If there was one thing Arthur Kirkland knew it was how to survive.
It was the one true thing he found that he could trust, for he had lost everything else.
His home.
His family.
His genuine sense of self.
He didn't know who he was anymore only who he was supposed to be.
He felt like he was a puppet and someone was pulling and twirling his strings, making him dance and speak only when instructed to. It was an inhuman feeling that left him feeling bitter and frustrated, not just with those around him, but also with himself.
He was Britannia.
No...He was the Heir Regent.
Except for both personas completely counteracted with each other and he felt fear. Fear for his future when he knew Captain Blackbeard was still out there but here he was in a place that was too cold for his liking.
For so long, the sea had been his home, had practically consumed him in mind and body, which was made evident by the several scars that littered his body and the trauma he had been through.
For so long, he had been at the mercy of Captain Blackbeard and his subordinates that all he could rely on was the pulsing instinct within him, telling him to do whatever it took to live. To live through this day of hell and face the next, so that there could be a chance when the next day looked a little bit brighter.
His choices were to obey or suffer.
At first, he fought, taking the brunt of whip lashes because of his disobedience but at the time he could care less. At the ripe age of twelve, all he merely wanted to do was go home. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and curl up around his favorite stuffed animal, Flying mint bunny. All he wanted was to bury himself in his brother's arms. All he wanted to do was cry.
He didn't care about following orders or being obedient.
Hell, he had fought tooth and nail at the crew he was being imprisoned by but his defiance was short lived.
Cuts were carved across his skin, scarring along with all the lashes that marked his back. Defiance never seemed so hopeless for it simply wasn't an option upon the Albion.
At least he knew he tried, but the pain that came with it made it all for naught. It simply wasn't worth it.
So instead, he worked. He let the sun burn his skin, let the wind blow across his feathery hair, and let the ropes and riggings burn his hands and chap his fingernails. He became one with the crew like all the other boys who had been kidnapped and survived until now.
And Arthur was heartbroken to admit he even befriended one of them.
"I gotta say, this is a piss poor knot, Brit," he could hear the thick accent of the Latino from beside him, sending chills up bus spine.
"Oh, belt up," Arthur had growled in return as he used his own teeth to untie the knot and started to redo it all over again, clearly frustrated with the comment he had received.
The other boy though had simply laughed, a rare sight on this damned ship, as he patted Arthur on the back not caring as he winced out of pain. "I'm only trying to save your skin. I feel as if you get any more lashings and you might just actually die."
"I'm not going to die," Arthur said firmly as his green eyes flickered to the Latino, eyes his messy and rather chaotic brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. "I don't plan on letting that happen."
"No one does. And to be honest it's not our decision, Britannia."
Arthur froze at the name, his jaw clenching as he finishes up his shoddy knot, not giving a damn about anything else.
Upon the Albion, names were not allowed. Only titles that are given by the crew and Arthur (Thanks to his accent) had been nicknamed Britannia. The name of an ancient English nation long deceased, it's land having been absorbed by Spades creating the District of Arthur's lineage.
The same district that he was torn away from and it's capital burned down.
"I still hate that name," Arthur admitted in a low voice. "It feels like they're trying to make us forget who we were."
"They aren't trying, they already have," the Latino stressed out, "I can see it in everybody's eyes. No one fights anymore, not even you and you were the most stubborn of us all."
"Yeah well, fifty fucking lashings can do that to you."
"See, you even started to curse! You never did that before but now you are. You're turning into one of them!" He gestures to a burly crew member who thankfully had their back turned to them.
Arthur stared at the other and then gently shook his head. "What choice do we have?" The broken truth slipped passed his lips and he could see the other's shattered expression at hearing it out loud, taking a physical form so it was clear as the ocean beneath them. "There is no escape. We're stuck here, in the middle of the bloody ocean and I'm tired. Tired of being in pain. I want to survive this, I want to live, and the only way to do that is to listen."
"But don't you see we can't-"
"Please stop talking," Arthur spoke as he bit his bottom lip, his eyes starting to mist because this was cruel. Someone he trusted and cared about was giving him hope in a place where it could not be found. That was something that Arthur's broken spirit could not withstand, just like the scars on his back.
"I," The other gulped, their mouth feeling suddenly dry, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," Arthur looked up at the sky studying the great blue expanse that stretched out over him, seemingly endless until it met the waves of the ocean at the horizon. "I just don't want to stand up and fight when I only know that I'll be shot down."
Silence encased the two boys both of their eyes meeting until one turned and started to walk away, unable to agree with the words that were spoken between them.
And the same one to walk away, instead of giving in, was later executed.
And whatever small glimmer of hope that Arthur had was extinguished.
Because of that, it was simply easier to be Britannia. To be the ruthless magically adapted Pirate the Albion needed and oh so craved. He could practically see Captain Blackbeard's maniacal glee whenever his hands would spark, holding an infinite of power, and it was his to command. Not Britannia's own.
He was merely a pond for Captain Blackbeard to move. A loyal subject for him to order. A believer who would do anything for his god.
But it wasn't any less chilling when Captain Blackbeard approached one day, a blood red coat in his arms as his footsteps made the planks under his feet creak.
"Captain," Britannia spoke automatically giving an aristocratic bow to him, one that was not shared among the other pirates, but a move that made Britannia unique and developed his persona.
But it was also something that Captain Blackbeard seemed to enjoy. A bow that he wanted to be copied by the masses as if they were his worshippers and he an idol.
"I have to say, out of all the scalawags here you have truly proven yourself worthy." His eyes seemed to glitter as he stared down at the fourteen-year-old boy in front of him. "But I have a question for you."
Britannia stares at the Captain wondering if he looked as rigid and tense as he felt. If he did, the Captain didn't point it out but Britannia had a feeling he knew and was enjoying it.
He kept silent though and instead moved so that his back was facing the railing of the Albion and waited in silence, unwilling to talk when it seemed it was not his place to right now.
"Would you ever sacrifice your own life for me?"
Britannia blinked out of slight surprise at the unexpected question. Was this some sort of trick question? What was he supposed to say? He knew that the correct answer would be 'yes' but this had to be some sort of trick. Yes, there had to be some sort of loophole for this.
But what? What was he expecting to hear? He only had a short amount of time and he couldn't just theorize what the exact words Captain Blackbeard wanted. Instead, he had to try and exceed that. Keyword being try.
He licked his chapped lips tasting the salt of the sea upon them before he worked up the courage to look him in the eye. "No," he started and watched as Blackbeard's eyes narrowed, "It would be more logical to sacrifice a bit of magic instead." That was it. That had to be the loophole, after all his magic could heal any stab wounds Blackbeard gained, and he could conjure shields to protect him from gunshots. Magic could go a long way to the point where it could allow a person to evade itself.
Captain Blackbeard stared before he all of a sudden walked around Britannia, making his way around so that he was standing behind him. And then Britannia felt shocked as something weighted and large was placed upon his shoulders.
Green eyes flickered seeing the crimson coat that had been placed upon him, and it was quite large, larger than his current figure but he knew that with time he would grow into it. And it seemed that Blackbeard knew that as well.
Britannia was mesmerized though, seeing the thick wool curl around his ankles as long as the wind wasn't trying to sweep it away. But he was confused. Why would the man who had kidnapped him, the man who had tortured him, the man who manipulated him give him this?
"Welcome to the crew," Blackbeard said before he started to walk away and Britannia felt a chill shoot down his chest, and it wasn't because of Blackbeard.
No, it was because he felt stable as he stood upon the swaying ship. He felt like he belonged. And the warmth of the coat that had been gifted to him by his captor felt like home.
He had completely lost all sense of identity and for once, wasn't thinking about the home he had come from and the family he once belonged to.
