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morganaseren · 2 years ago

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Pairing for thought: Josephine and Niamh

Y'all are just determined to never let the plot bunnies inside my head rest, huh? 😂 Well, lucky for you all, I've actually thought about this pairing before, mostly because I romanced Josephine in two previous Inquisition runs, and I think she's absolutely sweet. 🥰 For those of you whom have been reading OtSttCA, you'll know that Niamh is quite diplomatic and tends to take the route of peace whenever possible, so I imagine she and Josephine would get along rather well as a couple!

Things to Know:

No Blight of Darkspawn threat, but it will take place around the same time Origins does in 9:31 Dragon.

The Circle of Magi doesn't exist, so mages live freely.

The Veil was never torn apart, so elves also live freely in addition to being rather long-lived.

Based on lore, the Montilyets were originally a naval power in Antiva until 8:31 Blessed, where they lost favor with the Du Paraquettes over the alleged matter of marriage and fidelity. Incensed, the Du Paraquettes established a contract with the House of Repose to keep the family out of Orlais, but this exile brought the once formidable family to near ruin.

For the purposes of this AU, however, we're going to say the above schism happened closer to the turn of the new Age. Instead of the claim of infidelity, the Du Paraquettes (falsely) accused the Montilyets of cheating them out of merchant goods in this verse. This leads to the Montilyets to be blacklisted by the merchant industry.

By the time Josephine is barely a teenager, her parents are still trying to restore their reputation and fortune in much the same way Josephine herself did canonically in Inquisition. The Montilyets are barely keeping afloat as is by then, for where they once held hundreds of ships in testament to their power, they now maybe only have half a dozen or so at best.

Unfortunately, their push to return to Orlais led to the House of Repose going after them as deemed necessary by their contract, and to make matters worse, the Du Paraquettes also hired Rivaini pirates to sink any ships bearing the Montilyet crest. The latter happened when the family was sailing along the Waking Sea. The voyage was meant to be a family vacation of sorts to help them forget about their woes for a bit when they were suddenly attacked.

Thankfully, they were saved when a fleet of Mac Eanraig warships happened upon them during a patrol.

The Mac Eanraig clan held a fierce reputation as notorious raiders against Orlesian ships during the Fereldan Rebellion, and with the war's aftermath, the royal family tasked them with the crucial duty of guarding the country's waters as their premier naval power. The clan's influence also grew, however, when Eleanor Mac Eanraig (the famed Sea Wolf of the war) later married Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever. In terms of hierarchy, the Couslands are only a tier below the monarchy of Ferelden.

With that knowledge along with the realization their children were now in even greater danger with the vendetta from both the Du Paraquettes and Rivaini pirates against them, Josephine's parents beg the Mac Eanraigs to arrange a meeting with the Couslands. In doing so, they hope to have Josephine betrothed to one of Bryce and Eleanor's children. The engagement of their daughter to a member of such a respected family would serve as a deterrent for their enemies against further attacking them until Josephine's parents can at least find any legal loopholes to stop the Du Paraquettes.

The Couslands feel for the Montilyets' plight and accept the betrothal on the condition that their youngest daughter (and only unmarried child) also agrees to the arrangement.

Thus, Josephine finds herself in the unexpected and unenviable position of having to convince someone she's never even met to marry her.

There is a bit of an age difference between Niamh and Josephine. As I recall, Josephine's writer mentioned she was anywhere between 27-29 years old in Inquisition whereas Niamh would be 33 by then. Since this AU takes place in 9:31 Dragon, I'm going to average Josephine's age out to be 18 around that time while Niamh would be 23.

With that all out of the way, I'm going to leave you all with a scene of Josephine and Niamh meeting for the first time!

Note: Anything written in regular print is an actual excerpt from the WIP while anything italicized just happens to be vague thoughts I have about certain scenes I plan on writing.

---

It had been some weeks since Josephine and her siblings had settled into Castle Cousland. The Teyrn and Teyrna had been most gracious in making them feel welcome, which Josephine is grateful for. The separation from their parents is hard enough after all. Both had returned to Antiva with an escort of Mac Eanraig ships in tow to ensure their safety while they navigate through the murky waters of diplomacy in an attempt to re-establish their holdings.

Her siblings seem happy enough to explore their new surroundings. While their estate back home wasn't terribly modest, the castle exists on a scale of both storied history and magnificence that perhaps the only one that could rival it is the one owned by Ferelden's royal family. As it is, Castle Cousland is a sight to behold—appropriate for a family whose name stretches back well into the Towers Age.

Still, the fact Josephine is there at all is just another unwanted reminder of the expectations placed upon her. With perhaps the exception of her brother Laurien—the next eldest behind her—their other siblings likely couldn't understand what's at stake if she fails.

At its core, her goal is to secure a negotiation. She's studied enough in regards to administration and diplomacy (with the hopes that her knowledge would eventually come to help ease the stress that weighed so heavily upon her parents) that she's at least confident in being able to present a case to her would-be suitor.

...of course, she's yet to see the woman in question.

---

Little bit of Cousland and Mac Eanraig backstory to help make sense of things!

So Bryce and Eleanor have three children: Fergus, Saoirse (my canon Hero of Ferelden), and Niamh.

As the firstborn, Fergus will become Teyrn of Highever once Bryce retires. Given the Blight never happened, he's still happily married to Oriana, and their young son Oren aspires to be a noble warrior just like his father one day.

Saiorse is serving as an up-and-coming Commander of Ferelden's royal army. She's married to Leliana, an expatriate of Orlais, who now serves as the Spymaster of Ferelden.

Niamh, of course, is the youngest. Because of her strong familial ties to the Mac Eanraig family, she's widely-acknowledged as the named heir and successor to her Aunt Eithne, who never married or had children of her own, which means the mantle as head of the Mac Eanraig clan as well as the position of Admiral to the family's entire fleet will go to Niamh by right upon her aunt's retirement or death.

For the time being, however, Niamh's position in this verse is similar to the one she has in her Take Me Under AU, where she's the Captain of the Mac Eanraig's fleet of research vessels. Their purpose is the study and conservation of marine biology, which is well-suited to Niamh's inner scholar. 🤓

Niamh still has access to her magic in this AU, and while it's true that she's grown up and trained on warships nearly all her life like her mother before her, she reserves violence as a last resort. Of course, she's not above protecting those near and dear to her in whatever way she can, which we'll discover later. 😉

Back to the story!

---

Josephine knows the Teyrn's youngest daughter is hardly avoiding her.

The woman's duties to her extended family, however, meant she was still out at sea by the time Josephine and her siblings had first docked at Amaranthine's port and settled into Highever.

Unfortunately, each day that passes without any progress toward securing a marriage contract only seems to fill Josephine with nagging doubt over her ability to see the matter through. As a means of distraction, she busies herself with fussing over the welfare of her younger siblings, but by then, each had found their own ways of keeping themselves occupied around the castle and the teyrnir in general (under the patient supervision of the various members of the castle guard, of course). Thus, they don't necessarily need Josephine at their side at every waking moment.

Uncertain with what to do with herself one day, Josephine mindlessly meanders through the castle's sprawling gardens. Therein, she sits in the shadows beneath the base of a large tree, and in the calm serenity surrounding her, the very careful mask of controlled dignity she's been wearing until that moment finally starts to crumble. Despite her best efforts, she can't stop her tears once they start. She doesn't know how long she sits there, weeping quietly into her hands. Soon enough, however, her breath hitches with a start when she feels the touch of a cold nose and whiskers against her leg.

Briefly bunching her fingers into fists with her fright, she looks down to see what is ostensibly a small, white cloud at first glance. Confused, she gracelessly wipes the tears from her eyes to clear her vision, but when she does, she sees a little puppy sitting before her instead, who watches her with a curious tilt of a head—a sight that's made all the more adorable with his drooping ears and his soft whine of concern.

Upon closer inspection, she also discovers the pup isn't quite a uniform white. Along his back is a gradient of dark fur markings, similar to a standard mabari. A little storm cloud then, she thinks with some amusement. Josephine wagers he's part of some specialized breed. She's curious as to how he got there though, but he seems friendly enough. She giggles when he licks at her fingers when she moves to pet him, causing his little tail to wag happily.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

The voice startles her for the second time in as many minutes, and she looks up to see a woman standing just at the shadowed edge of the tree. As if in answer to her earlier question, Josephine spots a multitude of white-furred puppies milling around the woman's legs. She reasons they're litter mates of her newest companion. Two mabari warhounds also stand nearby, but their appearance there at all makes Josephine wonder if the woman is perhaps one of Highever's Kennel Masters. She certainly has the musculature of someone not unused to hard work, and Josephine finds that she has to keep herself from staring at the bare arms on display before her. It doesn't simply have to do with the defined lines on them—or at least that's what she tries to convince herself—but moreso her surprise that the other woman doesn't seem at all cold.

Granted, the weather in Southern Thedas is certainly far cooler than what Josephine is used to, especially with the onset of autumn here, but the woman seemed exceedingly comfortable in her simple outfit of a sleeveless tunic, leather trousers, and boots--all a uniform black save for the silver buckle of her belt to cinch the tunic tighter around her waist.

The limited color palette pair well with the woman's appearance though with gentle waves of hair as dark as a raven's wing along with eyes that are like liquid moonlight.

Josephine also can't help but notice her accent is similar to the one borne by the various men and women whom make up the impressive Mac Eanraig fleet in Amaranthine—a distinctive, airy inflection that doesn't quite align with the standard Fereldan lilt. Could she be the daughter of one of the former raiders?

When the woman merely tilts her head in question—the gesture reminding her of the same one the puppy did earlier—Josephine flushes with embarrassment when she realizes she still hasn't responded to the earlier question.

"Oh! Please, pay me little mind. I'm just being silly..." She looks down at her lap with a sigh. "Honestly, it's a foolish thing to cry over."

But that only leads the woman's brows to draw together in concern. "If it's driven you to tears, my lady, then I'm inclined to disagree. You needn't tell me all the details if you don't wish to, but if you'd perhaps like someone to listen to your concerns as a means of navigating your thoughts and emotions, then I would not be opposed to doing so."

The offer is a kind one, Josephine acknowledges. She bites her lip in thought while her restless fingers gently pluck at the folds of her dress.

"My family is in danger. As a means to try and protect my siblings and I from further attacks by our enemies, my parents arranged a betrothal for me to a woman I've never even met. In order for the arrangement to even work though, she would also have to agree to it, and..." Josephine pauses with a sniffle. "...and I'm terrified that she won't. No one would agree to an engagement on such limited notice!" she blurts out. "I know I was always expected to marry as the presumptive heir to my family, but I never imagined it would be this soon! There's still much so much I want to do with my life, and I know it's selfish of me to even think that, especially since going through with this would mean my brothers and sister would be safe, but if I can't convince my wife-to-be to agree to the marriage contract, then this would all have been doomed from the start! I don't want to fail them when so much rests on me successfully negotiating this!"

Josephine can feel her thoughts spiraling anxiously as her words came out in an undignified rush, but she can't help herself. A look up at her guest reveals those misty-grey eyes have gone wide with seeming realization of the situation. Josephine's embarrassed that someone has seen her fall apart like this, but she can only give a grateful, watery smile when the other woman pulls out a handkerchief for her, which she uses to delicately dab at her eyes.

"If I could politely inquire," the woman begins quietly, "would you even be happy in this arranged marriage?"

"In time, perhaps," she replies tearfully. "My parents were also an arranged pair, but they grew to love each other greatly. I can only hope the same would be true of my partner and I. Still, I cannot help but envy the Teyrn and Teyrna," she admits.

Stories of The Soldier and The Sea Wolf had been told even all the way in Antiva after all. They had both fought side by side in the war against Orlais, and in its aftermath, they had both chosen to marry each other for love rather than simply as a means to accumulate more power and influence—a concept most rare across Thedas.

"Ah, yes." The other woman seems just as familiar with the couple's history if her gentle smile is any indication. "I suppose they were rather lucky in that regard."

"Most can only hope to be so fortunate."

"Such as yourself, I imagine. It seems as if you're sacrificing a great deal in this betrothal."

But Josephine can only shake her head. "No more than what my parents have already sacrificed to keep my siblings and I safe. If I can ease their stress while also ensuring my brothers and sister will be free from harm, then I would gladly accept this engagement again and again." She absentmindedly twists the fabric of the handkerchief about between her fingers. "I just worry the Teyrn's and Teyrna's youngest daughter won't agree to it. What if she believes I'm not a worthy suitor? What if she doesn't like me?"

"Given the kindness of your heart, I have difficulty believing anyone would find you unlikable," the woman offers reasonably. She cants her head then. "But I imagine that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Josephine shakes her head. "No. I've never been away from Antiva like this before, and I know I have my siblings here with me, but it's just..." She hiccups before continuing on shakily. "...I'm still very far away from home, and I don't even know anyone here."

As if in reaction to her distress, the pup from earlier whines before doing his best to climb atop her lap to offer comfort. He's still rather uncoordinated, however, and a slip of a back paw immediately leads him to tumbling off it with startled yelp. Josephine can't help but giggle at the sight, but before she can offer to help the friendly little mabari up again, a shadow edges closer. She looks up just in time to see the other woman has quietly closed the distance between them to take a knee in the dirt beside her. Slim fingers wrap around the pup to lift him up, and Josephine has to bite her lip to keep from further laughing as his paws paddle madly in the air, as if attempting to swim his way toward her.

"My lady, I admit I don't have an answer to all of your immediate concerns," she begins, "but if it pleases you, perhaps you'd be interested in having this pup and I as your first friends here in Highever?"

In spite of herself, Josephine finds herself immediately taken in by the warm smile directed her way. Giggles fall effortlessly from her lips when the woman moves the puppy closer toward her—albeit slow enough that Josephine can move herself away if she desires it— allowing him to lick away the remainder of her tears.

As she stares into silver-colored eyes, she can't help but think, Why couldn't it be you I fell for?

---

Of course, there's a hilarious moment when Josephine realizes just who Niamh is when the woman in question sits across the table from her that evening at dinner, especially when she's properly introduced by her parents.

In comparison to her earlier outfit (Niamh had just arrived home from a long voyage and hadn't had a chance to change yet), she's wearing garments more fitting of her station as a Teyrn's daughter.

She looks utterly gorgeous, and there's a moment where Josephine wants to die from embarrassment because she somehow didn't make the connection earlier to Niamh's identity. Of course, her mortification only grows when her seven-year old sister (I'm making up ages for Josephine's siblings at this point) Yvette loudly points it out.

"Josephine, why is your face so red? Are you sick? You look like papa when he drinks too much of the juice at parties."

And then the rest of Josephine's siblings have a little fun at her expense by also teasing her.

Niamh takes the reunion in stride though, effortlessly drawing Josephine and her siblings into conversation throughout dinner, which ends with her asking if Josephine would like to join her for a stroll out to a pond in the garden.

Josephine agrees eagerly.

---

As mentioned earlier, Niamh wasn't at Highever when Josephine and her siblings first arrived weeks earlier. She was out at sea to document the migratory pattern of an endangered marine species. She was actually brainstorming ideas with the Commanders of her research vessels about how to best restore the habitat the creatures had once thrived in when she received a messenger raven from her parents, detailing the plight of the Montilyets, which also required her to return home as soon as possible.

Admittedly, it wasn't the best situation to discover herself in.

Given how busy Niamh is with her usual duties to both sides of her family, she hadn't really given much thought about marriage. She was still thinking about it by the time she arrived at her family's castle, and as a means to further contemplate her choices, she takes a stroll through the garden, offering to the castle's Kennel Master to walk the latest litter of mabari pups about as well.

It's there that she originally finds Josephine, and as she reveals her dilemma, Niamh quickly realizes this is the same woman she's to be potentially betrothed to. Their conversation together quickly cements Niamh's decision about the matter though.

Thus, she agrees to the arranged marriage that same evening, much to Josephine's relief. 😄

While Niamh was admittedly hesitant about the idea, the fact that they both seem to care deeply about their respective families sealed the deal for her. She wasn't sure if she'd do anything differently were she in Josephine's position. That, and she could tell that Josephine's genuinely a wonderful woman.

---

When she and Josephine later begin to draft together the contract, Niamh makes it exceedingly lax on her part.

She offers no set marriage date, so the engagement could very well be a years-long one without any real intention of a marriage ever happening. She also has no issue if Josephine chooses to take another lover during their engagement—a fact that scandalizes Josephine when it's brought up.

Niamh, of course, remembers Josephine mentioning how much she still wants to do in life. As such, Niamh's very determined to have Josephine lead as normal a life as possible without much intervention on her part. Although she agreed to the betrothal as a means to help Josephine's family, Niamh always wants her to have a choice, especially in regards to anything she feels most passionate about. Niamh wants her to have the freedom to choose whatever her heart desires even if it means they would eventually break off their engagement, especially if the Montilyets ever successfully restore their name and trading status.

As with any engagement, however, that does require them to spend time together.

Josephine hasn't grown up on a ship quite like Niamh and her family have. That opportunity was long lost to her thanks to the Du Paraquettes' claims against her family before she was even born. She's always held a great love of the water though, and I think Niamh would recognize that easily. As such, she constantly invites Josephine aboard her ship whenever she has to make research trips around Southern Thedas or even beyond it.

Niamh even makes a point of inviting Josephine's siblings along as well to share in the experience. While some would assume it to be an easy way of further ensuring their eventual marriage by earning the affections of her brothers and sister, Josephine realizes that Niamh also wants to make them feel just as welcome.

Yvette, the youngest of all Josephine's siblings, is practically Niamh's shadow, following her about with wide-eyed wonder, completely in awe over the woman who is both a respected Captain as well as an avid scholar and explorer.

Niamh comes to greatly enjoy the company of the Montilyets—Josephine especially. 😏

For Josephine, she finds within Niamh both a friend and a fine partner—someone who can match wits against her with utter charm and aplomb. She's delighted to discover the other woman is also unbelievably sweet.

There are times where Niamh's duties require her to be away from Josephine. Still, Niamh finds various ways to indicate to Josephine she's constantly thinking about her.

Josephine can't stop the way her heart flutters whenever she receives little trinkets by messenger raven from Niamh. They're never anything terribly expensive: a pressed flower, a sketch of something interesting she'd found and wished she could share in person with her, a polished rock that happened to remind Niamh of the color of Josephine's eyes, etc.

It becomes quite evident to everyone else around them that they're both catching feelings for one another. They're both just too nervous to admit it. 🤣

---

Of course, there's brief trouble when rumors run ever rampant in Antiva regarding the Montilyet family. The latest one claims Josephine's parents essentially sold her off in a loveless marriage to a Fereldan sea warlord.

Lord Otranto of Antiva takes exception to this, and in a misguided attempt to save Josephine, his men kidnap her while she and Niamh are visiting Gwaren. Josephine had been strolling through some of the trading stalls while Niamh was busy discussing business matters with Anora. That's likely the only reason Otranto's men are able to get away with it.

Needless to say, Niamh is not the least bit happy when she finds out what happened...

She commandeers one of her aunt's fastest ships to Antiva, and what follows in her wake is a storm the likes the country has never seen before—testament to Niamh's fury and concern over Josephine's well-being.

Her actual confrontation with Otranto is similar to how the duel went down in Inquisition if you romanced Josephine.

---

Despite just debarking an impressive warship, Niamh wanders alone into the courtyard, where both Otranto and a crowd of curious people are waiting.

"Your reputation as the Storm Wolf is as true as they say," Ontranto remarks cautiously before lifting his chin defiantly. "How like a warlord to make their entrance in such violent fashion before a duel has been decided."

"'Violent?'" Niamh parrots almost playfully, but her smile is more a baring of teeth than an actual gesture of amusement. "I had no idea you found a bit of rain to be such a bother. Very well then."

With a simple snap of her fingers, the downpour suddenly stops although the clouds above them are still an ominous grey—a clear indication of Niamh's current mood. Deciding the courtyard was as good a place as any to hold a duel, she sends a small wave of fire—barely ankle-height—across the cobblestones between her and Ontrato with a flick of her wrist, drying the rain that had left them so slick earlier.

"Impressive," he admits grudgingly, "but how do I know you won't resort to using your magic again in this duel?"

"Then feel free to decide the weapons for us," Niamh remarks easily. "I'm a mage, yes, but I am as familiar with just about weapon that can be fought with upon the open seas. In addition to having two formidable warriors as my older siblings, I've also trained with the most seasoned raiders of the past Age across various warships. If that is not assurance enough for you, then let it go on record for all the criers present here that I am a woman of honor." For anyone present, there's little mistaking the absolute chill behind her wintry gaze as she regards her opponent. "And unlike you, I didn't have to steal Lady Montilyet like a thief in the night to earn her affections."

The words cause a rush of murmurs to travel across the ever-growing crowd. In emphasis of her disdain of the man before her, Niamh simply raises the staff she's been holding before slamming it back down with enough force that the staff blade embeds itself clean through the cobblestone as easily as a knife through parchment paper. She leaves it behind her without hesitation as she walks forward, and given how Otranto believes her to be such a violent warlord, Niamh has no qualms about perhaps using her bare hands to fight if the man insists on stalling their duel and keeping her from finding Josephine.

"Now kindly arm yourself, Lord Otranto, so that all of Antiva may see how outmatched you truly are..."

---

I will eventually do a proper fight scene, but let's just say it ends how everyone expects it to. 😂

At the climax, Niamh crosses blades with Otranto before using the strength behind her rapier to push him off. The man presses forward once more, but given she's used to sparring with great sword users like her sister, Niamh places enough power behind a one-handed downswing toward Otranto, who tries to block it, that she manages to snap his blade in half.

Weapon still in hand, Niamh approaches to interrogate him regarding Josephine's whereabouts. Before that even happens, however, Josephine makes her appearance in the courtyard, having successfully escaped the safehouse Otranto's men had been hiding her in.

Josephine begs them both to stop, and although the victor of the duel is already decided, Niamh immediately tosses her rapier away, surprising Otranto.

"You would have forfeited that easily had Lady Montilyet arrived earlier?"

"While it's true that I can bring the heavens and seas to heel beneath my power, I also understand the freedom of surrender to one who is most deserving of it."

And Josephine's heart is pounding in her ears when she recognizes the implication behind Niamh's words. "'Deserving of it?' Do you mean...?"

And that smile never fails to send her heart fluttering as Niamh kneels before her. "Of course. Is it truly such a surprise that I would more than willingly bend the knee to you, Mo Mhuirnín?"

(Note: Mo Mhuirnín is an Irish term of endearment that is phonetically pronounced "Muh Voor-neen" and means "My Beloved.")

So, by this point, Otranto realizes everything he and the rest of Antiva had been told regarding Josephine's relationship with Niamh had been one huge lie by the Du Paraquettes. He's profusely apologetic about the entire thing, but Niamh just graciously waves it off, still riding high on the fact that Josephine returns her love.

The Montilyets do eventually get their name and trading status restored in both Antiva and Orlais after proving the Du Paraquettes had been spreading slander about them from the very beginning. The process of rebuilding will take years if not decades, but Niamh and Josephine are determined to make it work.

Niamh and Josephine are also eventually married with weddings taking place in both Ferelden and Antiva with their respective ceremonials customs involved.

So, yes, I can indeed imagine this pairing to be a very good one. 😉

#lee's inbox #josephine montilyet #female cousland/josephine montilyet #lee's au ideas #my writing #i hope you like this one anon!#thanks for sending this in and jumpstarting my brain with all the potential possibilities! 😄#AU: A Question Ages Old #OTP: And the Colors are Golden and Bright Again

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biblioflyer · 2 years ago

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Autonomy vs Institutionalism in Picard

Those who have read more than a few posts here will quickly recognize that I've been hammering away at a theme.

Each season of Picard has kind of had its own themes although two in particular seem to cross seasons: the first being relationship repair.

The first season focused on Picard's own tendency to hold people at a distance and express his affection and feelings in the modality of a starship Captain. Every encounter early in the season is about Picard, his cause, and his needs and a lot of those early conversations: with Clancy, with Raffi, with Elnor, probably others still, go very sour because Picard can only praise their competencies and how those competencies will serve his mission.

To some extent it was also about rediscovering hope and rebuilding the capacity to hold oneself to a higher standard.

The second season is much more about intimacy and the recognition that other people need to be given space to find their own way, even if that way isn't exactly what you would choose for them. This is really where I think Picard's stubbornness about Starfleet really comes into play because he just doesn't quite get Seven's discomfort with Starfleet outside of Voyager, or that perhaps pushing Raffi back to ship service may have been a mistake because psychologically she just wasn't ready for high stakes and its also just not where her skill set is at its strongest. Who could fathom James Bond as the XO of a naval warship?

The third is more intergenerational. Its at its strongest I think with Geordi recognizing that there is a time to set aside the maximalist protective role of the parent and to protect your child at their side rather than by trying to limit their autonomy. I don't really see a lot of point in talking about Jack because "Last Generation" makes it pretty explicit.

And that is a good segue to talk about moral authority and how Star Trek Picard has dealt with it.

I'm not going to back over every piece of evidence that I've written extensively about, but suffice to say that virtually every last episode of Picard except for the very last is a critical examination of whether Starfleet and the Federation are the omniscient do-gooders of lore or if there are other sources of moral authority than acting as an agent of the state aboard a big shiny starship. Now I find little that is actually contrary to the idea that Picard, the character, or various crews of various starship Enterprises were good actors, merely that a starship full of cool gizmos and profoundly earnest people is one but not the only vector through which good works can be done.

This is why it left me feeling a little weird about ending with Raffi, Seven, and Jack all in Starfleet and all in ship service. Especially since those characters each in their own way have done the most to make the argument that Starfleet does not have a monopoly on moral authority and that its very nature means that Starfleet does things in a very institutional and procedural way. After all, Starfleet officers are agents of a state and what they do or don't do will be viewed as not just their own idiosyncratic whims but as an expression of the will of the Federation itself.

This institutional and procedural pathway allows the Federation to organize vast resources in a relatively responsible way (when it doesn't get hoodwinked by Romulan deepcover agents or Changelings operating at a very high level....which is a major liability for this sort of highly centralized institution) but because of protections in place to ward off making tragic errors analogous to the colonialism of Earth, its own rules of engagement make it unresponsive to a whole host of problems that fall outside its mandate.

Picard the series wasn't shy about showing us these problems and how others, like the Fenris Rangers, take it upon themselves to address these problems and how they have to invent their own rules of engagement as they're in the act because they don't have the luxury of sitting back and having a philosophical discussion in a conference room.

The grand finale didn't exactly refute this theme, but I think it undermined it at least a little by pushing Jack, Raffi, and Seven into command chairs. Now as I have seen pointed out, this is in many ways a moment with a lot of symbolism. Its the Next Next Generation.

A torch passing. Indeed I think while Picard the series did a good job of problematising heroic narratives about Space Paladins and their mighty chrome steeds, I would be remiss if I didn't think that there is also a part of me that kind of likes the unapologetic "great hits" album that was the finale.

The problem with deconstructions is that they can veer into nihilism very easily. The Star Wars sequel trilogy looms over everything else like a shadow because there's this stubborn reminder that nothing anyone does will actually making the setting better in a lasting way. If our heroes don't fail and become more broken versions of themselves (except Leia, you kept up the fight) then in spite of their best efforts they or their successors are doomed. The Mandoverse is a post apocalyptic setting focused on rebuilding that doesn't know its destined for another apocalypse that will set fire to everything they achieve.

And that's just not what Star Trek has ever been about. Every dark future has been something to be struggled about and overcome by reasserting moral clarity in the present.

This is where I find some small comfort in Shaw's final performance evaluation of Seven, contrasting their methods, and observing that Starfleet has become a very by the book kind of institution without really recognizing what the point of it all is. Whereas Seven flouts rules that don't fit the scenario. There's a whole other conversation to be had about whether Seven was relentlessly reckless this season (and I have debated that in more than a few posts myself) and I have usually landed on the side that Seven's too individualistic.

On the other hand if what's being gestured at in Shaw's evaluation is a return to a level of autonomy and permission to follow your conscience of say, the Kirk era or even how Picard often got away with breaking the Prime Directive when he thought it was absurd, then there is a lot of symbolism in "a spy, a pirate, and a thief" being given a new Enterprise.

I feel like that was the narrative intent there: to show that Starfleet is learning and returning to its roots, it just sort of feels a little bit like a way to put a bow on a season that was too restrictive in its runtime and budget to bring in all of the legacy characters that ought to have made an appearance (Janeway, Wesley, Elnor, Jurati, - the cut scene where Ro is discovered captive and alive) as well to provide a better resolution of both character arcs and themes.

To beat a dead horse, this fandom belongs to everyone. The nostalgic TNG-ers, the people who supported Picard seasons 1 and 2, the people who followed Worf into DS9, and the Voyager fans. Considering there's every reason to be pessimistic about more 25th century live action, it wouldn't have killed Paramount to fork over enough cash for two more episodes to deliver the goods for all of the fans and to make a less abrupt transition from the themes and arguments of the first 29 episodes of Picard to where we land in episode 30.

#star trek picard #star trek ethics #star trek #picard spoilers #picard season 3 #seven of nine #jack crusher #raffi musiker

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poeblissorton · 2 months ago

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Character design sheets (2)

I’m not fully satisfied with how this drawing looks, but it’s just a sketch. Her pose is very static and the arms on her hips look very awkward. To improve this, I should add more fluidity to the rest of her pose to match the expression of her arms. I just wanted to visualise her colour palette and decide what tones I should use.

I chose a pink colour for her dress since the warm colour compliments the warm tones of her skin and hair. Colour palettes are very important to a character’s design, and can make or break their appearance. For example, if a character has a piece of clothing that is a completely different tone from the rest of their design, it might ruin the palette and lose the sense of colour harmony between the design elements.

Personality & story

Lilia is an 8 year old girl, living on one of the many floating islands used for trade in the high skies. She works in a factory sorting scrap metal to be used for trade. She works here with her mother. Lilia does not enjoy her position and would rather follow in her father’s footsteps, of being a pirate. Lilia’s personality is one of a typical 8 year old. Excitable, loud but stubborn and sometimes rude when she doesn’t get what she wants. Usually, she shows this side to her mother, who disagrees with her dreams of becoming a pirate. Her mother, Mariela, knows the dangers of the voyages her husband takes, and does not want her daughter to do the same in fear of losing her.

Along with the themes of pirates and piracy in general, I wanted this story to be a bit of a commentary on certain themes, such as mother daughter relationships and family, as well as combatting stereotypes pushed onto older women.

I also tested different colour variations, as well as different races. I was somewhat set on making her Central American, specifically from Panama City, since this was an area where piracy was active during the golden age of piracy. This was also an area where different parrot species are quite common, which was my first inspiration.

The area that the pirates live in is not actually in Panama City, since they live in the sky. However, my characters could be of Central American descent, or the area could be inspired by Panama City. Similarly to Castle in the Sky, how the mining town of Slag Ravine is based on Wales, and the floating island of Laputa is possibly inspired by western European countries. Along with this, I think it would be more interesting if I created a character who had a different cultural identity to my past characters, who have been white and North American.

Panama has a population of around 4,000,000+ in 2024. However, the population was significantly smaller in the past. In the 1600s, during the golden age of piracy, the population fell into the thousands range. And it was majorly populated by African slaves, due to the trans-atlantic slave trade which lasted 300 years.

https://www.philipkallan.com/single-post/2019/02/25/nippers-and-powder-monkeys#:~:text=Admiralty%20regulations%20for%20Royal%20Navy,as%20eight%20going%20to%20sea.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_pirate#:~:text=The%20Roméo%20Dallaire%20Child%20Soldiers%20Initiative%20has%20determined%20that%20a,under%20the%20age%20of%2018.

I created this drawing to try and extend her character a bit, playing into the fact she is a stubborn and rebellious child who may be aggravated if she doesn’t get her way. She would be this way with her mother, as her mother would reject her joining her father on his voyages. I do like this drawing even though it’s just a sketch, I like the light source I created.

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babbushka · 4 years ago

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Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

-----------------

He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing. Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

-------------------

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

-------------------

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

-------------------

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

-------------------

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

-------------------

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

-------------------

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

-------------------

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

-------------------

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

-------------------

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”

-------------------

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion – and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

-------------------

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”

-------------------

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

-------------------

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

-------------------

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care.

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long.

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

-------------------

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

-------------------

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up?

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.

I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

-----------------

Tagging some friends, as always if you’d ever like to be added or taken off the taglist, please visit the link in my description (if your tag isn’t working that means on the form you might have given me your sideblog @ instead of your main!)

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atinytokki · 4 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Chapter 5: Return to the Maze

Usually Jongho would be suspicious of such consistent good weather, but for now he was simply grateful that the sea goddess had blessed their journey with clear skies and fair winds.

They were moving much faster than they had been last time they visited Maddox’s Island, despite travelling in a very roundabout way, and they had a rescue plan in place. Knowing the territory better the second time had its advantages.

When the sails were squared away and the crew could relax some, Jongho found himself in the captain’s cabin once again.

It had become the regular location for all their gatherings the past few weeks, something about occupying the space lending them confidence in their decisions.

Unsurprisingly, Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa were already there. Mingi and Yunho were in a quiet conversation off to the side, sorting through the remaining stacks of gleaming treasure, while Seonghwa sat on his bed reading something.

Naturally, Jongho was curious, and moved to peek over the eldest’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of what it was.

“This is Hongjoong’s...” he realised with a frown, combing over handwritten text that detailed their adventures from the birth of the ATEEZ onwards.

At the mention of Hongjoong’s name, Mingi and Yunho perked up and moved closer, pushing the gold aside. “That was his mother’s diary,” Mingi remarked in a quiet voice when he recognised the book from an encounter years ago, reaching forward and flipping back to the beginning. A wave of nostalgia broke over the group. “He just continued it with his own story.”

Seonghwa nodded and went back to the section he was reading. Events that had taken place before he joined them.

“Did he say anything about me?” Mingi said a moment later, clearing his throat nervously.

“Just that you’re loyal and attentive, and sometimes he thinks back to those days when it was just the two of you on the beach and realises those were the happiest moments of his childhood,” Seonghwa answered, reading off a page from over a year ago.

“Is there any mention of me in there?” Jongho asked quietly, masking his nerves by clearing his throat. He didn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but he hoped it was pleasant.

Seonghwa smiled softly and flipped until he found the passage of Jongho’s entry into the story.

“At first, I thought he was older than me,” he read in a soft voice. “Not from his looks or his manner, but his eyes. They’re the eyes of someone who has seen horrible things, and as soon as I saw them I wanted him to join us. I want to see light in those eyes, not just darkness.”

Tears gathered and Jongho slowly sat down and let the words wash over him. Some of that darkness lingered, and it felt like failure.

“See, he’s always loved you,” Seonghwa reassured the younger boy, who shook his head and chuckled in disbelief.

“Well, he met me in the middle of a nightmare, of course he took me in, I prophesied it...”

“But he didn’t bring you onboard because he thought you were useful,” Mingi interrupted firmly. “He did it because he thought you belonged here.”

Jongho pulled his knees up to his chest. It was chilling to think about, but from this side of the event, that sudden decision had been the right one.

“What was his first impression of me?” Yunho piped up. Seonghwa was already turning to the pages that chronicled their introduction and began to read without hesitation.

“Mingi says I’m ‘collecting’ people, but I prefer to think of it as taking a chance on a likeminded individual. Perhaps the ATEEZ is Yunho’s second chance at life, the way it’s also become mine.”

A beat passed in agreement as they considered how true it was for all of them. Mingi nudged Yunho as if to remind him what he had said himself on the beach not long ago. Everything happens for a reason.

“How about you, did he have much to say?” Mingi smirked, turning to Seonghwa and already anticipating pages of lengthy prose.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head.

“Oh, something about me being a thorn in his side, and plenty of other things from back then that he said to my face besides. Not much flattery, at least not until we reached an understanding. ‘I’ve never tasted fish seasoned so well in my life, a significant feat to have accomplished’.”

Together, they laughed at what Hongjoong appeared to consider high praise.

“He worried about me a lot,” Seonghwa frowned, sobering as he thumbed the pages. “I suppose I have been injured frequently, and I’m not one for combat. Even in such a private book, he shares his true thoughts very sparingly. But there is a passage in here that I think he’d want us to read— all of us, together. It feels like a message from beyond the grave. He wrote it that day we spent on the treasure island from what I can discern.”

The three of them pressed closer to look over Seonghwa’s shoulder, even as he read in a soft voice the words that were written in secret.

I’m ashamed to record it, but I must have done something to make Seonghwa convinced I want him gone. I’ll admit, I’ve kept my distance and concealed my thoughts on the subject, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he leaves me alone. I’ve come to realise in this safe haven, far away from the ghosts and shadows that lurked at every corner, that I need him.

I broke my most important rule, to never fully trust anyone, because even the most unlikely can betray you. He decided to try and patch up the hole in my heart and without even knowing it, I’ve started depending on people again.

A feeling wells up inside when I see the faces of those who have become so much more than friends to me. No matter how hard I fight it down, it’s there consuming me until I admit the truth behind why I fight every fight that comes my way when I’m so, so tired of trying.

They’re my family. I love them so much, it hurts, and if I could hold onto all seven of them forever, I would do it. There’s no guarantee we’ll ever be whole again when we set out from this place, and I should never have invested so much of myself in them, but I was defenceless and if I have to have one weakness— let it be this group of brightly shining stars who guide me to better places, even as they think I’m the one guiding them. Let it be this twinkling treasure I’ve found, the value of which can never be compared with all the riches in the world.

They’re everything to me. Until all our debts are settled, they’ll never know, but one day I’ll have the courage to tell them.

When I’m with you, I’m home.

The silence after was almost reverent. Like they’d been communicating with the dead, the group dare not breathe for fear of disturbing the moment.

“We knew,” Yunho finally whispered, voice thick with emotion. “We knew without being told.”

Jongho glanced over at him and slung an arm around his waist, pulling him further in to their warm little huddle.

“Hey,” he chuckled wetly. “Now he has told us.”

The contemplative silence was broken by a knock on the door and Yujin’s appearing head.

“What is it?” Mingi demanded, quickly wiping his eyes and returning to his cool professionalism.

Yujin tensed and tilted his head toward the window. A familiar island shrouded in mist had grown closer while they were distracted with the past. It was time to move on.

“We’re here.”

...

Establishing an exercise regimen after a serious injury was always difficult, but doing so in secret in the cramped belly of a navy warship was much more difficult, Hongjoong found.

There were moments here and there on their voyage southeast to respond to enemy ship sightings that the lucky prisoner wasn’t guarded in the business and activity of the day, which he used to his full advantage.

It was always better to trick the opponent into thinking he had him down for longer than he actually was.

Gingerly, Hongjoong lowered himself down from where he’d been hanging from a ceiling support beam and pulling his weight up and down for as long as he could, smiling at his own perfect timing and then wiping the expression clean before the steward entered with the morning meal.

He wasn’t in the shape he wanted to be in yet, but he felt marginally less useless this way.

“Chowder again?” Hongjoong beamed teasingly and sat up straight as Doh scooped up some of the soup and waited for the prisoner to open his mouth again.

“No complaining,” the steward muttered as he spooned the food in carefully. “You’re worse than the men. I told them and now I’m telling you; we’re at sea now, with no idea how long the food will have to last. No more delicacies until landfall.” His chastising sounded like Seonghwa’s, and suddenly Hongjoong needed to change the subject again.

“Let me do it,” he insisted with his mouth still full, swallowing and repeating himself until the steward relinquished the spoon.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t manage to get the slop onto the spoon and the spoon up to his mouth without help, and immediately his mood was soured.

“Don’t be upset,” the man scolded him softly when tears gathered. “You’re healing still.”

The reality was that exerting himself immediately before the meal was certainly not helping him control his own limbs and his own exasperation was making him quit before he should have.

“Steward.” Hongjoong gave him a look and sat back. “I managed to sail alone over five thousand nautical miles in a boat I built with my bare hands, whilst wounded and starving, as an eighteen year old, and came back stronger. Forgive me for being frustrated if I can’t lift a spoon without my hands shaking.”

Doh gave him a once over before placing the bowl to the side and offering his advice.

“If that’s the case, you may want to consider whether your problem is physical or psychological.”

Hongjoong scoffed, but the creeping suspicion in the back of his head was inclined to agree. “What, are you saying I don’t want to get better?”

“I’m saying I think you’re scared,” the steward explained after a hesitant pause. “Of what might happen when you do.”

It had been months since he’d seen a friendly face. More importantly, since any of his friends had seen him alive.

Assuming he escaped the Crow, what then? Assuming he miraculously found the ATEEZ, what would he do next?

Would things just go back to normal?

No, they thought he was gone— they thought he was dead. Things would never just go back to normal.

Presumably, they had moved on... without him.

Silent for the remainder of the meal, Hongjoong let the steward feed him and thought about what kind of changes that Park mentioned might have taken place.

Surely nothing too drastic... nothing that would cost him his friends...

If Seonghwa was alright, he must be looking out for the others. That much, Hongjoong could be sure of.

The steward, too, was quiet as he gathered his things and made to leave. Hongjoong stopped him just before he reached the door.

“Why are you helping me?”

This wasn’t the first time Hongjoong had needed to charm the pants off someone to get away with his plans, but despite the steward’s kindness, he was clearly a shrewd man who knew much more than he let on.

“The Admiral will need you in good shape,” he answered readily, but there was something in his eyes that told Hongjoong he had him exactly where he wanted him. Time to start making his move.

“Can you do me a favour, Steward?”

Doh cocked his head but his face didn’t change. He was open to suggestion.

“Perhaps.”

“Keep the surgeon away from me,” Hongjoong nearly whispered. If the surgeon came back intending to conduct experiments on him, he’d very quickly lose any surprise fitness and it would be back to square one.

The steward narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“He... makes me uncomfortable.”

That much was both believable and true. And so the steward bowed his head in agreement and left the room, and Hongjoong was left to lay back and exhale slowly.

He had gained an ally.

When the steward reached the quarterdeck, bundled against the winter winds bearing down on them, Admiral Kim was waiting for a report from him.

“Can he walk?”

Doh paused to decide how much to tell his captain, then smoothly delivered a half-truth.

“With help.”

“Bring him to the quarterdeck,” Kim ordered, eyes cast on the horizon with a sickening air of immense confidence. “I want to see what he’s worth.”

...

Like an ocean wave crashing into the shore, Wooyoung threw himself into Yeosang’s arms.

Not until he was assured that he wasn’t dreaming did he withdraw from the embrace. “How are you here?”

“I was assigned as navigator,” Yeosang explained, laughing in amazement. “The better question is how you ended up here. Weren’t you looking for San?”

All the air went out of Wooyoung and he hunched in on himself, the action cautioning Yeosang to tread lightly. “I was tracking him,” Wooyoung admitted quietly. “But I was pressganged onto this bucket of bolts with no way off in the foreseeable future—”

He was interrupted by Woosung clearing his throat. Having forgotten he was there, Wooyoung beckoned him over with a sigh for introductions.

“Yeosang, my brother Woosung.”

If Yeosang had been amazed earlier, he was astonished now. “The same brother you always talked about?”

“You talked about me?” Woosung teased with a wicked grin on his face for once. Wooyoung jabbed him in the ribs and nudged Yeosang into the wardroom so they could catch up in peace.

“I’ve been meaning to escape,” he told him quickly. “So it’s a good thing we ran into each other when we did. Now we can work together.”

“Except for the fact that we don’t know where we’ll end up,” Yeosang pointed out as he sunk into a chair. “I’m not keen on running straight into enemy territory.”

“Unless San is there,” Wooyoung corrected him quickly.

“It’s still suicide,” Yeosang warned softly. “All I know for now is that we accompany the Crow from Panhang to intercept the Haemin fleet.”

“The Black Crow,” Wooyoung groaned as he was reminded, pulling up a chair opposite Yeosang. “What if the Admiral sees us? Don’t you think he’ll jump at the opportunity to kill us off? It shouldn’t be too difficult to frame as a casualty of war. I say we jump ship before we reach Panhang.”

“He won’t while my father is with him,” Yeosang insisted. “Father may hate me but he doesn’t want me dead, that would mean the end of his family name.”

Wooyoung thought back to the last night they’d seen one another, the lantern light bouncing off gentle waves in the harbour, the dark scowl on the Head Navigator’s face.

“How... how have things been between you?” He asked hesitantly, not expecting anything good.

“It’s over between us,” Yeosang scoffed. “I’m not speaking to him unless I have to.”

And hopefully, that day would never come.

“Wooyoung, I...” Yeosang began again after a companionable moment of silence. “I have bad news.” There was no point in putting it off.

His voice was witheringly soft, and he looked like the slightest noise could put him over the edge.

Under the table, Wooyoung’s legs began to shake. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded for Yeosang to go on.

“I went to see Seonghwa’s coronation at the palace, and he told me about the execution. He told me, well... he heard that...”

“Hongjoong’s dead, isn’t he?”

Because if Wooyoung couldn’t say it out loud, he would never begin to accept it.

Yeosang simply exhaled shakily and inclined his head ever so slightly like the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. He didn’t want to accept it either.

Wooyoung knew he had pessimistic leanings due to his upbringing, but there had remained a spark of hope in him. When he considered how many people the information came to him through, or when he considered Hongjoong’s own confidence that he would make it out alive... it didn’t seem possible that he could live in a world where this was the truth.

He couldn’t live in a world without him.

The feeling that rushed in on receiving the confirmation of his worst fears, fears that he had pushed to the far corner of his mind to avoid dealing with, was a strange and disquieting mixture of pain, loss, and relief.

Relief that he could drop his head into his hands and shake with tears without being bothered for it. Relief that he was no longer waiting on bad news to catch up with him all while running away from it. Relief that he wouldn’t have to deliver such news himself.

“How could this happen...”

Such an undignified end after everything he’d survived already. Wooyoung wished he had been there.

“I don’t know,” came the hushed and helpless answer. “I can only hope Mingi, Yunho, Jongho, and San are safe and far away from this war like Hongjoong wanted them to be.”

Hongjoong had told them to save themselves, and they had ended up on a warship anyway.

Those agonising days in the prison at Namhae drifted back into memory while Wooyoung dried his eyes.

The wind on the beams continued to blow while Yeosang settled down, gently taking Wooyoung’s hands in his and inspecting them. There was a cold emptiness inside now that the message had been relayed.

“You’ve healed,” he noticed aloud, voice soft yet discernable over the outside gusts.

Wooyoung nodded and shifted to get a better look at his friend. “Have you?”

Yeosang startled and almost pulled away, but Wooyoung kept his grip on him. “I— yes, you know I did. Nothing was broken.”

Still he couldn’t escape Wooyoung’s knowing eyes. Not after everything they’d been through.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted after a moment. That much he could promise, now that they’d found each other.

...

The ever present fog made it difficult, but Yunho kept his eyes peeled for ships. Regardless of what colours they were flying, they were enemies, and that meant caution was of the utmost importance.

The plan was relayed to the men who waited, ready to cast off at a moment’s notice, and the four officers set out for the beach. The maze would be a hindrance to deal with, but it was better than docking at the town on the other side of the island and potentially being spotted by soldiers.

The shore batteries had been bombarded by Mingi’s counterattack on their last visit, which made them a perfectly unsuspecting vantage point to keep watch from.

Jongho scaled the stone steps of the bell tower, half of which was decimated, and borrowed Yunho’s spyglass. “I’ll put up a flag if I see anything,” he assured them. “No flares. Don’t want to give away our position.”

Although loath to leave him alone, it was best to finish the mission quickly, so the other three hurried down to the tree line and fought their way through the vines until they reached the entrance to the maze.

“Far right path,” Mingi instructed immediately, remembering how Hongjoong said he got in last year. The maze was only slight less well kept than it had been in Seonghwa and Yunho’s memory, occasional branches jutting out at awkward angles and bush roots stretching across their path.

It sent a strangle tingle down their spines to return to such a memorable and significant place under wildly different circumstances.

The wrought iron gate was unlocked but closed when they reached it, and Seonghwa rested his hand on the bars before pushing gently and hoping it wouldn’t squeak. Eyes widening, Seonghwa suddenly threw his arm out and pressed back into the shrubbery. Yunho and Mingi followed, confused but obedient, until he explained.

“Soldiers in the courtyard.”

“Now what?” Yunho groaned. “We can’t risk gunfire if we don’t know how many are inside.”

“There should be a secret library somewhere on the third floor,” Mingi wracked his brain for a solution and took a step back to scan the building in front of them again. The top was just visible over the towering greenery.

“There!” He exclaimed, grabbing Seonghwa’s arm. “A sunroof. We can rappel down.”

Seonghwa sighed but nodded, watching intently and waiting for the soldiers to go back inside for dinner.

It was only about ten minutes, but it felt like longer. Listening to their idle conversation was mildly amusing until the men dropped off into silence, but soon they had shut themselves into their hall and the courtyard was free.

“Here,” Yunho grunted, throwing the rope until it latched on to a ceiling tile and handing it to Mingi, who looked surprised. “You suggested it!”

Begrudgingly, Mingi grasped the rope in his hands and began to climb, Yunho and Seonghwa following silently.

They had to mind the windows, but made it onto the roof safely, Mingi popping open the sunroof panel and securing the rope to the inner latch while he waited.

After a thorough scan of the inside, what appeared to be a bedroom, all three lowered themselves stealthily, only breaking face when a figure in the room startled and tipped over in his reading chair.

“Maddox? It’s alright, we’re friends of Hongjoong’s!” Mingi panted, holding out his hand.

“Mingi?” The older man hissed in disbelief as he peeled out from behind the chair.

“Yes, it’s me. We’re here to rescue you.”

...

“It’s Lucky.”

“Look! There he goes.”

“The lucky prisoner...”

Hongjoong ignored the hushed whispers all over the main deck and the way the freezing wind nipped at his nose, but tilted back his head and let it toss his hair. It didn’t matter what they said.

Even a sea breeze that stung your cheeks was a sea breeze, and no one could take the moment away from him.

Byun was at his elbow, a guilty sort of tension emanating from him as he guided the prisoner up to the quarterdeck where Admiral Kim stood and looked down his nose at the both of them. A man Hongjoong assumed was Head Navigator Kang stood to his left. From his familiar features and general air of displeasure, he had a feeling he was correct.

“So I hear you need my help,” Hongjoong smirked, voice quiet but deadly.

Kim just scowled at him, white-rimmed lips pressed firmly together until he snatched the charts from Navigator Kang, rolling them open and casting his eyes away.

“Our spies report mass shipbuilding behind Haemin borders, but none of our fleet have encountered more than two ships at a time,” Kim explained, indicating the locations of the attacks on the map.

They were all lined up along the trade routes, concentrated to the east around the rim of the nearest Jaecho colonies.

As Hongjoong moved to get a closer look, he enjoyed the way the Admiral visibly became irritated by the jangle of his chains.

He was no longer bolted to the floor but his arms were still restrained and as much as Kim was annoyed by the sound, he wasn’t stupid enough to unlock the cuffs and risk an escape attempt.

“Their strategy is to wear you out with unpredictable strikes along the islands,” Hongjoong surmised as he inspected the charts. “If one ship goes down, it’s replaced by another. They won’t form ranks like you, they’re much more... surreptitious.”

“Then why focus on the colonies? They made it all the way to the capital once, why not march in again?” Kim bit out, yanking the map back over to his side of the table. Kang gently collected it, as if afraid in his anger the Admiral might shred the thing.

“To spread you thin. To wear you out, starve you, frustrate you,” Hongjoong listed off. “Safe access to trade routes and supplies is vital— I should know!” After all, he was usually the person disrupting them.

“So you’re saying we should engage their puny boats in the east instead of strike their homeland and end the war in one fell swoop?” Kim challenged, stepping closer and waiting for the prisoner to back down.

He didn’t.

“Unless you want to lose your territory, yes.”

The two stared each other down and no one else dared move, not even the anxiously hovering Byun whose idea the entire encounter was, until a bird appeared on the horizon and landed atop the rigging, a case attached to its leg.

Lieutenant Park climbed up to retrieve it and handed it to the Navigator, ending the standoff.

“A messenger bird with correspondence. A convoy of Haemin ships has been sighted just south of the colonies,” Kang reported, passing the scroll to the Admiral. Not even glancing at Hongjoong, he began orders.

“We have the heading, it’s time to move.”

There was a suppressed exhilaration that bubbled up inside Hongjoong when the Crow went underway.

It was that feeling he missed, when there’s one rope between you and the ocean— you and death.

He was joined by Park while he stood at the railing, reaching his chained hands down to feel what misty spray he could.

“What is it?” Hongjoong finally asked when the lieutenant had gone an uncharacteristic full five minutes without talking.

“I saw it in the correspondence...” he muttered nervously, eyes on the Admiral’s back to make sure he wasn’t paying attention. “Our enemies aren’t just interrupting trade and taking over island colonies.”

Hongjoong pulled back and looked at him, confused. Park was shaking his head helplessly but delivered the bad news nonetheless.

“They think Prince Seonghwa is with us, and they’re looking for him, to- to kill him.”

...

Due to the trust he had gained on the Haemin ship over the past few weeks, San almost felt sad to be leaving them soon.

Almost.

When land was only a few hours off, he concocted a sleeping draught with supplies from the infirmary and told his translator it was medicine for a patient. It was a strong enough brew to knock out his guards long enough for him to swim to shore.

Regardless of how he felt about his imprisonment, San wasn’t a monster. He ensured that all his patients were cared for in the meantime, working tirelessly to lower fevers, hack off limbs, and clean wounds. They would all survive in his absence, and he didn’t leave until he was sure of that fact.

Except for the loneliness, it almost felt like being home. Why he had ever considered leaving the ATEEZ back in the day was a mystery to him now. All that pain and regret from his previous trip to these parts had washed away long ago.

San didn’t know where along the road he’d lost his purpose, but he needed to return to the road to get it back, wherever it ended up taking him.

This cramped, stinking warship was not the right place.

He had hoped for so long that his mysterious pursuer was Wooyoung, and that Wooyoung would find him. And then he had gone too far, farther than he could follow. If he was lucky, perhaps Wooyoung hadn’t given up on him yet.

Sudden noise from the main deck prompted him and his translator to join the soldiers outside.

“Land,” the man told him redundantly as they watched the speck grow larger.

San knew it well.

It was Maddox’s Island.

...

Introductions were quick, and without even knowing why, Maddox was instructed to pack his things as quickly as possible.

“Why didn’t you just use the door?” He scoffed as he shoved some loose change into a bag. “Hongjoong has been here once, he should’ve showed you.”

Silence penetrated the room and slowly Maddox turned around, noting his absence.

“Where is he, then? Hongjoong?”

“Killed by Admiral Kim,” Seonghwa told him, solemn and ice cold in his delivery. “A few months ago.”

Maddox needed to sit down again.

“But he— he wasn’t...” he shook his head to collect his thoughts. “He was on his way to find Eden, Kim should never have gotten his hands on him.”

“Actually...” Yunho sighed. “We did find Eden. We were on our way back to the mainland because of Babylon, who I think you’ll remember.”

Maddox’s face darkened, even as his eyes betrayed his distress, like he didn’t know who to blame for this. “You came here for me?” He suddenly realised, brows raising halfway to his hairline in shock.

“It’s what he would have wanted,” Seonghwa explained. “We’re breaking out as many of his friends as we can find and starting fresh far away from the Navy.”

“Well, I certainly won’t keep you waiting,” the older pirate scoffed before collecting a few more of his things and glancing at the rope still hanging from the ceiling. “I suppose that’s also our way out.”

“The soldiers won’t spot us that way,” Mingi explained as Yunho and Seonghwa headed up, motioning for Maddox to follow and then bringing up the rear. With practiced ease, they descended the side of the tower and made their way across the courtyard.

“We make for your ship?” Maddox asked in a whisper.

Mingi nodded. “It would be ideal to get out of here without anyone even knowing.”

Just as he finished speaking, the boom of gunfire blasted to their right near Jongho’s position. Mingi grasped his gun and searched frantically for the decimated bell tower.

A red flag was hanging.

“So stupid,” he chided himself through gritted teeth. “How could I forget to check?”

Before anyone could stop him, he barrelled ahead and raced to the tower, hoping against hope that he would reach Jongho in time.

The disorienting fogginess of the maze slowed him down significantly, and by the time he reached the shore there was an unconscious Jongho, being dragged away by enemy soldiers.

“Hey!” Mingi screamed across the beach, aiming his weapon. “Let him go and I won’t kill you.”

The soldiers looked surprised to see him and debated with each other in a foreign language. Mingi realised with a jolt that they were from Haemin. He clicked off the safety but hesitated.

I should just shoot now.

Jongho had been dropped in the sand and Mingi’s hairs stood on end. Where were the others? Had they fallen so far behind?

He was out of time.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers drew his gun and fired.

Unable to move completely out of the way in time, Mingi dodged to his right even as the searing pain of a bullet grazing his face sent him to the ground.

Blood was pouring into his eye, so all he could see was red that wilted into consuming black and the flashes of pulsating with pain.

Through his remaining eye, he watched Jongho be rowed away onto an enemy ship while he was left for dead.

...

San expected to be sent to his battle station where he could drug whoever happened to be guarding him at the time and slip away in the chaos.

Instead, he was led down to the brig again with some of the other prisoners to watch through the portholes as a pair of men rowed out to investigate the island themselves.

What he gathered from the others was that their captain thought the island looked to be deserted or destroyed in some other battle and assumed no one would be there.

A very foolish move, one San should’ve expected from the incompetent drunkard. In this world, it should always be shoot first, ask questions later.

For a good half hour nothing happened, until a red flag went up in one of the bell towers and the action began in earnest.

To San, it was a relief.

Easily, he overpowered the guard and forced the draught down his throat, collecting the supplies he’d lain out in the infirmary while everyone was distracted, and preparing to lower himself in one of the longboats while the returning spies rushed their new prisoner on board.

Something deep inside told San to turn his head before he pulleyed down, and so he did. In a lightning flash, his heart dropped.

The unconscious body was Jongho’s. San didn’t know how or why, but it was him.

He didn’t question for a moment whether to abandon his plan. San threw off his bag and ran towards the chained figure.

Escape would have to wait.

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @atzjjongbby @89staytinyzen21

A/N: I’m very close to the finish line of the semester, so I’ll be back in my usual swing in the next week or so, no worries :) There’s some shifting going on this chapter, and a lot of action is about to go down next time hehehe so stay tuned and let me know what you thought!! Happy birthday Wooyoung and Happy Thanksgiving ;)

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ltwilliammowett · 5 years ago

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Cannibalism at Sea

Introduction

Before you wonder what this is all about, please read this introduction carefully. The topic is a very special and not everyone's business and who knows me and reads my stuff regularly knows that I also work a lot with pictures,although I have largely refrained from doing so here. Well for protection reasons the whole article can be found under the read more line. It should be said that this article is about cannibalism at sea and the question whether it is allowed or not. In addition there are some case examples. Whereby I tried to write this as nice and factual as possible.

When you start looking at cannibalism at sea, you get the feeling that it's all just a horror story and that it simply can't be true. Because on a well-equipped boat on a sea full of fish it seems unimaginable that you could eat your friends and colleagues. But when things go wrong in a bad way, precedents show that the vast ocean can conjure up the spectre of "survival cannibalism" surprisingly quickly. In the 18th century, this practice was so widespread that it was known as the "custom of the sea", with some unwritten rules that seafarers in hopeless situations should follow.

The rules of the game

Drifting along the open ocean in a small open boat and facing imminent death by starvation, the moral, ethical and legal implications seem rather trivial, as confirmed by various court cases. Prior to the 19th century, cannibalism was thought to be inherent in man as a kind of instinct and was therefore excusable in extreme circumstances. However, this argument is only valid if those who consume their fellow sailors have already exhausted all other organic food sources. This includes everything from candles to shoes, other leather goods and even blankets.

But the rules of the game go much further. For example, everyone on board must agree to the act of cannibalism before the first incident occurs. And then the dead must be consumed first. Once all the dead are eaten up, they have to stick in some form, or whatever was available has to be pulled to draw lots. The unhappiest one is killed and consumed first, but the next unhappiest one is appointed as his executioner. This process must be repeated until salvation comes or death overtakes all and releases them from suffering.

Examples

The Méduse, or Medusa, was a French warship captained by Hugues Duroy de Chaumareys, an aristocrat with limited naval experience. In 1816, the warship ran aground on the Arguin Bank off of the African shore. Of the 400 people on the ship, some elected to stay aboard, while the rest escaped onto lifeboats and a large makeshift raft. The lifeboats had promised to pull the raft, but after only a few minutes at sea, they cut the rope and left the raft stranded.

During the second night at sea, all hell broke loose on the raft. Some passengers got drunk on wine (the raft's only provision, in addition to some "soggy biscuits") and 60 people were either killed or committed suicide. Over 13 days of depravity, passengers of the raft drank their own urine, ate human flesh, starved, became ill, and threw weak survivors overboard. Finally, the French ship Argus spotted the raft and saved the remaining 15 survivors, though five of these died shortly after rescue.

Raft of the Méduse

During a winter storm in December 1710, the Nottingham Galley crashed into Boon Island, located near the coast of York, Maine. The 14 surviving crew members took refuge on the desolate island, eating a seagull raw. When the ship's cook died, they pushed his body into the sea. By Christmas, two weeks had passed, and the 13 survivors sheltered from the cold under a piece of canvas sail, subsisting on bits of cheese that had floated ashore from the shipwreck and some fresh water. However, without winter clothing and the means to make fire, the men were near dying from exposure to the frigid conditions.

In the days before their rescue, the desperate men resorted to eating the corpse of the ship’s carpenter in order to survive. The captain, who had trained as a butcher, beheaded and disemboweled him then cut his flesh into strips before giving it to the crew. After 24 days on the island, help finally arrived to rescue the remaining men.

The Francis Mary was on passage from Canada to Liverpool. On February 1, 1826, the ship encountered strong winds that dislodged the two of its masts. Strong waves washed away the ship’s galley and the vessel was rendered immobile. The crew survived on cheese and bread while waiting for help to arrive. American ships got close to the Francis Mary, but could not offer assistance due to the harsh weather. The food did not last long and people started to die from starvation and lack of fresh water.

On February 22, a man by the name of James Wilson perished and was cannibalized by the crew. They cut his body into fourths and hung the flesh on pins to dry it out before eating. Before their rescue by the HMS Blonde in March, eight more men would die and have parts of their bodies eaten - including their hearts.

The Francis Mary, 1826

The Peggy was an american schooner that sailed from New York to Faial Island in the Azores in 1765. After doing some trading, the crew, including one enslaved African, started their return voyage. They didn’t get far into their journey before encountering trouble when the ship was disabled by a severe thunderstorm. The storm outlasted their rations and the men began to subsist on wine and brandy and eat a pigeon, a cat, tobacco, leather, and candles.

After exhausting all of these options, the men were forced to draw lots to decide who to kill and consume. The enslaved man supposedly drew the shortest lot, but it is speculated that the men predetermined his fate. One sailor ate his liver raw and died three days later, in a fit of madness. The others pickled and cooked the rest of his body. When no meat remained, lots were drawn again, but the crew was rescued by the Susanna just before the next sailor was due to be killed.

The Franklin Expedition, who does not know the tragic Arctic expedition of Sir John Franklin who set out in 1845 with HMS's Terror and Erebus to find the Northwest Passage. They left, and then no one heard of the ship - or the 128 men on board.

Over the years, experts have been able to piece together a story of what might have happened, but it is still not possible to do so in its entirety, as parts of the puzzle are still missing. The ships got stuck in the ice and although the crew had supplies on board, they set out to search the frozen land of King William Island for a trading post. Some men died of hypothermia, scurvy, but probably starved to death. The Inuit claimed to have seen signs of cannibalism, such as heaps of broken human bones. Anthropologists who studied the bones found on the island supported these stories. The men's bones were broken and covered with knife marks and also showed signs of being heated, probably to extract bone marrow. One should emphasize that, in both the case of Franklin's men, we have no indication that anyone actively sought to kill anyone else for the purpose of eating them.

A 1945 photo of skulls of some men of the Franklin Expedition, bleached white by the sun, discovered around King William Island in what is now Nunavut

The Mignonette was an English yacht purchased by lawyer Jack Want in 1884, to be sailed from Essex to Sydney. A four-man crew was assembled, consisting of Captain Tom Dudley, Edwin Stephens, Ned Brooks, and 17-year-old Richard Parker. Just weeks after the crew set sail, a wave struck the Mignonette, washing away the windward fortification, causing the ship to rapidly sink and forcing the crew to escape onto a 13-foot dinghy. They were unable to bring any fresh water or food with them, beyond two tins of turnips.

The crew survived for days on turnips, urine, and an unlucky turtle, but they were becoming desperate. Tom Dudley introduced the idea of killing and eating Parker, who had become ill and unconscious from drinking seawater. The perpetrators assumed that Parker's blood would be more edible if he did not die a natural death but was killed. Stephens and Brooks agreed to it, though Brooks refused later to participate. The three men devoured Parker’s body; it kept them alive for weeks until the German barque, Montezuma, found the men after 24 days at sea.

The end of Richard Parker

Change in legislation

With the case of the Mignonette everything changed, whether it was because one did not see here the correct following of the rules as assumed or simply the feeling of such an act as a custom to watch simply no longer there. The Vicorian Era had a very different view of morality and considered many things to be outdated and babaric, so it is quite possible that this new moral perception played a big role.

The three survivors were brought to justice and although the whole population stood behind them and their actions, the three survivors were not allowed to go to court. The three were convicted of murder and should be punished by hanging. However, due to the resistance of the population, the punishment was changed to six months in prison. The three survivors never accepted this punishment. But from then on the custom of the sea was no longer exempt from punishment, instead it is now mostly punished by imprisonment.

#naval history #cannibalism at sea #cw: violence #cw: death #cw: cannibalism #cw:skull #age of sail #age of steam

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summahsunlight · 5 years ago

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This Way Became My Journey, CH. 17

Harry Kim entered a subdued mess hall for lunch. The news that Commander Chakotay and Counselor Barrett's shuttle was missing had spread like wildfire throughout the ship. With a solemn glance around the room, Harry went to the replicators to replicate himself a sandwich for lunch. After the food had materialized he grabbed the tray and made his way through the sully crowd to a table in the corner that Tom Paris was occupying.

The young pilot, who had become Harry's friend in the last three weeks, was eating what looked like soup, and staring out the windows at the stars moving by. Harry set his tray down across from Tom and took his seat. "So much for the Karvaians being a morale booster," the young ensign mumbled. "The way people are acting around here, it's like we've already had a funeral for Commander Chakotay and Counselor Barrett."

Tom ran his tongue over his lips. "I didn't care for Chakotay too much; guess it was because he was right about me on a lot of things. However, I'm going to miss Sarah, she knew how to make me feel better and was easy to talk too. I feel bad for the Captain, having to replace her first officer, again, in a matter of weeks."

"You're one these people who make it sound like they're dead," Harry replied. "We don't know if they are."

"We don't know if their alive, either," Tom retorted, solemnly. He leaned forward. "Listen Harry, we have to be prepared for the worst here. It's not like we're home and replacements can be sent. We lose our first officer, we lose our first officer. And… no one else on this ship has the credentials to be counselor."

Harry took a bite of his sandwich. He thought back to the last time he had gone to speak to Barrett. It had been two days before her and Commander Chakotay were due to depart for Karva. He had been homesick; she had made him laugh with some ridiculous story about when she was a kid. Tom was right, she was easy to talk too and he was going to miss her. Her presence alone had been comforting, not too mention she was quite pretty; her smile alone could make anyone feel better. Realizing what he had just thought, he snapped back to attention. "Let's not think about replacements unless we have too, okay?"

"Sounds good to me," Tom said, pushing his tray away from him. "So, are we still on for Venice?"

Harry had completely forgotten, in all the excitement, that Tom had arranged for them to go on a double date with the Delaney sisters, yet again. Of course Harry had been against it from the start, seeing how he had a girlfriend back home, but Tom had forced him into that first date with them by guilt tripping him and now was setting up another. "I don't know, Tom. The last time didn't go over so well."

"The last time you were too preoccupied with your girlfriend back home. It wouldn't have hurt to have said a few words to Jenny," Tom said, with a smile. "Let your girlfriend go Harry. She deserves to have a life, be allowed to fall in love again. Besides, you really think she's going to wait seventy-five years for you?"

"We've had this discussion," Harry pointed out. "But… you're right, I do need to let go. She probably doesn't even know I'm alive."

"If it makes you feel any better, Harry, none of our families know if we're alive," Tom said. "We're all in the same boat."

Harry smiled sadly. "Counselor Barrett said the same thing to me."

"You've been seeing a lot of our resident psychologist," Tom said, smirking, meaning his gears were turning. "Perhaps it's her you want to take to Venice and not Jenny Delaney."

His friend frowned. "Knock it off Tom. Counselor Barrett is a nice person to talk too, I'd even consider her a friend, but that's it."

"For now anyways," Tom said, noticing Harry roll his eyes. "Oh come on, Harry. It's okay to admit you have a crush on her! She's pretty easy on the eyes."

"So why don't you ask her on a date?"

"I did," he said. "She turned me down, gave me some mumble jumble about us being too much alike that it would never work out. Not too mention she said I was a walking hormone."

Harry suppressed a chuckle, and grinned, "Is this why the sudden attention on Megan Delaney? You were rejected by one pretty brunette so now you're going after another?"

"Oh, so you do admit Sarah's pretty," Tom tried changing the subject. "You know, if she's still alive, and we end up finding them, you better make your move before some else does. I heard several crewmen have made a pass at her."

Harry didn't know why but that bothered him, a lot. Could Tom be right, that he did have a crush on Sarah Barrett? Harry finished his sandwich and pushed the tray away from him, glaring at Tom. "This is crazy, Tom. I shouldn't be jumping into a new relationship on the chance we're going to live the rest of our lives out here. Maybe, Chakotay and Sarah found a wormhole and are in the Alpha Quadrant right now, trying to find a way to get in contact with Voyager. If that's the case I could be sitting down to eat dinner with Libby tomorrow."

"Or, you could be stuck out here for seventy-five years, a lonely old hermit if you keep that attitude," Tom argued. "I think she'd understand if you went on with your life, especially if she goes on with hers."

"Senior officers report to the bridge."

The conversation about girlfriends, the Delaney sisters and Sarah Barrett ended, as the two officers got up from their table and went to recycle their trays. However, Harry couldn't shake the emotions that Tom had stirred up inside of him. I only have a crush on her because she's helping me cope with being away from home, that's it; nothing more. But uncertainty kept creeping into his brain as they stepped out of the turbo lift onto the bridge.

Captain Janeway was standing in the middle of the command station, hands on her hips, an alien ship on the view screen.

"They're hailing us Captain," Tuvok reported from tactical.

An image of a humanoid alien appeared on the screen, with skin in various shades of green with navy blue spots blotted down the temple all the way to the collarbone. He, or she, had yellow eyes, a slopping forehead, and did not look particular happy to be speaking to Voyager. "My name's Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager, what can we do for you?"

"You can turn your ship around and leave Rupor space," the alien responded, dryly.

"We mean you no harm," Janeway tried to assure the alien, "but maybe you could help us. I'm looking for two of my crewmen, who may have crossed through your space a day or so ago. Have your people reported any unidentified crafts passing through the vicinity?"

"No," the alien snapped. "Except you."

"Perhaps then, you'd be kind enough to allow us to search your space for them. We'd only be here about a day-."

The alien glowered. "No! You are to turn your ship around, there will be no compromise!" He disappeared from the screen and the bridge crew all looked around perplexed at one another. Tuvok reported that the tiny scout ship was in retreat.

Janeway glared at the blank screen, straightening her uniform. "Tom, hold our position here," she ordered the young man. Tapping at her combadge she requested that Neelix join her in her ready room. And before anyone could ask her what she had in mind, the woman disappeared back into her private sanctuary and was gone.

"The woman is insane!" Neelix sputtered as he entered Kes' quarters after meeting for an hour with Kathryn Janeway in her ready room about the Rupor. "No one attempts to travel through Rupor space! No one!"

"But if Commander Chakotay and Counselor Barrett are in trouble, it maybe her only choice," Kes replied, softly, trying to use her tone of voice to sooth him and calm him down. She had to admit she knew very little about other species outside of her own and the Kazon, so she had to take what Neelix said seriously. "Wouldn't you want her to do the same for you?"

Neelix looked speechless for a moment, but then stuttered, "Well yes. But that's not the point, Kes. The Rupor are fanatical when it comes to outsiders entering their space. If the Commander and Counselor crossed into their space even for the slightest second, they would have pursued them, and quite possibly shot them down."

"But they didn't attack Voyager," Kes pointed out. "Maybe Commander Chakotay and Counselor Barrett's shuttle didn't pass through their space at all."

"They didn't fire on us because Voyager packs a bigger punch than a shuttle. A Rupor scout ship would never have fired on Voyager," Neelix replied. " Smaller crafts, that a different story. They offer for you to surrender and if you don't, they shoot you down. They gave Captain Janeway their warning and are no doubt sending a warship to deal with us."

Kes got off her bed and went to place a hand on his shoulder. "Neelix we just have to trust the Captain's judgment."

"I know," he grumbled. "But sometimes that woman is more trouble than she's worth."

Kes rubbed his shoulder and smiled. "Would you rather be stuck trying to make a living in a debris field?"

"No," he answered. "I guess the fact that she has allowed us to journey with them is a redeeming quality. But if we survive traveling through Rupor space, we'll be lucky." The ship lurched suddenly with weapon's fire and red alert was immediately activated. "It seems that the Rupor have already showed their displeasure in our presence here," Neelix told her. "I wouldn't be surprised if this ship is destroyed within the hour."

"Return fire!" Kathryn Janeway bellowed from her command chair, as conduits and consoles sparked around her. "Mister Paris, evasive maneuvers."

She had expected to be confronted by the Rupor, since she was after all ignoring their request not to travel in their space, and from what Neelix had told her, they were not friendly to outsiders. But they had traced Chakotay and Sarah's ion trail this far and she was not about to give up searching for them. What she had not expected was the ferocity and quickness of the Rupor attack.

"Shields are down to seventy-three percent," Tuvok reported.

"I'm detecting hull breaches on decks four and five, repair teams are on them," Kim said through the shaking of the ship under constant bombardment.

Janeway ran a hand over her face and then with a determined stare, stood up. "Tuvok, target their weapon's array, and fire two photon torpedoes."

"Aye, Captain."

She watched on the view screen as the torpedoes made their way through space and hit the alien vessel square on. She held her breath for a moment, praying that they had disabled their ship. And then, let it out as Tuvok reported that they had indeed taken the alien's weapons off line. "Mister Paris, get us out of here, warp seven, following the shuttle's ion trail. I have a feeling that the Rupor are going to be back and they're going to come with reinforcements."

"Yes ma'am, setting course zero one five mark nine, warp seven," Paris echoed, fingers running over the conn.

"Engage."

"Captain," Neelix's voice said, not to Janeway's surprise. "Can I have a word with you?"

Janeway kicked a piece of debris away from the command station. "I'm a little busy right now, Neelix." With an audible sigh, she turned to face her Talaxian guide. "I have repairs to make, officers to find, and aliens to keep from tearing my ship apart. But…I suppose I could squeeze you in."

"It's just that, the Rupor, they'll come back," Neelix said.

"I figured as much."

"No you don't understand," Neelix rasped. "They were just testing your capabilities. Now that they see you can disable one of their ships, they'll come back with even more and won't stop pursuing you until you're either out of their space or destroyed."

"I'm not leaving my people behind, Mister Neelix," Janeway snapped, eyes narrowing on him.

"Your people are most likely dead," Neelix retorted. "They wouldn't have given that tiny shuttle the chances they are giving your starship. Chances are a scout ship has blasted them out of the sky."

"Captain," Kim's voice said, strained, from ops. "I've traced the ion trail to a Class L planetoid, three light years from here. I'm also picking up traces of ignited plasma in the planet's atmosphere and some debris." He put the image on screen and immediately the bridge crew could see that it was part of a nacelle.

Janeway felt bile rising in her throat. "What about weapon's residue?"

"I'm picking up two signatures, one is Federation, the other Rupor," Tuvok answered, stoically.

Bastards, Janeway thought, angrily. "Any sign of the shuttle?"

"Negative, Captain."

The news wasn't about to stop her though. "Maintain course, Mister Paris. I'm not about to give them up for dead, not yet. The Rupor can go to hell for all I care."

"Captain, I'm picking up an automated distress call," Kim said. "It's on a Starfleet emergency signal. It's badly damaged, it's going to take a couple of minutes to clean it up."

"Do it, Mister Kim."

A few moments later he had cleaned it up as best he could. The message was distorted and faint, but Sarah Barrett's voice came through loud and clear to everyone on that bridge. "Voyager, we're under attack, repeat we're under attack. We had to land on an L Class planetoid. We need assistance. Our systems are heavily damaged, again we are in need of assistance." The message ended and Janeway felt her heart sink lower into her chest.

"Mister Paris how long until we reach the planetoid?"

"At our current speed, I would estimate forty minutes ma'am," Paris reported.

"Captain," Tuvok said, "long range sensors have picked up a Rupor fleet moving in to intercept us. I estimate that they will do so in forty-five minutes."

"Well that doesn't leave us much time then," Janeway said.

"Time to do what?" Neelix asked.

"Get to the planet, get our people, and get the hell out of Rupor space."

"Rise and shine, Lieutenant," Chakotay's voice stirred her from a light slumber. "We've survived our first night."

Sarah Barrett opened her eyes to see Chakotay standing over her, holding a medical tricorder in his hand and running the hand scanner over her body. "Anything from Voyager yet?" she asked, noticing a burning sensation in her lungs. That can't be good, she thought, arching her back slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. The movement only made her lungs burn more.

"Not yet, but I'm sure they're on their way," Chakotay answered her with a shake of his head. He put the tricorder away and looked at her grimly. "I'm afraid your injured lung is filing with fluid, you've contracted an infection. I've given you something to stall its progress, but until we can get you the proper medical treatment, I'm afraid that your lung will continue to fill and the infection will spread."

"It's okay," she said, trying to sound positive. "Voyager will find us soon. Captain Janeway won't rest until she does."

That much he knew, he had seen her loyalty to members of her crew while spending five days with the woman trying to locate Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres after they had been abducted by the Caretaker. The thought of Janeway's loyalty comforted him. "Are you hungry?" he asked the counselor. "We've got fresh ration bars for breakfast this morning."

"Sounds delicious," she replied, sarcastically as he handed her a ration bar. "But I guess it's better than nothing." She munched on the ration bar for a few seconds, watching as he carefully lowered his body back down onto the floor of the shuttle and gazed out of the open hatch. "At least the view is nice."

Chakotay nodded his head, resting his hands on his knees. He had watched the sunrise over the mountains that morning, half hoping to see Voyager in the distance, swooping into a low orbit to search for them. However, he couldn't be sure that Captain Janeway knew that they were in trouble or missing from the diplomatic mission on Karva. Letting out a frustrated breath of air, he nudged the stones he had warmed the night before with phaser fire, long ago burnt out.

"Something on your mind, Commander?"

He looked at her, dark eyes studying her face. "Yesterday, when we talked, you told me about your father, the pressure to live up to his Starfleet standards, what about your mother? You only spoke of her that one time, in the shuttle before it crashed, that she was killed at Wolf 359."

Sarah fidgeted nervously. "Well, my mother and I weren't particularly close. I mean, yes I grieved for her after her death, but it didn't devastate me like losing my father did. What about yours?"

"Still alive, but always trying to talk me out the Federation and then the Maquis," he replied, with a small smile.

"My parents couldn't push into the Academy fast enough," Sarah said. "Especially when my brother decided against a career in Starfleet, the pressure to be their little Starfleet darling was even greater."

"You're brother must be worried about you now, with Voyager missing," Chakotay ventured.

She scoffed. "Luke? No way, after my father died he ripped me apart for not being there for the funeral, that Starfleet was the reason our parents were both dead at young ages and that I was only going to end up like them if I didn't leave. Of course I couldn't just up and leave, I had my work on the Borg to complete and Starfleet had already asked me to infiltrate a growing group of terrorists who were calling themselves the Maquis."

He chuckled, "We could have known each other sooner."

"Well, no, I never went on that mission," she replied softly. "After Luke basically told me that everything in Starfleet disgusted him, including me, I ran into some narcotics dealer on some deep space station, and thus began my battle with drugs. He pushed away further from me when he learned I had been arrested and was being court martial. I haven't talked to him, well, it's been almost two years now."

"He never came to visit you in rehab?"

"I never told him I was in rehab. As far as he's concerned I'm serving my time at Auckland."

"He must know by now you aren't at Auckland. I'm sure Starfleet would have informed friends and family that Voyager had disappeared," Chakotay mused.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not sure it would change a thing. He always told me that Starfleet was going to kill me one day." She laughed then, looking down at her blanket covered legs. "I guess he was right, look at me now; hanging on to dear life on some barren planet in uncharted space."

He gave her hand a reassuring pat. "You said yourself that Captain Janeway won't rest until she finds us."

"Yeah, you're right I did," she said. "What about you Commander, if the situation were reversed and you were in command, looking for the captain, would you not rest until you'd found her?"

It was an odd question, but one he knew she had to ask, to see where his loyalty lay. "Three weeks ago if you had asked me that question, I would have said, no, because the thought of joining Starfleet again was the furtherest thought from my mind, let alone being forced to serve on a Federation vessel. But, today, after all that has happened in the past three weeks, the Kazon, the Caretaker, quantum singularities; yes, I wouldn't rest until I was certain of her demise or otherwise found her."

"Even though she's Starfleet, through and through?"

"She maybe Starfleet, but she's my captain now," Chakotay answered her, tensely. "Have I given you any reason to doubt that?"

Sarah shook her head, the lose pieces of coffee hair falling in her eyes. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Commander. I shouldn't be questioning you like this."

Chakotay felt immediate remorse. "No, I should be the one apologizing. I suppose my loyalty being questioned is still a sore spot, probably will be for a while." He saw her wince in pain, as she tried shifting about to get in a more comfortable position. He reached for a hypospray. "Speaking of sore spots, here's something for the pain again." Pressing the hypospray to the fleshy part of her neck, he asked, "How are you holding up?"

Sarah fell back on the makeshift pillow he had created for her using his uniform tunic and an extra blanket. "I've felt better, that's for sure."

Chakotay stood, getting her a glass of water and noticing that their supply was going down. "Here, take this. I'm going to go get some more snow so we can melt it down again."

"Keep an open comline like usual?" she guessed, drinking the water.

He grinned at her. "Of course, there's still so much that I want to learn about Sarah Barrett."

"Oh, but we were just getting to the fun part; learning all of your dark secrets," she snapped back playfully.

He laughed, gathered up the storage containers and once again trudged out into the rocky terrain to find their only source of water, snow in the higher elevations.

Usually she spent lunchtime with the children, but duty called that mid afternoon. Instead, Kathryn Janeway replicated a pot of coffee and some finger sandwiches to nibble on while Voyager cruised closer to the planet they believed Chakotay and Sarah's shuttle had landed on. Since they first traced the shuttle to the planetoid and found debris and weapon's residue on long range sensors, Kathryn had felt a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Neelix had mentioned the Rupor were relentless when it came to outsiders in their space.

Voyager had already had one brush with them and she was sure that the ship would not be able to withstand another attack. They might have been able to disable the warship that had come to greet them, but Voyager had sustained heavy damage as well, seeing how many of her systems had been under going repairs in the first place. Voyager would not survive another attack by the Rupor. She was faced with a frightening choice; if the Rupor attacked again before they reached the planet, for there were no guarantees that the fleet Tuvok had picked up would be the first to intercept them, she would have to either turn the ship around and retreat into friendly space, leaving behind Chakotay and Sarah to die; or she would have to press onward to save her people, thus writing all of their death sentences.

There was no easy answer and she wished that her counselor was there to help her sort through the fog.

Kathryn leaned forward to pick up a finger sandwich off the plate, which was resting on her round coffee table. As she did so she felt something cold brush against her neck and she instinctively reached underneath her undershirt and pulled out a gold chain. On the end was her engagement ring, a simple gold band with a sparkling aquamarine gem in the middle. Welded to the engagement ring was her wedding band. She had taken the rings off her finger when she had gone back to active duty, after Ava's birth. Even though her marriage had ended, by the tragic death of her husband, she was not ready to part with the rings yet, so she had purchased a gold chain at some starbase, and thus started wearing them around her neck, hidden underneath her uniform. Running her fingers over the cool metal she felt tears press her eyes. I'm in over my head, Bryan. I wish you were here to give me the answers that I'm seeking.

She could almost hear his soft voice telling her that she would figure it out, his gray eyes smiling at her, how his arms had felt so sheltering when she felt out of control. She hated being out of control, hated having control taking away from her, like it was now with the Rupor breathing down her neck. Bryan I can't do this, I just can't.

But you can, Kathryn, you can, she could hear him speaking in her head, or at least what she imagined he would say to her. Bryan had often told her that he had never met a stronger woman than her; it was one of the things he loved about her, her resolve. It was the first thing he had said to her when he proposed to her.

Suddenly she was overtaken with emotion and shoved the necklace back underneath her tunic, trying desperately to fight her tears. I will not cry, I cannot cry, not now, not when I have crewmen to rescue.

Voyager shook with weapons fire and red alert came on. Tuvok's voice could be heard over the comlink, "Captain Janeway report to the bridge."

Burying all the emotions deep down inside of her, Kathryn stepped out onto the bridge, asking Tuvok for a report. The Vulcan brought his dark eyes up to hers and she could see them flicker to the view screen. Following his gaze, as he rattled off his report that Rupor warships had come in undetected by their sensors and proceeded to open fire on them, she could see three large warships, sleek in design and packing a deadly punch.

"We barely had enough time to raise our shields, Captain," Tuvok said, finishing his report.

"Hail them," Janeway ordered, still hoping for a diplomatic solution. Tuvok told her the channel was open. "This is Captain Janeway, we mean you no harm, we're simply trying to find our people."

"They are not responding, Captain," Tuvok reported.

"Return fire!"

"Firing phasers," Tuvok said. "They had no effect Captain."

Voyager groaned with another hit, and Janeway had to grip the railing near tactical to stay on her feet. Someone was yelling that their hull was losing integrity and then Paris was yelling that they were losing warp drive.

Janeway felt like the walls of the bridge were closing in around her as the Rupor continued to fire. Consoles were exploding, their shields were failing, and causalities were being reported all over the ship. If she stayed in Rupor space she risked losing more than just Chakotay and Sarah, she risked losing her entire crew, her children. Swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat, she turned to Paris. "Do we have enough power to the warp drive to get us out of here, Mister Paris?"

"Yes ma'am," Paris answered, blue eyes studying her face.

"Set a course out of Rupor space, maximum warp," Janeway instructed a tone of dread in her voice.

"Aye, captain."

Janeway felt the ship lurch with the new course, the walls seemingly getting smaller and smaller the further they moved away from the space that Chakotay and Sarah were trapped in. I've abandoned them, she thought miserably. No captain should abandon her crew, should not leave them behind. I'll be damned if these aliens bully me into leaving my people to die.

"The Rupor are not pursuing, Captain," Kim said, and then in a soft voice asked, "Does this mean we're giving up the rescue attempt?"

The Captain spun on her heel, tears threatening to escape her eyes, and Kim could see the fire smoldering in them. "No Ensign, they may have us back on our heels, but I refuse to give up trying to rescue Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Barrett. Contact the Karvaian Prime Minister, maybe they can help us."

#star trek voyager #star trek voyager fanfiction #kathryn janeway #chakotay #tom paris #sarah barrett (oc)#harry kim #tuvok #neelix #kes #the doctor (emh)#janeway x chakotay #tom paris x ofc #this way became my journey

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slverjohn · 6 years ago

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would you write a sequel fic for your abigail fic? it's so cuuuuuute! maybe flint reading her diary or something?

When Silver wakes, it’s to the smell of stew at his bedside, no doubt placed there by one of Max’s girls. He’s been stuck in this fucking room for nearly two weeks, laid up on Howell’s orders while Flint finishes negotiating with Rackham and Vane.

If he weren’t constantly drinking rum (not laudanum, never laudanum) to numb the pain, he’d be more insulted that Flint hadn’t at least tried to bring him along. He is the quartermaster, after all. Still, perhaps it’s for the best. He can’t be sure that Rackham doesn’t know it was him who sold the information in the first place, and if there’s one thing he can be sure of, it’s that Jack fucking Rackham doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

He sits up slowly, reaching over for the bowl once he’s settled at least somewhat comfortably among his pillows. It’s still warm, thank fuck, and whoever made it is a sight better than Silver when it comes to cooking. It’s only as he’s finishing, wiping away the remnants of the broth from his growing stubble, that someone knocks at his door. He can’t help his surprise as he looks up and sees Flint in the doorway, holding a book and looking mildly uncomfortable. Silver wonders, absently, when the last time it was he’d spent any time in a brothel, if he has at all.

Still, he waves him in, putting the empty bowl aside. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Captain,” he says, which is, really, the most polite way of asking where the fuck he’s been. He hasn’t seen Flint since the day he’d been put in this room; he’d overseen Silver’s installation here and left without another word.

“We’ve finally reached an agreement,” Flint offers, coming to sit in the lone chair in the room, on Silver’s good side. “Vane will take the Warship, and we will return to the Walrus.”

Silver raises a brow at that. “Awfully sentimental of you.”

Flint lets out a snort at that. “Hardly. Vane sees it as recompense for what would have been Abigail Ashe’s ransom.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He shifts, sitting up more fully. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“When do we start?” he asks, knowing full well the next step in this plan is to carry out assaults and raids, spread fear among magistrates and citizens alike.

Flint places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down, settling his sudden antsiness. “A few weeks, I’d say. There’s still repairs needed on the Walrus, and the risk of infection on your leg is still too great, according to Howell.”

Silver scowls at this, glaring at his stump with utter contempt.

“There’s another matter I wanted to discuss with you,” Flint says after a moment, sounding almost hesitant. “I’ve been meaning to for some time, but I confess I didn’t know where to begin.”

He fingers the book, holding it in his lap, and Silver itches to reach for it: he’d gone through every book in this bloody whorehouse within the first week, and anything, even some unmarked book, would be enough to pique his interest.

“Does it have anything to do with that?” He asks, gesturing to the book, and Flint nods, expression unreadable. “What is it, then?”

“This is the journal Abigail Ashe kept while aboard the Walrus,” Flint answers, his voice carefully neutral, and Silver can feel himself start to pale.

“Oh.”

“The magistrate read from it at the trial while I was in chains. It would seem that her time with us made Miss Ashe rather skeptical of her father’s rhetoric,” He opens the journal and reads an excerpt. “‘I fear that the stories I’ve heard may have clouded the truth more than clarified it. It would seem these monsters are men…I am forced to wonder if my father is simply mistaken or if his motives are something more deliberate than that…’”

“She’s a perceptive girl, that one,” Silver offers, trying to maintain his composure.

“I don’t know what possessed me to take it. We were in the middle of a battle, moments away from death, and yet…”

“You were about to become the monster you’d always feared you were. It must have been a small comfort, to know there was at least one person who didn’t believe that.”

Flint grimaces, ever reluctant to seem vulnerable. Silver can relate, truly, but right now he’s more focused on whatever the fuck that journal says about him. He ignores Silver’s little insight. “I read the rest of it that first night, before the fires at Charlestown had even gone out.”

“I doubt you came here to gossip about her obvious infatuation with Billy,” Silver jokes, though Flint does not laugh. He sighs, biting the bullet. “I take it she mentions me?”

At this, Flint gives him a sharp look. “I admit, I was surprised. Considering I had given a direct order for all crewmen to give her a wide berth.”

“We only spoke a few times,” Silver says quickly, defensively. “And each time it was her who came to me. I swear, I never approached her.”

Flint nods, accepting Silver’s truth, before turning back to the book, flipping to a new page. He reaches over, placing the journal in Silver’s lap. He taps the page. “This, however, was what surprised me most.”

Silver’s throat feels suddenly tight, and he swallows convulsively. He knows what it will say. “Captain, I don’t -”

“Read it. Please.”

And so he does, noting how worn this particular page is, how the letters are smudged slightly, as if someone has been running their fingers over them again and again.

Though I have spoken at length with Mrs. Hamilton on Captain Flint, and though I have heard accounts of him from all sorts of places: Miss Guthrie, my father, even the papers; I have found that it is Mr. Silver’s view of his captain that interests me most.

Mr. Silver is, by his own admission, a “self-serving sort of man.” Captain Flint himself has told me that Mr. Silver would sooner sell out his own mother than put himself at risk for any other person. Mr. Silver, I can tell, thinks this of himself as well. He thinks of himself as apart from the rest of the men, isolated by his own ambition and a sense of self-preservation.

But I have found that this is not the case. Or at least, not anymore.

Mr. Silver once told me that he’d ingratiated himself with the crew for the Captain’s sake, to prove himself essential to the other man’s aims. He told me of how he’d convinced the men to join us on our voyage to Charlestown, to join Flint on his journey towards a better future, because Flint had asked it of him. He mentioned, in passing, that he’d once dragged Flint from the ocean, saved him from drowning after a grueling battle.

He insists that he’d done all these things simply because they suited his interests at the time, and I think a part of him genuinely believes this. Mr. Silver does not seem to realize that all his actions as of late have been for Flint, his every decision considering what would be best for his Captain.

When I asked about the love he clearly felt for the Captain, Mr. Silver went white as a sheet, shocked that he’d been discovered. It seems to me that he would prefer to remain a stranger to his own heart. When he did finally speak freely, though briefly, of his thoughts on Flint, he seemed almost confounded by the strength of his own feelings.

Mr. Silver is in love with Captain Flint. This much is certain. He loves Flint in the covetous, awed way in which only the loneliest of people are capable. He loves Flint so much it frightens him.

That Flint has inspired such a deep, restless, and loyal love in such a man gives me pause. It must be a very special person indeed, to move a self-serving, solitary man to love so very intensely, without the slightest hope of gaining anything in return.

Fuck, it’s so much worse than he’d feared. Silver sucks in a sharp inhale, his breath coming faster. He can feel himself start to panic, and now he can’t run from this, not like he could have, would have before.

Flint has read this. Flint knows.

Silver slams the journal shut, tossing it onto the sheets beside him.

“Silver,” Flint says quietly, and he squeezes his eyes shut, paralyzed by his own anxiety.

“Don’t,” he whispers. He looks down at his hands, white-knuckling the blankets on his lap. “There’s pity in the eyes of every man on that crew, every person in this brothel, when they look at me. They look at me, and only see what’s happened to me. And you - you looked at me differently, yes, but - there wasn’t pity there. I can’t - I can’t bear it, to have you pity me now, over this, of all things.”

Flint takes his hand, gently prying his fingers loose from the fabric. “Silver. John.”

Silver does look up at that. Flint has never, not once, called him by his first name. And the look on Flint’s face - it’s -

Well, it’s not pity.

“It’s true, then?” Flint asks, eyes wide. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, like he’s been completely blindsided.

“Like I said. She’s a perceptive girl,” he can’t say it, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Flint, at his admission, actually smiles. At first Silver thinks he’s mocking him, that he finds his quartermaster’s infatuation amusing. But then Flint laces their fingers together, stroking his thumb along the back of Silver’s hand, and his breath catches.

Flint lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to Silver’s knuckles.

“Then perhaps I owe the perceptive Miss Ashe my thanks.”

#my fic #silverflint #silverflint fic

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weerd1 · 5 years ago

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Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1906.16: Missions Reviewed, “The Search, Parts 1 & 2” and “The House of Quark.”

Two months after the destruction of the Odyssey by the Jem’Hadar, Starfleet assigns a ship to DS9: The Defiant, a prototype warship originally designed to fight The Borg. Along with the ship, Starfleet sends along a new Security chief, Lt. Cmdr Eddington, and a Romulan officer T’Rul, there to supervise the fact the Defiant has a cloaking device.

Sisko is taking the Defiant into the Gamma Quadrant to find the mysterious “Founders,” the masterminds behind The Dominion. Though the Defiant is formidable, it soon finds itself under attack. Odo takes Kira on a shuttle craft to escape the attack to a mysterious planet he finds himself drawn to. There he finds more Changelings who tell him that he was one of them sent out centuries before to gain knowledge. They welcome him home. Sisko and crew meanwhile having abandoned the Defiant are located by Starfleet and brought back to DS9 where the Federation is negotiating with the Dominion. Admiral Necheyev is pleased that Sisko’s mission brought the Founders to the table, and they turn out to be the race Sisko encountered like Eris in the “Jen’Hadar” episode.

The negotiations get ever worse for the Federation, with them refusing to bring the Romulans to the table, risking war, and then offering control of Bajor and the wormhole to the Dominion in exchange for peace and technology. On the rogue planet, while waiting for Odo to hang out with his people, Kira discovers a door around a large power source. She can’t open it, and asks Odo to do so as a final favor as he will be staying here. He does so. On DS9, Sisko and the crew steal a Runabout and decide to use photon torpedoes to collapse the Wormhole rather than let the Federation give in to the Dominion. They do so and their Runabout is flooded with light. Back with Kira and Odo, they open the door to find the crew of the Defiant held captive by the “Founder” and some Jem’Hadar.

They are running a simulation in the heads of the crew to see how far they could be pushed if the Dominion tried to establish a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant. Odo is shocked, but soon the female Changeling he’s been communing with appears and reveals the “Founder” running the show is a “Vorta,” an administrator in the Dominion; the Changelings are the Founders. Odo refuses to join them, and in deference to him they release the crew back to the Defiant to return to DS9, in reality this time.

Giving the Defiant to the show in Season 3 is a good move, and they show she’s got some teeth when she handily takes out some Jem’Hadar, but the cloak doesn’t seem to do much. I personally would love to have seen T’Rul become a permanent crew member, but alas since the cloak doesn’t work, we don’t see her again…although the Defiant will use the cloak again many times. T’Rul is played by Martha Hackett who will play Seska when “Voyager” begins. The reveal that Odo’s people are actually the big bad is pretty good, and this will of course have ramifications for the rest of the show. The “it was all a simulation” thing is a bit tired, but does serve to really reinforce how much I don’t like Admiral Necheyev. Suppose I shouldn’t hold something she doesn’t really do against her. These episodes definitely set us up for more conflict in the future.

In “The House of Quark,” Quark accidentally lets a drunken Klingon die in his bar and tries to take credit for killing him in self defense to boost sales. He is soon visited by the Klingon’s brother who convinces him that he should stick with the story so Kovak is not dishonored. This is a ruse though, and the “Brother” is really a rival planning to seize Kovak’s house. Kovak’s widow Grilka comes and forcefully enlists Quark in an effort to protect her house by marrying him.

Trying to help, Quark does what he IS good at, and looks as Kovak’s finances only to find the rival house has been scamming them behind the scenes for years. When the accusation is brought before the Klingon high council, the rival challenges Quark to a duel for the right to the house. Quark throws down his sword and tells him that he’ll have to murder Quark, without honor. When the rival moves to do so, Chancellor Gowron stops him, as this proves how dishonorable he is, and the rival is stripped of his own house. Owing Quark, Grilka divorces him, but kisses him fondly before he leaves, hoping they will meet again.

After how dark the last few have been, it is nice to get this lighter bit of Klingon melodrama. It does seem weird in retrospect that the Klingons would have rules that prevent a woman from taking over a house. Sure I realize Chancellor L’Rell running the Empire in “Discovery” could be called a retcon, but we’ve already seen Chancellor Azetbur in “The Undiscovered Country” which came out three years before this episode. Seems like if a woman can run the Empire, she can run a house. Also, when Kovak dies, his blood is red rather than pepto pink like it should be. Thanks to Disco for bringing that back. Cool guest casting here as the Klingon major domo in House Kovak is played by Joseph Ruskin, who was Galt on the Classic Trek episode “The Gamesters of Triskelion.” He will also go on to appear twice more on DS9, once in “Star Trek: Insurrection,” an appearance on Voyager, and two characters on Enterprise!

NEXT VOYAGE: Proving Ron D. Moore is now running DS9, Dax goes all Starbuck (or does Starbuck go all Dax?) when she can mysteriously play a song on piano she shouldn’t know; is there any way out of here when she has lost her “Equilibrium?”

#star trek #star trek: Deep Space Nine #ds9 rewatch

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sagittarising · 6 years ago

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Four - Strix - Jaques Station - Colonia

18 Oct, 3302

The silent moment stretched on as the two sisters sipped their coffee, the one watching him warily, the other digesting his words. She blinked suddenly in surprise and looked at him, her green eyes wide.

"You... took us here? Oh... Well... Thank you. Pan! Be nice and tell him thank you!" The thought flashed through his mind as she spoke that some people did not leave cryogenic sleep unscathed. Unburned. Yet, as strange as she seemed - as strange as they both seemed - they were different than those who were sleep burnt. She was a puzzle. They both were.

Pandora returned her gaze stolidly, wordlessly sipping her coffee.

"Please don't turn us into slaves! We're not that suited to that lifestyle", the girl stuttered before freezing. Her pale brows furrowed in thought as she watched him.

"Mateo? Satsuma?" She could barely force the words out, her green eyes never leaving his face. She carefully set her cup down in the saucer and inhaled deeply.

"Oh my goodness", she gasped, shivering. "I am such a fan of yours! Oh my goodness! I keep track of your data, you know. Oh, the things you bring back... So wonderful! Can I have your autograph?" Her words tumbled out one after the other, ever faster. He chuckled uncomfortably as the girl began to bounce in her seat, excitement shining from her.

Pandora winced, then took his hand, shaking it in a businesslike manner. "Pan", she murmured. "Short for Pandora. My unstable sister is Eve." She released his hand, then sipped her coffee again.

"I can introduce myself!" Eve glared at Pan before turning back to Mateo, smiling brilliantly. "Hello, Mister Mateo, I'm Eve. Doctor Eve. I'm a biologist."

"It's... It's a pleasure to meet you both", he replied. He could feel his face burning in embarrassment, but he didn't know why. Was he embarrassed for himself? For her? He looked away, taking in the comfortable galley. The little table with its tablecloth, clips holding it on against gravity. A string of colored lights wound along the cabinets, and he suddenly could see himself as they must see him. A recluse. Someone who had no idea how to deal with people. He had been alone in space for a year, after all. More than a year. If you counted the time he'd spent in his escape capsule, he had spent more time alone in space than he had among people in gravity. He quickly shut down that line of thought, his brow furrowing at the painful memory.

He pushed all that down and suddenly was himself again. He grinned, then held up his hands in mock surrender. "And don't worry", he added, "you're not going to be slaves. I'll find a way to get you back where you need to go, wherever that is." He picked up his coffee and sipped before the thought occurred to him. "Speaking of that", he said, blinking, "where were you going? Unreal said he found you two in deep space, out towards the Sagittarius arm. It's not exactly a typical place for a liner to fly."

Eve stilled, her brow furrowing again, as if she were remembering something painful. "It... It was a research voyage", she said. "We were headed out that way to collect and record data. Then I guess something happened. I think... I think there was an explosion."

"Nothing on that ship would have caused an explosion", Pan said forcefully. She sipped her coffee, but he could see a muscle jumping in her jaw. "Point is, that's gone up in flames, and we don't have anywhere to go now." Her eyes met his and he felt a shock pass through him.

"That's gone up in flames, and you don't have anywhere to go", he agreed. "You probably won't believe me, but I know exactly how that feels. So, I'll tell you what. I'll help you out. I've got a little money set aside from selling data here. What do you need? What do you want to do?"

Eve blinked at him, then blushed suddenly, furiously. "No! You don't have to pay for a single thing! We can take care of ourselves!" She turned excitedly to her sister, her hands clenching and unclenching.

"We'll take the money", Pan said bluntly. Eve opened her mouth, then closed it again and nodded.

"We want to go back out into deep space", Eve said, almost sheepishly. "I want to go back out into deep space. I want to collect data. I want to learn more. I want to see everything. I want to discover new forms of life on planets." The words came out in a sudden rush again. It was as if she only had two modes of speech: Embarrassed, and relentlessly excited.

"I just want to be on a good ship and take care of it", Pandora murmured softly. "I'm a mechanic."

"Neither of us are pilots", Eve added breathily. "We don't know how to fly a ship. Well, Pan does, a little, but I can't. And..." Her voice dropped, furtive and quiet. "But we can't go out on our own..."

They would take the money. He looked at the pair of them, so alike and yet so different. He felt a sudden pang, a stabbing sensation in his stomach. He barely knew their names. He had known them for only about fifteen minutes - hell, they had stowed away on his ship! Yet suddenly the galley, in which he had enjoyed his silence with only the twinkling light for company, seemed lonely. He could see the dim chamber of the lounge with the holotable he had pulled out of the spare stateroom, and it struck him that despite everything he had here, he hadn't heard laughter or voices in months. More. And now they would take the money he offered and get off his ship and go on with their lives while he went on with his.

But the sudden glances Pandora gave Eve. There was more they weren't saying. The way they reacted when he spoke of finding them transport home. They were running from something. Running from something that drove them out into the black. That left them stranded at this space station so far from home.

"You know", he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice, "if that's what you want... There isn't any passenger service out here. You might wait months on this station for a trader with free berths who will sell you a passage back home. And it might take weeks to make the trip."

He looked down at the table, then back up at them, meeting their eyes in turn. "I'm leaving in a couple of weeks on an expedition. Something for IGER, the Institute for Galactic Exploration and Research. If you came along, you'd see some interesting sights. We're going to pass through a number of nebula on the way, and we'll be seeing the Great Annihilator and Sagittarius A." He paused to see Eve's reaction. Sagittarius A. The supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy. There was something poetic about it. Something symbolic. He turned to Pandora, still speaking in the same reasonable, even voice. "And if you're looking for a good ship to take care of, there are few better than Strix. It's not exactly the warship it used to be, but it's a solid ship, and it's got long legs. You two could come along. I've got the room, and it would give you a chance to get your feet again. To figure out what you'll do."

Eve opened her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelieve. "S-s-s-s-s-s-sagitt..." She was stuttering, unable to complete the word. Pandora's face paled with surprise before she cupped her sister's chin and gently closed her mouth.

"Thank you", she said quietly. "Strix is a good ship. I'd be honored."

Eve tried to speak again, fumbling with the sounds before Pandora sighed and gently stroked Eve's cheek. "Yes", Pandora said. "Sagittarius A*."

Eve drew a shuddering breath, and then the words tumbled out of her again. "Yes! I would love to! We! We would love to! Pan! This is perfect! An expedition with a real explorer! Oh my! So much to learn from you!"

Pandora raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lip quirking as she looked at him. "You sure you want us with you, in this ship, for a long time?"

#Pandora #Eve #Colonia #Strix #Satsuma

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Wednesday, April 14, 2021

Wealth tax? (Bloomberg) United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres is calling on nations to institute a wealth tax to help reduce global inequality exacerbated by the Covid-19 pandemic. There has been a $5 trillion surge in the wealth of the world’s richest in the past year even as those at the bottom were made increasingly vulnerable, Guterres told a UN economic and social forum on Monday. With the Covid-19 fallout causing government debt to swell, and hurting poorer people most, wealth taxes are being debated from California to the U.K.

U.S. government spent $660 billion more in March than it collected in revenue (Washington Post) The federal government spent $660 billion more than it collected in tax revenue this March, the Department of Treasury said Monday, as the Biden administration’s stimulus package pushed the U.S. monthly deficit near record highs. The resulting deficit is the third largest ever in American history, Treasury officials said, eclipsed only by April and June of last year—when the U.S. authorized larger levels of emergency spending to head off the economic crisis caused by the pandemic. The monthly deficit had contracted relative to the summer months as federal spending expired and the U.S. economy began to heal. Many economists and lawmakers clamored for the additional spending as necessary to help the economy recovery from one of the worst shocks in decades, with millions of workers still out of a job. Over the first six months of the current fiscal year, the government’s budget deficit has reached $1.7 trillion, a massive sum for this early in the year. America’s annual deficit hit $3.1 trillion in 2020, an all-time high that far surpassed the previous record of $1.4 trillion, which came in 2009 during the depths of the Great Recession. Democrats and Republicans authorized much of the emergency spending last year as a way to try and stop an economic collapse. They are at odds, though, over spending levels in 2021.

Poll: 15% of Americans worse off a year into pandemic (AP) While most Americans have weathered the pandemic financially, about 38 million say they are worse off now than before the outbreak began in the U.S. Overall, 55% of Americans say their financial circumstances are about the same now as a year ago, and 30% say their finances have improved, according to a new poll from Impact Genome and The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research. But 15% say they are worse off. The problem is more pronounced at lower-income levels: 29% of Americans living below the federal poverty line say their personal finances worsened in the past year. Roughly that many also find themselves in a deepening financial hole, saying they struggled to pay bills in the past three months. The pandemic has wreaked havoc on the economy—the United States still has 8.4 million fewer jobs than it had in February 2020, just before the pandemic struck. The government has passed three major relief bills in response, which included direct economic relief payments to individuals. That has helped ease the suffering of some.

Mexico, Honduras, Guatemala deploy troops to lower migration (AP) The Biden administration has struck an agreement with Mexico, Honduras and Guatemala to temporarily surge security forces to their borders in an effort to reduce the tide of migration to the U.S. border. According to White House press secretary Jen Psaki, Mexico will maintain a deployment of about 10,000 troops, while Guatemala has surged 1,500 police and military personnel to its southern border and Honduras deployed 7,000 police and military to its border “to disperse a large contingent of migrants” there. Guatemala will also set up 12 checkpoints along the migratory route through the country.

Ecuador picks conservative for president; Peru sets runoff (AP) Ecuador will be led for the next four years by a conservative businessman after voters rebuffed a left-leaning movement that yielded an economic boom and then a recession since taking hold of the presidency last decade. That election certainty, however, did not extend to neighboring Peru, where the presidential contest is headed to a runoff after none of the 18 candidates obtained more than 50% of the votes. Peruvian elections officials on Monday said leftist Pedro Castillo had 18.9% of support, with 90% of ballots processed. He was followed by opposition leader Keiko Fujimori at 13.2%, right-wing economist Hernando de Soto with 11.86% and ultra-conservative businessman Rafael López Aliaga at 11.83%. The crowded presidential contest came months after the country’s political chaos reached a new level in November, when three men were president in a single week after one was impeached by Congress over corruption allegations and protests forced his successor to resign in favor of the third.

Britain Rejoices (NYT) After months of coronavirus restrictions that encroached on almost every aspect of daily life, the English celebrated a hopeful new chapter, many of them in what seemed the most fitting way possible: with a pint at a pub. “It’s like being out of prison,” said Kate Asani, who was sitting at a small table with two friends in the back garden of the Carlton Tavern in the Kilburn area of London, where they basked in each other’s company as much as in the sunshine. Just past the stroke of midnight on Monday, a few select establishments in England served their first drinks since being forced to close in December and January, and more than a year after the first of three national lockdowns was imposed to limit the spread of the virus. Later in the morning, thousands of gyms, salons and retail stores opened their doors for the first time in months, bringing a frisson of life to streets long frozen in a state of suspended animation. Friends reunited, and families shared a meal at outdoor cafes for the first time in months.

Moscow says U.S. military support to Kyiv ‘serious challenge’ (Reuters) Moscow on Tuesday said active U.S. military support to Kyiv was a serious challenge for Russia’s security and accused Washington and NATO of turning Ukraine into a “powder keg” with increasing arms supplies, Russian agencies reported, citing the foreign ministry. Russia would do everything possible to ensure its security in the event of an escalation in Ukraine, agencies quoted Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov as saying. Earlier on Tuesday, Ryabkov warned the United States to ensure its warships stayed well away from Crimea “for their own good”, calling their deployment in the Black Sea a provocation designed to test Russian nerves.

China tests Taiwan (Foreign Policy) The Chinese air force flew 25 aircraft into Taiwan’s air defense identification zone on Monday, in the largest reported incursion since Taiwan began regular reporting last year. The mission, which involved 18 fighter jets and four bombers, is considered part of Beijing’s increased military activity around the island in response to what it has called “collusion” between the United States and Taiwan. U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken on Sunday expressed concern about China’s actions in the Taiwan Strait, warning that using force to change the region’s status quo would be a “serious mistake.”

Japan to start releasing Fukushima water into sea in 2 years (AP) Japan’s government decided Tuesday to start releasing treated radioactive water from the wrecked Fukushima nuclear plant into the Pacific Ocean in two years—an option fiercely opposed by fishermen, residents and Japan’s neighbors. The decision, long speculated but delayed for years due to safety concerns and protests, came at a meeting of Cabinet ministers who endorsed the ocean release as the best option. The accumulating water has been stored in tanks at the Fukushima Daiichi plant since 2011, when a massive earthquake and tsunami damaged its reactors and their cooling water became contaminated and began leaking. The plant’s storage capacity will be full late next year.

Attack on Iran’s Natanz plant muddies US, Iran nuke talks (AP) The attack on Iran’s Natanz nuclear facility is casting a major shadow over the resumption of indirect talks between the U.S. and Iran over resurrection of the international accord limiting Iran’s nuclear program. Neither Iran nor the U.S. say the incident will crater the negotiations. But the attack and the destruction of a significant amount of Iran’s uranium enrichment capability add uncertainty to the discussions set for Tuesday in Vienna. The attack gives both sides reason to harden their positions, yet each has incentives to keep the talks on track. Iran wants Washington to lift sanctions that have contributed to damaging its economy, including measures not related to its nuclear program. For the Biden administration, the talks are a high-stakes gamble that it can salvage what the Obama administration considered one of its prime foreign policy achievements and slow Iran’s programs.

Egypt seizes the Ever Given, saying its owners owe nearly $1 billion for Suez Canal traffic jam (Washington Post) A few weeks ago, Egypt was frantically trying to get the massive container ship Ever Given out of the Suez Canal. Now, authorities are saying the vessel is not allowed to leave. In the latest complication to the ill-fated voyage, Egypt has seized the Ever Given over its owners’ “failure to pay an amount of $900 million,” the state-run news outlet Ahram Gate reported. That amount represents the total compensation that Egypt says it is owed for the six-day blockage of the Suez Canal, including lost revenue from ships that ordinarily would have traveled through the canal during that time, as well as costs for damage to the crucial waterway and the equipment and labor deployed in the 144-hour scramble to free the ship. Since it was dislodged from the narrow section of the canal where it ran aground in late March, blocking commerce worth billions of dollars, the Ever Given has been anchored in Egypt’s Great Bitter Lake, at the midpoint of the canal. Twenty-five crew members, all Indian nationals, remain stuck on board.

#headlines #news

0 notes

werewolves-are-real · 7 years ago

Note

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.”

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