captain bonnet cannot help but cringe and turn as he glances to the now toppling mast… he does hope that is repairable. though he will not hold it against. after all this is a new ship — and he sails under a new name. captain bonnet after all would give away that mary bonnet, the widow — was not a widow. and her life would yet again be disrupted. so he sails now under new name, captain thomas. though — such names do not matter when he is seen, and known — by the crew of blackbeard’s ship. a helping hand from fang as he hoists himself over the railing.
garments are not quite as finely fitted as they once were, the majority of what he owned left behind. but he is still a fine figure as he stands there. a straighter stance of shoulders, a better stronger posture. yet his features are as open and as warm as they were the day that he awoke from fever to find ed leaning over him, urging him awake. and he had awoken then, tenfold, a thousand fold. he’d known for the first time what truly being awake was. awake to feeling, to longing, to desire, to love. he was transformed by the man who’d shushed him in the closet, taught him the proper way to take a sword, and the art of a fuckery, he’d been made a new by the little acts of grace along the way. the gentle touch, the encouragement, the love, the kiss. oh if only he had known then what he knew now…
and there is clear and evident affection in his voice, he takes a step forward — the crew drops away, the glowering of izzy hands, the bristling sailors and crew. ed is different. like that character in the book of blackbeard. like the kraken they made him be. there is the faintest line between his brows, the dark silk of his own cravat he spots at his neck. that hurts, more than he’d expected somehow. to see evidence of the pain wrought to the one he has at last realized he loved. from the joy he thinks he once gave, he is nothing but a wound now.
‘ i cannot swim well at all either way. i was always rather frightened of the waves when i’d try to learn. it isn’t terrible effective for piracy but if i stay aboard ships i do well enough. ‘ he’s rambling now, fingers to smooth down the linen he wears. ‘ before — you measure your judgement, might we at least talk? i do not expect to be forgiven, but i would like at least to tell you why i left. and why now - i return. even to what is i expect a rather unpleasant sort of death. ‘
and just like that, the revenge’s captain has returned. all too late and fresh out of excuses to give that might soften edward’s resolve. he’d imagined this moment so many times, each time less plausible and realistic than the last. he’d made dozens of excuses in stede’s name. perhaps the guard edward had bribed to wake stede up simply hadn’t held his end of the bargain. usually, edward had something to bargain with. at the time, he had no valuables in his possession, nor leverage. all that he was able to barter in exchange for the man’s aid were simply promises. of wealth, of safety. the promise that a terrible fate would not befall he all he held near and dear to him at the hands of the great blackbeard. words, as edward has recently discovered, did not mean much even to those with integrity. after all, he’d chosen to give his heart away to a man known for his integrity and rectitude, and look where it got him.
or perhaps they were caught on their way to the beach, the guard forced to return to his post and stede . . . a great manner of things could have happened then and edward rued his wild and boundless imagination for the kind of barbaric treatment he imagined. somehow, in his heart of hearts, he knew not to give credence to any of these scenarios. there was only one reason why the man edward had promised the whole world to did not show up. and for this, he did not need confirmation, but it was nice to get it all the same. he could have laughed at that. nice? he supposed it was a blessing, that. now he could see stede bonnet for what he truly was. a liar and a con. a man who fell victim to his delusions of a life worth living, who scuttled back home to his life of luxury and comfort when faced with the prospect of real danger.
edward did not back down, he did not lower the gun. if anything, his grip tightened on the handle and his arm remained outstretched, stance not wavering even as stede stepped closer. ❛ that’s close enough, dog, ❜ he spat, cocking the gun. he was in no disposition to listen to any of stede’s rambling. it hasn’t been long - though every night he drank himself to sleep seemed to tell a different story - and yet of this he was sure. he’d concluded he did not require any explanations. ❛ you are an intruder on blackbeard’s ship. what do you think we do to those? ❜ he was aware his crew were looking, even more so that izzy was measuring his every move, waiting for him to make the right one at last. for them, he would. for their loyalty, for the honour that they felt to serve him.
an almost imperceptible shake of his head. a silent, unspoken disapproval more at himself than the man who stood before him prepared to bare his all, or so he claimed. oh, stede. if i ever failed to do something, it was to teach you to beware of monsters. he wasn’t breathing. he couldn’t, even if he tried. he emptied his mind of all distractions, his surroundings dissolving around him into a fog. it was just him, the reality of a gun pressed into his hand, stede, and the consequences of their actions. and love. an abundance of love which threatened to spill over. edward kept his eyes trained on stede’s and tried to make his peace with what he was about to do next. he did not welcome stede into his arms like he should. he did not ask to know what made him so unwanted. he did not betray himself again and begged stede to stay this time, stay a little longer, before you leave once more. instead, he took aim and squeezed the trigger.