#and of course the moment they finally find the treasure and riley cries

[saintlioncourt]

riley poole (national treasure 2004) is such an amusing character because he spends the entire time being the ONLY person to have completely normal reactions to everything that happens in the film

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

My Love Chapter One

A/N: This is a WIP I have held onto since August and never wanted to post it. I was fearful that it was going to be so different (series wise) and the subject matter a little too difficult to read for some. The first few chapters are heavily angsty, but, it does get easier. Just know that if you are on my perma tag list, I do not expect you to read this (I never do with my others, as well), it won’t be for everyone and there will be no hard feelings on my part.

Chapter Warning: Sexual Content, but, I consider it mild and not racy.

The cellphone on Liam’s desk pinged with another message from Riley. He didn’t have to read it to know what she wanted, it would be the same message she sent to him an hour ago and the hours before that: I’m ready, My King.  

The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in his office until midnight, working on a mountain of proposals and negotiations, when her six week check up had given her the all clear earlier in the day.  She was making it practically unbearable on him with the tantalizing pictures of her bare skin that left little to the imagination. Revealing photos of her savory, voluptuous breast and those red lacy crotchless panties he loves, hidden under a silky robe. Six weeks was an eternity without the intimacy he so craved with her and that pile of paperwork would  have to wait until morning.

If he was finished with her by then.

Making love for Liam and Riley was one of the foundations to their nearly one year of marriage. It’s a demonstration of their hunger, their passion and  unwavering devotion to one another. It's more than just sex or having a need met...its carnal, its physical, its liberating, and the deepest form of their absolute love. A fact that has been true since their first time in the hedge maze before his coronation, and every instance since.

The act itself for them is as necessary as the air that fills their lungs or the blood that courses through their veins. They needes to join as one body, as one flesh, because she was his life and he was her soul.

Liam shuffled the papers together that were scattered in front of him, straightening them as quickly as he could and tossed them in a folder. He stood from his desk, turned off the lamp, adjusted himself from the engorgement that had returned again and raced out of his office. 

He entered his darkened quarters and made his way quietly up the stairs, loosening his tie as he walked softly across the marbled floor, mindful of the sound of each footstep. As much as he wanted to peek in on his infant daughter -- who was sleeping soundly in the nursery across from their bedroom -- the fear of her waking at this very moment was much greater.

The door was just slightly ajar and he could see the flickers of red and orange hues from the fireplace illuminating the bedroom with a small portion of its shimmering light escaping into the hallway. His hand nudged the door open and he walked inside. Hiis heart beat increased steadier and heavier with each second.

Within Liam was a literal craving that only she could satisfy. A flame that only Riley herself could ignite and extinguish at her will.  He recalled a time when his father told him she would never be good for him because his love for her made him weak, however, it was her love for him that made him stronger, more exuberant, a better man and king. 

As he stepped further inside, he was taken aback by the tiny flickers of candles that resonated from every available solid surface, adding further to the ambiance set by the glow of the fireplace. In all of its beauty, nothing compared to the sight of the woman leaning against the poster of their bed, wearing a red, see-through chemise and a sultry grin; her brown eyes beckoned her husband to come closer. 

Liam slipped off his wing tipped shoes with only his feet, slinging them away as he eagerly approached her. “My Love."

Using her backside to push herself away from the wooden poster -- her pupils already fully dilated and lust blown -- she shivered with anticipation of his every touch and his lips on hers. “My King."

He tugged on his loosened tie, pulling it through his collar and wound a portion of each end around his hands. When he finally reached her, Riley’s fragrance lingered in the air and casts an intoxicating spell that he couldn't help but relish in. 

“You...you look...insatiable." Liam tossed the tie, still wound around each hand, over her head and moved it down to her waist. He bit his lip as he used the tie to heave her flush against him. 

Riley began loosening the buttons of his shirt. “I missed you today." A flirty look danced across her face.

Liam arched his back, savoring each tender kiss she plantes from the newly exposed parts of his flesh. “Let me show you just how much I missed you."

Tossing his tie onto the bed, they each make quick work of the others clothing until nothing but bare skin and flesh remained between them. 

As the candlelight flickered and glowed across their naked forms, their eyes gaze at one another, entranced by the beauty and radiant heat that drew them together.

His fingertips graze slowly across her slender shoulders and down to her delicate, silky hands. He turns one of her hands over and traces a heart into the palm. “I love you, Riley." Liam moved lower to crest both of his hands on her rounded hips.

Liam pulled her closer, feeling the fullness of her breast pressed against his pounding chest while her stiff rosy nipples dancing gingerly on him.

Her hands reaches through his arms and around his waist, swaying to a melody only they could hear -- slow and rhythmic, yearning and craving. Their faces nestled affectionately, enjoying the warmth of flesh and desire. He nuzzled into her neck, his lips brushing gently against her sentient skin, nipping and suckling, leaving behind wet trails of his affection. Sweeping across her jaw, tenderly, he sought and found her lips, devouring them and caressing her supple tongue; she was as desperate for him as he is for her.

Hearts raced, eyes pleaded, sexual swells awakened.

Their physical dance rapidly becames more sensual as legs weaken slightly and hips sink and grind passionately together. Tongue’s continued to consume one another as both Liam and Riley find the most sensitive treasures of the other. His large docile fingers became moistened with the extraction of her pleasure, while her small hand stroked and kneaded his hardened and eager shaft. 

Riley’s head fell back, wincing and moaning his name in pure ecstasy, “Liam...Liam!” Her body tensed as heat and vigor began to surge throughout, causing him to delve more intently, igniting his increasing desperation and hunger. He pulled her snug against him, one strong arm giving her balance and the other ushering her to the brink of rapture and euphoria.

‘Let go, my love," his smokey voice whispered against her flushed cheek as Riley’s face buried into his broadened chest, gripping the solid muscles of his biceps. When the first cries of her pleasure are released, Liam lifted her chin from his chest so that he could see her soft, brown eyes dance and roll. “Yes, my love, let go for me."

With a feeble whimper, she let go, falling breathlessly into his arms.

Her lust blown orbs soon meet his anxious blue ones, both prepared for the final act: the one in which his body and her body unite as one, taking complete and total possession of the other.

“I need you now, Ri."

“Then take me, Liam."

He lifted her up swiftly. Riley’s legs wrapped firmly around him; her throbbing center aching to accept him.

Liam found her succulent lips again as he spun her around, his hands twisting at the back of her hair, locked in a passionate kiss.

Placing one knee on the edge of the bed, he eased her down; her legs falling open when his hips nudge between them. 

It had been over six weeks since he felt her -- since the warmth of her core gripped and coated him so tightly.

As his hips rested snuggly between her legs, he reaches down, grippes his hardened shaft and aligned himself with her. Liam looked down on the face of his wife, a soft sheen of moisture and heat radiating from it. She could not be more beautiful or sensual as she was in that very moment; no one would ever take this woman’s place in his life. 

She nodded with an earnest pleading and without any sense of hesitation, he thrust himself into her. Over and over again he entered into her, driving further and more vigorously each time. 

“Ahh, Liam, yes!"

Her moans and wails drove him to the edge of no return and he increased the intensity of his thrusts knowing she is close too.

As small beads of sweat collectrd along the defined lines of his back muscles, he gripped both of her wrist that are wrapped tightly around his shoulders and pinned her arms above her head. 

Lifting himself up, he now had the levity to plunge even deeper. Riley’s body began to writhe under him and he can sense she is ready to burst. Both of their legs began to tense and an increasing charge of passion and electricity begin to surge. Every part of their bodies started to quake and tingle. Liam gripped her wrists even tighter, feeling her walls flutter around his cock. 

He can now release himself.

“Riley!”

With one more forceful drive, he spilled himself into her. “Riley!”

He continued his surge, winding down slower and slower, until he has emptied himself completely.

Liam rested his head on Riley’s shoulder, both of them still reeling from the pleasurable high they just experience.

He turned his head so that his mouth can graze at her ear, still slightly breathless, “I love you.”

Riley nuzzled her cheeks against his mouth, then turned her head to face him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “I love you too, Liam...I always have...”

“Ans I always will, my love," he finished, kissing her once more.

After cleaning up, they return to the bed they have shared for almost a year and as is routine, she will lay on her right side. He would kiss into her silky, brown hair, and wrap his arms tightly around her. Within minutes, they both driftes off together into a blissful and loving sleep.

The sound of a baby’s cry at 2:30, wakes Liam from his slumber. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he peeks over at Riley, who is still laying on her right side, resting. Knowing she must be exhausted from so many sleepless nights, he rubs his hands over his face and rises from their bed. With Riley breastfeeding, he decided he would get the baby and bring her to their room so she doesn’t have to get up.

“Daddy’s coming baby," he whispers when he walks into the nursery, still slightly groggy from his lack of sleep.

“Hey, Ellie, my girl’, his voice always soft and soothing, lifts his fussy baby from her crib and carries her to the changing table. He sifts through diapers and loosens the buttons on her sleeper, thankful that there were no surprises inside. After changing his daughter, who is expressing her desire to feed, he kisses the top of her downey covered head and walks back into his bedroom.

Bouncing his little girl softly, he sits back down on his side of the bed, and turns his lamp on. “Shhh, its okay, princess, there’s momma”.

“Riley”, he whispers in her direction, still bouncing and soothing Ellie’s little cries.

He waits a moment, surprised she hasn’t yet stirred from the baby’s noises.

“Riley”, he calls again, “my love, Ellie’s ready for her feeding...aren’t you my girl”. 

Liam shift’s the baby into the crook of one arm and reaches over to his wife with the other. “Riley, Love, we need you to get up”, he taps on her exposed arm.

“Sweetheart?”, he begins to nudge at her a little more deeply.

When she doesn’t move, his heart starts to race, unsure if she is just completely exhausted, having complained about it more and more the past few days, or if its something more. 

He grabs her arm and rolls her onto her back, “Riley, are you...okay?”

“OH GOD!”, he yells, adjusting pillows on the bed to make a barrier so that he could lay Ellie down.

He climbs over her in a complete panicky state and begins to shake Riley, whose normal olive toned face is pale white; her body limp with each movement.

He leans over and places his ear on her chest, begging and pleading for any sign of air entering or movement.

When nothing is heard, he pushes an emergency button that is on the corner of each of their night tables, alerting the guards to the distress.

Placing his trembling hands on her chest, he begins compressions, not exactly sure of what he was doing, but, desperate to try anything, “Please breathe, my love...take a breath, damn it”. 

Continuing to compress, stop momentarily to administer two quick breaths, “Where the fuck are the guards at!”.

Time stood completely still, almost playing in slow motion. Each passing second was an agonizing terror for him.

Still working steadfastly and focused, he was unaware of the hoards of guards that sprang up on him, jolting him from his concentration.

“Please help her, she...she’s not breathing...Riley…” he trailed breathlessly, grief stricken and sobbing as he moved out of the way to allow the guards, who were medically trained, to take over. 

Bastien appeared out of the corner of his eye and Liam stumbled over to him, clutching and clawing at his head guards shirt, “Bastien...you have to help her...please bring her back...I can’t...I can’t..”.

“It’s okay, your majesty”, he gripped onto Liam, trying to calm his erratic behavior, “I will have a life flight crew brought in right away”. Bastien held onto Liam and walked him to his side of the bed, where Ellie was still crying and inched him down beside her.

Liam watched with uncertainty as the guards removed Riley from the bed and placed her on the floor to get a more solid surface to perform CPR. In that moment, he felt dizzy and nauseous, impatient for her to wake up and flash that bright smile that makes him weak in the knees. 

He remembers the first time he saw that smile...New York. On a whirlwind bachelor party thrown by his friends, he crept up on her while she was taking their order. After tapping her on the shoulder, attempting to take his seat, there it was. Not only that bright smile, but, those alluring, spirited, brown eyes; he was hers before she ever muttered a word to him.

If Liam wasn’t already captivated by her beauty, perhaps her giving, spunky, throw caution to the wind, personality would have been plenty sufficient in his eyes. She is ready for any challenge, any risk; even one that included placing her life on hold to follow a prince to a country she had never heard of in hopes of getting to know him better. He loved her from the moment she tagged him in that maze following the Masquerade Ball; over time that loved increased a million times over.

Liam was torn from his thoughts, when Miss Talbert, the Queen’s personal assistant, stepped up to him offering to care for Ellie, having been summoned by Bastien.  Still in a fog, he lifted his infant daughter from the bed, kissing her cheek, “Mommy’s going to be fine, sweet pea. I’ll come and get you in a little while”.  He handed Ellie off and quickly rounded to the opposite side of the bed, where his wife was still being assisted; more guards entering to aid in her recovery.

“Bastien, where the hell is the life flight?”.

“ETA is two minutes, your majesty”.

“That’s two fucking minutes too long...I want them here now, that’s an order!”

“Yes, sir”.

[werewolves-are-real]

please please share an excerpt of the mutiny on the reliant sequel. if not, something with tharkay? thank you!

I think this is as much as I have in, like, one coherent text. I have lots of snippets and sections that wouldn’t make much sense out of context. (And I have a timeline, which is Exhausting). Unfortunately this bit ends slightly before they meet Tharkay

“…Inconsequence whereof, and in good faith, we seal this pact with alibation offered according to the hallowed ritual of the sea.”

Laurencelifts his glass in a toast as Captain Peura tosses a sizable portionof champagne over the railing. Her women cheer and pound their feetagainst the deck of the nameless ship. Temeraire pushes his snoutfurther over the side of the railing so that everyone wobblesdangerously.

“Laurence,she spoke of so many gods, but you said there is only one god. IsCaptain Peura a heathen?” he asks with great interest.

“No,dear. Well,” Laurence amends, glancing at the woman’s scarred faceas she guzzles from a flask. “…Possibly. But, it is an old ship’stradition. A ship must be unnamed in such a way before taking a newname.”

“Andshe did not want the French name?”

“Ibelieve she simply grew fond of the name of her old vessel,” whichno one will utter until the requisite 24 hours after that unnamingceremony has passed, “that now sails under Captain Jonna,”one of Peura’s previous officers.

WhateverPeura’s reasons, few pirates – now privateers, he reminds himself –turn down an excuse for a celebration.

“I suppose itwould be a bit confusing,even if her ship has changed. I suppose this one is better?”

“Avery nice second-rate, even if it is French.”

Temeraireconsiders this. “She has the best ship by far, Laurence; but youdo not have anything that fightswell. Only the Wenglong, whichhas only a few guns, and you call Pan Zhong ‘captain’ on there.”

“Yes,”Laurence says. “But I have you, my dear.”

Forthe moment, at least, this seems to appease the Celestial.

“Hullo,” Peura’s new FirstLieutenant, Liina, appears by their sides. “Temeraire, Sir, we havea vat of the champagne if you want to try it.”

Temeraire brightens as Laurence looksbetween them with dread. “Oh, what a thoughtful idea!” he cries.

The crew cheers again.

_______________________________

“I daresay the course is as good asany,” Laurence says. “I beg pardon, dear; one moment.”

He leaves to speak to the signalensign, who moments later directs the Petit Moineau to fallfurther back from the Smiling Man. Withhis increased experience Abiodun has been granted full andindependent captaincy of the ex-slave ship, but he retains a closefriendship with Captain Vicario, who temporarily heads one of the twoFrench vessels they took while leaving the Channel. By the agreementunder the Letter of Marque a certain number of profits are due to thestate of Britain – this ship is likely to be part of that offering- but it may be some time before they return properly to home port.

Vicario’sship is a third-rate and good enough; the second-rate was granted toPeura who moved over nearly her entire crew. Since the renamingceremony it has taken on her old ship’s name of the LaskaJoutsen, whereas the Xebec underCaptain Jonna is now called the Peacemaker.

Forsome reason many of the crews found this name funny. Even theChinamen laughed when Temeraire translated the name for them.

Easy capture oftwo French supply ships has left them well in purse for their voyage,those ships being surrendered to a passing English frigate. It issomewhat startling how dependable numbers – and a dragon – canmake matters so easy on the sea, but Laurence knows better than to bearrogant; he has seen dragons backing up ships before, and a group ofeight ships is not so large that they cannot yet be closed in,especially when half their vessels do not rate.

Temeraire callsLaurence over and seems to be inspecting the skies. “I do not knowwhat to think of our course,” the dragon says dubiously. “Shouldwe be sailing yet away from England, Laurence? Have you not said thatall the fighting is in the Channel?”

“Not all of itby any means. Bonaparte is determined to leave his mark on all ofEurope.”

“Well, all thefighting we should care about.”

“It seemsstrange that England has given us a letter of Marque only to tell usthey do not want us near the war,” Laurence concedes, irate at thememory. But perhaps this is best; the aviators, certainly, must stillbe disgruntled that Temeraire has slipped from their grasp. “Thatstill leaves us to decide a course.”

“Have you giventhought to Abiodun’s suggestion of sailing to Cape Horn?” Temeraireasks.

Laurence has; hedismissed the idea nearly as soon as it was suggested. “I amafraid, dear, that it would be approaching May when we came to thosewaters, and that is a dangerous time to be sailing against thewesterlies. We should not tempt a storm.”

Temeraire knowsthe dangers of gales, of course. It was a massive storm that killedRiley, upended the politics of the Reliant and first sparkedthe turn against them. “Very well,” he concedes. “What aboutthe middle of Africa?”

“It would posefewer difficulties, but would also hold little potential – and Iconfess I should indeed like to have some action against the French.”Here Laurence proposes his idea; “I had thought to send Vicario,Abiodun, Jonna, and Araullo down on just such a path. There is littleneed to keep so many ships together, and they may trade with Madeiraalong the way.”

“Oh; but we arebeginning to look so grand,” Temeraire says wistfully, twisting hishead around to regard the sails bobbing at a distance. With amusementLaurence understands that Temeraire is starting to regard the shipsas his own treasures, hoarding creature that he is.

“We willschedule a rendezvous in a few months by the Channel,” he says.This leaves them four ships including the Wenglong.

“But where willwe go, Laurence?”

“I had thoughtto pass through Gibraltar and try the Mediterranean – it is mainlymerchantmen there, but they are not without their own warships todefend the coasts, and there are tensions with the East. France andItaly both have many ships on the water – Italy is ruled now byNapoleon’s siblings.”

“Oh, so we mayget more French ships?” Temeraire looks at their latest prizesspeculatively. “All my crews have dressed much better now that wehave money, Laurence; yes, that will do quite well.” Temeraireruffles his wings officiously, and Laurence has to smile, because itseems the matter is decided.

The ships separatenear the southern end of Portugal. The Wenglong curves east inthe direction of Gibraltar with the Amitié,Laska Joutsen, andNoite Vermelho spreadaround them in formation.

Theycapture a supply ship with almost appalling ease west of Gibraltar;the poor captain and his crew of six lower their colors before theAmitié,the fastest ship, caneven get within firing range. Captain Peura claims the tricoloredflag and says some of her ladies will be able to make dresses fromit; she has a strange look in her eye and Laurence does not ask ifshe is joking.

Asthey approach Gibraltar the LaskaJoutsen seems to lagsignificantly behind even the burdensome Wenglong,which can only bedeliberate, unless Peura is having one of her younger (and,apparently, very inept) officers try a hand at navigation. FinallyLaurence shakes his head and approaches Temeraire by the railing.Temeraire is circling the ships cheerfully in the water, as he does,and perks up when Laurence approaches. “My dear, perhaps we mightvisit Captain Peura – I believe she may appreciate the company.”

Thewomen on the deck nearly fall into the water calling out toTemeraire; officers reign them in only half-heartedly. The disciplineon the decks is entirely dissimilar to that of the Navy, but asefficiency still seems to be suitable Laurence cannot find anyparticular fault in this; he is, after all, no longer inthe Navy.

CaptainPeura stomps out to investigate the ruckus. “Here, now, are youtrying to excite the hands,” she asks without real heat. She doesnot seem surprised to see them and only comes to lean over the rails,scowling at anyone who tries to eavesdrop too blatantly.

“Isthere a problem with the sails, Captain?” Laurence asks.

Peuraglares at him. “No.”

Laurencewaits; nothing else is forthcoming. “It is only,” he says, “Thatyou have been falling somewhat behind - “

“Youcan askquestions outright, you know; I daresay the effort would not killyou.” Peura slaps the rail. “It’s Gibraltar – I’ve told you Ican’t go there, nor my crew. They’ll put me in irons.”

“Theywill not,” Laurence says immediately. “The Letter of Marque gavepardons to all captains in our company.”

“Ha,”Peura says. “The English want you far more than I, and some placestend to interpret such commissions more freely than others.”

“Ifthey try to take you, I promise I shall squash them,” saysTemeraire earnestly.

Peuralooks at him. “Well, now that’sa bit nicer,” sheapproves.

“Temeraire,”Laurence begins, “It is not appropriate to threaten men in HisMajesty’s navy.”

“Ishall not threaten simply anyone,but I shall certainlythreaten those who mean to harm us,” says Temeraire plainly. “Ifthese navy men are sensible, I do not see that there will be anyproblem at all, Laurence. I will just make matters clear to them whenwe go ashore.”

Laurencerubs his neck despairingly.

“…Perhapsthis won’t be so bad at that,” Peura speculates.

______________________________

Theysail to Gibraltar with very little fuss, all told; the arrival cannotbe described the same way.

Gibraltaris manned by two different factions. The port itself is overlooked bythe navy, headed by Admiral Chow; Admiral Portland, of the aviators,has been newly promoted to his position.

Bothgroups react very rapidly to the presence of Laurence’s group, whichin this case is less than flattering.

“Youwill get your supplies and leave,” Chow says. “Pirates are notwelcome here.”

Laurencestares hard at Chow, ignoring the sweat springing into place on hisforehead. The man’s tiny office is sweltering; he has not beenoffered a chair. “As privateers we are here under the warrant ofHis Majesty - “

“Ihave friends who are privateers – they are not deserters, and theydid not compel their men to mutiny!” Even Lieutenant M——-, thelone aviator hovering impatiently behind Chow and waiting for achance to speak, appears vaguely uncomfortable at this bluntness. “Itis a matter of law and lawlessness that separates the pirate from theprivateer – you, Sir, are no servant of the king.”

“Doyou contradict his Majesty’s orders?” Laurence asks.

Atthis Chow reddens. “Do I contradict – ! Now see here…”

Lieutenant M—– clears his throat. “These matters – naval matters – areperhaps not the point of the discussion,” he says. “Mr. Laurence,the Aerial Corps are far more concerned about the dragon that travelswith you, Temeraire. It was not our decision to grant a commissionand send you away, and some things were left unsaid.” He does notsay that the aviators would never have let him leave England with aprime heavy-weight. “You understand we would like to ask you somequestions.”

“Ifyou must, you will have that chance; I will be buying supplies withmy purser and quartermaster tonight, but Temeraire is eager to seethe coverts and meet other dragons.” Laurence looks at the theLieutenant firmly. “Before we return to the sea, of course.”

M——looks like he’s bit into something sour. “Of course,” he echoes.

_____________________________

Laurencesees little evidence of Peura or the crew of the LaskaJoutsen while heundergoes arrangements with the quartermaster ashore, though hethinks he glimpses one or two familiar faces under less-familiardresses and strangely lopsided suits. He does, however, see CaptainFerreira peeking around a shop and whispering to the stall owner.Laurence frowns, excuses himself from his conversation, andapproaches.

Ferreirais speaking in animated French. “Aye, aye, we know what we’re beingabout,” he says. “Tetouan, now, tell those curs to meet us inTetouan or - “ Ferreira stops when he sees Laurence.

“Captain,”Laurence says mildly. “Has there been a change to our itinerary?”

Ferreirashifts; the stall-keeper glances between them and rapidly withdraws.“Well,” Ferreira hedges. “It had just occurred to me, Sir, thatTetouan might make a good port of call, a grandport - “ He gesturesexpansively. The brilliant red sleeves of his coat flap in the wind.

“Ihardly see why, when we are welcome at Gibraltar - “ though that isperhaps something of a strong word. “Do you have… oldacquaintances there?”

Anyoneelse might well flush at the implication; Tetouan is well-known forwelcoming pirates.

ButFerreira of course contradicts all expectations. He nods rapidly.“Ones who will bring us good profits, Captain!”

Laurencesighs slightly. But Tetouan is right in their path, and it does notdo to distrust one’s senior officers – such as they are. Herationalizes that there is little one or two pirate ships could hopeto incur on them, and if any ships made such an effort, well, that iswhat privateers are for.“Very well, then. Wewill set out tomorrow.”

“WithTemeraire?” Ferreira presses.

Laurenceeyes the man narrowly. “…With Temeraire,” he agrees at last.

Fewof the final purchases require his personal attention; Laurence isable to separate from the quartermaster within a few hours and leavesto find Temeraire after receiving word that he is already at thelocal covert. He hopes reception has proven more favorable here thanit did in England.

Hespots Temeraire at a distance when he approaches the covert, like atiny bird on the horizon; the Celestial is surrounded by otherdragons. There are smaller ones, such as Reapers and Bright Coppersand even a veritable flock of grey-coppers and couriers, and also alarge Chequered Nettle slightly larger than Temeraire. They seem tobe talking earnestly, which is heartening to see. Laurence is waylaidbefore he can approach them, however.

“Ibeg your pardon.” It is a child – only a child, and after amoment Laurence realizes the runner seems to be a girl, nonetheless.“I beg your pardon, Sir.” She pauses, clearly confused about theform of address, and then plunges on: “ - The Admiral wishes to seeyou.”

Whichis how Laurence finds himself standing in Admiral Portland’s officeentirely uncertain of his reception. He probably cutssomething of a farcical figure. Captain Peura assures him that mostprivateers dress after the navy, if they can, eschewing only ranks,cords, and 'occasional frivolous bits of frappery’. His coat couldnot quite belong to a navy-captain, but it seems close enough to mockone, and the deep blue seems almost blasphemous standing beforesomeone who is – still – an officer in His Majesty’s service.

“I have had wordabout you,” is how Portland begins. “From England and otherrumors; the Portuguese have had a few things to say of your crew.”

Laurence has noresponse to this, so after a moment he says, “If you have anyinquiries to make, Sir, I shall answer them as best as I may.”

“I do notsuppose you have any intention of changing your mind and joining theservice?”

“That was myoriginal intention, Sir, and I regret that it has been provenimpossible.”

Perhaps his choiceof wording was unwise. “Impossible,” Portland echoes. “ - Iwill not ask what you imply about us, Captain; I daresay I will notlike it.”

Laurence wiselykeeps silent.

Admiral Portlandwatches him narrowly. “I will have no trouble from you,” he says.

“I am of courseat the service of His Majesty,” Laurence says earnestly.

But Portland justsnorts. He leans back in his chair. “Service: well, keep yourdragon away from the coverts and I will be satisfied,” he says,which is a curious request. “He has been causing a fuss, giving thedragons notions of piracy and prizes, and it is not good fordiscipline. Now, get out of my office.”

_____________________________

“Oh, they wereall very excellent and quite polite; but life in the covert seemsquite dull,” is Temeraire’s opinion. “I quite prefer being apirate, Laurence.”

“We are notpirates, my dear. We are privateers.”

“Everyone sayswe are pirates.”

“For many yearspeople said the earth was flat; that does not mean it was true.”

To his relief,Temeraire seems to consider this a sound argument. “That is quitetrue. Laurence, do you wish that things had been different? That wehad gone to England to become proper aviators after all?”

Laurence is quiet.He recalls the little Winchester from the ports – Carver’s talk ofbreeding grounds, and the way Captain Little would not quitelook him in the eye when he asked questions. “…No, my dear,” hesays lowly. “It is perhaps unworthy of me; but sometimes I feelthat we have narrowly avoided a great tragedy by escaping theservice, dearly though England does need us.”

“We shall helpthem anyway,” Temeraire assures. And Laurence sighs, because thiswould be much more reassuring if Temeraire actually cared aboutEngland at all.

They findthemselves in Tetouan at noon that day. Temeraire stays by the port,bobbing among the sea-crafts like some strange mobile ship while afew of the smaller yachts and boats mysteriously vanish. Sailors onthe larger vessels settle for lining the decks to watch himnervously.

Laurence goesinland with Ferreira, who for his part seems to know the place well.The man meets him alone, approaching Temeraire and glancing aroundwarily.

Laurenceunderstands at once.

“The NoiteVermelho is not in port?”

“Oh, Araya isscouting the coast. I don’t trust any of these dogs,” which ishardly reassuring.

“Araya - yourfirst mate?” Laurence recalls.

“Myquartermaster,” Ferreira corrects. Laurence frowns before recallingthat the 'quartermaster’ is the second-in-command on piratingvessels. He shakes his head; the hierarchy of the ships can beconfusing, and Peura and Ferreira, especially, still manage theirships like pirates would.

Ferreira leads himdirectly to a small, somewhat dirty pub not far from the water. Thesalt-stained shirts and hard skin that fills the room makes theclientele readily identifiable – sailors, or more likely piratesbased on their wary gazes and abundance of scars, colorful scarvesand earrings – pirates seem to be even more fond of the last thannormal seamen, for whatever reason.

Ferreira glancesonce over the main room and then gestures to a side-door; Laurenceprecedes him through and finds three men inside a smaller room, allof them sitting around a table.

“Llegatarde,” says the oldest man;his gray beard is worn ragged, and he peers between the two with onlyone good guy. “¿Asi que? Cuéntanospor qué esto es digno de nuestro tiempo, Ferreira.”

Laurenceunderstands 'tarde’ – late – and their seems to be somethingabout a question and 'time’ involved, but he gathers little else. Heglances at Ferreira.

“Ach,”Ferreira says. “See, my Spanish is not so good as it should be; weshould have brought Sala.”

“I daresay hewould not like to be here,” Laurence says honestly, and Ferreiraonly laughs, because Laurence is quite correct.

Ferreira manages afew sentences,though, and the men glance at Laurence himself speculatively.

Aftersome discussion one of the men says, “Asíque es cierto?”

Ferreira seems tounderstand. In response to the man’s question he gestures for aparchment and ink and scratches out a crude black dragon. Under ithe dots four tiny ships in a line

The men visiblyreact and mutter to each other. Laurence is disconcerted. Have otherpeople heard of Temeraire already?

Ferreira jabs atthe ships with his quill and then at the dubious depiction ofTemeraire. He says something and the men look skeptical.

“Theymust be willing to work with the dragon, too,” Ferreira informsLaurence, which is reasonable – except that Ferreira has not yetsaid for what purpose they are talking with these men. Are thepirates to accompany them somewhere, then?

Finallythe old captain nods grudgingly. “Sí, sí, si las ganancias siguen no es ningún problema.”

Ferreirabeams. “Arreglos… más tarde. Contrato. ¿Sí?” They shake.

“Nowto what did you just agree,” asks Laurence, realizing warily thatperhaps he should have put some better limits on Fereira beforehand.

“Theyshall be joining us, Sir!” The pirate cries. “Three good newships – why, Captain Jimenez here even has a stolen fourth-rate.And they know of some good ports and routes up by Turkey; we’ll notbe wanting for power once we set out, I tell you.”

“Wealready were not wanting,” Laurence says, a little dismayed.But when the foreign pirates eye him he only nods stiffly, alreadybeholden to his subordinate’s promise. It is, he supposes, nothing toreally argue; there may be advantages to such an arrangement. Butmore ships present unknown elements, too, and he will need to watchthese men closely.

________________________________

Temerairepeers up above the water as Laurence approaches the Tetouan docks.“Oh, Laurence, there are so many splendid ships here… Are youfinished?”

“Yes.I suppose that if Ferreira has transport we may headback to the ship.”

“Of course…And with not prizes?” Temeraire asks wistfully. He eyes a nearbyship nearly half his size. The crew is already eyeing him nervously.

“No, my dear,but we may have new acquisitions; I will tell you as we fly.”

As he approaches,Laurence regrets that there is no better place for Temeraire amongthe fleet. He is still growing, though surely he must stop soon, andeven on the massive Wenglong he must lay curled in the middleof the ship where the cheerful crewmen clamber over him to attend totheir tasks. Laurence hopes to find a better arrangement at somepoint, but short of claiming a cumbersome dragon-transport he canconceive of few options. Even now, looking around at the ships aroundTetouan, every vessel falls short of even the Wenglong’s width;Gibraltar was quite the same.

As expected,Temeraire approves of the prospect of new men. Their origins concernhim not at all, “Because Peura and our other friends were oncepirates, Laurence, and anyway they seem much better than everyone atGibraltar and all those people who were so terrible on the Reliant,”which to be fair is hard to argue.

The flight back tothe berthed Wenglong is short enough. Temeraire takes his easewalking along the dry land, taking advantage of the rare opportunitywhere he can – though, he complains, land still moves far toooften. Laurence reflects ruefully that he has made a proper sea-beastof the Celestial.

Nunes approachesLaurence while he’s walking with Temeraire. “Captain Ferreira isasking to see you before we leave port, Sir.”

'Again’ he doesnot say; “Captain Ferreira has done quite enough,” Laurencesighs, but he goes anyway.

Laurence findsFerreira near where the new pirating ships are berthed. “Captain!Our new friends have a gift for you, ah, here we are - “ He wavesfor a few men who, grinning, run over with a rolled-up sailcloth.When the men spread it out Laurence can see it is a flag. Hestartles.

“Is that - “

“A dragon! Yourvery own signature – every fleet ought to have one.”

“Every fleet,”Laurence echoes, and then, automatically, “That is very kind, Mr.Ferreira. Please pass on my thanks.”

“We will have itinstalled on your ship straight away,” Ferreira says, and the menare loping off with the cloth before Laurence can protest.

He does not knowthat he could find the words, anyway; the black dragon, andthe four ships, are burned into his mind like a brand.

_____________________________

“Temeraire,”Laurence contemplates. “I believe matters are getting a little outof hand.”

Onlythe peek of Captain Sala’s Tranquilidadisvisible off their bow, but Laurence knows that theman’s four Spanish ships sailsomewhere behind. How the crafty captain recruited them, Laurence cannot say. These tidy ships are not quite up to navalstandards – they sport a dozen carronades each and no propercannons, but Laurence knows that the smaller shots can be deadlyenough. Three sails of unrepentant black cloth are spread out leewardof Ferreira’s ship. “Nohay necesidad de ser sutil cuando estamos jurídica,”one of the captains had said before leaving port, though Laurence isunsure what purpose the black sails are meant to sendwhen one is not pirating.

Altogether theynumber 13 ships – and Laurence forcibly discounts the larger tallythat might be accrued if one considers Captain Abiodun and hiscommand, sailing for Africa. The thought of all these ships dizzieshim. “Whatever do you mean,” Temeraire asks in response to hismusing.

The dragon dipshis head briefly under the water, mindful of Laurence’s position onhis back; they are swimming round the closest ships, as Temeraireoften does, and the crews stop to wave as they go by. “We areamassing an almost absurd force, Temeraire – whyever should we needso many ships at our disposal?”

“Were we nottold to gather forces for England, that we might help them in thewar? And it seems to me that it is a better thing to present agreater force than a lesser, which might risk being defeated.”

“Greater forcesstill demand greater pay, greater supply - “

“Than we willfind a way to supply and pay them,” says Temeraire logically. “Isuppose we must find some excellent prizes; but that should not bedifficult. Just look at how many of us there are!”

That, Laurencedoes not say, is precisely the problem.

He does not holdany qualms, exactly, about commanding a large number of ships. As ayoung officer it is natural to hold certain ambitions, and a positionas a commodore or admiral should follow in any long-standing career. Inten years he might have expected a promotion and command of a fleet;he does not know what to think of the same under these circumstances.The idea sits ill on his shoulders.

Still, he is incommand – like it or not. A week of easy sailing goes past withoutmore than dismal fishing-boats on the horizon. The journey findstheir group approaching Malta, or rather trying to skirt thecontentious island. It is east of here, in the Mediterranean, thatthe watch catches sight of an Italian sail.

And another. Andanother.

One of theofficers busily signals with the other ships, then reports to PanZhong. “Five,” the captain tells Laurence in Mandarin, which isenough.

He gathers, aftera look through a spy-glass, that it’s likely a merchant convoy –armed, almost certainly, and dangerous, but not able to outgun them.“Oh, is it another battle?” Temeraire asks. His tail lasheseagerly. He’s still crouched low to the deck, trying to hide amongthe Wenglong like a hulking shadow, and crewmembers duck underhis oblivious appendages. “We have not battled in weeks.”

“Yes, dear, Ibelieve it is – or will be, if they do not surrender. First Ishould like us to get the ships closer. Even you, Temeraire, cannottake five ships without injury, so we must have them corralledbetween us first.”

Temeraire seems abit disappointed, but he doesn’t protest. With a quick signalFerreira circles west andout of sight; if Laurence cannot see him, the merchants cannoteither. The Tranquilidad continues forward, closing thedistance, but she is only accompanied now by one of her own merchantships.

Seeing only theWenglong – and perhaps in a minute or two, Laurence judges,the Tranquilidad – the little merchant convoy continues cautiously,adjusting their course to skirt the Chinese vessel several miles away. Laurence allowsthis until the first of the merchant ships has nearly crossed themdirectly northward; then Pan Zhong orders the ship into a sharp tack,and they turn about to pursue the merchant vessels as sailors rush toput on every spare inch of sail in the ship’s hold.

The ruse is over,and the merchants start to pick up their own speed borne ofdesperation; Laurence sees men crawling over the sails in thedistance, but not as fast as they should be moving. Most likely, hethinks, the ships are alarmed but a little confused. The Wenglongshould not be able to pose a serious threat to five ships; whytry at all?

Indeed, it seemsone of the merchants – a small —– iswilling to challenge the junk. It turns about without trying to flee.Pan Zhong gives a familiar order; Laurence reflects ruefully that hemay not know any Chinese greetings, but he certainly recognizes theword for 'guns’. “Come, Temeraire,” he says. The Celestial perksup. “I believe it is time.”

He seats himselfastride the Celestial’s neck and wraps his hands around two of thesmall leather bands looping down from the cord around Temeraire’sthroat. One of the younger officers runs up. “Pan Zhong says thatthe Tranquilidad is having a problem with her sail,”Temeraire reports when the Chinese captain pauses them. “She mightbe a little slow.”

“Thank you,”Laurence tells the captain. “Temeraire - “

Temeraire pushesoff the deck with barely a wobble. In the distance the merchant shipimmediately begins to shift and turn; clearly they’re rethinkingtheir chances at the sight of him.

But then, afteranother moment, the other four ships swivel about. Signal-flags flashand Laurence glimpses cannon-ports opening. “Stay above them,” hedirects. “They are aiming for you; go for the one on the end,there, I believe they have the fewest guns - “

Temeraire huffs,evidently offended, but heads for the smaller ship anyway. He ducksaway just as a crack of cannons splits the air; the two cannon-ballssail by, nowhere near to harming him, and then Temeraire wingsfuriously to a higher position as the rest of the broadside rolls outin quick succession.

The endmost shipstarts to tack into the wind in an attempt to show Temeraire itsother side, but the Celestial tilts his wings and dives. With onebrutal lunge Temeraire tangles his feet in the merchantman’s sails,lifts up, and wings away. For a precarious moments they don’t seem tomove. Then the whole ship lurches, rises briefly above the waterline,and with a horrible series of cracks and groans the mast splintersapart. Sailors cry out as the white sailcloth falls to the deck inheavy pieces.

This maiming seemsto make the remaining four ships hesitate. Two bob in place to noeffect, but one fires a warning shot that sinks a useless mile awayfrom Temeraire while another turns toward the Wenglong. Atthat instant the Transquilidad comes over the horizon andTemeraire feints at that ship menacing the Chinese junk. This time heisn’t so fortunate; a stray shot, unbelievably accurate, spirals intothe sky and clips his wing.

Temeraire’s roarhas a queer sound. Laurence chokes and nearly slips, head rattlingwith the force it, and blindly starts to turn toward the dragon’sinjury before he remembers his position and clutches more tightly atthe fragile leather straps keeping him tethered to Temeraire. Heswings dizzily when they zigzag down toward the Wenglong,Temeraire obviously bewildered by his injury and newly wary ofthe ships.

Caution is welland good, but fear helps no one in battle. “Do not let them win,”Laurence says; his voice sounds strange and tinny. “They will pressforward if you appear nervous.”

“Oh, I am not acoward,” Temeraire protests. But he wavers for a moment before,huffing, he swings forward and dives toward the nearby ship.

He takes the mastsfrom this one with great discrimination, ignoring the musket-shottickling his legs to rake repeatedly at the strong triple beams. Hespirals straight into the sky before anyone can turn a cannon morevertical; ships are simply not devised for aerial warfare.

But even maimed,this one seems determined to do damage. Temeraire turns toward thethree remaining vessels, satisfied with his work, when Laurence looksover his shoulder and exclaims, “Temeraire! The Wenglong!”

Barely inrange, the drifting Chinese vessel takes sudden fire. Temeraireresponds by faking another dive toward the closest vessel.

The NoiteVermelho, already visible to them, trails behind and will appearto the other ships shortly. It doesn’t much matter, though. TheTranquilidad’s four accompanying merchant ships have gunsenough to be threatening; the Italian vessels raise their flags oneafter another when they find themselves so clearly outnumbered.

Which is how thefleet gains four more ships –  thoughone is too damaged forpractical use or repair, short of having it somehow towed along. Thatship’s crew are evacuated onto the other vessels, where they watchwith grim eyes as Temeraire batters the ship beneath the waves.

Laurence,resigned, puts the remaining four under Peura’s command when shearrives. The grand Laska Joutsen seems to properly subduethem, though Laurence expects a number of the sailors will need to beput to shore when they make port.

More importantly -

“The hull?”Laurence clarifies. His Mandarin is still too poor for directconversation, and the Chinese woman is starting to look a littleexasperated. He glances at Temeraire for help.

“It has holes,”says the Celestial helpfully. “ - Which is quite bad, I think?”

They flag down thecaptain, after that. But Pan Zhong seems entirely unconcerned.

“He says only asmall part of the ship will sink,” Temeraire translatesdubiously. “No, let me try again - “ They speak further. “ -That is, only part of the ship will take water; I suppose it issectioned very well, under the deck, so damage to one area does notruin the whole ship. That is an excellent notion, Laurence, why dothe other ships not work like that?”

“I will have toinspect their design more thoroughly later, dear.” If what PanZhong says is true than it’s certainly impressive. “They arecertain?”

“ - Mostlycertain.”

Laurence frowns.The weight of a dragon will certainly not help repairs. “Let usmove inland, then – Temeraire, swim alongside the Laska Joutsenfor now, if you please. We will have to find a port of repair.”

But Pan Zhongargues viciously – not that Laurence can understand much of it –and finally Temeraire says, “He says it would be shameful,Laurence, to abandon a Celestial for such a little thing. He doesn’twant to leave the fleet.”

“That is noreason to risk his ship.”

“Well, perhapswe might keep sailing, and go inland if there is a problem? We canstay by the shore.”

It will benecessary to remain near the shore if the Wenglong cannotsupport Temeraire; he can hardly land on any of the other ships. “- As you like,” Laurence says at last. “I will consult withCaptain Sala about likely ports on our way to the bay.”

The convoy makesslower progress after that, though no one seems to be in low spirits.17 ships, Laurence thinks, almost in disbelief. He’s not quite surehow this keeps happening. Britain should be pleased, at least. Thethought cheers him.

Temeraire, who hasearned a well-deserved sleep, suddenly shifts and jerks his headupright after a few hours of sailing within just a few miles of theshore. “Do you hear that?” he demands of Laurence.

Laurence has beenlistening to the increasingly confusing calls of Mandarin beingthrown around the deck; he sighs. “If I did, I did not understand,”he mutters.

“There is adragon,” Temeraire insists. “On the shore! No – two – three –I think one of them is certainly hurt, Laurence.”

“Then it is goodhe is with friends,” Laurence suggests. He knows where this isgoing.

“But you saidthere should be few cities around here,” Temeraire argues. “Whatif they are having trouble flying? We must help – you were sayingonly the other day how very necessary it is to be considerate ofothers.”

That particularconversation had been an attempt to limit Temeraire’s piraticalhabits. “Yes,” Laurence agrees, resigned. “I suppose I did sayso; very well. Pray tell Captain Zhongthat we will be leaving, after all.”