Chapter Text
The next morning starts with a flurry of activity, as the majority of the colony prepares to leave Cassiopeia and continue their summer at sea. Ever civilized, the emperors arrange themselves in a long queue along the shore, waiting for their turn to enter the water. One by one, they waddle toward the edge, clumsy and heavy on their feet, and then transform into graceful swimmers with one clean dive.
The Junior Council stands nearby, waving goodbye and calling last messages to their friends and families. Some may be reunited before the season’s end, others will wait until the migration, and some, although none acknowledge it, may never see each other again.
Sherlock is eager to get down to business. He has already shared farewells with Siger and Olive, and Mycroft is staying berg-side, to fulfil his duties to the Junior Council, and his newly assigned apprentice, Anthea. Sherlock steals a look at them now, standing off to the side.
Mycroft looks entirely too pleased with himself, with his lofty posture and the upward lift of his chin. Next to him, Anthea is just as elegant, radiating an air of understated self-importance. Yes, those two will work well together.
“What are you giggling about, ‘Ping?”
“I was looking at Mycroft. He looks as if he has an icicle rammed up his bum. I think Anthea will be a good fit for him.”
“What kind of good fit?” John says, winking at him.
“You never know, John, the polar cap may still melt in our lifetime.”
The two of them are still snickering into each other’s necks when Sherlock hears a soft ahem from behind them. They flutter apart, wiping down errant feathers, and turn to see Maryle standing there. She doesn’t wait for them to greet her before bursting into tears.
“John,” she sniffs, “could I talk to you for a moment? Alone? It’s just, I’m supposed to leave now, and I don’t know … I don’t know if …”
Sherlock would very much like to ask Maryle to just hack it up already, but John has already stepped forward, his voice soft with concern.
“Of course,” he croons, and Sherlock wants to vomit cephalopod. Instead, he grumbles under his breath, and rolls his eyes when Maryle shoots a vicious glare in his direction.
John and Maryle step a small distance away, but Sherlock cannot be bothered to afford them any privacy. He stands, facing them, and stares. Maryle clears her throat a few times and gives John pointed looks while nodding her head in Sherlock’s direction, but John either doesn’t pick up on it, or doesn’t feel inclined to move any farther away.
Maryle keeps the waterworks going as she explains to John that she’s come to think of him as her only true friend, the only “floe” to which she can cling, now that her parents are gone.
“You saved me, John, and even though I was quite upset at the time, I do understand how much I owe you, and I just want you to know, should I not come back, that you … you mean … the very world to me. And,” she continues, her voice going low, “if I do come back, I hope that we can continue to get to know one another, and continue this very special friendship.”
It’s John’s turn to clear his throat now, as Sherlock crosses his wings over his fluff-scattered chest and raises one eye. He hopes that John’s guano-radar is on high alert.
“Maryle, you are so sweet, and it was very kind of you to share these … sentiments with me. I would’ve done for any penguin what I did for you, and I will do it again if required. You just stay safe out there, okay? Stay near my parents, and Harriet, if you’d like, and don’t go out on your own, and I’m sure we’ll run into each other back at Pobeda.”
Sherlock does a tiny victory dance on his feet, a shuffle-shuffle-skid-skid number, and shakes his tail feathers. Maryle glowers at him.
“Thank you, John. Perhaps I will stay close to Harriet. That’s a good idea. I only wish … I wish …”
Sherlock sighs and scans the trudging lines of pengs in front of him. Maybe he can find Harriet and call her over to help move things along.
“I wish there’d been a place for me on the Junior Council. I’d feel so much safer here on dry berg, than out there … in the … where my parents …” Maryle starts sobbing.
Sherlock drops his head to his chest and groans. She has got to be kidding. Could she be any more transparent? He considers. Perhaps if she were of the Cranchiidae family, with their sixty-some kinds of glass squid, she could be a bit more transparent.
“Oh!” he hears John say, caught off guard. “Well, I mean, I didn’t know, none of us knew, I’m not sure what the process was, but if you’d like, I could talk to someone, I’m not really sure –”
This has really gone on quite long enough. He’s going to need more than Harriet. Sherlock swivels 180°, then again in reverse, until he spots who he’s looking for. He gives a sharp call, and the other peng twists around, sees Sherlock, and waves. He drops to his belly and toboggans down a short but steep slope, picking up good speed. He slows himself by dragging his wings as he gets closer, comes to a complete stop near Sherlock’s side, then bill-plants and pops back up.
“Good day, young Sherlock! How are you this morning?”
“Hello, Elder Erebus. I am very well, thank you. How are you?”
“Quite well, indeed, thank you for asking. Can I be of some assistance?”
Sherlock flaps a wing in John and Maryle’s general direction, and explains. “Maryle is worried that she'll be devoured in the open sea, and thinks that a role on the Junior Council, with John, may be just what she needs to stay safe.”
Erebus looks over at the other two pengs and considers. John is still blabbering about what he may or may not be able to do to help her, and Maryle is trying to dredge up more tears. After observing the situation, Erebus turns back to Sherlock and says, “Leave it to me, young Sherlock.”
Sherlock watches Erebus make his way to the disaster taking place. He looks so regal and refined, and Sherlock experiences a surge of pride that this distinguished bird is his friend.
John stops talking when Erebus reaches them, but forgets to close his bill. Erebus bows low to Maryle, and greets John with a pat on the back. Maryle bobs in response, but immediately looks suspicious. She squints over at Sherlock, and he smiles and waves.
“Good day, my young friends. It’s a beautiful morning to commence travel, don’t you agree?”
John turns to Sherlock and cocks his head to one side.
“John, might I look at your shoulder?”
John nods. Erebus leans in and takes a good look, mhmm-ing as he does so.
“It’s looking quite well, don’t you agree, Maryle? He really has been most fortunate. Not all wounds of that nature heal as nicely. Cetus must be quite pleased.
“And how are you, my dear? I was so saddened to hear of your loss. I realize you only knew them for a very short time, but your stepparents were absolutely delightful pengs, always so generous with their time and energy. They will be sorely missed.
“I've no doubt you were relieved when you heard that Elder Vela had organized a swim pod for those who have lost their parents. You will be chaperoned at all times, and should you need assistance hunting, or with anything whatsoever, they will be there for you.
“Ah, look, here they come now.”
Erebus calls to Vela, and she detours the group toward him.
Maryle is sputtering. John looks completely baffled, but not unhappy with this turn of events.
Then, like the most beautifully orchestrated underwater pirouette, Erebus slips between John and Maryle, wraps one wing securely around Maryle’s shoulders, and begins nudging her toward the approaching group.
“Ah, there you are, Maryle! We’d wondered where you’d gone off to!” Vela says by way of greeting. Sherlock half expects Maryle to dig her claws into the ice and refuse to budge, but with the exception of one imploring look at John, she allows herself to be led away.
As soon as they are safely removed, Erebus rejoins John, and the two of them make their way back to Sherlock.
“Poor thing,” Erebus sighs, looking into the middle-distance. “She must be out of her mind with grief to have forgotten about the swim pod.”
John is busy watching the group tag onto the end of the queue, and misses the smile and wink that Erebus shares with Sherlock.
“Well, now that she's settled, we should probably head to the council grounds,” Erebus says, puffing up his chest with the satisfaction of a situation well-sorted.
“Actually, if it's not too much trouble, Sir, um, Elder, Elder Erebus, Sherlock and I would like to talk with you. Me, mostly, but Sherlock, too.”
“Certainly, John. Why don't we talk on our way to the grounds? What's on your mind?”
Erebus leads the way, with John at his side. Sherlock falls a step behind, allowing John all of the elder’s attention. He wants John to feel comfortable with Erebus, and to trust him, just as Sherlock does. He wonders, when John remains silent, if he will have to broach the topic himself, but then John begins.
“Sir, Sherlock and I were talking last night, and he told me a little about you and Selvic. I’m very sorry, Sir, for your loss, and also for what the colony put the two of you through when you were younger. To be honest, it had never occurred to me that wanting to be with someone who wanted to be with you, would ever be anyone else’s business, so I was pretty angry last night.”
John looks back at Sherlock with an okay? look on his face.
“It's true. I’ve never seen you so upset, John. You were very angry,” Sherlock answers.
“I was. And I have a lot of questions about why your parents did what they did. I mean, I know that they did it because they didn’t agree with your decision, but I don’t understand why they didn’t agree with your decision. Actually, I don’t understand why they were involved, at all.”
Erebus, quiet until now, nods and stops walking. He waits for Sherlock to catch up, then says, “I appreciate your condolences very much, John. I can tell that you are a very caring young peng, and that you are struggling with what you perceive to be the injustice of my earlier life circumstances.”
John trills a soft sound of agreement, and holds out his wing toward Sherlock. Sensing that John has established himself with Erebus, Sherlock walks to John’s side, and into the curve of his wing.
“Specifically Sir, I don’t understand why your elders disregarded the lessons taught by Kororā. Not just her spoken words, but the consequences of Pono’s death, too.
“Isn't the Legend of Kororā meant to be a cautionary tale against that type of judgment, Sir? Isn't that why we lost the ability to fly, and why Kororā has never come back? Because a select few decided that Pono was not a worthy mate?"
Erebus looks at John for a long moment before answering. "Indeed. But did you know, that along with those who believe that Kororā was right to choose with her heart, there have always been others who believe that Apo was right?
“These individuals believe that the goddess brought on Pono’s death, and jeopardized her hatchling's life, when she chose the wrong mate. They believe that even the gods and goddesses are fallible, and must suffer the consequences of their misjudgements."
John shakes his head. “Are you saying that these … these pengs … think she deserved what happened to Pono? That her death proves that Apo was right?”
John looks like he’s about to hit something, and Sherlock decides it might be a good time to step in.
"Elder Erebus, excuse me Sir, but that sounds like a purposeful misinterpretation of the legend to suit the wishes of a small contingent of pengs."
Erebus gives Sherlock a solemn nod. "You are both correct. Now, let me ask you this: What would that group of pengs stand to gain by disallowing same-peng pairings?"
Sherlock doesn't want to disappoint Erebus, so he thinks long and hard before answering. "It's not about what they might gain, I don't think. Maybe it's about something they think they will lose, if things were different? Power?"
"Very good. Do you see how?"
He and John look at each other, then both shake their heads.
"Not really, sir."
"That's all right. Most pengs don't learn about colony social politics until they are much older. Same-peng couples do not reproduce, correct? Therefore, they do not need to forage as hard as parent pengs, because they have only themselves to feed. As a result, they have more time, food, and strength. They also have less risk, because their attention is not focussed on keeping a youngster safe. They might live longer, as well, although we can't dismiss the possibility of predator attacks.
"And what happens if some of the colony stops reproducing? If a small group has more than the rest? If some are stronger?"
John has been growing more and more agitated next to Sherlock, and starts answering as soon as Erebus has asked his last question.
"Sir, with all due respect, nothing happens. What percentage of the colony would actually stop reproducing? We already have pengs among us who have chosen not to reproduce, and the colony seems to be just fine.
“And, if we are kind, generous, and community-minded, as we are taught, wouldn't we continue to share our resources, and care for others, anyway?"
Erebus grins, delighted with John’s answer. "Well said, little friend, well said. But, to take this a step further, some pengs believe that same-peng couples will prompt others to select same-pengs, so that they, too, can have more food, time, and energy. They fear that the population of the colony will plummet, leaving us defenceless against the harsh elements, and more vulnerable to predator attacks. Some have even theorized that the same-pengers would take over the Council, and impose their rules on the entire colony. Frankly, they fear all sorts of ridiculous things.
"My parents were these types of thinkers. Keep in mind, there are always those who obtain positions of power by leveraging the fear they instill in others. They use that power to maintain the status quo. That is what Selvic and I came up against, and what kept us apart for so long."
Until now, John has been pressed up close to Sherlock’s side, drawing strength from his presence. Now, he takes one determined step forward, then another, and peers up at Erebus.
“With all due respect, Sir, your parents and their supporters were complete idiots.”
Erebus chuckles and rubs the top of John’s furious little head. “I appreciate your indignation upon my behalf, little one. It would be irresponsible of me, however, to not remind you that no one is all one thing, or another. Each individual is made of many, many, sometimes conflicting, layers. My parents had esteemable qualities, as well as those we’ve already discussed.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to insult them. It’s just hard to imagine a parent messing things up so badly.”
“No harm done, John. We need to join the others now, but there is one last thing I must say before we reach the council grounds.”
Erebus leans down, and Sherlock and John slip closer.
“There are pengs among us, even today,” he confides, “who claim allegiance to Apo’s beliefs. They call themselves Apologists, and they are not to be trusted.”