to speak the words if he couldn’t see anything while he did it. “I was where I was - in the condition that I was - because officers of the Imperial Army had already asked my family to pay a ransom for me. And they said no.” Rill didn’t even have to lie; all of this was true. “They don’t want me back. Not enough to pay for me, anyway.”

It twisted in his chest like a knife, like a needle pinning a specimen to a board - but it was true. He could explain away all of the extenuating circumstances to himself, in his head - no man is worth a country, I didn’t want them to pay the ransom, there was nothing different they could have done. But none of that could be offered to Tallow and yet Rill wasn’t lying, it was still true.

“So, you see,” he said, “I’m - not actually valuable to you. I’m not valuable to anybody.”

Tallow sighed heavily. “Not necessarily,” he said with something resembling brusque sympathy. “Tough breaks with your family. But, the Imperials obviously misjudged and asked for too much. Our price will be more modest. How much did they want?”

Rill opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, tried to focus his blurry vision again.

“I…”

Tallow took his glasses off and began to clean them on a fold of his shirt. “Out with it, lad, I’m not going to dance around the subject to spare your tender feelings. There’s nothing new about placing a price in gold on a man’s life.”

He was probably right. The pirates would not be asking for concessions in land, or a treaty, or anything really that would impact the independence war. All they would want was money. Tali and the Council would be able to come up with whatever it was - funds were a bit tight, with the loss of the southern trade routes last year, but not so much they couldn’t pay enough money to satisfy a rag-tag group of pirates on a tiny group of islands, surely.

But then again. Who knew how much money they would think to ask for, once they knew they had a prince?

Another, darker thought was lurking, too. How much more money might the Empire offer, if the pirates thought to ask? Could Rill risk that?

“No,” he said, before he could change his mind. “I’m not going to tell you who I am. I don’t want you to ask for a ransom for me.”

Tallow stared at him for a second. “I’m afraid,” he said slowly. “You’ve misunderstood. ‘No’ is not an option available to you here.”

“I - I think it is,” Rill said, trying to make his voice firm. He felt light-headed, again, faint. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t even know where I’m from. You can’t send a ransom note if you don’t know where you’re sending it.” Tallow pushed himself up from the table with one big, thickfingered hand. He rounded the desk.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice a low growl, “I haven’t been clear enough about what the alternatives to being ransomed are. I thought I was pretty obvious, but sometimes it takes a lot to get a concept into thick Continental moneybag skulls.”

He loomed, suddenly seeming to fill the small storeroom. Another step forward, blocking out the light from the candle. He reached for Rill with an open hand.

Rill could feel the blood drain from his face. The world seemed to shrink and darken around him. Oh, God. Again. Here it comes. He’d been stupid enough to think this part was over.

He flinched back - there was a wooden wall and a shelf behind him, bruising his shoulder. His hand lifted up in a pointless effort to shield his stomach or his face, he wasn’t sure which. Tallow’s hand landed on his chest, and his knees buckled.

“Please,” he gasped, stupidly. He couldn’t breathe - his lungs would not fill. He struggled to pull in air against the weight of the hand against his chest.

Tallow paused for a moment, as Rill gasped. Then he took Rill by both shoulders, moved him forcibly a few steps to the side, and pushed him down.

Rill’s knees gave the rest of the way, and dropped him to sit on the crate. The hands left him.

“Now,” Tallow said, still looming and blotting out the light but no longer touching him. Spots swam in Rill’s vision. “Gods, man, take a breath before you turn blue.”

Rill huddled on the crate, pulling in shallow, difficult breaths. He was appalled at himself - Tallow had scarcely touched him. How little it took now, apparently, to reduce Rill to begging.

When Rill’s vision cleared enough for him to look up, the pirate headman was watching him with arms folded across his broad chest, his face scowling.

“Look,” he said. “This is the situation you are in right now. I don’t want to slit your throat and feed you to the sharks, cause that’d be a waste of Mina’s effort and Jak will lose his shit. But you are going to have to work with me here in order to avoid that happening. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rill whispered. “I do, I do understand.” He tried to straighten and firm his shoulders, swiped a hand across his face and found it cold with sweat. “You’ve… you’ve treated me better so far than I had any right to expect. I’m grateful. But I won’t be used as a weapon against my - my family - anymore, even if they would pay for me, which they probably won’t.” He drew in a deep, rattling breath. “If that means you kill me, I’d just ask that you make it quick. It’s still better than what was waiting for me with the Imperial army, so - so you’ll still have my thanks.”

“Oh, gods,” Tallow muttered under his breath, sounding disgusted. He took a step back - finally - wheeled back to face his desk and his paperwork. He mumbled to himself in Castar that Rill barely caught, but sounded like it might have been about ‘the things I have to deal with’.

Rill took advantage of his absence to take another deep breath, and to cough harshly into the back of his hand again when that proved unwise. He leaned some of his weight against the wall, the wood hard and solid against his temple.

“All right,” Tallow said eventually, leaning back against his desk again. “Jak tells me you’ve had some pretty rough treatment, and Mina agreed.” Rill lifted his head, exhausted. “Yes?”

"So, your head is all fucked up, and you think you don't care about living." Tallow took the paper folds and the pen and started scrawling something on it. "I can’t be bothered hand-holding you out of your self-pity, but I think, once you've had some time to un-fuck your head, you'll feel differently. And you'll be glad if I don't hold you to any drastic decisions you make right now."

“That’s… possible,” Rill said slowly. “But I don’t think I’m going to change what I -”

Tallow spoke over him. “That’s enough. You look half-dead. Hobb’ll take you back. HOBB!” He busied himself scrawling on the paper, holding it in one hand and occasionally glancing up at Rill with narrowed, assessing eyes.

“Your Castar is dreadful,” he said absently, back to his own language. “But it’s interesting you have any at all. Where’d you learn it?”

Rill shrugged, answering in the same. “For trade reasons. I like languages. My tutor Allain - ” He cut himself off. “You’re fishing for information.”

“Yup. I’m guessing you’re Southern Provinces, maybe Saverain - the accent fits, and there aren’t that many places adjoining the Emerald Sea with an active resistance going on against the Empire.” He finished whatever he was writing, setting it aside. “And not that many rich families that have trade with the Castarian states, I’m guessing. And one of them is missing a son or a cousin.”

The door opened; the pirate from before poked a head around the door frame.

“Of course, if you feel like sparing my informant the work, feel free to let me know. Hobb, take him back to Mina, would you?”

#Consort Rill #pirate whump #whump writing #captivity whump #held hostage #sick fic #death mention #held to ransom

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years

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Part 8 of the Hostage series. When last we saw Rill and Jak, they were in the ocean. Masterpost is here. Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts, @redstainedsocks

Jak leaned against the stern rail of the Glorious, enjoying the feeling of the night wind on his face. The wake of the ship glittered in the starlight behind them, the Imperial ship long since out of view. Kazmin leaned beside him.

"You have no idea how glad I was to hear you all boarding, Kaz," he said, for what was probably the fourth or fifth time. "Seriously. I thought I was done for."

"We nearly didn't go for the ship, you know," Kaz said, shaking her head. "Cap was pretty surprised to find it there. Normally the Imperial ships heading North know better than to go through the strait... They're not fast enough to get away from us."

Jak shrugged. "I thought it was weird, too. Maybe they were in a hurry," he said.

"Anything particularly special on board?"

"Not really," Kazmin said. "Hard coin, but not a crazy amount. Some grain liquor that looks decent. A few nice maps."

"Huh. Weird."

They stood in companionable silence for a while. Jak raked a hand through his damp hair; the clean salt air seemed to be washing the smell of captivity away already.

"You're going to have a fun time talking to Tallow," Kazmin said.

Jak turned around, and followed her gaze to where a bundle of blankets had been tucked between two crates. He and Rill had been offered an out of the way corner and blankets up on deck; Glorious' hold was stuffed full of cargo and nobody had expected two extra people. Jak couldn't really say he objected anyway; he might prefer to be up on deck for a while.

"He's pretty harmless," Jak said. "Rill, I mean. He's a good guy."

Kazmin rubbed a knuckle into the crease between her eyes, scrunching her face up. "Sure, whatever," she said. "It's not me you have to convince. He's going to be pretty damn glad to have you back, but I wouldn't count on that softening him up too much."

"It will work out," Jak said confidently.

"Mm. Good luck." Kazmin pushed off from the railing and gave Jak a lazy mock-salute. "Still an hour or so before dawn; I'm going to get some shut-eye. You might want to do the same."

Jak waved her off and stood for a little while longer, enjoying the solitude and the open air, the rush of the waves and the quiet murmuring from the rest of the ship. Eventually the goosebumps on his arms started to get a bit much, so he stretched - up on his tiptoes and hands above his head until his back popped and settled - and went to find his blanket.

Jak sprawled out to his full length, hands propped behind his head, looking up at Glorious' rigging.

He heard the blanket shift as Rill rolled over beside him. Nobody had bothered to tie the mainlanders hands - he had been pretty wrecked once they'd come aboard anyway. Jak guessed that Kazmin had been right; mainlanders really couldn't swim. Strange to think.

"Awake?" Jak mumbled.

Rill said the word that meant 'yes' in Continental. Then he lifted a hand up. Jak watched as he splayed his fingers out against the night sky. His eyes, when Jak propped up on one elbow to look at him, were open and shining.

"Look," he said, his voice rough but soft with wonder. "Stars."

Jak craned his neck up again. "Yup. Sure are."

"Never - never thought - I'd see those again." He dropped his hand back down, and tucked it under the blanket. "Thank you, Jak."

Jak grinned. "Yeah, me either," he agreed. "How fucking lucky are we, right?" He flopped back down onto his back. "Look," he said. "You helped get me out of there, too, I'm not going to forget that. Things might get... tense, once we get home to Haven. But you're no friend to the Empire, right?"

"Definitely not," Rill rasped.

"So I don't see why it'll be a problem."

"Mmm."

Jak closed his eyes. He'd thought he'd had quite enough of sleep in the last few weeks, but it had been an eventful night, so probably a catnap was a good idea.

The gentle rocking of Glorious had him asleep in minutes.

In the morning, somebody good-naturedly prodded Jak awake with the toe of their boot. Some young kid with a half-hearted beard. Kaz's brother-in-law, he was pretty sure.

"Hey, miracle man," he said, silhouetted in the bright sun, the sky impossibly blue and beautiful behind him. "Going to sleep all morning? You've still got to get up and earn your keep."

"Look, when you break out of prison, I'm going to kick you awake the next day," Jak said, sitting up. "What keep do I even have? You haven't fed me yet."

The kid tossed the things he was carrying onto the blanket; a length of cured sausage and some bread. But good Islander flatbread, this time, not the sawdust the Imperials had tried to pass off as bread. Jak fell on it enthusiastically enough to make the kid laugh as he walked away.

"Morning," he said cheefully, to the curled up knot of Rill beside him. "Breakfast."

Rill didn't stir. Jak put his portion aside.

But by the time Jak had ravenously scarfed down his own share, Rill still hadn't moved.

"Hey, Rill," he said, gently tapping the blanket-covered shoulder beside him.

Belatedly, he remembered how stiff and slow Rill always was. "You know, you can probably stay here out of the way today, I don't think anyone's expecting you to be up in the rigging or nothing. But you should definitely eat."

Rill made a bleary half-awake noise - and then coughed, raspy and hoarse. He stirred underneath the blanket, and half-turned over.

"It's actual real food this time," Jak added.

Rill still didn't say anything. He coughed again, a horrible noise with a retch in the back of it, and whimpered.

Jak's good mood - which he had thought unassailable - faltered.

"Rill?"

Jak leaned over and pulled back the fold of blanket. Rill blinked up at Jak without much recognition, seeming only partially awake. His bruises were as livid and obvious as ever, but overlaying that the skin of his cheeks was a flushed, hectic red.

"Shit," Jak said. His heart sank.

"Huh," Kazmin said from behind him. She put her hands on her hips; a length of rope hung from her belt at one of them. "You know, I was coming here because the Cap wants your Continental friend secured for the trip to Haven. But from the look of that, maybe the problem of what to do with him will sort itself out before we even get to Haven."

Jak scowled at her, drawing himself up. "He's not a problem," he growled. "He saved me from getting a crossbow in the back. And now he’s sick - "

"All right, all right, I'm joking," Kazmin said, raising her hands appeasingly.

Rill whimpered, and made an attempt to turn his face away from the light. He said something piteous and pleading in his own language, one pale scabbed-up hand plucking feebly at the blanket.

"I shouldn't have made him sleep out here..."

"Jak, this isn't your fault. He already looked dead on his feet yesterday," Kazmin said. Her face softened. "Come on. I'll help you get him down below, and we'll see."

#Consort Rill #Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #nautical whump #sick fic #fever #successful escape attempt #food mention #piracy #whump writing

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years

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Part 6 of the Hostage/Consort story! Masterpost is here. Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts

Rill propped himself up on one elbow, disoriented. It was dark; there was always lanterns lit down here, but now they were out, the only light leaking from the opened doorway and the ladder beyond. The light swayed from side to side. The deck was pitching and rolling underneath him, in a different enough rythm to make his stomach - which had mostly settled - turn over.

"Listen!" Jak said, holding up a hand peremptorily. Rill did.

There was shouting, somewhere above. The sound of heavy feet on the deck above them made Rill flinch, somebody running. Was that a scream?

"Fighting?" he said weakly.

As he spoke, the whole ship lurched around them, enough to make Rill lose his balance and fall backwards, hitting the wall painfully. The shouting intensified.

Jak nodded. The light gleamed on his teeth, suddenly - a wide, fierce grin. The effect was startling.

"The ship is being attacked," he said. "Boarded."

"Boarded?" Rill pulled himself up to sit against the wall, one hand bracing against the corner. What nations did he know of that opposed the Empire, and had a significant enough navy presence in the Emerald Sea to be attacking an Imperial ship? "Who would be..."

"I think I know," Jak said, still grinning. "What did I tell you? Not dead til we're dead!"

With this, he turned around, lifted his fingers to his mouth, and gave the most ear-piercing whistle that Rill had ever heard, followed by a shout that seemed to come from the very bottom of his barrel chest.

"Hey! Hey-o! Down here!"

He paused for a moment, as if listening. The running and shouting from above deck continued, unconcerned. He shrugged, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted again.

"Ho, the Islands! Hey! HEY!"

It was an incredibly loud noise in such close quarters. Rill jolted forward, and then back again with a bruising thump against the wood as the ship lurched again. Was the whole thing tilted? It was hard to tell. He wondered uneasily where the guard was.

"Hey! Down here! HO!"

"Would you shut your mouth," the guard snarled, making a belated appearance, the ladder creaking and the door slamming against wood. Light painted the tiny cells in vivid stripes as he brought his lamp in with him.

Jak fell abruptly silent. But he stayed at the front of his cell, hands resting against the wood of the slats.

The guard sneered at him, and walked down the room a little further so that he could shine the light into Rill's side. Rill shielded his eyes with one hand and bowed his head.

The guard seemed hesitant, ill at ease. "If that brute understands you, you'd better tell him to shut up or be shut up," he told Rill. Through spread fingers, Rill caught a glimpse of him staggering as the deck heaved. "Don't make me come down here again or you'll regret it."

Apparently satisfied with Rill's silence, and Jak's silence, he turned and made his way back to the doorway.

Rill had uncovered his face and looked up, just in time to see what happened.

Jak was still standing at the front of the cell. As the guard passed him by, swaying with the movement of the ship - Jak shot one hand out between the bars, muscled forearm and elbow only just fitting, and grabbed him by the shoulder or the back of his shirt. Then he pulled him back, suddenly and violently, so that his head hit the bars with a resounding crack.

The guard flailed, and swore, and dropped the lantern - Jak got the other hand through the bars for a better grip, slammed his head against the wood two more times - and then let him go, to hit the deck in a crumpled heap.

Rill made a sound in the back of his throat - surprise, protest? He wasn't sure.

"Keys!" Jak exclaimed. He crouched down and reached through the bars again, patting at the guard's clothing. "Damn, not here - Rill, can you reach?"

He looked back - seeming slightly impatient - and gestured for Rill to come forwards.

Rill swallowed back his shock, and came to the front of the cell.

The way the guard had fallen, back towards Rill's side, put the top half of his body out of Jak's reach. Rill went down on his knees - painful - and stretched his hand out though the bars.

"Try the front of the coat," Jak suggested.

It required practically lying face down on the deck and wrenching his shoulder, but he managed to get a hand underneath the guard's chest, and fumble around until he managed to hook his finger around the iron ring of the keys.

Once he'd retrieved them, he surrendered them through the bars to Jak, numbly. He wasn't sure he knew what to do with them. What is happening?

Before he could believe it, Jak had opened his cell with an exclamation of triumph, and was out in the cramped walkway, setting the lantern upright and taking the sword from the waist of the guard.

He unlocked Rill's door, nudging the guard's head aside heedlessly to allow it to open. The man didn't stir.

"Jak," Rill said helplessly. "Can we seriously - how are you going to get off the ship?"

Jak shrugged. He was carrying the guard's sword naked in his hand. "Eh, not so hard. Come on!"

With that he tossed the keys at Rill, stepped over the guard's body, and disappeared around the corner and up the ladder.

Rill fumbled the keys, let them fall, and stood there listening, fully alone for the first time in - how long? Probably weeks? The ship shuddered under his feet, and above him the sounds of fighting continued. Closer at hand, he heard Jak shout again.

Surely it couldn't be this simple. And yet - the guard was down - the door was open - Jak had gone out into the ship? Was Rill just going to stand here?

He shook himself out of it, bent down with a whimper and a hissed curse to get the keys just in case Jak met another locked door, and stepped out of the cell and over the guard.

At the top of the ladder, his head at waist height, he looked around. A narrow passageway with a higher wooden ceiling, better lit than the brig and with better air. To the right was the way he had always been brought before, through more cramped passages to the officer's room and eventually above-deck. He wasn't sure what was on the left.

At the moment, the left passage contained another guard in Imperial uniform; his back to Rill, he was silently aiming a crossbow at somebody further along. Under his raised arm Rill caught a flash of a familiar undershirt.

"Jak!" he yelled, throwing himself up the last few steps. "Look out!"

Weapon, oh God, oh God, why didn't I grab the lantern on my way past, at least it was heavy, he managed to fit into the bare few seconds of frantic motion.

He ended up throwing himself bodily at the guard's legs; he heard the thwap of the crossbow releasing, distantly, as his knee and then his shoulder slammed heavily into the deck and exploded with pain.

The guard, cursing, fell on top of him. Rill tried to get out from underneath him, caught a flailing hand to the side of his face and jerked out of its grip. His field of view - previously the wooden wall and the deck above - was suddenly filled with Jak's bare feet and dirty cotton breeches.

Past the pain and panic, Rill managed to find a moment for relief - the crossbow bolt hadn't found him. Jak said something Rill didn't catch - leaned over, caught hold of the guard's arm with the hand that wasn't full of sword, and thrust.

The body pinning Rill to the ground jerked, and flopped backwards as Jak let it go.

Jak set the sword down and pulled Rill out of the tangle of limbs in a businesslike fashion. Embarrassed, Rill stammered something in God knew what language - but to his surprise, once Jak had set him on his feet, he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Owe you one! Which way out of here?"

"Um. Right, I think," Rill said, testing out his weight on his right knee. There was fresh blood on the shirt Jak had lent him, but none of it seemed to be his. Everything hurt - worse than before, but somehow he felt detached in a way he hadn't ever been able to manage until now. Like none of this was real. "That's - that's how I went up before."

Jak nodded briskly, retrieving the bloodied sword. "Lead the way - let's hurry. The battle seems to be forward."

Rill frowned at him - he wanted to go toward the battle noises?

But, actually, what did Rill care?

"All right," he said. "Let's... let's go."

#Consort Rill #Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #whump writing #pirate whump #escape attempt #tw violence #tw death #tw blood #tw head injury #nautical whump #if there are any tags I miss please remind me my brain is mush when I finish writing

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