Gently As She Goes (girlxgirl)

Part I

'Eyes, blue as the sea and the sky
Water flows, water flows
Heart running like fire in the night
Gently as she goes.'

- Beowulf, 'Gently As She Goes'.

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Part I

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1588

The floorboard creaked under the weight, the scraping of her boots causing chips of wood to fall into the deep cerulean sea below. One small step backwards and she too will plunder into the crashing waves. Facing forward wasn't safe either. Stella Clegg pressed her lips into a thin line, her glare unwavering at the sneering Spaniard before her.

''When my sources told me that there'll be a rat who'll try and bite at my trade, I didn't expect a woman,'' The man snickered through his teeth, and gestured with one swoop of his arm to her bounded crew, huddled into a cowering pile in the middle of the ship's main deck. ''The men are as weak as their captain.''

Her quartermaster, John Abberline, looked at her apologetically.

''I-I'm sorry, Captain. There were too many of them...''

''It's all right, John,'' she mouthed reassuringly.

''I think all the tea has gone to your little English brains,'' the Spaniard continued, tapping his pistol against his skull. ''Sending a woman out into sea? Don't they know it causes bad luck? They should have known that your task was doomed to fail at the very beginning.''

Stella barked out a laugh, '''Failed'? And just who's ship was burning into a bloody wooden crisp over at the horizon? It was definitely not mi...''

Her words died on her lips as the man growled, cocked his pistol and-

BAM!

Stella cried out from the pain that began to coil around her lower body like a snake. She stumbled for balance on the wooden plank, almost loosing her footing when she felt her left leg give out. The bullet embedded on the inside of the flesh of her leg stung like hell. She looked down and saw red red red oh my god fuck-

''Captain Clegg!''

Shouts of concern erupted from her crew. One of her sailors, Alfred, tried to stand up and help, but he was immediately put back down by a blow to the back of his head.

''Stay put, you stupid English dogs!'' The Spaniard's crewmen spat, waving their pointed swords at them, ''Any of you even try to do anything funny, we'll have your heads rolling down the deck!''

Her crew glanced uncertainly between their captors and their injured Captain. Some glared at the Spaniards with an intent to fight, but held their bite and bark back. They will only move if their Captain makes a signal to.

The man before her smirked. 'Trained puppies, all of them.'

Stella breathed harshly, gripping the sides of the floorboard relentlessly. Her mind reeled and tried to calculate every and any possibility of a plan. Their weapons have been taken by the enemies and any more were kept in the ship's stores below, so the most that they can do is overpower them and use their weapons against them, but it was too much of a risk. Some of them had pistols...

''This ship is a nice piece of work though, the wood is so sturdy and brown,'' The man drawled. ''So I think it's a pretty fair trade, don't you think, Miz Clegg?''

...She can't see Arthur, Smith or Bardroy among the crew, so they must still be in the cargo hold, hiding...

He tapped his own left leg, which she had shot a few hours ago. It was now wrapped in a series of white bandages, but his blood seeped through the cloth, smearing the fabric, ''An eye for an eye,''

...The three of them could grab the swords and the guns from the ship's stores and cause some kind of distraction. They could use the powder and set the quarter deck-

''And a ship for a ship,'' he finished. He kicked the floorboard off the edge, pulling her from her thoughts and sending her hurling into the deathly waters below.

Stella gave a small scream. She wasn't ready for the plunge. The impact upon falling left her breathless and struggling, her arms fruitlessly thrashing against the waves. It didn't help that her leg was shot, it made moving all the more painful and the salty sea water stung the bullet wound.

Something whizzed past her and it took her a second to realize that the bastard was still firing at her. Stella cussed, but immediately regretted it when she spluttered as the air escaped her mouth. Grabbing blindly for the floorboard, she finally clung on, and brought her arms over the wood. She forced her head above the water and gasped for breath, her ginger hair sticking to her face.

Her leg groaned in protest, but Stella was relieved that the man had ceased shooting. She looked up and saw him grinning victoriously at her, casually leaning over the rail as though he owned it. Red, hot anger boiled in her blood. How dare he, that low, uncultured pig claim her ship!

Upon the oceans, she swore, that she will have her vengeance on that vile man. But right now she had more pressing matters to attend to. The floorboard was heavy and, combined with her weight, it threatened to sink.

'If only this damn leg wasn't busted,' she thought. 'I could be swimming easily.'

The wood slipped further and further into the waters, dragging an unwilling Stella along. She tried to remain a fixed gaze on her ship, but not even her defiant glare can keep her sailing ship in place.

The privateer thought of her crew, of the men who placed their trust in her, and hers in theirs. Of the men who, despite some being superstitious, ignored the common sailors' belief of women and seas and misfortune. Of the men who, now after losing their Captain, were trapped in a ship held hostage by the Spaniards.

She thought of this bloody war. Of the English and the Spanish Armada. Of how something as peaceful as religion can bring about so much violence and greed. Of how complicated it all was. Of how, from the beginning, she never should have accepted the task from those navy officials. It was all planned, Stella knew that. And yet she agreed, hoping to prove them a point, only to fall into their schemes. She could practically picture them now, their fat, powdered faces smiling satisfactorily to each other for ridding themselves of a 'nuisance'.

Stella thought of all of this, even as she sank below the surface of the crashing waves. A faint crimson trail of blood, her blood, floated from her wound and danced in silken trails in the ocean water. Her deep brown eyes watched the sun; blurred and slightly dimmed, yet still beautiful beyond the liquid glass.

Breathing was becoming difficult. More and more air bubbles escaped her lips, counting down to her inevitable death.

Her sight slowly began to darken into nothing. She imagined that the last thing she heard, before giving in to the ocean's embrace, was a melodious voice, cradling her gently to her final sleep.

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A/N: Et voila! A story born from mixing together the Anglo-Spanish War, and some girlxgirl goodness - which unfortunately due to certain circumstances *coughscoughsI'MLAZYcoughscoughs*, won't be introduced until the next chapter. Please look forward to it!