Little one shot I decided to write (while writing two other stories, but I have writer's block so bleh). It'll probably be about 2-3 chapters long unless you beg me to continue. :D
My history is probably pretty inaccurate and I could really care less. Yes, this is a romanticized version of pirates, so get over it. I'm fascinated by pirate!England. I think he's marvelous. I also have an older version of colonial!America simply because there is some semblance of a relationship between them, and an older Iggy and child Alfred is just creepy. OOC and OC abounds. Rated M for violence, blood, language, mentions of rape, ect.
A little bit of background for you:
This is pre-Revolutionary war (hence why Arthur is a pirate). A lot of pirates were former captains in the King's Navy (British Navy) and were turned pirate. Few pirates were around during 1765 which is when the Quartering Act was passed. A lot of British soldiers weren't bad, but there were a few reports of rape and maltreatment. Few and far between – I'm not hating on the English, I promise! I'm having Arthur be sympathetic towards the colonists (haha, look at that) because he's not a big fan of his government either, even though he still loves his Queen. So this is USUK, boyxboy, blah blah blah, inaccurate information, whatever. Read and enjoy.
The air was dank and musty, mingled with a smell of old wood and alcohol. Floorboards creaked as they were trod upon and the room was filled with the hum of voices, mixed with the occasional laughter. An elderly man with dark brown hair that was pulled into a low ponytail stood behind a long wooden bar, stained with spilled alcohol and vomit.
Dull grey eyes wandered over the patrons occasionally for any signs of drunken violence, but they mostly followed a young girl who weaved her way between tables. Light brown hair was looped into a tight bun near the nape of her neck; forest green eyes shone with youth and vigor as she handed drinks around to the men at the various wooden tables. She was dressed simply, with a long green skirt that swept across the floor and a white blouse buttoned up to her throat.
The girl made her way to a secluded table with three men and began to set down their drinks, making sure to flash a charming smile their way but the forest-colored orbs lingered on the pale blonde conversing with a raven-haired companion. His accent was obviously British, but he was dressed as a colonist with tan breeches and a simple white shirt, open at the collar and black boots; certainly no redcoat.
When his drink was set before him, he glanced to the girl with a soft smile of thanks before returning to his conversation. For a moment, she was captured in his gaze; green eyes the color of rare gems, large and powerful. The girl was nothing more than a child, probably sixteen? Nothing to draw the young blonde's attention from his conversation except to acknowledge her. The girl's smile wavered slightly before turning her smile to the other blonde at the table, this time an older blonde with his hair pulled back into a black ribbon, icy blue orbs eyeing her with interest. He was dressed similarly as the rest, albeit a bit more provocative.
As she handed him his drink, his fingers grazed across the girls with a seductive smile plastered over his face. The girl's cheeks dusted with pink as she hesitantly withdrew her hand, but a stone-cold stare from the younger blonde at his friend made her withdraw all the quicker. Drunkenly loud laughter exploded from a table across the room as a man in the traditional redcoat uniform beckoned the girl for another drink.
A sigh escaped her lips as she turned and made her way to him, glancing over her shoulder at the three mysterious men. The elder blonde flashed her a dazzling smile, only to receive another glare from his friend before being dragged into their conversation. The men certainly were not from this town, if the various accents attested to the fact. Sailors probably or merchants in for supplies.
Glares were sent the redcoat's way, showing obvious disdain from the colonists in the room at their presence. But their brash and drunken behavior made the scowls grow deeper. As the child made her way to the soldiers, making sure to take her time, a door opened from behind the bar as a young man stepped from it. He seemed to rise up out of the floor, carrying a heavy keg in his brawny arms.
Dark blonde hair and a strand that defied gravity bounced as he trudged up to the bar, setting the keg down and positioning it for ease of reach for the barkeep. Dark blue eyes shined with bubbling excitement as he turned to grab a nearby cloth to wipe the bar down; the elder man pouring another pitcher of the foamy beer. The boy was older than the young girl, early twenties probably and increasingly handsome; a suitable man for marriage. But alas, he never looked upon the girl as nothing more than a sister, flashing her a dazzlingly warm smile from time to time whenever he caught her staring at him.
By the time the girl had reached the soldier's table, their drunken banter had increased in volume as they discussed the recently passed Quartering Act and the families they were to quarter with. The small girl feigned a smile as she looked at the men, hazed eyes turning to her. One man with auburn hair turned to her, eyes laced with alcohol and lust as he looked over her body as a piece of meat. His uniform declared him a captain in the British Army, as well as his demeanor and his attitude towards the other two men.
"Well, well. Whot's your name lass?" He slurred, reaching out to run his fingers over a fold of the girl's skirt. The girl tried to take a step back out of his reach, but the fingers quickly curled into his skirt and held her still on the spot.
"A-amelia." She stammered, fear raising in her eyes as she quickly glanced to the men behind the bar. Both men were frozen in place, hatred apparent in both of their eyes as they watched the scene unfold before them. There wasn't much that they could do, especially not in the circumstances except to watch.
"Pretty name for a pretty girl. How old are you Amelia?" One of the men at the table snickered drunkenly as his eyes roved over the petrified girl, while the other male looked vaguely bored with the whole ordeal.
"S-sixteen."
"Hmm.. that's old enough isn't it chaps?"
"Aye." The man who had snickered agreed, leaning over the table towards his companion and the girl. "Aye, last week I had a girl that was no more than fourteen. Pretty little thing too."
Amelia whimpered, trying to draw herself away from the captain's grasp but it only tightened and then pulled her into him, his other hand grasping one of her wrists as it stroked lovingly over the skin.
"What do you say lass? How would you like to become a real woman?" His grin turned devilish as his grip tightened upon her wrist, standing and pulling her flush against his body. She tried to pull away once more, whimpering again as she glanced back to her friends behind the bar. The barkeep's face had turned pale while his younger companions was blood red with the boiling rage that he was desperately fighting to control, clutching the soiled rag in his hand with white knuckles. The soldier had done nothing but suggest, which allowed the colonists no form of action.
"Come on," the captain growled as he practically dragged the girl from table and across the tavern towards the door. Eyes followed and a few men stood from their chairs, but nothing could be done. Which mattered more to the colonists? A poor child being raped or getting shot for attacking a soldier and leaving their own families defenseless. The man's companions had joined him as they strode out of the door and into the chill New England night, his grip tight enough on the girl's wrist to leave bruises later.
He dragged her towards the woods behind the tavern, his companions trailing behind in case she had tried to escape with malicious smiles etched into their faces. Their footfall echoed into the crisp night, crunching over leaves and twigs as they neared the edge of the wood. Amelia swore that she head a door slam somewhere nearby, but she wasn't sure. The night threatened for snow; a white ring hung around the moon that had risen in the sky and a cold wind was blowing from the North. It would be a beautiful night except for the dark deeds that were about to take place.
The group stumbled into the woods, pushing past thick underbrush to only find themselves a few feet into the forest, a clearing opening before them. Spinning around, the captain turned upon the girl, his smile and eyes blazing and making him look like the Devil himself. He threw her roughly to the ground, a cry escaping her lips as she slammed into the soft ground, a stick digging into her back. The man threw himself onto of her as his friends turned to look away, watching for anyone that tried to interfere.
Hands gripped her blouse and tore it open, revealing her soft skin to the frigid air of the moonlit night. Tears forced themselves from her eyes as his hands hungrily groped her breasts, her sobs echoing in the still night. A hand found her throat to silence her as the other hand fumbled with his pants. But a crash resounded and broke him from his resolve. Tear-stained eyes turned to see the other two soldier's struggling with the young man from the tavern.
"ALFRED!" The girl screamed before her voice was silenced again but the captain's hand clenched around her throat. His hand drew a long flintlock pistol and held it up with the young man in his sights, finally being held against a tree by the other two soldiers.
"ALFRED!" Amelia screamed again, struggling pitifully against the heavy man straddling her. A smirk crossed the Brit's features as he cocked the pistol, the other two soldiers holding Alfred still but stepping back enough to not be hit by the bullet. An additional click of a cocked pistol clicked through the night forcing the captain to pause in confusion before his face froze. Warm crimson blood trickled down from his throat and poured onto his frock, pooling onto Amelia's torn blouse and exposed chest.
The British solider slumped to the ground in a gurgling heap. Amelia shoved the still-warm body away from her with a cry and clutched her torn blouse to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. Her eyes shot towards the figure towering over her, a bloody knife gripped in his pale and slender hand. His other hand extended towards the two soldiers and Alfred, pistol in hand and ready to be fired. His face was emotionless, but his eyes burned with hate and anger.
The two redcoats threw the young American from them as they withdrew their pistols and pointed them unsteadily at the newcomer.
"You'll pay for that!" One screamed, finger moving towards the trigger, but he was stopped by a sensation of cold steel placed against the back of his head. His eyes widened as he glanced to his friend, a cold gun placed to the back of his head as well.
"Seems you're outnumbered," the mysterious Brit mused as the two owners of the guns stepped from the shadows, revealing the other two men from before. Alfred had managed to crawl to Amelia's side during the commotion and was clutching her to him protectively, blue eyes locked onto the men at a stand-still before them. His broad hands were shaking violently, with fear or adrenaline - Amelia wasn't sure, but his body was warm and protective.
"K-kirkland." One of the soldiers stuttered, his eyes alight with recognition as he stared at the young blonde before him, gun still aloft in his hand despite the presence of sure death at the back of his head.
"'Ello Morris." The blonde smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at the other male who was trembling between the steel of the raven-haired male. "William." He nodded, before glancing down at the two American's on the ground. "Are you alright?"
"Y-yes, thank you." Amelia stammered, eyes wide with fright at the man towering over her. His emerald eyes flicked over to Alfred, cold gaze glinting with curiosity. But the gaze was cut short as a shot rung through the air, followed by three shots almost in succession. Three bodies fell to the ground, but the aforementioned, Kirkland, was balanced on his knees, teeth gritted in pain as he dropped his gun and clutched his shoulder, blood quickly seeping through the cracks between his fingertips.
"Blood hell," he murmured as his two companions dashed towards the three on the ground, leaving the two soldiers where they fell. Blood was pooling around their bodies, the ground soaking up the life-giving blood greedily as bits of brain matter and hair were strewn nearby and evident on the men's clothing and faces. "Sacrebleu!" The elder blonde cried as he fell down to his knees next to his friend, the raven-haired man crouching next to him as the blonde tried to examine his friend's shoulder.
"Belt up Francis!" The young man exclaimed, throwing a hard slap to the Frenchman's cheek. "It's just my bloody shoulder!" He cried as he staggered to his feet, blood draining from his face as he wavered slightly upon standing. His gaze fell down to the two young American's, Alfred gently pulling Amelia to her feet. He was taller than the Brit by a few inches and fell into the same height as the Frenchman. The raven-haired male was by far the shortest and was only rivaled in height by Amelia.
"Let me help you," Alfred offered, eyes fixated on the bleeding shoulder before bringing his gaze back to the pale face. "My father was a doctor. I can patch you up," he explained before looking to the young woman clutching his arms in desperation. "Let me take Amelia home, and then I'll take care of you."
The other two men looked at the Brit, who must have been their leader from what Amelia deduced, a pleading look in their eyes. "Arthur-san," the raven-haired male finally spoke, his voice heavy with an oriental accent, black eyes locking onto the Brit's face, "Listen to this man. We would not be able to get you back to the ship in time. And I do not rink you would want to run into any more soldiers? Especially if they are not drunk - they will recognize you."
The blonde's gaze hardened at his friend, but his face paled more as his shirt began to feel heavier with the thick blood oozing out of his arm and staining it. He sighed and turned his gaze onto the American boy and looked him over momentarily before nodding his head feebly. He was losing blood quickly and it was becoming harder to do much more at the moment.
Alfred nodded as he began to quickly unbutton his shirt and pulled it over Amelia's shoulders before pointing to the silent Asian man, "You – take her home. She'll show you were to go." He nodded at Amelia, offering her a small comforting smile before turning to the dead captain and pulling the blood stained shirt from his body and buttoning it up quickly with deft fingers. His features were pulled into concentration as he moved towards the Englishman and wrapped his arm around his waist, nodding to the Frenchman as the Brit stiffened at the contact. "You – help me. C-can you walk?" He asked, turning his face to look into the pale face of the bleeding man.
"I'll be fine," he grumbled and nodded towards the Asian who had settled himself beside Amelia, making sure to keep a respectable distance between them.
"Amelia, I'll come by and check on your later okay?"
"It's okay Al, I'll have Mary. Go help him," the girl smiled as she turned towards the Asian man who was eyeing the three blonds suspiciously, a barely noticeable gleam in his eye as he looked between the two younger males. "Come on you," she smiled, tugging Alfred's too-large shirt closer to her body before leading the Asian out of the woods towards her own home.
Arthur's strength was beginning to give out on him, his knees beginning to shake as the blood steadily drained from his body. The two men's bodies radiated heat towards him as they carefully picked their way out of the dense undergrowth, eyes scanning for any signs of life on the nighttime street. A man staggered down the street towards his home after a night in a tavern, but otherwise the streets were empty. The Frenchman and the American half-carried the nearly unconscious Brit down the mud-packed street, hoof and footprints still evident from the day's travel as well as the stray rut from a wagon being pushed along.
The trio picked their way down the street in the direction of the tavern before turning towards a small whitewashed house, three doors down from the tavern. Alfred pulled a small key from his pocket and picked at the padlock door on the front of the house before opening the door and assisting to carry the Brit into the house.
The house was bare save for a few pieces and nearly as cold as what they had just came through. A small bed was pushed in a corner of the room, near the fireplace. A small square table was situated towards the center of the room with various papers and a large black bag filled to the brim with metallic instruments on top of it. Two hand carved chairs were pushed up to the table, and there was an additional chair near the fireplace as well as a rocking chair near one of the two windows in the house. A small stove stood by the other window with a pot situated on it; a small cabinet stood next to it with the door slightly ajar, revealing various cooking items and ingredients essential to life itself. There was a small dresser next to the bed. It was simply the home of a colonial bachelor.
The two men guided their bleeding counterpart towards the bed, Alfred commanding the Frenchman to wait as he rushed to a wash basin and pulled a towel. He trotted back to them and held the towel to the back of the bloody shoulder before gently guiding Arthur down onto the bed, his face twisting in pain as they did so. The man's thoughts wondered as he looked between the two blurred faces, a scowl deepening into his features as the darkness began to fade into his sight, vision tunneling into nothing.
"Bloody hell," he mumbled as he slipped into unconsciousness.