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1754
Clarke woke up to a gentle rocking motion and whilst some may have found it soothing, it just reminded her she wasn't at home. She opened her eyes and was met with the dingy cell she had been kept in for two days. It was a six foot square, with a bucket for a toilet, and the floor and a blanket for a bed. She groaned as she recalled the events of the past few days.
Two days ago, Clarke's day hadn't exactly gone to plan. Instead of sneaking off that evening to meet her beau Finn for a clandestine encounter, she found herself imprisoned below deck on one of the most feared pirate ships on the seven seas.
The Ark had once been a ship that had belonged to the East India Company. It was the crown jewel to the formidable fleet of ships, the biggest, strongest, and quickest ship known to man. That was until one day ten years ago, a band of brutal pirates known only as Trikru had overtaken the ship, sailing it under the pirate flag ever since.
The day Clarke was captured, the daunting ship had landed in Port Royal, pillaging for supplies, and apparently looking for a governor's daughter. Clarke had no idea why they had kidnapped her, only that it hadn't been an accident. A group of pirates had broken into her house specifically, left her unfortunate mother and father alone as well as their jewels and money, and had come straight for her. Fighting their way through the guards her father employed, and thrown, in a rather unladylike manner over a tall dark haired man's shoulder.
It had been two days since she had been kidnapped, and Clarke was beginning to go stir-crazy in her cage. There were no other prisoners for her to talk to, just her own mind scaring her out of her wits. She was fed twice a day, some kind of watery porridge and ale in the morning, and beef stew and a giant mug of beer in what she assumed was the evening. Every time a crew member would come below deck to feed her, Clarke would try to get information out of them, but she was lucky if she got a grunt in return.
On the evening of the second day, three burly men and a dark-skinned woman with cropped hair came below deck. Clarke was immediately on her feet at the bars of her cage, "Who are you and what's going on?"
A couple of the men sniggered and laughed at her desperate question. She recognised one of the men as the one who had thrown her over his shoulder. The dark-skinned woman held her hand up to silence them. Clarke was immediately fascinated by the woman's obvious control over these white men and admired her for it.
"Heda wants to see you," she said in a heavily accented voice, critically analysing her, but staying out of grabbing distance.
"Heda?" Clarke questioned.
"The Commander." The other woman replied stoically.
Clarke blanched at her words. The Ark's Commander was one of the most feared pirates in all of the seven seas, and known only by her given name, Lexa.
She swallowed heavily, "I really don't think that's necessary," she said, not for cowardly reasons but for self preservation. She had heard that the Commander had once kicked a man off of her ship for questioning her weather prediction. As a woman, Clarke could only imagine how ruthless she was to have gained control over a fleet of men, and apparently, other women.
The woman ignored her request and waved the men forward. Her hands were gruffly pulled forward through the bars and tied tightly with rough rope. The cage door opened with a clang and the three men eyed her warily, gesturing forward. Clarke was tempted to try to escape, but even if she did overpower the men, she had doubts about the woman, and she could tell by the rocking of the ship they had been travelling for two days and were far from Port Royal.
She was pushed above deck into the salt air and humidity, and Clarke immediately took everything in, looking for a mode of escape for a later time. The ship was only illuminated by moonlight and the odd lantern, but she could see clearly. There were roughly fifteen men and women on deck, all wide awake and buzzing with energy as they set about their tasks on the ship. Some were mopping down the deck, whilst others fiddled with the rigging and sails, laughing and talking as they did. That was until she appeared on deck.
Everyone turned silent as she appeared and Clarke got her first look at real pirates. Some were dark-skinned, the others tanned from the sun from being on deck all day. Their clothing was mostly mismatched and worn with the odd higher up dressed in less motley gear, which had obviously been 'liberated.' Clarke feared for the safety of her diamond earrings that still dangled from her earlobes. But the women. These women fascinated Clarke. They wore mens clothes - pants and shirts, leather waistcoats and jackets - and some wore their hair closely cut to the scalp, whilst most wore their hair long and flowing or tied up in braids. It was like stepping into another world. Gone were the tightly curled and coiffed hairstyles, large hoop skirts and corsets. Clarke was jealous at the idea of being able to go corsetless.
She was shoved out of her inspection by one of her guards, causing a few chuckles of laughter from the crew. She was led by the woman in charge who showed no amusement to the side of the ship. She gestured to it and looked expectantly at Clarke. She peered over the side and blanched as she saw a rope ladder with a row boat at the bottom, a female pirate sat in it casually, waving at her with a smirk.
"You can't be serious." Clarke said, more to herself than anyone else.
"Serious as the plague, Princess," said the pirate who had hauled her over his shoulder when she was captured.
Clarke winced at the nickname, a painful reminder of a home far away.
"Enough, Bellamy," the woman in charge barked, and his smile faltered a little much to Clarke's satisfaction, "I'll go first."
Clarke watched with horror as the woman, in pants, hopped up and straddled the side of the ship, took hold of the rope ladder, and hauled herself over the side of the ship completely, dangling by just the rope ladder. As she began her descent, Clarke merely stared on, horrified at the idea of doing something so unladylike. She could see why the other woman was wearing pants. Looking up, Clarke noticed the entire crew still staring and decided if she had to do something unladylike, she might as well go for it.
Hefting her heavy skirts up around her knees caused a few catcalls and whistles which Clarke blatantly ignored, then carefully with her bound hands she used the step ladder to straddle the side of the ship. Wobbling she began her descent and mentally cursed the men for binding her wrists, making going down the ladder far scarier than it needed to be. Not to mention the brisk wind picking up and rustling her skirts, blowing her hair into her face and obscuring her view and pushing her off balance. Her shoes, hardly meant for even walking were slipping with every step. It was only when she made it to the bottom into the boat that she realised she was shaking.
The long-haired woman sat cheerily in the boat, wearing a leather tri-pointed hat, she had kohl smudged around her eyes making her look dramatic and dangerous, and wore a man's shirt and cropped linen trousers, showing off tanned calves. She began rowing, Clarke looked at them in surprise, "What about the others?"
"I think we can handle you," the rowing woman responded, the darker woman remaining emotionless.
"Octavia is right. I trained her myself. She can definitely 'handle' you." The woman in charge responded stiffly, the most jovial Clarke had seen her in the entire fifteen minutes they'd met.
Clarke's eyebrows rose in shock. Trained in what? Rowing? Fighting? At the last one Clarke felt quite jealous. Finn, Monty, and Jasper had all gotten fencing lessons from an early age. All she got was embroidery.
It was a short trip across the quiet sea to the next ship over and Clarke peered at it in awe. Surely this was The Ark. It was a monstrosity of a ship, the biggest she had ever seen, with darkened wood and four giant sails. She could only imagine this ship must hold at least four hundred people, if not more.
Clarke was glad to find that when they arrived the boat was pulled aboard by rope. She didn't have to face the indignity of climbing aboard via rope ladder. Whilst she was glad to not have to face climbing another ladder, the experience of the row boat being pulled aboard by rope wasn't exactly a settling one. The boat swayed and groaned in the wind, and whilst Clarke sat stock still, fingers gripping to the side of the boat, the other women sat quietly talking in their odd language, giving her the odd glance, making it obvious they were talking about her.
Once the rowboat was level with the ship's deck, they were expected to climb over. Clarke barely managed without falling on her face. The deck was much larger that the previous ship, and had triple the amount of nighttime crew working away at their nightly tasks, the same joyful chatter buzzing in her ears, the same smell of salt and soap as the deck was washed down for the evening. Then she was escorted to meet 'Heda'.
They didn't have to go below deck, the captain's quarters high up behind the ship's wheel. Clarke looked around the ship frantically looking for possible escape ways, finding them few and far between.
She was hustled along to the stairs leading up to the captain's quarters. She entered the room and was taken aback by the candles that littered every surface, illuminating the room brightly. But what struck her more than the light was the woman behind a desk. She was absolutely beautiful, with wide eyes and lush lips, with long flowing brown hair. She wasn't at all the scarred, sea-weary, grizzled woman she was expecting. She looked only a few years older than Clarke, hardly old enough to man a crew big enough for the ship they were on.
"Thank you, Indra." The woman addressed the darker skinned woman. "Clarke of Port Royal?"
Clarke nodded her head and was pushed closer by Indra, "And what may I call you?" She asked quietly, straddling the line between nervous and furious being faced with her captor.
"You can call me Lexa."
"Such casual terms for someone I hardly know." Clarke said lightly, too lightly a way to speak to the person that had ordered her kidnapping. She anxiously looked around the room, noticing the two war-ready men flanking Lexa protectively, as if Clarke were some kind of threat with her embroidery skills.
"We're not exactly up to scratch on manners."
That made Clarke smile for the first time in two miserable days. She shook herself a little, reminded that this was her enemy, someone who had kept her hostage for two days.
"Then you'll excuse my abruptness when I ask why the hell I've been kidnapped?" Her mother would have been horrified by her language.
If Clarke looked close enough, she would have noticed the smile twitching at the corner of The Commander's mouth, "That's the big question, isn't it?"
Clarke nodded in response, heart hammering in her chest as Lexa flicked her eyes over her before speaking, "Your father has something I want. You are leverage."
"And you didn't try talking to him? You went straight to the kidnapping?"
Lexa ignored Clarke's question and looked to Indra, "I don't believe there's any need to keep her in the brig, put her in the guests quarters."
"But Heda-" Indra attempted before she was interrupted.
"Those are my orders. Clarke, I'm sure I will see you tomorrow. You are free to roam the ship, but take note, you will be watched."
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