Chapter Text
Captain James Harrow was in his quarters when his quartermaster came to him, a wild glint in his eye, and a strange expression on his face.
“It’s the boy,” he’d said. “It’s Perce .”
Part of Harrow had wanted to brush him off, tell Kellen to get back to work, but the image of that gaunt, ghostly boy they’d fished up off the mouth of a river near the Sierra’s came to mind. The way he’d haunted the deck, the small fixes no other crewmate claimed that’d turn up on nights that weren’t broken by muffled screams. The lonely man that he became over the near-two years that he’d wandered the ship.
Instead, the Captain of the Dauntless rose from his desk. “Well,” he’d sighed. “Show me.”
He was different . That was the only thought that came to mind as he walked along the dock. He looked different.
It was difficult for the older sailor to reconcile the proudly dressed man with the skeletal boy he’d once known. His shoulders were broad with work, any scars that remained from whatever had cursed him those years ago were hidden under fine cloth, even his hands, ones Harrow knew to be calloused from hard labor, were masked by rich leather gloves. His hair, once shaggy and partially brown, was the shock-white that the crew watched him grow in, now short cropped and well-maintained. His glasses still gleamed gold in the early morning light, they perched on a once-broken, hooked nose. Sharp green eyes were still scanning the docks in a familiar paranoia.
He walked beside three figures, a half-elf woman with a dark braid. Two gnomes, one purple-clad and the other with similarly white hair and a clerical symbol around her neck.
Despite what Harrow knew of him, this man was smiling. His hard angles had remained though, and after five years, Harrow knew that haunted gaze, so similar to-
“Percy?” a voice called out, and it took a moment for Harrow to realize it was his.
The nobleman, for that’s what he had to be, jumped.
The half-elf’s hand reached back as if to draw an arrow from her quiver, and the gnomes tensed. Percy twisted to face the voice, his expression stern, hands fidgeting at a device strapped to his hip.
“That you, lad?” Harrow stepped forward as the group of oddities squared to face him. “Land’s sake, you’re looking good, been a while since-.” he waved a hand to the water.
Percy’s brow furrowed, eyes searching Harrow.
“You know this guy, Percy?” The purple-gnome asked in a mock whisper. “It’s not another name, right?” He sounded exasperated, but Harrow could sense there was a bit of protectiveness in his tone.
Percy shook his head, clearing cobwebs it seemed, as recognition dawned on his face. “No, Scanlan.” he swallowed thickly and stepped to meet Harrow, before he looked to the half-elf. “I told you all about my past, when I was . . . Rescued.” there was the haunted look again as his gaze snapped to the captain. “This is the man who decided to do it.”
The half-elf relaxed, her arms crossing in front of her chest, the blue tunic she wore did nothing to hide the decidedly deadly strength in her limbs, clearly used to the weight of the bow at her back. The clerical gnome smiled, her own gray eyes brightening.
“Rescued?” Harrow chuckled. “Still dramatic, huh? We just didn’t see any point in leaving good hands behind.” He moved closer, still cautious, Percy had always been much like a wild animal, slow to trust, quicker to bite.
Somehow, a smile quirked the edge of the other man’s lip, much more practiced than it used to be. “Captain Harrow, pleasure to see you again.” he dipped his head in a formal nod.
“At least this part of your backstory doesn’t want to kill us,” Scanlan quipped, nudging the human with an elbow before reaching out and up to Harrow. “Scanlan Shorthalt.” He winked. “Defeater of evil, wooer of ladies.”
The cleric smacked the back of his head. “Likely,” she scoffed before grinning up at Harrow. “I’m Pike, nice to meet you!”
The half-elf inclined her head. “Vex'ahlia.”
Harrow nodded his acknowledgement. “Glad to see you survived boy, thought you a goner out on your own.”
A smirk painted Vex’ahlia’s face, and Percy adjusted his collar. “Quite.” his eyes flicked to the pleased glance the two gnomes shared. The human sighed. “I was, really.” this made the three blink. “Without them.”
Harrow raised a brow at that. “Sounds like a story there.”
The male gnome plucked a lute from his back, eliciting groans from the others, only adding to Harrow’s confusion. “I’m sure you’ve heard the tale of Vox Machina?” Scanlan’s eyebrows wiggled expectantly. “Slayers of Dragons, Protectors of the Realm, Freers of Whitestone?”
Whitestone. That tickled something in the back of Harrow’s mind, a mental map that clicked into place, the Alabaster Sierras, the mouth of a cold, frozen river, a pale boy in fancy clothes. News of new rulers in the nearest city and a closed port.
Percy’s hands twitched once more. “Scanlan, I’m sure the good captain has better things to do than hear this.”
“Besides,” the half-elf woman gave Harrow a discerning look. “We’re here for a job, remember?”
a job? The captain could see Pike’s eyes turn to his ship, a not-unsightly vessel, aged but sure in its purpose, a good fishing boat, and his pride and his home. She studied it with a knowing look, she’d sailed before, he could tell. Her skin was sunkissed and the scar along her eye told him of a hardship well fought. She met his own curiosity with a measured gaze.
“What’s the job?” Harrow asked.
Vex’ahlia uncrossed her arms. “We’re looking for a sea monster, rumor has it it’s been going after fishing boats that sail the Lucidian. Took out a few ships already.”
Ah. That. Harrow wouldn’t be a good captain if he didn’t keep an ear out for important news, and while he’d missed whatever Vox Machina was, he’d been in port long enough to know about the lost lives on the sea. He’d been debating on what to do, he and his needed the money from fishing, but they weren’t equipped to handle a monster that took out larger vessels than the Dauntless .
“Right,” he sniffed, nodded. “My men are worried about it as well, something unseen and larger than any creature the sea ought to make.”
Vex’ahlia’s bow, the device on Percy’s hip, the lute, the cleric. Gods. He felt too old all of a sudden. “You think you can kill it?”
“We know we can,” Percy answered, voice firm.
What changed? Harrow wondered. How did Four years make him this?
“Certainly,” Vex’ahlia plucked an arrow from her quiver. “It’s no dragon, or vampire.”
“Or necromantic bitch ,” Scanlan added.
“Needless to say,” Pike rested a hand on the other gnome's shoulder. “Vox Machina can do it.”
“With the rest of the team, of course,” Percy intoned.
Rest of the team? Harrow felt a headache forming. Memories of a scared boy, bleeding wounds, and screams in the night rushed into his mind. He looked to the man before him, standing straight, his hands clasped behind him, proud, sure.
His fist tightened. “Well, you folk have any transport?”
The half-elf frowned. “Not yet, Darling.”
Harrow forced a grin. “ Damn . Let’s see what we can’t do ‘bout that.”
Once, at the mouth of a river, near Whitestone’s only port, a captain is called to the deck. He would be met by Kellen, his quartermaster, and his current first mate, Ruby, a crowd of idle hands and wide eyes, and a boy that’s barely cresting into adulthood.
He’d be shocked, the boy’s once-royal clothes were tattered, blood-stained and plastered to his skin with water, revealing a half-starved frame and many, many wounds.
He’d call for his medic, the only doctor willing to work with them on such short notice, a gruff, but reliable man named Carter, though they called him Doc. He and the Doc would take the boy to the only spare room for privacy. They’d strip him of his wet, ruined clothes and the two humans would tend to him.
The captain's own healed memories would itch on his skin when the boy woke screaming for the third night in a row, mind addled by fever and fear.
He does his best not to remember.
Harrow watched as Grog, a goliath and Pike the gnome chat. He watched as the twin of Vex'ahlia talked to the other half-elf – Keyleth – while his sister and the boy – now a man – discussed plans for killing the sea-beast.
Kellen strode across the deck, the first mate sending glances towards Percy and the rest of Vox Machina , an odd name for an odder team. “Fished him up again, have ya?” He asked, leaning against the wall of Harrow’s quarters, wincing as a doorknob jammed into his side.
“Seems like,” Harrow replied. Percy had started to smile at something the half-elf woman was saying, and the twin – Vax’ildan? – approached, daggers sheathed and his gait unsteady.
“What’s that lot gonna do ‘gainst a sea creature?” Kellen tilted his head, studying the captain. “Seems like only the gnome-gal and Perce have any ship experience.”
Harrow shrugged. “They act like they’re confident. We can’t afford to stay in port much longer, either, taking ‘em on seemed like the best option.”
“A win win, ey?” Kellen looked the group over once more. “I s’pose they could make themselves useful, ‘ventually, should we live.”
Harrow smacked the man in the chest. “We’ll live.”
“Ya say that now.”
“I do,” Harrow sniffed. “An’ Captain’s word is law, don’t you forget.”
“Aye, sir,” Kellen snorted. “Doc and Garrat were discussin’ y’know? They don’t think the ship can take an attack.”
“You told ‘em off, I suspect?”
“Doc didn’ like it, but Gar’ took it on the chin, seems swayed for now.”
Captain Harrow nodded. “I’ll speak to them, make sure no rumors fly. Seafaring men are a superstitious lot.”
“You say that like you’re not,” Kellen’s voice was light, but Harrow knew.
“I’m not.” He clenched his fist. “We don’t have time for magic out here, just work. Tell the First Mate to meet me in my office.”
“Alright.”
Kellen walked off and Harrow opened his door, slipping into the dark cabin. His desk was bolted to the wooden floor, on it his lamp was unlit, documents and ledgers waited. He sat heavily in his chair, running a hand through grayed hair. “Rumors,” he muttered. “Just what we need.”
The ship rocked on the water, still clinging to port until all crew reported in. Now, Harrow would have to make room for seven more mouths to feed, lucky apparently, he’d heard a tale of a bear left at their keep. The group seemed . . . rambunctious, still wet behind the ears to him. While he knew Percy, he also didn’t. The boy had been quiet, traumatized and scared when they’d met those years ago. Now he seemed much more confident, a changed man by all rights.
Harrow squeezed his eyes, scars burning along his arms, he dug his nails into his palm until pain sparked in the hard flesh.
“Captain?”
Harrow lifted his head, his first mate, an elven man, Petrel, stood at the door. Harrow gathered himself, he didn’t need to see him like that. “Come in.”
Petrel entered, dipping his head. “What do you need, Captain?”
Harrow forced his hand to relax, dragging it across his face. “We’re one of the few ships dumb enough to go into the Lucidian now.”
“Yes?” Petrel straightened his spine. “I understand why, of course, however it seems likely the crew will be upset.”
“Mhm, that’s why I need you to keep them on track, ‘specially with the jesters we picked up at port.” He looked at his notes. “Don’t let them start spookin’ now, there’s nothing we can’t handle. Sides, the monster isn’t reported near where we’re sailing.”
Petrel, for all their elven heritage, was raised among humans, and is as easy to read as any of Harrow’s crew. The man pursed his lips and nodded, seeming disquieted but not wanting to rock the boat, so to speak. Despite his long-lived blood, he’s seen enough death on the water to know how fragile life can be and Harrow values that. Someone who will outlast him, so long as nothing eats him first.
Ruby, standing on the deck, there one second-.
Harrow blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Now go on, I’ll see you and the crew when Kudzu is handin’ out dinner.”
“Of course, Captain.” Petrel nodded once, then moved out of the cabin. In the brief flash where the door was open, Harrow could see the goliath slipping on the deck, the cleric let out a loud laugh as a purple hand picked the gray-skinned man up. The twins were grinning and Percy stood back, blue coat billowing in the wind, looking decidedly happy, the red-headed half-elf resting against him.
The door closed.
Harrow sighed, head in his hands.
“ Gods-dammit .”