Chapter Text
if you wanted me dead, you should’ve just said
nothing makes me feel more alive
Ben picked up the weapon but was hesitant to stand up. No longer tied to the mast, he could see how many pirates were aboard. They lined the ship’s railing, leaving a generous space in the center of the deck, between the two masts. They were jeering and laughing, clearly ready for a show, but Ben was still convinced they’d pounce on him the moment he wrapped his hand around the sword handle.
Not all of his hesitation was fear though; at least half was just stalling as he searched for a way off the boat and out of the situation. The longer he looked, the more he had to admit the odds were not in his favor.
“Too heavy for you?” Uma taunted from above. “I’ve got some kitchen knives over in the shop if you’d prefer.”
“Only if it means we’re moving to the dining room.”
Uma smirked. “Not very brave for a prince.”
Ben let his eyes travel around the circle of pirates, three deep in some places, all waiting to jump him if Uma ordered it. “The irony is astounding.”
Judging by her scowl, Uma didn’t miss his meaning. “What are you waiting for, Your Highness?”
“I’m the king, so it’s Your Majesty.” Ben waited for Uma’s scowl to deepen before sweeping his right hand out in a passable imitation of Hook’s son. “And ladies first.”
Uma’s first lunge was sudden and forceful. Her saber blade came down on Ben’s and he felt the impact vibrate into his hand. It was a thinner weapon than he was used to, cheaper metal and poorly balanced, so the shock rattled him more than it should have. As he stumbled backwards, the crowd of pirates laughed.
A rather unkingly pride had Ben fighting a red flush of embarrassment to his neck. There shouldn’t have been anything more important than survival, but he had to admit self-defense wasn’t top of his mind when he answered Uma’s next swing with a blow of his own.
“Done with diplomacy, Your Highness?” Uma took several steps back to take in Ben’s fighting stance. “Ready to slum it with the rest of us?”
Instead of answering, Ben just rolled his shoulders to show he was just getting comfortable. “It’s still Your Majesty.”
He didn’t give the captain another chance to slip in witty quips. Ben suspected not getting the last word would irritate her enough to throw her off her game, and he was right. Uma’s next few steps were a little clumsier.
The crowd grumbled restlessly when the king managed to push Uma back, and Harry waited just on the edge, undoubtedly looking for an opportunity to jump in. The fight was proving to be a more interesting one than the pirates had bargained for, it seemed.
Ben was relieved to discover Uma wasn’t quite the swordswoman Mal was. Some part of it was strength; Mal was both taller and more muscular than Uma, but, if Ben had to guess, most of the difference came down to technique and strategy. There was something theatrical in Uma’s style. She was often taking pauses at the end of moves and sacrificing momentum for a quick smirk. Ben supposed he had to respect the choice; she had an audience, after all, and he did not. Or did he?
He couldn’t help but feel he had something to prove to the pirates. After all, they were his people too. If all they knew of him was the speech-giver of sporadic television broadcasts, it was no wonder they didn’t respect him at all. Given the heavy conflict most of the twenty kingdoms had emerged from, the overarching kingdom emphasized peace, often at the expense of strength. That meant the newscasts showed a lot more of Ben’s multilingual skills than his fighting ability, though he’d probably spent an equal number of hours on each.
Yet for all these advantages, Ben was on some of his worst form. Prince training had prepared him for a lot, including violent combat. Yet oddly enough, none of his swordwork classes had forced him to defend himself after two head injuries, on a day’s empty stomach, with an unfamiliar blade. His body wasn’t responding as quickly as it should have, and even the weak sunlight of the Isle proved blinding for him on some turns. It was like fighting through tar. Mal would have had him on his back in seconds.
Mal.
Ben almost missed a dodge and let Uma slice through his shoulder. Hitting the deck just in time, he had to do a very unkingly roll away to avoid getting stomped and stabbed. But again, he was slow getting back on his feet, and Uma forced him to parry from one knee, the imagery inviting more laughter from the onlookers.
Weaker than Mal or not, Uma was going win if Ben kept this up. Already, his limited energy was fading. More importantly, he would lose, and that could mean anything from dismemberment to death. Guiltily, Ben figured most Islanders fought through subpar physical health all the time. The strategies he knew counted on him being a prince, but this was an Isle fight. And though he’d never fought on the Isle before, Uma was right: he’d brought the Isle to him.
“At what point do you stop twirling your sword and actually swing it my way?” Ben had asked Mal the first time they’d ever sparred. Two minutes into the practice match and all they’d done was pace around the circle.
“I don’t see you jumping in,” she’d said. “Still standing as far away from me as you can get, I notice.”
“Just letting you make the first move.” Ben smiled. “I’m a gentleman like that.”
“Gentlemen are overrated.” Mal’s eyes had flashed in a way that made Ben wish they weren’t in a crowded school gym.
“I’ve already made the first move. And the second. And the third.” She used her sword to gesture to all of Ben. “I’m sizing you up. Deciding your weaknesses. Picking out your pressure points.”
“Too bad a fencing match is timed.”
Mal gave him a pitying look. “Guess I lose then.”
But she didn’t lose. It took her less time to disarm him than they’d spent pacing. Then she’d explained how sizing up your opponent was a crucial part of every Isle fight. Compared to Auradonian fencing teams, where everyone learned a similar set of skills from coaches, everyone on the Isle learned to fight at different times and for different reasons. That history could be telling. So what about Uma’s history would be telling?
Ben knew all about Ursula. Uma, not so much.
When they broke apart after four consecutive blows and parries, he took in the many tassels coming from her clothing. They were clearly meticulously dyed, which showed not only means but effort. Her jacket was leather, just like much of Mal’s clothing had been, but the pirate’s attire looked nicer, more bells and whistles, less wear. Most of what Mal used to wear was skintight, which she’d mentioned in passing was more practical on the Isle than something that could get caught. Her hair was the same story: she’d said Auradon was the first time she’d ever thought about growing it out. In contrast, Uma’s hair was long and did seem to get the way when she twirled; there were coins and jewels sewed into the braids, which made her a more impressive pirate but a slower fighter.
So clearly Uma cared more about how her people perceived her. She had a position to defend. Ben understood that only too well. He could work with that.
The next time he got a good jab in and put a hole in Uma’s jacket, he laughed, loud and gleeful. There were a few sniggers from the audience, and Uma’s next few moves were extra forceful but extra reckless too. Every time Ben had the breath for a laugh, he took advantage. Uma didn’t manage to get him to one knee again.
Ben wracked his brain for other things Mal had said while they sparred. The tinny weapon in his hand brought one to the surface immediately.
After one match where Mal had used her practice jacket as a makeshift shield, she’d staunchly defended her unorthodox method. “Your sword is your accessory, the world is your weapon.”
This one never jibed with Ben’s outlook. He and his sword were attached at the hip—unfortunately not literally, as his mother thought it made him look old-fashioned and brutish. But as a king, he had no shortage of perfectly balanced blades to choose from, many of them inlaid with gold or inscribed with French words of guardianship from his home kingdom. Yet now, with crude Isle metal extending from his grip, Ben could see how Mal made better use of the creed. If the weapon in his hand was the best he could go into battle with, there wasn’t much opportunity cost in going for something new.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) he was surrounded by people packing alternative weapons. A flash of yellow, brighter than most of the Isle colors, caught Ben’s eye. The blonde hair poking out above the rest was Gil’s, his usual befuddlement replaced by a look of quiet concern. Something in Ben had the gall to hope that at least some of it was for him, even if the majority went to Gil’s captain. Either way, Ben knew exactly what had been tucked into the tall pirate’s belt during their earlier conversation.
Going in for a wide swing, Ben left his middle unprotected. The opening wasn’t lost on Uma, who stabbed at him while his sword was too far to the side to parry. Her momentum forced Ben back one, two, three steps, practically falling into the crowd of pirates.
A slew of grimy hands seized him by the jacket and threw him back into the middle, fortunately giving him enough time to get his blade back across his front.
Uma clearly enjoyed the king’s near tumble, and she hung back for a moment, letting her smug smile grace the ranks so they jeered with her. If she wanted a production, Ben knew his part.
“Remember,” Mal had said to him after disarming three sparring partners in a row in one practice, “your opponent is sizing you up too, so crouch. Give them something to underestimate.”
When Ben stepped into box, he’d grinned at Mal. “I don’t think that’s going to work on me.”
She’d just laughed. “It’s never worked on you. You’ve always known I’m deadly.”
In spite of the horrific past twenty-four hours, the memory of Mal’s smile gave Ben an extra boost of energy. It was good to know his memories of her could bring more than pain.
And the advice may not have helped Ben back then, but it fit perfectly here. Uma had been underestimating him from the moment she threw one of her sabers at his feet. She and her audience would bask in the perceived weakness. But first, he’d have to find a precipice to tumble from.
With a few especially aggressive swipes of his blade, Ben pushed Uma two steps back and gave her jacket another rip. The snarl she let out wasn’t enough to distract him from what the gash in the leather revealed.
“Is that your mom’s necklace?” He nodded to the shell. “I thought this was your plan.”
Uma flipped a few of her braids over her shoulder. “And now it’s my necklace. Just an accessory for now, but you’re about to buy it a whole new power-up.”
Ben had no response to this. Fear was back to bubbling in his stomach. It was more than the temporary concern for his life on this smelly deck; the wand was a threat to all of Auradon. How many Islanders had trinkets from their time on the mainland just waiting to be reactivated the moment the barrier came down?
Distracted and weary, he barely had to fake the advantage Uma gained on him, forcing him down to his knees again. When the blade clattered out of his loose grip, the pirates cheered. Just as he expected, Uma didn’t declare the match ended or make him put his hands up, too busy basking in the attention of her crew.
In a flash, Ben drew the knife he’d swiped from Gil when he’d faked a fall into the crowd. He brought it down on Uma’s foot. As she yelped, Ben launched to his feet and took the sword from her hands.
Uma gasped out something as she fell that sounded a lot like “cheat.”
Panting, Ben touched just the tip of the sword to her chest as he repeated Mal’s words from their last duel. “There’s no such thing as cheating in a battle for your life.”
His glory was short-lived as Harry pounced on him the next second. Just as he predicted, the pile of pirates descended upon him with various weapons. Both the knife and the sword were wrenched from his hands. After ensuring Ben’s arms were held firmly by at least eight crewmembers, Harry helped Uma to her feet.
If Ben thought she’d been angry before, it was nothing compared to now. She snatched her saber from the ground where it had been forced from Ben’s hand.
“You may think your girlfriend prepared you for the Isle, but you’re still just a prep boy out of his letterman jacket.” Uma marched up to Ben, glaring down at him. “Next time you’re standing over your enemy, take the shot.”
Even with his arms pinned to the splintery deck, Ben was resolute. “I don’t think you’re my enemy.”
“You sure about that?” The shell necklace had broken free from her collar and was dangling by its chain.
Ben’s eyes caught on its shine. “If this is your mother, I—”
“This isn’t my mother!” Uma’s voice had risen to a howl that made several of the pirates take a step back. This insinuation, above all others, seemed to enrage her the most. “Not all of us hide behind our parents. This is me!”
Uma used her sword to gesture to the wharf and the ship. Tilting her head back down, the captain’s eyes narrowed on Ben again. “This is me.”
With a confident stroke of her blade, she sliced Ben’s chest from his right collar to his waist.
Unprepared for the attack, Ben cried out in shock and pain.
“This is all me,” Uma growled as she put another diagonal cut on Ben’s chest in the other direction.
Ben tried not to make a sound this time even though the second swipe hurt even more.
Uma put her sword to his face and he flinched away, but she just tapped the edge to his cheek. “X marks the spot where the dead boy lays.” She walked up to Ben’s head and squatted down. “Still want to be friends, Your Majesty?”
He had no answer for her and she didn’t wait for one. Though the pirates were still holding him down, no one was cheering now. There was a palpable fear in the air now, mixed with determination. This was their leader. She was captain for a reason: her ruthlessness as much as her ingenuity.
When the pirates tugged Ben to his feet, they didn’t bother to be gentle.
Suddenly a shout came from the shore, and all the heads turned. Uma smiled and looked back at Ben.
“Sounds like the guest of honor is on her way. Think she’ll want you with a little wear and tear? I bet she will. But just in case.” Uma cocks her head at Gil, who puts the tape over Ben’s mouth. “No sweet nothings until the trade is over, yeah?”
Uma walked to the edge of the ship, and Ben was viciously pleased to see she at least had a bit of a limp.
“Let’s see if your girlfriend is a better sport than you. And if not—” Uma tugged at the shell necklace. “There’s always Plan B.”
The people on the docks were starting to move, getting into their places and readying weapons, but Ben was dragged belowdecks before he could see any more.
A particularly young member of the crew—twelve, if Ben had to guess—retied his hands and feet in the hold, but her youth didn’t lead her to make the knots any looser. Without looking Ben in the eye once, she finished her task and strode back out of the room.
Finally out of eyesight, Ben let himself groan into the pain for the first time. But it was more than pain; his chest felt warm, and his head felt light. He was losing blood, and from the size of the X, probably quite quickly.
The door to the hold opened again and Ben tried to put on a stoic glare for whoever had come to torment him next, but it was Gaston’s son.
No, not Gaston’s son.
Gil.
His steps were slow now, and his gaze was more searching than usual. Perhaps he had more intelligence than Ben had given him credit for. Did he know the king had stolen his knife? Was he here to take revenge?
Well, Ben thought, whatever he did was likely to be redundant since his entire body was already in pain.
Gil stepped forward, his hand out. “Do you want—”
Ben’s eyes flared.
The pirate’s expression returned to the telltale softness. “Oh, right. I bet that hurts.”
Ben just glared. He’d already put up with the dopiness once, he wouldn’t do it while bleeding through his shirt.
“Yeah, um . . . hang on.” Gil reached into his pocket and Ben, expecting a weapon, flinched away. But the pirate took out something wadded and brown. Bandages. “These are just for my hands, I’m a really good fighter actually. I just nick myself a lot while working on the ship. Splinters, you know? Or maybe you don't know. Do you have splinters in Auradon?”
Ben couldn’t tell if the rambling was tone-deaf or just nervousness, but when Gil undid Ben’s hands and gave him the bandages, he decided he didn’t care. After pulling one side of the tape away from his mouth, Ben started wrapping the bandages around his waist. It was more painful to have something pressing up against the open cuts, but it was better than bleeding out, and at least his chest didn’t feel so threateningly warm anymore.
His voice was tight when he finished, but he choked out a quiet thank you.
For a minute, the two just stared at each other. Then Gil lifted the ropes with one hand.
“Right.” Ben turned around, no easy feat on a boat with his ankles tied, so Gil could retie his wrists. The ropes were considerably looser this time. Not so much that escape was possible, but enough that they didn’t hurt.
Gil studied the king’s face for another minute. “You really aren’t from around here.” A long pause. “You won.”
Ben couldn’t stem the mean laugh that escaped him. “Great.” No victory had ever meant less in his life.
Perhaps missing the point, Gil insisted, “No, you did. You won and you didn’t kill her. That’s not how it works around here.”
“She made that quite clear.” Ben’s tone was cold.
Gil was still staring at him, conflict brewing behind his blonde brows. There was a good minute of silence before he finally found the nerve to speak again. “Back in Auradon, how is—?”
“Shouldn’t ya be talkin’ to the fishes, hm?” Harry swung back into the hold with his drawl echoing in the cramped space. His lips curled as he looked at Ben.
For all Gil’s spaciness, he summoned the wherewithal to close Ben’s jacket so Harry couldn’t see the bandages.
“The captain’s lookin’ fer ya. Scram.”
Though Gil turned his shoulders toward the door, he held Harry’s stare, any trace of dopiness gone from his expression. Gaston’s son reached the closest thing Ben had seen to a glare, and then he was gone, letting the door slam behind him.
“Building the bridges dear old dad burned?” Harry’s eyes were full of mock pity. “We don’t need your help. We’re getting off all on our own.”
“Mal’s not letting you get anywhere near the wand.”
“Sure about that, are ya?”
“Dead sure.”
“Better hope she’s got something spectacular planned.” Harry pressed his hook into Ben’s chest where the skin was rended underneath the leather.
Ben was saved from trying not to cry out in pain by Harry refastening the tape over his mouth. “How’s it feel being king now, eh?”
With a last patronizing pat on Ben’s cheek, Harry twirled out.
Ben was left alone in the darkness once again. Bruised and bleeding, he’d never felt less like a king.