ZOMG a wild update appeared! I know it's been far too long since I last did a chapter, but thank you to all the people who read and reviewed in the meantime and gave me encouragement to keep going with this. Have some more Reaver(who I don't own :P) and I'll get some more chapters up here asap. And don't worry, those two words he said will be revealed soon! :D Love to you all, and enjoy.

The ship lurched and wrenched sidelong down a swell, ropes and sails creaking in protest. The sky was clear and the sun was shining but the winds were brutal, the sea was jagged, echoing the monumental struggle surrounding Albion. It was visible on the horizon, a smear of green above endless blue, wreathed in a malevolent shadow that seemed to be swooping and crawling at the same time. A few tendrils of shadow had reached as far as the ship, snaking through the wind. One touched the tip of the foremast, sliding down its length and across the foresail and jib, making its way greasily through the air towards the figure perched on the bowsprit. The tendril wriggled and slunk, inching towards the man. It lifted and reached to touch his cheek, and stopped short: a gloved finger and thumb had pinched the end of it, halting its advance.

Reaver looked down his long and elegant nose at the shadowy thing. Smirking, he inhaled leisurely then blew the shadow away downwind. The ship, his Wanton Wench, lurched again. Reaver slid down from the bowsprit and sauntered back to the quarterdeck. The man at the helm was wrestling with the wheel. Reaver tutted at him. "Really now, that is no way to treat a lady." The man jerked, slumped forward, and slid down to the deck with a smoking hole where his left eye had been a moment before. Reaver stepped over the body while holstering his Dragonstomper, and gently laid a hand on the wheel. He caressed a spoke affectionately. With Reaver at the helm the Wanton Wench instantly ran easier, sliding smoothly up each swell and cresting them with a dainty shudder, her nose dipping briefly before rising again. Reaver smiled to himself. He hadn't realised how much he had missed the sea. His smile vanished as instantly as it had appeared. He looked at the horizon, at the shadow. His eyes were keen and could see the faint flashes of dusky orange as things exploded in the swirling darkness. Reaver scowled ferociously at the murky vortex. He had developed an unyielding loathing for any shadow-related thing. He was however a businessman, and business came before personal preference when there was an advantage to be gained. Immortality for instance. His...associates...from the Shadow court had summoned him for his yearly tithe, insisting this year he come in person so as to prevent him from taking up arms against their foreign cousin, currently intent on killing his Queen. The corner of Reaver's mouth lifted in what might have been a smirk, maybe even a smile. The Crawler had no idea what it was getting itself into. Reaver had utter confidence in his Queen, and didn't doubt for a heartbeat that she would obliterate the Crawler completely, but he did rather regret not being able to be by her side to watch first hand. What a glorious sight it would be.

The many years he had spent pirating meant that guiding the ship required no thought at all for Reaver, and as such his thoughts drifted, following his gaze towards Albion and the Queen. His mind skimmed through recollections of the past year. What a year it had been. Voices echoed in his head: Paige, her flawless bosom heaving with wrath threatening to shoot him again, while the Queen smothered a grin at the futile threat. His own voice, despairing at being so repeatedly turned down and declaring his determination to find something to which the Queen would say yes. The Queen, cheeks flushed with the fine scotch they'd shared one evening sitting on the floor in her treasury...

The Queen had rummaged in the riches and dragged out two mismatched golden cups to drink from, he had brought the liquor. She was laughing and flipping gold coins into a vase perched precariously at the top of the gleaming pile. Reaver eyed the last of the bottle, and knocked it back in two swallows. He was not remotely tingly yet, though the Queen was a giggly as a young girl. Noticing the now empty bottle she had frowned exaggeratedly and tutted at Reaver, who lifted a brow in bemusement. Rising, she stepped lightly if crookedly over to a chest in the corner, from which she extracted a bottle and about-faced, grinning widely. "Something you might appreciate" she said as she bounced over and handed him the bottle. He glanced at the label and both his brows lifted in surprise. "Yellow Fairy," He drawled, "I haven't seen a bottle of this in years." The Queen shrugged, replying "It's been in the treasury since my Mother's reign. I've been saving it." Reaver opened the bottle with a deft twist and poured a healthy measure into each golden vessel. He lifted his in a toast, and the Queen mirrored the gesture. He raised an eyebrow questioningly "What are we toasting my dear?"

"Me."

Reaver laughed. "Bold. I like that in a woman. Very well Majesty." They touched the tumblers together, and drank. The Queen licked her lips. "Mmm, tastes like marshmallows." Reaver watched her mouth appreciatively, recalling the first time he'd seen that particular gesture. Had it only been a few months ago? His brow furrowed. "My dear, how old are you?" The Queen looked up in surprise, and then laughed. "Most ungallant, sir! A gentleman should not ask a lady her age." Reaver smiled lazily, leering at her in his most lecherous manner. "Ah, but I'm no gentleman. Haven't you heard? I am a dastardly rogue, the most notorious rake ever to walk the turgid green of Albion. Nobody's virtue is safe from my corruption." The Queen laughed again, flicking droplets of liquor playfully in his direction. "True, true." She smiled shyly. "I'll be twenty-two tomorrow." Glancing up, she burst into laughter. "Reaver! Is it that shocking? You should see your face." Her laughter faltered and she peered at him concernedly. "What's wrong? You look...sad?" Reaver blinked and chuckled. "I'm just a little surprised my dear. I confess I am not the best at keeping track of the passing years, they all seem so...fleeting. I did not realise how young you are."

A dash of cold salt water brought Reaver out of his reverie. The waves were growing. He spun the wheel. He wondered how the battle was going. He could almost smell the smoke, feel the heat and the thrill. Reaver laughed at himself. Being all wistful, like a schoolboy who would rather be outside shooting beetles in the field than at his desk having angles drummed into his head. He would be back in Albion soon enough and it would be battered but alive like it always was. She would be there too, the Crawler's head mounted on a spike and a cocky grin across her face, waiting for him to make her say yes.

Reaver smirked. Bring on the angles.