Author's Note: I thought this story deserved something of an intro mostly because I feel people might see it as completely random/just another Pirate England fic*. I was reading Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson a couple months ago and I came across a discussion that Long John Silver has where he mentioned that he sailed with England, and refers to it as Captain England, aka not the Royal Navy (I know, right?). Well, after my fangasm, I promptly got to writing this story. So basically, what I wanted to say is THIS IS CANON (sort of). Enjoy!
*Oh, this reminds me, this is my first Hetalia fic...I'm not sure if this means I've crossed into the Dark Side or what.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Chapter 1: The Captain's Fancy
The stormy summer sky thundered as fat rain drops fell on the cobblestone street. Even though it was only five or so in the evening, it might as well have been midnight. Citizens of the colony flitted from store front to store front, trying to keep out of the rain as much as possible, lifting skirts out of puddles or holding hats tightly to heads. The wind gusted the rain at a brutal angle, ensuring that even hiding under the protection of an awning would not help with keeping dry, as a particular pair, a rather tall gentleman and a young boy, scuttled around through the gale to a modest looking tavern. The sign reading The Captain's Fancy near the door banged against the wall as another crack of thunder echoed through the city as the two rushed through the door.
Shaking the water off as soon as they got through the doorway, curious eyes flicked at the pair before returning to their meals or nursing their tankards. The Captain's Fancy was known for its varied clientele; being so close to the dock it often saw the lowliest of the King's sailors or the roughest of buccaneers just finishing months long voyages at sea (sometimes the two were not mutually exclusive). But because of the quality of food and the sheer primacy of the location, those who had the coin and prestige to fund or captain said voyages could also be found enjoying the hospitalities of The Captain's Fancy. The tavern consisted of a bar where a rather imposing African woman filled glasses with a smile, but also with the nimble, capable hands of someone who knew the job. The tables scattered around the remainder of the room ranged in sizes from those fit for a banquet at the center of the room to more quiet parties out of the fire and scattered lamplight. The rain continued to pound on the roof distantly overhead as the noise in the room returned to a light murmur and tobacco smoke filled the air.
The two at the door finished drying off as much as possible and looked around. The younger of the two seemed to be around 8 and bore a wide-eyed, honest expression, sharp blue eyes taking in the entirety of the room as one piece of hair that refused to stay flat from its wetting bounced around merrily. The older man, clearly a refined British gentleman, bore a scowl underneath the bushiest eyebrows in the Empire, though whether this was from the weather or the eating establishment was difficult to say. The two bore a strong resemblance, clearly they were family of some sort; although the British gentleman's eyes were green, his hair was roughly the same blond shade.
The woman at the bar gave a quick nod to the two guests as the young boy grabbed the elder's hand and tugged him across the room. "C'mon, Arthur, let's get a table! I'm hungry," he said, voice high and excited, apparently unaffected by the weather.
The elder man grumbled, though his fondness for the boy was such that a small smile flashed across his face as he allowed himself to be dragged across the room. The boy pulled the man to the far side of the room, remembering his manners enough to pull out the chair for the older man before taking a seat for himself. The gentleman chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair as the youth bounded around the table, energy endless. A waitress came to the table in due time to get their orders, interrupting the boy's flow of steady babble, as the storm continued to rage on, and left soon after, receiving a quick, but not unfriendly, order for food and drink from the two.
"I ne'er figur'd ye fer a father figure, cap'n," came a voice out of the gloom of the tavern.
Arthur positively bolted, swinging his head around to peer into the darkness. The boy leaned to the side to look as well and saw an elderly man, much older than his Arthur. The man's face was deep-lined by the sun and long years, and clean shaven. Smoke curled around the man's head from the long pipe he was smoking and a parrot rested drowsily on his shoulder. He had the look of a man that had lived life richly and fully and now sought time of remembrance and reflection, though the tankard next to him perhaps spoke against this. He was a sailor, no doubt about it, as were most men in the area.
"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, body tense as he looked over the man. Had he met him before? And how on earth—?
"By the powers," muttered the man in shadows, "Ye 'aven't changed a bit." A strange smile seemed to flit across the man's face before it disappeared and he nudged the bird on his shoulder awake. "Lookie 'ere, Flint, it's the cap'n."
The bird, on her part, shook her head and blinked a few times, ruffling her feathers and puffing herself up at the indignity of being so rudely awoken, muttering darkly about 'pieces of eight'. Then she paused, finally catching sight of the British gentleman who now looked nervously at the pair. The bird let out an excited screech, flapping her wings in joy as pushed herself up off the man's shoulders and flew instead to Arthur's.
The boy sharing the man's table let out a most undignified whoop, cheering as the bird headed toward the gentleman. As the boy jumped up to try and catch the bird, his chair clattered to the floor and whoever was not already paying attention to the ruckus was now.
Frantically trying to regain control of the situation, Arthur waved his arms around his head, trying to prevent the bird landing, which Flint skillfully dodged, before she landed resolutely on the British man's shoulder. Arthur shot a look to the boy to settle down, which the boy only belatedly realized before the older man tried to pry the bird off of his shoulder, two angry red patches glowing on his cheeks. The bird's talons solidly gripped the fabric, and the skin, of its new perch as it lovingly nuzzled the nape of Arthur's neck, and, no matter how hard Arthur tried to remove the bird, she blatantly refused to move, even nipping Arthur once for his trouble.
The boy finally got the message in Arthur's look as he quietly muttered 'sorry' and re-righted his chair, flashing a smile to the rest of the tavern which seemed to resettle them as well—they turned back to their dining, they had seen odder things—before turning back to the older man. "You didn't tell me you had a parrot," said the boy, almost accusingly, reaching out to stroke the rainbow colored plumage before quickly pulling back as the bird attempted a nip at his fingers.
"Be careful, Alfred," admonished Arthur gruffly, giving the bird a smack on the beak, "parrots are not nice."
"Not nice, not nice," the bird echoed, shaking her head side to side before returning to nuzzling Arthur.
"But is this your parrot or not?" asked the boy, sitting on his hands now so as not to try and touch the bird, legs swinging back and forth, no worse for wear after the threat from Flint.
"She 'asn't bin—na' fer a long while a'least," said the man in the corner, reaching down to the side to grab a crutch, which Alfred and Arthur just noticed was resting on the floor, to help pull himself up and limp over to their table, grabbing a chair to add to the table as he moved.
The boy beamed at the man as he walked, practically bouncing with the excitement of meeting someone new, eyes quickly flicking to the man's missing leg, taking it in stride, before looking up at the weather-worn face again. "Do you know Arthur?" he asked, excitedly.
"Aye, tha' I do," said the sailor, settling down heavily in the chair before turning and eyeing Arthur. "Hallo, cap'n."
Arthur sat as stiff as a board, not returning the affections of the bird nor acknowledging the man who had just joined the table. "Come, Alfred, it's time to go."
"But, we haven't eaten yet," blinked the boy. "And it would be rude to leave when we just met someone." He added, almost seeming to echo something he had heard Arthur say, giving the man a reproachful look.
The sailor let out a bark of laughter, belly rolling with the sound. "Aye, et would! And as the manigeer o' this fine establishment, I insist ye stay fer awhile." Even though the way the sailor said it was friendly enough, it did not seem like a request.
Arthur finally turned to look coolly at the man, his voice slipping an octave lower than before and an odd lilt adding itself to his speech, eyes flashing a dangerous green. "Y' always used ta drive a hard bargain, Silver." His eyes, taking on a more primitive spark, were hard as he looked at the old sailor.
"So you do know him," Alfred concluded joyfully, eyes flicking from his guardian to Silver, not noticing, or not caring to notice the change that had come over the British man.
Silver nodded slowly, placing the pipe back in his mouth before inhaling slowly and exhaling just as slowly, smoke blowing out with his breath. The atmosphere was tense, though Alfred hardly noticed as he now only had eyes for the old sailor puffing at his pipe. "'e was me cap'n many years ago. I joined 'is crew when I was na' much older 'n ye."
"Wow, you used to be a captain of a ship?" asked Alfred, turning to gape up at Arthur. The man nodded stiffly, not meeting the boy's eyes as he continued to stare at Silver, eyes holding a warning. "That's so cool! Tell me about it, please?" the boy begged, looking eagerly from Arthur to Silver.
"Y' don' want ta hear stories about tha', Alfred," replied Arthur shortly, glaring daggers at the sailor, lilt still in his voice.
Alfred pouted slightly, not noticing the tension. "Ye 'ave nothin' ta be ashamed of," said Silver, blowing out another puff of smoke before turning to look at Alfred, "I'll 'ave ye know tha' yer father 'ere was one the world's greatest buccaneer."
"You were a pirate?" asked Alfred, eyes round and mouth a small "o" at same time that Arthur ejected, "'e's not ma son."
Silver smiled blithely as Arthur flushed, face otherwise an emotionless mask. "Alfred, would y' please go n' check on our food?" asked Arthur suddenly, not looking at the boy, eyes still hard on the sailor.
"But—," began Alfred.
"Now, boy," said Arthur, voice very gruff, harsher than Alfred had ever heard it. Alfred swallowed quickly and nodded, scooting his chair back with his legs, making it scrape against the ground, before dashing over to the bar counter, shooting a worried look back at his guardian. Upon reaching the counter, he pulled himself up on a stool and began an earnest conversation, presumably about food, with the African woman there. She obliged the young man, her eyes flicking once to Silver who nodded.
"Charmin' woman, en't she?" commented Silver, loose smile still on his face.
"John," said Arthur shortly, taking great pains to control himself, the lilt slipping out of his voice. "I will not have you filling the boy's head with nonsense."
"S'not nonsense," said Silver, face becoming serious even as he lowered his voice. "Tha' b'y 'as a right ta know yer story as much as anyone. 'Specially if 'e's one o' ye—"
"I'll have no talk about that, either," snapped Arthur, cutting Silver off. The two stared at each other and then Silver snorted.
"I don' know wha' ye 'ave ta be afraid of." He shook his head slowly as Arthur scowled. "The b'y loves ye, an' nothin' I say 'ill change tha'." He paused, giving Arthur a look over with a critical eye. "Ye were the best cap'n I ever 'ad. Ev'ryone has done tings they regret, but raisin' me—well, I know tha's somethin' I don' want ta forget."
Arthur swallowed, a peculiar expression crossing his face as he looked away, blinking rapidly as he stared at the fire across the room. "I've na' done much ta be proud of," he muttered, lilt creeping back into his voice.
"Yer raisin' tha' b'y, an' ye took me under yer wing when I was naught bu' a mite like 'im," said Silver, emotion creeping into his voice. "Ye 'ave ta confront both the good an' the bad b'fore ye can move on."
"Ne'er took y' ta be so philosophical," said Arthur wryly, turning back to look at Silver, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Silver laughed his belly chuckle, which, in its mirth, caused Arthur to join in. "Mus' be ma old age," said Silver, tipping his cap to his former captain.
"I got the food!" said Alfred suddenly, bounding back over to the table, the waitress trailing behind him with a fully laden tray as well as a fresh tankard for Silver. She quickly set all the proper food before each patron and her boss before scurrying away, off to tend to more guests.
"So are you going to tell me the pirate story?" asked Alfred around a mouthful of food.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," instructed Arthur, forcing himself back into his more refined voice. He traded a quick look with Silver who nodded. The old sailor understood. His captain still needed time to heal, but this would help. Even so, a faint smile played at the corner of his mouth and he had absentmindedly begun to stroke Flint's feathers, acknowledging the bird for the first time, gazing off into the distance at something only he could see.
"How's about I tell ye a story," said Silver smoothly, distracting the youth from his guardian.
"Okay," the boy cheered, remembering just in time to finish his bite before he spoke.
"There's a good lad," murmured Arthur fondly, ruffling the lad's hair, which Alfred attempted to dodged, slightly annoyed look on his face. Silver paused, a thoughtful smile on his lips, watching the interaction and remembering one much like it many years ago.
"Righ', so like I said, I was na' much older n' ye when I wen' ta Portsmouth looking ta join 'is Majesty's Navy. Et was a sunny Spring day in 16- -…"
A/N: Hopefully the accents didn't make it too difficult to understand what everyone was saying. I'm trying my best to make sure they stay consistent throughout the story. And I apologize if they are widely inaccurate to how they actually sound. For future reference, non-accented speech generally means "common" British English (however much mileage you get out of that phrase is a bit beyond me), except for Alfred who's speaking an American/British hybrid that I wasn't sure what would sound like anyway*.
So, did you love it? Hate it? I don't care, just review it!
*I've always been curious when the American standard accent became distinguishable from the British standard accent. Was there a clear difference before the American Revolution? Did it emerge later as a protest or did it occur naturally? And now I'm babbling...