Rohaan watched the big man go. It was hard to describe what Berlin mean to the boy; Rohaan had never actually said it out loud in so plain of words, but he loved him. Berlin knew it. Their bond was strong but unspoken. Berlin himself had known it beyond a doubt when Rohaan granted him the use of his third and longest name. By that time he knew what that meant. The boy had come in on a winter’s night a year after Berlin had scooped him up from the street.  Ice formed on the lines and gunnel at night and Rohaan had come into his cabin, shivering. Berlin invited him to sit next to him on the bed and amused him with stories of his swashbuckling youth, including some mischief he and Pieter had gotten into in their younger years. He could feel the boy nodding off, slumping a little at his side with each word.
[i]”Rohaan, you should get to sleep,” he’d said. 
“No.” When Berlin was about to chide him for arguing, Rohaan continued. “It’s Rheoaan. My name is Rheoaan.”[/i]

Rohaan waited until Berlin’s boots disappeared from the steps and scrambled back to Hana’s side, this time not so tightly into the corner. “Well go on! Tell me what happens! Does he find a dragon?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this. Rohaan was convinced that there was a dragon somewhere in this story. There just had to be, he thought. 

—-

Berlin sat down with a heavy thud that made the crate he sat on creak in protest. He had his back against the sweeping wall of the prow as he took the mug from his old friend and took a long, heavy pull from the chipped vessel. That was almost answer enough. Still, it took time for the captain to answer. He took off his loose white shirt, set it on the deck beside him, and took out a clean wet rag. As he began wiping the crusted blood off his chest, he looked only briefly at Pieter to mutter, “how do you think?” The skin clean, he dipped his finger in a little jar of cloudy honey, which was supposed to be good for keeping wounds clean and fighting infection in minor wounds; he rubbed the sticky substance into the scratches, but he did not bother to put his shirt back on. The sun felt too nice, and the breeze too pleasant. Another long pull from the mug.

“Ain’t never seen him like that. Ain’t never seen him cry...” He kept drinking. Clearly this had shaken his worldview in a way; he wasn’t sure how to feel about it now. “And I should have known it, too. Since we spotted them yesterday, he was in...a mood. Can’t explain it. But I knew something was bothering him, even if he didn’t himself. I think, deep down, he knew before we ever made for the shore.” Another drink, but it came up short in his mouth. Empty. Berlin put it down on the barrel between them and held it out, eyes quietly demanding it be full again. “He never did tell me any details of how he came to be at Tavalor, that little port city we found him. But it was Barizians who took him, got him in as bad a shape as he was. He saw the flag and unraveled. But he’s alright now. Hasn’t bitten anyone, it seems, and nothing’s been set on fire, so I’ll call it a victory. He’s down with Hana. She’s reading to him and, bless me, he’s listening. She’s good. I’ll give her that. He didn’t warm up to you that fast,” Berlin laughed, remembering the ongoing struggles that at times felt so far away. “He’s come a long way now, though.”

Berlin fished the lime out of his mug, sucked it for a moment, then plopped it back into the cup with a small sound of relish. “But that’s done. And we’ve got a ship to hunt down,” he said darkly, also with relish. “But for now, I see no reason you and I can’t share a drink...er...a few anyway.” His mug was already empty again.  “And ‘bout damn time too.”