Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Why does this shit keep happening to me?” Lucius cries, and far too many things happen in quick succession - he squirms in Hornigold’s hold, the old man tut-tuts at him and jabs the gun into his temple, and not a small number of offended, horrified shouts come from the crew, all taking half a step closer, too worried to go further still.

“Ah ah ah,” Hornigold winks at them. “Let’s take this slow.”

“Please don’t damage my scribe,” Stede says firmly - more firmly than he’s felt all day long, come to think about it...

But there’s an odd sort of relief to seeing Hornigold here. Edward can’t be too far behind.

“Captain Bonnet, if you could,” Hornigold addresses him sweetly. “Let’s take this inside. I’ve got a little surprise for you. I’d advise the rest of your crew to behave.”

They come out of nowhere - the already cramped main deck is suddenly overflowing with even more people, quite literally materializing out of thin air, crawling over the railings, holding Stede’s crew at gunpoint before they can so much as blink.

“Oh, is this really necessary?” Stede throws up his hands, annoyance once again taking over before sheer terror can ruin his chances for him.

“For now,” Hornigold shrugs, shoving Lucius away from him - several people try to intercept, but they’re quite literally held in place by the promise of quick pain if they step out of line.

“Captain, not for nothing,” Lucius straightens out the front of his jacket with only slightly shaky hands, “but shank him when you get the chance, will you?”

“Maybe a well aimed paperweight,” Oluwande grumbles.

“Alright, let’s settle down, guys,” Stede attempts calm. “I’m sure this’ll all be over soon. I for one would like to talk like civilized men. If you please.”

That last sentence is meant for Hornigold, Stede gesturing to invite him back to his own cabin - before the door closes behind them, he sends a glance Anne and Mary’s way, for guidance, reassurance, anything, and receives a bit of anger, a bit of determination. They’ll make sure the resolution to this is painful, at least, if things go south, that much Stede can be absolutely certain of.

What he can’t be certain of in the least, is his own ability to keep face when he does in fact step into the familiar space of his cabin, and sees Ed before him.

And then, a second later, sees the gun pointed at his head, one of Hornigold’s lackeys holding the love of his life at gunpoint, what-

“What-” he exhales, but Edward’s glare is telling enough, reminding him quite successfully of all the late night talks they’ve had about this exact topic - if Hornigold finds out the full extent of... us, there’ll be no stopping him.

Clenching his jaw around the sheer emotion threatening to burst out feels like moving mountains.

“What the fuck is this?” he demands, his own voice coming out much colder than even he’d expect.

“Told you I had a surprise for you,” Hornigold smiles. “I presume you’re familiar with the real Blackbeard.”

“We’ve met,” Stede huffs.

Ed, bless him, almost fails at fighting off a smile. We’ve met.

“Somehow, that feels like a very inadequate description of your relationship,” Hornigold squints. “But I won’t pry. For now. Let’s talk, then. Civilized.”

And he proceeds to slump into Stede’s ottoman, kicking his feet up on Stede’s end table, and Stede himself has to fight off another urge, which is to go absolutely berserk on him with, yes, the nearest paperweight.

“You’re currently threatening the lives of my entire crew,” he observes icily, sitting down prim and proper in his armchair, his heart racing with the urge to reach out for Ed, mere inches away now. “You’d better have a damn good topic in mind.”

With one gesture, Hornigold sends his lackey away and out, and Edward is free - the need to hold him in some way, any way, almost takes over then, but Stede can feel him coming closer, standing behind him, and it will have to do for the time being.

“Nassau,” Hornigold says simply, recapturing his attention. “I hear you’re headed that way, too.”

Stede says nothing. He can feel Ed gripping the headrest of the armchair, his fingers just brushing at his back.

“Something about one big final battle? Trying to stick it to The Man? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Is that what you want?” Stede shoots back.

Ed starts circling, like a jungle cat on a prowl, moving away from Stede and around the cabin - some might mistake it for pacing to settle his mind, but Stede knows better.

The second the situation doesn’t go their way, it’s two of them against one.

“Whether you like it or not, our goals align, Captain Bonnet,” Hornigold offers almost kindly. “I’m on my way to Nassau either way, and I can either let you accompany me for safe passage, or make your arrival there just a bit more difficult.”

Stede, who has safe passage in the pocket from a rather different source, scoffs.

“I don’t see how you’re in any position to threaten me.”

Hornigold opens his mouth as if to reply swiftly, but then his eyebrows arch up high, like he can’t quite believe Stede is being serious.

“Surely you saw at least the beginning of that sham execution just now? Now, I did that to protect my dear friend Edward here-”

“We’re not friends,” Ed shoots back immediately, even a bit petulantly, and Hornigold only smiles at that.

“I’m the only friend you’ve got left. Anyway, imagine what that kind of sway over, shall we say, the public opinion could do for you, Captain. For better or for worse. On one hand, we’ve got Governor Rogers, long since returned to his Nassau headquarters, incredibly interested to learn where his ship full of pirates- very-recently- turned-privateers has gone. On the other hand, we’ve got... whatever you’re hoping to accomplish, and in between all that, me.”

“What-”

“What he’s saying,” Edward interjects impatiently, bitterly, “is that he’s going to screw you over the first chance he gets. Unless...?” He gestures theatrically, giving the floor over to Hornigold again.

“Unless. Such a funny word, that, don’t you think? Implies that I actually am threatening you, which couldn’t be farther from the truth, I assure you-”

The moment snaps in half lightning quick - one second, Ed is standing by the window, framed so lovely by the late-afternoon sunlight, and then he’s on Hornigold, bodily pressing him into the sofa while he also presses a knife to his throat, as if he conjured it out of thin air.

“I’ve fucking had enough of you,” he snarls. “Stop talking in riddles, and just tell us. Tell us what you want, and give me one good reason not to gut you right here while you’re at it.”

Stede’s heart sinks.

“Ed,” he exhales.

Hornigold grins, a shark having circled his prey long enough.

“Oh, all I want is right here,” he says. “And your reason is the fact that you even asked in the first place. Captain, if you could please recall your pet. He’s causing a bit of a scene.”

“Nevermind, slit his throat,” Stede huffs.

But Ed doesn’t, because he proceeds to have the same realization Stede did a couple seconds ago.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Oh, I fucked up.”

Hornigold shrugs.

“No, you didn’t,” Stede says, but only to mollify. “Come here.”

And Ed goes, walking backward from Hornigold, knife still at the ready, until he’s at Stede’s side, until all is well in the world again.

For a couple of heartbeats at least.

“Well, well, well,” Hornigold is watching them like they’ve walked into his cabin, like they’re on trial. “You two really do make quite the pair.”

“How long have you known?” Ed asks, and sounds only tired now.

“Oh, please. What else would make you want to actually retire, instead of going out with a bang? I just didn’t want to believe you’d risk it all for... this.”

Stede is far too used to people looking him up and down with enough derision to make an elephant blush, but Edward himself is really on edge, it appears, because he doesn’t take it all that well.

The very ottoman that’s survived... quite a lot in their time together, suffers its first serious injury when he, again, moves quicker than the eye can see, jabbing his dagger into its arm rest, where Hornigold’s hand was a second ago.

“I’m gonna make you a little promise,” he growls. “Right here, right now. If you touch a hair on his head, I’ll gut you like a fish, and make sure I finish the job this time.”

“Ah, true love,” Hornigold sniggers. “Makes you say the wildest things.”

“That’s enough,” Stede says mildly, and it’s meant in equal parts for both of the men before him.

Everything feels a bit clearer now, since they don’t have to hide anymore - he can just walk up to Ed, lay a hand on his shoulder, and watch as he turns around, his face crumpling just a little bit. Stede smiles at him. It’s alright.

Ed sighs a sigh he must have been holding for a very long time, and this time when he stands by Stede’s side, he doesn’t go far, his hand finding Stede’s, his shoulder pressing close.

“Cute,” Hornigold smiles.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stede says calmly. “And tell me what you want. ”

“Oh, right this, right here,” Hornigold gestures. “You really are something special, to have this much sway over him. I was hoping you might do what I couldn’t, and actually convince him that I mean him no harm.”

“You’re not building a very solid case for yourself so far.”

“Aw, come on now. You don’t look it, but you are a pretty good pirate. So’s Edward. So am I. This is how we do.”

“You haven’t been a pirate for a very long time, mate,” Edward observes darkly.

“Well, not in name, no. But I meant what I said - and what I said, to catch you up, Stede-”

We’re not on a first name basis, thank you very much, Stede almost, almost shoots back.

“-is that I want the same things you want, Edward. I want you safe. Hell, I made sure to hang you, extremely publicly, to help with that! No one will think twice about even the faintest possibility of Blackbeard coming back alive, in Nassau, of all places! You can have your retirement, and we can all have our one last big battle - just the outcome of it may bring different things to different people.”

“And who are your people, then?” Stede squints. “How do you benefit from that? Because the last time we saw each other, you were more than happy to play Rogers’ lapdog-”

“He’s with the East India Company,” Edward waves his hand wearily. “Who the fuck knows what they want.”

“But-” Stede starts, and then, after devoting his thoughts to the issue of Vane for a second or two, restarts. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, ” Hornigold laughs. “Imagine the surprise on Rogers’ face when I of all people fuck him over. There. You know mine, and I know yours. Next stop, Nassau.”

“Not so fast,” Stede protests. “You’re betraying the Crown as we speak?”

“Depends on how you classify the act of betrayal, really. The Company is part of it, after all. As for when and how their interests align with the Crown’s...”

“You’re a lunatic,” Stede shakes his head.

“Now you’re getting it. I’ll see you in Nassau.”

It’s all a bit underwhelming, really - where Stede expected a downright showdown, maybe, Hornigold just walks out, and his people with him, and after calming down their crew, catching up all of them, intercepting Vane who’s somehow remembered he should probably check in... He finally, finally has Edward all to himself.

The cabin is quiet, now that the immediate danger has passed, and Ed hasn’t left his side all this time, but now they can finally cross the rest of the distance between them, slotting into an embrace that means to not only quite literally keep them on their feet, but also stitch them back together, one shared breath at a time.

“I’m killing him before this is over,” Edward mutters into Stede’s chest, and Stede’s hand in his hair only stops for a fraction of a second.

“Alright.”

“Seriously, if he knows about us and stays alive, there will be no disappearing.”

“Of course.”

“And I don’t believe for a second he doesn’t have an angle of his own. He’s up to something.”

“I bet.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t keep me as ransom or something, he could have pulled so many strings with that-”

“Ed,” Stede sighs, putting enough distance between them to hold Edward’s head in his hands, take a proper look at him, and when he does that, whatever he was about to say next never makes it past his lips.

Edward looks exhausted, weary down to his bones, eyes sunken, hair unkempt, a tension to every single line of his beloved face that Stede isn’t really used to seeing anymore - faintly, distantly, it reminds him of how Ed looked when he first found him, way back when.

“It’s only been a couple of days,” he fusses quietly. “What did he do to you?”

Ed’s clenched jaw, the way his gaze darts away, even the way his lips move soundlessly, it’s all enough of an answer. Almost.

The storm almost consumes them. Hornigold drives his men incredibly, improbably hard, the ship enveloped in eerie smoke, rushing, rushing to intercept... For something that’s just supposed to be one big show, he sure is incredibly blase about potentially sacrificing literally all of his people, and Edward watches in mute, terrified wonder as he attacks a ship seemingly at random, right in the middle of the fucking storm, too...

Watches all that, and before he himself can join the fight, if only to save his own hide, the Spanish are riding in, right on their tail, intercepting, and heroically “saving” the unassuming merchant vessel from the horrors of Blackbeard.

The sea rages against them, as if it knows, too, knows that what’s happening isn’t right, and since nobody is paying him any mind, Edward stares into the waves, and thinks he can see the Kraken looking back, long tendrils of tentacles unfurling underneath them, ready to bring them under, red eyes like angry embers boring into Ed’s own skull.

See? This is what happens when you let the story get out of hand.

In this story, the Spanish capture Blackbeard in a very dramatic turn of events, and sail for Havana, Hornigold’s own ship following close by, only lightly battered, transforming completely again long before they reach port - there’s a cold, calculated determination to every single one of Hornigold’s moves, and ever so briefly, Ed is reminded of himself, at the height of Blackbeard’s infamy. 

It used to be so easy.

It used to be so easy, because they’d long since figured out their easiest strategies, his crew - but really Izzy’s crew, at that point - working like a well oiled machine to deliver quick mayhem and get out, leaving only smoke and stories in their wake.

The Havana harbor bells are tolling seemingly even before their ships drop anchor, but all that Edward can think about is Stede and The Revenge, trying to spot even the tiniest hint of any of them among the soldiers and the merchants... The chaos that reigns the second someone announces the Spanish have got Blackbeard, though, that overrides any and all sense of calm within the harbor, and for the briefest of moments, Ed thinks he might be able to get away, make a run for it, but then there’s a gun pointed squarely at his head.

“You and I are going to take a little walk,” Hornigold announces pleasantly, and there’s really no choice after that.

Days, weeks, ages later, Ed will not have stopped wondering how Ben knew exactly where to find The Revenge, but right now, it doesn’t matter. His head is thrumming with the disgust of it all, with the urge to bodily hurt the man next to him, and even when Stede is right by his side again, that thrum never really goes away, only quiets down to something more mellow, but no less incessant.

“I want out,” he confesses quietly when they’re finally, finally alone, when he can hear his own heartbeat again, after he’s told Stede what he’s seen. “Just in case you were still wondering if I’m serious. That fucker is not a pirate. He’s not a soldier either, he’s... He’s something else, and if men like him are about to start running the world, I want no fucking part of it, Stede. We’re taking this ship, and we’re sailing her to Nassau, and when that’s over, you and I are gonna point her towards the damn sunset and never be seen or heard from again, you hear me?”

He doesn’t even realize his own voice is wavering, cracking, until Stede is bringing him close, closer still, a firm, warm embrace that momentarily manages to block out all incoming noise, light, everything that isn’t Stede’s arms around him, and Ed breathes - just breathes. Reminds himself how to do it.

“I hear you,” Stede murmurs, alongside a kiss or half a dozen into his hair. “I hear you.”

They get the crew together. That’s all that really matters, anyway, and it’s all that’s left to do - they’re allowed that time, that one evening before they have to leave here, and so they all sit piled up in the cabin, hidden from outside view, and it feels just like the old days, just like all the other impossible, dangerous bullshit things they have asked these people to do, complete with Roach’s sandwiches for dinner, Frenchie’s lute, Buttons’ incomprehensible prophecies, hell, even Izzy’s complaining as he’s forcefully integrated into the circle, made to sit down and surrounded by people.

“We sail for Nassau before sunrise,” Stede says simply. “We wait for Vane’s signal, and we follow his lead, since his will be the ships that take us all the way there. If we’re lucky, Hornigold will notice us leaving a second too late. If we’re not, he’ll be on our tails the whole way there. Either way, this is easily our last stop before it all goes to hell, and the very last option for all of you who would rather stay safe, to do so. Havana is a big port. Ships go to every corner of the world from here. I’m sure many, if not all of them could use one more pair of capable hands on board.”

The silence lasts about two seconds after that.

“Captain, we’ve been over this,” Roach groans.

“Seriously, man,” Pete shakes his head.

“I appreciate the pathos of it all, I really do,” Lucius raises his quill from the notes he’s been scribbling into the near-full ship’s log, “but none of us are leaving you before it’s all done. Except for Jim, I guess. Sorry, Olu.”

Oluwande only waves his hand dismissively from somewhere in the middle of the main pile, grumbling something along the lines of fuck me, I guess.

“Jim had their reasons,” Stede says calmly. “And so do all of you. Thank you. It’s been an honor traveling with you, and I promise I’ll do my absolute best to make sure that you see this through to the end safe and unharmed.”

“Yeah, about that,” Lucius points with his quill again, as if it’s just an extension of his hand at this point. “Do you have any idea at all about what you’re actually going to do? Because no offense, but the plans are a little on the vague side so far, at least from where I’m standing. Please correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Oh, have a little confidence, man,” Ivan groans.

“Yeah, seriously, the Captains have been working hard enough,” Fang adds.

“We could come up with something more concrete than sailing directly into battle, preferably before we’re within sight of Nassau,” Izzy grumbles, nearly invisible, slotted somewhere between the two, and receives something that sounds like a jab in the ribs for his troubles. “Fuck- come on! It’s a valid concern!”

Ed, exhausted down to his bones and pretty much ready to fall asleep on Stede the first chance he gets, can’t help but smile - somehow, despite every single twist of fate they’ve been through over their time together as a very unlikely crew, all of them always end up back here, sitting all together, squabbling over completely immaterial things, just a pack of utterly random people brought together by sheer chance, and Stede’s absolute determination to pick just the most unlikely people to man his ship once upon a time.

It gives him hope.

“I hear your concerns,” Stede puts on his best Captain voice, “and I will address them shortly, I promise-”

“Do you all remember when we first met?” Ed takes over from his cozy spot, feet in Stede’s lap, and even though he can feel himself barely stringing sentences together, the others pay attention immediately. “The first fuckery we pulled? It was foggy as shit, the French were headed straight for us, we were a lighthouse?”

“I was the fog horn,” Wee John raises his hand.

“You were a fucking incredible foghorn, mate,” Ed nods. “Anyway, that was a proper fuckery. And I’ll be damned if we don’t go out with another one. I’m still Blackbeard, and not some cheap knock-off either. Stede here still makes for an amazing Gentleman Pirate. So we’ll put on a fucking show.”

There’s still so much to do before that, but first, Ed sleeps. He makes a valiant effort at trying to show Stede just how much he’s missed him, but then he just got out of the very bath that Stede had drawn for him, and the bed is so welcoming to his tired bones, and he knows, he knows Stede would never be mad at him... And so he sleeps, long and solid, and dreams of fuck-all, and there’s a mercy in that, too.

They leave before sunrise because they absolutely have to, the sky only barely tinted pink at the edges, the entire crew working quick and quiet to get the ship going, and the morning air is chilly to the point of being refreshing, even.

“You figure it’ll be enough?”

That’s Izzy by his side now, Ed having only been paying attention to Stede in the ratlines, and for now, he just allows his former First Mate to stand there, questioning his plans like he’s always done.

He has a right to it, after all.

“Has to be,” Edward shrugs. “If not, will you do me a favor?”

He knows it’s like dangling a bone in front of a dog, and Izzy’s eagerness is almost endearing, in a way.

“What is it?”

Ed’s answer, and Izzy’s subsequent response, are both drowned out by all the noises of the ship finally starting to move, and all that’s left for the theoretical onlooker to decipher, is Izzy’s grimace of utter horror, and Edward’s almost benevolent smile.

It’ll just have to be enough.

And so they sail for Nassau. In his frankly fairly short career at sea, Stede’s been through a lot - naval battles, getting shot at, getting stabbed, getting hanged... You name it, he’s suffered it, and somehow, miraculously, he’s always come out unscathed at the other end, mostly through sheer dumb luck, he supposes...

But this feels different. This feels like taking all the luck they’ve ever had, and gambling with the gods with it. It feels like David taking a silly little boat and sailing it directly into the massive storm on the horizon he knows is hiding Goliath, but doing it anyway. Yes, they mean to be dead and gone by the end of it, but only metaphorically speaking, of course, only where the stories are concerned.

Considering the alternative is... debilitating on a good day.

But they have a plan, they do. When Vane heard it, he called them both maniacs, but there was a respect in his voice Stede doesn’t really remember ever hearing from him, and here he is now, him and nearly a dozen other ships, detaching from Havana one anchor at a time so that the trading route all the way to the Bahamas looks only marginally busier than usual.

The evidence of what they’re really up against starts showing in earnest as they follow that route - they get stopped by patrol after patrol, mostly British and Spanish, but Stede and crew have their papers, and they also have Vane’s papers now, a very official-looking set of orders from the East India Company to regroup in Nassau, and despite the endless scrutiny, those hold.

Hornigold can’t be far behind, that much genuinely everyone is sure of, but he’ll make himself known again when and where it suits him, and in a way, Ed was probably right - they’ll have to deal with him somehow before all this is over.

Ed... Stede looks at him, never really stops looking at him, in fact, all the way to Nassau, and he sees... He sees himself, half dead on a Spanish ship, just the smoke and an outline of an unfamiliar face, you’ve heard of me?

He sees the two of them in The Revenge’s crow’s nest, pulling off the first ever proper fuckery of Stede’s life, and eating croissants and marmalade after, and on deck, reading stories to the crew and talking, they were always talking in those early days...

Their first kiss still tastes of saltwater on Stede’s lips, and even though he’s had many more to compare it against since, it’s still right there, in a prime spot in the innermost chambers of his heart, exhilarating and frightening in equal doses, with the immense power it held, to change the entire trajectory of Stede’s life from that point forward.

So much has happened since, so much good mingled with the occasional sprinkle of something thoroughly bad, but here they are right now, hoping to die and begin anew in the very same broad stroke, their sunset awaiting them when both of them close their eyes - they just have to get there.

They last drop anchor about half a day’s journey away from Nassau - the strip of land is nothing more than a glorified sandbar, but the beach is the most spectacular thing Stede thinks he’s ever seen, the sand bleached almost white, the sea a breathtaking azure, and he almost, almost considers suggesting that they just end it here, just stay here and claim this pointless piece of land for themselves...

But they know what must be done, and they’ve come this far, and this is not where they’ll watch their last ever, first ever sunset.

“Vane’s on his way, look.”

That’s Anne, bringing his attention away from the sand, and towards the near horizon, where Vane’s sloop has come to a halt as well, close enough to The Revenge, and a rowboat has detached from it, slowly making its way towards the sandbar.

Stede’s hand finds Ed’s, and squeezes, and Ed offers him a smile.

“Figure maybe we could actually call it a day and settle down right here,” he suggests the very same thing Stede didn’t dare say out loud, and Stede loves him so completely in that moment that genuinely nothing else matters.

“Let’s.”

Vane makes it over to the meeting spot eventually, and none of them are comfortable, no shade to be found anywhere around, and nothing to do but wait, and so they all just watch the horizon for a bit - some of the ships passing them by are Vane’s, sent ahead to establish themselves close to Nassau, some very much aren’t, but they all seem so tiny and toylike from here, like they could just watch the entirety of the time of pirates, what’s left of it, unfold from right over here, if they were patient enough to wait.

“Guess this is it?” Anne is the first to speak up, her elbow firmly linked with Mary’s, the two of them never really looking away from the sea, so far away from their home now, so very determined to go back.

“Suppose so,” Edward nods, seemingly preoccupied with doodling half-incomprehensible shapes into the sand with the tip of his boot.

“Pretty sure I spotted Hornigold’s on our tail,” Vane grumbles, he, too, uncharacteristically subdued for once, having taken the news about their Captain of old still kicking fairly well - after a bottle or two. “You sure you don’t want to come aboard now, Edward, give Bonnet here a proper head start?”

“I’m fucking sure. We’re waiting. Stede’s gotta get there early tomorrow morning, you know the goddamn plan.”

“And besides,” Stede smiles, although it tastes distinctly bitter, “there’s a couple things left to do.”

They don’t drink about it - not all that much, anyway. Roach has once again managed to conjure up a feast out of nothing, although it might be made a bit easier this time by the fact that they don’t really know if they’ll need any of their provisions past tomorrow. And so they all sit out on deck, The Revenge rocking gently on some very tender waves, and they eat and talk and laugh like it’s just any other night, just one out of the innumerable, mercifully peaceful ones they’ve had on this journey - once again, there’s stories to be told, lute melodies to listen to and try and make up lyrics for, and stars to watch as they slowly start appearing on the night sky...

And absolutely no talk of tomorrow to be heard anywhere, since right here, right now, it really doesn’t matter.

Edward himself laughs, and slaps people’s backs, and sings along at the top of his lungs, never straying far from Stede’s side, and it’s only when they retreat to their cabin that he grows quiet, his movements slower, his eyes sadder.

They wash each other clean one last time, taking their time with it, with running their hands across the other’s skin, familiar dips and beloved curves, and Stede washes and combs out Ed’s hair, tender with the curls, and Ed applies what’s left of his salve to Stede’s tattoo, although it’s long since healed, and then, at long last, they take each other to bed.

There’s no intruding on that affair, so all that’s left to be said before they’re torn apart once more, is this - somehow, in the vastness of the whole wide ocean, they found each other once upon a time, and then found each other again, and have been rediscovering their way to one another all the while, time and time and time again, until they could both walk it blind, until the rich tapestry of their bodies and their emotions, their words and their thoughts, became the only treasure map worth following.

They reassure each other of that, that one last night, holding each other so close, there’s simply no room left for any doubt to creep in between them. 

They’re up again much too soon, way before sunrise this time, and Edward rubs sleep out of his eyes as he gets dressed, the heavy leathers cold against his skin. He sits motionless as Stede applies his kohl for him, perhaps a bit too motionless, jaw clenched, face upturned, completely at Stede’s mercy.

The moment ends unexpectedly, with Stede’s warm hands cradling Ed’s cheeks, and Ed’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey, no, mate, don’t get that stuff on you-”

Stede kisses him, long and deep, and when they come apart, there’s smudges of black on his cheeks.

Despite himself, Edward laughs at the sight.

“Well then,” Stede grins, his voice only wavering a little bit, “give ‘em hell, Blackbeard.”

Ed opens his mouth to respond quickly, but no words come out just yet, so he just stands up, and he takes in the sight of Stede before him.

The black tie, Stede unwraps from around his own neck and adjusts around Ed’s, fiddles with it until it’s, well, as perfect as it’ll get - and probably spends a bit too long doing it, because it’s Ed’s turn to grab at him, grab both of his hands.

“Hey. It’s going to be alright, mate. It’ll all be over soon.”

“I’ll see you at sunset?” Stede asks, almost childlike.

“See you at sunset, Gentleman Pirate.”

At which point they simply have to go about burning the world down.

Before that, though, Stede simply has to watch, just watch, as Edward lowers himself into the rowboat prepared for him, and the entire crew stand lined up there by the railing, sending him off as well, silently.

“Well, break a leg, I guess.”

Mostly silently.

“Isn’t that for, like, thespians?”

“The hell’s a thespian?”

“You know, like theater actors.”

“Man, then it’s perfect for us.”

“Just be safe, Ed- fuck, don’t glare at me like that, you’re so damn scary with that face paint on!”

“See? Thespians, the lot of us.”

Stede watches, mute with nerves and premature grief, as Ed rows the boat over to Vane’s ship, disappears from him for good, and time stops for him there, for a little while.

“Captain? We gotta get going if we want to be in Nassau early.”

“Right!” Stede sniffs, shaking it all off, and looking at his crew, who are all looking at him now, appearing, if anything, slightly worried. “Let’s go, then. Anchors aweigh!”

He thinks if he just never stops until he collides with Edward again by the end of this, he might make it through in one piece.

The cabin is almost eerily quiet as he himself gets changed, The Revenge making good time on favorable winds, the floor under his feet swaying only gently, almost as if to comfort him. 

He spends some time picking his outfit in the auxiliary wardrobe, but really kind of just standing there, eyes closed, taking it all in, and so the call of ‘Land ho!’ comes entirely too early for his liking, and he stumbles out still adjusting his frills.

“We’re coming up on Nassau- oh holy fucking shitballs. Mary, get in here! You need to see this!”

That’s Anne, evidently having come to fetch him, but now standing stock still, staring.

“What?” Stede demands, checking himself over for stains.

“What’s the holdup- holy crap, Bonnet,” Mary guffaws the second she steps in.

“What? What?!”

“We’ve just... never actually seen you in your full, uh, Gentleman Pirate getup, is all,” Anne says, still slightly dazed.

“Yeah. You look like a creme tart,” Mary adds. “In a good way, though! Mostly in a good way.”

“Oh,” Stede chuckles. “Well, here I am. I’ve had this one for a while, actually...”

It’s a wonder that this particular suit even survived... everything up to this point, and it doesn’t even really fit as well as it used to, the coat a little tight in the shoulders now, the trousers a little loose in the waist... But it still is a nearly blinding shade of azure blue, the silk almost untouched in all its shiny glory, all of the ruffles and fabric flowers and, and engraved buttons having survived, and even though Stede himself has changed immeasurably since he last put it on, it still offers a certain measure of comfort.

A good year ago, he really did think this was an appropriate thing to wear out at sea, god bless him, and right now, he’s going to need certain people to look at him, and come to the immediate conclusion that he still is that hapless fool who didn’t know port from starboard.

He readjusts the impractical, beautiful lace of his cravat, smooths out the edges and tips of the beard and mustache that also wasn’t there a year ago but that he refuses to shave now, and not an hour later, the Gentleman Pirate steps off his ship and into the port of Nassau.

“Alright, so just - let me get this straight. Hornigold survives you gutting him like a whelp, somehow. He makes a name for himself in the British Navy, somehow staying in the shadows all this time . Then he joins the East India Company at some point, to do... what? How did we never run into him, all these years?”

 Edward groans, letting his head fall back and hit the headrest of his selected armchair, accepting the bottle Vane hands him.

“Mate, who even knows at this point. He wants me to think it’s all because he actually is a pirate at heart, still, but I think his idea of pirate got warped beyond all recognition, at some point. I don’t know. I don’t care. I just don’t want him getting in my way.”

“Which is all that he wants to do.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Edward nods, closing his eyes for a moment, imagining Stede is still standing over him, applying his stupid Blackbeard face for him. Simpler times.

“What do you want?” he asks Vane, eyes still closed.

Vane produces a sound like a derisive pfshah, and when Edward finally looks at him, he’s granted a sight of the man actually looking somewhat lost for a second.

“Oh, you’re serious?” Vane laughs, and it’s only the slightest bit unsteady.

Ed shrugs.

“Fucking hell, man. Beyond finishing this bottle?”

“Humor me,” Ed gestures, almost too tired to raise his hand all of a sudden - but it’s not exhaustion weighing down his bones now, no.

It’s something more akin to a great sadness, even here, at the very precipice of reaching everything that he’s ever wanted - it’s having to live and go on with the knowledge that he never might, that seeing Stede’s face this morning might easily have been the last time, and it’s also knowing that no matter how today turns out, there will be no returning to the way things were just yesterday. Hence the brandy before midday.

“Brother, I don’t rightly know,” Vane goes for surprising honesty, looking pensive himself, which, on him, kind of resembles a gassy stomach. “What is it that we’ve always wanted? All the gold we can get our hands on? Infamy so fucking loud people shake in their boots at the slightest mention of our names?”

“Used to be,” Edward chuckles.

“Yeah. Used to be. Now? I spent months waiting for you. Dangling the seal in people’s faces. Having to play politics just to survive. Trying to convince them all that there even was a last battle to be had... It’s all over now. You can see that, right? The age of pirates, or whatever. It was good while it lasted, but I think it died the day you ran into Stede fucking Bonnet and decided to grow old with him.”

“You might be right,” Ed huffs. “Or it died when Morgan did, and we all just tried and failed to walk in his footsteps. Or it died with Hornigold, the first time. Or Kidd and Bellamy, or Jack, or all the poor fuckers sunk in Tortuga. Or it dies with us.”

Vane watches him warily, and even though they both are dressed to the nines to play their respective roles, right here, right now, there’s no hiding from one another.

“We’ve been at this for fucking decades, Charles,” Ed goes on. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to retire quietly. I don’t even have the luxury. You’ve done most of my work for me-” he reaches across the table to grab at the seal, stowing it in his jacket before Vane can so much as blink, “and for that I’m grateful. But if I have to bring Blackbeard back to life one last time, and then watch him die, then I’m gonna do it my way. I won’t be surprised if you decide to fuck me over halfway through, but know this - I’ve come this far, and I’m not stopping for anybody, so I suggest you figure out what it is you actually want before I have to run you over, too.”

Vane stares. Then he cackles.

“Thank fuck you still have this going for you, at least. I think I’ll enjoy this.”

“You might as well. Although I might have to burn your ship down.”

“Yeah, I figured. Ain’t even my ship anymore, not really. You’re welcome to it.”

Ed leans over the table between them to toast with him, and it’s almost companionable, almost nice.

“You wanna tell me how you’re actually going to do it?” Vane asks, like a curious kid. “How you’re gonna make everyone believe you’re really dead?”

“Nu-uh,” Edward warns him, wagging his finger at him. “Then I’d really have to burn down your ship, with you on it.”

“Keep your fucking secrets, then,” Vane laughs.

“Captain! Captain!”

The pounding on the door comes out of nowhere, and Vane and Edward both startle.

“What?! Fucking hell- what is it?” Vane hollers.

The door flies open, and two of Vane’s crew members stomp in, dragging a third man in between them.

“We found a stowaway, Captain! Hiding on the crew deck, looks like he crawled in through one of the gun ports! Not too long ago, either, he’s still sopping wet.”

“I told you I’m not a fucking stowaway! I’ve got an important message that I need to deliver!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Edward groans. “Couldn’t stay away a minute, could you?”

“Ha!” Vane guffaws. “You can leave him here, boys. He’s harmless.”

They drop Izzy like a sack of, indeed, sopping wet potatoes, and even though he tries to salvage his dignity somewhat by standing straight and readjusting his leathers, he’s still a miserable sight.

“The fuck do you want, Iz?” Edward sighs. “I thought I told you to stay with The Revenge.”

“And I was going to,” Izzy scoffs, shuffling around, trying to figure out where to stand or sit - still uncomfortable in this role, not being Ed’s second, not being told. “But they can take care of themselves-”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Edward scoffs. “There’s a plan in place. You were supposed to make sure they made it into port in one piece, and you were supposed to watch the damn ship-”

“Which are all things someone else can do in my stead, easy as fucking breathing,” Izzy dismisses him surprisingly sharply - sharply enough that Ed’s eyebrows ride up high, while Vane giggles, evidently endlessly amused.

“Now listen here, you little...” Ed starts, but he barely has the energy to go through with it, not faced with Izzy’s inexplicable but no less present rage with which he approaches the situation.

“No, you listen, for once. I know you’re happy enough to look like you want to get yourself killed, but if you actually want to see this through, you’ve got to stop thinking shit will just magically go your way. You don’t have me to pull the strings in the background to actually make sure that happens.”

“Whoa,” Vane marvels, and Ed winces.

“Come on.”

“You don’t have to admit it for it to be true,” Izzy scoffs. “Decades on, I know how to tell that you’re just coasting.”

“You’re starting to really get on my nerves, Iz,” Ed warns.

“Good. Means you’re paying attention. Hornigold’s going to stab you in the back.”

“That’s your big revelation?!” Vane guffaws. “Something anyone with half a brain could have seen coming from miles off?”

“I know that, Iz,” Ed sighs. “Kind of counting on it, actually.”

“Yeah, I heard that part of the plan,” Izzy waves his hand. “You think you know what he’s going to do, but he knows exactly what it is that you’re going to attempt. One way or another. And he’ll wait. You let him see what actually, really matters to you, and he’s going to wait, and then he’s going to use it against you. Use him. ”

Despite himself, something within Edward constricts painfully at the thought, at even the faintest possibility... But no. This isn’t our last sunset.

And besides, Stede and him have accounted for that. There’s no reason to think Hornigold is in any way altruistic without an agenda of his own, and even though he’s loath to admit it, Edward knows old Ben is one last true unknown left in the equation, a spanner in the works just waiting to send them all to a grinding halt.

“He’d be stupid not to,” he shrugs. “There’s no way I see this playing out without him trying to kick us in the fucking shins when we’re down. It’s fine, Izzy. I’ll deal with him. He’s not going to ruin this for me, do you understand?”

“I understand you might want to believe that,” Izzy says a bit cryptically, in Ed’s esteemed opinion. “But there’s always the option to kick him first.”

“What are you thinking?” Ed sighs - even after all this time, especially after all this time, it’s so easy to tell when Izzy is just unduly excited about something. Like a dog with a bone.

“Well,” his long-gone First Mate declares like he’s laying out some grand plan that will save them all, “he can’t betray you if I betray you first.”

And wouldn’t you know it, that just might be the case.

Back in his old life, Stede had had the privilege to exist in many a fancy space, many an opulent palace someone brought the blueprints for and had someone else build for them, and so he knows just how quickly these blatant displays of wealth can rise up from the ground, seemingly out of nowhere... 

But this, this is a whole ‘nother league. What the Governor’s people have managed to do with Nassau in the little amount of time afforded to them is nothing short of astonishing, in a slightly concerning way. He still remembers the place when he first stepped foot here, utterly out of his depth and so excited to see for himself the famed Republic of Pirates, and instead dipping his toes into someone’s departed lunch the first few steps he took. It was grimy, and dark, and dangerous, and there certainly weren’t any streets to speak of, or market stalls, or even benches lining said streets...

It’s like someone took Nassau, stripped it of everything unfavorable in a very violent way, quite literally scrubbed its streets clean, and started building anew. There’s people out in said streets, yes, but they’re a) mostly soldiers, and b) incredibly uptight looking, as if they know that the second they acknowledge where it is that they’re currently living, the entire charade will collapse like a house of cards.

And it’s chilling, because it reminds Stede so much of the place he used to live, used to call home, and he wants nothing more than to be as far as humanly possible from here.

But the Gentleman Pirate, he belongs, and he will help Stede see this through to the end.

As he stands, purposefully louder and brighter than even the most elegantly dressed merchants and ship captains in this port, it’s not difficult at all to garner enough attention so that someone important finally notices - it helps that he announces himself by his real name with the dock master, and immediately requests an audience with the Governor citing important information that simply must be relayed, at which the man simply laughs in his face, but sends a runner anyway when he thinks Stede isn’t looking, up to the aforementioned palace overlooking the harbor.

“I figure we’ve got about an hour at most,” Anne grumbles, watching the hubbub of the town by Stede’s side. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“I imagine I was born ready,” Stede smiles, and hopes it looks only halfway sad. “You know what to do, yes?”

“You mean like we haven’t gone over it half a dozen times?” Mary huffs, squeezing his arm when he grimaces at her. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s somebody left in this town who wants to see it burn.”

“Let’s hope so,” Stede sighs.

Not an hour later, he finally gets arrested.

It’s a loud, fanciful affair because the Governor no doubt wants it to be, an entire squad of soldiers marching into the docks, stomping and hollering loudly enough for everyone and their mother to notice, and Stede faces them proudly, a big smile on, arms outstretched as if to invite them on board The Revenge.

“Gentlemen! All of this for little old me? I must say I’m flattered.”

“Stede Montague Bonnet!” the soldier up front, with the fanciest looking uniform, hollers back. “You’re under arrest for high treason, for which the penalty is death! You will surrender your ship to be inspected and claimed by His Majesty’s Navy, and anyone on board will also be arrested and charged immediately with aiding and abetting a known criminal!”

“Oh dear,” Stede sighs dramatically, looking back over his shoulder at Buttons, currently the only crew member left on board. “Are you ready for that, Mister Buttons?”

“Like a wee lad for his first goat fuckin’, Cap’n,” Buttons says solemnly.

Stede frowns at him.

“As you say. I’ll see you soon.”

“Give ‘em hell, Cap’n.”

Give ‘em hell, Blackbeard. See you at sunset, Gentleman Pirate. Stede clenches his jaw, and meets his newest captors with the brightest smile he can muster.

They cuff him to the background noise of ‘Search the ship!’ and ‘Where’s the rest of his fucking crew?’, and he can’t help but keep smiling, even when the obvious leader of this merry bunch gets all up in his face, and glares.

“If we find you’re up to anything untoward, Bonnet...”

“You’ll what?” Stede beams. “Sentence me to death? I’d say the proverbial ship has sailed on that one.”

The Captain of the guard - or whatever title he holds that Stede doesn’t bother guessing at - glares a moment longer, but then he simply scoffs, and gestures for some of his men to accompany them. Here, Stede’s premonitions fortunately come true, because no one really hurts a hair on his head, and they march him through the streets in one very obvious direction - looks like his request for an audition with the Governor will be granted.

He’s also granted the opportunity to watch - they meet with so many patrols of soldiers through the streets, and so few citizens, and the closer to the fort they get, the less the town looks like a town, and more like a military operation of some sort. The Governor had to strike down hard to keep it in check, which, oddly enough, also gives Stede hope.

The fort itself is only halfway constructed, rising from the ruins of whatever stood for a main point of interest on this island before, and aiming to surpass it on every level - the sheer wealth being poured into every inch of its renovation is hard to miss, and Stede can only wonder how it will look a year, two, five from now, how quickly this town will forget its humble beginnings, clashing against the pristine white stone of these walls.

What they have managed to rebuild, quickly and efficiently, are the prison cells, and they leave Stede sitting in one for a good long while, also for show - he has an absolutely perfect view of the courtyard and the gallows, the oldest trick in the book, but he simply pays it no mind, closes his eyes instead, and enjoys the very last few moments of relative peace and quiet for what they are.

He wonders if news of his presence here will make it all the way to the mainland, all the way over to Barbados - maybe the letter that he wrote back at Anne and Mary’s has reached his Mary and the children already, maybe this news will, first...

It doesn’t really matter. His once-wife has helped him die before, and he has nothing but gratitude in store for her. His children will grow up loved and cared for, and if Stede makes it through today, and half a world away, he will make sure to send them something to help along with that, even if it’s only another letter.

But Mary’s place, and Alma’s and Louis’, is on this side of the world - the clean side, the white stone, the broad streets, the neverending progress, the towns where you don’t have to be afraid to walk down an avenue at night... 

Stede’s own is... It’s wherever the wind will blow, wherever Edward and him can be together, without anyone laying a claim to their lives - even if it’s at the bottom of the sea.

“Bonnet! Stand up. Come with me.”

That’s a different soldier, rousing him from his momentary reverie, and Stede goes, follows the man and his entourage around corners and down bustling corridors of the fort, until they arrive at a door flung wide open, and beyond it, behind a desk that only belongs to people who fancy themselves capable of running the world, sits Governor Woodes Rogers.

He himself has changed a bit since Stede saw him last - an impressive, still fresh-looking scar bisects his handsome face from hairline to jaw, only avoiding his eye by sheer luck, probably, the whole of it perhaps a testament to just how difficult it really was to retake Nassau.

Other than that, he remains polished to absolute perfection, like he’s finally where he belongs, and Stede is glad he himself has dressed for the occasion, because Rogers almost manages to match him for pomp, his Navy uniform thoroughly gleaming.

“Governor!” He greets the man jovially, compassionately drawing a mirror image of the scar on his own face with both his cuffed hands.  “You look a little worse for wear, if I do say so myself.”

“Whereas you look like you’ve been thriving, Captain Bonnet,” Rogers smirks. “Wherever has Captain Edwards disappeared off to? I liked him.”

“Ah, well,” Stede smiles beatifically. “Let’s just say he’s long since served his purpose. I was happy enough to take over once more.”

“Hmm,” Rogers squints at him, gesturing for him to sit, which Stede accepts with a flair, crossing one leg over another.

“Thank you. Perhaps a glass of water...?”

To his mild, amused surprise, the Governor motions towards the soldier at the door, who disappears without a word.

“Any other outrageous demands before your untimely end?” he asks, and Stede laughs, pleasantly.

“I only ask for a moment of your time.”

“You’ve got it, of course. Why else do you think I called you up here? Imagine my surprise when The Gentleman Pirate invited himself into my port, instead of me having to extend considerable resources to hunt you down on my own. Quite a relief.”

“I aim to please,” Stede says, the very same tone of voice he might use were he to tell the man to eat it instead. “You do understand, however, that I had very little choice.”

“Oh?” Rogers inclines his head.

“Let’s just say that being hunted by you might have proved to be a welcome relief from what I’ve been going through these past couple of weeks,” Stede doesn’t even have to feign the exhaustion, slumping in the chair a little bit. “He never rests. We haven’t restocked in ages, for fear of stopping long enough for him to catch up. He’s been at our tail, relentless, for what feels like an eternity.”

“Who has?” The Governor frowns.

“Blackbeard, of course!”

Rogers blinks once, twice.

“I have it on very good authority that Blackbeard was hanged in Havana just days ago,” he says at long last, slowly, almost cautiously.

“Yes, I imagine that’s what he’d like you to believe,” Stede shakes his head. “It was a fluke. I was there. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of run ins with the man to recognize a lookalike when I see one.”

“Huh,” is the only thing that Rogers says for the longest time, and Stede can see it in his face, even beyond the almost impenetrable facade of polished marble - the faintest hint of doubt. Whether he was in on Hornigold’s play or not remains to be seen.

“Even now, Blackbeard is out there, and he’s gathering forces,” he layers on the intensity. “I will admit to using the Act of Grace I signed for you all that time ago to my personal benefit here and there, but it was all done to survive. I never sunk a single ship, one way or the other, that much I am sure you can confirm. All my waking hours have been consumed by trying to put some distance between Blackbeard and myself. And I am sorry to say I’ve been failing.”

Rogers is outright frowning at him now.

“You were supposed to follow orders. You were expected in Jamaica, and you simply never arrived-”

“Because I was viciously attacked!” Stede cries. “He almost sank us that day, but we managed to escape, and have been running ever since. Eventually, I had nowhere else to turn but back here. He has to be more careful in these waters, but I assure you, he will turn his attention to Nassau before long. You haven’t seen what he’s capable of. You don’t know. He burned an entire town to the ground to slow us down, that was in La Evangelista...”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the spark of interest in Rogers’ eyes - he’s dead sure the events of Treasure Island reached Nassau long before The Revenge ultimately did, and it lends his story just a little bit of credence. 

“Enough,” Rogers raises his hand, then pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks at Stede again. “What are you saying, exactly? Blackbeard is alive and well? I’m willing to believe that, at least. But your relationship with him remains a mystery to me. How do I know you’re not actually on his side, bringing him all the way to our doorstep?”

“This doorstep?” Stede guffaws. “He might be impressive, but I don’t think even he is stupid enough to attack Nassau head on, not just yet. It’s truly impressive, what you’ve managed to build here, in such a short amount of time, too-”

“Flattery will get you precisely nowhere,” Rogers cuts him off. “There’s far too many unknowns in this story. It will take time to confirm what you’re saying.”

“You don’t have time,” Stede insists. “Blackbeard has already started circling, and he won’t stop until he finds a way in, please-”

“You just said he wasn’t stupid enough to attack head on!”

“Today! Tomorrow, who knows?” Stede shrugs innocently.

“You are walking on very thin ice here, Captain Bonnet,” Rogers sighs. “Even if you do offer me valuable intel, even if you do play along up until the very last moment, I have no guarantee that you actually want Blackbeard dead and gone. Because that is what we are talking about here, you must understand. Blackbeard, and the likes of him, eradicated so thoroughly, executed so publicly, that the only way anyone will ever remember their names, will be as a cautionary tale.”

“Oh, believe me,” Stede smiles, able to be completely honest for once, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted, for as long as I can remember.”

The last time they were in Nassau, things seemed so much simpler.

The last time they were in Nassau, Jim was still here, at least.

Oluwande can’t help it, he searches for their face in the crowd, everywhere they turn, but to no avail - the risk was always there, that Jim’s desire for revenge would one day win out over... whatever they’d been building together, but - kind of stupidly, maybe - Oluwande still hoped that they might take him with. That they might not just abandon him.

Shows what he knows.

But right now, they’ve got a plan to follow, which at least gives him something to do - it’s not a very solid plan, hinges on a lot of maybes and what-ifs, but that, too, feels familiar, feels doable. It’s how they’ve always done things.

He barely recognizes Nassau now, though, and hoping to find someone within it who still knows what it used to look like, who still wants to see it returned to that state, albeit for one night only, before the pendulum of the full force of the Navy swings back their way and tamps down their momentary rebellion, is proving a bit impossible.

There’s no backwater taverns to sit in and listen to gossip, not anymore, and the amount of soldiers around every corner makes moving around unseen, or at least unnoticed, really difficult. As the Captains have predicted, Stede gets arrested about thirty seconds after Oluwande and the rest of the crew make it off the ship, and The Revenge herself is subject to a thorough investigation right after that - so they can’t very well return there any time soon.

And so splitting into groups it is for now, combing the city while also trying to remain free men for the time being, and as for a spot they’ll all reconvene in after noon, they’ve chosen the only place that’s still reliably there from back in the old days, although as for how much its nature has changed, there’s no telling.

“At least it’s still a pub,” Oluwande sighs, holding the door open for Anne and Mary as they all invite themselves inside, to get the lay of the land, so to speak - there’s fewer soldiers around here, which offers some hope, but the joint is still terrifyingly clean now, almost offensively so. Makes him wonder what its last known owner would think.

But then, on the other hand, its last known owner was very much known for being an opportunist - if all their speculations prove correct, she’s managed to find an opportunity here, as well.

“You’ll know her when you see her,” he utters as the three of them search for a spot to sit in the quietest corner possible - even now, before midday, the place is bustling, people hurrying to and fro, clearly not just a tavern waiting for its usual nighttime customers. “Tall, big, mean. Ridiculous wig, dressed far too fancy. Oh, fake hand...”

“Fake hand?” Anne cackles.

“Should have led with that, maybe,” Mary huffs.

“It’s wooden, and it looks really lifelike until you notice it’s not moving-”

“Actually, I’ve upgraded to metal.”

As seamlessly as this place seemed to run a second ago, so too does it go frighteningly quiet in the span of a blink of an eye, and Spanish Jackie sits at their table, demonstrating that fake hand in question - an almost surreal-looking contraption of, yes, metal now, which kind of looks like several knives taped together.

Despite himself, Oluwande gulps.

“He-ey Jackie. Fancy running into you again-”

“Yeah yeah. Where’s Jim? About to kill yet another one of my husbands? And who’s this?”

Anne and Mary exchange a glance, but Oluwande takes over before any uncomfortable explanations are in order.

“Jim’s... not around right now. Can we talk somewhere a little more private?”

“This is as private as it gets,” Jackie squints. “Last I heard, something very closely resembling Bonnet’s old crew was signed into service in Tortuga. That you? Because if you’re on the Crown’s side, the door’s right there.”

Said door is currently being blocked by some fairly menacing looking men.

“No, I- We’re definitely not with the damn Crown,” Oluwande mutters, leaning in closer. “But seriously. It’s a long story. We don’t have a lot of time-”

“If you want a second of mine, you’ll tell me,” Jackie says simply, leaning back in her chair.

And so Oluwande does. After all, it might kind of be the last time he gets to tell it. At some point, more of their people start circling the tavern, and he manages to convince Jackie to let them in - she herself grows increasingly amazed and amused by his retelling of what constitutes almost a damn year since he was here last, and by the end of it, she can more or less guess the rest for herself.

“As you can see, Nassau’s been uplifted since you last set foot here,” she says, and Oluwande could swear he hears someone close by spit derisively. “We don’t get to do a lot without the Governor looking over our shoulders. You do realize I’ve let you tell me all of this because he expects me to run along to his side like a bitch in heat and tell him, in turn. It’s how I’ve kept my fucking establishment going all this time.”

“I figured, yeah,” Oluwande sighs.

“But-”

“Oh, there’s a but,” Mary grins.

“-even though some might argue otherwise, I still consider myself a businesswoman first, a bootlicker far second. This place has gone to the dogs, and all it took was a couple of months. If what you’re saying is true, if you’re burning it all down tonight, then be my guest. Hell, I’ll find myself a nice perch and watch.”

“And will you help us?” Oluwande asks hopefully.

“Absolutely not, and this I swear on my completely legitimately signed Act of fucking Grace,” she says so loudly even the people in the streets must surely hear her.

And then she winks at them.

The bells start tolling a little after sundown, after Stede has spent hours trying to find a comfortable position on the cold stone slab that serves as his seat in his cell, and he wakes up from a lovely dream about all the flowers Edward and him will end up planting in their garden some time down the line, and a chill passes through him that has nothing to do with his current living conditions.

“Finally,” he exhales.

And the rest is history.

By the time they make it all the way up to the fort, they’ve passed so many soldiers running in the opposite direction, that it’s a wonder they meet with any resistance at all.

Jackie’s people - who are in no way actually traceably Jackie’s - are already there waiting for them, and Oluwande is relieved, not for the first time that day and hopefully not for the last.

“You all know what we’re looking for,” Anne automatically assumes leadership, which he’s also grateful for, and if the big burly men have any qualms whatsoever about being ordered around by her, they don’t have any time to show it, that’s how firmly and quickly she steps up. “We have to get the Gentleman Pirate out of here and back to his ship, in one piece, and soon. If you get held up, you get left behind. Let’s go. ”

And here, Oluwande receives some more confirmation that he definitely was not made for this life - there’s actual fighting involved where he’s used to just sort of working on sheer dumb luck and usually elbowing his way through a tense situation. Jackie’s people are mostly there to cause a distraction big enough so that Anne, Mary, Oluwande and the others can make it deeper into the fort and search for Stede, accompanied by someone Jackie swears up and down knows the prison cells like the back of his hand - that particular little factoid proves to be true, but then there’s of course people guarding said prison cells.

Before he can say a word, Anne and Mary are charging into battle with a ferocious cry of ‘Uh, excuse me gentlemen, we must be lost’, to which the soldiers unlucky enough to be left behind to guard the fort’s prisoners when the actual fight is starting at sea, respond with amusement first, cries of pain second.

“Oh my god,” Oluwande groans as Mary quite literally skewers a guy with her sword, and next to him, Roach is beaming, getting his meat cleaver ready.

“I know!” he exclaims, and joins the fray.

“Astonishingly well done, all,” Stede greets them as if he’s not in fact rotting in a prison cell, but rather waiting for them over a cup of afternoon tea, and they get him out surprisingly quickly, surprisingly effortlessly.

It stinks, but they’ve got no time to try and figure out if they should care.

“We got Spanish Jackie to help out, of all people,” Oluwande explains as they jog through the fort trying to move away from the sounds of fighting.

“Really! How fantastic,” Stede declares, a bit breathless. “I must make sure to thank her when this is all over.”

“Send her a fruit basket,” Anne utters. “She sent some of her people into the docks to hopefully fuck up a ship here and there. If we’re lucky, the others have managed to recapture The Revenge by now.”

“Splendid,” Stede nods, as if this is just another one of their casual afternoons. “Absolutely amazing. The battle is on, then?”

“No idea,” Oluwande huffs. “The bells have been tolling for a while now, and we thought we heard cannon fire, but we haven’t seen the docks yet...”

“Soon,” Stede nods, as if reassuring himself most of all. “He’ll be back soon.”

By the time they make it back to the water, the town is... well, sort of in an uproar. Ordinary people have certainly cleared out of the docks, merchants have firmly closed their doors, and the Navy can be seen prepping several ships, shouted orders carrying on the brisk breeze blowing in, but when they look to the horizon, they don’t see the advancing forest of masts that they were hoping for.

They don’t really see anything at all, because the sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and if anyone is advancing on Nassau at all, they’re doing a very good job of taking their sweet damn time.

The Revenge sways a little ways away from the heart of the harbor, right where they left her, and also where they left them are the soldiers guarding her, the as-of-yet unnamed emergency evidently not enough to sway them from their posts.

“Fuck,” Oluwande swears as they duck down behind some crates before they’re seen, and the others share his sentiments in more or less the same manner.

“We need to get her back,” Anne insists. “Where are the others?”

“Maybe they just got held up...” Roach suggests, which, in their current predicament, isn’t exactly a cheery thought.

“Whatever happened, we need The Revenge, ” Stede decides firmly. “We can think of the rest of the crew once we’ve gotten her back. Now, if we just come up with a good diversion...”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Oluwande interjects, “there’s four of us, and... twice that of them, just from what I can see at a glance. Maybe we should wait-”

“Oi! Over here, ya big lump!”

That holler isn’t meant for them - over from the other side of the shadows, closer to the pier and the ship herself, someone actually throws something, and it hits one of the guarding soldiers flat on the head.

“Well, I-” Stede gasps, but then their diversion forms itself for them.

It’s a bit fascinating, watching as the shadows coalesce into one resembling a very large man, Wee John stepping out of them and intimidating the investigating soldier by size alone, and then suddenly all the rest are there, charging as one man towards the ship...

Oluwande figures he’s seen, and been a part of stupider plans, and before he knows it, his own feet are carrying him forward, to join in.

This particular scuffle is also over quicker than anticipated, and after a very perfunctory count, and untying the largely incoherent Buttons from the mizzenmast where he’s been hurling hexes and insults for the past god knows how many hours, they quickly go about readying the ship to sail, before the soldiers currently lying knocked out on the pier can come to their senses and call for reinforcements.

“Something’s not right,” Oluwande hears Anne muttering to Stede, who stands at the helm and stares out into the pitch black of the night pouring over the horizon. “He should have been here by now.”

“Maybe he is,” Stede counters, just as tense. “Just... further out. The plan stands. Let’s get her out of this harbor...”

“We might not have time, Cap’n,” Buttons announces grimly, back in his rightful place at the helm as well. “They’re already formin’ a bleedin’ blockade. Look.”

In a very disconcerting mirror image of what they once witnessed in Tortuga, Nassau’s ships have started forming a protective line around the mouth of the bay - and it’s a big bay. And it’s a lot of ships.

“Fuck,” Stede hisses under his breath, somehow still louder than the bells, the shouts, the general noise of something coming to a head.

“Maybe if we just stay here for now-” Anne never finishes her suggestion, because he interrupts her with a stern: “No! If they’re doing that, then Edward’s on the other side. Let’s go. ”

And so, uncertain of what they’re sailing into, without the time or space to notice just how easily they’re sailing away, they go.

From the very first fucking minute, Ed knows none of this will go according to plan. Vane gathers his fleet, scattered enough up until this point so as not to bring too much attention to themselves, and that’s fine. Impressive, even. Edward himself, itching in his leathers at this point without even having drawn his sword yet, checks over the preparations one last time, the sulfur and the gunpowder, and those are all fine.

The wind is good, and the time is good, and there isn’t a single hint of clouds in the sky, and yet, he just knows. Call it instinct. Decades of it.

And then one of the ships closer to Nassau signals to Vane’s, just one word - bells. 

And then the rest is history.

All this time, Edward was so fucking worried about Hornigold catching up with them, that he never stopped to consider that the man might actually try and go for the kill up front.

He understands the situation even before they themselves make it within earshot of Nassau, so to speak - her ships can already be seen coming up out front, forming a very obvious defensive line, which means someone made it back home a while ago. Someone told the powers that be what to expect, and someone has gone and robbed Ed of the showdown he’s been expecting this whole time. 

And so they go to battle already limping.

They could always retreat, wait it out for a couple of days, let them drop their guard, Izzy suggests time and time again, glued to his side, but Edward doesn’t listen. This was always going to be chaos. He needs the chaos. Go do your job, he tells Izzy, and despite the world of doubt and worry in his eyes, Izzy goes.

“Go in wide,” he instructs Vane, who in turn relays that to his man in the crow’s nest, and there the message can be spread to the rest of the ships in their makeshift fleet. “We choke them in, force them back into the bay. Let them think we want in.”

“Whatever you say,” Vane nods grimly, and doesn’t say what they’re both thinking - this feels how it was always going to feel, like flinging yourself against an impenetrable wall in vain hopes of shaking it, but actually standing here and living it is... different. Larger than life, and finite in a bone-chilling way.

And then a single ship detaches herself from the blockade, making their way over to them, and he knows, he knows Hornigold is on board, and he can already predict what he’s going to say to try and sway him, and he finds he doesn’t have it in him to listen a second longer.

He’s in a storm, and someone else is dressed like a painting of him, and Hornigold is shouting his men into submission, he’s running his ship ragged to make it through, and for all his decades of might and experience, Edward is completely powerless against him.

“Do we parlay?” Vane demands to know, everyone is demanding to know, and when Edward closes his eyes, he can feel the thrum of anger under his feet, the monster at the bottom of the sea slowly stirring at the promise of one last chance at a proper fight.

Blackbeard opens his eyes, and he grins, wicked and sharp.

“No, we don’t fucking parlay,” he says, and finally goes about burning the world down.

He doesn’t need anyone to tell him, he doesn’t need visual confirmation, to know that Ed is waiting for him on the other side. The closer The Revenge makes it to the blockade, the stronger the pull Stede feels, to sail past it and into the mouth of the maelstrom, the storm building on the horizon. 

Nobody pays them any mind for now, and so they’re allowed to watch, just watch as a singular vessel breaks apart from the others and approaches the fleet, in an attempt at diplomacy Stede immediately knows is going to fail - he can see the rest of Vane’s ships slowly inching closer to the bay from both sides, he can guess at the shape of the plan, and most importantly, he knows that there’s no turning back now.

The scene plays out as if in slow motion - the Navy sloop with her stark white sails against the night sky, the very last remnants of the day’s light allowing her to shine, and beyond her, the silhouette of Vane’s ship getting closer, not quite the size of The Queen Anne of old, but close. Close.

At first, he thinks it’s his eyes playing tricks on him, but then he realizes what he’s looking at - smoke rolling in great big waves off the deck of Vane’s man’o’war, pitch black and almost unnaturally heavy, dropping into the sea like cannonballs, soon enveloping the entire ship in a cloud of, Stede knows, foul-smelling sulfur vapors...

Blackbeard has joined the fight.

“Left,” Anne by his side interrupts, as if she’s happy to miss the show, elbowing him in the side. “To the left. Look. Look.”

More ships, and Stede’s eyes refuse to cooperate with his brain for a moment, to explain what he’s seeing - an entire fleet of them emerging from around the bend of the bay, as if they mean to join Vane’s vessels, and when he manages to get his spyglass steady enough to concentrate on them, he sees the flags, sees the East India Company symbol there, but...

“It’s a trap,” Mary exhales, and the rest is, as we’ve established several times before, truly history.

Some accounts of the battle will have been preserved for people to read years, decades, ages down the line, and some of them even manage to get their facts straight, up to a point.

The year is 1718, and on an otherwise uneventful evening in early April, Blackbeard brings his fleet to a head before Nassau. No one knows where he managed to scrounge it up, indeed some are still reeling from the clearly utterly fake news of his execution in Havana several days ago, but here he is, and here his ships are, poised to attack.

But Nassau gets lucky. The Governor was informed about the attack well beforehand - by none other than the Gentleman Pirate, some say, while some others cite his connections within the East India Trading Company - and he has a blockade in place impressively quickly, ready to intercept. And not just that - the Company sends their ships to assist, right on time it would seem, advancing on Blackbeard from the side, where he never could have seen them coming...

Nobody can agree on who fired the first cannonball, only that when it flies, the story starts writing itself. The poor sloop that meant to parlay with the pirates is lit up first, utterly obliterated as Blackbeard advances, and that’s sign enough for the allied forces of the Company and the Navy protecting Nassau to abandon all hopes of diplomacy, and fight back.

For all intents and purposes, the battle is lost before it started for Blackbeard, going on numbers alone. Yes, he seems to have almost a dozen ships, but whatever formation they might have meant to keep, is broken apart almost immediately, some of them forced to defend their flank from the Company forces, while some others join Blackbeard in his advance, simply because they have nowhere else to go.

To the casual onlooker, it makes no sense to actually go through with said advance. There’s simply no victory to be found here. Anyone capable of counting to ten can tell Blackbeard is horrendously outnumbered, and attacking a stronghold the likes of Nassau is a fool’s errand at best, suicide at worst.

But then there’s the light.

It’s so bright that some retellings start veering off into fairytale territory at this precise point, calling it a sign from the heavens, or an ill omen, while some others see it more clearly for what it probably is - one of the ships still idling close to the harbor, a small, unassuming one currently flying no flag, lights up a fire so potent atop her main mast that it resembles something almost like a lighthouse, moving eerily slow towards the blockade, temporarily illuminating what’s shaping out to be a mildly inconvenient nighttime battle.

After that, the cannons in the harbor itself join the battle, and true pandemonium breaks out.

Nobody knows who fires them, nobody knows who would even dare assume control of them aside from the actual soldiers in charge, but clearly someone does, and aims them not at the obvious enemy, but at the blockade itself.

This only lasts so long, of course, and Nassau will have launched a thorough inquiry into this act of high treason after the battle is won, but for now, it serves as a distraction so effective, it completely changes the tide of the battle for a few precious moments.

The blockade breaks apart, some of the vessels attempting to put some distance between themselves and the harbor, while some others are probably ordered to turn back and investigate...

And the sea boils. And the unnamed ship still shines brighter than any star in the sky, silhouetted against the pitch black hulking monster of Blackbeard’s vessel. Some will have attempted to paint the sight, much later on, depicting Blackbeard’s ship as the Kraken rising from the depths, extending his tendrils of billowing smoke towards the small lighthouse before him, and by all rights, surely he means to swallow it whole...

And then the light goes out, snuffed out like a candle, and the entirety of the battle is plunged into a darkness that makes it very difficult to distinguish which ship is which, what flag it flies, who it belongs to.

The storytellers will have tried, time and time again, but not even the people who were actually there can provide a very good account of the exact sequence of events. Or, not a very believable one, anyway.

Some say they saw the black smoke swallow men whole, never to be returned to the land of the living. Some speak of eyes of red, boring into them and forcing them to abandon their swords and their muskets, and jump overboard to escape with their lives. Some survive, but never stop bumbling about tentacles and visions of death.

Some are there for the swordfight, and these accounts, at least, have enough in common that they are considered at least halfway true. It is said that Blackbeard himself, when he is not busy dissolving into smoke and embedding blind fear into the minds of men by glares alone, faces off with the only one mad enough to challenge him head on - the Gentleman Pirate is a vision, shining bright in clothes so ridiculous they truly do make history, and are remembered in several retellings, bright blue and gold and lace, and his sword gleams as he points it straight at Blackbeard’s chest, and challenges him to a duel.

Around them, ships are burning, and the sea itself is threatening to break open and swallow them whole if only to end the madness, but these two, some people say, only have eyes for each other, apparently so singularly interested in battling it out that they’re happy to ignore the rest of the actual battle.

One particularly insane sailor swears up and down that he saw Blackbeard wink at the Gentleman Pirate right before their swords clashed, that he heard him say ‘Stab me!’ with an almost playful flair, but no one actually believes him.

Everybody who was there reliably recalls the gunshot, though.

It rings so loud in his ears, he thinks someone forgot he’s standing right there, and discharged the gun right next to him - it’s enough to stop him in his tracks, his sword still at the ready, his mad grin barely faltering, until his ages of experience make him follow the most likely trajectory of the bullet, and he sees it, plain as day - azure blue silk slowly tinting a damning, terrifying red, and Stede opening his mouth as if to comment on the fact, but incapable of getting out a single word, clutching at his gut and sinking to his knees...

It must have come from behind... Ed’s ears still ringing, he feels like he’s wading through molasses, his movements slowed way down as he turns around, and sees. Hornigold’s gun is still smoking, and he’s grinning like a madman, took you long enough!

“We’ve got him!” Anne hollers, Mary and her launching themselves towards Stede, but Edward barely hears them - the Kraken takes over then, really takes over, and Ed lets him.

He’s eighteen years old, and Ben has allowed him to stand at the helm next to him, having him guess at the weather the next day based on the shape of the clouds alone, what do they remind you of? Like sausages, right? There’s gonna be a fog rolling in right come morning, you mark my words...

He’s twenty-one, maybe, and Hornigold is grinning up at him, teeth bloody, clutching his stabbed gut, good on you, kid, you’re gonna go far, and Edward leaves him there, and there’s not a single cloud in the sky that day.

And he’s old, older than he ever thought he would be, not a week ago now, and Hornigold points his ship towards a storm, and he tries to explain after, but Edward shouts in his face, you were a fucking pirate once! Where has that all gone, huh?! As if he can reverse the passage of time, as if he can do anything at all.

The world needs its peacekeepers, and it needs its monsters in the dark, Hornigold tells him then, as they slowly advance on Havana, Blackbeard to be executed, Edward incapable of doing anything about it. They were never going to let us turn into one, and we’ve done their job for them, turning ourselves into the other.

The age of pirates is over, Edward. It’s really up to you to decide how you want to see it out.

He has never killed a man before, not directly, not with his actual hands like he did his father once, but it turns out it’s only because he’s never had a really compelling reason to - this time, it’s as easy as snapping a thread, his sword aimed at Hornigold’s throat, expecting the parry, and redirecting towards his gut instead.

He moves lightning-quick, and the man is on his knees before him in a matter of seconds, and it is, it’s frighteningly easy.

“Thank your little bitch of a First Mate for this,” Hornigold wheezes, blood in his teeth again. “He led me straight to you-”

“He was just doing his job,” Edward replies coolly, and drives the sword forward.

The age of pirates dies with him, and it dies with Hornigold as well, it turns out.

“Edward! Fuck, come here!”

That intensity in Anne’s voice is enough to jolt him back into action, and he comes skidding on his knees to Stede’s side, his heart hammering, tolling like a bell, not like this, not right now, not here-

“Stede,” he exhales, his voice coming out tiny, weak, pathetic. “Hey. Stede. Look at me. Look right here. Not like this, yeah? Not like this. Not yet.”

Stede’s eyes are shining unnaturally bright as he attempts a nod, and fuck, he’s radiant, he’s golden, he’s Ed’s lighthouse and his entire world, and-

“Let’s go,” Anne squeezes his arm, an almost unwelcome distraction. “We have to get him out of here, and you out of these leathers.”

Mute with fear, Edward looks from her to Mary, tearing the sleeve of her shirt into strips, to bandage Stede’s wound.

Izzy comes skidding to their side, taking one look at the situation, Stede on the ground, Hornigold on the ground, far less life in him, and he grows so pale it’s as if all blood has started leaking out of him, too.

“Edward, I didn’t know, I swear-”

“I know you didn’t,” Ed says quietly, turning away from Stede long enough to look him in the eye properly. “You know what to do now, though, don’t you?”

The world comes to a halt around them for a second, an hour, an eon. Decades of always knowing what to do even when Ed didn’t ask, decades of pulling him away from any fight that proved to be too much, decades of Ed always teetering on the edge and Izzy saving him from toppling over.

Izzy nods.

The rest doesn’t make it into any history books, but it still happens, anyway.

There’s so many ships in the bay at one point, you could almost walk from one end of it to the other with dry feet, if you somehow managed to navigate the swaying, splintering, burning decks, and the dozens, hundreds of people all attempting to kill each other at the same time.

The only source of light are the fires, so many of them now it’s impossible to tell where they started, ships setting each other ablaze simply by coming close to one another.

There’s a good dozen members of Stede’s crew, helping him and Edward, and therefore there’s a good dozen little stories that lead to the conclusion, but what’s worth pointing out is this:

Wee John makes his way through the crowds simply by grabbing two of whoever’s closest, and smashing their heads together. It proves frighteningly effective. Frenchie follows right after him, using him like a battering ram a little bit, tripping everyone who somehow manages to get past him. 

By some twist of the fates, Buttons is naked again, which proves enough of a distraction whenever it’s needed. And it’s needed. Coupled with Roach’s meat cleaver, it’s not exactly the last thing you want to see before you die. 

Some recall a man singing in a shockingly angelic voice before something knocks them over the head and out, which is, on the other hand, marginally more pleasant, when you think about it.

Ivan and Fang get a grip on Izzy when he falters that one time, hand on each shoulder, pulling him back to his feet, tearing away from the rest of the group and towards their destination.

Someone almost, almost manages to slice off Lucius’ hand when he’s not looking, but all that suffers is the wooden finger, and Pete is right there to avenge his own craftsmanship and protect his man, the calculated determination with which he fights enough to convince even the biggest doubter of just how much of a pirate he is.

Anne and Mary fight in terrifying unison, never straying far from each other’s side, and nobody really knows who they are, but their ferocity will still bring about some of the really old stories, resurrecting the specters of two absolutely merciless lady pirates who have been long gone, come on, man, one ghost’s enough for this story, don’t you think...?

Oluwande doesn’t really fight, as much as he avoids it, skillfully as ever, and it’s only when they come face to face with a group of the Spanish, ferociously defending the half-sunken deck of their little ship, that he falters.

Jim sees their crew all alive, all together, by some incomprehensible miracle or, more likely, sheer dumb luck, and every single cell in their body cries at the sight - their original prey, the Captain of this ship, one of the Siete Gallos, lies dead and not even at their own fucking hand, and they realize something in that moment, locking eyes with Oluwande and weighing their entire life up to this point against the decision they’re about to make.

There’s the hollow, howling hunger for revenge, always with them like a cold spot in their gut, and then there’s the relief warming their bones at the sight of the crew, the only family they have now, returned to them when they least expected it. 

Only one of those feelings turns out to be worth following.

And so, the rest of the story goes like this: the pirates lose, quite spectacularly, really, but not before they do some real damage. When the tide of the battle really looks like it might start turning in the Navy’s favor, the night is ablaze once more, and what used to be Blackbeard’s ship comes alight, set on fire for one very singular purpose - even as she nears the harbor, unstoppable now, her rudder broken off, people can be seen diving off her decks, and the sailors watching quickly follow suit, because it really only takes one look at her to understand.

“FIRESHIP!” Someone hollers, and then she blows.

After that, it proves somewhat easy to put an end to things. Those of the pirate ships that have managed to get in any way close to Nassau are either halfway sunk, or simply taken hostage, any stragglers attempting a getaway quickly chased down.

Whatever revolt briefly happened in the town itself is tamped down with similar efficiency, even though no one really knows where it came from, no one ever says a word. When questioned, Spanish Jackie cites ‘a bunch of morons who thought they saw an opportunity to get pissed, and they took it. Beats me, though, man.’ 

Two weeks later, she disappears without a trace, her establishment scrubbed clean.

And as for Blackbeard, and the Gentleman Pirate?

You’d think they’d be smart enough to slip away in the chaos of it all, but no - some say the Gentleman Pirate gets his last word in, killing Blackbeard where he stands, triumphantly turning out to be on the Crown’s side this whole entire time. Some say Blackbeard is unkillable, but that time they cut off his head sure looked pretty convincing. 

Dozens see him fall, watch him take gunshot after gunshot, sword wound after sword wound, defending what his world has shrunk to, nothing but a measly deck of a ship that isn’t even his.

Or someone dressed like him, anyway.

Yet dozens of others watch him get away for sure, before the Governor’s men chase him down and make a very telling example out of him, his body hung up at the mouth of the bay in a cage for all to see, and be warned. 

The age of pirates really is over.

Although weeks, months later, people still swear up and down they saw Blackbeard in this or that harbor, about to cause trouble, it’s always dismissed as nothing but another tall tale meant to keep the legend alive - in those stories, he often tends to be either Spanish, Black, or quite a bit shorter than history would have anyone believe, with a limp and, apparently, quite the propensity for swearing.

Some time later yet, a tiny, unmarked box reaches the office of Governor Woodes Rogers in Nassau, and he opens it in private, and turns the slightly misshapen piece of metal in his hands, inspecting every detail - the initials H. M. on one side, a largely incomprehensible seal on the other...

The note at the bottom of the box, in beautiful penmanship, resting atop what turns out to be a piece of rather exquisite lace, reads simply ‘Congratulations.’

The man currently on the top of the world only smiles, and keeps the seal displayed in a cabinet close to his desk for all to see.

“...Well, I heard that he kept screaming after they cut his head off, and his headless body then jumped into the sea and swam circles around his ship for ages before he finally dropped.”

“And in what world does that make any sort of sense?! How do you scream without your head?”

“Mate, I don’t fucking know. He’s Blackbeard, alright? How does he ever do anything?”

“Did.”

“Huh?”

“Did. ‘M pretty sure he actually is dead now. They’ve got his body on display in Nassau and everything.”

“Or someone’s body.”

“...What?”

“I’m just saying, it’s real easy to dress up a corpse, innit.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me...”

And so on, and so forth. This particular tiny tavern on the other side of the world from where Blackbeard’s body is, in fact, still on display - or one dressed like him, anyway - is absolutely alive with gossip, as has been the case in any other fine establishment across the Caribbean these past couple of weeks.

The end of the age of pirates makes for really good stories.

Only very few of them ever get within even the broadest vicinity of the truth, but that’s the magic of good gossip, after all. Truth is a secondary requirement.

“What about that Gentleman Pirate, though?” A third speculation-hungry sailor joins the first two, setting his tankard down on the table heavily enough to make them pay attention.

“What about him?”

“Well, I heard he disappeared without a trace. Helped Blackbeard fake his death or something. Had been on his side that whole time.”

“Yeah, right,” the more speculation-prone of the men guffaws. “Everybody knows he’s in service of the Crown now, as a buccaneer. Works under a different name, though, sinking the Spanish and the like.”

“Really?” The skeptic frowns. “Coz’ I heard he just retired, went back to his wife and kids.”

“Well, that’s a bit of a boring end to a story, if you ask me,” the newcomer laughs. “I thought he liked being a pirate, that’s why he left his wife and kids in the first place.”

“Can’t really be a pirate these days though, can you,” the skeptic grumbles, taking a swig from his tankard.

“Or you have to be real careful about it.”

And so on, and so forth.

The newcomer soon detaches from the two men, leaving them to their tall tales, and makes his way outside the tavern - it’s a lovely late afternoon, the sun painting streaks of brilliant gold across the cobblestone streets of this particular nowhere-town, and nobody stops him, nobody even gives him a second glance, as he makes his way away from the bustle of it, and closer to the sea.

A ship sways anchored a little ways away from the main docks, unnamed and without a flag, small and well battered, like she’s been to the end of the world and back, but her crew seem a good bunch, and promise to be moving on soon, so nobody pays them much mind right now.

The closer he gets to it, the more the sounds of a celebration carry, laughter and music, and something sizzling on a makeshift grill, but he doesn’t join the rest - instead, he walks down a path that leads him through rocks and bushes, until he finally reaches the beach.

“There you are. Are we joining the rest? I’m starving.”

Stede smiles, nodding and letting Edward pull him to his feet - and they’re bare feet, his trousers rolled up all the way below his knees, sand sticking to the still-wet skin of his calves, meaning he must have waded into the water not so long ago.

“In a minute,” he nods, reaching out and gently tucking a stray strand of Edward’s hair back behind his ear. “Did you have fun downtown?”

“Oh, great fun, yeah,” Ed beams at him. “Apparently you’re off sinking Spanish ships for the Crown now.”

“Am I,” Stede chuckles. “Must be a profitable career. What about you?”

“Oh, you know. Unknowable, mysterious, dramatic in every aspect of my unconfirmed existence, the usual.”

“Ah,” Stede smiles, stepping closer. “Good.”

“I’ll say,” Ed grins, and then he’s being kissed.

“Feeling alright?” he demands to know when they part, and Stede nods, briefly patting his still-bandaged stomach. It’s been days since it last bled, and they’ll take the little victories.

“Just fine. Dance with me.”

“Say what now?” Edward inclines his head.

“Dance with me,” Stede insists. “I figured it’s the one thing the Gentleman Pirate never ended up teaching Blackbeard. Dancing.”

“Oh,” Ed’s eyes soften. “There’s no music, though.”

“We don’t need music.”

“If you say so,” Ed huffs, amused. “How do we...?”

“I believe I’ll lead,” Stede smirks, and does exactly that.

And so they dance, to a tune no one else can hear, their bare feet tracing into the sand treasure maps that no one else can ever follow.

Behind them, the sea. Before them, the sunset.