To Sail the High Seas: Pirate England x Reader #Wattys2017

Chapter Twenty~One

You hadn’t protested as the Captain gathered you up in his arms, being too emotionally drained to do so, and you soon let yourself be dragged down into the depths of exhaustion. Cradling your limp form against his chest, Arthur carefully placed you within the sheets of his bed and climbed in beside you, protectively wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you closer to him. Your unconscious form snuggled closer to his warmth, and the distressed expression you wore softened a little. Bringing one hand up to your cheek, he let his thumb trace the tear stains lightly, wishing he could erase them altogether. The darkened cabin was peaceful, the only sounds being the waves that gently rocked the ship like a cradle, and the occasional whimpers which you emitted through slightly parted lips.
Though the time he had spent in your company was short - only a little more than a fortnight - it had been long enough that the green-eyed man recognized your vulnerability. It only surfaced when you slept as during the day you wore a guarded persona, not that he could blame you considering the company you currently kept. Your natural innocence was endearing, however he couldn’t help but feel that your soft heart would only serve to hurt you more in the future. After all, a pirate couldn’t afford to be-
Do you not recall that she’s a merchant? Or did you choose to conveniently overlook that little fact?
That was true of course. You were no pirate, though he was sure that you’d make a damn good one had you chosen to enter this particular… profession. You were certainly quick thinking enough, and a sharp tongue was always useful if one found themselves in a sticky situation. As a woman you may encounter some difficulties, but you seemed to have earned his crew’s acceptance quick enough, if not a little respect. Not to mention that his would-be assassin’s demise had proven both your ability and loyalty.
You’re forgetting something.
Ah yes, there was the fact that he had watched you literally shatter in his arms after killing someone. As if on cue, you let out another pitiful whimper, and Arthur pulled you into an even tighter embrace. Sleep refused to take him for the next few hours, and he instead lay beside you as you suffered through a restless night. There were several times he considered waking you, but reality would be no kinder than nightmares, and Arthur could see that you were exhausted. So instead he opted to provide comfort whenever it seemed that nightmares plagued you, and waited through the long hours until the sun rose.

The first thing you saw after forcing your heavy eyelids open was a deep crimson hue. You violently thrust the disgusting colour away from you only to realise that the vile substance was caked to your skin. Memories of your victim flooded your mind and tears sprang to your eyes as you tried desperately to claw her blood from where it was encrusted on your fingers. However, before the first salty pearl could fall, it was brushed away tenderly; Arthur had instantly been alerted to your awakening by the sudden outburst of movement, and it took him only a moment to discern the oncoming wave of trauma.
“Hush, love.”
He held you in his arms until you had regained some form of composure, soothing your panic with soft words of comfort. Gently cupping your hands in his, the Captain lead you slowly to the edge of the bed before requesting that you wait a moment. His disappearance into the next room gave you enough time to collect yourself, but it was difficult to tear your eyes from the spot where you knew the dead girl had lain not long ago.
“(y/n)?” You realised that the man in front of you had been there for some time, and you shook your head to rid yourself of the vividly gruesome memories. Kneeling before you, Arthur wiped your hands with the damp cloth, easily washing your blood-stained hands.
If only it were that simple.
As he dutifully cleaned your palm, you studied the man before you. Sandy blond hair, the longest strands of which brushed his shoulders. A strong jawline, extremely clean-shaven for a pirate. A lithe yet toned torso which was currently adorned with only a simple white cotton shirt which, you were pleased to note, was not the one you had dirtied the previous evening. Once he released your hands, you reached out and tilted his chin up so that you could study his eyes.
“I love your eyes.” You noted the confusion which flitted across his face and had you not still felt so utterly drained, you were sure it would have made you smile. “I used to think that you and Allistor had the same eyes, but that’s wrong.”
He remained silent, permitting you to continue despite not being able to follow your exact train of thought.
“They’re such a beautiful colour, but clouded… somewhat dark.” You took a minute to gaze into those mysterious green depths before standing unsteadily and walking past the still-kneeling Captain. “They say that the eyes are the window to the soul.”
“Indeed.” He followed you curiously into the next room, waiting for you to continue.
“How many people have you killed?”
Your abrupt question caught him off guard, and he stared blankly at you, searching your face for some hint at what kind of an answer you wanted.
“How many, Arthur?” There was an uncomfortable pause before he made an answer.
“More than I care to count. Honestly I don’t even remember my first kill.”
“What do you see when you look into their eyes?”
“Fear mostly.” You seemed to be numb to his words, and that made it difficult to gauge what effect this truth was having on your already distressed mind. “Hatred is common, among other things.”
“Other things?”
“Disbelief, sorrow, regret. The list could go on.”
“What about betrayal?”
“I…” He looked at you almost pleadingly, but you did not waver. “…I have. Once before.”
“Who?”
“Another time, perhaps.” By the distant and almost cold tone in his voice, you knew it was pointless to persist. You sank into the large exotic cushion with a sigh, the same horrified face flashing behind your eyelids.
“Then I shall wait.”
Donning his coat, the blond made to exit the cabin only to pause in the doorway to look back at you with the eyes of a man who had been deeply wounded.
“When you said you hated me, last night, did you mean it?”
“I don’t know.” You answered him honestly, too tired to keep up your charade at the present time, and it was clear that this was unsatisfactory.
“Then answer me this; when you look at me, what do you see?”
I see a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a monster in the guise of a man. A creature who has been born of blood and suffering, one which was grown in the heat of battle. I see a child who wants for nothing and yet needs everything. A boy who pretends to be a man through the power of his sword and the tongue of a gentleman. I see a liar who could charm a snake with whispered words alone. A rogue and a thief and a murderer. I see the storm which brews behind your eyes every time something doesn’t go your way; I have seen your hatred, your wrath, and it is a force to be reckoned with. When I look at you, Arthur Kirkland, I see a reflection of myself.
A sorrowful smile worked its way onto your features as you thought about all the things you ought to say to him.
“Another time, perhaps."