A pirates AU was requested by agentavengerassassin.
The sounds of cannon fire faded, replaced by frantic yells and the stamp of boots on the deck above. The captain's voice sounded outside the door. "Your Majesty, we're being boarded!"
Stephen fastened his cloak around his shoulders and drew the hood over his head. He threw the door open. "Thank you, Captain Barnes. I'll take it from here."
"Sire, this is not wise," Captain Barnes said in a low voice laced with urgency, grabbing Stephen's arm. He paused - James Barnes was one of Stephen's oldest friends and would never steer him wrong. But the time for protection was past.
Stephen covered Captain Barnes' hand with his own briefly. "Thank you, James," Stephen said quietly. "Please trust me to make this right."
Captain Barnes looked ready to argue, but after a moment remembered his place and nodded. "Good luck, Your Majesty."
Stephen strode up the wooden steps to the deck. Chaos reigned - bodies of soldiers and pirates alike littering the rails and the deck, blood staining the wood, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. He calmed his nervous heart, drew a breath, and bellowed, "Parley!"
The pirates ceased their motions and his sailors followed suit.
All men of the sea knew the rules of parley.
One pirate, a dark fellow with pale scars littering his muscular arms and chest, dared to approach him. "Who are you to request parley?"
Stephen did not draw back his hood. "Who are you to question the laws laid by Neptune? It matters not who makes the request, but whether the request is honored. And those who do not honor the rituals of parley will be held to their accounts by Lady Justice when their time on this mortal earth ends."
The stillness that followed his speech was broken by a series of slow claps. The clapper remained unseen yet the sound drew closer, until Stephen could make out a short figure in a long, torn gentleman's coat. The light was weak and he could not discern any more than that. "Well, well, lads." The voice was rough. "We have ourselves a right scholar. Very well, Sir Scholar, I shall honor your request for parley. Wilson! Bring him to my ship."
The fellow, Wilson, before him grabbed Stephen by the arm and led him to the port side. The pirate ship was anchored and tethered closely to the Shield of Stars, requiring only a gangplank to cross between them. "I trust no harm will come to my men while I am aboard," Stephen remarked.
"Pirates we may be, Sir Scholar, but we too have our code of honor. No harm will come to your men while the parley is in effect," the short pirate replied, stepping off the plank and onto the ship.
Stephen was led to the captain's quarters. The short pirate strode around the impressive wooden desk (t reminded Stephen of the one that sat in his father's study) and took a seat. In the sharp relief of the lamplight, Stephen realized the short pirate - the captain - was a woman. Her grin reminded him of a shark as she kicked her feet up onto the desk. "Well, Sir Scholar, shall we parley?"
"We shall. Perhaps things would progress more smoothly if each side knew the other's identity," Stephen suggested.
She considered him for a moment. A slow smirk bloomed on her lips. "Remove your hood."
He complied - he was unarmed and with no one to aid him it was better that he do as he was bid. Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "Well, well, well… I should stand, but I'm afraid a pirate queen curtsies to no one."
"You know who I am."
She inclined her head. The move was graceful and somber and her eyes never left his. "Prince Stephen, or should I say, King Stephen IX. Accept my condolences on the loss of both of your parents. A tragedy to lose your entire family in one fell swoop."
Stephen was taken aback. He expected no sympathies from pirates. "Thank you, my lady," he said, confusion lacing his tone.
The smirk was back. "I am no lady, Your Majesty. I am Natasha Romanova, queen of the North Seas, with twenty ships under my command. You stand on my flagship, the Black Widow."
Of course. He was a fool not to have placed her sooner. Captain Romanova held a fleet of pirates under her control. She raided where she wished, evading capture for almost ten years. Tales of her exploits - of all sorts, some that had even made his own men blush to repeat - reached far and wide across the land. She was a fearsome and admirable woman - yes, admirable. Even a gently-reared prince could admire the will it took for a woman to embrace freedom with both hands and use it to soar to the top.
And she never let prisoners walk free.
Stephen knew he had to step carefully. "I bargain only for the lives of my men, and for the sake of my country. Kill me and leave my people in ruins. I am the last heir to the throne, with enough cousins spread through the land that deciding the next worthy ruler would lead to civil war and ruin."
Captain Romanova inspected her nails. "What do I care for your kingdom? A weak country leads to weak defenses. With your death, your people become ripe for the plucking."
He felt his life slipping away as he stood. "My life is in your hands, Captain, and I am aware you will do as you wish with it. If it can be done, I will grant anything you desire."
She lifted her eyes to his. They sparkled the most enchanting green in the lamplight. Stephen could see where some might call her a siren in pirate's clothing: she could enchant anyone with just her eyes. "Any desire at all, Your Majesty?" Her voice grew huskier.
"If it can be done," he repeated.
Captain Romanova sat back in her chair and watched him. Her fingers beat a rhythm into the hilt of her sword. He stood at a parade rest, awaiting his judgement. If he was to die tonight, at least let him die with dignity, and the knowledge that he had tried to plead for the safety of his people. After what felt like hours, she leaned forward, bracing herself on the desk with her elbows. "In exchange for your life and the lives of your remaining crew, you will grant my fleet safe harbor in any port under your rule. My men and I walk free in your borders."
Stephen fumbled for his words, outrage blooming hot under his collar. "Free to do what? To rob my people blind, leave their bodies for the crows? I will not put them in such danger - if that is your desire, then strike me down now and may the gods bear witness to your crimes!"
She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, Majesty, you're a sight to see all bothered. If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead. No, you silly man, if we are granted safe harbor and immunity, then we shall also be on our best behavior within your borders. Now, stealing wenches or knaves and cheating at cards in taverns… such is a pirate's life." She grinned wickedly. "And a life I'm certain your own law-abiding folk take to at times."
Stephen breathed easier with this promise. "Done. Any port city in any land I can claim mine, you and yours shall have safe harbor and immunity from the law. But know this, captain: any felonies committed by a member of your crew within my borders will be addressed swiftly and with justice. That ship and her crew will be written into the books of piracy and remain there until capture or death."
She held up her hand. "If you are adding stipulations, then I may add mine." He held in a sigh. Captain Romanova's eyes swept over her cabin before landing on him again. "Your firstborn."
Stephen blinked. "I have no children, captain. My betrothed is on her way to the castle as we speak. Before this progress, I had never seen her outside of portraits. When we were together we were heavily supervised."
Captain Romanova looked as if she might want to slap him for his stupidity. "Of course not, Your Majesty. I'm talking about your firstborn with me. All queens need an heir, you see," she said, and the wicked grin bloomed again. "Who better to create an heir than a king?"
Stephen stilled. She would have him here if she wanted. He would not harm a woman, even a pirate queen, and she was armed to the teeth. She would take what rightfully belonged to his betrothed. "Captain Romanova," he breathed.
She stood. There was a swing in her hips, one that made the gentleman's coat swish like that of a lady's skirts. It was hypnotizing. "Have we an accord, Your Majesty?" she whispered.
Surely his lady would understand. And there would be no need for her to know of the bastard heir of two thrones. For the gods, for his people, and for his country - he must do this. "We have an accord, Captain."
"Then let's seal it with a kiss."
The only story Princess Margaret ever heard was that the Shield of Stars had been overrun by pirates. No mention of parley ever came to her ears. After they married, Stephen decreed with a firm hand that no reports from any port cities ever reach the new queen's awareness. If the rumors of a pirate crew roaming inland reached the palace, well. There was nothing that could be done but make an empty promise that they would be swiftly dealt with.
His children, two girls and a boy, filled his life with joy he could never have imagined. But there were days when he wondered of his firstborn.
When Stephen could no longer separate the gray hairs on his head from the blonde, he heard a rumor from his chief provost. The Black Widow had docked in Port Aramouth, a city not half a day's ride from the palace. She'd never been seen within his borders since the night of the parley.
Curiosity overtook him.
He took no guards. His son was of age and capable, if Stephen's disguise was not enough to keep him from harm. He rode into the city on a black horse with old tack and stabled it at the inn the pirate crew was rumored to be staying in.
He drank ale with his people, observing them without pomp and circumstance for the first time. They were happy, the harvest looked sound, and peace with their neighbors left sons aplenty. If nothing else, Stephen could return to the palace content with this knowledge.
Then, on the stairs, heavy boots announced their arrival. There was no mistaking these men for anything but pirates. Stephen wondered where Captain Romanova was, when a young man with a shock of red hair hailed the barmaid. "A pint in every man and woman's hand, if it pleases my lady," he announced.
He was met with cheers and the order processed quickly. When the young man stood on the bench, a silence fell. He raised his pint, his face somber. Stephen watched him closely: the youngster was lanky - perhaps he was newly entered into manhood - and the muscles on his arms were hard and wiry. The blood red vest he wore looked new, as did the matching cuffs on his wrists. Stephen's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch as he remembered: pirates mourned in red.
The young man raised his head and his eyes were the same piercing blue that Stephen saw every morning in his own mirror. "Grant a mourning son a moment's silence," he said, though he already had it. "For there were no one braver or fiercer than the Queen of the North Seas. She died as she lived, in freedom and in battle. May she reign in hell as she did on earth. Captain Romanova!"
"Captain Romanova!" Half the tavern echoed his words, the other half merely looked on in pity at the pirate's son. The tavern drank as one, Stephen a beat behind.
The crew raised their pints now. "The Queen is dead!" The man Stephen recognized as Wilson shouted. "Long live the King!"
And even Stephen raised his pint to his bastard son, murmuring with the shouts of his people, "Long live the King."