Hetalia: Pirates

Chapter one: The Green Eyes of Jealousy

The 1700's, also known as the Golden Age of Piracy, was both a ruthless and bountiful time for those who gave their heart to the sea.

What was it like to be a pirate? Scallywags and murderers and thieves who sailed the oceans, doing as they wanted with no other authority than their captain and Mother Nature. It was to stop their plundering and disturbances that privateers came about; they would hunt down the pirates for a sum of money and in the name of their king and country, preventing them from attacking harmless ships and transports. But in reality, most were no better than a pirate themselves, betraying their comrades and living for gold, pretending to be loyal to some royal on a throne. Was there truly a difference between a pirate and a privateer when both would betray their masters for a bag of gold?

Privateer or pirate? The real answer meant little to the two dueling countries, who were full of distrust and distaste for the other, because in the end, they had the same goal in mind: Gold. The blood money of the Caribbean. Spain had plenty of it and was the wealthiest country in all of Europe, even compared to Portugal! He would foolishly flaunt his wealth around the Caribbean and in the European courts, drawing the big green eyes of envy from other countries, but especially the emerald eyes of England. Yes, the English country watched Spain's every step, biding the time until he too could flaunt around and laugh in the other's faces. It was only luck that Spain was able to save his skin by striking it rich in South America…wealth had saved the poor country, but wealth was also corrupting it. Inflation was on the rise and even the common people had more money than the 'Average Joe' in the next country over. The neighboring countries were also being corrupted with jealousy. England more than anyone wanted to put a stop to it.

It was a challenge coming up with plans to commandeer, or simply steal, the gold and silver riches from Spain – the envy of everyone's heart – and lay claims to it for the British crown. But by George, England would find a way to do it, keeping dignity in the eyes of others as he did so.

A dark brown leather glove gripped the narrow neck of the tall, glass bottle he was drinking. He tilted it back to meet his pair of pink lips. How many bottles had he finished off this night alone? Two or three? He wasn't counting because it didn't matter. Captain Arthur Kirkland, or Cap'n Iggy as he was better known, was a renowned privateer for her majesty's royal ships, but everyone knew him as a ruthless swashbuckler and cutthroat behind his most loving queen's back…or to her willing blind eye. A large grin was plastered onto his young, stubby face as slammed his boot-covered feet down on the table top. "More rum," he demanded. He and his crew had stopped by a ragged inn to rest and celebrate a victory over the French Captain, Francis Bonnifoy, who tried so very hard to be as successful a pirate as Iggy was. Francis wished to bring glory and wealth for his country but failed, apparently because 'frogs' cannot swim in salt water. Oh yes, Iggy found this very amusing and never turned down a chance to burn a little 'Frenchie' vessel or two, whether or not it was a warship or merchant ship. Frenchmen were a great deal of sport and he took enjoyment in harassing them, especially that Bonnifoy bloke whom he favored embarrassing the most. However, it was the Spanish who were the cause of Iggy's misfortune…Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and his queen, always showing off with their new clothing apparel in the courts; gold-laced cuffs and trimming or silver bracelets and shoes. But more than that, Carriedo got on his nerves, speaking in his fancy, flowing language that made all the British women swoon. The worst part of all was that tanned idiot was ignorant to the opposite gender's affections as he did so, always smiling nervously while his king and queen conversed for all those present to hear. Iggy would always lean back in his chair, staring at his opponent with narrow eyes throughout the entirety of the gathering, wondering how he was going to get him alone in the dark to murder him. Everyone else in court was non-the-wiser to what was going on behind the scenes in the plotting of their royalties, pitting the two privateers against the other.

But now wasn't the time to think on it. Iggy had come here for a celebration and would be hanged if he did not have his fun!

He aimed his pistol at the chandelier and shot out one of the candles, causing a ricochet and roaring laughter from him and his crew. Iggy pulled a bar wench down in his lap, running his hands across her waist. The tavern was lively with noisy drunkards as he kissed the wench.

Iggy's normal appearance was rather tethered tonight; his large-brimmed, velvet-colored hat was dormant on the table, its giant purple feather dangled down the end of the table, no longer perky. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his scarlet-blue sash was loose. His choppy blonde hair was still wild and unruly, but he was drunk and had bad breath. He was going to live this night to its full extent and no one was going to tell him what to do.

In opposition to the loud crashing sounds of a tavern, was the quietness of the open sea. The sound of the flamenco guitar echoed in the bright, star-lit night. Not a cloud was in the sky – everything was soft, still, and silent. The beautiful Trunfante, a one-hundred gun ship, was sailing over the smooth, turquois water of the Caribbean. The pale colors of yellow, green, and brown were painted very stylishly over the ship's exterior, not out-shining the crescent moon. A stallion's head was carved into the ship's bow, symbolic of its free, victorious spirit. This was the most successful ship in all of the Spanish Armada's possessions.

Antonio Carriedo sat on the deck stairs, his rough, tanned fingers danced quickly and with ease over the guitar's strings. His eyes were closed and his head moved slowly along as a soft smile was spread across his lips. The music portrayed a sort of melancholic feeling that loomed in the air, full of an unknown sadness, which was contrary to this Spaniard's usual carefree behavior. The notes just flowed naturally. He was wearing a white, loose shirt with long strings hanging from his collar. His sash was dark green, he had a small wooden cross tied around his neck on a thin string, and there was only a hint of a tattoo across his chest, but his shirt was covering most of it.

Big, golden eyes stared up at Antonio in admiration and amazement as he played the instrument with such focused, yet no effort. Then Antonio stopped. He glanced down at the little Italian boy who was watching him so intently, his eyes were kind and his expression was soft, only a dim light shone on both of their faces. Upon realizing Antonio was returning his gaze, the young child's curious, sweet complexion turned into a scowl. His eyes narrowed and he asked a little annoyed, "Why'dda you stop for, eh?"

Antonio sighed happily, but with a sense of weariness, "Porque…bed time, nino."

"I don't wanna!" shouted the boy as he stood up. "You can't eh make me!"

With ease, Antonio scooped the boy into one arm and cradled him. "Usted es in need of mucho sleep, more den you think. We have eh big day manana, the horizon offers us much."

The Italian yawned, "…but I donna want eh sleepa, Idioto! I wanna…stay awake..wif…y…" His eyes shut and he lost himself to the pulling arms of sleep.

"Hush now…buenos nochas, Lovino. Felices suenos," Antonio whispered, brushing the boy's hair back and kissing his forehead.

Lovino was an orphan whom Antonio decided to take under his care after finding him abandoned in an Italian marketplace, in trouble for stealing. He found out that the boy's parents were killed by pirates and so made it his responsibility to raise the boy, trying to pay back a debt he did not really owe. He felt responsible because whoever killed Lovino's parents were probably living the same life that he was, therefore wanted to make reprimands somehow. Besides for that, Antonio felt a deep connection to the child; he always wished for companionship and prayed, doing penance for a friend, and once he found the boy he immediately believed that his prayer was answered. He felt so connected to Lovino that he saw him as a son. His crew members poked fun at him for this, but respected their captain for his fidelity and devotion to the orphan.

Antonio tucked the boy into bed and laid down next to him, staring in awe at the wonderful creation of the human being sleeping so silently under the covers, the only time the boy's face seemed to be without a hint of anger or hidden sadness. No pretense of a tough surface, because Antonio knew how fragile he really was. He watched Lovino for a while, wishing the boy had not suffered the loss of parents at such a young age. Perhaps he pitied him, or perhaps it was sympathy in understanding the loss. Either way, Antonio wanted to show him love enough to fill the gap for both of their losses. His eyes drooped closed, the last image in his mind was that of the sleeping boy, curled up and drooling on the pillow next to him.

I know my Spanish is bad, or probably used incorrectly XD, but here are the definitions for the words I used, just in case:

Flamenco: a small Spanish guitar….Porque: because…Nino: boy…Usted: you (respectfully)…Manana: tomorrow…Buenos nochas: good evening (or night)…Felices suenos: happy dreams