Work Text:
After long weeks at sea, the sailor started to lose count of the time. Every day felt the same: working from the break of dawn until late at night, with barely enough food or rest in between. Yet, the worst thing was not remembering anything about himself. There is something you must do in London, those words were everything he had to guide him. No name, no past… Only one vague destination, and a constant, strange feeling of missing something he had no recollection of.
His arrival in London was eventful: he was caught crossing the border to Great Britain and questioned by the authorities, who referred to him as “Nipponese” and weren’t pleased by his lack of answers. He would probably have ended up in jail if it wasn’t for that man, who later introduced himself as Mael Stronghart, the Lord Chief Justice.
Strangely, the title made sense to the sailor, who could also answer Stronghart’s questions about their judicial system without any difficulty. The sailor had no idea of why and how he knew so much about the laws of a foreign country, especially when he couldn’t even remember his own name. But it didn’t matter: that knowledge grabbed the interest of the Lord Chief Justice, who took full responsibility for him.
Something about Lord Stronghart brought an uncomfortable chill to his chest, though he couldn’t explain why: the man was cordial to him, especially given his strange situation. He took the sailor—should he still call himself by that name?—to a hospital to check his apparent amnesia; fed him; replaced his tattered clothes with a new, nice-looking uniform; then, provided a cloak and a mask for him to wear every day during his stay in London.
Never speak, never take the mask off… Those were strange rules, but he didn’t question them: he should be glad he wasn’t in jail, after all. That same day, Stronghart brought him to the office of a man named Barok van Zieks—who, he said, would instruct him on how to become a prosecutor.
And, like that, the sailor became the apprentice. His days of physical labor in merchant ships gave place to shorter—but still demanding—hours of work in Barok’s office; now, instead of having just enough food and rest to survive, he had access to proper meals and a comfortable bedroom in the van Zieks mansion. The only problem, of course, was how much Barok seemed to dislike him. Thinking better, it shouldn’t be surprising: that man was forced to take a stranger in as an apprentice, and even bring him into his home… No wonder the situation bothered him.
Still, he gave the apprentice a room, food, and clothes; more importantly, though, he gave him something to fill his mind with. So, despite knowing he was seen as no more than a nuisance, the apprentice was still grateful to him.
Yet, his first few nights in Barok’s mansion were restless ones. There was nothing wrong with the bedroom, on the contrary: it was by far the most comfortable place he had slept in since he could remember, with a big bed, soft mattress, warm blankets… Sometimes, though, being alone in such a huge room made him feel… strange. Out of place. He never complained, though, making an effort to get used to his new routine as quickly as possible.
The apprentice woke up in the middle of that night with the disquieting feeling that follows a nightmare. He couldn’t remember what it was, but it still made his heart pound painfully; he considered trying to go back to sleep, but something in his mind warned him that, if he did, he would go back to those dreams. Instead, he let out a long, tired sigh, leaving the bed. He was about to walk to the door when his gaze fell upon the mask on his desk: he still wasn’t used to wearing it… It wasn’t comfortable and felt weird over his face. Still, he had received clear orders to never remove it in front of others. Without much choice, he put his mask on, walking out of the bedroom.
He walked downstairs, considering getting a glass of water and taking a brief walk in the mansion’s garden. When he reached the living room, however, he was surprised to see Barok there, sitting on the couch with his head low, a hand covering his face; he had a chalice in his other hand, an open bottle of wine resting in the table before him. The apprentice frowned: it was the middle of the night… Certainly not a good time to be drinking. He approached Barok, concerned, calling his attention by touching his shoulder. The gesture made Barok raise his eyes to him with a furrowed brow.
“Why are you here?”
There was nothing but annoyance and resentment in his voice. The apprentice could only look at him, unsure of how to respond—or even if he should. Barok glared at the hand on his shoulder, and the apprentice moved it away.
Barok sighed, bringing the half-empty chalice to his lips. “Return to your bedroom, apprentice.”
Quietly, the apprentice bowed his head to him, walked back to his bedroom, then closed the door, sitting on his bed with his knees bent. He reached for his mask, taking it off before burying his face in both hands. A small sob left his lips, soon followed by tears.
He was so tired… He didn’t want to be there, but he didn’t know where else he should be.
There is something you must do in London…
What was it? He just wanted to be done with it, so he could leave that place and go back home.
But where ‘is’ home?
He didn’t know… Was there even a place for him to return to? He shut his eyes, trying to, once again, force his memory. Anything… Only a hint of who he was… What he was supposed to do.
Nothing. He shouldn’t have expected anything different… If it were that easy, he wouldn’t have spent all those months in such a miserable state.
The apprentice hugged his knees, lowering his head, sobbing quietly for a long time.
He met Barok on the lower floor of the mansion the next morning. Neither of them spoke a word, which wouldn’t be unusual if it wasn’t for the heavy tension that accompanied the silence.
A few seconds passed like that, before Barok finally spoke. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”
The apprentice nodded in response.
“I haven’t shared this place with anyone for many years,” Barok continued. “I’ll refrain from behaving in such a shameful manner from now on.”
Did he mean being drunk? The apprentice was used to seeing men drink until they lost control of their mouths—which, more often than not, resulted in some kind of fight. Barok never seemed like the type to get in such a state: even when he drank, it was in a contained, even classy manner. Seeing him like that had been a shock, but not because of the act itself—unlike the sailors, who became loud, shameless, and hot-tempered when drunk, Barok seemed… distraught.
The apprentice hesitated for a moment, then chose to break one of Stronghart’s rules. “Is something troubling you, my lord?”
“Nothing you should concern yourself about.”
Barok’s tone was calm, but firm, giving no space for new questions. Again, the apprentice nodded. They left to the office a few minutes later, without exchanging another word.
The following days weren’t too different, except that, little by little, the tension between him and Barok started to subside.
During their first week together, Barok avoided looking at his face, and whenever he spoke, his tone was cold. He didn’t seem to be doing it on purpose, but his actions were a constant reminder of how unwelcome the apprentice was in his office and home. As the days passed, however, Barok’s voice became softer, and he managed to keep eye contact while addressing the apprentice; he still didn’t seem content with the situation, but at least now his frustration wasn’t directed at the apprentice himself—at least not completely.
Slowly, Barok seemed to trust him more, to the point of allowing the apprentice to take care of him while he was sick. That day felt like a turning point in their relationship, after which the tension was completely gone, replaced by what the apprentice perceived as reluctant care from his mentor; as a result, he came to care for Barok as well, not only out of gratitude, but because he became someone dear to him—his only friend in a world of unfamiliar faces.
With time, the apprentice also felt less out of place in that mansion. He knew it was nothing but a temporary home, yet part of him wished he wouldn’t have to leave it so soon: the idea of living alone in that country was still quite frightening. Besides, he enjoyed Barok’s company, even when neither of them said a word. Sleeping in that large bedroom became more peaceful as well, at least during most of his nights.
But not all of them: nightmares were still a quite frequent occurrence, to his frustration. Sometimes, they made sense, bringing the apprentice back to his days of wandering with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the long months he spent working in merchant ships; others, they were more surreal, involving things like serpents, black cats, and running on a maze of dark streets and dead-ends, unsure if he was being chased by something ferocious or if he was the one doing the chasing.
That night, his nightmares were of the second kind: a sequence of seemingly unrelated things, which ended abruptly when the apprentice jolted up and out of the bed, a scream trapped in his throat. He stumbled in the dark, making an effort to breathe despite the pain in his chest. His leg bumped against something, and he lost his balance, falling forward with a loud thud. His heart raced as he glanced around, trying to recognize where he was, to no avail. Before his vision could adjust to the darkness, someone opened the door, walking inside the room. The apprentice’s first instinct was to crawl away from that person. He reached for where his sword should be, only to realize it wasn’t there.
“Apprentice?” The familiar voice grabbed his attention, easing his panicked mind. “I heard a noise… Is everything alright?”
He opened his mouth, unable to do anything but breathe hastily. Barok approached, crouching beside him, looking at his face. From that short distance, his concern was apparent even in that dark room.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”
The apprentice couldn’t answer, his mind still lost between dream and reality. Barok reached for his arm, helping him stand up, guiding him back to the bed, sitting there by his side.
“You can tell me if something is wrong,” Barok insisted gently.
He shook his head. “I don’t know…”
It was as if he was about to remember something important, but it was just out of his reach. The only thing left from his restless dream was a letter, and the feeling of dread that filled his chest before he even had the chance to open it. But why a letter? Did that even mean something, or was he just desperately searching for answers where there were none?
Before the disorderly thoughts could fill his head again, the feeling of Barok’s hand on his back made him return to reality.
“It’s over now,” Barok whispered. “You’re safe here.”
His voice was comforting, like a bonfire on a cold night. Without thinking, the apprentice leaned forward, resting his face against Barok’s chest.
“Apprentice…?”
He didn’t answer, afraid that Barok would tell him to move away if he broke the silence. He closed his eyes, listening to Barok’s heartbeat, and the rhythmic sound slowly helped him calm down. That man was everything he had… The only good thing in that unwelcoming place.
“What’s the matter?” asked Barok in a low voice.
“Will this ever end…?”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. Barok didn’t respond for a few seconds, then placed a hand on his back.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure things will come back to you… Just give it some time.”
Barok’s gentle words made him want to believe it was true.
The apprentice thought he would spend the rest of that night wide awake, but Barok stayed there with him until he managed to calm down and relax. He must have fallen asleep at some point, and when he woke up, Barok wasn’t in his bedroom anymore, but had placed a pillow under his head, and a blanket over his body. The gesture was enough to bring a slight smile to the apprentice’s lips. He stayed there for a moment longer, holding the blanket close to him, then finally gathered the courage to leave the bed.
After almost three months, he still wasn’t used to how cold London could get… He almost brought the blanket with him as he left the bedroom, but managed to stop himself, taking his cloak instead—not as cozy, but enough to keep him warm. There was still some time left before he had to wake Barok, so he tried to make as little noise as possible as he made his way downstairs, to the kitchen.
Barok wasn’t good at cooking, so the apprentice was the one who prepared their meals on the days they didn’t eat outside. He had been told more than once by his mentor that he shouldn’t be doing those domestic chores, but they were a nice distraction, and Barok seemed to enjoy his cooking—which, by itself, made the apprentice want to continue.
Distracted by the food, it took him a while to notice he was humming a sea shanty. Even back then, he wasn’t a man who would join in the sailors’ singing by choice, and would prefer to save his energy for the hard work at hand… But habits were habits, and some took a while to go away. Thinking about it made the apprentice chuckle to himself: what a silly thing, to still have that small connection to a much unhappier time of his life.
He reached for the teapot, but stopped halfway, only then realizing something that should have been obvious: he was happy. Possibly for the first time since he could remember. And it was all thanks to Barok… The man who offered him shelter, kindness, and support—who gave him something worth living for when he thought he had nothing.
The apprentice took a moment to appreciate that warm, comfortable feeling in his chest, a soft smile taking his lips before he shifted his attention back to the tea. He could already foresee the events of minutes later: Barok would tell him again that he didn’t need to worry about cooking; yet, a subtle, content expression would take his face as soon as he tasted the homemade food—a sight the apprentice came to cherish during their short time living together.
Even if his memories never returned, as long as things could stay like that, he would be fine.