87 Birds - Chapter 1
Title: 87 Birds
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet
Rating: R
Words: 31,800
Warnings: Canon-typical violence
Summary: Stede Bonnet only has stupid ideas. When a raid goes wrong and Edward loses a limb, Stede fears that his stupid ideas will lead to him losing the man he loves. Journey through Stede's past, where he first learned to doubt himself, and arrive at his current dilemma. Riding the thrill of his recent reunion with Ed and his return to the Revenge, Stede struggles to keep Edward alive, certain that he has made a bad decision, yet again. Although he may try, Stede can't quell the demons of his inner voice alone. He needs someone to tell it to shut up, but that person is sick with fever, missing a limb, and may never regain his stature as the most fearsome pirate that ever lived.
Tags: Post-canon fix-it, non-linear narrative, character study, hurt/comfort, PTSD, mild gore, disfigurement, brief mention of canon suicide ideation, ASMR, ambiguous minor character death, amputation, fluff.
A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian, who has been my beta for so many projects over so many years and who always makes my writing better. Thanks to Ro, for being a helpful sounding board for my ideas around this fic and for luring me into this fandom when I planned to give it a pass! Thanks to the incomparable Sooz Twitter Tumblr, for their amazing artwork, pre-reading, cheer-reading, and moral support! I feel so privileged that you chose my fic from the summaries. Thanks for all the laughs and drafts along the way! Thanks to the mod for running this Big Bang.
The Neptune quote is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I used many sources for research while writing this fic. This website, The Pirate Surgeon was immensely helpful. Many thanks to my son E.S., a combat medic, who provided insight and support while writing this fic. MIT biomechatronics engineer Hugh Herr, who unknowingly shares a friend circle with me.
In fond memory of my grandfather, amputee C.B., who always indulged me when I wanted to play with his wooden leg.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“I’ve only got stupid ideas.”
~
Roach’s teeth gleamed as he counted down.
“Three…”
“Two...”
“One.”
The blood spattered across Stede’s face. He flinched, but he did not raise his hand from Ed’s chest to wipe it away.
The scent of salt and smoke, carrion, and steel permeated the darkness of Roach’s galley. In the lamplit cavern of the hull, the memory of another animal’s blood pierced Stede’s thoughts. Like a pinprick of stabbing light, the memory slid through the cracks in the beams Stede had used to build his fortress. He had heaved more weathered beams atop each other since his final fuckery… the one that resulted in his faked death.
A fearful whine rose in his throat. Amid the slices of fruit and half-empty bottles of rum and God knows what other elixirs the cook had gathered for strictly medicinal purposes, Stede’s foundation swayed, ready to collapse.
Ed’s chest continued to rise and fall. Still breathing. The relief of it allowed Stede’s attention to slip.
Stede sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down to halt his whine. Maybe he had made the right decision, after all?
He had never made a good decision in his life, it seemed. Stupid ideas ruled his actions.
The sharpened spears of Stede’s father’s words stabbed again, berating him for his propensity to pick flowers. For his aversion to severing a goose’s head from its body when plenty of food filled the pantry of the Bonnet household. A weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy, his father’s words taunted as the hatchet swung down with the same force as Roach’s cleaver.
A weak-hearted lily-livered little rich boy, one whose ideas were always stupid.
Without thinking, Stede raised his hand and touched his fingertips to the spray of crimson droplets that had landed on his face.
On Roach’s table, Ed gulped in a breath of shock, but his eyes remained closed.
Stede tensed and waited for the inevitable stomach-lurching fall that would come to him. The shame consumed him, although he never let on. Soon enough, the words of denigration would be aimed at him for making the wrong decision, his stupidity contributing more to his own downfall than he ever could if he had only kept quiet. But the queasiness in his stomach came only from the speed of the Revenge under full sail as it cut a path through the waves.
A commotion rose from the members of Stede’s crew who still stood over the carnage. Someone spoke to Stede, a low voice murmuring from across what seemed a great distance. In the haze, a hand clamped onto his shoulder, jolting Stede back into consciousness.
Buttons grunted into his ear, “Sorry Cap’n.”
Stede sucked a finger into his mouth. Wincing at the taste of human blood, Stede gave thanks that he had remained upright. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of his crew, not after they had come this far. Besides, it wasn’t too long ago that Ed gleefully claimed that he once ate a man. A drop of blood couldn’t compare to a whole man. Could it? He’d have to ask Ed to recount that tale again… later. Much later… after Ed had recovered enough to speak.
Which, surely he would. Right?
Despite it all, Stede tried to stay optimistic.
“Lucius?” Stede called for the scribe after releasing his finger from his mouth with a pop.
“Oh, God, you can’t mean to make me watch more of this?” Lucius asked, his face as pale as a spare topsail.
“Not at all, boy,” Stede said, squaring his shoulders. “I want you to prepare some warm brandy for us when we adjourn to our quarters. My co-captain is going to need his strength before he can get back on his feet again.”
Lucius wrinkled his nose. “I think you mean foot, but whatever,” he said before he gave a nod in agreement. He raised his journal to shield his face, blocking his view of the table where Roach still worked to stop the bleeding.
~
With a long squeal followed by a soft thud, the door to the captain’s quarters closed behind Stede. There hadn’t been enough time to make all the repairs necessary after Stede’s return to The Revenge. Hinges needed to be oiled and the broken panes of glass needed more permanent replacements than that of scrap wood haphazardly nailed into place.
In the firelight, the scant number of recently raided books populated the otherwise bare shelves. Stede’s beloved first editions and treasured favourites had been sunk to the bottom of the sea. Stede sometimes wondered if any of the timeworn classics had floated long enough to find their way to a dry patch of sand on a forgotten island. Perhaps he’d come across a soggy tome one day in his travels. He could only hope, as he perused the titles that were now available. Barely anything worth translating to the crew when dusk settled over the deck and the day’s work had finished.
At least Ed had been trying to make amends for his inappropriate disposal of Stede’s belongings, now that Stede had returned to the ship.
Stede considered the sofa they had acquired in their most recent successful raid. The French aristocrat had good taste in furnishings when he voyaged from France to survey his fleet of merchant ships. Ed and Stede were all too happy to relieve him of the ostentatious piece. Stede had insisted that the crew let the Frenchman flee with his life, even if his leadership skills were lacking. The poor fellow would probably never return to the Caribbean again after his crew mutinied and left him to fend for himself at the Republic of Pirates. The sofa wasn’t the only thing the Frenchman lost in the scuffle. He lost his noble birthright of innocence much more swiftly than Stede had on the high seas.
A log crackled in the newly restored fireplace as Stede admired the comfy sofa that he had a hand in stealing. A dense brocade of burgundy velvet stood in relief to the creamy woven wool background. The edges of the brocade were embroidered with threads of gold. Glittering medallion-headed pins held the fabric to the frame. The seating and backing were stuffed full of down. The stuffing plumped sumptuously, except for one flattened area where a rogue wave had splashed against the sofa when they carried it from the looted French ship to the Revenge. The exquisite piece stretched twice as long as the settee that once adorned the same place in the captain’s quarters.
It was the perfect place for Ed to stretch out for a nap.
Beneath Stede’s feet, the scarred floorboards squeaked as he stepped behind the piece of furniture.
Stede had loved that settee. But he knew that it would be fruitless to mourn over his lost belongings for too long. He deserved every ache that the loss of his worldly goods doled out to him, and worse, for his behaviour on that night some months ago. Stiffening at the memory, Stede recalled how he had flown into a panic when Chauncey fell to the ground, dead by his own inebriated hand. But inebriated or not, his words rang true to Stede’s ears.
Stede defiled beautiful things.
Nigel.
His family.
History’s greatest pirate.
Ed’s abandonment wreaked even more havoc than Chauncey could have predicted. But how could Stede have known the immensity of Ed’s feelings for him? Like an anchor dropped aweigh to the ocean floor, its chain broken, the weight of the anchor never to rise again. Such were the depths of Edward’s emotions. Buried deep and unretrievable. Once Ed made up his mind that he was worthless, unless he caused mayhem as the bearded Kraken, there was no turning back.
On that distant night, Stede wanted only to set things right. He’d return to Mary and the children. He would try to excel in the role his family expected of him. He would try to fit into the Stede-shaped hole that society had cut out for him. Only then would he afford his family some comfort.
Only then would he spare Ed a life of ruin- the notorious Blackbeard serving the Crown. Ludicrous!
Stede couldn’t bring Nigel and Chauncey back to life, but he could at least do this. He could return to Bridgetown. This was his only idea after the shriek he let out at Chauncey’s death faded into the night air. To make amends as best he could.
And it had been another stupid idea, at that.
Stede’s fingers landed on the back of the sofa as he listened to the patter of rain against the windows that still bore their glass. The gentle summer shower would wash the deck clean while Roach commandeered the crew to serve as assistants in his impromptu surgical suite.
In admiration, Stede traced the brocade, the soft velvet contrasting with the rougher wool. It wouldn’t be the first time Stede recognized that the contrast of softness against the harshness of a different fabric could result in a thing of beauty. Ed’s tattoos came to mind. A thread of gold caught on the callouses of his palm. Stede drew his hand back, the sting of the thread catching his roughened skin made him press his palm to his mouth. No matter that weeks had passed, his hands hadn’t healed yet from his long journey of rowing from the Bridgetown docks to retrieve his abandoned men before reconnecting with the Revenge again.
He licked at his palm to soothe the sting. Many years had stretched out between the first time he acquired such callouses and his most recent foray into the exhaustive work of day-long rowing in an overloaded dinghy.
The Caribbean sun felt just as hot as the shame had on Stede’s face.
Stede’s schoolmates had given chase. Their motives were unclear to Stede, who always had a kind word for them, no matter the antics they got up to, especially when they involved ridiculing Stede. The slop of a horse’s tongue thrust against his lips with vile spittle that Stede wouldn’t forget for weeks afterwards.
Maybe years.
Maybe ever.
Stede had known that he should have run away when he had the chance, but instead he hadn’t recognized the danger. He had always been one to think the best of people. Somehow, he got the idea that the schoolmates wouldn’t harm him. It was a dream of Stede’s that would never be realized, nor could it ever be shared.
Weak-hearted.
Stede never was the kind of boy who could hope to share his feelings without being ridiculed.
The ache in his palms after reuniting with his crew, rescuing them from a certain death before finding Lucius hidden in the secret crawlspaces of the Revenge, still pained him after all these weeks. Like the throbbing ache in his hands as he rowed across the pond with his classmates’ inescapable cannon-fire of rocks landing in his wake, Stede could do nothing about it now. He clasped his hands together and sat heavily upon the sofa. In due time, Roach would finish with his handiwork and Ed would be brought to the captain’s quarters to recuperate.
The least Stede could do would be to have Lucius turn the bed down to await Ed’s arrival.
Stede glanced toward the alcove that once contained his ornately hand-carved bed. The gossamer draperies that had shielded the bedstead from the remainder of the cabin had been lost to the sea during Ed’s quest to rid the Revenge of all traces of Stede.
Shaking his head, Stede’s heart shrank at the implication, at the damage he had wrought upon the man he loved the most.
Thinking back to the night when Ed waited for him on the dock, Stede could never have guessed that his absence would be the catalyst that drove Ed to such acts of desperation. Abandoning the crew, pushing Lucius overboard, tossing everything Stede owned into the sea. Never could Stede have imagined that he could instil such rage in another by his fading into the horizon of a former life, especially not the dread pirate Blackbeard.
If anything, he believed he had done Ed a favour.
Chauncey convinced Stede that he had ruined Ed. And Stede believed him. Ed would be better off if he escaped his service to the English. He’d be better off without a hideous failure like Stede holding him back.
Only a few things remained in the captain’s quarters from before their capture by the English. The painting of the lighthouse that Mary had gifted to Stede still hung on the wall opposite the bed. The painting served as a constant reminder that Stede had failed to live up to the expectations made of him. The sheets on the bed had been replaced. Dark smudges of grease had stained most of the bedclothes that Ed had used to build a blanket fort. After a successful raid on a ship carrying textiles had yielded them more suitable bedding, those old ones had been put to other uses on the Revenge.
The mattress remained the same, although now it sat atop a few mismatched crates instead of in its ornately carved bed frame that had been cast overboard.
Ed recently lamented that Stede’s scent had permeated the straw so thoroughly that it drove him to tears during their separation. He admitted it was one of the reasons he built a blanket fort against the far wall, so he didn’t have to be reminded of Stede as he tried to sleep away his loss.
Hanging on by a thread.
Stede’s favourite robe, the red one with the birds of paradise, lay across the bottom of the bed. Ed had carefully left it there earlier in the morning, before everything went to shit.
A knock on the door roused Stede from his contemplation.
“Yes, come in,” Stede called, a catch in his throat, brought on from the day’s drama.
“It’s only me,” Lucius said, stepping inside. He closed the squealing door behind him. In one hand, he carried a tray with a decanter of brandy and two tumblers they had procured in a recent raid. Beneath his arm, a bundle of black leather clothing dangled. It made a valiant attempt to escape from his grasp.
Stede patted his own thigh a few times in quick succession as he scanned the room seeking a suitable place for Lucius to leave the libations.
“I can set it over there for now,” Lucius said. He indicated a tottering wooden chair in a pile of loot for which they had yet to find a purpose.
“I’ll take those,” Stede said, reaching for the black leather garments and relieving Lucius of his burden. He set the clothing on his lap, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the aged supple leather.
The chair leg scraped along the gouged floor which was in dire need of sanding and polish before it would ever shine again to Stede’s high standards.
Lucius set the tray on the seat of the chair and, after making sure the liquid wouldn’t spill, he crouched in front of Stede on the sofa. He clasped his captain’s forearm with his good hand and asked, “How are you holding up?”
Stede took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know, “ he said, avoiding the earnest look in Lucius’ eyes. “Better than I thought I might be?”
“There, now,” Lucius said quietly. “He’ll be in for a rough time. I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion when it comes to looking after him. You managed a lot better than I did in there. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one.”
Tears welled in Stede’s eyes. Since he had hired Lucius as his scribe, the boy had come through with his own brand of support for him more than once. He could hardly believe the rumour that Lucius had been willing to participate in a planned mutiny in Stede’s early days of captaining the Revenge. In Lucius, Stede found a crewmate who he could trust, even if it was only a little bit.
“All this mess, just when I had thought I might begin to rely on us to look after each other as we grew old,” Stede said, still stroking the leather, knowing Lucius might understand.
“Hey there, the only thing certain about our lives is that they change from day to day, from one moment to the next. Now then, don’t worry about who will look after you. You’re doing fine on your own now that you’ve returned. And so was Ed.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I just hope that I’ve done the right thing,” Stede said.
“It was the only choice, truly. But whatever I can do to help, just give the word,” Lucius said, rising to his own two feet.
“You’re a fine crew member,” Stede said. “It was my best decision to hire you.”
“Not like you had a choice, since I was the only crewman who could read your Help Wanted advertisement for a scribe, but I’m glad to be of assistance, Captain,” Lucius said. He began to pour the brandy into the two tumblers. “For as long as you like, I’ll be at your beck and call-my thanks for saving me from the monster your Ed had become.”
Stede nodded in approval. “I’m ever so glad we found you alive,” he said, reaching for a tumbler.
‘’Well, it was a near thing,” Lucius said, blowing out a breath.
“Your skill at drawing naked crew members certainly paid off,” Stede said, raising his glass. “Well done.”
Lucius cast his gaze around the room while Stede drank.
“It’s true. If I hadn’t befriended Fang, he wouldn’t have pulled me back aboard after your boyfriend had his little crisis,” Lucius said, emphasizing his final word with air quotes. “He insisted I stay hidden away, even as Ed saw to it that the rest of the crew was marooned on that infernal island. I swear if anything had happened to Pete because of that, I would not be speaking to your Ed ever again.”
Stede had already apologized for Ed’s behaviour more times than he could remember. Now, he could only nod in gratitude for Lucius’ understanding. “I do appreciate Fang, and Ivan too-they’re welcome to leave and find other employment if they’d like… afterwards. They’ve always been loyal to their captain. I don’t expect them to hang around if Ed can’t captain again,” Stede said wistfully. “Of course, they’re welcome to stay, if they think it will work out for them here. You know I’m a fair employer and I’m planning to institute an annual raise in your salary-”
“Let’s not worry about that today. Fang has been a good friend to the crew. He even tipped me off when he spotted your dinghy on the horizon,” Lucius said. “That man deserves a raise if he stays. You’re lucky he was on watch, instead of Izzy.”
“No, Izzy would have fired the cannons on us, I think,” Stede said, taking another sip of brandy. The nutty liquid melted the tension in his throat, taking the edge off the events of the day.
“We can be sure of it,” Lucius said. He waved his good hand toward the tray. “I can understand if you need to go heavy on the brandy tonight, but try to save some for Ed. He’s going to need it.”
“I will,” Stede assured him, setting the tumbler back down on the tray.
“Call for me if you need anything,” Lucius said, and then he vanished, leaving Stede to his own thoughts.
Stede sighed with relief at Lucius’ departure. At least one person thought he had made the right call, and Lucius, at that!
If any of the crew had reason never to speak to him or Ed again, it was Lucius. Before learning that he had been hiding from Ed and Izzy in the crawlspace of the ship, Stede could only piece together part of the events that had taken place on the Revenge after Ed returned alone from the Privateering Academy. The remaining crew would have Stede believe they were about to cast Izzy overboard in an act of mutiny, when Ed climbed from the very same dinghy that might have served as he and Stede’s escape vessel on their way to China. According to Oluwande, Ed had vaulted over the rail and demanded that Izzy make him tea, as if nothing had ever happened to him between the time he left after signing the Act of Grace and the moment he appeared back on the Revenge without his beard… and without Stede.
According to Lucius, Ed hadn’t detailed what happened between him and Stede. From what he could gather as he recorded Ed’s poetry, there had been a spectacular falling out.
The rest of the crew knew little more, although they witnessed first-hand the destruction of Stede’s belongings soon after Ed’s experimentation with poetics and song.
By the time Izzy deposited several of the crew on a deserted island, Lucius hadn’t been seen all day and Black Pete fretted because Lucius was supposed to be organizing a talent show at Ed’s behest. Pete assumed that Lucius would accompany Frenchie and Jim on Izzy’s second trip to the island, but no second dinghy came. Days passed before Oluwande spied Stede’s dinghy being tossed on the waves as he approached the island. Not one member of the crew had forgotten how far Ed’s mental state had deteriorated. An aura of apprehension hovered over the crew until they pulled alongside the Revenge and were reunited with Lucius.
Thanks to Fang’s willingness to keep a lookout and his disdain for Izzy regaining his post as Blackbeard’s right-hand man, the crew was safely shuttled aboard, unbeknownst to Izzy or Ed.
Lucius was right. Fang really did deserve a raise.
A peacefulness washed over Stede. At least the crew had been reunited and served on one ship, even if it had taken a while for Ed to come around. Stede dearly hoped that the decision he needed to make today would not set his relationship with Ed back. His life had been filled with one bad idea after the next. This could very well be the final straw.
He clutched Ed’s leathers to his chest and kicked off his shoes. Pressing his cheek to the bundle of black leather as a pillow, Stede stretched out on the sofa and sobbed. He’d have to throw himself overboard if Ed disagreed with the choice Stede made.
“I’m so sorry this has happened, my darling,” Stede whispered as his tears fell. “I would give anything for this day to never have arrived.”
The ship rocked gently on the tide. The patter of rain brought comfort to Stede, who lost himself in thoughts of happier days when Blackbeard himself visited him after he had been stabbed on the Spanish ship. Stede frowned when he remembered the Spanish captain’s distinct lack of gratitude after all the trouble Roach went to making tapas.
“Another stupid idea,” Stede muttered. How could he have known that Geraldo was intent on selling him out to the Spanish as a favour to his wife? When Stede awoke from his nightmare with his belly wrapped in bandages, Ed appeared at his side to offer him comfort. Stede only hoped that he could provide a similar comfort for Ed when he woke from his surgery.
Back in those early days, Stede never dreamed that he’d wake to the sight of a gloriously handsome pirate pressing his hand to his belly as he lay in his sickbed. He imagined what it felt like, to have Ed’s fingers caressing his bare skin. Although, until very recently, the touches had only happened a handful of times since their reunion, the sensation was so firmly lodged in Stede’s memory that it was second nature to think about it when he wanted to have a pleasant dream. He took great delight in calling it back to his mind again and again whenever he had questioned the progress he had made toward their reconciliation.
Stede let the scent of Ed’s leather jacket and trousers lull him into a lucid dream.
~
They had only met two hours earlier.
Every brush of clammy leather against Stede’s belly made his stab wound pinch anew. It stung like a burr caught between the tails of a shirt and a pair of breeches. He shifted from one foot to the other and sucked in his breath trying to get some relief from the inexorable press of too-tight clothing against the damage caused by the Spanish dagger. The knee brace didn’t help.
As if that weren’t bad enough, Ed… Blackbeard… demanded that Stede behave as Blackbeard would. He implored him to make a decision.
When Ed suggested that they dress in each other’s clothing, Stede didn’t anticipate having the power to make a decision that could send his crew to their deaths.
Making decisions on the fly wasn’t one of Stede’s strong suits. Not then, and not now, Stede thought as he chewed on his lip. There was too much risk of failure, something that Stede would beat himself up about after when he had time alone with his thoughts.
Lucius had counted down, the moment of doom approaching closer and closer.
“I don’t know what to do!” Stede finally cried.
He felt like a fool.
Although Stede wore the clothing of the most fearsome pirate, a weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy dwelled within him. He had never learned what a man’s work looked like… nor what a pirate’s work looked like. And now, he had failed spectacularly because of it.
“Death it is,” Ed said resolutely.
Stede recognised then that he was out of his league. Not only did he need to bear the responsibility for his crew’s death, but he wanted to die of embarrassment for behaving so ineptly in Ed’s company.
In the end, Blackbeard… Ed… put his reputation as a master tactician to the test.
Stede would love to have said that he and Ed simultaneously came up with the idea of disguising the Revenge as a lighthouse. And although stealing credit for things that inadvertently went his way could sometimes be found in Stede’s DNA, he didn’t feel right stealing some of the credit from Ed in this instance. He didn’t deserve it. They had only just met, and yet Blackbeard’s quick thinking saved the crew.
Stede thanked him by offering him a hunk of freshly baked bread smeared with marmalade.
“Here, try this…”
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet
Rating: R
Words: 31,800
Warnings: Canon-typical violence
Summary: Stede Bonnet only has stupid ideas. When a raid goes wrong and Edward loses a limb, Stede fears that his stupid ideas will lead to him losing the man he loves. Journey through Stede's past, where he first learned to doubt himself, and arrive at his current dilemma. Riding the thrill of his recent reunion with Ed and his return to the Revenge, Stede struggles to keep Edward alive, certain that he has made a bad decision, yet again. Although he may try, Stede can't quell the demons of his inner voice alone. He needs someone to tell it to shut up, but that person is sick with fever, missing a limb, and may never regain his stature as the most fearsome pirate that ever lived.
Tags: Post-canon fix-it, non-linear narrative, character study, hurt/comfort, PTSD, mild gore, disfigurement, brief mention of canon suicide ideation, ASMR, ambiguous minor character death, amputation, fluff.
A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian, who has been my beta for so many projects over so many years and who always makes my writing better. Thanks to Ro, for being a helpful sounding board for my ideas around this fic and for luring me into this fandom when I planned to give it a pass! Thanks to the incomparable Sooz Twitter Tumblr, for their amazing artwork, pre-reading, cheer-reading, and moral support! I feel so privileged that you chose my fic from the summaries. Thanks for all the laughs and drafts along the way! Thanks to the mod for running this Big Bang.
The Neptune quote is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I used many sources for research while writing this fic. This website, The Pirate Surgeon was immensely helpful. Many thanks to my son E.S., a combat medic, who provided insight and support while writing this fic. MIT biomechatronics engineer Hugh Herr, who unknowingly shares a friend circle with me.
In fond memory of my grandfather, amputee C.B., who always indulged me when I wanted to play with his wooden leg.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“I’ve only got stupid ideas.”
~
Roach’s teeth gleamed as he counted down.
“Three…”
“Two...”
“One.”
The blood spattered across Stede’s face. He flinched, but he did not raise his hand from Ed’s chest to wipe it away.
The scent of salt and smoke, carrion, and steel permeated the darkness of Roach’s galley. In the lamplit cavern of the hull, the memory of another animal’s blood pierced Stede’s thoughts. Like a pinprick of stabbing light, the memory slid through the cracks in the beams Stede had used to build his fortress. He had heaved more weathered beams atop each other since his final fuckery… the one that resulted in his faked death.
A fearful whine rose in his throat. Amid the slices of fruit and half-empty bottles of rum and God knows what other elixirs the cook had gathered for strictly medicinal purposes, Stede’s foundation swayed, ready to collapse.
Ed’s chest continued to rise and fall. Still breathing. The relief of it allowed Stede’s attention to slip.
Stede sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down to halt his whine. Maybe he had made the right decision, after all?
He had never made a good decision in his life, it seemed. Stupid ideas ruled his actions.
The sharpened spears of Stede’s father’s words stabbed again, berating him for his propensity to pick flowers. For his aversion to severing a goose’s head from its body when plenty of food filled the pantry of the Bonnet household. A weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy, his father’s words taunted as the hatchet swung down with the same force as Roach’s cleaver.
A weak-hearted lily-livered little rich boy, one whose ideas were always stupid.
Without thinking, Stede raised his hand and touched his fingertips to the spray of crimson droplets that had landed on his face.
On Roach’s table, Ed gulped in a breath of shock, but his eyes remained closed.
Stede tensed and waited for the inevitable stomach-lurching fall that would come to him. The shame consumed him, although he never let on. Soon enough, the words of denigration would be aimed at him for making the wrong decision, his stupidity contributing more to his own downfall than he ever could if he had only kept quiet. But the queasiness in his stomach came only from the speed of the Revenge under full sail as it cut a path through the waves.
A commotion rose from the members of Stede’s crew who still stood over the carnage. Someone spoke to Stede, a low voice murmuring from across what seemed a great distance. In the haze, a hand clamped onto his shoulder, jolting Stede back into consciousness.
Buttons grunted into his ear, “Sorry Cap’n.”
Stede sucked a finger into his mouth. Wincing at the taste of human blood, Stede gave thanks that he had remained upright. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of his crew, not after they had come this far. Besides, it wasn’t too long ago that Ed gleefully claimed that he once ate a man. A drop of blood couldn’t compare to a whole man. Could it? He’d have to ask Ed to recount that tale again… later. Much later… after Ed had recovered enough to speak.
Which, surely he would. Right?
Despite it all, Stede tried to stay optimistic.
“Lucius?” Stede called for the scribe after releasing his finger from his mouth with a pop.
“Oh, God, you can’t mean to make me watch more of this?” Lucius asked, his face as pale as a spare topsail.
“Not at all, boy,” Stede said, squaring his shoulders. “I want you to prepare some warm brandy for us when we adjourn to our quarters. My co-captain is going to need his strength before he can get back on his feet again.”
Lucius wrinkled his nose. “I think you mean foot, but whatever,” he said before he gave a nod in agreement. He raised his journal to shield his face, blocking his view of the table where Roach still worked to stop the bleeding.
~
With a long squeal followed by a soft thud, the door to the captain’s quarters closed behind Stede. There hadn’t been enough time to make all the repairs necessary after Stede’s return to The Revenge. Hinges needed to be oiled and the broken panes of glass needed more permanent replacements than that of scrap wood haphazardly nailed into place.
In the firelight, the scant number of recently raided books populated the otherwise bare shelves. Stede’s beloved first editions and treasured favourites had been sunk to the bottom of the sea. Stede sometimes wondered if any of the timeworn classics had floated long enough to find their way to a dry patch of sand on a forgotten island. Perhaps he’d come across a soggy tome one day in his travels. He could only hope, as he perused the titles that were now available. Barely anything worth translating to the crew when dusk settled over the deck and the day’s work had finished.
At least Ed had been trying to make amends for his inappropriate disposal of Stede’s belongings, now that Stede had returned to the ship.
Stede considered the sofa they had acquired in their most recent successful raid. The French aristocrat had good taste in furnishings when he voyaged from France to survey his fleet of merchant ships. Ed and Stede were all too happy to relieve him of the ostentatious piece. Stede had insisted that the crew let the Frenchman flee with his life, even if his leadership skills were lacking. The poor fellow would probably never return to the Caribbean again after his crew mutinied and left him to fend for himself at the Republic of Pirates. The sofa wasn’t the only thing the Frenchman lost in the scuffle. He lost his noble birthright of innocence much more swiftly than Stede had on the high seas.
A log crackled in the newly restored fireplace as Stede admired the comfy sofa that he had a hand in stealing. A dense brocade of burgundy velvet stood in relief to the creamy woven wool background. The edges of the brocade were embroidered with threads of gold. Glittering medallion-headed pins held the fabric to the frame. The seating and backing were stuffed full of down. The stuffing plumped sumptuously, except for one flattened area where a rogue wave had splashed against the sofa when they carried it from the looted French ship to the Revenge. The exquisite piece stretched twice as long as the settee that once adorned the same place in the captain’s quarters.
It was the perfect place for Ed to stretch out for a nap.
Beneath Stede’s feet, the scarred floorboards squeaked as he stepped behind the piece of furniture.
Stede had loved that settee. But he knew that it would be fruitless to mourn over his lost belongings for too long. He deserved every ache that the loss of his worldly goods doled out to him, and worse, for his behaviour on that night some months ago. Stiffening at the memory, Stede recalled how he had flown into a panic when Chauncey fell to the ground, dead by his own inebriated hand. But inebriated or not, his words rang true to Stede’s ears.
Stede defiled beautiful things.
Nigel.
His family.
History’s greatest pirate.
Ed’s abandonment wreaked even more havoc than Chauncey could have predicted. But how could Stede have known the immensity of Ed’s feelings for him? Like an anchor dropped aweigh to the ocean floor, its chain broken, the weight of the anchor never to rise again. Such were the depths of Edward’s emotions. Buried deep and unretrievable. Once Ed made up his mind that he was worthless, unless he caused mayhem as the bearded Kraken, there was no turning back.
On that distant night, Stede wanted only to set things right. He’d return to Mary and the children. He would try to excel in the role his family expected of him. He would try to fit into the Stede-shaped hole that society had cut out for him. Only then would he afford his family some comfort.
Only then would he spare Ed a life of ruin- the notorious Blackbeard serving the Crown. Ludicrous!
Stede couldn’t bring Nigel and Chauncey back to life, but he could at least do this. He could return to Bridgetown. This was his only idea after the shriek he let out at Chauncey’s death faded into the night air. To make amends as best he could.
And it had been another stupid idea, at that.
Stede’s fingers landed on the back of the sofa as he listened to the patter of rain against the windows that still bore their glass. The gentle summer shower would wash the deck clean while Roach commandeered the crew to serve as assistants in his impromptu surgical suite.
In admiration, Stede traced the brocade, the soft velvet contrasting with the rougher wool. It wouldn’t be the first time Stede recognized that the contrast of softness against the harshness of a different fabric could result in a thing of beauty. Ed’s tattoos came to mind. A thread of gold caught on the callouses of his palm. Stede drew his hand back, the sting of the thread catching his roughened skin made him press his palm to his mouth. No matter that weeks had passed, his hands hadn’t healed yet from his long journey of rowing from the Bridgetown docks to retrieve his abandoned men before reconnecting with the Revenge again.
He licked at his palm to soothe the sting. Many years had stretched out between the first time he acquired such callouses and his most recent foray into the exhaustive work of day-long rowing in an overloaded dinghy.
The Caribbean sun felt just as hot as the shame had on Stede’s face.
Stede’s schoolmates had given chase. Their motives were unclear to Stede, who always had a kind word for them, no matter the antics they got up to, especially when they involved ridiculing Stede. The slop of a horse’s tongue thrust against his lips with vile spittle that Stede wouldn’t forget for weeks afterwards.
Maybe years.
Maybe ever.
Stede had known that he should have run away when he had the chance, but instead he hadn’t recognized the danger. He had always been one to think the best of people. Somehow, he got the idea that the schoolmates wouldn’t harm him. It was a dream of Stede’s that would never be realized, nor could it ever be shared.
Weak-hearted.
Stede never was the kind of boy who could hope to share his feelings without being ridiculed.
The ache in his palms after reuniting with his crew, rescuing them from a certain death before finding Lucius hidden in the secret crawlspaces of the Revenge, still pained him after all these weeks. Like the throbbing ache in his hands as he rowed across the pond with his classmates’ inescapable cannon-fire of rocks landing in his wake, Stede could do nothing about it now. He clasped his hands together and sat heavily upon the sofa. In due time, Roach would finish with his handiwork and Ed would be brought to the captain’s quarters to recuperate.
The least Stede could do would be to have Lucius turn the bed down to await Ed’s arrival.
Stede glanced toward the alcove that once contained his ornately hand-carved bed. The gossamer draperies that had shielded the bedstead from the remainder of the cabin had been lost to the sea during Ed’s quest to rid the Revenge of all traces of Stede.
Shaking his head, Stede’s heart shrank at the implication, at the damage he had wrought upon the man he loved the most.
Thinking back to the night when Ed waited for him on the dock, Stede could never have guessed that his absence would be the catalyst that drove Ed to such acts of desperation. Abandoning the crew, pushing Lucius overboard, tossing everything Stede owned into the sea. Never could Stede have imagined that he could instil such rage in another by his fading into the horizon of a former life, especially not the dread pirate Blackbeard.
If anything, he believed he had done Ed a favour.
Chauncey convinced Stede that he had ruined Ed. And Stede believed him. Ed would be better off if he escaped his service to the English. He’d be better off without a hideous failure like Stede holding him back.
Only a few things remained in the captain’s quarters from before their capture by the English. The painting of the lighthouse that Mary had gifted to Stede still hung on the wall opposite the bed. The painting served as a constant reminder that Stede had failed to live up to the expectations made of him. The sheets on the bed had been replaced. Dark smudges of grease had stained most of the bedclothes that Ed had used to build a blanket fort. After a successful raid on a ship carrying textiles had yielded them more suitable bedding, those old ones had been put to other uses on the Revenge.
The mattress remained the same, although now it sat atop a few mismatched crates instead of in its ornately carved bed frame that had been cast overboard.
Ed recently lamented that Stede’s scent had permeated the straw so thoroughly that it drove him to tears during their separation. He admitted it was one of the reasons he built a blanket fort against the far wall, so he didn’t have to be reminded of Stede as he tried to sleep away his loss.
Hanging on by a thread.
Stede’s favourite robe, the red one with the birds of paradise, lay across the bottom of the bed. Ed had carefully left it there earlier in the morning, before everything went to shit.
A knock on the door roused Stede from his contemplation.
“Yes, come in,” Stede called, a catch in his throat, brought on from the day’s drama.
“It’s only me,” Lucius said, stepping inside. He closed the squealing door behind him. In one hand, he carried a tray with a decanter of brandy and two tumblers they had procured in a recent raid. Beneath his arm, a bundle of black leather clothing dangled. It made a valiant attempt to escape from his grasp.
Stede patted his own thigh a few times in quick succession as he scanned the room seeking a suitable place for Lucius to leave the libations.
“I can set it over there for now,” Lucius said. He indicated a tottering wooden chair in a pile of loot for which they had yet to find a purpose.
“I’ll take those,” Stede said, reaching for the black leather garments and relieving Lucius of his burden. He set the clothing on his lap, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the aged supple leather.
The chair leg scraped along the gouged floor which was in dire need of sanding and polish before it would ever shine again to Stede’s high standards.
Lucius set the tray on the seat of the chair and, after making sure the liquid wouldn’t spill, he crouched in front of Stede on the sofa. He clasped his captain’s forearm with his good hand and asked, “How are you holding up?”
Stede took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know, “ he said, avoiding the earnest look in Lucius’ eyes. “Better than I thought I might be?”
“There, now,” Lucius said quietly. “He’ll be in for a rough time. I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion when it comes to looking after him. You managed a lot better than I did in there. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one.”
Tears welled in Stede’s eyes. Since he had hired Lucius as his scribe, the boy had come through with his own brand of support for him more than once. He could hardly believe the rumour that Lucius had been willing to participate in a planned mutiny in Stede’s early days of captaining the Revenge. In Lucius, Stede found a crewmate who he could trust, even if it was only a little bit.
“All this mess, just when I had thought I might begin to rely on us to look after each other as we grew old,” Stede said, still stroking the leather, knowing Lucius might understand.
“Hey there, the only thing certain about our lives is that they change from day to day, from one moment to the next. Now then, don’t worry about who will look after you. You’re doing fine on your own now that you’ve returned. And so was Ed.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I just hope that I’ve done the right thing,” Stede said.
“It was the only choice, truly. But whatever I can do to help, just give the word,” Lucius said, rising to his own two feet.
“You’re a fine crew member,” Stede said. “It was my best decision to hire you.”
“Not like you had a choice, since I was the only crewman who could read your Help Wanted advertisement for a scribe, but I’m glad to be of assistance, Captain,” Lucius said. He began to pour the brandy into the two tumblers. “For as long as you like, I’ll be at your beck and call-my thanks for saving me from the monster your Ed had become.”
Stede nodded in approval. “I’m ever so glad we found you alive,” he said, reaching for a tumbler.
‘’Well, it was a near thing,” Lucius said, blowing out a breath.
“Your skill at drawing naked crew members certainly paid off,” Stede said, raising his glass. “Well done.”
Lucius cast his gaze around the room while Stede drank.
“It’s true. If I hadn’t befriended Fang, he wouldn’t have pulled me back aboard after your boyfriend had his little crisis,” Lucius said, emphasizing his final word with air quotes. “He insisted I stay hidden away, even as Ed saw to it that the rest of the crew was marooned on that infernal island. I swear if anything had happened to Pete because of that, I would not be speaking to your Ed ever again.”
Stede had already apologized for Ed’s behaviour more times than he could remember. Now, he could only nod in gratitude for Lucius’ understanding. “I do appreciate Fang, and Ivan too-they’re welcome to leave and find other employment if they’d like… afterwards. They’ve always been loyal to their captain. I don’t expect them to hang around if Ed can’t captain again,” Stede said wistfully. “Of course, they’re welcome to stay, if they think it will work out for them here. You know I’m a fair employer and I’m planning to institute an annual raise in your salary-”
“Let’s not worry about that today. Fang has been a good friend to the crew. He even tipped me off when he spotted your dinghy on the horizon,” Lucius said. “That man deserves a raise if he stays. You’re lucky he was on watch, instead of Izzy.”
“No, Izzy would have fired the cannons on us, I think,” Stede said, taking another sip of brandy. The nutty liquid melted the tension in his throat, taking the edge off the events of the day.
“We can be sure of it,” Lucius said. He waved his good hand toward the tray. “I can understand if you need to go heavy on the brandy tonight, but try to save some for Ed. He’s going to need it.”
“I will,” Stede assured him, setting the tumbler back down on the tray.
“Call for me if you need anything,” Lucius said, and then he vanished, leaving Stede to his own thoughts.
Stede sighed with relief at Lucius’ departure. At least one person thought he had made the right call, and Lucius, at that!
If any of the crew had reason never to speak to him or Ed again, it was Lucius. Before learning that he had been hiding from Ed and Izzy in the crawlspace of the ship, Stede could only piece together part of the events that had taken place on the Revenge after Ed returned alone from the Privateering Academy. The remaining crew would have Stede believe they were about to cast Izzy overboard in an act of mutiny, when Ed climbed from the very same dinghy that might have served as he and Stede’s escape vessel on their way to China. According to Oluwande, Ed had vaulted over the rail and demanded that Izzy make him tea, as if nothing had ever happened to him between the time he left after signing the Act of Grace and the moment he appeared back on the Revenge without his beard… and without Stede.
According to Lucius, Ed hadn’t detailed what happened between him and Stede. From what he could gather as he recorded Ed’s poetry, there had been a spectacular falling out.
The rest of the crew knew little more, although they witnessed first-hand the destruction of Stede’s belongings soon after Ed’s experimentation with poetics and song.
By the time Izzy deposited several of the crew on a deserted island, Lucius hadn’t been seen all day and Black Pete fretted because Lucius was supposed to be organizing a talent show at Ed’s behest. Pete assumed that Lucius would accompany Frenchie and Jim on Izzy’s second trip to the island, but no second dinghy came. Days passed before Oluwande spied Stede’s dinghy being tossed on the waves as he approached the island. Not one member of the crew had forgotten how far Ed’s mental state had deteriorated. An aura of apprehension hovered over the crew until they pulled alongside the Revenge and were reunited with Lucius.
Thanks to Fang’s willingness to keep a lookout and his disdain for Izzy regaining his post as Blackbeard’s right-hand man, the crew was safely shuttled aboard, unbeknownst to Izzy or Ed.
Lucius was right. Fang really did deserve a raise.
A peacefulness washed over Stede. At least the crew had been reunited and served on one ship, even if it had taken a while for Ed to come around. Stede dearly hoped that the decision he needed to make today would not set his relationship with Ed back. His life had been filled with one bad idea after the next. This could very well be the final straw.
He clutched Ed’s leathers to his chest and kicked off his shoes. Pressing his cheek to the bundle of black leather as a pillow, Stede stretched out on the sofa and sobbed. He’d have to throw himself overboard if Ed disagreed with the choice Stede made.
“I’m so sorry this has happened, my darling,” Stede whispered as his tears fell. “I would give anything for this day to never have arrived.”
The ship rocked gently on the tide. The patter of rain brought comfort to Stede, who lost himself in thoughts of happier days when Blackbeard himself visited him after he had been stabbed on the Spanish ship. Stede frowned when he remembered the Spanish captain’s distinct lack of gratitude after all the trouble Roach went to making tapas.
“Another stupid idea,” Stede muttered. How could he have known that Geraldo was intent on selling him out to the Spanish as a favour to his wife? When Stede awoke from his nightmare with his belly wrapped in bandages, Ed appeared at his side to offer him comfort. Stede only hoped that he could provide a similar comfort for Ed when he woke from his surgery.
Back in those early days, Stede never dreamed that he’d wake to the sight of a gloriously handsome pirate pressing his hand to his belly as he lay in his sickbed. He imagined what it felt like, to have Ed’s fingers caressing his bare skin. Although, until very recently, the touches had only happened a handful of times since their reunion, the sensation was so firmly lodged in Stede’s memory that it was second nature to think about it when he wanted to have a pleasant dream. He took great delight in calling it back to his mind again and again whenever he had questioned the progress he had made toward their reconciliation.
Stede let the scent of Ed’s leather jacket and trousers lull him into a lucid dream.
~
They had only met two hours earlier.
Every brush of clammy leather against Stede’s belly made his stab wound pinch anew. It stung like a burr caught between the tails of a shirt and a pair of breeches. He shifted from one foot to the other and sucked in his breath trying to get some relief from the inexorable press of too-tight clothing against the damage caused by the Spanish dagger. The knee brace didn’t help.
As if that weren’t bad enough, Ed… Blackbeard… demanded that Stede behave as Blackbeard would. He implored him to make a decision.
When Ed suggested that they dress in each other’s clothing, Stede didn’t anticipate having the power to make a decision that could send his crew to their deaths.
Making decisions on the fly wasn’t one of Stede’s strong suits. Not then, and not now, Stede thought as he chewed on his lip. There was too much risk of failure, something that Stede would beat himself up about after when he had time alone with his thoughts.
Lucius had counted down, the moment of doom approaching closer and closer.
“I don’t know what to do!” Stede finally cried.
He felt like a fool.
Although Stede wore the clothing of the most fearsome pirate, a weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy dwelled within him. He had never learned what a man’s work looked like… nor what a pirate’s work looked like. And now, he had failed spectacularly because of it.
“Death it is,” Ed said resolutely.
Stede recognised then that he was out of his league. Not only did he need to bear the responsibility for his crew’s death, but he wanted to die of embarrassment for behaving so ineptly in Ed’s company.
In the end, Blackbeard… Ed… put his reputation as a master tactician to the test.
Stede would love to have said that he and Ed simultaneously came up with the idea of disguising the Revenge as a lighthouse. And although stealing credit for things that inadvertently went his way could sometimes be found in Stede’s DNA, he didn’t feel right stealing some of the credit from Ed in this instance. He didn’t deserve it. They had only just met, and yet Blackbeard’s quick thinking saved the crew.
Stede thanked him by offering him a hunk of freshly baked bread smeared with marmalade.
“Here, try this…”