Archive of Our Own

“So introduce yourself,” a voice begins, almost too cheerfully for an early morning. Before Scott knows it, there’s a tall pirate wrapping their arm around his shoulder. “You look like a guy who’s seen a lot, adventured a lot. Who knows– maybe you’ve discovered a lot. Fancy writing history? You’ve come across the right person, my friend. The Herons’d love someone like you in our faction.”

Scott can’t help but give a giggle hearing the pirate speak; his smile is almost contagious. He had barely remembered that the other was looking for an introduction. That was, until the pirate paused, tilting his head awaiting an answer.

“Oh! I’m– er…”

He can’t tell him that his name is Scott. Well, firstly because that’d make it too easy for his brother to find him, and secondly, ‘Scott’ is now a whole different person! Scott was a merling , and can’t be a pirate. That just feels odd. 

Scott the merling, so…

“Cas-Caspian,” Scott manages. Caspian the pirate. “I came from… very far away. Over the ocean. And, and I do like history, and learning, for that matter. I’m a collector, of things.”

As the Recruitment Bell’s chime simmers down, pirates begin to make their way into its hall. They slowly take their seats, some quite intrigued by the new face, and some quite… well, dubious . Wasn’t recruitment day months ago?

Martyn, being one of the pirates who had entered, only finds the need to look up to the front once the other pirates quieten. He wasn’t expecting much, really. No hurry. Probably some scolding from the Recruitment Officer about their factions’ quarrelings. Though when Martyn does look up, his eyes widen at the unexpected pirate(?) standing in the centre.

“ Scott? ” he mouths, and his fellow Kestrel, Oli, elbows him to keep quiet. 

“ Caspian ,” Owen grins, looking right down at the new pirate. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Owen, and I’m a Heron. You’re a bit late for recruitment, buddy. But no matter! Came from far away, did you? Swam all the way here? Not a first, I’ll tell you. Not a first.” 

Scott thinks Owen is pretty funny. People from home aren’t like this.

“What do– What do you all Herons do?” comes Scott’s voice. Hesitant, yet keen.

“Well,” Owen begins once more, “We Herons are the stepping stone of all pirates. The foundations, if you will. Most important out of all four factions. We make the history, write the books, discover what needs to be discovered. That’s what we do.”

Owen notices Caspian glance around as the pirates take their seats. “You’ll be just fine,” the Heron whispers, gives the newcomer a pat on the shoulder, and calls for attention.

It’s nothing long; what Owen says. Nothing too short, either. He quickly finds that the Recruitment Officer is absent (for whatever reason, he’s quite unsure) and soon takes the matter into his own hands. Surely he wouldn’t mind. All Owen does is announce the newcomer, explain the premise of choosing a faction, and discuss offers with each faction.

All this, while Martyn’s expression only grows confused. Caspian , was his name? 

Caspian, on the other hand, decides he rather likes Owen. He’s quite inviting, and he can’t help but find himself drawn in. He looks around the room, again, flashing a big grin when his gaze lands on Martyn. He has to hold back from waving, and instead holds his arm across his stomach as he listens to Owen.

“Alright! How do I sign up?”

Martyn’s insides are boiling. Seeing Scott talk to that guy, even, just made him sick. Scott knew that Martyn was a Kestrel, right? Surely he would choose to join the Kestrels? Or even the Nightingales; they’ve got a good enough reputation that he can talk to them without getting blasted , right?

Shortly after, Owen announces Caspian’s selection with a clap and a brief celebration from the Herons. Then all the pirates slowly trickle out; all except for one certain Kestrel, who in particular, seems quite upset.

“For now, would you like to take a look around the Isles? Heron territory is just past the main docks. I’ll be out on errands if you need anything. You seem like someone who’ll get the grasps easier than others, Caspian, so I’ll let you be.” He smiles, Caspian gives a happy thanks in reply, and then Owen drops a small pouch of something jingly into Caspian’s hands.

“Oh!” Caspian smiles, looking from the coin pouch, then up at the Heron. “Thank you!”

“On whatever you’d like.”

And with that, the Heron leaves. Scott takes it as his opportunity to rush over to Martyn.

“Hi! Look!” He stretches his arms out, spinning around and showing himself to the Kestrel. Plain brown pants that just seem to fit him, a simple linen blouse and a coat a few sizes too large. “Do you like it? It’s one of my dad’s old coats! I thought it looked—”

“Scott,” he interrupts, exhaling through his hands and looking the now-pirate up and down. “What on earth have you done.”

“It’s magic!”

“And– ‘Caspian’? Really? I don’t even want to know about the magic, honestly. And then you go off with the Herons of all people? I thought we said to meet at my ship?”

“I saw it on a sign at home! Caspian!” he retaliates, and seems rather proud of it. Martyn feels the slightest of guilt. “And I was going to your ship, I just–” Scott pouts, looking away. “I was getting used to walking around, and, y’know, so I decided I’d just… walk around a little more! I was going to go back to your ship, but then those pirates saw me and they thought I was new, so they took me in here!”

Martyn gives Scott an incredulous look, to which he sits down beside him and continues.

“And what’s wrong with the Herons? They sound fun!”

“Herons,” Martyn begins, “Are stuck-up nobodys.” He can’t quite word it in another way that makes sense, but Martyn continues nonetheless. “They walk around thinking they’re the superior faction, thinking they’re the reason that all pirates are even here , and they’re just–” he groans, something that comes close to full chest. “I hate their faces. They’re so annoyin’. All of them. The only thing they do well is booze.”

“Well, I’m a Heron now, so I’ll prove you wrong!” Scott grins, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs. “I think you’re just a little bit grumpy.”

“What? What? No, no I’m not grumpy , Scott.” Martyn exhales, and stands up with a stretch of his arms. “Dang it. I need to play along now, don’t I?”

Scott grins, and breaks into laughter.

“Dang it, Caspian. I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t,” he hums, standing up to poke Martyn in the arm, ”You’re just saying that because I’m a Heron.”

“I am not saying that just because you’re a Heron.” Martyn begins walking, and gives Scott a little tug of the sleeve to get him going. He makes sure to keep an eye on Scott, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure he was following. Last thing he’d want was for the guy to get lost. Who knows what he might do. “What makes you think that, huh? I hate them , Scott. Sorry. Caspian ,” he corrects, “Keep forgetting. Hate them , not you. You came before.”

“ Becaaaauuuseeee ,” Scott trails on, with a little shrug, “You were being nice to me earlier. And now you’re being all pouty and annoyed! But the only thing different is I’m a Heron, and you keep saying you hate all of them, so… ”

“I- I do hate the Herons! But-” Martyn pauses, glancing back at the pirate with a little sigh. He’s already lagging behind a little, distracted by some of the buildings’ facades. (Heron architecture was always nice, despite Martyn’s strong opinions.) Martyn takes Scott’s hand, and leads him deeper into the Herons’ area.

“Nevermind,” Martyn continues, trying his best at a smile with a gesture to an upcoming building. “We can save it for later. Did you want a drink? Some food? It’s your first day, so I can always cover for you. Unless you want to go back to the main area and pick up a quest?”

A… tavern? Was that the word? Scott was excited for a quest, but he had never actually been in a proper tavern. Merlings had… alternatives . 

“Let’s get a drink,” Scott says finally, and this time he is the one tugging Martyn’s arm. “I’ve never had one before.”

“You might have fun with it. Herons have the best brew, after all. Kestrels’ are… Well, for starters their taverns are a tad too crowded for my liking.”

And so, Martyn and his new Heron friend Caspian enter the Herons’ tavern, and the both of them give a warm greeting to the bartender, Cleo, who gives a cheeky comment in reply. Something along the lines of, “Funny seeing you here again, Martyn. Brought your Heron friend, huh? Thought you weren’t all that fond of us.”

”He’s not my friend,” Martyn grumbles, and gives Cleo one of the most unconvincing irritated stares she’s ever seen.

At this, the new Heron breaks into laughter, dragging the returning Kestrel to sit on a bar stool beside him. “I told him I’ll prove him wrong,” he declares, before immediately being caught by the wood of the counter. He taps it, and says, to no one in particular, “This is pretty. Less, um… colourful than home.”

Cleo knows not to take it as an insult. “This, here,” the gestures to the counter, glancing at Martyn with a cheeky smirk, “is fine spruce wood. Glossed and glazed and such. Martyn’s favourite wood; his ship’s made all out of this stuff. Would you believe a Heron discovered it?”

Martyn is unimpressed. Caspian, on the other hand, seems quite engaged,

“Oh! Spruce wood… I’ve heard of that!” He continues examining its texture, tracing circles and feeling about it. It feels much different to the wood he’d found underwater. 

“And, Martyn,” Cleo continues, “anything for your Heron friend? I assume you’re the one paying, yes?”

Cleo is brought with an indifferent, “Yeah, yeah. That’d be a beer for Caspian,” and some gold sliding towards her. “There’s enough for toppers, but uh, if not, you can save it for the next time I come ‘round.”

Cleo says something witty that sparks another one of Martyn’s fuses, and the both of them go on with another back and forth over the table. A friendly, back and forth, of course. Nothing of harm. It’s nothing but a blur to Caspian, until a glass is placed before him atop the wood he had studied.

Caspian squeaks, jumps, picks his head up and looks between the two like a startled cat, just before he seems to actually remember what they were doing. “Thank you, Miss,” he smiles, looking around the tavern for a moment before he copies someone taking a sip.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the daydreamer here, huh, Martyn?” Cleo gives a sweet smile to Caspian, in apology for interrupting him. Martyn chooses to ignore her.

“So? How is it? What’s the verdict, boss?” Martyn smiles. It holds fatigue, though his expression has cheeky plans. These firsts always went horribly amazing, or horribly horrible in his books. Might be one for the Herons to write down, he muses, laughing to himself.

“It’s…”

“Not strong enough? Too strong, perhaps?”

Caspian’s not quite sure how to describe it. He makes a face, a small noise, and adds with a little hint of embarrassment, “It’s… new? I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you down the whole thing? Maybe then you can give a proper verdict. Give it uh,” Martyn looks around, thinking to himself, “Give it about a half hour to kick in. We’ll see then.”

The statement only earns an eye roll from Cleo. She knows full well what Martyn was trying to do.

Caspian obliges, though hesitantly. That poor boy, really. Cleo should urge Martyn to be nicer. It’s Caspian's first day, after all. She wouldn’t want the new one to retch before even sailing. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to enjoy it too much. Caspian scrunches his face when he finishes, coughing and clearing his throat quietly.

Cleo manages to shoo the both of them out after the show Martyn has put on, and advises them to go and fetch some food. Scott’s (Scott Denholm’s) little dumpling store should have been stocked with fresh batches, by now. Midday seems to be when he sets them out in little boxes, before heading on a quest and returning for his profits. Good time management, that. Poor thing always seemed busy. The trust method of payment always worked, anyways. At least it did with the Herons.

A mention of ‘another Scott’ does alarm Caspian a little, however. Another Scott, and he’s a Heron? Good thing Martyn said that he has different coloured hair. Would be awkward to have… two blue-haired Herons named Scott. Gosh.

“You’re lucky this guy’s a ginger,” Martyn says, “Rich looking, attractive for a Heron , completely different vibes. Wait, no. Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that,” to which Caspian corrects him, and reminds this dumb Kestrel that Scott did, in fact, come from a wealthy background. And Martyn didn’t necessarily mean to say that Scott– Caspian wasn’t attractive! (He most certainly is…) He was… well, he’s much more… likeable without the scales and the sharp teeth and the whole jig.

“I’ve got a knife!” he adds after a moment, completely out of the blue, to which Martyn replies with a concerned, “Oh gods.”

“You got a knife? What type of knife?” Martyn adds, finding a chuckle from his enthusiasm. “Though I’ll have to warn you, this is truce territory. Not sure if that other Heron guy with the earrings and the braid mentioned it to you but uh, no fighting on this land unless it’s a bounty.” Bounties. Right. Didn’t Martyn have a bounty with his name in circulation? Should Martyn really be here, on Heron land? Was this trespassing?

“Uhm…” Oh, well thank goodness Scott started speaking again. Martyn doesn’t want to bother himself with bounties right now. “I’m not sure,” he laughs, shaking his head and taking it from his pouch, displaying the– the dagger. It’s more of a dagger than a knife , really. And it has a nice sheath. An even nicer blade as he reveals it.

Some sort of poignard dagger, long and thin and made of jagged obsidian. The hilt is beautifully inlaid with gems, and is rather striking to gaze upon, really.

“Bloody stunning. Would sell for a lot, that one,” Martyn smiles, taking a moment to stop and inspect the blade, though not daring to touch it or hold it or anything for himself. Looking respectfully, and with admiration of the craft, is all.

They arrive at Scott Denholm’s little market store, and it comes to Martyn that Caspian doesn’t actually know what dumplings are.

“So, here’s the thing,” Martyn says, dropping some gold into a jar and handing Scott a box, as well as one for himself. “These, My friend, are dumplings. They’re like uh-” Martyn stops for a moment, (to take a dumpling and drop it into his mouth, and) to think about what he could compare it to that Scott might understand. “Imagine… something soft like white fish, and something thin and smooth like seaweed, but not as crunchy or salty. It’s like a little sheet, which is wrapped around a little ball of meat, which is the land alternative to fish up here.”

Scott seems convinced enough to open the paper container, take a look, a sniff, and ultimately, he takes a bite.

“They’re good, ” he responds, to which Martyn smiles, and Scott goes straight into finishing the whole box. Denholm dumplings; Merling approved. Martyn wishes he could brag to Cleo about how she can’t write that one in the history books.

“You should tell that to his face; Scott Denholm. The guy’ll rave for the compliments. He’s a nice gentleman, you know. Gets me out of trouble when I have a drink or two and someone decides to pull my trigger. He runs the place when Cleo’s not around. Did you know that they’re siblings? Not by blood, but I wouldn’t be surprised with the,” Martyn gestures around in the air, plotting another dumpling into his mouth, “the hair and the attitude and all that.”

“You talk about the Herons a lot,” Scott replies.

“Do I?” is Martyn’s weak retort.

“How about your own faction? What are they like?”

“ My faction people? Oh god, uh.” Martyn seems… unprepared, at the very least. He hums in thought, adjusting the weight atop his feet. “My faction people…” he trails off, brushing his hair back and laughing at himself for finding such a question so difficult to answer.

It’s not that he hated his faction! Well, it’s not that he liked it either, but–

“My faction is…” he pauses, “interesting.”

“Interesting… how?” Scott replies, rather oblivious to Martyn’s struggle, moreso amused. “I mean, I don’t really know a lot. Besides, I think you said something about money?”

Martyn exhales with flat lips, blowing a little raspberry. Would Scott judge him, for choosing this faction? Even when he kinda hates them? Well, out of all the first impressions that the original faction members gave him, the Kestrels weren’t the worst? Does that make a difference?

“Well,” Martyn huffs a laugh, “They’re all rich drunkards. That’s it, really. Not much of a social life besides the innings of a tavern. And a coin pouch. Then again, they’re– oh, actually, yeah, nevermind. They’re just interesting.” He nods, as if trying to convince himself as well as Scott.

“Is that why you wanted to take me there first?” Scott replies, rather clearly in an attempt to tease Martyn.

“What? Where? Oh, no. The Herons’ tavern? No, no that’s completely different,” Martyn splutters, giving an um and an ah . “It’s the… the atmosphere. Yeah, that’s right. Love the Herons’ atmosphere, hate the Kestrels’ atmosphere. Love the Hero– actually, no, I hate the Herons. Don’t like the Kestrels, but really to be fair, I don’t like most people on this island.” Most. Martyn tries to laugh a little.

“Sooo,” Scott leans towards Martyn, breaking into little giggles, “What reason, then? What’s wrong with Kestrel am– atma–”

“Atmosphere,” Martyn corrects, and this time he laughs something genuine. “Most Kestrels are the flirt , actually. Then again it might be the alcohol so who’s really to blame. Not that it’s a.. bad thing!” Martyn stuffs a few more dumplings in his mouth, adding a joking little, “Yeah. Good looking too. Ugh, can’t stand them.”

Scott tilts his head to the side, swallowing another dumpling as well. “Can I see?”

“Definitely not.”

Martyn soon discovers Scott’s incredible persuasive capabilities, and before they both know it, Martyn has diligently led the way to the Kestrels’ tavern.

“ Heyyyy!” comes a Kestrel’s voice. Sausage . “Martyn! Fancy seeing you here!” He laughs, and claps a hand on Martyn’s shoulder. Martyn finds his shoulder tense. “What’cha doin’?”

Martyn tries his best at a smile, though it soon falters a little as he notices Scott jump at the abrupt greeting, finding refuge behind him. “Hi Sausage. I’ve just been uh- looking around, yeah! Looking around with the new recruit.”

Sausage is quick to usher Martyn to a seat– just off to the side of the tavern. Sausage sits opposite Martyn, and Scott watches.

“Anything interesting happen lately?” Martyn continues, “Sorry, I’ve been out a bunch.”

“What, did the Herons just abandon him? He’s followin’ you like a puppy!” Sausage replies, and ignores Martyn’s question. It takes Scott a moment, but he makes another small noise, and then darts after Martyn, finding a seat right beside him. “See?”

“No, no, He’s just uh- he’d prefer to be accompanied while exploring.” Martyn huffs something amused as Scott follows, and mutters something defeated.

“And he picked you,” Sausage teases, to which Martyn gives a “Yeah, yeah.” Scott mutters something unintelligible, though to Martyn it’s rather clearly something in Merling. Sausage gives him a look, but doesn’t comment and moves on. “So anyways! I’ve been doing fine. Same as usual, honestly,” he shrugs, “Nothin’ too crazy! What about you? What’ve you been out there doin’?”

“Me?” Martyn asks, as if it’s not incredibly obvious. “Well I mean, I guess you could say I’ve-” Been drinking alone? Nearly drowned? Stolen a Merling’s crown, and, heck found out Merlings were real in the first place, and how they could somehow gain legs, and somehow he managed to befriend one? And all without dying, for that matter? “-been busy,” Martyn concludes. “Workin’ on my boat. Yeah. The usual.” 

Martyn’s doing a great job at not spilling so far. He glances at Scott, as if to say ‘bear with me’.

“Found some mast nets, actually. Bought them a while ago and never used ‘em. Brought it all out, and– patched up a few frayed ends. Took a while, embarrassingly, but uh, now I get to put it up today! Hopefully. It’s just- hanging off the side of my ship now. Helped me stay put whilst scraping off those barnacles, reapplying that bit of varnish, I guess.” As the bartender comes around, Martyn waves them over and orders a drink for himself, before turning back to Sausage. “So, yeah. Just the boring stuff.”

Sausage grins, resting a cheek in his hand. “Wow,” he hums, “Sounds like you’ve been busy, then! Good thing you’re taking a break, huh?” He gives a little laugh through his teeth, finding the need to now sit beside Martyn. “And you’re actually socialising! ”

Scott, finally, contributes to the conversation just after he’s done stifling a laugh. “This is the second tavern I’ve asked him to show me,” he pipes up finally, prompting an amused look from Sausage.

“Oh, yeah?” He passes a look between the two pirates, settling his gaze on Martyn who doesn’t seem to enjoy the look at all. “Found another lil’ drinker over here?”

“Oh come off it,” Martyn huffs immediately, leaning back into his chair. This man , really. Martyn starts to wonder if he’s just doing it for the reactions. “I socialise! A bunch, actually. You yourself can’t say much, wasting away with the beers, can you?” 

Ironic that Martyn’s beer is placed upon the table, just as he concludes. He delivers Sausage a look of narrowed eyes, something along the lines of, “You dare test me and I’ll be out the tavern before you know it.”

He takes a breath, and continues. “No, no. Caspian’s not a drinker. Not really. That’d make him a Kestrel, wouldn’t it? Shame he’s a Heron. Yeah, hate the Herons.”

Sausage only breaks into laughter once more. “I mean, yeah, but you’re pretty closed off compared to everyone else, y’know .” He raises his hand to order a drink for himself, giving Martyn a rather teasing glance as he takes a sip of his beer. “And really, such a shame that Caspian doesn’t drink. I was gonna offer to buy him somethin’.”

“I do!” Scott chirps, more on pure instinct than anything else. “Um, sometimes,” he adds, and looks towards the floor to avoid whatever look Martyn might give him. He’s honestly not sure why he said it, aside from wanting Sausage to like him. He was charismatic after all, and Scott didn’t really want to make enemies!

“Yeah, go on. Buy him something then, Sausage. Get him off my tail.” Martyn is joking, of course. Though he wouldn’t mind Sausage saving him some gold. He’s also curious to see how many drinks it takes Scott to lose it, respectfully.

Sausage gives a cheery agreement, and orders the drink before bringing an arm around and onto Caspian’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him!”

Scott jumps a little, squeaking at the sudden contact and clinging onto Martyn’s arm. “Um- t-thank you!” he stammers, pressing his face into Martyn’s arm to hide his blush. Martyn has to stifle a laugh as he brushes Sausage’s hand off.

“Not like that, you are. I said to get him off my tail but not off my ship!” He pauses to take a hefty sip of his beer, clunking the mug back onto the table. “See what I mean now, Caspian?”

“What?” Sausage takes his hand back and masks his amusement in mock offence. “Stop with that poetry! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly respectable!”

“You all are a lot different from the boys back home,” he huffs, looking at the two with a pout.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Caspian,” Martyn laughs, and takes a napkin, scrunching it into a ball and saying, “Bet the ‘boys at home’ aren’t as annoying as this guy,” before he flicks it over to Sausage. “Probably not as perpetually drunk as him, either.”

Sausage scoffs and bats the napkin away, sticking the tip of his tongue out at Martyn. “You drink just as much!”

Martyn echoes the gesture, taking another sip of his beer. “No, I don’t!”

The bartender serves their drinks, and Scott continues. “No, not  the ones I knew. We couldn’t– uh, my dad didn’t… let us drink, so… I wasn’t allowed to hang around people who did.”

“Your dad sounds boring! Is he a priest or somethin’?”

The joke draws a laugh from Scott, who shakes his head. “No, uh, we’re nobl– uh, we– he’s a merchant.”

“‘Course he couldn’t drink, Sausage,” Martyn huffs, lifting his beer to his mouth, “Not like they have drinks underwater.”

“Underwater? What’s that supposed to mean?”

It takes Martyn far too long to realise. “Shit.”

“He’s– Uhm–” Scott, very noticeably, freezes up. His grip around Martyn’s wrist tightens as he gives a rather obvious forced laugh. “He’s just saying that! Owen’s been going around saying I just ‘washed up on shore’.”

“No- no! Yeah, yeah. He’s a wash up? Like me, you know? Yeah, Caspian’s told me everything. He and I are the same. The saltwater’s gotten to his head or something. Probably got into mine too.”

Gosh, does Scott hate this silence. Sausage looks between the two, quite obviously not believing them.

Sausage takes a sip of his drink. “Well, maybe that’s why he likes you so much, Martyn.”

“Shut up.”

Scott lets out a sigh, slowly letting go of Martyn’s arm. He takes a (notably bigger) sip from his own cup and keeps his gaze down at the table. Martyn notices that Scott’s face is beginning to look a little flushed; looks like it’s time to leave.

“Right. I’m going to- head off. Continue touring Caspian around, yeah? Places to see.” Martyn finishes his mug, and turns to Caspian with a look as if to say “You coming or what?”

“Oh! Okay,” is Scott’s reply, mimicking Martyn with another sip before standing up hesitantly. “Thank you,” he continues, “For the drink.”

“Yeah, yeah. My pleasure.”

A pleasure to have a creature on the Isles. Taken just as the new Heron stands, is a photograph of scales; beautiful cyan things, trailing up and up before they’re covered by the short hem of some trousers. Scott’s trousers; Scott’s scales. Gently preserved on a nosy pirate’s paper. What a discovery.

“Thanks, Sausageeeee! Byeee,” replies Martyn, who gives Sausage a nudge from the back of his head, just to annoy him.

Just as the two are outside the tavern, far enough that they can’t be heard from inside, Martyn turns to walk deeper into Kestrel territory, to Scott’s surprise.

“We are not going to keep touring around,” he says, huffing another laugh and glancing back at Caspian. “I’m too knackered for that. We’re going to my place. I’m going to get you something nice to wear, and I’m going to pass out on my bed until tomorrow.”

“Okay…” Scott mumbles, fighting the need to lean against Martyn. His head feels a little fuzzy. Though at least he’s still got a sense of humour. “Y’sure you want a Heron in your room?”

Martyn’s cheeks grow warm. “Uhh…” Well, that wouldn’t make Caspian necessarily the first Heron he’s had in his room, but he can’t tell the guy that! “I mean, you can wait out here if you want, but I can assure you, it’s nicer on the inside,” he replies, and manages a little laugh.

“I think I’d rather see the inside,” Scott giggles, moving his hand to hold Martyn’s, “‘Sides, I’d rather spend the night with someone I know!”

It’s, by all means, a wholly innocent statement, but Scott’s own half-drunk state makes it sound a little more flirty than he’s actually intended.

“Uh huh,” Martyn replies, wrapping his hand over Scott’s with barely enough forethought. “No one’s stopping you, after all.”

Scott grins.

“Wait. ‘Scuse me? Sorry, what was that?” Martyn gives another weak laugh; he’s also a bit slow. “You’d rather, what? ”

“I’d rather spend the night with someone I know ,” Scott replies, and clings closer onto Martyn’s arm.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you best. ”

And just as the Kestrel welcomes the new Heron into his room, the Bounty Guild receives a new submission; a familiar name. 

Caspian.