Wanderlust - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Tanden paced on the quarterdeck. It used to make his crew nervous when he paced, like they expected him to lash out at them, but he never had. Keeping his temper in check had always been relatively easy. He wasn't the bratty, high-strung young lord people tended to expect when they first heard his name. Most of the men on the Wanderlust had been with him since her first launch, six years before. They knew him as their captain, not a lord. That was exactly how he liked it.
"I know this is comin' pretty sudden, Cap'n," the only other man on the quarterdeck said. "If we were hangin' 'round here, runnin' supplies to Navire and Deorun, maybe I'd think differently on the matter. But—"
"You don't need to explain yourself, Vosh," Tanden waved a hand at him. Vosh, a tall man who had been born in a small village on Crele, had been his first mate for five years. Losing him would be hard. The older man had been a blessing from the Goddess, someone patient enough to work with Tanden the first couple of years. He hadn't been a bad captain back then, but there had been plenty he didn't know about sailing culture. Tanden would feel the hole Vosh would leave, as would the rest of the crew. He was well liked and respected as the first mate. Picking another one would be challenging.
Vosh crossed his tattooed arms and leaned back against the bulwark. "I just feel like I'm leavin' you at a bad time. Given this trip you're plannin'."
"Your wife needs you."
Vosh sighed. "Aye."
Tanden stopped his pacing long enough to shoot his friend a smile. "You're going to be a father."
At that Vosh grinned. "Aye. I'm excited, of course. Still feel bad for leavin' you, though."
"I'll manage."
"I know you will, mate. Doesn't mean I can't feel bad, though. Who else knows you as well as I do?"
Tanden sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He'd let it grow out and had taken quite a liking to the Morcean style of braiding it together into thick strands which he then tied back. Vosh had a point. Spending six years together, most of that on a ship, meant that the crew knew him fairly well. But Vosh was a friend. There were things he had told Vosh that he hadn't properly explained to anyone since a very uncomfortable dinner with his brothers when he was seventeen.
"None of them know details, aye." Usually Tanden used Crelan jargon very deliberately, but sometimes a word or two would slip through without him noticing. "But they've seen me with men, haven't they? Granted, I don't usually bring them back to the ship but – "
"Aye, they've seen you with men. Most of them are proper Crelan lads and they'll mind their own business. Things happen at sea, after all. I'm not worried about them so much as people in these new countries you're plannin' on visitin'."
"Oh. I don't think I've anything to worry about. I've been doing research on Morcea and it doesn't seem like they care much, one way or the other."
"But who's goin' to get you out of trouble if something does happen?"
Tanden shrugged. "I'll have to have a new first mate eventually."
"Aye, and who are you goin' to promote?"
"Well... I don't know. Maybe I'll find someone new. We're hitting Deorun and Mora Island before we get to Morcea, maybe there'll be someone perfect for the job."
Vosh scoffed. "Reckon it's possible."
"I'll be fine." Tanden put on a smile he didn't quite believe. He was more nervous than he'd ever admit about travelling to Morcea for the first time. It would be the first time in his life he would visit a country where he couldn't speak the language. He knew a few key words he'd picked up from other sailors they had met, or from books, but none of that could prepare him for actually landing in the country. To do it without the steadying presence of Vosh was certainly going to shake things up. But he couldn't let Vosh know that, lest the man chose to stay with him instead of work close to his family. "Tell you what I'll do, Vosh. I'll write you the greatest letter of recommendation anyone has ever read. You'll have no problem finding a new ship to work on. Mind you, it'll probably be a boring ship to stay close to West Draulin, but it'll be safe."
Vosh smiled. "Aye, that'd be much appreciated, Cap'n."
"I'll miss you," Tanden allowed himself to admit. He looked out at the port. They had been in West Draulin for two weeks, and they were supposed to sail out the next day. His crew had all come back from their shore leave. Tanden had spent the time up in the castle, mostly with his nephews and niece. They loved his stories and the gifts he brought them from all the places he'd visited. Spending time with them was more fun than seeing Tandrael, who'd only gotten more serious in the past years.
"Vosh, let's go get a drink or two," Tanden decided suddenly. "I'll pay."
They went to one of the taverns further from the port, which was frequented by soldiers from the castle instead of sailors. It was also the one Tanden had snuck out to countless times as a young lord, before being sent away to the Order.
Tanden and Vosh took a table at the back of the room, where they could see nearly everything. It was a habit Tandar had instilled in him, to make sure he could always see danger coming. Not that he expected danger.
They ordered tankard after tankard of ale and reminisced about the adventures they'd had together. Navire and Deoran weren't as foreign as Morcea, but they were still different and fascinating. Tanden had gotten so good at the languages he could switch between them as well as any Native speaker. The Wanderlust had even picked up a few crewmembers from each country.
They were laughing about a particularly red-faced merchant they'd once met when the barmaid came over with fresh tankards for the two of them and caught Tanden's eye. He was going to say something, a messy attempt at being charming, when Vosh grabbed his shoulder.
"What are you goin' to do without me?"
"What?" Tanden shrugged off Vosh's hand in annoyance. "I wasn't going to grab her. I was going to politely ask if she'd like to join us."
"We're in West Draulin, mate. Remember." Vosh put on a decent imitation of Tanden's voice. "Vosh, mate, don't let me get my hands on anyone in West Draulin. Chances are word will get back to Tandrael and I've got to make some effort to not shame the Tandran family name."
"Did I say that?" Tanden frowned. He couldn't remember. How much ale had they had?
"Aye, Cap'n. Nearly four years ago, now."
"Oh. It's a good thing I'm sailing out of West Draulin, then." Tanden picked up his empty tankard and glared at it. "I did say a drink or two, didn't I? Not... what, eight? Nine?"
Vosh laughed. "You may act like a Crelan, mate. But you don't drink like one."
Tanden raised an eyebrow. "I like to be—" he waved his hand around, indicating either the tavern or the patrons, he barely even knew. "— more in control of myself. Can't go sweeping barmaids off their feet in West Draulin, even if they are prettier than the Goddess herself."
"Reckon that's blasphemous, mate."
Tanden shrugged. "I'll pray for forgiveness later."
But by the time the barmaid returned with a fresh tankard, he'd already forgotten about that promise, and Vosh forgot to stop him from flirting with the barmaid.
Deor-Morcea was an odd city. It was the largest on Mora Island, which was part of Deorun. At some point in the past, however, the island had belonged to Morcea. The name of Deor-Morcea was supposed to be evidence of that history. It was visible in the physical city, too. It didn't look much like a Deoran city. Soren couldn't explain what exactly about it was different, but he could feel the difference. He kept expecting to come across people who weren't speaking Deoran, a language he could recognize if not understand.
Luckily, like in most port cities, people could speak Teltish. Soren had an easy enough time doing the errands he'd been sent out on, before returning to the Hiraeth in the evening. Six years ago when he'd first stepped on her deck, he hadn't imagined staying. He had thought that he'd do a couple years on the Hiraeth, until he could afford passage to Crele where he could start a new life. But he'd stayed, year after year, even with plenty of opportunities to leave.
He'd stayed because of Toliver. He'd never felt so loyal towards someone before, and he could tell most of the crew felt the same way. Captain Toliver was brash and unapologetic, and somehow impossibly charming at the same time. He was thirty-one, eleven years older than Soren, but Soren still thought of him as some sort of friend. He thought Toliver might have felt the same way. On their most recent trip to Crele, they had even gone to a tattoo shop together. Toliver had gotten more of his chest covered, while Soren had finally found the courage to get his arms done in the traditional style. It would be hard to hide from the Teltans, but Toliver seemed impressed and that was all Soren cared about.
He climbed onto the ship he had considered home for years, and walked across the deck. Most of the sailors were on shore leave or below, already asleep, but a few hung about on the deck and nodded at him as he passed. The crew felt like a family and Soren loved it. He stopped at the door to the captain's quarters and knocked.
"Come in!"
Soren opened the door. Toliver was leaning over his desk, running a finger along the messy scribbles in his ledger. He was wearing his nautical jacket without a tunic underneath, a habit he'd started ever since finishing the tattoo across his chest. He liked showing it off.
He glanced up as Soren entered. "Evening, mate. How'd it go?"
"You were right." Soren dropped a pouch of money on the desk. "I managed to haggle him down to two hundred siyas."
Toliver grinned. "Good lad. Frustrating lot, these Deorans. I knew you'd handle it. Have you eaten?"
Soren shook his head.
"You can join me, then. Cook's supposed to be sending—ah. There we go. Come in!"
The door jiggled but didn't open. Soren went to get it and stepped out of the way so the cook could waddle past, carrying a large tray.
"Every day you say come in like I can open a door and carry this at the same time," the cook mumbled as he crossed to Toliver's desk and put down the tray.
"Aye, sorry, mate. Slips my mind, is all," Toliver said, with an attractive smile. "Thank you."
The cook continued to grumble under his breath as he left the room. Toliver walked further into his quarters, towards the little table near the back window. Soren picked up the tray and followed him. It was easily enough food for two, making Soren wonder if Toliver had planned to invite him all along. He set down the tray and sat across from the captain.
For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Toliver picked up one of the plates and served himself some fish and boiled vegetables. Soren followed suit once he was done, and the two of them ate in silence.
Soren always felt odd when he spent extended time with Toliver in his quarters. Most of the crew rarely entered the room, save for the cook and the first mate. Toliver didn't care for private audiences. He did almost everything out on deck, where everyone could overhear, and only spoke privately with his first mate on occasion.
But Soren was allowed in the room. He was allowed to sit and eat dinner in the room. Soren's gaze flickered over Toliver's shoulder, towards the bed. Images flashed through his mind and he did his best to supress them.
"All right, Soren?" Toliver broke the silence.
His voice helped Soren shake the inappropriate thoughts. "Aye."
"You looked odd there for a moment. Thought you might be sick or something."
Soren shrugged. "Don't think so, no."
"All right."
They fell back into eating quietly. Soren pushed the food around on his plate. Usually when his imagination wandered it was when he was safely wrapped up in his hammock and he didn't have to worry about speaking to anyone. Now he was having an unusually hard time dispelling the thoughts.
"Toliver?" He grimaced almost as soon as he spoke. What in Roe's name had compelled him to speak?
"Aye?"
Soren froze. He contemplated getting up, walking away, and trying to explain himself once he'd had hours to calm down. Instead he said, "Do you ever... Have you ever..." Nervously, his gaze flashed back to the bed.
Toliver glanced over his shoulder to follow Soren's gaze. "Oh. Have I ever had a woman in here? Couple times, aye. I know they're bad luck on ships and all but – " he paused, shrugged, and turned his attention back to his food. "You see a pretty girl in the port? You can have leave for the night, if you'd like." He flashed Soren a grin.
Soren shook his head slowly. "Things happen at sea," he mumbled, knowing full well Toliver would understand. It was a phrase every Crelan would recognize.
"If you've been at sea for months and a man's all you got, fine. But there are plenty of girls in the port who'll have you, mate. What are you going on about?"
"So... you'd..." Soren took a deep breath. "You'd never choose a man?" he was afraid to look up and meet Toliver's eyes.
"What?" Toliver asked dryly.
"I – " Soren wished he could go back in time. If he could have just kept his thoughts under control and eaten his dinner. "I thought, maybe, you'd – "
"I'd what, fuck you?" Toliver stood abruptly, and Soren flinched. "Is that what you're asking?"
"You treat me differently..." Soren pointed out shakily. "I thought you liked me. I think... I think I love you."
The moment of silence seemed like it lasted forever, but in reality could only have been a few seconds.
"Get off of my ship," Toliver snarled.
Soren finally looked up. He hadn't been completely surprised by Toliver's anger, but he was taken entirely off guard by the order. "What?"
"Get off of my ship and do not come back."
"But... Toliver." Soren stood up. He'd seen sailors beg for forgiveness after some sort of misdemeanour, and wondered if doing so would help. "Please, you can't leave me in Deor-Morcea. Where am I supposed to go? Let me stay, please, I'm sorry. I'll never assume anything again. Please, Toliver – "
"Go."
Soren didn't know what to do other than obey. He didn't even go below to get his belongings. He simply left.