Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

The Eve Of Battle

"At dawn, we're at war."

Those five infernal words circled in Teague's head as he sat in shadows in his cabin.

The Court hadn't gone the way he'd expected. Elizabeth Swann had been elected Pirate King, courtesy of Jack. She had declared this forthcoming war against the East India Trading Company. A war he couldn't see any way for them to win.

He could hear his crew on deck as they worked to get the Troubadour battle-ready for the morning. He knew they were nervous. He didn't blame them. The EITC had more ships, more guns, and more men, who were considerably more organised than the Pirate Lords and their crews.

Beside him, the dog barked at a knock on the door. "Come in," he said. The appearance of his doctor brightened his mood.

"Trying to get me drunk?" he asked, spotting a little dark bottle in her hands.

"One last toast before we go out in a blaze of glory tomorrow." A grim smile flickered on her lips as she produced two glasses and filled them, the clear liquid looking innocently like water.

He took one, raising it. "To a memorable end."

She echoed his words, tapping her glass against his before draining it in a long swallow. Refilling both glasses, she sighed and sat back in her chair.

"What d'you think are the chances of the Brethren actually joining together to fight?"

"Not very high," said Teague bluntly as he took a sip, the firey burn of poitín a sharp contrast to its appearance.

Soracha took out her pipe and busied herself cleaning it. "Optimistic ain't ye?" she asked, a sardonic smile twisting her lips, fingers flicking scraps of old tobacco to the floor.

He sighed, rotating the glass in his hands. "We both know you're the pessimist in this friendship. No, I'm just stating a fact. The chances of the nine Lords and their crews coming together to fight are slim. Not impossible, but I honestly can't see them uniting. Too much bad blood, too many stupid, petty quarrels between them all for them to work as allies."

"But we'll have the Pearl."

"Still doesn't guarantee a victory. The Trading Company have command of the Flying Dutchman. So the odds are even I'd say."

Soracha frowned, pushing fresh tobacco firmly into the pipe before lighting it. She took a few pulls, smoke hanging over the desk between them. Her eyes drifted around the cabin before settling on him again.

"A new Pirate King?"

"How the hell did you know?" he asked, slipping his rings off as he spoke.

She smiled slightly, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Word travels fast. A new King, Jackie's doing, and a war at dawn. So, who is this King?"

Teague's eyes were focused on his hands, fingers now bare of all rings save one. "Her name is Elizabeth Swann. English and aristocracy. Blonde, came to the Court in Chinese getup. Claimed Lordship of the South China Sea, said Sao Feng was dead, fell to the Flying Dutchman apparently. Court voted, everyone for themselves until Jackie spoke an' made her King."

Soracha hummed thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of poitín. Then she lowered the glass and fixed him with an intent emerald gaze.

"Should you even think of doing anything foolhardy in this battle, I will personally castrate you. I know you miss her, I know everything seems completely hopeless without her, but things will get better and you bloody better stay here, because I don't want to have to find another berth."

"Hang on, this role reversal is making me very uncomfortable. Back to you being the pessimist, please. And seeing as I no longer have anyone to fuck, castration isn't a very effective threat anymore."

A smokey laugh rose from Soracha's lips. "So you wouldn't miss your balls if I cut them off now?"

Teague's dark eyes twinkled briefly. "You shall be keeping your knives very far away from my balls, thank ye very much."

She chuckled, then her expression sobered again. "Nothing stupid. Promise me."

"Aye, alright. Promise. Now, any idea of a strategy for this war?"

They spent the next hour or so talking and finishing the bottle of poitín together. The conversation turned to the past, reminiscing over childhood memories and happy times. Anything really, to avoid contemplating what awaited them tomorrow.

Teague had started to play his guitar while they talked. The sound filled the occasional pause in their voices and soothed his restlessness. He wasn't consciously deciding what to play, just strumming whatever happened to come to mind; snatches of Spanish melodies, sea shanties, and a lot of the traditional Irish tunes he had first learned to play.

As he played a particular chord, Soracha began to sing softly, her low, smokey voice joining his strumming. "Alas my love, ye do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously, for I have lov'd you so long, delighting in your company. Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold, and who but my lady Greensleeves?"

"Your vows you've broken like my heart..." he took up the next verse, his voice low and quiet, slightly slurred from the poitín, Irish accent lending a lilt to his singing.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he brought the song to a close. He set the guitar down gently, rising to his feet.
"I'd better check the ship."

"Aye captain. I'd better get back to work too. Got a surgery to prepare before tomorrow."

As they reached the cabin door, Teague paused and hugged her tightly.
"Whatever tomorrow brings, I'm glad you're here with me."

She returned the hug, equally tightly. "We'll get through this."

The Troubadour was eerily silent under the starry sky, the soft creak of ropes the only sound. The deck was deserted as he crossed it, dog at his heels.

Below deck, most of the crew were already in their hammocks. Those still up were silent and tense, acknowledging him with slight nods.

He cleared his throat. That was enough to turn the eyes of every man onto himself.

"I'm not down here to give a rousing pre-battle speech promising victory and glory tomorrow. That kind of optimism was my old lady's specialty."

"Nah, we're stuck with ye being a defeatist old git." His First Mates voice came from the corner, rising a chuckle from the cook beside him.

"Well I'm in good company with you around, Cormac." Teague couldn't resist the quip back at his friend, though his tone sobered as he addressed the crew as a whole.

"I honestly don't know the extent of what we're up against tomorrow. I don't know how many allies we're going to have going into battle. I don't know if Davy Jones is truly under Beckett's command. I know far less than I would like to leading you into a fight."

His gaze swept over them. "I do know that regardless of what we face tomorrow, this crew won't cower from it. I have an exceptional crew of men and women, and a damn good ship. So, no matter what this battle throws at us, we still have a good shot at winning with the rest of the Brethren on our side. Remember that tomorrow morning. Remember what we're fighting for, what a victory will bring. I'm proud to be leading every one of you. So tomorrow, when we meet those EITC bastards, send them to Hell where they belong."

A fleeting, feral grin twisted his lips, eyes glittering darkly before he turned and left. Standing on deck, he counted the bells. In under nine hours, it would be dawn.

"At dawn, we're at war."