The half-Elf had nearly gotten used to the persistent salt smell, by now. He'd gotten used to not being able to see the sky. He'd gotten used to having the quartermaster- an intelligent, but barely verbal mountain of a man- personally come down to offer all three daily meals, and he'd also gotten used to refusing two out of three of them in protest of his situation. When his health began to decline as a result, he also became used to seeing the blank-faced medic, who didn't speak at all, but simply got about his business with all the speed and kindness of a full python. He'd even gotten used to the young Human cabin boy- a fragile thing that seemed to pick up every illness known to Abeir-Toril- poking his head down to ask in hideous Common if he were feeling alright or not. With the passing of time, the creature noticed that he was difficult to understand, and so began using Ymilsano's exact phrasing when he asked questions. To the half-Elf, that sounded as though he were speaking to the captain himself, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Liam didn't know how many days he had passed as Ymilsano's "captive," and the idea of an entire month going by without his knowledge no longer seemed a frightening possibility, but instead a cold, sobering reality. He denied himself the twisted comfort of knowing for certain, however, which he could have easily discovered by simply asking any of his unasked-for visitors what day it might have been in that nearly-forgotten land where the sun still shone.
The ship's makeshift brig was in the farthest aft part of the cargo hold- though two had been used to hold men, the "cells" were large wooden crates with solid metal bars, originally intended for the shipping of dangerous animals. From his crate, the half-Elf was close enough to the rudder to hear it constantly shifting as the helmsman- who also served as the first mate, since the original first mate had died with his captain- at the wheel above him. He had counted how many shipments had come on and gone off since he'd been placed in the belly of the ship, and had begun to recognize the sailors that were usually responsible for bringing goods to the cooper for storage. The cooper himself- a gregarious sort who had been brought aboard along with the cabin boy and a few other survivors from the defeated ship from Urmlaspyr- attempted to make small talk with him about the goods, to little avail. Liam noted that there was a distinct attempt at proper grammar and manners that was markedly absent when the sailors spoke amongst themselves. Over time, he realized that the attempt at a higher class of speech wasn't merely a pitiful sham, but instead a realistic push toward refinement.
The half-Elf was just as amazed as he was angered, because the one thing to which he could not become accustomed was the devolution of Ymilsano DiCipriano from an accomplished swordsman of the Yuirwood to a strange class of card-carrying pirate who treated his shipmates to open reading lessons whenever they had a calm moment, and tea and prayers every morning.
It was just after one of these morning prayer sessions that the half-Elf found his cell attended to not by one of the lesser mates, the quartermaster, or even Drudge, but instead by the Ymilsano himself. Well-kept as always, the full-blooded Elf had braided his ever-lengthening blond hair back so that he could clean his quarters without any of it getting into his face. He wore a simple tunic, a wide leather belt that seemed as though he'd recently cut and fashioned it himself, and long, loose breeches, as though he expected to do still more physical work. Under his right arm, he carried a woven basket. In his left hand, he held an empty pot large enough to fit a young child.
"Say what you've come to say and be done," the half-Elf grumbled immediately. "This cell is damp and rank enough without you sitting here."
Ymilsano put the bucket and pot down a foot away from the bars of the brig and pulled one of the three stools over to them. Much to the half-Elf's consternation, he said not a word as he sat down and pulled a potato from the basket on his right. He'd nearly finished skinning the spud when the half-Elf spoke again.
"What do you want? Are you going to ask me if you can put me off home again? Because the answer's no."
"It's not 'no,' " the Elf replied, finishing the potato easily and placing it calmly into the pot on his left. "It's 'yes, with conditions that have not been agreed upon as yet.' "
"This is ridiculous, this faux-renegade role you've fashioned for yourself," the half-Elf scoffed bitterly, turning his back to the bars of the cage. "Time to shake it off."
"Not possible, I'm afraid," Ymilsano sighed, pausing in the middle of the second potato to look up at the haggard half-Elf. "I'm not suffering a fit of fantasy."
"You should work on souring that Common, if you wish to be a believable brigand. Further, no captain of any vessel anywhere peels his own goddamned potatoes." When he didn't receive a response, the half-Elf's tone quickly descended from disinterested to markedly concerned. He grabbed the bars of his pen and shook them in the effort to get his former comrade's attention. "Ymil, you don't belong here! Not any more than I do- or Sadrianae, if you even think about her anymore."
Ymilsano sighed, shaking his head slowly, but continued to peel the potato in his hand. "I think about Sadriana all the time."
"Do you now? While you're out playing at ships?" Liam replied in a near wail. "You must consider-"
"I have," the fair haired Elf replied sharply, putting the finished potato into the pot and retrieving another from the basket. "Quite deeply, in fact. You may not think so now, but you will, upon further contemplation."
"Bloody self-important little shit!" Liam cried, kicking against the bars in rage. "What about Sadri? What about your family? What am I supposed to say?"
"You oughtn't feel called upon to testify favorably on my behalf," Ymilsano noted quietly as he cut around a particularly foul part of the potato upon which he was working. "Encourage Sadriana to marry a farmer, or a merchant- perhaps an innkeeper."
"You're abandoning her, then?" Liam's forehead began to throb, so that he felt he had to close his eyes and press his hand to the center of his head before he could speak. "Tell me the truth, Ymilsano. Tell me if- if it's because- because you prefer-"
"No," the Elf finished solidly, looking up at Liam with an intensity that made Liam's heart beat a few seconds faster. "Not that you, of all people, have the right to ask me that."
"Don't dare tell me what I oughtn't ask!" Liam choked out in a strange cross between a holler and a laugh. "You've done such things as to make me wonder-"
"True enough," Ymilsano said very quietly, picking another potato out of the basket.
"Then on what grounds could you possibly tell me not to question your actions? Your intentions? Who you even are anymore, Ymil- I don't know who you are!"
Ymilsano finally stopped working on the potato, allowing both hands to simply rest on his lap. He closed his eyes, frowning slightly, then sighed deeply.
"The Jackal."
"No," Liam spat fiercely, his hushed voice nearly like a dagger through the Elf's chest. "You're not-"
"Calm down, and listen. I am a murderer. A contraband trader. An enemy to the Urmlaspyr naval force, a collector of ransoms- and I have, without outside compulsion, done things that qualify me for such classifications. You cannot deny that; not with the same tongue that so recently accused me of being some creature that you cannot- or rather, will not- recognize."
"No," Liam managed, trying to refute the truth even as it began to dawn on him.
"Could I then, in good conscience, return to our land, to my family, to your sister, or to any sort of law abiding existence, knowing that someday, these my actions will return from across the seas to devour every good and living thing I've ever touched just as surely as a serpent will swallow its prey? Could I yet claim, upon that return, to be an upright creature, a stalwart soldier, a faithful brother, or a loving husband, who had done right by all those who put their confidence and love in me?"
Liam stared at Ymilsano, who would not open his eyes to meet his burning gaze.
"We were both commanded-"
The Elf waved the feeble attempt at defense away with the hand that was holding the knife. "I could have asked our commanding officer why he was putting the captives on an unknown cargo ship. I could have refused to comply with his scheme- if it was that he purposefully made plans with the original captain of this ship. If that were so, I could even have demanded that he abdicate his command, but I did none of that. And every day, I have asked myself why."
"I could find out-" Liam began voicelessly, weakened by the weight of the situation's reality.
"I cannot answer myself, Liam," Ymilsano continued, ignoring him. "I am utterly condemned by my own conscience, and need neither potentate to judge my fate nor priest to preach my condition. Now, then, should I not go to my death? Indeed; yet, I can neither take my own life- for that will submit me to the judgment of the gods- nor allow any government to put me publicly to death, for then the cry of piracy shall return via the proper proclamation of that death to Furthinghome, putting my loved ones in shame at best, and destitution or death at worst."
"I yield," Liam finally admitted, sitting down on his bedding. "What would you have me do?"
"Tell your sister the truth," the Elf urged quietly. "Hide nothing from her. She is her own soul, of course, and will decide for herself what she will do- but strongly encourage her to publicly denounce and divorce me. Convince her of her need to be free of my coming judgment."
"Put it down," the half-Elf croaked, finding his emotions rising thickly into his throat. "Set all this to paper and let her read it, for I... haven't the strength-"
"Find some, base-born craven, for her sake," Ymilsano commanded sternly, suddenly glaring at Liam with a steely determination. "She must publicly spit on my house and divorce me. To permit her to do otherwise, however tender the intention, is to knowingly anchor her to a name that is destined to be cried out at a hangman's noose, or over a watery grave. She is a righteous female; a creature possessed of more mettle than the gods thought to give the male who shared her dam's womb. If you do not press her to this desperate action with all your reason and resolve, she will proclaim herself my wife until I become her condemnation, and when I die, I shall not for one night leave your soul in peaceful rest."
And Liam, who felt as though he had been sliced to ribbons, could do nothing but shake his head.
"I assure you," Ymilsano finished, putting the knife into the pot and picking that up in one hand while retrieving the basket with the other, "I have considered all things touching this situation most thoroughly."
The silence that reigned between them weighed powerfully upon the captain, so that Drudge knew not to interrupt the consultation merely by spying one side of his resigned face from the top of the stairs. Ymilsano heard the cabin boy anyway, and turned to offer him a questioning half smirk. Encouraged by the mildly amused face, yet still anxious to avoid displeasing his captain, Drudge shook his head and popped back out of view. Liam, who had watched the entire wordless transaction, grieved at the thought that the deceptively persuasive, highly intelligent Elf was fully capable of guiding all who would follow him to success irrespective of what side of the law he was on. Worse yet, who could make a better criminal than one who had once hunted such fiends with unparalleled success? His only handicap would have been his ignorance of maritime practices, but as his crewmen had functioned as a cohesive whole around him, that babe's naivete had rapidly disappeared.
"I could petition- surely someone would hear-"
Ymilsano refocused his gaze on the half-Elf, allowing the weight of the situation to rest on him again. "Only Sadriana. And tell her that her dream was startlingly accurate. In her refusal to give me children, she has, I must now believe, acted as the gods instructed her. Her holy example has pressed my spirit freshly to Tel'Seldarine."
"And for what shall you pray?" Liam laughed sadly.
"For you," Ymilsano replied as he got up. "When we have drawn near enough to Alphar, I shall give you my things, to throw into the ocean or otherwise utterly destroy, as you will. Let nothing of mine come marked with my name into any other's possession, or remain in your hands, or reach my family. You must bear with the quiet rumor of my death. Neither spark nor fan such fires, but if some unaided plume arises, stamp it not out. In time, truth shall fall into step with common thought; therefore, think it no wickedness that you permit, but instead divine mercy. Goodbye, Liam. Keep the law, as you have always done, and set no foot again upon a ship."
And the half-Elf watched his former brother-in-law go up the stairs and out of his sight, knowing it might be the last time they would ever speak.
"Land, ho! Shall we send word ahead, Cap'n?"
"No, gentlemen; let us seek out Pedrossa and hold fast by his ship's side, that we may do our business as quickly as is possible."
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