((Chapter heading from Oh, Grey Warden from the DA:I tavern songs.))

Chapter 7
The Stronghold Lives On

Reg McMillan felt very much like an adult as he approached the Castle. He'd grown up in Diamond City, had always been good in his classes, but had also always known that his future lay outside. The Minutemen had fascinated him since he'd first heard of them. And the Railroad. The history lessons teaching him that they had once been a secret organisation sounded unbelievable. Now, they appeared once in a while and quite openly, wherever there was injustice towards anyone not human. But all that other stuff had of course happened almost a century ago.

Back then, everyone had hated or feared synths, and the Railroad had saved them. Now, they provided intelligence for the Minutemen aside from dispersing the occasional synth hunting gang. The Brotherhood of Steel had been all but swallowed by the Minutemen. And all that in the lifetime of the General, who had eventually retired in favour of her older son, who was a synth himself. That much was true, even though it had happened decades ago, after that son had decided to transfer his mind into the catatonic body of an adult synth. So far, whispered voices and history lessons agreed.

Said mother was rumoured to be still alive and lead the Railroad, or to have died naturally of old age, or to have walked off into the Glowing Sea to join the Church of Atom.

Now Reg was 14 years old, practically an adult, and he had decided it was time to start his career as a soldier. The structure of the Castle was impressive, the fortifications forbidding enough to slow his steps. In accord, two figures rose on the rampart next to a huge cannon. He drew his gun, taking in the distorted features of the ghouls leering down at him. They were dressed strangely in matching shirts with an odd red pattern. 'Have you got no manners?' one of the two shouted, voice destroyed by time and radiation. 'Recruits these days …'

'Oi. Don't scare the young man away.' The other waved at Reg and smiled. It was a woman, he saw, her face scabbed and scarred, but still feminine. Not attractive, that wasn't possible, but not feral at least. Only now Reg saw that the two ghouls were holding hands, their fingers interlocked. He had a feeling they already had been for a while before he'd come near. 'Go on in, head to Extany. Fellow was sitting at the radio last I looked, but he can abandon it for a minute. If you impress him, you'll get to meet the General. We'll be down shortly.'

'Do you live here?' Reg shouted up, amazed. He'd met only very few ghouls. Some visited Diamond City to buy stuff, notably a certain Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor. They usually didn't linger, but sometimes the mayor told stories, and so did one Nick Valentine, the detective that had pointed Reg here in the first place. Tales of a time where ghouls and synths (with the notable exception of Valentine himself) had been forbidden inside. Of the Minutemen and how they'd risen from the grave. Of the huge airship that had long ago been landed and turned into living quarters. Of the Railroad, squatting under a church and hiding. Of the woman who had made it all possible. Hancock was one of those that claimed she still lived, and when confronted with the impossibility of that statement offered nothing but a smile.

'No,' the male ghoul called down, answering Reg's question. 'We live in a submarine, way out on the sea. We only swim ashore when we need food supplies. Fresh limbs from those that were stupid enough to attack the Castle, preserved in a special irradiated room. All that food, just for the two of us.' He licked his lips with gusto.

Reg stared up at them. He'd never heard of ghouls that weren't feral eating people, but then again, he'd never asked.

The other ghoul smacked her mate, all the while wearing a fond smile and never letting go of his hand. 'Freak. We live in Sanctuary, kid, we visit occasionally.' She grinned. 'You want a chat, we'll oblige. But don't believe everything that one tells you. Now chop, chop, don't dawdle. This is the military, after all.'