I have only seen the standard version of Master and Commander: Far Side of the World, during and after which I have fallen in love with the entirety of the rich and intriguing story. I do realize that there are twenty or so Aubrey/Maturin books by Patrick O'Brian but I have not, of yet, had chance enough to read them. As such, this tale is set in movie-verse. I will most likely revise any little details (excepting the French/American enemy switch) after I am able to read the books so please bear with me. nn

Oh, I should also warn you that this may be a bit Mary-Sueish. I am not able to tell the difference between OC/Canon romances and flat-out Mary-Sues, so if you sense me drifting too far into the latter, please do inform me.

Title: Salva Nos A Hostibus (Save us from the enemy)

Author: Curious Onlooker 18

Rating: PG (until otherwise noted)

Summary: Concealed in the bowels of the frigate, the veiled enemy lies in wait. But is the enemy really the phantom-like monster the men have imagined?

Pairing: Canon Character (TBA) and Beatrice (OC)

Disclaimer: All characters, excepting Beatrice, belong to the beloved O'Brian. Props also to Peter Weir for bringing O'Brian's novels to the big screen so that people, such as myself, with their ever present bibliophobia, could also partake and enjoy in the naval adventures.

Chapter 1

The sounds of small glass containers clinking against one another were likened to crickets in that darkened room. Swaying gently with the waves, the hammock rocked it's occupant from her light sleep. A small hand gripped the edge of the canvas and slowly rolled herself to her feet. Shuffling could be heard before a small candle illuminated the interior. The tiny cabin seemed far larger than it had only a few weeks before… back then it had been cramped but homey despite it. Now the wood-paneled room felt so isolated and cavernous that she felt so very alone staying within it's walls. Moving in time with the lapping tides, the woman slipped her small form into a uniform, and placed a and went above deck to view the rising of the noon-time sun over the nearby island chain.

"Salut, Renard," she yawned, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The similarly dressed young officer chuckled as he watched her leaning upon a thick roping to maintain her balance.

"Bonjour, mon beau garçon." He was greeting with a withering glare. In truth, even dressed in a young boy's garments and with eyes still puffy from sleep, she was still radiant in his sight. "Come now, what is a woman of your delicate constitution doing up before two in the afternoon?" The glare became more steadfast and he laughed again as she ignored the question and sat down upon the deck with her back to the railing. Seeing that the Capitaine and his commanding officers were not about, the young gentleman removed his cap, and sat down besides her. "You know that I am only joking, Beatrice. It saddens me to see you so somber. Will nothing elicit a smile?"

"I do not mean to offend, Renard," forcing a small smile that lacked mirth before squinting towards the large sails and ship's hands above. The agility of the men among the ropes and thick sails never failed to fascinate her. Sensing that Renard would not be appeased, she returned her gaze to his friendly face.

"Forgive me, mon ami. You know that I have not been myself of late." He sighed and before he had a chance to bring it up, she spoke quickly. "I would rather not discuss his death. Not just yet." An uncomfortable silence fell and she wished to put the matter out of her mind once again. "Will the Capitaine allow us to explore the island once we find fresh water?"

"I should think so, mademoiselle. I fail to see how anyone could deny your requests." He sighed and rose to his feet and offered his hand to her with the utmost formality. She hated when he got like this, but she accepted the hand and thanked him. He didn't look back as he resumed his duties. How is it that on a ship-full of people, she was made to feel so very alone? She looked out to the islands, barely able to make out the fanciful creatures as the frégate sailed slowly through the clear blue waters.

More than a mile away upon the very island Beatrice watched, Dr. Stephen Maturin, having just been denied his flightless cormorant, was looking past a species of beetle as the Acheron came into view.

Straight-backed, the Capitaine of the Acheron purposely strode the deck of his powerful ship. Despite the sweltering conditions and the thick uniform, he was without a single drop of sweat upon his brow. His thick black hair was tied in a messy ponytail beneath the sweeping capitaine's hat. He had a habit of pacing to and fro lately - ever since the unexpected sighting of the Surprise on their tail before the turn around Cape Horn. It had been frustrating enough to lose the easy target in the fogbanks a month before, but to have the little frigate trick him into the blind chase of a decoy while it snuck up on his stern was unfathomable. Constant vigilance was the only answer. He had been reckless before but he would not allow the British captain of the pursuing ship to outwit him again.

The men went about their work upon the deck around him, the midshipmen and officers overseeing their tasks with utmost care. As he approached the quarterdeck abaft the mainmast, he saw the other cause for his concern standing alone and watching as the animals along the shore observed their passing. She should have never had to witness the death of her father to fever, but the daughter of Docteur De Vigny was resilient - even while her father lay dead besides her she proceeded to nurse the Acheron'sstill injured crew. She should never have stowed away on his ship, and though he was not a superstitious man, her discovery aboard had left an ominous air about their mission. Still, he could not but help feeling grateful that even in mourning, she was able to take up the duties of her father in his stead.

As she saw him approach, she tipped the cap upon her head and looked out to the shores again. He nodded and said nothing, sometimes it was best to say nothing. He didn't know her well - her father had been a close friend to his brother, but beyond that, he hadn't delved all to greatly into his late surgeon's private matters. All he knew was that this girl was now an orphan and little could be said to lessen her melancholy. It was a souring cloud that hung about her and he was nearly sick to death of it. He walked past her, and below deck to reexamine the maps that had been taken from a British whaler they had looted and razed a week before.

After the Capitaine had retreated to the lower gun deck, Beatrice was left again to her thoughts. She knew that they would not be sailing home until the rest of the whaling fleet was found and it's precious cargo taken. Afterwards, they would need to parole the captured whalers from their brig at the nearest seaport before they could even think of heading back to France. All she wanted was to be home… the Capitaine would not allow her to depart the ship at any of the French ports until a new surgeon could be found. But it was her own fault that she was here now and she bitterly wished she had never come aboard at all.

As the afternoon activity lessened, the men went below deck to eat their food leaving a skeleton crew with sharp eyes upon the main deck. The sky was quickly darkening as the sun retreated behind the iguana-rampant islands. Having not moved from the quarterdeck for the entirety of the afternoon, Beatrice stood and stretched, her mind exhausted. She thought of getting food for herself, but she wasn't particularly in the mood; having seen the men cut the heads and shells from the tortoises they had caught, her appetite wasn't as it should have been.

Below, the men were tearing into their tortoise meat and scraping up the last of their mâchemourre. She hurried past, not wanting to know from what part of the animal the meat had come. Her cabin was just below the Capitaine's and she could hear the officers having a grandiose time. Her father had always joked that the Capitaine, having had so much experience playing his tuba, was full of hot air. And though the Capitaine was stiff-lipped above deck, with his officers and in the presence of wine, he was a different person entirely. As the slurred jokes and songs commenced, Beatrice sat in the cabin looking over all of her father's medical supplies. Tomorrow, she would have to inventory them again and insure that the medicines were still sealed and the bandages cleaned. She couldn't for the life of her imagine why her father seemed to love this oppressive life upon the sea. Une prison flottante...

She was roused early the next morning by the shouts of a sail and smoke upon the horizon. She heard the Capitaine moving about in his cabin and she rolled from her hammock and quickly dressed in order to find out what the commotion was. She could hear the men around her talking of a whaler that would be no match for them. So they had found the fleet, she surmised. She had no wish to see anyone die, but if the whalers would quickly surrender, the Acheron would not be so delayed in returning home. Pushing past the men down the coursie she ascended the ladder steps up to the half-deck. The officers had gathered on the quarterdeck and were examining a smoking ship upon the horizon through their spyglasses. She could feel the deck banking suddenly as the nostre home turned the frégate to intercept helpless whaling ship.

The Capitaine was shouting out orders as he came down from his observation - the ship was familiar and he again had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to know the name of the ship and her armament if any at all. The demi-culverin cannons were loaded on either side of the prow of the ship and the brig was made ready a few decks below. As with any engagement, Beatrice supposed she was to be ordered below to prepare for wounded, but instead, many of officers paid her no mind, though she wished that Renard would at least look at her.

M. Ambler, the Sailing Master of the Acheron, a tall graying man with soft eyes, encouraged her to follow the procession down the length of the deck and observe the whaling ship up close. She watched as the Capitaine situated himself on the prow and peered through his spyglass before she and M. Ambler did the same behind him. In her ear, M. Ambler was pointing out the nuances that distinguished the whaler from a normal nautical mind.

"See how the wind is spilling from her sails? The whaling men are not accustomed to quick work upon the riggings and have made it that much easier for us to take them." As he pointed out the filthy conditions of their sails and deck, the demi-cannons were fired and left a ringing in her ears making it difficult for her to follow the rest of her nautical lesson. The Capitaine had procured a bullhorn and began shouting in English as the distance swiftly decreased between the two ships.

"English whaler, Syren. This is Acheron of France. You have no possibility - no chance - but you have had warning. Stop now or we will destroy your ship. English whaler, this is your last warning: stop now or we will destroy you!"

Without warning of their own, the deck of the whaling ship exploded into chaos as men began running about and a British flag was hoisted. She heard the sound of guns from far above and saw men in Royal Marine garb peppering the deck. The roar of cannon fire was heard as the Acheron glided past the deceptive enemy vessel. Men were yelling on both sides of the waters, and she could barely hear the Capitaine yelling for her to go below and for the men to beat to quarters and roll out the long guns.

Thuds and splinters accompanied the gunfire and she saw that the mast was being shelled beyond repair. She ran past as fast as she could, hoping to avoid drawing a bullet of her own when, as quickly as it had started, the sounds of battle ceased. The Acheron had made it past the cunning Syren but at what cost?

In the silence that stretched for what seemed to be an eternity, a groaning sound could be heard above the moans of the men that lay at her feet. A hollow groan and cracking sounds soon followed and as she looked up, the mast began to topple right above her head. A dull pain could be felt around her hip, but too afraid to move, she watched the slow decent of the thick wooden beam come towards her as the seamen above jumped from their perches into the water below. As she waiting for the beam to drop down upon her, there was a grip about her waist and felt herself flying off of the deck and hitting the warm sea.

Coming to her senses, she fought for the surface of the water. Even so far below the decks, she could hear the crash of cannons ripping through the bowels of the frégate. Surfacing a distance away on her left, Renard appeared, coughing up water and wiping his long hair from his eyes and kicking towards her.

"Beatrice, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine… I'm fine. What happened? Are you hurt," she asked, holding on to his shoulders and examining the small cuts around his forehead.

"Comme ci, comme ça," he said with his boyish grin. His face grew serious as he looked to the aft section of the ship, and saw the approaching British moving alongside the crippled Acheron. If they did not move, they would be sitting ducks for the sniper-like Marines. He grabbed hold of Beatrice's upper arm and swam around the lower stern of the ship.

"Beatrice, listen to me… I have to get back aboard to fight these dogs off. I don't know what is going to happen, but it is not safe to come up until they are defeated. Promise me that no matter what, you will stay here. Promise me that you will stay safe." She made a move as if to protest, but he when he lovingly caressed her cheek and laid a soft kiss upon her forehead any protest she had died away. When he moved back, his eyes were tumultuous and she knew that if she did not promise, he would not leave her side.

"I promise, Renard." He allowed himself a large smile before he swam around to a series of ropes that had fallen over the side of the boat when the mast had collapsed. He did not look back as he climbed up to whatever fate had in store for him above. From her waterline hiding place, she could hear nothing in the ships above - all sounds of fighting had died away and she wondered how long she should wait before following Renard. Suddenly, the Capitaine's voice rang out, "Acheron!" Pistols discharging and the tinking sounds of sword upon sword filled the air. When a cannon fired again, she inched around the hull and looked up between the two looming ships. The mast was acting as a ramp, and men were crossing quickly onto the Acheron. A large hole in the larboard hulling of the French frégate could also be made out.

Suddenly, the odds didn't seem in favor of the French emerging victorious from this battle.

"Promise me that you will stay safe."

As the sounds of fighting continued, Beatrice swam around to the starboard side of the British warship and reached for rigging with which to pull herself up.

…safe.

Where was safe when both vessels were fighting to the death? Where else, but on the ship that had been left relatively unmanned when her crew departed to board the enemy?