#talking to ned about letting james mcgraw go vs. talking with miranda about letting james flint go

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𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐃'𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄, but this was a night to be lost within his own mind. his own thoughts left room for little else. and thus, he simply nodded his thanks at the man's apology for flint's loss. for the death of miranda, a woman with whom ned had always quarreled. but he had learned well of late that those who hold hatred for one another may still band together for a cause.

❛ mm. all the fresh faces to join the account these past weeks, all fools riding the coattails of real mens' success. we forged the way for them, cultivated the land where they reap harvest. ❜ tone little but a low growl from his throat. A SIGH escaped parted lips, head dipped to rest in a free hand which massaged at his temple a moment. ❛ but doesn't a fair king wish to provide for his subjects? ❜ god, his head felt so fucking full. his body so exhausted it felt as though it would crumple beneath him if he stood. but he wouldn't let it.

NO REST FOR THE WICKED.

some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders at the warm touch of ned's hand. fingers intertwined. the only one of his lovers left standing at the end of it all. the only one who truly knew james flint ; knew him, and EMBRACED him wholly as he was. when his gaze angled back up to meet with the other's, it was resigned. resolute. ❛ everyone who knew james mcgraw is dead. ❜ his conversation with miranda rang loud in his head : was he ready to let captain flint go? a conversation had in another time, another world. his jaw set. ❛ perhaps it's time to let him go at last. return him to the sea. ❜

Ned had heard rumors, here and there, and he'd been uncertain of their validity, but one look at James and he could tell from the state of him that at least some of the rumors were true. He had resigned himself to Miranda Hamilton's existence a long time ago, had known that she was one of those very few things he could not touch unless he wanted to lose James forever, most likely via losing his own life. But now she was gone.

Still, there was something genuine in Ned's voice when he reached a hand out, laid it over the other man's, and said, "I am sorry, James." Ned was being sincere - he was truly sorry that he didn't get to kill her, this last little thread of James to his past, who always tried to make him good, who never really saw the beauty in his violence, in his madness. A shame that someone had taken the opportunity from him to end her life himself.

Yet, what was it they said? When one door closed, another opened.

Ned simply eyed James for a long moment as he spoke - he wanted to take that twitching lip between his teeth and pull - this was a venture to take carefully. The flames of violence were there already, but a bit of fanning would not go amiss. A disapproving tut, curling his fingers up with James' own, tangling them together, intertwining them, connecting them, "They see every last one of us as monsters, regardless of our actions, regardless of who actually deserves the title." Offensive, it was, that the lowliest of powder monkey on some greenhorn's ship could be painted with the same brush as Ned Low, but that was the way of the law of England. A bit of a chide, for it'd be far too off putting if Ned didn't try to bait him, "You're right. I did warn you. Perhaps you'd be wise to listen to me more in the future."