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nickyroethemarinebiologist · 10 months

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Hello everyone once again it is pirate time!! I'm not MASSIVELY proud of this one but there are some moments I love a lot. So hopefully ya'll like it (and thank you again to anyone who takes the time to read this!! Giving you all a big (platonic) kiss on the forehead)

Chapter II

Linsey woke the next morning and went at once to Timor’s cabin, somewhat shameful of his apparent neglect now that he was well-rested and rational in his thinking. The dragonet seemed pleased enough, despite his absence; he raised his head as Linsey entered, and flicked his tail in delight.

The cook brought his breakfast, a large fish caught that very morning, and Timor devoured it in a matter of seconds, bones and all. Linsey watched in near silence, and called for a bucket and some rags; he was not worried so much as for Timor himself, the dragonet seemed happy enough to lick his claws clean, and did so in contented silence. But the remains of his messy meal were left strewn at his feet, and Linsey did not want him treated like a wild beast; he endeavoured to cleaning away the gore himself, for Timor’s sake as much as that of the ship itself.

The rest of the week passed similarly; Linsey visited Timor at his every chance, and found he proved good company, though he hardly spoke when he was eating, and slept otherwise. The crew took to fishing in their spare moments; many seemed to enjoy it, and most only liked to be of help, but in any case, Timor accepted everything brought to him with great enthusiasm. He grew alarmingly, and by the end of it, he was near as tall as Linsey himself; he told Timor in good humour that he might surpass him soon enough, and Timor gave a pleased rumble which passed for something like laughter.

Linsey took him to the deck every morning, or near enough, so that Timor would not feel a prisoner aboard the ship; he craned his neck over the railing and watched the waves with curious intent, and Linsey found himself warmed by his interest, and set to answer every inquiry Timor gave. Estella, for her part, did not care for him so much, but as the crew grew steadily accustomed to the dragon’s presence aboard, she quickly followed, and by the end she appeared quite comfortable; at the very least she no longer startled when Timor so much as lifted his head in her direction.

At night, Timor slept at his cabin; Linsey grew worried for his spending the nights alone, and slept in the cot beside him. He left his cabin to Richards, with little reluctance, and found he slept easily with the dragonet at his side, or when he could not, they spoke softly in the dark, and the company proved comfort enough.

Timor was content enough, and slept at his spot on the floor; Linsey ordered sailcloth to be laid out beneath him, and brought the lantern to his side, so that he might find a little warmth. He settled into the cloths with a pleased murmur, and gave no complaints until much later, midway through the second week. Linsey woke in the night to find him murmuring in a low voice; he sat up, worried in an instant. “Timor?” He called softly, so as not to startle him.

Timor looked up at him, his eyes glinted in the dark. “Linsey,” He said quietly, “I’m sorry; I did not mean to wake you,”

“No matter,” Linsey said; something of a lie, since his voice was thick with sleep, and he felt some quiet discomfort at having been woken so late in the night. “Is something wrong?”

Timor fell quiet for a long moment, enough that Linsey began to wonder if the dragonet had heard him at all. Then his head drooped, and he spoke so softly that Linsey could scarcely hear him. “No, you should not worry.”

Linsey frowned; Timor had been unfalteringly open with his every concern and curiosity before now, a delight as much as a disturbance. Had he given Timor reason to worry, perhaps of his earlier reluctance, he would only curse himself; he climbed from his cot, and patted the dragon’s side.

“If you have any worry at all, dear fellow, then say it, and I might offer some help,” He said.

Timor raised his head, with a look just short of hope. “Well,” He said, more easily now. He hooked one claw around the rope at his neck and pulled on it in clear discomfort. “It is this rope, it chafes, and I do not see why I have to wear it.”

Here Linsey paused; for the first days of Timor’s passage aboard, he had considered the rope a necessity, lest Timor take off when he was led to the deck, or wander about the ship and alarm the crew. But many nights had passed since, and Timor had not shown any sign of fleeing; indeed, Linsey had largely forgotten the rope was there at all, or what he had ordered it for, and now that it had been brought to his attention he felt it unfair to force Timor to wear it any longer, if it caused him such discomfort.

So he smiled quietly, and said, “Then I see no reason why you can’t have it off.”

Timor brightened at once, and flicked his small ears in obvious delight; Linsey felt some immediate shame at having to diminish his mood so quickly afterwards.

“But Timor,” He said slowly, hoping the dragonet would not press him; he had not yet told Timor of the harnessing, and in truth could not be sure if he would accept this so easily as his name, nor if he should be allowed to wander the ship free. But he saw no reason otherwise, and added only, “I should have to call for Mr. Tunnock first, he has your harness, and if you will wear that instead you might find it more comfortable, and we can take you up to the deck whenever you like.”

Timor considered this for a very long moment; he turned to scratch at his neck, where the rope had indeed begun to chafe, and said with unconvincing disinterest, “If you please.”

Linsey left with a short goodbye, and found Mr. Tunnock upon the deck, talking quietly with a few of the ship’s hands; he smiled pleasantly when Linsey caught his attention, though his expression was oddly detached, as it usually was. He took Linsey below and showed him to his corner of the crew’s quarters; he had indeed been working dutifully at the harness for the better part of a week, and presented it to Linsey with obvious pride. It was not yet finished, an ugly, cumbersome thing made of leather strips sewn together with buckles of varying sizes, plainly taken from various places around the ship; Linsey wondered if the crew themselves had given up parts of their attire, and thought with quiet pride that Timor might in some way wear a part of the ship itself upon his back.

He resolved to tell him as such afterwards, while Mr. Tunnock waved him away and set to finishing the harness; he had no doubt Timor would find it a famous idea, and at the very least it might distract from the unsightly look of the harness itself.

Mr. Tunnock was finished in impressive speed, and loaded the harness into Linsey’s arms without ceremony; it was heavier than he had expected, and awkward to hold, so he thanked Mr. Tunnock quickly, and took his leave. He assumed at least that the harness was functional, and only hoped that Timor would find it comfortable enough; he thought at the very least that he could wrap cloth around the buckles to keep them from chafing, and told Timor upon his return that he need not wear it if he thought it at all distressing.

His anxieties were relieved at once; Timor only sniffed the harness curiously, his flat tongue slipping out to taste it, then he sat back on his haunches and looked up expectantly.

“You’ll wear it?” Linsey said, holding the harness rather stupidly before him.

Timor nodded, an odd motion, with the head bobbing at the end of his long neck. “I’d like to have this rope off now.”

The assembly itself proved difficult; Linsey fumbled with the straps and buckles, his hands increasingly clumsy, and fussed when he thought it too tight. Timor only snorted, pleased enough to be without leash, though he scratched at the harness straps, and turned twice in circles to judge its appearance.

Shortly it was all done, and Timor pushed the side of his head into Linsey’s hand gratefully; Linsey found himself smiling fondly, and patted the smooth scales. He took him afterwards to the deck, and sent one of the hands to give Mr. Tunnock his thanks. The crew met Timor with obvious excitement, and crowded him while they fawned over the harness; Timor enjoyed the attention well enough, he raised his head proudly, and was just short of beaming when he joined Linsey at the railing afterwards.

Linsey watched the rising crests of every swell upon the water, wholly lost in his thoughts; the sun was rising over the horizon, casting every wave in colour, with such vast splendour that Linsey was at once taken by the view. He felt some quiet comfort when Timor came to his side, familiar in his presence; the dragon was quiet, Linsey assumed he was watching the waves, and only recalled his company when he said softly, “What are you doing, Linsey?”

Linsey blinked and looked down at him, fondly. “I am watching the sea, Timor,” He said, “As another man might watch the sun at dusk.”

Timor settled into quiet again, Linsey turned to him; he was watching the sea closely, almost solemn, as though trying to replicate Linsey’s own admiration for the waves. The wind buffeted lightly at his wings, they folded outwards to an impressive length, and Linsey watched with sudden wonder; the scales were near gold beneath the rising sunlight, which shone upon his face much like the glow of a flame. Linsey had thought him impressive before, now he wondered quietly at the curve of Timor’s wings, like the sails of a ship upon his back, only a ship could never surpass Timor of his intelligence, nor the innate fondness Linsey felt for him now.

Smiling, Linsey looked again to the sea. He felt oddly at peace, in such a way he had not known, perhaps not since that first passage out to sea: a novelty in departure, in much the same way.

“I do like the colours,” Timor said, “It is beautiful, is it not?”

“Oh, exceedingly so,” Linsey said.

Timor looked up at him. “Is that why you like it?” He said, at which Linsey paused. It was not so much admiration that he felt when he looked out upon the water, though indeed he thought it impressive, but a respect for the sea, and the power it displayed: in every swell, and the mighty waves they bore.

He turned to Timor; the dragonet was watching him carefully, and Linsey felt at odds for a moment before he said, “Not as such, dear fellow, but I admire it.” Here he stopped and frowned; it was not a little embarrassing to share such things aloud, and before now he had scarcely uttered a word of this interest, except perhaps to Richards, when the man had met him alone upon the deck. But now, oddly, he felt scarcely any need to hide himself; Timor had passed no judgement of him since their meeting, and watched with quiet curiosity, or perhaps even affection, only hindered by his clear impatience at Linsey’s hesitance.

“I was a sailor before a pirate, and a boy before that,” Linsey said slowly, “The sea has been home to me far longer than anywhere else. I do not claim to know it, but I show it my admiration at every chance, and only hope it might welcome me kindly at my death.”

“But that will not happen yet?” Timor said, with noticeable concern. Linsey looked at him with a frown; he had not meant to give Timor cause for worry, and felt some shame at having done so with such ignorance.

“No, Timor,” He said, and patted his smooth scales, by way of reassurance as much as apology. “Not in the least.”

Much later, in the weeks that passed since, Linsey woke again at Timor’s side, when some shift in the waves roused him. Timor had been moved up to the quarterdeck after the cabin became too small; their holdings had been shifted to the bow to act as a counterbalance, and he had settled with little more than a yawn. Linsey went with him, feeling it his duty, and had found it comfortable enough, warm despite the cool nights with Timor sleeping so close; his scales seemed to give warmth of their own.

Now Timor’s eyes were closed to drowsy slits, and his sides rose softly as he breathed, looking wholly at peace; Linsey found himself smiling involuntarily in looking upon him. It was scarcely morning; the sun was not yet risen, and the hands were climbing about the rigging and passing shouts of good humour between them as they worked. Linsey watched in silence; the men had not yet noticed him awake, sheltered at Timor’s side, and Linsey was content enough to observe. At the very least, it gave him purpose as much as a moment of peace; he pondered the waves, and Timor’s every breath, like the beginnings of a gale.

“Timor?” He said softly; he could not be sure the dragon was sleeping, and had no desire to wake him if he was. Timor’s eye slid open and he raised his head, looking curiously down at Linsey. His gaze held an odd amount of concern; Linsey felt some faint amusement at such a beast holding so much care for him, and felt only fonder for it.

“Linsey,” said Timor, “Is everything alright?”

Linsey smiled. “All is well, dear fellow, I had not meant to wake you.”

Timor snorted abruptly, and shook his head, “You did not wake me, Linsey,” He said, defensively, “I was only resting my eyes. You looked very peaceful, though.” He added, at Linsey’s frown, and his eyes glimmered with mischief; Linsey laughed, with surprising ease, and Timor rumbled with delight. He curled his tail around himself and laid his head at Linsey’s side; Linsey stroked the scales of his neck, which had speckled and darkened to a near gold in his weeks of growth, and now shone like bronze in the light of dawn.

After some quiet, he said, “Linsey?”

“Hm?”

Timor paused, and did not speak further. Linsey patted his scales, hoping to ease some of his discomfort; he nestled closer with a grateful rumble. “I am only thinking of the boy,” He said, at which Linsey frowned; he had all but forgotten that boy, dead among sailcloth, and felt faint queasiness as much as unease in remembering him. Timor seemed to sense this; he curled his tail closer around them both, sheltering Linsey with the warmth of his scales. “He spoke to me, when I was in the shell—he told me pirates were vicious, and gave no mercy, and that you were awfully cruel,” He said, “And he told me that if you ever were to find us, you would steal me away.”

His voice was soft, and achingly uncertain; Linsey drew his lips to a thin line and cursed the boy for his cruel words, for Timor’s sake as much as his own. He felt some remorse immediately afterwards — the boy had been young, and perhaps had only known the tales of savagery told to him by his superiors. But he held little shame, and cursed himself for that too, though contented with the thought of the boy at peace beneath the waves, for better or for worse, which ever showed true the quickest.

“But that can’t be true, you are much too kind,” Timor said, with some insistence. Linsey blinked and found the dragon watching him in earnest; he smiled stiffly, occupied in his thoughts. Timor fixed him with an oddly serious look, and asked, “Did you steal me away, Linsey?

Linsey blinked at him, with faint surprise; his smile relaxed at once to an expression of fond amusement. “No, Timor, unless you mean by accident; we had no idea you were on the ship until you came out onto the deck yourself,” He said.

Timor thought for a moment, looking out upon the sea. “I would not have minded so much, if you had,” He said, “The ship is mostly comfortable, and the crew are kind,” He sniffed disdainfully and added, “And no stowaway would ever hope to be as nice as you.”

He said this quite normally, and without embellishment; Linsey looked at him in alarm. It was the highest form of praise, to be thought of so highly by a beast who might just as easily crush him without care, and Linsey found he was not able to find the words to speak; indeed, he thought Timor impressive, but to receive such a sentiment in return was not something he had prepared for. Emboldened, he said, “Do you know why we roam the seas, Timor?”

Timor turned his head to look at him, puzzled, and Linsey realized with sudden shame that although he had answered each question Timor gave with as much patience as he could summon, he had scarcely made the same attempt in return. But Timor did not stop to question him, and said with great uncertainty, “It is because you find it beautiful, is it not?”

Linsey smiled. “No, though I suppose I cannot fault you for thinking so,” He said, “And I know of men who think it reason enough. No, I thank the sea for something far more valuable; it is vast, Timor, far greater than you or I, if you can imagine it.” He paused, and found himself smiling, somewhat solemn; he had thought those same words many times over, but had not until now found the courage to share them aloud. “We might go anywhere, if we had the means and the desire.” He added, more softly.

Timor was quiet; he turned his head over the horizon, deep in thought. “Oh,” He said, and raised his gaze to the sky; Linsey followed him, and raised a shielding hand when the sun caught his eyes. “Might I go flying, if I wanted?” Timor partly unfolded his wings, and looked to Linsey with a gleam in his eyes.

Linsey frowned; Timor was taller than him now, and by a considerable amount, yet somehow his gaze, though insistent, did not bear down — rather, it looked up.

“Now, Timor,” He said slowly; if Timor were to fly off here, so far from land, he might never find his way back, and the prospect of losing him so soon gave Linsey far greater sorrow than he had expected. “You have not flown before, it would be a damned shame if you failed so far out at sea; we might lose you completely.”

Timor drooped, his shoulders hunched with disappointment, but settled when he saw the sense in Linsey’s words. Linsey smiled with amusement and patted his side; his irrational fondness for Timor at once dismissed his doubts, and there was a note of affection in his voice when he said, “But I suppose I could not keep you, if you so wished. You might at least wait until the men fish up your breakfast,” He added hastily, when Timor brightened and again gathered his wings, “I have not flown before, but I suspect it would take a great deal of energy.”

The meal was brought at Linsey’s command, caught fresh by the hands and handed off by Cates, who went afterwards to fetch Tomkins, not before hastily asking Linsey of his permission. The boys returned and greeted Timor like an old friend, and talked with him excitably as he ate; Timor focused little on either of them, occupied by the prospect of flight, but he flicked his tail happily, and gave every answer he could spare the time for. He devoured his meal impatiently, and took his leave of the boys without farewell; Linsey raised his brow pointedly when they met at the railing, and Timor sheepishly told him he had only forgotten in favour of his own excitement. In any case, neither Cates nor Tomkins took notice; they stepped politely away to watch, whispering loudly between themselves. Linsey could not fault them for it; he himself was beginning to feel a faint thrill, and clasped his hands together upon the railing to keep himself from fidgeting.

“Are you ready, Timor?” He said.

Timor looked up from licking his claws clean, and nodded fervorously. “You might come with me, if you like?” He suggested, spreading his wings.

His gaze was near hopeful; Linsey felt some quiet shame at refusing him. He smiled ruefully, only hoping Timor would not think himself rejected, and said, “No, Timor, I am a man of the sea; I’m not certain I would survive the trip, though perhaps on another day we might try it together—”

Timor was in the air before he could finish, the ship rocking in his wake. Linsey ducked and clung to the railing to keep himself from slipping and tumbling over the deck; then he pulled himself together and gaped at the sky while Timor spiralled into the air, tail sweeping out in great arcs behind him like a whip. He climbed at an impressive speed, the long wings stretched out at great lengths on either side of them as he turned in slow circles above the Delight.

Timor stooped abruptly, wings folded tight against the long body; Linsey thought for a moment he would slam into the deck, and fought against the instinct to duck, then the great wings snapped open and Timor swept over the ship, close enough to touch the mast and bring a great gust of wind through the sails. He sailed over the waves with impressive grace, scarcely beating his wings at all except to climb again and snap into a display of tight spirals, for Linsey’s benefit as much as his own.

The boys sent a great cheer after him as he flew low over the ship, chasing him across the deck and falling heavily into the railing, waving their arms and near tumbling overboard with blind thrill. Linsey was overcome with awe of his own, and after a brief struggle he yielded to it; he followed the boys to the railing and called after Timor as he passed by the ship on her portside, unable to keep himself from grinning idiotically. Timor flicked his tail in apparent joy, making a great many spirals and turns while the crew came up from below and stared, cheering for every pass Timor made over the sails and clinging to one another when the resultant winds came sweeping across the deck.

“He is magnificent, Captain,” said Cates, and Linsey smiled when he looked down upon the boy. “Truly magnificent.”

At his other side, Tomkins nodded profusely; Linsey felt a great swell of pride for Timor, and cheered again in the hopes that the dragon might hear such sentiments in his voice, throwing his hands up into the air and feeling not a little shame for it.

Timor had begun to slow now, stooping lower to the water and stretching out his claws to swipe at the waves; he turned his head when Linsey called, and went at once for the ship’s side, lifting only at the last moment, rocking the ship with his momentum. The men went sliding across the deck and laughed uproariously; Timor circled once more, looking faintly sheepish, then snapped his wings closed and stooped to land.

The musket fire was near silenced beneath the cheers of the crew; Linsey snapped his gaze to the sky in time to catch the shot that ripped into and through the topsail, scarcely missing Timor in his descent. Timor was unbalanced in his surprise, and landed heavily upon the deck while the men scrambled away in panic; he launched again a moment afterwards, the ship heaving in his wake, and went spiralling out towards the shape drawing close over the waves.

It was a fine, still day, and the ship would have been obvious long before now if the crew were not focused entirely on Timor’s display; Linsey cursed himself and turned to Cates, who was pale-faced and trembling in fright. He sent him and Tomkins both to find Richards below, and went to the railing of the quarterdeck to address the men still scattered and confused. “Raise the colours!” He roared, and gave his orders while the crew turned to hoisting the flag: a standard of black with a skull and crossbones.

Richards came up onto the deck and went to Linsey’s side immediately; Linsey did not address him, and he was made to follow him to the railing. Timor was sweeping in tight circles above the ship, making passes at the sails and roaring enormously; Linsey could not see enough from his vantage point to identify it, but dwelled not on the thought, for reason was quickly overcome by anger when yet more musket fire rose, aimed not for the Delight, but for Timor himself.

“They are trying to hit Timor,” He growled to Richards, who was stood uncertainly at his side. He was only glad Timor had sense enough to keep out of their range, diving only when he caught a pause in their fire. But the crew were making reason of their own; they held their fire while Timor spiralled above, and when he made to dive again they loosed it upon him, while he flailed in a panic and was caught sharply upon his shoulder. Linsey felt for a moment he could not breathe, nor think clear enough for reason; he turned to Richards and snapped, “Ready the guns, Richards, take no quarter.”

Richards set his face in rigid understanding and turned to make his orders to the men; Linsey fought to keep his composure as he made his musket ready.

Timor roared and stooped abruptly downwards, made only angrier by the attack; he raked his claws through the ship’s mainsails and spiralled away from another round of gunfire. Linsey waited until he was clear, holding his silence as long as he dared; Timor swept low over the Delight, and with hands shaking, Linsey took a deep breath and called, “Fire all!”

The men scrambled to fire on his order, and loosed the cannons as the ship drew up alongside the Delight. The fire was returned immediately, striking the masts and sending many of the men to the deck, ducking when the shots struck the ship and set splinters flying in their wake. Linsey dropped his musket without care for it; he leaned over the railing and searched for Timor in the sky. “Timor!” He roared, with all the might he could summon. “Go for the mast, Timor, the mast!”

Timor could not have heard him from so high above, but he made sense of Linsey’s gesturing, and dove in the first pause he found in the gunfire. The crew ducked and dropped to the deck as Timor stooped low over the ship, catching heavily at the foremast; he dug his claws into the wood until it splintered, and then launched away with all the might in his legs. The mast cracked, then broke upon the deck, rocking the ship with the momentum of its fall; Linsey watched with satisfaction when the crew scattered beneath its shadow, many of them thrown against the railings or dashed into the sea. His own crew paused in their fire; some of the men sent up a cheer, quietened immediately afterwards by the fellows at their side. Linsey gripped the railing, white-knuckled and still seething with anger; the battle was short, scarcely more than a few minutes, but every part of him ached as though he had been fighting for hours.

Timor landed heavily on the Delight, sprawling ungracefully upon the wood and panting; his shoulder was streaked with blood, though the wound looked thankfully shallow, only raw and painful enough to make him shudder and whine pitifully. Linsey went and knelt beside him, anxious at once, stroking the scales of his neck and murmuring reassurances. “That was very well done, Timor,” He said, “Very bravely done.”

Timor raised his head and blinked at him, all weariness forgotten in a moment; he nosed Linsey fondly, and nudged him close against his side with a rumble of delight. With anger subsided, Linsey leant into the warmth of Timor’s scales, while Richards called orders to the men, and a cheer went up from the deck as the Delight was brought abreast for boarding.

With the ship captured and relieved of its holdings, the crew set again to celebrating their victory; Linsey was surprised they had energy left at all, and watched with quiet amusement from his place on the quarterdeck, Timor at his side. He called for Mr. Polley, the surgeon, who greeted him brightly; his skills were suited more to men than dragons, but he had treated Estella before, and Linsey assumed it would be easy enough to adapt for Timor’s sake. Polley first paled at having the dragon so close; Linsey guided him with all the kindness he could summon, but his patience waned with each moment that Timor’s wound was left untreated. Timor held as still as he was able, though fidgeted often; Polley chided him sternly, and was eased of his anxieties with the focus of his task, done with little reassurance but deft efficiency, and a short pat on Timor’s shoulder afterwards. Polley smiled warmly to Timor before Linsey, and took his leave, while Linsey settled into his place at Timor’s side, and let his eyes slip closed when he found it comfortable enough to sleep.

The crew sang merrily from the deck, with Richards leading beside the mast, as was his place; they had set to it near immediately as they drew away from their prize, while Timor raised his great head over the railing to listen, and the spines upon his back flickered with delight. The night was near dawning; many of the men had taken their leave, or were lying drunkenly about the deck, and all lively cheer had turned slow and heartfelt. Richards’ voice was clear despite the drawling of the fellows beside him, and with his body aching as it was, Linsey felt himself comfortably lulled by the sound, into something close to sleep.

He felt Timor stir beside him, and reluctantly opened his eyes, squinting in the low light at the faint curve of the dragon’s snout. “Timor?” He called softly; Timor turned and nosed him fondly, breathing hot air into his hair and face, much to his own amusement. Linsey waved him off with a poorly hidden smile; Timor settled himself close and lay his head across Linsey’s legs, rumbling in quiet delight when Linsey stroked the scales of his snout.

“Linsey,” He said, in a bright, quiet voice. “Are there always so many songs? I do enjoy them; it is all so exciting, and the crew have such a lovely way of singing,”

“Oh, hardly,” Linsey said, with hidden laughter: the crew sang with impressive conviction, and were livelier than the sails caught loose in a storm, but little could be said of their singing itself, though he supposed nothing could cheat them of their spirit. “We shall have to take you to the taverns at port, then you will see a real way of singing.”

Timor snorted. “Then I look forward to it, but nothing would be as marvellous as this,” He said, with obvious pride; Linsey blinked at him in surprise. He knew that dragons were possessive creatures by nature, and that many breeds were known to take hoards, but Timor spoke with such great regard that Linsey paused, and found himself smiling with involuntary warmth when he looked upon the dragon again. Timor scarcely seemed to think it abnormal, and turned again to watching the crew; he was quiet for another moment, then said, quite softly, “Might you sing to me, Linsey?”

Linsey smiled ruefully, somewhat embarrassed by the request; he did not think himself a good singer, and would normally take his leave of the crew’s celebrations, feeling rather out of place despite their repeated attempts to bribe him into taking part. But he found himself reluctant to refuse; in any case, there was hardly any man left to hear him, but for the few hands left at the rigging, and Richards himself, who was largely falling asleep by the mast.

“If it suits you, dear fellow,” He said at last; he paused in momentary panic when he found himself largely lost for options, and then settled with a song he had learned some years ago as a young cabin boy, aboard a ship long now lost to the sea. He had always thought it rather mournful, but the tune was pleasant, and low enough to keep his voice from straining, though he could not sing so clearly as Richards. Timor paid no mind whatsoever; he curled himself around Linsey, listening with rapt attention. Linsey watched him fondly, and sang more softly when Timor sighed happily and closed his eyes. Soon afterwards he was asleep; Linsey watched the slow rise and fall of his scales, and stroked the warm hide, soft beneath the calluses of his palm. He let his hand rest there, feeling the thrum of Timor’s heart, and leaned into the dragon’s warmth, until he let his eyes close, and slipped abruptly and entirely into sleep.

#how do i tag this #fav side character in this chapter is probably mr. tunnock #theres not much of him but he WILL be back later #weird little guy. love him a lot #unfortunate lack of hayes and richards in this one too i miss writing them #richards does have a couple moments in here tho #which i love #timor: here be dragons

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pillowenvelopchair · 11 months

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Hey guys!! this is just my insane ramble on Still Waters Run Deep that's made by the lovely @un-local. I've had so so sooooo many thoughts about this fic and I decided to try and put it all coherently in a post :)

Probably not a lot of new insights, just many, many rambles

Magdalene analysis and her view on Rogier + some other stuff

Magdalene, at the start of the story, is aimless and refuses to follow any line of Grace, putting off whatever it leads to and going in the opposite direction. Yet Grace is fickle, and it all eventually converges, so she gives in. (aaaand a life-changing partnership ensues)

She wants out of the competition of becoming Elden Lord, and she wants nothing to do with it. Someone else to take lordship is what she wants. Magdalene, in her eyes, is not worthy to take the throne. But Rogier on the other hand…

Rogier is, quite literally, built different. He thinks differently compared to Magdalene (a STR vs INT user difference lol). He’s able to pick out all the details that she would miss. Be able to extrapolate and examine it all and be able to learn from it. Magdalene can't do that.

It's basically:

Rogier: says some fun facts about the most random thing in the room, saying all the history behind it, and what the tiny details could mean Magdalene: yeah, that's a rock.

So instead, she becomes a tool for Rogier to be able to use, because that's the least she can do for him.

“She can already feel the faint grin forming on her lips at the thought. She never wanted to be Elden Lord. She’d finally picked up and followed grace to... to get away, with no idea what it called her to do. When Melina told her where it led her, she felt only dread. But Rogier... To save Those Who Live in Death... Two birds, one stone. She meets his eyes, and doesn’t look away. In them, she doesn’t see pride, or avarice. She doesn't see a man who wants to rule the world. Not at all. The path forward is clear now.” -Chapter 22

For once, she really sees a light from the dark future she sees. She's hopeful that she won't have to take the throne, that Rogier can burden it instead of her. He's worthy in her eyes and because of that, she devotes herself to him with all she can do. (Ah but… I believe Rogier wants her to be Elden Lord? Not sure but her not wanting to be Elden Lord doesn’t quite fit with what he has planned)

Magdalene really holds onto Rogier, and his guidance (a comfort wizard, if you will). And so the idea that he won’t make it… that she’ll be left alone with Grace again, forced to join back into the competition for lordship... It's sickening to her. So she really clings to him, desperate to not be left alone with a destiny that she despises.

Magdalene is always pulled into different directions. Grace pulls her to one but she pulls herself to the opposite one. Fia and D are both on extreme sides of the spectrum on Rogier's survival, and Magdalene is caught right in the middle of it.

But for her, Rogier will survive, he has to survive otherwise... that light, that small hope she has will all fade into obscurity.

Ghosts from the past (Lorens and Ida)

I absolutely love how something, or rather, someone haunts both of them.

Lorens had been the catalyst of all of what Rogier does now. Why he’s so desperate to save those who live in death. He's literally devoted his body and mind to Lorens just to see him alive (maybe Rogier's devoting all of himself to finding a solution to death because he wants it to come back to the old times when it was just him and Lorens in the Rise, or maybe not!! I'm just rambling lol).

Every thought of Lorens is painted with a sort of bittersweetness to it. From Rogier's perspective, at the very least (I'm super curious as to how Lorens would view Rogier but we'll probably never get it because... you know...). He's almost obsessed with him, and it's all pretty unhealthy lol.

Magdalene, who’s haunted by Ida who's probably a sort of lover that hadn't been fully brought to fruition. Different opinions on what they have had made Magdalene leave with (from what I have seen at least, we have scrapes of her, people! I can't wait to see more of Ida though)

Now with Ida... Magdalene absolutely shakes herself out of every thought she has about Ida. Spurning every single thought or imagination she has of that woman.

"Nausea comes in waves. Fever. She can feel delirium taking her—she’s convinced she’s submerged in the very waters of creation, for a while. She vividly feels herself sinking deeper and deeper into a current; cold and dark and inescapable. As it pulls her down, she’s overcome with the instinct to breathe it in— Against her temple she feels a hand, with gentle fingers dragging softly through her hair. Suddenly, every layer of the dream collapses in on itself, and she jolts awake with a gasp. Here, in Liurnia, she hauls herself up, rubbing at her face. Even the memory is a shock of cold water to her. She’s a woman haunted." -Chapter 23

(I just really love this part- I can't help it)

I think it's also really interesting how Magdalene leaves Ida due to their differences in what they have (?) while Rogier just absolutely hangs onto Lorens no matter what, despite him being... er... him. Not so sure about his personality with the small flashbacks we get of him but he’s probably not good for Rogier.

In short, Rogier venerates Lorens, while Magdalene absolutely rejects Ida. (Opposites!)

Rogier’s overthinking

Also found it interesting that when Rogier thinks he really thinks. He's a professional overthinker, even in the past

"He thinks of the labyrinthian etiquette, the way he’d triple-check every sentence for a double meaning. The secrets, the ruthless political schemes. It all felt like a spider’s web to him. He’d learned the game, and he played it well, but it had been nothing but paranoia and misery for him. Just like it was for everyone else." -Chapter 17

It's what's kept him alive (Ch. 17), and what's been able to pave the way for his findings Yet, it’s also his curse. He tries to pick out every detail that he can and think of every possible reason or motivation. Every single outcome he just needs to know so that he won't get caught by surprise again. He needs to be in control of the situation, he needs to be the master of the chessboard.

Oh and once this guy spirals, he really spirals. He starts thinking and looking at details, rewinding every single thing, every interaction, and trying to label a reason for every little thing. Yet... something emotional seems to break the surface of the water.

I personally think that he was raised to overthink. He was a noble after all, and he dealt with politics. He truly needed to check, double check, triple check, every single sentence and word in case it would have a double meaning. "He’d learned the game, and he played it well" (Ch. 17) . Getting worse after Lorens' death, being fooled by "Only a cut." (Ch. 25) and seeing the aftermath of it.

He can't not do it because if he doesn't, and he gets surprised it would break him (or at the very least, freak him out).

ALSO!! Rogier hating on "saccharine conversations" (Ch. 17) good lord. This guy cannot be real with anyone. Rogier refuses to show vulnerability because:

1. He was raised like that (the whole attachment theory thing) 2. He will absolutely break if he does

Do you guys remember when Fia tells Magdalene that "dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke" (Ch.14)? Fia saw through Rogier's walls through the cracks and he just absolutely breaks down. (Get yourself a man who, after "embracing" tells you all about this thing he's obsessed about and then cries because of it)

It's a mortifying ordeal, that someone's able to see through the walls you've meticulously put up. It hits something deep within that he’s tried to bury.

Despite the walls he puts up people other than Fia see through them. Magdalene (Ch.7) was able to see through the small cracks that have broken, and Roderika... hoo she really hit a nerve didn’t she? (But it also hit one of her nerves too, Rogier vs Roderika am I right?)

Chapter 17 analysis

Also, while we’re on the topic of Roderika, let's talk about chapter 17! Seems I have a lot to talk about.

I absolutely love this chapter so much, it gives us so much insight into Rogier's backstory and the way he thinks. His noble background really shines through here, with how he acts with Roderika who is a fellow ex-noble too.

"His grin is wide and carefree, but it rather feels like he's baring his teeth. There’s no room for your pity here." -Chapter 17

This guy cannot accept any sign of sympathy/compassion with anyone. It's all pity to him, and he absolutely hates pity. Once Roderika starts to console him too it sickens him and it makes him bare his teeth like an animal, his baser instinct showing just a little bit.

He’s probably bore his teeth to other nobles in the court, or whatever meetings they have with one another. Small threats that get the message across by a vicious smile, is something he is all too familiar with.

I also think that it's a little bit funny how he gives advice to Roderika but then is also a little bit of a hypocrite about it

“It’s hard, to leave it behind. But the old world will keep its claws in you, if you let it.” -Chapter 17

Rogier while it's not his past life that he's stuck but rather, he is stuck on Lorens. Even though Rogier is no longer Lorens' student, even though Lorens is dead, he still has his claws on Rogier. It's his entire motivation, why he's in a "pathetic" state now. He isn't letting those claws go, he lets them dig deeper within him, and they dig in deep.

“You already have it within you," he says. "They were only trying to bury it.” -Chapter 17

Rogier immediately buries his own emotions in this interaction when Roderika tries to console him lol. Just based off of him being an ex-noble and his whole family thing, it's well established that he is very much used to burying it all down his gullet. I mean, is it really Rogier without emotional suppression?

Also Rogier tends to close off all the matters that relate to what he feels in his dialogue both in game and in SWRD. This guy cannot let out just a slight moment of vulnerability

A Color Theory Thing on my read on Rogier's garb:

Rogier, with his background being grounded in nobility has suppressed his baser desires in exchange for meaningless political schemes that have only brought him misery. Yet after coming to these lands, he finds himself with Lorens.

He wears a Raya Lucarian Robe and it has red on it. It's a sign of baser instincts being shown for once. He has grown an infatuation with Lorens despite being his student.

Yet, Rogier is still mostly blue, and he still suppresses that baser desire that he’s developed, that infatuation for Lorens. He never once builds up the courage to be able to tell Lorens what he feels. He would always bury those feelings down, and as a result he can't let go of it. It's far too deep to be buried back up.

But once Lorens has died, Rogier changes too.

He exchanges those garbs for yellow and turquoise (I think?). He's a mix of colors and beliefs.

He still has the blue in the turquoise, which symbolizes calm, intelligence, and emotional control (you can’t spell Rogier without emotional control) But turquoise isn't just blue, it also has green.

Green represents growth, life, and new beginnings. This is a new beginning for Rogier, who's set out for a new goal, to be able to save those who live in death (and perhaps give them life? Not so sure on that but in SWRD that seems to be the case with Lorens).

It's balanced by yellow. Creativity and originality, he's almost the only person we meet who wants to save TWLID. Not only that but yellow also symbolizes illness, which could be a foreshadowing of what happens to him later in his life.

It's not just sickness though, yellow also symbolizes deception. Rogier lies, but I necessarily think he's someone who is always deceptive. He's more like the type of guy who would lie so that an encounter would go well or not hurt someone else's feelings. I think he's like that from that whole ex-nobility thing he's got going on. Political schemes and lying through a smile is something that he's familiar with. (It also doesn't help that he keeps being emotionally suppressed too lol)

Cowardice is another. Rogier is scared to tell anyone about his emotions, to take that risk of being honest with someone. His background in nobility and his family definitely doesn't help either.

Rogier had been too scared to be true to Lorens and tell him his feelings, and because of that, he would never be able to. I feel like he's avoided it even more afterward. He refuses to take that jump of being honest with someone, whether it's about his emotions or his ideals, he doesn't let them go.

But when he does? With D, it completely breaks off everything they've had. Everything that they could have been.

"Beguiled fool. A rotten, sick bastard. Fouled by them. A wicked, two-faced user. Heartless. Loathsome parasite. How could he? Were they not supposed to set this crooked world straight? Profane. A perversion of honor. A madman." -Chapter 5

“Get out of my sight.” “I’m sorry.” He’d said, and he was. But Darian’s lips curled back, and he jerked his head away and locked his eyes on the horizon. His jaw twitched, in the moment he took to reply. “Don’t talk to me.” There was nothing he could do to fix this. To undo his mistakes, to spare Darian his intentions." -Chapter 5

It's all gone because he had been honest about his goals (presumably). This experience probably strengthened that emotional suppression so as to not be hurt/caught by surprise.

So when Magdalene, someone who wholeheartedly accepts his ideals and sees his side for once, he's cautious. He can't believe that someone can genuinely agree with him because all the times that he has been honest, he's been punished for it. (though, he reminds himself that she's not like that)

In short, this guy's a mixed bag. A mixed bag with problems

(basing this off of the Elden Ring color theory video, it was an absolute joy to watch)

[EDIT]: idk what to call this section but he seems to seek out some form of approval. Lets see how that ties in with his grief!

"He still doesn’t understand why. What did he do, specifically? Or was he just past his usefulness? Deemed unfit to rule? He never truly wanted to rule as Lord, but to be cast aside so indifferently—it had shaken him. Every now and then he fumbles with this, again and again, but he knows. He does. He knows that grace has forsaken him for good reason. He’s a heretic. An apostate. He who does not obediently bow before a faltering, decrepit Order, so ill-equipped to handle the world as it is. " -Chapter 5

"All these years. Couldn’t change a thing. Rather pathetic, I’d say—what a fool, thinking that this crooked world could be made right by mortal hands. Sure, deathblight. Truly, a fitting end for a worthless, rotten bastard." -Chapter 12

Now, speaking from some personal experience, being raised in a family that's of nobility and expects so much out of you from a young age definitely breeds some kind of self-worth issues that really stick with you. Especially if you haven't had anyone to truly support you.

Because of that, I believe that Rogier, in a way, is trying to prove his worth. But not to the Order, I think that he's in some way trying to please Lorens. Even in death.

He puts everything into his studies of Death, searching and scouring for scraps of information just to give him a single lead on anything, and for what?

"Its fulfillment will be a selfish act of altruism. These crooked lands will set right, by his hands, for a reward of nothing at all. But make no mistake: he needs another day. And another after that, and another after that. He needs his questions answered with questions, he needs his notes corrected in an unreadable hand, he needs to hear one more “Well—” followed by the most opaque, convoluted tangle of sentences ever constructed. There’s no reward he seeks, but the warm smile of cold gray eyes and a scoff about just what he’s wearing nowadays. " -Chapter 19

Rogier devotes himself to saving TWLID (saving Lorens, in reality), but it's not because it's all for selfless reasons, he seems to want things to go back to the way things used to be. Back at the Rise, with just him and Lorens once more.

I don't think Rogier ever accepted Lorens' death. He's determined to bring back Lorens, desperately trying to find a solution to bring him back no matter what.

And it’s quite hypocritical isnt it? That Rogier wants to change the Order to be able to sort of… revive Lorens from Death. To go back to the old times that they both had had.

This guy refuses to grieve and is searching (desperately) for a solution for a dead man who's probably not even good for him. Get this man some therapy

This entire post's summary is just me going:

Anyway, that's all for my crazy rambles! I can't wait to see how SWRD will progress, and how everyone will intermingle and grow with one another (Rogier and Mags)!!!! :0)

Have some doodles + a WIP that I'll probably never finish as a treat for reading this! (Mag's torso was wayyy too long on the second one oops)

(bonus boggart because I love him)

#not gonna talk about d yet #I don't want to assume too much about him just yet #but d is really interesting and i absolutely love this take on him and his grief :0) (not that I've read any other d fics.)#Rogier is so damn complicated #like. he's got so many problems like. dude get a grip and get a therapist #mags reel him back in and send him to the therapy office while ur at it #sorry if u guys cant understand my insanity... it cannot be contained #or else ill explode into pink glitter and my blood splattered all across the room #hhhh maybe ill edit this later i have to do some stuff :(#oh also unlocal if u do see this no pressure at all!! I just needed a place to be able to go crazy over ur fic lol #theres like. probably a lot I've missed but I'll make another one if I get insane again #some of this is probably incorrect and is just me reaching for an answer that doesnt exist btw #swrd #rogier #magdalene #envelope rambles #i wrote this in like. two sittings #what is happenign to me #I STILL RAMBLE IN TAGS YOU CANNOT STOP ME #the mortifying ordeal of posting #AAAA #uou guys i keep noticing things and. i just keep on fuckign ADDING MORE THINGS IN #[EDIT]: Added in rogier's self esteem into this too :3

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