Chapter Text
The first thing Edward remembered looking at was the sky. A mix of reds, purples, and oranges all blending and bleeding together. He laid there on the dock, unmoving, with a heavy weight crushing down on his chest like an anchor. He listened to his footsteps across the dock, cautious and slow as the boards creaked and groaned under his weight. Edward tried to lift himself to sit up, but the anchor on him grew heavier, keeping his arms and legs pinned to the ground. All he could do was look up. Look up at the sky, and listen as Stede’s footsteps grew louder, until his boots stopped right at his ears.
“Ed?” Stede whispered. “Ed, where are you?”
Edward struggled to turn his head, gazing at his co-captain looking all radiant and lost like he did on that cursed day. He was dressed in loose clothing, those simple cream and grey garments they were forced to wear at the Royal Privateering Academy. He couldn’t stand the sight of it, now. The very look of it sent a sharp pang through his chest, causing him to wince and squirm and let out a guttural noise. He watched as the man looked in every direction except down. He kept calling Ed’s name, and Ed struggled to open his mouth and say it, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
“Edward!” He called out, desperate this time as tears filled his eyes. “Edward, can you hear me? I’m here! Where are you?!”
Sheer terror started settling into his guts as the anchor crushed into his ribs. The pain in his throat grew worse, chains slinking their way upwards and twisting around his neck. Tighter and tighter they squeeze – and they kept squeezing, trapping words, oxygen, and the need to cry out in place.
“Stede,” He wanted to call back, “Stede, I’m right here. Can’t you see me?”
But Stede doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at the body, bound and paralyzed and shaking helplessly beside his feet. Instead, all Ed can do is watch as moments unfold, a picture book flipping page by page with mad delirium, one silent scream at a time. The dock underneath him is cracking, and he can’t move. The chains shift from iron to muscle in a blink, suckers sliding and sticking to his skin as the kraken’s limbs start to engulf him. The sound swells, tentacles coiling around him and squeezing until his body is crushed with an ungodly crack. Ed looks to his right again, opening his mouth to call his name one last time. One last try, one last time, he says.
His eyes widen in horror at the empty space next to him.
Stede’s out at sea in a dinghy, rowing further and further away with their crew and a loving smile on his face.
And Edward screws his eyes shut as the dock under him breaks, and the Kraken pulls him into a mess of debris and dark, choppy water.
Stede wakes up with a start at the sudden sickly feeling in his gut. Pulling off his sleep mask, he looked over at the man next to him.
Eyes wide open, like a man possessed, Ed stares at the ceiling unmoving and completely quiet.
“… Ed?”
No answer. The captain just continues to stare at the ceiling, grey hair dark and damp from sweat. Stede’s brows fell as pure concern ached in his gut.
He immediately reaches out to touch him, stopping for the briefest of moments. Was it safe to wake him so suddenly? Would his heart stop? Would he lash out? He was breathing normally. Blinking, too. But he wasn’t answering. He wasn’t looking at him. He was somewhere else …
And wherever it was, he was trapped.
Stede placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Edward? Can you hear me?”
Again, he didn’t answer. The Gentleman Pirate could feel it in his muscle, tense and shaking from being frozen in fear. Stede shifted to scoot closer, leaning over to carefully pull him to his side and hold him close.
“Ed, I’m right here,” He kept saying calmly, “Can you hear me? I’m right here. You’re safe.”
A whimper. Followed by a tiny shift of his head. Like the flip of a switch, Edward suddenly shifted and gasped, breathing in sharply through his nose before reaching for his boyfriend and clutching to his night shirt.
“… Stede?”
His voice, tiny and broken like a lost child who’d suddenly found home again. Stede had to keep from choking out a small sob of relief and heartbreak. Whatever happened, whatever horror Ed had experienced, had finally subsided. And now that he was back, Stede’s hold only grew tighter and more protective than ever.
“Stede,” Ed cried softly. “… You’re real, right?”
Stede’s heart broke as he felt hot tears seeping into his shirt.
“Yes Ed, I’m real. This is real, this – this is all real,” He gave the side of his head a firm kiss, keeping his lips planted there as he spoke, “You’re okay, darling. You’re safe in bed, with me.”
He felt Ed nod a little in his chest, whispering a small ‘thank you’ before his eyes fluttered shut again. The two of them laid there for the next hour or so, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing, slow and steady and calm against the rocking lull of the waves and the occasional creaking of wood. Stede laid awake for as long as he could, holding Ed as he slept soundly in his arms, holding him for dear life like he might disappear if he let go. It felt very much like it did at the beginning of last year – months after finding him again, and sleeping in the same bed for the first time. Ed would hold him just like this, like he was a lifeline between fresh air and drowning. The thought only made Stede hold him tighter, for he felt the very same about Ed. And as long as he kept breathing, he would hold him like this for as long as he could.
By midday, Ed finally wakes up with a start. Not from the smell of breakfast waiting for him at the table, or the scent of Stede’s lavender soap permanently stuck to the sheets and pillows. No. He wakes up with the singular need to vomit, and to do it soon. With an amazing amount of speed, he threw the blankets off and rushed out of the captain’s quarters, ignoring the sun hitting his eyes and the smell of the ocean punching his senses. He barely had time to register anyone else’s presence, let alone Stede’s voice bidding him good morning. He only had a few precious seconds to pull his hair back before he found himself hunched over the railing. Lucius’ face instantly twisted at the sound, gagging before he turned away and ran for the nearest railing as well.
The rest of the crew sluggishly moved about the ship, barely doing any of their required chores as they battled splitting headaches and the urge to vomit every five minutes. Roach had everyone downing shots of vinegar to try and help the hangover, but the smell alone had both Lucius and The Swede gagging, and before he knew it, everyone was back to spewing over the edge of the ship.
“M’never drinking again,” Olu groaned from the stack of tobacco crates, keeping a rag over his eyes to try and block out the brightness of the day. He rested his head in Jim’s lap, listening to them chuckle softly through their nostrils at the whole display. They seemed to be the only one most functional after last night.
“You’re bad at holding your liquor, Cariño.”
“Well. you’re one to talk,” He pulled up a corner of his rag to look at them with one eye and a cheeky smile. “What was it you were doing before dawn, again?”
Jim sucked on their teeth and gave his hand a light slap, letting the rag fall back over his eyes as he snickered to himself.
“Ah, Mr. Buttons,” Stede called as he strode up to the helm with a surprisingly jovial grin. “An inventory report, if you please.”
“Aye, cap’n. Did a full count, and we have eight casks of whale oil,” his first mate announced. “Total tally 400. 500 if we manage to sell the tobacco."
“500 pieces?” Stede’s nose scrunched at the numbers as he combed over the mental math in his head. “Are we out of rum, then?”
“Nay Cap’n, minus our personal stores, we’ve about two crates-full for selling,” he remarked. “Total tally 400.”
“Ah, that sounds more like it. Thanks Buttons.” He gave his first mate a courteous nod and logged the numbers down in his little leatherbound journal. He only looked up when Buttons gave a rather wooden salute, and announced Blackbeard’s arrival at the quarter deck. Ed sauntered up the steps, hair pulled up in a high bun only barely holding its shape with several strands spilling out.
Stede hurried over to meet him halfway with his hand out. “Ed, if you need more sleep—”
“No,” the pirate retorted quickly, his tone softening the second he catches Stede’s worried look. “’M fine. Really, I’m just— I’m just tired.”
Of course, the Gentleman Pirate thought. Who wouldn’t be, after the night he just had? Perhaps it was best that he was up and about, but the man couldn’t shake the image out of his head. The very state of him, and how he stared at the ceiling … silent, still, practically lifeless…
“We can talk about it later,” Ed spoke, knowing the look on his co-captain’s face all too well. He stepped in close, getting nearly nose to nose as he took the man’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise. We’ll talk later.”
“… Okay,” was all Stede said. And he closed his eyes as Ed gave his lips a quick peck, kissing the worrying thoughts away for now.
“Captains!” Frenchie chirped out, making the two men jump and step apart. “Sorry, hi, erm—Captain Bonnet, sir, I-I just wanted to check in about the situation I brought up to you? Below decks?”
“The what-now? … Oh! Right!” Stede leaned over and muttered to Ed plainly. “We have rats.”
“I—right, uh,” Frenchie’s face twisted at such a half-assed explanation. “Definitely said ghosts, but okay.”
“Frenchie thinks it’s ghosts, I say rats.”
“It’s no normal rat!” The crewmate, famously superstitious, straightened up as the answer suddenly hit him, “’nless it’s a witch that’s taken the form of a rat, of course. Roach just took stock of the rations, and we’re short a couple jars of marmalade, a loaf of bread, some dry biscuits—”
“Well, we did have a whole birthday party last night,” Stede reasoned with a soft chuckle, “We clearly just overindulged a bit! Lighter breakfasts and more thorough swabbing should fix it.”
“But I—O…kay,” As the captain turned his attention elsewhere, Frenchie turned away to get back to his chores before whipping back around. “M-Might I suggest we craft a salt-circle, then? Just in case?”
“Brilliant idea. I’ll leave that to you,” Stede waved him off and turned back around to face Ed. The man flashed him a quizzical look, chuckling softly at his willingness to indulge the crew’s wild ideas.
“Y’know he’ll need a ton of salt to kill that rat.”
Stede’s brows raised in pleasant surprise. “Wait, that actually works?”
His eyes narrowed in a wry smile, and suddenly, Ed finds himself in love all over again. “Where’s Izzy?”
“Library,” he answered, his tone surprisingly solemn. “Still drunk, last Fang told me.”
“What?”
“I thought it best to let him alone,” Stede took a quick step to the right as the man gently pushed past, heading for the sleeping quarters below. “Ed! Just let him be!”
Izzy Hands prided himself on being the voice of reason, sharp of mind and wit while the others drank and partied and acted like whole idiots. He was there to massage the crew, to quell Blackbeard’s rage, to weather the storms, and clean up the blood and glass. And what did he get for it in return? Glory? Fame? Riches beyond comprehension?
Fuck no.
A bottle of rum, the pain of regret, and a splitting headache. Bitter resentment sat heavy in his gut like a lead weight. This crew, this man had taken so much of him. Bit by bit, in more ways than just the occasional toe. And the more he thought about it, the more he tried to drink it away. He combed over the shelves and lazily glanced at each title. French novels, botanical guides, poetry, and adventure stories. He could picture Captain Bonnet clear as day: sitting by the window, reading Voltaire with a stupid grin on his face. Edward would sit across the way at his desk; maybe carving an apple with his favorite dagger as he hung on every word like it was fucking gospel…
“Izzy, what the fuck, man?”
The first mate whipped around, holding his arms out as his captain stepped into the newly stocked library. “There he is! Edward fuckin Thatch … Teach? Theatche? Thatch—”
“Izzy,” Ed stepped up and frowned at the state of him – clothes tousled and hair messy, still reeking of stale ale and sweat. He’d been through hell and back and it showed. “Sober up, man. I need you.”
“Oh, do you now? You sure?” Izzy snapped the book shut and made his way to the mini bar, knocking shoulders with him as he brushed past. “You got your boyfriend up there. You got that band of idiots, and your fancy clothes, and your birthday parties. What the fuck do you need me for? Huh?”
He poured himself a hefty glass and brought the drink to his lips, ignoring the burn as he swallowed it down in one go. He let out a hiss and started pouring himself another when Edward turned to face him, the disapproval clear on his face.
“You can’t talk to him like that, Izzy.” He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head, “He’s your captain—”
“No!” The decanter hit the table with a crystalized clang, and Izzy pointed a stern finger his way. “You’re my captain! … Were my captain…”
Ed shifted uncomfortably in place, watching as Izzy picked up his glass again and took a quick swig. “I don’t know who you are anymore if I’m honest. But whatever it – whatever this is, I want no part in it.”
For a moment, silence swelled in the captain’s quarters. The sounds of Izzy’s harsh breathing, of the old ship creaking and swaying against the waves were the only thing breaking the bitter tension thickening between them.
“Blackbeard, my captain, he… He died at sea,” Izzy said finally. And he gave an affirming nod, the words bitter and heavy to take in and speak out, “Died with the rest of our men. The ones Edward had killed, all trying to save Stede fucking Bonnet.”
He watched as his captain’s cold brown eyes tried to search through his. Despite the alcohol and bitter resentment, there was no lie to be found, only the cold hard truth. Something that Edward seemed to have a hard time processing.
“… You’re right,” He rasped, his lips turning slightly inwards as Izzy scoffed and shook his head. “You’re right, Izzy. Blackbeard died at sea. Because if he were here, he would have fed you your fucking foot for talking to him this way.”
Izzy hummed in amusement, raising his bottle to that before taking another lewd swig. As the alcohol warmed his veins and clouded his better judgement, he found every passing thought tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could catch them.
“You’re a fucking idiot for falling for him, you know that?”
“Alright, we’re done here.” Ed turned away for the door, stopping as Izzy moved to follow and get in his way.
“But I’m willing to try and put up with that man’s nonsense for his sake. For Blackbeard’s sake—"
“I’m not doing this with you, Izzy.”
“—because I think he’s still in there,” He continued, the words spilling out in waves as the brandy empowered him, ushered him to keep stepping forward and speak his truth. “You’re caged, Edward.”
“Izzy.”
“You’re a bird in a cage like this,” He said, his fingers tugging at the sleeve of Ed’s summer linen shirt. “And only when you were Blackbeard were you truly—"
“You said he’s dead,” The captain cut in, panic settling in the pit of his stomach. “You said that he’s dead! Blackbeard’s dead and—”
“Only when you were Blackbeard were you truly free!”
“No!” Ed snapped, giving the smaller man a hard shove as he felt the walls around him closing in. “Listen to me! For once in your fucking life, I was drowning!”
For the first time in a good while, Izzy stayed silent. He simply watched as Ed stood there – with eyes wide and desperate for him to understand.
“I was fucking drowning, man,” He repeated softly, “Drowning and suffocating and being—violently dragged under by Blackbeard and everyone’s fucking worship of him!”
Izzy swallowed thickly, the words heavy and bitter like a large pill he couldn’t bear to take. The Great Blackbeard, demon of the seas, reduced to whoever it was that stood before him.
“I wasn’t free, Izzy. I was dying,” He stepped up to his first mate, his tone infinitely softer as he met the man in the eyes. “It feels different with Stede, though. It—”
“I don’t wanna hear it, Ed,”
“It feels different with him, Izzy!” He stepped after him, trying to regain eye contact as Izzy turned away in refusal. “It feels right, and good. And it feels like … like breathing! For the first time there’s air and light and-and freedom! Full fucking freedom!”
The first mate felt his insides twist, and a small breath left his lips as it hit him. The reason, long forgotten it felt like, on why he joined – why he stayed with Blackbeard’s crew. With Blackbeard himself.
He felt a hand gently grip at his shoulder, and Edward slowly turned him around to face him. “There’s freedom to just be, Iz. To do whatever the fuck I want, without having anyone to judge me or tell me no, or tell me ‘oh, Blackbeard wouldn’t do that’.”
Placing the other hand on his shoulder, he gave them a brief squeeze in solidarity, his eyes firm in an authoritative stare.
“And right now, I want you to clear your head, and get upstairs. We’ve got work to do.”
He stepped past without another word, leaving Izzy to stand there with his drink gripped tight in his hand. So tight, he felt it could break with just a bit more pressure. He was sure of it, if he just pictured Stede’s neck.
“And if I say no?” He couldn’t help but call back, stopping his captain in the doorway. He didn’t turn back around this time. He didn’t walk back and try to reason with him like a gentleman, or take his tongue like a pirate. He just stood in the doorway, with his back to him, and his grip tight on the frame in frustration.
“You can get the fuck off my ship, then,” He answered plainly. “Get upstairs and manage the crew. Captain’s orders… Both of them.”
Giving no more of his time, the captain went back upstairs without another word. He didn’t bother looking back. Which was a shame, to be honest.
If he had, he’d have seen the corners of his first mate’s lips turned up in the faintest of smiles. He held up his glass with an, “Aye aye,” before knocking back the rest of his drink.
Frenchie didn’t peg himself as a light sleeper. In fact, the man prided himself on his ability to fall sleep anywhere. He was the only one in the crew who could handle rooming with Wee John, who liked to snore and mumble entire conversations when he was out cold.
So when a hard thud suddenly goes off outside his room, the man wakes up with a snort and a panicky start. He wastes no time grabbing for the crude talisman he’d crafted out of leftover corn husks and twine. He gripped it for dear life and inched for the door, turning the knob slowly and quietly before giving a careful peek into the hall.
Empty, and dark. Somewhat quiet, save for the light snores, and the usual noises common for an old ship at sea. The man swallowed thickly and kept his back to the wall, sidling over to the next bedroom and knocking in short, rapid bursts. Black Pete was the first to answer, frowning as his crewmate slid past him and hurried inside.
“Wha—Hey!”
“It’s in the kitchen,” Frenchie rushed over to the wall on his right and gave it a hard knock, signaling Olu and Jim next door. “I heard it. It’s awake.”
Lucius rose from his and Pete’s bed with a groan, rubbing his eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What’s in the kitchen? Your ghost rat?”
“I thought it was a witch,” Pete remarked.
“Your witchy ghost rat, then?”
“I’m telling you lot, I heard a—” Right on cue, another muffled thud went off from the hall. “There! That! You heard it, right?!”
“It’s probably just the captains,” Lucius reasoned. Black Pete frowned a little and pressed his ear up against the door.
“The captains are upstairs,” Frenchie retorted, “You know, in the captain’s quarters? Where captains sleep?”
The scribe rolled his eyes with an irritated huff. “Roach, then.”
“It’s not!” Roach’s muffled voice chirped from the bedroom right behind theirs.
“Well, we’re not gonna find out hiding in here,” Pete muttered officially, an idea suddenly sparking behind his eyes. “Let’s check it out. I’ll take point.”
“This is the stupidest fucking thing,” Jim muttered, yawning as they inched along down the hall with slow, careful steps. Frenchie had taken point with his protective talisman gripped tight in his shaking hands. Roach, Lucius, Black Pete, and Olu followed in close behind him, shoulder-to-shoulder, holding a lantern and some candles to light the way. “What are we even doing—”
“Shhh!” The others turned around to hiss. Jim’s face twisted in a mocking scowl.
Frenchie held up his handmade charm and faced forward again, taking a deep breath as they approached the kitchens and stepped inside. The room appeared far more menacing by candlelight, with shadows dancing and stretching into terrifying shapes. Every little sound, a mere creak in the wood or a jingle of chains, seemed to amplify in volume. The small crew stopped in the center of the room, holding their breath as they waited for the dreaded noise.
And so, they waited.
And listened,
And kept waiting.
And after a minute of no noise, the small crew visibly relaxed and perked up. Roach gave the back of Frenchie’s head a light flick, muttering about getting worked up over nothing. Jim let out an annoyed huff and nudged Olu in the side, signaling that they wanted to head back to bed.
And then something fell over.
A tin cup, maybe. Or some cutlery. Either way, it hit the ground with a loud clang! And everyone in the circle jumped with a yelp.
“Nope! No! Nope!” Olu says immediately with a rapid shake of his head.
“Fuck that!” Lucius spoke out, and he whipped around faster than Frenchie could reach out to stop him. As he hurried back upstairs, Frenchie and Jim took point with Roach and Olu scrambling for weapons. Knowing the kitchen like the back of his hand, Roach managed to swipe his trusted cleaver and a medium cutting knife. Jim takes the knife with an appreciative nod, expertly twisting it in their hand once before gripping it on the offensive. Olu blindly grabs for the first long and weighty looking thing he can find in a panic, gripping an iron candle holder with two hands like a bat.
With all of them relatively armed and alert, Frenchie feels a touch braver as he takes a sharp breath and holds out his talisman.
“I’m warnin’ you, witch! I’ve mastered the art of demon slaying, and I’m not afraid! Come out!!”
A glass suddenly breaks behind them, and all that bravery melts away with a shrill scream. As they all jumped and turned to face the source, Olu frantically held up the lantern to shine a light directly at the culprit. The first thing they spotted was the broken jar of marmalade. Next to it was a spoon and a butter knife – all at the bare, dirtied feet of something far bigger than a rat.
Jim and Roach slowly lowered their weapons. Olu had to blink twice, three — four times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
A little girl sat there in the corner, cowering and wide-eyed, with a chunk of hard tack stuffed in her mouth.
"Right...What's your name then, little miss?"
The little girl didn't answer. She just stared at them, all quiet and wide eyed like a baby owl.
“How'd you come abouts our vessel, aye?"
Again, no answer. Olu looked her over with a small frown. "Is she alright?"
"Maybe she's mute,” said Black Pete.
"Or she's afraid of having six guys gang up on her like this. Move!" Jim shoved Pete aside and knelt to get eye level with her, waving the others off to give them some space. The girl scooted back at little, keeping her back pressed to the wall as she watched them with a wary eye.
"Hey, sorry about them.” Jim flashed her a soft smile and held out a hand. “My name's Jim. What’s yours?”
The little stowaway glanced down at their hand, unsure of what to do before looking back at them. Jim retracted it with a nod and sucked on their teeth in brief thought.
Then, the corner of their mouth turned up. “Do you like sweets?"
She seems to understand English, the crew member notes, as the little girl visibly perks up and nods her head in reply. Jim immediately reached in back to swat Lucius on the knee, and Lucius swatted Pete on the shoulder.
"Fetch her some of my chocolate."
"The one in your day bag or the top drawer?"
"The French ones, in—"
"In the tin on the cabinet, right."
Black Pete rushes out of the room and comes back in record time with a battered pink and grey tin. As soon as he opened it up to reveal chocolate bon bons in decorative icing, the little one immediately shifts to sit up straight with a tiny gasp. She carefully holds out her hand, her eyes widening as he hands over the whole tin.
They all watched as she ate like a man starved.
"Better?" Lucius asked, and she nodded back with a faint smile. "Are you lost, then? Did you pop on here by mistake?"
She shook her head no before stuffing another bonbon in her mouth. She couldn’t help but hum a little at the bittersweet taste. Rosewater crème, candied orange peel, marzipan, each one wrapped in a delicate shell of dark chocolate. Sweets were only given as a small treat on Sundays, and when the French officers came to visit her mother at The Inn.
“She stowed away on purpose?” Olu asked the rest of his crewmates, “Why on earth would she do that?”
“Why not?” Roach scoffed lightly, “Did you see the look of those streets? I’d leave, too.”
They all tense as the little one shifts to reach into the pockets of her dirty blouse. She pulls out an envelope that had seen far better days – still crumpled and stained, with jam smeared in some spots, but the wax seal was still intact. Jim carefully took it from her and glanced down at the signet – a rose nestled between the initials D.R. – before flipping it over.
"… Edward Teach."
Lucius, Roach, and Olu exchanged confused looks as Jim opened it up.
"Edward Teach?” Pete frowned and glanced over to Lucius, “As in … Blackbeard-Edward-Teach?"
Jim’s eyes continued to skim over the frantic penmanship written in black ink, every word getting harder and harder to process before their stern expression immediately fell. "Oh, fuck."
"What oh fuck? What is it?" Lucius takes the letter with zero resistance and starts to read it over. After the first few sentences, his face ended up doing the very same. "… Oh, fuck."
When Stede dreams, he dreams of silks. He’s back in the fabric shop, meandering through the aisles, admiring all the colors and patterns. He’s having trouble deciding. Perhaps she’d like this white one with the red stitching and the gold accents. Or maybe the indigo one with silver filigree? Ed’s tattooed arms slunk their way around him in a protective hold. His lips pressed up against his ear, beard hairs tickling the skin of his neck and shoulder.
“No matter what, our baby will love it.”
Stede smiles lovingly and gazed down at his stomach, swollen and heavy with a new life inside.
He snapped open his eyes with a yelp. Sitting up straight, he immediately patted his stomach. Soft and pudgy, yes, but definitely not pregnant. He breathed a sigh of relief, putting his hands to his face as the door to the quarters opened with a quiet creak.
“Heeey, Captain, hi." Lucius walked up to the bed with faint steps, careful not to wake Ed still sound asleep and buried under the blankets. He swallowed thickly, shifting from one foot to the other as anxiety wracked through him. "So, uhm … bit of a hiccup below decks. Could I borrow you for a tick?"
"Sure." Stede turned to wake up Ed, but Lucius stopped him.
"No, no, just you,” He muttered, dread growing more and more apparent on his face. “He's fine where he is."
Stede sits at the table in his second favorite silk robe with a confused frown. Half of the crew stood quiet behind him, all of them watching with hard frowns and confused faces as their newest shipmate wolfed down her second plate of breakfast. She was small for her age – on the scrawnier side too, with her spindly legs and portly belly. She was underfed, sure, but never starved. Her mother always made sure she ate and ate well. She just loved food.
And this food, she thought – made by the skinny man with the dirty apron and black curly hair – was the best she’d ever had.
Stunned by how such a tiny body could consume so much without stopping, Olu had to snap out of it and refill her water tin before she choked.
“… Wait, so how did she get here?" Stede whispered over him. He practically jumped as she suddenly let out a loud belch. The act had shocked him so much, he had to keep from putting a hand to his chest.
She wiped the egg yolk and grease off her mouth with her arm before going back to her bacon.
"Stowed away, we're thinking," Olu muttered.
Stede nodded lightly, his face twisting as she slurped down her dippy eggs with toast soldiers. Dreadful manners aside, he still had one burning question.
"But why is she here?"
"We found her with this." Jim handed over the envelope, already open with the note still tucked inside. “It's addressed to Blackbeard, but....”
Stede takes the letter, briefly admiring the lovely handwriting and noting a faint scent of rose coming from the parchment. He reads it over carefully, putting a hand to his mouth as his eyes scroll further and further down.
"My God …” He gasped, and he immediately turned to look at Lucius. “Is this true?"
"I—I don't know, maybe?" Lucius flashed him a confused frown and shrugged. "How would I even know—"
"Oh my god,” Stede gets up from his seat, unsure of what to do or where to go. The room feels weird. Did it feel weird? Was it swaying? “Oh—Oh my god.”
“Captain?” Lucius took a step back as The Gentleman Pirate took a single step before turning around, pacing awkwardly.
“Is he alright?” Black Pete asked.
“He’s freaking out.”
“Yeah, no shit, man.”
“Captain,” Olu noted the man’s paling face and bulging eyes. He hadn’t seen that look on him in a while. Not since the early days, when he was still insanely green and didn’t know the first thing about being a pirate. “Captain, you good?”
Stede loosened the topmost buttons on his blouse, taking several deep breaths as he looked around. Out. He needed to get out. He needed to get out and get Edward. Now.
~ + ~ + ~ + ~
"If this note is to be believed, well,” He swallowed thickly, handing over the envelope with a shaking hand, “… Sh-she's your child, Ed."
“Pfft.” Passively, Ed chuckled. He waited for the penny to drop—for Stede to break and laugh and show off a blank scrap of parchment. The smile never came, though.
He just kept holding the note out to him. And the worried look never left his face as he waited for him to take it.
His brows slowly fell.
And right then, a dreadful feeling began to churn in his guts.
He swiped the letter and turned away, reading it over.
Dear Edward,
This is Lilibet, your daughter.
I hope you understand why I didn't tell you about her until now, but she needs your help.
I can't be her mother anymore. She’s needs her father, Cherie—
“Bollocks.”
“Which part?”
"All of it! C'mon man," Ed scoffs, shaking his head with a smile of relief. "Lucius, is there really a kid up there? Or is this like the time Stede tried to fake all your deaths?"
Standing by the doorway and rapidly writing with his quill, Lucius finally stopped and looked up. "There's really a kid up there."
"…Really?"
Lucius nods in response.
"And it's mine?"
"She's yours, yes. Apparently." The scribe shrugged and shook his head, “Again, how would I even know—"
"Ed!” Stede called after the old captain as he suddenly booked it out of there in record speed. Lucius took a quick step to the side as both captains nearly ran him over. “Ed, I don't think it's a good idea! Ed!!"
Lilibet sits quietly on a stack of crates as the man looks her over for the second time. As he pinches her arms and studies the shape of her ears, she can’t help but feel wildly disappointed. This funny old man, moving this way and that and staring her up and down like a crazy pigeon … he couldn’t possibly be Blackbeard. He didn’t have a head of smoke, or firey eyeballs like the stories said. He smelled like smoke, sure. And oil. And sweat. And leather, with an odd twist of something flowery. Why on earth would Blackbeard, The Devil of the Seven Seas, smell like flowers?
He's not at all what she pictured when Maman told her about him. “Big and strong,” she said, “A single tattoo on his arm. A mermaid, I think.” He had ink-black hair that fell in beautiful waves, and big, kind eyes you could lost in. Not to mention the beard!
She thinks that’s what disappoints her the most. Not the tattoos, which covered both his arms. Not the scraggly grey hair, or the wrinkles, or the lack of guns he was notorious for. This man, this … pretender, didn’t even have a black beard! He had a grey beard; a salt-and-pepper beard, and barely one at that. The twin highwaymen that frequented her mother’s company had far more impressive ones.
She huffs a little, her face twisting in confusion as he suddenly leaned down and got up in her face. His eyes flit over her features before narrowing into a wry smile.
Her eyes are too big.
Ed notes that as proof as he looks her over for the third time. She had warm brown skin and a head full of bushy dark brown curls flecked with rich copper from the sun. She's cute, but she isn't his. She's far too gangly. She has a mole on her jaw. And her nose isn't like his at all.
"Right!” Ed claps once and turns back around to face his crew, “Well, good news, lads! She's not mine."
The rest of the crew share an odd glance, Black Pete the only one to raise his hand. "Uhhh—?"
"That's good to hear, boss,” Izzy says, pushing himself up from his seat. He saunters up to the little girl and she immediately tenses. The hard thump of his leather boots, the scowl etched on his wrinkly face .... He stood over her with his thumbs looped in the straps of his belt, his gloved hand far too close to his holster for her liking.
"What's your name?" he asks, receiving no answer in return. "… Is she alright?"
"Yeah, she just doesn't like you, leave her alone." Lucius reaches out and she immediately moves to latch onto him. Izzy steps away, muttering ‘dick’ under his breath.
"Who sent the note?" Edward asks his co-captain, stepping over to peer down at the scrap of parchment.
“A, er,” Stede glanced down at the letter, his eyes scrolling to the bottom. "... Dido Renard."
"Dido?" Edward wracked his brain for a face. "’dunno who the fuck that is. Where's she from?"
"Where are you from, miss?" Stede asked out, flashing the little girl his politest smile. She didn’t return it. She just kept her face buried in the shoulder of Lucius’s tattered jacket and mumbled something. "Barbados," he answered for her.
"Barbados!" Ed hissed in an aha moment. He reached over and gently swatted Stede on the arm. "I've never been to fuckin Barbados. Someone's fucking with me, see?!"
"Edward."
"I bet it's Jack. Dickhead always loved to pull stuff like this."
Stede paused for a split-second, his face twisting. "... Calico Jack is dead."
“W—” Ed thought on it, his brows raising briefly at that one crucial detail. “W-Well yeah, but he could've set this up beforehand! And the fact that I can't get him back now is classic fucking Jack—"
"Ed." Stede gets him to quiet down and gently places something in his hand. "She had this on her person. Said her mother gave it to her."
Ed looks down at the battered ruby ring and panic immediately spikes in his gut. He looks at it, and immediately remembers Saint-Domingue, and the night he met the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
Seven years ago, after a rum-fueled raid. He’d taken refuge in a brothel after a fight with a few of his old crewmates. He had made friends with a woman there. A woman with a sweet smile, and a heart kind enough to patch him up no questions asked. She took his ring as payment to thank her, and told him that if he wanted it back, he would have to come back again. And he did, for a couple years. He had an affinity with her, and they slept together, several times, giving each other the ring after every visit.
It stopped in her hands, and he never went back for it.
Why did he never go back for it?
"… No."
"Edward."
"I said no, Stede." He looks to Izzy and immediately tilts his head westward. "Toss her off at the next port."
"Ed!" Stede immediately points a stern finger at Izzy and the rest of their crew. “He’s joking. Nobody do anything. Edward!”
Edward pours himself a hefty brandy with shaking hands. He knocks it back in seconds before pouring himself another, the sickly burn churning his stomach. He hears Stede frantic footsteps enter, and the only thing he can do as he comes in is point back out there and say,
“That's not mine."
"Ed—"
"Stop saying that!” Ed bit, “Is that all you can say? Poor fucking Edward?"
"I'm not saying that. You know that—"
"Then what the fuck?!” He let out, throwing a hand out towards the deck, “What the fuck is this, huh?! Why now?!"
Silence. Stede remained silent and still, listening to Ed’s panicked breathing as he winced and ran a hand through his damp, scraggly hair.
"… Why?" He asked, his voice cracking softly.
"I-I don't know," Stede admits. It’s all he could say. He didn’t know what to think, or do. He stepped forward, giving his lover’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I don’t know, Ed … I’m sorry....”
Ed tilted his head, pressing his cheek against the cool touch of his stone rings and scarred knuckles.
“But what I do know is that we have a child without a mother up there." He slowly turned the man to face him, keeping his voice as calm and level as possible. "Surely...Surely it wouldn't hurt to keep her aboard until we get to England, right?"
"Absolutely fucking not," Izzy refutes.
Above decks, Stede straightened a little and gave him a hard frown. "And why not?"
The man shrugs simply. "S’another mouth to feed? We don't got the rations for it? Oh, and Captain's orders. We drop her at the next port."
"Well, last I checked, I'm Captain on this ship as well. And I say she stays until we make it to England."
"You can say the clouds piss rum, for all I care. I only listen to Blackbeard."
"You know, I admire your loyalty Izzy, I truly do. But this is a child we're talking about. An orphan. She'll get eaten alive out there."
"I've seen younger deal with worse."
"And would you ask that of another child?" Stede asked, "Put them through that very same fate?"
Izzy’s lips twisted to the side as he searched for a quick answer. Instinct told him yes. Say ‘yes’ and ‘fuck off’ and go back to manning the ship. Experience, however, told him no. Fuck no. England was a shithole, with even shittier slums that would rip you apart if you didn’t know how to fight back. And that little girl didn’t look like a fighter.
When no answer came, Stede’s face immediately brightened with a sunny smile. Izzy’s quivered lips and twitchy eyes, looking like his presence was a literal offense to all five senses. It was a tell-tale sign that he had won. If there was anything Izzy hated, more than being bested by Stede at something, it was agreeing with him on anything.
"... We make for Madiera,” He relents with a growl. “It's not England, but it's no shithole."
The Gentleman pirate nods and gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Thank you, Izzy."
"Fuck off," he grits, immediately wrenching himself away to do anything else. Stede whips around to face the crew, giving them the good news about their newest guest aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge.
“Everyone, line up and say hello to miss Lilibet of Barbados!”
As strange as it was, the crew did as they were told and introduced themselves one by one. The little girl didn’t say anything in return. She simply waved to Fang, and let Wee Jon shake her little hand with his fingers. She still clung to Lucius like her life depended on it, burying her face in his neck as soon as all the attention became too much. Lucius gently bounced in place and gave her back a little pat as Stede instructed the others to get back to chores. Roach was to fetch her something to eat while he figured out rations and sleeping arrangements.
“You know it’s bad luck to have a woman on board a ship,” Pete mumbled over to his partner.
“That’s a myth,” Lucius said before giving his shoulder a swat. “Go get a bed set up.”
“We’ve got room in ours,” Jim offered, tilting their head to meet Lilibet’s eyes. “You wanna room with us, little miss?”
Lilibet finally lifts her head from Lucius’s shoulder, staring at Jim with Blackbeard’s eyes. It takes them a second not to stare or make a face. It was striking, though, the resemblance between them. She could be his miniature.
The little girl flashes a soft smile, and Jim’s heart couldn’t help but flutter a bit. And as soon as she reached out and was carefully placed into their hold, Jim couldn’t help but give her a small, protective hug.
A hug that only grew tighter as night fell over the ship, and as she cried and cried in their bed. From the floor, Olu wrapped the pillow tighter around his head, trying to muffle the not-so-quiet sobs and coughs coming from above. Exhausted and quiet, Jim continued to pat and rub her back, trying to soothe her in a way that let her know she wasn’t alone. They cried like this too, once. After their father died, and Nana took them in after wandering aimlessly for weeks. The only difference was that they were left to cry it out alone. Alone in the woods, alone in the groves, alone in a little nook at an old church…
They closed their eyes, picturing the orange groves on St. Augustine as they continued to rub little circles on her back. They could still see it behind their eyelids, the vast land of their family home. The scent of orange blossoms and fertile earth. Their mother’s cooking from the chimenea.
“Gracias a la vida,” they sang quietly, “que me ha dado tanto … Me dio dos luceros que cuando los abro…”
Olu cracked open eye and looked up, slowly loosening his hold on his pillow. The sound of her cries were still there, along sniffles and gasps, but it was layered over with a soft melody. Something he’d only heard in the form of a passive hum while doing chores. He let the pillow fall from his ears, tilting up ever-so-slightly to get a better listen.
“Perfecto distingo … lo negro del blanco, Y en el alto cielo, su fondo estrellado,” their voice “Y en las multitudes, el hombre que yo amo…”
Jim felt her back twitch as she sniffled and hiccupped, her cries finally falling to quiet whimpers. The crewmate continued to sing quietly, rubbing slow circles as the little girl dried her eyes and blew her nose into the sheets.
“Gracias a la vida, que me ha dado tanto… Me ha dado el oído, que en todo su ancho…”
One after the other, the three of them yawned and started to sink deeper into that blissful feeling. Olu closed his eyes and laid back flat again, the languid smile never leaving his face as Jim’s singing voice lulled him to sleep. Jim’s movements slowed to a stop as Lilibet snuggled closer, her tear-stained face buried into the crook of their shoulder and neck. Her middle and ring fingers nestled into her mouth, suckling them softly as her breathing hitched in and out. Jim’s eyes fluttered shut, and they continued to sing slowly into the dark.
“Graba noche y día … grillos y canarios … Martirios, turbinas, ladridos, chubascos,”
She started to calm. Her breathing went light and steady. And then finally, there was quiet.
“Y la voz tan tierna de mi bien amado…”
Edward sat wide awake on his second pipe, smoking up a storm as he stares absently at the ocean. As the tobacco smooths his frayed edges, he considers how royally he’s fucked it all up. A child. A whole child. Living, breathing proof that’s been with – and bound to – someone other than Stede. The feeling irritated him, disgusted him, and most of all terrified him. Smoke burned in his throat. He coughed once, twice, before taking another puff. His muscles tensed as his eyes started to sting and well with tears. He could feel it now. Wrapping around his insides in a vicelike grip, squeezing ever tighter at the thought running over and over through his head. He could feel it, as real as a pair of lips touching the shell of his ear to whisper what he already knew. What he dreaded most.
‘He’s definitely going to leave you now.’