I wasn't planning on posting this but... what the heck.
Enjoy! Oh, and please forgive the Cockney accent if it's not totally accurate. It still needs to be readable.
Thanks! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

It hurt, the chains on your wrists and ankles. Another chain was wrapped 'round your neck. You were bruised and sore. Dried blood was caked in your hair and on your clothes, the sticky red substance gluing the fabric to your skin. It was dark inside the cabin, the dim light of the candles flickering only the faintest gleam of light onto the room. Scrolls upon scrolls, clogged with notes written on maps, stained from blood and rum and alcohol of all kinds. Gold medallions scraped into the corners, in piles on the table, rifles and swords in stacks against the walls and a dagger lodged deep into the table's cedar planks. The chandelier in the ceiling swung methodically as the ship was carried softly along the waves; the wood creaked with every undulation.

You laid there on the floor, feeling the ship warp to the movement of the waves beneath you. The sound of leather boots hitting the wooden floor and the sound of jingling metal attracted your attention, and it wasn't long before the door to the chamber opened.

In a dramatic and sweeping motion, a man with scraggly blonde hair and bright green eyes stepped into the room. His appearance was quite spectacular: a long white pleated cravat, smudged in some areas with dirt and grime, fell loosely upon his unbuttoned cream colored shirt, the brass buttons shining in the candlelight. Around his waist was a thick, wrapped, black band of cloth that tucked in his shirt and served as a belt. His navy pants were slim and over them, reaching to his knees, were black leather boots lined with gold and similar-colored laces. A brown belt was slung over his waist haphazardly next to a revolver tucked into the black strap.

Over all of this was a deep red coat that reached just below his knees, hung over his shoulders loosely. The revers, cuffs, and high collar of the coat were navy blue, lined with gold, matching the epaulettes. On his hands were brown leather gauntlets that covered the long-sleeved shirt. His left eye was covered by a black eyepatch and to top it all off was a large hat tricorne hat with billowing plumage coming off the back and side.

The door shut behind him, swinging shut on its own from the rocking of the ship. He stared at you for a time, then crossed the room slowly, the deep sound of his boots meeting the floor echoing in the quiet room. Once he reached your side, he kneeled down, his coat swelling behind him, and he smiled, boredom still present in his one eye, "Good day milady. Seems your ship was in my way and I just couldn't be letting you slow me down. That was a good pile of loot in that vessel. Do you know where the captain is?"

"You'd be talkin' to 'er," You spat, annoyed at his cocky attitude, "Wha' you want?"

"Oh, interesting. Might I ask milady how you came to be the owner of that ship?"

"Righ' soon as you pull the trigger up your nose."

He grabbed the chain around your neck and lifted you closer to his face. His eye stared beyond your own, and he glowered, "You're a right smart one. Cocky attitude."

"Takes one to know one."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, poppet. 'Tis all good fun."

"You killed my crew."

"You damaged my ship."

"You SUNK my ship."

"You told me to die. That was rather rude, don't you think, poppet?"

"No' really. I mean you ARE a bi' of a wanker."

His mouth twitched, "Watch yourself, poppet. I wouldn't be insulting the person who has control over you." He tugged on the chains knowingly.

You spat at his feet, and he recoiled, striking your face viciously, "Are you blunt? Don't you get it yet you stupid girl!"

"No, explain i' to me one more time," You goaded, waiting for his comeback. He grabbed a fistful of your cream shirt, "I OWN you now. Hear me!"

You scowled, but before you could respond, the door burst open, and a tall blonde-haired young man with blue eyes crashed inside, "Arthur! We've got company!"

Arthur let go of your shirt and stood up, "Company?"

"Spanish ships!"

"Is it Antonio?" Arthur snarled, but the other pirate shook his head, "We don't know yet. The flag's down."

"...Why would the flag be down? ...It doesn't matter. It could be Antonio or the Spanish Armada then, eh? Alright then, let's give them a proper show. It doesn't matter who they are, we'll blow them to smithereens!" He turned to you, "I'll deal with you later," and with that he ran out the door, his boots tapping the wood as you could hear him climb the stairs to the main deck. The other man nodded, "Hey there. I'm––"

"Alfred! Get up here!"

"...Gotta go," He shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in what you assumed to be the captain's quarters again. You could hear his muffled shouts beyond and the tap of his shoes up the stairs, "I'm coming Arthur, jeez!"

"...Bloo'y pirates..." You muttered, knowing you were being hypocritical, since you were one too. Well, to be technical, you were a privateer, given explicit permission to sink Spanish and French ships in the Caribbean by Her Majesty the Queen herself. It was different. That "loot" that the Arthur chap had taken from your now sunken ship was not necessarily yours, it was the Queen's too, and now that you had lost it, you were never going to get paid. Months of work gone down the drain in a single night.

It was surprisingly quiet outside. Since they were British pirates, if the ships outside were Spanish, there would definitely be cannon fire. But the ship continued sailing at the same speed, or so you thought. Suddenly, the ship rocked, sliding you across the floor in your bonds. The pounding sound of canon fire followed the shouts of men above deck.

The canons sounded fainter than usual, and it wasn't long before you heard the splintering of wood. The Spanish had fired first. In the racket, you hadn't noticed the sound of footsteps, and once again, the man called Alfred barged into the room, "Hey, you!"

"...Yes?" You asked, but he wasn't really addressing you. He grabbed your ankles and pulled out a key, unlocking the chains and freeing your legs. He did the same with your hands and neck, and dragged you to your feet, "Grab as many rifles as you can carry!" He pointed to the gun pile you had noticed earlier, and grabbed several himself.

Unable to really do anything else but follow orders, you grabbed a handful of about four rifles into your arms and turned around to follow. In front of your eyes was a dagger, "Anything funny and you're done. Got it?"

"Y-Yea... I go' it." You stuttered, your heart racing from the close-encounter, "Bu' watch where you're poin'in' that fing."

You followed him upstairs into the fray. The ship was right alongside the Spaniards', a much larger vessel than you expected. It's canons were positioned just a few feet beneath the upper deck, but they were no longer firing, despite that a few good rounds more and Arthur's ship would be merely flotsam. Long planks were being dropped over the sides of the Spanish ship, and the navy men clambered onto the boards as they hit the deck of their enemies.

As they climbed down, four of the pirates on the ship grabbed a rifle from your arms, leaving you weaponless. Your rifles and swords had been confiscated, as well as the dagger, even the one you kept hidden in your boot––they had found that one. Now you were defenseless, and amidst the panic and fighting, it wasn't something you wanted to be.

Below deck was the safest place, and you ran for the stairs, throwing open the door and stumbling down the steps into the dark heart of the ship. It was the wrong door, however, that you had run through; it was the ship's hold, cramped and dark filled with the stench of rum and seamen. Hammocks hung from post to post, mouldy and stained, draped with the men's clothing from days past. Bottles were scattered over the floor, rolling back and forth from wall to wall with the rocking of the ship. The lanterns swayed as well, dimly illuminating the room. The hammocks continued on until they reached another stairs, and you could only assume that one more deck lower you would find the canons and supplies.

Not interested to see the lower hold, you turned around and ran back up the stairs, but as soon as you reached the threshold of the door, another man opened the door and bumped into you, knocking you backwards down the stairs. You slammed against the floor, the wind knocked out of you, and you found yourself holding your head and curling into a ball while gasping for air; your head pounded and you were disoriented, the room spinning.

"Ah! I'm sorry! I didn't know someone would be down here! Are you all right?" The man you had run into was kneeling over your head, his glasses slipping down his nose, half of his purple eyes larger than the other from the distortion of the lenses, "Ma'am?"

"I-I'm alrigh'," You wheezed, "Jus' winded."

"O-Okay. Um, well, again, I'm sorry. Uh, well I, uh, was sent down to get something, so I'll go do that now," He said quietly, and he got up and went back into the darkness and down the next flight of stairs.

You sat there for a bit, catching your breath, or at least attempting to. After a few minutes, the sound died a bit outside, and once you felt okay again, you got to your feet and climbed the stairs; however, you checked to make sure it was okay to go back outside before you just walked out there. Rifles were no longer being fired, the clang of swords was done, the shouts of men had died down.

Once you opened the door, Arthur immediately found you and grabbed you by the arm, "What are you doing! Why––never mind. Get over there and attend to Alfred. Now!" He threw you in the direction of the young man, and as you walked over the the kneeling pirate, you had no more to fear. The faction of Spaniards had been defeated, only a small group of about seven of them remained, tied up and kneeling on the deck.

The captain of the Spaniards spoke to Arthur, but in his native tongue. In response, the Brit slapped him, and looked around the deck, walking in a small circle with his arms outstretched in frustration, "Can anyone translate? Is there anyone who can speak Spanish?"

No one responded, and so he looked at the Spaniards, "Is there anyone here that can speak English? No?" He looked to one of his subordinates, "Board the ship, take anything of value. Find out how much powder and canon balls they have. Whatever stores they have left, take them. After that, take the rest of this faction up onto the ship. We're done here."

While the rest of the pirates got to work, you knelt down next to Alfred, "'Ey, you alrigh'?"You asked, and that was when you noticed him clutching his side, painted red along with the floor. Immediately, you forced him onto his back and pried his hand from his side; he wouldn't let go, groaning and whimpering in pain. Arthur joined you by your side and looked down at your struggle, "So what's the damage?"

"I don' know, 'E won' le' me see. A-Alfred, you 'ave to le' me see your wound..."

He groaned, his hand still clutching his side, and shook his head.

"Little git, you know it's still going to hurt if you don't let her look at it for you," Arthur scolded, nudging the man with his boot. Alfred shook his head again, so he sighed and motioned to the side of the ship, "Alright then, toss him overboard. I have no need for wounded men who are too childish to be fixed."

Alfred jolted, but cried out as he did so, "No! No––agh––wait! Okay, okay, I'll let you look at it," he removed his red hand for you to get a good look. His cream shirt was stained by his side, and you pulled it up to reveal the wound.

"Can you see the bullet?" He asked, and you shook your head, "'Old on, le' me ge' a good look."

"Hurry up..."

"I'm tryin'."

"It hurts. Try faster!"

You rolled your eyes and looked closely at the wound, "Oh don' panic so much. It's shallow, I can see it. I'll pull i' ou' righ' now."

"Wait, wait, wait! No! Ow!" He grimaced and groaned as you pulled the metal ball out and tucked it in your pocket. "Alrigh', so now what to do abou' the wrappin' up o' finks..."

"Here, I brought these."

You glanced behind you to see the man that had knocked you down the stairs before carrying an armful of used bandages. He smiled shyly as you exclaimed, "You!"

"Yeah... sorry again for knocking you down the stairs earlier. Captain Arthur told me to go get these as soon as Alfred got shot. I'm Matthew by the way."

"(Y/N)," you replied, nodding and taking one of the bandages. It was stained with blood and grime, and you held it delicately in your hand, curling your nose, "An' you couldn' find anyfink be-uh?"

"Sorry, that's all we have," Matthew grimaced.

"This is a ship, not a clinic," Arthur said curtly.

"I was jus' wonderin' is all. A' leas' on my ship we had clean bandages." You helped Alfred sit up and commanded him to unbutton his shirt. As he did so, you picked out the cleanest strips of cloth you could find and set those aside. After he had taken off his shirt, you began wrapping him up in the bandages.

"Matthew, go join the rest of the crew. They're searching for supplies on the Spanish ship," Arthur ordered, shooing him off. Then he addressed you and Alfred, "Once you're done dressing him, I want you to bring him into my quarters. I want to talk to you."

"...Yeah... I got it Dad..." Alfred replied, and Arthur marched off, giving off new orders to the crew.

Your mouth was gaping open, "Dad? Dad! 'E's your dad?" You looked at Alfred for reassurance. You had noticed the parental tone in Arthur's voice in that sentence, and although you had treated your crew like family––a big, noisy, robust, and a rough-around-the-edges kind of family, but a family nonetheless––this was clearly not just a bond shared by the crew.

"Yeah. Me and Matthew are brothers, and Arthur adopted us as his sons after he found us."

"Found you?"

"Yeah––ow, not so tight––I don't remember everything that happened, but I remember running away with Matthew and ending up in a Dutch colony. We stayed there as renegades, but then when Arthur showed up with his crew, we would often sneak up on the ship to see what a pirate ship was like. One day we got caught––ow! I thought I said not to tie it that tight!––and Arthur got really mad. But when we explained our situation, he let us stay on the ship, and after that he told us that he was basically adopting us as his sons. So we've been here for..." He counted on his fingers, "Five years I think."

"'Ow ol' are you?"

"...I don't remember."

"'Ow ol' were you a' the time?"

"...I don't remember."

"No' a' all?"

"No, no, I don't remember. You don't pay attention to those things here."

"O' course. Seems the cap'n has a sof' spo'." You finished off the bindings and tied it tight behind his back, despite his whining, "Ge' dressed. I 'ave to take you into the cap'n's quar'ers."

He did so, pulling on his loose shirt and buttoning it again. You helped him to his feet and held your arm around his shoulder, walking him to the door. You helped him down the stairs and into the hallway, and once inside the quarters, you set him down on one of the chairs by the table.

"Why'd you free me? I'm the enemy, aren' I?"

"We have a common enemy don't we? The Spanish? I figured we could use some help. We lost only a few men, while they lost plenty. I think it was a good decision on my part."

"May I ask, why did you spare me? Why kill my crew and then spare ME? Wha' good am I?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't know. Crew seemed rather excited to have you here though."

You sighed, "I see... I go'cha. Well, you res' 'ere and I'mma 'ead up to the deck."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I wasn't supposed to even release you. You can't just go wandering around the place."

You ignored him and exited the room, hearing his cries behind you, "Hey, wait! Come back here! I'm serious, we're both gonna get in trouble––OW!"

Without turning around, you shouted to him, "Don' go 'urtin' yourself. You still 'ave a gian' wound in ya." And with that, you walked up the stairs and into the sunlight. The crew was finishing up raiding the Spanish ship, and the captives were being taken back onto their own vessel. Some of the members of Arthur's crew were talking amongst themselves, and you overheard them, "...didn't have any ammunition left on board. Must've been why they didn't blow us to bits..."

"Well tha' explains i'," you muttered to yourself, looking around the deck. The galleon was of conventional design, however it's captain's quarters were pulled forward in the design. It seemed to be kept in good condition, the only things that had some major damage was the bowsprit and the hull. You looked up at the masts, and they were in good condition as well, with the sails nearly flawless. Above them all hung a greyscale version of the British flag. You scrunched your nose and turned away, a bit annoyed at the disgrace to the colors. As you looked away, head still arched up, your gaze caught his, standing on the quarter deck at the wheel.

His eyes narrowed and he waved for you to join him. You sighed and quickly glanced around the ship again, catching sight of the cockboat. Smiling a bit at your find, you climbed the stairs to the quarter deck, meeting him by the wheel.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothin'." You replied curtly, setting your right hand on the rail.

"You don't have much of an attitude as before. Lost your spirit that quickly?"

"Lon' as you don' lock me up no more, I'll keep some o' my temper. An' you?"

"You're still supposed to be in chains. Temper kept or not, that's not going to change," he said flatly, and before you knew it, he had a cuff around your right wrist and a cuff around the rail.

"Why you––BLOO'Y WANKER!" You screamed, jerking your wrist in hopes of getting it off.

"That was incredibly naïve of you to think that I was going to let you roam about on my ship."

Another crew member ran up the stairs and informed Arthur, "Cap'n, all's good down there. Supplies all accounted for, captives aboard the vessel. We're good to go."

"Excellent," He shouted down to his men, "Alright then boys! Release the ship and ready the sails!"

The men released the ropes and the boards from the other ship and unfurled the sails while Arthur turned the ship starboard. The vessel broke away from the enemies' smoothly, although slowly, as was expected with a galleon. The wind was favoring Arthur, and once the ship was about fifty meters away from the Spanish, he shouted, "Head to port! Circle round and load the canons portside!"

"Wha'? You're goin' back?" You asked, but he ignored you. Within a few minutes they were nearly parallel to the Spanish ship.

"FIRE!"

Immediately, the canons sounded, and the enemy ship erupted with debris and fire. "LOAD AGAIN!" More and more shots were fired, until there was nothing left of the ship but flotsam in the water. You watched the frame sink pathetically in flames.

"Lower the colors!" He shouted, releasing the cuff from around the railing and attaching it to your left wrist, "Come on, poppet, it's time we had a little talk. No more shouting or fighting."

"Why did ya do tha'?" You asked, still staring off at the remains. He pushed you along and nearly let you fall down the stairs, "Can't leave any survivors."

You looked at him incredulously, mouth gaping in puzzlement.

Why keep you?