Actions

Work Header

Dead men tell no tales

Summary:

Desperate to escape an arranged marriage, Alfred fakes his own death and unknowingly boards a pirate ship. Now he has a choice: drown, or join captain Arthur Kirkland's crew.

Notes:

Chapter 1: Southern England, May 1711

Notes:

Hello! So, after I got back into writing for this pairing, I couldn't stop thinking about my old pirate fic.... and I decided to rewrite it :) For those who have already read it: a lot of it will be the same, but a lot will also be different. Also because I've grown a lot as a writer and because I recognize I handled some parts of the story badly due to trying to rush through it. So if you're reading again: I hope you'll enjoy it!

Like before, I'll add explanations if I deem them necessary in the notes at the end. Also: I'm trying to make this story as historically accurate as possible, but I'll take some liberties here and there. Anyway, it'll mean there will be some period-typical attitudes. I'll try and warn at the start of each chapter if I think there might be something that people want to avoid reading.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

At some point in life, every man or woman will have to make an important decision. They might even have to make several important decisions, ones that could potentially change their life forever.

These were exactly the kind of decisions that Alfred loved to avoid.

His parents will blame it on him not wanting to grow up – but Alfred would explain it by simply wanting to be free.

He didn’t care much for matters that concerned work, money or marriage. Not when there was a whole world out there, one that could offer him all kinds of adventures.

Unfortunately life had thrown him a different bone.

He had a pretty amazing and careless childhood, one where he could play to his heart’s content and one where he had the opportunity to learn how to read and write. But eventually his father managed to somehow work himself into a huge debt. By the time his wife and children found out, it’d already been too late.

One of the only solutions was to try and marry their sons off into wealthy families. His brothers didn’t really seem to care as much as he did – in fact, Matthew got along swimmingly well with his fiancée, and Albert was of course still a little too young to really understand what was happening.

But Alfred was the oldest son. On top of having to marry a girl he didn’t love, Alfred would also have to take over his father’s company and, consequently, the family debts. It was a far cry from the adventurous, liberate life Alfred used to dream of as a kid.

The stupidest thing was, that it was actually Matthew who did have the desire to take over the family business. It was Matthew that was good with numbers, finances and everything Alfred had never really bothered to understand.

But Matthew wasn’t the oldest, and therefore his father wouldn’t have it. Silly, really, because as the head of the company, Alfred would probably just end up giving Matthew all the power anyway.

“Alfred, your face is going to get stuck if you frown like that.”

Alfred blinked as a feminine voice woke him from his daydreaming, and he focused on the girl opposite of him.

His fiancée Alice was admittedly quite a lovely girl. She was sweet, dainty and witty. With her long blonde hair, her dark eyes and her petite figure, she was also easy on the eye. But most importantly, she came from a rich English family.

When they first met, she’d looked at him with surprise, obviously having thought he’d look different. Alfred knew he was rather easy on the eye as well – all those years wrestling with his younger brothers, fighting the resident bullies and working on the docks for some spare cash, left him in a good shape.

But he’d never really bothered with the attentions from any giggling girls before, and while he could objectively agree that Alice was attractive, he felt absolutely nothing romantic or physical for her either.

Nevertheless, he remembered his manners, and offered her a polite smile. “Why I thought girls liked a serious man, one with a serious look about him.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed, before sparing a glance to her parents, who were dining with his own parents a few feet away from them. He didn’t really believe that they chaperoned because they feared they would do anything indecent – no, they probably chaperoned because his parents knew exactly how much he disliked this whole arrangement.

They wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow bailed and frankly said, neither would he. Or Alice, for that matter – the two really had nothing in common, and once Alfred figured out she was actually in love with some stable boy from Portugal, he’d given up trying to play pretend too.

He took another sip from his tea and let his eyes wander elsewhere again. Bailing had been on his mind constantly the past few days. Aside from joining the navy in the war against Spain and France, it seemed like it was his only way out. But it tore at him, because he didn’t want to abandon his family, his little brothers.

Yet he was also getting desperate – the wedding date was approaching and he could no longer convince his parents to delay it. No, they decided that once he would turn twenty-one, enough would be enough. He supposed he was already surprised they hadn’t married him off at eighteen.

Alice’s foot bumped against his underneath the table and he nearly spilled his tea, smiling sheepishly when he realized he’d been lost in thought again.

“You know I hate this as much as you do, Alfred.” She began softly. “But we have to look like we’re enjoying ourselves.”

“I don’t see why. They know we both don’t agree with this arrangement.”

“Well, we can’t all have what we want. What would you do instead? Run?” Her eyes widened slightly when he silently shrugged. “Are you going to run?” She accused then, looking a little scandalized.

“Would it be such a terrible idea?” He mused, as if merely entertaining the notion.

“I suppose not.” Alice agreed, surprisingly enough. “It would offer us both a way out. No offense.”

“None taken.” He smiled easily, straightening a little just for propriety’s sake. “I’ve been toying with the idea of just disappearing, starting over somewhere else, see the world. But it’s just wistful thinking.”

Alice looked contemplative for a moment, daintily sipping her tea and studying him with her dark eyes. She spared another sideways glance to their chaperones before leaning forward a little. “Is it? You could stage a kidnapping, or maybe even your own death. There’s a supply ship you could hide on that’s leaving tonight.”

Alfred stayed silent, a little flabbergasted. Apparently she’d thought about this too, or she was a master at improvising.

“Are you serious? I can’t just abandon my family. What kind of a man would do that?”

Alice shrugged. “Plenty of men do so nowadays. Besides, you could earn money elsewhere and send it back home. That way you won’t abandon them completely.”

Alfred leaned back in his chair again, regarding her incredulously. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and suddenly he realized she wasn’t as innocent and dainty as he had imagined her to be. No, there was definitely something adventurous inside her too, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like if they were to marry. Perhaps they could at least become good friends.

But what she was proposing sounded much, much better. Even though the excitement caused by the mere idea entwined heavily with the nasty feeling of guilt inside of him.

“All right, I’ll bite. How do you propose I make my grand escape?” He asked eventually, chuckling when she perked up considerably and leaned forward some more, as if telling him a secret.

“Tonight, you’ll say that you want to take a stroll along the docks. Make up a lie – maybe you’re coming to terms with this marriage and you want to clear your head a little. I’ll be waiting for you at the docks, of course. You’ll have to bring a chicken and kill it, so we can use its blood to stage a kidnapping or fight. Then you hide on the supply ship and by the time anyone figures out you’re missing, you’ll already be on sea.”

“Holy shit,” Alfred said, astonished once more. Apparently, she really spent some time thinking about this. “That’s brilliant.”

“Don’t cuss.”  She reprimanded, raising her teacup for another sip. “There is of course a chance that the supply ship is actually a smuggling ship.”

Alfred pursed his lips – she was right. Smuggling had been at an all-time high in Southern England the past few years, but so far there hadn’t been any violent encounters at all. In fact, the townspeople and supposed smugglers got along quite nicely. Even if the supply ship turned out to be a smuggling ship, they’d probably be sympathetic to his cause. They would just put him to work until he managed to pay them off.

“Still, what you’re saying… this could actually work.”

The realization hit him hard, then. He could start over, or could perhaps even continue sailing. He’d earn money here and there, see more of the world. His family would be heartbroken of course, but he could contact them the moment he settled somewhere. He could explain then, that this would be the best choice for everyone. And Matthew and Albert would have his back… probably.

“Are you sure, Alfred? We can’t stage all this for you to get cold feet.”

Alfred looked at his parents and promptly made up his mind. This really was the best decision or everyone. Matthew could take over the company, something he wanted to do anyway. His parents would no longer have to fret over their oldest son not living up to their expectations. Albert would be sad, of course, but he’d understand eventually. And Alfred could try and live the life he actually wanted to live.

“I’m sure.” He said then, nodding at her. “Thank you for this, Alice. Hopefully this will be in your favor, too.”

Alice gave him a warm and gentle smile, and Alfred knew then that he was doing the right thing.

 


 

 

Saying goodbye on such a short notice was tough, especially since Alfred couldn’t actually say goodbye. He grabbed whatever belongings and spare cash he could easily carry without it seeming suspicious, and spent an hour or so playing with Albert. Matthew was definitely suspicious when Alfred gave him a tight hug, but simply pat his back and ruffled his hair. The look on Matthew’s face nearly made him cave and admit to everything, but he soldiered on.

There was no other way, after all. He tried not to sniffle when he kissed his mother good night, and left to look for Alice near the docks. As promised, she was waiting for him in an alley behind a tavern, smiling sweetly as he approached.

Surprisingly enough, he had no second thoughts. It wouldn’t be a perfect lie, but it could work. The town was dull and hardly anything happened here, but Alfred had made enough rivals here growing up. And the blame could always go to smugglers, of course.

He slung the bag with the dead chicken on the ground, halfheartedly explaining that he stole it from a neighbor. He’d been quick about it, and hoped that the poor animal never felt a thing. Alice refused to help him set up the scene, only offering instructions on how it would look most believable. Once he was done, she carefully ripped a piece of his shirt off and threw it behind her carelessly, explaining that it would now look like there had been a scuffle.

Then she turned back to him and pulled him into a tight hug. “You be careful, Alfred Jones. Don’t you dare get caught or killed.”

Alfred felt fondness surge warmly in his chest for this intelligent girl who had shared his bad luck. If they hadn’t been forced to marry, maybe they would’ve been good friends.

“Thank you, Alice. I hope you and your stable boy work out.”

“He works at the bakery!” Alice huffed, slapping him on the arm and Alfred grinned sheepishly. “Get out of here, you.”

He saluted her with a cheeky smile, before disappearing towards the docks. It was quiet on the streets, what with it being late at night. Most people were inside their homes, dining or getting ready to bed.

Even the ships were relatively quiet. He found the ship he was looking for rather quickly – it was bigger than most other ships docked in the harbor, and looked fancier, too. On its mast was a flag from a well-known trading company, and Alfred ignored the little voice in his head saying this was too easy.

If it was like any normal ship, he had a fair idea of where he could hide for now, like the supply room or weapon room. Hopefully they’d sail far, far from here – he had heard great stories about Virginia Colony and Connecticut Colony, but he’d settle for anything but here, really.

For some reason, it wasn’t terribly hard to sneak onto the ship unnoticed. The men on guard were relieved by another group of men, and Alfred used the distraction to pose as one of the sailors, carrying a crate high enough to hide most of his face. Once on the deck, he easily found a small and vacant weapon supply room.

As he eased himself behind some crates, he felt a little suspicious about how easy this had been. Something felt a little wrong, but he chalked it up to his guilt and anxiety. And what was the worst that could happen, anyway? Eventually he’d get caught of course, but he would just explain his situation, give them the cash he had on hand and offer to work for everything else.

The captain of the ship might be irritated with him, but Alfred was strong and intelligent, and he was sure he could be useful until they’d drop his sorry ass on the next dock available. Just like he intended.

He sighed and tried not to think of his family. He’d miss them terribly, but this was for the best. Perhaps, in a few years, he could return home and reconcile with them. But for now, all he could do was sleep and wait.

 


 

 

Alfred woke slowly. The first thing he realized, was that he wasn’t in his bed or even in his home. He wasn’t on a street after a drunken brawl either, judging by the rocking movement he felt.

Then he realized he was also not where he fell asleep last night. He wasn’t uncomfortably squished between crates of weapons supplies. No, he felt as if he had all the room in the world, and it was also a little colder.

Lastly, he suddenly realized his head hurt like a bitch, and that the drop of temperature was caused by a breeze.

Opening his eyes and squinting against the sudden sunlight, Alfred realized he had to be on the ship’s deck. He sat up quickly, but nearly toppled backwards due to the dizzying headache the movement induced, and had to take a second to sort himself out before he could straighten again. It felt as if he'd received a blow to the head, but he couldn't remember it actually happening.

“Well, if it ain’t the stowaway wakin’ up from his beauty sleep.” Someone sneered, and only then did Alfred realize he wasn’t alone, either.

He carefully opened his eyes again, pleased when it didn’t sting as much as it did before, and spotted several people looming around him. The man nearest to him looked down at him angrily, and Alfred had to swallow down a nasty bout of fear, reminding himself he was on a supply ship.

The best thing to do right now, was to properly introduce himself and to apologize. “I –“

“Shut yer trap! Oi, marooner! Go call the cap’n. Tell ‘im the landlubber woke up.”

Alfred frowned and sat up a little straighter, deciding against standing up just yet. He was well aware that he was already on sea, and he wasn’t about to stand up only to stumble down again. That would only add salt to the wound.

“Yer in some big trouble, laddie.” The man above him then said, and Alfred chanced another look at him. It was only then that he noticed he looked rather odd for a sailor, as if he were a little too rough around the edges.

The other sailors around him had a similar look, and they all looked at him with smug grins, smirks or glares. He was about to voice his confusion when a door slammed shut, and the murmurs and hooting abruptly stopped.

Alfred turned towards the direction of the sound, and raised his eyebrows when he spotted who had caused it.

The man approaching him was dressed rather flamboyantly, if Alfred had to be honest. He wore a spectacular red coat, one that was adorned with golden embroidery. Underneath it he wore a white shirt with ruffles, held together at the top with some kind of gem. On top of a head full of untamed, golden blonde hair perched a hat with feathers and a string of beads attached to it.

Eventually Alfred’s eyes landed on the man’s face, and he was met with what had to be the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. It was almost like they burned right into his soul, and they vaguely reminded him a little of the eyes of a feral cat Alfred had once seen.

The only thing that seemed a little off, were the man's somewhat bushy eyebrows. Alfred was almost tempted to chuckle once he saw them, but the predatory look the man gave him prevented him from making any sound.

He forced a polite smile at what had to be the captain and moved to get on his feet, but a rough shove pushed him back onto the ground and he grimaced at the man responsible, the same man who had sneered at him before.

Something… something felt very, very wrong here. The captain's attire was strange, as was the hostile behavior of the sailors around him. Alfred almost didn’t want to, but forced himself to look up at the mast.

Where a trading company’s flag had hung before, now hung a Jolly Roger. A pirate flag.

“Damn it.” He cursed underneath his breath. What an idiot he was – he'd thought the ship had seemed too big, too fancy and too daring. It had stood out from every other ship, and still Alfred hadn’t connected the dots.

“What was that?” The captain said then, coming to a halt in front of him and glaring down at him. The man rested one hand on his belt, purposefully dragging Alfred's attention to the pistol holstered there.

It took everything Alfred had not to immediately start panicking. What were the fucking odds, after all? Pirates never came to his town! It was just his luck to pick the one bloody pirate ship to ever dock in his town, on the exact day he decided to make a run for it.

He resisted gulping when he looked back up at the captain, who was now smirking somewhat spitefully. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he was a little (a lot) scared – he hadn’t ever dealt with pirates, after all. He only heard stories about them; wonderful ones, that were also absolutely frightening.

“And who might you be?” The captain eventually asked, a British accent heavy in his voice.

“Alfred Jones, sir.” Alfred immediately replied, trying to appear as friendly as he could. One wrong answer or move and he might as well be keelhauled, after all.

“Tell me, Jones. What exactly are you doing on my ship?”

Alfred swallowed, trying not to stutter. “I – I needed to get out of town. “

Some of the sailors around him – no, not sailors, but pirates – burst out in laughter. The captain furrowed his eyebrows (and man, they were disproportionately large, Alfred kept getting distracted by them) at his crew, before glaring back at him with a smirk.

Alfred wasn’t aware one could glare and smirk at the same time, but this man had it down to a fine art.

“Did you realize we were pirates?”

“No. There was a different flag when I boarded.” He admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment when some pirates roared with laughter again.

“Quite a shame.” The captain then said, sounding bored. He turned to the man next to him and nodded sideways to Alfred. “See him to Davy Jones’ Locker.” The captain halted then, tilting his head and eyeing Alfred with some amusement, before turning around and starting to walk away.

Any other time, Alfred would’ve seen the humor of him sharing a name with the metaphor of the bottom of the sea. But right now, he was kind of stuck on the bottom of the sea part, instead.

Two men roughly hoisted him up and Alfred immediately saw that they were in the middle of the ocean. There was no land in sight – he could never swim back to land, and thus he would drown or be eaten by sharks.

“Wait!” He cried out immediately, wrecking his memory for the pretend-piracy plays he used to enact with his younger brother as kids. What was that weird word they used when they needed a break.. It was a French word, wasn't it? Pearl? Parl? No, it was; “Parley! I ask for parley!”

The rowdy men on the deck immediately quieted down, and the captain stopped walking. The two men dragging him across the deck stopped moving as well, but they still held him in their grips. The captain suddenly turned around with an irritated snarl, walking back over to him with large steps that barely made a sound at all.

The captain, who Alfred now realized was actually a little shorter than he was, muttered something about the French and about frogs. Then he pushed against Alfred’s chest with one of his gloved hands, and he stumbled backwards as the men who were holding him immediately released him.

“Parley is a meeting held between two superiors. Tell me, of what are you a superior?”

“That was a long time ago.” Alfred immediately said, somewhat amazed by his own memory (then again, Matthew and him had really gone at it as kids). “It’s part of the code, right?”

Alfred had only read about the so called pirate code in a book or two when growing up, and never in much detail. Thankfully he realized he was correct when the captain frowned, his lips curled upwards in a sneer. The shorter blonde gestured at the two men at Alfred’s side and they promptly grabbed him again, and for a moment Alfred thought this was the end.

But then the captain nodded towards the area below the quarter deck. “See this swab to my quarters.” 

Despite knowing he was far from being in the clear, Alfred nearly sagged with relief. He tried not to appear too intimidated as he was shoved towards the captain's quarters, painstakingly aware of the dire situation he was in and unsure if he could talk his way out of it.

After a short walk, he was unceremoniously pushed into what he assumed were the captain’s quarters. They were rather spacious, and laden with extravagant trinkets and expensive looking furniture. On the right was a large side table with a globe embedded in its middle, and near the window was a large desk covered with papers, coins, books and an empty bottle. 

“Leave.” The captain ordered, and the two men were gone in an instant, the door closing behind them. Alfred wasn’t sure if their absence was better than their presence, but at least now he only had to focus on one man, instead of three.

He remained still as the shorter blonde eyed him up and down, the intense scrutiny making him want to fidget with something. Then the captain abruptly walked over to his desk, sitting down on the chair and swinging his boots onto the table. He extracted a dagger from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. If it were an attempt to intimidate Alfred any further, it was certainly working.

“All right Jones, you have your parley. Sit, and convince me not to feed you to the sharks.”

Alfred pursed his lips, quickly gave himself a mental pep-talk, and marched over to the chair opposite of the captain’s desk. He was going to talk his way out of this, and he was going to seize the opportunity of starting over – even if it meant having to work for pirates.

He had no idea how to go about this parley thing, but he did know that he was going to have to convince the man in front of him not to kill him or throw him overboard. He realized that a pirate ship wouldn’t just let him hitch a ride for free – he’d have to work for it.

“I simply want to travel to whatever your next destination is.” He began uncertainly, sitting down on the chair he was appointed. “And I’m willing to work for my stay, of course.” The captain was still scrutinizing him, his expression unreadable. “I, eh… I’m strong, and I’m a hard worker.” He added, hoping it might sway the captain in his favor. “Oh! And I can swim, read and write. If that, eh, helps.”

The blonde man in front of him tilted his head, but other than that, his expression was still unreadable. Alfred had no idea if he was positively inclined towards him or not. He figured he might as well wait for a reply, before he’d accidentally say something that would lead to his untimely demise.

“Why are you here, Jones?” The man then suddenly asked, catching the dagger he’d been twirling between his fingers in his palm. “What did you escape from?”

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, deciding he might as well be honest. “A life that wasn’t meant for me, sir. If I stayed, I would’ve been forced to marry and take over my family’s business.”

The captain pursed his lips, nodding as if he could at least understand his reasoning. Alfred figured most pirates became pirates so that they could escape a life that wasn’t meant for them.

“If I may be so bold,” he began then, trying not to wince when the captain’s acidic green eyes shot back to him. “who are you exactly? And what ship is this?”

That got a more noticeable reaction – the captain smirked and shook his head, as if hearing a stupid joke. Alfred realized he probably ought to have known, which probably meant that the captain was quite notorious. Alfred might be in bigger trouble than he’d thought.

“I am Arthur Kirkland, captain of the Emerald Dragon.” The man, Arthur, then said, voice laced with amusement.

Well, shit. While Alfred had never seen a picture of the ship or of its captain, he certainly knew their names. The Emerald Dragon was an infamous ship. Its name was earned not only by its dark green wooden hull or speed, but also by its destructive weaponry, with cannons that fired so rapidly that it seemed as if the ship spat fire at its opponents. Usually Alfred read about the ship in the news, when it thwarted the Navy.

The recognition must’ve been clear on his face, because Arthur Kirkland smirked again. Alfred didn’t really know what to say in return, the fear that he was probably going to die increasing, and he looked around helplessly for a second.

“So you ran from your problems.” Arthur said then, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and to cushion his chin on his hands, the picture of nonchalance. “What of your family?”

Alfred resisted a grimace, knowing that the harsh truth was that he simply abandoned them. But it was much more complicated than that. “I staged my own death. They’ll mourn, but they’ll be fine. My younger brother will take over my role and will probably do a better job of it anyway.”

Arthur nodded again, seemingly taking his story into consideration. He didn’t look very hostile at that moment and so Alfred allowed himself to relax a tiny bit, trying not to eye the dagger still in Arthur’s hand too much. He could picture it ending up in his eye socket and would rather it left his line of sight altogether.

“It’s not the most original story I have heard.” Arthur then said, eyeing Alfred up and down again. “I’ve thrown stowaways with better stories off my ship anyway. Why should I let you live?”

“Like I said, I’ll work. I won’t cause any trouble, or steal, and you can dump me on whatever land we pass next. I even have a bit off…” He patted around on his body before realizing that they took all of his belongings. “Well, you already took what little I have.”

“Smart boy.” Arthur said condescendingly and Alfred did his best not to glare. “However, should you stay, I cannot simply let you go. I’m sure you are familiar with the saying ‘dead men tell no tales’.”

Alfred tensed, knowing exactly what he meant. If he’d acquire valuable information, and he would be allowed to leave, he could report it to authorities. But a dead man wouldn’t be able to snitch. “I am.” He settled on saying, trying to sound confident.

“As it happens, we are low on swabbies. If you think you can work on my ship, I’ll consider letting you live.” Alfred had no idea what a swabbie was, but he was willing to take it regardless. “Where did you plan on going, if you had your way?”

“Anywhere would’ve been fine. I suppose I’ve thought about New England.”

Arthur tilted his head towards him, as if he approved of his choice. Then he threw the dagger he had in his hand towards Alfred, who managed to catch it, though it left a slight nick in his palm. “You’re going to need that if you’re going to join my crew. But remember that we’ll be watching you, and that you’ll not be a free man on my ship.”

Alfred tried not to sink back in his chair with relief. It wasn’t a time to relax, after all, and he was aware that he would still have to be on his guard constantly the next few days. And yet, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips – he’d bloody done it. He managed to convince pirate captain Arthur fucking Kirkland to keep him alive, for now.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” Arthur droned then, appearing unimpressed. “But if I were you, I would get to work.”

Then he stood up, and Alfred quickly scrambled out of his own chair too, following Arthur when the shorter blonde gestured at him to do so. With his back turned to him, Alfred allowed himself to study Arthur for a few seconds. He moved elegantly, but dangerously. Despite his flamboyant attire, his movements made nearly no sound, and he moved a lot more confidently on the swaying deck than Alfred did.

Even with his back turned to him, and with a dagger in his hands, Alfred realized that he could probably never take the man on in a fight.

Arthur opened the door and left his quarters, walking up to one of the two men that had manhandled Alfred a while earlier, and nodding his head back towards Alfred. Now that Alfred felt at ease enough to actually study the pirates around him, he noticed many of them were not likely of British descent. 

“It seems we have a new swabbie.” Arthur announced, loud enough that his surrounding crew heard as well. Some of the men snickered and leered at Alfred, and he realized it was probably the lowest ranking position one could have on a ship. “James, show him around.”

The dark-skinned man at Arthur’s side nodded, and Alfred hesitantly walked over to him when their eyes met.

“Try not to get him killed on his first day.” Arthur then added, smirking at Alfred and ignoring the laughter of the men around him. Alfred bit his tongue and refused to show his nervousness, watching the captain turn back around and reenter his quarters.

The man next to him, James, shoved his shoulder against his own. For some reason, the gesture felt friendly, but Alfred wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

“All right lubber, time for the grand ol’ tour.”

 

Notes:

Some explanations:

- I couldn't come up with a suitable location for Alfred's home town, so that's why the chapter's name is simply Southern England lol. I imagine it being a moderately small town somewhere between Portsmouth and Plymouth.
- The War of the Spanish Succession lasted until 1714. In the war, England, Portugal and the Netherlands sided with the Holy Roman Empire against Spain and France.
- I'm not sure about the exact date, but there was a lot of smuggling throughout the South Coast of England in the 18th century. However, people were favorably inclined towards them.
- Davy Jones wasn't actually mentioned in books until 1726, and I think Davy Jones' Locker wasn't really known until the 1800s, but I like to imagine that actual pirates already knew of him (whether or not he was an actual pirate) before that.
- Parley was invented in the High Middle Ages. The root of the word is 'Parler', which is French for speaking.

Chapter 2: A Coruña, June 1711

Notes:

This chapter is twice as long as the first one, lol. I kind of want to do a chapter for each place they travel to, so that means some chapters might be longer than others, though I'll probably sometimes divide them into a part 1 and a part 2.

Anyway, a lot happens in this chapter, too! If I failed to explain anything in the end notes, please let me know!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Of course Alfred had known that working on a ship would not be an easy task, but he had never really realized how much was actually involved. He tried his hardest to commit everything James told him to memory, starting with the lay-out of the frigate they sailed on, and the names of those who actually had a say.

Apart from (obviously) the captain, there was also a quartermaster named Yao and a boatswain called Leon. 

He was told that after Arthur, Yao had the most authority on the ship. Apparently he was in charge of making sure Arthur’s orders were carried out properly and that day-to-day tasks were taken care of. As boatswain, Leon was in charge of keeping the ship in good shape, so that they could travel or battle when necessary.

And then there was James himself, who fulfilled the role of first mate, meaning that he was in charge of the ship’s cargo and the deck crew. All things considered, he was actually quite a nice guy. He patiently answered most of Alfred’s questions, and even told him more about himself, explaining that Arthur had picked him up from an island in the Indian Ocean a few years prior.

However, James hardly answered his questions about the captain himself, and when he did, he was purposefully vague. He wasn’t sure if it was because Alfred wasn’t allowed to know the answers, or if his ignorance was being mocked.

After all, Alfred was fairly sure he could discover a lot about Arthur if he simply read a newspaper. If he’d ever get his hands on one again, that is.

Unfortunately, a swabbie was indeed the lowest ranking position a man could have on a ship full of pirates. Simply put, he was tasked with keeping the decks clean and with performing all chores that the other men didn’t want to do.

It was a little demeaning, but Alfred wasn’t about to complain and risk a worse fate.

He leaned on his swab and stared at the dark grey-blue waters in front of him, quietly reminiscing. It’s been about two weeks since he boarded the ship, and he was only just starting to get used to the constant rocking of the ship. Fortunately he hadn’t gotten really seasick, but he’d been awfully nauseous and clumsy the first few days.

Someone cursed and dropped a crate behind him and he turned, eyes unintentionally trailing towards the quarter deck above him.

Arthur was standing at the steering wheel with his quartermaster, Yao, looking ahead of him while Yao was reporting something to him.

He hadn’t really learned a lot about his captain yet, but then again, it wasn’t as if he often had the opportunity to engage with Arthur directly. He mostly observed Arthur from afar, and one thing he quickly learned, was that the crew respected their captain to the point of adoration. He was almost never met with any backtalk, and when he was, it usually came from Yao.

He supposed that, so far, Arthur hadn’t proven himself a bad captain. He glared more often than he smiled, but Alfred also once overheard him agreeing with the ship’s doctor to give one of his men sick-leave, something Alfred hadn’t thought was possible among pirates.

He was strict, though. There were certain rules that had to be followed no matter what. For example: there was a curfew. At eight pm, lights were to be turned off, and if men wanted to drink together, they were to do it on the decks.

He also didn’t allow any actual fighting among the crew – the penalty was either the brig, the sharks or, if you were lucky, lavatory-duty. Gambling with money wasn't allowed either, but he didn't care if people gambled with their chores or rations.

Yet despite everything, Alfred couldn’t help but feel… a little underwhelmed.

Somehow he believed pirates would constantly brawl or raid coastal cities and other ships. But instead they cleaned, climbed the masts, and drank insane amounts of rum. They amicably wrestled a little, they sang shanties (horribly off-key, Alfred might add), gossiped and cleaned some more.

It’s a far cry from what he had expected, even though he would never admit it out loud. He still had to sleep in their midst, after all.

“Rookie, you forgot a spot.”

Alfred grimaced – most of the crew left him alone, surprisingly enough, but there were a few troublemakers that seemed intent to make his life a living hell.

Sometimes he thought the no-fighting rule was kind of a bummer. When he was younger, he never let anyone push him around, and he’d broken quite some noses in his years.

However, even if he were allowed to physically harm the asshole behind him, he doubted he’d be up to it. He was absolutely exhausted, worked to the bone. His hands stung with blisters, he had a persistent sunburn on the back of his neck and his knees ached something terrible from how often he had to kneel down on them.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. After all, a few more days and he’d grow used to it, and he’ll only become stronger because of it.

Alfred glared at the brown-haired pirate next to him and looked down at where he pointed. “Nothing wrong with it.” 

“There is."

“Then clean it yourself, spongy.”

The pirate frowned at him and suddenly gave him a rough push. Alfred, who wasn’t prepared, stumbled back and hit the rails quite harshly. 

He had enough of this guy's antics. He was by far the worst – anytime they’d be in the same general area, he’d purposefully go up to him and bother him. Alfred didn’t even know who the hell he was, but he was getting sick and tired of his constant bullying.

The man crowded close to him again, probably in an attempt to intimidate him. Unfortunately for him, it gave Alfred the perfect opportunity to land a hit on him without it being seen by anyone important.

“If you don’t clean it now, I’ll make sure you lick – ugh!” He never got to finish the sentence, due to Alfred’s fist ramming into his kidneys.

The man stumbled backwards and grabbed Alfred by the collar to reciprocate. He pulled his arm back to punch him in the face, but Alfred saw it coming and easily dodged, tripping the man to the ground instead. Unfortunately he got dragged down as well, and they scuffled on the deck.

Alfred felt something tense inside of him slowly unfurl and dissolve. It felt good to release all his pent-up frustration, and he completely forgot about the no-fighting rule as a result. Some of the pirates around them started cheering and betting, and it only spurred them both on.

Their scuffle abruptly stopped when a gun was fired, and both Alfred and his opponent scrambled away from each other in surprise.

They looked up to see their captain approaching them, the pirates around them parting like the sea did for a Man-o-War. Arthur glared down at them, his gun still aimed to them both.

To Alfred’s side there was a slight indention, and Alfred realized he had missed on purpose this time.

“Is there a problem, boys?” Arthur asked threateningly.

“No problem, sir.” The other pirate immediately said, and Alfred frowned at him. Then Arthur turned to him, obviously expecting the same answer from him.

Alfred was still riding his high, however, and decided he’d had enough. He got to his feet and ignored the (admittedly terrifying) look Arthur gave him.

“Actually, he was being a dick.” The moment he said it, several pirates around him started snickering, and he refused to acknowledge their immaturity. “And I got tired of it. I just want to do my job after all.”

Arthur glanced at the other pirate, and it prompted the man to quickly get to his feet as well. “Were you being a… dick, Ralph?” Arthur inquired then, also ignoring his men’s immature giggling.

“I was jus’ runnin’ a rig.” Ralph said then, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know the swabbie could hit that hard!” He sounded almost respectful, and Alfred tilted his head towards him with surprise.

Arthur spun the pistol in his hand once before holstering it again, resting his hand on his belt and staring at them icily.

“Now that Jones has proven his mean right hook, I expect no more funny business.”

With that, he promptly turned around and retreated back towards the quarter deck, where an exasperated looking Yao waited for him.

“Ye heard the cap’n, scallywags!” James announced, prompting everyone to get back to what they were doing before. 

Ralph approached him and slapped his back with a grin. Alfred shrugged him off immediately, lips curled in a snarl, and Ralph quickly raised his hands to show he didn’t mean any harm. “Don’t take it so seriously, lad! We was jus’ havin’ a laugh, aye?”

“If this is your idea of a laugh, I’ve got something hilarious for you.” 

Ralph laughed again, the sound loud enough to startle Alfred lightly. “Calm down, rookie. I was only testin’ ya. There’s no room for softies on this ship, savvy? At least now everyone knows what yer made of.”

Alfred’s anger disappeared slowly, as he took what the brown-haired pirate said into consideration. The captain did mention something about no more funny business now that Alfred had proven he could handle himself. Perhaps this was some weird, hazing tradition among the crew.

Ralph slapped his back again, and this time Alfred let him, albeit suspiciously. “Loosen up, Jones! Put yer swab away and have a drink with me.”

Deciding he was due for a break anyway, Alfred hesitantly agreed, following him and some others down into the galley.

 


 

Over the next few days, Alfred ironically enough started to consider Ralph a friend. He learned that Ralph was a carpenter, and was thus responsible for the ship’s structural integrity and for fixing any damage after combat or storms.

They hung out often, and Ralph even managed to sometimes steal Alfred from the deck so that he could help out with any repairs or improvements. Despite the work involving a lot of heavy lifting, it was a thousand times better than constantly cleaning the decks.

He’d even introduced him to the ship’s doctor then, who had laughed at his blisters and sunburns and had given him some lotions that soothed and accelerated the healing process.

After three weeks, he was actually starting to feel a little comfortable, dangerous as it might be. He got along better with the crew, and was even included in banter and taught several basics of sailing as well as lyrics of shanties.

He finally learned about their sailing route, too. They were currently in Spanish waters, and would dock at A Coruña the next morning.

Apparently the journey had taken far longer than expected, due to a slight diversion they took to avoid a flotilla. Usually the journey was supposed to take less than a week, and Alfred could understand why some crew-mates were so antsy to dock.

After A Corunã, they would continue on to Africa before crossing the Atlantic Ocean towards the Americas. Eventually they’d circle back to Portugal, to start the Pirate Round. Arthur had apparently meticulously planned out the next few years, and in his curious excitement, Alfred forgot that tagging along for the entire ride hadn’t been his initial plan.

Then again; he wanted to see the world, didn’t he?

“Jones!” Just as Alfred left the galley after dinner, one of the riggers approached him, walking with a slight limp. “Could ya take over my shift on the mast tonight? I can’t climb up, ya see.”

Alfred looked down at his legs, recalling the limp in his step, and then looked up at the crow’s nest on the foremast. It was quite a ways up, but Alfred wasn’t particularly afraid of heights, and he had been kind of curious as to how it was up there.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

“Ta, mate!”

The climb to the crow’s nest went fairly well, considering it was his first time making the actual climb. He was slower than most of the riggers were though, carefully choosing what rope to grab onto and where to place his feet. By the time he finally hoisted himself into the nest, he was panting a little from exertion, and the muscles in his arms burned a little.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with perhaps the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

The foremast was at the front of the ship, and if he looked ahead of him, all he could see was the ocean and the night sky, which was clearer than he had ever seen it before.

This high up, he almost felt as if he could touch the stars themselves. And with the gentle rocking of the ship and the cold breeze on his skin, it almost felt as if he was soaring through the sky, instead of sailing.

After what must have been at least an hour, Alfred finally looked down at the decks again. The distance between himself and the quarter deck startled him for a second, not having expected it to have been that big.

Eventually his eyes ended at the steering wheel, and he nearly yelped and hid when he looked straight at Arthur Kirkland. The captain was looking upward with a barely visible frown, probably confused as to why Alfred was up there instead of the rigger on duty.

What happened next, caught him off guard. Arthur apparently told Leon, who was next to him, to take over and then headed straight towards the foremast. Alfred watched with curious amazement as the smaller blonde proceeded to swiftly climb up the ladder-like ratlines, ascending at least twice as fast as Alfred had done.

He quickly stepped back just when Arthur elegantly swung himself over the railing and into the crow’s nest. 

“I’m surprised to see you up here, Jones.” Arthur said then, obviously asking him what the hell he was doing here. Alfred smiled sheepishly, explaining the rigger with the limp and his request. Arthur’s expression soured, before he rolled his eyes, and Alfred had the distinct feeling that he’d been had. “Hopefully this will be a lesson on gullibility.”

Alfred couldn’t help a small huff of laughter. “Yeah. But I don’t see why he doesn’t wanna be up here though.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked then, turning to look at the same view Alfred had been admiring earlier.

“It’s amazing, being this high up. It’s so silent, and there’s so much ocean and sky. It’s almost as if I’m – “

“Flying?” Arthur finished then, and Alfred wasn’t even annoyed at being interrupted. Instead he simply felt excited that they shared the same sentiment.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s feels like flying.”

He leaned against the railing again, a little less hesitant about being so close to the captain of the ship then. When he turned to look, he saw that Arthur had closed his eyes, and his expression was absolutely relaxed as he apparently enjoyed the breeze of the night sky. Alfred couldn’t remember ever seeing his captain this serene, and if he were honest, he was a little mesmerized.

Unconsciously he allowed his eyes to trail the curves and lines of Arthur’s face, identifying the slight splash of freckles on his cheeks and nose and noticing the small, pierced rings in his ear. His eyes trailed lower and he spotted something odd low on the man’s neck – black ink, he realized. 

When he looked back up, he looked straight into Arthur’s eyes, and he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught staring. However, Arthur simply looked amused, not offended.

“Did you know that some people believe Davy Jones was a devil or god of the seas?” Arthur mused then, looking back at the ocean.  “You share his last name.”

“Not his godliness, unfortunately.”

Arthur smirked, and Alfred smiled in return, weirdly pleased with himself. “Have you ever crossed the Celtic sea before?”

“I never crossed any sea, actually. Never left my hometown until now.” He answered honestly.

“Interesting.” Was all Arthur said in return, and Alfred had no idea what he meant with that, but decided not to ask for any clarification.

However, for some unknown reason, he also did not want this to be the end of their interaction. It was the first time he talked with Arthur privately since their parley, and there was still so much Alfred wanted to know about the man.

“Forgive me for asking,” He dared, spurred on when Arthur didn’t look bothered. “but you speak quite well for a pirate.”

“I’m quite fond of our language, actually.” He said surprisingly honest. “But if that raises any questions; I assure you I do not care about their politics or constitution.”

“Ha! Yeah, me neither.” Alfred said with a huff of laughter, silencing down to a sheepish grin when Arthur narrowed his eyes at him for a brief second.

“I must say I’m surprised at how well you’re adapting.” Arthur said, changing the subject without further ado. “Considering where you are from.”

Even though it wasn’t exactly phrased as a compliment, Alfred still felt pride swell in his chest. James offhandedly mentioned the same thing to him a few days earlier, claiming that he was pleasantly surprised at his lack of complaining and his quick learning.

“You play the cards you’re dealt, right?” He said jokingly, feeling himself relax a little. “And I’ve always been an adventurous type. Perhaps I’ll even turn out to be the hero of this adventure!”

“The hero?” Arthur repeated, and Alfred cringed lightly with embarrassment when he realized he let such a childlike statement slip. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Uh, twenty-one in a month, sir.” He answered honestly, trying not to fidget and get defensive.

Arthur nodded once before briefly looking him up and down again, something Alfred noticed the shorter blonde had a habit of doing. Perhaps he was looking for potential weaknesses.

He wondered how old Arthur was. He didn’t look very old; Alfred would wager he was somewhere in his mid-twenties. And yet, with the way Arthur carried himself, and with how effortlessly he demanded respect and even fear, Alfred would think he was a thoroughly seasoned pirate.

He furrowed his brows when he noticed the corners of Arthur’s lips twitch upwards, and realized they’d silently been staring at each other for the better part of the past minute while he’d been lost in thought again.

He tapped the railings with his fingers, feeling a little uncomfortable – for some reason, whenever presented with the opportunity, Alfred could not drag his eyes away from the pirate captain. Arthur was just so incredibly fascinating, and Alfred was a curious man by nature. It bothered him that he knew so little of someone so well-known (relatively speaking).

He was also constantly captivated by the unnatural green color of Arthur’s eyes. They reminded him of an empty wine bottle glittering in the sun, or perhaps even, fittingly enough, an emerald. 

Something must be wrong with him, because Alfred knew he shouldn’t feel so drawn to the dangerous man in front of him.

He quickly cleared his throat and averted his eyes back to the ocean, hoping his face didn't betray his thoughts. He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him even though he couldn’t see them, and eventually Arthur turned away from him again as well.

“You’ll be allowed to roam around, after we dock.” Arthur said, catching him off guard. “I’m sure I do not have to warn you about what will happen, should you try to flee.”

Alfred’s been told that A Coruña would be swarmed with pirates, and he had no doubt that Arthur would know of his every move. Weirdly enough, the idea of fleeing hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he realized he didn’t particularly want to flee, anyway.

Besides, what could A Coruña possibly have to offer him? If anything, Alfred would at least wait until they reached the colonies.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Arthur seemed satisfied with his answer, and without offering a proper goodbye, climbed back over the railings and descended down the ratlines again. Alfred refused to stare at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon around him, ignoring the odd feeling that was slowly manifesting inside of him.

 


 

Alfred was sure that the childlike excitement was radiating from him in waves, but he couldn’t help it. A Coruña was not like anything he had ever seen before. Then again, Alfred had only ever been in his hometown.

He ignored Ralph’s teasing and let his eyes rove over the docks – it was bustling with people that were loudly shouting in a language he couldn’t understand; Spanish, he was told.

He noticed quite a few other pirate ships, none of them bothering to change their flags and conceal their true identity. He wondered if Arthur knew any of them – and just as the thought crossed his mind, the man himself appeared next to him. Alfred, who’d been leaning over the taffrail, immediately straightened to maintain some air of professionalism.

Arthur ignored him, however, seemingly scanning the harbor for something. Judging his sudden scowl, Alfred guessed he found it. He followed his line of sight and eventually landed on a large galleon. It’s dark wood gleamed red in the sunlight, and on one of the masts hung a Jolly Roger.

“Someone you know?” Alfred tentatively asked, unable to conceal his curiosity.

“Unfortunately.” Arthur answered, yet the sneer in his voice didn’t quite match the stormy expression on his face.

Buenos días, Arthur!” Someone suddenly shouted loudly from the docks, capturing their attention as well as the attention of several other crew-members who were finishing up the docking process. It was easy to spot the owner of the voice – on the docks stood a tanned, brown-haired man. He wore a dark red coat adorned with golden linings, and a cocked hat adorned with many feathers.

Alfred instantly realized his attire reminded him of Arthur’s, which meant that he was probably looking at another pirate captain. Apparently all captains dressed flamboyantly.

The man smiled pleasantly up at them, though he seemed focused on Arthur only. "¿Cómo estás? It’s been a while!"

Arthur made a sound of disgust and made a crude gesture, causing the Spanish man to laugh loudly. He was then joined by a shorter, younger-looking man, also with brown hair. The Spanish captain threw his arm around the man, ignoring the way his companion sputtered and protested, before dragging him back to the galleon Arthur had been glaring at earlier.

When he looked back to his side, he realized Arthur had left him again, surprised by how silently the pirate captain was able to move. On his other side, Ralph snorted, and Alfred realized with a start that he’d completely forgotten about the man’s presence due to Arthur and the strange, Spanish captain.

“That was Antonio Carriedo, captain of the Scarlet Fiesta. We’re kinda in bad waters with ‘im. I think.” Ralph explained unhelpfully, nodding towards the galleon in question.

“You think?”

“Aye, I’m never sure. Cap’n seems to dislike him, but they come together when possible anyway.” Ralph said, as if that made more sense. “Try not to mingle with his crew.”

Alfred nodded absentmindedly, having already decided to steer clear from any unknown pirate anyway. Perhaps it was a rivalry thing, then. He wondered if pirate captains formed alliances among themselves.

“Any other pirate captains I should know of?”

“Care killed the cat.”

Both Ralph and Alfred startled when Arthur suddenly reappeared behind them, and they whirled around to meet Arthur’s unimpressed, flat glare. Yao stood next to him this time, his seemingly ever present exasperated expression in place.

“Still got eight lives left, then.” Alfred replied, surprised at his own cheekiness. Ralph gawked at him, but instead of getting angry, Arthur regarded him impassively.

Then the corner of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly, and while it could’ve been with malicious intent, Alfred liked to imagine he’d humored him.

“Don’t cause any trouble.” Arthur said then, and both Ralph and Alfred nodded, though silently Alfred wondered if the words trouble and pirates weren’t intimately intertwined.

 


 

Alfred quickly learned that shore leaves were mostly spent in taverns or in whore houses, though he did not stray near that latter one himself. He followed Ralph around the first two days, since the pirate at least seemed to know his way around town, and because Alfred didn’t want to risk getting lost himself.

By the third day, he’d grown tired of the excessive drinking, the gambling and the arguing. He decided to stay back for once, weighing his options. He had no means to buy himself anything, and nothing but his fists and a dagger to defend himself, so venturing into town alone might not be the smartest idea.

Eventually he decided to simply wander the docks, staying away from groups of people and merely admiring the docked ships from afar. Most of the ships were frigates, brigantines or schooners, but there were also a few galleons and even a Man-o-War.

Making sure the Emerald Dragon was always within his line of sight, Alfred wandered up and down the harbor. 

He couldn’t help but slow his gait when he passed the dark red galleon that Arthur had glared at, though. A few sailors loitered around its plank and on its decks, but none of them paid Alfred any attention, so he allowed himself to study the ship briefly.

It was larger than the Emerald Dragon, but that would probably also make it slower and less agile. He wondered how it looked below decks, and how many people and cannons it could house.

“Bastardo di  unpomodoro! Come osi dirmi bugie? Porca puttana!" Alfred frowned and turned around to see someone heading his way, the man fussing and pulling at his brown hair while angrily rambling.

He looked vaguely familiar, and it wasn’t until their eyes met that Alfred realized it was the man he saw with captain Carriedo a few days earlier. “Che cazzo guardi?”

“Uh,” Alfred began, resisting the urge to raise his hands in defense. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

The man frowned irritably and immediately switched to English, continuing with a thick accent. “It's Italian, idiota. What are you standing around here for, eh?”

Alfred was still struggling to come up with a good excuse when the man’s brown eyes widened in recognition.

“You belong to the English bastard, don’t you?”

He didn’t quite like the way that was phrased, but he supposed that ‘belonging to the English bastard’ could work in his favor – after all, perhaps it offered him some protection. 

“Yeah.” He settled on saying, opting to go for nonchalant. “You’re with Carriedo, right?”

The man grimaced and groaned. “Ugh, unfortunately, that testa di merda.”

Obviously, he didn’t like his captain very much, and Alfred wondered if the man sailed with him out of his own volition or not.

“Alfred Jones.” He decided on saying, sticking out a hand. He knew Ralph told him to not mingle with Carriedo’s crew, but then again, he’s often been told he was too curious for his own good.

The brunette’s frown instantly dissolved into something surprised, staring down at his outstretched hand with apprehension. Just when Alfred wanted to retract his hand, the man raised his own to shake it, firmly but briefly.

“Lovino Vargas.” He replied, albeit hesitantly.

Alfred smiled brightly, kind of excited that he’d managed to make an acquaintance of someone not belonging to his own crew. 

“Do you know if Kirkland met with Beilschmidt yet?” Lovino asked then, a bit tentative.

Alfred hadn’t even heard of the name Beilschmidt before, and he filed the name away in his memory so that he could interrogate someone about it later.

“I have no idea. Why?”

Lovino scowled, looking back at the galleon behind Alfred. “None of your business.” He snapped, but it didn’t sound particularly hostile. “Look, could you tell me if he did?”

Alfred’s curiosity was immensely piqued – who on earth was this Beilschmidt, and what did he have to do with both Arthur and Carriedo’s crew? “Why would I do that?”

“Just because!” Lovino exclaimed then, sounding exasperated. “I need to see him, and my capitano won’t tell me, so you need to tell me if you know where he is. Capiche?”

Alfred realized the shorter brunette looked a little desperate. Despite having absolutely no clue what this was about, he sort of sympathized with the other. Obviously whatever he was looking for meant a great deal to him.

When he eventually sighed and shrugged, Alfred decided to blame it on his hero complex. “Look mate, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

Lovino scowled, as if not entirely pleased with his answer but knowing it was the best one he was going to get. Then he suddenly froze, his scowl shifting into something contrite, as if he were a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Lovi, mi amor!” Alfred froze too, vaguely recognizing that voice and sincerely hoping it was not who he thought it was.

“It’s Lovino, bastardo!” Lovino cursed, and if Alfred hadn’t been intimidated by the sudden presence of the Spanish pirate captain, he would’ve been surprised at how Lovino spoke to his captain.

Antonio looked at Alfred with curiosity, and he really hoped that he didn’t recognize him. Earlier, he had only seemed to look at Arthur, so there was a chance that he didn’t remember Alfred at all.

He debated simply walking away, but when Antonio addressed Lovino in either Spanish or Italian (how was Alfred supposed to know?) he realized he was asking about him.

He locked eyes with Lovino and hoped he wasn’t about to sell him out, despite not knowing if it would have any negative consequence. Perhaps nothing would happen at all, and perhaps the Spaniard would simply be mildly annoyed.

Lovino muttered something in return, and Antonio shrugged in response, shouldering past Alfred to grab Lovino by the elbow. The brunette sneered and tried to shake him off, but didn’t resist much when Antonio guided him back to the ship, both of them not sparing Alfred another glance.

He exhaled harshly, feeling the tension leave his shoulders again, and quickly turned to head back to the Emerald Dragon.

 


 

On their last day in A Coruña, Alfred decided to join his crew in the tavern once more, deciding he might as well socialize and enjoy the slightly better tasting booze he could swindle from them before they headed out again.

He hadn’t heard about any run-ins with someone named Beilschmidt yet, unfortunately. When he asked Ralph about it, he’d only been told it was another pirate captain Arthur knew. He had assumed that much himself, but he couldn’t risk sounding suspicious, so he hadn’t prodded for more information.

The table he and some mates were gathered around shook and their ales spilled a little when one of the men slammed his fists down onto it, animatedly telling a story. The others were groaning and rolling their eyes, and Alfred assumed that the story being spun was either fabricated or overly exaggerated.

“So there I was, surrounded by these bluddy natives, yellin’ and rollin’ their tongues at me. They captur’d me and tied me to a barrel before droppin’ me into the sea! And I would’ve drowned, I tell ya, had it not be fer – “

“Bloody sea turtles, yes Tim, we know. Yer such a phony! There’s no sea turtles in the Narrow Sea!”

 “Shut yer trap, sea turtles live in every ocean! They bit through the ropes tha tied me down, look, I still got tha scars!”

"A big lie, Tim! Yer full o’ shit!"

The group dissolved into laughter and Alfred joined halfheartedly, though he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to the playful banter. No, he was distracted, and the reason for that was, as usual, Arthur Kirkland.

The captain had been sitting in a booth in a corner of the tavern the entire night, quietly talking with Yao and James. Every now and then he grinned or smirked, and every so often he glanced around the tavern as if keeping a watchful eye on his crew. On more than one occasion, their eyes met, but Arthur didn’t give any inclination that he was bothered by Alfred’s staring.

"What about ye, Jones? Tell us about yer homey life!"

Alfred looked back at his company, quickly shaking his head. “Nah, my life was boring. I got nothing to tell y’all.”

“Nonsense!” Ralph jeered, elbowing him in the side and making him spill some more of his ale. At this rate, its contents were going to end up on the floor and not in his stomach. “Everyone has stories, don’t be shy!”

The truth was that every story he could potentially tell would only remind him of his family, and the thought alone left a sour taste in his mouth, so Alfred shook his head again. Fortunately the group was distracted when a busty barmaid approached them to offer them a refill, and his eyes inadvertently trailed back to the booth he'd been staring at before.

To his surprise, Yao and James had exited it. Yao left the tavern altogether and James joined another group nearby the bar, leaving Arthur alone. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, and he was probably spurred on by the small amount of alcohol in his system, but before Alfred knew it, he was on his feet and approaching the booth.

Arthur eyed him with a slight upward quirk to his lips, which probably meant he wasn’t about to be sent away. He slid into the opposite bench and sent Arthur what he hoped was a charming smile.

“Enjoying yourself, sir?” He asked politely, and Arthur inclined his head towards him.

“I am surrounded with drunken fools and whoring wenches – pray tell me, what is there to enjoy?” Arthur countered dryly, prompting a huff of laughter out of Alfred.

“Aw, it's not that bad.” He tried, encouraged by the amused glint in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur raised his own mug, keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred’s over the rim while he took a sip and swallowed. The intensity of it made Alfred want to avert his own eyes and fidget, but he refused, and instead rested both elbows on the table casually.

“Tell me Jones,” Arthur mused then, as he put his mug down on the table. “How are your legs?”

Oh, that was just mean.

After they docked, and Alfred had left the ship, he had immediately tripped over his own feet. After having spent weeks on a rocking ship, his legs had briefly forgotten how to function on the stationary surface called land, and he had face-planted right in front of the crew, much to their amusement.

“Ha ha.” Alfred said. "I suppose it’s never happened to you, then? Any tips or tricks?”

“Once or twice, over a decade ago.” Arthur admitted, though it still felt as if he were making fun of Alfred. “As for tricks; try not to land on your face next time. It’s arguably one of your better assets.”

The sudden compliment both surprised and embarrassed him a little, but despite that Alfred still snorted.

“Looking at the rest of the crew, I reckon that’s not much of an achievement.” He eventually joked, pleased when the smirk on Arthur’s face was replaced with a slightly more sincere grin.

He was aware he was somewhat smiling stupidly himself, but he couldn’t help it – their playful banter made him feel light and giddy, considering this was Arthur fucking Kirkland he was trading barbs with.

The mood was abruptly disturbed when a man, donned in a mint-green coat and a lot of ruffles, suddenly threw himself onto Arthur’s bench, latching onto the surprised captain’s side.

Mon cher! I knew I would find you here!” A heavily accented voice exclaimed, and Alfred could only stare with surprise when Arthur, uncharacteristically enough, reacted with only a scowl and a halfhearted elbow in the man’s side. “Don’t act so coy, mon coeur – oh? Who is this?”

The man had obviously only then noticed Alfred’s presence, and turned sideways to regard him.

Alfred figured this was another pirate captain, mainly because of his attire and because he wasn’t sure if a normal person could be so familiar with Arthur without losing a limb.

Before either Alfred or Arthur had the chance to answer him, the man was already leaning forward on the table, blue eyes roving over him curiously.

Enchanté, I am Francis Bonnefoy.” He suddenly purred, holding out a gloved hand. Alfred wasn’t sure if he should take it, but he did so anyway, glad when the man only shook it once. “Captain of La Liberté.”

Alfred felt dread wash over him for a second – that name was also very familiar. Another infamous pirate ship, one that frequently caused all kinds of trouble on the oceans. He managed to keep his expression neutral, cleverly avoiding Arthur’s searching eyes.

“Alfred Jones.” 

“Our newest addition.” Arthur then added, eyes still on Alfred.

“Ah, the stowaway, oui?” Alfred tilted his head, surprised that apparently Francis already knew of how he had joined the Emerald Dragon.

Francis said something then in that foreign language of his, and all Alfred knew was that it did not sound like Spanish or Italian. Arthur’s eyes abruptly left Alfred as the silky words left Francis’ lips, glaring sideways and sneering something in the same language, surprising Alfred; somehow he had not thought of the possibility of Arthur speaking more than one language.

The other captain chuckled lowly, and leaned back into Arthur’s space again. Alfred felt weirdly irked at how he was draped against Arthur’s side, and at how Arthur let him, and he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it was such a rare, unexpected phenomenon.

He was also starting to feel a little out of place, as if he wasn’t actually meant to be here. Arthur had most likely been waiting for this fellow before Alfred had approached him, yet nothing about the way Arthur occasionally eyed him told him that he wasn’t welcome.

Just as he was about to announce his departure anyway, the doors to the tavern slammed open loudly, followed by a chorus of cheers and shouts.

Alfred turned to discover what the sudden chaos was about, frowning when his eyes landed on what had to be another pirate captain, if his rich blue coat and extravagantly decorated hat was anything to go by.

But what was perhaps most distracting was the man’s shockingly white hair. The man had an arm around a stoic looking, dark-haired man with spectacles, who promptly left his side to walk over to the bar once the doors shut behind them.

“Now would be the time to leave, Jones.” Arthur suddenly said, and Alfred turned to look at his captain.

Arthur didn’t look particularly annoyed, but his tone suggested he would not tolerate any backtalk, so Alfred simply nodded and slunk out of the bench. By the time he was on his feet, the white-haired man had arrived at the booth, completely ignoring Alfred and grinning widely at the other two captains.

“What are you pansies drinking?”

“Beilschmidt.” Arthur answered curtly, exasperation laced in his voice.

Alfred's eyes widened at hearing the name, and Arthur definitely noticed if the glare in his eyes was anything to go by.

Without another word, he turned around and rushed back to the table he had been sitting before, knowing that if he fled the tavern all of a sudden it would make him suspicious. He purposefully avoided Arthur’s gaze then, forcibly reentering the drunken banter of his fellow crew-mates.

Only when he was sure Arthur’s attention was on the company at his table, did Alfred plan his departure. He waited for the men to erupt into a spontaneous shanty, as they were wont to do when drunk, and then promptly slid out of his chair and out of the tavern.

He felt a little high-strung with anticipation as he sought out the Spanish galleon, and couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted Lovino on the docks in front of it, obviously about to head back inside. Lovino spotted him in return and immediately halted, a somewhat hopeful expression on his face.

Alfred had no idea if anyone was watching, so he opted to simply brush past Lovino, muttering the name of the tavern he came from under his breath. He knew Lovino heard him when the Italian abruptly turned away from the ship and headed in the direction Alfred came from.

With his mission succeeded, Alfred rushed back towards the Emerald Dragon, deciding he had quite enough of this town.

 


 

Whatever Lovino had meant to do with the information Alfred had given him, he had apparently succeeded. The morning after he approached Alfred, who had been moving crates of supplies from the docks onto the ship. They’d set sail in just under an hour, and he was one of the few men without a hangover, meaning he had twice the work to do.

“Lovino? What’s up?” He asked curiously, lowering the crate in his arms a bit so that he could properly look at the brunette.

"I wanted to… you know." Lovino scowled when Alfred cocked his head, purposefully playing dumb. "Bastardo inglese… I just came to say - ugh, grazie mille! There!"

"Please, you know I don't understand Italian." He knew what it meant anyway and when Lovino glared at him, he smiled playfully.

Then he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t, and it reminded him of the time his father caught him and Matthew playing with his hunting gun in the shed. Lovino scoffed something in Italian, and then all of a sudden, Antonio Carriedo appeared.

The Spanish captain did not look amused, and this time, Alfred had his full attention. Alfred froze, torn between wanting to stay to see what would happen, and dropping the crate in his arms to make a run for it.

Antonio made the decision for him, however, when he shoved Lovino behind him and then roughly pushed Alfred, causing him to stumble backwards. He tripped and plummeted to the ground, simultaneously losing his grip on the crate in his arms. It crashed to the ground, but did not break or spill any of its contents. 

He tensed when Antonio immediately advanced on him, but before he could scramble to his feet, a loud whistle drew their attention. Alfred glanced sideways to see Arthur walk down the plank connecting the Emerald Dragon to the docks, expression unreadable.

“Is there a problem?” Arthur asked coolly, stopping when he stood in front of Alfred, who quickly pushed himself off the ground now that he probably wasn’t going to get randomly murdered by the other captain.

“Your stowaway is the problem.” Antonio replied in an equally cool tone, and Alfred frowned; did every pirate in this town know he was originally a stowaway, then?

“Your brach asked for his help.” Arthur said, not skipping a single beat. At that, Antonio frowned lightly, and Lovino paled considerably.

"Lovi, regresa al barco." Antonio then snapped, not bothering to turn and look at the man in question.

Lovino’s lips curled into an angry sneer, but was interrupted before he could object.

"Now, Lovino!" Antonio barked, and Lovino scowled once more at Arthur and Alfred, before turning around and hurrying back to the Scarlet Fiesta.

“Anything else?” Arthur inquired, glaring up at Antonio as if to say he expected a negative answer.

Alfred felt tense as he watched their interaction – Antonio was about the same height as Alfred, meaning that Arthur was smaller than them both.

That didn’t stop Arthur from leveling Antonio with a deadly glare, however, and Alfred wondered if he would ever discover what their deal was.

“Where are you headed?” Antonio asked, voice still sounding a little annoyed but his posture relaxing. In turn, Arthur’s posture relaxed as well, though his eyes remained wary.

“São Paula de Loanda.”

“Beautiful place this time of year. Perhaps we will meet again in the Americas.” Antonio said, and Arthur hummed noncommittally. Then the Spanish captain’s eyes flit back towards Alfred, an obvious warning within them. “Stay away from my crew, cabrón.”

Just as Alfred wanted to nod and reassure him he would never go near him or his crew again, Arthur chuckled and took a step backwards, his back softly colliding with Alfred’s chest. For some reason the gesture seemed both possessive and protective, and Alfred wished he knew why he felt odd about that.

“Farewell, Antonio.”

The hostility in Antonio’s eyes dissolved again when he regarded Arthur once more, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.

Adiós, cachorro.” He said, sparing Alfred one more unreadable glance before turning around and heading back to his own ship.

Arthur waited until Antonio was a fair distance away before turning back around, glaring at the men loitering around them.

“Show’s over, men.” He announced, and just like that, everyone jumped back into action, continuing their work. Arthur took a step back from Alfred to appraise him warily. “My quarters, Jones.”

Alfred resisted the urge to gulp, knowing he was most likely in some kind of trouble. He didn’t know how Arthur had known he had helped the Italian, but he did, and he probably shouldn’t have. Dutifully he followed Arthur back onto the ship and into his quarters, knowing to keep his mouth shut for now. 

He watched as Arthur moved towards his desk. Along the way he removed his cocked hat, tossing it onto a side table carelessly and running a hand through his hair. He turned when he reached his desk, and leaned down against it, somewhat sitting down on top of it. 

Alfred tried not to stare at how Arthur’s messy hair framed his face without his signature hat.

“Now would be the time to explain yourself, Jones.”

Right.

“Uh, I ran into Lovino when I was walking around the docks. When he recognized me as one of yours, he asked me if I’ve seen a guy named Beilschmidt. I figured there would be no harm…”

“Did you know why he wanted to see him?” Arthur interrupted then, and Alfred shook his head, realizing that might’ve been a little gullible on his part. Then again, Lovino hadn’t seemed keen on telling him.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur didn’t sneer, glare or scowl. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, as if dealing with a headache. He straightened and walked around the desk to sit down on his chair, waving his hand at the one opposite of him. Alfred headed over to it and sat down as well, relieved that he didn’t seem to be in big trouble.

“You’re not very discreet.” Arthur said, eyeing him exasperatedly. “Lovino Vargas has a twin brother, who sails with Gilbert Beilschmidt’s crew.”

Alfred’s eyebrows raised out of their own volition, and for a brief second, he thought of his own brothers. “And he wasn’t supposed to meet with him? Why not?”

“A few years ago, Antonio and Gilbert successfully attacked an Italian merchant fleet. Among the bounty they claimed, were the Vargas brothers. One went with Antonio, one went with Gilbert.” He explained, and Alfred was starting to feel a little angry on their behalf.

“That sounds unnecessarily cruel.” He voiced, wondering if Arthur had ever done something like that, had ever taken people as a bounty

“It would’ve been more cruel to sell either of them to a slaver.” Arthur countered, and Alfred grimaced, not having thought about that possibility at all. “They cross paths often enough. However, Antonio does not like not knowing where his pet is.”

“Pet?” Alfred repeated, remembering how familiar the Spanish captain had been with the Italian brunette.

Arthur simply stared at him for a second or two, before a grin tugged at his lips.

“Antonio is quite enamored with his little Italian. They are, frankly said, fucking.”

Alfred’s mind blanked, before working overtime to process this information. Antonio and Lovino were both men, weren’t they? Alfred knew about sodomy of course, but he’d only ever heard about it during sermons, or read about people who were sentenced to death because of it.

He’d never really given it much thought, but he’d always found it a little strange. Why would such a thing be a crime punishable with death, anyway? What did it even matter what people did in the privacy of their bedrooms, as long as it happened consensually?

Apparently he appeared quite flabbergasted, because Arthur huffed with mirthful laughter.

“It can get quite lonely at sea on a ship full of men. Pirates don’t care much for the laws set by people on land.” He continued, and if Alfred didn’t know any better, he’d say Arthur was leering at him with amused satisfaction, obviously enjoying his ignorant surprise.

Alfred wasn’t sure what to think, but was only worried about one thing. “Is – is Lovino…”

Arthur seemed to understand what he wanted to ask, judging by the sudden scowl on his face. “That Spanish dog is many things, but he is not a rapist. His affections are reciprocated, despite what Vargas’ attitude might suggest.”

“Oh. All right.” Alfred mumbled, feeling relieved again. He wouldn’t know what he would’ve done if their relationship hadn’t been consensual, should he ever meet Lovino again. He didn’t really know him of course, but he seemed like an all right man, after all.

“You are not disgusted?” Arthur asked then, his voice neutral, but Alfred swore he could hear some surprise.

He smiled sheepishly in return, shrugging. "Nah. I mean, who am I to judge what people get up to in private, right?”

Arthur didn’t reply or nod or hum his agreement, but he did appraise Alfred thoughtfully, emerald eyes burning into his own. For some reason, it didn’t make Alfred anxious or antsy. The scrutiny did make his insides curl nervously, but not unpleasantly, and he wondered if he felt hot due to the climate they were in or due to the conversation they were having.

Without further ado, his mind suddenly assaulted him with the visual idea of Arthur engaging in such activities. He knew he should’ve been disturbed, but instead he was curious, and slightly irritated at the idea of Arthur allowing another man to do such things to him.

It just didn’t seem right, for some reason. He also speculated that Arthur would absolutely gut him, were he to find out what Alfred was thinking about currently, and he should probably stop thinking about it lest his expression suddenly betray him.

“You’re dismissed, Jones.” Arthur then said, voice indicating it was not up to debate.

“Yes, sir.” He quickly said, getting back to his feet. He spared Arthur one more thoughtful glance before turning around and getting the hell out of there, knowing he’d have his hands full with all the new information he just gained.

Notes:

Introducing the Emerald Dragon’s crew: Yao is China, Leon is Hong Kong and Ralph is Australia.
The Emerald Dragon: I settled on the Emerald Dragon being a fourth-rate frigate: a vessel known for its speed and maneuverability, carrying about 50 guns on a single gun deck. For the sake of the story, it’s also a shallow-draft ship, meaning it could hide in shallow waters to escape larger ships.
“Care killed the cat”: Curiosity killed the cat hadn't been used up until 1873 in James Allan Mair's compendium. Care killed the cat was the original proverb, and was first used in a play by Ben Johnson in 1598.
Cocked hat: A cocked hat is a tricorn hat, but the name tricorn hat wasn't used until mid-19th century.
Sodomy in the 1700s: In England, Henry VIII introduced the Buggery Act of 1533, making sodomy (which included anal sex, oral sex and bestiality) punishable by hanging. This penalty wasn’t lifted in England until 1861. However, sodomy was often hard to prove, so lots of offenses were charged as ‘assault with sodomitical intent’, which was not actually a capital offense and thus did not always lead to a death sentence.
Fun fact - Matelotage: A partnership between pirates that could be economical, fraternal, romantic or sexual. It was kind of like marriage, and even ensured a pirate’s will would be transferred to his ‘widow’ when he died.

Translations (but correct me if I'm wrong, please!):
- "Bastardo di un pomodoro! Come osi dirmi bugie? Porca puttana! - Tomato bastard! How dare you lie to me? Dammit!
- "Che cazzo guardi?" - What are you looking at?
- “Regresa al barco” – "Return to the ship"

Chapter 3: West of Africa, July 1711

Notes:

I am overwhelmed with the positive comments you guys have been leaving on this story! I'm so glad to know some of you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it :)

Please note: The time it takes for a pirate ship to travel from A to B in the 18th century is absolutely beyond me… I’ve never been good at math, lol, so my estimations are rough at best!

 

Warning: (implied) minor character death. Very minor though - I introduce the bloke and then I get rid of him. Also, there's a battle, so some descriptions of violence/death.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

After two weeks at sea, and without a proper way of knowing what day it was exactly, Alfred had almost forgotten about his own birthday. James had not, however, and Alfred supposed he was a little touched that the first mate had actually remembered.

He wouldn’t have minded skipping his birthday altogether. After all, it was odd to celebrate it without his family. He was slowly learning how to cope with the random bouts of guilt and homesickness, but this was the first birthday he ever had, that he was away from home.

The realization that he would probably never celebrate a birthday – not his own, not Mattie’s, not Albert’s – with his family again, led to him feeling even worse. Had it not been for some of his crew mates, he most likely would have sulked all day.

Instead the deck crew alternated sea shanties with birthday songs all day, and by the time evening fell, he was grinning again, sitting on the upper decks with his mates while drinking grog and talking shop.

“Happy birthday, mate.” Ralph said as he slapped him on his back, causing Alfred to spill some of his rum.

He grunted his thanks, glaring at the liquid seeping along the deck now, and took another sip. He wasn’t overly fond of the taste of rum, but the ale had gone bad a few days ago and the water was starting to taste old, so they had to mix it with rum to make it drinkable.

“Too bad we ain’t on land!” One of the riggers jeered. “We shul’de gotten ‘im laid!”

The group dispersed into laughter and agreements, some of them laughing even harder when Alfred’s face turned bright red.

“Aww! Our landlubber ain’t been deflowered yet!”

“Shut the hell up.” Alfred sneered, growing more embarrassed when he had everyone’s full, am used attention.

“But yer twenty-one now! I remember me first, I was but fifteen years of age…” Some others voiced their similarities, while other at least had the balls to admit they’d been older than that. Alfred shrugged, refusing to make this a big deal.

“Y’all saw where I grew up.” He scoffed. “I simply never saw the appeal.”

His brutally honest answer was met with brutally mocking laughter, and he felt his cheeks burn again, but he refused to look anything but annoyed.

“Well, now that yer a pirate, perhaps ye will find this appeal, eh? If not with a lassie, maybe with a laddie!”

“You’re all a bunch of no good drunkards.” Alfred grumbled, taking a few more large sips from his bottle to somewhat hide his burning face. The insult was met with cheers and the men around him clanked their bottles together, drinking to his statement joyfully.

Alfred was glad that they started bantering among themselves again then, because the suggestive words had caused him to get lost in thought again. He’d been unintentionally thinking about it more often than he’d like, ever since Arthur told him about the nature of captain Antonio’s and Lovino’s relationship.

He couldn’t help but suddenly ponder why he’d never been attracted to women before. Objectively speaking, he could think of a few girls he once met that were pretty or even attractive, such as his former fiancée Alice.

And yet, he’d never actually had any romantic or sexual feelings for a woman, nor did he ever actually fantasize about one while taking care of himself. And he certainly never had any thoughts similar to what his idiot crew mates confessed to having while drunk or sober.

He’d always figured it would happen one day sooner or later, and he had even been at peace with the idea it’d never happen at all. But now that he knew there was another option, he was conflicted.

Because he could not explain the weird, but not unpleasant feeling coiling in his gut whenever Arthur was nearby. He didn't know why he felt his temperature rise whenever he felt Arthur's eyes on him, and he could not explain why his heart skipped a beat every time his eyes involuntarily sought out Arthur, only to discover Arthur had been studying him too. 

He didn't know why he was mesmerized by the sight of a barely awake Arthur in the early morning, or why he sometimes forgot what he was doing when he saw or heard Arthur laugh. 

What made it worse, and God forbid him for even thinking this, was that Arthur wasn't that bad to look at either, considering everyone else on the ship. Alfred never imagined he'd find another man physically attractive, but he couldn't deny that something about Arthur's way of carrying himself was incredibly alluring. And those eyes.

To top it off, Arthur wasn't the terrible and mean pirate captain his reputation claimed him to be. He was dangerous, and more often than not had a bad temper, and maybe he could even be a little cruel every now and then, but he was not horrible or bloodthirsty. 

Perhaps Alfred had more in common with Lovino than he had previously thought. Alfred wished he could stop thinking about it altogether - Arthur was a pirate, and a captain, and he would probably keelhaul him if he'd ever find out what Alfred sometimes dreamed about at night. 

“Boys,” a voice said mirthfully, and upon realizing it was the voice of the person he’d been thinking about, Alfred nearly startled so badly he dropped his bottle.

A chorus of ‘captain’ was heard from the crew around Alfred, and he nonchalantly turned around to face the man himself. Arthur was wearing his full get up, as he usually did on deck, and Alfred was again struck with how compelling the sight was. He just looked so powerful, and so at ease. Alfred had an intense desire to see the man without his usual get-up, and imagined he would still look as alluring as he did now.

He also looked at Alfred as if he knew Alfred had been thinking about something untoward before his arrival, and it made Alfred feel a little hot under the collar.

“I heard congratulations are in order, Jones. Twenty-one, was it?”

Alfred cleared his throat, and nodded. “Aye, sir. Thank you.”

Not for the first time since he boarded the ship, he wondered how old Arthur was and how old he had been when he became a pirate. He had a tough time imagining Arthur to be anything but a pirate. 

“Have fun. Keep it civil.” Arthur said, directing his last few words to the entire group and roving his green eyes over them exasperatedly when the men grinned and exclaimed their good intentions.

Alfred wondered how those eyes would look at him if he – no, no, he was not going there, not while he was bloody awake and in control of his own damn thoughts. It was the rum talking, combined with the gutter his mind had been descending into earlier.

Arthur spared him one more intense, unreadable look, before turning and heading over to his quarters, and Alfred wondered what would happen if he followed.

He took another sip from his bottle, forcing his eyes to leave the now closed door to the captain’s quarters. Out of their own volition, they traveled towards the mizzen mast, and he frowned when he saw a rigger and a carpenter quietly conversing nearby it. He couldn’t remember their names, but he had seen them before, and he wondered why they were standing over there in the dark.

If he didn’t know any better, it even looked a little suspicious. Everyone else was either below deck or drinking with the others.

Before he could get dragged into another shanty, gamble or battle of wits, Alfred forced himself up with the excuse that he needed to go relieve himself. Nonchalantly he climbed up the quarter deck, but due to the rum already in his system, he ended up not being as quiet and nonchalant as he meant to be.

The two men conversing near the mizzen mast immediately stopped talking when he showed up, and glared at him.

“What’cha want, Jones?” One of them asked, and Alfred was a little surprised they knew his name. After all, he didn’t know theirs – he imagined it’d take him a while to know everyone on the ship by name, as there had to be at least fifty people on it.

“Why don’t you two come down to drink with us?” He suggested politely, forcing a charming smile on his face and waving the bottle still in his hand. “C’mon, it’s my birthday.”

“Get lost, bucko, before I turn ye into shark bait.”

Alfred frowned, but raised his hands, showing he meant no harm. The men kept glaring at him but left anyway, one of them shoving his shoulder into his own as he passed. Alfred grimaced and quickly righted his footing, turning a little to watch them disappear below deck.

Weird.

 


 

“How is your head, birthday boy?” One of the gunners who was cleaning the swivel gun to his side asked loudly.

“Terrible.” Alfred whined, leaning over the railings and looking down at the waves caused by the ship. He wasn’t nauseous, fortunately, but his head was killing him.

“Ha! You just gotta get used to it. Should be glad we’re not in mermaid territory, or one would’ve snatched ye right up, hanging over the taffrail like that. Gimme that, will ya?”

Alfred sighed and pushed himself away from the railing, handing him the bucket he gestured at. “Mermaids? That’s folklore.”

“Folklore? Tell ya what, Jones, in these here seas there are lots of monsters. Mermaids, hydra, the kraken…”

"And they are all stories." Alfred sighed, and the other man laughed at him. "You ain't scaring me with bedtime stories."

“If ye don’t believe me, go ask the cap’n!”

Alfred furrowed his brows and looked forecastle deck, where Arthur was huddled around a crate with Yao and James. He assumed they were looking at some papers, or perhaps a map, and it was probably not wise to go and interrupt him for something as trivial as mermaids. Arthur would probably laugh in his face, too.

“Maybe later.” He grunted, massaging his temple again when a new flare of headache announced itself. He had enough on his mind as it was, and he didn't need the added suspense of there being actual monsters within the oceans they were sailing on right now. 

“Sail, ho!” One of the riggers on lookout suddenly shouted, voice barely audible over the sounds of the waves and the crew. Alfred frowned and turned to where the rigger was pointing, spotting what he had been referring to: some ways from them sailed two ships, and they seemed to head their way.

A calm seemed to come over the deck, people either watching the ships approaching them or watching the captain, who headed over to the taffrail on the forecastle deck and extracted his handheld telescope from a pocket.

After a few seconds, he abruptly pocketed it again, a stormy expression on his face as he turned and stomped down to the lower deck, Yao and James hot on his tail.

“Fucking privateers.” He heard Arthur sneer as he passed them. “I bloody well hope this is a coincidence. If I find out that Spanish bastard sold me out, I’ll flog him and his Italian dog.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, whirling around to look back at the approaching ships. Did this mean they were going to be attacked, or were they going to engage them in battle first? There were two of them, and by his calculation, two ships would always have the advantage on one ship. Then again, the Emerald Dragon did not get its reputation by being an easy target.

“Bring a spring upon her!” Arthur barked then. “Don’t let them flank us. We’ll feed them to the bloody fish all right.”

As if on cue, everyone jumped back into action, apparently knowing exactly what to do. Alfred, however, had no idea what to do. And he doubted a swabbie would be actually helpful either.

Then his eyes crossed Arthur’s again, and surprisingly enough, the captain beckoned him with an abrupt nod of his head. He rushed over towards the quarter deck, where Arthur was now standing at the steering wheel, still snapping orders at Yao and James.

“I’ve neither the time nor mood for this. Sink the brigantine, but prepare a boarding party for the frigate. I want to know if this is a coincidence or if they knew where to find us.”

“Do we think someone sold us out? I made sure to lead the Navy astray by feeding them those false documents back in Ireland.” Yao pondered, sounding a hundred times calmer than Alfred felt.

“Could be someone on the ship.” James added.

“Any potential culprits?” Arthur asked, eyeing Alfred as he finally came to a stop next to them. For a second, Alfred was terrified he was going to be blamed; after all, he was the newest addition to the ship.

And then he suddenly remembered something, but he hesitated; he could make a potential suspect out of the two men he had confronted the night before, but if he were wrong, he might accidentally sentence them to an unwarranted death.

“Spit it out, Jones.” Arthur then said, obviously having guessed exactly what was on Alfred’s mind.

“Uh.” He started, still on the fence about it but deciding that Arthur would probably know if he lied. “One of the riggers was whispering to one of the gunners, yesterday. I thought they looked suspicious so I went to ask them what they were on about, but they were hostile and left.”

He halfheartedly explained what they looked like since he couldn’t remember their names, and James nodded thoughtfully, probably knowing who he was talking about.

“All right men, to your stations.” Arthur said, and both Yao and James nodded, abruptly leaving. Alfred tilted his head to look at the approaching ships again, surprised to see they were much closer already. “Have you ever killed a man before, Jones?”

“No, sir.”

Arthur nodded, eyes on the same ships Alfred had been looking at earlier. “Go below deck and help the gunners.”

It was another order that was not up to debate, and despite Alfred always feeling a little rebellious when spoken to like that, this time he simply nodded without any unspoken complaints. Being below deck was probably the safest place for a rookie like him to be, and he’d probably be of more use helping the gunners, too.

“Oh, and Jones? Try not to be a hero.”

He frowned when Arthur smirked at him, and felt a little of the nervous tension in his shoulders dissolve – Arthur didn’t seem anxious about the upcoming encounter, he merely seemed extremely annoyed. While that could’ve been arrogance, Alfred liked to think his confidence came from experience.

“Can’t make any promises, sir.” He decided to joke, and Arthur huffed a breath of laughter and shook his head, before shooing him away with a wave of his hand.

 


 

Once the order was given to start firing, Alfred forced his mind to go blank and to work on instinct, lest he’d get distracted by the sudden chaos. He got assigned to assist a couple of gunners, and worked mindlessly, right up until a cannonball shot through the hull of the deck and took out one of the gunners on Alfred’s far right.

“Fuckin’ navy lapdogs!” Someone cursed, and Alfred made the mistake of looking back, immediately spotting the bloody mess that was once a crew mate.

The poor man had been right in the path of the cannonball, and was missing a good chunk of his abdomen and chest. He was very much dead, too, and Alfred couldn’t help himself – he froze, unable to drag his eyes from the gruesome scenario.

Then he was shoved by the master gunner, Reggie. “Get back to it, lad!” He barked, and Alfred blinked, snapped out of his train of thought as he stumbled back towards the gunners he was helping before.

After what felt like forever, Reggie gave the order to stop their insanely quick firing of cannonballs, something almost only the Emerald Dragon was capable of if he had to believe rumors. Apparently they’d already managed to sink the brigantine, and through the gun ports, he could see that the other frigate was right next to him.

Above them, people shouted and hooted, and he realized that they were probably boarding the other ship now. The gunners he’d been assisting left to go up, and Alfred decided to follow, spurred on by morbid curiosity.

By the time he was back on the deck, their boarding party was already making short work of the attacking frigate’s crew. Unfortunately, because he was so focused on what was happening on the other ship, he neglected to notice that their ship had also been boarded in return.

While the Emerald Dragon’s crew was obviously handling themselves well, Alfred failed to notice one enemy charged at him until it was almost too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone swinging their cutlass at him, and he narrowly managed to avoid getting stabbed. However, the blade sliced through his bicep, and he winced and stumbled.

A shot rang out right next to his head and the man who had attacked him slumped to the ground. Alfred whirled around to spot Ralph, grinning widely and slapping him on the back.

“Ye look lost, Jones! Here,” he pushed a pistol into his hand. “Aim for the eyes and squeeze the trigger, easy peasy!”

“Easy- wait – “ But Ralph had already rushed off again, laughing as he threw himself back into the fray.

Alfred hesitated, feeling it would be smarter to go below deck again. Before he could make the decision, another foreign man spotted him. The man sneered at him in a language Alfred didn’t understand and charged at him with a cutlass, and Alfred yelped as he quickly dodged and rolled out of the way, hand tight on his pistol.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just kill a man, could he? Alfred had never even shot a pistol or gun, not even when he went hunting with his father and Matthew! He dodged the attacker a few more times, until his back was against the taffrail, and he was forced to raise the pistol, aiming it at the man.

The guy grinned, and didn’t seem very frightened by the idea of Alfred aiming a gun at him. He probably looked as nervous, inexperienced and frightened as he felt, Alfred realized. In a sudden, rare moment of feeling a little offended by that, Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed the trigger at the same time.

It rang in his ears, and he heard a shocked groan, but not a thud. He quickly opened his eyes in case he needed to jump out of the way again, but the man in front of him held a hand to the area below his neck, and blood spurted out of his mouth.

He wheezed, and cursed at Alfred in his own language, before tripping over his own two feet and landing on the ground with a loud thud.

Alfred froze, staring down at the man incredulously. What was he supposed to do now? He obviously wasn’t dead yet, still gasping for breath and struggling to get up, but he probably wasn’t going to survive either. He couldn't just kill a man who was already rendered harmless, could he?

The question was answered for him when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yao calmly step over to him and shoot the man between the eyes without further ado. The man’s head didn’t quite explode, but it might as well have, and Alfred promptly turned around to hang over the taffrail and heave his stomach’s contents out.

Jesus - that man probably had a family. He must’ve had a mother waiting for him at home, or a wife, maybe even a kid!

When the roaring between his ears stopped and he managed to stop heaving, he noticed the chaos around him had calmed down to cheers and murmuring. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget all of this ever happened, but he forced himself to straighten and turn around.

It was easy to single out the red coat of Arthur amidst the sea of pirates and dead privateers. In front of him were two men, both on their knees and glaring up at Arthur. Alfred inched closer, unconsciously seeking out men he knew to stand next to, just in case.

“Come now – Raivis, was it? Tell me how you found me.” Arthur asked, an obnoxiously pleasant ring to his voice. The blonde man he was addressing looked close to crying, but he refused to speak, lips pursed and eyes burning with fear and anger.

Arthur tutted and promptly shot the man next to him in his side, causing Raivis to flinch. The man slumped forward and whimpered wetly, and Alfred realized he’d most likely been shot in his lung.

“I can drag it out. Cleave you to the brisket, and hang you from the yardarm. If you’re lucky, you might choke before you bleed out.” A few pirates snickered, and Alfred resisted a new wave of nausea as he saw the man on the floor cough up blood. “Or you can give me what I want and I will be merciful.”

“Fuck you, you filthy pirate.” Raivis spat, even though he looked terrified. Arthur sighed, waving his pistol in his general direction.

Alfred was distracted by movement on his right side. He tilted his head and tore his eyes from Arthur, to look at what the pirate next to him was doing. The man was raising his arm, and holding a gun, aiming it at Arthur’s direction. All of a sudden Alfred realized it was the rigger who’d acted suspiciously the night before.

Acting without thinking, Alfred crashed his body into him, punching the man’s elbow and causing it to bend upward. A shot rang out as the man pulled the trigger, but the bullet went flying towards the mast, and they both fell to the ground. The rigger cursed and tried to aim his pistol at Alfred, but Alfred quickly punched him in the face, hearing a crack beneath his knuckles.

Before the man could recover from the sudden pain and shock and direct the barrel of his pistol into Alfred’s side,  Alfred was roughly pulled off the man by two others. They held him back and refused to let him go, and Alfred realized they probably thought he lost it, as they allowed the other man to scramble up freely.

“He – he tried to shoot the captain.” Alfred immediately accused, swallowing down the nasty taste of hesitation that he might’ve assumed wrongly. But it was the same rigger, and his pistol had been aimed at Arthur, what else had he wanted to do?

The man was holding his broken, bloody nose, and snarling at him, but when Arthur appeared next to Alfred to assess the situation, he raised his pistol again and aimed it directly at Arthur. His victorious shout was cut short when someone else immediately shot him through the head, the bullet entering through his left temple and exiting on the right one.

“Well, this has been an exciting day.” Arthur said after three tense seconds of silence. “It seems my query has been answered, after all.”

He walked back over to Raivis and leaned down, sliding a hand into the man’s jacket, searching for something. A second later he extracted his hand again, an fancy looking envelope in his hand, which he handed over to Yao.

“This young man here just got promoted to captain. It’s only fitting we let him go down with his ship.” Arthur then announced, smirking down at Raivis. “Throw the rest of the bodies into the water.”

 


 

Alfred reckoned that the indifference he was currently feeling was actually his brain’s attempt to protect him from a panic attack. He stayed quiet when his crew mates cheered and bantered around him, celebrating another easy and good fight.

Perhaps it had been an easy and good fight, but they had lost two men. Alfred thought that wasn’t something to be celebrated. Then again, he hadn’t actually known the two men they lost very well: he didn’t even knew their names. Nor did he actually know the now dead rigger, or the gunner currently residing in the brig awaiting his own execution, but he felt a little less bad about them.

The doctor decided he didn’t need a lot of patching up, smearing some sort of lotion on the now closed cut on his bicep and telling him to get some food in him. But Alfred wasn’t hungry, so he went to Ralph and demanded he be of use somewhere. He’d been more than welcome to help with small repairs and cleaning up, and nobody taunted him when he didn’t join in on the singing and laughing.

A chorus of happy greetings to the captain sounded, and Alfred grimaced. Something must be wrong with him – because even through the indifference and the cold, sickly feeling of guilt and regret, his heart treacherously skipped a beat.

“Jones.”

“Captain.” Alfred replied, acknowledging him with a tilt of his head.

“Follow me to my quarters.”

No one spared them a glance as Alfred obediently (if not a little eagerly, and he berated himself for it) stood up and followed Arthur out towards the upper deck and into his quarters. Arthur gestured at the chair Alfred was starting to become familiar with, and Alfred walked over it, sitting himself down with a small feeling of relief.

Being here – being in a room untainted by the previous encounter – it felt as if he had more room to breathe. Everything in Arthur’s quarters was still as he remembered it, and even the noise from outside was muted in here. It was spacious, clean and did not smell of sweat, gunpowder and blood. Alfred could almost imagine he was somewhere else entirely.

Arthur sat down on his own chair on the other side of the desk, and retrieved two glasses and a bottle from one of his drawers. He could tell it wasn’t rum by the lack of color, but he wasn’t sure what it was. However, when Arthur handed him a glass and raised his own to toast, Alfred followed his lead.

It tasted much, much stronger than the watered-down rum the crew usually drank, and Alfred promptly started coughing, much to Arthur’s amusement.

“Vodka. Courtesy of the Russians.” Arthur said, throwing back the contents of his glass in one go.

“Russians?” Alfred asked, politely depositing his still half full glass back on the desk. Arthur smirked and grabbed it, dragging it back over to himself and thumbing at the rim. “Were we just attacked by Russians?”

“Yes and no. We were attacked by privateers, sent by a man called Ivan Braginski. He’s been a thorn in our side for several years now.”

 “Why? Who is Ivan Braginski?” He chanced, hoping that his captain was in a sharing mood.

Arthur eyed him for a moment, most likely contemplating something. Then he raised what was originally Alfred's glass and threw back its contents too, before putting the glass back on the desk and leaning backwards in his chair.

“An officer in the Imperial Russian Navy. About a year ago, we attacked his fleet and seized the cargo he’d been transporting. He took it personal and has been hunting us in his spare time.”

Alfred frowned – he hadn’t even known there was an Imperial Russian Navy. Then again, every country or monarchy probably had its own navy, but he was so used to simply calling it the Navy, since the British Empire controlled such a large part of the world.

“I suppose Ivan assumed we would be an easy target, because we're currently sailing solo.” Arthur mused, looking sideways in thought.

“Solo?”

“Around these parts, we usually sail with La Liberté or Die Ehrsucht.” Arthur added, and Alfred resisted asking for more clarification. He knew La Liberté was the ship sailed by Francis Bonnefoy, and he sort of guessed that Die Ehrsucht belonged to Beilschmidt anyway.

Alfred leaned back in his chair too and tried to force himself to relax some more. He still felt terribly on edge, as if something bad was going to happen any moment now. Instead of the building feeling of anxiety in his gut, he focused on Arthur, who still appeared deep in thought.

He looked as if nothing had happened at all. The only thing out of order was that he had removed his hat and gloves, and Alfred’s eyes curiously trailed the small lines of black ink on the fingers and wrist of his left hand.

“A first kill is never easy, Jones.” Arthur suddenly said, tearing Alfred from his daydreaming. Alfred blinked; Arthur sounded somewhat sympathetic, and it was a tone he had never heard in the man’s voice before. “It was either you or them.”

“I – “ He began, before feeling the need to clear his throat and doing so. “I know. I’m fine.” Arthur raised his impressive eyebrows. “All right, yeah, I’m a little shaken. But I’ll manage.”

Arthur nodded once, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, cushioning his chin in his palms. He studied Alfred for a few seconds then, and as always, Alfred studied him right back, entranced by his shockingly green eyes.

“Now that we are down one rigger, and since you often have your head in the clouds anyway, I’m offering you his job.”

“Seriously?” Alfred asked, a bit flabbergasted. Yet he couldn't deny his excitement either - being a rigger was far better than being a swabbie, and Alfred did love being up in the masts. “Uh, yeah, that’d be great! Thanks. Sir.”

Arthur nodded and leaned back again, opening another drawer. He rummaged through it before extracting a small, leather bound book, which he tossed over to Alfred, who quickly caught it and read the title on its front.

“The code?”

“Despite what you might think, pirates do adhere to some rules.” Arthur said, a light mocking tone to his voice. “Get acquainted with them, if you mean to survive. Return it to me when you are done.”

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, opening the book at a random page and seeing it indeed described laws, rules and societal norms for pirates. The page he opened detailed how bounties and prizes were to be distributed among the crew, but he was more distracted by how the book seemed to have been handwritten.

“I will, thank you.”

“I must admit I’m surprised.” Arthur immediately said, smirking at him again, blatant curiosity visible on his face. Alfred tilted his head, having heard those words from him before. “Not only are you hard working and adaptable, but you’ve also proven yourself loyal.”

Alfred tensed. He’d not thought about it that much himself, but now that Arthur mentioned it, he couldn’t deny that the captain was right. Weirdly enough, Alfred had started to enjoy life on the Emerald Dragon.  

He hadn’t hesitated at all when he saw someone pull a gun on Arthur -  he’d quite literally thrown himself in the line of fire, and it could’ve killed him. And for what? A pirate captain and crew that, soberly speaking, were keeping him here as a prisoner?

Only he didn’t feel like a prisoner.

He didn’t have his own money, gun or cutlass, but other than that he was as free as any other man on the ship. Despite having only known the Emerald Dragon’s crew for little more than a month, Alfred had somehow started to consider the ship as his new home. He wouldn’t go as far as calling the crew his family, but they meant something to him.

“One would almost be inclined to think you actually want to be a pirate.”

Alfred hesitated for a moment. He could imply that he still wanted to start anew in some random, new town - but he’d be lying.

“Growing up, I’ve always dreamed of…  of more. Being at sea is as near as I can come to that dream.” He said, softer than he’d meant to.

As soon as he said them, he knew he meant the words. Upon that realization, it felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. The heavy guilt he’d been carrying got replaced by something lighter – something irresistible and bewitching. 

The feeling intensified when Arthur’s smirk dissolved into something pleasantly surprised, and then Arthur smiled – a genuine and sincere smile, as if he and Alfred shared an intimate secret. His skin felt as if it was tingling, and he was overcome with the sudden and intense desire to learn everything there was to know about Arthur.

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” Arthur said softly, obviously quoting something. Although Alfred didn’t recognize the words, he strongly agreed with them.

That night, as he lied in his hammock and traced his fingers over the book’s leather spine, Alfred couldn’t help but ponder that it was not only the net cast by the sea that he was caught in.

He wondered, if in some book or language, the sea and the feeling of adventure it brought, would be a synonym for emerald green eyes.

Notes:

Grog – Fresh water on board a ship would often become tainted by i.e. green scum and slime. To cover up the bad taste of old water, it would be mixed with alcohol. This watered down version of rum is also known as grog. Ale too would eventually go bad so often pirates were left with only rum or grog.

Hang him from the yardarm – A yardarm is a part of a spar on a mast from which sails are set. A person could be hung from there with his hands and feet tied, and a noose around his neck, meaning he would slowly die by strangulation. Yikes!

Imperial Russian Navy – Between 1688 and 1725, more than a thousand seagoing vessels were built for the Imperial Russian Navy. Fleets were launched on several seas. I’m merely using the Russian Imperial Navy to give our bad guy Ivan (sorry Ivan… ilu) a backstory that makes sense, but it won’t be mentioned in-depth again.

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever” – is actually a quote by explorer Jacques Yves-Costeau, who lived from 1911 – 1997, and this story takes place in 1711… but it’s such a wonderful quote, I couldn’t NOT include it! 

Chapter 4: Loanda, July 1711, pt. 1

Notes:

Warning: Mentions of slavery. The story is set in 1711, and in this chapter they’re in Angola, which was one of the centers of the transatlantic slave trade at that time. I’ve chosen not to describe it in detail, because I know I won’t do it justice, but it will be mentioned and discussed, because realistically speaking it’s not possible to leave it out.

Lots of explanations at the end! If I missed anything, please let me know.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

A few weeks ago, Alfred would have never had imagined going to another country, much less another continent. He was eager to disembark and explore the port of Loanda, but at the same time, he felt bereft.

If only he could share this experience – any experience, really – with his brothers.

Albert had always been such a big fan of adventure books, and would always ask Alfred or Matthew to read him stories about noble and courageous men who explored unknown lands. And Matthew, while never as adventurous as Alfred, always did like to go exploring with him when they were still kids.

Not for the first time that month, he toyed with the idea of writing a letter home.

It would destroy his carefully crafted ploy of having been kidnapped or killed, but for some reason he couldn’t stand the idea of his brothers not knowing he was alive.

However, even if he could somehow send them a letter, he would probably never read any reply. By the time his letter would arrive, Alfred would already be back at sea or in another country. And he doubted Arthur would allow him to write down their next destination, if he would even allow him to write a letter at all.

Then again, maybe Arthur would allow a simple letter. 

He was probably imagining it, but for some reason, it felt as if he was actually getting along with Arthur lately. It wasn’t as if they were suddenly best friends, but something in their dynamic had definitely changed.

For example, sometimes when Alfred had a night shift in one of the crow’s nest, Arthur would come up with a bottle of rum to share. He still ignored most of Alfred’s personal questions, but he did humor him by sharing anecdotes from previous voyages.

He even attempted to teach him about constellations and navigating the seas. Alfred hadn’t even known Arthur acted as a navigator on top of a captain until then. And while most of that knowledge was way beyond Alfred, he pretended he understood just so he could listen to Arthur talk. 

There was something different in the way Arthur talked when they were alone and discussing the stars or the sea - something less guarded, and more excited. Alfred felt himself smile stupidly at nothing in particular at merely remembering it. 

“Jones, get your head out of the clouds!”

Alfred snapped out of his daydreaming, and looked up at the rigger above him. The man was glaring and pointing at the sail Alfred was supposed to furl, and Alfred quickly shot him an apologetic smile before scrambling over to said sail.

He was slowly getting better at his new job. No longer did his arms and legs ache painfully at the end of a shift, and he didn’t always need to look at his feet while climbing anymore. Climbing all the way to the tops of the masts was still a little nerve-racking, but that was only normal.

Once done with his task, he sat down on the lowest yard, leaning back against the mast while letting his legs swing on either side of the yard.

He studied the port they were docked at – Loanda seemed a very lively town. Merchants, sailors and children and their mothers bustled about the port while talking animatedly with one another.

Apart from a curious glance every now and then, none of those people paid them any attention, despite their Jolly Roger flying high and proud. A few sailors even shouted their greetings. Alfred had already spotted quite a few other pirate ships, and realized some crews could very well know one another.

Movement below caught his eyes, and he leaned forward a little to watch Arthur and Yao leave the captain’s quarters.

Arthur had forgone his signature cocked hat, and his ruffled blouse wasn’t done up with an expensive gem – no, a few buttons were even undone, teasing a glimpse of bare skin.

From this angle, Alfred could see what he assumed were lines of black ink. He’d never saw any of Arthur’s tattaws in full, but he knew he probably had quite a few, and absentmindedly wondered what they looked like.

Some of the other pirates also had tattaws, and when he asked after them, they explained that each of them had a special meaning; one for crossing a specific ocean, one for honoring a loved one they left at home, and so on.

When Arthur suddenly looked up towards the fore mast and locked eyes with him, Alfred realized he’d been caught staring, and he nearly slipped off the yard in surprise. When he was sure he wasn’t going to slip, he looked back down again to offer Arthur an apologetic smile, but Arthur had already gone over to Leon.

“Alfred!” James suddenly called, and he beckoned him to come down. Alfred tore his eyes from Arthur once more and quickly descended the mast, hopping off the ratline. “I’m going to put in a requisition for some new clothing. You have nothing but what you wear, correct?”

“Uh, yeah.” Alfred said, before realizing what James was asking. “But I don’t have any money.”

“You do not,” James agreed. “but you’re not properly equipped to cross the Atlantic like this, and the cap’n reasoned you should be awarded for your efforts in the capture of those two rats.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at Arthur, pleasantly surprised. The Emerald Dragon worked with a method called ‘no purchase, no pay’, which meant that any spoils taken during a battle or plunder would be fairly distributed among the crew.

However, since Alfred had first been a stowaway, and since his promotion to rigger had taken place after their encounter with the Russian privateers, Alfred had not yet received any share.

“You’ll need a new shirt and trousers, and maybe some new boots. That okay?”

“Seriously? That’s definitely okay.” Alfred quickly replied, a little surprised, but mostly relieved. He’d been wearing the same clothes for over a month now, and while he made sure to clean himself and the clothes on his back whenever possible, he felt positively grimy.

“You look about my size. You know your shoe size?” He did, and hoped it would be the same here as it would be in England. James nodded, writing it down in the book he was holding, before leaving to find someone else.

Alfred turned on his heel as well, looking for something to do – he could probably be useful below deck, or maybe he could volunteer to carry some empty barrels towards the docks for restocking, but any thought of doing anything helpful fled his mind when he saw Leon walking away and leaving Arthur alone at the taffrails.

His feet obviously had a mind of their own, and before he knew it, he was leaning against the railings, making sure to smile extra charmingly at his captain.

“Jones.” Arthur said impassively. “Looking forward to causing mischief in town?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’ve been nothing but good so far.”

“That's rich, coming from a pirate.” Arthur countered without skipping a beat, and Alfred laughed, feeling a little giddy when the corners of Arthur’s lips twitched upward in response.

He turned from Alfred when Leon reappeared, handing him something that needed to be signed in order for the ships few reparations to be taken care of. Alfred saluted the boatswain with two fingers, but Leon simply glared at him before he left, and well, you can’t win them all.

“Since you’ve obviously nothing better to do,” Arthur then said, inclining his head towards Alfred. “you’ll accompany me to town.”

Alfred resisted the urge to tell him he could also ask nicely; for some reason, he often had to remind himself that as his captain, Arthur didn’t need to ask him anything.

“Sir.” Alfred instead said, smiling cheekily. “You got business to take care of?”

“I do.” Arthur answered, before walking over to the gangplank, crossing it with steady and graceful movements.

Alfred pursed his lips and followed, eyeing the stone ground of the ports with hesitation. The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt his knees lock and wobble. He cursed underneath his breath as he felt his legs turn to jelly, causing him to rock forward dangerously.

Arthur, who had waited for him, instantly reached out and grabbed his elbow firmly. The surprisingly strong grip helped him to compose himself, giving him time to rearrange his feet and get used to the sudden stillness beneath his feet.

Surprisingly enough the dizziness wasn’t as bad as it had been when he first left the ship in Spain, but he still had to close his eyes and breathe in and out deeply. The searing feel of Arthur’s hand on his elbow helped distract him, and he was struck with the realization that this was only the third time Arthur had ever touched him.

Once he straightened, Arthur let him go and continued walking, giving Alfred no time to awkwardly thank him.

 


 

It was overwhelmingly crowded in the town, and Alfred struggled a little to keep up with Arthur because he kept getting sidetracked by the foreign sights around him.

Despite knowing better, he eventually got distracted by the display of a shop and stopped to take a look at the glimmering contraptions laid out behind the glass. He'd never seen most of the navigational instruments on display, and briefly he wondered if Arthur possessed such items too.

He decided to ask about it later, and turned back around to find the man in question, only to realize Arthur (and his admittedly hard to miss red coat) had disappeared in the throng of people.

And well, shit.

He pursed his lips and searched the crowd for any sign of Arthur, to no avail. Looking back to where he came from, he realized he could still see the masts of several ships docked in the port. It would probably not be too difficult to find his way back to the Emerald Dragon.

However, he should probably try to find Arthur, because Arthur had asked him to accompany him and would probably be angry with him if he simply turned back.

Then again, how was he supposed to find Arthur in a town he didn’t know? They’d been told not to wander too far from the docks alone. He wasn’t sure why, but he figured it had something to do with the mere size of the town, and with how easy it would be to get lost in it. 

He could follow the masses. Judging by their baskets, some full and some empty, they were probably walking towards or from some kind of market. Perhaps Arthur had meant to go to that market, or perhaps he had meant to go to a tavern, and logically speaking, a market usually had taverns nearby.

After weighing the pros and cons for a few seconds, Alfred decided he’d much rather face Arthur’s wrath than actually get lost and, God forbid, attacked or arrested.

Nodding to himself, he promptly turned around to head back to the docks. Unfortunately, because he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, he immediately collided with someone.

That someone stumbled back and nearly tripped, and Alfred quickly reached out to steady the woman. The woman yanked her arm back and glared at him, and the man next to her started shouting at him in a foreign language.

Alfred quickly raised his hands and took a step back, trying to apologize with hand gestures and words in a language the pair probably did not understand. It obviously failed, because the man took a step forward and roughly shoved him.

Just as he realized it would escalate into a fistfight, someone appeared in his peripheral vision, and the man who’d been angrily shouting at him, instantly paled and shut up.

Alfred turned towards the newcomer, a little overwhelmed, and was surprised to see Arthur standing next to him. He had his hand on the pistol attached to his belt, and glared the man down. Either the pair had an idea of who Arthur was, or they simply felt threatened, because the woman started pulling on the man’s arm to get him to leave with her.

“Captain?” He asked, confused.

Arthur ignored him until the pair made themselves scarce, and then grabbed him by the elbow to drag him along.

“I told you to stay close.” Arthur snapped, barely audible over the loud chatter of the people around them.

Alfred frowned; he’d not heard such a thing, but he decided against voicing it. “I got distracted.”

“The town is crawling with slavers, Jones. I advise you not to go exploring on your own.”

“Wait, what?” Alfred exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt. It caused Arthur’s hand to slip from his elbow, but Arthur stopped as well, an irritated sigh leaving him. “Slavers? What do you mean, slavers?”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “People who capture other people, and then sell said people to the highest bidders.”

“I know what slavers are,” Alfred scoffed, a bit insulted by the patronizing tone Arthur had used. “Are there no authorities here?”

Arthur scowled and crossed his arms. “Authorities? Do you think that these ‘authorities’ are good and honest people simply because they hunt pirates? The slave trade here is simply another way for the Portuguese to fill their pockets. There is nothing illegal about it. Now come with me.”

This time when Arthur turned around and started walking again, Alfred stayed as close as possible. He still looked around whenever possible, suddenly seeing things in a different light.

He’d never considered the possibility of something like slave trade or labor actually being legal. Growing up in a small town that only ever attracted British merchants and the occasional wayward smuggler, meant that he’d always been pretty sheltered from most of the world’s horrors.

Not for the first time since he joined the Emerald Dragon, he was reminded of how utterly and foolishly naive he actually was.

“It’s still wrong.” He grumbled, glaring while keeping his eyes glued on Arthur’s back.

“It is.” Arthur agreed, and Alfred was a little surprised Arthur had heard him at all. “But there is nothing we can do about it, apart from occasionally sailing popular trading routes and intercepting suspiciously large cargo ships.”

The admission offered him little relief, but he supposed it was better than hearing Arthur participated in the business – after all, he was a pirate, and he had no doubt that a lot of pirates did not share Arthur’s moral code.

They took a turn into a slightly calmer street, and the sudden lack of people made it feel as if it were easier to breathe again. Arthur briefly turned around to, most likely, check if Alfred was still behind him, and frowned when he saw Alfred’s stormy expression.

“Shake it off, Jones.” He said, tone surprisingly sympathetic. “You will inevitably learn about more horrors sooner or later. It’s best to toughen up.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, rubbing at his face with a hand. “I know, I know. It just caught me off guard.”

Arthur looked him up and down briefly, before starting to walk again. “Perhaps our destination will cheer you up.”

That was not what Alfred had expected him to say - he had figured Arthur simply had business to attend to and that he needed Alfred to watch his back. Arthur side-eyed him with a small smile, and Alfred decided the quickest way of finding out what Arthur meant, was to simply follow him.

 


 

The better part of the remaining hour of their trek was spent in silence.

He’d probably deny it if he were asked, but Arthur had noticeably slowed down, often checking to see if Alfred was still following him or not.

Alfred used the opportunity to look around a little again, though he was careful not to get completely sidetracked by anything that caught his eye.

Eventually the smell of sea and ships hit him again, and he realized they were approaching a different port. After a quick mental analysis of their route, he figured this was the northern port of the city. Arthur most likely wanted to visit another ship, he reckoned. He briefly wondered why that ship wasn’t docked at the same port as the Emerald Dragon – but once they actually entered the docks, he could see why.

Most of the ships docked at the northern port were massive – they were most likely all Man-o-Wars, galleons and Ship of the Line’s.

The port was as crowded as the one they were docked at, but among the raggedy sailors and prostitutes were also wealthy-looking merchants and what had to be soldiers. He tried not to think about how many of the servants loitering about were actually slaves, and instead glued his eyes onto Arthur’s back again.

Arthur walked right up to a huge ship. It had to be nearly twice as big as the Emerald Dragon, with at least twice as many cannons. While Arthur easily walked up to its gangplank, he took a moment to stop and gawk at it.

On its side, the name ‘Midsommarafton’ was painted, and he wondered what it meant.

“The Midsummer’s Eve.” Arthur suddenly said, as if reading his mind. “It’s commandeered by captain Berwald Oxenstierna.”

“It’s huge.” Alfred said with an impressed whistle, walking over to his captain. None of the sailors near the ship paid them any attention, and he realized they probably knew Arthur.

“It’s a Ship-of-the-Line.” Arthur confirmed. “It has over a hundred cannons and can house more than two hundred people.”

Alfred whistled. “Kinda impractical for a pirate ship though, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a pirate ship.” Arthur said, surprising him. “They’re more like... privateers.”

Alfred frowned, remembering the last time they encountered privateers. “And we’re just gonna go up and say hi?”

At that, Arthur smirked lightly. He nodded for Alfred to follow as he gracefully crossed the gangplank. “We’ve nothing to fear from Berwald and his crew.”

Once on deck, they were almost immediately greeted by a short and young-looking man. Alfred wondered if he was actually already a man – he looked more like a boy, really. No older than Matthew.

“Hello, Arthur!” The man said cheerfully, a thick accent pleasantly coating his voice. “Berwald is in his quarters. You can head in, if you want.”

“Thank you, Tino.” Arthur said, nodding agreeably. “I’ll manage. This is my new rigger, Alfred Jones. Could you keep him busy until I get back? He’s never seen a Ship of the Line before.”

Alfred was a little overwhelmed with surprise – first, Arthur genuinely smiled at this man, like he was an old friend.

Second, Arthur called him by his full name, and Alfred had never heard Arthur say his first name before. He was a little sad that it happened out of the blue, because he already couldn’t recall how it had sounded.

Third; Arthur requesting he’d be kept busy, as if he was a little child who might otherwise throw a tantrum. Then again, he was immensely curious, and Arthur most likely knew.

“Of course! It will be my pleasure to give him a tour.” Tino said with a bright smile, waiting until Arthur nodded and left before turning to Alfred. “Nice to meet you Alfred, my name is Tino.”

“Uh, hey. Nice to meet you.” He replied, a little distracted because he was still trying to figure out what they (or Arthur) were doing here.

“How long have you been with Arthur?”

“About two months? I think. I’ve only been a rigger for a couple of weeks, though.” Alfred replied honestly; something about Tino’s face encouraged him to be honest.

“And how are you liking it? I never much liked climbing up into the masts. Unfortunately, as navigator, I’m sometimes required to.”

 All right, now he had to ask. He looked way too young to be a navigator – something Arthur told him was an incredibly difficult job, after all. “If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you exactly?”

Tino laughed lightly, not appearing surprised at all. “I get that a lot, don’t worry. I’m twenty-four.”

Alfred hummed with surprise; he would’ve never guessed Tino was three years older than him. “Oh, right. Uh, yeah, it’s been great so far, being a rigger.”

“Have you sailed before joining Arthur?”

It felt a little as an interrogation, and it probably was, but Tino looked immensely sincere and so Alfred shrugged.

“Can’t say I have. Actually, I’ve never crossed an ocean before I joined the Emerald Dragon. But I’m really liking it so far.”

Tino smiled brightly, and it immediately relaxed Alfred – something about Tino felt very comfortable, and he imagined some might even compare his friendly smiles to those of an older sibling or parent, despite his younger appearance.

“You might reconsider after crossing the Atlantic Ocean.” He said, winking. “It can take months if the weather is bad… but the Dragon is much faster than our ship. You’re also going to the Americas, yes? I've always liked it there.”

Alfred sincerely hoped the weather would not be bad – he loved being at sea, yes, but to be adrift for months with no land in sight? That might be a bit too much, even for him.

“You’re going to the Americas as well?”

Tino opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another man, who locked an arm around Tino’s neck and forcibly joined the conversation. Tino kept smiling, although he looked a little exasperated right then.

 “Sup, shortie!” The man exclaimed, before noticing Alfred. “Oh, we picked up new meat?”

“No, Mathias.” Tino sighed, gently extracting said blonde from himself. “This is Alfred Jones, Arthur’s newest addition.”

“Yikes, poor you. Arthur’s got such a large stick up his ass, haha!” Mathias said loudly and Alfred resisted cringing, hoping his captain was nowhere in sight. “You get to sail on the Dragon though! I’ve always wanted to know what that’s like.”

“It’s pretty amazing.” Alfred said, grinning a little. He imagined it was a lot faster than the huge ship they were on, after all. Size could come in handy in battle, but speed and the ability to maneuver through shallow waters offered a whole different advantage and experience.

“Lucky bastard. Come and have a drink with us, aye?”

Before Alfred could even answer, Mathias had already grabbed him by the elbow and was dragging him below deck towards what was most likely the galley. Tino followed as well, which offered some comfort.

Once in the galley Mathias led him towards an already occupied table; a rather surly looking man sat there, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Mathias let go of Alfred and bumped his hip against the man’s shoulder.

“Lukas, elskede, move over.”

The man, Lukas, sighed and moved aside so that Mathias could sit next to him. He sat rather close to him, pressing their shoulders together despite there being more than enough space. Alfred decided not to be nosy and sat down on the opposite bench with Tino.

 


 

Arthur had been right – this visit did cheer him up.

Tino, Mathias and Lukas were friendly and genuinely funny, and it was very refreshing to hang out with people whose humor was not dependent on either violence or rum.

He learned that they were Scandinavian, and came from either Finland or Denmark-Norway. Apparently their captain, Berwald, had been on the ship since he was a little boy, taking over the position of captain after his father passed away.

Mathias had been a pirate before joining up and snatching up the job as Berwald’s quartermaster, and was very willing to boast about all his previous adventures. Lukas was a bit more timid about answering Alfred’s questions, but admitted to having been in the Dano-Norwegian Navy before defecting due to reasons he wasn’t willing to share.

Tino only told him that the Midsommarafton had saved him from an untimely death years ago, and that he’d grown up with Berwald. Alfred decided not to ask for clarification, not wanting to somehow make the otherwise bubbly man uncomfortable.

They were an odd bunch, he thought: Mathias was loud and brash, Tino was soft and gentle, and Lukas had the emotionless, unreadable vibe down to a T. Despite this, they interacted with each other like they were a tightly knit family.

Alfred hadn’t felt this comfortable with strangers since before he joined the Emerald Dragon, and vaguely he wondered what it would’ve been like if he would’ve been a stowaway on this ship. Would he have decided to stay, as well? Or would he have still settled somewhere else?

Would he have ever met Arthur at all?

Merely thinking about it left a sour, guilty taste in his mouth, and he quickly shoved the thought away.

Eventually Mathias and Lukas got caught in some kind of half-hearted argument – Alfred wasn’t sure if they were really arguing, because their body language betrayed something else entirely. Not wanting to interfere, he turned towards Tino, who’d been quietly observing for the past few minutes.

“You look like you have more questions.” Tino said then, smiling knowingly at Alfred.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been told I’m too curious for my own good.” Alfred admitted sheepishly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, cushioning his chin on his hands.

“There is no such thing as too curious.” Tino easily replied. “Ask away; perhaps I have answers.”

“How long have you known Arthur?” Saying his captain’s first name out loud felt odd, but it also felt strange to refer to him as captain Kirkland in the presence of people who all used Arthur’s first name.

“We crossed paths a couple of years ago.” Tino mused. “We… share an acquaintance. I’m afraid it’s not really my story to tell.”

Despite wanting to do so badly, Alfred knew when not to pry. “How come you’re working with us? Pirates, I mean. You guys are privateers, right?”

The slight frown that had appeared on Tino’s face during Alfred’s earlier question dissolved, a happy smile takings its place again.

“A privateer is really just a pirate with papers that permit them to be a pirate.” Tino said, as if that explained anything. He must’ve known what Alfred was thinking, because he continued for his benefit. “We intercept ships in the Atlantic and take their cargo, but we do it… legally, I suppose. The bonus is that we chose our own commissions.”

Alfred hummed and nodded, more so to himself. “And get government pay, right?”

Tino laughed. “Occasionally. I’ve been told it’s an easier life than that of a pirate, but I have nothing to compare it to. What do you think of the pirate life so far?”

“I don’t know.” Alfred said honestly. “When I left home, all I wanted was to cross the ocean and begin anew in the colonies. I never thought I’d willingly become a pirate, but then again, so far my expectations of piracy don’t match up to reality.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, y’know. Back home there were many stories about ships like the Emerald Dragon, with a bloodthirsty crew that waged war with random ships at sea, or raided unsuspecting villages and left no man, woman or child alive. But so far it’s been…”

“Boring?” Tino added helpfully.

“Ha, no, I wouldn’t say boring. I mean, I’m just a bit underwhelmed so far, I guess? But I’ve only been with captain Kirk- uh, Arthur, for two months. So I’m probably speaking prematurely.”

Tino shrugged. “The funny thing about stories and gossip, is that they exaggerate and villainize the exciting bits, and leave out the boring bits. Not every man who becomes a pirate does so because he wants to murder and rape. But you’ll get your fill of the life you’re expecting yet, Alfred, don’t worry.”

“Oh man, now you’re just making me anxious.” Alfred said, hoping to alleviate the man’s serious expression a little. It worked, and Tino chuckled, but he still felt a little anxious himself.

Despite not having experienced any of the uglier, often bragged about parts of being a pirate, he knew that Tino was right: someday, he would experience them. The prospect of ever having to participate in something like a raid or another, tougher battle at sea made him nervous. 

Not because he was afraid for his own life, but because of what he might be forced to do. He was somewhat at peace with having to do whatever it would take to defend himself and his own, but he couldn’t imagine ever purposefully hurting someone innocent – or even worse; taking an innocent life.

He could only hope, that when the time would come, the situation would not live up to his worst expectations.

They talked a bit more about the Americas and the experiences Tino had there so far, when the fun was cut short by the sound of heavy boots ascending to the galley. Alfred turned to see an incredibly tall man approach them, Arthur in tow.

He was a little amused with how short Arthur seemed in comparison to what was obviously the captain of this ship, if Tino’s reaction was anything to go by - the navigator quickly got up to greet Berwald with a soft smile.

“Ber! Come and have a drink with us, you big bastard.” Mathias cheered jovially, either oblivious to the unimpressed glare Berwald sent him, or completely ignoring it.

Berwald turned towards Tino, addressing him in a language Alfred assumed was Swedish. Tino nodded and swiftly left the galley, taking a turn opposite of the way back to the main deck, and with some regret, Alfred realized he hadn’t gotten that tour the navigator had proposed earlier.  

“Having fun?” Arthur asked him, carefully concealed humor in his voice – Alfred had spent too much time studying Arthur, and was able to recognize some of his tells by now.  

“You know me, I know how to have a good time.” He joked, and Arthur rolled his eyes. He remained standing, and Alfred knew it was time to go, so he quickly got to his feet.

Then Tino reappeared, a bundle of documents in his hands that he handed to Arthur. “Here they are.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be seeing you on the other side of the Atlantic, Berwald.” Arthur said, and Berwald nodded curtly. “Good night, Tino, Lukas.”

He merely glared at Mathias, but without any real heat, and Mathias snorted.

“Bye, Arthur!” Mathias drawled with a sickeningly sweet smile, and Arthur rolled his eyes at him before turning around and leaving the galley.

Alfred couldn’t resist a surprised laugh, wondering if perhaps Mathias and Arthur knew each other better than Mathias had let on, and quickly followed after his captain. He definitely looked forward to meeting this odd bunch again in the Americas.

 


 

“You know a lot of people.” Alfred said, after about fifteen minutes of silence.

The sun was setting, casting a warm and golden glow over the streets they were walking through. After realizing some of their previously taken streets were now packed with the evening crowd, Arthur had decided to take a different route back to the ship.

It was a quieter one, with more houses than shops or taverns. Instead of large shopping crowds, the only people present were playing children and teens with their moms watching over them, and a few workers.

Alfred had been a little distracted by how the sunset cast a mesmerizing glow over Arthur’s blonde hair, and as usual, Arthur had caught him staring, so he had decided to make idle conversation. Fortunately, Arthur took the bait.

“I’ve been sailing the world for quite some time.”

“How long?” Alfred asked, hopeful.

Arthur was silent for a few seconds, and Alfred figured his question would probably go ignored. Surprisingly enough, Arthur eventually hummed, as if in thought.

“About twelve years now, I reckon.” He answered. “I sailed on the Setting Friday until it shipwrecked and then joined Die Ehrsucht. When I crossed paths with the Emerald Dragon, I joined them and became its captain three years later.”

Alfred hummed, surprised by the extent of Arthur’s answer and contemplating these new bits of information he’d just been handed. He recognized the name of captain Beilschmidt’s ship, but he had never heard of that other ships.

Arthur seemed to be in a generous mood, and if he were lucky, he’d probably get away with asking after one of the ships. After a brief, mental debate, he settled on the ship he did not know yet.

“What happened with the Setting Friday?”

“It was attacked by sirens near Madagascar.”

“Sirens?” Alfred parroted, looking at Arthur in an attempt to find any signs that he was being messed with. “You mean mermaids? You can’t be serious.”

Arthur scowled lightly, and Alfred realized his dissatisfied expression probably meant he regretted telling Alfred at all.

“Uh, sorry. But I mean, it’s just fiction, right? Scary stories to keep kids from playing in deeper waters.”

Arthur scoffed, sounding a little resigned. “They exist. They’re not very common on this side of the Atlantic, but we will likely run into them in the Caribbean.”

“You’re – you’re actually serious.” Alfred said, astonished. He was starting to doubt himself; Arthur’s humor usually revolved around insults and threats, not made up stories. “What are they like?”

“As long as you are under their spell, they appear beautiful, beguiling and gentle. In reality they are terrifying creatures with razor sharp teeth and claws. They snag their victims from their ship and then drag them down to the bottom of the sea. Hopefully, they die a swift death, but no one's lived to tell what exactly goes on down there.”

Alfred frowned, contemplating the fact that while sailing the Caribbean, they apparently wouldn’t only have to look out for enemies on the water, but also in the water.

“So why are we sailing their way? Isn’t that tempting fate?”

“Yes. Utterly exhilarating, is it not?” Arthur said, looking at him sideways with an excited grin, and Alfred’s heart skipped a treacherous beat at the sight.

“I wouldn’t call it that.” He mumbled halfheartedly, not entirely sure if Arthur’s excitement was rubbing off on him, or if the feeling in his chest was anxiety.

“Don’t worry Jones,” Arthur said, grin turning wry. “I have a feeling you are less susceptible to a mermaid than most other men.”

Alfred wanted to claim that he had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but judging by the way Arthur had looked when he said it, he realized he knew exactly what Arthur was saying.

However, he’d only just started to toy with the possibility of being attracted to men instead of women. So far, the only person inciting any kind of… excitable reaction in him, had been Arthur.

Maybe that was just because Arthur was so exhilarating; to him, Arthur represented adventure and freedom, in some way. Or maybe he was just desperate to form some kind of familial relationship, being so far from home.

After all, he could not for the life of him remember any other time he might’ve felt attracted to the same sex without being aware of it.

Whatever it meant – he was not yet ready to bring it up with anyone else. Especially not Arthur.

“Are you?” Alfred asked instead, knowing it was a loaded question to ask, but unable to contain himself anyway.

The grin fell from Arthur’s lips, making way for that intense, searching expression he sometimes wore when studying Alfred. It was one that never failed to make Alfred feel a little hot underneath his collar.

He refused to avert his eyes and watched as Arthur stopped walking, turning towards Alfred to regard him properly with burning, calculating eyes.

Alfred stopped walking too, feeling the urge to shift on his feet but fighting against it. However, something must’ve been visible on his face, because Arthur’s intense expression made way for an amused one once more.

 “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Arthur answered coyly, and Alfred forced himself to swallow inconspicuously, ignoring how his throat suddenly felt as dry as sand.

He wasn’t sure what to say in return, and was about to probably say something foolish, when Arthur promptly started walking again, as if nothing had happened.

But Alfred knew something did happen. Unfortunately, the only proof he had, was the rapid beating of his own heart.

Notes:

  • Slave trade in Loanda – São Paulo da Assunção de Loanda (called Luanda now) is the capitol of Angola, which was under Portuguese rule at the time this story takes place. During this period Loanda also served as the center of transatlantic slave trade to (the Portuguese colony of) Brazil.
  • Tattaw – over the centuries, tattoos have been called by different names. It’s said that the popularity of modern Western tattooing mostly comes from Captain Cook’s voyages to the South Pacific in the 1770s. During his first voyage, he used the word ‘tattaw’. I know this story takes place in 1711, but I’m taking a creative liberty with this one.
  • The Midsommarafton crew – captain Berwald (Sweden), navigator Tino (Finland), quartermaster Mathias (Denmark), first mate Lukas (Norway). Emil (Iceland) hasn’t been introduced yet, but he’s a cabin boy! Also, if you've read this story before... the same thing is gonna happen, lol.
  • Tino having been saved by the Midsommarafton – I haven’t mentioned this explicitly, but I wanted to explain anyway, because I’m a history nerd! In 1695-1697,the Swedish Empire suffered a catastrophic famine. Finland was most affected – they called it ‘the years of many deaths’, because the famine killed about a third of the Finnish population in only two years. In 1697, when Tino was only a kid, the Midsommarafton picked him up from the streets and thus saved him.
  • Elskede – Mathias called Lukas elskede, which is Danish for beloved. Let’s go DenNor shippers! God, I kinda want to write their own story for this. I’ve given them a whole backstory in my head lol.
  • Mermaids in Madagascar – In Malagasy culture, mermaids are said to pull you down while you are swimming in the ocean, presumably to join their underwater world.

Chapter 5: Loanda, August 1711, pt. 2

Notes:

This chapter is also known as: Alfred and his gay panic.
Less piratey stuff, more introductions and some (nsfw lol) development.

Warning: some FrUk action at the end - it's the only action I'm giving them in this story, Alfred gets his hands on the goods from there on!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

For the umpteenth time that morning, Alfred stumbled backward and landed on his ass. He winced and grumbled when James snorted with amusement. With a grimace, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

After breakfast James told him to follow him up to the forecastle deck, and there he’d handed Alfred a cutlass. When asked if he knew how to fight with it, Alfred had honestly admitted that he’d never even really held a sword before, and James had kindly proposed he’d teach him right then and there.

It started out easy enough – James explained how to hold the sword and how to position his feet, among other things.

But then they actually started sparring; and whoever thought that practicing with actual cutlasses was a good idea, was a moron.

He wouldn’t tell James to his face, though. Not when the man was already kicking his ass and obviously enjoying it, too.

“On your feet, Jones!” James barked, an amused grin tugging at his lips, and Alfred glared at him as he scrambled back to his feet. “You gotta mind your left.”

He didn’t even know what the first mate meant with that, but he assumed that his left was open in a vulnerable away. How was he supposed to fix that, anyway? James was obviously not keen on giving him any more useful advice.

The sweltering heat didn’t help him focus either – nor the fact that Arthur had been observing them for the past ten minutes.

The one silver lining was that no one else was watching. They’d leave for the Americas the next morning, and most of the crew was using this last day to occupy the taverns and whore houses one last time. Only a skeleton crew remained on the ship to stand guard, and all of them were high up in the masts, with the exception of themselves and one man on the poop deck.

“Pay attention!” James barked as he suddenly charged at him again, and Alfred only just managed not to yelp and jump away.

Instead he blocked the sudden swipe of James’ sword and tried to get behind him, but James easily turned around and lashed out at him again.

This time he managed to knock the sword right out of Alfred’s grip, and Alfred grimaced as he waved his hand around, trying to shake off the sudden and short pain that flared up in his wrist.

“You were always shit at teaching others, James.” Arthur taunted from where he was leaning against the wooden railings, an amused grin on his face.

James laughed amicably at their captain. “Well, you were the one that taught me, sir. Perhaps you can teach this lily-livered rookie, too.”

“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed; he was not a coward, he simply didn’t want to accidentally slash James’ entire torso open. If they were to use wooden swords, he’d probably be more confident, but right now all he could think about was the sharpness of their blades.

“Perhaps I will. You need to retrieve your requisitions anyway.” Arthur agreed, surprisingly, and Alfred blanched.

Arthur's mere presence and observing already made him nervous enough to lose focus; what would happen if he were actually sparring with Arthur himself?

“Good luck, laddie.” James said teasingly, sheathing his own cutlass. “Yer gonna need it. Perhaps the cap’n can make a man outta you yet.”

“Great.” Alfred groused, glaring at him halfheartedly as the first mate shared one more inaudible joke with their captain before making himself scarce. 

He took the brief moment of reprieve to catch his breath – though he supposed there was nothing relaxing about the prospect of having to spar with Arthur. He watched as Arthur shrugged off his red coat, gently hanging it over the wooden railings.

Then he turned back to Alfred and stalked over, unsheathing his own cutlass.

That sight alone should not have been as distracting as it was, and Alfred was sure he was going to trip and fall straight on Arthur’s blade somehow.

Though perhaps that would actually be a blessing. It would definitely save him from any embarrassment, after all.

“I noticed you were holding back.” Arthur said as he got into position, aiming his blade at Alfred. “I know you're strong, so why are you holding back?”

“Uh,” Alfred started, as if explaining something obvious. “Because I didn’t want to impale him on my sword and then get keelhauled for murdering my superior?”

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Jones." Arthur chuckled. "You needn't hold back. Let’s raise the stakes. If you can get one scratch on me, you can take the night off.”

Alfred furrowed his brows – he didn’t much mind the night shift, but he supposed he would like to be well rested tomorrow when they’d depart.

Also: Arthur was challenging him, and Alfred didn’t need an incentive to be spurred on by a challenge.

“I won’t go easy on you.” He warned, feeling his cheeks warm up with slight embarrassment when Arthur laughed mockingly.

“I should hope not.”

Fine. If Arthur wanted to fight dirty, Alfred would play along.

But first; his shirt clung to him like a second skin, and the sheer grimy feeling of it made his skin crawl. So before he picked up his cutlass again, he quickly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up, removing his shirt altogether. He tossed the item sideways, a little disgusted when it landed with a wetter sound that it ought to, and bent over to pick up his cutlass.

Arthur didn’t look very intimidated, but he did give him an appreciative once-over, and Alfred suddenly realized that being shirtless might very well be counterproductive, especially if Arthur kept eyeing him like that.

Suddenly he felt incredibly naked - but he couldn't back out now. 

He got into position as well, and immediately Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Feet further apart, Jones.”

Right. He obliged, spreading his feet until Arthur nodded with approval.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur did not charge at him to immediately knock him off his inexperienced feet. Instead Arthur went over the best footing for the quickest attack or the best defense. He corrected him on his posture, and even demonstrated a few poses.

“You’re currently on a ship, so mind the swaying of the waves. Always remember to use the conditions to your advantage. You’re a pirate, so fight like one. Sunlight can blind your enemy, rocks will make them stumble, sand can be kicked into their eyes. If technique fails you, make sure you tire them out. Endurance is more important than strength.”

Eventually Arthur came close and demonstrated a few attacks, but slowly, so that Alfred had enough time to see them coming and to properly react. After a while, his muscles were starting to feel a little sore, but the excitement from actually learning how to fight kept him going.

After what had to have been almost an hour, Arthur nodded and took a few steps back, getting into position again.

“All right, now let’s see if you can get that nick on me.”

Alfred went for the element of surprise and lunged forward, but unsurprisingly, Arthur easily and gracefully dodged all of his swings. He didn’t even deflect any of them, simply stepping out of the way and circling around him.

“I told you to rely on endurance, Jones.” Arthur repeated, sounding as if he explained something to a child, and Alfred huffed, stepping back so that they could start anew again.

“All right, you come at me, then.” Alfred said, before adding a respectful; “Sir.”

The corners of Arthur’s lips twitched upward, and they both took their positions again. Arthur remained where he was though, aiming his sword at Alfred’s feet.

“You’re full of openings. Relax your shoulders, and keep your elbows bent. No, not that bent, ease up a little. And remember the conditions; the sun's high in the air, the ship's swaying rhythmically. Ready?”

Alfred doubted he'd have the mindset to pay attention to the conditions of his surroundings in a real fight, if he already couldn't remember them now. “No, but come at me anyway.”

Arthur grinned sharply and then rushed forward; Alfred only just managed to raise his sword in time to deflect what would’ve otherwise been a thorough slice at his arm. He frowned when he realized Arthur hadn’t pulled his attack at all. If he hadn’t defended in time, he would’ve actually hurt him, the bastard.

And yet, because of the fear he’d actually be cut, his adrenaline spiked so high, that he managed to (however amateurishly) defend himself against each attack.

Arthur kept correcting Alfred's movements, easily sidestepping his every counterattack. Despite what he thought earlier, he realized Arthur probably was holding back, because he didn't sound remotely out of breath and he didn't seem to have a hard time either. 

It didn't really upset him - after all, he was terrible at this - but he did briefly wonder what it would be like if Arthur fought him for real.

Or rather: he imagined Arthur fighting a real enemy. He could imagine Arthur would be relentless. He'd use every advantage he could find, and probably play dirty too. It would probably be breath-taking, and perhaps it was a little twisted of him to think that.

Arthur looked as if he was enjoying himself, and it caused Alfred to enjoy himself too, merely out of association - up until Arthur rammed the pommel of his cutlass into his side, causing him to wheeze and stumble back again.

“Snap out of it, boy. Your daydreaming will be the death of you.”

“To be honest, cap, you’re talking a lot, and also swinging at me a lot, and I’m not sure what I should pay attention to.”

“You should pay attention to both, and more." Arthur said, a slightly disappointed ring to his voice, one that caused Alfred to straighten immediately. "Are you tiring already?”

“Not on your life.” Alfred growled – he was nothing if not competitive when edged on, after all.

He decided to give up on half-assed strategies, and just pushed all of his frustration in his own attacks, trying to win by force alone no matter what Arthur said about endurance.

Arthur appeared caught off-guard by his change of tactics, but was much more skilled than he was in the end, and Alfred wasn’t too surprised when eventually his cutlass went flying again.

However, instead of waiting for Alfred to pick it up, Arthur promptly tossed his own away too, and raised his fists.

Alfred grinned with excitement – he was much better with his fists, after all.

“Getting confident?” Arthur provoked, and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh.

“With respect: I’m just excited to land a hit on you, sir.” He teased in return, pulse racing for several reasons when Arthur smiled back coyly.

Alfred wasted no time in pouncing on the other. It didn’t work as well as he hoped – Arthur danced around him as easily as he had done while they were still swinging swords, occasionally slamming his own fists in strategical places, making sure each punch stung painfully.

“If this is how you fight, Jones, I fear you would be better off a married man.” Arthur taunted, and the slightly inconsiderate insult caused him to snap. 

He barreled his body against Arthur’s, knowing that there were no sharp objects awaiting him, and noted with satisfaction that Arthur staggered back this time.

When Arthur lunged forward, he grabbed his fist in his hand, and twisted his arm harshly behind his back, knowing it must’ve hurt. Arthur made a noise, but Alfred realized it didn’t sound exactly pained.

Unfortunately, Arthur easily twisted along in a freakish display of agility, untangling himself and kicking at Alfred’s kneecap.

Alfred almost went down, because shit, that hurt. He wasn’t in time to avoid Arthur’s next move, and before he knew it he was backed against the taffrails, the sharp tip of a dagger digging into his abdomen.

“That’s – “ Alfred wheezed, having to clear his throat first. “That’s not fair.”

 “I’m a pirate.” Arthur said simply, a dangerous yet playful glint in his eyes. “You’re incredibly predictable, but I commend you for trying to use your larger size to your advantage.”

“What about endurance over strength?”

“I would’ve absolutely tired you out, had I let this go on.” Arthur mused, sliding the dagger up to Alfred’s chest.

It didn't pierce his skin, fortunately, but it did left a slight sting. However, instead of hurting, the sting only caused his blood to burn hotter underneath his skin.

He felt his throat dry up considerably and involuntarily let his eyes slide down the man's smaller frame.

Arthur was standing very close to him, and he could see that he was panting lightly now. The slight rise and fall of his chest was so well concealed that he probably would not have noticed if they'd been further apart. The shirt he was wearing stuck to his skin a little too, most likely due to the exertion and the heat. 

"I think you'd be surprised." Alfred mumbled, unaware that he had said it out loud, eyes still glued to the tantalizingly sweaty skin of Arthur's neck.

Arthur shifted, and a leg pressed against his own, and Alfred snapped out of his daydream when he realized - with mortification - that a good portion of his blood had traveled south sometime during their spar.

And judging by the suddenly unreadable expression on Arthur's face, he realized Arthur knew it too.  

“Mind yourself, Jones.” Arthur said lowly. “There are only so many boundaries you can cross.”

“What happens when I cross one too many?” Alfred decided to ask, voice equally low, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt as he met Arthur's gaze again.

Arthur raised his chin a little, glancing at him through half-lidded eyes, while pressing the tip of the dagger into his chest a little harsher.

Alfred felt his pulse flutter excitedly: this particular sight was going to haunt him forever.

“You should cool down, Alfred.” Arthur purred in a near whisper.

Alfred was so distracted by how sultry Arthur had sounded, that he didn’t notice a leg had hooked around his own until it was too late.

One of Arthur's hands pushed against his chest, and he yelped as he felt himself tumble over the low taffrail.

At least he remembered to close his eyes and hold his breath on time.

He crashed into the cold water, and immediately kicked himself back up to resurface, grimacing as the salt water burned in his throat and eyes. Looking up, he saw Arthur lean on the taffrails casually.

“How’s the water?” Arthur called mockingly.

“It’s great!” Alfred yelled back. “Very refreshing. You should try it.”

Whatever Arthur said or didn't say in response, he didn’t wait to hear it. He quickly swam around the ship towards the docks and pulled himself up, ignoring the amused looks from bystanders and stomping back over the Emerald Dragon’s gangplank.

Arthur had donned his coat once more and gone down to the main deck to either gloat or laugh at him, and Alfred resisted a petulant pout.

He’d retaliate, but he knew he wouldn’t get away with it alive, so he merely straightened and tried to look dignified.

“Did the water cool your head?” Arthur teased. 

“My head, and other parts.” Alfred countered, strangely satisfied when Arthur’s amused smile dropped. “Thanks for the lesson, cap. We should do it again. Sparring sure does get the blood pumpin', right?”

He nonchalantly ran a hand through his wet hair, making sure Arthur saw it when he gave Arthur a once-over for a change, and then shook his head a little to get rid of excess water. 

“Your cheekiness will one day be the death of you.” Arthur said humorlessly.

“I thought my curiosity was already going to kill me one day.” Alfred quipped without skipping a beat. 

Arthur didn't look amused, however. “Careful, Alfred.” He warned, sounding surprisingly serious. 

For once, Alfred wisely shut up, silently watching as Arthur shouldered past him and left the ship without further ado.

For some reason, it felt as if he'd crossed a boundary, but he wasn’t sure if it was a bad one or not.

 


 

Even though he didn’t want to, Alfred spent the rest of the day brooding over his earlier encounter with Arthur, and its implications. He realized he’d gotten a little too comfortable with trading barbs with Arthur, and with talking back when he should actually shut up.

Whatever that had been earlier, probably didn’t help either, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Arthur meant when he warned him to be careful.

At least Arthur hadn’t really seemed angry with him. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t messed up whatever weird, amicable thing they had going on: being on your captain’s good side was far better than being on his bad side, especially if said captain was Arthur Kirkland.

So, to escape his brooding, Alfred eventually agreed to spend his last few free hours in the tavern with Ralph and several other of his mates, concluding that drinking away his troubles was one way of dealing with it. There was no grievance that couldn’t be solved by false singing, cheap rum and loud bragging, or so his crew mates liked to make him believe.

He made sure not to get too caught up in the merrymaking: it wouldn't do to be shitfaced during his guard duty that night, and he was pretty sure he'd already reached his daily quota of pissing of a superior. 

His mates however seemed intent on getting as wasted as possible, and he had the idea that they were a little nervous. After all; crossing the Atlantic Ocean could take a few weeks or even months, depending on the weather. There was a chance they’d be out longer than expected, and it would mean having to ration.

Obviously no one was looking forward to it. Alfred didn't have anything to compare everyone's worries too, so he decided not to add this particular worry to his already large pile of them. 

Reluctantly he left his mates in the middle of what was probably another fake retelling of an adventure about half an hour before he was supposed to relieve the rigger on duty. However, as he passed the bar, he accidentally bumped into someone disturbingly familiar.

He mumbled an apology and then halted - the man looked just like Lovino, but he knew the Scarlet Fiesta had went straight to the Americas after leaving Spain… and yet, maybe they had changed their mind? Surely he would've heard if they did, right?

He supposed that the best way to find out, was to simply ask him.

“Lovino Vargas?”

The man immediately straightened and looked at him with surprise. It was then that Alfred realized this was not Lovino, but rather someone who looked a lot like him.

“Lovino is my brother.” The man said with the same melodic accent Lovino spoke with, if Alfred’s memory served him right. “You’ve met him?”

Alfred quickly smiled and nodded, holding out his hand. “Yeah! I met him in Spain. My name is Alfred, Alfred Jones.”

“You helped him find me, right? Thank you so much! I am Feliciano, it is so nice to finally meet you!” Feliciano said happily, reaching out to enthusiastically shake his hand. “It was very kind of you. I don’t often get to see Lovino, I think Antonio is scared he might leave otherwise! Which is really silly because Lovino really likes Antonio. I wanted to come and thank you earlier, but Kirkland is so scary… I am glad we finally met!”

Alfred chuckled and gently pulled his hand back. It worked, and Feliciano immediately let go of him, smiling apologetically. “No problem, man! I’m glad I could help.”

“You should meet my crew! Eli and Roderich are very nice. Gilbert not so much, but he’s not as scary as Kirkland. Come, come!”

Immediately Feliciano’s hand latched onto his arm again. He started dragging Alfred along with him, and he nearly stumbled over his own two feet: the Italian was stronger than he looked.

“Eh, I’m not sure…” Alfred tried halfheartedly; he knew Feliciano belonged with captain Beilschmidt, and he hadn’t heard a lot about them yet, but he doubted they were friendlier than any other pirate crew he'd encountered so far.

“It will be fine! Kirkland and Francis are here too!”

Now Alfred was definitely not sure – he didn’t know if Arthur would appreciate it if he suddenly barged in unannounced, especially after their encounter earlier today. Then again, it wasn’t as if Alfred invited himself over.

Feliciano dragged him around the corner to a more secluded part of the tavern, pushing open a pair of batwing doors. They entered a small room, with a round table in the middle. At it sat Arthur, Francis, the white-haired man he remembered seeing in Spain, and two other brown-haired men.

Ve, look who I found! This is Alfred!” Feliciano immediately exclaimed cheerfully. “He helped Lovino in Spain, remember?”

Alfred hesitantly looked at Arthur, but he didn’t appear very angry with him; rather, he was studying him with curious, slightly unfocused eyes. At his side sat Francis, and the white-haired man he knew as captain Beilschmidt - Gilbert, he remembered Feliciano say.

Gilbert laughed loudly, leaning forward to slam his mug on the table, causing it to spill a little.

“Alfred fucking Jones! Oh man, I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink since forever. Antonio was so pissed! Roderich, get us more drinks!”

A brown-haired man with spectacles on gave his captain an exasperated glare, but got to his feet anyway to shoulder past Alfred and Feliciano and toward the bar.

“Oh, I forgot the drinks…” Feliciano mumbled underneath his breath, looking back with a worried glance before shrugging and pushing Alfred closer to the table. “Eli! Eli, this is Alfred.”

The man in question, Eli, smiled widely up at them. A dimple appeared in both cheeks, and locks of brown hair peeked out from underneath a red scarf. His fancy clothes were rather baggy on his frame, and if Alfred didn’t know any better, he would say Eli wasn’t a pirate.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Alfred. I’m Eli, Gilbert’s navigator. You’re new, right?”

 “Uh, yeah, somewhat. Nice to meet you.” He said politely.

“Sit down, sit down!” Gilbert said with a bright grin. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, Jones!”

“I have?” Alfred asked, discreetly opting not to sit down – he had a job to get back to, after all, and he wasn’t that comfortable being in the same room with not one, but three notorious pirate captains. Never mind that he still wasn’t sure if Arthur was upset with him or not.

“Don’t mind Gilbert,” Eli said then, obviously kicking his captain underneath the table. Gilbert took it in stride and blew a kiss towards his navigator. “It’s just not every day that a stranger pisses off Antonio and lives to tell about it.”

“Though one would say the same of Arthur.” Francis crooned, petting Arthur’s arm amicably. "You must be special, Alfred."

“At least Alfred can actually earn his keep, unlike the good-for-nothing vagabonds you wankers keep picking up.” Arthur sneered, glaring at his fellow captain.

Alfred raised his eyebrows at the sudden compliment, even though Arthur probably meant it as a defensive statement for himself. 

“He's sounding more British than usual, aye? We better cut him off before it’s too late, Franny.”

“Fuck you, Beilschmidt.” Arthur scoffed while Francis chuckled.

Alfred frowned; there was a slight flush on Arthur’s cheeks, and he was slurring just the tiniest little bit… wait, was Arthur tipsy? He hadn’t even thought that was possible, but then again, Arthur usually nursed his drinks carefully.

Roderich returned with his arms full of mugs, which he roughly deposited on the table, before returning to his chair at Eli’s side. Immediately Eli shoved his chair closer to him, leaning into him while Roderich threw an arm around the back of Eli’s chair.

Alfred knew he was caught staring at the subtle display of affection when Eli winked at him and smirked, and he quickly averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm up.

However, now his eyes landed on Arthur again, and he involuntarily frowned when he saw how familiar Francis was with his captain – one of his arms was slung over the back of Arthur’s chair, his fingers idly playing with the shoulder of Arthur’s coat, and he expertly plucked Arthur’s mug out his hands to take a sip before handing it back.

Arthur caught his eyes and smirked knowingly at him, and Alfred immediately diverted his gaze towards Eli and Feliciano, knowing that both he and Arthur knew why Alfred was frowning. 

Eli either didn't notice what just happened, or didn't comment on it. Instead he smiled pleasantly, nodding at the vacant chair to his left. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Alfred? Just ignore them, I always do.” Eli suggested. "They're more bark than bite, really."

"Oh, someone will bite someone tonight, all right." Gilbert crowed, laughing when Francis snorted into the drink he again stole from Arthur.

Arthur spared him a disgusted, sideways glare, refusing the take the mug back and shrugging Francis' hand from his shoulder.

"Come Jonesie, sit down and give me the dirt on ol' Artie here." Gilbert continued, grinning a little too wide.

"Alfred needs to return to the ship." Arthur immediately cut in, his tone indicating Alfred would lose a hand if he disagreed.

Eli frowned at him before looking back at Alfred - potentially giving him an excuse to disagree, he realized. 

He smiled a bit more genuinely at him then and nodded. "Yeah, uh, I should. Thanks though. Maybe next time."

He nearly startled when Gilbert jeered something in a language unknown to him, and Arthur suddenly slammed his pistol down on the table in lieu as a threat while Francis laughed loudly. Feliciano grimaced and edged closer to Eli, but neither him or Roderich looked too concerned.

“All right, well, may we meet again across the Atlantic.” Eli agreed, raising his mug in lieu of a goodbye.

Alfred spared them one more smile before leaving, ignoring how he could definitely feel Arthur's eyes on him as he left.

He wouldn’t mind getting to know Eli and Feliciano a little better, but for now, he wanted to get back on the ship and be alone with his thoughts.

 


 

Night shifts were usually quiet and relatively peaceful when they were docked, and thus Alfred never much minded them.

Almost everyone was out in town or below deck, with only a few of them guarding the upper decks: himself at the quarter deck, two men on the forecastle deck, and one in the mizzen mast’s nest.

He reasoned it was a good thing that the night was calm, because he kept getting distracted by replaying that day's events in his head. Several ‘what-ifs’ played their course in his thoughts, one more absurd than the other, and he was starting to get frustrated by it.

Things were getting unnecessarily complicated, and he placed all the blame on the horny and hopeful part of his brain that loved to indulge in wistful thinking.

He reminded himself that Arthur was not just his captain; he was also a pirate with an absurdly high price on his head.

Alfred should not be romanticizing their interactions in his head, should not have the sound of Arthur purring his name playing on repeat in his head, should not fantasize about how Arthur would look at him if he –

For fuck’s sake.

Alfred grumbled and kicked at a crate, deciding to do another round of the deck. Moving around would keep him distracted, and warm, since the sweltering heat of the day was replaced with a sudden cool once the sun had set.

Since no one was paying attention to him, he decided to wander over towards the steering wheel. Grabbing onto it, he briefly entertained himself with imagining he was at open sea, sailing the Dragon himself. It was, after all, a scene straight out of Alfred’s childhood fantasies.

If only Matthew could see him now.

Right; thinking about his family or about his home would only make him more miserable.

Alfred grimaced and leaned forward against the wheel, staring out at the ocean and its horizon. Apart from the gentle waves, it was eerily quiet, it being late enough that most people had gone to bed. Occasionally some drunkards on the docks would yell or argue, but nothing too exciting happened.

He toyed with the idea of asking the rigger in the nest to switch places with him, when there was suddenly movement below.

Two men boarded the ship, and he squinted to get a better look. Upon closer inspection he realized one of the men was Arthur – hence why no one sounded an alarm.

After a second he recognized the other man as the French captain, Francis. Like usual, he was attached to Arthur, causing them both to stumble a little every now and then.

He frowned and headed over to the railing to get a better look, realizing they weren’t paying any attention to him anyway.

Mon chéri, tu me rends fou. Laisse-moi te prendre.“

It took a while, but once Alfred realized what exactly was going on, he froze.

Francis was not just attached to his captain – he was pulling at Arthur’s clothing and had his face hidden in Arthur’s neck.

Arthur replied to the murmured words with a disgusted noise, but had his own hands buried in Francis’ hair, pulling him closer.

J'ai envie de toi.” He had no idea what Francis was saying, but Alfred had an inkling of what the words meant anyway.

Arthur sighed, tilting his head a little to give Francis more access, while arching into his touch.

They stumbled towards the doors leading to the captain’s quarters and Francis pushed Arthur against it, giving Alfred a whole new angle.

He should definitely make himself scarce – yet Alfred could not look away as he watched Francis’ hand disappear into Arthur’s trousers.

Francis then detached himself from Arthur’s neck and slanted his face against Arthur’s instead, resulting in a messy, open mouthed kiss.

Alfred felt his face warm up - he'd kissed a girl or two back at home, but never like that. And while it looked a little questionable, he also couldn't deny being curious; it obviously had to be good, otherwise they wouldn't be doing it. 

The arm attached to the hand Francis had in Arthur's trousers twisted and bent suddenly, causing Arthur to slam his head back against the door and moan filthily. 

Alfred couldn’t help himself – a small noise left his own throat in response as, for the second time that day, he felt his own blood rush south.

He quickly stumbled back and out of sight, hoping that they hadn’t actually heard him.

Judging by Arthur's barely audible moaning and Francis' murmuring, they hadn't.

For some reason, Alfred found himself back at the railings to sneak in another peek. 

Francis had pulled down Arthur's shirt, it seemed, and was now biting at the bare skin of his shoulder. Alfred's eyes got stuck on it for a second, before he looked back at Arthur's face.

Arthur had his head against the door, tilted upwards, and his half-lidded green eyes bore right into Alfred’s own.

Upon seeing that Alfred knew that Arthur knew of his presence, Arthur grinned, and Alfred felt his pulse quicken dangerously.

He wanted to retreat, or maybe even glare or frown, but instead he was frozen to the spot. His eyes betrayed him by following the tip of Arthur’s tongue, when it slid out to brush over his lips, all while keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred’s.

He probably imagined it, but he was fairly sure Arthur wasn’t mocking him or threatening him prematurely – it looked as if he was challenging him, daring him to do something about what was happening.

He’s not sure what expression he was wearing himself, but Arthur looked mightily amused anyway. Then he reached out behind him and opened the door, and the pair promptly disappeared from his line of sight as they entered the captain’s quarters.

The door shut behind them and Alfred scrambled back at the same time.

Ironically enough, the rigger on duty at the mizzen mast had climbed down, and now walked over to him with a hopeful expression.

“Jones, wanna switch –“

“Yes!” Alfred yelped, turning around and racing up towards the nest on the mizzen mast in record time. He heaved himself over the railing and allowed himself to end up on its floor, breathing in and out harshly.

At first, he tried to ignore the tent in his own trousers, but his mind bombarded him with images of Arthur – Arthur, whose lips had been swollen, whose cheeks had been flushed and whose pupils had been blown. Who had looked properly disheveled, and who had looked at Alfred as if he -

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit

Trying to calm down, Alfred clenched his eyes shut and thought about unattractive things - his parents, the elderly couple that lived next to his parents, dead bodies, the sight of that privateers head exploding a while back.

Nothing helped distract him from the image he just witnessed; of Arthur.

His own hand disappeared into his trousers without his permission, and he hissed as he pushed his shirttails away and wrapped a hand around his own cock.

It was already hot and heavy in his hand, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to get worked up this quick. 

Then again, normally he didn't really fantasize about anything. Now, he had plenty to think about, and he swallowed a groan as he rubbed his thumb over the leaking head of his cock.

His mind wandered to whatever was happening below him, working overtime to replace any image of Francis with himself. He couldn’t imagine Arthur being docile or pliant.

Arthur would probably be snide, maybe even a little mean. He’d play coy, taunt him. He’d no doubt want to be in control of things, no matter the position he’d be in.

He could imagine Arthur wanting to look down at him, and fuck, if it wasn’t the hottest thing Alfred had ever fantasized about.

The moment his mind generously reminded him of the moan Arthur had produced minutes ago, and of their spar earlier today, and how Arthur had purred his name before pushing him overboard, it was over embarrassingly quick.

He squeezed himself through his release, panting and thinking only of burning emerald eyes right up until he got too sensitive and had to let go of himself.

Wiping his hand on his already dirty shirt, Alfred let his head smack back against the mast and allowed himself a pitiful groan.

Of course he’d known before, but now he could no longer deny or ignore his glaringly obvious infatuation.

The weirdly pleasant feeling whenever Arthur was nearby, that giddy feeling whenever Arthur shared a bottle of rum and some stories with him in the crow’s nest, or the quickening of his pulse and his racing heartbeat whenever Arthur grinned at him or teased him…

And embarrassingly enough, Arthur seemed to have been aware of it before he even properly acknowledged it himself.

Alfred was in way over his head.

Notes:

The (obvious) pining can begin!

Explanations:
- The meaning of 'lily-livered' - an insult for someone who displays cowardice
- Poop deck- A deck that forms the roof of a cabin built in the rear. It's called poop deck because it originates from the French word 'la poupe', which means stern.
- Introducing the crew of DIe Ehrsucht- Captain Gilbert (Prussia), navigator Eli (Hungary), doctor Roderich (Austria) and cabin boy/musician Feliciano (Italy). Germany and Japan will be introduced as part of this crew later, as well!
- Some unnecessary information about pirates and underwear - Okay so, pirates didn't often wear any underwear because it was expensive. But their trousers would get itchy, so to protect their noble bits, they'd tuck the family jewels into their shirttails. Yes, this was a thing I researched, and now you know it too!

Translations :
- "Mon chéri, tu me rends fou. Laisse-moi te prendre.“ – My dear, you drive me crazy. Let me take you.
- “J'ai envie de toi.” – I want you.

Chapter 6: Crossing the Atlantic Ocean, September 1711

Notes:

Have I mentioned that I love reading about battles, but hate writing them? This chapter took unnecessarily long to write because I kept getting distracted by reading pirate books and watching pirate movies for inspiration, lol.

Warning: minor character death, though it's not described, simply implied.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It wasn’t easy to get Alfred in a foul mood, but nearly four weeks at sea with subpar weather had managed to do so.

They were almost halfway across the Atlantic. According to James, they weren’t terribly behind schedule, but not seeing anything other than blue and grey ocean for weeks on end was starting to wear on him.

The nights were a little better, fortunately. As he was one of the few who didn’t mind the night shift, he started volunteering for them more and more. It allowed him to climb up to the crow’s nest and gaze at the stars and sea, undisturbed.

Of course he also had to keep a watchful eye out for any approaching ships, but by now, he’d probably welcome such a distraction.

The only other distractions being the crew’s constant off-key singing and complaining, and of course: Arthur.

Sometimes, if he were lucky, Arthur would join him in the crow’s nest for a drink. Only Alfred didn’t really know how to act around Arthur ever since their strange encounter in Loanda, and the revelation that followed.

Especially because Arthur had either seemed to have forgotten about it, or seemed intent to ignore it entirely. Another option was that Arthur hadn’t actually meant anything with it, of course.

Anyway – Arthur hadn’t mentioned it, nor did he act differently.

Alfred was trying to do the same, but it was getting difficult now that he also had to deal with constant impatience, boredom, and most importantly: hunger.

The crew had been put on rations prematurely, because of the less than ideal weather. And since Alfred had never been on rations before, it only took a few days for him to suddenly feel faint and light-headed.

His mates made harmless fun of him, calling him an amateur and a landlubber, and after a brief visit to the ship’s doctor his ration sizes had magically increased overnight.

When he’d tentatively asked Yao about it, the quartermaster had grumbled something about inexperienced sailors and scurvy, and that had been the end of it. But the fact that Alfred couldn’t cope the same way his mates did, and that he was still hungry despite his increased portions, only made him more irritable.

“Look on the bright side, Alfred!” Ralph said joyfully, slapping his back before squeezing himself between Alfred and another crew mate in the galley. “You’ll have earned your first ink when we dock in Brazil!”

“Ink?” Alfred asked, tilting his head towards him after he took another gulp from his mug.

“Aye!” Ralph confirmed, before undoing a piece of fabric from his wrist and showing Alfred a tattaw of an anchor. “You get one of these ‘ere, when you crossed the Atlantic.”

“Huh.” Alfred hummed, looking at it curiously. He’d seen the same or a similar image adorning the skin of many other crew mate, especially now that many of them started going shirtless during the day, but had never stopped to think that perhaps it had an actual meaning. “Do you have more?”

“A compass on me back.” Ralph said with a nod. “To help me find me way home someday.”

“I got this beauty!” One of the gunners sitting opposite of them suddenly said. He bared his left upper arm, revealing the inked drawing of a woman in a rather salacious position and outfit. “To keep me warm on lonely nights.”

Alfred pulled a face when some of the others around them laughed and hooted, hoping that the man didn’t actually jerk off to an image of a woman on his own arm.

Then again, what else were they supposed to jerk off to? He supposed many a man’s imagination only reached so far. He was probably one of the few – if not the only one – whose chosen fantasy walked the decks along with them.

As the men at his table bantered among themselves, Alfred found his eyes drifting towards the doors, wondering what Arthur was up to. Lately, if he weren’t at the steering wheel or up at the crow’s nest, he disappeared into his cabin.

Alfred had tentatively wondered about it out loud once in the presence of James, and the first mate had only offhandedly commented on their captain creating new charts and debating new sailing routes with their quartermaster.

He doubted that was all Arthur did in there, but he wasn’t about to actively pry for more information. Besides, it was none of his business anyway.

 


 

After a particular red sunrise, the crew seemed to prepare for bad weather. Alfred had chalked it up to superstition, but when a storm hit, he felt strangely guilty; as if his disbelief and bored wallowing had conjured up the storm.

“Batten down the hatches, lads.” James called from the main deck, prompting several sailors to abandon their usual tasks and to follow their new orders. “Let’s hope the storm works in our favor.”

Nobody seemed particularly concerned, and so Alfred forced himself to remain calm as well. He tried not to think about sinking, or shipwrecking, and drowning since there was no land in sight. Things like this obviously happened all the time.

In the end, the storm indeed seemed to work in their favor.

The strong wind had them moving the fastest they'd been able to, ever since leaving Loanda, and though the constant rain was a bit of an annoyance as it impeded his sight, it did mean they’d have fresh water again.

He did have to constantly watch his footing, as the masts and yards got particularly slippery when wet. Once he’d taken care of the sails with his fellow riggers, he quickly climbed back down, entertaining the idea of going below deck to see if he could help out somewhere.

“Sail, ho!” A rigger suddenly yelled.

Alfred turned and squinted to see what he was pointing at: in the distance he saw three ships, either sailing oddly close to one another, or engaged in battle. The sudden, distant sound of cannon fire confirmed it was the latter.

Arthur walked over to the taffrails, followed by Yao. He extracted his spyglass and used it to look at the three ships. After a few seconds he hummed with surprise, and pocketed his spyglass again.

“It’s the Midsommarafton.” Arthur said, sounding a little confused. “I would’ve thought they’d crossed already.”

“With this weather and their size?” Yao prompted sarcastically, and Arthur shrugged. “Who are they fighting? Pirates?”

“The ships don’t fly a Jolly Roger. Could be Navy, maybe slavers.”

“We’re gonna help them, right?” Alfred suddenly quipped, smiling sheepishly when Yao glared at him for listening in.

Surprisingly enough, neither the captain or the quartermaster seemed agreeable. Arthur looked thoughtful but hesitant, and Yao looked openly disapproving of it.

“Four ships engaged in a battle at sea will attract unwanted attention. We can’t afford it.” Yao warned their captain, and Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“Attention? There’s nothing around for miles.” Alfred said, looking around him with confusion. Aside from those three ships, there was nothing but sea around them. “We gotta help them, the Dragon can easily take one.”

Arthur looked over at Alfred, brows still furrowed as if he were deep in thought, but obviously considering the same idea.

“Arthur,” Yao said cautiously, glaring at Alfred but obviously still waiting for his captain’s command.

“Let me think, Yao.” Arthur interrupted. He looked towards the ships once more, and then gazed upwards at the sky, squinting as if he were looking for something. Apparently he made up his mind then, because he nodded. “We’ll use the storm to our advantage. In and out.”

“Arthur – “ Yao started, before obviously changing his mind when Arthur glared at him. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” The quartermaster grumbled, but he turned around nonetheless to relay the orders to the crew.

“Up the main brace you go, Jones.” Arthur said with a nod towards the main mast, and Alfred grinned cheekily before making himself scarce.

He ignored several other orders that were shouted, knowing his job was to climb up the mast and change the position of the sails. He called for several other riggers already in the mast to help him, and within no time they pulled back the ropes that held the main yard.

Now that the sails were ready to catch the sudden bursts of wind, it didn’t take long for them to arrive at the scene.

“Make ready the guns!” James shouted from the main deck, and Alfred grabbed onto one of the lift ropes to steady himself as he watched the scene unfold below him.

“Privateers fightin’ privateers nowadays? Weird world.” A rigger to Alfred’s left said, and Alfred turned to see the flags flying on the unknown ship. They weren’t Jolly Roger’s, nor were they Navy or merchants, so he too assumed they were indeed probably privateers.

Loud cheering erupted on the Midsommarafton, when they saw that the Emerald Dragon was coming to their aid, and Alfred thought he saw the tall shape of Berwald standing at the helm. The smaller blonde next to him must have been Tino, but he had no time to double-check as they passed the ship and managed to lure one of the enemy ships into following them.

“Close haul her and luff the sails!” Arthur ordered once they were reasonably out of range of the other two ships. “Let her come to us and prepare to fire!”

Once the sails were tightened once more, the ship arrived next to them, kicking off a barrage of cannon fire.

While Alfred worked tirelessly with the other riggers to ensure their sails’ safety and their ships position, cannons fired relentlessly beneath him, and he tried not to think of the danger as a cannonball whizzed from the other ship’s main top past their own.

“This is taking too bloody long!” He heard Yao shout after what must have been only five minutes. “Man the hand cannons! Take out the masts!”

He grimaced when he looked down and saw one man flung from the ship by a cannonball hitting him straight in the chest. He quickly shook his head and focused on the repeated firing of their own cannons while he spliced the ropes as quickly as he could.

Suddenly, the other ship’s mizzen mast was hit right in the middle by one of their hand cannons. The wood splintered as the mast broke off, tilting their way and colliding with the top yard of their own mizzen mast.

The sudden collision caused the Emerald Dragon to sway sideways, and a handful of riggers on the mast screamed and jumped out of the way. One of them plummeted towards the deck, his scream ending abruptly as he collided with the wood, and the others managed to grab onto lifts and braces.

“Fire at that mast!” Yao ordered immediately, pushing one of the gunners from a hand cannon and aiming for the entanglement himself.

After a few tries they managed to hit the mast right where it had collided with their own, and it broke off, freeing the Emerald Dragon and causing both ships to suddenly swerve apart again.

“They’re striking their colors!” Someone yelled, and the crew cheered when it became apparent that the enemy ship was giving up. Their cannons no longer fired, and the ship tilted to one side as if slowly sinking.

“Ready to fire!” Arthur barked from his position at the helm. “Sink them and let’s get out of here!”

The moment the words left Arthur’s mouth, the ship creaked ominously and swayed unnaturally to the right.

Alfred tumbled forward but managed to catch himself on one of the lift ropes, frowning when people shouted in alarm and ran towards the railings. A sudden large wave crashed against the ship, drenching the deck with salt water and pushing them closer to the other, sinking ship.

Kraken!” Someone suddenly screamed, and immediately people started running around frantically.

Alfred blinked, feeling as if time stopped for a second. At first he was struck with disbelief – surely someone was pulling their tail – but people looked genuinely frightened.

When the ship swayed roughly again, Alfred nearly slipped of the mast, and pain shot through the muscles of his arm as he had to bend it unnaturally to grab onto the ropes and remain standing. He winced and shook the limb, grimacing when pain flared up each time he tried to bend it.

Someone above them yelled in shock and Alfred looked upwards, seeing someone nearly fall from the upper mast, clinging to the ropes for dear life. Someone else ran over to the warning bells and pulled at them loudly, the sharp noise echoing over the frantic yelling and rough waves.

“Ready the cannons!” Yao shouted as he dived back below deck, his order to keep the powder dry slowly fading as he disappeared.

“Captain! Orders?” James shouted, trying to redirect the crew to their tasks.

But Arthur wasn’t looking at James – his eyes were still stuck on the other ship. Alfred turned to look as well; and his blood ran cold when he spotted a huge tentacle slowly raising up into the sky.

He watched with horror as it dropped forward, slamming down on top of the other ship’s deck with a deafening noise. Its tip slammed onto the Emerald Dragon’s main deck as well, taking out a chunk of the taffrails and denting the wooden deck beneath it.

The mere force of it caused the ships to sway towards each other again, and the sinking ship slammed into the Emerald Dragon, resulting in another deafening noise.

As if on cue, Arthur was kicked back into motion.

“Hard to starboard!” He shouted, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “We’re club-hauling! And get back on those bloody hand cannons!”

The tentacle dragged itself back, snapping the other ship's main mast in half as it disappeared below sea once more. Alfred watched the other ship: it was close enough that he could clearly read the terrified expressions of its crew members.

Another slightly thinner tentacle raised from the sea, but before Alfred could see what it would do, several hand cannons from both their and the other ship fired at it. Chunks of tissue flew around as it was hit, and it unfurled and swept at the upper deck of the other ship before retreating.

“Riggers, loose the sails!”

Alfred snapped out of the horrified trance he was in and rushed towards the mast’s main sail to get back to work. The ship kept swaying unnaturally and roughly, but having to focus on not plummeting to his untimely death managed to distract him from the freakish monster currently attacking them.

He ignored the pain in his arm, forcing himself to work as fast as possible. The moment they unfurled the main sails, the ship creaked. The strong winds from the storm seemed to be in their favor once more, and the Emerald Dragon jerked from its position so suddenly that Alfred nearly slipped from the mast again.

“Port side cannon fire!” He heard Arthur yell, and he chanced a look down to see a tentacle reaching for them.

The cannons fired straight into its flesh and it retracted back into the sea, not taking anything with it. However, the relief was short lived, because the ship suddenly slowed a little, causing people to stumble forward.

“She’s got us at the rudder!” Someone yelled, and Alfred looked down at the helm. 

The moment he saw Arthur struggling to keep the steering wheel in position, he clambered down the mast and rushed over towards the quarter deck. Without thinking about it, he ran towards the steering wheel and helped Arthur pull it back into position, biting the inside of his cheek harsh enough that he tasted blood, to counteract the sharp pain in his arm. 

Arthur grunted, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him. “Damn that cursed beast.” He heard the captain mutter under his breath. “Fire at the other ship!”

Within seconds a round of cannon balls was fired at the other ship, instead of at the kraken. It caused a minor explosion and the ship to collapse some more, and as if on cue, whatever had been slowing their own ship down disappeared.

Alfred felt himself tilt sideways, but managed to right himself by grabbing onto the steering wheel with both hands again, unintentionally caging Arthur in. He winced as Arthur stumbled into his aching arm heavily, but Arthur quickly righted himself as well and pushed Alfred out of the way.

“Stop firing!” Arthur ordered, and Alfred turned to see the tentacles wrap themselves around the sinking ship – and realized Arthur had used them as bait.

Another strong gust of wind pushed their ship away from the other, and Alfred watched with a sick kind of fascination as the kraken made short work of dragging the sinking ship under water, the screams of its crew mingling with the creaking of wood.

Their distance with the creature increased steadily, and once the other ship had sunken completely, it remained eerily quiet for a while. The entire crew seemed to brace themselves for another attack, and Arthur muttered inaudibly underneath his breath as they waited.

However, instead of attacking its original target, Alfred watched with horror as the now familiar tentacles moved to attack the Midsommarafton and the second enemy ship nearby.

Two enormous tentacles raised up from the ocean, faster than before, and with a deafening sound they slammed down on the Midsommarafton’s deck. Even from this distance, he could hear and see the ship splinter and bend.

Another tentacle raised up from the other side, bending itself around the ship’s main mast and snapping it in half, as if it were merely a twig of wood. As it retracted back into the sea, the mast it was still holding slammed into the other ship, ensuring their demise as well.

“We have to help them.” Alfred suddenly heard himself say.

He looked back at Arthur, who was looking at the horrifying scenario as well, but didn’t agree. When he turned, he avoided Alfred’s gaze entirely and looked back at his own crew again.

“Fasten the cannons, and carry every sail we’ve got!” He shouted, and Alfred froze with surprise while the rest of the crew jumped back into motion.

“What?! Are we leaving them? We have to – “

“They’re dead.” Arthur snapped at him. "We can outrun her."

“They’re not dead!” Alfred grabbed the steering wheel in a desperate attempt to convince Arthur otherwise. “We have to help, we could take them aboard, we – “

Arthur surprised him by whirling towards him and punching him square in the jaw. Alfred, who hadn’t expected it at all, stumbled backwards and almost tripped over a stray bundle of ropes. He crashed into a stack of crates and winced as his hurt arm was jostled wildly.

“They’re dead,” Arthur repeated, not even looking at him as he was back at the wheel. “and we will be too, if we linger.”

Alfred gaped at him, wanting to complain or do something, but he quieted when both James and Yao arrived on the quarter deck.

“We should turn around and head for Saint Helena.” James immediately advised, but Yao shook his head.

“We’d risk running into the East India Company. No, we need to lay low, find shallow waters.” The quartermaster countered seriously.

Arthur’s eyes were still glued on the gruesome image now behind them, their distance to it increasing rapidly.

“Sir?” James asked again, and Arthur pursed his lips before gesturing at Yao to take over his position at the steering wheel.

 “Set course for Ascension Island.”

 


 

The moment they hit shallower waters, the entire crew seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Shallow waters meant sailing slower than usual, but it also ensured that their safety.

By the time the anchors dropped and the ship came to a stop in front of the island, it was night already. Arthur let them know they’d disembark the next morning, and allowed the crew a free night to deal with their shock and grief in the meantime.

Alfred had joined Ralph and some others at first, but it was hard for him to relax. His arm hurt something awful every time he bent it (sprained, the doctor said), and his bruised jaw ached with every sip or bite he took.

To numb the pain, he’d inhaled a little too much rum a little too fast, and his tipsiness only fueled his anger.

Which was probably why he was about to make an objectively bad decision.

“What the fuck was that?” Alfred demanded as he pushed through the doors of the captain’s quarters.

They swung closed behind him with a loud bang, but he ignored the noise and instead marched straight over to Arthur’s desk.

Only Arthur wasn’t sitting at his desk, and Alfred faltered for a moment, looking around him. The door to what had to be Arthur’s sleeping quarters were open, and he frowned as he saw the end of a bed – somehow it had never occurred to him that Arthur slept down here, too.

A second later his eyes met Arthur’s; the man he sought was sitting on the bay of the window overlooking the now calm sea behind them.

One of his legs dangled from it, and the other was propped up to support his arm, which in turn supported his face. In his other hand he held a bottle of dark liquid, the contents swirling gently as Arthur idly swayed it back and forth. His lips were curled in a sneer, but his eyes were lacking their usual sharpness and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

Apparently the crew had not been the only ones to drink their sorrows away.

“Get lost, Jones.” Arthur snapped at him, but Alfred refused to be intimidated or ordered around: after all, he had just survived a mythical, monstrous creature he hadn’t known existed.

Arthur Kirkland didn’t seem so scary in comparison.

Especially since he’d ridden himself of most of his attire. He had shed his red coat and hat, and upon further inspection, was also not wearing his belts or weapons. His white blouse was more undone than usual, unveiling more pale, inked skin that Alfred had never seen before  –

He also refused to be distracted, damn it.

“No. I have questions, and you have answers, and I want them.” He retaliated, walking over to where Arthur was sitting.

He took pleasure in the fact that Arthur sitting down meant that Alfred could look down at him, but Arthur simply regarded him with annoyed, half-lidded eyes as he leaned his head back against the wood behind him.

“You’re in no position to want anything,” Arthur said. “Now get out before I have you flogged.”

“You’re not gonna have me flogged.” Alfred countered with a rare bout of confidence.

Arthur’s eyes promised nothing less than the most painful of deaths as he glared up at Alfred, lips twisted downward in a sneer. But Alfred refused to back down, and simply glared back down at Arthur, hoping he looked at least as fearless as he felt.

After a few tense seconds of silence, Arthur broke their staring contest by raising the bottle back to his mouth and taking another few large gulps. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve afterwards, and then thrust the bottle out towards Alfred.

Alfred slowly took it from him, not sure if it was meant as a peace-offering. When Arthur didn’t snap at him again, he hesitantly raised it towards his own lips and took a small sip, surprised at the pleasant taste – it was sweet, and a lot better than the watered down rum he’d been drinking.

“Ask your bloody questions then.” Arthur said. “Heaven knows I won’t get a moment of peace otherwise.”

“How could you just leave them there?” Alfred immediately demanded, and he frowned when Arthur suddenly flinched. The movement was brief and awfully well hidden, but he had definitely seen it.

“Pray tell me, what would our hero have done?” Arthur asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice like venom. “Tickle her with some more cannon fire?”

Alfred felt his hackles rise at the barb, and thrust the bottle back at Arthur, who took it from him wordlessly. “We could’ve done something other than running like cowards!”

Arthur shot up from his seat, surprising Alfred. He took a few steps back as Arthur approached him, before finding his courage once more and halting.

“It appears you have the wrong idea, boy.” He sneered, jamming the bottle in his hand into Alfred’s chest. “Out on these seas, it’s every man for himself.”

“Bullshit. If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t have joined the attack in the first place.”

Arthur snarled and abruptly turned from Alfred, waving a dismissive hand at him. “We were bloody fools for trying to intervene at all.”

“It was the right thing to do.” Alfred objected, and Arthur laughed at him condescendingly.

“A moral compass is the wrong one to have as a pirate.” He said. “The Midsommarafton signed their own death warrant by engaging them in battle.”

“How could you say that? I thought you were friends with – “ He yelped and jumped out of the way when Arthur whirled around and flung the bottle at his head.

His quick reflexes ensured that it missed him, fortunately, and it shattered against the wooden wall behind him.

“Don’t ever presume to know me again.” Arthur seethed, hand going to his waist but not finding any weapon. “You’re a naive little shit and I never should’ve taken you aboard. Now get out of my sight.”

Alfred clenched his fists, feeling something tighten hotly inside his chest.

Anger, grief and shock coiled underneath his skin, setting him on edge. He wanted to grab Arthur, wanted to hit him, to push him up against the wall or down on the ground.

Before he was even aware of doing so, he had marched back over to Arthur, invading his personal space like Arthur had done with him earlier.

He wanted to… to – what did he even want to do?

Hoping that he would perhaps see the answer somewhere, he lowered his eyes to bared skin of Arthur’s chest, realizing that the dark lines of ink he kept seeing made up an image of a serpent or wingless dragon.

He raised a hand without thinking, reaching out to perhaps tug Arthur’s shirt out of the way to get a better look, but his hand was snatched mid-air by Arthur’s own. The fingers tightened firmly around his wrist, locking him into place.

Alfred frowned and looked back up at Arthur’s face, surprised to see that the anger in Arthur’s eyes had made way for suspicion and surprise. However, before he could do or say something, a loud knock on the door interrupted them both.

“Sir?” Yao called from outside, and Arthur released him as if he had been touched by fire. Alfred exhaled harshly, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“Come in.” Arthur called, eyes still glued on Alfred.

Yao entered and made a surprised noise when he saw Alfred standing in the middle of the room. Arthur tore his eyes from Alfred and walked over to a cabinet, rummaging through it for another bottle to drink from.

“He was just leaving.” Arthur said with his back turned to them both, and Yao eyed him warily.

Deciding that this was better than being thrown in the brig, Alfred wordlessly turned around and left the captain’s quarters. Several crew members were still gathered on the decks, but Alfred ignored them and headed straight for the poop deck, where it was most quiet.

He was still angry, biting back a curse when images of Tino, Mathias and Lukas flashed before his eyes. However, as he glared down at the waves gently rolling against the rear of the ship, he felt his anger slowly dissolve.

Arthur had been intent on getting drunk, too. Beneath his cold anger, there had been something despondent; something exhausted. He remembered the rare, friendly smiles Arthur directed towards the Midsommarafton crew. Tino had only mentioned they shared an acquaintance, but it had been obvious that Arthur had been on good terms with them.

He realized that despite his tough demeanor, Arthur was probably already suffering under the weight of his decision.

And just like that, he felt himself sag against the taffrail, regret leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d lashed out at Arthur, but deep down he knew that they couldn’t have done anything but run.

And the fact that Arthur had been rational enough to make such a decision under emotional duress, had probably saved everyone on their ship, including himself.

He sighed and turned to look at what was supposed to be Ascension Island. It seemed more like a  piece of barren rock; he couldn’t see any trees or signs of life. Still: it was land. It offered a change of pace, a chance to explore a random and uninhabited island in the middle of the Atlantic. It also offered a reprieve of sea monsters and naval battles. They could rest, hopefully restock on some meat and water, and they could do some repairs.

And perhaps, after sunrise, he’d also find a way to apologize to Arthur.

Notes:

And apologize he will... I've got a treat for y'all in chapter 7! :)

Red sunrise and storms - Sailors are taught a saying, which goes: “Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning’. It was a superstition with some scientific validity (though only at mid-altitudes). A red sunrise indicated that a low pressure system (a storm) may be approaching.

Luff the sails or luffed sails – when a sail is not being push forward by the wind and instead begins to flap.

Kraken – I could not resist throwing her in here again, lol. Like in many other fictional stories, she’s based off a giant squid. I canon her as a lazy, but extremely territorial creature. She doesn’t hunt for sport, but if you disturb her waters (the Atlantic Ocean in my story) with i.e. a battle, she attacks.

Saint Helena – Saint Helena became one of Britain’s earliest colonies outside North America and the Caribbean, when Captain John Dutton arrived in 1659. Later, the East India Company received permission to fortify and colonize the island. It was difficult to attract new immigrants however, due to i.e. ecological problems and due to unrest among the inhabitants.

Ascension Island – Portuguese navigator João da Nova found Ascension Island on Ascension Day in 1501. The island was uninhabited and only sometimes used for stocking up on fresh meat (birds and turtles) or to maroon people (such as Leendert Hasenbosch, who was exiled on Ascension Island in 1725 after being accused of sodomy).

Chapter 7: Ascension Island, September 1711

Notes:

First things first: thank you all so much for your comments! They really motivate me, and each time I see one of your names pop up in my inbox, I get so excited lol.

This chapter is a little 'action-less', because not much can happen at a place like Ascension Island, lol. I promise there's more pirate action coming in the next few chapters! As well as... other stuff... :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alfred felt like shit, and he probably looked the part, too.

His arm hurt something awful: his elbow had swollen a bit and the skin felt tight and warm to the touch. Every time he bent it, it stung, but the ship’s doctor had assured him it was just a sprain. Resting as much as possible for the next few weeks would do the trick.

His jaw also hurt, though maybe its mere association with Arthur hurt more than its actual sting.

By morning, what little anger had been left in his system had dissolved. Sure, Arthur had been needlessly cruel, but many a man would say Arthur Kirkland was a cruel man by nature.

Alfred didn’t believe that, though. He might not know everything there was to know about Arthur, but a truly cruel man wouldn’t put up with men like himself.

He wanted to apologize, but didn’t know how to do so without annoying his captain even more.

Especially since Arthur also looked as if he felt like shit.

He hadn’t had the chance to speak with him yet, but their eyes crossed when Arthur left his quarters that morning and saw Alfred leaning against the main mast.

Arthur’s normally piercing green eyes were a little puffy around the edges, and they lacked their usual sharpness; he looked as if he hadn’t slept all night.

And yet, the sight of him still made his stomach do funny things – and he was acutely reminded of the rather inappropriate, wicked dream he had about the man, during the few hours he had managed to sleep that night.

Apparently, his imagination believed that bending Arthur over his desk and making him beg was the best way to cope with the events that took place the day before.

He was quite sure Arthur could guess his thoughts simply by reading his face, and he willed the flush that undeniably appeared on his face to disappear again. He chanced a hesitant smile instead,  but Arthur didn’t smile back – he also didn’t scowl or glare, so Alfred decided to count it as a win.

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched Arthur continue towards the quarter deck, approaching Yao and Leon and engaging them in conversation.

“Boo!”

Alfred startled and nearly tripped over his own feet when Ralph managed to sneak up on him, slapping the mast with a wet rag. The sound was vaguely reminiscent of a wet tentacle slapping across deck, but he supposed that must have been the point.

“Fuck you, too.” He grumbled, glaring at his friend.

“Aw, don’t be scared Alfie! I’ll protect ya.” Ralph said teasingly, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Alfred rolled his eyes and shoved him off of him.

“Yeah, yeah, keep laughin’. How do you know it’s not waiting for us, huh?”

“I don’t know.” Ralph admitted with an unconcerned shrug. “She rarely attacks twice on the same voyage, I guess.”

Alfred frowned, but didn’t ask for more clarification. Funnily enough, everyone who spoke of the kraken referred to the beast a as a she. For a horrifying moment, he wondered if that meant that were also a male kraken out there, who’d produce a baby kraken with her.

“If I had known about actual sea monsters, I might’ve been less inclined to stowaway on a ship.” He complained half-heartedly, and Ralph laughed.

“Not scared of the monsters on land?”

Alfred furrowed his brows, looking at him incredulously for a second. “…What monsters?”

“Men.” James interrupted, and it took a second for Alfred to realize that James had simply addressed them in lieu of a greeting, instead of answering his question. However, Ralph made an agreeable noise, implying it could’ve been his answer too.

“Listen up,” Yao suddenly called, walking over towards the railing of the quarter deck to catch the crew’s attention. “We’re setting sail as soon as possible, so I am splitting you all into groups. Gunners, deck hands and strikers, report to me for assignments.”

“Carpenters, coopers and riggers are with me.” Leon added. “There’s a few repairs we need to take care of.”

Leon split them up to work on repairs up in the masts, below deck and on the hull of the ship. The latter one was met with groans and grimaces – it meant having to hang down the side of the ship, and after the adventure they just had, it was clearly no one’s favourite.

“Not you, Jones. You’ll do more harm than good with that arm.” Leon said, surprising him. “See if Yao can use you.”

Alfred frowned; preferring to take orders from Leon over Yao any day. Not that he was on any better terms with the boatswain, but at least Leon didn’t look like Alfred’s mere existence annoyed him.

He steeled himself and climbed up the quarter deck to approach the quartermaster, who was conversing with Arthur again.

When they both turned to look at him simultaneously, Alfred admitted he felt a little intimidated.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to explain. Yao regarded him with understanding – irritated understanding, but understanding nonetheless – and frowned, obviously thinking what he could have Alfred do.

“He’s with me.” Arthur said, surprising them both, before gesturing at the longboat with a nod of his head. “We’re leaving in five, Jones.”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred quickly replied, perhaps a bit more enthusiastic than he ought to.

 


 

Unfortunately, when Arthur had said ‘he’s with me’, he hadn’t meant him alone, as Alfred found out when he boarded the longboat with eight other men.

Intentional or not, Arthur chose to sit down on the other side of the longboat, far from Alfred. His eyes did seem to linger on him for a while longer than necessary, but Alfred could have imagined it.

“I hope there’s some turtles.” One of the strikers next to him suddenly said. “Been ages since I had turtle eggs. But birds’ll be good too. Anything but fish.”

“Yeah. We’d be able to keep the chickens alive for a while longer.” Another one added, nodding agreeably.

“You guys been here before?” Alfred asked curiously, surprised when they shook their heads.

“Nay, never needed to before.”

He nodded; Ascension Island didn’t look like the perfect place for a fun shore leave, after all. He imagined most ships sailed past the island without sparing it another look.

With the aid of daylight, he could see that the island really was a barren piece of rock, with only the random resilient patch of grass here and there. He couldn’t really see any life on it either, apart from some birds flying over it.

Once the water was too shallow to row in, he joined the few that jumped out of the longboat to help pull it ashore. Arthur agilely jumped out of the boat, boots landing gracefully into the sand of the beach.

“Let’s not waste daylight.” He said as he turned around to address his crew. “You lot; set up a smoke signal. The rest of you get to foraging. Shift change is in four hours.”

As the men around them scattered, Alfred stayed put. “Smoke signal, sir?”

Arthur didn’t look surprised that Alfred had opted to stay behind, but he did look a bit exasperated –  presumably because the first thing that came out of Alfred’s mouth was a question, and Alfred couldn’t help but smile lightly.

Obviously he was not going to get that flogging he’d been promised the night before –

“Follow me.”

Or, perhaps he was going to, after all.

“Sir.” Alfred acknowledged, trying not to appear too much like a dog awaiting its own beating when he followed Arthur further inland.

The sand of the beach eventually gave way for solid ground, but there wasn’t an actual path. The loose stones meant he had to watch his footing, but it gave him something to do while he waited for Arthur to break the silence.

Eventually they had to clamber up a particularly tricky rock formation, and Alfred tried to ignore the stinging in his elbow each time he had to use his arms to steady himself. He was aware that he was panting a bit more than he’d usually do, but refused to let the slight pain slow him down.

Once they hopped onto more solid, even ground again, he bit back a hiss and gently wiggled his arm.

Arthur briefly looked back at him to identify the barely audible noise, and Alfred smiled sheepishly while rubbing his elbow.

The captain made an annoyed noise before stopping altogether and turning towards him fully.

He abruptly undid the belt strapped diagonally over his chest, and Alfred was torn between being extremely confused and being weirdly enthused (the sound and sight of Arthur removing his belt should not have been that arousing).

“Hold up your arm.” Arthur snapped, approaching him and for a second Alfred was afraid he was going to get that flogging, before realizing his arm would have nothing to do with such a punishment.

Arthur stopped impossibly close to him, and Alfred involuntarily held his breath, distracted by their sudden proximity.

There were tiny flecks of gold in Arthur’s eyes, ones he didn’t remember ever seeing before.

Arthur grunted irritably and grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm up higher and bending it against his chest. Alfred winced, but otherwise remained still as Arthur slipped the belt underneath his arm and over his shoulder.

He wrapped it around his bent arm, cradling it against his chest, before tightening the belt and fastening it again.

“The trick is to keep it from moving.” He said, absentmindedly patting Alfred’s chest before suddenly frowning and taking an abrupt step back.

Alfred, who had been distracted by the sun-kissed freckles on Arthur’s nose, didn’t realize he was supposed to say something until Arthur glared at him.

“Uh, thanks.” He quickly exclaimed, looking down at the makeshift sling. “Should’ve thought of that myself.”

“Well, you shouldn’t overuse that simple brain of yours too often.”

Alfred sputtered, and frowned, and then he saw the corners of Arthur’s lips twitch upward. The smaller blonde hadn’t said it with any mean intent, he realized, and there was even a bit of a teasing glint in his tired, green eyes.

“Funny.” He said, dryly, trying not to grin like an idiot when Arthur huffed with amusement. “Since I’m giving my brain a rest – could you tell me where we’re going?”

Arthur studied him for a silent handful of seconds, before nodding. “There should be a source of fresh water nearby. If we find it, we can restock.”

The storm had supplied them with some fresh water, but unfortunately some of the barrels had spilled in the battle afterwards. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would be until they’d reach Brazil, but the more water they had, the better.

“Right. You’ve been here before?”

A strong gust of wind blew some sand around and he grimaced as it grated against his skin.

“Once.” Arthur said, rubbing a hand over his face to presumably get rid of that same sand. “Years ago.”

With that, he promptly turned around to start walking again. Alfred took a brief moment to observe the slope of Arthur’s shoulders – without his red coat he looked less broad, and he imagined that underneath his slightly over-sized blouse, Arthur’s shoulders and waist were a little on the narrow side.

He decided not to fuel his already frequent daydreams anymore and quickly started after Arthur, feeling as if a small weight has lifted from his shoulders.

 


 

However, after what had to have been at least an hour of walking in near-silence, Alfred was starting to get frustrated.

First off, he wasn’t very good with prolonged silences. Secondly, they’d been walking uphill nearly constantly, and since there was practically no shade, he started feeling a little overheated.

His throat started feeling scratchy and dry, and the island’s barren environment was starting to get depressing, too. No matter how far they walked, everything looked the same. All around them were rocks, lava rubble and the occasional grass patch.

If it weren’t for the fact that they were now descending a hill they first climbed, and that he had previously seen their distance to the ocean increase, he would’ve assumed they were walking in circles.

He wondered if perhaps Arthur’s source of fresh water had dried up years ago, but Arthur didn’t particularly look lost. Occasionally he stopped to look around with calculating eyes, before determinedly continuing their trek.

“You know - ” His voice cracked due to not having been used for a while, and he quickly cleared his throat. “not that this isn’t lovely, but how much longer until we reach our destination?”

Arthur sighed; the sound both exasperated and oddly fond. “Over an hour of silence must be a record for you.”

A little offended, but mostly amused, Alfred scoffed. “I’d argue, but I’ve been told I talk in my sleep.”

“I suppose it’s better than snoring.” Arthur rationalized. “Though I must admit I’m curious as to what nonsense you spout when asleep.”

“Invite me up and find out.” Alfred, in his joyous teasing, wasn’t aware of what exactly he said until Arthur stopped to look at him, incredulously, and he felt his cheeks flush hotly. “Or. Uh. Ask around.”

That was even worse.

Arthur furrowed his brows and looked him up and down once, as if checking if Alfred was feeling all right.

Then he tilted his head and stalked closer to him, and every nerve Alfred knew of slowly started burning pleasantly under his skin.

He kept still, anxiously watching Arthur’s eyes go half-lidded, his lips parting ever so lightly. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was unconsciously swaying forward anyway, only halting when something smacked him on the chest.

Arthur had deftly grabbed the flask from his belt and held it between them, looking up at him with a taunting smirk.

“Best drink some water before you get delirious.” Arthur said, and Alfred quickly took it, if only so that he could hide his embarrassment behind it while he drank.

By the time he dared to look again, Arthur had already started walking again, and he had to jog a bit to catch up. They rounded a corner and scaled along a rocky wall, when Arthur suddenly made a triumphant noise.

A few seconds later they happened upon a little cliff, and Alfred heard the sound of dripping water.

They entered the valley-like area, the stone edges around it oddly shaped, as if lava had soaked into the stone to form little caves and hollows.

Arthur immediately led them towards the source of the noise – along one of the stone edges, a steady stream of water trickled down, fueling a moderately sized basin of sorts. It didn’t look like the freshest of water, but it’d do the trick, especially if mixed with rum.

Alfred frowned and looked up, wondering where it came from. “You sure it’s enough to restock? Where’s it even coming from?”

“Most of it is residue from the storm.” Arthur explained. “There should be enough for a couple of barrels.”

He watched as Arthur ran his hand along the wall, gathering some of the water in the cup of his hand. Then he brought it to his face, gently splashing his cheek and neck, and sighing pleasantly.

Alfred decided to be a little more dramatic – he felt a bit sunburned, after all – and promptly leaned his back against the stone edge. The interrupted stream of water cascaded over his head and shoulders, drenching his shirt but offering the sweetest of reliefs.

Perhaps the relieved groan that escaped him was a bit over the top, but he heard Arthur huff with laughter nonetheless.

He squinted one eye open, mindful of the water still running down his face, and watched Arthur refill his own water flask before gathering water up in his hands and drinking from them as well.

Arthur wasn’t paying him any attention, and so Alfred took his time to study the man; behind his relief and satisfaction, presumably hailing from managing to find this place, he could clearly see that Arthur was tired, perhaps even somber.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted randomly, and Arthur froze.

“You’re sorry.” He repeated, regarding him icily, and Alfred resisted the urge to raise his hands in defeat. “Why are you sorry?”

“I was out of line. Yesterday.” He quickly explained. “Obviously you did what was best for the crew.”

Arthur’s brows lowered into a frown, and he averted his eyes back towards the rock face in front of him, lips set in a tight line.

“I was – I don’t know, I guess I was just ill prepared for the sudden turn of events.” Alfred continued, mentally cursing at himself to stop rambling; he made his point, didn’t he? “I shouldn’t have questioned your decision.”

A sarcastic, kind of apathetic sounding noise left Arthur. He watched as the blonde captain raised a hand, flattening it against the surface of the wet rocks in front of him, and then turning it around.

The water streaming down soaked the cuff of his shirt and dragged it down a little, revealing the top half of an inked drawing of a star. Alfred wondered what it meant, but knew this wasn’t the right time to ask.

“Listen,” Arthur eventually said, although it sounded reluctant. “I am not going to apologize for what I said last night. You disobeyed, and I’ve shot men for less.”

Alfred blinked owlishly. What was happening?

“However… it is good that you have morals.” Arthur admitted through gritted teeth. “And you were right. Berwald was my friend.”

Alfred wasn’t sure what to say in response, and opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to think of something, before realizing he probably looked like a fish.

He quickly closed his mouth, processing what Arthur had told him as fast as he could. The pirate might have claimed it wasn’t an apology, but it had sounded like one – a half-assed one, yes, but one nonetheless.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Arthur’s lips were still drawn in a tight line, but he lowered his hand from the rocky surface again and seemed to relax a little. “Best not dwell on it.”

“I know that’s the pirate way of thinking,” Alfred started, feeling emboldened now that they were actually talking about this. “but perhaps the best way to process grief, is by talking about it.”

Arthur’s tensed and eyed him warily. “Don’t push it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Alfred said easily, smiling amicably.

“What do you dream of?” Arthur asked, turning back towards the water to scoop some of it up again, dragging a wet hand over the back of his neck.

Although Alfred recognized it as an attempt to change the subject, his heart still skipped a treacherous beat. For a second he feared Arthur already knew the brutally honest answer.

He watched droplets of water shine on Arthur’s neck, and despite knowing better, his mind generously provided him with memories of his dream that night before; in it, he’d sunk his teeth in that same neck, and dream-Arthur had appreciatively groaned and squirmed as a result.

Arthur’s skin was rather pale for someone who spent most of his life out on sea; a bruise would stand out immensely, he realized.

He almost startled when Arthur suddenly turned to regard him, questioningly.

“Brazil.” He immediately exclaimed, remembering Arthur’s question.

“You dream… of Brazil?” Arthur asked slowly, as if finding his answer incredibly odd. He took a step closer, his sudden proximity making Alfred’s breath catch, and looking him over searchingly. He probably thought Alfred had gone delirious after all.

“And – And the colonies, Madagascar, India.” He quickly added. “Anywhere the wind takes us, right?”

“Right.” Arthur parroted, laconically.

Alfred tried his best to keep his eyes locked with Arthur’s, to show that he hadn’t gone mad or that he didn’t suffer from a heatstroke.

But then a stray drop of water left Arthur’s temple and traveled down to his jaw, where it got stuck, and without thinking Alfred raised a hand to brush it away with his thumb. It was pretty much over for him, from there on. He felt Arthur tense, and when he met Arthur’s blazing eyes again, his heart did a rather spectacular flip.

Because Arthur hadn’t slapped his hand away, hadn’t shrugged him off.

Alfred wasn’t stupid – he knew that Arthur knew of his attraction. He had to know what their proximity would do to him, what thoughts occupied his mind. And despite all that, Arthur continued to seek him out, continued to spend time with him out of his own volition.

Arthur’s green eyes stared at him with so much intensity that it felt as if they burned a hole through him. His hand twitched as if it had a mind of his own, and the pads of his fingers brushed Arthur’s jaw.

“Careful,” Arthur murmured, low enough that Alfred had to strain to hear. “You’re treading in dangerous waters.”

Alfred knew that he should pull away, apologize, perhaps grovel for Arthur’s forgiveness for a few days. But he didn’t.

“I reckon I’ve been doing that since I joined.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened. He tilted his head ever so slightly, leaning it further into Alfred’s touch. Alfred committed the sight to memory, knowing it would haunt him forever.

He wasn’t sure what to do, but he kept going nonetheless, slowly moving his hand towards Arthur’s neck and curling his fingers so that they brushed the little hairs at the back of it. Arthur’s lips were curled upwards in the faintest of smirks, and he knew he was probably taunting (challenging?) him, but Alfred didn’t care. When he gently pulled, Arthur leaned forward willingly.

This close to him, he could almost smell the sea.

Alfred wondered if Arthur tasted of it, as well.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to find out. A hand suddenly settled firmly on his chest, keeping him at bay, and he felt both dread and annoyance wash over him.

However, Arthur didn’t look particularly upset. He looked puzzled, as if trying to focus on something, his face tilted sideways and his eyes searching their surroundings.

Before he could ask, his own ears picked up on a distant chiming noise – and he slowly recognized them as their ship’s alarm bells.

“Ours?” He asked, embarrassed when the words had come out low and breathy.

Arthur leaned away from Alfred. “They’ve sighted another ship.”

 


 

The moment the Emerald Dragon came into view, they spotted a damaged caravel anchored nearby. It looked as if it had been damaged by cannon fire, and he wondered if it would survive an actual voyage at sea.

“For fuck’s sake.” Arthur muttered once they arrived at the beach, and Alfred followed his line of sight.

A second longboat had been pulled ashore, and there were decidedly more people on the beach than there had been at first.

One of them spotted them and immediately started marching over, followed by someone else – and it was then that Alfred realized that they looked extremely familiar.

Mathias and Lukas, his memory supplied.

His relief and surprise was cut short when he saw the furious expression on Mathias’ face, and Alfred nearly collided with Arthur when the captain suddenly came to a halt.

“Kirkland, dit røvhul!” Mathias snarled, and he lunged.

Alfred, whose reflexes could be quick when he wanted them to, immediately jumped in front of Arthur and took the blow that was meant for Arthur. He winced when Mathias’ fist connected with his shoulder, before tearing his arm free from its makeshift sling in order to roughly shove the man back.

Mathias spat at him in a foreign language, and he moved past him to lunge at Arthur again, but Alfred grabbed his arm and tried to twist it behind his back.

Unfortunately, Mathias was no stranger to a good old-fashioned fist-fight, and he wedged a foot between his own to trip him.

Fortunately, Alfred had seen it coming, and he dragged Mathias down with him, immediately rolling on top of him.

“Shit, man, calm down!” He yelped as Mathias fist nearly collided with his jaw – he did not need another bruised jaw.

Mathias growled and slammed his elbow into his own, obviously having noticed his weak spot. Alfred’s grip immediately slackened, allowing Mathias to push him off of him.

He jumped to his feet and turned towards Arthur, but Lukas snapped at him in their language and grabbed him by the elbow. Whatever the smaller man said worked, because when Mathias shook himself free with an angry-sounding curse, he stayed put.

Alfred quickly got back to his feet and moved to stand in front of Arthur again, relieved to see that his crew mates had joined the scene as well, guns and swords drawn hesitantly.

Lukas turned towards Arthur, apparently not feeling threatened by the men surrounding him.

“Lukas,” Arthur said, pushing Alfred aside to properly face the man in question while also gesturing for his men to stand down. “What happened?”

“We were scouting ahead when we were attacked by Russian privateers.” Lukas answered matter-of-factly. “We had to flee.”

“Russians? Why?”

“Why don’t you tell me? They demanded your location.” Arthur tensed, sparing Mathias a glare when the man grumbled underneath his breath.

“So we figured we might as well lay low here, wait for Berwald.” Mathias interrupted angrily. “But we find your crew instead, bragging about an escape from the kraken. I’d call you lucky, but I’m not surprised.”

Arthur’s lips curled into an angry, violent looking sneer, and he took a step forward with his hand on the flintlock pistol attached to his belt.

Alfred realized he was missing a vital piece of information here.

“I find it unfortunate that you made it out, instead of him.” Arthur said cruelly, but surprisingly enough, Mathias didn’t look particularly enraged by the words.

“You and me both, asshole.” He groused instead.

“What happened, happened.” Lukas said, subtly elbowing Mathias in the side. “Any help you are willing to offer us, Arthur, we’d gladly accept. Our ship is too damaged to make the cross.”

When Arthur looked at Lukas again, the hostility eventually left his eyes, and he lowered his arm again. “Of course,” he said, albeit warily. “You are welcome to sail with us.”

“Why thank you, captain.” Mathias spat, not batting an eye when Lukas turned to icily glare at him again.

It was obvious that Arthur toyed with the idea of blowing a hole through Mathias’ head, but he didn’t. Alfred was a little surprised, but figured it must have had something to do with that vital piece of information he was missing.

He brooded on it for a while longer, wondering why exactly Arthur had been on such good terms with Berwald in the first place. All Tino had let slip was that they shared an acquaintance, but that didn’t clear anything up.

Arthur had to owe Berwald, he decided. He had to have been indebted to the man somehow.

It would explain his willingness to help what remained of the deceased man’s crew, even though he didn’t get along with some of them – something Mathias was obviously aware of.

Alfred determined that he was going to find out, too, one way or another.

Notes:

I’m sorry if some of you thought the treat was something romantic or nsfw… but Mathias and Lukas joined, isn’t that a treat too? This is a slow burn for a reason, lol.

Chickens on the ship – Sailors (including pirates) often kept chickens on board for their eggs. When they could no longer feed them, or when food had run out, they’d slaughter them for their meat and bones. Some ships also carried cows, for their milk.

Fresh water on Ascension Island – Despite being a rather barren island (forests weren’t planted until the 1800s), there were two sources of fresh water on the island: a spring in what is now called Breakneck Valley, and a smaller source named Dampier’s Drip. When the HMS Roebuck shipwrecked at Ascension Island in 1701, these springs allowed its crew to survive until they were rescued.

Midsommarafton sailing with a caravel – This was a bit of a creative liberty, but normally, when a ship of the line travelled in a fleet (during i.e. war), they were surrounded by lighter ships that acted a scouts and relayed signals between the flagship and the rest of the fleet.
Being a ship of the line, the Midsommarafton would’ve been slow, so I added a caravel to function as their scout. Caravels were small, highly-maneuverable ships that were fast and capable of sailing windward. However, due to their smaller size, they’d be less able to defend themselves against larger ships.

 

Chapter 8: Fortaleza, October 1711

Notes:

I'm on the fence about posting snippets of the past in this story.. like, a chapter here and there where I delve into Arthur's past, for example. On one hand, I'd like to share as much as possible of this world I created for them, on the other hand, I like the mystery... but I could also post them later, as short snippets or one-shots I guess. What do you guys think? I don't want this story to be, like, 30 chapters lmao ;.;

Anyway, happy reading!

Warning: there's a fight, so descriptions of violence, blood, etc. Also there are a LOT of end notes lol.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Despite their rocky reunion, Alfred managed to get along swimmingly well with Mathias. He would even say he considered him a good friend, perhaps even more so than Ralph, who more often than not still tried to get a rise out of him just for the hell of it.

Mathias called them ‘cut from the same cloth’ – neither of them had turned to piracy because of the promise of wealth, power and fame. But whereas Arthur seemed to like Alfred for those qualities, he regarded Mathias as if he were a shipworm.

However, despite their general dislike for one another, Alfred couldn’t help but suspect that there was also some partialism between the two pirates.

For one, Mathias had chosen to remain aboard the Dragon even after most of the Midsommarafton’s old crew abandoned ship upon their arrival in Brazil.

Secondly, Arthur let him stay without any fuss. Maybe even more surprising was that Mathias had never been thrown into the brig, nor was he ever marooned or otherwise tortured, despite his best attempts.  

(Alfred hadn’t been the only one confused by the development – one of the carpenters had thought it meant Arthur had grown soft. He’d challenged him nary a week after they left Ascension Island, and no one, not even Mathias, had been willing to entertain his little act of mutiny.

He’d been thrown overboard nearby a tiny piece of rock Alfred couldn’t in good faith call an island, with only a pistol containing a single bullet on him. By now, the poor bugger had probably died of dehydration... If he had not utilized the pistol, that is.)

Whenever Mathias acted out of line, he would be made to mop the decks or clean out the head. Which was a disgusting, grueling job, but it was nowhere near as bad as a keelhauling.

Alfred no longer felt sorry for Mathias; after all, it was really his own fault for constantly talking shit.

“You missed a spot.”

Mathias laughed, but it sounded a little forced, and he pointed two fingers at Alfred. “You better watch it, Al. I will feed you your own tongue while you sleep.”

“But then who will laugh at your horrible jokes?”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Alfred smirked and stuck out said tongue, laughing when Mathias swung the dull end of his mop at him. He retaliated by grabbing the offending object, resulting in a rather immature, but fun game of tug-of-war.

“Back to work!” James barked at them from the forecastle deck, and Alfred immediately let go of the swab, causing Mathias to stumble back a little. “Play in yer own time!”

“Or rather not at all.” Lukas added irritably, passing them by without sparing either of them a proper glance, much to Mathias’ displeasure.

Surprisingly enough, Lukas was very pleasant to get along with as well. He reminded Alfred a bit of Arthur; more refined than most other pirate on their ship, but with a certain aura that still demanded respect.

However, he was much more reserved than Arthur was, and while he seemed to tolerate Alfred’s company, he obviously only really cared for Mathias and his younger brother, Emil. Though he had a funny way of showing it.

He watched Mathias croon something at Lukas in Danish, to which Lukas responded by giving him the middle finger. He wasn’t entirely sure what the nature of their relationship was, but he could make an educated guess.

“Thar she blows!”

Both Alfred and Mathias turned towards the man who had shouted the phrase, and Alfred racked his brain; he hadn’t heard this one before, what could it possibly mean?

He saw the man was pointing towards the sea on their right, and so he quickly walked over to the taffrails. Initially, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but then all of a sudden, a dark mass breached the surface and spat water upwards.

He startled – a vivid image of the kraken briefly flashing before his eyes – but then the beast disappeared beneath the surface again. Some of the men around him whistled and cheered, and Mathias chortled at Alfred’s reaction.

“It’s just a whale, man.”

“Shut up, I ain’t ever seen one before.” Alfred grumbled, a little embarrassed by his initial reaction.

He didn’t know much about whales. As a child, he had once seen a ship drag a dead one behind them, but he’d been too scared to get close to the whalers responsible. His father later told him a bit about the animal, but never much, as Alfred was unlikely to ever see one anyway.

The fact that he was seeing one now, and that he was closer to one than he could’ve ever imagined as a child, filled him with childlike, but bitter excitement: his brothers would’ve loved this, too.

“Steady as she goes, men.” Arthur ordered from the helm. “We don’t want to bump into her.”

A chorus of ‘aye’s’ sounded as the crew went back to work. Next to him, Mathias did a rather poor imitation of Arthur’s accent while making a funny face, and Alfred shoved him aside with a chuckle.

Since his shift was over, and he therefore had no work to return to, Alfred leaned forward in the hopes of spotting the whale again. Apparently such a sighting happened more often, because no one seemed as mesmerized as he felt.

He watched the whale come up a few more times, its fins slapping harshly against the water as the animal turned underneath the surface, making it seem as if it were waving at them.

Eventually it disappeared completely, and when nothing happened for five long minutes, Alfred reluctantly pushed himself off the taffrail in order to find something else to do.

As if on cue, the magnificent beast suddenly breached the surface with almost its entire, huge body. It turned mid-air, showing off its white belly, and slammed back into the ocean. Its fall brought about a wave that slammed against the ship, rising up to the main deck and causing the Dragon to sway.

Alfred spluttered as the water soaked him, and nearly slipped and stumbled back as he recoiled in shock. Everyone present on deck witnessed his little mishap, of course, and he grimaced when he heard men all around him laugh.

Then again, the sight had probably been amusing. Had it happened to someone else, he would’ve laughed too. At least the sun would dry his shirt fairly quick, but he would not look forward to the itchiness left behind by the salt.

Fortunately most of the laughter died down fairly quick, and Alfred made sure to step away from the railings, in case the whale got another grand idea.

Out of habit, he glanced up to the quarter deck, where Arthur was still standing at the helm.

Arthur was casually leaning against the wheel, watching him with an amused smirk. Alfred bit the inside of his cheek in order to not grin back, reminding himself that Arthur, too, was making fun of him.

Instead he tried to look as annoyed as possible, but it only made Arthur laugh quietly, and Alfred felt something inside him lighten considerably at the sight.

Things had been a little odd between them, ever since Ascension Island. They hadn’t talked about what (almost) happened, nor had they talked about the Midsommarafton again.

Granted, there hadn’t been much time to do so, what with getting accustomed to their new crew members, raiding two Portuguese merchant ships and stocking up in a coastal village near Natal.

And it didn’t help that Alfred had befriended Mathias; one time it had looked as if Arthur meant to join him up in the crow’s nest, but once he spotted Mathias in there with him, he had promptly turned around again.

He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, but he couldn’t rid his mind of the fact that he was sitting on a very dangerous piece of information, something he wasn’t sure what to do with.

Namely: when Alfred had tried to kiss Arthur back on Ascension Island, Arthur hadn’t tried to stop him – in fact, it had almost seemed as if he had been waiting for it to happen.

 


 

When they first arrived at the small fishing town near Natal, Alfred had been a little disenchanted. He had thought Brazil would have been different – would’ve felt different. After all, it was a continent in a whole different part of the world.

But like in Europe and Africa, the coastal cities they had visited so far were all riddled with merchants, privateers, smugglers and other fortune-seekers.

There were a few marines here and there, but since they only ever stopped at cities that lacked a properly structured government, they were usually unwilling to bother them, as long as they didn’t cause too much trouble.

Fortaleza was a little better, if only because it came with several familiar faces.

Loud laughter sounded from the back of the tavern, and inadvertently Alfred’s eyes trailed towards its source. A few feet away, in one of the corners of the room, sat the infamous Arthur Kirkland, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Francis Bonnefoy and Antonio Carriedo.

Surprisingly enough, Antonio and Arthur were not glaring at one another. Even more surprising, was that Francis was not draped over Arthur, but was flirting with the barmaid near their table instead.

Gilbert was laughing about something with Antonio, while a stern looking blonde was trying to talk to them. Arthur, in the meantime, was rubbing his temples as if trying to get rid of a headache, while occasionally smirking at something Francis said.

When he’d first seen Francis Bonnefoy again, Alfred had felt unreasonably annoyed. He knew he was jealous, and that he wasn’t supposed to be – he had zero claim on Arthur, and it was obvious that the two captains shared a lengthy history.

Francis was Arthur’s equal in a way Alfred could never hope to be, and while he was fairly sure that they weren’t actually lovers, the idea of them disappearing into Arthur’s cabin together again unsettled him greatly.

He wondered if he could somehow prevent it from happening again.

While brooding on it, his line of sight was interrupted when the barmaid serving his own table appeared and set down their new drinks. She sweetly patted him on his bicep as she leaned back up, and Alfred smiled charmingly at her as she left, causing her to giggle.

“I’m so glad you survived the kraken.” Feliciano exclaimed, his cheeks already flushed due to the ample amount of ale he’d thrown back. “It must’ve been so scary!”

Alfred grimaced. “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.”

“On the contrary, I find her to be quite mesmerizing.” Kiku, an Asian man who served as Gilbert’s quartermaster, said thoughtfully.

“Mesmerizing? The bitch is horrendous! I damn near wet myself the first time I saw her, and we didn’t even get close to her.” Lovino exclaimed, his lips curled in a sneer.

“You shouldn’t worry, Alfred. Most of us only see her once or twice in a lifetime.” Laurence, Antonio’s navigator, said reassuringly.

“There are many other things you should be more wary of.” Kiku continued cryptically, as if that would make him feel any better. Predictably, Feliciano whined again, muttering to himself in rapid Italian.

“Hell yeah.” Lovino said, nodding along. “Mermaids are much worse. At least the kraken can be avoided or outrun. Mermaids? Not so much. They hold grudges, too.”

Alfred wrinkled his nose; leave it to pirates to make something as exciting as sailing the world sound unappealing. He didn’t doubt the existence of mermaids by now, but he sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t ever have to encounter one.

“But, apart from mermaids, the lusca and other sea monsters, you’re going to love the Caribbean.” Eli said sweetly.

“The lu – no, you know what? I don’t want to know.” Alfred said, wanting to talk about anything but sea monsters.

“I don’t like Nassau.” Feliciano quipped. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s the point, idiota.” Lovino said, albeit his voice lacked its usual bite.

“What’s so bad about Nassau?” Alfred asked curiously – after all, most of his crew seemed genuinely excited about visiting the place.

“It’s pirate utopia.” Eli explained. “It’s swarming with outlaws, and there’s virtually no law, so you gotta watch your back a lot.” Feliciano made another discontented noise. “Don’t worry Feli, if you stick with me or Ludwig, you’ll be fine.”

“Like hell should you stick with that potato-fucker.” Lovino grumbled angrily, and Feliciano laughed, saying something in Italian that made Lovino’s cheeks burn brightly.

A glass shattered behind them, the noise followed by triumphant cheers, and Alfred again cocked his head so that he could look at the pirate captains who were responsible.

Both Gilbert and Antonio were joyously laughing, and even the stern looking blonde was cracking a smile. Arthur was comfortably leaning back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face that he discreetly hid behind his drink.

Francis was grimacing at the now leaving barmaid, his previously refilled mug shattered on the ground next to him. It was easy to imagine what happened, and Alfred felt a satisfied smirk tug at his own lips.

His eyes briefly met Arthur’s, and knowing that he’d already been caught staring, Alfred raised his own glass at him in lieu of a greeting. Arthur only tilted his head in acknowledgement before he addressed his fellow captains again, and Alfred slowly dragged his attention back to his own company.

Eli was smirking at him, and he decided to change the subject before the other man had the chance to say what was so obviously on his mind.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” He asked, casually taking a sip from his drink.

Eli raised a delicate eyebrow at him before shrugging. “There’s lots of gold in these lands, and the Portuguese are shipping it back to their lair. We’re gonna do a little intercepting.”

“And since they'll sail in groups, we’ll do too.” Lovino added, using the opportunity to ignore whatever his still rambling brother was saying.

“We’ll hear the details sooner or later.” Eli said cheerfully, holding out his mug of beer. “For now, let’s have some fun. Prost!”

Salute!” Feliciano happily said as he clinked their mugs together. Alfred relaxed in his chair, settling in for a few hours of good company and less good ale.

 


 

One thing that always amazed Alfred, was that Arthur almost never made a sound when he moved around. On a ship made from wood, that was quite a feat. It would make him near unnoticeable, if not for his red coat and feathered hat.

It was thanks to that red coat that Alfred noticed his captain disembarking at all. He paused to watch the man leave, curiosity blending with confusion: it was after midnight, what business could Arthur possibly have in town?

The unwelcome image of Arthur entangled with Francis crossed his mind immediately, and he nearly recoiled from it physically, before reconsidering: Arthur wasn’t heading towards La Liberté, he was heading for town.

Whatever he was planning on doing, it was probably not wise for him to do it alone.

Alfred used that ridiculously weak excuse to justify following after him.

Considering that his movements were nowhere near as silent as Arthur’s, he made sure to keep a good distance between them. Fortunately it wasn’t very busy in the streets, and Arthur’s attire made it fairly easy to keep track of him.

However, after a good fifteen minutes, Alfred stopped and looked at the shop to his right.

He was sure that they passed this same shop twice already – he knew, because its colorful contents made it stand apart from the other shops in this street. Was Arthur lost? He frowned and looked forward again, only to realize he had lost sight of his captain.

The street he was in was deserted; a light burned behind a few windows here and there, but other than that, the area was devoid of life.

Alfred pursed his lips and looked around. He could probably find his way back to the ship, and while it wasn’t smart to wander about alone, he doubted there would be any trouble at this hour.

But if Arthur had gone the same way he’d gone before, he would’ve taken a right just up ahead.

Alfred weighed the pros and cons of getting lost, and eventually decided he might as well just take a peek into one more street before turning back.

Walking over as silently as he could, Alfred slowly rounded the corner, resting his hand on his pistol just in case.

When he saw Arthur casually leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and lips pursed disapprovingly, he nearly jumped in shock.

“Jones.” Arthur said, and it sounded awfully loud in the otherwise quiet street. “Why you are following me?”

Alfred felt his heart beat erratically. The honest answer was as bad as the answer Alfred had used as an excuse. He hadn’t thought this through enough.

Apparently his internal conflict took a bit too long, because Arthur sighed irritably, and so Alfred blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I, uh, wanted to talk.”

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow, obviously seeing right through him. He decided not to put his foot in his mouth any further, and kept his mouth firmly shut while Arthur studied him curiously. Eventually, Arthur’s appraisal relented, and he uncrossed his arms.

“We’ll talk later. Are you armed?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Alfred exclaimed, patting himself down to confirm it. Apart from his pistol, his cutlass was also attached to his belt, and Arthur nodded approvingly.

“Come along, then.”

“Where are we going?”

Arthur shushed him, and Alfred wisely kept quiet for once, knowing that he should be glad for not having gotten into trouble in the first place. Arthur led him through several streets, different than the ones they took before.

After a couple of minutes, he was tempted to again ask after their destination. It was clear that Arthur wasn’t lost, but he was starting to look a little annoyed – perhaps even agitated.

The question died on his lips the moment they arrived at a courtyard, which was abandoned save for six Portuguese officers standing in its middle.

Their swords were drawn and aimed at them; it looked as if they had been expecting them. Alfred unconsciously took a step forward towards Arthur, who, surprisingly enough, didn’t look as confused as he felt.

If anything, Arthur looked even more annoyed. As if he’d expected this would happen, but had hoped it wouldn’t.

“Arthur Kirkland.” A brown-haired, tanned man stepped out of the group of officers. If his attire was anything to go by, he was probably their superior. Arthur scowled, and in return, the man grinned charmingly. “Fancy seeing you here, meu amigo.

Tenente,” Arthur said shortly, and the man laughed.

“Actually it’s comandante now. I’ve been promoted.”

Alfred frowned as he watched the interaction happen – did Arthur know this guy?

“Congratulations.” Arthur said dryly, before tipping his hat at the group of men. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. We were just leaving.”

“Why the rush?” The man asked, clapping his hands together. “I was surprised to hear your bounty surpasses a thousand guineas now. What have you been up to, capitão?”

A thousand guineas – Alfred wasn’t entirely sure how much money that actually was, but he knew it was a lot. To his surprise, Arthur’s scowl eased up a bit, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“I sunk a couple of galleons since my last visit.” He admitted casually, though his shoulders appeared tense. “English, Portuguese, Dutch… I lost track, really.”

“I am sure you did.” The Portuguese commander said amicably. “And it really is so kind of you to drop by. Of course, I will be taking you in now.”

“Terribly sorry,” Arthur said just as amicably, while slowly lowering his hand towards his cutlass. “but we have places to be.”

Then Arthur raised his hand – his other hand, not the one on his cutlass – and with a display of frightening, accurate skill, shot one of the men right between his eyes.

Everyone had clearly been focusing on his cutlass, and so the men jumped apart in shock as their fellow officer sagged to the ground.

Alfred expected Arthur to use the distraction to whirl around and run. When Arthur tossed him a smirk over his shoulder, he was surprised, but not as surprised as he was when Arthur suddenly rushed forward while drawing his own sword.

Even for Arthur Kirkland, one against five were terrible odds.

He frowned when Arthur kicked one of the men against his knees, and shot him through the head with the flintlock still in his other hand when the man went down.

All right, perhaps the odds were not as terrible for Arthur as they would be for any other man - but still, one against four wasn’t ideal.

He cursed under his breath and quickly unsheathed his own sword before jumping into the fray, successfully grabbing the attention of one of the men.

The clinging of his sword meeting his opponents’ was loud as it rang through the near empty courtyard, and he tried not to think about it too much. For all that the weapon still felt strange in his hand, he’d gotten a lot more confident in actually using it.

Still, he felt his pulse quicken in an unpleasant way when he suddenly realized that this man was an enemy. This wasn’t a friendly sparring session with James or Mathias – no, this man would kill him if he got the chance.

The upside was that this man wasn’t a pirate. He was playing fair, and when Alfred spotted multiple openings, he almost felt bad for the guy.

He decided to take a page out of Arthur’s book, and quickly drew his pistol. But instead of firing it at his opponent, he used it to deflect an attack. Now that the man’s sword arm was otherwise occupied, his left was open, and without thinking Alfred swung his cutlass into his side.

The blade cut through the man’s coat and skin effortlessly. The gruesome, wet sound of sharp steel meeting flesh was like a slap to his face, and Alfred froze as his opponent stumbled back.

The man wheezed and groaned with pain, clutching his side. Dark blood seeped through his coat and pooled around his hand in a rapid tempo.

For a second, Alfred hesitated: it was obvious that the man was losing blood quickly, and surely he wasn’t going to survive if he didn’t get help as soon as possible.

But the man glared at him and charged at him again, and Alfred panicked: he raised his pistol and shot the man square in his chest, causing him to trip over his own feet and fall down.

He remained there, immobile, and Alfred stared at him, horrified.

Movement on his right offered a distraction that Alfred desperately took, and he whirled around to witness Arthur fighting three men at once, one of them already bleeding from a wound in his side.  

It was utterly fascinating to watch Arthur in action. The pirate moved quickly, attacking and deflecting rhythmically. It was as if he danced with his opponents, luring them in and pushing them back at his own convenience.

What was perhaps most bewildering, was the excited, somewhat morbid expression on Arthur’s face – the pirate was enjoying this, and Alfred felt his pulse quicken in a much more pleasant way than before. 

He watched with sick fascination as Arthur slid his sword into the wounded man's stomach. Its tip poked out of his back and Arthur forced him to his knees, causing the sword to cut upwards.

It was barely visible, but Alfred spotted the slight frown on Arthur’s face, as he tried to tug his cutlass free. Unfortunately it didn’t budge as easily as it was supposed to, most likely caught on a bone or muscle.

His struggle to regain his cutlass made him vulnerable, and Alfred realized it the moment one of Arthur’s opponents did so too. Without thinking, he rushed forward and slammed his body into the man's. They tumbled to the ground together and both their cutlasses went skittering down the pavement. 

In an unfortunate turn of events, the man had managed to get on top of him, and Alfred clenched his eyes shut as he awaited the punch that would follow. 

Only it never came. An explosive gunshot resonated through the courtyard, and Alfred felt something warm splatter against his neck and cheek. The body on top of him went limp and he froze, before realizing what happened. Frantically, he shoved the body off of him, clambering to his feet while swallowing down the bile that rose up when he realized he was covered in another man's blood. 

Arthur made a triumphant noise when he finally managed to dislodge his sword, using his foot to shove the man off of his blade. To his left, the Portuguese commander stood, brandishing a blunderbus. The weapon was still surrounded by the smoke it discharged when fired. 

 “You – you shot your own man.” He exclaimed, looking at both Arthur and the commander, as well as the dead body now behind him.

Paz, amigo.” The commander said with an easy smile on his face. He lowered his weapon and set to reattaching it to his belt. “This one’s good, Arthur. Where’d you find him?”

Alfred felt his jaw drop when Arthur sheathed his own sword as well. He didn’t grace the officer with a reply, and instead rolled his shoulders while readjusting his hat.

“For fuck’s sake João, was all of this really necessary?”

Wait, what?

“I have a reputation to uphold.” João said as he shrugged. “Word had gone round that you were in town. I could not simply arrange a meeting without raising suspicion.”

Arthur grumbled something inaudible under his breath, before reaching into his coat. A jingle of coins was heard, and Alfred watched with astonishment as Arthur extracted a reasonably large pouch.

He tossed it over towards the Portuguese commander, and João caught it expertly.

Obrigado.” He said while reaching into his own coat to extract a bundle of documents. He walked over to hand it to Arthur, and Alfred felt his hackles rise by his mere proximity, but Arthur seemed unbothered. “The fluyts are carrying most of the cargo, so I wouldn’t bother with boarding the brigantines. But of course you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Of course.” Arthur said, pocketing the documents inside his coat. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“As always – “ Whistles rang in the distance, and they all froze. “Ah, it seems our commotion has not gone unnoticed. Hide in there, I will lead them away.”

Apparently Arthur trusted this man to keep his word, because he promptly grabbed Alfred by the elbow and began dragging him towards one of the empty shops surrounding the courtyard.

Wanting to protest, but aware that the whistles were rapidly approaching their location, Alfred had no other choice but to follow. Once inside the abandoned shop, he turned around to catch João tipping his hat towards them, before the door closed.

He stared at the lines in the wood of the door while his mind worked overtime to process what just happened.

“What – what the hell just happened?” He exclaimed, confused enough to forgo propriety.

Arthur glared and walked over to him – for some reason, Alfred felt a little intimidated, and he took a step backward. His back collided with the wooden door, and he froze when Arthur raised a hand.

He planted it against his mouth, presumably to prevent him from making another sound. It smelled of gunpowder and something much like iron, something he did not want to think about.

Behind him, through the door, he could hear several pair of boots arrive at the scene, followed by angry, Portuguese shouting.

“Por aqui! Eles não podem ter ido longe!” João shouted, and Alfred held his breath.

However, instead of barging through the door, the pairs of boots started running again, and the noise slowly faded into silence as their distance increased.

Distracting himself from the rapid, unpleasant beating of his heart, Alfred tried to find another focus point. He found it in the slightly irregular rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. There was some blood on Arthur’s white blouse, but he doubted that it belonged to the captain himself.

Instantly he was reminded of his own blood-soaked shirt. He could feel the previously warm liquid drying up on his skin, and it made him shiver; kraken or not, he was going to need a good old fashioned swim.

“Breathe.” Arthur said, lowering his hand somewhat, and Alfred inhaled sharply as if on command.

He watched Arthur study him. His emerald eyes were ablaze with a frightening fierceness, and his cheeks were dusted red, most likely due to exertion. There was a secretive, knowing grin on his face.

“Gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?” Arthur said lowly. He trailed his hand down Alfred’s jaw to his neck, swiping his bare fingers through the blood there.

“I – what?” Alfred murmured, too distracted by Arthur’s scrutiny to remember what he was talking about.

Arthur gently tightened his grip on his neck while shoving a leg between his own, and the sudden pressure to his crotch made him realize that he was half-hard in his breeches. And now Arthur knew it, too.

“That feeling of power when you escape death,” Arthur continued. “and when you take a life.”

“That’s – no, that’s insane.” Alfred heard himself stammer in reply.

He tried to tell himself it was insane – those men who just died had families. But they would’ve killed him. They would’ve killed him, and Arthur, if they hadn’t killed them first. Wasn’t it just a game of survival of the fittest, in the end?

Arthur’s expression turned thoughtful. He let him go and stepped back, and Alfred heaved another deep breath, feeling a little disappointed at their sudden lack of proximity.

“You’ll get used to it.” Was all that Arthur said, in a strangely reassuring tone.

He stepped aside when Arthur gently pushed at his shoulder, allowing Arthur to open the door and exit the shop again. Following quietly, he watched as Arthur searched the bodies still lying on the ground.

When he stood up, he had three pouches of coins in his hands, one of them a little larger than the other two. It was that one Arthur threw at him, and Alfred only just managed to catch it before it whirled past him.

“For your service and discretion.” Arthur explained. “What you just witnessed was a mutually beneficial transaction. Nothing more.”

“But why? Isn’t he a naval commander?”

“Yes, but he’s also a cunning bastard with a lot of mouths to feed.” Arthur said mirthfully. “He’s not the first officer I’ve bribed, and he won’t be the last.”

Alfred frowned, reminiscing on how Arthur had told him that the authorities weren’t necessary good people, back in Loanda. It didn’t sit right with him, but who was he to judge? As long as Arthur knew what he was doing, Alfred supposed he shouldn’t be questioning him.

“What did he give you?” He asked next, nodding towards Arthur’s chest, where the papers he’d received earlier were hidden.

Arthur smirked, obviously pleased that Alfred chose to drop the previous subject, and patted his coat.

“Our next plunder.”

Notes:

I cannot WAIT for the next chapter and the ones after that to be published.. I still gotta touch them up a bit, but you're probably going to enjoy them, lol.

Cleaning out the head – The head was a ship’s toilet area and can typically be found at the head or bow of a ship.

Fortaleza – My research on Fortaleza in 1711 took forever and I still didn’t manage to find out much, so I kept it as vague as I could. Important to know is that Fortaleza was under Portuguese rule, and that Brazil was experiencing a gold rush (a discovery of gold that brought an onrush of miners, slavers, merchants etc.). Hence the fortune seekers and the many ships carrying gold.

Arthur’s bounty (time for some math, which I’m horrendous at) - Commander Portugal (lol) mentioned Arthur’s bounty exceeded 1.000 guineas. What does that mean?

The guinea was the largest denomination in British currency from 1663 until 1816, when it was replaced by the pound. At the beginning of the 18th century, 1 guinea was worth roughly 20 shillings. As such, 1.000 guineas would be 20.000 shillings. And since 1 shilling is one twentieth of a pound, 20 shillings is 1 pound, so 20.000 shillings is 1.000 pounds. According to an inflation calculater, that would at present time calculate to roughly worth 156.000 pounds.

Blunderbus (the weapon used by João)– a short, wide shotgun that was flared at the muzzle. It could be devastating at short range.

“Por aqui! Eles não podem ter ido longe!”  - “This way! They could not have gone far!”

João and Arthur – Alliances between pirates and naval officers weren’t unheard off. Edward Thatch (Blackbeard) also had an arrangement with North Carolina’s Governor Charles Eden: Eden would turn a blind eye to Blackbeard’s conquests, and would occasionally even tip him off. In exchange he would receive a share of the loot.

And last but not least: the new minor characters that were introduced! Emil is Iceland, Ludwig is Germany, Kiku is Japan, and Laurence is Belgium. João was Portugal, but you won't be seeing him again.

Chapter 9: Near the Brazilian coast, October 1711

Notes:

So remember I was talking about snippets of Arthur’s origin story? Yeah, so that evolved into a multi-chaptered prequel with more on Francis, Antonio and Gilbert too, lol. And of course the DenNor thing is coming after this... it's a pirate life for me.

Also: I think I managed to determine how long this story is going to be, hence the sudden 9 out of 16 chapters! But it might still increase with a chapter or two.

Warnings: another fight (and I've about HAD it with writing naval battles for a while, I wanna write some smut already lol), accidental voyeurism. Not a lot of Arthur and Alfred interaction in this one, but hopefully you'll still like it ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

If attacking a single ship at sea was stressful, attacking multiple ships at once was downright nerve-wracking. Attacking multiple ships with multiple ships of your own, however, was strangely exhilarating.

They’d left at sunrise that morning to form a blockade in the route their target would take. Less than an hour after they got into position, a fleet of ships appeared on the horizon, just as the Portuguese commander had promised. What the Portuguese had failed to mention however, was that apart from a single brigantine, the fluyts were accompanied by two warships.

Arthur had scoffed, but ultimately, he hadn’t seemed surprised. Alfred wondered if the Portuguese often left out vital information in his tips.

The four pirate ships remained in position, and once the Portuguese ships came in range, they swapped their flags to their respective Jolly Rogers. Without further ado, the Scarlet Fiesta and Die Ehrsucht moved to take point. As the largest of their party, they would hold up better against the enemy warships.

However, they only managed to single out one of them, and its slightly smaller counterpart was heading straight for La Liberté.

After a brief communication via signal flags on their yardarms, La Liberté moved to a safer distance, one that would allow them to better utilize their long range cannons. Meanwhile, the Emerald Dragon circled the warship, tearing into them with their cannons while never slowing their pace, so that the warship could not pin them down.

Despite the unexpected change in plans, La Liberté moved in tune with the Dragon. Arthur gave his orders with a calculated calmness; displaying a certain confidence that proved Arthur trusted La Liberté to watch their back, no matter what.

Eventually, the Emerald Dragon managed to sidle up close to the warship. Firing any cannons at this short of a distance could damage both ships at once, and so they both stopped firing them. Crewmembers of either ship let out bellowing roars as they boarded each other’s ship.

Alfred winced as one of their own was intercepted by gunfire, the poor man smacking against the side of the other ship and falling into the ocean, lifeless. Beneath him, Arthur shouted orders for gunners to man the swivel guns, before leaving the helm as well.

In the distance, Alfred saw La Liberté now advancing on the lone brigantine that was still fruitlessly guarding the fluyts; ensuring that they wouldn’t make a run for it while their attackers were otherwise occupied.

Once he could afford to leave his post, he decided to join the fray. Below, on the other ship’s main deck, he could see Mathias taunting his opponents while simultaneously swinging around a battle axe half his own size. Multiple enemies had amassed around him, and while they clearly outnumbered him, they were also very hesitant about moving closer.

Alfred climbed down to the main yard and used a stray, untied brace to swing himself over to the other, higher ship’s main deck. He didn’t land quite as gracefully as he had imagined, but he landed all the same.

Mathias laughed when he saw Alfred clamber to his feet, and swung his axe to fend off the soldier that had meant to use Alfred’s clumsy landing to his advantage. While he kept the man off his back, he also nearly separated Alfred’s head from his own body, and Alfred frowned.

“Oops!” Mathias said gleefully, amicably shoving his shoulder against Alfred’s. “Great landing, rookie. Very heroic.”

Alfred snorted and parried an attack, using the man’s uneven footing to push him back and causing him to trip and fall to the ground. It was easy to distinguish friend from foe; their enemies all wore the same, colorful uniform.

“You just watch where you swing that thing.”

“Ha!” Mathias cried loudly, embedding his axe into an unfortunate soul’s shoulder. The man went down to his knees, and Mathias kicked him off his axe with a foot. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Alfred didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but Lukas, who’d been nearby Mathias as usual, whirled on him with a glare, before throwing his dagger at him. It whizzed past him and ended up in another unfortunate soul’s chest. Mathias, who hadn’t even flinched, grinned charmingly.

“Can you stop playing around?” Lukas snapped, pushing past him to retrieve his dagger.

Mathias crooned something in Danish that Lukas obviously ignored, and then they were all distracted by another string of opponents.

It was easier not to think about how he was killing people when he was caught up in a fight like this. There was simply no time to be horrified or disgusted; Alfred had to keep moving, had to keep parrying and had to keep attacking, or otherwise it could cost him his life.

Despite this, he knew he was still hesitant with his attacks. He didn’t do so on purpose, but he almost never landed a fatal blow. Most of the times, he merely incapacitated his enemies. They still died; because they would stumble into another pirate, and on more than one occasion, they toppled right over the railing of the ship.

Just as he dug his sword into the side of the man he was fighting, a bullet darted past him. Behind him, a body fell to the wooden deck with a dull thud, but Alfred paid it no attention; instead he looked up at the one responsible.

Arthur, who had apparently also boarded the ship, tossed him a smug smirk from the quarter deck. Alfred felt his blood sing excitedly in return and he couldn’t help but salute him with a grin himself.

Barely a handful of minutes later, multiple deafening explosions rung through the air, startling both parties into momentarily pausing their fight. Turning, Alfred could see that the other warship was engulfed in flames and thick smoke. It was tilted to the front dangerously, well on its way to disappearing beneath the surface, while Die Ehrsucht sailed away from it.

He may or may not have imagined it, but he swore he heard the screams of the ship’s terrified crew as they abandoned ship or burned along with it.

It prompted his own crew to release another series of bellowing, victorious roars, but they were overshadowed by another thunderous, explosive noise. Cannon fire tore into the brigantine that La Liberté was still battling, courtesy of the Scarlet Fiesta.

Meanwhile, Die Ehrsucht was obviously heading their way, and as if a switch was flicked, the Portuguese soldiers they had been fighting dropped to their knees, begging for mercy in broken English.

He followed the example of the pirates around him and stopped fighting, even though the pirates back on the Dragon showed their opponents no such mercy.

And while Alfred knew that he should feel bad for them, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of power at how easy it had all gone. They barely suffered any losses or injuries, as far as he could see.

To his right, Mathias swung his axe over his shoulder again. He had to dodge to avoid being hit again, and Mathias lazily grinned at him while he hooked both arms around his weapon’s handle. Alfred grumbled a bit under his breath, but spared him no more attention, focusing on Arthur instead.

The captain walked down to the ship’s main deck, his red coat flapping carelessly around him as the wind determined its movements. He came to a halt nearby the main mast, and the victorious cheering of his crew abruptly stopped.

“Who has the fortune of calling himself captain of this ship?” Arthur asked then, his voice strong as it carried itself across the ship effortlessly. 

An uncomfortable silence followed, with many Portuguese soldiers looking around and at each other. Arthur eventually got impatient and shot into the air once, causing some of the soldiers nearby him to flinch. One of them said something in Portuguese, and apparently Arthur understood enough of it to know what he said.

“Then who is next in your chain of command?” He asked, and he sounded impatient, in a way that reminded Alfred a little of an exasperated teacher.

The soldiers started muttering among themselves, and eventually, they seemed to have come to a consensus. One of the soldiers was grabbed and pushed forward, and the man glared at his own crewmates. Alfred wondered if he was truly the one Arthur was asking for.

“I’ve no use for new men,” Arthur began, “and I’ve no use for a warship, either. My friend over there, however,” Arthur waved his flintlock at Die Ehrsucht. “would love to take a look at your cargo and weaponry.”

The man in front of him looked a little constipated, and Alfred wondered if he spoke enough English to understand what Arthur was saying. Before Arthur could continue his speech, the man snarled something in Portuguese. He ended it by spitting in Arthur’s face, and to his credit, the pirate didn’t even flinch.  

Arthur simply raised a hand and wiped at his cheek, before reaching out to wipe his hand on the man’s uniform. Then he grabbed the man by his shirt, and slammed the butt of his pistol against his temple.

The soldier whimpered, and Alfred wondered if the crack he heard was real or imaginary, but the soldier looked close to either fainting or throwing up as he leant forward in pain. Arthur reached up to grab the man by his hair, pulling his head back up.

The man groaned again, and Arthur took advantage of his open mouth by pushing the muzzle of his pistol between his lips. Without any further prompting, he pulled the trigger.

At this distance - or rather this lack of distance - the flintlock almost seemed to blow the man’s head clean off. Next to him, Mathias rolled his eyes, and Lukas shifted on his feet, but the rest of their crew looked unperturbed.

Arthur pushed the body away from him and again rubbed at his cheek, this time to get the few spatters of blood off. He inspected his pistol for a second and stepped over to another soldier, using the man’s uniform to clean the bloody muzzle of his pistol with. The man grimaced, but remained still, obviously not wanting to end up like his crewmate.

 “Any other complaints?” Arthur asked as he stepped back again, looking around to let his eyes rove over the deck.

Eventually, his emerald eyes landed on Alfred’s, and he felt his stomach flutter dangerously when the corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched upwards. Despite what just happened, Alfred couldn’t help but react with a small smile of his own.

Predictably, Arthur’s question was met with an absolute silence.

“Good.”

 


 

Without their escorts, the fluyts hadn’t stood a chance. They’d risen their white flags and remained stationary, obediently waiting to be boarded and raided by the pirate ships. La Liberté and the Dragon picked one clean, while the Scarlet Fiesta ransacked the other; they would later divide their loot with Die Ehrsucht, who would in turn share their taken treasure from the warship.

That night, there was a grand celebration on the main deck.

Rum flowed freely as the crew rejoiced over their victory and the spoils they had taken. They bragged about what they would spend their share of the loot on in Nassau, which prompted people to trade their favorite stories of the supposed pirate utopia.

On Alfred’s side of the ship, there was again talk of mermaids; it was a subject he was quickly growing tired of, if he had to be honest. But when his companions started talking about Nassau, they started to talk about the Caribbean, and for some reason, every time someone on the ship mentioned the Caribbean, a mermaid story would come into play sooner or later.

At least, this time, Alfred didn’t feel like a complete novice on the subject.

“I’ve never seen one before.” Emil, Lukas’ younger brother, grunted once Mathias finished boasting about his encounter.

Alfred didn’t know a lot about Emil, and what he knew, he owed to Mathias’ rambling. Apparently, when Lukas defected from the Navy and joined the Midsommarafton, he had taken Emil along with him. He must’ve had been really young; after all, the boy was only sixteen years old now.

Despite his young age, he was treated fairly well by most of the crew. Whether that was out of respect for Lukas, or out of fear of Arthur, Alfred wasn’t sure.

Arthur had appointed the boy as his new cabin boy, meaning that Emil had to run errands for him. Most of these errands consisted of relaying his orders throughout the ship, or picking up items from merchants and post offices whenever they were docked. When there were no errands, he was usually found helping out in the galley.

And while Arthur wasn’t particularly close to the boy, there was something about the way he addressed Emil that made Alfred feel a little nostalgic. It reminded him of how Matthew would talk to Albert, sometimes.

Once, he’d even spotted Emil at the helm. Emil was much like Lukas, meaning that he had a rather cold and unapproachable air about him. But at that moment, the boy had smiled ever so lightly as Arthur told him how to hold the wheel and where to look.

Another thing he noticed, was that sometimes after Arthur dismissed Emil, he rubbed at his wrist.

It was such a brief and absentminded gesture, that Alfred had never before noticed that he did it quite often. But now he knew that he was most likely rubbing at that tattaw he’d caught a glimpse of, back on Ascension Island.

Alfred couldn’t help but wonder if it meant something. Could Arthur have a younger brother of his own? Or did he, once?

“Pray you never will.” Lukas said dryly, bumping shoulders with his brother almost affectionately.

“Ah don’t worry, elskede. I’ll keep you both safe.” Mathias drawled, and Lukas sighed almost exasperatedly.

“You may have left out this part for your own benefit, but I remember you almost drowning the last time we encountered mermaids.”

Alfred laughed, Emil snorted, and Mathias leaned back again, a disappointed pout on his face. “Blabbermouth.”

At this, the corners of Lukas’ mouth twitched upward briefly, but ultimately, he managed to keep his expression as neutral as ever. “Don’t feel bad. Most men can’t resist a mermaid’s call.”

“Which is why,” Arthur quipped, and Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin when the captain suddenly appeared behind him. “there will be no singing once we leave Martinique.”

“Singing?” Emil asked, a frown ever so barely present on his face.

“Their sense of hearing is unparalleled.” Lukas explained. “Singing attracts them. Once close, they’ll join in and lure sailors over the railing. Or they’ll climb the ship.”

Alfred grimaced at the image of a fish-woman climbing up the hull of the ship, to get its claws on an unsuspecting sailor. He leaned back a bit, and felt his back collide with Arthur’s side – he hadn’t known Arthur had been standing quite that close, but it didn’t matter anyway, because Arthur stepped sideways.

“But we can kill them, right?”

“A bullet usually does the job, just as well as a clean chop.” Arthur said dryly. “Though I’d prefer we not run into them at all. So I will hear no Jolly Sailor Bold from anyone who thinks they need to prove themselves.” He said, raising his voice a bit so that it was heard by others on the deck as well.

Emil asked Lukas some more questions, which Lukas gladly answered, and Mathias being Mathias, shuffled closer to them to meddle with the conversation. Alfred took advantage of their distraction and turned sideways; Arthur was still standing there, although he had a slightly displeased frown on his face as he looked at the drunk gunners near the ratlines.

“Fancy a drink?” Alfred offered cheekily, holding up his bottle.

Arthur slowly dragged his eyes from the gunners to Alfred and appraised him for a silent, tense second. Alfred wasn’t sure why it made him feel anxious – but it did, and not necessarily in a bad way.

Then Arthur took the bottle from him and, without breaking eye contact, drank from it. Alfred, for some reason, noticed many things at once; the movement of Arthur’s Adam’s apple, the candlelight’s eerie glow on Arthur’s pale skin, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

When Arthur removed the bottle from his mouth and swallowed, Alfred unconsciously wet his lips, and in return, Arthur’s eyes darkened a little – though it could have been a trick of the light.

“You did good today.” Arthur murmured as he held out the bottle for him to take back, three of his fingers wrapped around its neck.

Alfred took it at that same neck, and Arthur surprised him by not letting go of the bottle immediately. Instead, his remaining two fingers uncurled and brushed over Alfred’s hand. Then he let go, slowly, purposefully letting the tips of his fingers skim along Alfred’s knuckles.  

Even though it was brief, Alfred felt his entire hand tingle from the sensation. Arthur smirked, and then turned around, ascending towards the quarter deck to join his quartermaster and first mate at the helm.

Said quartermaster was giving Alfred a rather dubious look, and Alfred realized he was staring after Arthur like some sort of lovesick puppy. Quickly, he turned back to his own company, pleased to see that at least his friends had been too occupied in their banter to have noticed a thing.

 


 

Care killed the cat was a phrase that Alfred heard often in his life. He was curious, perhaps a bit too curious for his own good. But cats had nine lives, and Alfred obviously hadn’t spent them all yet.

After he was relieved from his shift, he descended down below deck, with every intention of finding his hammock and catching some precious hours of sleep before sunrise.

He was absolutely exhausted; the adrenaline that had spiked through his system during the battle and the celebration afterwards, had long since worn off, and in its stead was a sluggish and slow feeling.

But, before entering the berth deck, he heard a strange noise he couldn’t quite place from the deck below.

This wasn’t too surprising on its own; random, strange noises echoed throughout the ship all night. Most men didn’t exactly sneak when they moved about, and the waves constantly sloshed against the hull, causing the wood to creak and loose items to shuffle.

It’s never been a problem. Most of the times, he was exhausted enough to immediately slip into a deep slumber the moment he'd tumble into his hammock. And whenever the creaking wood did keep him from his sleep, he could always climb up into one of the vacant crow’s nests instead.

He waited, wondering if he would hear the noise again, and frowned when he did. It wasn’t a common sound; it sounded man-made, and like it was not supposed to be heard by anyone. It might’ve been his tired mind playing tricks on him, but he held his breath anyway and strained his ears.

There was another thump, followed by another sound that was arguably a voice.

And while his hammock sang to him, he remembered the last time he caught someone sneaking about on the ship. They had ended up being traitors. He wondered if a Portuguese soldier could have sneaked aboard during the attack, waiting for an ideal moment to strike.

Whatever it was, Alfred knew he couldn’t sleep until he’d find out.

Making sure to walk as quietly as possible, he began his pursuit. Once he focused, it wasn’t difficult to single out the potential location of the irregular sounds. He slowly rounded corner after corner, slowing when the noises got louder.

By the time he realized the hushed voices and thumping sounds were not in fact noises that came from people walking and talking, he had already rounded the corner to confront the men responsible.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected to find, but this was most certainly not it, and Alfred froze.

In front of him were Mathias and Lukas; men he easily recognized by now. Mathias’ breeches were pooled around his legs, displayed his bare ass to the world (or, rather, the ship). His shirt was still on, but its fabric was clenched in a fist.

With one arm, Mathias held Lukas up against the wall. The smaller blonde had his legs wrapped tightly around Mathias’ waist, and his face buried in his partner’s neck. Lukas’ remaining hand was tangled in Mathias’ hair, while Mathias’ remaining arm rested against the wall next to Lukas.

Alfred opened and closed his mouth, and frowned as the gears inside his head worked overtime. It wasn’t until Mathias thrust up, his ass cheeks clenching, that the realization of what was happening crashed over Alfred like a cold, salty tidal wave.

Lukas threw his head back against the wall and produced a rather debauched sound that made Alfred feel incredibly uncomfortable – and maybe also a little hot under the collar, which made all of this even worse.

They were definitely not planning any treason, and Alfred needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

He took a sudden, uncoordinated step back in order to flee, but stumbled into a rogue crate and nearly tripped. Of course, the sound was near deafening in the otherwise relatively silent space, and he felt his face burn hotly when he heard his friends’ alarmed grunts.

He met Lukas’ glare when he looked up, and immediately cursed himself for looking up in the first place, quickly averting his eyes. Only this made him look down again, right at Mathias’ ass, and he nearly whined in frustration as he slapped his hands in front of his eyes.

“Get the fuck out, Jones.” Lukas sneered, and at that, Mathias started laughing.

Alfred peeked out from behind his fingers and saw that they were still very much in the position he found them in, only now they weren’t moving. Mathias had his head on Lukas’ shoulder as his own shoulders twitched with laughter, and Lukas was still glaring at him something fiercely.

If he’d thought Arthur’s glares were venomous before, Lukas’ current glare were downright decimating.

Now.” Lukas barked, though the order cut off when Mathias thrust up into his partner again, causing Lukas to growl with annoyance and Alfred to nearly trip again – because of course he had accidentally watched it happen again.

“Uh,” He exclaimed, slamming his foot into a wooden beam in his haste to turn around. He winced and swayed sideways, before quickly righting himself. “Shit – sorry – I didn’t – uh, ugh,”

“If you wanted to join Alfred, all you had to do was ask!” Mathias crowed tauntingly and, even though he was already on his way out, Alfred could feel Lukas’ anger grow. “Sweet dreams, brother!”

He groaned miserably and fled towards the berth deck, ignoring the questioning looks from the men he passed. He was pretty sure the redness of his face would betray what happened, anyway, and he dove into his hammock quickly.

However, every time he closed his eyes, he was treated with the memory of Mathias’ ass and Lukas’ pleasured face, and Alfred wanted to scoop out his own eyeballs so that he could brush them clean.

What was even worse, was that some parts of him had definitely been interested in what had just happened. Glaring down at his crotch, he wondered if he would be able to knock himself unconscious if he slammed the butt of his pistol against his own head.

 


 

After spending most of the following day up in the mizzen mast, Alfred had almost managed to forget about the night before.

He was tired, since he had managed to catch little sleep, but he only had to perform general maintenance. It helped that Arthur had been in a particularly funny mood that afternoon, leaning back against the helm and randomly commenting on everything he did.

There’d  been a particular glint in his eyes, and a particular curve to his smirk, prompting Alfred to eagerly reciprocate and answer every remark with one of his own. The two other riggers in the same mast had looked at him a bit oddly, but he ignored them, too caught up in this weird game with Arthur.

After his shift, he’d climbed up into the fore crow’s nest, intending to relax and gaze out at sea until the cook would be done with dinner.

However, his peace was cut short when Mathias clumsily heaved himself over the railing of the nest – he’d never quite gotten the hang of steadily maneuvering the masts, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in confidence.

Upon seeing Mathias’ teasing, wide grin, all memories of the night before came back to him. He felt his neck and face heat up with embarrassment, and it must’ve been obvious, because Mathias wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“’Sup, pervert!” He crowed, before presenting him with a bottle of rum.

Alfred grimaced and ducked his head down a little. “Please don’t. Let’s forget it ever happened.”

Mathias laughed loudly, jostling Alfred a bit as he sat down next to him and pressed their shoulders together amicably. “Hell no! I’m not missing out on this chance to boast. Did you enjoy the show?”

He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and spat the cork out of the nest - Alfred’s eyes followed it for a second, wondering if it’d land on some poor unfortunate soul’s head. Then he realized what Mathias said, and he glared as he snatched the bottle from him, pointedly taking a few large gulps. Mathias whistled at the display, his eyes narrowing at him knowingly.

“That good, huh?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“C’mon! We’re brothers, aren’t we? We can share some of our dirty laundry.” Mathias exclaimed, and Alfred grimaced at the visual. “Unless you’re one of those judgmental types.”

“What?” He blurted, snapping his head towards Mathias to meet his nonchalant, yet wary expression. “Of course I’m not!”

Mathias squinted, before relaxing and smiling jovially again. “Good, because I’d hate to have to be the one to tell Arthur to stop ogling your ass.”

Alfred inhaled a bit too suddenly, and as a result, he nearly choked on his own breath. He cleared his throat loudly, and slammed a fist against his own chest. He must’ve looked a little guilty, because Mathias’ face went slack for a second. Then the pirate gasped dramatically, leaning back to slap him on the arm with a surprised, yet awed and curious expression.

“I was kidding!” He nearly yelled. “Alfred, you dog! You and Kirkland? How the fuck did you manage that? Shit, how’s he like though? I always wondered. I bet he’s a real wild – ”

“No!” Alfred interrupted, loudly, and he anxiously looked around before realizing that no one would be able to properly hear them this far up. “It’s – we’re not – it’s not like that – ugh.” He groaned miserably when he realized he wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence, and instead of embarrassing himself any further, he quickly raised the bottle to his mouth again to take another big gulp.

“Huh.” Mathias said, softer than before but no less amused. “But you want it to be.”

Alfred wondered if his face was already as red as it could be, or if it was growing redder by the second. Mathias snorted and slapped him on the back harshly, while taking the bottle from his hands.

“Aw, that’s adorable. And bizarre.”

Despite himself, Alfred felt a little affronted – but not on his own behalf. He knew Mathias didn’t like Arthur. Arthur didn’t like Mathias either, but he’d taken him in and he tolerated his behavior, that frankly said, often bordered on the line of insolence. That at least should garner him some respect, shouldn't it? 

“What’s your problem with him, anyway?” He asked, a little riled now that he thought about it.

“There’s not really a problem.” Mathias placated quickly, obviously having noticed the change in Alfred's tone. “Before he was captain, and before I signed up with Berwald, we simply ran into each other a lot. Our captains didn’t exactly get along back then.”

Huh. Alfred hadn’t realized that Mathias had known Arthur for that long.

“Nowadays, this,” Mathias vaguely waved around, but Alfred understood what he meant anyway. “is just a habit.”

“Then what did you mean with bizarre?” He asked – he supposed he could understand why Mathias would call it adorable (even if Alfred felt rather patronized by that), but since Mathias neither meant Arthur or Arthur’s gender…

“Well, it’s just that Arthur would eat you alive.”

Not necessarily a problem, his mind supplied within the confines of his own head.

“Have you ever laid with another man?” He didn’t dignify that with a reply, thus telling Mathias all he needed to know. “That’s what I thought. Best move on from it as soon as possible, buddy.”

Alfred sighed, throwing his head back against the mast and managing not to flinch when it landed with a loud, painful smack. He thought of emerald green eyes, teasing smirks and sun-kissed freckles.

He remembered how Arthur had looked up at him expectantly, back on Ascension Island. He recalled the warning Arthur had given him then, a warning that had actually sounded much more like a promise.

He thought of how Arthur had looked at him after yesterday’s battle; with a secret, small smile and a confident fierceness in his eyes. Alfred should’ve probably not been so enamored with the visual of a man covered in another man’s blood – but it was Arthur.

“I would, if I could.” He murmured absentmindedly, still reminiscing on how Arthur had teased and grinned at him that afternoon, and how he’d ended a particular scathing remark on his rigging skills with a taunting purr of his name.

Mathias went uncharacteristically quiet, and eventually Alfred snapped out of his daydreaming, turning to see that the other man was studying him with a calculating expression. Whatever he was searching for, he probably found, because suddenly Mathias sighed with a sympathetic smile.

“Aw man, you’ve got that look.” He admitted, and Alfred frowned. “I’ve seen it in the mirror often enough to recognize it on another.”

Alfred could imagine what look he was talking about; he often saw Mathias looking at Lukas as if he had hung the moon and stars himself. Whenever Lukas looked back, Mathias would paint on a charming or cheeky grin, but whenever his back was turned, there was something fond and affectionate about Mathias’ smile.

He didn’t know if Lukas returned the sentiment to the same extent, since Alfred couldn’t get a proper read on him at all. But it was obvious that he at least cared for Mathias, and perhaps that was enough.

“How’d you two even… meet?” Alfred asked, desperate to change the subject but also kind of wanting to stay within the same area.

Mathias raised an eyebrow at him, as if he knew Alfred meant to ask about something more intimate, but he shrugged nonetheless. “He was a marine, I was a pirate. We crossed paths often enough.”

It seemed as if he didn’t want to go into further detail, so Alfred didn’t pry. He remembered Lukas telling him he’d been with the Dano-Norwegian Navy before defecting – could Mathias have been the reason?

“As for how we started bumping uglies,” Mathias continued nonchalantly, and Alfred nearly choked on his own spit. “I’m not exactly subtle or prude, and it’s very easy to get lonely at sea.”

Alfred might not have known Mathias for long, but he knew when he was deliberately masking his voice with aloof nonchalance. It only confirmed what he already suspected; that what Mathias and Lukas shared was not simply beneficial, but loving too.

He thought of Lovino and Antonio, of Tino and Berwald, and of Eli and Roderich. He even thought of Arthur and Francis, despite not wanting to. “Seems like that happens a lot.”

Mathias snorted and shrugged again. “Bunch of sinners, we are.”

The next couple of minutes passed silently, as they wordlessly traded the bottle of rum back and forth. It was the stronger stuff, too, not the watered down grog Alfred usually drank. Despite knowing he might regret it later, he allowed the alcohol to loosen his tongue a little.

“I’m pretty sure he knows.” He said, despondently, and Mathias made a questioning noise. “Arthur.”

“Of course he knows.” Mathias agreed. “He’s Arthur fuckin' Kirkland. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Alfred frowned. Should he be doing something about it? He could very well lose his head; or worse, be marooned somewhere. Somehow, the thought of dying wasn’t nearly as upsetting as the thought of never seeing Arthur again, and that probably said something about him that he wasn’t willing to think about yet.

He knew Arthur knew. That much had been clear ever since Ascension Island. And so far, Arthur hadn’t actively discouraged it by mentioning it or by ignoring him. Perhaps he even encouraged it by keeping him close – but that was most likely just wishful thinking.

Alfred could come to terms with knowing that Arthur knew, but the chance that Arthur reciprocated his feelings was laughingly small. And Alfred wasn’t even sure what he wanted to be to the captain – someone like Francis, or something else?

Well, he supposed he had a vague idea of what he wanted. First and foremost, he wanted Arthur’s trust. He also wanted to be on the receiving ends of those rare, secret smiles of his. Finding out what he actually tasted like, was probably also in his top five desired goals.

“I wouldn’t even know what to do.” He eventually settled on admitting. And he truly didn’t; not only because this was Arthur he was thinking about wooing, but also because he had no such experience in the first place.

Mathias turned towards him then, grinning at him in a way that made him feel as if he were an unsuspecting prey, about to be pounced on by a predator. He already regretted what he said, and wondered if he could somehow escape whatever plan Mathias had come up with now.

“I know just the thing. I think it’s time you cracked Jenny’s Teacup.”

Notes:

By the way, I made a twitter where I'll sometimes rant about my writing... but mostly I just lurk and like stuff. If you wanna chat with me about my stories, hetalia or w/e: check it out!

Switching to a Jolly Roger before a fight – Pirates didn’t always sail with their Jolly Rogers. Most times, they liked to travel under the radar. Flying a neutral flag also helped to fool their targets, making them believe they were harmless. Once a ship would come in range, they would swap their flags, to both intimidate their target and to signal that they were going to attack.

Jolly Sailor Bold - I've made a Spotify playlist that I listen to while writing this story, and the amount of times I've sang along to Jolly Sailor Bold... well, I pity my neighbors, lol. If you want to listen to the playlist: here's the link!

Cracking Jenny’s Teacup – Slang for spending the night with a prostitute ;)

Chapter 10: Martinique, November 1711

Notes:

I know I should've updated swil first, but I could no longer sit on this beauty, lol. I wanted to split this 10k+ monster up at first, because it's twice as long as I usually make them... but I decided not to, after some encouraging ;) you know who you are.

Hopefully you won't be bothered by this chapter's size, but most importantly: hopefully you'll enjoy it, since half of it is smut.

Warning: A visit to the brothel, an attack by a mythical creature, and the long awaited conclusion to Arthur's and Alfred's annoying flirting. Also, there's a bit of an... asphyxiation kink, and Arthur's a power bottom. Anyway, leave a comment to let me know what you thought!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Much like a starving cat would do when seeing a mouse, Mathias pounced on him the moment they docked at Martinique.

Alfred, of course, had tried to escape his clutches at first; which had resulted in a scuffle that drew the attention of their first mate. When asked, Mathias innocently explained that he and Alfred needed to take care of some private business.

At least five sailors around them snickered at that, meaning that they probably knew exactly what sort of business Mathias meant. James had simply rolled his eyes before allowing them to go, reminding them to be back in time for their shifts.

And while Alfred still thought it was a bad idea, he couldn’t help but be curious, too.

Mathias had a point; Alfred had no experience whatsoever. He’d kissed a girl or two while growing up, but he’d never bothered with anything else.

Still, if someone would’ve told him six months ago that he’d willingly visit a brothel, he would’ve declared them insane. Then again, if someone would’ve told him six months ago that he’d frequently jerk off to the thought of a notorious pirate captain…

“I’m not sure I can afford this.” Alfred said as he looked at the, admittedly, rather nice building.

The Dane laughed and threw an arm around Alfred’s shoulders – the gesture was probably meant to be amicable, but Alfred thought it felt more like a restraint.

“Consider it a late birthday present. Besides, you’ll want your first time to be here, and not on Nassau.” Mathias said reassuringly. “This place is respectable. You won’t catch any diseases.”

Diseases?! How was that supposed to make him feel better? “What do you mean – “

“Hush, my virgin friend.” Mathias shushed, pulling him through the doors of the brothel.

Alfred groaned, feeling his face heat up with both embarrassment and indignation, but he allowed himself to be manhandled inside and towards a counter of sorts. Behind it sat an older, buxom woman who painted on an excessively sweet smile when she spotted them.

She began talking to them in French, and then easily switched to English when she saw both of their  clueless expressions.

“Welcome gentlemen, how may we be of service?”

“Why hello there.” Mathias said as he leaned against the counter, adopting a lazy grin. The woman seemed unfazed, and Alfred wondered how often she had to deal with men like them. “It’s my friend’s first time, and he’s got a very peculiar taste.”

The woman glanced at Alfred, and he could see snobby amusement dancing behind her sweet and polite exterior. He forced himself not to grimace with embarrassment.

“He’s looking for someone who knows what they’re doing. He’s a little… inexperienced, if you know what I mean.”

Alfred wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

The woman nodded. “I’m sure we have something that suits your taste, young man. What are you looking for?”

Alfred froze; he had a choice? He hadn’t expected to be given a choice! What was next, a catalogue displaying all the ‘merchandise’ available?

He only just managed to swallow down a mortified whimper when, all of a sudden, the woman grabbed a book from behind the counter. Apparently, there was a catalogue.

Mathias apparently took pity on him. “He’ll be wanting a young man, about yay high, and preferably blonde with green eyes. I’ll trust you to be discreet, of course. We wouldn’t want to bring word to certain… sailors, that this isn’t a proper establishment.”

Upon hearing the words, the woman grimaced briefly. Something nervous caused her smile to grow a little tense; obviously she knew Mathias meant pirates. Alfred wondered if pirates were her biggest source of income.

He also wondered if Arthur had ever been to a brothel. The idea made him feel rather irritated.

“Of course my good sir, we offer nothing but the best.” She hastily reassured, before paging through her book again. When she next spoke, she sounded a little hesitant. “Unfortunately we don’t have any blonde men with green eyes. We do have a brunette with green eyes. Or perhaps a blonde with brown eyes?”

Again – Alfred wanted to melt into a little puddle and be wiped from existence. How was he supposed to choose? Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to pick someone that shared certain characteristics with Arthur in the first place. 

“The brunette, if you will.” Mathias tactfully replied for him.

“Splendid!” The woman exclaimed, grabbing a pencil and scribbling something down in her book. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

 


 

Barely twenty minutes after entering the establishment, Alfred was pushed into an empty room. It was subtly decorated with comfortable looking furniture, and the air smelled rather sweet. One glance at the candles decorating the shelves explained why.

He came to a halt in the middle of the room, unsure of what do with himself. Should he sit down on the bed or one of the chairs? Or should he drape himself over the chaise lounge?

The mental image provided to him made him snort, and he resolutely turned his back to the piece of furniture, eyeing the door he came through. He could always just book it out of here.

Surely, Mathias was not lurking right outside of it – that would be plain creepy, after all… And yet, he wouldn’t put it past him.

His contemplating was abruptly cut short when the door opened. A slim man of average height entered, dressed in loose, soft-looking fabrics. His brown hair reached his shoulders, framing his face charmingly.

And his eyes – as promised – were green; but Alfred instantly noticed that they weren’t the breathtakingly intense shade of emerald that he’d grown fond of. He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

He gulped when the man smiled at him invitingly, as he closed the door and approached him. Alfred unconsciously took a step back, but unfortunately, he’d been quite close to one of the chairs. When the back of his knees hit its side, he nearly stumbled.

“Oh, shit, uh, sorry,” He stammered, quickly turning to push the chair back in its original place.

The man chuckled softly under his breath, though it sounded rather staged, if Alfred had to be honest.

“There’s no need to be nervous, sir. I promise I won’t bite… unless you want me to.”

Alfred wondered if he’d come away unharmed if he dived out of the window right then and there. He’d only taken one flight of stairs to get here, he couldn’t be that high up.

“Uh.” He said instead, blinking owlishly.

The man approached him again, and this time, Alfred forced himself to stay put. He realized he probably looked as frightened as he felt, because the man adopted a soothing, calm expression, reminding him a bit of a rancher approaching a spooked horse.

Instead of walking over to Alfred, the man walked over to one of the tables. On top of it was a bottle and some glasses, and the man gestured at it briefly. “Perhaps some wine before we start?”

Alfred immediately shook his head; muddling his thoughts with alcohol would probably be the worst thing to happen right now. “No, I’d rather get right – uh, to it?”

The man raised his eyebrows and Alfred felt his face heat up. In an attempt to stall things and to distract himself a bit, he decided to switch topics. “So what,” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “What do I call you?”

“You may call me whatever you like,” The brunette said pleasantly, but when he saw Alfred’s alarmed face, he shrugged. “or you may call me Toris.”

“Oh, right. I’m – I’m Alfred. Nice to… meet you?” He said, because his mother had raised him to be at least a little polite at all times.

God, this was the worst time to be thinking of his mother. Alfred resisted cringing.

This time, when Toris smiled, it seemed a lot more genuine than before, and Alfred felt himself heat up with even more embarrassment, something he hadn’t thought possible.

He was really making quite the fool of himself; what pirate would introduce himself so politely when paying for sex?!

Toris left the table to head over to him, and Alfred immediately took another step back. Toris’ lips tipped downwards just a bit, as if impatient, and Alfred quickly forced himself to smile.

“Uh, so, what do you… do?”

He watched as Toris cocked his head at him, as if a bit confused by the question. “Anything you want. Within reason, of course.”

Anything he’d want? What did that even mean? And what did he mean with ‘within reason’? What was considered unreasonable? Wasn’t the mere idea of paying someone for sex already unreasonable enough?

Toris sighed when he noticed Alfred’s renewed inner struggle. “How about we sit down and get comfortable, hm?” He suggested, while walking over to the bed and sitting down on it.

He patted the empty space next to him, and reminding himself to grow up and be a man, Alfred walked over to sit down next to him. Toris reached out to play with the collar of his shirt with nimble fingers, and he instinctively felt himself freeze again.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” Toris purred, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

With a small pang of longing, Alfred thought of spending the night in a tavern, surrounded by his mates and cheap ale. With even more longing, he thought of trading playful glances with Arthur, who would inevitably be at that same tavern, but at a different table.

“I, uh, don’t know?”

“I’ve been told this is your first time.” Toris said playfully as he trailed his fingers down to Alfred’s chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Without further ado, the brunette climbed on top of him, taking Alfred by surprise. He yelped and instinctively leaned back to grant the man more room, but Toris followed him. He snugly settled down on his lap and leaned forward, to lightly press his lips against Alfred’s neck.

While he supposed the pressure on his crotch wasn’t entirely unpleasant, it also didn’t feel right, somehow.

“Wait, wait,” Alfred frantically said, and Toris leaned back once he heard his hesitation.

“Is something the matter?” He asked sweetly, his hands lowering to play with the front of his breeches. “Oh! Do you want a condom? It will cost you more, and I promise I’m clean.”

Alfred had no idea what a condom was, and he wasn’t about to ask.

“No, it’s just -  ” He faltered, realizing that he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. “It’s a bit sudden?”

“Oh,” Toris said, expression brightening as if he suddenly understood. Only Alfred didn’t think he did, because the next thing he knew, Toris slid of his lap to kneel down between his legs, his hands still gently pawing at his crotch. “How about I get you warmed up first, then?”

He fluttered his eyelashes at him, and as Alfred looked down into his eyes, he suddenly felt a little queasy. Toris’ green eyes, while extraordinary, weren’t right. They reminded him of the color of moss and forests, and they were soft and gentle. They were the exact opposite of Arthur’s.

“No, no, wait,” He exclaimed, grabbing hold of Toris’ wandering hands and pushing him away. “I can’t do this, it’s wrong – ”

Toris abruptly moved away from him with a sceptical, somewhat reproachful look on his face. Alfred thought such an expression was a bit unwarranted for, before realizing how his words must have sounded.

“No, I don’t mean that – I mean, I can’t, because you’re not… him.” He explained lamely.

Almost immediately, understanding dawned on Toris’ delicate features. It was as if a mask slipped from the brunette’s face then; the sweet, indulgent expression was immediately replaced with one of mirth and sympathy.

“I see.” He said, standing up and dusting himself off nonchalantly. “You’re one of those men.”

“Those?” Alfred asked, a bit confused at the sudden change in the man’s attitude, but also immensely relieved.

“A romantic.” Toris explained, with a bit of a teasing tone to his voice.

Alfred, unsure of how to reply, watched as Toris returned to the table he’d gone to earlier. He swiftly poured two glasses of wine, and handed one to Alfred before moving to sit down on the chaise lounge with his own.

When he spotted Alfred staring at him with a somewhat incredulous expression, he shrugged.

“You obviously don’t desire my services.” He explained, raising his glass at him before taking a small sip. “But my time has already been paid for, and we don’t offer refunds.”

“Ah, sorry.” Alfred said, even though it didn’t seem as if Toris wanted an apology. If anything, he looked rather relieved himself.

Alfred realized that he probably was – after all, the man was paid to have sex with others. Who knew how his clients usually treated him? Getting the money without having to do the actual job, was probably a reprieve he didn’t get often.

“I prefer them blonde and green-eyed, too.” Toris said, with a knowing smile. “Though perhaps mine is not quite as dangerous as yours.” He added, as an afterthought, obviously knowing that Alfred was a pirate.

“You do? But then why are you – “ Here, is what he wanted to say, before realizing it would probably be insensitive to ask.

Toris took another sip and stretched a bit, as if making himself more comfortable. “It brings money to the table. And he’s not the jealous type.”

“Oh.” Alfred merely said in return. Then he felt himself relax, despite the silliness of the situation. “Well. I’m still sorry. For wasting your time.”

“It’s really no problem. Like I said before, I still get paid.” Toris waved a hand at him, dismissively. “But if I may be so bold… why are you here?”

Embarrassment renewed, Alfred felt blood rush to his face again. Claiming that a friend forced him to come would just be pathetic, and it wouldn’t be completely true. He briefly chewed on his lower lip as he looked around the room.

Once he’d leave this establishment, he would probably never see Toris again. What harm could it do, to confide in him a bit?

“I… Well, there’s this guy.” He said in a small voice. “He’s… experienced, and I’m – I’m not, obviously.”

Contrary to what he feared, Toris didn’t laugh or mock him. He simply hummed and nodded thoughtfully. “So you wanted to discreetly figure out the know-hows, first?”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

Toris nodded again and sat up a bit straighter, settling Alfred with a soft smile not unlike the one he had given him when he’d first entered the room. However, this one looked far more genuine.

“Then, instead of demonstrating these know-hows, allow me to answer your questions. I’m sure you have many.”

Alfred frowned, thinking over Toris’ proposal. He did have a lot of questions, actually; questions he would never ask Mathias, Ralph or God forbid, Arthur himself. And as a prostitute, Toris was likely to have all the answers and then some.

“Yeah, that… that would be great, actually.” He admitted.

But first, he emptied his glass of its contents. This was going to be the most awkward hour of his life, after all.

 


 

After leaving the brothel, Alfred took a long detour back to the ship to mull things over – he’d been told things he hadn’t thought were possible, after all, and it resulted in him having a minor existential crisis.

However, the idea of doing the things Toris described with Arthur… now that made him curious, and perhaps also a little excited.

When he returned to the ship, he was met with cheers and whistles, and Alfred decided to let them assume the worst. He reasoned that if their teasing was already bad right now, it would become a lot worse if they’d ever discover what really happened – or rather, what never happened.

Under the guise of being the same old, inexperienced landlubber they’d always made him out to be, Alfred kept his answers purposefully vague. Eventually, his mates grew bored of his dancing around the subject, and Alfred managed to finish his shift uninterrupted.

Afterwards, he reunited with Mathias and some others in the closest tavern. He stayed in character even when Mathias started to grill him about what (didn’t) happen, using the knowledge Toris had shared him to create believable answers, all the while purposefully ignoring Lukas’ skeptical glances.

He was fairly certain that Lukas knew he was talking shit, but fortunately, he didn’t rat him out. He even suggested Mathias should buy Alfred a congratulatory drink, and when Mathias did, Lukas gave Alfred a sly smirk.

Relieved that his secret would be safe, Alfred swiftly changed the topic by playing into Mathias’ self-sustainable ego. The Dane took the bait, predictably so, and Alfred allowed himself to relax.

While Mathias was in the middle of a story about evading a Spanish ship as a young pirate, Alfred subtly glanced around the tavern. He hadn’t spotted Arthur’s red coat when he entered, but perhaps Arthur had gone without it that night. However, a closer look revealed that Arthur still wasn’t in the tavern; nor had he been on the ship, Alfred remembered.

He felt a bit bereft, but decided that ultimately it wouldn’t matter. Tomorrow, they’d set sail again, and Arthur would be back where he belonged; at the Dragon’s helm, and within Alfred’s line of sight.

 


 

A storm hit them the day after they left Martinique.

It had been a bad one, but they’d sailed through storms before. And while sailing through a storm was always a dreadful experience (especially so when one worked high up in the masts), Alfred had learned by now that the Dragon was a sturdy and reliable ship.

The crew had been unusually anxious though, and even Arthur had been quieter than usual, his brows furrowed in a perpetual frown as he strained to keep them on course.

It wasn’t until after the weather calmed, that he overheard why exactly people had been anxious. Apparently, at this time of year, it was common for the Caribbean to be plagued by tropical storms bad enough to sink entire fleets within minutes.

Even though they still had a couple of days to go until they’d reach their next destination, Alfred was immensely glad that he’d hadn’t known earlier.

It took another day for Arthur to deem the waters safe enough to start repairing the damage they suffered. It was minimal, fortunately, but they’d still have to spend a good chunk of their remaining voyage to Nassau to work on repairs.

Alfred spent most of that day in the masts, splicing the ropes and mending the tears and wears he could find. By the time the sun began to set, he indulged in a much needed break, and sat down on the lower yard of the mizzen mast.

Below him, Arthur was at the helm - most people would probably not be able to tell, but Alfred could see that he was frustrated.

At first, Alfred had chalked it up to the storm and its aftermath. However, now he was starting to wonder if it was something else.

For example; he had overheard Arthur snapping multiple times at Yao earlier that day. Yao was one of the few men Alfred knew of that wasn’t intimidated by Arthur; but when Yao had eventually snapped back at Arthur, he’d still been a bit surprised.

Once Yao had dismissed himself, Arthur had glared around for a moment, as if surveying his crew. Alfred had painted on an amicable grin for when Arthur’s eyes would inevitably land on him – only they never did, and Alfred probably imagined it, but it had almost seemed as if Arthur purposefully meant to avoid looking at him.

It happened a few more times, and by now, Alfred was convinced that Arthur was angry with him. But he didn’t know why – had he done something wrong? They’d hardly interacted ever since leaving Martinique, so he didn’t know what could’ve warranted Arthur’s anger.

Unless…

Arthur would’ve undoubtedly heard of Alfred’s visit to the brothel. How could he not, when it’d been the talk of the deck that day?

But why would that upset him? Arthur was a pirate, surely he wasn’t unfamiliar with such practices. He wasn’t sure why, but thinking about it made him feel fidgety, and so he stopped. Arthur was most likely just in a bad mood, he decided, and he shouldn’t overthink it. Still, Alfred wished he had the courage to climb down and simply ask Arthur what was wrong.

A sudden, terrified shout snapped him out his musings and he dragged his eyes from Arthur’s back to find its source. Another panicked, somewhat garbled shout sounded, followed by a loud splash. More people started shouting, and Alfred quickly descended from the mast to find out what was happening.

The moment his feet hit the deck, multiple men who had been hanging from the ship to perform repairs, came clambering back over the taffrails. One of the men immediately fell forward, clutching his side as blood poured from a nasty gash.

“Mermaids!” One of the men shouted.

Immediately, the ship went silent – everyone stopped talking, mumbling and humming. Some of the men scrambled to rush below deck, while most other men stayed put, looking around cautiously.

Despite knowing better, Alfred couldn’t resist; he wandered closer towards the taffrails, peeking over them and seeing nothing but the gentle, dark waves of the ocean.

“Alfred,” He heard Arthur call him, and Alfred instinctively turned around; it was the first thing Arthur had said to him all day, after all.

Then he suddenly heard something else, something that distracted him and urged him to turn around again. It sounded suspiciously much like… singing?

It sounded beautiful, Alfred realized. He imagined this was the sound that priests were referring to, when they preached about angels and their songs. The singing sounded soothing, as if someone was singing him a lullaby, and without thinking, he moved closer to the taffrails again.

Below him, at the surface, he saw a woman looking back up at him. Her face was framed by her dark, wet locks of hair, and beneath the surface she was undoubtedly naked, even though the water muddled the image a bit.

He frowned; something felt off, but he wasn’t sure what. Suddenly, the woman smiled, and he felt himself smile in return without wanting to do so. A pleasant, dizzying feeling tugged at his mind, reminding him of how he usually felt after drinking one bottle of rum too many.

He shook his head a little, and tried to focus as he looked down into her eyes – her blue eyes.

As if ripped from the clutches of a pleasant dream, Alfred snapped out of it, and he stumbled back. He bumped right into someone’s chest, and startled when two hands steadied him by his shoulders.

“What was that?” He croaked, still feeling groggy, and he turned around to see Arthur appraising him with a calculating expression.

“A mermaid.” Arthur said simply, and his hands dropped from Alfred’s shoulders. “Head below deck.”

He then walked over to the taffrail to take a look himself, and Alfred wanted to warn him, but Arthur simply sneered down at whatever he saw, before turning and descending towards the main deck.

“Everyone who feels like taking a swim, head below deck!” He ordered as he crossed the ship with large strides. “James, get yourself below deck, for heaven’s sake man. Leon, Yao, cover the broadside, I don’t want any of these snakes slithering up the ship.”

Alfred wobbled over towards the railing that separated the elevated quarter deck of the main deck and watched as Arthur plucked men from the railings here and there, before roughly shoving them towards the cargo access.

The singing increased in volume, but now that Alfred had managed to snap out of it, it no longer sounded as enchanting as it had done earlier. It still made it hard to focus, however, and he clenched his eyes shut for a few seconds.

When he opened them, he was horrified to see several women clinging to the railings of the ship.  They sang sweetly while reaching out their pale arms and hands, luring the remaining pirates on deck closer with inviting smiles.

His heart sank when he suddenly realized Mathias was one of the affected, but before he wandered too close, a shot rang out. The mermaid that had been trying to lure Mathias screeched at an ungodly high volume, making Alfred wince. Then she pushed herself from the ship and dove back into the ocean, briefly revealing her long, shimmering tail.

Lukas snarled something in Danish and shot at the other mermaids nearby his partner, causing them to hiss and quickly relocate as well. Then he grabbed Mathias by his hair and all but yanked him across deck, nearly tossing him into the cargo access.

Another gunshot sounded, followed by another horrid screech, and chaos erupted.

All the singing was now replaced by hissing and yowling, and the few men that remained on deck, unsheathed their weapons to defend the ship from the onslaught of mermaids that climbed aboard. Despite not being as agile out of the water, they still managed to snag a pirate every now of them.

When Alfred finally managed to remain upright without clinging to the railings, he pushed himself back and rushed towards the main deck to join the fray. Without thinking, he moved closer to Arthur, covering his back even though the captain probably didn’t need him to do so.

They managed to take care of the majority of mermaids rather quickly; the moment a bullet would hit their skin, they’d accept defeat and slither back into the ocean. Unfortunately, Alfred’s gun clicked after several shots, and he didn’t have enough time to reload.

One of the mermaids obviously realized this and crawled over to him frighteningly fast. However, before she could sink her claws into his leg, she stopped and wailed, twisting and turning to see what had stopped her.

Arthur’s sword was embedded deep into her tail, and the captain aimed his pistol at her. Only his clicked as well, and the mermaid immediately hissed and lurched forward.

The moment she sat up, Alfred’s own sword swung into her neck. He didn’t manage to take her head off, but it was obvious that she was dead upon impact. Alfred let go of his sword when he felt her slump forward, and she landed on the deck with a dull thud.

Suddenly, all the remaining mermaids wailed as if in agony, before they dove back into the ocean. Alfred realized that the death of one of their own must have been the reason, but he kept his guard up for a few seconds more.

Eventually, Arthur rolled his shoulders and retrieved his sword from the dead mermaid’s tail. He relaxed his stance, assuming that the gesture meant that it was now safe once more.

“Leon, survey the damage, please. Yao, have James do a head count.”

Both men murmured their assent and got to work, and Arthur turned back towards the mermaid lying between himself and Alfred. Alfred gave in to his curiosity and looked down at the creature; now that he got a close, undisturbed look, he realized she didn’t look human at all.

Her upper body had human female parts, sure. Her chest was bare and sported two breasts, but it was littered with shiny scales. Her fingers were webbed and her fingertips curved into talons, not unlike a bird of prey. Her dark blonde hair framed her face, which had several sharp edges to it that weren’t human.

Her fin was gorgeous, though. It was dark blue, and its wet scales reflected what little light shone down on it. It curved naturally into a smaller part at the bottom, before splitting into two larger fins and several other ribbon-like fins.

“Wanna wrap her up, cap’n? We can make good money with her.” One of the pirates on deck said, and Arthur shook his head.

“If we don’t return her to her family, they’ll haunt us all the way back to England. Toss her back into the sea.”

The pirate dutifully walked over and grabbed the mermaid by her arms, dragging her over the deck. Alfred winced as he saw that her tail got caught on pieces of wood, the splinters ripping scales from her tail. With a grunt, the pirate managed to heave her overboard.

“Sorry about that, cap’n.” James called when he re-joined them on the main deck, and Arthur made a dismissive noise.

“I want us out of here as soon as possible.” He simply said, and apparently that was all James needed to hear, because he left without another word, presumably to go and collect the crewmembers he needed.

Alfred wasn’t sure what to do – James hadn’t asked him to follow, and Arthur hadn’t dismissed him. Looking at the tense line of Arthur’s shoulders, he couldn’t help but try and alleviate the mood.

“Well, I guess I can cross another mythical being of my list.” He joked, but it fell flat even to his own ears.

Still, he didn’t think it earned the near venomous glare Arthur sent his way. Alfred couldn’t help but frown in return – Arthur hadn’t glared at him like that in months.

It was that realization that prompted him to follow when Arthur abruptly marched over to his quarters. Arthur either didn’t realize or he didn’t care, because all that left his mouth was a stern order to everyone in general, that he did not wish to be disturbed.

Alfred ignored it and followed him into his quarters, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. Almost immediately, Arthur whirled around to glare at him again.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He said, and for some reason, Alfred thought back to the night after they escaped the kraken. “Get out of my quarters, or -”

“Or what?” He interrupted, a bit riled himself now. “You gonna have me flogged or keelhauled?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boy.” Arthur sneered, and Alfred realized that perhaps he had sounded a bit sarcastic.

He shrugged and lowered his head a bit, trying to appear less defensive. “I just want to talk.”

Arthur growled with annoyance and walked over to his desk, shrugging off his coat as he went. He tossed the garment on one of the chairs and turned around again, leaning against the top of his desk.

“Well?” He prompted impatiently. “Speak your mind, then get out.”

“I want to know why you’re angry with me.” Alfred said, deciding that he might as well get straight to the point.

“What?” Arthur asked, though Alfred thought his confusion sounded a bit dishonest. “I don’t know what goes on in that empty head of yours, but -”

“Bullshit,” Alfred interrupted again. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Ha!” Arthur exclaimed, and the sound was an impressive mixture of mocking and scornful. “I must’ve given you the idea that you were special, but you’re not, Jones. You’re just another insolent brat fancying himself quite the pirate.”

Alfred bristled a bit at that, getting properly angry now as well. What the fuck was Arthur’s problem? He hadn’t done anything wrong; he’d followed orders, he’d done his job – hell, he couldn’t have annoyed Arthur, because they’d hardly talked the past few days!

“Then why have you kept me around for this long?” Alfred said, despite knowing he shouldn’t.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“No, really, you could’ve just let that mermaid have a go at me. One less mouth to feed, right?”

“Maybe I should have. It’s quite the pity that you didn’t fall victim to their charms.” Arthur said hatefully, and Alfred hands itched with anger. “Though perhaps that is because you’ve obviously had your needs met recently.”

And just like that, he felt the anger disappear like snow for the sun.

Everything made sense – Arthur was angry with him over his visit to the brothel. He must’ve looked quite flabbergasted, because Arthur’s lips twisted into an angry sneer.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

“I don’t see why it’s a problem in the first place.” Alfred defended, unable to help himself.

For some reason, that struck a nerve, because Arthur pushed himself off the desk to approach him. His eyes were murderous enough that, even though he wasn’t really afraid of the man anymore, Alfred still took a step back.

“It’s not.” Arthur said. “It’s what every pirate does.” He said it with such disdain, that Alfred took a few seconds to mull it over.

He couldn’t come up with any logical explanation for Arthur’s anger. That left him only with illogical explanations, and –

Well.

He studied Arthur’s glare, and the tense line of his shoulders. He remembered how Arthur had avoided looking at him ever since they left Martinique, and how he’d wordlessly disappeared into his quarters every night.

He also remembered Arthur had been exchanging playful banter with him before they docked at Martinique – nothing had been wrong before Martinique.

…Arthur Kirkland couldn’t be jealous. That simply just wasn’t a thing. Alfred refused to believe Arthur was jealous.

Was Arthur jealous?

Suddenly, it was absolutely imperative that Arthur knew the truth.

“It wasn’t like that.” He frantically exclaimed. “I – we – I didn’t even do anything.”

Had he not felt as anxious as he did, Alfred would’ve been amused at how sudden Arthur’s anger changed into confusion. Arthur leaned back a bit to look him up and down with suspicion.

“Do you not… work?” He asked, and it took Alfred a moment before he realized what Arthur was implying.

“What?! No, of course it works - ugh, that’s not what I meant.” Alfred spluttered, feeling both embarrassed and a little insulted.

“Then what did you mean?” Arthur immediately sneered, confusion making way for anger once more. “I am tired of your nonsense, Jones – “

“I didn’t do anything, because he wasn’t you!” He blurted, perhaps a bit louder than necessary. “I don’t want anyone but you, isn’t that obvious?”

A deafening silence followed.

Arthur froze, the anger on his face dissipating and making way for an unreadable expression. And shit, Alfred wished the mermaid had killed him – but now that he’d said it, now that the word was out there, loud and clear, he couldn’t even find it within himself to be embarrassed.

He waited for Arthur to sneer at him, or to yell at him, but instead he only tilted his head a bit, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“You asked for a green-eyed, male whore.” Arthur asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. And while Alfred was horrified at the extent of Arthur’s knowledge, he couldn’t help but nod. “…Did you plan to think of me while fucking him?”

Alfred knew Arthur already knew the answer to that; he could read it in his eyes, could see it in the way Arthur dipped his head to give him that familiar look, the one that was both a warning and a challenge. The one he’d given him back on Ascension Island.

And that’s fucking it, Alfred’s absolutely had it with this strange cat-and-mouse game that they’d been playing ever since they left Loanda - ever since Alfred caught Arthur with Francis.

Without thinking, Alfred stepped closer to him, and grabbed him by his shirt to pull him forward. There was no resistance, and he crashed against Arthur.

The kiss was anything but perfect, but all Alfred could think about was finally, finally

He froze when Arthur suddenly grabbed and twisted his hand in a way that meant Alfred had to turn away, in order to prevent it from breaking. Not a second later, something cold and sharp was pushed against the skin of his neck.

Dread washed over him when he realized Arthur was holding his dagger against his throat, but he forced himself to remain still; the pressure was firm enough that he knew a mere gulp would cause the skin to yield and break.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur didn’t look angry; instead, he looked a little apprehensive. And while it probably meant that Alfred wasn’t going to be bleeding out on the floor anytime soon, it still didn’t calm down the racing of his heartbeat.

Still, he kept his eyes steadily locked with Arthur. He wouldn’t back down, not after what just happened.

After perhaps a handful of seconds, Arthur’s expression softened and he tossed the dagger aside. The sudden movement left a slight nick on his skin, but he didn’t care, because Arthur released his hand and pulled him back down into another kiss.

This time, Arthur’s lips responded to his own, and they kissed hot and hard and frantic. Alfred couldn’t help but groan as Arthur slid a demanding hand into his hair, and Arthur took advantage of his parted lips by shoving his tongue inside his mouth.

The intrusion should’ve felt foreign, but all Alfred could focus on was that Arthur tasted of the sea, of salt and rum and something inexplicably dangerous and free.

He pushed back with his own and mimicked Arthur’s movements, before wrapping his arms around the smaller blonde. As he was pulled closer, Arthur automatically thrust his pelvis up towards his own, and Alfred firmly kept him there.

Eventually he had to tear himself away, and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with much needed air. Arthur apparently required no such reprieve, because he immediately started licking and biting at Alfred's jaw.

“Do you want to fuck me, Alfred?” Arthur purred against his skin, and Alfred felt his knees wobble a bit. He locked them stubbornly, and clenched his hands in the fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

“Yeah,” He groaned after Arthur bit down and sucked a bruise into the area just below his jawbone. “Hell yeah – ”

Arthur shut him up with another rough, vicious kiss that left his lips tingling, and then he wrestled himself free from his grasp.

Alfred blinked at the sudden lack of proximity, but before he could ask, Arthur grabbed him by his shirt and all but dragged him across the room.

Without any subtlety, Arthur kicked the door to his sleeping quarters open, and he pulled Alfred inside. Alfred faltered a bit when he saw the bed, the reality of what was going to happen washing over him abruptly.

“Uh, I’ve never - ”

Arthur made a dismissive noise and all but shoved Alfred onto the bed, climbing on top of his lap the moment he sat down on it. Once he had his arms full of the pirate captain, all hesitance fled Alfred’s mind once more, and he eagerly reconnected their lips.

Again, Arthur wasted no time shoving his tongue inside, but this time, Alfred was better prepared. He eagerly reciprocated, mapping out Arthur’s mouth. When Arthur teasingly sucked on his tongue, his hips bucked involuntarily, and Arthur’s chest rumbled with laughter.

He felt hands tug at his shirt insistently, and then Arthur broke their kiss, in order to rip his shirt off. Alfred had expected him to dive right back into it, but Arthur stayed where he was, lowering his hands to rest against Alfred’s chest.

“My God.” The captain murmured, his heated eyes roving over the skin on display. “Swinging around in the masts has certainly worked out well for you.”

Alfred couldn’t help but smirk smugly, huffing with surprise when Arthur furrowed his brows and pinched one of his nipples in retaliation. He reached out to untuck Arthur’s shirt from his breeches, intending to return the favour, but Arthur stopped him.

“Patience, pet.” Arthur purred with a wicked grin, before pushing and shoving at him some more. Alfred let himself be manhandled further onto the bed, hissing when Arthur suddenly sat down right on top of his crotch.

His cock was already hard and straining against his breeches, and the combined friction of the itchy fabric and Arthur’s weight made him dizzy with want.

“Hello there.” Arthur said once he felt the proof of Alfred’s excitement prodding his ass, and he grinded down in slow, circular movements.

Alfred was faintly aware that Arthur was smirking with amusement, but he didn’t care. He kept bucking his hips up, searching more of that wonderful friction. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but he knew that he didn’t want Arthur to leave, so he twisted them into his captain’s shirt to keep him put.

Arthur still managed to escape his grasp, somehow, and he whined in protest when Arthur shuffled down a bit. However, his protests were cut short when Arthur deftly undid the belt holding up his breeches.

Agonizingly slow, he rid him of his belt, his weapons, his breeches and boots, while keeping his near acidic eyes on his own.

Once he was completely naked, Alfred shivered under the man’s leering gaze, but he didn’t feel particularly bashful. Especially not when Arthur ran his hands up his thighs, spreading them a bit to settle himself snugly between them.

Arthur, shit – ” He moaned when Arthur leaned forward to lick and bite at his chest, and if Arthur was annoyed at being referred to by his first name, he didn’t show it.

“You’re so pretty, still.” Arthur said, a bit mockingly, and Alfred knew he meant his lack of scars and blemishes; marks that would surely find their way on his skin someday soon. “And so receptive. Has anyone ever even touched you like this?”

Alfred wanted to answer him, but Arthur followed his question by running his tongue down Alfred’s abdomen before biting down sharply, and all that came out of his mouth instead was a strangled moan.

“Good,” Arthur said, grinning up at him. “Good boy.”

Then he wrapped a hand around his length and dipped the tip of his thumb down against its tip.

All too sudden, Alfred felt himself tense and he cursed through gritted teeth, helpless against the intense and abrupt orgasm that washed over him. Hot cum squirted against his own abdomen and spilled over Arthur’s hand, and Arthur made a surprised sound as he squeezed him through it.

Once he came down from his high, he realized that he’d fucked up; he’d climaxed way too early, he should’ve –

All thoughts ground to a halt as he turned his head to look at Arthur.

The captain raised his hand to his mouth and looked him dead in the eye. Then his tongue darted out to lick the thick, white ribbons of cum from his fingers, and Alfred couldn’t help the whimper that left him. Arthur smirked and drew two fingers into his mouth and sucked.

Despite having just spent himself, Alfred’s cock gave a hopeful little twitch.

Fuck.” He panted.

Arthur grinned wickedly around his own fingers, before removing them with a rather obscene, wet sound. “Do you want to stop?”

“Absolutely not.” He managed to say, and Arthur hummed before swiping his hand through the mess on Alfred’s abdomen.

He gathered up some of his semen on his fingers, and then raised them towards Alfred’s own mouth. Despite thinking the gesture was a little foul, Alfred obediently opened his mouth, allowing Arthur to push his fingers in.

“Good boy.” Arthur repeated as he pushed his fingers against Alfred’s tongue, and Alfred moaned at the praise, weirdly unbothered by the salty, bitter taste of his own semen.

After a few seconds, Arthur pulled his hand back and leaned backwards to rid himself of his own shirt. The moment Arthur’s bare skin was on display, Alfred forced himself out of his daze, and he sat up to admire the inked, pale chest of his partner.

There was an intricate tattaw of a wingless dragon on the right part of his chest, curling up towards his collarbone. Curiously, he reached out to trail his fingers over the drawing, and then he was running his hands over the expanse of Arthur’s entire chest, mapping out the lithe muscle and the few raised scars littering about.

Surprisingly, Arthur let him have his way for a while, but he obviously grew bored after a while and pushed Alfred back. He then climbed off the bed, and Alfred tensed, before realizing Arthur only meant to undress himself.

And fuck, he couldn’t look away – not that Arthur minded. His movements were purposefully slow as he rid himself of his belt, weapons, breeches and boots as well, and Alfred wished he could freeze time so that he could admire the glorious view.

However, when Arthur climbed back on the bed, he didn’t complain, and instead his eyes drooped down towards Arthur’s own cock.

Before he could reach for it, Arthur leaned sideways towards the small table at the bed’s side. He snatched a vial from it, and then sat back, uncorking the bottle and allowing its liquid content to pour over his fingers.

“Watch and learn, poppet.” Arthur suggested with a smirk, before leaning towards him and moving his hand behind himself.

Thanks to his impromptu lesson a few days earlier, Alfred knew exactly what Arthur was going to do, and he couldn’t help but stare as Arthur slipped a finger into his own hole.

Arthur grinned and sucked his own lower lip between his teeth, and Alfred swore that he was putting on a show for his benefit, what with how his head lolled to the side a little. His other hand landed on Alfred’s chest, as if to stabilize himself.

“Have you ever done this to yourself?” Arthur taunted. “It’s so tight. Hmm. It’s like nothing else you’ll ever know.”

A low, rumbling noise escaped his throat, and Alfred’s hips bucked up involuntarily. Even though he wasn’t entirely hard again, he was certainly well on his way, and he wondered if his muddled thoughts were caused by all the blood rushing towards his dick. 

Arthur’s tongue flicked out to wet his own lips, and Alfred wasn’t sure if it was an invitation or not, but he surged up anyway, slanting his lips against Arthur’s and letting them get reacquainted.

After a few seconds, Arthur bit down on his lower lip harshly, but not harsh enough to draw blood. Alfred tore away from him with a grunt, and instead lowered his head to drag his lips across Arthur’s collarbone, neck and shoulders.

Within no time, his own cock was hard and heavy against his lower abdomen again, but he resolutely ignored it for now. Instead, he focused on Arthur; on the curve of his lips, the flush of his cheeks that went all the way down to his chest.

He reached out to run his hand over the inked dragon on Arthur’s chest again, growing a little overwhelmed at the sudden realization that they were doing this. All these weeks of pining, and wanting, and dreaming; and now Alfred was here, with his hands on Arthur’s skin.

There was no going back from this. He was going to be ruined forever.

His thumb brushed over Arthur’s nipple, and Arthur sighed approvingly. Spurred on, Alfred raised his other hand to trail the anchor drawn low on Arthur’s hip. The added touch caused Arthur’s hip to stutter forward slightly, and Alfred experimentally gripped Arthur’s cock.

Arthur immediately clutched Alfred’s bicep, digging his fingers into the skin harshly, as if to keep him where he was. Alfred couldn’t help but grin wryly as he flicked his wrist. Arthur moaned, and Alfred immediately wanted to hear it again, and again, and again -

“Good,” Arthur praised, breathlessly. “Quick learner.”

His hips shifted a bit and his eyelids fluttered, and Alfred realized he had added a second finger into himself. He squeezed the man’s cock encouragingly, his head spinning a bit when a beautiful sigh fell from Arthur’s lips.

Alfred might not have a lot of experience in the bedroom, but he had a dick of his own, and so he demonstrated the few techniques he had picked up himself. Twisting his wrist, he tightened his fingers around the top of Arthur’s cock, before dragging them down.

Arthur hissed and fell forward, burying his face in Alfred’s neck to mouth at his neck, while Alfred slowly jerked him off. Since this new position allowed him a new angle, he moved his unoccupied hand to Arthur’s ass.

Arthur made a warning noise when his fingers neared his own, and he reluctantly moved them away again, opting to instead grab and squeeze a handful of the soft flesh. Arthur answered by bucking forward into Alfred’s hand, a low moan escaping his lips again.  

“Shit, Arthur – ”

“Alfred,” Arthur interrupted, shifting a bit as he presumably added a third finger. “Do you want to be inside of me?”

“Fuck yes, yeah, please,” Alfred immediately babbled in return, and Arthur leaned back.

Confused by the sudden distance between their bodies, Alfred tried to pull him back by the hand still on his ass, but he halted when Arthur’s fingers slipped out of himself.

Arthur pushed him backwards until he collided with the bed once more, before retrieving the vial he had tossed aside earlier.

More of its liquid was poured over his fingers, but this time, Arthur lowered his hand to Alfred’s cock. The coldness of the liquid combined with the hotness of his own flesh made Alfred hiss, and Arthur leaned forward to capture his lips in another bruising, demanding kiss as he coated his length with the thick, oily substance.

Then he crawled back up and situated a leg on either side of Alfred’s hips. He lowered his own hips a bit to rub his ass against the cock still in his hand, and Alfred whimpered helplessly, his hands twitching, wanting to grab Arthur by the hips and take –

Arthur sank down on him, taking him halfway before stopping.

Alfred’s pretty sure that he was going delirious; Arthur was so fucking tight. It felt as if he were going to choke, and he struggled to heave a breath, drunk on the way  Arthur’s brow furrowed with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort.

He thrust upwards, not stopping to consider that Arthur might need time to adjust, and he’s punished for it when a hand wrapped itself around his throat. Automatically, Alfred leaned back, but Arthur’s hand followed, and it squeezed once, as if warning him not to try again.

“So eager.” Arthur said, his voice sounding a bit strained. “Thought about this often, have you?”

Alfred wanted to exclaim that yes, yes, he’s thought about this almost every night for the past few weeks, but as he opened his mouth to do so, Arthur’s hand squeezed and cut off his vocal cords, causing only a grunt to escape him.

Instead of it discouraging him, Alfred felt his own cock twitch excitedly, and judging by Arthur’s raised eyebrows, he felt it too. He thoughtfully squeezed again, and Alfred went lax underneath him.

“Interesting.” Arthur mumbled in a low, raspy voice, and Alfred could only fixate on how Arthur’s pupils seemed to dilate even more.

Before he could get dizzy from a lack of oxygen, Arthur loosened his grip, and he sucked in a much needed breath. By then, Arthur had apparently grown accustomed to the length inside of him, because he rolled his hips a bit before taking his entire length and clenching down.

Alfred felt his own eyes roll back into his head, the sensation punching a guttural groan from his throat.

Arthur had been right – it was unlike anything he had ever felt. How were people not constantly going at it, if it felt like this? Shit, he had to focus on something else, or he would surely come prematurely again.

As if reading his mind, Arthur’s other hand joined its twin, his fingers pushing gently into the flesh below his jaw. It certainly distracted him, and Alfred tilted his head to grant him more access.

As Arthur slowly fucked himself on his cock, Alfred’s hands started to wander out of their own accord. He couldn’t sit up, what with Arthur’s hands on his neck, but if he arched a bit, he could dig his fingers around Arthur’s hips.

Arthur grinned and leaned forward to make it easier for him, while also increasing the pressure on his neck; it made it a bit more difficult to breathe, but it wasn’t impossible, and the idea that Arthur could cut off his breath whenever he wanted made Alfred’s blood boil with arousal.

“You’d let me strangle you, wouldn’t you?” Arthur asked, a bit cruelly, but Alfred only moaned his assent. “Foolish, naive, gorgeous boy.”

His hands abruptly left Alfred’s neck and slid up to settle in his hair. His fingers twisted and held the strands in a possessive grip, and Arthur leaned forward to softly bite down on the fleshy bit of his ear.

“You’re mine,” He whispered hotly, possessively, and Alfred’s grip on Arthur’s hip tightened.

“I am.” He confirmed, pleased when the rise and fall of Arthur’s hips faltered a bit at that statement, and Alfred used his surprise to force him down on his cock harshly.

A choked groan punched its way out of Arthur’s throat, and he allowed Alfred to determine a new rhythm, his hips willingly rising and dropping in whatever tempo Alfred’s hands decided for them.  

“I’m yours,” Alfred repeated in a gravelly voice, tilting his head to kiss the side of Arthur’s head. “Have been since day one.”

Alfred,” Arthur exclaimed, breathlessly. He went a little slack and heavily leaned against him, losing the rhythm Alfred set as Alfred abruptly thrust upwards into him again.

Despite knowing it was not what Arthur had planned, Alfred used Arthur’s distraction to his advantage. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and turned them around. Arthur tensed when Alfred pushed him down into the bed instead, his hands tightening in Alfred’s hair to the point it became a little painful.

He’d slid out of Arthur a bit during the maneuver, and before Arthur could complain or snap at him, Alfred slammed back inside with enough force that he swore he felt the bed move, and he buried himself to the hilt.

The changed angle made everything even tighter and hotter than before, and Alfred nearly came right then and there when a lewd, broken moan tumbled from Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s face went slack with sudden, unexpected bliss, and Alfred forced his eyes to remain open, because he wanted to commit the sight to memory.

Somehow, through the haze clouding his mind, he remembered something he’d been told a few days earlier. He angled his hips and turned and twisted, determined to find what he was looking for before Arthur’s steady exclamations of ah, ah, ah drove him to another untimely completion.

Suddenly, Arthur went taut and he yelped, and Alfred knowingly grinned down at him; he’d found it.

He raised his hands from Arthur’s hips to his waist and dug his fingers into the flesh, keeping him in place before starting a relentless pace of ramming right into that same spot every time.

Beneath him, Arthur writhed and arched and twisted with pleasure, his moans and sighs increasing in volume with each well directed thrust. Unable to resist himself, Alfred bent over to crash his lips against Arthur’s own again, while also making sure that he didn’t lose the right angle.

Arthur seemed to alternate between wanting to kiss him back and wanting to curse, and thus the kiss was open-mouthed and messy. Alfred wasn’t even surprised at how hot he thought it was when saliva dribbled from the corner of Arthur’s lips; no, he even lapped it up before kissing him again, shuddering when Arthur sucked his tongue back into his mouth.

With his thoughts as muddled as they were, and with his blood running as hot as it did, Alfred belatedly realized that he was already nearing his breaking point. He tore himself away from Arthur’s mouth, and groaned at the sight beneath him; Arthur was flushed red all the way from his cheeks to his chest. His half-lidded eyes were more black than they were green, and he was panting harshly, through swollen, wet lips.

“I’m – fuck, I’m close.” He managed to admit through gritted teeth, and Arthur furiously blinked up at him, apparently trying to focus.

“Touch me.” Arthur slurred, and Alfred wasted no time in obeying.

He abandoned his bruising grip on Arthur’s waist and settled a hand on his cock again. Arthur made a strangled noise, and Alfred rubbed his thumb under the head of Arthur’s cock, lightly digging his nail into the skin.

Almost immediately, Arthur came.

He could feel it before he saw it – Arthur’s walls clenched around him so tightly that it felt as if he were trying to snap his cock off. Hot cum spilled in his hand and splattered against Arthur’s own chest, while Arthur’s fingers dug into his shoulders harsh enough that his nails surely broke the skin.

His own hips stuttered and his head fell to Arthur’s shoulder, muffling his strangled moan as he buried himself to the hilt and came undone for the second time that night. Arthur’s walls pulsed and kept him snugly inside, and the smaller blonde groaned uncomfortably.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with Alfred panting into Arthur’s neck. He imagined it would be a rather nice position to simply black out in, but before he could entertain such ideas any further, Arthur punched him in the gut.

He wheezed, losing his strength and falling sideways in order to not crush the man below him. Arthur swiftly turned them around, and his back hit the bed with a light bounce. Then Arthur was back on top of him, glaring down at him.

Alfred couldn’t help but think how utterly arousing Arthur looked on top of him right then; sure, he was angry, but his face was still flushed, his lips were swollen, and even though he was glaring, his eyes betrayed his fervor.

“Don’t ever get on top of me again.” Arthur snapped at him.

Alfred fought hard not to glare back up at him – Arthur had obviously enjoyed himself, so he didn’t see what the problem was. But he remained silent; if agreeing meant that he’d get the opportunity to lay with Arthur again, he would be mad not to do so.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but then he huffed and slid off of him again to lie down next to him. Not wanting to move and invoke Arthur’s anger, Alfred stayed put, staring at the ceiling while trying to get a grasp on what just happened.

He just had sex with Arthur.

He’d – oh, shit, he’d fucked his captain. He stuck his fucking dick inside Arthur fucking Kirkland.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, panic, or suggest they’d go for another round.

“Fucking hell,” Arthur eventually uttered, his voice rougher than usual, as if it had been overused. He also sounded a little perplexed, and Alfred felt his ego swell a bit with pride. When Arthur said nothing else, he turned on his side to look at the man next to him.

Unsurprisingly so, Arthur was already looking back at him. His pupils were still dilated, though the daze that had covered his green eyes like a curtain was gone, replaced by a fierce sharpness once more.

Alfred felt his chest tighten dangerously, and refused to acknowledge the feeling hammering at his heart for now.

Instead he lowered his eyes, trailing them over Arthur’s still naked body now that he still could. There were dark, small bruises on his waist and on his hips. With a hot flash of possessive desire, Alfred realized that he had put them there.

While he was distracted, Arthur grumbled something underneath his breath. Then he sat up with a grimace, and grabbed the edge of one of his blankets, using it to wipe away the mess on his stomach.

“Did you have to come inside of me?” He griped, and Alfred frowned, looking down again.

When he saw Arthur squeezing his legs together, he imagined his semen drizzling out of him, and another hot, possessive flash of desire shot down his spine. He had to fight the urge to say yes, yes he had to, and spared a moment to marvel at himself; how had he gone from virginal to lustful this quickly?

“Sorry.” He said instead, and Arthur settled him with another heated, intense look, one that made Alfred want to crawl on top of the man again.

Jesus, if this was how it was going to be from now on, Alfred was going to have a lot of trouble with performing his daily chores.

“Should I… go?” He asked, tentatively, because he wasn’t sure what the protocol was. He had no idea what was supposed to happen next, or if something would be different now.

Perhaps, to Arthur, this was just something casual. But he had a feeling that it wasn’t; not after all that Alfred had admitted, and not after how Arthur had looked at him once he’d agreed with Arthur’s claim.

“Do you want to?” Arthur countered, his voice uncharacteristically neutral.

Alfred knew that being honest was absolutely crucial right now. “No.”

“You can stay.” Arthur’s eyes swept over his body for a second. “Kick me in your sleep and suffer the consequences.” With that, he lied down once more, but on his side this time, with his back to Alfred.

Alfred was tempted to comment that no one who regularly slept in a hammock would move around in his sleep, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, admiring Arthur’s bare back instead. A large, detailed tattaw of a fully rigged ship covered the skin of his back, starting below the curve of his waist and ending just below his neck.

He marveled at it – it must’ve taken hours, and it must’ve hurt like a bitch. Before he could think better of it, he reached out to touch it, tracing one of the sails with his fingertips. He felt the muscles underneath his finger tense, and wondered if he overstepped; but then again, this was nothing compared to what they had been doing before.

“It symbolizes my voyage around Cape Horn.” Arthur suddenly said, softly. “Where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Pacific.”

Alfred made a thoughtful noise, admiring the delicate lines of the ship’s sails and rigging. Then, spurred on by Arthur’s lack of annoyance, he dragged his hand towards Arthur’s upper arm, tracing the depiction of the very creature they chased from their ship earlier that day.

“A metaphor for how dangerous yet enticing the sea can be.” Arthur mumbled, and Alfred smiled; that one seemed fitting, especially since the first ship Arthur sailed on, the Setting Friday, had been shipwrecked by mermaids.

He slid his hand down to Arthur’s wrist, and brushed his fingers against the nautical star he knew was there from memory. Immediately, Arthur tensed again, and he yanked his wrist out of Alfred’s grasp. Alfred quickly pulled his hand back, recognizing that he had overstepped.

Neither of them said anything, and Alfred reluctantly moved to lie down on his back again. He tried not to pay too much attention to the thousands of thoughts and questions whirling around inside his head.

Instead, he focused on the gentle sway of the ship and the sound of Arthur’s soft, slightly irregular breathing, until it eventually lulled him to sleep.

Notes:

Well. I’ll skip right to the explanations, lol.

Martinique - Martinique is an island located in the eastern Caribbean Sea. In the late 17th century / early 18th century, it served as a home port for several French pirates. Since it's quite a way from Fortaleza (Brazil) to Nassau (Bahamas), I opted to have them make one more stop; also because, like Mathias said, one would rather have their 'first brothel visit' not be on Nassau, since the island was a bit of a... lawless pirate utopia around this time, lol.

Toris – Introducing Lithuania! I originally wanted him to be part of Ivan’s crew, but then I got the idea of a green-eyed prostitute who shared Alfred's love for blonde, green-eyed men... The blonde, green-eyed man Toris is talking about is obviously Poland ;)

Pirates and prostitutes – Pirates spent a lot of their time at sea and away from home. During their travels they were often starved of female companionship, so once on land, they would seek out the company of a prostitute. Prostitutes often even preferred to have a pirate for a client – they treated them better (i.e. a pirate could unleash their anger on their enemy, an ordinary sailor would unleash their anger on a woman), and they were able to pay more for a prostitute’s services.

I didn’t find much on male prostitutes in the 1700s, but I’ve no doubt that they were a thing. However, since sodomy was a capital offense in the 18th century (read my notes on chapter 2), men seeking to pursue homosexual relations had to be discreet, thus why Mathias casually threatened the lady.

(Fun fact!) In 18th century Britain, men could meet potential sexual partners of the same sex in so-called Molly-houses. These molly-houses weren’t necessarily brothels; they could also be taverns, coffeehouses or private rooms.

Condoms in the 1700s – Condoms have been around for centuries! Since the 15th century, there have been records of glans condoms made from linen and animal intestines, shells, horns and bladder. In the late 16th century, Dutch traders also introduced leather condoms. In the 18th century, prostitutes started using condoms made with catgut, cow bowel or sheep intestine. However, these condoms were expensive, and thus rarely used by clients.

Chapter 11: Nassau, December 1711

Notes:

It’s another long one, fellas! I figured you wouldn’t mind, since the response to last chapter was positive too, lol.

Anyway: some more crumbs for you… and then Ivan makes his debut ;)

Warnings: a little bit of knife play, violence due to a fistfight, a lot of end notes

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

To wait out the cold winter weather currently plaguing the colonies up north, the Emerald Dragon would remain in the Bahama’s for a few weeks.

Alfred had been apprehensive about this at first – after all, he couldn’t help but think that staying in one place for too long was risky for a pirate ship. He changed his mind once he actually sailed through the chain of islands.

It was the perfect area for a ship to hide out in: all around them were dozens and dozens of uncharted islands, with hundreds of unmarked reefs and beaches that offered them plenty of cover, shortcuts and last but not least, places to explore.

If Alfred could spend the rest of their stay here exploring island upon island, he would be quite happy.

Unfortunately, exploring wasn’t on the agenda. Arthur had promised his crew a shore leave, and he never went back on his word; it was one of the reasons why his crew was so loyal to him.

And thus, the majority of their stay here would take place in Nassau.

Alfred didn’t really see the appeal of Nassau, if he had to be honest.

The town could barely be called a town to begin with. Huts and hovels, that were constructed from wood and other debris, were strewn about haphazardly around the island. The few buildings that looked as if they had been actual buildings once were fashioned into taverns and brothels.

As far as he knew, there was no Spanish, French or British authority to be wary of. The few colonists that had remained after the war had laid waste to the island, kept under the radar – and Alfred didn’t  blame them.

After all, Nassau was a paradise for pirates, privateers and prostitutes. Almost everywhere he looked, there was either chaos or the beginnings of chaos.

Men constantly argued or fought on the streets. In and around the taverns, people were drinking copious amounts of rum and ale. They gambled for weapons, and then fought over said weapons when they lost.

And the brothels – well, the intimacy unfortunately didn’t limit itself to Nassau’s brothels. On more than one unfortunate occasion, Alfred stumbled upon people who were… embraced in a rather intimate manner.

He stopped apologizing after the third time, because really, they were basically out in the open most of the time, and they were probably too drunk to notice Alfred anyway.

So, no, Nassau was not exactly what Alfred would call a paradise.

Fortunately, the one silver lining was that he sailed on the Emerald Dragon. Belonging to Arthur Kirkland’s crew had given him some kind of immunity on the island, meaning that as long as he kept his head down, no one would actively bother or harass him.

That didn’t mean that he felt comfortable venturing out onto the island alone, though. If he wasn’t on the ship performing his duties, he hung out with the pirates he had grown to call his friends. Most of them seemed perfectly at home n Nassau, with the exception of Feliciano, Lukas and Emil.

Like him, they regarded the place with a mixture of hesitance and disdain – though Feliciano was easily soothed by Ludwig or Lovino, and Lukas and Emil knew that Mathias never strayed too far from their side.

Alfred supposed he had a similar advantage; after all, there were certain benefits to occasionally sharing a bed with your captain.

One of them, of course, being that he sometimes slept in an actual bed, and not in a flimsy hammock. The other one being that Arthur had a habit of keeping him in his line of sight, whenever Alfred was not back on the Dragon.

And while some part of Alfred frowned at the idea of Arthur thinking he needed to be watched like a little child, another part of him positively preened whenever he saw a red-coated figure loitering about in his peripheral vision.

Especially so, because Alfred still had no idea what exactly was going on between them. After that first time, they tumbled into bed together a handful of times more, and it seemed as if it was going to be recurring thing.

Which was exactly why he was getting annoyed right now.

For almost the entire evening, Francis Bonnefoy has been draping himself over Arthur.

Alfred was this close to grabbing the Frenchman by his scrappy beard, to drag him out of the tavern and toss him into the ocean. And Arthur absolutely knew this, if the sly and smug way he was looking at Alfred every now and then was anything to go by.

He was fairly sure that this was Arthur’s way of challenging him to do something about it, but they both knew very well that Alfred would never take him up on it.

He might be able to get away with a generous amount of noncompliance when it came Arthur, but Alfred wasn’t so sure how Francis would react if he’d confront him – especially since Arthur never fully rejected Francis’ advances.

And so, there was nothing he could do, except sit there and watch it happen.

Actually, there was one thing he could do; and that was refusing Arthur the satisfaction of him watching.

Unfortunately, the company at his own table didn’t offer much more entertainment. Ralph had disappeared somewhere after the first round of ale, and Mathias and Lukas had disappeared after the second. Feliciano was talking a mile a minute in a mixture of English and Italian to an exasperated Ludwig, and Lovino was, by the looks of it, engaged in a rather serious, Spanish-sounding conversation with Laurence.

He frowned down at his mug of ale, resolutely trying to ignore the feeling of being watched.

Then, as if he were an angel sent from heaven, Eli forced himself between Lovino and Feliciano, opposite of Alfred. He immediately reached out to grab Alfred’s mug, and Alfred was too grateful for his presence to care.

“You look like you’re having fun.” Eli said cheerfully before downing what ale was left in his mug in one go. He slammed the mug down and signaled at a barmaid to bring them another round. “Loving Nassau so far, eh?”

Alfred immediately grimaced, much to Eli’s amusement.

“I’d be having more fun at sea.” He admitted, smiling lightly when Eli barked out a laugh. “No, really. There’s so much to explore around here. James told me there are a lot of shipwrecks, because of the hurricanes. Kinda wish we could see for ourselves.”

“We could commandeer a dinghy.” Eli suggested. “We might even make it to the nearest peninsula before capsizing.”

“Funny.” Alfred said sarcastically, kicking Eli underneath the table. “You can’t tell me you like this place any more than I do.”

Eli shrugged and leaned a bit into Feliciano, who stopped to send him a dazzling smile, before shifting a bit to allow Eli to lean on him a bit more comfortably. The brief, undeniably affectionate gesture of friendship warmed Alfred a bit.

“I think you’re still a little too new to this to understand.” Eli said sympathetically. “You’re not yet tired of constantly being on the run, or of constantly watching your back.”

Alfred frowned - he hadn’t thought of it that way, actually. What Eli said was true: all Alfred wanted was to sail out and continue exploring, but he hadn’t stopped to consider that while at sea, they were constantly on the lookout for other, possible hostile ships.

A stay in a place like Nassau, where there was no authority to speak of, was probably a huge reprieve for pirates.

The barmaid brought them their new drinks, and it prompted Eli to engage with Feliciano and Ludwig, as Alfred was still mulling this piece of information over.

He looked around the tavern slowly; it was filled with the crew of the four pirate captains that were sitting at a table near the front. Most of these people knew each other, and some of them probably knew each other pretty well. At least here, there was little fighting; the rowdiest people got was when they were trying to outdo each other in telling the wildest tale.

Eventually, inevitably, he looked back at Arthur’s table again.

He wasn’t sure how he missed it before, but now that he paid renewed attention, he saw that Arthur appeared significantly more relaxed than usual. There was no glare, grimace or sneer on his face: no, he was grinning lopsidedly at whatever big story Gilbert was spouting.

One of his feet was propped up on Francis’ chair, his foot underneath the Frenchman’s leg; another testament to their familiar relationship. The arm not leaning on his propped up knee was stretched out in front of him, on the table, his hand curled around his mug.

There was even a slight flush on his cheeks; it was similar to the one Alfred had seen months ago, in a tavern in Loanda. Arthur had been a little tipsy then, if he remembered correctly. Alfred wondered if he was tipsy now, too.

Alfred realized he kind of liked this view, this relaxed version of his captain.

Perhaps he could learn to like Nassau a bit more, if it allowed him to see Arthur like this more often.

As if knowing that he was being watched, Arthur slowly tilted his head sideways. Alfred wasn’t entirely sure what his face was betraying, but when Arthur’s eyes met his own, Arthur’s wry grin faltered a little.

Alfred felt his pulse suddenly race a little faster, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Arthur wasn’t exactly glaring at him, but he wasn’t smirking or grinning either, and normally Alfred would smile to lighten the mood a bit, but this time he found that he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

After what felt like forever, Arthur started to smile a bit. He averted his eyes briefly to glance sideways at nothing in particular, before looking back coyly. Alfred managed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, and he offered a smile of his own in return.

He watched as Arthur stood up and stretched in a way that was perhaps a bit unnecessary. Then he walked over to his table, prompting everyone at it to immediately stop talking. Arthur’s eyes slid over the table’s occupants nonchalantly, before he looked at Alfred.

“Jones.” He purred, and Alfred could instantly feel everyone’s attention shift back to him. “A moment of your time?”

If the others hadn’t figured out what Arthur meant by the tone of his voice, they definitely did when Alfred eagerly shot to his feet. He was fairly sure that if he had a tail, it would be wagging uncontrollably, and he already dreaded the teasing he was bound to receive from his mates.

Arthur brushed past him in a matter that was just a tad too obvious, if you cared enough to pay attention. Alfred resolutely ignored the flabbergasted expressions of his friends and quickly followed after Arthur, who led him towards the back of the tavern.

However, before rounding the corner and ascending the stairs, Alfred couldn’t resist to turn around briefly.

Staring Francis down was a lot easier than confronting him upfront, and perhaps it was just as effective. He looked the surprised French captain dead in the eye, and gave him a wry, but meaningful grin.

Almost immediately, Francis’ frowned, and some nasty and possessive thing inside of Alfred burned.

 


 

“Always so impatient.” Arthur purred, his voice low in a way that made Alfred’s blood sing.

He was sitting down on top of him, his bare ass pressing against Alfred’s clothed cock, and Alfred groaned as he jerked his hips up, in search of more friction. He tried to grab onto Arthur again, but the ropes that cut into his wrists reminded him that he couldn’t.

“You’re taking too long.” He growled, and it really was unfair: after ordering Alfred to strip, Arthur had tied him to the bed, and then proceeded to finger himself open, while all Alfred could do was watch. By now, Alfred was about ready to go mad.

“Am I?” Arthur asked casually, and Alfred froze when he leaned forward to retrieve his dagger from the bedside table. “Patience is a virtue, Alfred.”

The sharp, pointy tip of Arthur’s dagger pressed against his sternum, before it slowly, purposefully slid down to his chest. The sensation caused Alfred to shiver, and he forced his eyes back up to Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes were dark as he followed his own handiwork, his lips curled in a grin. Combined with his somewhat swollen lips and his deliciously flushed cheeks, Alfred was struck by the intense desire to just devour him whole.

The blade slid down to Alfred’s navel, leaving a red, slightly stinging scratch, but Alfred couldn’t care less. Inadvertently, he pulled against his binds again, in a futile attempt to get his hands on Arthur.

“Fuck, Arthur,” He panted, hissing when Arthur shuffled on his lap a bit. “Please just – please.”

“I quite like it when you beg.” Arthur teased, dipping the tip of his dagger into his navel and Alfred instinctively held his stomach a bit.

“I’ll beg,” Alfred immediately agreed. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Excitement coursed through his veins when Arthur shot him a dangerous, lustful glance through half-lidded eyes. He dragged the dagger along Alfred’s abdomen some more, leaving behind raised, red lines, and idly Alfred wondered if he was drawing something.

Then he imagined Arthur spelling his own name on his skin, carving it into his chest, and his hips inadvertently bucked upwards again.

Fuck, he should not be thinking that was as hot as he thought it was.

Arthur, apparently, read his mind.

“Would you let me spell my initials?” He mused, resting the tip of his dagger between two of his ribs. “Perhaps here? Or perhaps over your heart?”

The blade moved towards where his heart should be, its sharp edge accidentally (or perhaps not so accidentally) nicking his skin. It stung a bit, but it didn’t seem to bleed, and Alfred wouldn’t have cared if it did.

“Yeah, sure, why not, fuck it.” Alfred babbled, squirming when Arthur seemed to actually consider it.

Then he removed the dagger from his skin and tossed it aside. It landed with a dull cling on the rug next to the bed. Arthur hummed approvingly and ran his hands over the scratches his blade had left earlier.

“You’re so loyal. You would let me mark you as mine, wouldn’t you? You'd let me do whatever I want.”

Alfred moaned his assent, and Arthur laughed, the sound coming out throaty and hot and shit –  

Before he could give an actual, adequate response, however, Arthur leaned forward to trace the welts he had left behind with his tongue. The warm, wet feel, combined with the stinging of his skin, made Alfred groan and he twisted and pulled at the ropes again.

Arthur pushed him further down against the bed and rearranged himself between Alfred’s legs, before dragging his tongue down to his navel and even lower. Instinctively, his abdominal muscles contracted, and Alfred looked down to see Arthur smirking up at him.

An absolute scandalous thought crossed his mind, and Alfred felt his face flush with the mere idea of ever voicing it.

Arthur grinned and leaned down to sink his teeth in the skin just above his breeches, and Alfred’s hips bucked up again, jostling Arthur a bit.

“What just crossed your mind?” Arthur asked, tauntingly, and Alfred felt his face heat up some more as he stubbornly stayed quiet. “No answer? Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Alfred exclaimed almost immediately, his arms jerking harshly against his bonds. He thought he felt the rope give a little, but ultimately, they held him in place. “No, please, I want you to – ”

“You want me to do what?” Arthur interrupted, but instead of waiting for an answer, he reached down to play with the fastenings of Alfred’s breeches.

The moment he got them undone, he slowly dragged them down and over Alfred’s straining erection. The friction, as well as the relief of the fabric finally being gone, made Alfred moan in appreciation, and Arthur chuckled, wrapping a hand around him.

“Good,” Arthur praised while he lazily pumped him. He licked his lips and leaned down, and Alfred held his breath. “Keep looking, pet.”

Then he curled his tongue around the tip of his cock, and Alfred was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven. A threatening squeeze reminded him that Arthur wanted him to watch, and he forced his head up again to do so.

What Arthur was doing was absolutely sinful, and yet Alfred didn’t care – how could he, after all Arthur had already done to him, and after all that Alfred dreamed of doing to Arthur, too?

His arms roughly jerked forward again, futilely, when Arthur wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock and sucked. Abruptly, he realized that he was already close to coming, but when Arthur’s hand suddenly squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, the feeling stopped and he groaned and writhed in protest.

This continued on for a while longer, and once Arthur started to move lower, enveloping more of his dick inside his mouth, Alfred couldn’t help but slam his head back against the pillow. Almost immediately, Arthur moved back up, releasing his cock with a wet, vile sounding pop.

“I thought I told you to watch.” He said disapprovingly, but he was still lazily pumping him, so he couldn’t be that mad.

“Sorry,” Alfred said anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur moved back up, leaning down to capture Alfred’s lips in a messy, almost bruising kiss. Alfred eagerly opened his mouth, inviting Arthur’s tongue in and massaging it with his own. Then Arthur reached behind him, grabbed his cock, and lined it up with his entrance.

Without further ado, he sank down halfway. Overwhelmed and taken by surprise, Alfred tore his mouth away from Arthur’s and harshly jerked at his restraints again.

He was rewarded with a loud snap: the ropes had finally given in to all the abuse they had endured so far, and he immediately used his newfound freedom to wrap his arms around Arthur and pull him flush against him.

It was one of the few things Arthur allowed – under no circumstance was Alfred allowed to switch their positions. Sometimes, it bothered Alfred, especially because he remembered how fucking good Arthur had looked underneath him, the first and only time it had happened.

“Strong lad.” Arthur praised breathlessly into his ear, and Alfred couldn’t help but smirk smugly.

“Perhaps you should use iron shackles next time.” He suggested as he forced Arthur down further, groaning when Arthur moaned appreciatively once he bottomed out.

“Perhaps I should gag you, too.” Arthur countered as Alfred stilled to give him time to adjust, and Alfred managed a chuckle.

“Give my mouth something else to do, if you don’t want to hear me talk.” He said cheekily, and Arthur leaned back in order to reconnect their lips in another rough kiss, while Alfred slowly started to move his hips up and down.

When Arthur bit down on his lower lip, Alfred took it as his cue to speed up (and Arthur said he was the impatient one). In a fit of courage, he also moved one of his hands from Arthur’s back to his head.

Quickly, before Arthur could notice, he tangled his fingers into his hair and tugged harshly, pulling Arthur’s face back and making him bare his throat.

The glare in Arthur’s eyes was magnificent, but he didn’t retaliate. Instead, he simply waited for Alfred’s next move, and the sight made Alfred growl and jerk his hips erratically.

Keeping Arthur where he was, he leaned forward to press his lips against his jaw and neck, littering the skin with soft, butterfly-like kisses. He alternated the sweet treatment with a brutal pace of his hips, or at least as brutal as he could with Arthur in his lap instead of underneath him.

“Don’t kiss me like that.” Arthur eventually sneered in between pants, and Alfred paused.

“Like what?”

“Like you – “ A somewhat broken, strained noise left Arthur’s throat after Alfred changed his aim and hit the spot he’d been looking for. “Like I’m a woman.”

Alfred wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but he decided not to press it, and instead moved lower to suck a bruise on Arthur’s shoulder. The pirate on top of him hummed approvingly (crisis averted), and Alfred bit down a little harder, reveling in the stuttering of Arthur’s hips.

“That’s it.” He murmured, not completely aware that he was talking at all. “You feel so good. You’re taking me so well.”

Arthur clenched down around him, and Alfred bit down on Arthur’s shoulder again, relishing in the low, gravelly curse that was torn from Arthur’s throat. He moved the hand not in Arthur’s hair down, wrapping it around his neglected cock and thumbing at the tip, just how Arthur seemed to like it.

Fuck,” Arthur growled, clenching down around him again and squirming a bit against the hold Alfred still had on him. “Let go of me – ”

Alfred immediately did so, a bit afraid that perhaps he’d overstepped. However, Arthur only slumped forward to kiss him again, wrapping his own arms around Alfred tightly.

“Mine,” Arthur murmured in between sloppy, wet kisses. “all mine, you’re mine. Alfred, Alfred - ”

With another drawn out curse, Arthur came. The pulsing around his cock was too much to bear, and Alfred only just managed to pull out in time, groaning against Arthur’s mouth as he came as well.

Exhausted, but also tempted by another fit of boldness, Alfred wrapped his arms back around Arthur and lowered them until he was lying back down on the bed, with Arthur on top of him.

Almost immediately, Arthur tensed, and Alfred reluctantly loosened his grip when Arthur pulled away from him.

Despite their entanglements, and despite Arthur always allowing Alfred to sleep over afterwards, Arthur almost never indulged him in anything that bordered on affectionate, and tonight seemed to be no exception.

He turned on his side and watched as Arthur sat up and left the bed, moving towards the basin in the corner of the room to grab a wash cloth. He idly cleaned himself up, and then tossed the rag at Alfred, who wordlessly caught it and did the same.

Arthur looked at him for a while, a calculating glint in his eyes, and it looked a bit odd combined with his red cheeks and the size of his pupils. Then, abruptly, he marched back over to the bed and climbed back on top of Alfred.

Alfred quickly returned to lying down on his back, a bit surprised. Arthur said nothing for a while, simply looking down at him, and albeit confused, Alfred steadily met his gaze.

Even when gloriously naked, thoroughly flushed and a little marked up, Arthur looked every bit the pirate captain he was. The only difference between now and a few months ago, however, was that Alfred knew what buttons to push – both physically and figuratively.

“You were jealous, earlier.” Arthur eventually said, and Alfred immediately knew what he was referring to. “You looked as if you wanted to drag him out by his hair.”

Alfred resisted a snort – that was a frighteningly accurate description. “I was.” He admitted, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“What if I’d want him to fuck me?” Arthur then asked. “He’s done it before. Quite some times. What would you do?”

Alfred frowned, unsure what Arthur was hoping to achieve with this. If he wanted to make Alfred upset or even angry, then he was definitely succeeding, but he had the feeling that this was another one of Arthur’s seemingly endless challenges and tests.

“If it’s what you want, nothing.” Alfred said instead. “But he can only be with you when you’re both in the same town. And I will always be wherever you are.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed a bit, and something inexplicable passed inside of them.

For a moment, a moment so brief that Alfred almost thought he imagined it, Arthur looked vulnerable. As if he wanted to ask something, before thinking better of it. As if he wanted to do something, but was afraid to follow through with it.

Alfred was struck with the intense desire to kiss Arthur again, but he wasn’t sure such a gesture would go over well right then.

Whatever vulnerability had been visible on Arthur’s face left as soon as it appeared, and Alfred reluctantly waited for him to move away again.

However, when Arthur did move to lie down next to him, he didn’t move away completely. Instead, he pressed his back against his side. Alfred remained frozen for a good second, before giving in to temptation and turning on his side as well, slowly curling himself around Arthur.

When Arthur didn’t move, Alfred idly felt around for the sheets.

Only after he tossed the fabric over them both, and only after he cautiously managed to drape an arm over Arthur’s side, did he realize that this was a thing that was happening. Arthur was letting Alfred embrace him, however superficially so.

He resisted the urge to actually wrap an arm around the body next to him, and instead waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep, before inconspicuously burying his nose in Arthur’s hair.

 


 

A new ship had arrived at Nassau that morning.

Alfred only discovered this after he disembarked from the Dragon that afternoon, and he wondered how it could’ve escaped his line of sight earlier; the ship must’ve been as large as the Midsommarafton had been, after all.

He had never seen it before though, and it didn’t look like a pirate ship either. Judging by its size, Alfred wondered if it was a slave ship - it’d be surprising, since slavers weren’t particularly welcome on Nassau.

Figuring out he’d find out sooner or later, Alfred decided to ignore its presence for the time being, instead focusing on convincing the ship chandler to agree with the deal that they were willing to give him for his services. He had to name drop Arthur and Yao a few times, but eventually he succeeded.

Praising himself for a job well done, Alfred decided to head over to one of the taverns frequently occupied by Gilbert’s crew. He wasn’t really in the mood for another night of alcoholic merry-making, but Kiku had mentioned wanting to explore the other side of the island that morning, and Alfred had proposed they’d head out together after his shift ended.

However, only seconds after he left the beach, an uncharacteristically frightened Emil bumped into him.

“Alfred,” Emil panted, as if he had been running. “Where’s Kirkland?”

“I don’t know, not on the ship. Why, what’s the matter?” Out of nowhere, Emil’s eyes started to water, and Alfred panicked. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Alfred?” A voice suddenly asked, and both Alfred and Emil turned to see Eli approaching them. “What’s up?”

“Emil’s looking for Arthur.”

“He’s with Gilbert and Ludwig down at the beach.” Eli said, still confused. “Why?”

“Mathias and Lukas – they – they’re in trouble – we ran into – Mathias spotted Braginski and went after him, and Lukas tried to stop him, so we followed, but now – ”

“Where did you say they were?” Eli interrupted, grabbing Alfred’s elbow once Emil shakily pointed behind him. “Go get Arthur and Gilbert.”

Emil immediately took off, rushing towards the beach while Eli started dragging him towards the direction Emil had pointed at.

“I’m confused,” Alfred announced, allowing Eli to tug him along anyway. “What did he mean? Who is this Bra- uh, what was his name?”

“Ivan Braginski. We attacked his fleet a while ago.”

Alfred wondered why the name sounded as familiar as it did, before recognition suddenly dawned on him – it sounded familiar, because it was. Arthur had named him once or twice; Ivan was the officer in charge of sending the privateers that had attacked them back in July, and the ones that had attacked the Midsommarafton.

Mathias obviously recognized him, and predictably so, he obviously chose to confront him about it impulsively.

“Shit, the Russian that’s been looking for us, right?”

Eli nodded as they stopped to peer into a street, but it was far too busy for there to have been a scuffle. They turned and headed towards a less populated area, and it wasn’t long before Alfred heard the tell-tale sounds of a fight.

Rounding the corner to a virtually abandoned area, they immediately stumbled upon the trouble Emil had mentioned.

In front of them were four unknown people, as well as Mathias and Lukas.

A man with glasses and a woman dressed in men’s clothing were holding back a cursing and snarling Lukas. Opposite of them, a woman with short hair had her foot on Mathias’ neck, who was sprawled on the ground, making choked noises as he tried to breathe.

Hovering over him stood a tall man, who was definitely not dressed appropriately for Nassau’s climate; he wore a long, heavy tan coat, as well as brown, leather gloves and a long scarf. How he was not sweating buckets underneath Nassau’s unforgiving afternoon sun, Alfred didn’t know.

“Hey!” Alfred immediately exclaimed, drawing their attention. “Cut that out!”

“Alfred,” Eli hissed under his breath, but Alfred ignored him in favor of rushing over to come to Mathias’ aid.

Before he could reach Mathias, however, the tall man that had been hovering over him, turned and blocked his path. He regarded Alfred with an unnaturally pleasant smile, and for some reason, it made his skin crawl a little.

This had to be Ivan, he realized.

Without meaning to, Alfred took a small step back, and he hated himself for it when he saw the satisfied glint in the man’s pale eyes. He immediately stopped and stood his ground, trying not to lean backwards when the man moved close enough to Alfred that their chests nearly touched.

It was obviously an intimidation attempt, and while he was a bit intimidated, Alfred refused to show it.

“You must be new.” The man said to him, in a heavy and foreign accent. “And dumb.”

Something about the way the man was looking down at him, and the way he was still smiling so unnaturally, rubbed Alfred the wrong way. His hackles rose, and without meaning to, Alfred’s lips curled into a scowl as he glared back at the man.

“Smart enough to take you on, you lobcock.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Lukas scolded from where he was being restrained, but he was rewarded for speaking by a punch to his gut. He immediately doubled over and groaned, but remained standing due to the arms holding him up.

The damage had already been done, though; the man’s smile faltered a bit, a glint of something angry appearing his eyes, and Alfred instinctively let his hand creep towards the dagger attached to his belt.

Unfortunately, before he reached it, a fist suddenly connected with his cheek.

While Alfred wasn’t unfamiliar with a good old fistfight, nor with an old-fashioned swing to the face, this one hurt disproportionally much. He managed not to trip but he stumbled sideways anyway, clutching his throbbing cheek while furiously trying to blink away the stars that appeared before his eyes.

He heard Eli unsheathe his sword, but before he could reach him and Ivan, the woman holding Lukas shot forward to intercept Eli. Their swords clashed together, but Alfred couldn’t spare them any more attention, because Ivan was advancing on him again.

Despite still feeling a bit dizzy from the first punch, Alfred forced himself upright and managed to dodge the second one. He slammed his elbow and shoulder into the Russian’s side, pleased when it made Ivan stumbled back with a grunt.

However, he wasn’t given much reprieve, because immediately after Ivan grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him forward. Alfred winced when his opponents own elbow connected with his stomach. Refusing to back down, he used their proximity to instead knee his opponent in his nether regions.

It didn’t do as much as he had hoped, unfortunately, but it still made Ivan wince and take a step back, allowing Alfred to pull his arm back in order to deliver a blow. It didn’t quite hit him in his eye, but it still hit his jaw.

Ivan snarled and spat on the ground next to them, before delivering another blow to the underside of Alfred’s chin – and again, it was sudden and harsh enough that Alfred’s vision clouded over with black spots.

They continued to grunt and struggle, and push and pull at each other, but Alfred realized with horror that Ivan was quickly gaining the upper hand. In a last attempt to turn the tables, he managed to finally snatch his dagger from his belt.

He aimed for Ivan’s side, but Ivan saw it coming and dodged. The blade still made contact, but by the lack of response, Alfred realized he’d either only grazed Ivan, or had only cut through his clothing.

Then Ivan grabbed his wrist and twisted it roughly. Alfred only just managed to turn with it, and while he was fairly sure his wrist didn’t break, he still felt an unbearable pain shoot up through his arm.

Without further ado, Ivan grabbed hold of Alfred by his shirt and pushed him back, slamming him against the wall of a hut. He felt his head bang against the wood harshly and he moaned in pain as more black spots appeared before his eyes, and he had to swallow down the sudden urge to vomit.

“Stay put, you unlicked cub.” Ivan snarled at him, before abruptly letting him go.

Alfred immediately sagged against the wall and slid down it, his legs unable to support him due to his dizziness.

“I was teaching this dog a lesson.” Ivan said, turning back towards where Mathias was still being held down by the short-haired woman. “And then it will be your turn.”

Alfred furiously blinked in order to regain his sight properly, and he remained where he was for a few seconds to make sure whatever was in his stomach would stay there. Helplessly, he watched Eli try and fight of the woman he was engaged with, but when Ivan approached, Eli got distracted.

The woman suddenly grabbed a handful of Eli’s shirt, probably to pull him closer or to trip him. Eli snarled and, in an attempt to twist out of her grip, made a sharp turn. A loud rip sounded when Eli’s shirt tore open, and with the added freedom, Eli managed to jam his elbow into woman’s face.

Before Eli could do much more, however, Ivan grabbed hold of the scarf around Eli’s head. Obviously using his size to his advantage, Ivan practically tossed Eli back, and Eli stumbled and tripped down to the ground as well.

“Ha!” The woman exclaimed, her lips twisting in a grin. Blood was pouring from her nose, but she didn’t seem to care. “Who knew Beilschmidt had a snake among his crew?”

Eli immediately sat up, and Alfred instantly realized what the woman had meant – he was probably hallucinating due to the beating he just received, but he swore he saw a pair of breasts underneath Eli’s ripped shirt.

“Go to hell.” Eli sneered, hurrying to cover himself up.

“Make sure they don’t move, Natalya.” Ivan then said, jerking his head to both Eli and Alfred. Then he turned back around to Mathias, and Lukas immediately cursed at him, but he was unable to move what with his own captor’s gun firmly against his side.

“Now where was I?” Ivan mused, before snapping his fingers. “Ah, yes. You were about to beg for my forgiveness. How rude of you to blame me for your captain’s death. I have as much control over the Kraken as you do… though I would have loved to have seen it.”

Mathias, through wheezing breaths, snarled something in Danish, and the woman pushed down harder against his throat. His breath was obviously cut short if his panicked expression was anything to go by.

“We must allow him to speak, Sofia.” Ivan tutted, and the woman giggled, pulling her foot back a bit again. “I’m afraid I don’t speak your barbaric language, but I’m assuming that wasn’t an apology.”

Fuck you.” Mathias replied through gritted teeth.

“Yes, well.” Ivan said, unimpressed. “I do wonder how you even made it here. Which ship do you sail on now? Beilschmidt’s?” Ivan turned to regard Eli for a moment, before his eyes landed on Alfred again. “Or someone else’s? Perhaps… Kirkland’s.”

Alfred curled his lips in a scowl and glared, refusing to show the panic that was slowly gripping him by the throat. However, something must’ve shown on his face the moment Ivan mentioned Arthur, because suddenly, Ivan smiled unnaturally pleasant once more.

“I already thought I saw the Emerald Dragon.” He said, almost cheerfully so. “Sofia, I have my answers. Finish him off.”

Both Alfred, Lukas and Eli shouted in horror, but before anything else could happen, a shot rang out, surprising all of them.

Sofia winced and removed herself from Mathias, taking a few steps back while clutching her arm. Mathias coughed roughly as he immediately rolled over and inhaled whatever oxygen he could, the sound coming out pained and wet.

Ivan frowned at both Sofia and Mathias, before turning around to acknowledge whomever had been responsible for the shot. When Alfred spotted a red coat out of the corner of his eye, he almost wanted to sob with relief.

Arthur stepped into the fray, followed by Gilbert, Ludwig and a teary-eyed Emil. Ludwig immediately walked over to Eli to help him – her? Alfred didn’t know – up, and Emil looked as if he wanted to run over to Lukas, but he stayed behind Arthur.

Arthur then aimed his pistol at the man still holding Lukas and waved it once. Almost immediately, said man let go of Lukas, and Lukas rushed over to where Mathias was still on the ground to help him to his feet.

“Braginski.” Arthur greeted, calmly, slowly lowering his pistol once Lukas managed to drag Mathias over to where Alfred was.

“Kirkland.” Ivan greeted with another disturbingly gentle smile.

“Ivan, my man!” Gilbert interrupted. He threw an amicable arm around Arthur, but his nonchalance was betrayed by the hand resting on his own flintlock. “What’cha doing here with the degenerates? Motherland finally kicked your sorry ass out?”

“Nonsense, comrade. I am on a vacation.” Ivan replied calmly. “I must say, it is a pleasant coincidence to find all of you here."

“Oh, I’m sure you were very surprised.” Gilbert said somewhat sarcastically, and Ivan simply tilted his head, ignoring him and looking at Arthur again instead.

“It has been a while, Arthur Kirkland. These are yours, are they not? It is too bad you could not save your other friends from drowning.”

Mathias snarled something, but he remained where he was. For some reason, Alfred had expected Arthur to lash out, too, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“I’d recommend walking away, Braginski. Even you are smart enough to see that you missed your chance.”

“Shut your mouth, filthy pira - ” Natalya’s sneer was interrupted when Gilbert quickly removed his flintlock from his belt and raised it right at her face.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy blowing this bitch’s brains out.” He said, with as much enthusiasm as if he were talking about a particularly good snack. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna be a good little soldier and listen to dear old Arthur here, or you wanna go for round two?”

An extremely tense, uncomfortable silence followed. Alfred was pretty sure that if he were to light a match, the air around them would erupt into flames. He anxiously stared back between Ivan and Arthur, wondering which one of them would strike first.

However, instead of taking Gilbert’s bait, Ivan simply raised his hands.

“Today is not a good day for spilling blood.” He said pleasantly. “I am sure we will meet again soon, Arthur Kirkland.”

“Now I just feel left out.” Gilbert whined mockingly.

“I will enjoy seeing you hang, Beilschmidt.” Ivan countered without skipping a beat, and Gilbert laughed.

“Not as much as I’ll enjoy slitting your throat.”

Ivan merely tilted his head, before he turned and beckoned his companions to follow him. The man with glasses seemed relieved to get out of here, and Sofia giggled as she waved a bloody hand at them. Natalya was the last to follow, settling them all with a particularly insane kind of grin, before turning and following after her superior as well.

It wasn’t until they were out of sight, that the tension lessened somewhat.

“You fucking idiot!” Lukas suddenly exclaimed, punching Mathias harshly on his shoulder. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Mathias glared and shook Lukas off of him, scrambling back to his feet. “You know exactly what I was thinking, and if you hadn’t interfered, I would’ve – ”

“You would’ve what? Imagine you did manage to kill him, and then what? What would you have done against his psycho sisters, huh?”

For fanden, Lukas – ”

Lukas interrupted him by snarling something in Danish, something that immediately shut Mathias up. Then he abruptly turned around and shouldered past Arthur and Gilbert to grab hold of Emil, before marching back towards, presumably, the beach.

Mathias cursed and quickly followed after them, not sparing the rest of them another glance. Arthur glared after them, but he didn’t say anything and instead walked over to Alfred, who was still on the ground and leaning against the hut behind him.

Alfred tried to stand up but winced and clutched his head, and Arthur crouched down to inspect his face.

“Easy.” Arthur said as he reached out to softly brush his hand along Alfred’s jaw. He gently pushed his chin to the side a bit to examine the side of his face, before releasing him and holding up two fingers. “Follow my fingers.”

He moved them to the left and to the right, and Alfred obediently followed them with his eyes. Apparently Arthur was satisfied with the result, because he nodded and lowered his hand again.

“Did you break anything?”

“I don’t think so.” 

Arthur stood back up and held out a hand for him to take, and Alfred gladly took it as he climbed back to his feet. The movement made him a little dizzy again, but he managed to stay on his feet.

“I told you that was his ship.” Gilbert said to Arthur then, expression serious again. “He sure has balls to show up here.”

“His vendetta is with us.” Arthur replied. “As long as he doesn’t bother them, the other pirates won’t mind his presence.”

“They should, he’s fucking insane.” Eli grumbled, arms still wrapped around his - or her - waist. Gilbert only just seemed to notice and he sighed, shrugging off his blue coat and handing it over to his navigator.

“Cover yourself up already.” He grumbled amicably, and Eli snatched the coat from his hands with a half-hearted glare, before quickly putting it on.

“We’ll have to let Francis and Antonio know.” Arthur then said with a bit of grimace. “You warn them, and I’ll get Yao to do some reconnaissance.”

“Fine. Antonio left for Tortuga yesterday, so he should be fine for now.” Gilbert agreed, picking up Eli’s abandoned cutlass and handing it back.

Arthur turned back to Alfred after they exchanged their goodbyes with Gilbert and his crew, appraising him calculatingly.

“It was stupid of you to confront him without me there.” He then said, and while Alfred definitely knew it was meant to be a scolding, he couldn’t help but hear the well-concealed relief in Arthur’s voice.

“I couldn’t exactly wait around.” Alfred countered with a mollifying smile. “And you showed up eventually.”

This time.” Arthur emphasized, with a bit of a frown. “Now that we know he’s on the island, I don’t want you to wander around alone. Stick close to others.”

It was exactly what Alfred had been doing so far, so he simply nodded, not seeing anything amiss with that plan. Arthur studied him for a second more, before his expression softened a bit.

“Come along, then.” He said, beckoning Alfred to follow. “You should let the doctor take a look at you.”

 


 

The rest of the week passed in somewhat of a blur, if Alfred had to be honest.

He’d gone to the doctor like Arthur had advised, honestly admitting to his nausea and his dizziness. The doctor had told him he’d banged his head up pretty good, but that he’d be fine if he’d rest for a little while.

As promised, he felt much better after only a few days. His wrist still stung a little if he turned it too suddenly, or if he put too much pressure on it, but it no longer throbbed. Save for the purplish bruises on his face, wrist and sides, he felt as good as new.

Fortunately, they hadn’t seen Ivan or his crew since their encounter, but Alfred knew that they were still on or nearby the island; after all, their ship was still where he had last seen it. He tried not to think about what would happen the moment they left the Bahama’s. Hopefully, Ivan would have to return home long before they were planning on leaving.

A sudden presence appearing next to him, startled Alfred out of his thoughts, but he calmed down once he noticed it was only Eli.

“We need to talk.” Eli said, and Alfred immediately froze – oh, shit. He had completely forgotten about what he’d learned about Eli, and he imagined Eli would want him to keep his mouth shut on the matter.

“Don’t worry.” He immediately exclaimed. “I won’t tell anyone.” He quickly tried to end it at that, focusing instead on hauling the barrel in front of him into the sloop, so that it could be transported back to the ship.

Eli sighed and followed, manoeuvring in front of him to help him carry the barrel. “I know you won’t, Al. I just figured you had questions.”

With Eli’s help, he was done a lot faster than expected, and Alfred smiled at him – her – gratefully once they were done.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to ask questions.” He admitted sheepishly. “I’m fine with it, y’know. I don’t care.”

Eli rolled her eyes. “That’s kind of you, but stop acting like a coward.”

Wow, okay. Alfred couldn’t help but huff a bout of surprised, and somewhat anxious laughter. “All right, damn. Sorry. Uh, so are you… you’re a woman, then?”

“Astute observation.” Eli teased. She sat down on the edge of the sloop, and Alfred followed her example. “It’s not really a secret, but you know sailors and their superstitions…”

He did; many sailors believed that women on a ship were a bad omen. He wasn’t exactly sure why they thought so, and frankly said, he thought it was rather ridiculous. After all, weren’t there many women among the ships transporting people from countries like England to the colonies?

“Life as a girl wasn’t easy for a bastard,” Eli continued then. “My mother dressed me up as a boy, and the habit sort of stuck, even after she died and I went to live with my father. When I met Roderich and joined Die Ehrsucht, the habit turned into a necessity, I guess.”

Alfred nodded, deciding not to pry for more information. It was obvious that this was all that Eli was willing to share. “So who else knows?”

“Gilbert and Roderich, obviously, as well as Ludwig, Kiku and Feliciano. Arthur, too. Then there’s Francis, Antonio, Lovino, Laurence. I’m pretty sure Francis’ quartermaster knows too, but if he does, he figured it out himself.”

Hearing this, Alfred felt a little left out, actually. Apparently almost everyone in his own inner circle knew – apart from Ralph, Mathias and Lukas, perhaps.

He grimaced a bit when he thought about Mathias and Lukas; they were still fighting, though they were now at that stage where they simply didn’t talk to one another. Mathias was uncharacteristically moody because of it, and Alfred had made an attempt to talk with him about it, because that’s what any good friend would do.

However, Mathias had quickly made it clear that he wasn’t interested in talking, and so Alfred showed his support by simply not mentioning it again.

“What’s Eli short for?” He asked, focusing back on the matter at hand.

“Elizaveta.” Eli answered with a bit of smile. “But I’d prefer it if you still called me Eli. Gotta keep up appearances, after all.”

“Right.” Alfred agreed with a bit of a chuckle. “Don’t think I will go easy on you from now on, though. You still owe me a rematch since our last spar.”

Eli laughed, and was about to jest him in return, when suddenly she saw something behind Alfred and stopped to frown. Alfred quickly turned around as well to see what had caught her attention, and noticed Arthur storming onto the beach, followed by Francis, Gilbert and several others.

“What now?” Eli muttered under her breath, and Alfred couldn’t help but agree.

Wordlessly, they both got to their feet and wandered over to the argument their captains were having.

“Absolutely not,” They heard Arthur grumble. “I don’t even bloody like the bastard. Why should I be bothered?”

“Arthur,” Francis countered, sounding atypically annoyed. “Your ship is the only one fast enough to get there in time.”

“What’s going on?” Eli inquired, and Alfred instinctively moved to stand next to Arthur, in a strange way of showing his support, even though Alfred had no idea what Arthur might need his support for.

“The Scarlet Fiesta has been apprehended.” Gilbert explained, and suddenly Feliciano’s panicked expression made a lot more sense. “They’re scheduled to hang in Port Royal at the end of next week.”

“Apprehended?” Alfred asked, a bit confused. The Scarlet Fiesta was large, and well equipped. Not to mention that they were supposed to be sailing in the Bahama’s; it would be near impossible to apprehend them. “How?”

“I don’t know how, but it must’ve been that Russian bastard’s fault. He keeps getting intel on our locations and routes.” Gilbert sneered, and Francis sighed.

“If we don’t get there soon, Antonio and his crew will dance with Jack Ketch.”

“So go and get them out.” Arthur said flatly as he crossed his arms. “Don’t bother me with it.”

Francis eyed Alfred for a moment, but before he could say something else, Gilbert interrupted. “If we work together, we can easily pull it off. Imagine the look on Antonio’s face when it’s you who saves him! You’ll be able to hold that over his head for a long while.”

Arthur scoffed. “I’ll be more likely to hang alongside him. Heading into Port Royal during an execution is a suicide mission. Not to mention that Braginski is watching us.”

Francis sighed, and said something in French. Arthur tensed, and his annoyance shifted into anger for a brief moment, before he groaned and rolled his eyes. He walked a few steps from them, before abruptly turning back around and waving a hand at them.

“All right, fine. But you lot better be there to create a diversion after we get them out, or so help me, I will sink you both myself.”

Alfred watched Gilbert and Eli exchanged a uncharacteristically worried look, and watched Francis and Arthur exchange a wordless, meaningful look.

Idly, he wondered how the hell they were going to rescue Antonio and his crew from an island that was known for executing pirates.  

Notes:

Nassau – In 1703, Nassau was briefly occupied by Spanish and Frenches forces, but ultimately, Nassau suffered greatly during the War of Spanish Succession. There was no legitimate governor in the colony, from 1703 to 1718. Some evidence suggests that Thomas Walker acted in the role of deputy governor upon Benjamin Hornigold’s arrival in 1713, but it’s unsure if he also acted out this role before that. By the time Hornigold arrived in Nassau, the sparsely settled Bahama’s had already become a pirate haven.

A ship chandler – is a dealer that offers supplies such as rope, lard, tools and galley supplies

Introducing Ivan and his crew – Ivan is obviously Russia, Natalya is Belarus, Sofia is Ukraine and the man with glasses is Estonia.

A lobcock – either a large, flaccid penis, or a dull, sluggish person. Obviously Alfred meant the latter when insulting Ivan, lol.

Eli being Elizaveta – I’ve mostly based Eli on Anne Bonney. Anne was born a bastard; her father was a wealthy lawyer and her mother the servant he had an affair with. To cover up this affair, her father dressed Anne as a boy and intended to bring her up as a lawyer’s clerk. When his wife discovered the truth, Anne and her parents moved overseas to the Province of Carolina. Anne later married a poor sailor that her father didn’t approve of, and he disowned her. Somewhere between 1714 and 1718, Anne and her husband moved to Nassau, and Anne became the pirate legend we all know and love.
It’s not mentioned, but for your entertainment: Eli never married a poor sailor, but she did meet and fell in love with Roderich. Instead of being kicked out of the house by her father, Eli left voluntarily to join Die Ehrsucht.

To dance with Jack Ketch – to hang

Port Royal – Initially, Port Royal was a safe haven for pirates. Around 1660, the city had gained a reputation as ‘the Sodom of the New World’, with most of its resident being pirates, cutthroats and prostitutes. However, in 1687, Jamaica passed anti-piracy laws. Instead of a pirate haven, Port Royal became a place where pirates were executed – famous pirates Charles Vane and Calico Jack, for example, met their demise in Port Royal in 1720.

Chapter 12: Port Royal, December 1711

Notes:

First, this was SUCH a hard chapter to write, holy shit. I honestly hope I did an okay job. I’m probably much better at writing fluff and smut than I am at writing… whatever this is, lol.

Second, a shout-out to AC: Black Flag for letting me scope out Port Royal in the 1700s. Keep in mind that I still took some creative liberties concerning Fort Charles, though.

Warnings: Minor character death. They’re breaking into a military fortress, there’s just no way everyone could make it out alive :(

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was impossible to miss the raised, wooden platform in the middle of the square.

Five nooses hung from a beam, and a robed executioner stood nearby the lever, quietly waiting wile an officer next to him recited a list of crimes and offenses the suspects behind him had been found guilty of.

“Piracy, smuggling, sailing under false colors…”

Alfred couldn’t help but think the prisoners currently on trial looked a little too terrified, or a little too resigned.

How many of them had been forced to commit a crime they didn’t want to commit? How many had been forced to steal, forced to kill in self-defense? And how many of them had been branded as traitors, after abandoning a war they no longer wished to fight?

“Looting, pilfering and depredation.”

One of them looked like he wasn’t even fifteen years old. What could he have possibly done?

“And for these crimes, you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Without further ado, the executioner pulled the lever, causing the trap doors on which the prisoners were standing to open. Said prisoners sank through the wooden platform, until the rope around their necks halted their fall with a surprisingly loud and sharp snap.

Two of them died immediately, presumably due to their necks or spines breaking, but the other three struggled for a few seconds more before eventually, they too stopped moving.

As if having witnessed something spectacular, the crowd around them roared and cheered.

Alfred wanted to throw up.

“Fuckin’ puffed-up pigeons.” Ralph sneered underneath his breath, as he glared at the rowdy crowd around them. “Gathering around the gallows like a bunch’a dogs in heat.”

“There’s nothing we can do for these people.” Eli reminded them, though despite her words, she sounded as horrified as Alfred felt. “We have our own to worry about.”

“At least slipping past the guards should be easy with a crowd as big as this one.” Mathias said from somewhere behind him.

“Let’s be careful anyway.” Eli scolded halfheartedly. “We don’t want to end up like these poor bastards.”

Alfred remained silent, focused instead on how the bodies were released from their nooses and tossed into a cart. The trap doors closed again, and a five new prisoners shuffled up the platform to replace their predecessors.

Without wanting to, he imagined himself in their place.

Strangely enough, he’d never given it any thought before. Of course he knew that, as a pirate, he danced with death every day. He could drown in a storm, or he could be attacked by a sea monster. He could die during a naval battle or during a fight with a soldier, marine or other pirate.

But for some reason, these scenarios bothered him less.

After all, dying due to a storm or other natural phenomena would be out of his hands. And he supposed that there was some dignity, and some sense of control, in dying during a fight.

He never stopped to consider that during one of these fights, he could be captured, instead of killed. He could be executed publicly, in front of a crowd that would gather specifically to see him hang. A crowd that would cheer once they saw his neck snap.

The idea made him unreasonably angry.

Before he could witness the hanging of the next five prisoners, Alfred averted his eyes to scan the battlements surrounding the square instead. He could see at least ten soldiers patrolling along the walls, and he knew there were more on the square with them.

Out of all the towns Alfred had visited so far, Port Royal had to have been the worst one.

Perhaps he would’ve enjoyed wandering around the small town in another life, but right now, all he could focus on were the many soldiers patrolling the area, as well as the frequent executions taking place inside the town’s military fortress.

He didn’t think he’d ever admit it, but he couldn’t wait to return to Nassau.

Mathias softly elbowed him in the side, jerking his head towards a set of gates on their right when Alfred looked at him. “James just gave us the signal, let’s go.”

 


 

The plan they had come up with wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best one they could think of, considering what little time they had to spare.

After arriving, Arthur had maneuvered the Dragon into the shallow waters between Port Royal and Kingston. From there, a few dozen pirates had disembarked in skiffs, so that they could discreetly enter Port Royal on foot.

Yao then took the Dragon back around to a more strategic position nearby Fort Charles, where he’d wait for Die Ehrsucht and La Liberté to arrive. After receiving Arthur’s signal, they would fire their cannons at the fortress, causing a distraction during which both Carriedo’s crew and the Scarlet Fiesta would have to be rescued.

Chaos would inevitably ensue, and in that chaos they would have to make their escape.

Fortunately, Mathias had been right. It was relatively easy to sneak past the guards outside of the prison, even more so because all of them could pass as random sailors or workers. No one even batted an eye at their presence.

Of course, the same couldn’t be said for Arthur and Francis, whose faces were plastered on several walls around town. The odds of someone recognizing them were too high, and so they had made themselves scarce after their arrival.

Without needing to be asked, Arthur had told Alfred that they’d meet up again once the attack was launched, and Alfred  clung to that promise in order not to worry too much about his captain’s absence.

Silently and quickly, Eli and Ralph took care of the two soldiers standing guard inside of the prison cellblocks. From there on, they stumbled upon Carriedo’s crew in seemingly no time.

“Fucking finally.” Someone grumbled, and Feliciano immediately rushed over to the cell Lovino was in. “What took you bastards so long, eh?”

The Italian was leaning against the bars of his cell, his face unnaturally pale and his right eye and jaw bruised and swollen. His perpetual frown was replaced by a relieved, small smile when Feliciano all but crashed against the cell, reaching for Lovino through the bars in an attempt to hug him.

“Ow, attento, idiota.”

Scusi!” Feliciano immediately retreated, but Lovino kept a firm hand on his elbow, ensuring that his brother didn’t stray too far.

“Good to see you.” Alfred said, covering his relief with a wry smile as he approached him. “Enjoying your stay so far?”

“Fuck you.” Lovino said, albeit with less bite than usual. Upon closer inspection, Alfred noticed that the Italian was favoring his side, and that he was leaning most of his weight on the bars. “Did you find Toni yet?”

Alfred frowned, looking down to the long line of cells on his right. Three cells over, an equally injured Abel was talking to James, while Eli and some of the other pirates they’d arrived with searched for keys.

“He’s not here?”

“No.” Lovino said quietly, his face briefly twisting with worry. “They took him somewhere else about an hour ago.”

Alfred didn’t want to imagine what for. He couldn’t have been executed yet – they would’ve heard. After all, the impending hanging of Antonio Carriedo and his crew had been the talk of the town, even during the other executions that had been taking place.

“On it.” Mathias said, having overheard his conversation with Lovino. He waved several others over before disappearing into one of the other hallways.

“Eli.” James called all of a sudden. “Laura’s been taken in for examination. Take three others and go find her.”

“Who’s Laura?” Alfred asked, furrowing his brows as he racked his brains. He didn’t know any Laura, but he did know a –

“Laurence.” Lovino said with a scoff, and Alfred probably looked as flabbergasted as he felt, because the Italian’s mouth curled up in a mocking smirk. “He’s as much of a man as Eli is.”

“Why did they take her in for examination?” Feliciano asked curiously, and Alfred felt a bit betrayed that Feliciano didn’t look as surprised as Alfred felt – had everyone known this, except for him? And how many more men were actually women, here?

“She pleaded her belly.” Lovino explained, while shifting on his feet a bit. The movement jostled his side and he grimaced, leaning forward on the bars again. “Though I don’t think she’s actually pregnant. Or if she is, she never told Abel, the sorry bastard.”

“Shut up.” Abel called from his cell, and Lovino snorted, raising his middle finger at his crew-mate.

A soft cheer and the jingling of metal indicated that one of them had found a set of keys, and it was quickly passed around the open all the cells. Even the cells containing prisoners not belonging to their crew were opened, since the prisoners inside of them could only prove to be helpful in the chaos that was bound to ensue.

As if on cue, something exploded above them. It didn’t sound like cannon fire, and Alfred realized why when Arthur and Francis suddenly rushed into the prison, looking as if they had been running. Alfred had to bite down on his cheek in order to not grin with relief.

“That’s the signal, let’s roll!” Francis exclaimed, urging everyone to get moving.

Feliciano immediately crowded close to Lovino, wrapping a gentle arm around his waist in order to support him.

“I’m not fucking leaving.” Lovino said firmly, trying to tug himself out of Feliciano’s hold. “I have to find Antonio first.”

Feliciano looked as if he was about to protest, but a series of thunderous explosions interrupted them. Cannon fire tore into the walls of the fortress, and even the walls of the prison rattled, dust seeping out from  between the stones.

“Back to the docks!” James shouted, while supporting Abel with an arm around his waist. “Before this fortress collapses on top of us!”

A hand touched his elbow, and Alfred nearly startled, before realizing Arthur had walked over to presumably urge him along. “What are you lot standing around for?” He asked, impatient and annoyed, and Alfred nodded towards Lovino.

However, before he could explain, Mathias reappeared. “He’s not back there either. Did you see where they took him?”

“Antonio’s not here?” Francis asked worriedly, turning around to scan his eyes over the now emptying cells.

“Fucking hell.” Arthur snapped, the furrow of his brows betraying his anxiety. “His big mouth probably landed him a whipping. Did anyone see any stairs?”

Another round of cannon fire tore into the fortress, startling them all and prompting some of the other pirates to hurry towards the exit again.

“Down there, to the right.” Ralph answered immediately, pointing down the hallway he came out from earlier.

Arthur nodded, although he didn’t look too pleased. “We’ll go and get the bastard. The rest of you, get out of here.”

“I’m coming with.” Alfred protested, at the same time that Lovino said something alike, but with more colorful words, prompting Feliciano to volunteer as well. 

“We’ll stand guard.” Mathias suggested, jerking his head towards Ralph and a few others. “But you have to be fast.”

“Don’t bloody remind me.”

 


 

It took longer to find Antonio than Alfred had anticipated.

They found the set of stairs soon enough, but once they had descended it, they stumbled upon another maze of hallways littered with soldiers standing guard. The guards did however look rather terrified due to all the ruckus, and Arthur and Francis took advantage of this by pouncing on them without any hesitation.

After making sure that Feliciano would be able to somewhat defend himself and Lovino, Alfred unsheathed his cutlass and joined the fray, forcing his thoughts to grind to a halt as he took care of a few soldiers.

Another explosion rattled the walls and ceiling, and in the distance, Alfred could hear the distinctive noise of a wall crumbling. It caused Arthur to curse underneath his breath, muttering that this was taking too long.

Once no more guards were in sight, they set to kicking open doors left and right, their pistols raised and ready to fire, in order to take care of any soldier inside the rooms they checked.

It took another round of cannon fire before they found the room they were looking for. Upon opening the door, Lovino immediately pushed himself off of Feliciano, snarling something in either Italian or Spanish as he rushed inside and all but slammed himself into the soldier standing over Antonio.

The man shouted in surprise as he went down, and surprisingly enough, it was Feliciano that shot the man in the chest after Lovino had rolled off of him with a hiss.

Alfred quickly entered the room as well, and winced when he caught sight of Antonio. The captain had been tied over a barrel, his back bare. Multiple lashes decorated the span of his back, the cuts tearing his skin and fraying it at the edges, while thin trickles of blood slowly poured from them.

Upon hearing the commotion, the Spaniard had raised his head, and on his face were several dark and swollen bruises. Catching sight of Lovino, Antonio attempted to smile, but it quickly twisted into a grimace.

Mon Dieu,” Francis murmured as he entered the room as well. He walked over towards the dying officer on the ground, and nudged what looked like a whip out of the man’s hand. “A cat of nine tails? What did you do, insult his mother?”

“You know me.” Antonio replied hoarsely, his voice sounding as if he had overburdened it. “I don’t know when to shut up.”

“Don’t fucking make jokes, you bastard.” Lovino snapped, although he sounded too subdued for it to have an actual effect.

He stepped forward in order to untie his captain, but his hands shook something awful, preventing him from properly loosening the ropes. Arthur briskly walked over and slapped the Italian’s hands away, making short work of the knots with nimble fingers.

Once done, he grabbed Antonio by his arm and roughly pulled him up, causing him to wince and exhale harshly.

“I’m surprised you’re here, cachorro.” Antonio hissed in between pained breaths. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” Arthur countered matter-of-factly, and Antonio murmured something that sounded like a curse, even though it was said with a bit of fondness. “Can you walk?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, I won’t carry you.”

Antonio’s chuckle cut off into another pained hiss, and when Arthur stepped aside, Lovino immediately took his place. He obviously wanted to wrap Antonio in an embrace, but he thought better of it when Antonio winced, instead only hovering nearby him awkwardly.

When Antonio leaned down to nuzzle his face into Lovino’s hair, Alfred politely looked away, focusing instead on Arthur, who looked at him with a thoughtful frown on his face. Knowing that he was probably appraising him for any injuries, Alfred quickly sent him a reassuring smile.

“We should go.” Feliciano quipped, the smile on his face a little out-of-place for the situation they were in. He quickly turned around and walked out of the door, gun still in his hand.

“Wait,” Francis quickly called, raising back up to his feet from where he’d been crouched next to the dead officer. “Don’t just – ”

A shot rang out, and when Feliciano fell to the ground, it seemed as if time itself slowed down.

Behind him, Lovino cried out in anguish, the sound so unfamiliar and foreign that for a second Alfred didn’t realize it had been the Italian that had produced it to begin with.

Feliciano landed on the floor with a dull, yet thunderously loud thump, just outside of the door.

Arthur snarled and all but shoved past Alfred to exit the room as well, jumping over the Italian’s body and firing his flintlock the moment he stepped through the doorway. Instinct forced Alfred to follow after him, and he was just in time to barrel into the soldier that had wanted to do the same to Arthur.

He shoved the man against the wall harshly, his head colliding with the stone wall with a thump. The man groaned and stumbled, obviously disorientated, and Arthur took advantage of his state to plunge his dagger into his neck.

While this happened, Alfred spot a soldier appearing behind Arthur out of the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he grabbed Arthur’s pistol out of his hand. Using one arm to keep Arthur where he was, he aimed the weapon and fired, shooting the man right in his chest.

“Let’s go!” Arthur shouted, even though another round of cannon fire hitting the fortress drowned out his words.

He ducked out from underneath Alfred’s arm and reached down to grab Feliciano’s discarded pistol. Alfred made the mistake of following the movement with his eyes, and promptly felt bile rise in his throat when he saw the body of his friend.

Feliciano had been hit in his chest, right where Alfred would guess one’s heart would be. It seemed as if he had died instantly – his eyes were still open, his mouth still slack; as if he hadn’t even been given the time to look surprised or shocked.

He was shoved aside when Lovino pushed past him. The Italian fell to his knees and scrambled over to his brother, grabbing onto him and shaking him roughly, as if that would somehow wake him, all the while crying out his name.

“We have to go now!” Arthur called again, and Alfred inhaled harshly, forcing the bile back down his throat and the tears back behind his eyes.

Francis looked down at Feliciano with sorrow, but he resolutely walked past him to join Arthur at the end of the hallway. Antonio limped out of the room next, halting at Lovino’s side and putting a hand on his lover’s shoulder. Lovino snarled and shrugged it off, clinging onto Feliciano a little tighter.

“Lovino,” Antonio murmured, voice impossibly gentle even though his voice came out hoarse. “Él esta muerto.

¡Cállate! ¡No podemos solo dejarlo aquí!” Lovino sobbed, and even though he didn’t understand, Alfred had a feeling that he knew what he’d said, anyway.

The walls rattled again, and at the end of the hallway, Alfred heard Arthur and Francis firing their pistols. Antonio grimaced as he bent over and tried to grab Lovino by his arms, in an attempt to lift him. He had to give up when Lovino refused to budge however, and even though he was probably intruding, Alfred quickly moved over to help.

Fortunately, all Antonio did was glare at him. When Alfred managed to extract Lovino from Feliciano’s dead body, he quickly handed him back to Antonio, who managed to keep him from returning to his dead brother’s side with a firm arm around his shoulders.

“No!” Lovino sobbed, still halfheartedly trying to wring out of Antonio’s grasp, but obviously allowing him to tug him along as well. “I can’t leave him! Feliciano! I can’t – We have to – we can’t just – ” His voice broke, and instead of more words, another sob left him.

Despite feeling his own heart shatter into several tiny pieces, Alfred pushed his emotions aside, covering Antonio and Lovino when they stumbled up the stairs.

Once back where they started, they reunited with Mathias, Ralph, and surprisingly enough Eli – who, Alfred immediately noticed, was not with Laura. The sad frown Eli already wore only worsened when she noticed Lovino’s tears and Feliciano’s absence, and she stumbled sideways to seek support from Mathias.

“He – he can’t be – not him too - ”

“He is, and we will be too if we don’t get the hell out of here.” Arthur snapped harshly, impatiently, and Alfred almost wanted to snap at him to show some sympathy.

However, he knew Arthur probably wasn’t acting like this due to insensitivity – he was acting like this because he knew of the life-threatening danger they were all in.

“Arthur’s right.” Antonio said, and Lovino cursed at him, but it went unheard. “We have to get to the Fiesta.”

“No.” Francis disagreed while they made for the exit. “The docks will be swarming with marines by now, and the Fiesta has probably already set sail. But I saw a sloop docked in front of the fort.”

“We’ll take it and meet the others at sea.” Arthur said, apparently reading the Frenchman’s thoughts.

He held up a hand when they left the prison, gesturing for everyone to hold still and wait, but one look outside showed that the square was disturbingly lacking in life. Amidst debris, Alfred could see several dead bodies, belonging to both marines and pirates.

He grimaced when he saw the bodies of what had undoubtedly been civilians. Even if they had been maliciously enjoying the death of other people, they had still been innocent bystanders in this attack.

“Quietly.” Francis murmured, before gesturing for the others to follow him. He slipped out and slowly walked towards the gates, sticking close to what was left of the walls.

Out of habit, Alfred stayed behind, waiting for Arthur to move before he did so as well. Arthur was still silently scanning the area, green eyes flitting from the battlements to the gates and back. Only when he seemed satisfied that there was no one there, did he reach out to grab Alfred’s wrist and tug him along.

“Stick close to me.” He said, letting go once Alfred followed after him.

In the distance, Alfred could still hear the evident signs of a battle – cannons were still firing, but no longer at their part of the fortress. People were shouting, and screaming, and idly he wondered how many more civilians would be caught in the crossfire.

It almost appeared as if the fight had been moved to the docks entirely, but the moment they walked through the gates, they were met with a large group of soldiers.

“Captain Kirkland, captain Bonnefoy!” An officer shouted, and they all reached for their weapons at the same time. However, the soldiers already had their own rifles and pistols aimed at them, forcing them to remain still.  “We should’ve known you two would show up.”  

“Perhaps next time you should organize a welcoming party instead of a farewell one, non?” Francis said with a charming smile. He shuffled on his feet a bit, inconspicuously moving so that he stood in front of Antonio.

“There won’t be a next time, pirate. You lost.”

“It’s your town that’s in shambles.” Arthur countered, copying Francis’ movements. “If you let us leave peacefully, we’ll be merciful and not completely level this place to the ground.”

“Nice try, but reinforcements are already en route from Kingston.” The officer replied, with a bit of a smirk.

“Should still take about an hour, though.” Arthur mused, while waving his hand in the general direction of the town the officer was referring to. “Which gives us plenty of time.”

“To do what, exactly?”

Multiple gunshots sounded from behind the soldiers, hitting some of them in their backs. The soldiers that took a hit either fell to the ground or slumped forward, and most others whirled around to see what had attacked them.

Somewhere during the shock and panic brought on by recent events, Alfred had completely forgotten about all the pirates they had just rescued. While a good chunk of them had hurried towards the docks to escape with the Fiesta, others had remained to cover their backs, and Alfred had never been more glad to see Ludwig’s stoic face and James’ jovial grin.

However, despite the soldiers being outnumbered by a handful, they were still evenly matched in terms of skill and firepower.

They were halfway to the small beach and the sloop they were going to commandeer, when Arthur suddenly grabbed him by his hand and roughly yanked him back. He yelped and almost tripped over his own feet when he felt a bullet whizz past him.

Arthur quickly tugged him back over to a cart, dragging him down so that they could use the structure for cover while they reloaded their guns.

A few more bullets embedded themselves into the cart and Alfred winced, grimacing some more when he heard several people groan and shout. From his position, he could see that Mathias and Ralph were holing up behind a stack of crates a bit further ahead, and Eli and Ludwig were making short work of some other opponents while covering Antonio and Lovino.

“Fuck.” He cursed, without meaning to. He whirled back to Arthur, who was staring at nothing in particular with a thoughtful frown, as if he were focused on his hearing instead. “Please tell me this is going to work out.”

Arthur settled him with an unimpressed look, but when he finished reloading, he made a show of twirling the pistol in his hand. Alfred raised an unimpressed eyebrow of himself, and Arthur smirked.

“Just who do you think you’re talking to? Of course this is going to work out.”

“Okay, good.” Alfred said, knowing he sounded panicked despite his attempt at nonchalance.

“We’ll make it, Alfred.” Arthur added, a bit softer and more genuine, and Alfred nodded while taking a few deep breaths in and out.

“Yeah, I know. I trust you.” He said, not giving his words a second thought, but wishing he had the time to do so anyway when something odd washed over Arthur’s features.

The firing of guns and the clashing of cutlasses reminded him that he didn’t have time to analyze Arthur’s expression now, so he simply catalogued it inside his mind, hoping he’d have the time to pick it apart later, when they were back on the ship.

They rejoined the battle, and once the sloop was in sight, things went wrong again.

In the midst of the fight, Alfred noticed Mathias struggling with more soldiers than he could possibly handle on his own. Refusing to lose another friend, Alfred automatically changed course to help Mathias out.

Between the two of them, they managed to quickly take care of their opponents. Alfred quickly whirled around to relocate Arthur, intending to rush back over to him, when he saw an officer shoving his sword into Ralph’s chest instead.

The pirate immediately dropped his weapon to reach up and grab the sword with his hands, but the officer twisted it and dug it in even further, causing Ralph to stumble. When the officer pushed him off his sword, Ralph plummeted to the ground, blood pooling around him rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath.

Alfred was aware that, in his horror, he shouted something, because the officer abruptly turned to face him. Without thinking, he pounced on the man, knocking his sword out of his hand with his own and jamming his pistol into the man’s eye socket, before pulling the trigger.

At this proximity, the officer’s head all but exploded, and Alfred didn’t even heave when he felt a warm liquid splatter against his face and hand.

On the ground next to him, Ralph had already stopped breathing.

“Alfred!” Mathias shouted, once he noticed that Alfred had stopped to stare down at his now dead friend. The Dane grabbed him by his arm and yanked him forward. “Let’s go, he’s dead, move!”

The rest of their trek towards the small beach passed him by in a blur, and before he knew it, the sloop they were going to steal was in sight. Several pirates had already boarded it and were busy loosening the sails, so that they could escape.

There were significantly less enemies by then, as most of the soldiers were either dead or making a hasty retreat. He refused to let his guard down however, and was glad for it when out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw Francis stumble after a gunshot had sounded.

The Frenchman collided into a stack of crates while clutching his side, and Alfred immediately rushed over to him. A few feet away stood two soldiers with their guns raised, and so Alfred quickly raised his own, carelessly firing it in their direction. He hit one of the soldiers in his chest, and the man crumbled to the ground.

However, before he could deal with the second soldier, his gun clicked.

Tossing the now useless weapon aside, Alfred grabbed onto Francis and roughly hoisted him up, hoping that perhaps he had a chance to outrun the soldier before he could reload and aim at them. All of the other pirates were already on or near the sloop, so they had to get out of here fast.

Ow, be careful, you brute.” Francis complained when he yanked him up, and Alfred resisted the urge to snap at him to shut up.

“Halt, you filthy pirates!”

Alfred froze, knowing that this probably meant that a gun was aimed at their backs, and he frantically looked around for an escape. A flurry of red appeared in his peripheral and he almost heaved a sigh with relief, bracing himself for the deafening sound of Arthur shooting his gun nearby his ear, but it never came.

Turning around, he saw that both Arthur and the soldier that had stopped them were frozen in their tracks.

The soldier, dressed in an ordinary English officer’s uniform, looked as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, and his lips parted, as if he had meant to say something, but couldn’t get his voice to work. Alfred frowned and looked back at Arthur –

And for some reason, Arthur looked absolutely horrified.

It was an expression unlike any Alfred had ever seen on him before, and it took him a second to realize it. Like the soldier he was aiming his pistol at, Arthur’s eyes were wide, his lips were parted in shock.

The hand that held his pistol trembled ever so lightly, as if hesitating.

One look to his side showed that at least Francis seemed as confused as Alfred felt. He readjusted his hold on Francis and looked back at the red-haired man again: he had never seen him before, nor could he remember Arthur ever talking about any red-haired officers.

Shouts in the distance reminded Alfred that whatever was happening, it couldn’t happen right now.

“Arthur.” Alfred said quietly, in order not to startle him. “Arthur, we have to go.”

“Arthur.” The man suddenly repeated, his face twisting with something Alfred couldn’t name, and slowly but surely, Arthur’s body came back alive.

Surprisingly enough, he lowered his pistol, instead of using it to shoot the man in front of them.

Even more surprisingly so, the officer did the same. They all watched in silence as the officer frowned and abruptly turned around to walk back, and even though Alfred practically burned with the want to ask Arthur what the hell just happened, he knew now wasn’t the time.

Arthur abruptly turned and headed for the sloop. Alfred spared the retreating officer one more questioning glance before following after his captain, and for once, Francis kept quiet, too.

 


 

“See if there’s any rum.”

Mathias jumped up to follow his captain’s orders, for once without any talkback. Miraculously enough, he returned roughly half a minute later with a bottle in his hands.

“Have you done this before?” Alfred asked, because he was not only curious, but also because he desperately needed a distraction from processing everything that just happened.

They were on the sloop and leaving Port Royal behind them. Eli was at the wheel, steering them onto open sea and towards the Emerald Dragon. Behind them, the Scarlet Fiesta and Die Ehrsucht were fending off what little resistance was left.

Arthur forced Francis, who had attempted to sit up, back down. Then he grabbed his shirt with two hands, and with a quick, but rough tug, he forced the fabric apart, revealing the bullet wound in his side.

A smidge to the left, and it would’ve simply been a graze, Alfred realized. Unfortunately, now it was lodged inside of him, though judging by Arthur’s poking and prodding, he assumed it wasn’t in any lethal location.

“Ow! You vile little Englishman.” Francis yelped when Arthur dug around with his fingers, presumably to look for the bullet, since there hadn’t been an exit wound. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Arthur answered flatly, though his attempt at – albeit malicious – humor fell flat due to the residue shock still visible in his eyes.

He uncorked the bottle of rum with his teeth and handed it to the Frenchman, who immediately took several large swigs from it. When he passed it back, Arthur unsheathed his dagger to pour some of its contents over it, before pouring it over his own fingers as well.

“Hold him down.”

Alfred quickly moved around to crouch nearby Francis’ head, in order to hold him down by his shoulders.

“And yes, I have done this before. I once took a bullet out of someone’s chest, right next to his lung.”

That was rather impressive –

“That fils de pute died!” Francis accused, and Arthur simply shrugged.

“Semantics.” He said, before pouring the rum on the wound. Francis yelped again and threw his head back, hitting the wooden board with a harsh thud.

Arthur rolled his eyes and then got back to work, digging the tip of the dagger into the wound. Alfred winced as he could only imagine what it felt like. Francis’ face twisted with pain, but he kept as still as he could, and for that Alfred begrudgingly admired him.

Arthur meticulously carved his way into the wound, before tossing the dagger aside. The relief offered to Francis was only momentary, because Arthur’s fingers returned to dig into his flesh.

“There we go.” Arthur murmured, pulling out the tiny, round bullet. He held it up for Alfred and Francis to see. “Such a little one.”

“Oh, fuck y-“ Francis’ curse was cut off by another yelp as Arthur pressed the fabric he had earlier ripped away against the wound, presumably to stop the bleeding.

“You may need to get this stitched up.” He said, grabbing Francis’ hand and replacing his own with it. “But you’ll live to see another day.”

With that, he pushed himself to his full height, and abruptly turned to join Eli at the wheel. Alfred sat back on his haunches, keeping his eyes on his captain, but letting his thoughts wander.

He felt hollow, inside. Rationally, he knew that Feliciano, Laurence – Laura – and Ralph were dead. But for some reason, it didn’t seem real that he’d never see them again. He would never again talk, or laugh, or drink with them again.

They weren’t the only people that they’d lost. He roughly estimated that the sloop should have been filled with at least twice as many men, and he didn’t even know yet how many men had made it onto the Scarlet Fiesta.

He wondered if Abel made it, and how Abel would react when he heard that Laura hadn’t. He wondered if Lovino could recover from losing his brother. He wondered if Ralph had any family left, somewhere, family that Alfred would have to contact. He’d never talked about such a thing with him, and Alfred immediately felt guilt and regret burn in his chest.

Forcing the new onslaught of emotions back down, Alfred pondered over the other shocking thing that had happened.

Arthur had to have known that man. Why else did he lower his gun, and why else did the officer do the same?

There’d been something strange about their mutual surprise and shock; as if they hadn’t simply been friends or acquaintances at once. Alfred doubted he had been a lover of some sort; if that had been the case, Francis would’ve definitely recognized him.

After all, Francis had known Arthur for years – since childhood, if he were to believe the stories.

However, that only left one plausible option.

But if it were the right one, Arthur would most likely never confirm it.

He had never once opened up about his family or the life he lived before he turned to piracy. Somehow, Alfred doubted he ever would, at least not unprompted.

He didn’t know why that made him so sad, or why it made the hollowness inside of him ache and itch.

Deciding to push this new barrage of more confusing emotions back as well, he focused on simply watching Arthur. Eli was leaning against Arthur’s side, an incredibly forlorn expression on her face, and Arthur simply stared out at sea.

“Oh, Alfred. Young, young Alfred.” Francis suddenly mused and Alfred tensed, looking sideways at the Frenchman that had managed to prop himself up into a sitting position.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, a bit impatiently, and Francis merely smiled. He tilted his head to follow Alfred’s previous line of sight, before looking back at him.

Non, but I admit I am curious as to what your intentions are.” The captain said, nonchalantly.

“My intentions.” Alfred repeated with some annoyance, assuming that the Frenchman was referring to Alfred’s entanglement with Arthur. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“On the contrary, Arthur is my oldest and dearest friend.” Francis said with an easy smile – one that lacked in humor, and looked more mocking than anything else. “There’s much about him you don’t know, mon ami.”

Despite knowing that the Frenchman was trying to rile him, Alfred still felt himself get defensive.

“Yet.” He added lowly, purposefully. “There’s much you don’t know about me, either.”

“Ah,” Francis said, almost cheerfully, as if he had hoped Alfred would say that. “but I know the way you are looking at him. You see, Arthur used to look at me like that, as well.”

Briefly, his chest tightened and his jaw set, and he felt angry, ugly jealousy wash over him. He didn’t doubt Francis’ words; everyone with eyes could see that Arthur and Francis had at one point been very close, and most likely still were.

And he knew of what Francis spoke of; Alfred knew how he looked at Arthur. As much as he tried not to acknowledge it, Alfred knew of the raw emotion that was visible in his own eyes whenever he locked them with Arthur’s.

He’d never loved anyone outside of his own family, but he was fairly certain that whatever he felt for Arthur came pretty damn close.

In the distance, he heard Arthur quietly trade words with Eli, and unintentionally he focused on the sound of his voice. Arthur sounded tired and wary, but above all, he sounded determined. He was good at that: good at hiding his feelings, both in his voice and on his face.

And yet, there had been moments where his walls had come down briefly, where vulnerability had shone in his eyes for a second before they’d glazed over with indifference once more.

Each time Alfred had seen it, Arthur had been looking at him, and not at Francis.

“Used to.” Alfred repeated matter-of-factly. “But not anymore.”

He had expected the Frenchman to make fun of him, or to maybe even get angry with him. So when Francis’ smirk tapered down into a small, almost wistful smile, he was a little surprised.

He said nothing else, and since Alfred didn’t know what else to say either, he grabbed the opportunity to stand up and join Mathias at the taffrail. The other pirate offered him a thin smile when he appeared, and he amicably knocked their shoulders together, before handing him the bottle of rum he had been sipping from.

“It’ll get easier.” Mathias said, unprompted, and Alfred quickly took a large swig from the bottle in order to hide the pained expression that must’ve shown on his face.

It’ll get easier.

Despite being sick and tired of hearing those words, Alfred still hoped they were true.

 

Notes:

So much happened in this chapter… and so much more is going to happen djfksjf. This chapter took me a while to write, so please let me know what you thought of it!
Laurence / Laura – I based Laura on Mary Read. Like Anne, Mary began dressing as a boy from a young age. As a teenager, she joined the British Military, where she met and fell in love with a Flemish soldier. After her husband died, Mary boarded a ship heading to the West Indies, and five years after that she met Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny. Here, Laura married Abel (the Netherlands), and instead of him dying, they both boarded the Scarlet Fiesta.
Pleading the belly – A plea that permitted a pregnant woman to receive a reprieve of her death sentence. After making the plea, the woman would be examined. If the fetus was developed enough for its movements to be detectable, the execution would be delayed until after the birth. Funnily enough, many women were able to successfully plead their belly without actually being pregnant... despite the examination (as is also described in Daniel Defoe’s Moll Flanders). Whether or not Laura was pregnant, we'll never know unfortunately.

(Little historical note: Upon their capture in 1720, both Anne Bonny and Mary Read used this plea. Due to fever and/or complications of her pregnancy, Mary died in prison.)

Cat O'Nine Tails - A special kind of whip that has 9 strands

Translations
Él esta muerto: He’s dead
¡Cállate! ¡No podemos dejarlo aquí!: Shut up! We can’t just leave him here!

Chapter 13: Nassau, January 1711

Notes:

I’m sorry for the late update! This chapter doesn't really have much pirate action, but it has other action that was necessary for the development of the plot lol

Warning: the smut you may have waited for (and god when I first wrote this story I did not plan for there to be this much sex I'm sorry...), followed with a lil angst, a minor character death and a cliffhanger ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Somehow, it did get easier.

The razor sharp grief of losing someone dear, dulled surprisingly quickly into something that only ever gnawed at him from time to time.

There was still grief, of course; it reared its ugly head whenever Alfred least expected it, which was usually at night. He’d dream of Feliciano’s lifeless eyes, of Ralph’s struggles to breathe through the blood filling his lungs, of bullets raining down on them.

And every time he did, he’d wake up, gasping and covered in a cold sweat. But apart from these few restless nights, Alfred didn’t think about it constantly, nor did he feel as sad or angry about it, as he previously thought he would.

At first, this made him feel like a fraud. He didn’t share the heavy sadness reflected in Kiku’s eyes, didn’t feel the anger burning in Eli’s eyes.  He’d tried imagining what it’d feel like to lose Matthew or Albert, so that he could better understand Lovino, but it was almost as if he couldn’t.

More often than not, he was consumed with guilt over not grieving enough, rather than actual grief. Eventually, he chose to remain on the ship more and more, somewhat avoiding his friends on land, because he did not want to be confronted with what he should, but couldn’t feel.

Staying on the ship was just easier.

During the day he’d busy himself in the masts, tightening ropes and fixing sails, or he’d busy himself down below deck, helping out the carpenters and gunners when necessary.

At night, Arthur would invite him into his quarters, though surprisingly, he did not always do so with the intent of having sex with him.

The first few times Alfred had felt a bit out of place, unsure of what to do with himself while Arthur simply read or worked, but by now, he’d adopted to the strange, new routine, and he’d leisurely explore Arthur’s book cases, or learn all he could from his many maps and star charts.

Some nights, they’d tumble into bed, their lips locked and their hands groping at each other.

Other nights, they’d simply climb into the bed and lie side by side, softly talking about all kinds of nonsense until sleep caught up with them.

Somehow, those nights felt dangerous; like something he wasn’t supposed to enjoy, something he wasn’t supposed to get used to.

He really, really liked it, and yet he was constantly waiting for the moment things would go awry; the moment Arthur would abruptly decide he’s had enough of whatever was going on between them.

The way Arthur sometimes looked at him, when he most likely thought Alfred wasn’t looking, both fueled and diminished that ominous feeling.

More and more, Arthur now looked at him with sincere curiosity, instead of his usual suspicious appraisal or blatant amusement. Sometimes, at night, when Alfred couldn’t sleep but kept his eyes closed in an attempt to trick his mind into sleeping anyway, he could feel Arthur looking at him, too.

He desperately wanted to ask him about it, but he lacked the courage to do so.

Just as he also did not yet have the courage to ask Arthur why he, ever since leaving Jamaican waters, looked tired so often.

It wasn’t the kind of tired that indicated a sleepless night or even several sleepless nights; it was the kind of tired that stemmed from stress and frustration. Alfred would bet his life that it had something to do with the red-haired officer they had encountered back in Port Royal.

The memory of the encounter, now almost a whole month ago, started to grow fuzzy, but Alfred remembered thinking the officer spoke with an English sounding accent and that he had green eyes. Of course, he could’ve simply been a friend… but there’d been something unnerving about both his and Arthur’s expressions.

The both of them had looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Not a frightening ghost, or a dangerous ghost; but a ghost of someone that had once meant a lot to them, someone they’d thought they’d never see again.

Alfred wondered if Matthew would look at him like that as well, should he ever return to England.

 


 

It was dark in the room when Alfred startled awake, distorted images of bodies, bullets and blood still swirling behind his eyes. For a moment, he was disoriented, and he sat up quickly, blinking furiously in order for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Within a handful of seconds he realized he was still on the ship, in Arthur’s quarters and his bed. It was dark, because it was obviously still night, and Alfred closed his eyes, slowing down his breathing by focusing on the gentle sway of the ship.

Once he felt more in control of himself, he opened his eyes again, and noticed that Arthur was not lying next to him. He should’ve been; he'd gone to bed with him the evening before, after all. However, Alfred was a much heavier sleeper than Arthur was, so him not having noticed Arthur leaving the bed was not surprising.

Looking over at the door separating Arthur’s sleeping quarters from his main quarters, he relaxed when he saw the soft flicker of candlelight seeping through the crack of the not entirely closed door.

After a thorough yawn and stretch, he climbed out of the bed. Arthur was sitting at his desk, his elbows propped up on its wooden surface and his hands supporting his head, as he was looking down at whatever was in front of him.

“Can’t sleep?” Arthur asked, without looking up, and Alfred hummed noncommittally.

The first time he had a nightmare, Arthur had woken him up with a pillow to the face, obviously annoyed at his tossing and turning. When asked what his problem was, Alfred had admitted to the guilt he was feeling, soothed by the cover of night and the drowsiness in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur hadn’t responded at first, but eventually mumbled something about how feeling indifferent was a natural defense mechanism of the brain, just as nightmares were a natural coping mechanism of that same brain. He then went on to explain that people around them dying was part of the pirate life, and that Alfred should try and put it behind him.

After all; how often had he continued on with business as usual, after a battle in which they lost men? Was it any less sad because Alfred hadn’t known these men as well as he had Ralph and Feliciano?

Back then, Alfred had wanted to get angry with Arthur for saying that. He’d wanted to accuse Arthur of projecting his own heartlessness onto him; however, by the tone of Arthur’s voice, he’d realized he hadn’t meant it unkindly.   

And Alfred realized that he was right; it was part of the job. It explained the lack of grief among the crew; he imagined that after it happening so often, any normal human being would become desensitized to the phenomenon of death.

He didn’t talk about his nightmares again after that, nor did Arthur ask after them anymore.

Quietly, he walked up to the desk, curious as to whatever Arthur was looking down at. Several maps were strewn across the wooden desk, most of them depicting the Bahama’s and Western Europe.

“Charting a new course?” He asked nonchalantly.

Instead of replying, Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. He glared at the maps for a second more before closing his eyes and raising a hand to massage his temple with. Alfred wondered if he was suffering from a headache.

“The world is not as big as it seems.” He murmured, quietly, as one was wont to do in the dead of night.

Alfred thought of the red-haired officer and of his own brothers. Before he could help himself, he asked; “Where are you from? Originally.”

Predictably, Arthur’s eyes slanted open halfway to narrow at him suspiciously, but then he leaned forward to pull the map depicting England closer. Slowly, he traced his fingertips over the drawn landmass, before settling on a place north of Norwich and close to the coastline.

“Somewhere around here.” Arthur murmured thoughtfully, as if he were trying to determine if he got it right. Then he sat back and waved his hand in the air dismissively. “It was a small, forgettable village.”

“Sounds familiar.” Putting a hand on the desk to support his weight, Alfred looked down at the same map. His own hometown was also small and forgettable, so he wasn’t surprised when he did not see its name on the map.

He did, however, know it was somewhere in the inlet between Plymouth and Portsmouth. Thoughtfully, he pressed his finger to where he guessed it would roughly be. Almost immediately, Arthur reached out to lightly push Alfred’s finger upwards a bit, obviously knowing what Alfred was looking for.

The unnamed piece of land beneath his finger looked even more dull than he could remember it actually being, but a melancholic feeling bubbled inside of him nonetheless.

He wondered how his family was doing. Did they think he was dead? Or had Alice told them the truth by now? Was Matthew already married to his fiancée? Was Albert staying out of trouble?

His brooding must’ve shown on his face, because Arthur slowly sat back in his chair again. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes.” He answered honestly, knowing that anything else would sound like the blatant lie it would be. “Most of the time I just miss my brothers.”

“What are they like?”

Alfred was a little taken aback by the question; it had sounded genuine, but veiled, as if Arthur had meant to sound indifferent.

“Annoying, demanding, loud.” He summarized casually. “I’m the oldest, so I was always blamed for their mischief.”

“In addition to the mischief you caused yourself, of course.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Alfred said with a smirk. He turned around, leaning against the desk rather than over it, so that he could look at Arthur properly. “But apart from being annoying little gremlins, they’re also… well, my brothers. I don’t know how to describe it.”

It was miniscule, and very brief, but Alfred caught the grimace appearing on Arthur’s face. His green eyes diverted back towards the maps.

“Do you? Miss your hometown, I mean.”

At that, Arthur scoffed dismissively. “What little memory I have of the dump is hardly fond.”

“Ever thought of going back? For nostalgic purposes?”

“I almost did once.” Arthur admitted, again surprising Alfred with his willingness to answer honestly. Perhaps it had something to do with the obvious exhaustion on Arthur’s face. “After I left Die Ehrsucht.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Yao found me before I could.” There was a bit of a tense edge to Arthur’s voice, so Alfred swiftly changed the subject.

“You never told me how Yao found you.” 

The corners of Arthur’s lips curved upwards in a small, nostalgic smile. “I did not, and with good reason. I was three sheets to the wind and about to start a fight with several men twice my size when he plucked me out of the crowd.”

“So, nothing new.” Arthur halfheartedly kicked at his shin, and Alfred grinned. “Then what?”

“He offered me the position of navigator, but I was much too drunk to remember it the morning after. So Yao approached me again, and then again the day after that, and eventually I accepted.”

“And thus begins the saga of Arthur Kirkland, Scourge of the Seven Seas.” Alfred narrated dramatically.

He laughed when Arthur kicked him again, a little harsher this time, though it didn’t hurt much, since he wasn’t wearing his boots.

“That’s captain Arthur Kirkland to you, you snot nosed brat.” Arthur said haughtily, his amusement betrayed by the wrinkled corners of his eyes.

“Oh, but of course. My sincerest apologies, captain.” Alfred acquiesced,  bowing his head down a little.

“You don’t sound very sincere.” Arthur countered. Then he leaned back against his chair, his elbow propped up on the armrest and his cheek resting against his knuckles.

He looked at him through tired, half-lidded eyes again, and Alfred was struck with the intense desire to lean down and kiss him. It wasn’t a desire fueled by lust - instead, it was fueled by something gentler.

He wanted to taste the sleepiness on Arthur’s lips, wanted to feel his muscles relax underneath his fingertips.

He was fairly sure the sentiment translated into his voice when he asked, in an almost whisper; “Come back to bed?”

Arthur did not immediately reply, but he had definitely heard his question, judging by the way he was looking up at him. Feeling emboldened by the lack of hostility or suspicion in Arthur’s eyes, as well as the cover of night, Alfred reached out to wrap a hand around Arthur’s wrist, before gently tugging him up.

Surprisingly, Arthur stood from the chair, and for a moment, they were chest to chest.

When Alfred started tugging him back towards the bedroom, Arthur obediently followed him, and something warm and nervous swirled inside of him, causing his pulse to quicken in a way it had not done before.

By the time they were, once again, lying down on the bed side by side, Alfred gave in to his desires and leaned forward to slant their mouths together. Almost immediately, Arthur reciprocated the gesture, his lips softly working against his own.

Their kiss was languid; lazy, even, but also more intimate than any other kiss they might have shared before. Alfred thought he’d probably be quite content to forever live in that moment.

Then Arthur shuffled closer to him, fisting one hand into his shirt and delving the other into his hair, to keep him locked in place. Alfred wrapped an arm around him to pull them flush together, and then pushed a leg between the smaller blonde’s own legs, on which Arthur immediately started grinding down.

It probably wouldn’t be much longer until Arthur would climb on top of him, and while it would normally lead to fantastic things, it wasn’t what Alfred wanted for once.

“Let me take care of you.” He mumbled against Arthur’s lips, and when Arthur tensed, he momentarily felt dread wash over him, thinking the words spooked or angered Arthur.

But when Arthur pulled back, he only went far enough to look at Alfred. His lips were a little swollen, and parted, and the warm, soft gust of his breath tickled Alfred’s chin. Despite it being dark in the room, Alfred had a clear view of Arthur’s face, and of his eyes.

In them, he did not find as much wariness as he thought he would; but he did find that same curiosity he’d been seeing more and more often, lately.

Spurred on by it, Alfred pulled back and sat up, slowly pushing Arthur down on his back. Before Arthur could sit up or protest, he moved down to sit near Arthur’s knees. Smiling with as much charm as he could muster, he ran a hand over Arthur’s thigh; the muscles underneath his palm tensed and relaxed, and Alfred repeated the motion to feel it again.

Arthur’s eyes were narrowed, and his body language made it perfectly clear that he was ready to kick Alfred in the face when he deemed it fit, but Alfred ignored that and slowly pushed Arthur’s knees apart to settle himself between them.

Understanding dawned on Arthur’s features when Alfred hooked his fingers into the waistband of Arthur’s breeches and leaned down to press his lips against the bare sliver of skin now visible between Arthur’s shirt and breeches.

“You’ve never done that before.” Arthur said, as if he were reminding Alfred of this fact instead of himself, but he raised his hips nonetheless.

Alfred shrugged and quickly rid Arthur of the garment before he could change his mind. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Without further ado, he wrapped a hand around Arthur’s half-hard cock, trailing his fingers up and down to slowly coax it to its full hardness.

He could tell Arthur was still suspicious of him – or perhaps not of him, but of the position they were in – by the way he was still propped up on his elbows and looking at him. It was why he decided to keep his own clothes on, annoying as it might be.

What he did do, was smirk at Arthur, before sliding his hand down and squeezing the base of his cock. Arthur inhaled harshly, and he relaxed a bit more back into the mattress.

“You’re awfully confident.” Arthur remarked, and Alfred almost wanted to laugh; he wasn’t, but he knew that feigning confidence would eventually trick his mind into being it.

“Not confident.” He corrected cheekily. “Just eager.”

The suspicion in Arthur’s eyes waned a little, but he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “Your hand is too dry.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but shuffled back a little more before leaning down to tentatively press a kiss to the underside of his lover’s cock. A thoughtful yet appreciative sound left Arthur’s mouth.

Encouraged, and also trying hard to not let his inexperience get the better of him, Alfred started kissing his way down to the base, before languidly licking his way back up again to then press the flat of his tongue down on the tip.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that the salty taste on his tongue was actually Arthur’s precum, but he was far from put off by it. On the contrary; he wrapped his lips around the tip of Arthur’s length, sucking experimentally in order to chase more of the taste.

Another breathless sound fell from Arthur’s lips and Alfred shifted on his knees, almost preening with pride that he was doing something right. He felt his own arousal starting to stir rapidly, but ignored it, focusing instead on his captain’s pleasure.

When Arthur’s hand suddenly returned to his hair to grab hold of his hair again, Alfred couldn’t help but groan himself, the vibrations prompting another lustful sound from his captain.

AhAlfred,” Arthur moaned, sounding out of breath, and Alfred pulled back only a little so that he could look up at him.

The fingers in his hair tightened their hold when their eyes met, and then they slid down towards Alfred’s mouth. Arthur’s eyes were dark as he wiped the drool that was gathering at the corner of Alfred’s mouth away with his thumb, and Alfred, unable to help himself, lowered one of his hands so that he could tease his fingers across Arthur’s entrance.

He half expected to be pushed away, because so far, he hadn’t been allowed to finger Arthur himself. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, because usually, Arthur did it himself in order to tease (torture) him.

Arthur did move away, forcing Alfred to release him, but he didn’t leave the bed. Instead, he leaned over towards the small table next to the bed, his hand all but colliding with the contents on top of it. The oil lamp went tumbling to the ground, and the glass shattered upon impact, the crash sounding disproportionately loud in the otherwise quiet room.

But it hadn’t been lit, so neither of them paid it any attention. Arthur’s hand finally wrapped around the vial he’d been looking for and he thrust it down into Alfred’s waiting hand.

Alfred kind of wanted to tease him for making a mess and being eager, but he knew it wouldn’t be received well, so instead he simply kissed the side of Arthur’s knee.

Arthur made a dismissive, impatient noise, and spread his legs further apart in an attempt to goad Alfred into continuing. Alfred’s breath was momentarily caught at the view: the sight of Arthur’s red cheeks, hooded eyes and spread legs sent all of his blood right down to his own cock.

To have Arthur spread out so shamelessly right in front of him – underneath him… Alfred growled, before delving back in to kiss and bite at the inside of Arthur’s thigh.

Arthur actually huffed a laugh under his breath, the bastard. He roughly grabbed one of Arthur’s legs and yanked it up over his shoulder, and Arthur made a thoughtful noise, but he allowed it.

With his prizes right in front of his face, Alfred got back to the matter at hand. He quickly uncorked the vial in his hand, tipping it upside down and allowing thick drops of its oily contents to drizzle onto his fingers.

He slid it across Arthur’s entrance, testing out the resistance. By the jerk of Arthur’s hips he could tell that he wanted his mouth back on him as well, but Alfred couldn’t help but watch as his finger slowly disappeared inside the other. 

The sight was intoxicating, and the only thing that could outdo it at that moment, was the idea of burying himself in Arthur completely. He curled his finger and leaned back in to wrap his lips back around his cock, relishing in the sighs and gasps that fell from Arthur’s lips.

By the time he was three fingers in, he realized that multitasking wasn’t his strongest suit, especially when he was also trying hard to ignore the near unbearable strain of his own arousal.

As such, his movements were becoming a bit sloppy and uncoordinated, but before Alfred could reconsider his approach, Arthur’s fingers tangled into his hair again. The tug was a welcome sensation and he moaned again, only just managing not to choke when Arthur’s hips jerked up in response.

This time, the grip Arthur had on his hair prevented him from pulling back however, and Alfred’s own cock twitched with excitement at the thought of being restrained like this.

Arthur started to push his head down, slow and tentative, as if testing out whether or not Alfred would be okay with it. He resisted the urge to cough and recoil when Arthur went a bit further than he could handle, but then Arthur pulled him back again, obviously having noticed.

Leaving Arthur in control of what was happening on top, meant that Alfred could redouble his efforts down below, and he squeezed Arthur’s ass with one hand while fingering him open with the other.

“Alfred,” Arthur gasped, and Alfred’s own hips jerked forward slightly in response. “Alfred, ah, Al-,”

The leg over his shoulder curled tighter around him, pulling Alfred even closer. He felt the walls around his fingers flutter and groaned, realizing that it was the same feeling he usually felt around his own cock.

He knew what it meant, and he quickly scissored his fingers, angling them to where he hoped –

Arthur’s hips jerked, his cock accidentally hitting the back of his throat. Alfred’s eyes instantly watered and he instinctively swallowed in an attempt to not start coughing.

“Ah- Shit!” Arthur tugged at his hair more insistently, as if wanting to pull him back. Alfred refused to completely pull away, but he did move up a little, so that only the tip of Arthur’s cock was still in his mouth.

With another twist of his fingers, Arthur tensed and came with a breathless moan of Alfred’s name.

A thick, salty kind of substance assaulted his tongue, and while he didn’t exactly like it, he didn’t exactly dislike it either. Curious to see what would happen, he continued his ministrations, delighted when Arthur’s hips stuttered uncontrollably and more broken gasps left his mouth.

The leg on his shoulder slid off of him, and an unexpectedly sharp tug on his hair meant that he had to pull back for real. Alfred reluctantly did so, releasing Arthur’s spent cock while simultaneously pulling his fingers out of him.

Arthur was breathing harshly through his mouth, his cheeks flushed and his lower lip red, as if he had been biting down on it himself.

Fuck, Alfred was so aroused it made him dizzy, and he wasn’t aware of the whine building up in his throat until it had already escaped him.

Then, all of a sudden, Arthur’s hand latched onto the front of his shirt again.

In a surprising display of strength, the pirate all but yanked Alfred up, and he almost yelped, quickly placing his hands on either side of Arthur’s head to prevent himself from crushing the man now underneath him.

“Wha – ”

Whatever he had attempted to ask was muffled when Arthur crashed their mouths together in a rough, demanding kiss. A sharp bite on his lower lip caused them to automatically part, and Arthur’s tongue dove into his mouth, seemingly chasing his own taste on Alfred’s own tongue.

A little dazed, Alfred didn’t realize Arthur was fumbling with the front of his breeches until the pirate suddenly fished his cock out of them with nimble fingers.

The severity of the situation he was now in hit him like a tidal wave, and Arthur’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer until his cock slid against the cleft of his behind. 

Arthur broke the kiss, staring up at him with dark eyes, and Alfred wanted to ask if he was sure; if this was okay, but he couldn’t find it in him to form an actual sentence.

“Fuck me.” Arthur ordered, his voice hoarse, and as if moving on its own volition, Alfred’s hand lowered down to grab his and guide his cock to Arthur’s entrance.  “Please – ”

Something inside of Alfred snapped when he realized that Arthur just said please, had just begged him to do something, and he growled, before thrusting forward and burying himself to the hilt in one go.

Arthur – Arthur keened, and Alfred felt all willpower leave him immediately; pulling back out and slamming back into the blonde underneath him, setting a ruthless pace he hadn’t even known he was capable of.

Later, he would thank the heavens that Arthur had been prepared thoroughly enough; despite not having been given time to adjust, Arthur’s legs around him tightened, and his moans raised in volume as his hands twisted and turned into the fabric of Alfred’s shirt.

Alfred lowered himself a little, resting on his elbow instead of on his hand, and using the other hand to tilt Arthur’s head back from where it had trashed sideways, so that he could capture his lips in another bruising kiss.

Then he changed his angle, and slammed back in deeper than he had done before. Arthur gasped, breaking the kiss again to tilt his head back. Alfred groaned at the sight; Arthur’s eyes were clenched shut tightly, his brow furrowed as if he were struggling with something, and his lips were parted as he sucked in short, irregular breaths.

“Arthur, Arth- oh fuck, Arthur,”

All too soon, he felt searing hot pleasure coil deep in his gut, and he hissed, lowering his head. Arthur’s cheek was hot against his own, and the soft gasps and pants that tumbled from his lips  went straight into his ear.

With a final jerk of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt once more and came, burying his face into Arthur’s neck to muffle the near animalistic noise that left him. Arthur, however, made a somewhat similar noise as he clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth until Alfred had to pull away due to becoming sensitive.

He didn’t move away completely, however, keeping his face buried in Arthur’s neck as he struggled to regain his breathing and to sort out his thoughts. Arthur’s hands were still tangled in his shirt anyway.

After perhaps a dozen of seconds, Arthur’s legs suddenly slipped from his waist, and he felt the body underneath him tense.

Confused, Alfred pushed himself back up a little, wondering if he had perhaps hurt Arthur.

However, instead of a pained expression, Arthur’s eyes were wide and his jaw was slack – it was almost the exact same expression he had worn in Port Royal, all those weeks ago; he looked utterly panicked, for lack of a better description.

Alfred immediately pulled away, moving back so that he was no longer hovering over Arthur, but the damage had already been done. Arthur all but tumbled out of the bed in his haste to get away, though he did have the mind to snatch his breeches from the floor.

“Arthur – ” Alfred immediately said, starting to panic as well.

“No,” Arthur interrupted, harshly, angrily, and out of habit Alfred immediately shut up. “No, I shouldn’t – this isn’t – I need to… go. Stay here.”

Without another word, Arthur left, the doors to his quarters slamming shut behind him.

 


 

For three days, he didn’t actually see Arthur, but he was smart enough to know that it was on purpose. Arthur was avoiding him, and while Alfred didn’t know exactly why, he knew it had something to do with that last night they shared together.

Naturally, he sort of blamed himself. Arthur had told him to not ever get on top of him, after he had done so the first time. Sure, he hadn’t really known why; obviously Arthur had enjoyed himself that first time.

He’d always figured it had something to do with authority. The lines between captain and subordinate became a little blurry when they started their physical entanglement, and perhaps staying on top of Alfred in the bedroom, had been a tactic to reassert his dominance, his position of power.

Thinking back of the pure, unadulterated shock and astonishment on Arthur’s face, Alfred no longer thought this was the case. It most likely had more to do with vulnerability; something Arthur was obviously not good in.

Maybe, whatever Arthur felt for him, was much more similar to Alfred’s own feelings than he had previously thought it was.

However, instead of this making him happy or hopeful, it only soured his mood; because if it were true, then that night made it abundantly clear that Arthur did not want to feel it – that he did not want to open up to Alfred and allow himself to be vulnerable.

There were only a few possible outcomes now, and Alfred didn’t like any of them.

The first one being that Arthur would break off whatever agreement they had previously had.

The second one being that Arthur would kick him off the ship; or that Alfred would have to leave the ship out of his own accord.

The third one being that, when Arthur returned, they’d simply pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. That they’d continue their entanglement the way Arthur preferred it, and that they’d never speak of it again.

The first and second outcomes would be much less cruel than the third one, and the more Alfred thought about it, the more irritated he was starting to get.

Especially when, after three days, he saw Arthur again; leaving the beach with Francis and disappearing into town before Alfred could follow.

 


 

Another day passed before Arthur appeared in his peripheral again.

Alfred was almost tempted to act like a petulant child and turn away from him, but when he noticed Arthur was arguing with Lukas of all people, he momentarily forgot about his grievances.

Lukas was one of the few people Arthur actually seemed to get along with; sure, they were not best friends and probably not even just friends, but they’d never seemed hostile to one another.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he abandoned the fishing net he’d been fixing and got to his feet, dusting the sand off of his lap before wandering closer. He caught sight of Mathias, who’d been heaving barrels into a dinghy, and who was now also looking at the scenario unfolding nearby him.

“This is your last warning, Bondevik.” He heard Arthur sneer once he got close. “Mind your business.”

“I made a promise to Tino, you asshole.” Lukas said, sounding frustrated himself. “And so did you. You owe it to him.”

 “I owe the dead nothing.” Arthur spat venomously, abruptly turning around to leave. He froze when he immediately caught Alfred’s eye, but glared at him nonetheless – keep out of it, it read loud and clear.

“Then you owe it to the living!” Lukas exclaimed, exasperatedly, following after Arthur and grabbing him by his elbow.

The attempt to pull him back backfired when Arthur immediately turned around, one hand grabbing Lukas by the collar and his other hand pulling out his pistol so that he could push its muzzle under Lukas’ chin.

Almost immediately, Mathias shot forward, all but barreling into Arthur. The flintlock landed in the sand, and Arthur staggered back due to the unexpected collision. Regaining his footing quickly, Arthur twisted out from underneath the Dane’s arm and jammed his elbow into his lower back.

Mathias cursed and pulled his arm back to deliver a punch of his own, and before Alfred was really aware of what he was doing, he was on top of him, grabbing Mathias by his other arm and all but yanking him back.

As a result, he caught the blow that was meant for Arthur in his own side. He grunted and ignored the sting, using the element of surprise to instead hook a leg around Mathias’ own and trip him. Mathias roughly tumbled down to the ground, and Alfred took a step back towards Arthur, in case Mathias felt like trying again.

It wasn’t until Mathias stared up at him, glaring with anger and betrayal, that Alfred lowered the defensive position of his arms, realizing what he’d done and how it must’ve looked.

“Get out of my sight.” Arthur said, addressing both Mathias and Lukas.

“Arthur – ” Lukas tried, his expression for once open enough to betray his confusion and anger.

“No!” Arthur interrupted. “I’ve had it with your meddling – you’re no longer welcome on my ship. Stay out of my way, or I’ll return you to the Kraken myself.”

He waited for a second, regarding the three of them, his eyes promising all kinds of punishment if they dared to speak up. Once it became clear that no one was going to talk back, Arthur turned around and stomped away without another word.

“Why must you always interfere?” He heard Lukas sigh behind him, and he quickly turned around to look at his friends.

Instinctively, he held out his hand towards Mathias, intending to help him up. However, Mathias slapped his hand away harsh enough that it stung, and Alfred almost recoiled at the rejection.

“Fuck you, Jones.” Mathias snapped, before scrambling to his feet and glaring at Lukas. “And why must you always bring up the kid?”

Kid? What kid were they talking about? What did a kid have to do with Arthur?

“I promised Tino I would –”

“Look where helping Kirkland got Tino! Swallowed by an octopus and shat out at the bottom of the fucking ocean!”

“He wouldn’t have shot me.” Lukas pointed out, sounding surer of himself than Alfred would have. “And now you got us both kicked out.”

“Let me talk to him.” Alfred quickly intervened, not wanting his friends to continue fighting. They only just reconciled after what happened with the Russian privateer, after all. “He’ll come around - ”

“Oh yes, Kirkland’s fucking lapdog is going to fix it.” Mathias jeered, mockingly, and Alfred wondered where that had come from. “You don’t even know what’s going on, do you?”

Alfred hated to admit it, but he didn’t. It seemed Lukas and Mathias knew something about Arthur that he did not, and it made something hot and embarrassed burn in his throat. “Then tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not our –” Lukas started, predictably, before he was interrupted by Mathias.

“Years ago, Tino and Berwald saved the little brother Arthur all but abandoned from the streets.” Mathias spat angrily. “And now that they're dead, which they are because they had a fucking habit of helping out Kirklands, the brat’s been asking after his dear big brother.”

“Mathias!” Lukas hissed, and Mathias threw his hands up in the air.

“See? Now it’s not our problem anymore! Fuck it, I need a drink.” He said, before turning around and stalking off in the direction of the town.

“What?” Alfred asked, his brains working overtime to process what Mathias just told him.

He’d only just come to terms with the fact that the red-haired officer in Port Royal was most likely Arthur’s family; and now Arthur had a little brother, too?

“What did he mean?”

Lukas, who’d been glaring after Mathias, abruptly looked back up to Alfred. He seemed to contemplate something, judging by his hesitant expression, but then he sighed. Wordlessly, he reached a hand up into his shirt to extract an envelope.

“This is for Arthur.” He said, shoving the envelope into Alfred’s hands. “He won’t take it, but it’s out of my hands now. Mind yourself, Jones. We’ll not be far.”

With that, he left to follow Mathias, and Alfred looked down at the envelope in his hands.

It had a bit of wear and tear, as if Lukas had been carrying it around for a while. It’d been opened, but obviously resealed, and Alfred immediately recognized that the quality of the envelope was better than what most sailors could afford.

It had been addressed to Tino, to be delivered in Fortaleza, where they’d been a few months prior. He realized that the Midsommarafton must have intended to go there as well, at one point after crossing the Atlantic.

The return address was unfamiliar, but that was to be expected, because apparently the letter had been sent from Norway. The realization that he was holding a letter written by Arthur’s younger brother hit him like a brick.

He wasn’t sure how long he simply stood there, turning the envelope over in his hands. He had a pretty good idea of what would happen if he were to simply give it to Arthur, especially since they apparently weren’t on speaking terms yet.

Suddenly, the envelope in his hand felt more like a trap, and he was almost tempted to toss it into the ocean. Instead, he quickly pocketed it, deciding he’d figure out what to do with it some other day.

“Jones!”

Feeling as if he were caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Alfred startled and whirled around to face James. The first mate frowned a bit at Alfred’s reaction, but didn’t ask for a clarification, for which Alfred was eternally grateful.

“Captain has business on the other end of town. I need one more, you free?”

He doubted Arthur would want Alfred to accompany him, but he nodded nonetheless and followed James to where Arthur was waiting with two of their crew's gunners.

 


 

It felt as if he were carrying a lit torch in his pocket, rather than an envelope, and despite his best efforts, he knew he looked the part, too.

Inevitably, Arthur called him out on it, but wonder over wonder, Arthur also completely misinterpreted it.

“I suppose you have something to say on your friends’ behalf.” He suddenly snapped, out of the blue, and it took Alfred a second to realize he was being addressed.

Ignoring the confused glances James and the others were giving him, Alfred cleared his throat in an attempt to stall and regain his wit. “Not really. Though I gotta admit I’ll miss having Mathias around, guy's wicked with a battle axe.”

“As if we’d actually be rid of him.” Arthur said with a bit of a derisive snort. “He’s like a cockroach.”

Despite the anger in Arthur’s voice, his words sounded promising, and Alfred momentarily forgot about both the envelope and their own issue. “Want me to tell them to get back to work later then?”

Arthur didn’t say anything in return, and Alfred considered that to be a stamp of approval, and even though things were far from okay, he couldn’t help but smile now that at least one of his concerns was removed.

However, when Arthur briefly tilted his head towards him to catch his eye, he immediately let his smile drop. Arthur’s expression was unreadable, but by now, Alfred knew what that meant.

He wished he could reach out to him, both figuratively and literally, but doing so with James and the gunners nearby would most likely only widen the gap that was between them right now. So, instead of speaking up, he chanced a small little smile.

When one corner of Arthur’s mouth slanted upwards ever so lightly, he felt his heart leap up in his throat. Arthur’s eyes softened somewhat, before he abruptly looked forward again, cutting of Alfred’s view of his face.

Alfred wanted to roll his eyes at the evasive gesture, but then faltered when Arthur stopped walking. The captain held up a hand to signal everyone else to stop walking too, and automatically, James drew his cutlass.

Between Port Royal and the other night, Alfred had forgotten all about the very large, and very real threat that still walked around on Nassau – the reason behind James gathering men to accompany Arthur in the first place.

All of a sudden, Alfred realized that the area they were in was all but abandoned, as if people had abruptly dropped what they were doing to hide from a storm.

And they probably had meant to hide – not from a storm, but from the tall man standing some ways ahead of them.

Dobryy den', kapitan.”

“Braginski.” Arthur replied, calmly, though his true feelings were betrayed by the hand lowering to his flintlock.

“Oh, do not bother.” Ivan said cheerily, stepping forward and waving a hand in the air. “You are surrounded.”

To his side, Alfred saw five men appear, and to his other side, four others – among which the two women he’d encountered earlier; Natalya and Sofia, if he remembered correctly.

It was obvious that there were far too little of them, and far too many of them. Alfred wondered why he hadn’t noticed them earlier; wondered why Arthur had not noticed them earlier.

“Stand down.” He heard Arthur suddenly say, and Alfred whipped his head back over to him in surprise. Neither Alfred, nor James or the two other gunners actually put down their weapons, but they didn’t move, remaining frozen into place.

“Good pirate.” Ivan said cheerfully as he approached the pirate he was addressing. Arthur didn’t move a muscle as the Russian officer circled him. “It seems you too are smart enough to know when you... what was it you said? Missed your chance.”

He walked up to Arthur, his tall height nearly dwarfing the pirate in an obvious attempt to intimidate. Yet Arthur only raised his chin, and he held his head up even higher.

“I’ll enjoy breaking you.” Ivan said with a chuckle.

“Brother,” Sofia said sweetly, momentarily distracting Ivan from his target. “What do you want us to do about the others?”

“Hm.” Ivan said, stepping away from Arthur to look at said others. “I have no use for them. Dispose of them – oh! Except for that one.”

Alfred felt his blood run cold when Ivan nodded at him.

“I still have a bone to pick with him.”

It was Natalya who approached him then, a mean smirk on her face as she grabbed her pistol from her belt and turned it so that she was holding it upside down.

Alfred glared at her, and briefly toyed with the idea of putting up a fight or running away, before realizing that either outcome would be disastrous; he’d either be killed or he’d be separated from Arthur.

The last thing he saw, before the butt of her pistol connected with his temple and knocked him out, was Sofia shooting James and the other two men.

Notes:

Oh man… sorry for the cliff hanger lol. Also rip James :(

There’s only one note this time:

The chapter being titled January 1711 and not January 1712: In 1711, the first day of the New Year in England (and Ireland, Wales & the British American colonies) was Lady Day; March 25th. England didn’t adopt January 1st as the official New Year’s Day until 1752, in accordance with a 1750 act of Parliament.
Fun fact; other Western European countries adopted January 1st as their official New Year’s day long before 1711 (i.e. France did it in 1564).

Anyway, this is also why I didn’t mention the ‘new year’ in this chapter.

Chapter 14: Somewhere in the Bahama's, January 1711

Notes:

After rewriting this no less than four times... I am somewhat okay with this chapter lol. Also! I upped the chapter count by one :)

Warning: some violence, minor character death

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

A particularly rough jolt startled Alfred awake, and he immediately wished it hadn’t.

His head pounded, sharp and heavy, and he felt a throbbing headache develop behind his temples. It was bad enough that when he opened his eyes, his sight was blurry and unfocused, and a wave of nausea swept over him.

He quickly closed his eyes again, fighting off said nausea by breathing in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. As the pain and nausea settled, he tried to figure out why he felt like shit.

The harsh, slightly damp wooden surface he was lying down on, explained why his neck and back ached a little. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he’d gone overboard with drinking the night before; but he couldn’t remember drinking in the first place.

Then again, too much rum would have that effect.

Even so, it still wouldn’t explain why he was lying down on the floor of what was undoubtedly a ship, if the sloshing of waves against the hull were anything to go by. Usually, after a night of drinking, he’d end up in his hammock or in Arthur’s –

Arthur.

Abruptly remembering what happened, Alfred sat up, and paid the price for it when his head began to spin anew.

He groaned and slumped forward to cradle his own head in his hands, forcing himself to calm down and to wait for the sharp and heavy pounding behind his eyes to subside again.

Focus. He had to focus. He couldn’t waste time feeling sorry for himself; whatever headache he had, would have to wait.

He granted himself a few more seconds of breathing in and out deeply, but then he straightened again, blearily blinking until his surroundings sharpened and came into focus.

He knew it before, but now he had the visual confirmation; he was on a ship. And judging by the irregular sounds of waves slamming into the hull, they were on the move. He was also currently on the wooden floor of a cell, meaning that they had thrown him into the brig.

Grabbing onto the bars to his right, Alfred pulled himself to his feet and tested out his limbs. With relief, he discovered that they were all still working. He did feel incredibly sore, as if he’d been tossed around like some kind of rag doll, but he’d live.

Wiping a hand across his face, he winced when he touched a sore spot on his temple. His hand at least did not come back bloody, and by the looks and feel of it, it seemed that he was remarkably free of actual injuries.

Which was good, considering they had to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. They should –

They? Where even was Arthur?

He was alone in his cell, and a quick look around told him almost all other cells were empty, save for one in the corner that held two men Alfred had never seen before.

There was no sign of Arthur, nor of any of his effects. But if Arthur wasn’t here, where could he be? Perhaps he’d escaped, but the scenario seemed far too unlikely, given their odds. The most plausible answer was that they’d put him on another deck.

If they didn’t kill him already, that is. After all, his bounty poster did say dead or alive –

No. He had to remain calm, had to focus. He forced down a sudden bout of panic; he shouldn’t start thinking like that. If Ivan had wanted to kill him, he would’ve done so back on Nassau, but he obviously wanted to take credit for bringing the pirate captain in alive.

Eyeing the prisoners in the corner, Alfred stumbled over to the corner of his own cell, waving them over to attract their attention. “Hey! Didya see a blonde man, yay high, red coat? Green eyes, probably pissed off?”

Both men frowned at him, and it occurred to him that it was likely they didn’t speak any English. And fuck, he knew he should’ve started learning a second language; Spanish, perhaps, or French even. Then again, the prisoners could very well be Russian, considering the ship’s country of origin.

He grumbled dismissively at them and headed back to the door of his own cell, grabbing onto the iron bars and pulling at them experimentally.

If they were built on half-pin barrel hinges, he should be able to take them apart with little leverage, if he were to believe the (most likely exaggerated) retelling of one of Mathias’ escapes as a younger pirate. Unfortunately, while the bars did rattle a little, he couldn’t actually lift them.

Briefly, he wondered if by now, the rest of the crew had found the bodies of their dead crew mates, and if by now, they’d figured out Arthur and Alfred were missing.

“Fuck.” He cursed, and for good measure, he kicked the bars in front of him; though he regretted it when a sharp, uncomfortable pain shot up his leg. “Fuck.”

What now? He couldn’t just wait around and do nothing. What if they were heading towards Port Royal? The mere idea had him grimace – a hundred years could pass without him ever setting foot in that wretched town again and it’d still not be long enough.

Port Royal or not, he had to escape this cell and find Arthur before the ship reached its destination.

Without giving it another thought, Alfred started rattling the bars to his cell, making sure to pull and push harshly, so that the sound reverberated throughout the brig. There had to be soldiers nearby; men who carried keys to these cells.

“Oi! Assholes! Down here, I wanna talk to you fuckers! Hey!”

After shouting obscenities and taunts for an indeterminate amount of time, he managed to attract the attention of a soldier. The man stomped down into the brig with a glare, angrily talking in what Alfred assumed was Russian.

“Where’s my captain?” Alfred interrupted, waving his hand at the empty cells around him.

The man sneered at him, and Alfred figured he might not understand what Alfred was saying. Or, perhaps he did, but refused to comply with his demand.

“Fine, then I wanna see your captain. Got that?” At the man’s unimpressed look, he pointed upwards, to where he guessed the captain’s cabin was, if the ship’s lay-out was anything like the Dragon’s. “Your captain. Capitano. Tell him I want to parley with him or whatever. Understood that, you Russian bastard? Parley. With your captain.”

When the man started to laugh derisively, Alfred realized he did understand perfectly well, and that he was making fun of him for asking. Alfred supposed he could’ve expected privateers to not adhere to a pirate code, but he had to at least try.

The man sneered something else in Russian, and the prisoners in the corner snorted, meaning that it must’ve been an insult or a particularly peculiar threat or something. Suddenly, Alfred’s anxiety was replaced by irritation, and he scowled.

Without giving the soldier time to react, Alfred pushed his arms through the iron bars and grabbed fistfuls of his jacket. With a rough yank, he pulled the man forward, so that he collided with the iron bars face first.

Almost immediately the man hurled what Alfred imagined was a colorful insult his way, and he jammed his own fist through the bars and into Alfred’s side. Alfred winced and almost stumbled back, but he refused to back down now that he was close.

With a bit more manhandling, maneuvering and bit more of gritting his teeth whenever a stray fist collided with his side, he managed to turn the man around, so that his back was against the iron bars. Then, before he could start shouting for help, Alfred hooked his across the man’s neck.

“Just tell me where they’re keeping him.” Alfred snapped, pulling his arm back tightly, ignoring the way the man’s nails dug into the skin of his lower arm as he scrambled to break free.

Using his free hand, Alfred patted the man down in order to find keys to his cell, and while he didn’t find any, he did find his dagger. He snatched the blade from his belt while the man was still too preoccupied with not getting choked, and quickly raised a leg so that he could jam it down his own boot, hiding it from view.

“Of course you don’t have any keys.” Alfred grumbled afterwards, and right after he said it, three more pairs of feet descended into the brig.

“Hey!” The bespectacled man Alfred remembered from before called. “What do you think you’re doing? Unhand him this instant!”

Alfred figured he had some leverage, so he tightened his hold and glared back. “Where’s my captain? Tell me or I’ll snap his neck!”

The bespectacled man said something in Russian to his fellow soldiers, who approached his cell, despite Alfred’s hold on their crew mate.

“I was already on my way to fetch you.” The man then said, raising a hand to readjust his glasses. “There’s no need to kill him.”

Oh.

It felt a bit anticlimactic, but he figured that meant he’d achieved his goal without any violence (for now), and Alfred abruptly let go of the man.

The soldier immediately stumbled forward and crashed into another cell, before whirling around and spitting insults at him through ragged breaths.

Alfred smirked at him, but obediently took a step back when the other officers held up their flintlocks, so that they could open his cell and restrain him without trouble.

After he was shackled, he was led out of his cell. The soldier he’d choked before gave him a rough push, causing him to stumble a little, but he refused to be provoked now that he was on his way to see Ivan.

Inconspicuously, he tested out the shackles around his wrists. They were wrapped tightly around his wrists, and he knew that if he pulled at them too much, the skin underneath it would chafe.

Giving up on the idea of slipping out of them, he focused on his surroundings instead; the ship they were in seemed much larger than the Dragon, meaning it probably held much more men as well. Fighting his way out would be near impossible, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

After he found Arthur, that is. 

 


 

 

Walking through the ship in shackles made Alfred feel a bit like a prized pony. The soldiers and sailors they crossed all scowled or grinned at him as he passed by, muttering unkind words in Russian under their breath.

The moment they arrived on the upper deck, Alfred had to snuff out another bout of panic – they weren’t sailing very fast due to mellow weather, but he couldn’t see Nassau anywhere. In fact, he couldn’t see any actual land either; there were only a few peninsulas to their left, but other than that, there was only open sea.

How long had he been out for? And where the hell were they?

Before he could toy with the idea of asking these questions to the bespectacled soldier next to him, they arrived at a set of doors that undoubtedly led to the captain’s cabin.

The ship’s mere size was shown once more when the doors did not immediately lead to a cabin, but to a small hallway with three doors, but it was the one at the end that they approached.

The moment the doors opened, Alfred only had eyes for one thing; Arthur was sitting near the back of the room, tied to a chair with rope.

His face was bruised and a little bloody, and in his mouth was a gag. His shirt was off, and there seemed to be a bullet wound in his upper arm, from which a slow, steady trickle of blood dripped down into the ropes and onto the floor.

Despite looking worse for wear, Arthur’s head whipped up when he heard the doors open, and for a brief moment, Alfred thought he saw relief in Arthur’s eyes.

Movement to Arthur’s right caught his eye, and Alfred felt himself tense when he locked eyes with Ivan, who was smiling pleasantly at his subordinates.

Spasibo, Eduard. Ostav' nas.”

Without further ado, the officers behind Alfred pushed him into the room. Because he’d been focusing on Arthur, he was caught by surprise and stumbled into the room, landing harshly on his knees.

The sudden shift in gravity made his head ache, but he swallowed his grunt, glaring after the retreating soldiers before returning his attention to Arthur.

Arthur’s brow was furrowed, and the sheer anger in his green eyes calmed Alfred down somewhat. At least it meant he still had fight left in him; that, despite whatever torture he’d endured so far, his spirit hadn’t been broken.

Climbing back to his feet, Alfred looked around the room – Ivan’s quarters were sparsely decorated, with a few fur rugs covering the floor here and there, and several bookcases and frames containing maps nailed to the walls. In one corner, there was a large desk, and to Alfred’s right, a large table with several chairs.

“I heard you wanted to parley.” Ivan drawled, as he walked up to stand in front of him. “And that you threatened to kill one of my men.”

Alfred, despite knowing he should do anything but piss off the man in front of him, couldn’t help but smirk. Unsurprisingly, Ivan’s smile dropped at that, and he sighed.

“Who are you?” He asked then, voice deceptively polite. “I asked around, but you appear to be quite insignificant. There is not even a bounty on your head.”

“Not yet.” Alfred mused cheekily, refusing to back down when Ivan attempted to glower down at him.

“I know your name, Alfred Jones. A rat amongst your crew told me you went on account in England. A small village, da?”

Alfred wasn’t entirely sure if Ivan meant to threaten his hometown and family, what with the man being a Russian officer and not a lawless pirate, but he wasn’t about to take his chances.

“Get to the point.”

“I could arrange for you to go back.” Ivan suggested pleasantly, and Alfred frowned, momentarily taken aback. “All you need to do is convince our dear captain here to tell me where I can find his fellow captains next.”

Behind him, Arthur was making several angry noises in a row – threats and insults, most likely, but muffled due to the gag in his mouth. When Alfred briefly allowed himself to look over, he saw Arthur glaring hotly at the both of them, and for a second, he wondered if Arthur thought Alfred would take the Russian up on his offer.

“Looks to me like you already tried yourself and failed.” Alfred taunted. “What makes you think I’ll do any better?”

“You’re his favorite, no?”

Alfred frowned, wondering if this ‘rat’ in the Dragon’s crew had told him so. He wondered if the rest of the crew thought the same; and he supposed he could see why if they did, what with him often spending his time in Arthur’s cabin. But it wasn’t as if Arthur ever favored him when it came to performing his duties or paying him his share of the treasure.

Also; he doubted he was still Arthur’s favorite now, after their… incident.

“I don’t know why you’d think so.” He opted for saying, nonchalantly. “I’m just a rigger.”

 “Then you refuse my offer?”

Alfred doubted that if he took Ivan up on his offer, he’d actually be taken back to England and his hometown. But even if Ivan would hold up his end of the bargain – the idea of selling out his friends was a preposterous one.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I was afraid you’d say so.” Ivan said with a nod, before grabbing Alfred by his shirt and yanking him forward.

Caught by surprise, Alfred stumbled forward, but before he could straighten himself, Ivan had kneed him in the stomach. He bent forward and gasped as he struggled to breathe, but refused to fall tumble to the ground.

His hands may be shackled, but his legs were not, and without thinking, Alfred used their freedom to his advantage to stomp down on Ivan’s own foot instead. The privateer grunted and abruptly let go of Alfred, allowing him to turn a bit and elbow him in the side.

He figured that if he could get his hands above Ivan’s head, he could cage him in with his hands and choke him with the string of shackles between his wrists. However, before he got even remotely close to executing the impromptu plan he crafted, Ivan’s fist connected with his jaw.

He lost his balance for only a second, but it was a still second too much; Ivan grabbed him by his shirt and punched him in his stomach, causing him to double over again. With only a push, he was sent careening down to the ground, and Ivan kicked him harshly in his stomach.

Alfred wheezed for breath as it was literally kicked out of him, and through the pounding of his ears, he was faintly aware of Arthur trying to cause as much ruckus as he could. After one more kick, Ivan turned back towards him.

“Ah. So he is your favorite.” Ivan drawled, and Arthur growled some more, struggling against the ropes that tied him down on the chair. “Perhaps, if you will not give me what I want, I will have to slit his throat.”

Both Arthur and Alfred froze when Ivan looked back down at Alfred. The creepy smile was back on his face and he pushed his boot against his shoulder to flatten him against the floor. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then he suddenly quieted and looked down at Alfred’s chest with a frown.

As he crouched down, Alfred wondered how successful he’d be, if he could sit up and drag the Russian down with him. The idea fled his mind the moment Ivan’s hand suddenly disappeared into the opening of his shirt, extracting from it an envelope.

“No!” He exclaimed, struggling to sit up once Ivan rose to his full height again.

He managed to get to his knees and was about to grab onto the Russian, when Ivan rewarded him for his efforts by kneeing him again, this time right in his face.

Alfred heard his nose break before he felt it, and the sudden explosion of pain caused spots to appear in front of his eyes. He moaned and slumped back to sit on his behind, inadvertently swallowing the sudden amount of blood that gushed down his throat and gagging afterwards.

“Norway?” Ivan mused as he turned the item over in his hands, before making short work of the envelope’s seal to extract the letter inside of it.

Next to them, Arthur’s struggling had abruptly stopped, and with a hand against his nose, Alfred turned to look at him. Arthur’s eyes were wide with recognition and disbelief, and he appeared almost fearful as they watched Ivan unfold the paper in his hands.

Then he too turned to look at Alfred, and the disbelief in his green eyes was quickly replaced with shocked betrayal and burning anger. Alfred felt his heart leap into his throat, realizing what was happening, what Arthur was thinking right now, and he shook his head in a desperate attempt to silently communicate that it wasn’t like that.

After spitting out the renewed amount of blood in his mouth, he turned back to Ivan and demanded; “Give that back, you bastard!”

It went ignored, and Ivan languidly let his eyes sweep over its contents. Alfred fiercely hoped that whatever was in there was written in Norwegian or maybe Swedish, but when the man reading it suddenly made a surprised, yet pleased noise, he knew it had to have been written in English.

“My, my, captain Kirkland.” Ivan said, sounding much like a child who was just given a present. “Who would’ve thought? It’s from your little brother, Peter.”

The sound that left Arthur was unlike any sound Alfred had ever heard him make – it was desperate, pleading almost, sounding not unlike a restrained sob. Ivan ignored it and looked back at the envelope, and the name the letter was originally addressed to.

“Is this why you were friends with Oxenstierna and his crew? My, Peter so dearly wishes for you to visit him. He even mentions that he’s forgiven you. What for, I wonder? What did you do to him?”

“Shut up!” Alfred cursed, the words coming out garbled through all the blood still gathering in his mouth.

“Hmm, I do think I will pay him a visit after your execution. It is only fair to tell him what happened in person.”

Arthur made another snarling noise and renewed his struggle against his bindings. The chair scraped along the floor as he did so, but Ivan seemed unbothered by his attempts.

“To think that your favorite pet kept this letter from you.” Ivan said with a fond sigh. “I respect you, Arthur Kirkland, so I will punish him for you.”

As he said it, he headed over to the small fire pit on the other side of the room; a thing Alfred had completely missed before, because honestly; who had such a thing in a closed off room on a ship made from wood anyway?

“Best not let this get in the wrong hands, da?” Ivan said cheerily a he tossed the envelope into the fire, much to Alfred’s disdain and Arthur’s anger.

Then he grabbed the poker out of the pit, its tip glowing red with heat, and Alfred felt his mouth run dry, realizing that the pit was there  so that it could be used to torture prisoners.

The Russian hummed a pleasant little tune as he walked back over to Alfred. He tried to climb to his feet, but Ivan was faster. He kicked him in his stomach again, causing Alfred to reel back, and with another push of his foot, Ivan flattened him back against the wooden floor.

The implication of what Ivan was going to do, froze Alfred into place, and he could only stare up at the poker helplessly, noticing that its tip was oddly curved.

When it was pushed into the skin just below his collarbone, Alfred couldn’t help but scream – it felt as if the iron rod went straight through his skin and muscle, as if it branded his very bones. He didn’t think he’d ever felt any kind of pain that could compare to this.

Above him, Ivan smirked smugly, and he pushed and twisted the poker a bit more before pulling it back. Bits of skin and blood were ripped from Alfred’s chest as the poker was removed, and in an attempt to prevent another scream from leaving him, Alfred bit down on his lip harsh enough for it to split.

Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, Ivan tossed the poker aside and removed his foot. Alfred immediately turned to curl up on his side, the smell of his own burnt flesh making him want to gag.

Whether or not Ivan was about to do something else, Alfred wouldn’t find out, because a knock on the door interrupted them.

The bespectacled man from before, Eduard, entered. As he looked down at Alfred on the floor, a brief glint of something pitying flashed in his eyes, but before Alfred could really identify it, it was gone.

He traded a few words with Ivan in Russian. Most of the words sounded like complete gibberish, and he thought he heard something that sounded suspiciously much like ispanskiy pirat, but the pounding in his ears was far too loud for him to be certain.

After dismissing Eduard, Ivan glowered back down at Alfred. “I will give you a moment to catch your breath. You’re not fun like this, after all.”

Alfred wanted to jump up and attack him, but found he could do little more than sit back up and clutch his still bleeding nose, spitting out mouthfuls of blood every now and then. The throbbing of his nose at least managed to negate the pain of the scorched skin of his chest, but it didn’t really help to focus on either.

“It seems your Spanish friend has not yet left these waters.” Ivan said conversationally, once he was back at Arthur’s side.

Alfred perked up slightly – so he’d heard correctly. However, he immediately frowned to himself as well; if the Scarlet Fiesta was alone, they would most likely not attack the ship they were on. It would be an unnecessary risk, after all.

“I will have to let them sail by this one time, as I’ve already caught a fly in my net.” Ivan murmured, obviously talking to himself and not to either of them. Arthur mumbled something through his gag, sounding sarcastic, and Ivan’s attention immediately went back to him. “Oh! Of course, my sincerest apologies. I will remove that bullet now.”

He grabbed his dagger from his belt and promptly jammed the tip of it into the bullet wound on Arthur’s upper arm. Even when gagged, Arthur’s shout tore across the room, and Alfred flinched at both the noise and the sight. After a gruesome few seconds, something small hit the wooden floor, and Ivan made a triumphant noise.

“There we go. That was not so bad.” Ivan mused, wiping the dagger clean on his coat before returning it to Arthur’s arm. He hummed curiously and slid it along the tattaw of the siren, cutting a superficial, long line from its head to its tail.

Arthur looked a little sick, his face unnaturally white and his eyes unfocused. But despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest and shoulders, he kept quiet this time, refusing Ivan the satisfaction of another whimper or shout. Ivan seemed to feel challenged by it, and dug the blade a little deeper into the skin, carving up the tattaw some more.

Briefly, Arthur’s eyes looked sideways, catching Alfred’s own again.

Stay out of it, they read, loud and clear.

But whereas he listened to the warning earlier, when Arthur had been arguing with Lukas, this time, he was not going to. He wasn’t going to allow Ivan to carve Arthur up any more than he already did, was not going to allow him to hurt him anymore.

If Ivan wanted a fight, Alfred would give one to him.

Forcing his own pain and panic aside, he heaved himself upright again with only a grunt. Silently, he extracted the stolen dagger from his boot; the abruptness of it caused the blade to leave a sizable nick on his calf, but he hardly noticed.

Firmly grabbing the dagger’s pommel, Alfred surged forward.

Arthur’s eyes widened, and Ivan obviously noticed, because he turned around with an impatient glare. However, he was a bit too late, and with as much strength as he could muster, Alfred managed to jam the dagger into his side.

It pierced Ivan’s coat and skin surprisingly easy. Yelping in alarm and pain, Ivan stumbled away, and he swung the dagger still in his own hand at Alfred. The blade cut through his bicep, but it didn’t tear any muscle, and Alfred was beyond caring at this point.

He lurched forward to jam the dagger deeper into his opponent, until it couldn’t go any further. Ivan hissed and swung at him again, and this time he cut a bit deeper. Alfred winced and quickly released his weapon to step aside, causing Ivan to miss when he attempted to attack him again.

The privateer stumbled and Alfred hooked a leg around his own, tripping him to the ground. He followed him down, all but jumping on top of the Russian. The dagger in Ivan’s hand clattered to the ground, and Alfred quickly gathered up the excess chain on his shackles in his hands, forming with it a sort of ball.

Ivan’s fist connected with his side and he lost his balance for a second, but before Ivan could take advantage of it, Alfred swung his fists and the makeshift iron ball they were holding down against the man’s head.

The first hit had Ivan flinch and groan, and his fists swung upwards, his fingers scrambling to find purchase in Alfred’s shirt and yank him off. And while his scratching, punching and yanking hurt, Alfred refused to let up, even if it meant he’d suffer more bruises or broken bones.

Slowly but surely, Ivan’s grunts and yelps faded into strangled garbles, and then they faded into wet, squelching sounds. Eventually, Ivan’s hands fell back down on the ground, and a few hits later, the bones beneath Alfred’s fists gave way.

The crack of Ivan’s nose breaking was immensely satisfying to his ears, but even then, Alfred didn’t stop.

A loud crash behind him snapped him out of it and he froze with his hands mid-air, staring down; what had once been a normal face, was now a dented mess, and blood dripped from his own fists and shackles onto said mess.

Arthur groaned behind him, and he quickly turned around to see that Arthur had fallen down to the ground, chair and all. He wasn’t sure if he’d done so to get Alfred’s attention, or because of his injuries and blood loss, but that didn’t matter.

Grabbing the discarded dagger next to Ivan’s side, Alfred stumbled over to his captain. His hands were shaking as he worked to cut the ropes restraining him, and he winced whenever Arthur winced, knowing he obviously nicked him once or twice.

When the ropes finally fell apart, he tried not to look at the angry, red rashes the ropes had left on Arthur’s chest. He tried to help him up instead, but Arthur shoved him back with his good arm, before reaching up to yank the gag out of his own mouth.

“Arthur, I – ”

“Don’t.” Arthur cut in harshly, and he glared at him for a few insanely long seconds. Then he abruptly turned away from him and staggered over to the desk in the corner. “Grab his pistol.”

Alfred quickly returned to Ivan’s body, leaning down to grab his pistol from his belt. Unfortunately, this meant he also had to look at him and his face – or whatever was left of it, anyway.

And, oh fuck, he was going to be sick.

Swallowing down bile and blinking away the sudden wetness in his eyes, Alfred straightened and rushed towards the desk as well, shoving the pistol into Arthur’s waiting hands.

Anxiously, he watched as Arthur opened the pistol’s magazine with unsteady fingers. Gunpowder and bullets fell down into his hand, and then Arthur grabbed hold of the bloodied chains between his shackles, yanking him forward.

The sudden movement chafed something awful, but Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and obediently put his wrists upside down on the desk. The pirate then squeezed his hand into a fist and raised it above the lock’s opening, allowing the gunpowder to slowly drizzle into it, before popping in a bullet as well.

Inadvertently, Alfred’s eyes were drawn to the mess that was Arthur’s upper arm. The tattaw of the siren was unrecognizable by now, the skin torn by both superficial and deeper cuts.

However, most of the blood poured out of the enlarged bullet wound in his upper arm, and Alfred felt queasy just looking at it.

“We have to wrap up your arm.”

Arthur said nothing in return and instead yanked open a drawer to rummage around it. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he tossed the drawer to the ground and yanked open another, from which he extracted a metal letter opener.

“Hold still.” He ordered, before jamming the letter opener into the lock.

Then he flipped the gun in his hand, so that the butt of it aimed downwards, and with his good arm, he slammed it down against the letter opener. A sound not unlike a gunshot rang, and a sharp, hot sting burned at his wrist. Alfred yelped, but miraculously enough, his shackles fell apart.

“How – how did you know – ”

“I didn’t.” Arthur interrupted. “We have to get out of here now.”

“Didn't he say the Fiesta was nearby?”

Arthur didn’t reply and instead walked over towards the life-sized window behind him. Grabbing the drawer he had discarded earlier, he used his good arm to toss it into the glass, before elbowing his way around the shards to make a bigger hole.

Alfred grimaced when he saw the shards of glass nicking Arthur’s skin, before remembering what he’d seen back on deck.  “There’s – there are peninsulas to our left.”

Arthur leaned out of the hole he’d created, looking around, but he obviously didn’t like what he see, as he leaned back against the window sill with a scowl.

“Fuck.” He hissed, clutching his hurt arm. “We have to jump.”

“We can’t swim there!”

Alfred rushed over to join Arthur at the window, looking out to see that the distance between them and the peninsulas, while not as large as he’d previously thought, was still considerably great. If they didn’t drown due to their injuries or fatigue, their blood would probably attract sharks to finish them off all the same.

“Then what else would you have us do? There are over a hundred soldiers on this fucking ship!”

"What about the Fiesta?”

“Even if it is nearby, we can’t just wait for them here!”

As if on cue, the door opened, and they both froze when Eduard reentered the room, along with two other soldiers and the long-haired woman Alfred remembered was called Natalya, Ivan’s sister.

They stared back at them, confusion apparent on their faces, before they spotted the body of Ivan. Natalya wailed, her face twisting into one of sorrow and anger, and she snatched her pistol from her belt.

Before she could aim and shoot however, Arthur had all but shoved Alfred out of the window and into the water.

He crashed into the ocean, the salty water filling his throat and biting at his wounds. The sound of the sea was near deafening, disorienting him, but he prompted his legs to start kicking him up regardless. Resurfacing, he inevitably started to cough up what seemed like liters of water, and each cough hurt more than the one before.

His eyes stung, his sight was dizzy and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. When a wave slapped him in the face, he was momentarily swept under again, and for a moment he thought he might actually drown right there and then.

When he felt his elbow being grabbed, he ridiculously thought of mermaids for a brief moment, and despite the panic building up inside him, he allowed the hand to drag him back up towards the surface.

Resurfacing again, he was met with not a mermaid, but Arthur.

“Get it together!” Arthur bit at him, and Alfred forced his limbs to work again, to keep him afloat.

The ship was already a good distance away from them, appearing much faster now that they were no longer on it. And despite the weather having been mellow, and the waves calm, the sea appeared much wilder now that he was actually in it.

Arthur yelled at him to follow, and even though Alfred could not see the peninsulas from this position, he trusted Arthur to know where to go.

 


 

Alfred had no idea how much time passed before he finally traded the ocean in for a sandy beach, but it must have been at least half an hour.

The last few steps were the hardest, with the waves pulling at his legs, and his wet clothes chafing at his injuries and weighing his already fatigued body down.

Once he managed to stumble onto the beach, he immediately went down on his knees, catching himself with his hands and gasping for some much needed breaths. His lungs burned, his throat itched and his entire body hurt, but he’d made it.

Realizing Arthur hadn’t caught up with him yet, he quickly sat back up and turned around, relieved to see Arthur was already stumbling onto the beach as well.

He tumbled down to the ground much sooner, though, and the sight of him just collapsing like that had Alfred’s heart skip a beat. He jumped up and rushed over to his side, ignoring his own pain, which suddenly seemed far too trivial.

Arthur was already back on his knees when he arrived, but he was obviously struggling to get back up, his bad arm preventing him from adequately pushing up his weight. Even from his position, Alfred could hear Arthur was struggling with his breathing – it stuttered, and came out harsh and irregular.

He reached out to gently touch Arthur’s good arm, wanting to help him sit back up, knowing that he’d breathe easier if he were in an upright position. However, Arthur all but flinched the moment his hand made contact with his skin, and Alfred quickly pulled his hand back.

“Don’t touch me.” The pirate sneered, and while it did not sound nearly as venomous or threatening as Arthur had probably intended, Alfred still recoiled.

“Please let me take a look at your arm.” He pleaded, but Arthur only whirled around to glare at him again, and the movement caused him to lose his balance and stumble back down on the ground.

He quickly grappled with the sand to push himself back up, sitting down on his behind to create more distance between them.

“Why – why did you have that bloody envelope?!” Arthur snapped, his chest rising and falling as he panted harshly. 

Alfred tried not to flinch; despite slurring a little, Arthur managed to sound absolutely venomous – no, worse, betrayed.

“Arthur – ” He attempted, desperate to explain, but more desperate to do something about the blood still flowing freely out of Arthur’s wounds. “Let me take care of your arm first.”

“No!” Arthur seethed, moving back some more, even though Alfred hadn’t approached him. “Answer me, damn it! Why did you have that fucking envelope?!”

The betrayal in Arthur’s voice cut deeper than any blade ever could, and Alfred was half tempted to shake him, to tell him that he’d gotten this all wrong.

“I’m sorry!” He quickly exclaimed, hoping those words would placate Arthur enough for him to listen. “Lukas gave it to me after you left, and I was going to give it to you, but then – ”

“Did you know what was inside of it?” Arthur interrupted again, and Alfred knew the truth was visible on his face when Arthur’s snarled and kicked sand in his general direction. “And you kept it! You all but handed it to him! Do you know what he would’ve done to him?!”

“I know! I do! But it doesn’t matter, because he’s dead, and the letter’s destroyed, which means that Peter is– ”

“Don’t you fucking say his name!” Arthur all but yelled, desperation lacing his voice. “How – how dare you – Who do you think – ”

He stopped and suddenly grimaced, his face turning even paler than it already was. Alfred had seen people faint before, and so he realized quickly what was happening. Rushing forward, he grabbed Arthur’s good arm again, and while he struggled, Arthur was much too weak to effectively push him away.

“Shit.” Alfred cursed, tossing Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around his waist.

He struggled to stand up with Arthur’s added weight, but he succeeded nonetheless. Ignoring Arthur’s incomprehensible slurring, he dragged him over to what little shade the sparse vegetation of the peninsula offered.

With a grunt, he managed to sit him down against one of the palm trees. Arthur immediately slumped sideways, so Alfred quickly caught him and pushed him upright again, manhandling him in a position that would stick.

“Ugh.” Arthur mumbled, his voice sounding thick, as if his tongue was tied up. “I’m - ”

“I know.” Alfred said, wishing he didn’t sound as panicked as he did.

Knowing that the wound on Arthur’s arm would have to be wrapped in order for the bleeding to stop, he yanked his own shirt over his torso. The fabric had been stuck to the cuts on his arm, and he hissed as he tore them free, but they were superficial cuts and thus he didn’t worry too much about them.

The shirt was still soaked, but he didn’t have time to dry it properly, so he simply wrung it between his hands and hoped it would do. Then he tore it apart, creating several strips he could use to wrap around Arthur’s bicep.

“Stay still.” He murmured when he reached for Arthur’s bad arm, though he doubted Arthur actually heard him, much less understood what he said.

The pirate had his eyes closed, and his brow was furrowed, as if he were struggling with staying awake, and his breathing was still coming in short, stuttering gasps. But he didn’t recoil or pull away from him, and so Alfred quickly got to work.

For a while, the only sounds he heard were their strained breathing, the occasional screeching seagull and the waves gently lapping at the beach. Since there was hardly any wind and shadow, the sun shone brightly down on him, and on top of his already stinging injuries, Alfred was starting to work up an uncomfortable sweat.

As he wrapped the strings of fabric around Arthur’s arm, he eyed the rope burns on his chest. There were some bruises here and there as well, as if he’d taken a beating before being tied down.

Idly, he wondered what happened to Arthur before Alfred had been retrieved from the brig, but he decided not to ask; the answer, which Arthur was most likely not able to give right now anyway, would not be a good one either.

Once done, he sat back to observe his handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do for now.

Allowing exhaustion to grab hold of him for a few moments, Alfred sat back down, slumping forward a little so that he could rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The angle caused his eyes to inadvertently slip towards the charred area on his chest.

Amidst what little blood and damaged skin the salty ocean water had not been able to wash away, was an angry, red mark vaguely shaped like a cross – no, an F? The asshole had really branded him as if he were a piece of livestock.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Ivan was dead.

Carefully, he inspected his other injuries. He was no doubt going to be black and purple soon, and he wasn’t even going to start to imagine what his face looked like. There were angry chafing wounds on his wrists that stung a little, but they were easiest to ignore.

Satisfied with the knowledge that he’d live and heal just fine, Alfred allowed himself to look back at Arthur.

The fabric around his arm was already coloring a deep shade of red, and Alfred hoped it would soon stop spreading. Apart from the rope burns on his chest and middle, there were no other actual wounds.

His face was still swollen, though. The ocean had washed away most of the blood that had been there, but there were angry bruises near his right eye, cheek and chin, and like Alfred, he had a split lip.

“You just... bashed his head in.” Arthur suddenly said, his eyes still closed, and Alfred startled before he grimaced.

The memory would probably be forever burned onto his retina, but like hell if Alfred was not going to try his best to forget it.

“Does it matter?” Alfred answered, voice tight. “He’s dead.”

Slowly, Arthur’s eyes opened, and he tilted his head minimally, so that he could stare at him through unfocused, half-lidded eyes. The normally vibrant color was surprisingly dull, and Alfred almost wanted to shake him, to yell at him to stop being injured and weak and faint, and to start being the smug, dangerous piece of shit he usually was.

The idea of Arthur not making it off this useless, abandoned piece of land hit him like a tidal wave, and he clenched his fists, distracting himself by the sting of his own nails digging into his palms.

“You should rest.” He said through gritted teeth. “I’ll start a fire. If the Fiesta is nearby, they’ll see the smoke.”

“Hmm.” Arthur hummed. “Do you… know –”

“Of course I know how to start a fire.” Alfred snapped, before realizing he shouldn’t be taking out his frustration on Arthur.

Arthur didn’t say anything, and Alfred pulled his knees to his chest so that he could hide his face. It backfired when he bumped his nose against his knees instead and he winced, before taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. I- Lukas gave me the letter, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just kept it. And then we were captured and – fuck. I don’t know how to fix… this, but I’m sorry. For not telling you, for – for that night – ”

“It doesn’t matter.” Arthur intervened demurely. “What’s done is done.”

Alfred didn’t want it to be done. He didn’t want to simply return to Nassau, to continue with life as if nothing happened. He didn’t want Arthur to look at him with betrayal, nor did he want Arthur to be distant with him.

He wanted Arthur to stop bleeding, to not faint. He wanted him to be back on the Dragon, in his cabin, pouring over star charts and maps with that perpetual frown of his. He wanted to be back with Arthur on the Dragon, in the crow’s nest, contemplating life and the stars above them.

“Is it?” Alfred asked, voice deliberately quiet, because he sort of hoped Arthur wouldn’t hear him. "Is it done?"

Arthur didn’t reply, and for a brief while, he thought perhaps Arthur hadn’t heard him after all. He stubbornly kept his face down, however, unsure what’d he do or say if he’d actually catch sight of whatever expression Arthur would be wearing.

“Fucking hell.” Arthur suddenly sighed, and Alfred looked up to see that Arthur had closed his eyes again, his head resting against the tree behind him. “He branded you like some fucking pig.”

He sounded both more and less angry, and Alfred felt his throat close up on him again. He dipped his head down again, to catch another glimpse of the upside down F on his chest.

“You should start a fire.” Arthur eventually suggested, reminding Alfred of what he’d said earlier. “There’s no… fresh water here. We’ll only be able to survive on turtle blood for so long.”

Alfred resisted gagging at the mere idea. “You stay here.” He said as he climbed back to his feet. “Get some rest, but don’t fall asleep. Okay?”

Arthur murmured something under his breath, and Alfred’s heart clenched uncomfortably at the sight of him.

Knowing it was out of his hands, he forced himself to work as quickly as possible. He started the fire a safe distance away, and for a while, he was able to force his thoughts to grind to a halt, as he collected vegetation and drift wood to throw into the growing fire.

Once he was done, and once a sizable trail of smoke was rising into the air, he returned to Arthur. The pirate was still where he left him, and Alfred froze for a second to stare at him. Fortunately, his chest was still rising and falling, although it did so slightly less rapid now.

“Arthur?” He asked, tentatively, and he slowly sat down next to him again.

“Not dead yet.” Arthur mumbled, and while Alfred actually wanted to chuckle at the random retort, all that left him was a watery, shaky sigh.

At the sound, Arthur opened his eyes again, and he settled him with a calculating, exhausted gaze. Feeling a little overwhelmed and uncomfortable, Alfred averted his own, instead scanning the horizon in case the Fiesta or any other ship would suddenly appear.

“Talk to me.” Arthur then murmured. “About your family. Your home.”

Alfred frowned, wondering why he’d ask after something like that, before figuring out it would probably help him to stay awake.

So he did; he told Arthur about his family, their names and ages. He described the house, the vegetable garden, the meadows around town and the market he’d visit with his mother and Albert once a week.

He wasn’t sure how long he reminisced on silly, stupid little memories, but as long as it kept Arthur awake, Alfred would talk, and he kept talking even after the Fiesta appeared on the horizon.

Notes:

Went on account / go on account – A saying used when someone turns into a pirate

The F brand - In the first draft of this story, I had Alfred branded with a P for pirate, but in real-world history, captured pirates were never marked with a sign. So then I decided to cut the entire branding thing out, but THEN I read somewhere that the Pirate brand used in the PotC movies was most likely inspired by the benefit of clergy, an arrangement that first time offenders could plead for when they were tried for their crimes. One of the sentences within this arrangement was the branding of an F (felon) or M (murderer) on the thumb. Obviously I took some creative liberties by having Ivan jam it onto his chest (and without a trial) but… come on… Alfred F. Jones people…

Drinking turtle blood – Totally unrelated but wanted to share anyway… Leendert Hasenbosch, whom I mentioned in the end notes of chapter 6, was marooned on Ascension Island in 1725, after being accused of sodomy. Whenever he experienced a prolonged period of drought, he drank the blood of green turtles and seabirds. It didn’t last him long though, as he likely died of thirst after about six months.

Chapter 15: The Scarlet Fiesta, February 1711

Notes:

Warning: Minor character death (bad guys only)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was strange to sail on a ship that wasn’t your own, with a crew you did not belong to.

Alfred did not know the Scarlet Fiesta like he did the Emerald Dragon; he didn’t know what ropes to grab onto, to ensure a swift ascend up or descend down the masts. He wasn’t yet familiar with the sway of the larger ship in the waves, nor its slower gait, leading him to randomly stumble every now and then.

On top of all that, the crew spoke an entirely different language most of the time, too. They didn’t pay Alfred much attention either, and while a large part of Alfred was glad for it, another part of him was starting to get a little…

Well, he felt much like he did when he first joined the Dragon. Alone, antsy, and a little anxious.

And it’s only been three days.

Knowing they’d reach Nassau at either the end of the day or the start of the next day offered little consolation. He had no idea what would happen once they returned – would the Emerald Dragon still be there, even though Arthur all but vanished? And if so, would things continue as they did before, as if nothing happened?

It didn’t help that Antonio did not obligate him to work on the Fiesta. Alfred wanted nothing more than to drown himself in chores, so that he could distract himself from his own brooding. But the Scarlet Fiesta wasn’t his ship, and its crew was not his crew.

He’d offered his rigging services to the first mate once his nose had been set and once he was no longer hit with a wave of vertigo every time he stood up, but the first mate had hesitated. He’d obviously been reluctant to give him any tasks and Alfred could sympathize – he was an outsider, after all.

Fortunately, Lovino had been nearby when he’d asked. The Italian had intervened with a lot of angry Spanish grumbling, and while Alfred wasn’t sure what exactly Lovino’s role on the ship was, the first mate had deferred to him nonetheless.

After that, Alfred was at least allowed to perform menial chores below deck. It gave him something to do, and for three days, he spent most of his days below deck.

At night, he’d hide up in one of the crow’s nest under the pretense of wanting to take the night shift. In truth, he simply wished to be away from prying eyes and ears while he brooded.

He didn’t sleep much, because the moment he closed his eyes, he would start to think. About Ivan Braginski and how he’d... died. About how close Alfred had been to dying himself. About Arthur, the letter Alfred had failed to give him, and the betrayal in both his eyes and voice when they argued about it.

Alfred sighed and leaned forward on the taffrails of the main deck, staring out at the vast ocean in front of him.

Fifteen minutes or so ago, he’d spotted Arthur leaving the navigational quarters on top of the quarter deck. Antonio had borrowed them to him; they were empty anyway, since the Spaniard had not yet found a new navigator to replace Laura with.

The first day, Arthur hadn’t left the quarters at all. Now, when he did, it was usually to head to the galley or to meet with Antonio at either the helm or the captain’s own quarters.

This time, Alfred had spotted him almost immediately. He then proceeded to be annoyed with himself for feeling his mood brighten at the sight of Arthur’s lithe form and blonde hair – it felt a bit as if he were a dog wagging its tail at the sight of its master.

A master that didn’t care much for said dog, because apart from a brief exchange of words when they boarded the ship, they hadn’t talked to each other. Not about what happened on the Russian ship, not about the letter, not about… anything.

Arthur didn’t seek him out, and something stopped Alfred from doing it himself. He might’ve been more inclined to do so had Arthur appeared approachable, or even if he’d appeared visibly angry with him. Instead, Arthur just avoided him.

At least he looked like he was healing quickly  - quicker than Alfred ought possible. The captain’s face was still mottled with bruises, some still appearing fresh while others were slowly changing color, but he appeared reasonably fine otherwise. He did favor his hurt arm more than one normally would, but Alfred most likely only noticed because he was paying attention to it.

Turning to look back at the cargo access, Alfred raised a hand to idly scratch at an itch on his chest. Arthur had disappeared below deck, and Alfred toyed with the idea of casually doing so himself too, to find out what the pirate was up to.

His line of sight was abruptly cut off when Lovino suddenly appeared in his peripheral. The Italian slapped his hand away from his chest, and Alfred almost startled at the sudden and sharp sting the gesture left.

“Stop touching it, coglione.” He snapped, and Alfred froze, realizing he’d been unconsciously scratching at his brand. It was still tender and itchy, and somehow, he couldn’t help but constantly touch it.

Apart from Arthur, Antonio and the ship’s doctor, Lovino was the only one that knew it was there at all. He’d also been the only one to not look at him with something akin to pity (though Arthur had not looked at him at all), instead chewing him out for getting caught in the first place.

“It’s itchy.” He grumbled, reluctantly lowering his hand and letting his shirt cover the mark once more.

Lovino rolled his eyes at the childish answer and leant more casually against the taffrails. He looked Alfred up and down for a bit, his eyes lingering on his chest, before he ‘tsk’-ed.

“Antonio has one, too.” He admitted out of the blue, his voice a bit lower and softer than before, as if he were sharing a secret.

“He does?” He asked, and unintentionally, he turned to look at where the Spanish captain was at the helm.

He obviously wouldn’t be able to see any mark on him now, what with the Spaniard being fully clothed, but he couldn’t remember seeing any kind of healed brand on him when they rescued him from Port Royal, either.

Then again, Alfred had probably been a bit too distracted by both the constant threat around them to properly recognize any scarring Antonio had prior to his lashing.

Lovino hummed and, once Alfred looked back at him, briefly touched the inside of his own wrist. “Right here. He covered it up with a tattaw.”

“What’s it mean? Is it something Russian?”

“I don’t know. Bastard never told me what it means or how he got it.” Lovino said with a bit of a scowl. “Every time I asked, he’d come up with a stupid middle name like Fernandéz. So I stopped asking.”

Alfred, a bit disappointed that he still had no answer, couldn’t help but be a little inspired either. That didn’t seem like such a terrible idea – make something airy out of something bad.

“Alfred F. Jones.” He said out loud, surprised that it didn’t sound stupid or terrible. It would definitely make him stand out a bit more, what with Jones being as common as a surname as it was.

Lovino didn’t share the sentiment, though, and he rolled his eyes. “And what middle name will you choose? Fucktard?”

Alfred laughed. “Alfred Fucking Jones doesn’t have a bad ring to it, admit it.”

At that, Lovino cracked a smile, and merely seeing it lifted Alfred’s spirits.

When he boarded the Fiesta, Lovino hadn’t appeared as heartbroken as he did the last time Alfred saw him. But he knew the death of Feliciano was still an open wound for the Italian; one that occasionally scabbed over, but was torn open by the slightest of things. Even now, Lovino missed a certain spark in his eyes, a certain bite in his voice.

It was a wound that would most likely only be healed by time, but it was comforting to know Lovino was able to smile again, however small and brief.

They joked back and forth a bit more, each potential middle name more creative than the other – though while Alfred eventually started proposing actual names like Frederick and Fitzgerald, Lovino kept it to cursing, switching from English to Italian after a while.

“It means felon.”

Alfred would recognize the voice that spoke up from behind them out of thousands, and he quickly turned around; it was, after all, both the answer to his question and the first thing Arthur’s said to him in days.

Arthur was regarding them with a stoic, cool expression, but the disdain behind his eyes was transparently clear. It made Alfred’s hands itch – what was Arthur angry about this time?

“But I’m glad you two think of it as a laughing matter.”

Alfred frowned; he hardly thought that was fair. Things were already tense enough, and it wasn’t Arthur that had been branded. If Alfred wanted to make fun of his own predicament, he should be allowed to do so.

Lovino muttered something under his breath, but Arthur paid him no mind, instead glaring at Alfred. It almost felt like he was challenging him to talk back, as if he were inviting a fight. Alfred merely met Arthur’s glare head-on.

If Arthur wanted a fight, he’d have to start one himself.

Then, for the briefest of seconds, Arthur’s eyes flickered down to his chest. His glare softened, before it hardened again, and he settled Alfred with one more harsh frown before he abruptly turned around and walked away.

Alfred chewed on the inside of his own cheek, reminding himself that trailing after him right now wouldn’t be a good idea. He watched as Arthur joined Antonio at the helm, instead. The Spanish captain smiled pleasantly at him and said something that made Arthur scowl. It seemed like simple, amicable teasing however, since Arthur then said something that made Antonio smirk.

With a bit of a scowl of his own, Alfred remembered a time where Arthur warned him not to mingle with Antonio or his crew; a time where Arthur traded friendly banter with him, and not with Antonio.

“Christ.” Lovino said, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Stop moping. It’s depressing.”

Alfred tore his eyes away from Arthur and Antonio to settle Lovino with a half-hearted glare. “I’m not moping.” He disagreed, though he was well aware that he looked the part. “I’m brooding.”

“Moping, brooding.” Lovino waved a dismissive hand in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you and the English bastardo anyway?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Bullshit.” Lovino said, his brow furrowed. “I’ve seen the way you and that stronzo used to look at each other. What happened?”

Alfred almost wanted to answer, but bit his tongue at the last moment; mentioning things went to shit sometime after Port Royal would only upset Lovino, and besides, Alfred didn’t really want to talk about this with the Italian anyway.

“Look, just drop it.” He said instead, probably sounding more annoyed than he wanted to and thus betraying exactly how he felt about the matter.

Lovino glared at him, but Alfred simply turned away from him, to gaze at the seemingly endless ocean in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lovino turning forward too, his elbows resting on the taffrails as he looked at the ocean in front of them as well. 

The fact that he wasn’t leaving, however, told Alfred that he wasn’t done with him yet. And while he didn’t want to continue talking about this particular topic, he couldn’t deny he wasn’t glad for his company.

“Well, in any case, you’ll be glad to know Antonio’s agreed to letting you come along.” Lovino said eventually. Alfred hummed at first, lost in his own thoughts, before Lovino’s words processed.

“Wait, what?” He asked, not because he had not heard Lovino, but because he didn’t understand what he’d just said.

“To England.” Lovino said slowly, as if Alfred was supposed to know what he was talking about. “We’re not stopping at your backwater village though, but we’ll stop nearby.”

“No, I meant; why would I want to go to England with you?”

For a second, Lovino looked a little constipated, as if he just realized he said something he shouldn’t have said. Almost immediately, Alfred feared he knew what this was about.

“Kirkland asked if we could drop you off along the way.” Lovino said, tersely, as if he was trying to be flippant about it but failing. “I figured it had something to do with whatever was going on between you two.”

“He asked –” Alfred stopped to whirl around and glare up at where Arthur was still quietly talking with Antonio.

Apparently, Arthur decided to not only avoid him, but also to go behind his back altogether. The mere idea of Arthur asking this of Antonio, without consulting Alfred about it, made him furious: if Arthur wanted him off his crew, he was going to have to tell Alfred directly.

But Arthur clearly wanted a fight, and well, Alfred was about to give him one after all.

“Tell your captain thanks, but no thanks.”

Whether or not Lovino wanted to say something in return, Alfred didn’t wait to find out.

He pushed himself off the taffrails and stalked off, crossing the main deck with quick but large strides. His stomping must’ve betrayed his mood, because once he made it to the quarter deck, both Arthur and Antonio spared him a sidelong, curious glance.

Alfred made sure to convey exactly what he was feeling when his eyes met Arthur’s. “What the fuck, Arthur?”

Antonio’s face did a thing that reminded Alfred terribly of Matthew whenever their mom or dad were in the process of disciplining Alfred; shock, amusement and curiosity all appeared on his face within the same second.

Arthur, however, was less amused or shocked.

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur sneered, quietly, obviously giving Alfred the opportunity to stand down before either of them caused a scene out in the open.

 It was an opportunity Alfred was not going to grab – he’s had it, and he’s about to say so, when one of the riggers up in the main mast interrupted them.

 “Sail, ho!”

They tore their eyes from one another to glare up at the rigger in the mast, and if Alfred hadn’t been as angry as he was, he would’ve been amused at their synchronized annoyance. However, Alfred knew what the words meant, and when he looked in the direction the rigger was pointing at, he felt his stomach drop.

A good distance away from them were two ships, seemingly engaged in a battle. The larger ship appeared to have pinned the smaller ship between the open sea and a row of peninsula’s, preventing the smaller ship’s escape.

Even from here, Alfred could recognize the sails and hull from the ship he called home.

Antonio cursed softly and held out his spyglass for Arthur to take. “It’s the Russian’s ship. They’re fighting with the Emerald Dragon.”

 


 

Despite her maneuverability and firepower, it was glaringly obvious that the Emerald Dragon was unable to make an actual stand against the much larger and much better equipped Ship-of-the-Line that belonged to the Russian privateers.

The enemy ship had managed to corner the Dragon, and while the Dragon had the advantage of fleeing into shallower waters, they could not properly hide from their enemy’s cannon fire as they could not sail around the peninsulas.

Yao – or whoever was at the helm – had turned the Dragon back around in an attempt to get close enough for them to board, but it had resulted in more direct hits. Alfred didn’t know how long the two ships had been engaged in battle, but he knew that if they showed up a few minutes later, things would’ve gone south for the Emerald Dragon.

Fortunately, Antonio did not need to be asked by Arthur to intervene. Without further ado, he ordered everyone to their stations and had the Fiesta’s Jolly Roger raised. The Spanish captain shouted a lot of orders Alfred didn’t understand due to the language barrier, but as he made to move towards the cargo access anyway, Arthur suddenly stopped him with a firm hand around his elbow.

“Stay put.” Arthur had said, while glaring ahead of him at the Russian ship and his own ship. “Let them do their thing.”

“And do nothing?” Alfred asked incredulously, before roughly yanking his elbow out of the man’s grip – he was still angry with him, after all.  

Arthur gave him a sidelong glance that Alfred knew was a warning, and he stayed put, albeit reluctantly.

“Wait until we board.” Arthur replied eventually.

The idea of boarding the very ship they only just managed to escape a scant few days ago, terrified Alfred a little. He’d much rather they just sink the ship from their position at sea, but knew they had a much larger chance of winning the battle if they fought it out on deck instead.

The moment the Fiesta came within cannon range, the Russian ship diverted its attention to them. Antonio ordered some of the men below deck to ready the cannons, and then surprised both Arthur and Alfred by not sailing around the Russian’s ship, but straight at it.

“Are you insane?!” Arthur shouted, as they both whirled back around to Antonio.

Alfred felt his stomach drop uneasily when he saw the wild, somewhat insane grin the Spanish captain was giving Arthur.  

“Where’s your sense of adventure, amigo?!”

The words confirmed what Alfred had already been thinking – Antonio was going to ram the Fiesta into the enemy ship’s broadside. With a ship as big as the Fiesta, that was an incredibly dangerous move; if they’d get stuck, they wouldn’t be able to dislodge.

“¡Fuego!” A second after Antonio barked his order, an explosive sound rang from the bow of the ship. The chase guns were fired, blowing two holes into the broadside of the Russian’s ship. “¡Recargar!”

He flinched when the enemy ship suddenly fired their own cannons, but because they were heading straight for their side, most of the fire missed, and what cannons did managed to hit them, didn’t sink them – yet.

A sudden gust of wind filled their sails, propelling the Fiesta forward, and Alfred grabbed onto the rope of the backstay next to him before it was too late to brace himself.

“¡Fuego!” Antonio shouted once more, and the explosive sounds of the chase guns firing again was all but nullified by the loud, creaking roar of one wooden hull slamming into another wooden hull.

Alfred – along with a good portion of the crew still on the main deck – lurched forward. Some of the crew yelled as they lost their footing and stumbled forward, crashing into objects or other crew mates.

The waves underneath them pushed the Fiesta further against their enemy, and Alfred spotted the Fiesta’s jib boom sweeping over the Russian’s ships upper deck. It ended up crashing against the main mast, and Alfred could hear the men on the other ship scream as they stumbled out of the way.

¡Marineros, arpeos en ristre!”

Behind him, Antonio flung the wheel to the left in an attempt to dislodge the ship. The jib boom nearly took down the other’s main mast entirely, but in the end it cracked and gave way itself, allowing the Fiesta to turn sideways, so that their broadside’s were facing each other.

For a moment Alfred was afraid either of the captains were going to order for cannon fire – at this range, both ships would take tremendous damage. However, Antonio swung the wheel sideways again to crash the Fiesta’s broadside into the enemy’s ship.

¡Al abordaje!”

The moment the words left Antonio, his crew cheered and shouted their battle cries. Using harpoons and grapnels, pirates swung themselves from one ship to the other. One or two of the pirates were intercepted halfway, but the majority made it, and Alfred turned back around to see Antonio handing control of the helm over to Lovino. 

Arthur appeared to be heading towards the main mast, and for a second Alfred wondered why, before realizing he meant to climb up the mast and swing over to the other ship as well. He quickly followed and grabbed him by his elbow, causing Arthur to flinch and turn around with a glare.

Alfred mentally cursed and quickly released him, realizing he’d grabbed his hurt arm – however, it only proved his point. “You should stay here.” He suggested, though the moment the words left his mouth, he knew they fell onto deaf ears.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur snapped, continuing towards the main mast and grabbing hold of the ratlines.

“But you’re hurt!” Alfred exclaimed, wildly gesturing at the way Arthur was favouring his hurt arm as he heaved himself up the first few ropes.

“I’ve had worse.” Arthur grumbled, and even though Alfred wanted to protest some more, he knew it wasn’t going to achieve anything.

So he simply scoffed and waited for Arthur to climb up before following him – if Arthur was dead set on risking his life, Alfred had no other choice but to follow. After all, that was what it always came down to; Alfred following Arthur.

 


 

By the time they’d both managed to swing over to the Russian ship, all hell had already broken lose on its main deck. The Emerald Dragon’s crew had used the opportunity to board the ship as well, but even with two pirate crews, they were still evenly matched.

The moment Arthur’s and Alfred’s feet touched the deck, they were covered by several of the Dragon’s own crew. There was no time for reunions, but Alfred still spared a second to grin with relief when Mathias pushed him out of the way of an opponent before burying his axe in said opponent.

“Give no quarter!” Arthur barked next to him, prompting both his own crew and Antonio’s crew to release new battle cries.

The chaos continued, and while it was easy to distinguish friend from foe, it was a little dizzying to see just how many foes there were. It was difficult to focus on anything other than trying not to die, but Alfred forced himself to do so anyway, constantly tracking Arthur’s whereabouts and covering the side he knew Arthur could not use optimally.

However, at one point, they were nearly overwhelmed when suddenly three soldiers tried to corner them. Arthur struggled with two of them, his bad arm failing to properly parry an attack and causing him to stumble back and into the taffrails behind him.

It had distracted Alfred, causing his own opponent’s blade to almost get acquainted with his neck, but he managed to shove the soldier off of him before it could. Wasting no time, he rushed forward and rammed into the soldier on Arthur’s right, sending him toppling over the railings and overboard.

What with the ship being boxed in by both the Fiesta and the Dragon, their hulls constantly slamming into one another, Alfred doubted the soldier would survive long enough to climb back on board.

“Alfred!” Arthur shouted, and Alfred whirled around just in time to dodge the cutlass that had been coming down upon him.

The blade still managed to cut through his arm, albeit superficially. Alfred flinched and hurriedly parried another attack, but because he’d been taken by surprise, he eventually tripped over his own feet and fell down onto the deck.

Behind the soldier advancing on him, Arthur was still fighting off the other remaining soldier. Between scrambling back and trying to get back on his feet, Alfred saw Arthur slide his sword forward into the man’s gut, before turning halfway and aiming his pistol at the soldier about to attack Alfred.

He pulled the trigger, shooting the man in his head, and Alfred quickly rolled to the side in order to avoid being crushed by the now dead soldier.

“Damn it!” Arthur cursed, and he made a face as he lowered his hurt arm and gently shook it. A red spot was slowly blossoming on the white fabric of his sleeve. “Your misguided heroics will be the death of you – and me!”

Alfred frowned and quickly jumped back to his feet. “Why are you trying to get rid of me?” He retaliated, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him when Arthur’s expression faltered briefly.

“Don’t be preposterous – ”

“Why would you ask Carriedo to take me back to England? Are you too much of a coward to run the idea past me first?”

Arthur closed the distance between them with two large strides. “Excuse me? Watch your mouth.”

“Or else?” Alfred prompted, unimpressed.

Arthur pursed his lips, before reaching out to abruptly push him aside. He raised his gun with his hurt arm, but faltered and failed to aim properly. Alfred wasted no time and snatched the flintlock from his hand, aiming it at the soldier that had wanted to sneak up on him and pulling the trigger. As the man went down, Arthur grabbed Alfred’s own pistol from his belt.

“I knew, and I still let it happen.” Arthur murmured angrily, and Alfred felt his hackles rise as he immediately realized the pirate was referring to their attachment.

“So what if you did? Arthur, I just want – ”

“You don’t know what you want.” Arthur interrupted harshly. “What you want, Jones, is a fantasy. One you ran from when you boarded my ship. One you cannot pursue as a pirate, and the sooner you realize it, the better off we’ll both be.”

Movement behind Arthur caught Alfred’s eye and he growled, grabbing hold of Arthur’s lower arm and tugging him forward harshly so that they spun around one another and ended up on each other’s former spots.

Behind him, he heard Arthur take care of a soldier himself, but he couldn’t afford to check. Ducking out of the way from his own opponent’s sword, Alfred effortlessly slid the sharp blade of his own cutlass against the man’s neck. It cut through like a knife would do through butter, and while the man stumbled to the ground without further ado, Alfred whirled back around to face Arthur.

“Bullshit.” He snapped. “Stop blaming your own cowardice on me!”

For a brief moment, Arthur looked absolutely livid, but whatever he wanted to say or do was interrupted when two more soldiers attacked them. They took care of them swiftly, too annoyed with one another to bother with fighting elegantly.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” He asked, knowing he sounded a little desperate this time.

“Is this really the best time for this?!” Arthur said, shoving another soldier back before shooting him in his gut. The man didn’t go down immediately, instead stumbling towards the taffrails for support before collapsing.

“No,” Alfred agreed, kicking another soldier off of his blade. “but you’ll probably go back to ignoring me once we’re done. Why won’t you talk to me? It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“And what, pray tell, do you propose it should be like? There’s no room for romance on a pirate ship!”

Alfred frowned; he’d argue there was plenty of room for romance on a pirate ship, considering a lot of the pirates he met seemed to be involved with other pirates. However, Arthur using that particular word instead of the dozens of other words he could’ve used to describe their affiliation, only proved to Alfred that he wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there.

“Arthur, you should know by now – ”

He was interrupted when another soldier suddenly lunged for them. He parried the attack and shoved the man back, towards Arthur, who kicked at the man’s kneecap to have him stumble to the ground. Wordlessly, Arthur swung his blade down onto the man’s head.

“How could this possibly be what you want?” Arthur shouted, wildly gesturing at the battle happening around them. “Did you forget all the fighting, all the deaths? Has it slipped your mind that our attachment was almost exploited by our – by my enemies?”

“But it wasn’t.” Alfred countered, repressing a shiver when he thought of Ivan Braginski; he wondered if his body was still on the ship, somewhere. The thought made him sick. “I made sure it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t this time.” Arthur corrected. “Attachments come with a hefty price, Jones. One I’m not willing to pay.”

“Is that why you refused to read Peter’s letter?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it. Arthur paled considerably, his eyes widening as if Alfred had just stabbed him with a dagger instead of hurtful words.

“Shut up.” Arthur said, lowly, as if he had trouble saying the words.

Had Alfred not been focusing, he would’ve missed the words entirely what with the roar of battle around them. And he knew should shut up, but the proverbial floodgates had been opened, and before he knew it, more words tumbled from his lips.

“What about that red haired officer in Port Royal? Why’d you let him live, if what you say is true?”

“Shut up!” Arthur repeated, anger bleeding back into his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Because you won’t tell me!”

Arthur snarled, before abruptly crossing the distance between them. Alfred was about to sidestep in order to let Arthur pass, thinking that perhaps there was an enemy soldier behind him, but froze when Arthur raised his cutlass at him instead.

He cursed and quickly raised his own to deflect what otherwise could have been a very painful, if not lethal, blow. Arthur pulled his cutlass back before swinging at him again, and Alfred dodged, anger warring with confusion and betrayal inside of him.

When Arthur swung at him for a third time, he decided enough was enough, and he retaliated. Using his knowledge to his advantage, Alfred went for his bad arm. Predictably, Arthur raised it to deflect his sword with his flintlock. Alfred made sure his blow was a little rougher than usual and Arthur winced, quickly taking a step back as the gun tumbled from his hand.

For a handful of seconds, they simply glared at one another, the sounds of the battle still roaring around them but simultaneously seeming to fade. Alfred knew they had to snap out of this, that they had to focus on the battle in order to not get killed, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“It wouldn’t make any difference.” Arthur eventually said, a frown on his face. Blood was dripping down his sleeve now, coating his hand, and Alfred swallowed a bout of guilt. “They're just words. Telling you or not, once you’ll leave I –”

“I’m not going to leave.” He interrupted, loud enough that Arthur could hear it over the roar of battle but low enough that most likely only Arthur would hear it. “I want to be with you, Arthur, but you have to let me.”

For a moment, it seemed as if all the fight left Arthur. His shoulders slumped a little, the tense and wary expression on his face faltered, the grip on his weapons became slack. All Arthur did was simply stare at Alfred, who stared back, feeling as if his heart was hammering away in his throat.

“Please let me.” He continued, soft enough that he’d have thought Arthur didn’t hear him, if not for the way his expression crumbled even further.

“Alfred –”

A gunshot rang out and Alfred felt a stinging pain in his arm. Freezing, he stared down to see that a bullet managed to graze his arm, slicing through his shirt and leaving a cut on his bicep that he already knew was going to need stitches.

Arthur cursed and grabbed Alfred by his shirt, forcibly yanking him out of the way and behind him.

“You!” A feminine voice suddenly screeched, and Alfred forced himself to regain his wits, looking up at the newcomer. “You will pay for what you’ve done!”

A few meters from them stood Natalya; and if Alfred had thought she’d looked scary during their first encounter back on Nassau, she looked positively diabolical right then and there.

Her lips were curled into a violent snarl, and blood coated her uniform. Somehow, he doubted it belonged to her.

“Natalya Braginski,” Arthur taunted, raising his cutlass. “How’s your big brother?’

Natalya shouted something at him in Russian, before rushing forward and meeting Arthur halfway. Their cutlasses met with a loud, sharp clang, and Alfred felt his heart sink like a stone when he saw Natalya immediately going for Arthur’s bad arm.

He moved forward to intervene, but before he could do so, another woman threw herself into the fray as well. Alfred only just managed to dodge Sofia’s blade, sidestepping it and nearly stumbling over his own feet when the ship swayed.

Privet, pirat.” She sneered, before lunging for him again.

She seemed a lot calmer than her sister, but it most likely made her more dangerous. Her movements were cool, calculated, and a stark contrast to Alfred’s movements; which were desperate and rushed, in an attempt to finish as quick as possible.

In the end, she managed to gain the upper hand. Demonstrating a frightening level of skill, Sofia twisted around him and slammed the pummel of her sword onto his wrist. His cutlass was immediately knocked from his hand, and when her blade swung down towards him again, he didn’t manage to entirely dodge it.

It cut through his chest and Alfred yelped, taking a step back. The shock of being hit caused him to lose his footing and when she advanced again, Alfred only managed to weakly parry with the pistol still in his other hand.

The force of her attack caused him to stumble and trip, and he groaned when his head slammed against the wooden deck. Pain caused his eyes to close, but when a weight suddenly settled on top of him, he forced them open again.

Sofia sat on top of him, her hands settled around his throat. Panic washed over him as his airway was abruptly cut off, but because she was sitting down high on his chest, he couldn’t raise his arms enough to push her off of him.

He trashed, but Sofia simply squeezed tighter and tighter, until the corners of Alfred’s vision started to darken. It felt as if his eyes were going to pop out of their skull and so he quickly closed them, trying but failing to inhale.

When he opened his eyes again, his sight was dizzy and blurry, but Sofia was close enough that he could see her grin.

Then, all of a sudden, the pressure around his throat and on his chest disappeared. Through the blurriness, Alfred could see Arthur dragging Sofia off of him by her hair.

He heaved in a painful, much needed breath, but eventually started coughing. It felt as if he were choking on his own breathing, and he forced himself up on his hands and knees, knowing that he’d be killed if he didn’t get up soon.

The sound of Arthur’s surprised cry behind him had him whirling back around, but he didn’t manage to get on his feet just yet, instead landing on his ass. In front of him, Sofia and Arthur were struggling for control over Arthur’s pistol.

But because Arthur was holding it with the wrong arm, Sofia was quickly gaining the upper hand, and Alfred felt cold dread wash over him when the barrel of Arthur’s pistol slowly slanted up towards Arthur’s chin.

“Any last words –”

Her taunt was cut off when suddenly, someone shot her in her side. She abruptly let go of Arthur and staggered back, looking down at the wound in her abdomen, before looking up at the one who’d put it there.

Lukas pushed her away from Arthur, and she stumbled, falling to her knees in front of Mathias.

 “Hi sweetheart,” The Dane crooned with a wide, sharp grin, his axe resting up on his shoulder. “Remember me?”

Sofia snarled something, and Mathias swung the axe down. It embedded itself deep in her shoulder, and Sofia’s voice cut off abruptly. Alfred winced and looked away a second too late; but he already knew he’d revisit this particular, gruesome moment in his dreams again.

On his other side, Natalya let out an anguished scream, one Alfred had already heard once only days before. She was staggering a bit as well, clutching her side, but she approached them nonetheless with her pistol raised and aimed at Arthur’s and Lukas’ general direction.

She had to walk past Alfred, however, and without thinking, he rolled over to crash into her legs. She yelped, her gun firing aimlessly as she immediately went down.

Alfred wasted no time in wrestling her down onto her back, but because he was still much too dizzy and out of breath, it didn’t take long for her to escape his grasp.

By the time she managed to get back to her knees, Arthur was already in front of her, his cutlass raised and aimed at her neck.

 


 

 

The Emerald Dragon was a mess.

A good chunk of the taffrails had been blown to bits, the wood scattered across the main deck. What barrels had not been brought below deck were destroyed or had been toppled over, their contents spilled.

Some of the sails were torn, and some of beams needed replacing. Alfred didn’t even want to think what the situation was below deck, but he reminded himself that they were still afloat and sailing.

That was what mattered, in the end.

Alfred was still regaining his wits (and his breath) while the main deck was being cleared of as much debris and bodies as possible. In the distance, the Fiesta was delivering the few final cannon shots necessary to completely sink the Russian ship.

“Arthur!”

Even though he wasn’t being addressed, Alfred turned around anyway to spot Yao approaching Arthur with an exasperated grin.

Despite not being on the best of terms with the man, Alfred still heaved a quiet, relieved sigh at the sight of the relatively unharmed quartermaster. He’d not been there when Arthur and Alfred boarded the Dragon after the fight, but Leon had mentioned he was below deck taking care of some urgent repairs.

Arthur readily welcomed Yao into his personal space, accepting the hand Yao held out by grabbing his elbow instead in a slightly more intimate version of a handshake.

“Thank you for keeping her safe, Yao.” Arthur said, exhaustion coloring his voice, and Yao simply tightened his hold on Arthur’s elbow.

“She sails better with you as her captain, though.” Yao replied. “But please, promise me we’re done with privateers for a while.”

“Done with privateers, and done with the bloody Bahama’s.” Arthur agreed. “Let’s get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Already on it.” With that, Yao let go of Arthur to return to the helm, and he proceeded to immediately bark orders at the crew.

Alfred didn’t feel particularly obliged to jump into action just yet, tempted to go over to Arthur instead, but he was interrupted when Mathias purposefully shouldered past him as he ascended to the quarter deck.

“Hey there rookie.” The Dane said with a playful smirk. “Glad you’re still kicking.”

“Glad you stuck around.” He returned, his voice hoarse. It hurt a bit to talk, so he offered Mathias a smile next, and Mathias slapped him on the shoulder.

“Ugh, let’s not overdo it.”

Alfred childishly elbowed him and Mathias laughed, sidestepping him and quickly strolling over to Arthur. The captain had already been watching their interaction, and upon seeing Mathias approaching him, his expression turned suspicious.

For a second, Alfred wondered if Arthur would make good on his earlier promise to kick Mathias off the ship, despite what just transpired.

“What do you want?” Arthur asked, and Mathias bowed exaggeratedly, prompting a scoff from Arthur.

“A tribute for my captain.” He drawled, presenting Arthur with a rolled up document. Arthur took it from him as if it were something foul. “It’s a star chart.”

Surprise flitted over Arthur’s face so briefly, that Alfred was sure anyone who hadn’t been watching would have missed it. As it were, Mathias and Alfred had both been watching, and Arthur quickly covered it up with disdain once more.

Mathias grinned cheekily. “You’re very welcome, cap’n.”

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. “Your complacency will one day be the death of you, Densen.”

“So I’ve been told.” Mathias agreed. “You’re also welcome for... this and that, by the way.”

“Make yourself useful.” Arthur said exasperatedly. “Gather the deck crew and get the ship back in sailing condition.”

Mathias nodded and made to walk away, before suddenly freezing. “Uh. Sure? Isn’t that the first mate’s job?”

They were both aware there was currently no first mate, and Alfred wanted to roll his eyes at Arthur’s unnecessarily complicated way of thanking the Dane.

“It is.” Arthur agreed. “Your point being?”

Mathias didn’t say anything in response, but even Alfred could clearly see the mutual, non-verbal understanding that transpired between them. With a pang of regret he thought of James, and how he’d met his untimely demise.

“And tell Bondevik to head down to the doctor’s office; I’m sure they need all the help he can get.”

Mathias quickly left, obviously a little overwhelmed by his sudden promotion and not in the mood to invoke any of Arthur’s ire. Alfred couldn’t help but smirk at his quick departure, but his grin dropped when he turned and locked eyes with Arthur once more.

Arthur looked him up and down, his expression unreadable.

“Go down to the – ” Arthur started to say, before frowning and seemingly changing his mind. He sighed, and jerked his head over to his quarters. “…Join me in my quarters?”

Alfred chanced a smile. “Always.”

Notes:

Some Spanish in this one:
- ¡Fuego! & ¡Recargar! = Fire & Reload
- ¡Marineros, arpeos en ristre!: Sailors, grapnels/harpoons at the ready!
- ¡Al abordaje!: Prepare to board!

Chase gun - the main cannon at the bow of a ship.

Ships ramming each other – Ramming ‘disappeared’ as a naval battle tactic when ships began to rely on wind for sailing (instead of rowers). While effective, the risk of getting the ram stuck in the enemy ship was too high. Reverse movement was near impossible, meaning that the ramming ship could not easily disengage from a sinking victim.

However, pirates still employed the ramming tactic every now and then; they would alternate between firing at the broadside of an enemy ship and ramming it. This was usually done by brigantines, since they could move faster than most other ships, hence why Arthur called Antonio mad – cause the Scarlet Fiesta is galleon (larger, but slower speeds with less maneuverability).

Give no quarter – A saying that meant to refuse to spare the lives of opponents.

Chapter 16: The Emerald Dragon, February 1711

Notes:

This one's a bit shorter than usual, but it's disgustingly sappy (and maybe a little ooc too... sorry slfjgj they gotta make up at some point).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Judging by the state of Arthur’s quarters, Alfred would say the ship merely suffered a bad storm and not a battle with a ship twice the Dragon’s size.

He supposed that had something to do with how much of the furniture was actually nailed onto the floor and walls, a precaution that was not uncommon on a ship. As such, most of the cabinets and tables had remained in place, save for the chairs and one side table.

The glass doors towards the balcony on the back of the ship were cracked, but were miraculously not blown out completely. Around the room, the wooden floor was littered with shards of glass and liquids, courtesy of the few bottles that had fallen from their cabinets.

A few books and trinkets had fallen from their shelves as well, and the space around Arthur’s desk was cluttered with papers. A small ink jar had toppled over on top of the desk, covering the surface with a dark stain.

Arthur murmured something indiscernible under his breath and crossed the room. He paid the mess no mind, stepping over glass, books, papers and chairs as he headed towards his desk.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Alfred remained put at the doors. He tried not to fidget as he watched Arthur open a drawer in his desk, to place the star chart Mathias had given him in. He pulled open several other drawers to rummage around in, but didn’t extract anything, and Alfred assumed Arthur was merely checking if everything was still in place.

Satisfied with his findings – or not, maybe, but uncaring in that case – Arthur straightened again, before walking over towards the open door of his sleeping quarters. He paused in the doorway, staring at the mess inside of the room before turning halfway and settling Alfred with an impatient, yet wary look.

Alfred quickly marched over, knowing he was meant to follow.

Arthur gestured for him to sit down on the bed, and although he was a bit confused (he’d thought their next heart-to-heart would take place at the desk, not on the bed), Alfred obeyed nonetheless.

It was when he moved to sit down on the bed, that he realized just how much he was hurting. His limbs ached, his muscles burned, and bending his torso forward pulled at the painful cut on his chest. He hissed, but powered through it, gingerly sitting down on the mattress.

Wordlessly, he watched as Arthur grabbed a wooden stool and dragged it from the corner over towards the bed. Once it was in front of Alfred, he walked over to a cabinet Alfred had never really paid attention to before. He yanked open the drawers and rummaged around in them, eventually retrieving several items.

Understanding dawned on him when Arthur sat down on the stool in front of him, arms filled with bandages and bottles.

“Take off your shirt.” Arthur said, quietly, as he tossed most of the items in his arms down on the bed. One of the bandages was already tainted with the blood dripping down from Arthur’s own arm, and he scowled at it, setting it apart from the rest.

“We should patch you up, first.” Alfred suggested, before clearing his throat and wincing.

Arthur said nothing, and simply grabbed hold of his shirt with two hands. With one firm tug, he ripped the already torn fabric apart. Some parts of the fabric had gotten stuck to the wounds on his chest and arm, and Alfred winced as they were peeled away.

“No. First, I take care of you.” Arthur mumbled, and Alfred supposed he could compromise.

He shrugged off the rest of his ripped shirt, making a face as the movement caused the barely closed wound on his arm to open up again. It was that one Arthur focused on first, and Alfred felt his heart skip a beat when Arthur gently took his wrist to drag his arm closer to him.

After inspecting the wound, Arthur uncorked one of the bottles and dampened a cloth with its liquids. Alfred didn’t need to be a genius to know the bottle contained alcohol, and he bit the inside of his cheek when Arthur pressed the cloth against the wound.

“You want to talk.” Arthur suddenly said, sounding apprehensive as he gently dabbed at the wound.

“I do.” He confirmed.

Arthur said nothing for a while, focusing on cleaning the wound. Then he sat back, switching out the cloth for a needle and a thread of catgut, and Alfred paled as he realized what was about to happen.

Arthur raised a brow at him. “Are you afraid of needles?” He asked, a bit disbelievingly, and Alfred instantly frowned.

“What, am I meant to like being stitched up like a doll?”

At that, Arthur rolled his eyes, and Alfred might have cracked a smile had he not been eyeing the needle in Arthur’s hand like a hawk. It took Arthur a few tries to get the fine catgut through the needle’s eye, presumably because the hand of his hurt arm kept trembling.

“You have done this before, right? With the person actually surviving.” Alfred rambled, reminded of the time Arthur pried a bullet out of Francis’ side.

Arthur’s answer was a withering glare, and then he grabbed Alfred’s arm before all but jamming the needle into his skin. Alfred yelped, but forced himself not to yank his arm back or startle.

Despite the initial stab, Arthur was surprisingly gentle with the suturing afterwards. Alfred was also immensely distracted by the way Arthur’s thumb was rubbing circles into his bicep, each press and swipe of the digit leaving behind a tingly, not unpleasant feeling.

The feel of Arthur’s gentle hands on his skin made it surprisingly easy to ignore the stinging pain of the needle. It also helped to focus on Arthur’s face, and so he did, taking note of how tired he looked – both physically and mentally. Yet, despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes were sharp as they focused on the task at hand.

There was a furrow to his brow though, one that didn’t promise much good, and Alfred was struck with the desire to lean forward and smooth it over.

“Seems like all you want to do these days is talk.” Arthur eventually said, dragging him out of his thoughts.

“That’s not true.” Alfred countered, before wincing as Arthur suddenly tightened the catgut, finishing the suture and tying a knot.

Arthur sat back and inspected his work, before nodding to himself and leaning sideways to grab some bandages. Alfred obediently lifted his arm, allowing Arthur to bandage his bicep.

“I also want to sail the world.” He continued, and Arthur scoffed, before sitting back to grab the bloodied piece of cloth again.

He poured more alcohol over it and reached out to press it against his chest, but Alfred instinctively leaned back. A warning glare prompted a bashful smile out of him, and he quickly returned to his previous position, allowing Arthur to dab the cloth at the wound on his chest.

Alfred managed to only make a face, even though it stung like a bitch. The cut wasn’t very deep, mostly because Alfred had managed to jump back in time, but he imagined it would still take a while to heal simply because every movement of his torso pulled at it.

“That all, then?” Arthur asked, his voice betraying very little and a lot at the same time.

“No.” Alfred said, allowing a small smile to play on his lips. “I want to sail the world with you.”

Arthur immediately looked back up at him, his hand frozen against his chest and his brow furrowed with suspicion. Alfred refused to let his smile waver, lest Arthur think his words weren’t genuine. After a few seconds, Arthur pressed his lips in a thin line and looked back down again to continue cleaning the cut.

He didn’t deem it necessary to stitch it up (and thank God for that), but he did wrap it up tightly with what few clean bandages he had left. The one remaining cut on his arm he only cleaned, but it’d already closed and didn’t seem like it would easily open again.

Once done, Arthur leaned back on the stool. Alfred had expected him to get started on his own wound, but instead Arthur simply looked at him – or rather, he looked right ahead of himself, which meant he was looking at Alfred’s chest.

Slowly, Arthur raised his good arm to reach out and trail his fingers over Alfred’s collarbone. His fingertips brushed over his neck, tracing the bruises that were most likely forming underneath his fingers.

Alfred swallowed instinctively, and he regretted it as he was instantly reminded of the rawness of his own throat. It must’ve shown on his face, because Arthur frowned ever so lightly before lowering his hand to Alfred’s chest.

For a ridiculous second, Alfred thought Arthur was doing something as sentimental as feeling for his heartbeat, but the contemplative look in Arthur’s eyes told him he was tracing the skin around his brand instead.

“We could get it covered up once it’s healed.” Arthur suggested, and Alfred felt a wave of affection hit him at the word ‘we’. “You’re eligible for a tattaw of an anchor or swallow, now.”

Alfred looked down at the F that’s been branded on his skin. It hadn’t even been a week, so the mark was still raw and sensitive, its color an angry red. However, it’s merely an annoyance now that he’s distracted by his exhaustion and other wounds.

“I don’t want to get it covered up.” He admitted, looking back up at Arthur again. “It’s a good memory.”

“Of almost dying?” Arthur remarked, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Of surviving.” Alfred corrected, without skipping a beat.

Arthur scoffed, looking back down at the brand. “Alfred F. Jones, was it?” The pirate reminisced, and though his tone was a bit derisive, Alfred grinned anyway, and Arthur’s expression softened.

He leant back and started to gingerly pull off his own shirt. He managed fine on his own, up until he had to slide his hurt arm out of its sleeve. The fabric, soaked with blood, clung to his arm like a second skin and Arthur hissed, dropping both arms with a scowl.

Alfred quickly reached out to help him, gently prying the fabric loose and murmuring quiet apologies when he eventually ripped it off in one go. When he got the visual confirmation of Arthur’s wound having reopened, he swallowed down a bout of anxiety; he wasn’t sure if he could do something as meticulous as suture the wound closed again.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur didn’t seem to expect it of him. Arthur leaned forward again to reach for another bottle, and he uncorked it with his teeth, spitting the cork to the side before taking a few large gulps of whatever was inside of it.

Then he abruptly lowered the bottle to the wound on his arm and poured a generous amount of its contents over it. A low, groaning noise escaped Arthur as his face paled, and Alfred winced out of sympathy. Wanting to be helpful in some way, he grabbed the bottle from Arthur’s trembling hand and used it to clean the needle with, before grabbing the thread of catgut.

“I’ll do it myself.” Arthur said through gritted teeth.

Alfred ignored him, focusing on putting the thread through the eye of the needle. Embarrassingly enough, it took him about a dozen tries before he managed, but once he did, Arthur snatched it out of his hands.

“I can do it.” Alfred protested almost immediately, frowning when he watched Arthur shift on the stool and peer down at his own arm.

“No, you cannot.” Arthur said decisively, before pushing the needle into the skin at the bottom of his wound.

The sight made Alfred a little sick, but he refused to recoil or turn away; it was bad enough that Arthur had to do it himself, that Alfred was too much of a chicken to do it for him. He forced the nausea down and instead replaced it with guilt, vowing to himself to get the ship’s doctor to teach him how to take care of wounds like these one day soon.

Arthur stopped halfway, panting slightly and closing his eyes as if to force away any discomfort by sheer willpower. Without thinking, Alfred leaned forward and placed his hands on Arthur’s legs, rubbing circles into the side of his knees with his thumbs. Arthur didn’t tense or glare at him, and the acceptance of the simple gesture lifted a weight from his shoulders.

“The red haired officer from Port Royal,” Arthur said suddenly, avoiding his eyes as he looked back down and continued suturing himself. “was my older brother, Alistair. I last saw him when I was ten years old.”

Alfred nearly choked on his own breath at the sudden admittance, and accidentally tightened his hold on Arthur’s knees, but if Arthur was annoyed by it, he didn’t show it.

“What happened?” Alfred quietly asked, once it became obvious Arthur wasn’t going to follow up with more.

Arthur pursed his lips and finished closing his wound, before swapping the needle for the bandage he’d accidentally bloodied before, and wrapping it around his bicep tightly. He didn’t quite manage to secure it, though, and Alfred quickly leaned forward to do it for him.

“He left after my - … He left.” Arthur merely said, apparently reconsidering, and while Alfred wanted to press, he knew not to. “I knew he’d joined the Navy, but I never would’ve thought….”

The memory of Arthur and the red-haired officer – Alistair – staring at each other with complete shock played out in front of Alfred’s eyes, and he resisted the urge to run his mouth with some soothing sentiment Arthur wouldn’t want to hear.

“I used to have four brothers.” Arthur continued, and he looked down at his hands, tracing the tattaw on the inside of his wrist with his thumb. “And I used to believe them all dead.”

“Were you close?” He couldn’t help ask, thinking of his own two brothers.

Arthur scoffed. “God, no. We were brothers by blood, but we’ve never thought fondly of one another. Except for... Peter.”

Arthur abruptly let go of his own wrist, and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose instead. It was all too obvious that Arthur was forcing himself to talk about this, that it almost physically hurt him to do so, and Alfred’s felt his heart clench with sympathy.

“He was so young when it all went to shit.” Arthur said, softly. “I made a promise to take care of him, but just as our brothers abandoned us, I eventually abandoned him.”

Arthur inhaled deeply then, the intake of breath sounding shaky, and Alfred’s hands itched; he wanted nothing more than to grab onto Arthur and to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t need to say anything else.

“What happened?” He asked, instead.

“Things happened.” Arthur said, dismissively, and for a moment Alfred was afraid he was retreating back into himself again. “I went on account and thought if I could make enough money, I could return one day.”

Alfred wanted to ask why he didn’t do so, but he could come up with several reasons himself – one of them being the extraordinarily bounty on Arthur’s head, one that meant Arthur couldn’t just peacefully settle down in a quaint little English village.

“The orphanage in which I left him burned down during a pirate attack.” Arthur murmured, surprising him by answering his unasked question unprompted. “I believed him dead, until I stumbled upon Berwald and Tino years later… They were good men, and I will forever be in their debt.”

Alfred did not need to ask him what that meant; he could fill in the blank spots. Obviously, Berwald and Tino had found Peter somehow, considering Peter had been writing to Tino all those years. Most likely they rehomed him, probably in Norway, since that was the country the return address on the envelope had referred to.

He was again overcome with the urge to tell Arthur that whatever happened wasn’t his fault. He imagined the memory weighed heavily on Arthur’s shoulders; that the pirate believed he could’ve made a difference had he not left. Perhaps he was right – or perhaps he would’ve died protecting his little brother during that pirate attack.

Considering he knew Arthur had been a pirate for twelve years, give or take, Arthur couldn’t have been older than thirteen when he went on account. And while Alfred couldn’t vividly remember what he was like when he was thirteen, he sure as hell knew he was nowhere near mature enough to properly deal with losing both his parents and brothers at that age.

But Arthur wouldn’t appreciate hearing these reassurances; Alfred wouldn’t either, had he been in his shoes. So he settled for a different response.

“But why haven’t you gone back to him? Knowing he is alive.”

When Arthur sighed, Alfred almost feared he’d overstepped. The hand that had been partially covering Arthur’s eyes lowered to his lap, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped a little as he looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed as if he were in pain.

“Because I’m a pirate.” Arthur replied, and his tone indicated that he thought this was obvious. “Trouble finds me and everyone I care for.”

The implication of his words wasn’t lost on Alfred. “That why you tried to get rid of me?”

Arthur scoffed, humorlessly, abruptly looking up to settle him with a glare. “I was not trying to get rid of you.” He protested irritably, and despite it all, affection welled up inside of Alfred’s chest. “I merely wanted to – ”

“I know.” Alfred interrupted, offering Arthur another small smile. Almost immediately, Arthur’s irritable expression faltered, and Alfred leaned forward to lightly touch his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Arthur tilted his head, looking away from him and at nothing in particular. Something sad and self-deprecating shimmered in his eyes, and Alfred turned his hand so that he could grab onto Arthur’s wrist.

“Now you know I am not without my faults.” Arthur murmured. “And that I am a coward.”

“No.” Alfred disagreed. “You’re not without your faults, but you’re not a coward. You’re human.” He pressed his thumb down onto the inked drawing etched into the inside of Arthur’s wrist. He raised it towards his face, and pressed his lips against it. “And it doesn’t make a difference. I still want to sail the world with you, be with you – so much, that it makes it hard to think straight.”

Arthur’s expression wavered, and Alfred felt his heart clench when the pirate in front of him inhaled another sharp and shaky breath. “Those are just words.” He said, repeating what he’d said earlier during the battle.

“Not just words.” Alfred murmured, and he shuffled forward a bit so that he could properly lean into Arthur’s space. “A promise.”

Slowly, Alfred raised his arm to cup his other hand around Arthur’s neck. He felt Arthur tense but gently tugged him forward anyway, allowing him every opportunity to recoil or shove him away. Arthur did neither, and instead went forward willingly.

Their lips met tentatively at first, much like Alfred assumed a first kiss between two people would go. He let go of Arthur’s wrist to caress Arthur’s cheek instead, sliding his fingers into his hair before trailing them back down to his jawbone.

Arthur made a soft and almost desperate noise, before leaning in to kiss him firmer. Alfred lowered his hand towards the small of Arthur’s back, pulling him further into the embrace, and it didn’t take long for Arthur to abandon the stool he’d been sitting on altogether.

The pirate all but climbed onto Alfred’s lap, placing a knee on his either side and delving his hands into his hair. Alfred winced when the sudden relocation caused Arthur to bump into his chest, but he didn’t allow Arthur to retreat. Instead he pulled Arthur closer, kissing away the frown that might’ve appeared on the pirate’s lips.

“Stay with me.” Alfred pleaded in between kisses, and Arthur replied by simply kissing him harder, deeper.

For a moment, he forgot about his exhaustion, his injuries, and the past few days. All that mattered was that Arthur was in his arms, alive and safe, and he grabbed onto Arthur’s shirt as if it were a lifeline that kept him from drowning. Arthur seemed to share the sentiment, pushing against him until they were chest to chest and weaving Alfred’s hair between his fingers, his grip tight enough that it stung a little.

Inevitably, the tentative kisses turned hurried, desperate. Familiar heat pooled low in his belly when Arthur suddenly ground down onto his lap, slow and purposeful. Alfred moaned into Arthur’s mouth and instinctively thrust up to meet him, but had to break the kiss when the movement accidentally caused Arthur to slip sideways.

They both winced; Arthur, because he had to strain his hurt arm to remain seated, and Alfred, because in an attempt to keep Arthur where he was, he pulled Arthur towards his chest a bit too suddenly. It caused the wound across his chest to pull at his skin, but it didn’t exactly hurt (or perhaps it did, but Alfred was far too drunk on Arthur to fully comprehend it).

Arthur cursed under his breath and leaned back (minimally, because Alfred quickly tightened his hold on Arthur’s waist), frowning a little as he looked down at Alfred’s chest with half-lidded eyes. Alfred took the brief moment of respite to gather his thoughts, though they all narrowed down to one single thought once again when he caught sight of Arthur’s wet, shiny lips and flushed cheeks. Before Arthur could decide on whether or not he wanted to continue or pull away, Alfred tugged him closer again,  pressing his lips against the other’s jaw.

“Careful.” Arthur sighed, and Alfred was going to assume he was referring to their injuries. The pirate tightened his fingers in Alfred’s hair again, using the grip to push him further down towards his neck, and Alfred readily obeyed. He leaned down, reverently trailing his lips across the pale skin of Arthur’s neck and leaving lingering kisses.

It prompted Arthur to start grinding down again, less hurried this time. The slower pace was simultaneously heaven and torture, and Alfred unwrapped his arms from Arthur so that he could settle one hand on his waist, while maneuvering his other hand down in between their bodies.

Arthur apparently understood what he was trying to do, because he stopped his movements and suddenly straightened a little, leaning back as far as Alfred’s iron grip on him would allow. By the time Alfred finally managed to delve a hand into Arthur’s breeches and around his cock, Arthur’s own hand had followed his example.

The angle was a bit off, causing their movements to be sloppy and uncoordinated at best, but that hardly mattered. Alfred felt as if his hand was moving out of its own accord, especially when Arthur leaned back down to kiss him again, slow and thorough.

Arthur’s free hand ended up on his face, fingers clutching  his jaw and forcing Alfred to part his lips for him, their tongues sliding together messily. He faltered briefly when Arthur’s thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing the precum on his digit before dragging his hand back down. His own hand tightened around the base of Arthur’s own cock and Arthur whined, shifting in Alfred’s lap a little as he readjusted.

One particularly well-coordinated flick of Arthur’s wrist had Alfred break the kiss to sharply inhale. Arthur leaned forward to hide his face in Alfred’s neck, and Alfred in turn reacquainted himself with Arthur’s own neck, kissing and sucking at the pale skin as they slowly jerked each other off.

“You’re not allowed to leave me.” Arthur gasped, sounding a little frantic as he pivoted his hips forward into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred leaned back a little, causing both of their hands to lose momentum for a second. He rested his forehead against Arthur’s own, and quickly picked up his pace again, relishing in the way Arthur’s eyes were clouded over with lust and something desperate, something frenzied.

“I won’t let you leave anymore.” Arthur continued, voice barely above a whisper. “If you try, I’ll – I will – ”

“You have me.” Alfred said, before capturing his lips in another deep and thorough kiss, hoping to convey that which he’d already said before through the gesture. It worked, or at least he assumed it did, because Arthur’s hips suddenly stuttered.

He quickly tore himself back again, determined to watch Arthur come undone. He drank in the sight of the man on top of him, his skin flushed and his features pleasure-ridden.  A choked, cut off groan left Arthur as he came, his cum staining Alfred’s hand.

The combination of seeing Arthur’s expression and of feeling Arthur’s hand tightening around his own cock, finished Alfred off as well, and he groaned as he slumped forward to rest his forehead against Arthur’s again, hips stuttering weakly into Arthur’s hand before stilling.

For a short while, only their irregular breathing filled the room with sound. Arthur had opened his eyes after he’d come down from his high, and they were now locked onto Alfred’s once more. They shone with leftover lust, thoughtfulness, and something wary yet curious. Alfred readily stared back, hoping his own betrayed nothing but the truth.

A sudden cramp in his arm caused him to reposition it, and he winced lightly as he was acutely reminded of his injuries once again. Arthur seemed to be in the same predisposition, and he shifted his weight a little with a frown. However, neither of them were too keen on actually moving away from one another. Instead of moving away, Arthur leaned forward again, gently draping himself across Alfred’s chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

“Let me show you the world.” Arthur said eventually, the words slurring a little as his exhaustion filtered through. “Come away with me.”

Alfred couldn’t help but grin, his heart thumping a mile a minute as he felt Arthur’s fingers rubbing soft, gentle circles into the small of his back. Coming from a man that was known as a ruthless, bloodthirsty pirate, the gesture should have felt incredibly foreign, but instead it only felt affectionate and promising. And despite knowing that they'd most likely clash a whole lot more after this, he couldn't help but feel they'd passed a point of no return.

“Everywhere, I’ll go everywhere with you.”

He wasn’t even surprised at how much he genuinely meant what he said, nor at how much he looked forward to seeing the world with Arthur by his side.

Notes:

Only the epilogue left, scallywags!

Sutures and catgut– Sutures, also known as stitches, have been around for millennia. For centuries, they were most commonly made from catgut, a fine thread woven from sheep intestines. Catgut should be able to be absorbed, but I’m not entirely sure if the catgut they used in the 1700s would be too, so I decided to just not mention it.

Eligible for an anchor or swallow tattaw – An anchor tattoo represented that a sailor had crossed the Atlantic. A swallow tattoo represented every 5000 miles a sailor voyaged (the journey from England to Spain, Africa and then the Bahama’s is over 5000 miles).

Tattaw on Arthur's wrist - The tattoo on Arthur's wrist is a nautical star; sailors would get these for superstituous reasons, hoping the tattoo would help guide their way through the night and get them home safely. Others saw it as a symbolic reminder for creating one's own path.

Chapter 17: Epilogue: England, July 1716

Notes:

We did it, fellas! The ending...

The epilogue is probably not what you expected it to be. It's also much shorter than usual, but that's because the actual story of Dead Men Tell No Tales has been finished in chapter 16. Think of this as a conclusion as well as an.. introduction to something else :)

I hope you like it, and let me know in the comments what you think!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

York, August 1712

Dear Matthew,

I am writing to you because I want you to know I am alive and well. Surprise? I am so sorry for disappearing. It was selfish of me, but we both knew that life was not meant for me. Know that it broke my heart to leave the way I did, but I truly saw no other option at the time.

I do not know if you would care to hear it, but I did find the my calling. Right now, I am sailing the seas and exploring the world with. Can you imagine? The things I have seen, the people I have met! I have been to  Spain, Angola, Brazil and the Bahama's... and right now I am in York. York! I am on the other side of the world, Mattie! However, my mind is currently at home, with you.

Oh, if only I could share with you what I have seen. Words written down in a letter would not do them justice. I have seen things we have only read about as children. I have done things I did not I know I was capable of doing, learned things I did not know existed. I have seen merm You would probably not believe half, if not all, of it anyway.

If you worry, please know that you do not need to. I am sailing on a good ship, with good people and a good captain. You would probably not think so, just as I did not think so at first either. But they are. I wish you could meet my captain. I like to imagine you two would get along, even though I know you would not. But he's an amazing person, Mattie, he- 

Not a day goes by where I do not think of you, Albert and our parents. I hope that, wherever you are, you are as happy as I am. I know it sounds cheesy, but the stories are true: the sea is a wonderful and exciting mistress. To sail it with the love -  I hope you one day get to experience the freedom that comes with crossing the ocean, as well.

I will not ask for your forgiveness, because I know I do not deserve it. But I hope that one day, you find it in yourself to understand why I have done what I did. I hope you and our family are doing well. You might not want it, but I’ve arranged for some money to be sent to you regularly, anyway.

I’m sorry . Give my love to everyone.

Yours,

Alfred.”

 


 

The letter was near unreadable now.

The corners were frayed, the ink was smudged due to fingers tracing the words over and over again. Constant folding and unfolding had wrinkled the paper and made it thin, but it hardly mattered.

By now, Matthew had memorized its contents anyway.

It was, after all, the only letter he had ever received from his brother, ever since his disappearance.

Just thinking about it made his blood boil. What had that idiot been thinking, staging his own kidnapping like that? Why could he not have left like a normal person?

Their mother had been inconsolable for months. Albert hadn’t understood at first – had kept asking where Alfred was, right up until the moment their mother snapped at him so badly, that he never spoke of Alfred again.

And now he was gone too, signed up with the Navy, and the loss of not one but two sons, had caused their mother to eventually die of what Matthew assumed was a broken heart.

And their father… their father had been obsessed with finding whomever had supposedly kidnapped or killed his dearest oldest son. He’d sold his already bankrupt company and left for mainland Europe, in a reckless attempt to find Alfred, and it had ended the way most obsessions ended; in his own death.

Then, months later, Alfred had the nerve – the absolute gall – to send him a letter in which he explained that: hey! He wasn’t dead or kidnapped, he simply left on his own to cause merry mischief at sea.

The worst thing?

The worst thing was perhaps, that in his heart, Matthew understood why Alfred did it.

He knew his brother. At one point, he probably knew Alfred better than Alfred knew himself. He knew Alfred hated the life their parents had wanted to thrust him into. There’d always been some sort of queerness inside of Alfred; a longing that could not be met by anything in their small hometown.

And so Matthew did not blame Alfred for fleeing or for abandoning him. If anything, he would’ve recommended it to his brother himself. But he can and he will blame Alfred for the way he did it.

If only Alfred had been honest with Matthew. If only he’d sent a letter sooner; Matthew could’ve attempted to fix the mess he left behind. He could’ve fixed their broken mother, their bitter younger brother – he could’ve prevented the untimely death of their father.

Instead, Matthew had folded the letter, pocketed it, and had done the same. He fled his hometown. He’d married the girl he’d been promised to, and moved to another village with her.

For a while, things had been all right.

It wasn’t a perfect life, nor was it an exciting life. But it was a reliable life and a good one. He had a job that paid well, there was bread on the table and a roof over their heads. He could not honestly say he loved his wife, but he did care for her and did not mind the idea of growing old with her.

Only she never did; she died a little over a year later, a fever taking a sudden and unrelenting hold on her.

At first, Matthew hadn’t known what to do. Out of guilt, he spent time with the family of his late wife, consoling her mother and sisters and helping them out in whatever way he could. He’d settled for the idea that this would be his life from then on, but fate had decided to throw him a different bone.

With a sigh, Matthew folded the letter again and exchanged it for another piece of paper. This was one sturdier, and less frayed, less smudged and less wrinkled. It was much newer, after all, and of better quality. It was also currently the bane of Matthew’s existence.

With pursed lips, Matthew unfolded the poster in his hands and glared down at it.

Wanted for piracy & looting
Alfred F. Jones
Pirate aboard the Emerald Dragon
A bounty of 100 guineas will be paid to the
person responsible for his capture or death.

Matthew had no idea what the F. was supposed to stand for, but he knew his brother. And the inked drawing looking back at him from the paper, was most definitely his idiot brother, even if they got the nose wrong.

When he first found it, he felt a little stupid. Of course Alfred had taken up piracy, how else could the contents of his letter be explained? The story he’d spun, had certainly not felt like the story of a soldier or merchant.

Though perhaps Matthew had simply not wanted to believe it, at first. His brother, Alfred Jones, a pirate? And a pirate sailing on the Emerald Dragon, a ship led by captain Arthur Kirkland, at that? The idea seemed preposterous, but the proof was – quite literally so – right underneath his nose.

He could’ve left it alone. Matthew could’ve gone home, could’ve denied Alfred’s relation to him and could’ve forgotten all about the bounty poster.

Instead he spent months learning everything he could about the Emerald Dragon and its exploits – about Arthur Kirkland and his crimes, his associates, his crew.

It’s what led him here, five years after his brother’s disappearance.

Loud laughter in the back of the tavern jolted him out of his thoughts, and he carefully folded the poster again lest someone saw him glaring down at it. He would hate for someone to get the wrong idea, for someone to think he was a bounty hunter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his target leave the tavern, and he quickly finished his drink before slipping from his stool and inconspicuously starting the pursuit.

Ever since he’d been a child, Matthew had been rather unremarkable. It had always annoyed him at first. He’d always been in Alfred’s shadow; people often didn’t even notice he was there, even when Alfred was not around.

However, the older he got, the more he learned to appreciate this oddity. He learned how to be even quieter, even more inconspicuous. It allowed him to get into places others wouldn’t be able to get into, allowed him to hear gossip others wouldn’t be able to hear.

And it also allowed him to track and follow people without leaving a noticeable trace.

He had to be quick, though. If his target reached his destination before Matthew could intercept him, he’d have to wait another day; and he’d already been following the man for a week, now, so it was getting bothersome.

Gripping the flintlock he’d bought off a sketchy merchant weeks earlier, Matthew carefully avoided puddles and stray objects as he followed the man. He had a certain swagger to his step, meaning he was probably tipsy, but that would only make things easier.

Or so he thought.

“Can a man not even take a piss in peace?”

Right after rounding the corner, Matthew froze when he was being addressed, and then gulped when he realized he was staring down the barrel of a blunderbuss. Behind the weapon stood his target; a pirate.

“You – you knew - ”

“That you’ve been following me?” The pirate said, his voice sarcastic and heavily accented. “You are quiet, but not that quiet.”

Matthew was surprised, but realized he probably should not have been. He should’ve known the pirate he’d been tracking would not have been so easily fooled or taken by surprise – after all, pirates rarely reached the age of thirty. The ones that did had to be exceptionally dangerous and clever.

He didn’t know what to say, however, and after a while the pirate in front of him lowered his weapon. His face was a little flushed, meaning he was definitely tipsy, but his eyes were narrowed with suspicion and… recognition?

“You seem familiar.”

Seizing what little courage Matthew had left, he suddenly raised his own flintlock, shakily aiming it at the pirate in front of him. The man didn’t even flinch, much to Matthew’s displeasure.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He said, satisfied when he didn’t stutter. He didn’t sound very sure of himself either, but at least he hadn’t stumbled over his words. “I need you to take me to Arthur Kirkland.”

Excusez-moi?”

“You heard me.” Matthew said, pressing the barrel of his flintlock against the chest of the pirate in front of him. “You’ll take me to Arthur Kirkland or I’ll –”

A sharp, sudden pain hit him in the back of his head, and he gasped before the world went black in front of his eyes.

 


 

“What the fuck, Vasch? He could’ve shot me!” Francis exclaimed, looking down at the now unconscious blonde man that had been following him for days.

Vasch scoffed, idly kicking the flintlock that had been dropped away from them. Admittedly, it looked like a hand-me-down, and Francis would not be surprised if the weapon had ended up misfiring.

“As if. That boy obviously never shot a man in his life.”

Francis rolled his eyes at his quartermaster, wanting to remind him that once had to be the first time, but deciding not to do so. His head was spinning a little due to the copious amounts of wine he’d consumed minutes earlier, and there was something strange about this boy.

When Francis had first noticed he was being followed, he’d been a little flattered. It happened occasionally; young men wanted to shoot their shot, to either join his crew or bring him in to collect the bounty on Francis’ head.

Never before had someone wanted him to take them to Arthur, though.

He wondered what his English friend had gotten into now. The last time he’d had the pleasure of seeing Arthur, the Brit and his crew had been causing mischief at Cape Horn, intercepting merchant vessels and tormenting the Navy.

He should be on his way to India, now.

“Want me to dispose of him?”

“No.” Francis mused, before crouching down next to the unconscious man. “Doesn’t he seem familiar to you?”

Vasch made an uninterested sound and Francis decided to ignore him, leaning forward to instead delve his hands into the unconscious man’s pockets. It didn’t take him long to find various objects; a pocket watch, a small dagger, some coins and – and two pieces of paper.

The first one was a letter that was hardly readable, but it was obviously dear to the man beneath him. He carefully folded it again and pocketed it, determined to figure out its contents later, when he was sober and had proper lighting.

The second piece of paper was much more readable and it made him freeze. He’d seen a copy of this piece of paper before; had it thrown into  his face once, with the one responsible for doing so laughing victoriously and buying him a drink afterwards.

“You know Alfred, right? Kirkland’s boatswain?” He asked, and Vasch made another annoyed noise.

“Unfortunately.”

“Didn’t he say he had a brother?”

“How should I know?”

“He does.” A small, softer voice quipped. It’s only due to years of experience that Francis didn’t startle, but it was a near thing.

Behind Vasch, Lily smiled sweetly at Francis, her lithe frame hidden beneath wide clothing. His youngest crew mate chopped her hair off a while ago, and for all intents and purposes now appeared like a little copy of her older brother. Francis would’ve found it adorable, had he not known Vasch would castrate him for thinking so.

“He told me he had two brothers.” Lily continued. “Mat… Mattie? And… Something with an A.”

Francis hummed and looked down at the man on the floor. He did look an awful lot like Alfred, now that he was paying closer attention. And why else would he be searching for Arthur, while carrying Alfred’s bounty poster with him?

“Interesting.” He decided, a smile playing on his lips. “Bring him aboard and lock him up. I want to have a word with him tomorrow.”

“Aye, captain.”

Notes:

Thanks for the amazing ride, for all your kudos and your comments! <3

And, hopefully, I will see you for the next installments of this series. I can't promise when they'll appear, but know I'm already working on them :)

Series this work belongs to: