Hey Everyone, just thought I'd post this before my flight back to California and I start on my Midterms! Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Notes: Historical Inaccuracies, can't write 17th century speak...or accents. And yea, Arthur is acting funny, but only because he wants the best outcome and magic effects are tricky and all that. I don't know anything about magic, so the casting and all that is...yea...
Ch. 3
It was ludicrous, Arthur thought, pacing his quarters and gathering his tonics and baubles. How could she be—No, it wasn't possible. He scattered his collection onto his table before pulling a small cauldron from behind him out of its compartment buried under a storage hatch in the bench. Placing everything he collected in it, he intended to only use them if the runes and cards read the truth…and maybe the crystals to check thrice. If they all rang true…he would need a fresh sample from her. The pirate huffed and wretched the desk drawer open to dig out his small leather pouch of runes and his tarot cards from their black, silk wrap.
A few brave fairies that dared inhabit the dark recesses of his ship to brave the distance from their homeland, flittered about him as he gathered his magic. Fae couldn't stray too far from their source of magic, which was typically the lands they were bound to, but with a solid and steady, magically inclined host they could go a great distance to accompany or settle in new territories. And Arthur ever minded playing host to the little leeches; he rather enjoyed their company and they seemed to enjoy his. They bobbed curiously around his desk, poking around the cauldron to categorize the contents no doubt, and prodding his leather rune pouch all the while chattering at him in their ancient language. They were certainly excited; their energies sparking to and fro as they all tried to speak at once.
Arthur gave them a small smile and shushed them as he concentrated his question towards the runes, whispering the query, before tossing them onto the small open space. They landed with sharp cracks against the wood and settled. Arthur clicked his tongue in annoyance, gathered them and put them away. Reaching for his cards, he carefully placed them in their designed order, focusing his thoughts on the same question. Flipping them, his brows furrowed as the answers were the same and answered even more. Traveler. A journey. Accident. Magical influence. The fairies hummed excitedly. Arthur flipped the cards to read the girl below deck. Strength. War. Alchemy? Lost. Air. Child. Arthur cursed aloud. She was telling the truth? But who could be powerful enough, nay, skilled enough to cast time magic? He has certainly never attempted. It was too dangerous; unpredictable. Did she have a run-in with a magical creature? Ah, but, if she'd angered a fae, wouldn't it have been easier for them to simply destroy her rather than waste magic on a time spell? And there were so very few creatures who could cast such magic. And why send her through time at all? If she was a nation it would certainly weaken her…if her country didn't exist yet. America, she said. The only new lands were in the new world, but no country existed; only Native tribes that governed themselves separately. And according to that Spanish idiot, only southern reaches of the new world had empires; savage ones that already had personifications. And this girl was no savage.
The old nation sighed and reached for the crystals in another drawer. Placing them on the desk, he conducted the same questions with the same results. He'd also asked about their connection to each other…and the crystal grew bright. Arthur felt the air leave his lungs; they had a strong connection. Was that part true as well?
She'd called him father.
Arthur's heart clenched painfully. It was a shock, but…well, it had been no secret amongst his closest and most trusted that he'd always wanted children. Wanted to sire a nation as his mother, the Great Britannia, had with her sons. But such a feat was rare, really. There hadn't been any new nations in a long time, which was why so many had been scrambling for the New World. To sire a nation and thus extend their own influences. But, for Arthur it was more personal. He'd never admit it out loud, but he wanted a child because he wanted to be a father. Wanted that connection to another that was loving, instead of the dysfunctional spite that seemed to riddle his relationships with his brothers. Sure, they loved each other deep down, but they were enemies in a way too; each with their own kingdom, unwilling to destroy one another, but also unwilling to bend to each other. Arthur worried that eventually something or someone would be forced to give, and that one of them would be lost for it.
His brothers knew of his want for children; of a proper family. Scotland teased him endlessly for it; that somehow he'd manage to fail at it. "Poor bairn would end up all twisted; wha' wit yer influence. Best keep th' bad traits stuck only wit yoo'." Alistair's words rattled in the back of his mind. His elder brother was such a bastard sometimes. The lot of them talked with bite, but Arthur believed they'd be pleased for a new member to their family no matter who sired them. Some new blood to connect them again; to teach; to dote upon. His eldest brother, Wales, would certainly indulge the child with stories and probably designate himself their personal tutor. Though Arthur idly wondered how that would pan out; Rhys was such a stoic at times; probably frighten the child. And Alistair most certainly would with his brutish ways and unforgiving manner. It'd be nothing was war training with him. And don't get him started on Reilly; it'd be nothing but mischief and sweets!
He sighed and sat heavily in his chair, eyeballing the cauldron. It would confirm his paternity that much was certain. It would confirm anyone's paternity to her really. She could the frog's child and the spell would reveal it. But did he want to know? Should he know? She was here by time magic; and knowledge of time outside one's own could be dangerous. It made things unstable.
Dammit, he needed a drink!
Anne been down there for hours already, and already she could feel her stomach rolling from the conditions she was forced to lie in. They hadn't untied her. And she was too weakened to break them, especially with the overtight binding they'd given her. Her wrists were definitely going to be bloodied and bruised. The floors were nasty, covered in all manner of mess that she didn't want to think about. And it was a mess that had to have been there since the ship first sailed. And here she was, laying in it. She wanted water. And food. Even her father's burnt scones sounded mouthwatering right now.
She gave a small sob thinking about her father again; both the one she'd just lost and this new terrifying stranger. What was she going to do? Try as she might, she had nothing, and it frustrated her to no end. She'd always known how to get out of any situation, but then she'd always had her overwhelming strength behind her. She could only feel a small fraction of that power now. It was terrible, but she realized that she'd grown to rely on that strength to always be there. Why learn how to bend the ropes to escape when one could just break them? She was the god-dammed United States! She cried internally. There had to be way to do this!
Meanwhile…In the present
Rhys surveyed he mess in the garden room from a distance while Alistair and Arthur tried to identify all the ingredients that had mixed. Reilly stood off to the side worrying the small newsboy cap Anne had worn on her trip there in his hands and chewing his lip.
"You didn't think to inventory your stock?" Rhys asked, arms crossed.
"I'd been meaning to." Arthur replied weakly.
"More importantly, you didn'a pull her away." His Scottish Brother grumbled.
"For the hundredth time, I tried to!"
"Aye! And now look wha' happened! She's gone!" Both Arthur and Reilly gave a small, quiet cry in response.
"Alba, enough. This isn't helping." Rhys cut in with a disapproving glare, "She may yet be found. We just need to know where she has been cast to. She could just be a few miles away, flung from an open portal for all we know. She could waltz back in, wondering what happened and everything would be fine."
"Yeh really think she'd come back after tha'? After what this arse said ta' her?" Arthur flinched in the background.
"He didn't mean it. And you underestimate her forgiveness." Wales concluded before adding quietly, "And her love."
"Aye. She hasn't left us yet." Reilly piped in, trying to smile. Alistair sighed, pointedly looking away from everyone. Heartfelt things just weren't his element.
"Indeed.' Rhys patted Eire's shoulder, "So let us focus, yes?"
And on the pirate ship…
Arthur had been diligently mixing the concoction within the cauldron on his desk, occasionally thumbing over a page in his spell book for reference, and his fairies nimbled about passing him small pinches of this or that to add. A sharp rap stopped the procession short, however, and one of his men opened the door and leaned his head in.
"Pardon, sir. Helm say winds 'ave changed. He want yer permission to alter course."
"Fine, fine." Arthur waved distracted and the man moved to leave, no one disturbed the Captain and his magic of course, "Wait."
"Cap'n?"
"Bring me some hair from our guest in the brig."
"Hair, sir?"
"Yes, hair. A few strands. Now!"
"Aye, sir!" And the man fled the scene.
Anne had been wiggling in her place in attempt to try and loosen the ropes binding her, but all she succeeded in doing was tear into her skin and agitate the already tender bruises. Sighing, she then attempted to maneuver herself into a sitting position, but it proved just as uncomfortable as laying upon the ground. She startled when the hatch leading to the deck opened and heavy footfalls resounded harshly against the wood. Another crewmate stumbled in and opened her jail door with a sharp crack of the key and the same shriek. He eyed her warily and pulled a small knife from his frayed belt.
"No strange casting, witch, or I'll gut ya." He emphasized the threat by jerking the knife before him as if to drive the point home. Anne nodded carefully but tensed as he drew closer.
"What are you going to do?"
"Cap'n be wantin' yer hair."
"My—what?"
"Shut it!" And with that he snatched a handful of her hair to jerk her forward, causing Anne to let out a hiss. Her scalp was still sore from its previous abuse.
"Do not cut off all my hair!" She growled low. The man scoffed, but only cut a small pinch of her strands and stood to leave her again. "Can't you at least cut my binds?"
"I said shut it, wench!" He shouted, but seemed to want to escape the cell as badly as she did, but she imagined it was because he feared her apparent witchery. Curling her hair around his fingers, he sheathed the knife and left her to the darkness once again.
By the time the crewman had returned with Anne's hair, Arthur's concoction was heartily boiling on its perch while the pirate himself was stirring and occasionally adding a few more ingredients here and there.
"Bout time, man." He grumbled, "What kept you—oh, it doesn't matter. Give it here!" Arthur had cut off the man before he could explain that he really didn't want to be down in the bowels with a witch; that he'd fretted by the hatch for a while before braving the descent. But even she wasn't as scary as the Captain. Once he'd handed the man the hair he turned tail to return to his duties. Arthur paid him no mind as he tossed the gold strands into the cauldron and gave the incantation. The mixture hissed and fizzed, sending sparks that the little fae gave tinkling cheers to a spell well cast; Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that they already knew the answers he wanted. Not that they would simply tell him if he asked; the little buggers. No matter, now it was to let the potion simmer and settle and he'd have his answers by morning.
He'd fallen asleep in his chair, curled in on himself as he waited. Grimacing, he stretched his stiff neck to and fro then yawned loudly as he ran his hands over his eyes and brows. And as he peered into the potions' contents, as clear as his crystals in sunlight, Arthur regretted not having that drink he wanted. He fell heavily onto his chair, feeling dizzy with…with…he didn't know what this was; anxiousness, elation, fear, joy?
His daughter. His child.
The babe he'd always secretly wanted, was here. Or rather, would eventually be there. This version had travelled through time. Someone had cursed her, flinging her backwards. But what luck she has! To find him; out here, where she'd be rescued. And she was a beautiful creature; a bonny face with bonny eyes. She must have a bonny smile too! She couldn't have been very old either, but he could sense that she was strong; was used to strength anyway. Arthur ran a hand over his face and gave a slightly harried laugh. His brothers owed him a drink in celebration. He had done it! He sired a nation! And she was right there! Right below deck in the brig—
"Blast!" Arthur jolted upward and cursed in every language he knew. His daughter was locked below deck in that horrid and dreadful place and had been there all night! Well, that certainly won't do. Practically tripping over himself, he pulled on his overcoat, not really bothering with any trinkets and immediately made his way to the hatch that would take him to the brig. The men scrambled out of his way, unsure why exactly their captain was making a beeline for their prisoner, though some had made bets he was off to finally kill her. A witch on board was bad luck; with the exception o' their cap'n o'course.
Arthur reached the bottom and was at the brig in only a few steps to find Anne curled in the far corner. Bloody hell! He shouted for the key loud enough that Anne twitched in place, but she was too tired to care. And too pained to move. She was wasn't going to last much longer before her body simply gave out. The iron gate was sharply pulled open again and Arthur stepped in to kneel next to her.
Did no one think to feed her? Arthur felt regret twist in his gut. Damn it all. No, no, no, no! He was a bloody pirate; no time to be soft. And it didn't matter how curious he was about her and their future together, he needed to find a way to send her back. He couldn't get too close, no matter how much he wanted to. But…well, he couldn't leave her like this; she was a Kirkland, after all.
He pulled off his coat to wrap her in it and tug her into his arms to lift her. Maneuvering her through the door and up onto the deck would be hard, but he'd manage. One of his men was behind him anyway, placing a steadying hand on his back as the climbed the narrow and steep ladder well. The crew murmured from their stations as they watched him carry her to his quarters. Arthur did acknowledge them, only turned to the crew member who had followed him and demanded a long list of items from their stores.
Anne felt herself being placed on a much softer, but kind of scratchy surface, and could hear voices giving a warbled sound in her ears. Everything just hurt though. She felt wet and dry at the same time, a cold sweat had descended at some point in the night, and her stomach no longer rumbled; just clenched painfully as her body tried to compensate for the lack of sustenance and fluids to keep her going. It was dry in this space however, and she felt a hand nestle upon her head. Another voice, thick and gravelly, before a wet cloth replaced the hand; cool enough to startle her into focus.
"Easy, mistress. Lie still." The heavier voice pulled her focus. It belonged to an older man with a scraggly beard and yellowing teeth. One eye was definitely blind, and his state of dress was worn and patch covered, but unlike the other men on deck, he wore a simple wool vest with a small pin; she couldn't recognize the symbol. He replaced the wet cloth on her head before stepping away to speak to Arthur; something about regaining strength and rest before he left the room.
Arthur had entered her line of sight then, practically thrumming with energy, and his crossed his arms and look down at her.
"It seems you were telling the truth. Welcome to the family." He smirked. "Or rather, welcome to the empire." This was best, he thought. He would see her soon enough, in her proper time, and at the proper time. They were sailing to his beloved lands anyway. He and his brothers, her uncles he thought happily, could find a way to set her back on the right path. For now, he was master of the tides; lord of the seas. A most feared pirate and that was that.
Anne pressed herself further into the bed at the look that crossed her father's (though is he really her father here?) face and shuddered. She recognized the look. It was his expression of triumph; one he usually wore when he was about to give France or Spain a good thrashing; like when he'd won the battles during her revolution and sent her and Francis's soldiers running. Empire, indeed. This was his look of conquer. And it was directed at her.
She gulped before the sickness finally forced her to pass out and all was darkness.