Bard’s Note: Cut added for length. Super huge thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for these wonderful submissions! It was a huge help as I worked on some job application stuff last week.
__***__***__***__
As a general rule, the passengers kept out of the way of the crew. Most of them stayed below, killing time or working on something or dealing with seasickness. Alf found himself on deck a lot, watching the crew and the Navy ships following them, as they should.
Alfonso remembered training on them, he spent a few years when he was a young man, learning to sail, learning how to fight with what came to hand, various different swords. That had been a good time.
He was not that man anymore. He was not going to be that man anymore.
The days it took to sail to Duilintinn gave him plenty of time to think about his next move. He was on his way to Duilintinn, so far he had successfully left Tandeli, so, now what? He hadn’t decided.
It was tempting to go with the flow. Get to Fionport’s docks, exchange money and see what happens. That probably wasn’t the safest method, he should just keep going north.
Still, he would probably need to spend some time in Fionport anyway, he shouldn’t make a strict plan, he should remain flexible. Just in case he needed to make an unexpected move or decision.
The temperature dropped as they sailed, and stayed low as they sailed past the Iolla Lighthouse, avoiding the cliffs. As they approached Fionport’s harbour walls the Navy ships peeled off further out to sea, waiting for any Tandeli ships to return.
It took a good hour after they saw port for them to dock and another hour for the passengers to disembark, the captain having to show all the paperwork to dock officials. The Duil loved their records.
Alf carried his few belongings down the gangplank, and for a moment wondered if they hadn’t turned around in the night and that’s just gone back to Puerta Casóm.
The same Waldren style architecture rose up in front of him, even in the crowded docks he could see the white columns deeper in the city.
He took a moment to get his bearings, and went to find somewhere to exchange his money.
With a pouch of new coins stamped with the King’s Eye, he wandered around the city. When he was last here they’d gone straight through the main roads, so wandering around the poorer parts of the city was interesting. It still held the grid system that was standard in Fionport, but it felt narrower and a bit more rambley.
He found a small inn, which wasn’t as open, or as nice really as the Open Arms. This was darker and possibly not as clean, but he didn’t know how long his money was going to last.
“One room please,” he spoke to the innkeeper, who also looked less friendly than the innkeeper of the Open Arms.
“Fresh off the boat?” They asked, taking the money without really counting it. “Tandeli or Grancinco?”
“Tandeli.”
“Alright, I’m going to need your real name for the guestbook. Add your nickname if you want.”
Alf felt himself bristle, just because you weren’t born with your Chosen Name didn’t make it any less real. Even if he had only had a Chosen Name for less than a week.
The innkeeper raised their eyebrow. “Look, I’m just making sure there’s no confusion in the book alright? I won’t read it properly if it bothers you that much. How many nights?”
“Two. And the proper terms,” Alf started as he wrote his new names in the book. “are Given and Chosen Names.”
“I make no guarantees that I will remember that,” the innkeeper declared as they took the book and handed him a key. “Straight up the stairs and on the left.”
“Thank you,” Alf responded curtly as he left to go upstairs. He wobbled a bit, still on his sea legs before he entered his room. It was small, with thick bedding and a narrow window. A small desk with a candle sat by the window, with a wash basin on the other side of the room. It was dusty and had a slight musty smell, but Alf reminded himself that it was better than sleeping on the side of the road.
He freshened up at the basin and sat at the desk, looking out the window and trying to think. He had a minimum of two days to figure out his next move. He supposed he could wander around the docks and look for what ships were leaving soon, and where they were going.
On the other hand. He was in Fionport, Duilintinn, on not even close to official business. He should explore.
He spent the majority of the rest of the day doing just that, memorising the street his inn was on and spending hours wandering around the city. He tried Duilintinn’s bread, which was denser and far more flavourful than anything in Tandeli.
He leaned against a wall and just people watched, eating his bread as he did. For the first time in months, he felt relaxed. There was still work to be done, but now he didn’t have to worry about being discovered, or worry about his own mental state towards being discovered. It could still happen, but the chances were lower and the consequences not so immediate.
A small group came around the corner and seemed to clock him instantly. Alf frowned as they approached, and tried not to let nervousness and paranoia take over. His free hand rested on his sword hilt as he finished his bread.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked as they got closer, and the leader stopped, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t think you’re the guy we’re supposed to meet,” they spoke slowly, clearly unsure if they’d made a mistake or if Alf was the person they were looking for and they were making assumptions.
“I doubt it,” Alf nodded. “Good day.”
The group started to move on, but the leader stopped again.
“Fresh off the boat?”
“Yes,” was that a common thing to ask in Fionport?
“You got work?”
“No,” Alf answered honestly, realising that this person was looking at his sword, despite it being mostly hidden under his cloak.
“We’re with the Mercenary Syndicate. If you’re any good with that, and you’ve nowhere else to be, you should check in with us.”
“And where would I find you?” Alf asked, cogs in his brain turning at the offer.
“Mulladún, out west. Ask around, there’ll be someone headin’ out that way,” the leader of the small group of mercenaries tipped their hat. “Tell ‘em Cameron sent you.”
“Very well,” Alf nodded. “And I am, Sharp, although Alf is fine.”
“Got it,” Cameron grinned. “Hope to see you there.”
With that the small group left, leaving Alf pondering this opportunity in their wake. He probably wouldn’t stay with them permanently, but if he could use it to bulk up his funds, and once he had a good amount, go off somewhere else.
__***__***__***__
Author’s Note: From there Alf joins the Mercenary Guild, stays a bit longer than he probably intended to. About a year later the King is attacked and the Watch is announced, giving him motivation to stay, and then we get to the Alf Powell profile.
Bard’s Note: Thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for writing these! Cut added for length.
__***__***__***__
It thankfully didn’t take as long to reach the hall, this queue moving a lot quicker. The queue had thinned out behind him at least, and once he got near the front he could see there were multiple desks so everyone could be seen quickly.
The large hall echoed with voices and beams crisscrossed overhead, lanterns lighting the desks and hanging on the walls. They made the otherwise dark space a bit more cosy and welcoming, even though it was still bureaucratic. Glass chutes streaked overheard with rolled up papers flying through with a pop every now and again.
Alf was called forward quickly, and handed over the form to the new person at the desk.
“Good afternoon,” they greeted quickly, and Alf nodded as they adjusted their glasses and looked it over.
“Ex Royal Guard?” they looked over their glasses. “And just looking to travel?”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware of the rumours of the Royal Guard becoming a more country wide force?”
“I was not,” Alf admitted. “But I am an old man with old habits. The country is moving forward, and maybe it would be better without an old dog like me in it.”
“I would hardly call you old,” the clerk raised an eyebrow at his written age, “but if you insist…”
“Is there something the matter?” Alf asked as the clerk trailed off, seemingly in thought.
“I’m going to put this into review, just to be sure. Come back tomorrow and I will give you a definitive answer,” the clerk took the form and slipped another piece of paper across the counter, but Alf didn’t take it.
“Into review? Why?! I am not going to queue again!”
“Please calm down, and if you get here early enough it shouldn’t be a problem,” they responded briskly. “There is an inn across the way that regularly takes under review travellers, show them this paper and tonight’s stay and tomorrow’s breakfast is on us.”
“And what if I don’t leave?” Alf was tired, and was wondering how far he could push this.
“You won’t be getting a different answer out of me,” the clerk’s voice was cool now, speaking to Alf in a way he realised he wasn’t used to, or expecting. “And the more you kick up a fuss, the less inclined I am to put a good word in.”
Alf bristled in indignation and his hand gripped his sword hilt. How dare they-!
No. He wasn’t Alfonso anymore. He was just Alf, an ex-Guardsmen. Guardsmen were used to taking orders. If he was going to do this, then he needed to act the part.
He let out a long, calming breath.
“My apologies. I’ve been travelling all day. I lost my temper. I am sorry.”
“Understandable,” the clerk nodded, and Alf took the piece of paper on the desk, which detailed the clerk’s Chosen Name and note saying his form was under review. Turning it over revealed the name of the inn and a note saying exactly what the clerk had outlined, all stamped with an official seal.
“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow Sharp,” the clerk bid farewell, and Alf only had a second to realise that they were using the Chosen Name and to try and respond appropriately. Before he could stammer anything out the clerk slammed down a small mallet and called out. “Next please!”
Alf stepped back a little bit as someone else came up to the desk, and hovered there for a few seconds before following the trickle of people coming out the other end. Since he didn’t have the right paperwork he slunk away, trying to work what had happened.
Had, had he been recognised? His hand went to his beard and ran through his hair. Surely not, he barely recognised himself right now. Had his behaviour given him away? Was there something else?
The sun was starting to set as he tried to calm his rampant thoughts. It didn’t matter. If it all went wrong he was still the best swordsman in the country. Even if he was rusty, he’d be fine.
Part of him, a part he wasn’t sure about touching, was oddly okay with being discovered, of being dragged back to Triti to see what kind of ruler this Thomas was.
He stopped at the top of the street and looked down it, seeing a swinging copper sign to two hands clasping at the forearms. He checked the bit of paper and matched it to the inn in front of him. The Open Arms. The right kind of cheesy for Puerta Casóm.
It was a large inn, before he even went in he could see how tall it was, a good 5 stories high and easily as wide. The front was painted white and a bit sun bleached, with blue and pale grey shutters either open to the sea air or closed against the weather.
He adjusted his cloak and went through what he assumed was the entrance. It was an open door at the front, so it made sense. After the clerk earlier he was second guessing everything he thought he knew about how people acted.
It seemed to be right, as there was a desk against a wall covered in hooks, some of them had keys, some didn’t. There were a couple of people behind the heavy wooden desk, one was already dealing with someone, while the other looked up as Alf entered.
“Well hello!” they greeted as Alf approached. “What can we do for you?”
“I have this slip from the docks,” he put it on the desk and they took it, glancing over the back of it.
“Alright my dear,” they turned away to grab a key from behind them. “This is your room key, 3rd floor. Since you’re waiting for word from the dock breakfast is included tomorrow morning, but dinner this evening is not. You can get breakfast from 6am to 10.”
“Thank you,” Alf took the room key and with a nod he disappeared off upstairs.
His room was open and spacious, with a bed which he initially thought was small, but after a minute or so he guessed was more average size. Even so, after several months on the road, any bed size was welcome.
He took the time to shed his cloak and sword before falling face first onto the bed. He sunk down into it, and felt for a moment like he was lying on clouds. He almost fell asleep right there and then. Alright, waiting for this review was concerning, but if it meant he could sleep in a bed, then he would happily take it.
---
Breakfast the next morning was downstairs on long trestle tables. Guests mingled on the benches and grabbed smoked fish, fresh fruit, yellow turmeric bread or kelp bread and bowls of various jellies and jams.
Alf grabbed fish and bread first, downing it with watered down fruit juice. He didn’t really want to dawdle too much here, but this was also the most food he’d had in front of him in months. He inhaled food until he felt like he might burst, and staggered back up to his room to get his papers.
He’d taken longer than he’d wanted to, so Puerta Casóm was busy when he left the inn. There was already a decent line to get back into paperwork building. Thankfully, it didn’t take as long this time and after showing the slip from yesterday, he was directed to the same clerk as yesterday.
They looked over their glasses at him as he approached.
“Ah, welcome back,” they shuffled under their desk for the right papers and placed them on the desk. “My apologies for yesterday, reviews are mostly formality. You have to understand, anyone claiming to be ex Royal Guard is going to catch some attention.”
Alf struggled to keep expression neutral. Still, ex Royal Guard would draw less attention than Alfonso Armstrong.
“I just want to clarify a few things. No family? No one to contact?”
“Sadly, no.”
The clerk nodded a little bit. “You left your destination blank, did you have any thoughts at all of where you want to go?”
“Just, away.”
The clerk’s face softened to sympathy. “Alright. Immediately?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Very well. There’s a ship sailing to Duilintinn later today. From Fionport you could go almost anywhere else, with less time pressure from the weather. Are you able to provide labour or would you like to pay for passage?”
Alf fished in his coin purse and dropped what he hoped was the right amount of money onto the counter. He really didn’t know how much this would cost, surely it would be more than the bread and fish he had yesterday?
The clerk eye’s widened and they pushed back half the coins. “Paying extra will not grant you extra perks. The ship only has so much space and you are a last-minute passenger.”
“Ah,” Alf let them their own conclusions about that as he scooped his money back into his pouch.
The clerk scribbled something down, stamped it and slid across yet another piece of paper before rolling up something similar and sending it through a chute.
“Show that to the crew of the Blue Rose and you’ll be good to go.”
“Thank you very much,” Alf took the paper. “And again, my apologies for my outburst yesterday.”
“It’s quite alright Sharp. The double doors at the end will take straight to the docks, then head north for the trading vessels.”
Alf nodded his head and began to walk down to the far end. He heard the clerk bark ‘Next please!’ as he walked away, and another passenger stepped up behind him.
He blinked as he stepped out into the sun again, shielding his eyes with one hand, and about a hundred metres away was the entrance to the docks. The smell of salt, which had been prevalent throughout the city, was significantly stronger here. He could hear shouting and clanging echoing, and felt oddly at home. It almost sounded like the Royal Guard Barracks.
He entered the docks main, which were massive. They curved gently with the lay of the land, and looking southwards from here Alf could see the main hub of the Fishing Guild. A large building of Waldren architecture, gleaming white. That said, there appeared to be scaffolding around it, perhaps repairs or repainting?
Given the proximity of the Fishing Guild hub, that part was mostly fisherman, so he turned to go north, as the clerk had suggested. Gulls screeched overhead as he passed and he had to be quick on his feet to dodge dock workers, who darted back and forth at great speed.
Not all the docks were occupied with ships, but most of them were, desperate to get out of Puerta Casóm before the summer storms hit. Alf glanced down at his paper to remind himself of the name, and kept an eye out for The Blue Rose.
He paused and squinted at one ship which he thought had the right name, and walked a bit closer to be sure. The Blue Rose had three masts and was made of dark wood mostly, flying Duilintinn’s flag.
People he assumed to be crew and dockworkers were loading crates of what he presumed to be goods to sell onto the boat, and he approached the person who seemed to be shouting the most at them. They were well built with a weather beaten face, bleached blonde hair tied back into a tight ponytail behind them.
“Excuse me,” Alf spoke, and they glanced at him.
“One moment. CAREFUL! IF YOU DROP THAT INTO THE WATER YOU’LL BE LOOKING FOR WORK ON ANOTHER SHIP!” their accent was definitely Duil as they shouted to a couple of people hauling one of the many crates on board. Once that on was safely aboard they turned to Alf. “Can I help ya?”
“Yes, hello, I believe I am to be travelling on this ship?” Alf held out the paper to them and they took it, glancing it over.
“Ah yeah. Heard we had a last-minute passenger. Cap’ain should have all your papers, or at least she will do soon. Passenger quarters are on the upper decks, but you will be sharin’. You got all your stuff?”
“Yes,” he hadn’t taken a lot anyway. “and sharing is fine.”
“Well it’s either that or sleepin’ on deck,” the crew member jerked their thumb towards the gangplank. “Up ya go.”
“Thank you,” Alf took his papers and went up the gangplank, feeling a little bit of nostalgia. It had been a long time since he had been on a ship. Most likely the last time he had visited Duilintinn actually, some meeting between Nereida and the new (at the time) King Sean. Such a shame all the hardship that had come to that kingdom, although given what happened maybe King Sean would like a Guard of his skill and experience.
It was an ideal thought that he didn’t put much hope into. Didn’t dare to.
He walked around the double doors in the floor of the deck, leading down to the cargo hold, and was directed through a different set of doors below deck, vertical doors this time. As he had been told immediately below decks were the passenger quarters, not that there were many passengers.
There were about half a dozen of them in all, all packed into a room with six hammocks with a table down the middle. Most of them appeared to be scholars of some kind, with one person, in overheard conversation, stating that they were going to visit extended family.
Alf took the unclaimed hammock, and mentally prepared for the voyage.
__***__***__***__
Author’s Note: the hardest bloody thing about this chapter was the ship name!
Bard’s Note: Thanks to @theshapeshifter100 as always! Cut added for length.
__***__***__***__
The weather was getting warm, and he knew he was starting to run out of time to leave. He wasn’t entire sure what month it was, but if the temperature was rising then the rainy season was coming. Rainy season would mean no boats leaving Puerta Casóm.
He still wasn’t completely sure where he was going to go. North was still all he had, although even then that didn’t have to be it, it didn’t even have to be north. Entire other continents were open to him! Effrens, Iontassia, or perhaps Las Buscadoras would be better for that area?
If he stayed with Tironár then perhaps the Island League? Leyfel? That was pushing it actually, they’d probably never invite him in.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go somewhere cold, like Haneul or Halennor, but at the same time he had never really experienced snow before.
Maybe he should hope for Duilintinn? They would take anyone without too many invasive questions asked, and he had been there before.
Perhaps he should leave it to chance? He mused as he plodded along the ocean road going south. Just find what boats were there and see who had space and would take his coin?
The hustle and bustle of the road around him got louder and traffic slowed to a crawl. He wove his way between carts and horses and brightly covered wagons of goods. The horses he passed generally weren’t happy about the whole thing, and he sympathised. It was loud and starting to smell the deeper he got, mostly because of the horses, and after several months alone the proximity and noise was jarring and irritating.
As they entered the city the traffic began to peter out, everyone disappearing to their intended destination. There was still however a good chunk of them heading for the docks it seemed, and Alfonso, or, Alf, was just one person in a crowd now.
There was an energy in the city he’d never felt before. Something excitable under the surface, like a trained dog desperate to play but just about keeping composure. He’d overheard rumours that one of the rebels, a man named Morality, would have a ruling seat, this new government mimicking the style of Duilintinn, with a hint of Halennor.
Judging the energy, people were mostly happy about this. Alfonso felt a stab in his gut, and tried to tell himself that Alf wouldn’t feel that. Alf was…
Who was Alf Powell? Who was he going to be?
He stopped in the middle of the road as this thought smashed through, and nearly got physically crashed into by a horse and cart.
Yelling quick apologies he ducked off the road and into a quieter street. There were small eateries and niche tailors and apothecaries down here. He stayed by the entrance of the street, thinking about who he was going to be.
Obviously not Alfonso Armstrong, the Crown’s Personal Guardsman, and technically King. No. He was not him.
Still, even if his name and story changed, his skills would not. Like it or not, he was well trained in combat, on foot, on horseback and at sea. He was also trained in strategy, although he hadn’t really had a chance to use it much.
That was, him. That was the entirety of Alfonso Armstrong, mostly. Truth was, he liked music, listening to it mostly. If he had been allowed to follow his childhood interests, he might have been in Estalta instead, or perhaps a painter?
Although, he didn’t have much skill in any of these, just an old interest. They wouldn’t help him much.
So, Alf Powell needed to be a man similar enough to Alfonso Armstrong. The answer seemed obvious once he realised it. Ex Royal Guard looking to leave what might become a turbulent country where he no longer felt welcome. That’s all he had to say. No partner, no children, no siblings, parents no longer alive… that painted a depressing picture, but sadly enough that was the true part.
He puffed out his cheeks and adjusted his cloak, starting to step back out into the street, until a well-timed waft of baking bread caught his attention. His stomach gurgled and he was reminded that he hadn’t eaten well since he left Eustice’s.
…Ships could wait, his stomach could not.
A warm slice of bread with freshly smoked fish calmed his stomach, and he took a moment to savour it. It was simple, yet one of the best things he’d ever tasted.
With a more satisfied stomach he could think a bit more. He’d need a Chosen Name as well. It would be a lie to say he’d never thought about having one, but as a member of the royal family, it hadn’t been expected of him.
After all, sharing a Given Name was a sign of the utmost trust, so the whole kingdom knowing your Given Name showed that you trusted your Kingdom completely. Well, that didn’t work out now did it?
It didn’t take long for his mind to summon the names he’d tossed around with Nerida in private, trying to ignore the sudden stabbing pain in his chest.
Calm? That one had always felt a bit basic. Honour? That one was a bit over the top and self-righteous. Sharp? That one still somewhat fit, and was innocuous enough. Did it refer to his blade, or his intellect? Only he would know.
He shoved the last of the bread and fish into his mouth, dusted off his hands and walked back to the road heading to the docks. The traffic hadn’t gone down at all, and once again Alf slipped into the crowd.
There was a split off as he got closer to the docks. The carts laden with crates and goods went one way, the foot traffic went another. Still, it slowed to a crawl as the street narrowed, and Alf folded his arms, tapping his foot and looking around. It had never been this busy when he had sailed from here.
That said he had sailed with a royal entourage. In hindsight the streets would have been cleared so they could go straight through. Still, this waiting was starting to become obnoxious. He stood on his toes and looked around the crowd, trying to see what the hold up was.
A little further down were a couple of booths, one on either side of the path, and the crowd split to go to each booth. From both of them were another two lines, one of which continued down towards the docks and the other through what looked like an old market hall, although that no longer appeared to be its purpose.
People were talking to the people in the booths either singularly or in small groups and exchanging papers, and Alf genuinely had no idea what they were for. In the past they had announced they were going to go somewhere, and then when they date rolled around they just, went. There was no standing around, no paper exchange, nothing of the sort. They weren’t even exchanging coin, what was this about?
Alf scowled and his hands gripped his biceps. Why was this taking so long?! What could possibly need to be said?!
The queue crawled forward as the sun went across the sky, and finally, finally he ended up at one of the booths.
“Good afternoon!” the booth worker had a well practiced smile that didn’t quite ring true. “Do you already have charter papers?”
“…No,” did he need those? He assumed he must do if he was being asked.
“Alright,” they shuffled around in their booth and placed some papers on the booth desk, where a quill and ink were already sitting. “If you could fill this out please and join the right most queue, we can find a ship for you.”
Alf was not looking forward to even more queuing, but moved to one side to fill out the form. It was fairly simply, basic details, Chosen Name, which had more prominence on the page than Given Name, age, next of kin, occupation, destination, and reason for travel.
Alf was glad he had stopped to eat at least, since he didn’t have to stand there like an idiot trying to work out a Chosen Name on the spot. Next of Kin posed a problem, so he left it blank, and he tried not to smile a little bit as he wrote ‘ex Royal Guard’ in the Occupation box.
He paused again at ‘Destination’ and ‘Reason for Travel’. He just wanted to leave Tandeli and not come back for at least a decade, was that what he needed to put in?
He ended up leaving ‘Destination’ blank and just putting in ‘Travel’, before sliding the form back to the booth worker, who had a glance over.
“You left ‘Next of Kin’ and ‘Destination’ blank,” they informed.
“I have no family left,” Alf played it off with the shrug. “And I don’t mind where I go.”
“No close friends?”
“Not really.”
They smiled sympathetically and crossed through the ‘Next of Kin’ and ‘Destination’ boxes before handing the papers back to him.
“Right queue please, and they’ll go through the papers in more detail and get you on a ship.”
“Thank you,” Alf inclined his head and moved onto the indicated queue. For more queuing.
Oh by all that was holy would it ever end?!
__***__***__
Author’s Note: April 1598, actually the rest of them are going to be April 1598
