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cognacandlilac · 2 years ago

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To the Depths - Part One

(Pirate!Silco x Fem!Reader)

An Admirable Spirit

Part 2 - Part 3.1

Rating: Explicit, MDNI

Set during the golden age of piracy, you are unwillingly engaged to an honorable Captain of Piltover’s navy when you’re kidnapped and held for ransom by a notorious and fearsome pirate.

Chapter Tags: kidnapping, suggestive content, mild knife play (?)

AO3

“I don’t want to do this,” you say for the third time since you stepped into the carriage. Your father presses his fingers into his temple and tries not to look as worn down as you know he feels. You have that effect on him but - to your credit - you feel bad about it most of the time. But not today.

“He’s your fiancé. You should want to spend time with him.”

“I barely know the man and you know how I feel about marriage,” you fire back, sticking to your script. Now, your father will bring up your mother and the wonderful marriage they shared before she died ten years ago. He’ll hammer in the point that their marriage was also arranged and how he can’t imagine loving anyone the way he loved her.

“Your mother and I-”

“Please,” you groan, tipping your face toward the window to catch a bit of breeze. It’s a cool morning, cooler than you’d expect for the time of year. Something heavy hangs in the air. You pray for a storm. “Spare me.”

“Captain Vander is a respectable man. Honorable. His men speak highly of him.”

“I’m sure that’s all true,” you nod. In fairness, Captain Vander has been nothing but polite and companionable in the handful of hours you’ve spent together under the watchful gazes of chaperones. “But that’s not enough to make me want to marry him.”

“What would you have me do?” The cold note in your father’s voice catches you off guard. “When I’m gone, who is going to provide for you?”

“I’d be able to provide for myself if I inherited the company,” you fire back. Your father built Star Crossed Shipping from nothing. Your childhood memories of him are few and far between since he was always at sea. When your mother died, your father made the bold decision to bring you along on his ventures. Those were the happiest three years of your life.

You crisscrossed the globe and learned more about the world than you ever could in a finishing school. You were able to grow close to your father in a way you hadn’t been able to before.

When you came of age and were expected to take your place in society, you didn’t think you’d actually have to return to Piltover. The day your father told you that you were to remain at the family estate to brush up on etiquette and dancing was the second darkest day of your life, after your mother’s death.

Without your knowledge, your father had arranged for your aunt on your mother’s side to guide you into becoming the lady you’re supposed to be. You weren’t a fool. You knew that being the daughter of a wealthy merchant came with expectations. You were okay with all of those expectations for the first fifteen years of your life. In fact, you actually looked forward to the day you could wear a beautiful gown, twirl around the dance floor with the handsome son of a politician, and fall in love. Life was laid out before you in neat little tiles.

Then you felt what it was like to sail through the open ocean, to survive storms so brutal you sometimes believed a giant cosmic hand swirled the skies and directed the very lightning, to see colorful ports all over the world, and to taste food so incredible it holds a place in your dreams. Compared to those three years at sea, everything else seemed dull.

Yet, that isn’t the worst part. You would have been able to accept that you couldn’t spend your life sailing the seas with your father. You understood the expectations placed on you hadn’t gone anywhere just because your mother died and your life took a turn for the unconventional.

But you were blindsided. No one prepared you. No one bothered to ask what you wanted. You were left behind without warning and everything in your life changed once again. You were betrayed.

You quickly realized none of the eligible suitors you once would have been glad to know and even marry could ever give you the life you wanted. You became impossible to court, evading invitations and intentions until they lost interest in you.

Last year, just after you turned twenty-five, your father suffered an injury that ensured he would not be able to travel with any of his ships for the foreseeable future. He quickly caught onto your schemes to avoid marriage and put a stop to them.

Within months, he introduced you to Captain Vander who proudly served in Piltover’s navy. Six months later, there was a ring on your finger, though you only wore it when you absolutely had to.

“I don’t want that life for you,” your father sighs. “I want you to have a safe, comfortable life. A stable life. Business owners don’t get to have that.”

Guilt shone in his eyes. Guilt for never being around when you were a child. Guilt over the loss of your mother. Guilt over abandoning you at the estate to save himself the pain of actually telling you what was going to happen.

“I know,” you say, your voice soft. As much as he might deserve to drown in that guilt, you don’t like to see it. You understand he truly thinks he’s doing the right thing.

You’re jostled as the carriage takes an unexpected turn. You glance out the window once more. “We’re going to the harbor?”

Your father’s face brightens. “Captain Vander thought you might like to see his new ship. The Council just awarded it to him. Word of your engagement has left a positive impression. I’m certain he’ll be promoted within the year.”

“Oh!” You choke out a hollow laugh. “I’m so thrilled to know that my freedom bought someone else a fine new ship. That’s just delightful.”

“Enough,” he sighs. “Spew your venom at me, if you must, but I expect you to treat Captain Vander with the respect he deserves.”

“When have I not?” You challenge.

“He’s not a dullard. He knows your affections still need to grow.”

“Which has nothing to do with respect,” you point out. “If he’s after my affection, then he’s welcome to earn it.”

You know damn well he won’t be able to. Friendship? Perhaps in time. Affection? Never. Your heart and your mind are the only two things that can’t be bought and bartered by someone else and you plan to keep both well within your control.

The carriage comes to a halt and a footman scrambles down from his perch beside the driver to open your door.

“Thank you,” you say and make your way to the front of the carriage to give the horses an affectionate pat. You’re only beastly to those who deserve it.

You silently follow your father down the dock, taking in the comforting sight of so many magnificent ships. Though it’s early in the day, the dock is quiet. Everything exciting happens closer to dawn. Pity. You would have liked to see what goods are going in and out.

You make a note of the ships that bear the insignia of your father’s company, whether they are ships he owns or ships he’s chartered. There aren’t many, but that doesn’t tell you much. You’ve been kept in the dark about business aspects since you came of age. As far as you know, everything is going well with the company but you still enjoy the details.

Your father approaches a ship that is, frankly, magnificent. The hull of the heavy frigate boasts a fresh coat of deep blue paint with a brilliant red stripe beneath the closed canon hatches. You count thirteen, meaning twenty-six in total. Enough to reduce any challenging ship to splinters.

Your eyes drift toward the bow where the ship’s name, The Hound, is painted in bold red letters. A completely new ship, then.

As far as you know, Piltover isn’t at risk of being pulled into a war and the navy is more than equipped to handle any conflicts they might come across at sea. Why build a brand new frigate when there are surely several waiting to be placed back in commission?

The Council must truly favor Captain Vander or they know something you don’t.

You gather your skirts so you can traverse the gangplank without tripping. As you board, you tip your face up to inspect the three towering masts. The sails are furled, but you can see how pristinely white they are from where you stand. You’re so busy looking at the rigging that you nearly collide with Captain Vander’s broad chest.

“Quite a sight, isn’t she?” The pride in his voice is unmistakable.

“She is, indeed.” You don’t even have to fake a smile. The ship truly is spectacular. “You must be happy, Captain.”

“Vander, please,” he dips his head before offering his arm. Knowing your father is watching and you’ve already put his nerves on edge, you take it. You don’t miss the hint of surprise flashing across the Captain’s face. Aside from one dance at a Council ball, you’ve kept your distance from him.

“Have you taken her out to sea yet, Captain?” You ask, keeping your voice kind but your boundary firm. Captain Vander takes it in stride.

“Just once to make sure everything works the way it ought to,” he says. “We’ll join the regular patrols later in the week.”

“You’ll be the envy of the armada, no doubt.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckles. Again, you feel a twinge of guilt beneath your breastbone. It would be easier to despise him if he weren’t so damn nice. “Tea?”

He ushers you to a small table near the bow, set for three. Two uniformed crew members wait in attendance, every button polished to perfection.

“How thoughtful,” you smile, though you’re certain the hovering crewmates have better things to do. Surely, this can’t be in their job description. The crewmate closest to you, a young woman with a shock of pink hair and a scar on her upper lip, looks like she’d rather be scraping barnacles off the hull.

“May I introduce my first mate, Violet?” Captain Vander gestures to the pink-haired woman, who dips forward in a shallow bow.

“Pleased to meet you.” You allow the tiniest hint of apology to bleed into your smile. You didn’t ask for this. If Violet notices, she doesn’t let on.

Captain Vander turns his attention to the second crewmate, a young man with a kind face and a quiet demeanor though he was almost twice the size of Violet. “And this is gunnery chief Claggor.”

Claggor bows as well and offers a kind smile. “An honor, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” you correct gently, “but the honor is mine. With twenty-six cannons, you must feel quite spoiled.”

“I do,” he grins, relaxing a touch. “The armory isn’t anything to scoff at, either. Of course, I hope we’ll never have to use them in true battle.”

“Of course,” you agree.

“Where’s Mylo?” Captain Vander asks Violet.

“Up in the crow’s nest,” she replies. “Wasn’t structurally sound enough for his liking.”

“Ah,” the Captain nods. “I’ll leave him to it. You two may return to your posts. Should Mylo come down, send him this way.”

“Yes, sir,” Violet nods before she and Claggor depart.

Captain Vander pulls out a seat for you and invites your father to sit as well. Rather than take the last seat, Captain Vander pours the tea.

“My Quartermaster Benzo is quite fond of the culinary arts,” he explains, gesturing to the elegant trays of tea cakes, finger sandwiches, and delicate confections. “I tell him every week he should have gone to the culinary arts academy instead of joining the navy with me, but he didn’t want to turn a hobby into a job. We’ll hire an actual cook when The Hound is eventually deployed, but Benzo is happy to do it for now.”

“You trained at the naval academy together?” You take a sip of tea. It’s delicious. Rich and sweetly spiced. Nothing like the mild floral teas stocked in your home.

“Oh, yes. We’ve been thick as thieves since we were children. There was quite a merry band of us for a time.” A shadow flickers across his face but it’s gone in an instant. “We graduated together and ensured we were assigned to the same vessels while we were climbing the ranks. We taught at the academy for a spell, too. That’s where we found Vi, Claggor, Mylo, and a few others. Kept them with us ever since. We’ve become something of a family.”

Your cup clatters against your saucer as you realize why Captain Vander invited you aboard his ship. Perhaps he did want to show off The Hound, but this is his way of introducing you to his family.

You’ve never met his parents. You don’t even know if he has parents. The Piltover Navy is a common refuge for those with limited options, including orphans. It strikes you just how little you know about the man whose ring you wear on your finger.

This is exactly why you shouldn’t be his, or anyone’s, damn wife.

You take another sip of tea while you scramble to come up with an appropriate change of subject.

“It seems such a shame to keep such an incredible ship bobbing against the dock,” you say. “Might I persuade you to take me on a brief voyage?”

Your father murmurs your name with a smile on his face but a warning in his eyes. You elect to ignore him and fix Captain Vander with your most charming smile.

“I’ve never gotten the chance to see you in your element, Captain,” you say. “And I would think myself a poor guest for not being able to fully admire The Hound’s splendor and the strong bonds of your crew.”

That does it. He gives you an indulgent smile before rising from his seat and approaching his First Mate.

“What are you trying to do?” Your father whispers as soon as Captain Vander is out of earshot.

“I’m doing what you asked,” you reply, all doe-eyes and fluttering lashes. “I’m taking an interest in the man you’ve sold me to.”

“It’s a marriage agreement, not indentured servitude.”

“Then walk down the aisle yourself.”

All around you, the deck has come to life. Getting a ship of this size underway is no small feat. Bringing your tea with you, you step away from the table and wade into the whirlwind of activity, careful to stay out of the way. Before long, those clean white sails are unfurled and the mooring lines are released.

Captain Vander stands on the weather deck before the helm, surveying the crew. He gives orders to Violet with calm authority and she relays those orders to the rest of the crew, her voice cracking like a whip.

You make your way up the steps of the weather deck and position yourself at the bow while The Hound glides toward the heart of the harbor. Captain Vander joins you.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re used to getting your way?” He chuckles.

“On the contrary, Captain, I can’t recall the last time something went my way.” You keep your eyes fixed on the open ocean beyond the shelter of the harbor.

“If you could have anything you want, right this moment, what would it be?”

You nearly say that you’d ask to be released from your engagement, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. Blindsiding him like that, on his own ship no less, would be cruel. You can find a way out of the marriage without inflicting unnecessary pain.

“Take The Hound beyond the harbor,” you say.

“Out to sea?”

“Not for long. Just a few minutes.”

“You enjoy the sea, don’t you?”

“I do.” That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but you’re not about to clue Captain Vander into the deepest longings of your heart.

“Alright.”

You turn to look at him. “Seriously?”

“A few unauthorized minutes at sea won’t kill anyone,” he winks before striding away to dispense fresh orders to the crew.

You grip the railing as the bow shifts until The Hound is headed straight for open water. The wind picks up and you take in greedy lungfuls until the ache you’ve carried in your chest for years starts to lift.

Within minutes, The Hound is beyond the shelter of the harbor. Nothing but endless blue stretches out before you. For a moment, you forget who you are and where you are. All you let yourself see is the endless possibilities in front of you. Beautiful countries, wonders beyond imagination, and freedom.

Far too soon, noise crashes through the fantasy you’ve woven for yourself. It takes you a moment too long to realize the noise isn’t just noise, but cries of alarm. You turn away from the bow to see Captain Vander’s crew darting across the deck, preparing the cannons on the port side.

You lean over the railing to see a sleek little sloop quickly gaining on The Hound. The black painted hull has seen better days. It’s covered in chips and scrapes. Disheveled men stand on the deck, their shouts laced with malice and sinister glee. Most incredibly, the sails of the rundown sloop are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Bolts of deep red stretch against the wind. The color makes you think of pomegranates and dying roses.

“Get back and stay out of sight.” Captain Vander appears at your side only to vanish after pushing you toward the galley stairs. Your teacup is abandoned on the nearest surface.

You don’t go below deck, though you probably should. The idea of not being able to see what’s happening is more than you can handle. Instead, you press yourself against the starboard railing and watch the masts of the approaching ship.

You quickly realize The Hound’s cannons are positioned too high to deal much damage to the other ship, which veers close enough for you to anticipate a collision.

You watch the opposite railing, waiting to see barbed hooks dig into the wood as the attacking crew prepares to board The Hound, but that doesn’t happen. You hear them jeering and shouting as Captain Vander orders his riflemen to take their positions.

Something about this isn’t right, besides the obvious. A small number of your father’s shipments have been pirated over the years. Occupational hazard. You’ve never witnessed piracy in person, but you’ve heard the stories.

Sleek, rundown ships quickly gaining on heavier ships carrying precious cargo. They sneak up right against their target ship, launch hooks and lines followed by crude gangplanks allowing them to board, and then they wreak havoc.

You check the masts of the other ship. It’s not flying any colors, not even the black flag. You spy someone in the crow’s nest, a skinny girl who looks several years your junior with brilliant blue braids. You can’t make out what she’s doing. From your vantage point, she seems to just be…enjoying herself. She nearly distracts you from the actual problem at hand. The other ship is in the perfect position to board The Hound, but they make no move to do so.

While you’re grateful for that, you don’t understand why they aren’t pressing their obvious advantage. Who are they? What do they want?

Captain Vander’s crew fires their weapons. Your gaze shoots back to the girl in the crow’s nest but she’s unbothered. In fact, she’s laughing. None of the shots fired from The Hound appear to be directed at her, as far as you can tell. You hear no screams of pain or agony so you have to assume that the riflemen aren’t hitting their targets on purpose. Even your father has found a spare rifle to carry, though you never see him actually fire it.

You keep a sharp eye on what you can see of the other ship. As soon as the other crew attempts to board, you’ll scurry below deck.

A hand clamps around your wrist and pulls it behind your back, setting you off balance. You assume you’re being manhandled by a well-meaning member of Captain Vander’s crew and prepare to politely rectify the situation, but then you hear his voice.

“Scream for me, pretty one.”

Never in your life have you heard a voice like that. All darkness and silk and deadly secrets. For a split second, you’re too stunned to do anything but marvel at the sound. You quickly snap back to reality, teeth bared and anger snapping.

“Get your hands off me!” You throw your head back, hoping to collide with a face. Instead, the hand on your wrist wrenches your arm further behind your back, sending pain straight into your joints. You lurch forward in an attempt to escape the pressure only to feel the cold kiss of a blade against your throat. You’re trapped and have no choice but to go still.

“There we go. You’re a proper sweetheart with the right leverage, aren’t you?” His breath tickles your neck and you feel a sharp nose brush against the shell of your ear. You fight off a shudder to avoid nicking your throat on his blade.

“I will put the hangman’s noose around your neck myself,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Your assailant laughs low in your ear, smooth like rolling thunder. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Now, scream.”

Screaming would be the wise thing to do. Captain Vander and the rest of the crew are still trying to drive off the sloop, which you realize must have been a diversion so the man behind you could sneak aboard. Yet, the foolish part of you that writhes with oil-slick anger absolutely refuses to do anything this man says.

“Do I need to make it hurt, beauty?” The blade at your throat moves lower and twists until the point presses against the swell of your left breast. When you say nothing, he presses the knife harder into your skin. You hold your breath, waiting for the faint stinging sensation to grow into true pain, but that never happens.

“Interesting,” he murmurs but before you can figure out what he means, he lifts his chin. “Captain Vander!”

Captain Vander goes deadly still before slowly turning around, his face a mask of pure rage until he sees you.

“Let her go,” he says with that same controlled authority he uses when he gives orders to his crew. The man behind you simply laughs.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands.” The knife returns to your throat.

Several of the crew raise their rifles but Captain Vander signals for them to hold.

A man similar in size to Vander, wearing a stained apron over his uniform, thunders up the stairs. The Quartermaster, you assume. Unfortunately, his booming footfalls alert your assailant to his presence. You’re swiftly moved farther down the deck, your body acting as a perfect shield.

The Quartermaster’s eyes land on you, then the man behind you. His eyes fill with not only rage but recognition.

“Silco?” He snarls before looking at Captain Vander. “How the fuck did he get on board?”

They know the man holding you hostage. You aren’t sure if that makes the situation better or worse.

“Step back, Benzo,” Captain Vander orders. The Quartermaster reluctantly does as he’s told. Dozens of rifles remain trained on you. Surely, one of them is a fine enough marksman to get you out of this predicament.

“Someone take the bloody shot!” You shout. Isn’t this crew supposed to be the pride of Piltover’s Navy?

“Hold your fire!” Captain Vander insists before fixing your assailant with a murderous look. “What do you want?”

“Your fiancé knows how to cooperate,” the man, Silco, whispers to you. “Perhaps you could learn something from him.”

You fix your gaze straight ahead and say nothing.

“I’ve come to negotiate a trade,” Silco says.

“You have nothing I want,” Captain Vander snarls.

“Don’t I?” Silco pulls you in tighter, your hands trapped between his abdomen and your lower back. You feel him press into the curve of your backside, sending heat to your cheeks that grows into a fever of anger and humiliation when he moans into your hair. “Vander, you lucky devil.”

“Forget the noose, I’ll kill you myself.” Your nerves mutate what should have been a scathing threat into a pathetic whisper.

“What do you want, Silco?” Captain Vander repeats.

“Your little treasure is going to come with me. In that lovely office of yours, you’ll find a note detailing a date, a location, and a sum of money. If you follow my instructions, your fiancée will be returned to you unharmed.”

“And if I refuse?”

The blade presses into your throat hard enough to make you flinch. “You wouldn’t make me slit such a pretty throat, would you?”

“Do something!” Your father stammers, shaking Captain Vander’s arm. For a moment, you think Captain Vander is going to run at Silco or order his crew to open fire, but then his shoulders sink.

“If she comes to any harm, even a bruise, I will tear you apart.”

Disgust rolls through you as you look from the useless crewmates to your useless father, and finally your useless fiancé.

“I’m glad we could come to an arrangement. Come along, beauty.” Long fingers wrap around both of your wrists, pinning them together behind your back.

He lowers his blade and you don’t hesitate to dart forward, wrenching your arms against his grip with all your strength but he’s so strong he might as well have you in irons. Your wrists bark in protest as they’re crushed under the pressure of his grip. He yanks you back again, forcing you to stumble and turn toward him. You slam into his chest, hoping to throw him off balance, but he simply laughs.

“I admire your spirit. I sincerely hope I won’t have to break it.”

You feel the tip of his blade under your chin, forcing you to look up. Your eyes snap to his and you can’t stop the horrified gasp that tumbles from your lips.

One eye bores into you, blue-green and as volatile as a stormy sea. The other is something out of a nightmare. Black as the depths with a broken iris of pure hellfire surrounded by ruined flesh and jagged scars that stretch all the way down to his mouth.

You know this man, though not by the name the others called him. You know him only as The Eye.

You thought he was just a story, a tall tale used to terrify naughty children. During those years at sea, your father often used that story to usher you below deck when passing through waters he deemed dangerous. Hell, you’ve told horror stories about The Eye to scare a cabin boy or two into behaving.

Never once did you think there was a speck of truth behind those stories of a cursed ship crewed by men twice damned under the orders of a vile, depraved captain who was more monster than man. A monster with an eye gifted to him by the devil himself.

Those stories never frightened you, but now you realize they should have.

The monster is very real and he has you in his clutches.

****

thank you thank you thank you to @silcoitus @sherwood-forests and @averagecrastinator for beta-reading. ioweyoumylifeandlove

#silco x reader #pirate!silco #silco fanfic #silco x you #silco #arcane pirate au #silco pirate au #arcane silco #silco arcane #mdni

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