READ: It has been WAY too long since I've updated this story, and I've decided to tackle this project once more. For those of you who have followed, I may have tweaked a thing or two on the chapters I've already written in order to flow with the direction I want this story to go.
THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER SEASON ONE, AND I HAVE NOT WATCHED PAST THIS SEASON JUST YET. I began writing it before season two premiered, so bear with me because this is going to be very AU. I've also changed the whole revenge plot a bit, in order to flow with whatever happens after the first season, mainly because I plan on watching the show again.
Thank you for checking this story out! I hope you all enjoy it.
This is, first and foremost, a romance I've had planned for a while, so there will be some fluff and all that crap when the time comes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Black Sails, Billy Bones, etc...
The sun had set hours ago, and yet the unbearable heat had remained. Saafia adjusted her hood and peeled the bit of fabric covering her lower face away in order to down the last bit of warm ale from her glass, though the liquid did little to satisfy her need to cool down.
The young pirate and her crew made it to Tortuga a little over three days ago, and the unforgiving tropical climate of the Caribbean had all but made them turn back to the more arid summers the Mediterranean had to offer. They were far away from home, yet the need for adventure and change in scenery seemed to be enough to travel across the Atlantic and into foreign territory in search of…
Well, she wasn't exactly sure. Since becoming captain of the Idris three years prior, she'd led her crew to many victories and had captured plenty of riches. She'd more than earned her spot among the men since initially joining them, and her gender and heritage were no longer an issue. She'd earned her respect among the Barbary pirates, but the buccaneers of the Atlantic weren't as forgiving.
Saafia had been less than pleased thus far. As if the language barrier for most of her men weren't enough, the judgmental gazes their appearance seemed to draw from the natives were what possessed her to stay in this godforsaken island for longer than she'd originally intended. Out of spite.
The brothels seemed to be keeping the men happy, at the very least. She let out a soft chuckle at the thought and propped her legs up on the table beside her goblet, glancing over at her quartermaster with a bored expression. "We should set sail tomorrow morning, Sullivan. I expect the men to board the ship tonight."
"'Bout time," the man replied dryly, adjusting his vest and leaning back. "Best do it before the whores lure them back to the brothel. They've just about spent their earnings from the last mission by now."
"I'm surprised you haven't joined them."
"A man my age?" He waved a hand in dismissal. "Certain things have lost their appeal. Sadly, carnal pleasures are a part of that category."
The reply didn't surprise her in the least. The man who'd become somewhat of a father figure to her had been unlike any pirate she'd met. Despite his age, he didn't look much older than his forties and had a full head of salt and pepper hair and lovely golden skin from carrying orders out in the sun with nothing more than a turban wrapped around his head and a pair of breeches, like most of the other men in the crew. He enjoyed organization and keeping the men in line and cared little for the few simple pleasures life had to offer. Like Saafia, he wasn't of Mediterranean origin, but had proven himself to the last captain, just as she had, and kept her free of harms way.
Saafia smiled at the man and waited for him to finish his drink before pulling the piece of fabric attached to her hood over the lower half of her face despite the heat. The tavern seemed to retain the heat from the morning and she was eager to get out before more men filed in and added to the smell of sweat and alcohol permeating the place. She stood then, adjusting her belt and grazing her fingers over the hilt of her scimitar as if making sure it was still there.
"Let's get on with it, then. I've had about enough of this damned island."
Tortuga's docks were unusually quiet this time of night, Billy noted as he motioned for his men to move forward quietly. With no one guarding the docks, this operation turned out to be much easier than he thought it would be.
Without a ship, his usual methods of taking one had changed a bit, and it had taken a while to round up a crew of loyal fighters before seeking out a worthy vessel.
The one he'd chosen had answered his prayers. It was foreign, he noted upon its arrival, and little was known about its crew or captain or why they'd chosen to sail the Caribbean.
Billy decided to take a chance. The crew itself didn't seem to be very large, though the men were well-built and truthfully, looked a bit ferocious. His crew was bigger, though, and a foreign vessel meant no one would miss it right away.
The men ran toward the ship from different directions, their footfalls silent and swift as they each made their way up the robes lining the side of the Idris and into several of the portholes lining her. It truly was a beautiful ship, clearly built for speed, as it wasn't as large as most of the others. Certainly not as grand as the Walrus had been.
The Walrus. Billy clutched the piece of parchment in his fist and watched the last of his men file into the ship with ease before tucking it into his shirt. Ever since being discovered by a small fishing boat and making his way to the island of Tortuga, he'd made it his mission to get back and corner Flint for his lies and deciet. He'd been lucky enough to have been granted the opportunity, and sought to win the Walrus back not for his sake, but for the sake of Flint's crew, assuming a mutiny hadn't occurred once they found out about their captain's betrayal.
He'd collected information on sightings of the ship since then, mapping out his own possible routes for where the ship could be based on the Urca de Lima's possible coordinates.
Billy for the opportunity, and the odds seemed to be in his favor.
Saafia stepped out onto the deck and into the early morning light. They'd been at sea for about an hour, and her crew had already been underway and ready to set sail before she'd awaken. Sullivan's doing, no doubt. The man was efficient and no doubt had gotten then men out of their hung-over states in no time.
She pulled her hood over her head and walked the length of the boat to the bow where Sullivan stood. "What's our speed?"
"We're at four knots. The wind doesn't seem to be on our side, but we're pulling along quite nicely. We should make it to Nassau in about two days. A little less if the wind picks up."
"Not terrible." She muttered, folding her arms over her chest and looking out at the blue expanse of ocean. "We'll need to –"
She was cut off by a loud gunshot and she immediately spun around and looked for the source of the loud noise. And then she saw it – a flood of unfamiliar men swarmed the ship and attacked. From where they came, she wasn't sure, but she realized that these men must have hidden in her ship prior to boarding. She cursed herself for not having Sullivan and the men check the ship thoroughly, but pushed that worry aside as she reached for her scimitar and pulled her hood up to cover all but her eyes as she began to slash her way through a few men.
Her crew seemed to be doing fine so far, but the enemy horde seemed much larger. Stranger yet, they didn't seem to be killing her men, but holding them off. The same couldn't be said for her own men, as they hacked and beat a few intruders down.
Saafia made it at least halfway to her cabin before a large figure blocked her way while another seized her weapon and grabbed her from behind in a firm grip. The man who blocked her kicked her scimitar out of the way and shouted at the man behind her, "Can you hold him?"
"Aye!" Her captor shouted and tightened his grip on her. She tried to kick free, but to no avail. Her legs practically flew around helplessly as the man straightened and held her a few inches from the ground. She felt a hand on her hood before it was ripped from her head in one easy movement and nearly gagged at the man's foul breath as he laughed, "Oh, yer a bonny one, aren't ya?"
"Unhand. Me. You. Vile—" Saafia was cut off when the man's fist came in contact with the side of her face and she fell to her knees from the sheer force he used.
She was just about to lunge up and attack the brute when a voice called out, "Enough!"
The riot stopped almost immediately aside from the few curses shouted by the men of her crew. They were all being hold down, she noticed, and looked up at the man standing on the quarterdeck and looking down at the carnage below.
"Is there anyone here who can translate?" He called out. The request had her laugh bitterly before the same man who hit her seized her by the arm and yanked her up.
"This one can, Cap'n. Seems the Ottomans weren't aware this whore would bring bad luck upon them. And here we are," He shouted before tossing her toward another man. Saafia barely gained her footing when she was tossed toward another, and then another. The men laughed and shouted obscene comments while her own crew reacted furiously, cursing them in Arabic and trying to break free. She would have smiled at their loyalty if she weren't currently being tossed around like a common whore.
It took a little longer for the man in charge to get their attention once more. He jumped down from the quarterdeck and landed right in front of her, holding a hand out. She would have thought the man handsome. He looked young, around her age, she supposed, and was built like a warrior, with a broad chest and arms that could crush a bull in seconds.
Saafia glared at him and spat at his feet, noting the blood, but caring little about it and kicking herself mentally for caring much about how handsome the bastard was. She was going to kill him if it was the last thing she did.
When she didn't take his hand, the "captain" knelt in front of her and forced her to look at him. Her own icy blue hues bore into his with a terrible hatred, but she remained silent.
"Your captain. Where is he?"
No answer.
"I won't ask again," he warned carefully.
She remained silent.
A man behind her shouted and rested his sword just underneath her chin. "You little bitch. You will answer, or else-"
"It's me."
Saafia looked back, wincing when the blade nicked her, and watched as the men holding Sullivan released him. The man was a bloody mess. His vest had been torn off, leaving his bare chest coated with blood, and he had a long gash just underneath his left eye.
Saafia glanced from him to the other crew's captain and stood as Sullivan helped her up.
Surprisingly, she was thankful he interjected. She knew the men in this region didn't take kindly to women boarding their ships. They would have laughed had they known a woman led this crew.
"Billy Bones." The captain finally introduced himself, sliding his blade back into its sheath and continued, "I need a word with you, but if you would be so kind as to ask your crew to hold from attacking mine while we conduct this little parley."
"Only if you promise not to harm her and allow her to come with us."
Bones waved his hand, "That's fine. Men, you heard him."
There was a groan among his crew.
"Saafia, if you would please," Sullivan asked, taking her arm gently and looking at her with permission in his eyes.
She rolled her eyes. This entire operation seemed a bit off. If the men wanted to take the ship, they were doing quite a shit job at it, but she was interested in what the man had to say. She turned and eyed her men carefully before translating the matter in Arabic, adding that they should treat Sullivan as captain for the time being. Most of them clearly liked it, and a few of them shouted more insults at the intruders, but in the end, they stopped struggling against their restraints and agreed to behave.
Saafia then turned to face the men.
"Great," Bones said, turning and leading them toward the cabin. Her cabin. "I'll make this quick."