PART VI: HAVELOCK

He was never going to see the sea again.

The thought occurred to him after his third day bowed over the dungeon stones (Hadn't Martin made a joke about this once? It seemed less funny now.). He'd passed out in the Lighthouse, and re-awakened in the stocks of Coldridge prison- from Regent to convict in less time than it took to enjoy the view.

He could smell the salt from his cell- Coldridge was on top of the ocean after all. Rather than comfort him, it wore a groove in his chest, a spiritual hole of sorts, a constant reminder of what was only a few feet of stone away. It hurt.

It was worse when the wind blew the other direction- there were days when all he could smell were the stink of himself and the cell, and it became painfully clear how fair he had fallen in the world.

Havelock wasn't sure if he should be humbled or bitter- it alternated, it seemed. Some days he thought about what the crown owed him- surely better than the stocks, seeing as he had all but placed the young Empress on the throne himself. Some days he thought about what he owed Corvo- surely better than poison and a legacy forcefully dragged through the mud. Days like that made the shame well so deeply that he felt almost nauseous. He'd rather keep his bitterness.

It was getting harder though. The stocks game him time to think- a leisure he didn't usually partake in. He hadn't made rank through carefully laid plans, but through those split seconds of decision, the brash and reckless sort of choices that sailed or sank a ship. And a little luck. Maybe a lot of luck.

He didn't receive many visitors. The guards who swapped in and out didn't count. Maybe the one who came twice a day to feed him like an infant did. In fact, Havelock had only received one visitor, the day he'd regained consciousness to find his wrists on level with his ears and his back forced into an uncomfortable hunch.

"Good morning, Admiral." Havelock snorted at that. "I thought you'd like to know that Emily has made it to the throne."

"Good." he muttered. "At least one of us did."

"I don't think she intends to kill you, Havelock. You'll live. For however long you're meant to." Corvo came closer and knelt by Havelock's face. Even in a position like this, Havelock wasn't a man to be cowed- he met the would-be assassin's gaze. He was a hard man to read, even without the mask. In the dim light Havelock could barely make out the man's expression.

"I picked your cell out for you. It's close to the sea- close enough anyway. I hope you'll enjoy it."

What do you say to a man who speaks even pleasantries like a threat? It occurred to Havelock that Corvo's abstinence from murder was no indication of his abstinence from revenge. There was a satisfied sort of spite in the man's eyes. Havelock wondered if Corvo had petitioned for his life, or if it was Emily's idea to begin with.

Corvo hadn't stayed long after that. His debriefing of the situation, of the fruit of both their labors, hadn't needed much more elaboration, and the Lord Protector had other things to do than chat with a former Admiral in his little cell by the sea.

If the day were still enough he could hear the sound of the waves. Most days he couldn't though. The window was high and small- there was no way for him to see the water. The ground beneath his stiff and sore knees was painfully still. The smell of salt, it seemed, was all he had left. It hung in the air like a taunt.

A poetic man might say Havelock carried much of the sea in his heart, and that it came out through the eyes. But Havelock was not a poetic man.

Author's Note: I'd like to thank you all for your reviews and your readership, I truly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Edit: I intentionally skipped Daud, as I feel as though he was the only one who received real "mercy" from Corvo. He's allowed to choose his life's path, instead of Corvo forcing his fate upon him. I felt Daud wouldn't have meshed well with the theme of this story.