Chapter Text
Four drinks into the night, Elliot started slamming large enough piles of coins on the table that even Fair looked a little concerned.
"Come on!" Elliot said. Slurred, maybe, kind of, if no one was counting. It wasn't like he'd bought himself all those drinks, anyways. "I'm lucky, right? You know I'm lucky. Lucks-crew lucky," Elliot teased, leaning back into Fair. The elf had bowed out of the gambling almost 20 minutes ago and taken up a position behind Elliot's right shoulder, sipping a beer and offering a biting commentary of the other players in Elliot's ear. The table had moved on from cards - they were still scattered here-and-there, and Elliot had maybe snagged one, maybe a jack that had looked particularly like Fair - and now were playing a dice game, with chips and jewels and whatever else people at the bar has laying around.
Piled in the middle of the table now was a small bowl filled with bone-dice, two emeralds, an enchanted headscarf, and not-insignificant stacks of gold coins. Elliot eyed his remaining pile of coins - it was a bit smaller than it had started - and could feel Fair's creeping disapproval.
"One more round," Elliot said.
"You said that the last round."
"I mean it."
Two other players remained in the game: a woman in a black bandanna, heavily made-up, smirk affixed to her face as firmly as the metal loops in her eyebrow. She reminded Elliot of Luck, a little, although maybe that wasn't the best comparison to be making about somebody he was betting against? Well, whatever. The other man at the table looked like he might be part-dwarf; short, stocky, with eyebrows that took up a lot of his face. He'd rarely taken his eyes off the woman the entire night, slowly upping bet after bet to match her. He didn't look like he had much money left.
Betting started with the woman. She case a considering look, first at Elliot, then at the man, and then, instead of reaching for the coins in front of her, she reached into her shirt. Elliot averted his eyes, landed on the maybe-dwarf whose eyebrows had raised far enough to reveal his eyes. Elliot tried to stifle a snicker. (Judging by the elbow at his back, he might not have succeeded.)
After a long moment, the woman drew out - a pendant.
Well, huh.
"We are serious people here," the woman said. She had an accent, but it was hard to place. Roshak, maybe? "Let us make serious bets. A Gale Pendant," She stated. As she twirled it, a breeze seemed to whisper off of it, ruffling her hair. "This is the secret to a sailor's success. Better than having a pet sorcerer." Her eyes lingered on the dwarf, then seemed to skip over Elliot straight to Fair.
"What if you've already got a - sorcerer?" Elliot challenged, forcing her eyes back to him. Behind her makeup, her expression was unreadable, and it was making him uncomfortable. "Doesn't seem like it's worth much to me."
"Anyone can cast a wind spell," Fair contributed from behind them. Her eyes narrowed at Fair.
"Then don't bet," She said. Elliot sat up straight in his chair, opening his mouth and then shutting it when Fair placed a hand on his shoulder. She turned to the other player. "Well, then?"
The dwarf seemed to inflate under her intentions, sitting up to his not-very-impressive height in his chair and reaching into his pouch.
"Wonder what absurd magical item is going to appear this time," Fair muttered in his ear, and Elliot snorted.
But what emerged was not - as far as he could see - enchanted at all. It was, in fact, a plain silver key, a little worn at the edges.
"What, a key to your little treasure chest at home? I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that, do you know what this is worth?"
"Heh." The dwarf took a long swig from his beer, and then said, "The captain's quarters."
It was Elliot who spoke up over the din of the bar, "What?"
"Got me a ship," the dwarf said, "but no crew. I win, you keep your trinkets - you too, sonny - but you come do a voyage on my ship with me." He set the key on the table with a soft thunk.
"And you're wagering the ship on your bet?" Fair, softly, spoken only to those at the table. Elliot looked back at him, and felt his breath short. A ship. An actual ship.
The dwarf seemed to take another look at him, sizing him up. "That's right." He cast a look at the woman, who did look suitably interested. The dwarf preened under the attention.
"Well," the woman said. She turned to Elliot. "And you, boy?"
Elliot wracked his mind. A ship? To get his own ship, here, in some dinky port town? He had to match it. But he didn't have that kind of money, and while he definitely had magical items, what could match a ship? He resisted the urge to go digging through his bag, as though something might just appear there. His transformation stone - but that might be all but worthless, and anyways, the others would kill him - the crown of Solendale - Julian would definitely kill him - his leg?
He reached down to grip his knee, a hard, warm, magical weight. It was certainly valuable, but whether it would be worth it to these people who wouldn't spit on Lenya if he was on fire -
Fair shifted behind him, leaned forward, and spoke directly into his ear: "The sword."
Oh. Oh, of course.
Elliot reached down to his belt and pulled off the sheath, wondering if it was actually warm or if that was just the alcohol in his system. His heart pounded as he raised it to the table - this was still a terrible idea, awful, if he lost and this got into the wrong hands he was so fucked - but his own ship. And it was Fair's idea.
(He would not - could not -admit it, but laying the sword on the table was like swinging from rigging in a storm, like dodging a death blow by the skin of his teeth, like telling Fair he loved him. Better for the danger.)
"Corazon's sword," he explained. His voice came out steady, and he lowered his hands so nobody could see them shake. "Of the drow lord."
The dwarf drew in a sharp breath, and it occured to Elliot, a bit belatedly, that there might be a bit of bad blood there. Well, there definitely was. But it was the woman who spoke: "Where did you get this?"
"Does it matter?" Fair countered over Elliot's indrawn breath. He earned another glare for his troubles - from the woman as well as Elliot - but, yeah, ok. Maybe not the time for that story.
"Do you accept the bet?" Elliot said instead, speaking with a bravado he did not feel.
The moment of silence stretched. Elliot felt sick. This was the best he had - if they demanded more, he'd have to start wagering things that weren't strictly his, and whether he was prepared to do that -
"I agree," the dwarf rumbled. He pushed his key forward. "Let's make our calls."
By the time the bets had settled, they'd amassed a bit of a crowd in their corner of the pub. Over Fair's shoulder, a small crew of men with beards and swords had amassed, holding drinks and rowdily placing bets on "the little one," "no, the other little one," and "the pretty one."
Elliot was secretly pleased when one of the men piped up, "I dunno, saw that shrimpy one's" (hey!) "face earlier and he's a soft looker, too. Now, her, hard to tell under all her makeup."
Elliot almost turned to look back, was stopped by Fair tightening hand on his shoulder. Looking back at him instead, Elliot received the voice in his ear, "You're plenty pretty. Focus."
Under the table, his leg was bouncing, but above the table he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the edge. The image that the table made, spread with gold and artifacts and dice, was a good one. He took it in - the bar, the players, the stakes. The fear that had flooded him at placing the sword on the table had transformed into a kind of high-flying tension.
And then the woman pulled the bowl of dice to her, and the bar fell silent enough to hear them clink in the bowl.
"Well," she said. "Let's play."
She rolled without ceremony, in the way that someone who's found themselves at a gambling table more than once does. Above the table, rolling them in a closed single fist for the second-too-long of someone who's saying a silent prayer to their gods. They clinked into the bowl, and Elliot realized his hands were digging into his legs. Fair's hand was digging into his shoulder. The whole house was holding its breath.
"Point eight," she said. The dwarf and Elliot learned forward to confirm. These dice were rough - probably pub-issue, the better to avoid gambling fights - but had rolled fairly so far, and there, sure enough, were four tiny chips into the side of bone on each die.
Elliot's heart was in his throat. With sudden clarity, he saw the disappointment in the rest of his friends' eyes if he came back without the sword. Hell, hell, what was he doing?
But, on the flip side - a ship. He eyed the key lying innocently on the other side of the table, with all his desires and dreams tied up in it.
His own ship.
She picked up the bowl and rolled again.
His head swam as he tried to keep up with what was going on - maybe the drink had gone to his head a little too much, maybe Fair had come back with one too many new ones. He needed - a seven, to win, a seven before an eight, right?
The dice tumbled.
Four - "Easy four," the woman said it, drawing out the eeeasy, and a roar as someone in the crowds behind won another bet that was going on. Someone in the gathered crowd bought a round of drinks, and while the surly waitress was at the bar filling two fistfuls of beers, the woman in the middle pressed her lips together and rolled again. He lost track of the rest of the room - watched the chips in her nails as she rolled the dice and -
"Eleven," she read, voice tight. Two rounds with no winner? A murmur went around the crowd. In the background, an enterprising sailor was setting up a pool, adding to the general chaos of the room. Odds for nine, odds for seven, odds for two, any takers, any -
Another roll. Fair turned him a little to hand him the drink that had been bought for him by the crowd, and whispered in his ear when he leaned forward, "Luck."
He wondered if he meant the pirate, or the blessing, or perhaps both. Luck was no goddess, but praying to her just now didn't seem too far-fetched.
Later, he would say that he was watching. His eyes had never left the bowl - there'd been perfect silence, and then an eruption of cheers. The way he'd tell the story was tense and heroic and thrilling.
The truth was that, as he turned, the woman read off "Seven," with a twist in her voice like a knife and Elliot's arm jerked so hard that he spilled a good part of this drink on the table and himself, and for half a startled breath the crowd didn't even realize what had happened.
And then the yelling started - not cheering, exactly, though some of that - yelling from what may be the captain's crew, congratulations from the men that had congregated behind Elliot and Fair, stomping and cheers and glasses clinking, and the dwarf swearing heartily - "Damn, damn on Elnade's breath, damn! - "
The woman reached over and, under the dwarf's angry gaze (his eyes were entirely gone under his eyebrows again, but Elliot could feel it), she pushed the key over to Elliot's side of the table - and then, with much more visible reluctance, began to move her pendant over, too.
Before Elliot could consult any part of his brain - which was still reeling from shock - his mouth was asking, "Do you want to join my crew?" His crew. His crew.
Her hand stilled. Across the table, the dwarf got up and walked away; before Elliot could worry about that, Fair had gotten up to follow him. The bar, fascinated seconds before, had moved on with the attention spans of the very drunk; another dice game was starting up at the next table, so they had reasonable privacy when she asked, "And I keep this?" Her hand spread possessively over the pendant. It struck a chord in him - the kind of gesture that he'd make towards his bandanna, or Fair towards the ribbon in his hair.
"Sure," he said. "I mean - have you ever been a navigator?"
The hunch came from nowhere, but the way she drew her hand back said that he was probably might. "Maybe. You know anything about sailing a ship, boy? You don't exactly look seaworthy, forgive me, putting aside your hair."
Elliot tried and failed to resist the urge to reach up and touch his hair. It was soft - wavy, as usual, but the sea salt had come out, he'd made sure of it. He scowled at her. "I was a part of Luck's crew."
That earned her silence. She took another long look at him - at the sword on the table, at the bandanna on his head, then turned to seek out Fair in the crowd. When she turned back, her eyebrows were raised. "Well." She tucked her pendant back into her shirt, and her shoulders visibly relaxed as it settled. "You're either a very gutsy liar, or you're foolishly truthful. There are people in this bar who would as soon kill you as hear you say those words, you know, truth or lie."
He knew.
"But whichever it is - I like you."
She gestured towards his drink, and that's when Elliot realized that she hadn't been drinking this entire time. Her eyes were clear. She said, "Go on, finish that and collect your boy - "
"My first mate," Elliot corrected. In the corner of the bar, Fair seemed to still be subtly intimidating the dwarf, and although they were notoriously difficult to intimidate with height he certainly seemed to be trying.
The woman laughed. "Already? You have this planned ahead of time?"
Yes, Elliot thought, but choked on the words. His own ship - and Fair as his first mate - and he was going to have to tell Julian, and where were they going to go -
"Collect your first mate, then, and let's go see our new ship."
"Hey," Elliot said, and his voice came out so shaky that he soothed it with a drink - not that that helped much. "Hey, don't I get to say when we leave?"
She leaned forward on the table. "You really haven't been a captain before, have you? Well, a lesson, then. A captain is subject to only two things: the winds, and the whims of his crew."
By the time he could speak around the lump of his throat and the phrase his crew, the moment to reply had passed.
He gulped down the rest of the ale and swiped the key off the table, holding it. It was lighter than he'd imagined, like it was made of silver instead of steel. He wondered if there was magic on it. He wondered what the captain's quarters looked like.
He realized, with a rush that drove him instantly to his feet (and then nearly to the floor, as the last two drinks rushed rapidly to his head) that he could not wait to find out.
"Fair!" He yelled, across the bar. "Fair, come on, we have to go see!"
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