Plundering is for More than Ships (Part 1) - USUK
Title: Plundering is for More than Ships
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: USUK, minor Spamano
Rating: T-15 (Overall R-18)
Warnings: Language and Eventual Sexual Content
Summary: Pirate AU. Ten years ago, Alfred was taken from Captain Arthur Kirkland forever one ill-fated night. Ten years and a miracle later, Arthur realizes that forever isn't so long after all.
At two o’clock in the morning, Captain Arthur Kirkland was jolted from his sleep by the blast of cannon fire. He stepped into boots, taking no time in dressing, and slipped his arms into his red captain’s coat. Within two minutes, he was dressed battle-ready, pistol tucked into his belt and hat set jauntily on his messy blond head. He threw the doors of his cabin open, already barking orders to his crew. “Fly the colours you bleeding swabs! Tha’ Spanish galleon is ours for the taking! Man the cannons and no lollygagging! Blast the ship from the sea until its wreckage is our rain!”
The crew slid into positions, stumbling on the rocking waves jolted by the cannon fire. All the time, Arthur shouted, taking supreme control of the situation. “Get to your posts you bloody wanks! Aim for the starboard bow! A boatload of Spanish gold is a’waiting! Send those Spanish bilge rats to Davy Jones’s Locker! I want those rust marks licking the barnacles off my boots when we’re done with them!”
A small hand reached up to take Arthur’s, and the sharp-tongued Briton turned down to his pride and joy’s confounded face. His blue eyes were wide with uncertainty, mouth tucked into a slight frown. “What’s going on?” he asked in a sweet, childish voice that melted Arthur’s brazen heart. The captain kneeled down and stroked the boy’s blond hair. “Nothing of your concern, love. Please, return to the lower deck immediately. I don’t want you to get hurt!”
The boy gripped at the white fabric of his nightgown and pouted, shuffling his bare feet on the deck. “I want to see you! Please, Arthur! Let me stay! I won’t get in the way, promise!”
Arthur sighed, but turned his mouth into a thin-lipped frown. “Shush, poppet. It’s far too dangerous, and I would be beside myself with misery if you got hurt. Go to the lower decks and wait for me. I promise that when we loot the ship, I’ll buy you a nice present when we get back to Britain.”
The boy flung his arms around Arthur’s legs, sobbing slightly. “I don’t care about presents! I just want you to come back safe. Please be careful, okay?”
“I promise, Alfred. I promise.”
Arthur tipped his hat forward as he stepped foot onto the St. Mariner Port, hiding his distinguishable eyebrows from view. He hadn’t felt the wood of a dock under his boots for nearly ten years. His attempt to raid the Spanish galleon ended with his boat sinking below the waves of the Atlantic, sending many of his crewmates to their deaths - either below the icy waves or subsequently being hung by the Spaniards. It was by luck that he even survived since the captain should either sink with his ship or be the first at the gallows. When the fight took a turn for the worse and the Spaniards had begun to board the ship, Arthur fled to find Alfred, his beloved brother-figure. To his horror, the child was nowhere to be found. In a panic, Arthur sped to the side of the ship, hoping to catch a glimpse the bobbing blond head before it sunk below the surface. However, there was no sign of his beloved child, only wreckage and the bobbing bodies of his crewmembers.
It took three Spanish sailors to pull him off his doomed ship. At first, the captain resisted, wanting to find his precious boy, but he knew there was no hope. If Alfred was not dead already, he would be soon, just like Arthur. The Englishman was thrown into the galleon’s brig in an empty but particularly dirty cell. He ate scraps of food once a day, leaving him sunken and weary. By the sixth month, he had lost a considerable amount of weight and hope. The sailors aboard the Galleon were happy to inform him of his immanent death upon arrival to Spain, but Arthur didn’t care. The sailors thought him mad because he only laughed when they mentioned a noose around his neck. Arthur had wanted to die because there was no sunlight left in the tattered remnants of life to which he clung. In Spain, he was thrown into another cell, possibly dirtier than the one on board the galleon and with even less food. Days slipped into weeks; weeks slipped into months. His guards taunted him, wanting the lifeless pirate to suffer a never-ending nightmare.
Then he met Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.
A week before Arthur was to be executed, Antonio arrived at the jail for reasons Arthur would never know. He was the only man in existence who could enter a prison with a non-sadistic smile and endless rivers of optimism. He entered the cell, took a seat, and set his hands on his knees like an expectant child. Arthur was confused and in a way, frightened. The Spaniard was dressed with opulence. Regal fabrics and gold trimmings made Arthur feel ragged and disgusting in his prisoner’s garb - stripped of his own exquisite captain’s clothing - and wanted to shy away in embarrassment of looking so degrading. Yet, Antonio was not there to treat him like dirt or bully him even more before his fated death. Instead, he smiled and offered Arthur a crisp red tomato from his coat pocket. Arthur lunged for the food and ate it like the starved animal he had become. Antonio chuckled slightly, and produced a second tomato. This time, when Arthur grabbed for it, he held back and spoke in warm English, laced with a strong Spanish accent, “Hold on now, mi hermano! I can’t give you this without getting something I want in return. Will you tell me about yourself? I’m interested in your story.”
Skeptical of the Spaniard’s request, Arthur raised a bushy brow. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the noble, but if he was going to die anyway, he supposed he could share his bitter tale. He told Antonio of his pillaging days and spoke highly of the seas he had explored. He recalled every fight and plunder he had achieved. Then, he reached the dreaded day only months ago. It was strange to see Antonio’s reaction to his story. The ever-present smile faded from his lips, and his once wide and eager eyes grew dim and somber. Arthur knew he was on the verge of tears himself, especially when he told Antonio about Alfred. Alfred, who was dead or about to be. Alfred, whose smile was as bright and charming as his spun-gold hair. Alfred, who Arthur would never see again because his sins on the seven seas would send him to hell when the noose choked the last of his life from him.Arthur’s thoughts and mouth suddenly stopped as a hand pressed against his shoulder. Antonio was staring at him with quivering green eyes, begging him to stop. The story hurt them both; Arthur could see the pain reflected in those emerald irises. The Spaniard didn’t remark on the former captain’s story, but then again, it wasn’t necessary. His expression spoke a thousand words. The only words exchanged between the moment Antonio laid his hand on Arthur and the metallic closing of the cell door were whispered and almost unreal: I’ll save you. I promise.
Every passing day was another twenty-four hours of life. Arthur had hope in the Spaniard’s words, but as he had figured, nothing happened. The night before his execution, however, a miracle happened. Perhaps it wasn’t a miracle since it was obviously the work of careful planning, but the great fire that lapped the sky just beyond his cell was the beautiful beacon of hope he had been waiting for.
Fire. The guards ran towards it in panic, shouting in rapid and panicked Spanish. The jailer outside his cell raced towards the burning glow, only to be replaced by another man whose vivid green eyes sparkled in the fire’s light. He opened the door to the cell, and pulled Arthur hastily out, covering him with a cloak. Arthur ran like he had never run before. The soles of his abused feet bled, but he did not care. He could taste freedom beyond the stone cold walls of the jail. It wasn’t until they had broken free from the confines of the prison that Arthur dared to speak, choked with dehydration and shock, “How? Why?”
Antonio slowed his pace as he entered the town so not to seem suspicious. Breaking a prisoner out of jail was not to be taken lightly. “The how isn’t too tricky. Distracted the guards long enough to get the keys and break you out. The why?”
Antonio was cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps behind them. A younger man in a red cloak and black hat reached to them and stopped, his lips thin and irritated. “The things you make’a me do, you damn bastard. One of these’a days I swear I’ma going to run away!”
The young man removed his hat, and a crop of red-brown hair sprung to life, specifically one strand of curled hair. He scowled, eyebrows nearly pressed together, but the Spaniard only smiled and pulled him into a tight hug, nuzzling the red-brown hair. “Lovi, you’re to cruel! What would I ever do without you?”
“Chigi. Stop touching me.”
Antonio looked up at Arthur, not letting go of “Lovi”. He smiled brightly, resting his chin on top of the grumpy Italian’s head. “This is the why, Arthur Kirkland. You told me about someone special to you that you thought you lost. Don’t give up.”
Arthur had stayed in Antonio’s house for eight years, hiding from the Spanish guard and working for the Spaniard to get money for a ship. Antonio had been willing to bend some laws to break Arthur out of jail, but he was still a proud Spaniard. Putting an English pirate on the seas was not something he would do so willingly. Yet, he gave the Briton a job and paid him well, knowing that soon enough, the pirate would be leave Spain and begin his search, hoping to find the child he strived to find.
Antonio told Arthur many stories: of his childhood and family, of his current life, and, of course, of Lovino. Antonio had taken the young Italian under his wing when Antonio was fourteen and Lovino was merely seven. Antonio laughed slightly at old memories, informing Arthur that his charge had been a “lovable brat”. Lovino had been a servant in The Carriedo household, but a poor one. He hardly cleaned, ate too much, and complained almost unbearably. Nevertheless, Antonio cared for him, and Lovino, under the coarse and grumpy exterior, loved him in return.
Antonio never said it aloud, but Arthur suspected there was more between the master and his charge than innocent caring. Perhaps it was how he smiled so softly when speaking of Lovino, or the crimson blush that spread across the Italian’s nose and cheeks when Antonio hugged him. However, it was probably the quick stolen kisses between the two when they thought no one was looking and the feather-light touches and hair ruffles in the shadowy crevices of the old house. Arthur wondered if the same attraction would have developed between he and Alfred, but his heart ached at the thought. The boy could have been dead for all he knew - unblessed with the miracle Arthur was given. Then again, his fate had been tested once already. Arthur could have killed him on the trade ship heading to Europe from the Americas, but he didn’t. He simply didn’t have the heart to kill the boy with the sweet face and shining eyes.
It was late December right after Christmas celebrations that Arthur left the Carriedo household. Antonio had pressed notes into his hands on Christmas, and gave the Englishman a knowing look, telling Arthur that it was time. Arthur took the chance granted to him and left without saying goodbye.
So here he was, one year later, back in England. Arthur had commandeered a ship (rather, he had used half of his savings and a rather intimidating sword to take the ship off its owner’s hands), and it bobbed beautifully in the water, the crew already aboard and preparing to set sail. He hopped aboard - wobbly from his absence, but a pirate at heart never loses his ability to walk against the bobbing waves. “I’ll find you love,” he whispered to the thrashing waves. “I promise, I’ll find you."
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: USUK, minor Spamano
Rating: T-15 (Overall R-18)
Warnings: Language and Eventual Sexual Content
Summary: Pirate AU. Ten years ago, Alfred was taken from Captain Arthur Kirkland forever one ill-fated night. Ten years and a miracle later, Arthur realizes that forever isn't so long after all.
At two o’clock in the morning, Captain Arthur Kirkland was jolted from his sleep by the blast of cannon fire. He stepped into boots, taking no time in dressing, and slipped his arms into his red captain’s coat. Within two minutes, he was dressed battle-ready, pistol tucked into his belt and hat set jauntily on his messy blond head. He threw the doors of his cabin open, already barking orders to his crew. “Fly the colours you bleeding swabs! Tha’ Spanish galleon is ours for the taking! Man the cannons and no lollygagging! Blast the ship from the sea until its wreckage is our rain!”
The crew slid into positions, stumbling on the rocking waves jolted by the cannon fire. All the time, Arthur shouted, taking supreme control of the situation. “Get to your posts you bloody wanks! Aim for the starboard bow! A boatload of Spanish gold is a’waiting! Send those Spanish bilge rats to Davy Jones’s Locker! I want those rust marks licking the barnacles off my boots when we’re done with them!”
A small hand reached up to take Arthur’s, and the sharp-tongued Briton turned down to his pride and joy’s confounded face. His blue eyes were wide with uncertainty, mouth tucked into a slight frown. “What’s going on?” he asked in a sweet, childish voice that melted Arthur’s brazen heart. The captain kneeled down and stroked the boy’s blond hair. “Nothing of your concern, love. Please, return to the lower deck immediately. I don’t want you to get hurt!”
The boy gripped at the white fabric of his nightgown and pouted, shuffling his bare feet on the deck. “I want to see you! Please, Arthur! Let me stay! I won’t get in the way, promise!”
Arthur sighed, but turned his mouth into a thin-lipped frown. “Shush, poppet. It’s far too dangerous, and I would be beside myself with misery if you got hurt. Go to the lower decks and wait for me. I promise that when we loot the ship, I’ll buy you a nice present when we get back to Britain.”
The boy flung his arms around Arthur’s legs, sobbing slightly. “I don’t care about presents! I just want you to come back safe. Please be careful, okay?”
“I promise, Alfred. I promise.”
Arthur tipped his hat forward as he stepped foot onto the St. Mariner Port, hiding his distinguishable eyebrows from view. He hadn’t felt the wood of a dock under his boots for nearly ten years. His attempt to raid the Spanish galleon ended with his boat sinking below the waves of the Atlantic, sending many of his crewmates to their deaths - either below the icy waves or subsequently being hung by the Spaniards. It was by luck that he even survived since the captain should either sink with his ship or be the first at the gallows. When the fight took a turn for the worse and the Spaniards had begun to board the ship, Arthur fled to find Alfred, his beloved brother-figure. To his horror, the child was nowhere to be found. In a panic, Arthur sped to the side of the ship, hoping to catch a glimpse the bobbing blond head before it sunk below the surface. However, there was no sign of his beloved child, only wreckage and the bobbing bodies of his crewmembers.
It took three Spanish sailors to pull him off his doomed ship. At first, the captain resisted, wanting to find his precious boy, but he knew there was no hope. If Alfred was not dead already, he would be soon, just like Arthur. The Englishman was thrown into the galleon’s brig in an empty but particularly dirty cell. He ate scraps of food once a day, leaving him sunken and weary. By the sixth month, he had lost a considerable amount of weight and hope. The sailors aboard the Galleon were happy to inform him of his immanent death upon arrival to Spain, but Arthur didn’t care. The sailors thought him mad because he only laughed when they mentioned a noose around his neck. Arthur had wanted to die because there was no sunlight left in the tattered remnants of life to which he clung. In Spain, he was thrown into another cell, possibly dirtier than the one on board the galleon and with even less food. Days slipped into weeks; weeks slipped into months. His guards taunted him, wanting the lifeless pirate to suffer a never-ending nightmare.
Then he met Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.
A week before Arthur was to be executed, Antonio arrived at the jail for reasons Arthur would never know. He was the only man in existence who could enter a prison with a non-sadistic smile and endless rivers of optimism. He entered the cell, took a seat, and set his hands on his knees like an expectant child. Arthur was confused and in a way, frightened. The Spaniard was dressed with opulence. Regal fabrics and gold trimmings made Arthur feel ragged and disgusting in his prisoner’s garb - stripped of his own exquisite captain’s clothing - and wanted to shy away in embarrassment of looking so degrading. Yet, Antonio was not there to treat him like dirt or bully him even more before his fated death. Instead, he smiled and offered Arthur a crisp red tomato from his coat pocket. Arthur lunged for the food and ate it like the starved animal he had become. Antonio chuckled slightly, and produced a second tomato. This time, when Arthur grabbed for it, he held back and spoke in warm English, laced with a strong Spanish accent, “Hold on now, mi hermano! I can’t give you this without getting something I want in return. Will you tell me about yourself? I’m interested in your story.”
Skeptical of the Spaniard’s request, Arthur raised a bushy brow. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the noble, but if he was going to die anyway, he supposed he could share his bitter tale. He told Antonio of his pillaging days and spoke highly of the seas he had explored. He recalled every fight and plunder he had achieved. Then, he reached the dreaded day only months ago. It was strange to see Antonio’s reaction to his story. The ever-present smile faded from his lips, and his once wide and eager eyes grew dim and somber. Arthur knew he was on the verge of tears himself, especially when he told Antonio about Alfred. Alfred, who was dead or about to be. Alfred, whose smile was as bright and charming as his spun-gold hair. Alfred, who Arthur would never see again because his sins on the seven seas would send him to hell when the noose choked the last of his life from him.Arthur’s thoughts and mouth suddenly stopped as a hand pressed against his shoulder. Antonio was staring at him with quivering green eyes, begging him to stop. The story hurt them both; Arthur could see the pain reflected in those emerald irises. The Spaniard didn’t remark on the former captain’s story, but then again, it wasn’t necessary. His expression spoke a thousand words. The only words exchanged between the moment Antonio laid his hand on Arthur and the metallic closing of the cell door were whispered and almost unreal: I’ll save you. I promise.
Every passing day was another twenty-four hours of life. Arthur had hope in the Spaniard’s words, but as he had figured, nothing happened. The night before his execution, however, a miracle happened. Perhaps it wasn’t a miracle since it was obviously the work of careful planning, but the great fire that lapped the sky just beyond his cell was the beautiful beacon of hope he had been waiting for.
Fire. The guards ran towards it in panic, shouting in rapid and panicked Spanish. The jailer outside his cell raced towards the burning glow, only to be replaced by another man whose vivid green eyes sparkled in the fire’s light. He opened the door to the cell, and pulled Arthur hastily out, covering him with a cloak. Arthur ran like he had never run before. The soles of his abused feet bled, but he did not care. He could taste freedom beyond the stone cold walls of the jail. It wasn’t until they had broken free from the confines of the prison that Arthur dared to speak, choked with dehydration and shock, “How? Why?”
Antonio slowed his pace as he entered the town so not to seem suspicious. Breaking a prisoner out of jail was not to be taken lightly. “The how isn’t too tricky. Distracted the guards long enough to get the keys and break you out. The why?”
Antonio was cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps behind them. A younger man in a red cloak and black hat reached to them and stopped, his lips thin and irritated. “The things you make’a me do, you damn bastard. One of these’a days I swear I’ma going to run away!”
The young man removed his hat, and a crop of red-brown hair sprung to life, specifically one strand of curled hair. He scowled, eyebrows nearly pressed together, but the Spaniard only smiled and pulled him into a tight hug, nuzzling the red-brown hair. “Lovi, you’re to cruel! What would I ever do without you?”
“Chigi. Stop touching me.”
Antonio looked up at Arthur, not letting go of “Lovi”. He smiled brightly, resting his chin on top of the grumpy Italian’s head. “This is the why, Arthur Kirkland. You told me about someone special to you that you thought you lost. Don’t give up.”
Arthur had stayed in Antonio’s house for eight years, hiding from the Spanish guard and working for the Spaniard to get money for a ship. Antonio had been willing to bend some laws to break Arthur out of jail, but he was still a proud Spaniard. Putting an English pirate on the seas was not something he would do so willingly. Yet, he gave the Briton a job and paid him well, knowing that soon enough, the pirate would be leave Spain and begin his search, hoping to find the child he strived to find.
Antonio told Arthur many stories: of his childhood and family, of his current life, and, of course, of Lovino. Antonio had taken the young Italian under his wing when Antonio was fourteen and Lovino was merely seven. Antonio laughed slightly at old memories, informing Arthur that his charge had been a “lovable brat”. Lovino had been a servant in The Carriedo household, but a poor one. He hardly cleaned, ate too much, and complained almost unbearably. Nevertheless, Antonio cared for him, and Lovino, under the coarse and grumpy exterior, loved him in return.
Antonio never said it aloud, but Arthur suspected there was more between the master and his charge than innocent caring. Perhaps it was how he smiled so softly when speaking of Lovino, or the crimson blush that spread across the Italian’s nose and cheeks when Antonio hugged him. However, it was probably the quick stolen kisses between the two when they thought no one was looking and the feather-light touches and hair ruffles in the shadowy crevices of the old house. Arthur wondered if the same attraction would have developed between he and Alfred, but his heart ached at the thought. The boy could have been dead for all he knew - unblessed with the miracle Arthur was given. Then again, his fate had been tested once already. Arthur could have killed him on the trade ship heading to Europe from the Americas, but he didn’t. He simply didn’t have the heart to kill the boy with the sweet face and shining eyes.
It was late December right after Christmas celebrations that Arthur left the Carriedo household. Antonio had pressed notes into his hands on Christmas, and gave the Englishman a knowing look, telling Arthur that it was time. Arthur took the chance granted to him and left without saying goodbye.
So here he was, one year later, back in England. Arthur had commandeered a ship (rather, he had used half of his savings and a rather intimidating sword to take the ship off its owner’s hands), and it bobbed beautifully in the water, the crew already aboard and preparing to set sail. He hopped aboard - wobbly from his absence, but a pirate at heart never loses his ability to walk against the bobbing waves. “I’ll find you love,” he whispered to the thrashing waves. “I promise, I’ll find you."