Chapter Text
Kent likes the weather in Serkonos.
In Dunwall, it either rained or it didn't. Rarely does Kent get to see the sun, the moon, or the stars glistening like diamonds in the sky like he can in Serkonos.
He knows the others don't agree with him. They rather like the faint drizzle or complete downpour back in Dunwall; they claimed it gave the city some character.
It's been about a year since they'd left Dunwall, aboard a ship off to Serkonos, and not a day passes without Kent thinking of the metal city, all jagged edges and sharp corners. Serkonos is less metal, more…curved. Smooth lines and angled designs, carved into polished wood or stone. If Dunwall is a gloomy rigid guard, decked in a thick uniform, sword by the side, then Serkonos is the whimsical spouse, dancing in a flowing skirt, hair fluttering in waves.
Kent likes Serkonos, and he likes his new job more, and yet, the small bits of news of Dunwall he hears from sailors draw him in, drenching him in a thick pool of longing, a deep ache making his heart clench.
Today had been rather quiet, and Kent likes it. It means less business, of course, but money is not an issue, and he is glad to have some time to hum songs, whistle nostalgic tunes from Gristol.
He eyes the wooden clock at the end of the table, eyes focused on each tick and jerk of the clock hands. He tears his eyes away to look out of the large glass panels at the front of the clinic. An amber glow seeps through lazily, the faint warmth calling for Kent to go home.
He is thinking of a warm bowl of stew and the rich, bitter taste of good whiskey. He closes the worn leather book on the table, returning it back into a drawer. The pens go back into boxes, and he glances at the clock once more.
A smile inches its way to his face, and he stretches his arms, a sigh leaving his lips.
He gets off from the creaky chair, and moves over to the one wooden door in the clinic. His fingers barely touch the smooth knob, when-
It slams back into him, hard knock on his forehead.
Kent hisses at the blossoming pain, and the door stills with a creak, seemingly guilty at the unexpected assault. Kent's eyes are closed, and he rubs his head indignantly, a shard of frustration sinking in.
"We're closed." His voice comes out rough. "Whoever it is, you ca-"
And he stops.
His eyes are open, and the new presence wedged between the door stares back, blinking slowly.
Even without the telltale thick, high-quality coat, Kent can recognise this clean-shaven man a mile away. His long hair sits in layers, framing an angled face, with a pair of sharp brown eyes to complete the look.
"My apologies. This is urgent."
The man's voice is melodic, a smooth timbre, and it is downright pleasant to listen to. A small scar sits above his eyebrow, but the flaw is so minimal on his face.
Kent freezes.
He knows this man.
The man winces a little, eyes falling off Kent down to his arms, which are clutching something close to his broad chest.
The eyes rest back on Kent, and Kent dares not move, frozen still. The gaze is light, curious, his facial expression carefully neutral, but Kent swallows anyway, as a wave of fear roots him to the ground, pain in his forehead all but forgotten.
The eyes don't widen in recognition, and Kent shuffles back, quickly regaining his composure.
"What is it?" He asks.
The man pauses, weight shifting between both feet, and then Kent's eyes catch a movement between the man's arms.
There is a towel draped over…something, something that is twitching and squirming in the man's large hands.
"It's…" The man walks to the table, and settles the blanketed shape down.
The towel comes off, and Kent can only stare blankly at what's underneath.
Two bright eyes, triangular tufts for ears, small body covered in black fur.
A cat.
"…I'm not a veterinarian." Kent says carefully.
The man's lips tighten to a line, Kent's heart jumps at the motion.
"I know, but she's hurt."
Kent then sees the patch of blood soaked into the towel, and he sighs internally. He pulls on his gloves, and gingerly lifts the…cat's…paw. The man stands quietly by the side, watching.
A large gash has opened at its belly, thick blood gushing out, so warm against his hand.
He opens another drawer, takes out a needle, thread, and his hand hovers over the box that holds numbing cream. He doesn't know if it works on cats, and he leaves it, quickly sterilising the needle.
He ties the first knot. The silence hanging in the air feels like a tangible thing, and it doesn't help that the man beside him is shadowed by dimming rays, looming over heavily.
"So…are you from here?" Kent asks, because the other option is cowering in a deathly silence under the watchful eyes of the man, and Kent needs a distraction.
"Yes. No." The answer comes out as a hum.
"Where did you find it-her?"
"She picked a fight with a stray wolfhound for food."
Kent snorts, his nimble fingers still working to stitch up the broken skin.
"Are you from here?"
The deep voice, although quiet, fills the room in a boom, weighing down on Kent's shoulders. Kent's hand tremors once, and he chances a quick glance up.
The gaze on him is piercing, penetrating…so sharp that it actually makes Kent's thoughts scurry away for fear of being read.
His eyes drop away instantly, but the suffocating pressure remains.
"So?" The man prompts, and Kent swallows.
"Uh…no." Kent replies.
The man remains silent after that, and goes to settle down in an empty chair across the room.
Kent's shoulders fall, just a little, and he quickly works on sealing the wound, his world narrowing to his fingers, and the broken skin of the small animal. The world returns back into view when a bandage is tied off, and Kent is once again aware of the man's eyes, so knowing, so heavy.
"How much?"
Kent freezes at the question, and he forces himself to release a shaky breath.
"Fifty coin."
The man pulls out the said amount and hands it over. Kent takes it, careful not to touch his hand, and deposits it into a metal box.
The man then walks over, and picks up the tiny cat, wrapping it in the towel. His hands are massive, calloused, but he is gentle, and the cat nestles back into his arms.
"Thank you."
The smile that etches on the man's face looks so out of place, and Kent stares, before he nods, because his throat feels too dry to say a single word. The man then opens the door and steps out, and Kent lets out a long sigh of relief.
Kent shoves the metal box in his bag, which makes a loud clattering noise, and he tries not to wince. He then slings his bag over his body, and ties the waste bag with a knot, before he finally retrieves the keys.
It is dark out already, and Kent silently hopes that his brothers will leave at least some stew for him. He locks the door behind him, and then freezes at the large mass standing in front of the shop.
He startles, his grip on the waste bag slackens, and it tumbles down to the ground.
"Wh-why are you still here?" The question blurts out hurried, panicked, completely unintentional.
The man tilts his head to the side, and Kent can faintly make out the silhouette of his body. There is no large flowing coat, but he still cuts an intimidating figure, silent, poised, just like…him.
"I was wondering if you knew a good inn around." He says, voice still frighteningly stoic, spoken by one so unconcerned, while Kent is close to turning tail and making a run for it. Except that he won't get away.
Kent picks back up the bag, trying to reel his nerves in.
"I uh…" Kent scans his surroundings. It is an unconscious action. There is nobody around. The place is deserted. If he screams-
"I'm...not going to hurt you." The man says with a resigned sigh.
Kent just remains paralysed, unable to move. He knows.
"I just want to know where an inn is." The man says softly.
"I-" Kent bites his tongue.
The man sighs once more, turns, and then Kent calls him back on impulse.
"Attano, wait. I-"
Kent once again stills when none other than Dunwall's Royal Protector stops in his tracks.
"There's...an inn. But it's run by…" Kent trails off.
There is a pause.
"…I don't mind." Attano says.
"Uh…right. Okay." Kent stammers off, picking up the waste bag and moving off.
The famed bodyguard follows, his footsteps unusually loud. It's probably for Kent's benefit, he thinks, because the lack of noise terrifies more than reassures, and this way, he can at least gauge how far Attano is from him.
Kent is regretting his decision by the time the fifth minute rolls by, with nothing more than the Royal Protector's footsteps to fill the air.
Attano isn't necessarily feared by his brothers, more respected than feared, but Kent has always been timid around strangers, and it had taken years for him to be comfortable around his brothers.
The last he saw Attano, the man was poisoned, pale, very weak. Then a few hours later, Thomas reported his escape, and yet a few hours later, he was summoned back to his master's office. His master was pacing up and down, not unusual of course, but his face was contorted with pure confusion.
"The key's gone."
Was all his master said, all while rubbing his neck, grunting. Was he choked out? Kent didn't dare ask.
By the end of the day, his master and a few of the whalers were aboard a ship off to Serkonos, all while the loudspeakers were faintly blaring of Emily's return, and of Attano's innocence.
"Why…have you come to Serkonos?" Kent asks, turning back. He ducks back immediately when Attano looks at him.
Did he come here to kill his master? No, he had his chance back then, but didn't take it. What if he changed his mind-
Then Kent would be sending all his brothers- and master - to death.
Kent pales.
"A holiday. The…empress ordered me to take a few weeks off."
He seems faintly sheepish, which only serves to confuse Kent further.
"Are you-" He chokes on a glob of saliva and coughs.
"Are you alright?" The question comes right behind him, and Kent jumps back, still coughing.
The Royal Protector shuffles, the crumbling sound of sand grating against the floor feeling oddly like an apology.
"I- I'm fine." Kent forces out, taking a few steps back until the distance between them is more comfortable.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Attano repeats quietly.
Kent just breathes in, and out, and resumes walking. Hesitant footsteps follow, and Kent resolves not to look back and make a fool of himself like a damned child.
His brothers have asked his master about Attano once, during dinner, and his master turned very quiet, very still, like a wolfhound ready to attack.
The spoons clanking against the bowls became deafening, and each one of his brothers tensed up, knowing they had breached an unsaid boundary.
"I respect him." His master had said, in the gruff tone of his, and the lively chatter resumed a minute later.
Another few minutes pass in silence.
"Are you here to kill Daud then?" Kent can't help but ask.
The Royal Protector stops in his tracks, and Kent peeks back, uncertain.
"…No." The reply is flat, and Kent can't even begin to guess what runs through the man's mind.
"I spared him. I'm not going back on that decision." Attano adds, and it seems sincere enough, although Kent can't be too sure.
They arrive at the inn after a left turn, the bright lights from within illuminating the road. Kent pauses, when a loud cheer erupts from the doors. He should probably tell his brothers - and his master - that Attano is here.
"Uhm…" Kent turns back, sees Attano staring back at him, the cat still huddled in his arms protectively.
"I should uh…" Kent tilts his head towards the inn. "Tell them that yo-"
"Hey! Kent's back!!"
Kent startles, a small yelp escaping him, as he swerves back to see a cheery Feodor at the doorway.
"We thought you got dragged off by that Serkonan girl again."
Kent flushes deeply.
"Who's tha…" he stops. "…Fuck!!"
The door slams back, rattling at the edges, and the flush only deepens. Kent hopes Attano can't see how red he has become.
"The fucking Royal Protector is out there!!" The yell is barely muffled, and a loud crash makes Kent jump.
There is hissing, another crash.
Then silence.
Kent casts a quick glance back at Attano. He is shuffling again, shifting the weight between both feet.
"Uh…" Kent is at a loss of what to do. "Uhm…I should check on them first..?"
Kent then scurries in, leaving the Royal Protector standing outside.
The tables are occupied by about ten of his brothers, and a chair lies on the ground, oddly splintered.
"Kent! You idiot!! Why is he here?!" Feodor whispers aggressively. The young whaler, blond-haired, looks very alarmed, a huge contrast from the usual cheery demeanour he puts on all the time.
"He…needed a place to stay, so-"
"He'll kill us!!"
"He said he wouldn't hurt us."
"And you believed him?!"
Kent is knocked on the head by Devon.
"I'm not here to kill anybody." The new voice, soft, yet somehow rising above the ruckus, makes everyone startle.
A painful silence follows, everyone's eyes trained on the Royal Protector, who has somehow - in a span of a few seconds, without anyone noticing - reached the second floor, and is staring back down at the frozen men.
Now that Kent has a clear view of the man, he notices that Corvo is wearing a thin white collared shirt, a grey coat (that comes to his hips), pants in a darker shade of grey, and leather boots. Simple clothes, nothing silken or fanciful like the embroidered clothes he wears in Dunwall. He's dressed like a middle-class Serkonan, acts like one too, in the way he slouches over the railings. But Kent knows, from stories told by his patients, that he can be imposing and very intimidating in court.
Corvo’s hair is as long as Kent remembers, thick brown strands falling nearly to his shoulders. It doesn’t look messy though, it’s combed and neat. His gaze on the whalers is mild, nothing like the ice-cold, indifferent one he possesses when dealing with unreasonable nobles back in Dunwall.
"Uhm…Cor-Lord Attano. It's…uh…a pleasure." Devon, the best quick-thinker among them, greets, in a balanced enough tone that it seems natural.
"You are…uh…very welcome here of course. Ah yes, very welcome."
Devon exchanges ferocious glares at his brothers, jabbing the one closest to him, and they all nod vigorously.
Attano looks down to the small bundle in his arms, and then asks,
"Do you have some hot milk?"
The question is bizarre for all except Kent, and Kent is the first to move.
"I'll get some."
Attano nods in thanks.
"Uhm…There's an empty room on the third floor. It's the second one on the left. The first is uhm…occupied." Devon tells him, and Attano briefly says a word of thanks, before disappearing up the stairs.
"You're another moron! You just gave him the room next to Daud's!" One of his brothers hisses.
"There are no other rooms available!!" Comes the indignant reply.
Kent sighs as he heats up some milk on a stove, nerves still on overdrive. His brothers continue arguing, and Kent tunes it out, focusing instead on the milk.
His brothers eventually quieten down, and by then, the milk is warm, almost boiling. He pours the milk into a shallow bowl.
The pot of leftover stew lies on the next stove. Has Attano eaten anything yet? Kent pauses for a while, before he gets another bowl and fills it with leftover stew. He places both bowls on a tray, and steps out of the kitchen.
He is stopped by Feodor at the doorway.
"Why is Attano here?"
"He says he's on holiday."
"Holiday?" Devon snorts, popping in.
Kent nods, and Devon's eyebrows raise.
"Wait, you're serious."
Kent is quiet.
"Oh, by the Void. You're serious."
"Where-how did you meet him?"
"He…showed up at the clinic."
"He's injured?"
"No, not exactly. He brought in…a cat…who was injured."
A disbelieving pause.
"A cat?"
A nod.
"A cat?"
Nod again.
"So…what you're saying...is that the mighty Lord Protector, the very same person that makes nobles run out of meetings crying, brought in an injured cat, for you to heal."
Kent feels so stupid nodding again.
"By the Void. This is absolutely ridiculous."
Kent tries not to blush, shrugs instead, walking past his two brother to bring the tray up the stairs before the milk goes cold.
His heart is palpitating by the time he's on the second floor, and he almost spills some stew at the third floor. He is thankful his master, Daud, is out. He doesn't think his nerves can go through any more stress for the day.
The door of the second room on the third floor is closed, ominously so, and Kent takes a deep breath before knocking.
The door opens after a few seconds, and Attano leaves the door open, retreating back into the room for Kent to come in.
Kent settles the tray down on the only wooden table in the room, and looks up at the man, who is leaning against the wall at a far corner, well aware of the distance he's placing between Kent and himself.
The thought that Attano is trying to make himself less intimidating is a strange one, and Kent banishes it from his mind as quickly as it comes.
"I brought some food for you, uhm, if you haven't eaten."
Attano is surprised, and then he smiles softly at Kent.
"Thank you, Kent."
His name rolls off Attano's tongue gently, as soft as a petal descending to the water surface. It reminds Kent that the same pleasant voice was forced to produce screams and yells of pain in Coldridge, until the man himself has no strength to even move. Kent shudders. It makes Attano’s mercy and neutrality even more admirable, and Kent decides he respects the man very much so.
He watches as Attano brings the milk to the small cat, who licks it tentatively when brought near. Attano's expression softens, and Kent can't help but think of the horrified expression he made when…Jessamine…was killed.
"Uhm…if you need anything else-"
Attano's eyes barely graze him, but Kent jumps as though he'd been stabbed. Attano blinks at the reaction, his eyes going even softer.
"S-sir." Kent adds, stammering.
"Corvo is fine."
"Uhm…right. Lord Corvo, I mean Corvo." The name gets stuck in his throat, and Kent thinks he doesn't have a right to say it. Attano feels too honourable, too…good. Kent doesn't have the right to call somebody like that by first name.
"…Am I really that terrifying?"
The question is a surprise, and Kent has to pause to process it.
"N-no, I just...uhm…"
Kent flushes hard, the reaction clearly not unnoticed.
"…I don't do well with strangers."
Attano says nothing else, lays a hand over the cat, gently stroking it.
Kent thinks to leave; his brothers are probably dying to know what happened. Then he wonders how Attano figured out he was a…whaler.
"C-can I ask you something?"
"You may."
"How did you know I was a…" Kent trails off.
Attano's hand on the cat stills, and he looks up at Kent.
"The stitches. They're the same pattern as the scars on…Daud."
Kent's eyes dart to the cat. The gash is barely visible from the side.
"You also acted strange when you first saw me. I just put two and two together."
Kent flushes a little once more. Attano gives no comment about it, and Kent decides to leave the man alone. He excuses himself, and heads back downstairs, his heart still racing.
Feodor is the first to say something when he appears back on the first floor.
"Did…did he hurt you? Threaten you?" He asks, a furrow in his eyebrows.
"No. He was…" Kent struggles to find the right word. "…gentle."
"Gentle?" Devon quips in, raising an eyebrow.
"Forget about whether Attano is gentle or not. What in the fuck are we going to tell Daud when he comes back?" Thomas, who returned sometime when Kent was upstairs, joins in the conversation.
"Attano said he wasn't going to kill him." Kent says, feeling an urge to defend the man, somehow.
"I'm not worried about Attano. It's Daud that concerns me. Getting on people's nerves is an irritating habit of his." Thomas grumbles.
"Then we can hide it from him!" This helpful suggestion comes from none other than Feodor, and even Kent rolls his eyes.
"Right, then one day we'll get murdered in our sleep." Devon scoffs.
They argue for a few more hours, before decidedly going straight to bed, knowing fully well that Daud won't return until hours later, and none of them wants to be there to explain to him why exactly, Dunwall's Royal Protector is occupying the room right next to his.