#cariyen

Asha is five years old when she first sets foot on the Rascal, her father’s ship in Taidha Covington’s fleet. Her mother is an impoverished sex worker in Lion’s Arch with neither time not resources to care for her. With a heavy heart, she’d given her little daughter to Rowan Gaets, the man that fathered the girl. Wealth and an entire ship’s worth of people to protect the child from whatever dangers might claw at her, Asha’s mother thought it to be a wiser idea to have Rowan raise her. She holds the tiny form of her little girl in her arms as the salty breeze of the Sanctum Harbor whips around them. “It’s okay.” She says. “You can come visit me whenever your papa comes to the city.” Asha buries her face in her mother’s hair and sobs, then she lets go of her. She’s a big girl now. Big girls don’t cry.

Asha is six years old when she sees her first dead body. It’s so simple, so unnecessary. A dispute over plunder, erupting in screams and flying fists. The Captain, her father, stands by and watches as the two men beat the life out of each other. One of them is on the ground, the other straddles him, beating down on his face until he is unrecognizable. There is a struggle to fight back, but his movements get slower and slower, until eventually, they cease entirely. Rowan has his hand on Asha’s shoulder as she looks on with wide eyes. “This is what happens when you steal from your crew.” He tells her.

 Asha is seven years old when she is given her first weapon. After two years of being a deckhand, crawling in small spaces to plug leaks or clean, Rowan elects that his daughter has proven herself enough to move up in the Rascal’s hierarchy. He hands her a flintlock, shows her how to load and fire, shows her how to maintain the weapon, shows her where to aim for maximum effect. At night, she sits alone, staring at the gun in her hands. I’m not ready, she thinks. I don’t want this.

 Asha is ten years old when she first kills a man. A dispute over territory, prize or simply for dispute’s sake. The Rascal as hooks attached to her starboard side, angry men flood onto deck. Chaos is all around her as cutlasses clash and weapons fire. The Rascal blows a hole into the hull of the enemy, a point-blank cannon shot that shakes both ships. “Asha! The hooks!” yells Cariyen, a Sylvari woman and takes her by the hand. “If she sinks, she will drag us down with her!”

The two run, scramble past combatants, Cariyen’s magic shielding Asha from stray bullets as they go, and reach the railings. They rip a hook off the wood and let it crash into the waves. The enemy vessel is filling with water, now sits much too low in the sea. There’s no time! Asha nudges Cariyen and points at the furthest hook, before heading off to the other one still attached. She reckons that Cariyen is stronger than her and would need less time to tear it off the ship. Her hands clasp the metal and pull it upward, Asha puts her entire weight into it, but she is just a little girl, a child. She struggles, focuses, and does not notice the impending danger behind her until it’s too late. A large hand grabs her by the hair, slams her face first on the railing, then tosses her to the ground like a ragdoll. Her head spins and she can feel warm blood pouring from her nostrils. When her vision clears, she sees the man, about to attack her again. A fist lands hard in her stomach, she retches, tasting bile on her tongue. “Ca-…” she tries to scream, but the man has her by the throat and cuts her cry off, pressing his fingers into her airways. Asha chokes, whines, but her fingers are at her belt, scrambling for her weapon; she pushes it into the man’s ribs and pulls the trigger-…

When Asha comes to, she’s pressed to the ground by a dead body, drenched in its blood. She sees Cariyen, about to lift the dead man off of her, and an apologetic expression on her face.

 Asha is fifteen when she is taken prisoner by the enemy. Three days, she spends in brigg, no sunlight, no food, just grimy water that makes her vomit. She’s weak, fevering high with glassy eyes and shaking hands when her father’s men finally take the vessel. They find her and take her home. For two weeks, Asha rests, slowly regaining her strength. Not once does her father visit her sickbed. Only Cariyen comes to see to her, wipes the sweat-drenched hair from her forehead as Asha combats the infection she’s contracted in that cell. In these moments, Asha loves her. Asha loves her for her cool touch, easing the hot pain, the gentle words, the comfort. Asha loves her for the water and food she brings, for the cold wraps around her shins and the promise that the worst is behind her.

 “Asha,” Cariyen says, days after her recovery. “Your father is asking for you.” She climbs down the mast she had been in the process of ascending and straightens her vest. Then, she makes her way to the Captain’s quarters.

It smells like wood polish and alcohol, when she enters. Her father is behind his desk, leaning back in his chair. “Sit.” He commands, pointing at the pair of open seats across from him. She walks into the room, and takes a seat, waiting for her father to speak again. “I’m disappointed in you.” He opens and Asha feels her heart sink. She wanted an apology for leaving her in enemy custody, maybe concern for her wellbeing, not disappointment. As if this was her fault! “Why?” she presses forth, forcing her tone to remain neutral. “You didn’t fight back.” Rowan explains. “You submitted to the enemy when you were captured and rotted in the brigg. Had I not decided to come free you, you would still be there. No agency, no defiance. Pathetic.” “How do you know what I did during my captivity?” Asha asks, now allowing the sharpness to take her voice. “I had hoped I’d taught you better.” Rowan continues, ignoring her question entirely. “You need to learn what it means to serve on this vessel. Don’t think for a second I’d take it easy with you just because I fathered you. ‘Captain’s Daughter’ means nothing here. You fight, or you die.” Asha feels red-hot anger in her veins and clenches her fists. “Did you do this to me?” she asks. “Did you let this happen on purpose? To… what? Toughen me up? Show me what it’s like?”

Rowan reaches over the table to refill his glass of whiskey, then takes a sip from it. “You needed to learn what it means when you show weakness. When you are negligent in your combat, you get captured.” “You let me be captured! If you want to teach me what it means to be part of a crew, why do you make sure no one helps me when I need it? Cariyen is the only one who-…” “Cariyen.” Rowan interrupts her. “Is soft. Weak. The only reason I keep her around is because she has magic. She’s not someone you should aspire to be like.” “Cariyen is the only good person on this entire damn tub!” Asha is screaming now. “I’m just a kid! Why did you make my mother give me up if you don’t wanna raise a kid?”

“Your mother is a whore.” Rowan scoffs. “My mother” Asha roars at him, not caring if the crew hears her. “loved me!” Her pulse pounds in her ears and tears of anger stream down her face. She’s standing up now, screaming down at her father, who is sitting there, in his posh little cabin, sipping whiskey and feeling proud of himself and his parenting. He blinks up at her.

“Are you finished?” he asks her nonchalantly. “I have no time for your teenage tantrums.”

Asha’s cry of rage rings out before the gunshot does. Her father slumps in his chair, his glass shatters on the ground. There’s silence, a moment of shock in regards to her own action, but no regret. No grief. No shame.

The door bursts open and Cariyen is the first to enter the room.

“By the Tree.” She whispers. “What have you done?”

Then, the crew bursts in, led by the asuran First Mate, who stares at his Captain’s body and the gun in Asha’s hand. “What have you done?!” he echoes Cariyen, but with much more anger. The crew lunges at her, wrestle her to the ground and disarm her. Asha feels the burn of ropes being tied around her wrists, then they drag her out, to deck. Cariyen stands helpless, staring at her in horror, as they force her forward.