The Great Escape - Chapter 4
Title: The Great Escape
Chapter: Chapter 4 - The Empress
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Young Teague, Samhra (Jack's mum), Sao Feng, previous Brethren Court Pirate Lords, young Jack Sparrow (eventually).
Rating: T for adult content and violence.
Summary: A woman deeply oppressed by her culture, chooses the path of freedom. Unwilling to let go of the hope that her Songsmith would return to her, she is finally set free to live a life on the run, alongside the Pirate Lord of Madagascar.
A/N: I created this tale after writing a one-shot for a collaboration entitled Mother's of the Caribbean some years ago. I had some readers pushing me to expand on the story, so here's the end result! I'd like to thank madam_pudifoot for helping me through the first few chapters of this :o)
Prelude: MoTC: Jack Sparrow's Mum
Chapter 1: The Return
Chapter 2: The Rogue
Chapter 3: The Treasure
Chapter 4: The Empress
~o~
The next morning, Samhra woke early in her new room and lay on her back, watching the sunlight entwine with dust in its radiant beams. She wondered how long she would have to reside within the confinement of such a small space; it was cozy and tight, almost like a sunny cave.
Rising to her feet, she tossed the musty bedspread to the floor and spread it with her feet. Samhra decided early on in her life that lack of a temple or shrine would not hinder her from her faith. The insight she gained from prayer was fruitful and had always brought her peace when her mind was restless. Dropping to her knees, she softly chanted the Gayatri mantra, feeling the serenity of her chants begin to enlighten her soul.
The scratching on the door popped her out of her chanting cycle. She recognized the sound as soon as she heard it. A wide smile appeared on her face as she rose to open the door and found that the small mop-haired thief had not forgotten about her.
Rogue came rushing in into her room, overflowing with joy, wagging his tail furiously and leaping up to steal a kiss from his new best friend. It was as if he was saying, "I know you're glad to see me, for I have brought you something!"
At last, Samhra caught him by the tail - which he could not stop wagging - and got her arm around his neck, untying the note that dangled from a small rope collar. She gave him a small kiss atop his head as she unrolled the small piece of parchment.
Carpe Diem.
The scribble was uniquely beautiful. Running her thumb over the lettering, she thought to herself for a moment, suckling her bottom lip as she pondered the meaning of the wording. She planted yet another kiss on the pup's head and placed him down on the ground; he scrambled out of the room almost as fast as he came.
~o~
It was a beautiful, cloudless day. The sun almost vertical, streaking the waters with its golden rays, caused the deep blue to assume an amber tint. All was solemn and still, the Misty Lady was alone on the wide expanse of sea - a brilliant force that slowly glided through the deep, under the instruction of the sun and its gentle currents.
The main deck was full of men, yet there was none of that bustle and life they usually presented. Stillness reigned from stem to stern, broken only by the slight murmur of voices from the main deck or the ripple of a wave as the ship pursued her course.
In an hour's time, Samhra found herself out on the forecastle deck; eyes fixated out to sea as the wind raged over her face and through her hair. The sight before her was breathtaking.
Although, the events of the previous evening still echoed in her mind, truthfully, she couldn't concentrate on much else besides the dangerous thrill of being in Teague's arms again. Memories began fluttering, recalling candles shimmering in the hazy distance, how the room spun, and how his unique scent - a combination of spice, sweat, and something indefinable - enveloped her.
Not only did she feel graceful, but for the first time in five years, she felt free. Free of her obligations, free of worry, free of guilt. Like a bird out of her cage, flying for the very first time.
Suddenly, before she could realize how long she had been flying, she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from the companionway behind her. "Woman!" The word snapped her back to reality.
Samhra turned to find Finnegan, galloping up the stairway two steps at a time; his pipe fastened between his teeth.
With no thought to the propriety of the matter, she examined him. She could not deny that he was a handsome man, so unique in appearance that the notion fascinated her. Long legs, strong features, the fairest of skin, and rich blonde hair, which shone radiantly white in the mid-day sun. She raised her eyes as he approached, timidly at first; to meet two pools of dark blue that were so close to her own. The look he gave her seemed to burn into her very soul.
However, the devil wore many masks, she considered.
Smoke from his long, wooden pipe tainted the air as he said, "Your presence has been requested in the Captain's quarters."
Samhra nodded in response, lowering her eyes to the ground as she began to make her way to the stairs.
As she passed, Finnegan reached out to grasp her arm and drew her close. Samhra winced from the strength of his grip, and attempted to pull away. She considered screaming, but Finnegan was too close then.
With his lips grazing her ear, he whispered, "Perhaps, we shall request your presence in the crew's quarters later on." He smiled a horrible, yellow grin and let her go.
Half disgusted, half angered, Samhra ran down the stairs, feeling pain in her arm, but she was both unwilling and unable to make herself slow down.
A great sense of relief came when she finally reached great double doors, though her heart was still racing and she could not help her shaky, rapid knocks. She finally heard a well-remembered voice bidding her enter, and once inside, she shut the door, and stood with her back against it, catching her breath.
"Lovely, as always," Teague said, tearing his eyes away from the documents before him.
He must be joking, she thought. Her saris were stained and her raven hair was a tangled mess. Attempting to tame it, Samhra tied it to the side, letting her tousled locks cascade down her right shoulder.
On the other hand, Teague looked handsome, all that black hair framing his strong-looking face, though his garments were so worn and haggard, he still held the fullness of his handsome youth. Leaning back in his chair, he crushed the sheet of paper in his hand. "Did Rogue find you well enough?" he inquired with a smile, rising from the chart table where he sat. It was obvious he was amidst plotting the course in which the vessel would take.
Clasping her hands before her, Samhra nodded and said simply, "He is a gentleman."
"Steals all the lady's hearts, that one - don't stand a chance anymore." He offered her a seat in one of the few furnished chairs in the room, and pulled up a chair of his own.
"Although, I didn't quite understand the message," she admitted shyly.
She was still flushed with fear and hoped he hadn't noticed. Thoughts of the conversation she overheard the previous evening began to flood her mind. Unsure of what to think, she sat down beside him, grateful to be off her feet and away from the devil named Finnegan.
"I've come across somethin' that you might like, lass," he said, changing the conversation.
Samhra watched him curiously as he reached into the pocket of his crimson frockcoat which hung from his chair; he revealed a small brush set. It wasn't just any brush set either; it was a silver-backed brush, comb and mirror - it looked just like her mother's. Teague handed the items to her, looking confident and content. He must have realized that she had none of her own personal items and that ships were not exactly made to accommodate a woman.
"Thought you might need this," he whispered, analyzing her expression.
Her smile widened as she gave him a tender look; her heart melted when the memories of the times shared with her mother and sisters began to replay in her mind. "It is beautiful," she said, admiring the silver back. He looked quite pleased with himself.
Running her hands long the slick surface of the brush, Samhra frowned at the disturbance of the East India Company seal beneath her fingers. "You're employed by the Company?" she asked, with a measure of disappointment.
"Would rather die," he answered quickly. Teague hesitated for a moment. "Turn for me, love."
She did, slowly, and just as her back was to him, she felt his breath against her cheek, followed by fingers in her hair.
Her eyes widened and panic began to set in. Teague's hands gripped her shoulders gently, as if he sensed her fear. "What are you doing?" she managed to ask.
Softly shushing in her ear, he whispered, "Allow me." Teague gripped the brush in Samhra's hand, and pulled it from her fingers. Untying her makeshift bow, he ruffled her hair until it hung free down to her waist. She felt the brush at the crown of her head; it caught and held, beginning the long journey down and down, pulling nerves to life as it went.
He held a small, silver mirror before her. "You are far too tense," he said, smiling at her in the mirror.
She looked at herself. Odd how seldom she'd done that in the past few years, not since she was married. She had not wanted to see her face - scarred and bruised - afraid that she might frighten herself. Samhra returned a timid smile after a long moment, quickly recoiling when the cut on her lip reopened. Licking her lips, she took the handle of the mirror and asked, "Was it your intention to come back for me?"
Teague brushed her hair from scalp to waist - ten strokes, fifty; a hundred. Her tresses, too straight, too thick, too everythingfor fashion, resisted. He pressed on.
"Were you afraid that I wouldn't?" Teague asked as he stood, Samhra quickly turned to face him.
"I'm not one to be remembered," she replied with measure of sadness.
Handing off the brush to her, Teague made his way toward a large trunk by the chart table.
Kicking it open, Teague reached down and pulled out a beautiful golden fabric; it was truly a work of art. The piece reflected the color of sunlight as if it were dancing, emitting colorful sounds into her soul, and joyful freedom in her heart. "You're not one I was willin' to forget," he retorted, sauntering back to her with the material in hand.
He lifted her to her feet and Samhra couldn't help the wide smile she wore when he began wrapping it around her, giggling when he couldn't figure out the proper way to fold it. Holding up the mirror once more, Teague chuckled. "It's not terrible, is it?"
She smiled at herself in the mirror. "It's radiant," she said with a sigh, grazing the edges of the silky cloth gently with her fingertips.
Never in her life had she received such a beautiful gift and as she turned to thank him for the stunning endowment, Teague replied, "Not as radiant as you."
Samhra's cheeks grew hot, feeling unexpectedly shy with him. He was so kind to her, and she had no way to reciprocate or even thank him, and as her eyes met his, he bent toward her slowly, and kissed her top lip gently.
She pulled back from him - a habit she developed from the time she spent with her abusive husband. Furrowing his brow, Teague realized the sudden change in her demeanor. Gently drawing lines with his fingers down her neck; he pushed her saris aside on one shoulder.
"No, please. Don't." She quickly pulled it back into place.
"Is this why you fear me?" A flicker of anger shone in his eyes. "He did this to you?"
Samhra trembled as he pushed the saris back again, so that he may see the extent of her bruising. She sobbed softly. "Yes, it was my husband."
"He deserved a far more painful hand than the one I dealt," he affirmed, wiping tears from her cheeks with his coarse fingertips.
"I'm scared," she said, lips trembling.
"Don't be," he told her. He drew her against him, and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her forehead.
She was so surprised that she didn't resist when he kissed her again.
Nevertheless, their momentary bliss was short-lived; the cry of "Sail, ho!" was heard from the mast head.
Teague's eyes quickly focused away from her. "Stay here," he urged, but as he turned to leave her, she could not help but follow.
The scene she found beyond the great cabin's double doors was a frenzy of preparation; cannons were being moved into place, Bloodbath was shouting orders as the crew brought up ammunition from the lower decks.
Samhra moved quickly behind Teague as he climbed the quarterdeck stairway, taking a place beside him at the rail, he seemed too focused to mind her presence. The rapid interrogation commenced. "How does she bear?" was his response as Bloodbath appeared on the quarterdeck.
"One point before the starboard beam, Sir!" he yelled. All eyes and glasses were turned in that direction. The ship on their starboard side loomed up like a white cloud and possessed sails that went with the wind.
"She's a junk," Teague said.
"A junk?" Bloodbath said, confused. "What's it doin' way out 'ere?"
"It's the Empress," Teague corrected, scanning the distance with his spyglass. "Have not laid eyes on her in years."
"I bloody hate Singapore," Bloodbath snarled.
Samhra's sharp vision recognized the distinct design of the sailing ship. The eye that was painted on the green hull sparked her memory before anything else. It reminded her of the Chinese trading vessels that had docked in Tanjavur every so often to import persimmons and fine silks.
"Little too far out of their territory, are they?" Bloodbath cracked his knuckles. "Must be lost."
"Looks like Ching's new lackey wants to talk," Teague said with a devious smirk.
Bloodbath snickered under his breath, the implication was obvious. "Aye, let's help 'im find his way, then," he said, signaling the crew to hold their fire.
For now.
~o~
Chapter: Chapter 4 - The Empress
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Young Teague, Samhra (Jack's mum), Sao Feng, previous Brethren Court Pirate Lords, young Jack Sparrow (eventually).
Rating: T for adult content and violence.
Summary: A woman deeply oppressed by her culture, chooses the path of freedom. Unwilling to let go of the hope that her Songsmith would return to her, she is finally set free to live a life on the run, alongside the Pirate Lord of Madagascar.
A/N: I created this tale after writing a one-shot for a collaboration entitled Mother's of the Caribbean some years ago. I had some readers pushing me to expand on the story, so here's the end result! I'd like to thank madam_pudifoot for helping me through the first few chapters of this :o)
Prelude: MoTC: Jack Sparrow's Mum
Chapter 1: The Return
Chapter 2: The Rogue
Chapter 3: The Treasure
Chapter 4: The Empress
~o~
The next morning, Samhra woke early in her new room and lay on her back, watching the sunlight entwine with dust in its radiant beams. She wondered how long she would have to reside within the confinement of such a small space; it was cozy and tight, almost like a sunny cave.
Rising to her feet, she tossed the musty bedspread to the floor and spread it with her feet. Samhra decided early on in her life that lack of a temple or shrine would not hinder her from her faith. The insight she gained from prayer was fruitful and had always brought her peace when her mind was restless. Dropping to her knees, she softly chanted the Gayatri mantra, feeling the serenity of her chants begin to enlighten her soul.
The scratching on the door popped her out of her chanting cycle. She recognized the sound as soon as she heard it. A wide smile appeared on her face as she rose to open the door and found that the small mop-haired thief had not forgotten about her.
Rogue came rushing in into her room, overflowing with joy, wagging his tail furiously and leaping up to steal a kiss from his new best friend. It was as if he was saying, "I know you're glad to see me, for I have brought you something!"
At last, Samhra caught him by the tail - which he could not stop wagging - and got her arm around his neck, untying the note that dangled from a small rope collar. She gave him a small kiss atop his head as she unrolled the small piece of parchment.
Carpe Diem.
The scribble was uniquely beautiful. Running her thumb over the lettering, she thought to herself for a moment, suckling her bottom lip as she pondered the meaning of the wording. She planted yet another kiss on the pup's head and placed him down on the ground; he scrambled out of the room almost as fast as he came.
~o~
It was a beautiful, cloudless day. The sun almost vertical, streaking the waters with its golden rays, caused the deep blue to assume an amber tint. All was solemn and still, the Misty Lady was alone on the wide expanse of sea - a brilliant force that slowly glided through the deep, under the instruction of the sun and its gentle currents.
The main deck was full of men, yet there was none of that bustle and life they usually presented. Stillness reigned from stem to stern, broken only by the slight murmur of voices from the main deck or the ripple of a wave as the ship pursued her course.
In an hour's time, Samhra found herself out on the forecastle deck; eyes fixated out to sea as the wind raged over her face and through her hair. The sight before her was breathtaking.
Although, the events of the previous evening still echoed in her mind, truthfully, she couldn't concentrate on much else besides the dangerous thrill of being in Teague's arms again. Memories began fluttering, recalling candles shimmering in the hazy distance, how the room spun, and how his unique scent - a combination of spice, sweat, and something indefinable - enveloped her.
Not only did she feel graceful, but for the first time in five years, she felt free. Free of her obligations, free of worry, free of guilt. Like a bird out of her cage, flying for the very first time.
Suddenly, before she could realize how long she had been flying, she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from the companionway behind her. "Woman!" The word snapped her back to reality.
Samhra turned to find Finnegan, galloping up the stairway two steps at a time; his pipe fastened between his teeth.
With no thought to the propriety of the matter, she examined him. She could not deny that he was a handsome man, so unique in appearance that the notion fascinated her. Long legs, strong features, the fairest of skin, and rich blonde hair, which shone radiantly white in the mid-day sun. She raised her eyes as he approached, timidly at first; to meet two pools of dark blue that were so close to her own. The look he gave her seemed to burn into her very soul.
However, the devil wore many masks, she considered.
Smoke from his long, wooden pipe tainted the air as he said, "Your presence has been requested in the Captain's quarters."
Samhra nodded in response, lowering her eyes to the ground as she began to make her way to the stairs.
As she passed, Finnegan reached out to grasp her arm and drew her close. Samhra winced from the strength of his grip, and attempted to pull away. She considered screaming, but Finnegan was too close then.
With his lips grazing her ear, he whispered, "Perhaps, we shall request your presence in the crew's quarters later on." He smiled a horrible, yellow grin and let her go.
Half disgusted, half angered, Samhra ran down the stairs, feeling pain in her arm, but she was both unwilling and unable to make herself slow down.
A great sense of relief came when she finally reached great double doors, though her heart was still racing and she could not help her shaky, rapid knocks. She finally heard a well-remembered voice bidding her enter, and once inside, she shut the door, and stood with her back against it, catching her breath.
"Lovely, as always," Teague said, tearing his eyes away from the documents before him.
He must be joking, she thought. Her saris were stained and her raven hair was a tangled mess. Attempting to tame it, Samhra tied it to the side, letting her tousled locks cascade down her right shoulder.
On the other hand, Teague looked handsome, all that black hair framing his strong-looking face, though his garments were so worn and haggard, he still held the fullness of his handsome youth. Leaning back in his chair, he crushed the sheet of paper in his hand. "Did Rogue find you well enough?" he inquired with a smile, rising from the chart table where he sat. It was obvious he was amidst plotting the course in which the vessel would take.
Clasping her hands before her, Samhra nodded and said simply, "He is a gentleman."
"Steals all the lady's hearts, that one - don't stand a chance anymore." He offered her a seat in one of the few furnished chairs in the room, and pulled up a chair of his own.
"Although, I didn't quite understand the message," she admitted shyly.
She was still flushed with fear and hoped he hadn't noticed. Thoughts of the conversation she overheard the previous evening began to flood her mind. Unsure of what to think, she sat down beside him, grateful to be off her feet and away from the devil named Finnegan.
"I've come across somethin' that you might like, lass," he said, changing the conversation.
Samhra watched him curiously as he reached into the pocket of his crimson frockcoat which hung from his chair; he revealed a small brush set. It wasn't just any brush set either; it was a silver-backed brush, comb and mirror - it looked just like her mother's. Teague handed the items to her, looking confident and content. He must have realized that she had none of her own personal items and that ships were not exactly made to accommodate a woman.
"Thought you might need this," he whispered, analyzing her expression.
Her smile widened as she gave him a tender look; her heart melted when the memories of the times shared with her mother and sisters began to replay in her mind. "It is beautiful," she said, admiring the silver back. He looked quite pleased with himself.
Running her hands long the slick surface of the brush, Samhra frowned at the disturbance of the East India Company seal beneath her fingers. "You're employed by the Company?" she asked, with a measure of disappointment.
"Would rather die," he answered quickly. Teague hesitated for a moment. "Turn for me, love."
She did, slowly, and just as her back was to him, she felt his breath against her cheek, followed by fingers in her hair.
Her eyes widened and panic began to set in. Teague's hands gripped her shoulders gently, as if he sensed her fear. "What are you doing?" she managed to ask.
Softly shushing in her ear, he whispered, "Allow me." Teague gripped the brush in Samhra's hand, and pulled it from her fingers. Untying her makeshift bow, he ruffled her hair until it hung free down to her waist. She felt the brush at the crown of her head; it caught and held, beginning the long journey down and down, pulling nerves to life as it went.
He held a small, silver mirror before her. "You are far too tense," he said, smiling at her in the mirror.
She looked at herself. Odd how seldom she'd done that in the past few years, not since she was married. She had not wanted to see her face - scarred and bruised - afraid that she might frighten herself. Samhra returned a timid smile after a long moment, quickly recoiling when the cut on her lip reopened. Licking her lips, she took the handle of the mirror and asked, "Was it your intention to come back for me?"
Teague brushed her hair from scalp to waist - ten strokes, fifty; a hundred. Her tresses, too straight, too thick, too everythingfor fashion, resisted. He pressed on.
"Were you afraid that I wouldn't?" Teague asked as he stood, Samhra quickly turned to face him.
"I'm not one to be remembered," she replied with measure of sadness.
Handing off the brush to her, Teague made his way toward a large trunk by the chart table.
Kicking it open, Teague reached down and pulled out a beautiful golden fabric; it was truly a work of art. The piece reflected the color of sunlight as if it were dancing, emitting colorful sounds into her soul, and joyful freedom in her heart. "You're not one I was willin' to forget," he retorted, sauntering back to her with the material in hand.
He lifted her to her feet and Samhra couldn't help the wide smile she wore when he began wrapping it around her, giggling when he couldn't figure out the proper way to fold it. Holding up the mirror once more, Teague chuckled. "It's not terrible, is it?"
She smiled at herself in the mirror. "It's radiant," she said with a sigh, grazing the edges of the silky cloth gently with her fingertips.
Never in her life had she received such a beautiful gift and as she turned to thank him for the stunning endowment, Teague replied, "Not as radiant as you."
Samhra's cheeks grew hot, feeling unexpectedly shy with him. He was so kind to her, and she had no way to reciprocate or even thank him, and as her eyes met his, he bent toward her slowly, and kissed her top lip gently.
She pulled back from him - a habit she developed from the time she spent with her abusive husband. Furrowing his brow, Teague realized the sudden change in her demeanor. Gently drawing lines with his fingers down her neck; he pushed her saris aside on one shoulder.
"No, please. Don't." She quickly pulled it back into place.
"Is this why you fear me?" A flicker of anger shone in his eyes. "He did this to you?"
Samhra trembled as he pushed the saris back again, so that he may see the extent of her bruising. She sobbed softly. "Yes, it was my husband."
"He deserved a far more painful hand than the one I dealt," he affirmed, wiping tears from her cheeks with his coarse fingertips.
"I'm scared," she said, lips trembling.
"Don't be," he told her. He drew her against him, and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her forehead.
She was so surprised that she didn't resist when he kissed her again.
Nevertheless, their momentary bliss was short-lived; the cry of "Sail, ho!" was heard from the mast head.
Teague's eyes quickly focused away from her. "Stay here," he urged, but as he turned to leave her, she could not help but follow.
The scene she found beyond the great cabin's double doors was a frenzy of preparation; cannons were being moved into place, Bloodbath was shouting orders as the crew brought up ammunition from the lower decks.
Samhra moved quickly behind Teague as he climbed the quarterdeck stairway, taking a place beside him at the rail, he seemed too focused to mind her presence. The rapid interrogation commenced. "How does she bear?" was his response as Bloodbath appeared on the quarterdeck.
"One point before the starboard beam, Sir!" he yelled. All eyes and glasses were turned in that direction. The ship on their starboard side loomed up like a white cloud and possessed sails that went with the wind.
"She's a junk," Teague said.
"A junk?" Bloodbath said, confused. "What's it doin' way out 'ere?"
"It's the Empress," Teague corrected, scanning the distance with his spyglass. "Have not laid eyes on her in years."
"I bloody hate Singapore," Bloodbath snarled.
Samhra's sharp vision recognized the distinct design of the sailing ship. The eye that was painted on the green hull sparked her memory before anything else. It reminded her of the Chinese trading vessels that had docked in Tanjavur every so often to import persimmons and fine silks.
"Little too far out of their territory, are they?" Bloodbath cracked his knuckles. "Must be lost."
"Looks like Ching's new lackey wants to talk," Teague said with a devious smirk.
Bloodbath snickered under his breath, the implication was obvious. "Aye, let's help 'im find his way, then," he said, signaling the crew to hold their fire.
For now.
~o~