Chapter Três

Paris by Else

Flashback

"Bom dia, Arthur, time to get up. (Good morning,)" The captain entered his study where the stranger was still sleeping in his average bed. He had been taking care of his ship all night along with a few crew members to stay clear of any enemies. Sleep was out of the question. "Kirkland? Let's go. We have work to do."

"..Hng.. Why..?" Still a bit confused--probably from the sudden change in environment-, the blond needed a moment to recover from a night of sweaty nightmares. "Was it about that… practice thing you mentioned yesterday?" He sat up slowly as an index finger and a thumb rubbed his tired eyes.

"Sim." João replied, full of energy and ready to face Arthur in a match. "Before you ask what it is, you'll need these and a sword. I'll be outside waiting for you." He threw a pair of gloves on the brit's lap, which made the other jump slightly, and rotated away from him.

"Wait-" Arthur, even more perplexed, got out of bed as his new captain started towards the door.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" He halted, raising a finger in the air and turning his head a few degrees to make sure Arthur heard him right. "In about two days we'll be arriving in the Caribbean seas. We need to make a quick stop for business." And just like that, he left his Englishman behind.

Frustrated and full of questions, the brit put on the clean clothes João was nice enough to fold for him and the gloves. Even though he was given a new blouse the night before, he had already dirtied it. A new one was much appreciated. Brown, average looking trousers, a belt and sheath and new boots were also waiting for him beside the bed.

He then stomped out of the office. Arthur was almost surprised that it wasn't locked, but that didn't stop him to continue having trust issues. As soon as he stepped out, a sword was thrown at his feet. The crew laughed seeing Arthur's shocked reaction.

"Don't be so pitiful, I know you can fight!" The taunt was met by pure rage. "...Woah la!" Captain Lisboa stepped back when his sword was almost immediately met with the blond's. "You almost got me there~" He teased the brit with a laugh.

"Are you always this chatty when you fight?" Kirkland wasn't in the least enjoying it. His scowl and the force put into the weapon was sending a clear message to the captain and his crew ; he was fighting for freedom. If he won, he would kill João and take the ship. That's what his opponent was reading in his fierce eyes.

"Are you always this serious?" His grin grew into a mischievous smile. "I guess I can't let you win if I want to survive, e?"

"At least you're not stupid."

Another clash between swords resonated in the excited crew's ears, some started to bet on who would win-actually betting on Arthur-, two others started to play a tune on their guitars while everyone else yelled.

Suddenly, Arthur was able to lay a kick into João's stomach, sending him back a few steps, and started to get a better chance in winning. The other pirates became quiet as the music continued. Some gasps were heard, seeing as João changed his method, getting more serious. He wasn't expecting such skill from the stranger.

"Estranho… After I win this, I wish to know where you learned how to fight like that."

"If." His voice was deep, breathless.

"Trust me, querido, I will win. (, dear, )" João's glare earned him a small grin from his opponent.

_

"How about a kiss goodbye?"

The two were only a few feet away from each other, parting for what they thought would be for good. Arthur was wearing his weapons and all he needed for his short travel. In his brown pouch attached to his right thigh ; water and crackers. Of course he wouldn't have left without his alcohol. A nice, full, bottle of rum from the ship they stole.

"What a charmer you are, capitao." Arthur replied with a chuckle, of course, taking it as a joke rather than a real offer. He stepped closer to João and reached for his hand, shaking it in respect. "Until we meet again, João Herique Lisboa." He beamed at him, keeping the handshake longer than anticipated.

Lisboa's feathered hat seemed to lower before Kirland. He was a tad bit disappointed to see him leave. He knew it… Arthur didn't remember the conversation they had. Though, it was better that way. It hurt him less, but…

"...Are you alright?"

His heart was still so heavy.

"Sim. Of course. It's hard to say goodbye to such a good friend." He would always smile at his friend no matter how he felt. Because, then, he knew Arthur could count on him. "Until we meet again, Arthur William Kirkland."

The brit's hand let go of the handshake first, he backed up one step quietly, nodded his head in a second attempt to show respect and finally walked away. João could only nod back. No more words were exchanged. And if 'Inglaterra' thought of looking back even for a second, João would feel a stabbing feeling in the pitch of his stomach and their goodbye would be meaningless. He knew that and didn't dare stop in his steps. It was important to keep looking forward. There was a big chance they would never see each other ever again. João was betting on it.

Sighing heavily, the happy expression the captain was wearing faded into a blank face.

--

The strawberry blond had been walking through the streets of Porto, Portugal for a while. Passing as a civilian and seemingly passive enough, no one suspected him as a pirate. As he made his way to Spain, he hoped to God he wouldn't find Antonio there and wondered how João was doing. He had been around Spaniards for so long, he didn't realize how much he came to love the Portuguese. It honestly surprised him, but he finally understood how England and Portugal were able to keep such a long-lasting treaty. He felt good surrounded by his people.

The stoned streets of Portugal made the lone stranger feel as if he was walking on blessed grounds. Less people roamed the same roads for money than in Britain, more of them sat around enjoying the days passing by. Merchants were cleaner and happy. They seemed to enjoy life. The houses he passed each had different styles despite being of the same architecture. Colourful food markets matched the clothes and the sunny skies. It really looked like a whole new world and he caught himself wondering if all of this could be taken away forever. He was confident to say he didn't want that.

Although, soon he was going to cross the borders and sail aboard a spanish ship, all over again. Of course he wasn't excited about the sailing part, but he had no choice if he wanted to go back to England. He could have taken a boat in Porto, but then he'd have to wait for the next ride to sail all the way there--the next one was in 3 days. It was faster to take a cargo ship in Spain.

As the night was approaching, he felt his feet aching from walking in his heeled boots all day. "Perhaps a place to stay the night wouldn't hurt…" He thought out loud as he was almost at Braga. There he would find a hostel-pub-like building with only a few people occupying the reception. None of them were drunk nor sober. None of them made any trouble either, ignoring the newcomer as he asked for a free room. His english accent caught the Portuguese receptionist off-guard and asked if he would like to drink once he made himself at home. Arthur refused and paid in advance. The man was glad to offer any extras on the house to please the brit as they had such a good relationship with the English. This surprised Arthur, but he should've known the way João treated him.

"I can't thank you enough for the kindness, sir."

"Sem problema. You will always be welcomed here, estranho."

The man left him the keys of his room, thanked him one more time and left Arthur alone. Looking around, he found that the place was quite luxurious for its location. It might've been from living on board a ship for so long and whenever they stopped, it was never clean or appealing in the least. The brit always ended up sleeping on the ship instead. Although, he never had a problem sleeping on the sand next to João…

Like that one night…

"I shouldn't be thinking about that now." He shook his head, sitting down on his soft bed. The covers were a gorgeous lake green just like his eyes. Decorated of gold lace and white sheets. There were no colours on the walls, but the cracks gave it a historical feeling. Somehow, the rustiness of the plaited gold chandeliers didn't bother him. They just added more to the scenery.

That's when he decided to declare Portugal his favourite place in the world. He didn't like the way England was becoming corrupt. His own people talking to each other with no respect… He never felt homesick of his country. He never felt like he belonged anyway. But he did start to feel homesick. He missed Gaivota Voadora and its crew. He missed João.

How could he go back, he asked himself. If he did, he wouldn't be able to face his people or his country ever again.

"That wouldn't be so bad."

What about my family?

"I could move here…"

You don't speak fluent portuguese.

"I can learn."

It's too late to go back to João. He's long gone now.

His eyes shut as his thoughts began to spiral nonstop. He was sure of his choice when he was still sailing with João--

"Was I really?"

The truth is, he was never supposed to nor really wanted to sail in the first place. He didn't even know how to swim properly, so why did he want to go back so badly? He had learnt so much with his portuguese friend and the rest of the crew. They were patient, gentle and rough at the right times, funny and talented. The nights they enjoyed celebrating the clear skies with music and rum. The days they spent risking their lives side by side like brothers as their captain steered them to safety through deadly, roaring storms. They all trusted Arthur with their lives the moment he set foot outside of the office that day.

"Ah, that day… Yes, I remember it like it was yesterday." He spoke softly to himself as his eyelids fluttered shut while the sun turned into the moon.

_

Flashback

Just like that, João tricked Arthur with a move he had learnt from a certain wise sailor he met long before he became captain. His opponent's sword was ripped away from his hands and a push was all he needed to make him fall on his ass, defeated.

Completely astonished, Arthur gapped at the victor. He was expecting him to open his throat with the sharp end of his weapon, except he was met by the stretch of a hand.

"You did excellent." João panted.

"You're not going to kill me?" The brit hesitantly took his hand, still wide eyed.

"How many times will I have to say it? I don't want to hurt you." His tone seemed exasperated, but deep down he too wouldn't have trusted Arthur if the roles were reversed. Then again, if Arthur were a pirate, he wouldn't have saved João. As he helped him up, the crew began clapping for the obvious victor. They also praised the Englishman for his skills.

"..." He closed his mouth, taking back any form of protest he might have and grinned at his captain. "Alright. You've pretty much proven yourself. But I won't let my guard down any time soon."

João laughed at his comment. "If you wish to leave when we arrive at our first stop, then you are welcomed to. I just wanted you to get back on your feet."

"I have to ask…"

Everyone except Lisboa and Kirkland dismissed themselves from the match and got back to work. The sun had just risen a few hours ago, but the wind wasn't strong and the heat was making the sailors a bit uneasy. It was dangerous to stay in sight of the scorching sun. Though, that was a good sign. They were close.

"Something wrong?" The captain took his hat from the rusty nail it was hanging from, as well as his long green coat. Then, while putting away his sword, he gave Arthur his full attention.

"Not really. I was wondering if you would've done the same for a Spaniard or a Frenchman?" The blond walked over to his sword and repeated the other's action.

"Of course not." The reply was choked between laughs. "You looked different from the usual pirates I've encountered and seemed pretty beat up."

"Were there any survivors in the water?"

"..." João looked for some kind of sign on that pale face. He couldn't read him. "Venha." He passed Arthur with the wave of fingers translating to 'follow me'. On their way up to the quarterdeck, where he took control of the helm from his second in command, the stranger complied without a word. "There was nothing to sort through to look for survivors. Everything had already… How do you say em ingles?"

"Sunk?" The Englishman helped with the rise of an eyebrow.

"That's it!" João winked at Arthur as a thank you.

"Are you sure there was no one else with the ship? You do know that dead bodies float… You didn't even bother to check?" Kirkland was insisting for a reason, but he could see that the portuguese was getting annoyed.

"...We didn't bother to look." He wasn't exactly able to explain it to the other and struggling with the language didn't help. "Like I said, everything was gone. Only you and pieces of wood, floating."

"And you want me to trust you…" He crossed his arms, acting half his age.

"I'm a pirate, Arthur! I'm not a savior-"

"But you saved me."

João was put back in his place, all of a sudden acting half his age as well. The crew wondered if they should really let them handle the ship's navigation.

"I did. So maybe you should be grateful for it."

"..." Arthur honestly didn't want to fight for real, especially knowing he wasn't able to beat him. He wasn't exactly in the best shape either. "I don't know how to say it."

"You don't know how to say thank you…?" The captain turned his head furrowing his brows, wondering if he really heard right. He was already doubting his hearing. His eyes stared him up and down.

"Teach me."

João didn't take long to realize he was purposely misleading him as a joke.

"Obrigado. You say 'obrigado'." He turned his head back towards the horizon, letting the warm breeze lead his lips up, listening to the song of seagulls. A strong feeling of peace calmed him knowing his new friend was also calming down.

"Orridado. (badly pronounced)"

A chuckle escaped the portuguese.

"We'll work on that."

"Shut up, I made an effort." His cheeks warmed up until a bright colour was visible.

"Obrigado, Inglaterra."

_

A strange figure seemed to be following the brit for hours since he had crossed the Spanish borders. Arthur had a bad feeling ever since. As soon as he stepped into the other country, a shiver ran down his spine as if he knew something were to happen. Normally he would face the problem without hesitation, but he wasn't on board of the Gaivota Voadora anymore. He had to keep a low profile.

Though the figure was nowhere near the Englishman, he was still able to keep track of his steps and find him no matter where he went. As paranoid as a person can get, Arthur tried to take detours and walk through crowded places, but it didn't seem to keep the stranger off his tracks. He didn't have time to waste on something like that. He had to make it to the docks and get on the earliest ship. His destination was England and he couldn't let anyone stop him. Barely making it to Ourense in one day, Gijon was beginning to look unreachable.

I can't stop now, even with the night approaching... I'll never make it. His mind was pounding for him to go on, though his body prayed for a few more hours of sleep.

"Not in Spain." He mumbled to himself as the crowded areas became quiet. The difference between the two Iberian nations was day and night. As beautiful as Spain may be, it was not Arthur's cup of tea. The people of Spain were not welcoming.

Go back, go back-- his heart screamed. He couldn't… It was too late now. One more day and he could call himself at home.

Although he was eager to go back to his home country, to Plymouth and then straight to London, the night had different plans. Once the last window of the last house he passed slammed shut behind him, he was taken into a darker part of the street.

"No-!" His mouth was covered by a piece of cloth and an unknown smell forced him into slumber. He wouldn't remember what the black figure looked like.

--

Heavy eyelids slowly started to bat open as he heard noises of negotiation. His vision was still blurry, but he could hear them clearly.

"...British, huh?"

"I think he might be from the royal navy, Senior."

A Spaniard was making a deal with some other stranger who sounded probably german or some other. He'd never heard of this accent before. As for the Spaniard, he didn't recognize the voice, but something about the way his outfit looked seemed familiar. He kept his mouth shut to make sense of the conversation.

"You think? This is important. Is he or is he not." The taller male began to raise his voice, stepping closer to the spanish man.

Intimidated, the man gulped before answering him. "No--no, I know. I know him. A french guy paid me a lot of money to get him on board a spanish ship before. I don't remember his name…"

"The french guy or the spanish guy?"

"Que?"

"Which name did you forget?" Arthur could see that the taller man was shaking the other by the collar. He seemed to be losing precious time over this conversation.

"Both! Both!"

"Well, start remembering!"

"Okay! Okay… I think… the french guy's name was… Francis? And the spanish guy… uuh…." The Spaniard was thrown to the floor aggressively. "Ayii! Cabron!"

"Shut yer mouth." The other man noticed Arthur was awake, walking up to the kidnapped brit to grab at his waist and threw him over his right shoulder. "I'll just leave with him. My captain wants him on his ship now."

"Mhh!" Despite his hearing and his vision finally coming together, Kirkland couldn't speak. His hands were tied together by an old rope as well as his feet.

"What about my money, senior?!"

"Don't test me." The man never looked back to the other. He placed a pipe in his mouth and walked away in the opposite direction to where Arthur was heading. Not only that, but he also recognized where he was going next.

With the low energy he had, he still tried his hardest to fight the beast of a man transporting him. His screams were ignored and muffled. No one could help even if they wanted to. The brit cursed himself for falling for something so idiotic. He had a bad feeling ever since he stepped foot in Spain, of course this had to happen… again. Except this time it happened here, not in England.

While he was taken to another part of the country, Arthur tried to analyze the stranger. Pale looking skin, platinum-blond hair styled wildly, wearing a long blue and white scarf… He couldn't get a good reading on his accent nor his facial expressions since he was facing his ass and legs. Though, he could tell he was a pirate.

Francis… Now that's a name I never thought I'd hear again. His efforts were useless of course, so he calmed down and thought of a plan. Calculating every way out carefully until the sun rose. As he felt his body switch off, the tall, brute of a man slowed his steps. Arthur barely noticed until he stopped. A presence was felt from behind him. The pipe smoker was facing someone.

"And here I thought I'd never see him again."

That voice. It couldn't be.

Trauma hit his spine like electricity and he regained the energy he needed to kick the monster in his face. It was a dangerous move considering he couldn't exactly escape, but that was enough for Arthur to jump off his shoulder as the taller crouched in pain. The Englishman only fell to the ground, dirtying his clothes from a puddle of mud. Antonio's henchman bit his tongue in the process and the pipe fell with Arthur. He was beyond pissed, but through all the chaos Arthur created, the devil's laugh poisoned the air.

"He hasn't changed!"

Not again, not again! His thoughts and memories tormented him. He caught himself wishing for João to come save him, shaming himself for being so weak minded. His eyes grew two sizes, though quickly squinted into anger. He wasn't going to let Antonio imprison him again. Not ever.

This time he had a plan.

"You're not going away that easily, Artie."

Even though he had a pan, he couldn't help shivering in disgust whenever he heard his voice, the nickname or his boots stepping near him. His heels were like any other pirate's, but it just sounded different when Antonio walked with them.

"Good job, returning him to me, Abel. You'll be greatly rewarded as always." He grabbed at Arthur's back collar, dragging him across the filthy ground to the back of his black Andalusian horse. Unfortunately, Arthur had no choice but to let him take him.

--

The brit was not able to afford a horse for his travels and regretted not asking João more money before leaving. He would've made it faster instead of asking for rides and walking alone to his final destination.

And so, the dance continued.

_

Flashback

Hands behind his back, hair waving in the wind, his noble attire fit his attributes perfectly. The deep blue complimented his clear ivory skin tone and the freckles spreading across his body. Skin tight white tights under cream-coloured trousers didn't seem to be all that uncomfortable ; his small black shoes were. His neck was wrapped like a gift with garments under the coat. All eight buttons were attached from his lower abdomen to his lower neck. His posture kept others on their feet as he emitted a strong sense of arrogance and confidence.

He stood in front of the royal ship, feeling a little nervous about the trip, but ready to take on the world. He kept a vacant facial expression as his men and royal guards prepared the ship with barrels of gunpowder, boxes of food and clean water.

"We're all set, sire." One of his stern guards warned him after saluting respectfully. He had a hand on his sheath at all times as well as his arquebus carefully placed in his right arm.

"Then, shall we?" He turned his attention to the man next to him.

"After you, your majesty." He gracefully stretched his hand in front of Arthur, bowing halfway through with the other hand behind his back. The lace arm sleeve from his baby blue coat hung out like feathers of an angel.

The brit quietly nodded to both of them and, with a light grin, walked up the gangway.

Francis Jean-Louis Bonnefoy was a french nobleman who loved to spend his fortune on useless things, though never seemed to become bankrupt from his grand gestures. One of those grand gestures was to bribe the king to send his most capable son on a trip. The so-called trip was vaguely explained as a test run to a country to discover new things and bring back gold and slaves. The king was happy to oblige as long as he received the lot. He was a fine and beautiful man on the exterior ; medium long natural blond hair, wavy and always soft, pure skin, graceful hand gestures and sometimes a little more on the feminine side. He was not a man to be underestimated. Though, on the inside, the Frenchman was tricky, cunning even, and had done business with pirates in the past. Things no one knew about ; such as slave auctions, drug dealings and smuggling alcohol. He had sailed around Europe and through the Atlantic many times. Enough to say he knew the world through and through-- though, it wasn't discovered in its entirety yet. Francis was praised everywhere he went and quite popular to pirates. Everyone had heard of him, including Arthur and his family. Not only that, but he knew Francis personally.

He and the Frenchman had met a few times before when still children. One would say they grew up together. Although England never liked France, kings sought an alliance with France in the past and Henry VII as well right around the time Henry VIII, Arthur's younger brother, was born. They never fully got along with each other, actually Arthur was quite mean to the Frenchman. Not that Francis was any different.

Bonnefoy kept a certain distance with the brit simply from losing himself in his own ideas. Probably going through his plan for the hundredth time. If he messed up in the least, he could be in serious trouble. No money in the world could buy his way out of selling a crowned king of Wales--most importantly, the son of Henry VII. He would be hanged by his neck and thrown into the gutters where his body would rot until hell finally came to claim his soul.

Shaking his head clear from the bad thoughts, he hemmed loudly which caused Arthur to turn back, examining his "friend". Francis had a worrying smirk on his face, sending a deep terrifying feeling in the Englishmen's heart. His guard had also looked back, regretting so since his back was facing the real threat. A noise coming from Arthur's blind side made him revert back in panic. His royal guardian's throat was being emptied of its blood a feet away from him. The blade that ended his life came from the hand of a filthy Spaniard wearing a big smile. Proud of his actions, he stared at Francis who stayed in his position.

"...D-Do something! Call for help-" The prince was shaking in shock, looking for anything he could do. But when his eyes caught the scenery of his ship, it had already been conquered by strange men. It was an ambush. It all happened so fast.

And so quietly.

"Désolé, mon ami. It seems my job here is done." The french snake still seemed so beautiful, even as he did something so despicable. "Here you go, you did good." Francis handed the Spaniard a sac of silver coins in which made the man happier.

"Merci, senior." He made the effort to thank him in french before shaking his hand and leaving the gangplank to go about his day. Not many civilians were around--technically none-- since it was supposed to be a private sailing for the first Prince of England.

The prince was incapable of moving. He was frozen in time, feeling every emotion at the same time. As he was about to run for it, Bonnefoy moved a hand to his pale cheek, stroking it gently and kissed the other cheek. The other stayed immobile, mouth gaping and tears rising. The sheer betrayal was not enough for Francis. He added words, as soft as Arthur's mother used to whisper to him before bed. "Bon voyage, Arthur~" He stalled for a pirate to pin a bag over his head and hit him with the handle of his handgun.

Arthur William Kirkland, born on June 4th of 1482, was declared dead in april, 1502, age 18. His body might've never been found, but Francis made up a fake sob story believable enough for the king to mourn his death.

"I have to go back home. I have to tell them…"

End chapter.