As unfamiliar as the Commonwealth may be, at least the quiet thrum of the Prydwen's engines reminds Arthur of home. Provided that Proctor Ingram can keep the airship running, they carry with them a piece of the Capital Wasteland with them. The Prydwen serves a more practical function, of course, providing a heavily armed base of operations, but he knows he could have sufficed with little more than a few vertibirds, and any pre-War building with a roof.
But he had asked for the Prydwen, and though he might be young, no sane Brotherhood soldier would dare to refuse the demands of an Elder with Maxson blood.
He turns to gaze out the window of the observation deck, a cigar held between half-gloved fingers. Wisps of smoke curl and coil as they fade into the air. He knows his parents would disapprove of the habit, but it's a vice he can't quite bring himself to break. Knight-Captain Cade had once tried to get him to quit during a routine check-up, reminding him that if an Elder is to die, they should die on the field of battle not to lung disease. Still, the Elder's responsibilities can distract him from only so many youthful flights of fancies, and this is not one of them.
"Captain," drawls Maxson, taking a long drag from his cigar as Lancer-Captain Kells steps onto the deck. He does not need to turn around to know that he's standing there, his hands clasped behind his back as they always are.
"Sir." There are few people Maxson trusts more than the captain of the Prydwen. Kells has never been anything but loyal, and it had earned him the position of the Elder's second-in-command. They'd been through a lot together. He had been one of the first to bend the knee to Maxson when he had been appointed as Elder, but he had also recognised that it would take the young Maxson time to adjust to his new role.
He had been sixteen when the position had been thrust upon him.
Sometimes, he remembers her smile, and the way she used to tell him stories. He had been a squire at the time, and she'd been a Sentinel, but they both knew that while she was next in line, he'd take over as elder the instant he came of age. She hadn't lived to see that day. Sometimes, he remembers that she hadn't been dead a day before they'd started fighting for his attention, and within a week they had thrust her title upon his shoulders.
Sometimes, he remembers Sarah Lyons, and the contrast of her blue eyes against her blonde hair, and he feels like he can't breathe. Would she be proud of the man he had become? Or would she have simply laughed, and ruffled his hair like she always had, and remind him that he still has a lot to learn?
His mouth feels as though he's just swallowed sand. Maxson turns back to look at Kells. "What is it?" It takes an inordinate amount of strength for Maxson to maintain his composure, but even if it had fractured, it would not be the first time Kells had seen him mourn over heir to the Lyons legacy.
"There is someone who would like to speak with you, sir."
Maxson raises a dark brow. "Someone?" he repeats. "Any specifics beyond that?"
"I'm afraid not, sir. She somehow managed to secure passage up the Prydwen with a group of initiates returning from the airport. They claimed to not have notice her sneak aboard."
He takes another long drag from his cigar, trying to disguise his uneasiness. How had someone managed to breach his defences? He had trained his men to be more cautious than that. "Tell me why you did not shoot this security threat."
He does not typically uphold a "shoot first, ask questions later" policy, but the Institute had tried sneaking synths aboard the Prydwen before, and they couldn't afford to be anything but cautious.
If Kells notices his growing irritation, he does not comment on it. "She said she was here on Paladin Danse's instructions. She turned over all her weapons as some sort of 'demonstration of trust' as she put it, and demanded that she speak with you. She would not give her name to anyone but you. She insisted that we wait for Paladin Danse before she explained herself to anyone but you, though Proctor Ingram is attempting to get her to talk."
He narrows his eyes. "You didn't leave her unsupervised, I hope."
"Of course not, sir." Kells is the only one able to make such insolent words seem respectful. Perhaps it is simply because they've known each other for so long Maxson simply can't tell anymore. "She is on the flight deck, with Proctor Ingram, as well as Knight-Captain Larsen and his team, sir."
"Have you managed to contact Paladin Danse?"
"We have tried radioing the Cambridge Police Station where he is meant to be stationed, but Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys informed us that he was not there. All attempts to contact Paladin Danse directly have failed."
Everything Maxson had ever learned advises him to not trust her, to throw her in the brig until Paladin Danse arrives, and can explain the situation to him. If Paladin Danse arrives. For all they know, he might be dead. A part of him hopes Danse is still alive, if not because he is one of Maxson's best soldiers, but because might as well be a brother. Many of those who had followed the Lyonses had left the Brotherhood when Maxson had come into power. Danse had stayed by his side, and had dutifully followed him all the way the Commonwealth.
Against his better judgement, Maxson turns back towards the window with a sigh. "Let her in. Keep a gun on her."
Kells doesn't salute, nor does he ask for permission to leave. The soft pattering of his shoes are the only thing that signals his exit. The observation deck is quiet, silence interrupted only by the click of the door. The door opens a moment later, this time banging against the wall. The hissing hydraulic hinges of power armour cannot mask the sound of clicking heels against the metal floors of the Prydwen.
"Hands in front of you at all times." Ingram's gruff voice is unmistakable. "Is that clear?"
He doesn't hear a response, but by Ingram's silence, he can only assume that the intruder is nodding.
Maxson drops the stub of his cigar in an ash tray. The embers glow faintly as they burn out. "Forgive the precautions we're taking, but how else am I supposed to react to an armed, unnamed woman sneaking aboard my ship?" His tongue is still coated with the taste of smoke. "We don't take too kindly to strangers around here."
The Elder pivots on his heel, turning sharply to look at the intruder. Though the woman's back is to him, and he cannot see her face, the sight of her makes him feel like he's been punched. He knows she isn't standing there, but some, irrational part of him doesn't care. How many sleepless nights has he spent haunted by that golden hair? How many times has he closed his eyes, only to see the images of her body all wrapped in a Brotherhood flag?
"Stop worrying," he remembers her telling him, her blue eyes sparkling. She had taken to wearing a crimson cape after her appointment as elder, secured by a silver brooch engraved with the Lyons' crest. He had been almost as tall as her at that point, and it wasn't long before he was of age, but she still ruffled his hair like he was five all over again. "It's just a simple op. I'll be fine."
He has to remind himself that she's dead. Hell, he had attended her funeral, but his heart still leaps, and for the briefest of moments, it's like nothing had ever happened.
"Sarah?"
Pain flashes across Ingram's weathered visage. She had loved Sarah just as much as Maxson had. They both share the same regret, and he knows she asks herself if anything would have changed if she had gone with her. Would Sarah have lived if Maxson had been there? If Ingram had been there? Or would they have died alongside her? He knows Sarah would never have allowed him to die for her—as the last of the Maxsons, he was too important, and it was her duty to the Brotherhood to ensure that he lived.
But before Ingram can say anything, the woman turns around, and his heart stops. Her hair is the same colour, like golden razorgrain, but her eyes are made of peridot, and not the first washes of blue in sky at dawn. Her features are stronger than Sarah's; a wider jaw, and high cheekbones that draw attention to her familiarly unfamiliar eyes.
"I'm afraid not." Her voice lacks Sarah's innate sharpness—a by-product of being raised in the Brotherhood's militaristic environment. It's softer, almost quiet. If she's curious as to who Sarah is, she doesn't show it. It a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. He does not know if he would be able to bring himself to speak of Sarah to a stranger, to an outsider. Almost everyone under his command knows of Sarah—he had done his utmost to make certain they remembered her—but few of them know the full story.
Ingram appears as though her breath's been knocked from her. She chokes as she speaks. "Sir, this is Ridley... General of the Minutemen. General Ridley, this is—"
"Elder Arthur Maxson," she finishes. Ingram's lips press together, but she either does not notice, or does not care. "We need to talk."
He can barely look the woman in the eyes without wanting to be sick. Instead, he looks somewhere over her shoulder. "About?" He is forced to spit his words between gritted teeth.
Ridley even wears her hair the same way, he notes, pulled back away from her face, and tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. At least she does not have the audacity to be wearing Brotherhood armour. He almost wants to throw her off the Prydwen justbecause of her similarity to Sarah, but if she's the Minutemen's leader, he knows his hands are tied. The Minutemen have slowly been making a comeback, and their progress has been carefully monitored by his scribes. None of them had reported on her similarity to the previous elder.
Still, the Minutemen are a noble group, and he admires them to a certain degree. Few people care for the safety and well-being of the Commonwealth, and even fewer are doing anything about it. The Minutemen have been protecting as many settlements as they can, and even creating new ones. He had heard that they'd relocated their headquarters to what remained of Fort Independence. Its close proximity to the Prydwen had made him consider sending a squad down to check it out, but he hadn't wanted to come across as a hostile force. They have enough trouble with the Institute as it is, they don't need to make an enemy of the Minutemen too.
The General inclines her head, adjusting the cuffs of her blue jacket. He notes with dry amusement that the crest of the Minutemen—a musket crossed by an electric bolt, and crested with three stars—is sewn into her shoulder. How her identity had even been in question, he doesn't know. "I would prefer," says the General, "that this conversation be private."
"You haven't given me a single reason to trust you." When he takes a pointed step towards her, she flinches—something Sarah would not have done. She'd have looked him dead in the eyes, and snapped right back at him with that famous Lyons stubbornness. "For all I know, the instant my men step out of the room, you could try to kill me."
"I'm unarmed."
"If you're the General of the Minutemen, then I expect you know that you don't have to be armed to kill a man."
A lopsided smile tugs at her lips. "Fair enough." She rolls her shoulders back, nonplussed. "Then we will do this with an audience. I spoke with your man on the ground. Danse. He wanted to meet me here, but I did you the favour of finding your Paladin, Brandis, and Danse is preoccupied trying to escort him safely for extraction."
He's so taken aback, the pain in his chest from appearance fades. "Paladin Brandis?" All his reports had informed him that Brandis was MIA.
"Mm," she hums. "Commander of Recon Squad Artemis? He's the last surviving member of his squad. I'd present you with the others' holotags as proof, but..." She looks away, brows half a shade darker than her hair furrowed. "You will have to believe me when I say that none of them met pleasant ends. Their holotags are with Brandis. I thought I would offer him some sort of consolation. He was holed up in Recon Bunker Theta, hoping that his squad would somehow make it out to him alive." She has a Pip-Boy strapped to her wrist, and she frowns down at it as it beeps.
His curiosity must be painted across his face, as when she looks up, she purses her lips.
"That would be Danse. His vertibird's just docked," the General says.
Maxson clenches his jaw. He doesn't trust this woman one lick. The Minutemen aren't nearly as armed as the Brotherhood is, but their network stretches out over nearly half of the Commonwealth, and that makes them dangerous. Within mere minutes, the Minutemen could have an army of furious settlers, and trained soldiers on their doorstep. Just because she reminds him of Sarah does not mean he can trust her.
"You're tracking him?"
General Ridley arches a brow. "Is that a problem? It was his idea. My second-in-command provided the tracker, and I admit I was intending to plant it on him eventually, but it was Danse who brought the idea up. I put it in his armour, and in return he put mine in my Pip-Boy."
"Why?"
She blinks. "Why? Because I represent one of the most powerful factions in the Commonwealth, and your paladin was the only Brotherhood soldier I could find who would give the Minutemen a chance to explain themselves."
He feels like every one of her explanations only raises more questions. "Explain themselves," he repeats. It's not so much a question as it is a growl. Little of what she's saying makes sense. What do the Minutemen want with the Brotherhood, and why did their leader smuggle herself onto a vertibird instead of sending a representative to ask for an audience on her behalf?"
She isn't granted an opportunity to elaborate, the door banging open once again as Danse all but charges into the Prydwen, Brandis by his side. Danse only stops to salute Maxson as he steps onto the observation deck. "Elder Maxson, sir," says the gruff Paladin, his brown eyes briefly flicking to Ridley. She flashes him a warm smile. It seems genuine, but he doesn't know her—or trust her—whether or not to know that it is.
The Elder presses his a hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the headache that's starting to cause black dots dance in front of his vision. "Paladin Danse, I hope you have a good explanation for all of this." He gestures for Ingram, and the others to lower their weapons.
"I apologise, sir, I meant to arrive before the General, but it seems I have failed to do so." The Paladin nudges Brandis forward. "It was thanks to her that I retrieved one of our men."
Maxson scans Brandis from head to toe. He seems rattled, and perhaps a little worse for wear, but otherwise whole. "I see that. Paladin Brandis, report to Knight-Captain Cade for a medical. Knight-Captain Larsen, please escort him."
"Of course, sir."
Brandis doesn't meet Maxson's eyes, keeping his gaze to the ground as he shuffles along, prompted by Larsen to hurry his pace.
The Elder turns his attention back to the General, and Paladin Danse. "You two have five minutes before I lose my patience. I don't appreciate unannounced guests."
"That was on me." Ridley takes half a step, moving in front of Danse. She's too short to properly block the power armour wearing Paladin from view, but the sentiment is clear. "An impulse decision I regret in hindsight, but made for an entrance I'm rather proud of."
Danse lets out an exasperated sigh, as though he has dealt with her too many times for her behaviour to be anything but mildly irritating. "This, sir, is—"
"I know who she is. She introduced herself about five minutes before you got here, and need I remind you, your time is quickly running short."
The Paladin goes to speak, but the instant his mouth is open, Ridley jumps in. "I want to join the Brotherhood."
"You what?" hisses Ingram.
Maxson holds up a hand to silence her. She's too well-behaved to disobey his orders, despite her clear disapproval of the idea. God, he thinks, he needs a drink. "You wish," he repeats slowly, "to join the Brotherhood? Our Brotherhood?"
The General makes a face. "More correctly, I wish to extend an alliance. You do need one of those, right? You've got all the weapons you'll ever need, but you hardly have the manpower for a full-on assault on the Institute as I know you're planning. You need new recruits, more food, more bases, more... Well, everything. The Minutemen can provide that, but we want something else in return. We want to have a man on the inside, seeing that you're not wasting everything we worked for, and that you follow through on your promise to stop the Institute."
"How do you even know about our plans regarding the Institute?"
"While General Ridley's entrance may have been on her, I'm afraid that is on me, sir," Danse says with a cough. "Before you arrived, before the Prydwen arrived, my squad ran into some problems with the local ghoul population. General Ridley was in the area, and offered some assistance. Not only that, but she helped secure ArcJet for us, thus allowing my squad to contact the Prydwen. She continued to assist, and provided us with all the medicine, ammo, and food we needed in order to continue holding the police station. I promoted her to initiate for her contributions. The alliance was discussed later."
If he had needed a drink before, he needs the whole goddamn bottle now. "You should have run this by me, Paladin."
"With all due respect, sir, I had no means of contacting you until after I had promoted her." Paladin Danse straightens, prepared to take on the brunt of Maxson's frustrations. Truth be told, he's too tired to be angry. He can't even look at the General without his stomach twisting, lest he be reminded of Sarah.
He reaches into his pocket, his fingers curling around Sarah's brooch. He had carried it with him at all times since her funeral, swearing only to part with it once the memory didn't hurt so much. He had nearly worn the engraving of the Lyons' lion smooth. "General Ridley," he says.
"Elder Maxson," comes her reply.
"We don't just accept anyone into our ranks," he informs her. "Especially not those whose loyalty lie elsewhere. It takes a lot of time, and effort, and mental acuity to be a soldier in the Brotherhood. Normally, this is where I would ask you what desire lies in your heart to spark this decision to join our ranks, but you've made it clear that you want to see the end of the Institute. We wish to see the Institute's end because we believe technology is too dangerous to be left unsupervised. So I ask instead: why do you wish to see the Institute's demise?"
His question takes her aback, and she chews on her lip so hard that it draws blood. It pools into a crimson bead. He has a sudden impulse to wipe it away with his thumb, but it is swiped away a second later as she runs her tongue over the fresh wound. Her answer comes a second later.
"The Institute killed my husband, and took my son."
The anger in her glittering green eyes is plain enough for anyone to see. Her hands curl into fists by her side.
"I was frozen," she continues, "in a Vault for two hundred and ten years with my husband, and my baby, and when I woke, not only was the entire world a ghost of what it used to be, but my entire family was gone. Everyone I ever loved had either died in the War, or in that Vault. My son Shaun is the last thing I have left of my old life, and I have turned the entire goddamn Commonwealth upside looking for him, only to find out that the assholes at the Institute had stolen him. I respect your cause, Elder Maxson, and I understand your loyalty to your Brotherhood, but understand that this is a little more personal to me than it is to you."
Two hundred and ten years? He had not known that Vault Tech had had the technology to freeze people. She doesn't look a day over twenty five. The entire room is taciturn. Ingram hadn't taken her hand off her gun since he'd ordered her to stand down, but she suddenly drops her hands to her side. Danse seems to have heard this story already, hardly seeming surprised, but still grinding his teeth as though her story angers him just as much as it does her. Kells, meanwhile, suddenly finds one corner of the room interesting.
Maxson bites the inside of his mouth. He knows her rage all too well. It is a grief that only comes with the death of a loved one, but she hadn't just lost the man she'd loved. She had also lost her son, and he does not know the heartbreak of a parent who'd lost their child. Her eyes are full of tears, and she appears to be holding then back by pure force of will.
Her cause is as just as any—perhaps even more so. It is always the soldiers who have lost everything who fight the hardest for the Brotherhood. They have nothing left to give but their lives, and should they find a cause worth dying for, they are just glad to be reunited with the ones they love. Initially, he had not understood why the Minutemen had chosen her as their general. She carries herself with the same authority Sarah had, but she is less of a warrior than most soldiers.
But few precious things can get between a mother searching for her son.
"You will be working your way through the ranks just like anyone else." Maxson's response comes as just as much as a surprise as it does to everyone else in the room. "You will keep me updated on the Minutemen's decisions, and I will do the same for you. If your settlements need protection, I will provide it, but if I require access to traders, you will do your utmost to secure them. If you have food, or supplies you can afford to give, I ask that you give them, but other than that..."
The Elder clasps his hands behind his back, and somehow manages to look the General in the eyes. "You will eat with the rest of the men, you will sleep with the rest of the men, and you will bathe with the rest of the men. If we are not discussing official business between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, you are—for all intents, and purposes—just another one of my soldiers, and you will adhere to the strict code of conduct I expect from my soldiers as long as you are representing the Brotherhood. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes."
He waits for her to notice her mistake. It doesn't take her long.
"Yes, sir," she corrects.
"Good. Then you are hereby promoted to the rank of Knight—the only favour I will do you. Any other rank, you will have to earn, just like anybody else. Paladin Danse will be your sponsor, since it was his idea to induct you into the Brotherhood in the first place. Meaning every mission I send you out on, he will come along to supervise. Your allies are welcome to visit the Prydwen, but I am aware the Minutemen's recruitment standards are different from our own, and I advise that you be cautious. While I will not outright forbid you from inviting a ghoul, a mutant, or a synth up here, you are warned that it is not advised. I am not responsible for how my men treat them."
"Naturally, sir."
He has a nagging suspicion that this might not be a good idea, but Ridley is right in a sense. They need all the help they can get in order to defeat the Institute, and the Minutemen are a force to be reckoned with. It is better for the Brotherhood to be on their good side, rather than their bad side, especially since their headquarters are so close to the Prydwen. "Proctor Quinlan will assign you your registration number, while Knight-Captain Cade will conduct your physical. Paladin Danse will run you through everything else. Dismissed."
Everyone save for Ridley salutes him. A chorus of "ad victoriam" sounds as they exit the room. Danse shoots the General a worrying look as she stays behind, wondering what she's doing, already insubordinate within mere minutes of being a part of the Brotherhood. A glare from Maxson tells him to leave the two alone for the moment.
"Thank you," says Ridley, her sharp features softening. "For giving the Minutemen—for giving me a chance."
He only looks back out the window, suddenly mournful. "I care about them, you know. The people of the Commonwealth," he says.
She meets his eyes, and in that moment, she looks so much like Sarah his heart aches. Her hand finds his own, fingers intertwining. "I know." She gives his hand a tight squeeze before dropping his hand—he finds himself missing her touch, though he doesn't know why. She presses her fist over her heart in a salute. "Sir."
He watches her with narrowed eyes as she turns to leave. As much as she tries to, she cannot hide the faint smile that passes over her features as she exits the deck. "Knight Ridley," he says, but she is already gone.