#devlin montclair

Rook had already disappeared below deck. A heartbeat later came a familiar bleat. Then another.

Then the unmistakable sound of hooves clattering across wood, and Rook reappeared just in time to watch Bess sprint down the boat's tiny ramp.

And straight past Devlin. Who she completely ignored.

The sheep trotted happily between dockworkers before burying her face in a basket of expensive vegetables someone had left unattended.

A merchant spun around.

"HEY!"

Rook pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Bess."

She continued eating.

Devlin set his crate down.

"You want me to...?"

"Please."

Together they tried approaching from opposite sides.

But Bess was no ordinary ewe, she would not be so easily outwitted, and slipped neatly between them.

She wandered farther down the dock as though this were all part of the day's itinerary.

Devlin lunged.

Missed.

Rook side stepped and reached for her.

Missed.

Devlin held it together for another few seconds before the absurdity of it all finally caught up with him.

He laughed.

A real laugh.

The kind that stole your breath and made your sides hurt. Because frankly? These were not the kind of shenanigans that happened in Ishgard. Life was so much less serious out here. Or so it seemed.

Rook looked at his son, then at the sheep happily chewing someone else's cabbage.

Against his better judgment...

He laughed too.

They finally cornered Bess between a stack of crates and a coil of rope. Rook scooped the renegade ewe into his arms while she protested loudly enough for the entire dock to hear.

Devlin wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"I don't think she likes boats."

Rook looked down at the sheep, then back toward the sloop.

"I don't think she likes anything."

Devlin laughed again.

The fisherman met them at the pier, running a weathered hand across the bundled net before grinning.

"Thought I'd be waitin' another day or two. Damn merchant came ta port an bought out all our line. Couldn't jimmy up a new net."

Rook shrugged, "Said we'd be here."

"Aye. You did."

The fisherman counted out their payment, then paused.

"You two work together often?"

Rook glanced toward Devlin, who was already securing the sloop to the dock.

"Just recently."

The old man smiled.

"Could've fooled me."

The return trip was uneventful, just the way Rook liked it. He reveled in the breeze that cooled his skin, fighting against the relentless heat of Eorzea.

As they slowly pulled into the coastal docks, Devlin was at the ready, rope in hand.

One clean throw, then he tied the knot.

Rook walked over, gave it a firm tug, and felt it hold fast.

He looked at the knot for a long moment before meeting Devlin's eyes.

"Good work." And it wasn't until his father had gone below deck to start on dinner that Dev smiled after him, absentmindedly reaching down to pet Tobin who'd been leaning against his shins. In that moment, he felt a sliver of something akin to pride. In his work. In being that man's son. In doing more than playing the part of a not so noble born knight.

Rook's brows furrowed as he glanced around, momentarily stunned by the chaos of it all. Never in his life had he hesitated for so long. But weeks of a more complacent life had dulled his edge and he couldn't for all his expertise, find it right away.

Thankfully the first man never quite reached Rook. The butt of Devil's pistol caught him squarely beneath the jaw, sending him sprawling across the deck. Another rushed in from the opposite side only to meet the young man's blade.

Weeks ago, Rook would have worried. But not today.

It was the sight of his son engaging in combat that spurred the merc into motion. Suddenly, they moved together instinctively. One covered while the other struck. A shouted warning was answered before it had even finished leaving the other's mouth.

And soon enough the fight was over? As quickly as it had begun.

One attacker lay groaning against the mast. Another had thrown himself back onto the brig. The rest were already retreating.

Only then did Rook see who had remained behind.

Valori.

She stood on the deck of the brig gripping the rail so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

"Devlin!" she shouted. "Come home!"

Devlin didn't reply. He only stood there, jaw agape, gawking at the audacity of his mother. At the woman he'd defended all these years.

"Please!" She sounded so very desperate. A woman on her last gil no doubt, with her meal ticket clearly finding it's purpose elsewhere.

But before anyone could speak again, smoke curled up through the open hatch and began clouding the space between the lot of them.

One of the attackers had dropped a lantern below deck, and in the few moments since, flames had eagerly licked long the cabin walls and raced upward through dry timber and old varnish.

The fire spread with terrifying speed.

Rook began to let out a series of whistles. One for Zeus, who leapt into the sea without hesitation. One for Vox, who followed obidiently.

Then came a panicked bleat.

Bess burst from below deck, bolting blindly across the smoke covered deck.

"Tobin!" Devlin shouted.

The gangly dog immediately gave chase. For all his goofy, nonsensical, and overly eager mannerisms, the greyhound seemed to know what was asked of him. He was no herding dog like Vox, but he was part of the pack. The gust of wind that wipped out of now where couldn't be anything but a curse with how ill timed it was. The ewe slipped.

Her hooves scrabbled uselessly backwards, as the sloop rocked up and down, across the burning deck before she tumbled back through the hatch.

Tobin disappeared after her without a second thought.

Rook lunged toward the opening, but faultered when he saw something that hadn't been there before.

A powder keg. A parting gift from Valori, no doubt. A gift that fire now crawled steadily towards.

His blood ran cold.

"DEVLIN!"

Their eyes met across the deck, and neither of them needed to say it. There wasn't enough time to, even if a warning had thought to come to fruition.

Devlin ran. But not towards the hatch.

Towards Rook.

He hit his father with both hands, throwing every ounce of strength he had into the shove. And stumble, Rook did. Backwards and over the rail.

The sea swallowed him whole. Cold water stealing his breath as he fought back to the surface.

When he broke through, coughing, the sloop was fully ablaze.

"DEV-LIN!" Rook choked out as he spat sea water.

His son stood frozen for only the briefest moment. A desperate bark echoed from below. Then came Bess's frightened bleating.

Dev looked toward the water. Toward his father. Then back toward the hatch. They meant everything to Rook and he knew it. He'd spent his whole life judging a man he barely knew, and in that moment he knew he owed him nothing less than to make an attempt to save his father's family.

"I've got them," he shouted.

And it was the last thing Rook ever heard him say.

Devlin disappeared into the burning cabin below, at the same time Rook took off, swimming towards the sloop with everything he had.

The distance felt impossible, and yet it really wasn't that far.

Seconds stretched into lifetimes, but then Devlin emerged, with Tobin tucked safely beneath one arm, trembling but alive. His other arm wrapped around Bess's neck, guiding the terrified ewe toward the rail as she stumbled through the smoke.

Thank the Twelve. All fucking Twelve. He saw Rook. Their eyes met. And Devlin smiled.

It wasn't brave or defiant. Just utter relief.

He had them. He'd saved them. One step towards the rail and the powder keg exploded.

The blast tore the sloop apart in an instant. Flames erupted skyward, followed by splintered planks and tattered sails. The shockwave hurled Rook beneath the surface once more, leaving only ringing silence where the explosion had been. It had been so disorienting that it was nearly a full minute before he managed to find the surface again, lungs burning in desperation as he broke free from the suffocating sea.

The mast was gone. The deck was gone. He dove again. He dove until his lungs burned.

Again.

Again.

Again.

But he found nothing, because there was nothing to find. The home Rael had left him was nothing more than burning wreckage drifting across the waters.

By the time someone dragged him ashore, darkness had begun settling over the coastline. And all Rook could hear was the muffled shouting of various people as they hurried to rescue more and more people from the sea.

Buckets passed from hand to hand. Healers hurried through the smoke. Apparently they'd been closer to the harbor than anyone had realized, and it wasn't just his sloop, and Valori's that had caught flame but countless others from debris that had rained down upon the docks. Rook barely noticed.

Zeus found him first. Vox followed close behind. Both dogs stood beside him in complete silence.

His gaze moved past them, seeing and yet not seeing, the flames a never ending chain reaction of distraction. Until he saw her. Talia.

She lay near the end of the dock where the explosion had thrown her. A jagged beam had pierced her side.

She was still breathing, but barely.

Though he didn't remember doing so, he rose to his feet. He crossed the dock on unsteady legs and dropped beside her without a word. She turned her head just enough to look at him.

For years there had been things neither of them had ever said aloud. And there was no time for them now. No time to ask her why she'd always been so stubborn and hadn't just stayed home with her husband like he'd asked. No time to tell her how much her friendship, her love, had meant to him. No time for... well, any of it.

He took her hand, and it trembled once in his before she lightly squeezed it. She couldn't even say his name as a single tear rolled down her ash stained cheek.

He lowered his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

The kiss was gentle.

A goodbye spoken without words, and when he lifted his head, her hand slipped quietly from his fingers, her eyes seeing him, and yet looking far beyond to a place he could not reach. He remained there long after she was gone, until the sound of a ship half crashing, half docking, finally reached his ears. Followed by hurried footsteps across the pier. If it was the menders, they were too late.

"Rook!"

Valori?

She looked past him toward the burning remains of the sloop, her eyes then searching the water.

"Where's Devlin?"

Rook didn't answer.

"They were only supposed to scare you," she said, her voice shaking. "They were supposed to help me bring him home."

Silence.

"I told them not to hurt him."

Still nothing.

"They weren't supposed to burn the ship."

Her words caught in her throat as she looked at the empty sea.

"Rook, you bastard, where is my son?"

Slowly, he stood. He let Talia's hand rest gently against the dock before turning to face Valori. And for the first time since she'd arrived, she truly looked at him.

There was no grief left in his face. No anger. No hatred. Only a vast emptiness.

She took one step backward.

"I... I didn't mean..."

Each step seemed heavier than the last as Rook made his way towards her. Until he finally settled his hand gently against the side of her neck. Until she finally understood.

Whatever apology, whatever lie, whatever scheme she had been ready to deliver, died before it reached her lips thanks to one sharp twist.

A crack echoed across the harbor and Valori collapsed into the sand.

But Rook? He didn't even look down at her corpse. He stepped over her body and over the remnants of obliterated crates. He walked like a ghost, slipping through the hired hands that had come running along side their mistress only to stand stone still now, shock painted upon their faces.

The patched rail no longer matched the rest of the hull. A stubborn hatch finally stopped sticking. Devlin spent an entire afternoon sanding the cabin table only for Bess to decide the fresh wood made an excellent place to stand with muddy hooves.

Cross drifted in and out of their lives the way only an outlaw could.

Sometimes he brought Rumble to Rook for a job.

Sometimes the three, or four if Tal was visiting, of them would play a hand or two of cards and dip into late Captain Rael's aged whiskey stash.

He never stayed long though.

Just long enough to tease Rook about the state of the sloop, claim every repair had somehow made her uglier, and remind Devlin that any man who willingly worked for his friend deserved hazard pay.

Then he'd tip his hat, whistle for Rumble, and disappear back toward Thanalan before anyone could ask where he'd really been.

Talia visited whenever life allowed.

She never asked, and in fact ignored Rook's request that she stop visiting on account of being a married woman now. She'd just climb aboard, declare the cabin too small, the coffee too strong, and the company acceptable.

Rook always made her tea exactly the way she liked it.

And Tal still beat him at chess anyway.

Every single time.

Bess quickly became known along the docks. Not because she behaved, but because she was an unbearable nuisance.

She developed an uncanny talent for finding unattended vegetables, freshly washed laundry, and flower boxes that someone cared deeply about.

Before long the merchants had stopped chasing her.

Whenever they spotted a wandering ewe, they simply looked toward Rook's sloop and sighed.

The dogs had settled into lives of their own too. Dev had recieved word that the hounds Kael and Neri were now happily rehomed in Gridania to a woodwailer who hunted those who sought to violate the Twelveswood.

Zeus always claimed the space near the bow whenever they sailed and he seemed more at peace than Rook had ever known him to be.

Vox watched every harbor as though she were personally responsible for its security.

Tobin remained as goofy as ever, giving Dev and Rook a never ending supply of reasons to shake their heads. Making friends with anyone in his vicinity no matter what the job was, or where they docked.

More weeks passed.

The wind shifted.

A crate slid.

Zeus barked once, Tobin threw himself in front of it with more enthusiasm than sense, and Devlin caught it before it reached the rail.

The sloop docked.

The lines were already tied before Rook released the helm.

Then one afternoon another captain watched them unload their cargo with quite the impressed expression painted across his face.

"You two make a good team."

The words simply settled over the dock and stayed there. Neither father nor son willing to look too closely at them.

Until it finally happened, weeks later.

Quietly.

Rook was digging through a locker below deck when he heard footsteps overhead.

"Dad?"

He looked up.

Devlin stood in the hatch.

"I ... can't find the new line we got... at last port."

For just a moment they stared at one another. Gods it was so awkward. And then Rook pointed toward the shelving behind him.

"Second crate."

Devlin nodded and hurried over to it, quickly riffling through the box.

"Found it."

Neither mentioned the word. Because they didn't need to. Valori had sent numerous letters to Dev, asking when he'd be coming home with coin, reminding him of his knightly duties, so on and so forth. They went unanswered. Rook hadn't tried to explain the truth to his son because it was his word against hers, and he had no desire to encourage Dev to hate his mother. But it was becoming clearer and clearer that his son was starting to make up his own mind and perhaps even take steps towards the future and away from the past.

By the end of summer, the sloop no longer felt borrowed. There were two mugs hanging beside the galley. A second blanket folded at the foot of the spare bunk. Boots by the cabin door that weren't Rook's.

Fresh scratches in the deck from Zeus launching himself ashore every morning. Teeth marks on one unfortunate crate, courtesy of Tobin. A permanent patch of stubborn wool caught beneath the stairs where Bess insisted on squeezing through despite never fitting.

Every mark told the same story.

A family lived here.

One evening, after another ordinary cargo run, supper was finished before sunset. No repairs waited. No commissions demanded an early departure.

The harbor glowed beneath the fading light. Zeus slept beneath the tiller. Vox watched the horizon with half closed eyes. Tobin snored loudly enough to startle himself awake before immediately falling asleep again. Bess chewed thoughtfully on a length of rope she absolutely wasn't supposed to have.

Devlin leaned against the mast, content to watch the water without saying much of anything. Rook sat beside him with an iced glass cooling his hands. The laughter of Tal and Cross making their way back from the nearby market with extra supplies for whatever celebration the outlaw had concocted filled the air.

He looked around the deck. At the patched rail. The dogs. Bess. His son. People he loved coming aboard.

It struck him then that he hadn't thought of the sloop as Rael's in a long time.

She wasn't. Not anymore.

Devlin knelt beside a cleat (had to google what this was called, it's that metal T shaped piece you tie boats off with in case you too were wondering), worked the rope through his fingers, and finished with a confident tug.

Rook crouched beside him.

He gave the knot a single pull before loosening it with practiced ease.

"Tie it again."

Devlin frowned.

"Why? It would've held."

"It would've."

"Like I said, so what was wrong with it?"

Rook handed the rope back.

"You had to think about it."

Devlin opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He had debated it a bit too long hadn't he?

The rope came apart, and he started over.

Half an hour later he was beginning to understand why sailors cursed.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Devlin groaned.

"No."

"You smiled."

"I did not."

"You almost smiled."

"I almost corrected you."

Before Devlin could say anything back, a booming voice carried across the docks.

"Rook! You ugly bastard, where are ya?"

Both father and son turned toward shore.

A massive roegadyn strode down the dock wearing a worn cowboy hat, leather vest, and enough dust to suggest he'd somehow stepped straight out of Thanalan and onto the docks. Spurs jingled against the wood beneath his boots, and one gloved hand rested lazily near the revolver at his hip.

Beside him walked the largest red chocobo Devlin had ever seen. The bird carried itself with all the swagger of its owner. And he seemed really fucking angry for no good reason.

Cross tipped his hat back and looked up at the sloop.

"I see they finally let you captain somethin'."

Rook folded his arms.

"They didn't."

Cross grinned.

"So you stole it."

"Inherited."

"That somehow makes less sense, but I reckon you never did make much to begin with."

Without waiting for permission, Cross stepped aboard and gave one of the railings a firm shake. The wood answered with a pleading creak.

"Hell, she's got more complaints than my knees."

"She's older than your knees."

"Barely."

Devlin watched the exchange with quiet amusement.

Rook noticed.

"Cross."

The oversized outlaw turned.

"My son. Devlin. Dev, that's Cross and Rumble, my bird."

Cross's expression softened just enough to notice before disappearing beneath another crooked grin. He crossed the deck and offered his massive hand.

"Cade. Folks mostly call me Cross though."

Devlin shook it.

"Devlin."

"Good grip." Cross nodded approvingly. "You'll do."

He glanced toward the loose coil of rope at Devlin's feet.

"He's makin' you tie knots already?"

"For the better part of an hour."

Cross barked out a laugh and leaned against the mast, fishing a cigar from his pocket before thinking better of lighting it aboard someone else's ship.

"You know," he said, "First day I met this sorry excuse for a sailor, he beat me in a card game."

"You lost fairly", Rook argued.

"I absolutely did not."

"You wagered Rumble."

"I'd been drinkin'."

"You'd been cocky"

"I was optimistic."

Cross looked toward the great red chocobo waiting patiently on the dock.

"Thought I'd win him back next hand."

"You didn't."

Cross shrugged.

"Figured anybody stubborn enough to beat me deserved him."

He looked toward Devlin.

"Best damn mistake I ever made."

Rook busied himself checking another line, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him for only a second.

Cross noticed.

"So he does smile."

"I'll throw you overboard."

"You've threatened that every year for a decade."

"And one day I'll mean it."

Cross laughed as he stepped back onto the dock.

"I've got a shipment needs movin' before noon. Just wanted to see if the sea had spit you back out yet."

"It tried."

"Clearly."

He tipped his hat toward Devlin.

"Take care of the old bastard."

"I was about to say the same to you."

Cross let out another booming laugh.

"Kid's got a sense of humor. There's hope for him yet."

With a whistle to Rumble, the rancher started back down the dock, raising one hand without looking back.

Rook watched until he disappeared into the morning crowd before turning toward Devlin once more.

He tossed him the rope.

"Again."

Devlin looked at the knot he'd just finished.

He sighed, untied it without complaint, and began weaving it together from memory.

This time, when Rook tested it, the knot didn't move.

"That'll hold." "I Know."

It wasn't much.

Cross leaned back in his chair, "Long as it ain't for gil."

"It's not."

Rook glanced over the top of the deck.

"What is it son?"

Devlin hesitated just long enough to make both of them curious, or perhaps because it was unnerving him less and less when Rook called him son. He was after all.

Dev cleared his throat, "Is there... something between you two?"

The room went still.

Cross looked at Rook.

Rook looked at Cross.

Then both of them broke.

Cross laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the edge of the table, while Rook covered his face with one hand, shaking his head as a rare, genuine laugh escaped him.

"Oh, that's rich," Cross managed between breaths. "Kid... no."

He finally caught his breath and pointed a thumb toward himself.

"I like women."

Rook's laughter settled into a grin.

"And after all these year of knowing him, I'd have noticed if that changed."

Cross nodded solemnly.

"I've worked very hard to establish a reputation."

"You certainly have."

Devlin blinked between them, "I just thought..."

Cross's expression softened.

"I get it."

He looked over at Rook for a moment before shrugging.

"Truth is, he's about the closest thing I've got to a brother."

Rook met his eyes and gave a small nod.

"Same."

For a brief moment, the teasing disappeared, replaced by the quiet certainty of two men who'd crossed too many roads together to bother saying much more.

Naturally, Cross ruined it.

"Still prettier than him, though."

Without looking up, Rook flicked a playing card across the table, and it smacked Cross squarely in the forehead.