#sometimes I lie awake listening to shanties thinking about how much people have always cared and needed music

[denimshortsdean]

Oh my god. I forgot you guys don’t know how insane I am about sea shanties. It’s like 75% of my personality AT LEAST, I have a 5 hour sea shanty playlist

[mithrilwren]

Prompt fill for @eldritchjackalope, who requested “Fjord singing a sea shanty?” Now with bonus Caduceus :) I decided to post it as its own post, since I’ve had issues with cuts when replying to asks in the past. 

This is set at some ambiguous time prior to reaching Rumblecusp.

The deck of the Balleater tends to be quiet at night - empty, save the watches that hold at port and stern, watching for yellow eyes in the deep. Most of the Nein try to maintain their sequence of sleeping hours when possible, preferring to wake with the dawn while they have the choice. And Fjord… tries. He really does. But with the memories of long-fingered creatures dragging him from his bed towards the water below come visions of other sleepless nights, all the things he dreamed of back then, and it’s hard to keep his eyes closed for long.

Better to catch a nap during the daylight hours, when the rest are alert and awake on his behalf. And besides, the storm of the previous night blew the rigging out, and somebody has to haul the jib back in if they want to stay on course. They’re short-handed as it is - might as well be him.

It takes longer than it should to catch the drifting line, all his strength engaged in hanging by one arm from the ropes and reaching out into the open air, but when he does, it’s easy enough to clamber back down to the deck and start hauling the sail in. The wind beats the ocean against the hull in time with his pulls, and he finds himself humming a familiar tune beneath his breath, the muttered words matching the motion of his hands.

Eight days on to Feolinn, the wine is getting low Our barrels long for drink and song But there’s seven more to go

There’s no one to echo back the refrain, and for a moment, Fjord’s hands pause in their task. The sail goes slack, and what’s left open catches in the evening breeze. Fjord catches it just in time before the furl yanks the rope from his hands, and he shakes himself as he resumes hauling, finishing the line that would typically be a boisterous chorus with something of a sheepish mumble.

Seven more to go…

“I didn’t know you sang.”

Startled, Fjord whirls around, clutching the rope to his chest lest he lose it again.

Caduceus is there, leaning against the deck rail with a handful of nuts in one palm, and a skin of something - maybe water - in the other. Immediately, Fjord’s cheeks begin to burn - how long had he been standing there, listening?

“Don’t really,” he says. The line in his hands gives another tug, and he quickly finishes pulling it in and securing the sail before turning back to Caduceus - a task that takes far too short a time, in Fjord’s opinion, because Caduceus is still there, watching as curiously as ever, when he finishes. “It’s not really a song, just something I learned on Vandran’s ship.”

“Forgive me if I’m confused,” Caduceus says, and pops a nut into his mouth, “but I’m not sure what you’d call that except singing.”

Fjord huffs, the embarrassment over being caught not quite dispelled as he joins Caduceus at the railing, a careful five feet away. “It’s a chanty.”

“Which is…?”

“...a song,” Fjord reluctantly concedes. “But it’s not really a song song. It’s more… a chant, I guess. To keep people working in time. You can’t haul a sail in evenly if everyone’s pulling to a different rhythm.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” Caduceus takes another nut, then offers the hand to Fjord. He reluctantly reaches out and takes one. At least the chewing gives him something else to concentrate on besides his own burning cheeks.

Caduceus cracks the skin open next and takes a deep swig. It comes away from his lips, leaving them wet, and slightly reddened.

Fjord stares.

“Just because it’s got a practical application, doesn’t mean it’s not music. My family wasn’t much for singing, but a lot of the poetry my parents taught us was supposed to be instructional, as well as beautiful. Always like that about them. It’s nice, when things can serve more than one purpose. Convenient, really.”

It’s hard to tell with just moonlight to see by, but he could swear Caduceus’s pale cheeks are as flushed as his own. And there’s a smell on the air… something sweet and pungent, even noticeable over the salty brine that soaks the deck.

It’s not just water in that skin. He’s sure of it now.

“Any particular reason you’re up so late?” Fjord asks carefully, letting himself creep just a little bit closer, to see if there are any other signs to confirm his theory. “Couldn’t sleep?” The smell grows stronger. It’s one he’s more used to from the shortest in their group - not the tallest, without the weight or constitution or practice to carry it.

“No real reason. Just needed some air,” Caduceus lies, easily, so easily that if he wasn’t so clearly drunk Fjord’s not sure he would have caught it: the twinge in Caduceus’s voice, something just slightly off, that even inebriation can’t disguise. “How about you?”

Any other night, Fjord might have been persuaded to answer, to shift the conversation back onto himself, but the sight of Caduceus standing against the railing, holding a skin of what must be, has to be, alcohol in his hand, and swaying slightly as the ocean rocks, is strange enough to compel him to push a little further.

“You know me. Night owl. But seriously, Caduceus. Something got you up?”

“Maybe I was a little hungry,” Caduceus suggests, gesturing with the nut-filled hand, and that makes sense, but it still doesn’t explain the wine in the other. “I didn’t feel like cooking, though.

“I can see that.” Fjord debates just taking a swipe for the skin, curiosity and concern quickly eclipsing any thought towards Caduceus’s privacy. At least the attempt is less likely to end in the scratches down his arm that a similar action would have gotten with Nott. But after reeling his more impulsive instincts in, he decides on a more subtle approach. “Say, I’m pretty parched. Could I have a sip from that?”

The hesitation tells Fjord all he needs to know. “This is almost empty,” Caduceus lies again, immediately betrayed by the clearly audible sloshing from the skin in his hand, and Fjord frowns.

It’s not like him, to be dishonest like this.

…Is it?

Is he just a better liar when he’s not drunk?

“Don’t think wine’s the best thing to fill your belly, honestly. You’re already seasick,” Fjord says, trying to keep his voice as non-judgemental as possible. Caduceus’s flinch tells him he doesn’t succeed in the effort, but just as quickly Caduceus’s typical easy smile floats back to his lips, still red-stained, and beginning to crack near the middle from too many days in the sun.

“I’ll be fine. I only had a little.”

Another lie. He should probably be offended, that Caduceus thinks he won’t see through so many in a row.

But honestly, he’s just worried.

“Since when do you drink, anyway?”

“Veth suggested it.”

“And you agreed?”

Caduceus shrugs. A number of the nuts fall out of his hand and onto the deck, and after a moment too long he looks down, as though surprised to see them scattered there at his feet.

“She said it helps you sleep.”

Ah. So he couldn’t sleep. Some truth at last.

“A little, maybe,” Fjord says. “But you have too much, you’re going to pay for it tomorrow.”

“Trust me, I know,” Caduceus replies, and it’s the most sober he’s sounded the whole conversation.

Fjord’s only seen Caduceus truly gone once before - all silly impressions and smiles, and laying his head down at Yasha’s shoulder. He’d always figured him for a happy drunk. But his voice is melancholic tonight - tired, and darker, somehow.

Fjord closes another foot or two, until their arms are close to brushing.

“To steal a metaphor from you, oh, five minutes ago, you sure the wine isn’t doing double duty?” He gives Caduceus’s shoulder a gentle nudge with his own, trying to keep his tone light, to not drag the conversation down any farther.

“What?”

“Just wondering if there was any other reason you were drinking tonight, besides to sleep?”

Caduceus looks startled, for the first time fully meeting Fjord’s gaze. His eyes are too wide, too blown out for their shape, and Fjord finds himself freezing in place, caught in a stare that is, for once, fully unguarded, and all the more terrifying for it.

“I don’t know,” Caduceus says. “I- it seemed like the thing to do, at the time.” He laughs, turning his eyes back down to the deck. “I don’t remember. I think I lost track.”

Caduceus falls silent, and Fjord nudges him again, bringing his eyes back up.

“Lost track of what? How much you drank?”

“No. The reasons why.”

Fjord lets out a slow breath. It feels like they’re on the precipice of something, a conversation too heavy to have in this dim light. Part of him wants to push, while Caduceus is open like this - vulnerable, in a way he so seldom lets himself be.

The other part of him knows they’ll both regret it in the morning.

“I think it’s time for both of us to get some sleep,” he says, and takes Caduceus by the arm, leading him back towards the hold where Caleb’s bubble is waiting to shelter them both. Caduceus goes willingly with his hand, only stumbling a little as they walk towards the staircase that goes below. The rest of the nuts fall to the deck, and neither bothers to clean them up - the seagulls will do the work by morning. “Let’s talk later, ok?”

“Hmm,” Caduceus hums. “Alright.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Fjord says, only half-teasing. “Now let’s get you back to bed before you puke all over my deck.”

They’re almost to the lowest hold by the time Caduceus speaks again.

“Fjord,” he says quietly. “Sometime, you should sing the rest of that song. I’d like to hear it.”

“Chanty,” he corrects. “And you know what, let’s make a deal. You tell me what’s going on with you, tomorrow, and I’ll sing you any song you want to hear.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Caduceus repeats - a little more slurred than normal, but sounding more like his usual teasing self.

That assurance is enough to let Fjord get a few winks, at least.