The Last Redemption of Orphaner Dualscar

This isn't a good idea.

But then, when has he ever had a good idea?  When has any decision he's ever made in his entire miserable, wasted life been a good idea?  When has he ever done anything good, or honorable, or worthwhile in any fucking way?  When has he ever made a decision that made him feel any kind of pride in himself?

Once.  He made a decision like that once, and look where it brought him.  

Fucking hell, he's an idiot.  Always goddamn has been.

And a lifetime of idiocy and poor judgement has brought him here, scaling the side of a pirate ship towards the end of the day while everyone aboard slumbers, his cape thrown over his head to guard his skin from the piercing rays of the setting sun.  It won't be long before everyone wakes up, before the ship is crawling with sailors and slaves, and he doesn't have long to do what needs to be done.  He should have done this earlier, when the sun was at its pinacle, but he waited, procrastinating under the waves, waiting for... waiting for what?  He doesn't know, but waiting for something, some kind of sign, a bolt from the sky, the Imperial Condescension going rogue and crashing beneath the waves.  But no, there wasn't any sign, no such luck, and now he's almost out of time.

He has to do it now, before his courage fails him.

He slithers through a porthole, his slick, heavy cape acting as a lubricant and easing his passage, and finds himself in an empty, abandoned corridor.  He was right about one thing, at least... at this time, caught between sunset and moonrise, he has the ship to himself.  Not that anyone would likely try and stop him anyway, but this is the one time when he wants his presence to go unnoticed, when stealth is more valuable to him than dramatics, and he pulls his cape tight around him, trying to remember everything he has ever learned about subterfuge and moving silently, and makes his way towards the bowels of the ship.

~*~

He isn't as familiar with this part of the ship, having never visited it before, but it's not difficult to follow the stink of misery and desperation.  All slaveholds smell the same, a scent that's been as burned into his memory as his own sign, and his fins curl tight around the sides of his head, as if they can block out the memories with filaments and tissues alone.  He pauses, leaning against the wall, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to be sick.

Control.  Fucking control, don't be so weak, don't you dare be so fucking weak!  For once in your fucking life, do what needs to be done and don't be a worthless coward!

He breathes deep, and the pervasive stink of the slavehold makes him gag.

~*~

It's not hard to find her.  Even in chains, she stands out, holding herself with an exhausted, badly damaged dignity that all the other wretches lost long ago.  They cringe away from him, fearing the worst, crumpling against each other to avoid the purpleblooded invader in their world, and he can't blame them, even though today he means them no ill will.  She waits for him though, looking up with bright, jade-green eyes, meeting his gaze without fear, and does not tremble in her chains.

He kneels beside her, his head bowed.

"I'm sorry..."

She nods.  "I know."

"I did... everything I could, but it... it wwasn't enough..." His voice cracks, breaking apart like a wiggler's.  This is the third time they've met, and he wishes beyond words that at least one of those times could have been without bars between them, without her wrists encircled by chains.

"You did what you could, child, and for that, we will always be grateful."

"It wwasn't enough!" he insists, and he looks up, meeting her eyes for one brief moment, and then he has to look away, shamed by all the love and forgiveness he sees in them.

She stays silent for a time--for just long enough--then tells him, simply, "It will not work.  She will never give him back."

He nods, staring down at the chipped, bloodstained wooden floor, rough under the toe of his boot.  "I knoww.  But I have to try.  I have to do at least that for him."

She moves her foot then, gently nudging his knee with it.  "You are a brave child, little one."

And there are no words he can use to answer that, and he covers his face with one hand.

~*~

When he has control of himself again and looks up, she is watching him, her eyes filled with a deep, immeasurable sadness.  "I know why you are here," she says quietly.  "Please... you would be doing me a great service."

For the first time, he really looks at her, and sees the bruises staining her skin, the festering, open sores, the way she has wasted away to a shell of the beautiful, imposing troll she had once been, and he hates himself for taking so long, for being so cowardly and making her wait.

He reaches out with one hand, and gently takes her chin in it, tilting her head back and exposing her throat.  She watches him as he draws his blade, and meets his eyes again for one long moment before closing hers... and smiling.

"Thank you," she breathes, and he can feel her words vibrate against his fingers.

~*~

The jade-green blood washes away under the ocean waves long before the purple cloud around his face dissolves into nothingness.