Chapter Text
They said the admiral’s next passion after the sea was fine wine. Their notation was not incorrect, though it was also not wholly accurate. It was that she had no other love besides the sea and consumed great quantities of alcohol to conceal her frustration. She had chosen the blood-red vintage in her hand because its expense added even more veracity to the rumor. All of these, coupled with a pirate’s ability to tolerate kegs of swill with nary a stagger, made her appear a connoisseur and not what she actually was: a raging drunk.
She sat at her desk in her private quarters gazing at the ink-black sky outside of her broad windows. The clouds had scarcely moved from when she sat down several hours ago to begin this ritual.
“A bad night for sailing,” she said to the empty room and dimming candles. “No waves. No winds. No light.”
Merlwyb shook her hand and drained the remainder of the glass She poured the rest of the bottle into it, then set the emptied container next to three of its kin. She’d been given a case by one of the ambassadors on their last trip. He’d be horrified to see how much she had put away in the last few hours. Thousands upon thousands in gil drained to fill the hole in Merlwyb’s heart.
Who was she kidding? It would be a wonderful night for sailing. Any night would be wonderful. The closest she had gotten to the water was to inspect yet another ship with her emblem on it. The shipwrights and sailors would walk her from deck to deck, going over rivets and boards, specs and weights. She knew the construction of these vessels so well that she could probably build them herself. It was torture to make pleasant conversation and not walk past to take the helm herself. Always she ended up back on the shore, waving at them as they pushed away from the Moraby Drydocks on their maiden voyage.
As for maidens. She sighed and shifted. Aymeric wrote as he promised and visited as he could. Their time together was always wondrous and tortuously brief. There were few reasons for the Lord Seeker of the House of Ishgard to visit Limsa Lominsa, though he could always use a mission of ongoing trust as his excuse. Her leaving for anything other than another signing of a truce was impossible. She had only his parchments most nights, in which he described all the ways he would please her until her ceiling would require an architect’s touch. Certainly, she could call others to her bed but none could do what he did, as carefully or as well.
She drank more and clutched her bone-white hand against the glass. It was too sturdy for her to snap in her grasp. She’d tried enough times. She stood and walked around the desk once, twice, three times. It was worse, this restlessness, since she’d heard of yet another victorious battle against a resurrected Leviathan. She’d not thought a thing possible until the Warrior of Light brought back its head and presented it to her. A gift for the magnificent admiral, the woman had said, and a hope for Limsa Lominsa’s continued safety.
That woman. The Warrior of Light. A Hellsguard of warm brown skin and brilliant citrine eyes, of boundless fortitude and laughing demeanor, of fearsome strength and deadly strike. They called her Ceallach – a name from some ancient pantheon – and clad her with divinity. Strife and conflict, fire-haired and brash. Aye, it fit, as much as it grated on Merlwyb to acknowledge this bitter night.
Not infrequently had the Warrior attended to her Admiral, be it to give report or receive command. The conversation oft meandered far beyond that of leader and subordinate, occasionally hours into the evening. During these times, Ceallach was a glad companion and rare peer. She had not reached the heights of Merlwyb’s command – few could rival a grand admiral – but she had led stout allies to resounding victories. Bore the weight of their defeats. Held deaths close to her heart. Understood the gravity of their tasks and the precariousness of their position. Listened without judgement and gave sound counsel when asked. Readily heard Merlwyb’s stories but shared few of her own. Always left Merlwyb wishing that they could speak more often and with more freedom.
Oh, but not now. Not on this ill-favored night.
Taunting Merlwyb with her adventures, knowing all the while the admiral was trapped in her tower. Chasing after sea monsters instead resolving of the real threat of Garlemald. Strolling Limsa Lominsa like a preening hero instead of fighting on the front lines. Merlwyb decided she would let such insubordination progress no farther.
She walked out of her room and down the spiraling steps that led to the base of her private quarters. She slammed her fist on the on the oak door and called through the bars to her private guard. He saluted in confusion.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Your orders?”
“Bring me the Warrior of Light. Now.”
He acknowledged her without questioning and went to call the night watch to execute her desires. She stormed back upstairs and moved the bottles aside. She raised the lights around the room so the Warrior would be forced to face the fullness of her wrath without the benefit of comforting shadow.
Some minutes later the Warrior of Light banged on her chamber door. Hardly the conciliatory knock Merlwyb expected from someone summoned in the middle of the night. Then again, Merlwyb had never expected such graces when she had called Ceallach in the past. She would demand them henceforth.
“Enter,” she barked.
The Warrior walked in with a tired half-swagger, acknowledging the Admiral with a nod as she clicked the door shut. She tapped the latch and it behind her, walking forward with a posture too relaxed for a meeting with her superior. The hempen shirt tucked into the soft leather breeches displayed the warrior’s well-muscled physique. Her dark skin was unpainted, leaving her chiseled features more visible and expressive than during the day. The black and red dreadlocks held still their tiny adornments but the locs were pulled back into a plait. Warm yellow eyes looked at her with less puzzlement than Merlwyb expected.
The Warrior reached the desk, kicked back a chair with one scuffed leather boot, and stood in front of the admiral. Merlwyb still had a good three ilms on the woman. After all, there were few who could look eye to eye with her without craning their necks. Ceallach’s upcast eyes scanned Merlwyb’s features as easily as if they were of equal height.
“Admiral,” she said crisply, performing a Maelstrom salute. “How may the Warrior of Light serve you this evening?”
No sarcasm in her voice, which was unexpected. Though her posture suggested derision in every form, her inflection and wording were respectful. It left Merlwyb off balance, not knowing whether to believe her body or her words.
“I wish to address your conduct in my city of late.” She leaned forward across the massive desk. The roegadyn nodded without flinching.
“Of course, Admiral.”
“What business have you in Limsa Lominsa, Warrior of Light?” She broadly indicated the room and pointed out the window.
“Commerce, Admiral. Resource acquisition. Maintenance of supply and communications.” She looked down again to the admiral’s neck and breathed heavily but did not elaborate.
“Have they none of these things in Kugane? Certainly, there are merchants and menders, traders and crafters, spies and wenches galore to sate your needs.”
“Perhaps. But Limsa Lominsa is my home. This is where my holdings and responsibilities lay. What I can achieve here is greater than what I can elsewhere.”
“And what is that,” demanded Merlwyb.
Ceallach steepled her thick, dark fingers in front of her, then clasped them downwards in thought. She then spread her palms open and looked back into Merlwyb’s eyes. “With respect, Admiral, that is none of your concern.”
Merlwyb grabbed the edge of her desk with two white hands, bent over, and barked, “What?”
With a slow, tired voice that nonetheless maintained its even tone, she began. “If my returning to Limsa Lominsa involved your safety, your city,” she emphasized the pronouns harshly, “La Noscea, Vylbrand, or Eorzea writ large, I would have come straight to your desk. If my being here endangered your interests or the Scions’ mission in Ala Mhigo or Doma, I would have stayed in Kugane.”
She joined her hands and opened them again, making each point with tired gesture. “But they do not. Thus, I prefer to move in private.”
The admiral stood an ilm higher and balled one hand in fury. The other she placed out of habit on Death Penalty. To her own surprise, she drew the musket, cocked both hammers, and pointed it squarely at the face of the champion of Eorzea.
“How dare you address a superior officer like that? How dare you treat the leader of a nation with such disrespect?”
Merlwyb’s breath came in short hitches and her hand tremored. An upswell of pure rage, bolstered by drink and unmasked by frustration, broke her restraint and ruined her good sense. She put her finger on the near trigger, certain beyond reason of this night’s bloody conclusion.
“Tell me right now why I should not end your life.”
Merlwyb saw the Warrior’s hand lean on the small dagger tucked into the grey sash around her waist. Its dented iron head and frayed yellow wrapping were visible above the line of her belt. The nicked tip of the blade was visible at her thigh. It was a utility weapon made for cutting rope or dissuading the occasional brigand. She tapped the head three dull times with her fingertip.
It was not meant to threaten Merlwyb.
It was to remind her.
Merlwyb remembered in her anger that the woman in front of her – Eikon Slayer, Beloved of Hydaelen - had tamed her inner beast. She had trained with the azure dragoon himself. She had mastered combat in so many ways that she could walk into a weaponsmith, grab any blade, and wield it with ease. Should the Warrior of Light choose, Merlwyb would be dead before she could fire a single round.
“Because it is two bells in the morning, my leader is well in her cups.” The hand not on her dagger indicated the poorly concealed cluster of empty bottles. “And my summons this evening has little to do with my actions and more to do with your feelings.”
Her voice changed: soft, low, and placating. Merlwyb could hear a note of command as well. “Lower your weapon, Admiral. Please. The answers you seek are neither in the barrel of that fine weapon nor in the bottom of that fine vintage.”
Merlwyb aimed Death Penalty at the ground and grasped each hammer, clicking them back and pulling the trigger completely one by one. The hammers lowered back into position without firing. She holstered her weapon and lowered herself into her chair. The Warrior of Light slumped into the wooden seat and looked at Merlwyb. She smiled, light glinting in her eyes. “Thank you, Admiral.”
“For what, my restraint?” Merlwyb place a tremulous hand on the glass. The warrior’s observation notwithstanding, she took a long drink of the wine. She let it cool her mouth and throat before she swallowed it. “I do not make a habit a shooting up my office.”
“Well, I certainly am glad not to suffer the sound of musket fire in such close quarters,” A small smile wrinkled the at the corners of her mouth and warmed the room with its calmness. “Especially this late at night."
Merlwyb emptied the glass and put it down again. The two women eyed it in unison and she filled it to the top. “I am sorry for this whole debacle.” She leaned the glass to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I should let you sleep.”
She heard Ceallach shift uncomfortably and rearrange her limbs in a chair too small for her frame. Merlwyb did not entertain other roegadyn in this manner. All who served stood at attention; none sat in her private chamber. None but this one, who had come at her request and been threatened for her troubles. She’d made a note to replace that chair. Perhaps she would recall it ere the morning’s light.
“In a moment, Admiral.” Ceallach’s voice was patient without being condescending. “May I ask if this concerns the head of the Leviathan I brought you tod-yesterday,” she corrected herself.
“It does,” acknowledged Merlwyb.
“And…,” sighed the Warrior of Light. “That you experienced the familiar consternation of being reminded of the ways you are entrapped by your duties?”
Merlwyb emitted a mirthless laugh and drank more from her glass. She set it down hard. Was the fifth bottle tonight? The sixth? Did it matter?
“That would be the right of it, yes. Was it that obvious?”
“I was a sellsword for many years, Admiral. I know a shadow of your frustration, being forced to stand guard in some rancid village while my fellows slew all manner of beasts and men.” She also laughed softly. “I can imagine it would be a thousand times worse for a pirate captain – nay, admiral - to be contained behind a desk.”
The chair creaked again and Merlwyb felt the desk move. She opened her eyes.
The Warrior of Light had leaned forward, with two legs of the chair teetering off the floor so she could rest on the desk. One elbow was planted firmly next to Merlwyb’s inkwell. She propped up the side of the dark, full-featured face with that calloused hand and smiled. She used the other hand to tap her fingernail on the side of the admiral’s glass. Merlwyb’s instinct to take another drink was thus interrupted.
“You know, Admiral, there is a simple fix for your ills.” She tapped her finger faster, imitating well the sound of a ship’s bell ringing.
“Oh?”
She sat back quickly, banged the chair back into position with a hard thud, and waved her hands.
“You are the grand admiral of the busiest port of all Eorzea. If you were to go down to the docks right now and demand a vessel, you would have an embarrassment of magnificent choices. Tell the dockmaster you were embarking on a voyage. You would have a well-seasoned crew on deck at the third bell and a full hold by the fourth. By dawn’s light over La Noscea, you could be at the helm of any ship in port and sailing full speed into the unknown, a fleet of eager captains flanking you on your journey.”
The warrior grabbed both arms of the chair and flipped herself forward to standing with a heavy step and wild grin. She waved a muscled arm in front of her, flipping the papers on Merlwyb’s desk as it passed over the surface.
“The grand admiral on the hunt would summon every foe, worthy or unworthy, to do battle. Garlemald to port. Sahagin to starboard. Perhaps Leviathan himself scowling at you from the prow of your ship.”
She leaped backwards a fulm and spun the chair aside. “A glorious battle would ensue. You, once again at the helm, ordering the fleet into position, the cannons to fire, the men to move in synchrony. And should you be boarded, you would have nothing to fear…”
The roegadyn stamped her foot and laughed. A raucous roar emanated from her mouth and a tongue of flame danced around her form. Now she stood in front of Merlwyb, clad in the ceremonial garb that accompanied the Soul of the Warrior. Thick furs embraced her shoulders and arms, displaying still the chestnut hues of the skin on her neck and back. Hard leather covered her torso and encircled her waist. The soft breeches and scuffed shoes transformed into the sewn hides of beasts. She postured wide with her massive axe raised in one blood-red glove. She whirled it in a broad circle then flipped it end over end, catching it in the air with a shout. The blade came to rest with its shaft grasped in both hands. She leaned forward, panting and at the ready, blood red smoke smoldering across her yellow eyes.
“You would have the Warrior of Light as your champion,” she boomed. “And I would slay every foe who dared set foot on your ship. I would cross with rope and axe and cut down every enemy until their decks were slick with blood and the hold overflowed with their dead. Then, as they choked out their last breaths, they would know the power of Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn and we would clear the seas together.”
Merlwyb backed two paces away from her desk, breathing hard and trying to maintain her composure. She had seen the Warrior of Light in combat but always from her vantage point above the Maelstrom’s finest. To have her mere ilms away in her unbridled and ferocious glory was like standing within a ship’s main gun while it was being fired. Ceallach indeed.
With a snarl and a smirk, the warrior spun her axe back into the aether and stood once more in her night’s garb. She walked forward, picked up the chair she had knocked over, and spun it back into position in front of the desk. She sat down again and made an equivocal gesture.
“Though that plan would be complicated by many factors, primarily surrounding your leadership. Now, I know Eynzahar can ably lead Limsa while you are at sea, yet he lacks the notoriety to fully don the mantle of Grand Admiral should the Navigator claim her prize. A civil war might ensue” She made a show of being casual with a wave of her palm and a flippant voice. “On the other hand, any discontent or infighting could perhaps be lessened if there were a promising replacement well-apparent. Even if she were a child.”
Ceallach leaned forward and supported her upper body with one hand on her knee. The glint in her eyes returned.
“A half-elezen, half-roegadyn child of would be comely, powerful, and brilliant like her parents. A bastard noble is worthless in Ishgard but the child of the Grand Admiral is the rightful heir of Limsa Lominsa. Raise her among pirates, herald the twin parentage that founded our city, and your citizens will gleefully follow. Woe to any who stood against your child, my Admiral, should I live to see that blessed day.”
Merlwyb sat down and glared at the Warrior. Though they both knew the answer, she nonetheless demanded, “What are you insinuating, Captain.”
“Such affections as Lord Aymeric provides are succor for many ills, Admiral. Yet his duties are many and his travel frequent. It has been months since he last attended to you. When one’s companion is far from her bed, she may find herself in ill temper. This sort of request would command his absolute attention.”
“How can you say these things, Ceallach,” snapped Merlwyb, some of her anger draining away into embarrassment. A fair blush had crept into her pale cheeks and shifted darker as the woman continued her bawdy suggestions. “Speaking as if I were some…coarse whore in need of a man’s cock to make me whole.”
“Not merely his cock, my Admiral. His tongue as well and his hands, so long and slender, perfect for soothing your aches.” She waggled her fingers to make her point. “And I do not jest. You would be such fine parents, your progeny with such promise, your futures unbound. I can say parenthood is far less exciting than swinging a sword but is certainly more enjoyable than being stuck with paperwork. Oft more stressful but oft as rewarding.”
Merlwyb sagged into her chair. Her pale features were now a harsh crimson from raw embarrassment and emotional exertion. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. The room swirled briefly and she found herself wishing the drink affected her less.
“That you could ever suggest this. Such ridiculous fantasies. And no matter our congress, he plays me for a fool,” she said. She put her hand around stem of the glass and it gripped into place. Ceallach’s hand was fire-hot against the cold wine and pressed with almost painful intensity. Her eyes bore a tongue of flame, the Soul of the Warrior making itself known in her admonishment.
“He plays no one, Merlwyb,” she replied in a harsh whisper. “Even drunk you know this truth. He wishes with all his heart to be in the arms of everyone he has bedded. Indeed, he has never taken a whore to his quarters, not even when they were included with the tavern’s bed and brew.” The fire rose and fell. “Half of the Scions have shared his company and not one of them could be fools even if they tried.”
The two women contemplated each other for a moment, their fingers almost entwined around the glass. That serious face, sharper than Merlwyb’s, looking at her with such passionate intensity that it vibrated the air between them.
“If you wrote to him tonight and said you wished to discuss how the futures of Ishgard and Limsa Lominsa might be intertwined, he would understand your intent. He would fly to you as he could, sign the appropriate paperwork, and bed you until an heir was produced. He cares about you that much and he is more remarkable for it. As are you, to deserve it.”
She slid her hand away from Merlwyb’s, leaving slim heat in her wake. Then she awkwardly twisted the hand in her lap. “Forgive me. Fatigue has summoned such ridiculous possibilities. I do not even have the luxury of blaming too much drink for such ribaldry.”
“Perhaps,” said Merlwyb. She smiled at such eager activities, in every position that folktales said would guarantee conception. It brought a measure of forgiveness. “Aye, he would come.” Her face fell. “But he would not stay, would he?”
“He could not, no. His duties would pull him to Ishgard time and again.”
“And he would never come to love me, would he?” Merlwyb did not recognize that desire until she uttered it.
“No, Admiral.” An unexpected soft pity, a half-smile of resignation. “No matter your beauty, your strength, your brilliance, or your power. He is already in love.”
“His subordinate?”
“Lucia? Yes, but I do not believe they recognize it so. In time.” She paused and Merlwyb sensed for the first time that evening that the roegadyn was holding back.
“And…another,” queried Merlwyb. “Not surprising, I suppose, given his nature.”
The Warrior of Light was silent. The edges of her mouth turned down and she closed her eyes. At the outset of this encounter, Merlwyb wished to strike to the heart of the woman she saw as adversary. She felt now a chastising embarrassment at slinging harm towards someone who brought only good will.
“Who was she,” asked Merlwyb. She chose a tone more hushed, conciliatory.
“He,” corrected her companion. “A good man. One whom I too loved, though…not in the same way.”
She breathed an elezen name, one with whom Merlwyb was familiar, and looked towards the windows. Years had passed since he was cowardly struck down, but the grief still gnawed.
The Warrior of Light coughed and returned to her normal demeanor. “But he has been avenged a dozen times over, by myself, the Scions, and Aymeric himself. Now Admiral,” she continued.
She brought up her fingers again. “Shall I go down to the docks and begin assembling your fleet?”
Merlwyb shook her head. “It is not the right time, you are correct. I must needs make plans.”
She ticked down a second finger. “Shall I obtain parchment and send word to Ishgard that your message will be forthcoming?”
“I…must think on that so more.” Merlwyb smiled to herself. The idea of bedding Aymeric always brought her joy and arousal. Having a child was a totally different boat altogether.
Another finger. “Shall I stand guard and watch the admiral of Limsa Lominsa get so drunk that she can no longer fire her weapon?”
Merlwyb cackled. “Such a thing is not possible. Trust me, I have tried.”
“All the more reason for me to stay, then.” She settled into her chair. “We would not want you alone and indisposed should assassins come to your bedroom.”
The two women looked at each other again. Merlwyb ran her finger along the edge of the glass once. Drinking alone had become far too common and the urge no longer healthy.
“Will you tell me of your revenge, Warrior? Perhaps a bedtime tale to pass the hours while I continue through this bottle?”
“As you wish, Admiral.”
“And will you share with me? It is a fine vintage even if I put it away like swill.” She reached to the cabinet beside her and the Warrior of light put up a cautious hand.
“I cannot accompany you, no. I do not drink when danger is near.”
“And is danger near right now, Warrior of Light, when you are sitting in my ready room, surrounded by my guards, atop the tower of my city?” Merlwyb’s smile died on her face when the woman in front of her failed to share her mirth.
“I am your first line of defense, my lady. Fatigue already may slow my hand. I will tell my tale but I will do it with a clear head.”
And so she spoke, slowly at first and then with more animation, of the battle in Ishgard that had taken Haurchefant. Then of the discovery of Azys La, the encounter with the Garleans, and Shiva’s noble sacrifice. The defeat of the Ascians in the floating city. The execution of the gods found within the Allagan machines. Finally, she described the death of Thordan at her hands. The telling was without embellishment or bluster, told freely and eagerly to an audience full ready to appreciate it. Merlwyb found herself captivated by word and action, lifting her glass but once during the monologue, and then only to dampen her mouth.
A sliver of sunlight pierced the dim room and the two women blinked.
“Ah, the dawn,” noted the Warrior. “I believe I have burned enough of our hours for one night, Admiral. I hope you may go about your day without too much difficulty.”
“When one needs conference with the Warrior of Light in the dead of night, a delayed appearance in the hall of government is acceptable.” Merlwyb rose and held out her hand. “You have been a good friend to me this night, Ceallach, in spite of my behavior.”
The Warrior of Light clasped it between her own and smiled. “It is an honor and privilege both to serve you and to be considered as such, Merlwyb.” Again, the heat from her skin warmed Merlwyb’s in the cool morning air. The parted with oddly mutual reluctance.
Merlwyb walked her to the door and stood with her hand loosely on the latch, one question stuck in her throat from early in the night. The other roegadyn tilted her head, waiting for the question she knew was coming.
“If I fired my gun…if I had fired Death Penalty…?”
Ceallach looked at Merlwyb with those clear citrine eyes and tightened her fist. A blinding flash of light accompanied the clash of metal on metal. Glimmering armor that lit the room covered the Warrior from head to toe. She nodded her head and struck her shield against the door, emitting a harsh clang, denting the wood, and chipping the metal.
“The bullet never would have struck.”
“But if…”
She straightened in front of Merlwyb and faced her eye to eye, the magic adding height and bulk to her already formidable frame.
“Please do not take this as an insult, Admiral.” She placed a gauntleted hand on Merlwyb’s shoulder and shook her once in fondness. It rattled the armor and nearly threw Merlwyb off center. The paladin’s power dissolved and the woman stood in front of her, diminished once more.
“You are no threat.” She pressed down on the pale hand on the door latch and pulled it open even as Merlwyb resisted with all her strength. As if Merlwyb were not there are all. Patient, tired eyes shone in the dawn’s light and swept over Merlwyb’s face with concern and again, discomfiting pity.
“If you were, you would have never had time to fire your weapon.” A pause to let the words descend completely. “Good night, Admiral.” Ceallach walked out with a shake of her head, closing the door carefully behind her.
Merlwyb retired to her bedchambers and splashed her face with cool water. In the mirror she saw a haggard woman with glassy, bloodshot eyes, her uniform rumpled and her hair unruly. She could smell the alcohol on her breath and taste the salt on her lips. By the Navigator, what a show she had put on for the Warrior of Light. Drunk and violent, uninhibited and coarse, she’d made mockery of the station to which she rose. Not a grand admiral. Not even a captain. In that hour, she regressed to a pirate who would use a gun to end an argument.
She showered and scrubbed herself until her skin was coarse and brilliant red, then crawled into bed. She stared up at the ceiling with its constellation of musket fire. Usually, she’d take this time to ache for Aymeric, perhaps pleasure herself to his memory.
Not now. Not in this streaming morning. She turned the night over in her head, focusing on that terrible moment with Death Penalty ready to reaffirm its name. Merlwyb had wondered at the time why the warrior thanked her. Now she understood.
No threat.
The Warrior of Light feared she might have to execute her Admiral.
No threat.
Prepared to put Merlwyb down like a rabid dog.
No threat.
Restrained herself because she could easily cripple Merlwyb.
No threat.
Stayed long enough to settle her for bed, like tucking in a child after a tantrum.
No threat.
Provided her with attention above and beyond her station, as she was wont to do.
No threat.
Wished to care for Merlwyb in ways she did not deserve.
No threat.