#*smirks at jules farrier* >:)

[carewyncromwell]

Ficlet: Educational Decree #23

@drinkyoursoupbitch mentioned enjoying Lawyer!Carewyn, so...I decided to write this not-so-quick not-so-little fic drabble, featuring my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, and her Surrogate BBBFF, Bill Weasley. This is set in May 1996, circa the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and right after Voldemort’s return has been fully revealed to the Wizarding World.

One note about Carey’s involvement with the Order -- due to her baggage with Dumbledore and her own inherent pacifism, Carewyn is not an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, at least not in the traditional sense. She does help them in her own way and on her own terms, but Carewyn hasn’t served as any kind of representative for or agent of the organization, fought in any conflicts with Death Eaters, or even attended any Order meetings in person. Most of the aid she’s provided the Order is through leaking intelligence to them through her old friends Tonks and Jae and in going out of her way to serve as legal council to Fudge so she can write and work on cases that she would know well enough to subsequently dismantle at the proper moment. Carewyn has also kept known associates of Dumbledore like the Weasleys and the Hogwarts staff at arm’s length and not spoken to them much at all, so as to not give Fudge reason to question her loyalties or look too deeply at her activities. Therefore Carewyn and Bill -- keeping an eye on the greater good -- have not shared direct correspondence for nearly a year, which has definitely been hard on both of them, as after Rowan’s death, the two have come to see each other as their respective best friend.

~~~~~

The Ministry of Magic may have been in a state of confusion thanks to the revelation of Voldemort’s return -- but no matter how chaotic things were, or how many enchanted memos flew through the air, Bill Weasley was never not going to stick out like a sore thumb.

The ponytailed Cursebreaker towered over many of the employees scrambling around him as he climbed into the lift that led to the other levels. He could feel several side-long glances his way -- no doubt interested in his violet-black leather jacket with silver spiked shoulders and the Peruvian Vipertooth fang earring in his right ear.

‘Maybe I should’ve drank some Polyjuice,’ he thought sheepishly. ‘Come disguised as someone else.’

But he brushed the thought off. As good as it would’ve been to not attract as much attention, he knew he didn’t want to waste time. The Ministry having finally come around to the idea of Voldemort’s return meant that Carewyn presumably no longer had to walk on eggshells and pretend not to know everybody -- and, well, there was a lot to plan. Bill knew Carewyn would want to know everything that had happened, and now that the truth had come out, he wanted to be the one to tell her. If nothing else, Carewyn would definitely prefer a private meeting with him than one with Dumbledore.

“Level Two,” said the cool, serene female voice of the lift as it came to a stop. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Auror Offices.”

The cage-like door clattered open, and the employees in the lift came streaming out, fighting with a flood of equal size trying to take their place. Before Bill could climb out himself, however, he noticed a familiar mane of bright pink hair in the crowd of people pushing their way into the lift.

“Tonks!” said Bill.

The Metamorphagus looked up, and her face broke into a huge smile at the sight of him.

“Bill!”

The two exchanged a short hug.

“What in the world are you doing here, mate?” Tonks asked incredulously. “Gonna stick out just a touch in that get-up, aren’t you?”

“I already am sticking out,” Bill laughed. “Is Carewyn in her office?”

Tonks’s face grew a bit more serious.

“No, she’s on Level Nine -- Courtroom Ten. The Wizengamot’s discussing a challenge made to Educational Decree Number 23 -- you know, the one creating the High Inquisitor post? Apparently they summoned Carey as an expert witness.”

“Because she helped Fudge with a draft of that decree,” surmised Bill.

Tonks nodded.

“Well, I’ll go on ahead and find her down there, then,” said Bill.

He sidled back into the lift, and Tonks came up to stand beside him as the cage doors closed and the lift began to move again.

“Wish I could come with you,” said Tonks softly, “but I’ve got a meeting with Remus right after work, I can’t be late.”

Bill cocked his eyebrows amusedly. “A meeting? Do you call all of your romantic rendez-vous’s that, Tonks?”

Tonks’s face darkened in a blush even as her face broke into a huge white grin.

“Oh, don’t tease! It’s for the Order,” she mumbled a bit more shyly.

Bill laughed.

The lift came to a stop.

“Level Eight,” said the cool, serene female voice. “Atrium.”

The doors clanged open, and the mob of employees flooded out. Tonks strode out of the lift too, waving to Bill over her shoulder.

“Say hi to the ‘General’ for me!” she said with a laugh.

Bill waved back, grinning at the reminder of Diego’s old nickname for Carewyn. The Dueling Champion had started calling her that after she and the others started the Circle of Khanna back in the day -- though Diego often punctuated it with modifiers like “brave General” or “kind General.”

The doors closed, and the lift began to descend again. Bill was the only one left inside now, so he could actually stretch a bit without hitting any of the dozen people fencing him in on either side.

‘Carey stayed in Fudge’s good graces this last year so she could sabotage him wherever she could -- keep him from grabbing absolute power, and help us fight You-Know-Who,’ Bill recalled. ‘So she no doubt wrote that draft of the decree with the intention of having it challenged.’

Something rubbed Bill the wrong way, though.

‘The Wizengamot summoned her as a witness, no doubt to defend it...but why would they even bother defending it? Fudge has been proven wrong about You-Know-Who. And why is Carey just an expert witness, when she could have made the challenge herself?’

“Level Nine,” said the cool, serene female voice of the lift as it came to its last stop. “Department of Mysteries.”

The cage door clattered open again, and Bill climbed out.

Level Nine was unique among the floors of the Ministry for its reflective black-tiled walls and ceilings. Bill’s leather boots clapped against the floor with every step, the sound echoing off of every surface down the hall behind him as he walked.

He turned a corner and found Courtroom Ten. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he turned the silver doorknob in the center of the door and inched it open.

“...position was created for the welfare of the students, was it not? To better regulate and enforce the standards for their educators -- the professors put in charge of their care?”

Bill identified Fudge’s blustering voice at once, though it sounded much shakier and more feeble than usual.

“...That was supposed to be its intent, yes.”

‘Carey!’

Bill sidled into the room, settling down into the half-full stands of the courtroom so he could see.

Fudge sat up near the head of the Courtroom’s box seats, spinning his lime green bowler hat in both hands in his lap. The top seat, however, which belonged to the Chief Warlock, was once again occupied by Albus Dumbledore, dressed in embroidered lavender robes and a matching pointed hat. Bill also noticed his younger brother Percy -- as Junior Undersecretary -- sitting in the Head Scribe’s Chair, in the far right corner. Percy, true to form, seemed to be purposefully avoiding Bill’s gaze.

On the floor, a young man with dark hair and a set of white-collared brown pinstripe robes who Bill recognized as ex-Ravenclaw Prefect Chester Davies sat at the prosecution’s table. And sitting in the witness chair at the center of the room, dressed in high-necked, flowing forest green robes and gold star-like earrings, was Carewyn. Her ginger red hair was shorter than Bill remembered it, only reaching her chin, but her lipstick was as ruby red as ever. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders were low, making her appear incredibly uncomfortable.

Bill frowned. He’d never seen Carewyn slouch like that before...

“And -- and there have been...concerns over the years,” Fudge pressed, though he kept glancing anxiously out the side of his eye up at Dumbledore beside him, “letters sent by parents of the students, expressing concerns about...previous staff appointments at Hogwarts, yes?”

“Objection,” said Chester Davies rather coolly. “The witness is here to testify about the legality of the measure, not to give justification for why it was written.”

“Sustained,” said Dumbledore airily.

His light blue eyes drifted down to Fudge, and although they weren’t at all sharp or reproachful, the Minister flinched all the same. Dumbledore then looked down at Carewyn, inclining his head slightly.

“Miss Cromwell...your legal counsel was that there was nothing on the books forbidding the creation of the High Inquisitor position -- is that correct?”

Despite the slight discomfort in her posture, Carewyn kept her eyes solidly on Dumbledore as she spoke.

“Yes, Professor.”

“So in your view, it would not be illegal for the Ministry to influence the way Hogwarts is run -- to circumvent the authority of the school’s own Headmaster?”

“I could find nothing on the books outlawing it,” said Carewyn solemnly. “There is no law forbidding the Ministry from regulating Hogwarts’s educational practices, staff appointments, or lesson plans. However one personally feels about Educational Decree Number 23...”

She inclined her head respectfully to Dumbledore.

“...I would conclude that it was legal.”

Fudge’s face was twitching as if he wanted to smile, but seemed too afraid to when he glanced around at Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizengamot on either side of him, whose faces were all decidedly stony.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered from Carewyn to Chester Davies at the prosecution table and back. Then he gave Carewyn a short, respectful nod in return.

“Thank you, Miss Cromwell. Mr. Davies -- you may now cross-examine the witness.”

Chester rose to his feet, his shoulders straight back and tall. He strode around the table slowly, but with purpose, his robes billowing slightly behind him as he came up beside Carewyn, his arms folded behind his back. His eyes never rested on anyone in particular -- instead they hovered somewhere in the area of the abandoned far corner of the stands.

“Miss Cromwell,” he said, his voice very cool, “when Fudge first approached you for legal counsel, why did he want the High Inquisitor position created?”

“O-objection!” Fudge stammered. “That’s a prejudicial question!”

“Overruled,” said Dumbledore calmly. “It’s a factual question -- one I’d quite like to know the answer to. Proceed with your answer, Miss Cromwell.”

Carewyn had shifted her gaze over to Chester. Although Chester wasn’t looking at her, she kept her eyes locked on his face.

“...He said...that he wished to keep Dumbledore in check,” she said very quietly.

Both the Wizengamot members and the gallery startled to mumble amongst themselves. Bill noticed a reporter with an uneven light blond haircut and a snake tattoo on his arm in the stands scribbling notes furiously. Even Percy paused in his writing, glancing up at Fudge uneasily. Fudge’s face had flushed the shade of a fine red wine.

Chester’s eyebrows rose. Though he kept his gaze on the abandoned far corner of the stands, quiet confidence rippled off of him as he strolled leisurely to the other side of Carewyn.

“Had Albus Dumbledore been charged with any crime by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” he asked.

“Objection!” said Fudge again. “Completely irrelevant! We’re discussing the decree, not Dumbledore!”

“Overruled,” said Dumbledore. “Miss Cromwell’s previous answer has linked both you and me to the decree, Cornelius. Proceed, Miss Cromwell.”

“No,” said Carewyn.

“Had Albus Dumbledore been under investigation for a specific crime by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” asked Chester.

“Objection!” Fudge burst out, sounding both more frustrated and desperate. “This line of questioning is highly inflammatory -- ”

“Overruled,” Dumbledore cut him off very smoothly. “The truth can often be inflammatory. Proceed, Miss Cromwell.”

“No -- though he was placed under Ministry surveillance.”

“Objection!” whimpered Fudge. “We’ll need to cross-examine that claim -- ”

“Overruled. Our examination of the witness is through, and she’s merely stating facts of the case. Proceed, Mr. Davies.”

“And,” said Chester, his voice a bit sharper now, “was the High Inquisitor position filled again, once Dolores Umbridge -- with the passing of Educational Decree Number 28 -- replaced Dumbledore and became Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Carewyn inclined her head slightly, her blue eyes narrowing slightly upon Chester’s face seriously.

“No.”

Chester’s mouth had spread into a small smirk by this point. He’d stopped in front of Carewyn and faced her at last, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Interesting. So the High Inquisitor position -- which, the Minister has stated for the press was there to ‘keep order’ and ‘address the falling standards at Hogwarts school’ -- was no longer needed as soon as Albus Dumbledore left his position as Headmaster. Even though Headmistress Umbridge would go on to try to forcibly remove Professor Rubeus Hagrid from the Hogwarts grounds -- an attempt that resulted in severe injury for Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall...and even though the Inquisitorial Squad created to assist the High Inquisitor had not been disbanded and was actually given more authority after the fact...the position of High Inquisitor no longer needed to be filled. No further effort was needed to regulate Hogwarts’s educational practices. Once Dumbledore was gone, so too was the need for the position...and therefore the decree.”

Fudge’s flushed face had turned a dark purple.

“Objection!” he squeaked.

“Overruled,” Dumbledore said very quietly, but very firmly.

“Regulation is legal,” Chester plowed on, pacing slowly across the room without looking anyone in the eye, “as long as it’s consistent. There can be no singling out of individual citizens, particularly when it’s not in the pursuit of legal action. Regardless of the Minister’s distrust of him, Dumbledore had not been charged with and was not under investigation for a specific crime...so there would’ve been no probable cause for his personal activities to be regulated. Regulating educational policy, therefore, would only be legal as long as the regulation was consistent across the board -- if the High Inquisitor position both regulated Albus Dumbledore and Dolores Umbridge’s decisions as Head of Hogwarts school.”

“Object -- ”

“Overruled.”

“And so,” said Chester more fiercely, his gaze flashing up at Fudge with visible reproach, “the High Inquisitor position, and the decree that spawned it, was created for the express purpose of silencing political dissidents...namely one in particular -- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Chester then turned to Carewyn, his expression becoming much less harsh but no less severe.

“Would that be legal, in your opinion, Miss Cromwell?”

Carewyn stared Chester straight in the eye. Neither one of them blinked.

“No,” said Carewyn at last, very firmly. “The targeting of a private citizen with no legal justification would violate multiple laws, including the Third Clause of the Wizard’s Code of Civil Rights.”

Fudge’s face had lost most of its color, blanching to an ill grayish-white. The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth turned up in a very tiny, dewy smile.

Chester’s eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face, almost softening.

“Thank you, Miss Cromwell. No further questions.”

Carewyn got to her feet. She looked like she wanted to say something to Chester, but decided against it and simply nodded, heading back up into the stands. She noticed Bill sitting in the rows, but did not move to greet him, instead taking a seat in the row behind the prosecutor’s table, away from the rest of the spectators.

Chester turned fully around to face the Wizengamot, unfolding his arms from behind his back at last.

“Members of the Wizengamot,” he said lowly, “I do not make this case with any desire to achieve political points. If nothing else...the danger we now find ourselves in makes it imperative that we set aside political squabbling. Whatever one’s opinion is of the Minister of Magic or his legislation...”

He shot a side-long glance at Fudge, as did many other members of the Court.

“...this is not the time for retaliation, but for justice. Educational Decree Number 23 was illegal both in its creation and especially in its execution -- and so it must be expunged forever from the law, and we must act to ensure that nothing like it ever is created again. This decision must be so universal that it sets a precedent -- one that, unlike the one this decree set, is one that evokes positive change. Hogwarts doesn’t need ‘regulation’ now -- it needs protection. We all need protection. So vote with your conscience. End this chapter of Ministry ineptitude and in-fighting...and start a new one, having made up for the mistakes we’ve made.”

Chester glanced at Fudge one more time, this time meeting his eyes. The Minister looked away uncomfortably. The young attorney then inclined his head respectfully to the rest of the court.

“Thank you.”

He took his seat at the prosecution table. The room was silent for a moment, before Dumbledore addressed the court.

“All those in favor of the decree being upheld?”

No one moved. Not a single member of the Wizengamot raised their hand -- not even Fudge, who kept his eyes locked on the bowler hat clutched in his trembling hands.

The reaction was so stunning that the spectators in the gallery began to whisper among themselves. The tattooed reporter in the stands scribbled some more notes furiously.

“All those in favor of overturning the decree and -- by extension -- declaring it illegal under Wizarding Law?” said Dumbledore.

A sea of hands rose into the air. Fudge did not raise his hand -- he’d clearly decided to withhold his vote -- but he for once remained completely silent, his entire posture shrinking visibly in his seat.

“Then we are decided,” declared Dumbledore, a pleased twinkle in his light blue eyes. “Educational Decree Number 23 is abolished. Court is adjourned.”

He lightly tapped the gavel twice on the table in front of him. Everyone started bustling around to leave the Courtroom, including Carewyn and Chester, who left together. Bill hurried to catch up with them, even as the crowd of spectators devolved around him.

He finally caught up with them as they climbed into the lift.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Chester turned around. Their eyes both lit up in recognition.

“...Bill,” said Carewyn, visibly taken aback. She glanced at Chester out the side of her eye very quickly before asking, “What are you doing here?”

Bill came to stop next to them in the lift, a smile prickling at his features. “I heard the Wizengamot had summoned you, so I thought I’d pop down and watch the court proceedings...going up, I suppose?” he added lightly, “Allow me.”

He punched the button for Level Two.

“Glad I did too,” Bill continued casually as the gate-like doors closed. “That was quite a case!”

Carewyn leaned back against the side of the lift, crossing her arms.

“...Yes, it was. A foregone conclusion, some would say, given Fudge’s current level of popularity -- but the law isn’t supposed to be a popularity contest.”

“True,” said Chester. “Just because Fudge was cruel in how he targeted his political rivals doesn’t mean we have to be.”

Bill’s gaze slid over to Chester.

“...I didn’t know you were an attorney now, Chester. I haven’t seen you since...”

“...I left school -- I know,” finished Chester with a polite smile. “I’m rather new to it, actually. I only started practicing last month.”

“I was the one who suggested Chester take the case,” Carewyn added, also smiling slightly.

“I hope you were pleased with the result,” Chester shot back with a wry smile.

“It did turn out the way we hoped, anyway. Though I would’ve preferred if our roles had been switched.”

“We can’t all be on the winning side of things.”

The lift came to a stop.

“Level Two,” said the cool female voice again. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Auror Offices.”

The three climbed out.

“Oh, Carewyn, before I forget,” said Chester, “I left some paperwork for you in my office -- I thought it might be useful, for your next case.”

“Thank you,” said Carewyn, “I’ll go and fetch it.”

“I have to be heading out myself...could I steal a bottle of pop from your office, before I go?”

“Of course. I left the file I borrowed in my right desk drawer too.”

“Much obliged.”

The exchange was very quick and clipped, and yet there was something almost pointed in the glances they shared -- as if they were saying something else entirely that only they knew.

Carewyn headed off down the hall, presumably toward Chester’s office. Chester strolled down to the first door on the right, which led to Carewyn’s office, and opened it, glancing over his shoulder at Bill.

“Do you want to wait here until Carewyn comes back?” he asked politely. “It should only take a few minutes.”

“Yes, I would,” said Bill.

Bill followed Chester into the office, and the attorney closed the door behind both of them.

Carewyn’s office was unusual among the Ministry of Magic’s offices in how charming and remarkably pretty it was. It was very tiny, incredibly organized, and impeccably decorated, with mint-green painted walls and a charmed skylight that showed the image of the London street above them, including the passing feet of the Muggles presumably walking overhead. It also included several Muggle appliances, such as a waffle-maker and a tiny fridge -- Carewyn had said in her letters that she and her coworkers often worked late nights, so sometimes Talbott, Tonks, or Ben (who were Aurors and a Hitwizard respectively) would pop in for a before-dawn breakfast after one of their assignments.

Chester sat down in the wheeled office chair (another unique Muggle item) and rolled it over to the fridge behind the black desk. He opened it, pushing aside the items inside to reach the very back.

“Can I get you some orangeade, perhaps?” asked Chester casually. “Carewyn always keeps a bottle or two in stock.”

Bill smiled broadly. “Of course. You know it’s my favorite, Carey.”

Chester -- or rather, Carewyn, in disguise as Chester -- took out a bottle of orangeade, her face breaking into a broad smile and her dark eyes sparkling, as she opened the bottle and handed it to Bill.

“When did you figure it out?” she asked.

“Back in the courtroom,” said Bill. “You’ve never slouched like that when you were uncomfortable. You used to shrink a bit, when you were younger...but you always look away when you’re the least bit uncomfortable. You don’t keep eye contact like that. Then you started talking, and...”

Bill grinned.

“...even though it was Chester’s voice, I could still hear you in there.”

Carewyn grinned broadly. She rolled the chair around so she could fetch a can of Vimto Cola for herself. She opened it with a click and took a sip.

“It’ll only take a few minutes before I turn back into myself again,” she said. “The case went on a bit longer than I expected -- I had to cut my closing arguments short, if I didn’t want to quickly rush back to the prosecution bench and drink some ‘water.’”

“Yet you still won everyone over,” said Bill as he lowered the soda bottle from his lips. “Well, except for Fudge, but...none of us expected to win him over.”

Carewyn sighed. “True. I’m glad he had the decency to step aside at least. He clearly saw there was no point in wasting his vote -- it would only make him look worse politically, to be the only one standing up for his decree.”

“Do you reckon he’ll resign?”

“I’m positive. This trial broke him a bit, I think. It really gave him a good look at how much he’s destroyed his reputation forever.”

Carewyn took another sip. Bill considered her for a moment, his eyes lingering on Chester’s dark hair.

“I have to ask, though, Carey...why did you do it? Why didn’t you just challenge the decree yourself? Why replace Chester?”

Carewyn bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes drifting away as she placed her soda can down on her desk.

“The Prophet’ll be going on about Chester taking down the decree,” said Bill, sounding almost disappointed. “He’ll be getting praise for what you did.”

“And that’ll help him get more cases in the future,” Carewyn said simply. “I need more allies in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- good lawyers who won’t cow to people like Fudge. And if I was in the witness chair instead, I could appear as a neutral observer -- so when I invariably sided with the prosecution, I could bring the case for the Decree crashing down.”

“But you weren’t in the witness chair. Chester was.”

“Yes. I actually gave Chester a file that he could use in the case, while I sat back...but he refused. He said that I deserved to present my case in front of a jury, after how much work I did. So after a lot of coaxing, we decided I would present my case -- disguised as Chester.”

“So you did all this just to help Chester with his career?”

Carewyn’s eyes lingered on the bookshelf in the corner.

“Not entirely,” she admitted.

She clearly seemed to regret that her decision wasn’t solely based on that kind of selfless rationale. She rested her hands on her desk, interlacing the larger fingers belonging to Chester.

“Even if Fudge is no longer in power, the Ministry’s still packed to the gills with his supporters, as well as people who were willing to just scrape and grovel at his feet. It’s safer for me to interact with you all now, but I can’t afford to lose my stable position just yet -- the truth’s come out, but the Ministry isn’t any less treacherous. Dolores Umbridge hasn’t even lost her job here, even after everything she’s done as High Inquisitor. On the contrary...there are rumors circulating she might even return to being Senior Under-Secretary in the future.”

Bill was aghast. “What?”

Carewyn looked just as displeased. “I’m angry too...but there’s nothing I can do. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement can’t charge her with a crime even if the decree making her High Inquisitor has been declared illegal, since she was merely appointed to the position. She had no hand in creating it...at least none that I can prove in a court of law. She’s been put on temporary administrative leave...but that can be overturned by the Minister for Magic. Fudge probably won’t stick around long, and he probably wouldn’t bring Umbridge back for fear of damaging himself further...but I wouldn’t put it past his successor to quietly put Umbridge back in her old post, given her experience as a ‘loyal subordinate.’”

Carewyn could not disguise her clear disgust with the situation, even despite the coolness of her voice and expression.

“I hate that woman,” she said very lowly and coldly. “I hate her with every fiber of my being.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “I know how you feel. After everything Harry’s told us about her, it’s clear she’s an absolutely horrid person.”

Carewyn looked up, her eyebrows knitting together. “Yes...how is Harry? I heard he was here at the Ministry, when...”

She trailed off, but Bill knew what she meant.

“He’s doing as well as to be expected, from what Ron’s said in his letters. Though I suspect the loss of Sirius is probably hitting him very hard.”

Carewyn bowed her head. “...Yes, of course. He...was his only family left, wasn’t he?”

Bill nodded. Carewyn closed her eyes sadly -- even if she had yet to meet Harry, it was clear she felt very deeply for him, in that moment.

Bill reached a hand out over the desk and took Carewyn’s hand (which of course at the moment was Chester’s), offering her a smile.

“He’s still got all of us, though,” he said reassuringly. “And well...I reckon the two of us know better than anyone how friends can become family.”

Carewyn’s expression softened noticeably. She gave Bill’s hand a tight squeeze.

“We do.”

Her eyes welled up with emotion despite the calm of her face.

“Bill...it’s so good to see you,” she said very quietly.

Her voice betrayed emotions that she never would’ve felt brave enough to show in school. Despite the levelness of her tone, it was so warm and soft -- full of sincere caring.

Bill’s eyes filled up with some tears as he squeezed her hand back.

And as Bill held her gaze, he noticed her eyes changing color -- lightening from a dark brown to a pretty blue.

“Guess it’s time,” he prompted her. “Do you need to change?”

“I suppose so,” Carewyn said dryly. “Chester doesn’t have hips like mine...I reckon I might tear his pants, if I don’t. Mind turning around a minute?”

“No problem.”

Bill turned in the chair so that his long legs were propped up on the arm, resting an arm on his knee so that he could then proceed to lean his chin on his hand and glance away. He heard Carewyn murmur, “Auravelum,” under her breath, presumably to obscure her desk from sight.

There was a lot of shuffling. After a couple of minutes, Carewyn murmured, “Evanesco,” and Bill looked up as the silvery blue curtain she’d conjured vanished.

And there she was -- dressed in flowing forest green robes just like the ones Chester had been wearing while disguised as her, and grinning broadly up at him through a ruby red smile.

Bill’s face broke into a larger grin, his brown eyes sparkling at the sight of his best friend. He got up, swept around the desk, and snatched her up in a huge hug.

The two of them were a funny sight -- a gangling, leather-dressed Cursebreaker with a fang earring and a ponytail hugging a tiny, lady-like witch with makeup and conservative dress robes -- but they clung to each other with an almost fierce kind of affection, laughing happily.

“I have so much to tell you,” murmured Bill. “I hardly know where to start...”

Carewyn’s lips spread into a smile even as her own eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t have as much to tell, I’m sure, but...I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too,” said Bill. “Not being able to write, or visit -- having to just stay in touch through Tonks and Jae -- ”

“ -- and for a whole year,” Carewyn agreed. “I know.”

She reached up as high as she could, even going on her tiptoes, so she could hold the back of Bill’s head. Bill held the back of her head too, squeezing her tight.

“Are you really engaged now?” asked Carewyn curiously.

Bill was a bit startled. He smiled a bit sheepishly over Carewyn’s shoulder.

“Oh, ah...yeah. You heard about that?”

“No,” said Carewyn uncomfortably. “I...sort of sensed it. In your thoughts.”

Bill pulled away to look at her better, a bit affronted. “Carey!”

Carewyn looked very apologetic as her gaze drifted down to rest on Bill’s shoulder rather than his face.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t actively using my Legilimency, it’s just...gotten so sensitive now, in this line of work. And I suppose it was one of those things you really wanted to tell me, because I kept seeing you holding a ring, and...well, you asked me to be more open with you, about things.”

Bill’s face was flushed slightly, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling wryly.

“...So I did. Kind of took some of the wind out of my sails, though.”

Carewyn shot him a cool look through her own light blush. “I’m sure you’ll get back at me for it at some point.”

“Rest assured I will,” said Bill with a grin. “Maybe at the wedding.”

Carewyn blinked in surprise. Then her eyes widened, softening visibly.

“...Are you inviting me?”

“Of course I am!” Bill laughed. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going to let you get away with not being part of it. Actually...”

Bill’s face flushed a bit and he brought a hand up to rub his neck self-consciously.

“...I was...wondering if you’d maybe...if you wanted to...if you’d sing something, for it.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened. “Sing at your wedding?”

“Something for our first dance,” mumbled Bill, smiling shyly through his darkening flush. “Would you?”

Carewyn covered her mouth with both hands, trying to hold in her emotions.

“Of course!” she breathed, her voice oddly high in her throat. Clearly she was very touched.

She quickly grabbed both of Bill’s hands in hers, her blue eyes shining.

“Of course I’ll sing for you...both of you.”

Bill’s flushed face was as bright as a sunrise as he beamed.

“You can pick the song,” he said, his smile becoming a bit more cheeky. “Even something stupid, if you want.”

Carewyn laughed behind her hand. “No way! I am not going to sing something stupid for my best friend’s wedding!”

“Aw...but ‘Agadoo’ is a real jam, isn’t it?”

“It’s complete and utter rubbish and you know it, William Weasley.”

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 23) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 23: The Flagstaff Horsefair has turned out to be a huge success, but before they go home, an unexpected visitor changes everything. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Dean’s ride: Time Has No Mercy - The Common Linnets  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74​​​, and @winchest09​​​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     The final day of the Flagstaff Horsefair 2008 is well on its way, the sun beating down on the market stalls and food trucks. Spectators mix with riders and trainers, some having drinks on the terras, others shopping at the tack and clothing stores. Giggling kids are chasing each other on the grass, the younger ones riding stick horses. Dean smiles at the children when they cross in front of him as he walks up towards the picture stand, slowing his step for a moment in order not to collide with the squealing youthful bunch. 

     By a van with ‘Equestrian Photo’ on the side, he pauses, then moves under the awning. The saleswoman gives out a printed photo to waiting clients on the side, wishing them a good day before she directs her attention to Dean. She greets him with a kind smile which the cowboy returns. Linda knows he doesn’t need help finding the images taken during this event, it’s not the first time the horse trainer has visited the photo stand over the years. Quite a few of the photos hanging on the walls in the Singer’s home and the cafeteria were made by Linda’s boss, the photographer who regularly works horse shows in the region. Ellen usually buys at least one when either he or Jo got on the podium. Dean isn’t interested in purchasing a photo of one of his own rides, though.

     He looks up when the red-haired photographer stumbles into the van from the back entrance, one Nikon hanging from a sling, dangling on her hip, and another one on a monopod with a huge zoom lens attached to it resting against her shoulder. Her curls are wild and it’s clear she’s in a hurry, the next class about to start already.      “Hi, Dean,” she greets, recognizing the familiar horseman instantly.      “Hey.” He nods at her with a smile, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “How’s it going?”      “Good. Busy,” she returns, taking out the battery of the cameras skillfully and swapping them for fully charged ones. “But busy is good these days, ain’t it? You had a few good runs, didn’t ya?”      “Can’t complain,” he admits, grinning as he thinks about how successful this event has been so far.      “Your student gave quite the performance last night,” the photographer smirks, handing Linda the memory card and taking back empty Sandisks to replace them with. 

     Dean looks up at her over the screen, noticing the mischief in her eyes. The way she just emphasized the word ‘student’ tells him that she knows exactly what’s up. He raises his eyebrows and chuckles, flustered. Looks like just about everyone in the business is up to speed at this point.

     “Check out the ones at the bottom of the folder. You can thank me later,” the redhead advises, grabbing a chocolate bar and a bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter before she heads for the back door again. “Gotta run!”

     Somewhat confused, Dean watches her head off to the main arena, before he redirects his attention to the display in front of him again. Stills of last night’s highlights pass by, allowing him to relive the amazing moments. The shots of the actual run are great, although he can imagine that Y/N and Meadow aren’t the most difficult pair to shoot. The Quarter mare is very photogenic with her copper coat and broad white blaze. She’s elegant, much like her rider, who has a fantastic seat, which shows, even on a still image. 

     Curious what the capturer of these images means, the cowboy goes down further, reaching a series of photos that show the seconds right after Y/N finished her freestyle, her arms wrapped around her horse’s neck, hugging her tight. He makes a mental note to pick that one. 

     There are more of her coming towards the entrance, waving at the crowd, but it’s the next couple of shots that has his jaw fall slack. The photographer must have sprinted to the other side of the tunnel before the horse and rider left the ring, because she managed to document the exact moment when he and his girlfriend embraced, Y/N still in the saddle, his arm around her, the emotional release evident. Jo is holding on to Meadow’s reins on the other side, smiling as she watches her friend and her cousin.

     The next photo shows just the two of them, standing in the gateway facing the arena while waiting for the score, followed by a shot of him lifting her off the ground when the realization of the new PR settled in. The final picture has to be his favorite. It’s one of the kiss they shared. The composition of the portrait is astonishing, the spotlights on the showground illuminating the figures in the center, silhouettes against the vibrant arena. His heart grows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never thought he would be able to experience what he felt at that moment again, the great magnitude of pride, joy, and love. But this photo brings it all back, and he has to have it.

     Still smiling at the warm feeling that has settled in his entire body, Dean scribbles down the file numbers on the order form and hands it to the blonde saleswoman, together with a fifty-dollar-bill. The wrangler bought six in total, one to frame and decorate the wall in the cafeteria, four for his girlfriend. The chosen photos are shots of horse and rider in a sliding stop, of the second right after finishing the test when Y/N threw her arms around Meadow’s neck, and of the precious embrace between him and his girl. He got a double print of the kiss they shared, one for her, one for him. 

     It’s a picture that he will cherish, come whatever. A picture he wants to be able to look at when he needs to, to remind himself of what he has got going for him. He knows challenging times are coming, with the ranch, with their relationship. Dean is well aware he’s approaching that inevitable turning point when he has to open up further than the lost boy with a dark past is comfortable with. But this photo, a moment forever frozen in time, will be the beacon he needs to find his way home. 

     Dean takes the envelope with the printed pictures from Linda and heads towards the ring. Jo is due to enter the arena in ten minutes and he wouldn’t want to miss it, for one, because she is going to bust his ass if he’s not there. It sometimes baffles him how his little cousin acts like she can’t stand being around him and yet searches for his approval so often. 

     He takes out the photo he wants to save for himself together with the one he will add to the cafeteria’s Wall of Fame, and slips them in the inner pocket of his denim jacket before he reaches the foot of the bleachers. With big strides, he conquers the steps, looking left and right in search of his friends once he has made it to the top. He spots Benny and Y/N on one of the higher rows when the farrier lifts his hat off his head and whistles. This barrel race is one of the highlights of the event and the arena is almost filled to full capacity, only a few seats left. Thankfully, his girlfriend saved him a spot.

     His smile grows wider when he sees the cowgirl, and deep inside he’s excited to give her the present he just purchased. He can’t wait to witness her reaction.      “I got you somethin’,” Dean announces.      Intrigued, Y/N pulls her focus away from the competitor currently in the ring and looks at her boyfriend, awaiting. He offers her the envelope, placing his now empty hands on his knees, somewhat nervously.      “What’s this?” she wonders, her curiosity peaked.      “Open it,” the cowboy urges.      She does, carefully folding back the seal flap and taking out the prints. When she turns them over, she lets out a stunned gasp, much to her boyfriend’s delight.      “These are amazing!” she says, elated, going through the pictures of her and Meadow slowly.

     The last two photos silence her, however, much like they did Dean when he first saw them on the screen. Moved, she takes in the portraits of the strong bond between her and the man that’s sitting next to her. After a few long seconds, she glances aside, meeting his warm eyes.  This cowboy with a John Wayne reputation - as Jo so poetically put it - sure has his ways. He might not be very vocal when it comes to his feelings, but that’s alright, because he is able to communicate through different languages. A kiss, a dance, his trust, his support. And now these photos. It’s proof of his adoration for her, and it’s more valid than a signature.

     She closes the small gap between them, moving under his hat, and grazes her soft lips over his. Ignoring his Southern friend, who lets out a low chuckle when he notices the lovebirds next to him, the head wrangler closes his eyes and kisses her back. His hand travels into her hair and holds her, making sure she doesn’t go anywhere. He can feel every connection; her featherlight fingertips on his stubble, her cute nose against his, her lashes dusting the freckles from his cheeks. Dean doesn’t need words, but neither does she. 

     When he slowly pulls away from her, he looks at her lovingly, forgetting time for a moment. It’s only when the commentator announces Jo’s name over the speakers, that they return their attention to the arena. The gate opens and his cousin and her horse Bullet shoot towards the first barrel, the animal doing his name justice. The three wranglers of the Gold Canyon ranch get on their feet, cheering on the blonde cowgirl, who goes through the course in record time. When she clocks a new PR, Y/N bounces on her feet, hugging Dean tight and letting out that laugh that he loves so much. 

     They don’t notice Benny’s gaze wandering off to the car park behind the bleaches. He has spotted a beige pickup pulling in. Like a hawk, the farrier follows the GMC truck.      “We’re going over to Jo to celebrate. Are you coming?” The enthusiastic intern calls for Benny’s attention, and he turns his head to face his best pal’s girlfriend.      “In a minute, darlin’,” he says, giving her a smile. “Gonna watch a few more runs.”      “Alright, see you in a bit, brother,” Dean chuckles happily, before his girlfriend drags him towards the exit by his hand. 

     The Southerner watches them leave, then redirects his attention to the beat-up car on the field. A man gets out, his face shielded by a black cowboy hat. His posture seems familiar, he’s not even sure why. Benny narrows his eyes, but the figure is too far away to recognize. Then the frown evens out, his jaw falling slack. Suddenly, it clicks.       “No fuckin’ way in hell…” he mumbles to himself.

     But there ain’t no way, right? He can’t be here. Before Benny can decide otherwise, he bolts towards the steps to get down from the bleachers, hoping to not lose sight of the guy. He better make sure who just set foot on the showgrounds is exactly who he suspects he is, before he breaks the news to his best friend.

     Dean swings the heavy saddle onto Aerosmith’s back, his last horse to compete at this tournament. After this run, all that’s left for him to do is coach Y/N and Joplin for their competition debut, and then they can all pack their gear and go home. Despite that he enjoys horse shows like these, he’s looking forward to his own room, his own bed. He’s looking forward to pulling up the driveway that leads to the place that is his home.

     It has been a successful couple of days. With five horses sold and Joplin likely to add to that number, the Flagstaff Horsefair has proven to be very fruitful. Bobby made good money, and the ranch owner will be able to pay his crew, plus pay off some bills. Then there’s the business deal they landed with Fergus MacLeod. The cowboy might not like the Englishman in the slightest, but if they decide to take on Cain’s training, it will provide a much needed steady income. Dean isn’t delusional; he knows the ranch isn't out of the woods just yet, but it’s a start.

     Humming and relaxed like he always is before competing, he tightens the cinch of the chestnut Quarter, petting him on the shoulder before he takes him out of the stable.      “Good luck, cowboy.”      The man who the words are meant for smiles, peeking into the stable next to him and noticing Y/N through the steel bars. She’s preparing Joplin, brushing her tail. Their starting time is only forty-five minutes after Dean’s, since both are competing in the same class. Sadly, she will not be able to see him ride.      The mare next to his girlfriend pins her ears back and gives Aero a dirty look when the gelding comes too close for her liking. Both snigger at Joplin’s bitchy behavior.

     “You’ll make it back in time to help me warm up, right?” she checks. “I’m kinda nervous, this being my first cutting competition and all.”      “Yeah, of course,” he promises, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be there.” 

     Dean takes his horse outside, the Arizona sun welcoming him with bright light. A force of habit has him check his spurs and the tack before he positions himself on the left side of his horse in order to mount.

     “Chief?”      Looking over his shoulder, he sees Benny approaching. His strides are hasty, his jaw tensed. He checks if anyone is around before he halts and faces the head wrangler, who can read from the body language alone that something is off.      “What is it?” he asks, his brows knitted together.      The Southerner’s piercing blue eyes meet his gaze before he continues whispering. “I hate to do this now right before your run, brother, but--”      “But what?” Dean urges when the farrier hesitates.

     Benny draws in a deep breath and rubs his beard, needing a second to collect himself. He knows that what he is about to tell his best friend will have him shake on his foundations, but he needs to be prepared. He deserves to know who he might run into. The broad-shouldered ranch hand sighs, then delivers the unsettling message.      “Your father is here.”

     As if he just got struck by lightning, Dean stares at Benny, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The announcement rings in his ears, sounding more surreal every time the four words bounce off the walls inside his head. Reality hits him like a raging bull, however. His father is here. His father is here.

     The head wrangler drops his gaze, his eyes flicking over little rocks and lumps of dirt by his feet. Speechless, he takes his hat off and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, realizing he’s sweating. His heart is hammering in his chest, so forceful that it hurts. Panic starts to win terrain, but he pushes it down and nods rigidly, acknowledging Benny’s words.

     “Okay,” he returns after a few long seconds. “Thanks for telling me.”      “If there’s anythin’--” Benny offers, but is interrupted by the man in front of him, who shoves his left foot into the stirrup and swiftly gets on his horse.      “I’m good,” he assures, doing his best to come across as calm and collected. 

     Benny dips his chin, half accepting Dean’s choice to put this on hold for now. The rider has one last horse to compete, so the Southerner understands why he’s trying to keep his head in the game. He wishes he didn’t have to drop this bomb now, but there’s a chance his friend might run into John on these showgrounds. Benny might not know the entire story of what happened all those years ago, but he knows enough to recognize the impact the presence of Dean’s biological father will have. He watches quietly how the horseman pushes his legs into Aerosmith’s flanks and steers the horse towards the warmup arena without another word. 

     Suddenly nervous, Dean is highly aware of all the people who cross his path. He briefly studies them, even though recognizing the man who has been absent for over half of his life scares the hell out of him. Why the fuck is he here? 

     Dean isn’t just afraid of running into his old man; he’s angry. Angry about all the wrong choices that were made, angry about those memories rushing back to him. He stored them in a box and nailed the latch shut. He buried them, dug a hole deep enough to fit all those dark thoughts. He covered the surface with a thick layer of concrete, convinced that all those measures would be enough to lock away what he hoped to never feel again. Hopelessness, frustration, torment, aggression, guilt. But those emotions are now working their way through the cracks, like a weed that just won’t die, working up to the surface and showing its ugly head again. 

     But what has him exasperated the most, is the timing. Why now? His father hasn’t given a damn for fifteen years, fifteen fucking years, and now that Dean is finally getting to the point of allowing himself to be happy, he decides to show up? His fist clenches on the horn of the saddle, his nails digging into his palm. This isn’t fair!

     His insides churn and twist even more when his mind snaps to Y/N. A sudden and heavy uneasiness settles in his chest, almost suffocating him. Shit, what if she runs into him? What if she learns the truth? Dean breathes out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a second while tipping his hat down. The panic that has his fingers shaky while he guides his horse into the warmup ring only grows with that thought. No no no, he thinks to himself. He can’t have his father ruin what is supposed to be his love story. He can’t lose this, he can’t lose her.

     Preparing for his final ride goes anything but smoothly. The rider is so lost in thought that he accidentally cuts off another competitor and has to hit the brakes, apologizing to the cowgirl for the misstep. It’s a wake-up call, though; he really needs to focus and get his head straight. Aerosmith is one of the horses he and Bobby decided to hold on to a little longer, hoping the economy will be on its way to recovery somewhere next year so that they can make a better profit. Dean brought the younger stallion along to gain experience in the ring, yet he wants this ride to be solid, knowing a potential buyer could be watching.

     But when he enters the arena, he can’t help but scan the crowd, suddenly aware that one of those pair of eyes is his father. He thinks of Y/N and how nervous she was last night, and suddenly it makes so much more sense what experiencing that kind of anxiety is like. The rider doesn’t even hear the announcement of his name over the amplifiers, he doesn’t hear Jo and Bobby shouting words of encouragement at him from the sideline. What he does hear is his rapidly beating heart, like a thundering echo of an oncoming storm. 

     He glances over his horse’s ears at the cattle in front of them. C’mon, Dean, this isn’t difficult. Separate a cow and let Aero do the work. Two and a half minutes and he will be out of the limelight. Who knows, maybe if they pack fast after Y/N’s ride, he won’t even run into his father. 

     The two herdholders that are in the ring to assist all contestants keep the group of young steers together. Unsettled, Dean swallows thickly and licks his dry lips, his eyes on the clock. When it starts ticking, he moves his hands forward and pushes Aerosmith towards the herd. The game is simple. In two and a half minutes, he has to separate two different heifers from the group and keep the selected cow in the middle of the arena, he and his Quarter the only boundary between the animal and his flock. He and Aero will be judged on degree of difficulty, confidence, and agility, but right now, all Dean is thinking about is surviving.

     Deciding to not make it too complicated for his horse and himself, the horseman doesn’t pick a heifer too far into the herd on the first cut. Without disrupting the gathered bunch, the chestnut calmly makes his way through until Dean has decided on a cow, which he then carefully begins to push to the edge. When he has driven the brindle heifer out, Dean drops the reins and allows his Quarter to take the lead. Aerosmith locks on the lonely animal and crouches, skillfully keeping it in the center of the arena.

     The crowd cheers, because the talented Quarter shows to be quick on his feet, darting from left and right and accelerating fast when his target tries to get around him. The cowboy keeps his balance, allowing his horse to move under him freely. After a few attempts to get past them, the cow yields and the rider signals Aero to back down. He blows out a breath. One down, one more to go.

     The second cut goes according to plan as well. This time he does pick a heifer in the middle of the herd. The Quarterhorse tries not to disturb the rest of the cattle as he separates the one, but splitting the animals is not as clean as the first time. Once the cow is driven to the middle of the ring again, Aerosmith is back in his element and shows off his moves. Dean only has to sit back and let his partner under the saddle do the work, which he’s grateful for, because he feels like he wouldn’t be able to guide his horse in a simple circle if he had to. 

     The buzzer sounds; his two and a half minutes are up. Relieved, Dean exhales; at least he didn’t completely screw up their run. The young gelding really pulled through despite a nervous wreck of a rider on top of him, which just shows what a fantastic horse he is.      “Thanks, bud,” Dean says softly, petting the chestnut on the shoulder.

     The applause barely registers and it’s only when his eyes roam over the audience, that he notices the numbers on the board. 72.5 points; not bad. Normally, he would have been elated with a score like that, but now he just wants to get out of the ring as fast as possible, away from possible prying eyes. He feels like he’s being watched, well aware that his father is quite possibly amongst the people in the crowd. Call him a coward, but he needs to get out of here.

     “Solid ride, Dean,” Bobby compliments when the rider comes through the gate, walking with him. When his nephew fails to respond, he looks up, narrowing eyes taking him in from under his baseball cap. “You okay, son?”

     The troubled rider snaps his head at his uncle. Son. Bobby calls him that all the time and has done so ever since he took the lost boy under his wing all those years ago. Dean has grown accustomed to the title, even found comfort in it, glad to hear that word coming from his surrogate dad. But now the term confuses him. Suddenly, the man who has failed to step up to take care of his children and yet is his only living parent is here, and it is messing with his head in more ways than one.      “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, quickly averting his gaze and walking on.

     Bobby lets him go, but Dean can sense the ranch owner watching him carefully. Unable to stop himself from scanning the people around the warm-up area, he briefly acknowledges the congratulations wishes from a few of his opponents with a nod and a ‘thanks’. Normally he’s up for a chat after a good run, but not now. He feels like he’s about to lose his mind, and he wants to be alone when it happens. He needs space, he needs air. 

     After a few minutes of hacking, Dean reaches the stables, grateful to find them mostly empty. With the last competition currently taking place in the arena, a lot of competitors already packed their trucks and trailers and left throughout the morning and afternoon. At the other end of the tent two people are tacking up, but they are far out of earshot. 

     In front of Aerosmith’s stable, the rider dismounts and leads the Quarter into his box, making quick work of removing the tack and rinsing the chestnut down. With the saddle on his hip and the bridle in hand, he steps into the storage room.      “How did it go?”

     Dean startles and almost drops the heavy load he was carrying, spinning around to find Y/N in the doorway. Somehow, it completely slipped his mind that she would still be here. The cowgirl is wearing her show outfit again, but traded her black blouse for a denim one this time. Long chaps hang down from her waist, strapped around her legs, her brass spurs barely showing. Her boots are shining and her hair is braided, her lucky hat only just allowing him to behold the playfulness in her eyes. She looks absolutely perfect.

     Clueless and carefree, she waits for an answer, but her happy expression falls slightly when she notices his reaction. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she chuckles, somewhat self-conscious. “What has you on your toes?”      The cowboy blinks at her a few times before he kicks into gear again, storing away the saddle in one of the tack boxes. “Nothin’. Yeah, it uh - it went alright. 72.5 points,” he says, smiling at her faintly, quick to dodge her unraveling gaze.

     Silence follows and he knows that she’s studying him, but Dean can’t even look at her, not sure how to deal with the worry that he knows is evident on her beautiful face. The second he gets lost in the vision of his girl, he will fall apart, and that’s something the unsettled wrangler can’t allow to happen. He can’t let her see it, she can’t know. So instead, he moves past her through the doorway to fill a feeding net with hay, desperately searching for a way to keep himself busy as he tries to get a hold of himself.

     “Dean? Hey…”      Her voice sounds so warm and kind, that he can’t ignore her any longer. When he has strung up the net, he turns to his girlfriend, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. Concerned eyes take him in when he looks up.      “You’re shaking,” she notices, gently wrapping her delicate fingers around his forearms. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

     Before she finishes her sentence completely, he’s already shaking his head. It’s more denial than an actual answer, refusing to give in to all the contradicting feelings that are pulling the rug from under his boots. She knows him well enough to see that he’s a total mess right now. His mask is faltering and he’s breaking character, unable to deliver the standard ‘I’m fine’. Can he tell her about the disturbing message Benny delivered earlier? She will have more questions, questions he is nowhere near ready to answer. But then again, he can’t lie to her either, not anymore. 

     Dean takes a deep breath in order to collect himself and looks at her as heavy footfalls draw his attention. Expecting Benny, he glances over his shoulder, ready to request if his friend can grant them some privacy, when he catches a glimpse of the person standing in the alley between the stables. Every muscle in his body tenses, an invisible fist squeezing his throat shut. His heart - which has been beating unhealthily fast since the alarming news was delivered to him about an hour ago - now seems to come to a full stop for a few solid seconds. 

     They might be in Arizona, but Dean just froze to the ground, unable to move or speak. All he can do is stare at the man that is his own spitting image, only three decades older. The familiar stranger is wearing a smile on his lips, emotion swimming in weary eyes. After fifteen years of silence, John Winchester stands before his oldest child, a broken voice delivering the words Dean never wished to hear again, and yet missed so dearly.

     “Hello, son.” 

Well, shit... Enough with the fluff. Angst is here!

Also, did you spot my little Stan Lee moment? Does a certain red-haired photographer seem familiar? Yep, that’s me!

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-four here

[carewyncromwell]

*hums the Up is Down theme* All right, let’s get the usual stuff for the POTC AU out of the way super quick so we can just jump right in --

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- alternate version of picture two with a lame attempt at blood is here -- and characters that aren’t mine are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier; Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws; Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts; Arjun Singh and Aishwarya Mehra @hogwarts9; and Ellie Hopper @that-ravenpuff-witch! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

The crew member Orion sent delivered his Piece of Eight -- his right earring -- to Jules aboard the Revolution. Both Bill and Jules had been concerned about Orion sending it on ahead rather than bringing it back to them himself; they were even more concerned when the fleet of small ships was led by Jae and the Kumiho, rather than by the Artemis. Jacob and Ashe, however, didn’t seem surprised, even though Jacob’s eyes narrowed slightly and he went oddly quiet when he heard the news. If Bill didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he might’ve even seen some guilt in the curly-haired pirate’s face.

Meanwhile Charlie pulled up alongside the Revolution to drop Chia Dalma off safely before the Phoenix rejoined the Blackbird, Naga, and Treasure. Before parting ways, Charlie actually pulled Chia aside.

“So,” he said a bit sheepishly, “guess it’s time, then?”

Chia nodded. She tilted her head slightly to the right in response to how uneasy Charlie looked.

“Something troubles you?” she asked.

“Not trouble, exactly,” said Charlie, offering a smile. “I mean, I’m glad you’ll get to be free. What the Brethren Court did, back then...it was a right rotten thing to do...”

His smile faded. “I guess I just wondered why you called yourself ‘Chia Dalma,’ and not Calypso. I mean -- you are Calypso, right? It’s not like when the spell is broken, you’ll just...disappear, right?”

Chia was taken aback by the concern. Then her pale face softened, betraying genuine fondness.

“You have a noble heart, Charles Weasley,” she said. “I’m afraid that Chia Dalma will cease to be, when the spell is broken. She is human -- I am human...and I no longer will be, when the spell is broken. I will no longer feel things the way I do now, or see things the way I do now...and my perspective once again will be that of an immortal, not a mere human.”

She gave Charlie a reassuring smile.

“But Calypso will not forget what Chia Dalma has seen and learned. Nor will she forget the kindness you showed her.”

The corners of Charlie’s lips turned up too. He brought up a hand and clapped Chia on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“And I won’t forget the sea goddess who was once my friend,” he said with a grin.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Lion, Cutler Beckett had assembled his higher-ranked officers on deck to give them their last set of orders. There would be no quarter during the battle, no prisoners taken -- everyone in the pirates’ fleet and in Shipwreck Cove would be wiped out, without exception or mercy. Carewyn could see how hesitant the other officers were, upon hearing this. Percy, in particular, looked very troubled.

“Lord Beckett -- ” he said before he could stop himself, “d-denial of quarter -- surely that isn’t necessary...we have more than enough room to transport prisoners back to Port Royal -- ”

“The pirates themselves wave a flag that represents no quarter,” said Beckett very smoothly without stopping his stride as he walked past the line of officers. “They have not earned the right to it themselves.”

Percy faltered. “W-well...yes, but...they are pirates, sir. Should we not...show a better example, as King’s Men -- ?”

Beckett came to a sharp stop in front of Percy, looking up at the slightly taller man with a rather beady dark eye.

“Do I sense a lack of conviction, Captain Weasley?” he asked, his voice very soft but very dangerous.

Percy stiffened, his freckled face losing quite a bit of its color. The officers surrounding him looked worried too. Rakepick, who was standing a few feet away from the line of soldiers with her arms crossed, didn’t look worried, but her dark blue eyes did narrow grimly upon Percy and Beckett.

“No, sir!” said the red-haired Captain very quickly.

“Ah, then it’s a conflict of interest, perhaps,” said Beckett, his voice becoming a bit harder as his lips spread into a cold smirk.

He leaned in a bit closer, and whispered something else in Percy’s ear that no one else could hear. It made Percy’s entire frame stiffen, his face blanching in horror as his wide brown eyes flickered over to Carewyn.

“Lord Beckett, Captain Weasley’s loyalty to the English Crown is unflappable,” Carewyn said in a very loud, harsh voice. “As is the loyalty of all of our officers. He meant no disrespect, I assure you.”

Beckett looked at her, his eyebrows raised high over his coldly narrowed eyes. As he strode purposefully over to stand in front of Carewyn, all of the officers tensed up even more anxiously, none more so than Percy. Rakepick had uncrossed her arms and was watching the scene unfold like a hawk.

“I certainly hope that is true,” said Beckett very softly. “Treason is -- as we all know -- a death sentence.”

Carewyn met Beckett’s icy gaze head-on, even as he likewise leaned in, his head once again lingering over her shoulder like it had back in his cabin, so that his breath grazed her face.

“I will not punish your brother for his insubordination, as a favor to you. But I expect proper gratitude on your part. After all, I’m already doing quite a favor for you already, allowing you and him to remain among the ranks.”

Carewyn’s almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed, but she refused to look at him or speak. Beckett’s face grew a bit colder still as he tilted his head enough that his lips were mere inches from her ear.

“Don’t forget, Admiral,” he whispered, and there was an odd satisfaction creeping into the corners of his pitiless voice, “your loyalty is, first and foremost, mine.”

He then moved away, turning his focus back to the rest of the officers with his more usual, detached sort of expression.

“Attack when ready -- no prisoners, no mercy. You’re dismissed.”

The officers all saluted and immediately bustled off to head back to their ships. Carewyn glanced over just in time to see Percy, rather than heading immediately back to his ship, rush up to her. His freckled face was ashen and his eyebrows were knitted tensely over his eyes.

“Carey...Lord Beckett -- ”

“I know,” Carewyn cut him off. She already knew what Beckett must have said to Percy, for the rose-colored lenses to fall from his eyes so quickly.

Percy’s brown eyes widened even more. They darted over to Beckett heading up to the helm and then back to Carewyn, welling up with anxiety.

“He suspected it after you expressed interest in him hiring a woman,” said Carewyn softly. “I reckon him knowing Rakepick first made it easier -- she dressed as a man for a while, when she was in the Navy...”

Percy seemed to be losing more and more of his courage every second. His face suddenly looked so much more boyish as his gaze fell away from Carewyn’s face, staring down at the deck of the ship without seeing it.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbled.

“Don’t say that,” Carewyn cut him off firmly.

Percy closed his eyes and shook his head.

“It’s all my fault,” he repeated, shame and pain pulsing through his face. “I never should’ve trusted him, I never should’ve believed -- I just -- he was so against piracy, and I...after you were taken by Orion Amari -- after you got kidnapped by the crew of the Revenge -- ”

“Percy -- ”

Carewyn brought a hand onto his shoulder, but he cut her off, his soft voice more choked and upset than ever.

“I never should’ve let Bill and Charlie go after you alone -- I should’ve followed them myself in my own ship, if I had to -- ”

“Percy.”

Her hand clutched the top of his shoulder, right beside his neck, so as to force him to look up at her.

“You were only trying to do what was right, as an officer,” said Carewyn, her blue eyes blazing with conviction despite their pain and empathy. “The Navy is your dream, far more than it ever was mine, or Charlie’s, or Bill’s. Don’t hate yourself for trying to do things the right way. ...That’s always been who you are.”

Giving Percy’s shoulder a tight squeeze, she steered him forward enough that she could bring her other arm around him and give him a hug.

“I know what Beckett must’ve threatened you with, Perce, but I want you to forget it,” she said, and her voice betrayed a crack of emotion Percy had never heard before. “Don’t try to protect me or my reputation -- those things won’t matter much longer anyway. Do what you need to, to do what’s right...for yourself and them.”

Them... Percy tensed. He knew who that “them” was, but...the way her voice choked -- was she...trying not to cry?

He looked at his surrogate sibling with dismay, but he couldn’t see her expression.

“Carey -- ”

“Admiral.”

Carewyn pulled away from Percy and looked up.

Rakepick had approached them, her dark blue eyes flickering from Carewyn to back over her shoulder at Beckett, who had seemed to have turned his focus back to the two red-haired officers -- almost as if she was...trying to warn them.

Recovering from this surprise quickly, Carewyn turned to Percy with a harder, more serious look and grabbed his shoulder, giving him a light push backward.

“Go, now,” she said, her voice hardening to try to obscure the pain and tears she was trying to force back.

Percy’s brown eyes rippled with anxiety. He clearly wanted to insist on her explaining, wanted to argue her point -- but he too could sense Beckett’s gaze. So, with a pained expression, he reluctantly straightened up and exchanged a salute with Carewyn, before finally leaving the deck and returning to the jollyboat that would return him to the Clearwater.

Rakepick and Carewyn both watched Percy go.

“You didn’t tell him,” said Rakepick lowly. “No doubt because you don’t want him to try to stop you...”

Carewyn looked at Rakepick, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Didn’t tell him what?”

Rakepick, however, didn’t respond. Her eyes watched the horizon absently, but seemed to almost look beyond it.

Carewyn's eyes flashed with even more distrust as she turned to face the older woman. “Don’t play games with me, Rakepick -- ”

“The time for games is long since through,” said Rakepick sharply, as she turned to looked Carewyn straight on in the face.

What...was that, in her expression? It was certainly harsh and arrogant as ever, and yet...there was something almost sadder there.

“You truly are a guardian, Admiral Weasley,” murmured Rakepick. “Right now, though...it seems to me that it’s you who most needs guarding.”

Carewyn felt a knife in her chest at the thought of Jones and the fate that awaited her. Her blue eyes drifted off to the side and away from Rakepick’s face, hardening further as she tried to obscure her emotions.

“I’m not so much of a coward as to choose my safety over the lives of others’,” she said very harshly, turning her focus to the helm.

She turned her back on Rakepick, her arms looping behind her straightened back in proper Navy posture.

“You should return to your post...before Beckett gives you the side eye too.”

Rakepick didn’t respond, and Carewyn refused to look back as she strode away.

Almost immediately, the strategy Jacob had devised did not go as planned.

The plan had been for Jules to bluff Beckett before releasing Calypso -- but although the Revolution, as flag ship, had pulled into position at the head of the pirates’ charge, Beckett’s (and therefore the Navy’s) flag ship the HMS Lion did not. Instead it hung back, letting individual Man O’ Wars immediately start the charge without it.

In alarm, Jules ordered her crew to hoist the colors and signal to the rest of the Pirate Lords to attack, as the Flying Dutchman sailed out in front as if to meet the Revolution. Charlie and Merula led the charge in the Phoenix and the Blackbird, firing at will against the Man O’ Wars in an attempt to hit their stores of ammunition, even as the Navy’s ships’ superior firepower quickly overwhelmed them, cutting down the smaller ships in the dozens with their cannons.

“Captain!” said Barnaby from his place at the helm. “We just lost three more ships -- oh. Make that four!”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he racked his brain.

The Man O’ Wars were too powerful to face head-on -- they just had far too much firepower, compared to their pirates’ fleet --

A mad idea beginning to take root in Charlie’s head, he whirled around toward Samantha O’Connell, who’d been up in the rigging adjusting sails so that the Phoenix could better avoid the Navy’s cannon fire.

“Signal to the Naga! We need to get closer to that Man O’ War at the front!”

Samantha’s mouth dropped open disbelievingly. “Closer? But that’ll only make it easier for them to shoot us down!”

“Not if we divide their attention!” Charlie shot back forcefully.

He ran up to the deck of the ship and leapt onto the railing so he could dangle off the rigging and better talk over the sound of cannon fire.

“We’re going to do what pirates do best,” said the red-haired pirate captain, shooting a huge, blazing grin up at Samantha, “we’re going to sack and commandeer that Man O’ War ourselves!”

With some help from Arjun and Aishwarya running interference, Charlie was able to steer the Phoenix up alongside one of the Navy’s ships, called the Clearwater. As mad as Charlie’s idea was, however, it seemed he hadn’t been completely off-base -- just as Ben Copper himself had proposed earlier, the Navy had indeed not expected the pirates to try sacking and stealing their ship. Unfortunately to get close enough, the Phoenix ended up directly in the path of the Clearwater’s cannons, and as the pirates started to board, cannonballs blasted through the air, smashing the Phoenix to pieces.

“ABANDON SHIP!” roared Charlie. “ALL HANDS TO THE CLEARWATER!”

The pirates all flocked to the rigging and gangplanks to board the Man O’ War, now their only hope at avoiding the ocean waves. Charlie met up with Barnaby on deck, even as its planks was blasted to pieces.

“Is everyone else off?” demanded Charlie.

“Aye, Captain!” said Barnaby.

As splinters of wood and metal shot through the air, Charlie and Barnaby both leapt up into the rigging, preparing to swing across --

Unfortunately, just as they both swung, a cannonball collided squarely with the ringing. In an instant, both men were flung off of the ropes they’d been holding and into the air, falling toward the water with the weight of stones.

Barnaby, in a purely instinctual move, leaned forward in mid-air and, with all of his strength, shoved Charlie forward just enough that he could clear the hurtle between the two ships.

Charlie ended up colliding harshly with the deck of the Clearwater, his leg collapsing out from under him with an unpleasant CRACK.

“ACK!”

With a bellow of pain, the red-haired pirate captain crumpled in on himself, gritting his teeth as he struggled to control his breathing.

“Charlie!”

Samantha chucked a lit grenade right into the side of one of the Navy soldiers’ heads, using the Navy officers’ alarm and the subsequent small explosion as a distraction so she could run over. Bending down, she quickly grabbed hold of his arm to help Charlie to his feet.

“Augh -- “ choked Charlie. “My leg -- I can’t...ack!”

Samantha secured her arm around his waist, using a considerable amount of strength to try to hold him up at her side. “Hold on -- I’ve got you -- ”

Charlie looked up and around, taking in the scene of his men hot in battle with the Navy’s men.

“Barnaby?”

Charlie looked around. His First Mate wasn’t there.

Limping badly on his injured leg, Charlie threw himself across the deck to look over. In the ocean between the two ships was an unsettling set of ripples -- as if a body had collided with the water.

“BARNABY!”

“LOOK OUT!” yelled Samantha.

Charlie would’ve likely thrown himself overboard to try to retrieve his fallen comrade, but he immediately had to yank out his cutlass and defend himself against a Navy soldier who‘d made to attack him. Samantha pulled out her pistols and began shooting, trying to beat the enemy forces back as they descended on the fallen Phoenix’s captain.

Neither Charlie or Samantha saw the second cluster of ripples and bubbles that burbled up from under the surface, nor the gold mermaid tail that briefly flipped up out of the water before disappearing again under the waves.

Nothing turned out as it should. The battle plan Jacob and the pirates had devised hoping to scare the majority of the Man O’ Wars into surrendering was cut off at the legs. If they released Calypso now, there would be no reason for any of the Navy officers to think that her release was a threat pointed squarely at them. Calypso would certainly have no reason to cooperate, even if Chia Dalma had expressed some favoritism toward Orion and Charlie previously. They were still pirates, and Calypso had no reason to help the kind of people who had trapped her for so long just because they released her, especially since the decision was made out of desperation. The only thing guaranteed by Calypso’s release would be that the battle would be harder and would likely put everyone’s lives in even more jeopardy.

Despite this, however, Jules was firm in her conviction. They’d made a promise to release Calypso, and more importantly, it was a decision that was already well overdue. Regardless of whether Calypso decided to help them or not, she didn’t deserve to stay in bondage.

So despite the hesitance on Jacob’s and the majority of her crew’s faces, Jules fetched the tricorn hat full of the seven Pieces of Eight she’d been given by the other Pirate Lords -- Orion’s gold hoop earring, Jae’s copper mun coin, Ellie’s sunflower-engraved pocketwatch, Arjun’s snake-engraved fob seal, Charlie’s “S”-trimmed anchor button, and Merula’s jade ring. Then Jules plopped in the eighth that Samantha had fetched from the inside of the Pirate Codex (a cheap copper brooch shaped like a mermaid and scarred over with greenish-white rust), to represent her as Pirate King, and handed the full hat to Chia Dalma before setting the pieces on fire.

“Calypso,” Jules murmured as gently as she could, “I release you from your human bonds.”

The transformation was terrifying. It was little wonder that the process of turning Calypso into a human was described as her “being bound in her bones,” for when the goddess was set free of her human form, it was like a foreboding, slow-motion explosion. Chia’s eye sockets erupted blueish-white light, while her hair and clothes dissolved away into terrible gusts of wind and crashing sea spray. The low, rumbling, earthquake-esque sound that erupted from her could not be contained by her lips, instead coming from her every pore, as she levitated up off the ground, her flesh and blood limbs dangling uselessly in the face of her supernatural essence breaking free of them. Her flesh seemed to melt away, becoming more liquid and blue and white and incorporeal -- until at last, Chia Dalma’s frame burst open in a violent crash of seawater that for an instant submerged the entire pirate ship.

Jules, Bill, Jacob, and the rest of the crew were suddenly underwater, scrambling to escape so they could breathe. It was only thanks to Ashe that they survived. The merman quickly swam up to the helm and took control of the ship’s steering wheel, chucking it all the way around to tilt the Revolution sharply enough that it forced the ocean wave that had been Calypso back off the side.

Calypso, however, was not just the wave, as the pirates quickly found out. Overhead, there was a horrible rumble of thunder. Within moments, the ocean began to quake under the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman, darkening forebodingly. Somewhere in the distance, Jules could hear a delighted roar, like a triumphant beast’s -- it was Jones, delighted by the liberation of his lover and by the vengeance she would wreck for him.

Rakepick stared up at the darkening sky, her eyes very wide. “This...this storm -- it can’t be -- !”

“Oh, but it is.”

The cursed captain whirled on Rakepick, a smirk curling up into his octopus-stained features and a malevolent gleam in his eye.

“And now,” he said as he unsheathed his sword, “I fear no consequence o’ this!”

Rakepick cried out in agony as Jones plunged his sword right through the upper-right side of her chest. The privateer-turned-pirate-hunter crumpled up on the base of the stairs, her tricorn hat flying off into the wind. She tried to pull the blade out, but she was pinned down to the deck, unable to move as blood spurted out of her chest like a red flower.

“Augh...augh...”

Satisfied that the woman who’d so haughtily lorded over him was going to suffer properly before dying, Jones whirled on the rest of his crew with a victorious gleam in his eye.

“Let’s finish dismantling this ship afore us!” he indicated the Revolution, which was sailing up alongside the Flying Dutchman. “Then we can turn our sights toward different prey!”

Out of the blackening sky, a bolt of lightning crashed down, colliding with the ocean a mere twenty feet from the HMS Lion. The threat of fiery white death terrified Beckett’s men. Carewyn struggled to keep them calm, ordering them to weigh anchor so the HMS Lion could join its brothers in the charge. Beckett, however, contradicted her.

“If we advance, then we’ll merely be sailing right into the pirates’ hands,” he said coolly, as he sipped a cup of tea from the helm. “Our other ships are already dismantling them well enough.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes flashed. In an oddly harsh move, she brought up a hand and slammed it down on the table, making the china tea set rattle precariously and her fellow Navy men flinch.

“Don’t be a fool!” she hissed. “This isn’t some normal storm! Look at the waves you’ve sent our ships into! Look at this lightning -- it’s touching the sea itself! This is not an act of God -- this can only be Calypso!”

The rest of the Navy’s crew tensed up at the name. Beckett looked up from his tea, his dark eyes flickering with some interest for the first time.

“Calypso?” he repeated.

“The Pirate Lords bound her years ago, and now it seems they’ve released her,” said Carewyn fiercely. "We can’t stay still, if we hope to evade the wrath of a sea goddess -- ”

“But you believe she can, in fact, be evaded,” said Beckett mildly, putting down his cup on its saucer with a soft clink. “Good. From what I understand, Calypso doesn’t particularly like pirates much either...so it seems we can have her do some of our workload for us, if we merely steer clear of her destructive path.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened, her pupils narrowing to slits of rage.

“So you sentence your men to death? You choose to abandon our other ships to the mercy of both the pirates and to a vengeful goddess, in the deluded hope that they’ll destroy each other and leave us be -- ?!”

She didn’t even care if her voice was shriller than it should’ve been, thanks to the emotions that rebelled against her chest.

Beckett got to his feet, stepping right into Carewyn’s personal space with a fierce, cold eye.

“Our men know where their loyalty lies -- may you not forget the placement of yours, Admiral!”

Carewyn, however, got right back up in Beckett’s space in return, yanking her pistol out of her belt and pointing it right between his eyes.

All of the soldiers on deck stiffened or let out small, shocked cries. Even Beckett, whose expression did not flinch, raised his eyebrows.

“Just because my soul is no longer mine doesn’t mean that I won’t protect my men, Beckett,” Carewyn spat.

Beckett’s eyebrows furrowed over his eyes, which gleamed with cold, stony, foreboding rage.

“You dare...?” he whispered.

Carewyn’s eyes flared with hatred. “The only leverage you had over me is currently out there, being sent to his death on your orders.”

‘You have nothing left to take from me, Beckett. I’m already enslaved to Jones, and therefore you. I have no future. I can’t do any more good for the others. ...I’m worthless...’

Carewyn returned her pistol to her belt and turned to her men with a gentler, but still very serious look.

“Prepare to abandon ship, Lieutenant.”

The young Lieutenant who’d nearly caught Ben the previous night straightened up sharply. “Sir?”

“I will not have men who were assigned to this mission lay down their lives fighting a sea goddess,” said Carewyn solemnly. “Just as I don’t intend to let the men out there do so. We can’t signal to them to retreat from this far-off, but I won’t endanger your lives while I call them back. Tell the men to abandon ship and head for the Swallow...and then do so yourself.”

Despite the firmness of her voice, she knew the gravity of what she was asking of him.

The boyish, uptight Lieutenant looked from the silently seething Beckett to the grim, pale face of his commanding officer, visibly conflicted. Then, his lower lip trembling, he saluted.

“...Yes, sir,” he said weakly.

The young officer and his compatriots reluctantly followed orders and left the helm, leaving Beckett and Carewyn alone.

“You will regret this most dearly,” Beckett said in a very soft, pitiless voice.

“I only regret that I wasn’t able to do it sooner,” Carewyn shot back icily.

“There will be no safe place to hide from me,” said Beckett. “The entire world will know who and what you are. I will hunt you down with the might of my Company and the English Crown, until you sit under my heel like a dog.”

Carewyn was reminded of how he spoke to Orion, back on that tiny island -- like he was some pathetic, disgusting cockroach.

“I’m not a coward like you, Beckett -- I have no intention of running and hiding.”

‘You won’t need to hunt me down,’ she thought. ‘I already know I'm trapped.’

She turned her back on Beckett and walked away, shooting coldly back over her shoulder,

“Flee with your life while you still can.”

Once Carewyn was sure that her soldiers had all boarded the jollyboats and were on their way toward the HMS Swallow, she immediately made her way down to the lower deck, to where she knew Ben Copper had set up the explosives from the previous night.

The HMS Lion could not use flags to signal the other ships to fall back, from this distance...but the flagship being in distress would be more than enough for them to come back to try to help.

Carewyn approached the highly flammable barrels of black powder, her jaw set in determination despite the fear and paleness of her face. There was only one way she could make it explode on her own -- and so, with a deep breath and a faintly trembling hand, she slowly slid her loaded pistol from her belt and raised it to point at the barrels.

All of a sudden, Carewyn felt someone grab her from behind. She struggled against the grip as the person’s hands seized her arm, trying to pull it back -- “No, please -- please, no -- please -- ”

The voice made Carewyn freeze where she stood.

It was soft, detached, almost airy, and yet so choked and tense...she’d never heard that voice sound that way. Not that voice, at least...only a voice much younger, much less confident --

Carewyn slouched immediately.

“Orion?” she breathed.

The Pirate Lord’s shaking hands still clutched at her arm even after her pistol was no longer raised.

“Please,” he gasped for air, clearly trying to steady his heavy breathing. “Please -- ”

“Orion!”

Carewyn dropped her pistol to the floor with a clatter. She couldn’t pull out of his grip, but she tried to turn around to face him. Only managing to make it half-way, she looked up at him, taking in his parted lips and hollow dark eyes, and reached up to take hold of his face.

“Orion...it’s all right...”

Shakily Orion released her arms. Then, very abruptly, he just as quickly grabbed the back of her head with one hand, cradling it almost desperately.

“Orion, breathe,” Carewyn said desperately as she trailed a hand through his dreadlocks to try to comfort him. “Breathe...I’m here -- I’m here...”

The pirate closed his eyes. His breathing gradually slowed and quieted as he worked to ground himself.

“...Carewyn...” he murmured against her hair at last, still sounding faintly tense, but much more level again.

Carewyn’s chest was so overfull of emotion that her eyes flooded with tears.

“God, Orion!” she swore.

She placed a short, searing kiss against his lips before pulling away to look at him and tearing into him with anxiety,

“What are you doing here!? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I could say the same to you,” said Orion, his much more usual, calmer voice low in his throat with disapproval.

Carewyn’s eyes fell down to his shoulder uncomfortably. “I have to signal the rest of the fleet to retreat -- ”

“You needn’t sacrifice yourself for that.”

“I can’t make this signal any other way!”

“Don’t take all of this onto yourself -- ”

“It’s the only way I can help now!” Carewyn burst out. Her own hands were shaking now. “I know what you and Jacob were trying to warn me about, Orion, but it’s no use -- I can’t just stay off the Dutchman! Jones told me that the contract can’t be undone unless I wanted to condemn someone else in my place, and I...I can’t do that, Orion! Even if it means I can never make that world I promised for you -- even if it means I can never get Bill and Charlie and Jules their lives back, or protect Jacob and Ashe from the Navy, or even see you again...”

She fiercely tried to hold back her tears even as they blurred her vision.

“My life isn’t worth protecting, if it means I lose you! I can’t lose you! Without all of you, there’s no point to anything, anything I do!”

Orion’s dark eyes were swirling like miniature galaxies as he adjusted his hand on the back of Carewyn’s head more securely, tilting it up to try to prompt her to look at him before speaking again.

“Carewyn...will you marry me?”

Carewyn looked up at him like she’d just gotten a splash of cold water right to the face.

“What?”

“Will you marry me?” Orion repeated, undaunted.

Carewyn’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Where in the world did this come from?!

“I don’t think now’s the best time!” she said in a weaker, more high-pitched voice than usual.

“Now may be the only time,” said Orion, sounding oddly serious.

Carewyn scanned his face, struggling to understand his thought process.

“Orion...I’ll be part of Jones’s crew -- there can’t be a future for us, even if we -- ”

“On the contrary,” Orion cut her off gently. “We would only have the freedom to be together, this way.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. Then, very, very slowly, her blue eyes widened in understanding.

“You’d be a member of our family,” she whispered.

Orion inclined his head in a nod. “I’d take the Cromwell name, rather than give you mine. That would make it so that Jones’s conditions could apply to either of us -- and so, if we wished to be together...the one Jones does not take could volunteer to remain with the other, as part of his crew...or, if not...one of us would be free to leave, with the debt still paid.”

Carewyn stared, hardly believing what she was hearing. She clutched at Orion’s shirt with both hands.

“You...you can’t!” she said desperately. “Jones is still under Beckett’s command -- if you join Jones’s crew, you...you’ll never be free again! I can’t let you enslave yourself to Beckett, not after what he did to you!”

“What he did to me...” murmured Orion.

He cradled Carewyn’s head as he leaned his forehead against hers so that their noses touched.

“Carewyn...what Beckett did to me was make it so that I’m no longer able to live a normal life. What he did to me was make it so that the only life I can lead is that of a pirate -- a creature of few friends, adrift on an unfriendly sea. However much I’ve been able to find independence and camaraderie on the high seas, that doesn’t mean I’ve ever been truly free. For I was never free to stop being a pirate. I was never free to stop running. I was never free...to return to the island where I first met the girl who would flit in and out of my dreams, like a songbird on the wing...see if she was happy...see if...she even still remembered me...”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“When I met you, I was an orphan with no name or home to call my own,” murmured Orion. “Although I’ve since crafted a name for myself...thanks to Beckett, I can never have the second. And even if I somehow ever could...that home would not be complete without you.”

His lips spread into a smile as his dark eyes slowly flooded with tears too.

“The freedom I want more than anything,” he said, “is the freedom to stay. Perhaps this choice wasn’t one we ever wanted to make, and perhaps it will be one we’ll have to live with longer than either of us envisioned, but...please...will you let me stay with you?”

Carewyn choked, trying to hold in the storm of emotions beating at the inside of her chest. She covered her face in both hands in a vain attempt to obscure the pain. She could feel Orion’s hand on the back of her head tense slightly, but he made no move to comfort her -- the pirate wasn’t entirely sure how, and he didn’t know if he should, since he knew he’d unloaded a lot onto her.

At last, Carewyn finally tore her hands away and threw her arms around Orion’s neck, burying her tear-stained face into his chest.

“Yes,” she whispered against his neck. “...Yes...”

She placed a feathery kiss to his collarbone.

“...Orion, I’m...I’m so sorry...”

Orion mirrored her, bringing his lips into the crook of her neck.

“Don’t be,” he said seriously, “for I am not.”

Carewyn looked up at him, prepared to speak -- but she stilled when her ear caught the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“GET DOWN!”

In an instant, she’d thrown herself against Orion, knocking him down to the floor just as the bullet whizzed overhead with a loud BANG, just barely missing the barrels of black gunpowder and instead colliding with one of the columns.

Carewyn and Orion both shot up, to find Cutler Beckett standing at the base of the stairs, his stony eyes set ablaze with a kind of hatred Carewyn had never seen.

At the exact same time, the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman were hotly engaged in battle on the rockier, more tempestuous sea. Jules had been firm in not having anyone swing over to the Dutchman until their ship had the upper hand, since she knew her mortal men would be outmatched by men who were already technically dead -- but Jacob, it seemed, had no intention of following her direction. Jones was still aboard the Flying Dutchman, and he had a score to settle with Jones. And so he swung over to the ship of the damned himself to confront its captain.

“Ah, Captain Roberts,” sneered Jones. “Welcome aboard.”

“Where is she!?” he snarled.

Jones’s dark eyes narrowed coldly. “If you mean the Admiral, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. Her enlistment isn’t set to begin for another month or so.”

With a roar of fury, Jacob lunged at Jones, hacking at him with his cutlass. The shorter man was very talented with a blade -- it was fortunate, considering he was hotly engaged in battle with someone who couldn’t be killed through ordinary means.

“Don’t know what you’re intending to do, Jacob Roberts!” spat Jones. “The contract is not one I can break either! The Admiral will be in my crew, no matter what she or anyone else thinks of the matter -- ”

Jacob slashed at Jones’s beard, slashing off several tentacles. Jones cried out in pain and frustration and when Jacob tried to attack again, Jones seized his arm in his claw, snapping down on it really hard.

“AUGH!”

Jones lifted the smaller man up off the deck by his arm so that he dangled off his feet.

“She only has her brother to blame for her misfortune,” the captain of the damned said lowly. “Yet she somehow has enough grace to not do so.”

Jacob’s face blanched and his slit-like pupils flared with hatred as he fought against Jones’ grip.

“You -- argh!”

Jones’s claw twisted Jacob’s arm painfully, making him drop his sword.

“Were I not a heartless wretch, I would feel remorse, knowing I have to condemn so decent a person,” said Jones.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Jones cried out in surprise as a sword was plunged through his back.

It was Bill.

The eldest Weasley knew that the wound wouldn’t really hurt Jones (and he was correct), but it was the proper distraction for Jules to jump in from the other side and bring her sword down on Jones’s claw with enough leverage that he dropped Jacob. The curly-haired pirate captain fell onto the deck, clutching his arm, as Bill yanked his sword back out of Jones’s back.

“That is for Carey,” he snarled at Jones.

Jones whirled on Bill with his own cutlass, hacking away at him. Jules rushed to help Bill, while Ashe ran over to Jacob’s side to help him up.

“Jack, you’re bleeding -- ”

“I’ll be fine,” croaked Jacob as he clutched his wounded arm.

Jones fought both Bill and Jules singlehandedly, his cutlass slashing at Bill as his claw snapped at the air sweeping through Jules’s dark hair.

“Tell me, William and Juliette Weasley,” he crowed, “do you fear death?”

“Do you?”

Jones froze. Everybody else on the deck froze. Then, as if as a unit, they slowly turned, to look at Rakepick standing at the foot of the stairs.

The privateer-turned-pirate-hunter had shed her red jacket, leaving her in her blood-stained, high-necked and long-sleeved white undershirt, and her ginger-red hair had come loose of its bun and flapped in the gusting wind like a flag. In her hand was the throbbing, pulsating heart of Davy Jones.

Both Jacob and Bill lunged forward, but Rakepick moved before either of them could. Her dark blue eyes flaring with pure, undiluted hatred upon Jones, she yanked her loaded pistol out of its holster, thrust Jones’s heart down hard onto the deck, and fired at point-blank range.

BANG.

Jones lurched forward as if he'd been shot in the chest. He choked, his dark eyes going very wide as he struggled to breathe -- then he swayed, suddenly finding himself unable to stand, as his claw shakily clutched the railing of his ship.

Rakepick’s eyes held no compassion whatsoever as she bore down upon the crumpled-up Jones.

“The Chest’ll be doing its work soon enough,” she said very softly. “As it’s said...‘the Dutchman must have a captain.’”

Jacob suddenly felt like his hand was on fire. Ripping off the bandages, he stared in disbelief as the Black Spot Jones had given him so long ago seemed to shrink and disappear, leaving his palm completely unscarred.

For the deal Jacob had made was only in effect as long as both he and Jones lived. 

Jones gasped for air as Rakepick seized him by the collar.

“I would ask if you wished to serve under me -- but I don’t want scum like you on my crew. So I’ll instead be kind...and send you to meet your dear Calypso.”

In a heartless move Jacob only knew too well, Rakepick shoved Jones overboard, right off of the Dutchman into the rushing waves.

“No!” hissed Jacob.

Rakepick turned to Jacob, a cold smirk spreading onto her face. “You know what this means, then, Black Jack? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised!”

Out of nowhere, Rakepick lurched forward, clutching at her chest, which pulsated with demented, sickly sea-green light. She shrieked in agonizing, hellish pain as her chest ripped itself apart, her own heart molting out of her skin -- the Dead Man’s Chest appeared out of nowhere in a flare of light at her feet -- and it swallowed up the heart that had ripped itself out of her chest before snapping shut.

“What -- ” gasped Bill, ���what is -- ?”

“The one who stabs the Heart,” said Ashe, his face very pale with fury and anxiety, “must replace it with their own.”

“And become the immortal Captain of the Flying Dutchman.”

Rakepick clutched her chest with one hand, her long ginger hair in her face. She breathed heavily as her lips spread little by little into a broad smirk. When she pulled her hand away, the wounds in her chest and in her shoulder had completely sealed up. Even the blood had dissipated.

“Incredible,” she whispered. “I can feel the Dutchman -- the sea -- the creatures of the deep, all responding to my every whim...”

She flung out her arm. In an instant, Jones’s fallen barnacle-encrusted blade soared into her open hand, and she raised her head, her dark blue eyes devoid of human light or mercy upon Bill, Jacob, Jules, and Ashe as her loosely flying ginger hair seemed to smack the air like tentacles.

“Now I finally have the power I need,” she whispered triumphantly, “the power to destroy all of you and Cutler Beckett, in one fell swoop!”

[carewyncromwell]

Whew! Three drawings for the price of one for the POTC AU! The first two feature our new Pirate King Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier (flanked by Jacob “Black Jack” Cromwell Roberts and Orion Amari), and Cutler Beckett (flanked by Carewyn Cromwell “Carey Weasley” and Patricia Rakepick). The last one features the human form of our Davy Jones, Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, with his One True Love Chiara Dalma, A.K.A. Calypso! These took a while, but they were fun to do, so I hope you like them.

Jules’s “tunic” is actually the same chemise she cut up while she was still on board the Artemis, as seen in a doodle on a previous post. Carewyn’s new uniform (which we’ll address in this part) is based on yet another of James Norrington’s costumes, this time the one he wears in the third Pirates film. Unlike the character whose role she roughly fills, though, Carey isn’t going to die unceremoniously in the middle of the damn story after getting this costume change. (Why no, I’m not bitter about the fact that Jack Davenport didn’t get more screentime and that Norrington didn’t get to be the Javert to Captain Jack Sparrow’s Valjean in the sequels the way he so could’ve been after the first movie, why would you think that? *snort*)

Now that we’re getting more into the Davy Jones/Calypso stuff, I can acknowledge how much I’ve changed from the original films’ depictions of the characters, as well as why. Personally I find the characters’ relationship to be a bit toxic and not as romantic as it should be. Calypso, being a goddess, could very easily not understand things like the passage of time through a man’s eyes, but the excuse she gives for why she wasn’t there to support her lover after all of the hard and lonely work he’d put in for her after ten years is just “it’s who I am.” I get that she’s a manifestation of the sea and not something you can pin down and all that jazz, but at the same time, it was cruel to follow her own selfish whims over considering her lover’s feelings. She presumably then also didn’t even try following up with Jones after he returned to the sea, as they aren’t able to sort out that misunderstanding before the events of At World’s End. (I mean, she’s a shape-shifting goddess of the sea, and she made him that way in the first place, so it’s not like she couldn’t have met him somewhere that wasn’t dry land.) I understand Jones couldn’t expect her to change her nature, and that’s fair, but it doesn’t make me like Calypso very much or feel much of anything for her relationship with Jones. And on the flip side, Jones decides to take out his pain at this misunderstanding (which he really should’ve tried clearing up AGES before the events of At World’s End) on his lover in the most spiteful, vindictive way -- teaching a bunch of pirates how to trap an immortal goddess into a mortal body that definitely has none of the power innate to her, presumably feels pain, and could even age or die. Rather than trying to quit the job Calypso gave him or even trying to figure out what happened, he decides to clip the wings of the woman he supposedly loves, all due to his own pain at being betrayed. So I don’t feel much for Jones as a character and for his relationship with Calypso either. In the end, when they quasi-make up, I didn’t think it was earned or that it was a good outcome for either of them. I do think there’s some tragedy in the situation, for they clearly feel deeply for each other, but their romance is really dysfunctional in my opinion, and I think it could’ve been handled a lot better if you wanted to make the pairing as romantic as the theme Hans Zimmer wrote for it. (As a side, take a listen to this lovely lyric cover someone wrote for the Davy Jones theme, it’s so good!) This is part of why I like being able to write Chia and Finn (the Calypso and Jones analogues in this AU) with a more sympathetic backstory, as well as some organic development for both them and their relationship while they’re apart from each other, which I kind of think was lacking in Tia Dalma/Calypso in particular.

Previous part is here, whole tag is here, and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was perturbed by how fast an armada of ships from Port Royal caught up with the Flying Dutchman, once Rakepick had Jones send one of his cursed crew members with a message for Beckett. It was as though the head of the East India Trading Company had been waiting in eager anticipation of the Dutchman locating Shipwreck Cove ever since he gave her and Rakepick the mission in the first place.

Among the armada was the Clearwater, and Carewyn was shocked and a little happy to see Percy crossing over to the Dutchman from his ship and leaping off the gangplank to greet her. The youngest of the three Weasley brothers who’d joined the Navy gave her a salute for formalities’ sake, but he couldn’t keep the relieved smile off his face.

“Commodore Weasley,” he said formally.

“Captain Weasley,” said Carewyn in return.

As soon as they’d greeted each other, both of them loosened considerably. Carewyn opened her arms and brought Percy into a rather mannish hug, clapping his back the way Bill often did whenever he hugged his brothers.

“Jones’s men treated you well, I hope?” Percy murmured under his breath, his voice betraying some cold suspicion despite himself.

“Well enough,” Carewyn said softly.

When they broke apart, Percy was smiling a bit more fully. 

“It is good to see you, Carey,” he said, his faintly pompous voice nonetheless incredibly sincere, “though I’m afraid I’ll have my own ship to run now...”

Carewyn smiled proudly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. A Commodore needs a talented Captain in his fleet.”

‘I know how long you’ve dreamed of moving up the ranks. Even if the Navy isn’t what it should be...I’m glad that you’re living your dream, Percy.’

Percy’s brown eyes softened, clearly touched. Before he could say anything, however, a familiar, aloof voice interrupted him.

"A Commodore does indeed need a talented Captain...”

Both Weasleys turned to Cutler Beckett as he stepped down onto the deck of the Dutchman beside them. His small eyes were locked firmly on Carewyn.

“...as does the Admiral of the fleet.”

He materialized a folded letter and held it out to Carewyn. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened it, before her eyes widened upon its contents and the royal wax seal at the bottom.

“I’d already had this prepared ahead of time, prior to your departure from Port Royal,” said Beckett with a cool smile. “I wrote to the King of how impressed I was with your dedication, ingenuity, and talents, and he was most pleased. When I requested you to be at the head of my fleet for this upcoming venture, he agreed immediately. Upon receiving Madam Rakepick’s letter about you initiating the search for the Tower Raven’s old fleet and using one of their own ships to guide us to our target...I knew that my faith had been more than warranted.”

His eyes narrowed slightly over his cold, satisfied smile.

“Congratulations...Admiral Carey Weasley.”

The “honor” the King had bestowed upon her, if one could call it that, made Carewyn feel ill for multiple reasons. Not only did she truly not, NOT want to fight the Pirate Lords and whatever ships they gathered together, but she knew that she had largely gotten the position thanks to the effort of Rakepick -- who had for whatever reason credited Carewyn for following the Phoenix rather than taking credit herself -- and Beckett -- who Carewyn didn’t trust as far as she could throw him, but couldn’t figure out why exactly he had so much “faith” in her. Was she truly that good of an actress to completely fool him? She wanted to think so -- and yet the way he looked at her, not unlike how Rakepick looked at her, spoke of him knowing something she didn’t. Sadly Percy, even if he had seemed legitimately troubled by the hangings in Port Royal, was not distrustful enough of Beckett to express anything but pride in Carewyn’s accomplishment, so Carewyn couldn’t talk to him or anyone else about her suspicions.

When she confronted Rakepick about what she wrote to Beckett, the older woman’s response was oddly coy.

“I already told you you don’t belong on this ship,” she said, her dark blue eyes locked firmly onto Carewyn’s with a murky emotion she couldn’t quite identify. “Now that you’re Admiral, you’ll have more power to command your own ship, overlooking the Dutchman as well as the rest of the fleet.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. “So you wrote that so I’d get off the Dutchman?”

Rakepick’s eyes narrowed slightly too, becoming more solemn. “You heard Lord Beckett -- he’d already planned this for you in advance. Although my reasons are different from his, I’m more than willing to play along with his whims, if it means I get what I want.”

“And what is it you want, Rakepick?”

Rakepick’s red lips curled up into a cool smirk. “Now, Admiral...one can hardly expect a lady to answer such a personal question.”

Not long after confronting Rakepick, Beckett summoned Carewyn to his cabin on his flagship, a Man O’ War called the HMS Lion. Unlike any of their previous meetings in his office, Carewyn found the cabin completely empty except for Beckett when she arrived -- in the past, Percy or Rakepick had been there too, as well as one or two employees of the East India Trading Company. It gave her the feeling that Beckett wanted this meeting to be more private than the others, which gave her a terrible sense of foreboding.

“You wished to see me, Lord Beckett?” she asked, once she’d finished saluting him.

“Yes,” said Beckett.

He was sitting behind his desk, which once again had a map laid out with different model soldiers and ships littered all over it. There were also seven Piece of Eight coins lined up in a neat little row -- he was once again playing with the eighth, rolling it along his fingers lackadaisically.

“Word has come from Shipwreck Cove, from the so-called ‘Pirate King,’“ he said, his eyes on the coin in his hand. “She wishes to rendez-vous on a tiny island on the far side of Shipwreck Island at sunset tonight, a ways away from the Cove. No weapons -- just talking.”

Beckett’s eyes flickered up to Carewyn’s face almost critically.

“...The Pirate King...signed her name as ‘Captain Jules Weasley’ -- so she’d be an old flame of yours, would she not?”

Carewyn stiffened slightly. ‘Jules is the Pirate King?’

She covered up her surprise quickly, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Miss Farrier -- pardon, Mrs. William Weasley -- never commanded any affection from me. Although her father bid she court me, her feelings were always for my brother -- so much so that she followed him into piracy.”

Beckett’s lips spread into a cold smile. “Then it’s as I surmised. Governor Farrier expressed frustration that his daughter had not managed to ensnare your heart, as opposed to your older brother’s -- especially considering how much she seemed to enjoy your company...”

Carewyn could not figure out what Beckett was trying to suss out from this conversation and it troubled her greatly -- so she put on her best, coldest expression and lied through her teeth.

“Whatever woman I respected in the past is dead, now that she’s an enemy of the Crown,” she said harshly. “I know no ‘Captain Jules Weasley’...nor do I wish to.”

Beckett’s smile did not shift in the slightest. If anything, his small, dark eyes flickered in something almost like triumph.

“I understand your sensitivity to the matter. You truly do love with all of your heart, don’t you, Admiral Weasley?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly over her eyes in confusion, but she did not reply. Beckett put the Piece of Eight coin down in the row on his deck and rose from his chair, moving over to the decanter of red wine on the side table so he could pour a glass.

“I saw you with Captain Weasley, before you left Port Royal -- and of course, your reunion on-board the Dutchman, earlier today. I also heard quite a few interesting rumors circulated among our prisoners from Tortuga, speaking of your honor and the respect you showed them despite their criminal status...even moving a woman into a cell with her husband without being asked, if I’m not mistaken...”

His voice was very aloof and was tinged with a bizarre fascination, like an entomologist might have for a rare butterfly he’d pinned to his wall. Carewyn felt like her heart was being squeezed, but she dare not say anything.

Beckett finished pouring out two glasses of wine and put down the decanter so he could pick up both glasses.

“It’s not something I’m familiar with, that kind of concern for others.”

He offered the glass of red wine to Carewyn, his eyes boring into her face. Carewyn kept her face as blank as she could even though she could feel the blood leaving it as she took the glass of wine from him, but did not drink it.

“...I did not mean to displease you, Lord Beckett,” she said lowly.

Beckett’s eyes flickered again with that strange satisfaction as he took a sip from his glass of wine.

“On the contrary -- it’s only appropriate, for a woman to have a gentle heart.”

Carewyn stiffened sharply.

‘No. No, no, no -- !’

It was one thing for Rakepick to find out, but Beckett to know -- did Rakepick tell him? No, she said she wasn’t really doing any of this for Beckett -- should she deny it, Carewyn wondered? But if she did, and he caught her in a lie, could that make it worse -- ? 

Her hesitation made Beckett’s eyes gleam with greater satisfaction than ever.

“Then I was right,” he murmured. “I admit, I wasn’t sure. True, your voice is higher than one normally hears and you’re smaller than most, but I know first hand that means nothing. And your military record...had it not been for me having met and employed Patricia Rakepick previously, I would never have believed a woman could be so skilled in battle and strategy, nor so aggressive. But when Captain Weasley expressed such interest in me having hired a woman, and even went out of his way to bring it up to you...my interest was peaked. All the more so when I found out how truly useful you are, as an officer.”

Carewyn felt like she was drowning in horrifying, icy cold water. Beckett knew she was a woman -- he knew she was a woman, and could tell anyone about it, if he so chose. She’d not only lose her position -- the one thing that she had left that she could use to protect Jacob, Orion, Bill, Charlie, and Jules...but she’d be cast out in disgrace, leaving her with nothing -- possibly taking Percy along with her for having kept her true gender a secret --

Her blue eyes had drifted down to the floor absently, but were not focusing on anything.

Yet...Beckett had said nothing of his suspicions to anyone. True, he hadn’t known for sure...but why would he recommend her to the King as an Admiral, if he’d suspected?

And then it hit her.

She bowed her head, casting her eyes into shadow as she put down her untouched wine glass on the side table.

“...What do you want from me, Lord Beckett?”

Beckett raised his eyebrows but did not respond.

“You very easily could’ve gotten both Percy and me cast out of the Navy in disgrace,” she said, keeping her voice low in an attempt to try to keep it steady, “yet you’ve kept me and even helped get me promoted, presumably because I’m so ‘useful.’ What use do I have, for you?”

Beckett gave her something of a patronizing smile as he stepped forward, coming up right in front of Carewyn so that his chin rested just shy of her shoulder and he could look at her face out the side of his eye.

“Isn’t it obvious? You are an excellent Naval officer -- a leader and inspiration to those who serve under you. You’re world-renown for your honor, your courage -- your passion. You prompt people to fight with you -- for you -- with a loyalty that even the King of England himself cannot boast. Were you a man, you would be someone I’d be very threatened by, indeed. But since you are a woman...I can appeal to your heart.”

Carewyn could feel his breath sliding past her ear and she couldn’t help but cringe. She stubbornly refused to look him in the eye, keeping her gaze firmly on the floor.

“I’m afraid my disinterest in the once-Miss Farrier was not a one-off thing, Lord Beckett,” she said very dryly. “Romance is not something I think about very regularly.”

Orion’s face rippled over her mind, making her heart ache. Oh, if he were there, in that room -- the thought of him seeing her letting herself get pushed around by the man who’d branded him and sent the Navy after him for piracy...it made her feel ill.

Beckett’s lips curled up in a slightly tighter, almost miffed smile as he pulled away just enough that he was facing the wall behind her rather than looking at her face.

“...Oh...no, Admiral...you misunderstand me. I know I own no part of your heart...but Captain Weasley, he most assuredly does.”

Carewyn’s head shot up so she could look at him, her expression stricken despite herself.

“Your younger brother is not nearly as useful as you, but he has shown great dedication to me, since I threw him a bone and ensured his promotion. It’s a loyalty I hope that you will likewise show me...especially considering that both you and he have been given access to information that few others have been...and that I would do just about anything to ensure doesn’t become common knowledge...”

Carewyn stared at Beckett, her shock giving way to cold hatred. 

“So that’s it,” she murmured. “You’ll hold Percy’s and my lives and livelihoods over our heads, to make sure that I don’t surpass you, somehow. How I don’t know, considering that the Navy is not part of the East India Trading Company, nor shall it ever be, but clearly you feel loyalty is something to threaten out of people, rather than earn -- ”

“The only thing one can really earn in this world, Admiral, is money, and therefore power,” Beckett cut her off sharply, “and I have no intention of losing either, now that I’ve earned both of which I’m owed!”

He turned to look Carewyn straight-on in the eye, their faces mere inches apart. Gone was any hint of attempt at gentlemanly poise -- there was a hard edge to his gaze, not unlike the way he’d looked at Jones, but because he was actually an inch or so taller than Carewyn, he seemed to relish the power he had looking down at her both literally and figuratively.

“You will use your talents to serve my interests,” he said under his breath, “and I, in return, will continue to reward you and your brother, by ensuring that your careers and lives flourish under me. It’s just good business.”

At sundown, Beckett and Jules met at the tiny island agreed upon. Jules strolled down the long, narrow beach toward the shoreline where they were to meet, Jacob on one side of her and Orion on the other. She’d originally wanted Bill with her, but McNully was able to persuade her that she’d look that bit more intimidating to Beckett if she arrived in the company of two of the most wanted pirate captains in the world, and even Bill had to agree. Jules was determined to stand between Jacob and Orion, though, considering that there was still a lot of tension between them.

Jules had been furious with Jacob, when she’d learned about the deal he’d struck with Davy Jones. Even if he’d originally planned to give Jones “a Cromwell” as in Charles or Blaise Cromwell -- two objectively bad people who had been largely responsible for Carewyn and Jacob’s abusive, unloving childhoods -- Jules was also confident in thinking that Carewyn would be horrified, knowing that Jacob was willing to enslave another person to Davy Jones, just to find her. Jacob refused to feel guilty for that, but he clearly was destroyed by the knowledge that his choice had put Carewyn in so much danger. It was apparent from the way he talked about it and the way his hands and shoulders shook with silent sobs that Jacob would’ve sacrificed himself a hundred times over, if it would guarantee Carewyn wouldn’t be harmed.

Orion, by contrast, hadn’t said a word since Jacob told them what was going on. Throughout the entire conversation, he’d had his hands clasped tightly in front of him and kept his gaze downcast, even taking time to close his eyes for long periods of time as if he were meditating. Despite his silence and his detached affect, his usually stoic expression and unsteady breathing betrayed genuine anxiety. At one point, Bill brought a hand onto Orion’s shoulder to try to comfort him, and Orion actually subconsciously smacked his hand away.

“I’m sorry,” said the Captain quickly, his voice very hushed and tense as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Just...please, don’t touch me.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all thought they could guess how Orion was feeling. Although the others had forcefully shot down the idea that Orion was the least bit responsible since he couldn’t have known the consequences of calling Carewyn by her real name, their words had done little to soften the Pirate Lord’s brow. If Orion’s past behavior hadn’t been indicative of how deeply he felt for Carewyn, then the way he clasped anxiously at his own hands and shut himself off from everyone else at the thought of her being doomed to spend the rest of her life trapped on board the Flying Dutchman made it crystal clear.

“Orion’s always valued his own freedom more than any kind of loot,” McNully murmured to the three Weasleys under her breath, “more than anything, really. And if he cares about the Commodore so much...”

“...He probably couldn’t bear it, if she lost hers,” finished Charlie, bowing his head and closing his eyes as they welled up with pain and righteous anger.

As Jules, Jacob, and Orion approached the shore, they caught sight of three people standing in the distance. The man in the middle dressed in black Orion identified as Cutler Beckett. On his left was an older woman as tall as Orion with hair as ginger red as Bill and Charlie’s that Jacob immediately recognized as Rakepick...and on his right was Carewyn, dressed in a new yellow-trimmed navy blue uniform and a black tricorn hat.

The three pirates stopped five feet away from the Head of the East India Trading Company and his two female companions, a notable sting of tension prickling at the air. Jules tried hard to keep her focus on Beckett, but her eyes were drawn to Carewyn despite herself. Although her friend faced Orion -- the person directly in front of her -- with a hard, stoic expression, she looked so pale. When Jules glanced over, she noticed out the side of her eye that Orion’s unreadable gaze was also locked on Carewyn, even as he took deep breaths through his nose and his hands clenched absently at his sides.

“Well, well,” said Beckett, his eyes narrowing darkly upon Orion’s face, “if it isn’t my old friend, Orion Amari.”

Orion glanced at Beckett out the side of his eye without turning his face away from Carewyn’s. Although his face remained rather calm, there was a faint edge to his soft-spoken response.

“...I did not think you were ever much in the market for friendship, Cutler Beckett...considering it’s something you cannot buy.”

His gaze returned to Carewyn. Beckett glanced from Carewyn to Orion, his lips curling up in a very cold smile.

“Ah, yes -- you and Amari are old friends also, aren’t you, Admiral Weasley?”

“Admiral?” repeated Orion, taken aback despite himself.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, and although her response was very cold, her eyes pulsed with emotion that she attempted to obscure by glancing to the side in Jacob’s direction rather than straight at Orion. “By order of the King, as a reward for my work alongside Lord Beckett.”

Jules could see Jacob’s jaw clench out the corner of her eye. She too felt like her heart was being squeezed. Carewyn no doubt hated her promotion with everything in her, if it was something she’d earned chasing after them on Beckett’s orders. Still...Jules couldn’t express that flat-out, so she put on the strongest expression she could.

“...I suppose congratulations are in order, then.” 

Carewyn flashed Jules a look. “I don’t want congratulations from you, Mrs. Weasley. Or should I call you ‘Your Majesty,’ now that you’ve started playacting as a royal?”

Jules’s lips came together tightly when she saw how broadly Beckett smirked. The small man’s reaction seemed to piss off Jacob too.

“You will show proper respect to the Pirate King,” he said with a fierce look at the Head of the East India Trading Company.

“Respect,” scorned Rakepick. “Is that a word you can even define, Black Jack?”

“As well as I could wring your neck, if I were allowed,” spat Jacob.

“I’m surprised your ‘Pirate King’ would want a man in her company who’s so comfortable threatening a lady’s life,” said Carewyn sharply.

‘Don’t start a fight with her,’ she thought desperately, praying that Jacob would be able to sense her intent even with the act she had to play. 

Unfortunately Jacob, as smart as he was, was never the best at reading people’s emotions -- and so when his narrowed eyes shot to Carewyn, she could see a flicker of pain. She surmised that even if he clearly didn’t think she believed what she was saying, it hurt him beyond reason, to see her having to defend the woman who’d tried to kill him.

Orion, however, very quickly adapted to the new method of “conversation,” fixing Carewyn with a calm, but piercing gaze.

“And I’m surprised that a honorable officer such as yourself would be so comfortable in the company of those with no honor whatsoever,” he said.

‘You’re in danger,’ Carewyn surmised he was trying to say. Her eyes narrowed upon Orion’s face.

“I beg your pardon?” she retorted. “I fail to see how a pirate has any leg to stand on, speaking of honor.” ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

“Even I have more honor than a captain who would burn an entire settlement to the ground,” murmured Orion. ‘Davy Jones.’

“Jones follows orders, as do we all...something else a pirate wouldn’t understand.” ‘What about Jones?’

"Orders...from Cutler Beckett, or from you? From what I’ve heard, you were on the Flying Dutchman yourself -- hardly a place one would expect to find Port Royal’s greatest hero.” ‘You must get away from Davy Jones. Get off of the Flying Dutchman.’

Carewyn’s blue eyes narrowed a bit more. First Rakepick wanted her off the Dutchman, and now Orion? Yes, Davy Jones was dangerous, but at present she found him much less of a threat than Beckett...

“A true hero knows that his reputation comes second to the good of the others,” she said very softly. “As does a loyal officer.” ‘I can’t leave.’

Something in Orion’s dark eyes flinched.

“Your older brother will be very disappointed, to know you’ve sold your loyalty so cheaply,” he said just as softly.

Carewyn felt her heart clench. She knew he didn’t mean Bill -- and yet the thought of both her surrogate brothers and Jacob was a silent knife to her back. She didn’t dare look at Jacob for fear her strong facade would crack, so she kept her focus solidly on Orion.

“I would think given your own history with Lord Beckett, you’d know full well how valuable of an ally he is, ” she shot back quickly, feigning temper as best she could, “and how dangerous of an enemy, as well. Both I and the brother who chose to follow the law rather than spit in its face are certainly glad for his aid, in ending your reign of terror.”

‘I can’t leave, not with what Beckett has over me and Percy. And if I do leave, then you’ll be in more danger than ever...’

Her eyes bore into Orion’s fiercely as she begged beyond reason he’d understand.

“...You may tell William...that I am no Bedlam maid in need of saving.”

‘You can’t help me. I love you.’

Deep in the depths of his sparkling black eyes, Carewyn could see a flicker of desperation, almost like anxiety. Afraid that Beckett might notice the crack in Orion’s expression, or in her own at the sight of it, she quickly whirled on Jules.

“He is the one who should stand down,” she said, her voice hardening further in an attempt to obscure her emotions. “All of you should, unless you wish to face down an entire armada.”

‘There are 34 Man O’ Wars waiting out there for you,’ she hoped Jules would be able to discern. Even if she didn’t know an armada had that many ships, Jacob and Orion would.

Jules, to her credit, matched Carewyn’s act with her own cold gaze. “Don’t underestimate us, Admiral Weasley. Both the British Navy and the East India Trading Company have done that consistently from the beginning.”

“And now we have come to the end,” said Beckett smoothly. “Of you and the rest of your Brethren.”

The others all turned to look at him. He flashed Orion a look better suited to a cockroach before redirecting his gaze onto Jules.

“Tell your Court this,” he said in an aloof, condescending voice. “You can fight, and all of you will die...or you can stand down, in which case only most of you will die. I daresay the Governor could be persuaded to spare you from the gallows, if you threw yourself on his mercy...and if I were to be merciful enough to leave out your new position, in my correspondence with the King...”

Jules’s dark eyes flashed with hatred as she strode forward, coming to a stop two feet from Beckett so she could glare right into his face.

“There are few things I can tolerate less than cowards who resort to blackmail just to make themselves feel powerful.”

She didn’t look at Carewyn, but Carewyn could sense Jules was thinking of her, as she said this.

“We will fight. And you’d best hope that we will show more mercy than you would, in our place.”

The Pirate King turned on her heel and walked away. With some reluctance, Orion and then Jacob turned away and strode quickly after her, leaving the other three alone on the shore.

“So be it,” said Beckett with a cold smile.

Carewyn couldn’t look at Rakepick or Beckett at her side. Her gaze was solidly locked on the departing backs of her brother, friend, and love as they began to shrink into the distance.

She’d never been very good at relying on or having faith in others...but in that moment, more than anything, she knew all she could do now was put her trust in Orion -- in Jules -- in Jacob -- in Bill and Charlie and all of the other pirates on Shipwreck Cove.

‘Please...please, be careful. Please be safe.’

In that moment of helplessness, she felt her heart ache all the more, watching Orion walk away. She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the memory of him standing shoulder to shoulder with her on the Artemis -- of him lying in bed as she tended to him, when they were young -- but it was no use. The graveness of the situation was too dire even for escapism...

Carewyn clutched her own arms behind her back. They suddenly felt so much heavier...as if there really were manacles there she couldn’t hope to break.

‘...Please...please live.’

On the opposite side of the island, both Jules and Jacob noticed the silent tears that had streaked down Orion’s face...but none had the heart to address it as they boarded the jollyboat that would take them back to the Artemis and to Shipwreck Cove.

At the same time that the pirates and the leaders of the British Navy were meeting, Davy Jones had been left behind on the Flying Dutchman with Percy supervising the troops. Beckett thought that Jones was threatened into line by how many soldiers were still guarding his heart, but thanks to Carewyn, Jones knew that Rakepick had stolen and relocated it. Now that he didn’t know where his heart was at all, he knew he couldn’t afford to move until he’d found it again -- and with Carewyn likely leaving the Dutchman with her new position as Admiral, it was likely it’d take a while before she could smuggle him any more information she might acquire about that. For the moment, though, Jones had put that concern on the back burner, for the Dutchman’s arrival near Shipwreck Cove gave him the opportunity to catch up with the Phoenix.

As luck would have it, when Jones phased through the Dutchman and onto the Phoenix, the ship was largely abandoned, since the crew had all gone ashore to Shipwreck Cove. The only person remaining was a small woman with long white hair, looking out to sea over the deck. In her hand was a pretty silver locket in the shape of a moon, the lid of which was cracked open so that a sweet, tinkling music box melody played.

Chia Dalma closed the locket half-way through the song, her eyes closing sadly as she clasped the locket close to her chest. She straightened up in shock, however, when she suddenly heard the rest of the tune echoing from behind her. She whirled around, to be faced with a giant, hulking shadow with writhing tentacles sprouting out from his jaw, holding an identical locket in his claw. Anyone would’ve been terrified at the sight -- but Chia looked upon the figure with tears in her eyes.

“Finn,” she breathed. Her lips were curled up in a weak smile, just as they had been before, but the joy was stained with so many other emotions -- grief, shame, and regret.

Davy Jones regarded Chia critically as he took several plodding steps toward her. “You know I haven’t been called that name in years.”

Chia bowed her head. “Nor have I been called my true name in years.”

Jones tilted his head, trying to read her expression better now she was looking away from him.

“I had not expected to find you like this,” he said very lowly. “You’ve never taken on such a small shape before.”

Chia’s eyes flashed with righteous anger as she raised her head. “That’s because this form is one I did not choose to take. It was thrust upon me by the Brethren Court.”

Jones straightened up slightly. His eyes narrowed to slits.

“...Then they did not kill or trap you. They transformed you.”

His voice was as low and growling as thunder. Chia clutched at the sides of her arms with her hands, her gaze smouldering with resentment as she glared down at the deck.

“Oh, but they did trap me,” she said bitterly, “trapped me in this single form, which can’t do even half of what I should be able to. I’ve been able to use what power I have to slow down the aging process, but this body still feels pain. This body still feels strain, and weakness, and hunger, and exhaustion, and longing...”

Something rippled over her eyes -- something more ashamed and pained.

“...I never knew...how much time truly weighs on a human,” she murmured.

Jones’s expression grew much more grim. “An immortal such as yourself should never have had to learn that.”

“Should never have had to, yes...but...”

She looked up at Jones, her gray eyes pulsing with strength despite the pain rippling within.

“...why did you not tell me, how long ten years felt for you? I have felt those ten years several times over, trapped in this tiny, fragile, helpless body every single moment -- and it’s...it’s been torture. To know you took the job I gave you -- only coming ashore once every ten years, so you could help me with the burden of tending to the dead at sea -- when ten years feels like that, to you -- ”

Chia’s eyes flooded with tears.

“I gave you the position of ferryman because I wanted to spare you from death,” she whispered. “Because if I didn’t give you that role and give you some of my power, you would’ve died. I’d never thought that those ten years would feel so long -- drain you so much...”

Jones was quiet for a long moment. Then he brought up his claw to brush her bangs from her eye.

“It’s only natural that you saw things the way an immortal would. Time is no object to you -- ten years no doubt felt like a small price to pay, in the face of your life span. And...”

His eyes became a bit smaller.

“...it’s not exactly like I wanted to die and be separated from you either. Even though part of me always doubted you’d be there waiting for me, when I returned...even though I resented you for years because you weren’t there...”

A ghost of a smile flickered over his features.

“...I know I shouldn’t have expected you to see things as I have -- to change yourself to suit me. If you did...you wouldn’t be the goddess I fell in love with, would you?”

Chia smiled up at Jones, her eyes shining with tenderness.

“I tried to make it back to you,” she murmured. “When the Court transformed me, I tried so hard to get there, to reach you...”

She extended her hands, tentatively trailing them along his tentacled face. Jones seemed to tremble at her touch.

“I know of the danger you’re in, Finn,” said Chia seriously. “As long as Cutler Beckett has your heart, I know you’re beholden to him. But I have allies among this newest Brethren Court. If they convince the others to break my chains, as I’ve foreseen they will...then as soon as I am free, I will come for you. I will make sure you and I are never separated again...and I will make sure your captors suffer the consequences, for hurting the man I love.”

As her small white hands held his face, Jones’s face and frame suddenly began to morph. In an instant, the slimy texture, the tentacles clinging to his face, and his claw all vanished -- and there stood the tall, handsome pirate she’d fallen in love with so long ago.

Finn McGarry’s face broke out into a broken, soft smile. He stretched out his hand, caressing his love’s human cheek with more gentleness than his claw ever could have.

“Calypso...” he murmured.

Chia’s face broke out into a full smile as well. She knew she couldn’t permanently remove the fishy transformation, as it was something that had mutated Jones over the many years they’d been apart, due to his heartbreak and grief...but seeing him looking so much like his old self after so long...it made her currently human heart swell with love.

“Just as you gave me your heart, when you became captain of the Flying Dutchman,” she murmured, “so too will you always have mine.”

[carewyncromwell]

Just like with the last part I just posted, I’ll go through the notes quickly to get to the rest of this crazy climax! We’re reaching the home stretch! AHHHH!!

Full tag is here! And MCs referenced in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier, Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws, and, most recently added to the roster and pictured above in violet, Sarahi Silvers @dat-silvers-girl!

x~x~x~x

It was very fortunate for Orion and Carewyn that there was a bale of green sea turtles swimming among the Navy’s ships, led by a melodic, otherworldly voice.  

The mermaid called Sarahi had always been unusual among her kind in the way that she used her hypnotic voice to befriend the creatures of the deep, rather than to hunt humans. She’d ended up beside Shipwreck Cove by chance, having followed the many, many pirate ships that decided to dock there so she could get a better look at their human occupants. Although she couldn’t get close enough to properly “read” all of the humans’ intent or properly figure out the scope of everything going on, she soon sussed out that Calypso was on board one of the pirate ships and, more importantly, that this island full of humans was soon going to be under attack. And so Sarahi made the rather noble decision to watch the battle and help where she could, including saving those pirates who ended up falling overboard and delivering them safely within reach of other ships in their fleet. One of those such people was Barnaby Lee, who she’d had to give a kiss of life and carry underwater herself to avoid the flaming fragments of the sunken Phoenix, until one of her leopard shark friends and a whole cluster of white horseshoe crabs came up to give her a hand.

When Orion came to, he found a large green sea turtle under each of his arms, holding him up over the water. Once he’d blinked several times and took in the bizarre sight, he immediately looked around for Carewyn, to find her unconscious frame being carried on the back of a mermaid with very long, dark hair, a shimmering gold tail, and a cherubic face. The mermaid was a little startled to see Orion conscious, since she’d rarely looked a human so closely in the eye before.  

“Oh!” Sarahi smiled self-consciously. “Uh...hi! Good to see you’re awake! Um...”

Orion blinked at her. He was never particularly extroverted with expressing emotions like surprise, which made him resemble a dog staring down their owner in confusion after being given a command they didn’t recognize. He looked from Carewyn draped over Sarahi’s back to up at the mermaid’s face, his black eyes discerning despite his calm expression.

“...Did Carewyn request something from you?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh -- no,” said Sarahi awkwardly, but she was still smiling, “I just wanted to help!”

Sensing Orion’s faint wariness, she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t want to eat you, I promise! I like humans! I mean -- I’ve never really talked to any for very long...but I like to follow your ships, and collect the stuff you guys lose in the water, and watch you guys playing at the beach...” she grimaced and added under her breath to herself, “...oh yeah, that doesn’t make you sound creepy, you dingus...”

Orion’s face softened slightly. “I see.”

It seemed that this mermaid, as unusual as her approach at charming her prey was, didn’t want to ask anything of them. As long as he and Carewyn didn’t actively accept any terms from her, she couldn’t lure them in, and thus there wouldn’t be as much danger in accepting her help. And Orion was more than sharp enough to know that he and Carewyn owed this mermaid their lives.

His gaze turned back to his ginger-haired love, tilting his head to try to look at her pale face better. Sarahi noticed his gaze and her dark eyes lit up almost excitedly.

“You two are in love, aren’t you?” she asked.

Orion glanced at Sarahi out the side of his eye. Then, after a moment, his expression broke into a very small smile and he nodded.

The mermaid’s eyes sparkled happily. “Ohh, I hoped so! When you two were under the water, I saw her trying to pull you up to the surface after you hit your head on that beam, but she wasn’t strong enough...yet she still kept pulling anyway, like she refused to let you go.” She looked from Carewyn to Orion and beamed. “You really suit each other...”

There was a large crash of ocean water.

Sarahi and Orion looked up, to see a massive Man O’War heading straight for them. Before they could move to escape, however, a ghostly white ship infinitely smaller than the Man O’War swept out from around the larger Navy ship, up over the closest wave through the pouring rain.

“The Artemis!” said Orion, his heart leaping.

Sarahi grinned. “Oh, you know that one! Great! I’ll leave you in the water over there, so they can pick you up!”

Aboard the Artemis, McNully put down his telescope, his face alight with relief and determination.

“It’s Orion and the Admiral!” he cried. “Throw forth the lines!”

Skye immediately ran across the deck, shouting at the rest of the crew over the raging wind and rain. “MAN OVERBOARD! THROW FORTH THE LINES, NOW!”

With some help from Ben, Skye hauled the soaked Orion and Carewyn on-board the Artemis, taking extra care with Carewyn since she was still unconscious. She fortunately came to not long after arriving on-board, at which point McNully filled her in on the pirates’ plan of attack and what they witnessed of Beckett’s death. Unfortunately, as the First Mate explained, it appeared the original plan was now obsolete, now that Jones and Beckett were both dead. Even if the Revolution somehow managed to escape its battle with the Flying Dutchman, there was now no hostage they could capture that would stop the fighting. Orion, however, didn’t seem worried -- on the contrary, his black eyes were shining in triumph.

“We only needed Beckett because he was the King on your chessboard, McNully,” said the pirate captain placidly. “But now...” He turned to look at Carewyn with muted, but incredibly warm pride in his face. “...our opposing team has a new King -- one, ironically enough, appointed to the role partly through Beckett’s own efforts, in an attempt to keep her under his thumb.” Carewyn’s almond-shaped eyes widened. Orion was right -- as Admiral, she was now solidly in charge of the fleet, meaning she alone would wield the authority needed to command the Navy’s ships. And yet she found herself swallowing nervously. “Orion, I disobeyed Beckett’s direct orders. I openly insulted and argued with him in front of my entire crew. I pointed a pistol in his face.” Everyone else’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Then Skye and McNully burst into roars of laughter. “You did what?” said Ben, sounding impressed. “Bloody hell! I’ve never been more jealous in my life!” ”It’s smashing, that’s what it is!” Skye laughed. Orion looked like he’d fallen in love with Carewyn all over again. Carewyn, however, was not amused. “Don’t laugh, this is serious! If just one of my men speaks out, I’ll be charged with treason and sentenced to death -- my position isn’t secure at all -- ” “Then we’ll just have to re-secure it,” said McNully in satisfaction, “just like we did when we first captured you.” He rolled his chair up into the center of the group so as to properly look around at everybody, his eyes blazing with determination. “Thanks to Ben, we now have ourselves our very own Man O’ War. I thought it’d be great to use its firepower to take out some of our ‘competition’ still fighting our other ships...but now we also have an opportunity to reestablish you, Admiral, as the ‘heroic commanding officer.’ Once we’ve taken out enough ships, we’ll stage a battle on board the HMS Royal between the Artemis’s crew, led by the infamous Pirate Lord Captain Orion Amari...and a crew of honorable British Navy soldiers, led by the honorable Admiral Carey Weasley.” He nodded to Ben and the other ex-Navy pirates still disguised as soldiers. “We’ll make sure enough of the Navy soldiers abandoning the other ships see enough of the battle and even get on board to help before we quickly retreat and hightail it away. Then that leaves you, Admiral, to command the ship to fall back and signal to the remaining ships to retreat. And as an added bonus, all of the pirates going back with you will be able to escape Shipwreck Cove and slip back into normal society under new identities without raising any suspicion.” Ben looked almost stunned by this addition -- that silver lining was clearly a pleasant surprise he hadn’t thought of. Carewyn still couldn’t help but frown deeply. “But what about the Dutchman? You said Bill, Jules, Jacob, and Ashe are still over there, on the Revolution -- and if that’s the Clearwater, that means Percy’s out there too...I can’t abandon them -- ” “You won’t,” said Ben seriously. “Once the fighting’s stopped and we’ve retreated with the Navy, the Pirate Lords can focus all of their efforts on helping the Revolution.” “Yeah -- whoever the Dutchman’s captain is now, I doubt they’ll stick around to face off against an entire fleet, even if the ship is crewed by the damned,” agreed Skye. Seeing the lingering concern on his lover’s face, Orion brought up a hand to brush some of her loose, wet hair out of her face, trailing his fingers along her cheek to try to comfort her. Carewyn gave him the bravest smile she could, before she took a deep breath, turning to Ben and nodding firmly. “Captain Copper, lead the rest of the men down below and out of sight. We’ll leave Orion in charge of the assault on the Man O’ Wars, until the time is right to put on our show.” Ben’s mouth spread into a broad, white smirk. “Aye, aye, Admiral.”

Orion, along with Skye and several other members of his crew, led the HMS Royal in an assault against the Man O’ Wars facing off against the Treasure, Blackbird, and Naga. Once all of those Man O’ Wars had been taken down and their Navy occupants abandoned ship, McNully’s plan went into action and Carewyn “led” Ben and the ex-Navy pirates in a “counter-attack” to “take the ship back” from Orion’s men. Swords clashed all over the deck drenched with rain and frothing seawater: a perfect climatic showdown, to most anyone’s eye. Orion and Carewyn themselves fought all across the ship, sliding down banisters and balancing on top of cannons as they blocked and parried each other’s swords.

“I had hoped we’d have the chance to do this again,” said Orion, his black eyes sparkling, as he held Carewyn’s blade away from him with his own.

Carewyn raised an amused eyebrow. “You enjoy getting trounced so much?”

“I enjoy being so thoroughly challenged.”

With a swing of his leg, he knocked Carewyn right off her feet and down onto the deck. Carewyn had to roll to avoid his blade again, and she quickly steadied herself against the stairs, their swords clanging together as she lifted herself back up onto her feet.

“Well,” said Carewyn with a wry smile, “I daresay you’ll have more of a chance of it, in the future...from what I understand, married couples often get into disagreements!”

In a couple of quick jumps, she’d leapt up onto the railing. Once she’d claimed the high ground over Orion, she hacked at him with her blade, forcing him to go on defense.

Orion’s face lost some of its amusement, becoming more serious.

“Carewyn,” he said awkwardly, “now that Jones is dead, he can no longer collect on your brother’s debt. You’re free now, to live as you please...”

“I know that,” said Carewyn.

She slammed her blade against Orion’s and pushed back so that she could get closer to him and speak more softly.

“I didn’t accept your proposal because I wanted you to save me from Jones, Orion, or because I was afraid of being alone. I accepted because I want to be with you...because I love you. Because I want you to be able to stay, if you so choose, and to always have a home you can come back to...even if that home is just me.”

Her eyelashes were trimmed with glinting raindrops as her lips spread into the gentlest smile Orion had ever seen on her face.

“You asked me, and now I’ll ask you -- Orion Amari, will you marry me?”

Orion was overcome with emotion. His black eyes were rippling like inky black water as he stared at Carewyn over their interlocked swords -- were those tears? It was hard to tell considering how much rain was running down his face -- but if they were, they were clearly tears of joy, given how much his eyes squinted and how broad of a grin his lips spread into as his head shot up to look up at the helm.

“Captain Copper!” he bellowed. “Marry us!”

Both Carewyn and Ben (hotly engaged in battle with two of Orion’s crewmates) did a double-take.

“Now?!” both of them cried in unison.

“I’ve heard it said that there’s no time like the present!” said Orion, his huge, over-bright grin still consuming his face.

Ben slashed at one of his opponents, his blond-bearded face contorted into an almost exasperated expression. “We’re kind of in the middle of something, Amari, in case you haven’t noticed!”

Orion looked Carewyn in the eye, his galaxy-like eyes full of a kind of conviction and happiness she’d never seen before. It made her walls crumble and her doubts melt away, and she slowly beamed too, her blue eyes softening with love in return.

“Just a quick ceremony, Ben! We don’t know when we’ll get another chance!”

Ben gave a very loud, tired sigh. “Oh, all right!”

Shoving one of the other pirates backward with his arm, the tall blond-haired man hoisted himself up onto the railing over the helm, his hand over-dramatically clapped over his heart.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today -- to put on a SHOW for those Navy stooges, don’t stop attacking me just because I’m performing a marriage, you lily-livered ingrates -- to join these two people together in not-exactly-holy matrimony -- ”

The ceremony was certainly abridged, since the remnants of the Navy’s other ships’ crews were quickly rowing up to the HMS Royal’s aid in their rowboats, but somehow, Orion and Carewyn were able to recite their vows in the midst of hacking at each other with their swords.

“Carewyn Cromwell...do you take me as your husband -- the moon goddess to my hunter, my partner in all things -- my Bedlam maid and one love -- for ere we both shall live?”

“I do! Orion Amari...do you take me as your wife -- swear to love me and let me love you, in sickness and in health -- in war and peace -- for as long as we both shall live?”

“I do -- with all of my heart, I do -- ”

“Orion!” cried Skye.

The Navy’s jollyboats were nearly on top of them. Ben backhanded one of his opponents and tripped him in order to push him back enough that he could properly look back over the railing at Carewyn and Orion below.

“I now pronounce you wed!” said the captain quickly. “Kiss now or forever hold your peace!”

Throwing caution to the wind, Carewyn slammed Orion back-first against the door of the captain’s cabin, just under the stairs leading up to the helm. Her hand holding her sword hemming him in, she pushed herself forward and onto her tiptoes to kiss him fully on the mouth. Orion immediately brought his own hand holding his cutlass around so he could hold her close to him, as they each cradled each other’s faces and heads tenderly.

In that moment, the freezing cold rain and violent rocking of the HMS Royal had no effect on the couple. They were safe and happy in the warmth of each other’s arms, if only for that short time.

“Orion!” Skye’s voice said again, a bit more urgently.

Carewyn and Orion at last reluctantly broke apart, Orion bringing up a foot right up against Carewyn’s stomach to sharply push her back.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right -- ”

Carewyn winced, but gave him a reassuring look even as she brought her sword against his in three more fierce CLANGS. Orion led her back toward the main deck, beating her back with his blade right past the Navy soldiers coming up over the railing to join Carewyn’s “counterattack.” After all, there was little point in staging this battle if it didn’t give Carewyn the opportunity to play the dashing hero in front of an audience.

Meanwhile, on the Flying Dutchman, Rakepick had lost her patience. Considering the role of ferryman she’d acquired by replacing Jones, she could sense that Beckett had died, which meant she had one less thing to attend to -- but she still was determined to deal with Bill Weasley, and it was hard enough to try to kill him without also having to deal with the seemingly eternal thorn-in-her-side, the Pirate Lord called “Black Jack Roberts.” Jacob himself was determined to kill Rakepick not just out of his own sense of vengeance, but because he knew her having all of Jones’s powers at her disposal would be a disaster for everyone.

Rakepick’s frustration seemed to crackle through her hair with unnatural energy -- and when Jacob managed to get a good hit on Rakepick by stabbing her in the back from behind and using the leverage to shove her back away from Bill, her strawberry-blond hair seemed to come alive, lashing onto Jacob like a dozen, skinny tentacles that abruptly crackled with dangerous, poisonous electricity.

“AUUUUGH!”

Jacob’s entire body was consumed with pain, as if he had been ensnared by a giant jellyfish. His entire body went numb, shuddering violently -- Rakepick whirled on Jacob trapped in her stinging strands of hair, hatred blazing in her dark blue eyes as she raised her own sword --

“Jacob!” cried Bill as he lunged forward.

But it was too late. Rakepick’s blade plunged right through Jacob’s chest.

Ashe began to scream like a madman.

“JACK! JACK -- JACK!”

Jacob choked in pain, his pupils narrowing to slits, as Rakepick haphazardly tossed his limp form down onto the deck.

“You never could stay out of my way, could you?” she said very lowly. “And in the defense of a wretch like this...” her eyes flickered over Bill, “...what a waste.”

Bill’s brown eyes, wide with horror and grief at the sight of his best friend’s brother lying mortally wounded on the deck, turned on Rakepick with a kind of rage no one had ever seen before.

“RAKEPICK!” he roared.

He lunged at her, hacking away at her with ruthless, relentless strikes. His fury even seemed to startle Rakepick a bit, though she met him blow for blow, her own dark blue eyes narrowed to slits.

Ashe had run over to Jacob, cradling him in his arms and holding his face in both hands, even as the curly-haired pirate captain gasped for breath and the light in his blue eyes dimmed.

“Jack! Jack, breathe -- stay with me!”

The merman’s voice, normally so cool and handsome, was stretched thin with anxiety, making it sound much more like an animalistic shriek than anything human or charming.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Jack! You promised -- you promised your sister, you promised Carewyn -- look at me! Look at me, stay with me -- ”

Jules looked from Percy and the Dead Man’s Chest in their laps to up at Bill fighting Rakepick. She felt the overwhelming urge to help Bill, but she struggled to stay calm.

Jacob was dying. If she didn’t do something fast, Carewyn would never see her brother alive again --

Bill managed to get the upper hand over Rakepick, using his wider stance and height advantage to beat her back toward the front of the ship.

“I don’t know what you think you’ll be able to accomplish, boy,” spat Rakepick. “I am now ferryman of the damned, unable to be killed or defeated -- ”

Bill was forced to dodge her hair as she swept it at him, trying to sting him like she had Jacob.

“Given your own history with Jones, I would think you’d already know how pointless it is, to try to escape your fate!”

Bill slashed at her hair with his sword, successfully cutting some of it and making Rakepick clench her teeth and hiss lowly. Clearly like with Jones’s tentacle beard, her hair -- being more like a jellyfish’s stingers -- were more sensitive to pain.

“What do you mean ‘my own history?’“ retorted Bill.

“Don’t play dumb, William Weasley.”

Rakepick slashed at Bill, her sword colliding with his with deadly CLANGS.

“I know all about the terms of the deal you struck with Jones -- sacrificing a member of your family, for your own benefit -- ”

Bill was startled. “What?”

Rakepick pressed on, undeterred.

“I must wonder how your brothers would feel, if they knew -- not just of your willingness to sell out your own flesh and blood, but that your sister was noble enough to actually be willing to complete the terms for you without complaint, no matter how much it hurt her -- just to shield her family from what you condemned her to -- ”

Her long hair seemed to crackle with even more electricity as her eyes flared with a kind of fury that seemed different than before -- almost righteous.

“Damning such a good, brave child -- forcing her to sacrifice everything for your sake -- clipping her wings and resigning her to a lifetime of servitude,” she whispered venomously. “I’m sure your brothers will be grateful that I’ve seen fit to wipe you off this Earth -- ”

Bill’s eyes widened in realization. Rakepick...was doing this for Carewyn?

“I never made any deal with Jones!” he shouted.

“Foisting the blame on your brothers, then, are you?” snarled Rakepick.

Her sword cut right through the rigging trying to reach Bill as he leapt back, trying to reassert himself.

“Don’t lie to me! I heard Jones tell your sister of your deal myself, before she left the Dutchman -- unless there’s some other elder brother I’m unaware of?”

“Yes!” Bill shot back fiercely. “Yes, in fact, there is!”

CLANG. SWISH. SLASH.

“I’m grateful that you thought to protect Carey -- I’m even grateful that because of you, she won’t have to serve under Jones...but Carey would never, EVER have wanted you to hurt anyone for her sake...let alone the people who mean the world to her!”

“All the more reason to make sure those people receive what they’re owed,” said Rakepick coldly.

She tried to slash at Bill’s neck, only for him to block her -- she slammed her blade up against Bill’s, flattening him against the railing.

“Your sister and I are very similar, Mr. Weasley,” the older woman said very softly. “She is a guardian first and foremost...putting the safety of others before her own. Sooner or later she will learn, as I have, that the only person she really can trust is herself. Until then, however, I will not have let such an honorable, selfless girl sacrifice for people who clearly don’t deserve her protection.”

“That’s not for you to decide!” said Bill very sharply.

Bill’s brown eyes flared with righteous anger as he forcefully shoved Rakepick back, their swords colliding in deadly SHINGS.

“Ephesians 4:31 -- ‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice! Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you!’ Love isn’t about ‘deserving’ -- everyone should be allowed to know it, whatever sins they’re guilty of!

Rakepick once again swept her hair over shoulder and this time managed to sideswipe Bill. The stinging, tentacle-like strands ensnared his sword arm, making him crumple in on himself as pain shot through his veins.

“GARRRGH!”

The new captain of the Dutchman wrenched Bill’s sword out of his numb arm and slammed him down into the deck under her foot.

“I’ve had enough of your preaching, Holy Father,” said Rakepick icily.

Bill choked as her heel dug into his neck against his windpipe. 

“Rakepick -- ” he gasped for air. “Don’t do this -- Carewyn wouldn’t want you t -- ”

Something flickered in Rakepick’s eyes at the sound of the name -- it made her stiffen, her foot pushing that bit harder against Bill’s throat subconsciously and making him choke.

“Carewyn...” she repeated very softly. “That’s her name?”

It was an unusual name, for certain -- Welsh in origin, Rakepick would guess. That was why it sparked something in the back of her brain -- the faintest flicker of a memory that she’d pushed off ages ago...that of a young man with long, curly dark hair yelling desperately at her old superior, the pirate captain Howell Davis --

“You have to let me go back to her! She’s waiting for me to come home -- I’m all she has in this world -- please -- I’ll do anything, give you anything -- just let me get back to -- !”

Rakepick didn’t remember the name that boy had used when talking about his little sister anymore, except that it was similarly unusual -- similarly Welsh-sounding. Was it that name? “Carewyn?”

No...it couldn’t be...

Black Jack’s eyes...they were blue too, weren’t they? Not like Bill and Percy Weasley’s brown ones at all. And when he was younger, before they’d gotten so shadowed and hollowed-out, they appeared almond-shaped too...

Rakepick wasn’t even aware of how hard of a time Bill was having breathing, or how much he struggled to try to get loose. Her light-less eyes had gone very distant and wide and her face had lost a lot of its color.

She’d suspected Jacob had made a deal, as Carey Weasley’s brother had -- but she hadn’t thought that in truth, that deal could actually be one and the same...that the brother the Admiral was trying to protect was not Bill Weasley....that the price Black Jack Roberts was so desperate to not pay Jones, enough to make him seek out the Dead Man’s Chest to use as leverage, was --

Out of nowhere, a horrible surge of pain cut through Rakepick’s chest.

She hunched forward, clutching at the wound in her chest as if she’d been stabbed. She stumbled back, her foot coming off of Bill’s throat, as she struggled to turn around, her pupils mere pinpricks inside her wide dark blue eyes.

Jules and Percy had discarded the now-open Dead Man’s Chest and come up on either side of Jacob and Ashe. Percy held onto Ashe’s shoulders as if he’d been holding the merman back away from his lover, while Jules had folded Jacob’s hand around her own sword, which had skewered the heart lying flat on the deck at his side.

Rakepick tried to take a breath, but nothing came. Her eyes lingered on Jacob’s pale, unconscious face as she backed up, before they cast away and out toward the raging sea.

“...Carewyn...” her lips mouthed her long-time enemy’s sister’s name, but no sound came out.

Her disbelief was still etched on her face as she very slowly fell to her knees and at last collapsed onto the deck in a lifeless heap.

Jules immediately dropped Jacob’s hand and ran over to Bill, her eyes streaming with tears of fear and anxiety as she threw her arms around him.

“Bill -- !”

“I’m all right,” wheezed Bill.

Percy likewise got up and ran over to him. The eldest Weasley immediately ensnared his younger brother in a hug too, his eyes drifting sadly from Rakepick to Jacob. 

“Ashe...is he...?”

Ashe cradled Jacob in his arms as the Pirate Lord’s chest -- just as Rakepick’s had before -- started glowing with sickly green light. Jacob crumpled up in pain when his heart was likewise ripped out of his chest and inhaled into the Dead Man’s Chest.

Jacob took a huge, gasping breath and opened his eyes. There was no light in his blue eyes, but they were conscious.

“Jack?” said Ashe at once, his voice very strained.

Jacob’s eyes brushed over his lover’s face, softening visibly as he smiled. Then they closed as he took another, steadier breath and spoke to Zephyr the West Wind.

The wind that had once been Finn McGarry, as a gesture of kindness, transported the words of Carewyn’s brother to her ear, all the way back on the HMS Royal, so that she could hear it as clearly as if Jacob was right beside her.

“Go, Wyn. Go before the storm clears.”

Sure enough, through the pouring rain and storm, the maelstrom under the Flying Dutchman, the Revolution, and the HMS Clearwater did seem to be dissipating. The Navy soldiers from the rest of the fleet had also reconvened in force on the deck of the HMS Royal, effectively outnumbering Orion’s crew and “turning the battle” in Carewyn’s favor.

“It seems our time is up,” Orion said under his breath. His voice was calm, but he couldn’t completely obscure the regret and anxiety reflected in the back of his eyes.

Carewyn nodded solemnly.

“We’ll be together soon, Orion,” she murmured, “I promise -- ”

Orion's eyes narrowed in determination as Carewyn chased him up onto the railing. His hand clutched at the rigging so that he could swing back over her, slashing at her long, loose ginger hair.

“I love you,” he said as softly as he could while making sure she could still hear him over the rain. “I realize that I haven’t said it nearly enough -- ”

“You’ll have time, Orion,” Carewyn said, her voice low with urgency but her expression incredibly gentle, “I swear we’ll both have time to say it more soon...now go! This is your chance!”

Carewyn brought her sword through the rigging to his left, cutting some rope loose and leaving a dent in the wood railing beside him. Orion threw his head back to shout at his crewmates over the raging storm.

“Fall back, men! To the Artemis! Fall back!”

Carewyn slammed her sword into the railing just as Orion swung on a rope off the ship, down onto the Artemis and out of sight. Soon after, the remainder of his crew followed suit and abandoned the Royal.

“Admiral!” said Ben sharply, loud enough that everyone could hear him. “Shall we pursue them?”

“No,” Carewyn answered immediately, according to the script they agreed on. “Even with our superior firepower compared to the Artemis, we’re now severely outnumbered by the pirates’ remaining fleet.”

The remaining Navy soldiers rushed to her side for orders, perfectly blending in with the men they had no idea were actually disguised pirates. Carewyn looked over all of them, looking them over silently for injuries, before turning back to Ben.

“Turn this ship about, Captain Cooper,” she said firmly, being careful to use Ben’s fake name. “Regroup with whatever ships we have left and signal them to retreat.”

“Understood,” said Ben, before he whirled on the remainder of the men with a fierce, authoritative gleam on his eye. “Turn her about! Heave to and full sail! Prepare to signal the fleet -- we’re getting out of here!”

In the end, the Royal Navy’s fleet that had been comprised of 37 Man O’ Wars -- through the efforts of both the Pirate Lords and Calypso, had been widdled down to five and had lost control over their ultimate weapon, the Flying Dutchman...and Shipwreck Cove remained untouched.

The Pirate Lords -- and pirates across the world -- had won the day.

[carewyncromwell]

Next installment of the POTC AU is here! Pictured are the Captain of the Tower Raven, the infamous “Black Jack,” and his First Mate, whose name you’ll learn if you read below! (Yes, his hat is modeled after Will Turner’s from the end of the first movie -- that hat is friggin’ classic.)

For the previous part, click here -- for the entire POTC AU tag, click here -- and finally, Juliette “Jules” Farrier belongs to my sweet @cursebreakerfarrier, and the version of Davy Jones we’ll be meeting in this section is actually Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, though of course we won’t learn his real name until much later! I hope to draw him myself in the future too. xoxo

x~x~x~x

It didn’t take long for the crew of the Tower Raven to gather around this group of unknown pirates. Their leader -- the strikingly handsome young pirate who Charles had been fighting before Carewyn and Orion distracted him -- seemed to take an immediate and very targeted interest in Carewyn. His brown eyes seemed to pierce right through her. Within a minute, his lips had spread into a broad smirk.

“I know your face,” he said with a mischievous look in his eye.

He took a step right into Carewyn’s personal space. She immediately took a step back to try to maintain the space between them, but he took two more just to compensate and grabbed her upper arm to make sure she couldn’t retreat.

"There were portrait miniatures from Port Royal circulated of you,” he said lowly, his eyes boring into her own with a bizarrely analytical look. “The portraits did make you look considerably less womanly, however...”

Even his voice, when it was so distinctly aggressive, seemed oddly flowing and handsome -- like a wave of pure blue ocean water crashing harshly upon the shore.

Orion smoothly brought an arm up against the handsome pirate’s chest like a wall and tried to step between them.

“She belongs to my crew,” said the Captain levelly as he stepped in front of Carewyn, forcing the pirate to let go of her arm. “Charles Cromwell impressed her into his crew against her will, so we came to get her back.”

The pirate's brown eyes narrowed sardonically. “Captain Orion Amari, are you? Forgive me, but I have a lot of trouble seeing this woman being a member of your crew.”

“There are several women under my sail,” said Orion, indicating Skye and Jules.

“And this one is not one of them.”

The pirate’s voice had gotten a bit harder as he too got right up in Orion’s face.

“Don’t toy with me, Amari,” he said so quietly than only Orion and Carewyn (who was right behind him) could hear. “I know who she is. You cannot convince me that a Commodore of the Navy is in line with you, and I have no interest in having you sail off with such a prize.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed, but his calm, stony expression didn’t shift.

“...Then I invoke the right to parley with your captain,” he said calmly.

The pirates behind the handsome one all exchanged “ooooh”s and started sniggering amongst themselves.

The handsome pirate raised his eyebrows at Orion, before he too smirked from ear to ear.

“...Very well.”

He indicated the Tower Raven with a flourish of his hand, his brown eyes boring into Carewyn again.

“This way, Miss.”

Soon Orion, Carewyn, Bill, Jules, Charlie, and Skye were escorted aboard the Tower Raven itself. The brown-eyed pirate was all the more striking of a sight when compared to the rest of the crew -- he was the only one without a beard, scars, or missing limbs. Considering that it was bad luck to shave on board a ship, one could’ve guessed he was very young or (like Carewyn) was actually a girl -- but the lowness of his voice ruled out the first and his visible chiseled Adam’s apple clearly discounted the second.

When they arrived on deck, a pirate captain dressed all in black was addressing his crew. He had his back to them, so Carewyn couldn’t see his face, but she immediately noted the contrast between him and the brown-eyed pirate -- his ponytail was a long mass of messy dark brown curls, and he made a lot of broad, theatrical gestures as he spoke in a penetrating, aggressive voice that riled up his crew like rowdy, destructive children. Despite the volume of the crowd, however, the handsome pirate’s voice cut through with the ease of a kitchen knife through butter.

“Captain,” he said, “the right to parley has been invoked.”

Black Jack’s head twitched to the side just enough that he could look over his shoulder irritably. His black hat completely obscured his eyes, but Carewyn could feel his piercing gaze all the same -- as he looked the group over, his expression seemed to shift, becoming less actively violent and more surprised.

The pirates on deck all started muttering suspiciously.

“Parley?”

“With the Captain? That’s rich -- ”

“ -- got serious guts or are just plain stupid -- ”

“One of ‘em’s got a dark red coat on -- like the Revenge’s crew -- ”

“ -- you fight her in the cave?”

“No -- I’d remember a rack like that -- ”

“Shall I escort them to your cabin, Captain?” asked the handsome pirate.

Black Jack paused for a moment, clearly considering the matter. Then he turned away sharply again.

“Yes,” he said, and his voice remained penetrating even though it’d grown lower, enough so that all of his crew mates quieted again. “The protection of parley is sacred -- at least until an arrangement is made.”

Black Jack raised his right hand, which was covered in bandages, and made an offhand “follow” gesture with his pointer and middle fingers without turning around.

The Captain’s cabin on board the Tower Raven was -- honestly -- kind of a mess. There was a lot of treasure and fine fabrics, of course, but there were also maps, charts, sketches, and scrolls strewn everywhere, both on the desk and on the unmade king-size bed trimmed with swallows and ocean waves. It also was oddly dark -- like the candles just couldn’t seem to fill the large room up with enough light, no matter how many were lit. The handsome pirate escorted all of them into the cabin before closing the door and deadlocking it behind them with a very loud CLACK.

Skye and Charlie both immediately tried to fight the matter, but the handsome pirate pointed a pistol threateningly at them and Orion and Carewyn were forced to deescalate things. Captain Black Jack, meanwhile, didn’t speak at all at first -- then, out of nowhere, in the midst of Carewyn and Orion trying to talk down Skye and Charlie...he actually started singing under his breath.

“Come, me young one...come, me fair one...”

Carewyn stiffened. Her eyes went very wide.

That song...it...

“Come now unto me...”

She turned fully around, her eyes wide upon the black-dressed captain. He was staring right at her, his hollowed-out, skull-like eyes searching her face as if looking for something he hadn’t seen in years.

Although they were so dark and blackened and hardened like a soldier’s, Carewyn could still make out their almond shape and their clear, blue hue.

“Could you fancy...a poor sailor lad...who has just come...from...sea?”

The pirate captain’s voice seemed to trail off into nothing as he stared at Carewyn, his expression oddly desperate.

Carewyn couldn’t keep her hands from flying to her mouth as her eyes flooded with tears. Then, all dignity or sense forgotten, she flung herself forward, her arms outstretched.

“JACOB -- JACOB!”

The black-dressed pirate lunged forward too, latching himself onto Carewyn. His hands clutched at the back of her dark red jacket and her hair, trembling as he squeezed her against him.

“Wyn -- my Wyn -- !”

He rocked her like a child, cradling the back of her head with his hand as he kissed the top of her head.

“It’s you,” he mumbled, almost beside himself in his relief. “It’s you -- ”

He pulled away to look her over, his skull-like eyes also filled with tears as he held her face in his hands.

“Oh, Wyn -- all these years, searching, and all along...oh, Wyn, can you ever forgive me for leaving you?”

“Forgive you?” choked Carewyn. “You’re alive.”

“Somehow,” chuckled Jacob wetly. He smoothed some hair out of his sister’s face, struggling to hold back the tears in his eyes. “I guess I can thank Ashe for that.”

He glanced at the handsome pirate, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was now smiling a bit less arrogantly.

“We don’t need to go too into the details,” said the man called Ashe, “but after your brother was impressed into service by Howell Davis, he got killed in a sea battle two years later. His old crew -- whether as a joke or not -- then elected Jacob to replace him as their captain.”

“What?!” said Skye and Charlie in unified disbelief.

“They made you their captain?” said Jules in surprise. “But you weren’t even a pirate then, were you?”

“Nay, I wasn’t,” said Jacob, sounding rather nonplussed. “Figure it ruffled the feathers of his first mate somewhat -- hence why old Rakepick decided to try to off me, after I got back from Port Royal and immediately set about trying to look for you,” he glanced at Carewyn warily. “...You haven’t met Patricia Rakepick, have you?”

“No,” said Carewyn, and she pursed her lips disapprovingly, “but Grandfather said that she’d joined the East India Trading Company and now works with Lord Cutler Beckett. I haven’t met him either, but from what I’ve heard, he’s not liked by pirates.”

Skye gave a loud snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”

"I’m afraid Cutler Beckett is not an easy man for anyone to like,” agreed Orion. Although his hands were clasped lightly in front of him and he appeared as calm as ever, his voice was lower in his throat than Carewyn had ever heard it. It gave her the feeling that Orion really, truly detested the man, and considering that he was such a patient man, that said something.

Carewyn turned back to Jacob. “But how did you survive? Grandfather said Rakepick shot you in the back and threw you overboard...”

Jacob gave her a sheepish smile. “Honestly? I have no idea. All I remember is something carrying me through the water -- and after that, waking up on the beach. Who knows? Maybe a mermaid saved me.”

Ashe gave a very loud, almost offended huff. “Mermaid? And here I thought you remembered who it was that really saved your life, by lugging you out of the water onto the beach?”

Jacob grinned almost cheekily. “Oh come off it, Ashe, I already said it was thanks to you that I’m alive, didn’t I?”

“May you always remember that,” said Ashe very dryly.

Despite the irritability in his voice, it once again sounded oddly handsome...oddly approachable.

Carewyn turned around fully to look at Ashe, considering him carefully.

She thought there was something strange about how he looked and sounded, but the thought of Jacob being saved by a mermaid...it made her realize she’d heard a voice rather like Ashe’s, before. Two, in fact, with that strangely appealing quality to them.

“Guess we’ll never know if we would’ve been able to tempt you, if we’d met you above water...”

Kai and Keira didn’t look how Carewyn had always heard that merfolk looked, when she saw them...was that because when they were out of the water, they appeared more human? And if so...maybe that was why Ashe looked human and yet so...not, at the same time? Because he wasn’t really human?

Carewyn brought a hand up to smooth both the tear out of her eye and her hair out of her face, her eyes softening slightly upon Jacob’s First Mate.

“Then I owe you a debt, Mr. Ashe,” she said as she approached him. She rested her hands on both of his shoulders. “Thank you, for saving my brother.”

Ashe was noticeably startled both by her hands on his shoulders and by the softness of her expression. Then he averted his eyes uncomfortably.

“Well...um. It was...nothing, really...”

“Not to me,” said Carewyn very firmly. “So thank you.”

Ashe’s brown eyes bore into her face in confusion, as if he was having trouble figuring her out. Then he glanced from Jacob to Carewyn and back, his lips curling up in a weakly wry smile.

“...Heh. I can see you weren’t exaggerating after all, Jack. Your sister is a wee saint.”

Charlie looped an arm around Carewyn’s shoulders and squeezed her in a sideways hug. “Yup! That’s our Carey!”

Jacob’s blue eyes flickered from Charlie to Bill, betraying some suspicion despite himself.

“...You would be the Weasleys, correct?” he asked slowly.

“Yes,” said Bill. He offered Jacob a handshake. “Bill Weasley. And this is my brother, Charlie. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Jacob looked down at Bill’s hand, clearly reluctant to shake it. Then, taking a deep breath, he exhaled heavily and finally took it, but didn’t shake it.

“I suppose I owe you a debt, for giving my sister your name,” he said lowly. “The Cromwell name...isn’t one she should use. One either of us should use...”

He glanced at Ashe. “Speaking of which...where are the Revenge’s prisoners?”

Ashe’s face suddenly grew much more solemn.

“Jack...there’s something you should know.”

Jacob was not pleased when he found out what had happened to the Cromwells. Carewyn honestly hadn’t expected him to be so upset. Since he’d been older while they were on-board the Revenge, Jacob had been enlisted to do more of their grandfather’s dirty work, and so Jacob detested him and the rest of their family even more than she had. And yet his face appeared so ghostly pale, hearing that Charles was dead. Even the news of Blaise’s death had troubled him greatly.

It was quickly decided that Carewyn should return to Port Royal on the Artemis after all. Jacob had been very evasive, but he’d been very firm in saying there was something he had to do, and it was just underhanded and pirate-worthy enough that he didn’t want Carewyn involved. This only upset her further, considering that she hated that Jacob refused to trust her with the truth and she was anxious about what further trouble he could’ve gotten himself roped into, but Jacob tried to soothe her as best he could.

“The best thing you can do to help me is to stay Carey Weasley,” he told her seriously. “Discard who you were. Be the Commodore you are now, in Port Royal -- and stay far away from the sea.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed and drifted down to Jacob’s shoulder uncomfortably. He brought a fist up to her chin, prompting her to look up at him as he offered her a small, reassuring smile.

“It’ll be okay, Wyn. Once this one last thing is dealt with...I promise, we’ll see each other again.”

Carewyn couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Jacob’s smile slid off his face, to be replaced with visible shame. His own eyes drifted away in thought, before they lit up and he once again attempted a weak smile.

“Oh -- I almost forgot...I saved this for you.”

He reached a hand up to the star-shaped pendant he’d tied with a ribbon around his neck and undid it, placing it in Carewyn’s hand. She tilted it up, and light bounded off the sapphires and diamonds.

“The pendant was from one of my first plundering expeditions,” Jacob explained. “I put it on the ribbon later, so I could make sure I had it on me, when I found you...”

He glanced down at the pendant a bit guiltily. “...I suppose it won’t do as much good for you now, though, while you’re dressed as a man...”

Carewyn was still very upset knowing how much Jacob was keeping from her -- but in that moment, she looked up at her brother, offering him the most reassuring smile she could.

“You wore it for several years, and you’re a man,” she pointed out, her blue eyes twinkling wryly.

She then wrapped her arms around Jacob’s neck and gave him another tight hug, holding the pendant tight in her fist.

“I’ll make sure to wear it, the day you sail home.”

Jacob squeezed her back, his skull-like blue eyes filling up with tears again as he placed his head on top of hers.

Jacob and Carewyn embraced for a very long time before they finally parted and Ashe accompanied them off the Tower Raven. It was only after they’d all left that another figure standing in the opaque blackness of the Captain’s cabin fully materialized.

“You think you’re clever, Black Jack Roberts?”

His Irish-accented voice was articulated enough that it seemed to smack every single consonant. Jacob stiffened at the sound of his voice, as well as the flickering of a flame materializing out of thin air to light the pipe in the stranger’s mouth. Through the shadows, one could just barely make out a large, wide-brimmed forest green hat, a lobster-like claw, and a scar over his right eye.

“Your debt is still yet to be paid,” said the stranger coldly.

Jacob turned, his skull-like blue eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry -- did none of the Cromwells fear death, when you approached them, Jones?” he asked.

“They died on land,” Davy Jones shot back impatiently, once again smacking the “d” at the end of the word, “where I refuse to go.”

Jacob shrugged. “Well then, I guess you’re just out of luck. There are no more Cromwells for me to give you. The only ones are my sister and me, and we haven’t been called ‘Cromwell’ in years. You can’t take her for the same reason you can no longer take me.”

The infamous captain of the damned plodded forward out of the darkness, his sharp peg leg clunking against the wood. He must have been a man once, but now, he was anything but. His eyes were nearly as skull-like as Jacob’s, and his face was more octopus than human. Even his coat and hat were decked with barnacles and seaweed.

Jones abruptly shot out his claw, snatching up Jacob’s right wrist. Jacob gave a low gasp of pain as Jones wrenched it up, using his other tentacle-like hand to whip off the bandage he’d tied around his palm.

“And yet your spot...survives,” said Jones in satisfaction.

Jacob’s palm was scarred by a terrible, rotting black spot. Jacob’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in confusion and anxiety as Jones threw down his arm.

“But...why...?”

Jones smirked. “It seems your sister is not called ‘Carey Weasley’ by everyone.”

A voice echoed out of nothing -- a voice Jacob thought was familiar, but couldn’t quite place.

“McNully…I’d like you to meet Carewyn Cromwell.”

“Her name is Carewyn. Carewyn Cromwell – granddaughter of the pirate Captain Charles Cromwell.”

“Carewyn Cromwell -- I should have known an escape artist like you would be able to bust your way out on your own – ”

The voice sounded so...fond. It made Jacob feel like his heart was being squeezed in a vice grip, hearing someone speak to or about his sister that way.

Jones gave a cold chuckle.

“Ah...love,” he said, his voice dripping with poison. “How appropriate that it should be the thing that dooms your sister to her fate...”

Jacob whirled around, the pupils of his eyes insane slits of rage.

“I WON’T let you take her -- !”

He unsheathed his cutlass, but Jones merely caught it in his claw, shoving himself forward to get right up in Jacob’s face.

“Don’t test me,” he spat. “And don’t be thinking that your wee sister having everyone call her ‘Carey Weasley’ for the next three months will be enough to make me overlook your debt. Even if she were to drop all pretenses of what she be and marry the first man who locks eyes with her, I’ll still see her as a viable trade. You got your ship back so you could get off that island and find your sister -- I get a lifetime of service from a Cromwell within seven years of the terms being set. That was our bargain. It’s not my fault you failed to find your family’s island or ship before they did themselves in.”

Jacob had gone very white and he’d started shaking. Jones threw him back against his desk with such force that Jacob collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“Surrender your sister to me within three months,” said Jones, “or I shall fetch her myself, and send the Kraken to fetch you.”

With this, he disappeared back into the darkness from which he came. 

Mere seconds after Jones had left, Ashe had thrown open the door of Jacob’s cabin, clearly having been alerted by the sound of Jacob crashing into his desk.

“Jack!”

He quickly slammed the door behind him and dashed over to Jacob. He brought his hands up to Jacob’s face, checking for injuries.

“Jack, are you all right?”

Jacob was still shaking as he grabbed hold of Ashe’s arm, breathing in and out heavily as he tried to stabilize himself. Ashe looked from Jacob’s white face to down at the black spot eating away at the inside of his hand.

“...It was Jones, wasn’t it?” Ashe said quietly.

Jacob nodded shakily.

“He wants Wyn...” he mumbled. “He doesn’t care that she’s going by a different name -- someone else still calls her by her real name, so he counts her as a Cromwell. He wouldn’t take me because I’ve been called ‘Roberts’ for years, not Jacob Cromwell, but Wyn is still Carewyn, in his eyes...”

His eyebrows were tightly knit over his eyes as he closed them, his teeth gnashing together in fury and pain.

“I can’t let him take Wyn -- I can’t...”

Ashe’s brown eyes narrowed upon Jacob’s face grimly as he trailed a hand lightly through the other man’s bangs, humming a low tune in the back of his throat in an attempt to soothe him. Oddly enough, the humming did seem to help -- Jacob’s breathing gradually slowed down and quieted, and the Captain exhaled heavily.

“...I have to find the Chest before the Navy does,” he said, his voice as hard as diamond. “It’s my only chance to save Wyn now.”

[carewyncromwell]

Cue the Pirates of the Caribbean theme, people! ☠️

This is the next installment of the POTC AU -- if you’d like to read the previous part, you can find that here, or you can consult my “POTC AU” tag for the full thing as well as some other wonderful contributions my HPHM friends have made to this AU! Juliette “Jules” Farrier, who’s mentioned here as our sort-of-Elizabeth Swann, belongs to my sweet @cursebreakerfarrier. 💚

x~x~x~x

Now, normally, finding out that Orion had appeared out of nowhere to rescue her friend from drowning would’ve been more than enough reason for Carewyn to run over to both of them, check them for injuries, thank the stars that they were both okay and that Orion had been there, and finally ask Orion what the hell he was even doing there at all. Of course, Carewyn was not the only person who recognized Orion -- every single soldier who’d followed her out of the fort, as well as both Percy and Governor Farrier, were with her and had also recognized the pirate captain from his wanted posters. And so Carewyn had no choice but to immediately draw her sword and point it at Orion’s chest.

“Captain Orion Amari,” she said lowly, her blue eyes boring into his face.

Orion looked from Carewyn’s blade to the other swords held by her subordinates. Jules had already been snatched up the ground and pulled away by her father, but the dark-haired lady looked back at Orion, her eyes very wide. Orion’s eyes then returned to Carewyn.

“Captain Weasley,” the pirate greeted airily in return, as he slowly rose to his feet. “Oh -- yes, pardon me...you would be Commodore Weasley now...isn’t that right?”

"You know full well he’s a Commodore!” one of the regulars who’d been at the dock piped up angrily. He whirled on Carewyn with an almost huffy expression. “He said he’d come to ‘pay the Commodore a little visit’ -- ”

“Told you he was telling the truth,” the other regular muttered resentfully at him, before very quickly and dutifully adding to Carewyn, “These are his, sir!”

The young man turned over Orion’s belt and belongings. Reluctantly Carewyn parsed through them, turning his pistol over in her hand. She opened up another pocket and found a round gold framed object small enough to fit in her hand.

It was a portrait miniature of her, like the kind currently being sold on the docks of Port Royal.

Carewyn’s wide eyes darted from the portrait to down at Orion. His face was very placid, but there was a flicker with something almost sheepish in the creases of his eyes and lips.

“I suppose that’s how he found out you’re now Commodore,” said Percy, his brown eyes narrowing coldly upon Orion.

He picked up the little black box-like object that had fallen out of his belt pocket onto the deck and opened it. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Why -- his compass doesn’t even point north!” he said incredulously.

The other soldiers sniggered. Tucking the portrait miniature swiftly back into Orion’s belt, Carewyn turned and gave her troops a faintly reproachful look, and they all quieted.

“Dignity, men,” she said primly. “We’re soldiers of the crown. Let us act accordingly.”

Percy placed the compass in her waiting hand, shooting another dirty look at Orion as he did so.

Although Carewyn’s face was calm, her mind was working at a mile a minute. With the Governor, Percy, and so many of her men there, she knew there was no way she could simply get away with letting Orion off the hook, even if he had just saved Jules’s life. There was nothing she could do -- she would have to take Orion into custody.

“As flattered as I am for the...visit, Captain Amari,” she said as sardonically as she could, “you clearly had not the time to make living arrangements, for your stay. Fortunately there’s more than enough room in the local jail, where you can make yourself quite at home.”

“Ca -- Commodore,” Jules said quickly, “you don’t really intend to throw my rescuer in prison?”

Carewyn turned to her. She could see the concern in her eyes as she glanced from Carewyn to Orion and back, even as she tried to feign gentility.

‘She knows I don’t want to do it,’ thought Carewyn. ‘But I can’t pardon him, even if it’s supposedly for her sake -- her father would never be willing to look the other way...’

“I intend to throw a pirate in prison, Miss Farrier,” she murmured as calmly as she could.

Jules opened her mouth as if to protest, but her father spoke first.

“And then send him to the gallows, as is proper,” said Governor Farrier icily. His eyes turned to Carewyn. “Commodore, if Amari is here, the Artemis cannot be far behind -- we should make ready the Interceptor and take them down.”

Carewyn immediately looked at Orion’s face. Despite the level of cool he tried to put off, his shoulders had tensed noticeably.

“...I wonder about that,” said Carewyn very softly.

The Governor looked at her with narrowed, confused eyes. “What?”

Thinking quickly, she folded her arms behind her back and took three slow, plodding steps toward Orion, her eyes boring into his shoulder rather than his face. Her black boots clapped against the deck as she strolled leisurely but purposefully around him.

“You came to pay me a ‘visit,’ Captain Amari,” she said slowly, “and yet you came alone. Even though you must have known there’d be a fort full of soldiers attending the ceremony...”

When she was facing away from the Governor and her men, Carewyn shot Orion the quickest of gentle warning looks to tell him not to say anything.

“...It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Orion Amari is known for being odd, Commodore,” Governor Farrier pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s odd to the point of being irrational, which he’s not known for. Pirates are sea rats first and foremost, Governor -- they’re not creatures of the land, by nature. A pirate choosing to fight a battle on dry land as opposed to the open sea can only signal one of two things: one, they think they can get away with it -- highly unlikely, in this circumstance...or two, they’re desperate.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes bore hard into Orion’s dark eyes.

‘Please -- please, play along,’ she thought desperately.

“You don’t have a ship anymore...do you, Captain?” she whispered.

Orion’s eyes widened. Then, understanding light flooding through his narrowing eyes, he made a sharp, almost violent movement toward her -- Carewyn grabbed his arm and in an instant had looped it around his back to restrain him.

“I would still, were it not for you,” Orion breathed as coldly as he could manage.

Carewyn put on the best smirk she could. “Mutiny and betrayal is par the course for pirates. I suppose your First Mate or Quartermaster is in charge now?”

Orion made a show of struggling against her grip, and Carewyn tightened her grip.

“Fetch some irons,” she ordered one of her subordinates.

Her and Orion’s eyes met again as the soldier ran off for the irons. Carewyn tried very hard not to show the anxiety she felt, but her face was very white. Orion’s dark eyes remained unreadable, but Carewyn could feel his arm in her grip twisting just enough that he could trail the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand along the inside of her forearm, almost as if to comfort her.

‘Oh, Orion, why did you have to come?’ Carewyn moaned internally to herself. ‘Why did you have to be so noble that you got yourself caught?!’

Fortunately once the irons arrived, Orion managed to seize his chance of escape. When Jules once again tried to protest him being imprisoned and hung, Orion was able to loop the iron chain connecting his manacles together around her neck and threaten Carewyn to give him his “effects” and let him loose, so that Jules wouldn’t come to harm. Although Carewyn knew that he would’ve never really hurt Jules, she could sense everyone else thought he was just off-balance enough to do it -- and fortunately Jules, in a incredible display of brilliance, was perfectly willing to play the part of the frightened damsel so as to help with the ruse. And so Orion Amari escaped captivity and went running off into the streets of Port Royal.

Carewyn’s men were sent after him, of course. She made sure that the soldiers fired off a lot of guns and made a good amount of noise in their pursuit, so as to hopefully alert any of Orion’s crewmates who might’ve stuck around to the trouble and make them retreat. Orion managed to evade capture for a good couple of hours -- he even managed to break the iron chain attaching his manacles. Eventually he ended up in a church not far away from the northern dock. When he went to hide out in there, however, the pirate captain collided with a priest about his age, with hair as ginger red as Carewyn’s.

The priest gave Orion a very penetrating look, his hands folded together inside the long white sleeves of his robes.

“You’d be who they’re looking for,” he said lowly. “Orion Amari.”

Orion’s dark eyes ran over the priest’s face for a moment. Then a trace of something almost like a smile touched his eyes.

“...You must be Bill Weasley.”

“That I am,” said Bill. His voice had hardened even further. “I suppose you’ve come to claim sanctuary?”

Orion’s smile left his eyes and he suddenly looked much more serious.

“...That would be rather helpful, Father,” he said.

His dark eyes flickered from the priest to the closed church doors over his shoulder.

Bill’s brown eyes narrowed upon the pirate’s face.

“Normally I’d be willing to give it -- but I’m afraid there’s a problem. You don’t fulfill the rules of sanctuary, for you’ve entered our church carrying weapons.”

Orion glanced down at his pistol and cutlass.

“...I see,” he granted. “Very well...I shall find refuge elsewhere, then.”

Orion made as if to turn on his heel and leave. Before he could take more than a step, though, he felt the tip of a blade poking him in the back.

“I’m afraid that’s not the only problem,” the eldest Weasley said, his voice very quiet and low in the back of his throat. “You see...you’ve threatened the lives of two of the most important people in my life.”

Orion glanced over his shoulder, very startled despite himself at the sight of a priest pointing a sword at him. Once he’d recovered, his face grew much more solemn.

“It was unavoidable, I’m afraid,” he said lowly.

Bill’s brown eyes flashed. “All the more reason for me to insure you don’t do it to anyone else.”

The sentiment was very much like Carewyn’s, when she’d first arrived on the Artemis -- it was little wonder this man and she had bonded so closely that he’d given her his name...

‘Carewyn said he’s in love with the Governor’s daughter,’ Orion quickly reminded himself when his heart clenched at the thought. ‘He gave Carewyn his name to protect her -- no other reason.’

Therefore Bill Weasley was someone Orion could only look upon with patience and gratitude, however misguided he now was...

“I don’t wish to fight you,” the pirate captain murmured.

“Then surrender to the Navy,” said Bill sharply. “Give yourself up quietly.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. “That I’m afraid I cannot do.”

Bill made as if to lunge forward, his sword raised -- Orion immediately unsheathed his cutlass to block him.

“I do not wish to fight you,” Orion repeated. “Do you truly mean to fight in your own church?”

“Romans 13:4,” retorted Bill. “‘For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer!’”

CLANG! SHING! SWISH! Orion had to block twice more and duck, to avoid Bill’s blows.

Before long, Orion and Bill were hotly engaged in battle. At one point, they were even climbing over and balancing on the edges of the benches in the pews, Bill holding the advantage not just due to his superior swordmanship, but also his long legs giving him a wider reach. Throughout the fight, Orion consistently tried to talk Bill down, but the eldest Weasley was too righteously angry to heed Orion’s repeated attempts at pacifism.

At long last, Orion was forced to play things a bit underhandedly. With a hard kick, he knocked a pew bench on top of Bill’s chest, slamming him down into the floor, and propped a leg firmly on top of the bench so Bill couldn’t get up.

“You...you cheating -- !” swore Bill.

He struggled in vain to try to push the bench off, but the angle made it impossible to properly position his arms in a way that he could move it.

Keeping his foot firmly on the bench, Orion contorted awkwardly to snatch up Bill’s sword from the floor in his other hand.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice both shakier than normal as he tried to catch his breath and harder as he fought to contain his temper, which had been thoroughly tested over the span of the last five minutes. “But you’re more bull-headed than a Minotaur, Bill Weasley. Perhaps from that angle you may be able to listen a bit better...”

“I don’t need to hear any fairy stories from the man who kidnapped Carey and used Miss Farrier’s life as a bargaining chip to save his own neck,” Bill spat.

“Neither of which I deny,” said Orion, and his voice betrayed an odd edge, “but I would never have harmed either lady -- neither yours nor mine.”

Bill stiffened sharply. His narrowed brown eyes bore into the pirate, before they widened little by little, filling with shock and horror. 

“Yes, I know she’s a girl,” said Orion very softly. “Her name is Carewyn. Carewyn Cromwell -- granddaughter of the pirate Captain Charles Cromwell. Her brother is Jacob Cromwell -- lost at sea years ago, disappearing under the name ‘Roberts.’ She’s worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was a child. She fought in the Navy, where you gave her the name ‘Weasley’ and adopted her into your family. She has a voice like a nightingale’s and a heart as large and deep as the ocean itself -- ”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Bill. His freckled face was flushed a deep scarlet and he tried to sound fierce, but his hands clutching the edges of the bench were shaking.

THUNK.

Orion abruptly stiffened. Then, his eyes rolling up into his head, he collapsed to the floor.

Charlie was standing overhead, holding the large, thick hilt of his own sword over where Orion’s head had been seconds previously. His face was just as flushed and upset as Bill’s as he rushed over to yank the bench off of his brother’s chest and help him to his feet.

“Bill -- are you okay?”

Bill gasped for air, clutching the front of his robes. “Ugh...yes...”

Charlie looked anxiously from Bill to the unconscious Orion. Before he could say anything else, the church doors were flung open. Red-uniformed soldiers poured into the room. At the front of the charge was Percy.

“Bill!” the youngest of the three Weasleys cried. “Charlie, thank goodness!” He shot over his shoulder at the other soldiers, “Swords -- out!”

He and the other red-uniformed soldiers surrounded the unconscious Orion, all pointing their swords at him. Carewyn entered the church at last as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Her face was very pale as she surveyed the felled pirate. Her blue eyes darted to Bill and Charlie -- seeing that Charlie was supporting Bill, she immediately ran over to him.

“Bill -- ”

“I’m fine,” said Bill. His brown eyes rippled anxiously over her face, before they flickered down to Orion. “...I’m fine...”

His voice sounded oddly uncertain and shaky. Charlie glanced from him to Carewyn, his eyes narrowing with concern.

“Carey...before you arrived, Amari said -- ”

But Carewyn shot Charlie a subtle, but sharp shake of the head.

“Never mind what he said. He’s a pirate -- pirates lie.”

“But -- ” started Charlie, but Carewyn gave him a quelling look. She glanced over at the soldiers surrounding Orion over her shoulder, her blue eyes rippling with something almost like shame and remorse. Then she looked from Charlie to Bill with a pleading, almost desperate kind of look.

‘I’ll explain later.’

Then she turned on her heel and walked over to stand over Orion.

“It seems this is the day we’ll always remember as the day Captain Orion Amari almost escaped,” she said very coolly. “Take him to the brig. We’ll set his execution date once the weather improves.”

As the soldiers locked Orion up in chains and Carewyn followed along after them, however, both Bill and Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t happy about how things had gone down...

As night fell, there was a terrible chill in the air over the island of Port Royal, with clouds passing over the skull-white moon. No one could’ve known what that bizarrely cold wind from the East really meant...and who it was carrying closer to port.

[carewyncromwell]

A continuation of that POTC AU (previous part here) -- here’s Captain “Carey Weasley” (AKA Carewyn Cromwell), with Captain Orion Amari’s First Mate, the one and only Murphy McNully! This is my first time trying to draw McNully, and uh...DUDE. You make a SICK pirate, mate. <33 His outfit is inspired by Joshamee Gibbs’s (whose role he kind of fills here, alongside Quartermaster Skye), and his chair is inspired by this model used by Sir Thomas Fairfax in the 17th century, which was one of the first self-steering wheeled chairs ever made -- later in the 18th century, a nicer model called the Bath chair was developed and soon became the standard, though it remained only in the hands of the wealthy until the end of the century. (I could see Orion putting in the work to steal one for his buddy, once he catches wind of them, though. XDDD)

McNully’s carving himself a new prosthetic wooden leg, since when Orion’s pirate crew first moved to take over Carewyn’s ship, she cut Murphy’s left wooden leg off with her cutlass while trying to beat the pirates back away from her crew. (McNully lost both legs above the knee, so his wooden prosthetics are made up of two pieces with a metal joint secured together with two leather straps, sort of like this.) Fortunately things have been smoothed over a bit, now that Carewyn and Orion have realized who the other is and Orion has similarly let McNully in on the revelation too. McNully then assumed the responsibility of “watching the prisoner” while Orion, Skye, and some other crew members headed ashore to Tortuga for supplies. It didn’t take long for Carewyn to migrate up to the railing of Orion’s ship so as to get a better look at the infamous and completely filthy pirate haven, and Murphy rolled up beside her so they could talk.

“It’s funny, really,” McNully said with a wry smile. “It was me what suggested we try capturing you next.”

Carewyn glanced at Orion’s First Mate in surprise.

“There’d been a lot of talk about Carey Weasley, the youngest Captain in the entire British Navy, and the respect he’d garnered from the crown for his heroism fighting the Spanish,” McNully explained. “I reckoned capturing someone that well known would be a real blow to the Navy, and by extension, Cutler Beckett and his Company. Your capture on its own would likely hurt their morale by a good 35%.”

McNully’s expression then turned more thoughtful.

“...I almost regret it now, considering you seem to be a decent sort -- and I can’t reckon this whole thing will reflect too well on you. There’s a 42.5% chance you won’t advance in rank much further, and worse, a 15% chance you’ll be actively demoted, if they catch wind you surrendered without a fight...even if it was to save your crew, which was objectively a very noble thing to do.”

He smiled a bit guiltily. Carewyn offered him a small smile in return.

“If you hadn’t suggested going after me, though, I wouldn’t have ended up here and found out Orion was alive,” she pointed out reassuringly.

McNully smiled a little more fully. “True!”

He looked out at the horizon briefly, as if checking to see if the jollyboat was returning. Then he returned his focus to Carewyn.

“You know, though...there might be a way for us to use our new truce strategically, so that we both make it out ahead.”

Carewyn turned around, leaning her back against the railing and crossing her arms.

“Oh?”

McNully’s smile spread into more of a smirk. “You’re a well-respected officer of the Navy...and yet you’re no friend of the East India Trading Company and, more importantly, you don’t want Orion or any of us to die. We’re pirates, but our Captain is fond of you, and quite frankly, we could do with some allies, in the face of everyone trying to kill us. So here’s what I propose -- we let you escape. We sail through waters the Navy’s going to passing through, supposedly to go pick up medicine we couldn’t find on Tortuga -- and while we’re engaged in sea battle, you bust out of the brig, help the British soldiers ‘fight us off,’ and then swing over to their ship. We then retreat because we lost our ‘cargo’ -- namely, you -- and we can tell we’re losing. We keep the Navy ship from following us...but they still get one of their greatest heroes back, crashing onto the scene in a blaze of glory. If we play our cards right, I reckon there’s a 48.3% chance you might even get a promotion when all’s said and done...that is, if you think you can manage escaping the brig on your own.”

Carewyn gave a light scoff, her lips spreading into a small smirk of her own.

“Yours wouldn’t be the first one I’ve escaped. You should probably lock me in irons, for good measure -- it’ll be more convincing that I escaped, if I still have one on my wrist when I make it up on deck.”

The plan went into effect once Orion and the others returned to the Artemis and they set sail away from Tortuga. Although Carewyn had expressed confidence in her ability to escape the brig, it didn’t startle and impress Orion any less to see Carewyn up on deck after having been locked in a secure cell with both of her hands locked together in the heaviest shackles they had. She even ended up using the shackle on her wrist as a weapon, knocking out three of his men with it before she reached Orion at the ship’s railing.

Orion couldn’t help but think he’d never feel such vivication again as he did in that intense, wonderful sword fight they had upon the deck of the Artemis, parrying and slashing their swords at each other as they migrated up to the helm, leapt up into the rigging, and balanced on the edge of the Artemis’s railing before Carewyn finally got close enough that she could leap over to the HMS Dauntless.

Orion slammed his sword up against hers, pressing Carewyn back against the ropes. Although to most any clueless observer, it looked like they were still hotly engaged in battle, Orion’s voice was very soft when he spoke.

“This is your chance,” he murmured.

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

Orion’s free hand had grabbed onto the ropes to stabilize himself over her as their chests touched. His heart rate quickened, even as he kept his dark eyes squarely on hers.

Now that the moment had come for them to part, the little time they’d been able to share seemed far, far too brief...

Carewyn’s own blue eyes rippled solemnly.

“Be safe, Orion.”

And without taking another moment to breathe, she brought up her foot and kicked him full on in the stomach. The blow threw him off her with a grunt, and she leapt up into the rigging, grabbed a loose piece of rope, and swung over to the deck of the Dauntless.

Orion cradled his stomach as Skye ran over to help him up.

“Captain -- are you okay?”

A small, fond smile flickered over Orion’s face.

“Yes.”

He then shot to his feet with a much more grim and urgent expression on his face. He had to make this retreat looking convincing, after all.

“All hands, fall back! Fall back!”

Carewyn’s return to Port Royal -- as McNully had predicted -- was full of honors and acclaim, including a promotion to the rank of Commodore. It seemed that her being the only officer who had managed to escape the infamous Captain Orion Amari’s captivity made her a hero in the eyes of the British Empire. Portrait miniatures had been painted of her and sold both on and outside of Port Royal, and soon quite a few ladies were sending love letters and throwing themselves at Carewyn in an attempt to woo her, enthralled with her fame and handsome face. The overabundance of attention greatly amused Carewyn’s surrogate brothers Bill and Charlie, once they’d gotten over the anxiety they’d felt when she returned safe and sound. Percy in particular had taken Carewyn’s capture very hard, given that he’d been her Lieutenant at the time, and had resolved to make sure that no pirate ever felt bold enough to do something like that again.

The most prominent pursuer of Carewyn’s hand, however, was Port Royal’s Governor, Alphard Farrier, who was once again determined to arrange a marriage between her and his daughter, Jules. @cursebreakerfarrier With Carewyn now a well-respected Commodore of the Fleet known for breaking out of a heavily locked pirate brig and facing off against Orion Amari single-handedly, he knew it would be advantageous both to his family and to his own anti-piracy policies to have her in Port Royal permanently as his son-in-law. He even went so far as to have Jules arrive at Carewyn’s promotion ceremony in the fanciest, most fashionable dress he could get shipped in from London, in the hopes that it would catch the young Commodore’s eye. It did -- but not for the reason the Governor had hoped.

“Might I have a moment, Miss Farrier?” said Carewyn, inclining her head and back in a polite bow.

Jules rather quickly took Carewyn’s offered hand and let the new Commodore lead her away from her father. Carewyn didn’t speak again until they were up on the wall of the fort beside the large ship’s bell, looking out to sea -- in other words, when they were well away from everyone else.

“Are you all right?” muttered Carewyn. Her eyebrows had come together in concern.

Jules’s face grew much less lady-like and polite, betraying exhaustion and some irritation.

“...Not...exactly,” she gasped lowly. “But when you’re -- stuck in this kind of...torture chamber...I guess that’s -- appropriate...”

She indicated her chest, which looked quite a bit more restrained than usual, as she fanned herself a bit faster.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed and she sighed in aggravation. “For goodness sake -- ”

She glanced around. Even if she’d managed to get them away from prying ears, she could still see plenty of people watching them, even if they quickly looked away when they saw she’d noticed them -- no doubt they were trying to discern if there was an engagement in the works.

‘Damn,’ Carewyn swore to herself. ‘I can’t try to loosen anything, while everyone’s gawking...’

“Try to focus on your breathing,” she advised under her breath. “We’ll talk slowly. Bit by bit. That way you can make sure you’re taking deep breaths.”

Jules smiled slightly in gratitude. “...Thanks, Carey.”

Jules, like the Weasleys, knew that Carewyn was really a girl, but couldn’t help but call her that, even when they were in private. She’d figured it out after mentally connecting “Carey Weasley” to a young red-haired peasant girl she used to hear singing in the streets outside her window in the Governor’s mansion in the evenings.

“You were always so far off, so I never got a good look at your face,” Jules had explained with a smile when Carewyn and Bill asked her how she’d figured it out, “but I remembered your hair and how much it sounded like you were smiling, when you were singing. I hear it when you’re talking a lot of the time, too. I don’t hear a lot of people’s smiles like that.”

After that, Jules had become one of Carewyn’s closest friends. It also prompted Bill and Jules to reach out more to each other, which resulted in Bill ending up head over heels in love. Carewyn suspected Jules’s feelings were just as strong as well, but given that Bill was a priest who didn’t even have a full congregation of his own yet and didn’t come from money himself, it was likely he was biding his time to court Jules properly, until he knew he had a chance of convincing her father.

Jules took several deep breaths. Once Carewyn was sure her friend looked a bit more steady on her feet, she folded her arms behind her back in standard Navy posture and spoke again.

“Bill sends his regards.”

Jules’s dark eyes sparked a bit.

“He does?”

She took another two deep breaths before adding, “...Is...that all he said?”

“Well, he did say as an aside that he couldn’t stop thinking about you during service the other day,” said Carewyn with a wry smile. “Apparently the mention of ‘the beauty of Heaven’s angels’ kept bringing your face to his mind.”

Jules’s face flushed. Carewyn chuckled lowly through a closed smile, so as not to cover her mouth with her hand like she might normally -- she knew the gesture appeared rather lady-like.

“It’s a shame your father has such tunnel vision on me,” Carewyn said coolly. “There’s a far better Weasley to select as his son-in-law, were he only to look.”

Jules grimaced.

“I know,” she said. She took a few more deep breaths. “And well...the only reason he is so focused on you...is because you were able to escape Orion Amari.”

“Captain,” Carewyn slipped in before she could stop herself.

When Jules blinked in surprise, Carewyn turned toward the horizon with the most offhand shrug she could manage.

“Captain Orion Amari.”

Sensing Jules’s discerning gaze on her face, Carewyn kept her gaze on the sea. Behind her back, she rubbed her thumbs along her healed palms absently.

“...Carey...” said Jules quietly, “...is something wrong?”

Carewyn swallowed. She hadn’t told anyone else the full story of what had happened -- after Percy had reacted so hostilely toward her being captured, she hadn’t dared tell Bill or Charlie everything while he was present, and she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to talk to either of them alone, with how quickly her promotion ceremony was thrown together.

Her blue eyes flickered over her shoulder at the bystanders behind them. They were far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear, even if they were still looking over so avidly...

“...Captain Amari...” she murmured as softly as she could, “...let me escape.”

Jules looked surprised.

“It’s a long story...but we knew each other once. I bandaged him up and hid him from the Navy, when we were young. When he discovered who I was...he and his crew agreed to let me go.”

Jules stared at Carewyn, her dark eyes wide with amazement. Then her gaze softened visibly and she smiled.

“...He must’ve been grateful for what you did for him.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes softened upon the sparkling sea. 

“It wasn’t gratitude. Orion...is simply a good man...pirate he may be.”

The memory of him bandaging her hands -- of his rippling dark eyes as they bore into hers -- floated again over her mind.

“I can’t act like I knew, or even thought seriously, that our stars would align again…but even with that…I’d imagined a life much better than this for you.”

“Well,” said Jules with a smile, “it seems like those two things...shouldn’t be mutually exclusive.”

Carewyn turned her gaze back to Jules at last, smiling wryly. “Better not let your father hear you say that.”

Carewyn and Jules talked casually for the next half-hour, with Carewyn taking care to make sure their conversation was spaced out enough that Jules could catch her breath. After a while, it seemed the length of their conversation had attracted the Governor’s attention (no doubt he was getting a bit restless, not being sure if things were going according to plan), and had asked Carewyn to give Jules and him some privacy. And so Carewyn reluctantly left Jules and the Governor alone on top of the wall of the fort.

It could only have been about ten or fifteen minutes when Carewyn was alerted by Governor Farrier’s screams. Jules -- clearly not having been able to catch her breath properly, while in the midst of a quick-paced argument with her father -- had fainted right off the fort’s wall and landed in the water below. Her heart racing with panic, Carewyn led a battalion of soldiers down to the dock below, desperate to reach her friend.

When they arrived, they found Jules choking up water on the deck, her fancy dress discarded, her horrible corset cut off, and three men standing around her. Two of them were red-garbed British soldiers -- the other was a man with dark brown dreadlocks under an emerald green bandana and black kohl around his rippling dark eyes.

Carewyn’s heart leapt into her throat when their eyes met.

It was Orion.