Disclaimer: This story is a pirate/human AU and part 2 of a series. Part 1 is Dead Man's Prayer, the spamano side to this story. Part 1 is not needed to read part 3, as they are parallel to one another.
Here is a list of characters and their human:
Arthur = England
Alistair = Scotland
Erin and Ina = North and South Ireland
Braith = Wales
Francis = France
Mathieu = Canada
Monique = Monaco
Sophie = Seychelles
Other characters not mentioned are OCs and not relevant for the entirety of the fic.
WARNINGS: Contains graphic depictions of violence, pornographic content, certain historical references, and prejudices.
And finally, don't hesitate to review or message me with any question or comments! As always, my Tumblr is grimwoode :)
The ship felt like she was dancing on water, swaying and pushing and pulling, forging a path through the unforgivable waters. And eight year old Arthur hated every minute of it. He never dared go near the banisters to look down on the ocean because he feared it might reach up and pull him into its cold embrace, filling his mouth and lungs with saltwater, never to breathe or feel warmth again. It fascinated him how immovable and powerful the ocean seemed to be and yet this wooden ship could pierce through its waves as though they were barely there. The ship's dancing made his stomach turn, just as much as the waters turned in her wake.
Every day, Arthur wondered why his father ever agreed to be stationed in the New World. There was a promise of wealth and success for any man that ventured there, especially young soldiers looking for glory such as his father. His mother was too docile-hearted to protest and the only one of his siblings that remotely dared to say anything was Alistair, and he paid dearly for it. Arthur couldn't help pitying his brother for the abuse he suffered, but knew it was his own fault. He helped bandage his brother's wounds, and none of them ever spoke against their father on the subject again.
Even now as Arthur was bent over a pail to vomit what little food he ate, he wouldn't dare complain. He bore his suffering with a certain bit of pride, knowing it was better to be ill like this than to stupidly die at sea.
Today's weather was much more mild and Arthur was able to venture up to the deck without feeling too unwell. He stood near the masts and he looked out at the vast ocean, mesmerized by its expanse and limitless wonders.
If only it didn't make him seasick.
He couldn't wait for this trip to be over, if only so he would stop feeling so ill so he wouldn't die of something ridiculous like malnutrition or that thing that made pirates' teeth fall out.
"You're being such a pussy," called Erin, one of the redheaded twins, from the banisters. "Come o'er here."
"We promise we won't push you over the edge," cackled the other twin, Ina.
"I'm fine here, thanks," grumbled Arthur, remaining firmly standing near the masts. He was aware that the sailors were discreetly chuckling at him—his seasickness was no secret to anyone on board by now.
"Leav'im alone, you witches," called Braith, plopping himself down next to Arthur by the main mast. "Arthur, can you tell me a story about the New World?"
"I don't really know of any," murmured Arthur, sounding almost apologetic. "You should ask Ally. He's the one that knows all the old stories."
"I did, and he won't tell me any," pouted Braith.
"Well then, what makes you think I will?" mumbled Arthur.
Braith crossed his arms over his chest and gave him an angry pout. "I hate you," he spat under his breath, walking away to pester the twins for stories instead.
Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. He really couldn't tolerate any of his siblings on better days. Unfortunately, he still had a responsibility to take care of them when needed. Still, Braith brought up an interesting point; it really would be a good idea to learn more about this land they were moving to.
He walked back down below deck, looking for someone that wasn't too busy to give him any information on this new world, hoping to hear fascinating tales of fairies and princesses like the ones he grew to love back home in England.
One of the sailors laughed heartily at his boyish sense of adventure, causing Arthur's ears to burn in embarrassment. "You're about as likely to find a bloody fucking leprechaun in Ireland," laughed the brutish man. "But I will tell ya this. I heard rumours of barbaric creatures in those lands, something between a man and a wolf. Once every full moon, they howl into the night before they go hunting for their prey."
Arthur stood transfixed in a mixture of horror and fascination. The old sailor was all too happy to finally have a captive audience for the outlandish tales he heard on the frontier.
"You might be careful, little boy. A little blond thing like you is exactly what these wolfmen like," he warned.
"Are they as big as a wolf or a man?" asked Arthur in open curiosity.
"I heard they grow as big as 8 feet tall when they stand on their hind legs," retold the man. "Bloody hairy, ugly bastards, too. They say they were once men but because they spat on the name of Christ, God turned them into the beasts they truly are in here," he said, shoving a blunt finger into Arthur's small chest hard enough to leave a bruise. "So you better be a good little Christian and honour our God and your family."
Arthur nodded vigorously, a little frightened by the old man and rubbing at his now sore chest.
All that night, the sailor's words ran through Arthur's mind, keeping him awake in wild fantasies of men turning into wild beasts, wondering what sort of thrill might come from hunting them or being hunted. He wondered if changing into a beast hurt. He wondered if he would ever meet one and if he would be lucky and brave enough to survive the encounter.
That night was the first night Arthur spent on that boat without feeling sick in his stomach. Now able to hold his meals in, meat came back onto his bones and the frailness in his frame went away. He still wouldn't venture on the top deck of the boat—only venture far enough to the edges to see out at sea and be comforted by the predictable motions on the waters.
A few weeks passed, and a storm hit. Waves crashed along the sides of the vessel, splashing in through the windows and leaking in through the floorboards of the deck. The boat thrashed violently, causing many people to take shelter into its belly, shivering with sickness and weariness. They all feared for their lives.
For once, Arthur didn't. Since he heard the sailors' stories and became determined to meet a wolfman himself, nothing could deter him. He spotted his father coming near, his uniform's jacket left behind somewhere and leaving him in his undershirt and overalls.
"I need to speak with you Arthur," he said with gravity. "I've spoken with Alistair, already, but you must know as well."
"What is it, father?" said Arthur, coming out of his trance and fixing his wide green eyes on his father. He noticed how his thick brows furrowed over his eyes-they were dark and sunken from sleeplessness, and Arthur wondered what troubled him so much.
"When the storm passes, we will be reaching the New World," he told him, sitting by Arthur's side. "We will be living in a town called Boston, the largest one nearest the French border. It will be very dangerous," he gravely reminded.
"I know, father," murmured Arthur, remembering all too well why they were moving across the Atlantic in the first place.
"If ever something happens to me while on an expedition to the northern territories, it will be up to you and your brother to take care of our family," reminded Captain Kirkland. "It's important that you know how to do this."
Arthur frowned at his words. He had never really thought that far ahead when it came to his father's military career. Slowly, he nodded his understanding. Captain Kirkland nodded in kind, giving his son a gentle pat on his shoulder before leaving him be relieve some of the boat's crew in navigating the ship, giving a man or two a break from the gruesome storm.
And just like that, once again, Arthur's nights were sleepless. Only this time, it wasn't his violent sickness or monsters in the night that kept him up, but the responsibilities his father had just bestowed upon him.
It was finally beginning to dawn on him what sort of dangers awaited, and the stormy seas were only the beginning.
Notes: The New World by far wasn't the beginning of werewolf mythology (it started In Europe, way back in the early medieval period), but in New France, the catholics believed that if you didn't go to Church for 7 years in a row, you would be cursed and become a werewolf.
Of course, our oldest in the Kirkland family is Alistair. Then we have the twins, Erin and Ina, Arthur, and finally, you have Braith. The age has no historical or geographical relevance—just playing around with personalities.