[FrUK Gift Exchange] How To Be A Proper Pirate (FrUK fanfic)
I'm sorry this is so late! This is my FrUK gift for auto-alchemechanicist!!! It's a fic based on her prompt:
Pirate!FrUK owo Anything is fair game, really. Rival pirates; one pirate captures the other; they meet at a dock and become acquaintances; just as long as they’re pirates.
Which gave me a lot of freedom to work with haha, I'm really grateful for that. ^_^
A couple of notes before reading:
This is only part one. I planned it to have three parts, the two left parts will be posted soon. I'm really sorry it's not finished yet orz, but family matters happened and oh well.
English is not my first language, so if you notice something sounding a bit weird, that's why. I apologize in advance!
As you may notice, I gave up on them speaking "pirate" at second one orz.
See end notes for translations!
I think that's all! I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it, Auto!!! o3o
How To Be A Proper Pirate - Part One (Lessons 1 & 2)
17th Century.
Somewhere in the Caribbean Sea
“Homme à la mer! Homme à la mer!!”
The shouting came in muffled by the cabin wooden walls. Captain Francis Bonnefoy didn’t even bother to take his eyes away from the letter he was writing to one of the king’s ministers, his mind too absorbed in political affairs happening so far from him —at continental Europe.
However, the voices and the sound of men’s rushed steps along the upper deck made it difficult to focus anymore. A heavy sigh escaped between full lips that were pursed a second after.
France returned his quill back to the inkwell, put the papers away inside a locked drawer and left his oak wood desk with disgust written all over his face. Back home, there was a struggle for power all around and even inside him, he could feel it in his bones and brains and in his very heart. But he was being part of this new experiment about piracy his king had insisted on, so he couldn’t be of any help. Instead, he had to go outside and guess which one of the filthy ruffians he had for a crew had been stupid or drunk enough to fall overboard. He would have him drowned for real, if only men weren’t such a scarce resource at sea.
The French king had been told some years ago that the British were in agreements with some of their most feared pirates, thus making profit of their obscure activities and giving away their blessing as long as the pirates only attacked foreign ships. The monarch seemed to really like the idea. In fact, it fancied him so much that he hurried no one but France himself to become an actual pirate captain and sent him to pillage and sack faraway lands. It was a lot like conquering, actually —only without minding anyone’s law, not even one self’s. It was a lot less elegant, too, France thought for himself, and he still wasn’t sure about it being more profitable. But, oh well, who was he to defy the will of a heavenly appointed king.
The crew was gathering around something and discussed loudly, but they all fell silent the moment they saw their captain approaching. Francis smiled with contempt. One thing he liked about these pirates was the way they respected his authority. At first, Francis could feel they didn’t accept him as one of them. There was even some laughing and murmuring at his back. They simply obeyed orders —sometimes reluctantly— because of money. And then one day, in the middle of a fight with the Dutch navy, their arrogant, snobbish captain got up after being shot ten times and kept fighting. They won and seized the Dutch ship, mainly because their enemies were too scared to fight back after what happened. As for the French pirate crew, they got aware that day that their captain was no regular man, and treated him with reverent admiration ever since.
“Pourquoi tout ce tapage?” Francis asked quietly. Some of his men shivered under his judging gaze. They quickly made way and Francis could finally see the unconscious body lying on the deck. A young man. Short, soaked hair, probably blond. Reddish, sunburnt skin scattered with darkened freckles. His clothes were stained and teared up. His head was facing the wooden surface of the ship.
France’s old, mended heart missed a beat.
One of the pirates explained. The man was floating adrift on a board, his ship had been probably attacked or shipwrecked. They were about to leave him where he was when they noticed that some of his clothes looked expensive and thought that maybe he still carried some small treasures with him. They only found a small silver key hanging from his neck. He looked as he was nearly dead, but he was still breathing, and they were discussing what to do next.
But France barely heard him. He approached the shipwrecked man with restrained excitement showing in the hungry gleam of his eyes, and gently turned him around using the tip of his boot. His smile widened when, despite the dehydration the man was obviously suffering, he recognized a well-known face.
“HA!” he exclaimed incredulously. He couldn’t help but laugh. “This is going to be a wonderful day after all.”
“Do you happen to know this man, mon capitaine?” one of his pirates asked.
“I have the misfortune of doing so, yes.”
“Do you want us to kill him, then?” said another one.
«I’d love to see you try», Francis thought, but he chuckled and shook his head instead.
“No. Chain him up and take him to my cabin”, he ordered as he turned around wearing a satisfied grin on his lips. He started walking away, but then he stopped for a second and raised a finger. “Oh. And bring that silver key, too.”
_________________________________________________________
Dec. 31st, 2014
New York City
“So you too were a pirate!” America exclaimed with excitement. France let out an embarrassed smile.
“Only for a while”, he noted while he stirred the sauce of the boeuf bourguignon he was preparing for dinner.
“Ha! See?” the younger nation looked proud as he seated on the kitchen counter. “I told you, bro. You owe me those twenty bucks!”
A puzzled Canada stopped looking for some ingredients and closed the fridge.
“But, France! You never told me!” he muttered. “And, if I’m right, you were looking after me at the time.”
“Look, it only lasted for a couple of decades, ok? And I didn’t even like it that much. Besides,” France added, “how could I tell you? You looked so innocent! I was afraid I would scare you, or disappoint you.”
“Well, there was going to be a lot of room for disappointment later, anyway” Alfred joked from the corner of his mouth. Francis gasped and angrily tossed a cloth at him in response.
“Shut your mouth, you ungrateful child!”
“You sound a lot like someone I know when you talk like that.”
France squinted and pointed at America. “Don’t you dare imply—” he started, but then noticed Matthew chuckling and stared at him with pretended outrage “Toi aussi?”
“I’m sorry Francis, but he’s right”, a smiling Canada replied. France looked annoyed.
“Fine. I guess I should go back to my boeuf bourgignon, shouldn’t I? I don’t even know why I thought telling you boys about this was a good idea”, he rumbled.
“Because” America jumped from the counter and looked at France with the brightest of smiles, “I asked, and you can’t resist telling a story about how you captured England’s sorry ass.”
One eyebrow raised, Francis withdrew his attention from the cooking again to look at the two North American brothers. “Well”, he admitted reluctantly, “you may have a point.”
A cocky grin showed up on Alfred’s face. “As always!”, he stated proudly.
“And so? What happened next?” Matthew demanded, eyes filled with quiet excitement.
“Do you really want to know?” France still doubted that this was a nice story for New Years’ Eve. But he could tell from his boys’ faces that it had been a useless question. He sighed.
“Fine, then...”
________________________________________________________
The shipwrecked sailor opened his eyes wide and then shut them quickly as an unexpected freshness filled his dried mouth. He nearly choked on water, some of it dripping from his lips, but he didn’t care. He swallowed hard for his life.
He noticed a soft hand lifting his chin as he drank from a cup that was soon emptied. The cup and the hand retreated for a moment and he tried to focus his view with little success. He was back in a ship, from what little he could gather. Probably in a cabin, since he didn’t feel the continuous sting of the sun rays anymore. And there was this sweet, flowery smell all around. It felt familiar somehow, but also terribly out of place.
The refilled cup came close again before he could ponder about it for any longer, and he avidly drank from it once more.
“Thank you” he muttered in a dry voice once his thirst was satisfied, “oh God, thank- ...YOU!”
The image his eyes finally managed to focus on –waves of golden locks framing delicate features, a deep blue, judging gaze and a condescending, self-delighted sneer- made the shipwrecked man shiver out of pure anger.
“Ah, je t’en prie, Angleterre”, his saviour purred, so close he could almost smell the fresh roses that were grown in the Gardens of Versailles. “I’m so glad to know you’re still alive.”
England let out an incredulous groan that went silent when he noticed the chains around his wrists and torso. He felt the urge to struggle against them while shouting some well-deserved obscenities at France, but ended up restraining himself. The island nation had watched the sufferings of too many prisoners (most of them by his own hand) to know it was all useless. He tried to cool down instead, which proved to be a rather difficult task —the very sight of his most loathed enemy got on his nerves. He took a deep breath though, and slowly, almost calmly, stated the obvious
“You chained me.”
France straightened up and giggled. “But of course!” he replied, as if it was part of their regular protocol. He went back to his desk and fetched himself some wine. “Ahh. I was thirsty too.”
“What did I do to deserve such treatment?” England retorted, hardly concealing the tension in his words. “I thought we were at peace at the moment?” As much as he hated it, Arthur had to rely on his diplomatic abilities as long as he was at France’s mercy. The newly appointed pirate held his wine on his mouth for a second and looked somewhere else, as if he was trying to decide what to say next, then swallowed slowly and looked back at his prisoner. England’s fists clenched unintentionally.
“Indeed, we are” France agreed, “and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for such an uncommon circumstance. But, still. It doesn’t mean you are to be trusted, does it? Especially when at sea.”
“I hate to say this, France, but have you taken a second glance on me? I’ve been adrift for two weeks at least. I would’ve died, hadn’t I been what I am. I’m unarmed, starving and probably feverish. We’re in what I reckon is your own ship, surrounded by your own men and your own weapons. I know nothing about this place. And yet you see me as a threat.” A low, hoarse chuckle escaped from England’s throat. “I guess I should take that as a compliment.”
The look on France’s face was the same as if the wine he was sipping had suddenly turned sour.
“Take it however you like”, he dismissed, “I don’t care. I’m just being cautious.” Still, he approached the other nation with a worried look and touched the brit’s forehead with the back of his hand. England scowled at the contact, yet he stayed still.
“You were right about the fever” France murmured. He left his cup on the table and started slowly walking in circles, arms crossed against his chest. His pensive gaze run through the coloured glass of his window. A teasing voice came from behind.
“You don’t have the slightest idea of what to do with me now, do you?”
France snapped at the taunting comment. He turned around in a whirl of gold and silk, a dangerous spark lit in his eyes.
“I’ve got plenty of ideas, mind you. And what I know for sure is that I’ll feed you to the sharks the moment you start being a nuisance. So you better watch your mouth, Angleterre.”
“Aye, aye, capt’n” England conceded, sneering now that he was certain he had put his finger on a sensitive spot.
The Frenchman had a deep breath and regained his composure. He sat in his chair and drew the cup back to his lips.
“I may have you graciously delivered back to your king… for a price, of course” France added, with a coy smile. “After all, a good pirate has to know how to be a good merchant, too.”
The sentence made England laugh, for some reason.
“Don’t tell me you’re playing pirates now. Oh my, this is gonna be fun.”
France was shivering from anger.
“Do you think this is some kind of game?” he said between gritted teeth. “Well, surprise! It is not. I am a pirate now, just like you. And this, is a pirate ship.”
The brit tried not to laugh at first, but he clearly failed at his attempt.
“Did you actually look at yourself? And this fancy place?” England exclaimed. “You are NO pirate, and this is NO pirate ship. And by calling it so, you’re not only making a fool of yourself, which is already a common occurrence, but you are also, and most importantly, dishonoring a most noble profession and way of life.”
“How dare you tell me…?”
“… The truth?” Arthur objected. “Well, as much as I hate to admit it, you rescued me, after all. I figured I should give you something in return. —“The truth will set you free”, or at least that’s what the Scriptures say. Funnily enough, a chained up man is handing you out your freedom. How does it feel, Fr-”
A slap echoed in the captain’s cabin. England went silent and blinked twice as little sparks twinkled in his sight. France’s hand had left a burning sensation on his face, but it also made him realize how badly his head already hurt from hunger and fever.
“I thought you would know better than to judge a book by its cover, Angleterre.” France crouched down by his prisoner. “I’ll let you know that we seized a Dutch ship three weeks ago.”
At this point, England didn’t know whether to be angry at France or to feel sorry for him.
“Three weeks ago” he repeated slowly, trying to ignore the pain and the rage building up in his chest. “You mean that’s all the booty your men have laid their hands upon lately?”
“It- it was a large ship” France retorted.
“Don’t tell me- your crew is still in awe at your… resilience, aren’t they?” the brit guessed. France squinted for a split second, and he knew he was right. “It isn’t gonna last forever, you know. They’ll grow hungry and greedy again, eventually. And then they’ll start murmuring at your back, and you’ll have them all rioting before you know.” He looked at his enemy straight in the eye and said, “Lesson One on How to be a proper pirate: give your men what they deserve, whether it’s death or gold.”
England could almost hear the wheels turning inside France’s head. He could play the offended part for a little longer, or acknowledge the fact that he could use some help about piracy.
“You… seem to know this business fairly well” the Frenchman finally muttered. Ah, there it was. France was yielding. In a sense.
“I wasn’t joking. I could actually give you some lessons. In fact, here is Lesson Two: take care of your goods. And right now, it looks like I am your only goods and, to be honest, I’d highly appreciate a nice meal and some rest.”
France looked at his prisoner, pondering all the possible risks of the situation. He hummed to himself, then produced and embellished pistol from one of his drawers and slowly pointed it at England. “Well, you may be partially released of your restraints for feeding purposes”, he announced, “but only if you promise to behave yourself.”
Arthur’s lips curled in a tired smirk.
“Haven’t I, so far?”
_________________________________________________________
England’s fingertips travelled across the shelves, softly caressing the spines of old books. His mind, though, was far away. In another place, at another time. Why was he reminiscing about those events in particular was a mystery to him. It wasn’t an especially happy memory. And since he and France had started… getting along —that French bastard would’ve chosen other words, that’s for sure— the worst parts of their common History had been slowly fading away in his head, he had to admit, replaced by new, sweeter moments to remember. So why was his mind going back to that time when he had to trick Francis in order to escape from what could only be described as kidnapping?
Maybe it was all because of his recent visit to America’s greenhouse. Yes, it had to be that.
Loud voices and laughter coming from the kitchen took him back to 2014. Arthur felt the urge to leave the library and go downstairs to know what the other three were up to. But, as he quickly reminded himself, he was still supposed to be offended by the fact that he’d been literally banned from the kitchen.
And so, with an exasperated sigh, the British man randomly chose a book and seated on the armchair at the corner of the room. God forbid he gave the wrong idea that he wasn’t as resentful as he used to be anymore.
________________________________________________________
Homme à la mer! = Man overboard! Pourquoi tout ce tapage? = Why all the fuss? Toi aussi? = You, as well? (with a sort of accusatory meaning) Je t’en prie, Angleterre = You're welcome, England
