Title: Avalanche
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails
Author: And The Moment's Gone
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+
Words: 1,936
Warnings/Spoilers: You MUST have seen Season 1 AND Season 2
Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character featured are NOT mine. The title comes from the Bear McCreary version of the song Avalanche and I don't own that either.
If Eleanor was surprised by nothing else during her week and a half outside the Tower, she could rest easy knowing that her release from captivity required nothing more than for her to follow Woodes Rogers out the door of her cell and down the hall to freedom.
It simply was that easy.
She'd been handed into a carriage with the promise that the items of worth still in her cell would be brought to her, and the second she entered the townhouse that was the London residence of Woodes Rogers and his family, she was rushed into a waiting bath, and her clothing taken – the maid announcing there was no salvaging them. They would have to be burned. Then she'd been bathed, lathered and lotioned almost to exhaustion. After that was a simple dinner of beef and vegetable stew with a heel of sweet bread, and they almost had to carry her from her sitting room to the bed.
The next few went by in a flurry of appointments and fabric. She was shuffled from seamstress to seamstress – three in all in order to complete the wardrobe Rogers said she required before their departure – and to at least two different cobblers. She ate lunch in public houses with Rogers and his associates, and took strolls in the park with his wife and their children. With the former, she was questioned about almost everything; what did she know about Nassau politics, did how much on the King's law was still abided by, what did she think of certain shipping lanes? The latter she wasn't expected to say anything, Rogers's wife Sarah would discuss the local politics, the dinner menu, even the children's maladies while they were out just to ensure that Eleanor got the doctor's recommended amount of fresh air every day. Eleanor reckoned that Sarah had been ordered to take her with them, whether she wanted to or not.
Her lady's maid turned out to be the stern-faced physicians assistant from Eleanor's time in the Tower. The brilliant and candid Mrs. Oswald was a widow, although Eleanor couldn't find anyone to tell her how her husband passed, who had apparently been in the employ of Rogers's wife for many years. No one told her what it was that she did around the household either. What they did offer was the fact that she aided in selecting styles and fabrics that would not only be easily converted as she got closer to her due, but would work in the intemperate climate of the West Indies.
The only recompense that she could find was the fact that Rogers hid her condition from absolutely no one now, and Eleanor had been given leave to rest whenever she felt it was necessary.
She regretted to inform anyone that there were actually times when she just plain didn't feel like dealing with anyone anymore and feigned being tired just to get away.
The nights were the worst.
Eleanor's mind trapped her between the reality of her current position and the 'what might have been' of the past.
Twice the week after she had been released Eleanor could have sworn that she woke to the sound of Charles and Captain Flint arguing in the sitting room of her suite, and she could feel Mister Scott humming behind her when she was left alone in Rogers's study in the evenings. And it didn't even come close to the myriad of voices in her head that established a running commentary at every dinner party she was required to attend.
Such as the one she was descending to now, the night before the fleet departed to the West Indies.
Her newly acquired trunks were packed, and she had been fully prepared to spend the night with a good book before traveling to the docks for the grand bon voyage. Then Mrs. Oswald had entered the room with another gown draped across her arm, promising a 'quick brush' before she had to be down in the parlor.
How the 'quick brush' turned into a myriad of braids on her head, she would never be able to figure out.
"Mistress Guthrie," Rogers noticed her the second she entered the room, his hand coming up to silence the men he was talking to so he could fully turn to her. It didn't escape Eleanor's notice that Sarah was conspicuously absent from the gathering. "Thank you for joining us."
She dropped her head in mock of a curtsey and did her best to smile. "Of course," a voice she didn't have to give a name to in the back of her mind reminded her that ladies do not slouch. Or smile. "The pleasure is mine."
It wasn't.
She was stuffy and uncomfortable, and she had a five-week journey ahead of her in the morning, and they all knew it.
But Rogers seemed pleased that she at least pretended.
"There have been a few additions to the ships since we last spoke." With his hand on her elbow, Rogers disregarded the men he was previously conversing with in favor of turning her to the other side of the room. "I understand this was not what you had in mind for the evening, but I wanted to make sure you were acquainted with them ere we set sail in the morning." There was a moment when Eleanor allowed herself to throw her eyes around the room, taking stock of the men – and their female companions – that she had already been introduced to. "With you and Mrs. Oswald being the only ladies on this voyage, I thought it might help you to not feel that you were confined to your cabin."
Eleanor didn't want to point out that she wouldn't have felt confined even if he had specifically told her that she should not be on deck. Instead, she caught the eyes of one of Rogers's acquaintances and nodded. "No one has any objection to bringing a woman on this voyage?"
"A woman?" Rogers smiled down at her. "Perhaps." He caught her eye, and something softened. "But you're far from just any woman, are you?"
Her shoulders straightened then, Mister Scott's voice reminding her that flattery was like a painted weapon. It was nice, but not completely useful. It didn't matter if what he said could possibly be true. She was the Pirate Queen of Nassau. She was not just any woman.
It didn't occur to her that she had missed the first few introductions, her body going through the motions when Rogers removed his hand from her arm, and she seemed to nod and shake hands by rote. Then Rogers placed his hand on her back, to get her to step forward, perhaps, and her world came into focus again.
"And lastly," how many of these had she missed? Eleanor wondered if Mrs. Oswald knew the men. It would certainly help. "Our merchant liaison, Mister Kit Hammond."
Eleanor's mind groped for how she knew that name, even before making eye contact with the man in front of her. He was leaner than last they saw each other. Older too, but that was hardly surprising. He bowed carefully instead of taking her hand as if he was being introduced to her at a formal garden party, not a dinner. "Miss Guthrie," His smile was still so forthcoming. "This is certainly a surprise."
The back of her mind growled, and she brushed thoughts of lovers aside to smile back at the man. "Mister Hammond." Christopher, her mind supplied. This was Christopher Hammond, and she did her fair share of avoiding the man many years ago. "I did not realize that your father still held an interest in the West Indies."
"Not as it sits, I'm afraid." Rogers grip on her waist seemed to tighten, but Eleanor brushed that aside as well. "Nassau is still a bit too wild for my father's tastes." They shared a smile. "But I've been working to bring him around to its advantages."
It deserved to be noted that Woodes Rogers did not handle the lack of information well. His voice was tight as he turned his body to hers. "I was not aware that you two knew each other."
"Vaguely, I'm afraid." Eleanor turned her body to her host, trying to convey that was she aware that Christopher Hammond had been a prospective sailor on their voyage; she might have pointed the connection out sooner.
"More than a few years ago, her father had been looking to expand his legitimate interests," Christopher's eyes searched her face for a moment. She wasn't sure what he found when he smiled again. "He had given thought to partner with my father."
His touch lightened, and Rogers smiled. "A partnership that didn't go through, I take it?"
There was a nod. "My father lost interest when Mister Guthrie failed to deliver on his end of the deal."
To this day, Eleanor could remember the argument that ensued with her father after Hammond was called back home to London. She wasn't sure what seemed to incite him more, the fact that she was unapologetic, or that she'd insisted on besting him in the argument in her office in the tavern, with both Charles and Captain Flint on the other side of the door.
Neither of which was entirely by design, now that she thought of it. Just a happy coincidence that didn't hurt her reputation in the eyes of the beach.
"Had my father taken the time to understand his daughter," it was an argument that Mister Scott had presented when trying to allow cooler heads to prevail. "The agreement never would have been conditional on her hand."
Hammond's laughter was uncontained. "That is very true." He threw a look to Rogers, the other man looking more and more uncomfortable at being left out of the conversation by the second. "The spirited woman who greeted us was in no way the wide-eyed girl he described on the journey." There was a moment when Hammond seemed to remember himself, and he reached out for her hand. "I heard about his death," he said solemnly. "I am truly sorry for your loss."
Her hands froze, and Eleanor had to force herself not to jerk them back away from him. She wondered how much of her father's death he had heard. Charles's manifesto was read aloud on the beach multiple times before she was abducted. If Eleanor were to make a bet, she would have said that it was repeated more than enough after as well. Had it made it off the island? Did he know that the reason her father was murdered and strung up in the fort because she had won a round in a battle of wills against her former lover?
Eleanor couldn't stop herself from shifting her gaze to Rogers, meeting his own before blinking. "Such is life in Nassau," she conceded after a moment, still not sure what she was supposed to say to all of that. Her hand twitched, itching to cover the belly that she knew no one else could see. "Thank you for your condolences."
And as if the universe understood that Eleanor's mind was incapable of extracting herself from this situation, dinner was served.
