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Blaney was a right bastard, Edward knew it from the moment he stepped onto the modest privateering vessel. Edward really wouldn’t have minded, having dealt with his fair share of bastards as a sheep-boy in his youth, but there was something about being trapped for a month in close quarters he wasn’t too keen on.
He was beginning to discover the profession of privateering was full of bastards, he thought as he heaved bile over the ship's rail for the third time that day. He stumbled to the side as the ship rocked, and fell into something sturdy. Edward heard a snort behind him and James Kidd pushed him away, walking steadily on the shifting boat. Edward leaned over the side again and swore Kidd was laughing as he went off to do whatever ship-related business Edward himself was meant to be attending to.
“Better get yer sea-legs quick, Kenway. ‘Fore someone puts ya outta yer misery."
See, Blaney and Kidd were two very different breeds of bastard, though both had taken an obvious dislike towards him on his first day. Where Blaney gave him a swift punch in the nose after dropping a barrel of gunpowder, Kidd sat back and grinned at him like a goddamn seagull. Where Blaney had dumped his rations into the ocean, Kidd had stolen the boiled egg from his bowl with a quick “Not like you’ll ‘ave it in yer guts fer long” in that Lowland Scot accent that made every sentence come out mocking. Kidd was ex-navy and it made him all the more pompous, the arrogant little shite. Edward didn’t think the boy looked more than sixteen under all the grime that came with a life out at sea. Too young to be barking orders at Edward and every other soul on the ship save the captain and quartermaster. Even Blaney eyed him warily at times, and there was something in the way the boy skulked with his pipe that made men uneasy.
When Edward righted himself, thinking that at least there wasn’t anything left in his stomach to make a mess of the deck. His head pounded as the long hours of work dragged on. He had no idea why the sails of a ship needed to be hoisted and un-hoisted and re-hoisted over and over throughout the day as the blasted sailing master shouted “Half-sail!” “No-Sail” and “Give it all ya got Lads!”. But although inexperienced and untested, Edward was a fast learner and soon he knew what order would be barked out next from just the way the wind brushed his sweat-soaked shirt. They were letting the sails unfurl to their full length, the winds finally favouring their ship with a westerly direction. Edward held firm to the rope and eased the sail down, wrapping it once around his forearm to keep a steady hold.
Two things happened at once: a wayward gust made the newly open sail creak and billow, and someone down the line let go. Edward was snapped forward to the deck boards, the rope constricting his arm and tearing at the sun-burned flesh. He tried to yell out again as he was swiftly pulled across the deck towards the waves that crashed on the other side. In horror he realized what was about to happen.
A knife embedded itself in the fibers of his lead, fraying them enough that with one last jerk he’d freed himself. He looked up to see James Kidd tuck something back into his belt.
“YA USELESS BLOODY FUCKER, WHAT THE HELL YA THINK YER DOIN’ REST AH THE LADS ARE GOING TO ‘AVE TO WORK TWICE AS HARD ‘CUZ YER SHIET. WHY AIN’T YA CARRYIN’ A KNIFE.” Somewhere, Edward could hear the quartermaster shouting, but the racing of his own heartbeat still rung heavy in his ears. His forearm throbbed and the fibers had left their mark in his skin. He caught a few dirty looks from the rest of his crewmates.
“YER ON WATCH TONIGHT KENWAY, ALL NIGHT. I’M ALREADY REGRETTING LETTING YOU ON THIS FILTHY BRIG."
Edward could hear. Unfortunately. Kidd walked over with a mop in hand and gave him a meaningful scowl.
It was well past midday and the sun was beginning to set over the waves. It was a time Edward appreciated. Edward was realizing that from the safe shores of Bristol he'd had no idea what a beast the sea was - a gluttonous and raving creature that beat ruthlessly against their meager schooner. Still, Edward enjoyed seeing the sun play across the thrashing waves as its light was slowly swallowed up. He’d been relegated to mopping the deck, the rotting wood biting into the rope burn and blisters on his palms as he gripped the mop.
This evening however, the battering heat of the day had never left his body. He felt feverish as his bent over the mop, using it to prop himself upright. One final wave of nausea hit and he emptied the paltry contents of his stomach onto the freshly cleaned deck. He groaned wearily and then felt a heavy fist connect with the side of his head. His ear rang alarmingly as he toppled onto his side. The wet deckboards gave his fever some reprieve, but he only indulged in it for a moment before scambling back and onto his feet, fists raised defensively. It was second nature and brought him right back to the half-drunken bar brawls at home.
“Fookin’ barely toed cunt!” Blaney roared, attempting to shake the sick off his boots.
“Look mate-“ Edward started.
Blaney let out another howl of rage and swung again. Edward swiftly dodged and knew nothing he would say could make this right. He squared his shoulders once more and waited for the next blow to come.
“‘Ow about youse settle this wit’ a duel then,” the quartermaster called out from the captain’s deck.
Edward blinked. A duel didn’t exactly seem Blaney’s style, but from the smug look on his face he’d take any opportunity to kick the shite out of Edward.
Blaney’s rough voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Tomorrow night, at three notches of the candle.”
The quartermaster looked on with a cruel smile.
Edward nodded, jaw a firm cocky line. Blaney had weight on him, it was true, but he had speed. He had been the best brawler in Bristol- best of all brawling towns in Edward's own opinion, though others could argue it was nothing more than a muddy cultureless puddle between London and Cardiff.
Blaney grunted and turned away. “We’ll be dueling with swords, then."
Edward choked. He caught sight of Kidd, staring down at them from where he perched on the main mast as comfortably as a bird.
Edward was slumped over the railing of the captain’s deck. A wet fog had settled over the water and sprawled over the ship. It didn’t matter whether anyone was on watch tonight anyway, Edward thought. He couldn’t see a stone’s toss in front of him. He turned a stubbly cheek into the railing and sighed, wishing for nothing more than to be back at any Swansea bar, though he doubted he could ever go back now. He doubted he was ever going to make it to the West Indies either, with Blaney out for blood.
“Forfeit the duel, Kenway.” The command sounded from behind him. He could recognize that damnably assured tone ten feet deep in his grave.
“Fuck off.”
This was met with a speculative noise from Kidd. Edward straightened and turned, watching the boy appear from the swathes of mist like a banshee
“He’ll kill you."
Edward chuckled. “That assured I’m going to lose already, mate?"
Kidd drew closer, crossing his arms carefully over his chest and frowning. “He dropped the rope today, saw you making a mistake not even a novice would make and took advantage. And you’ve not handled a damn sword in your life- what were you? A shepard? A farm boy?” The younger man leaned against the railing beside him.
“Once.” Edward scowled. “I handled a sword once."
“I think Blaney’s handled one a bit more than that. He’ll slaughter you."
Edward was losing his patience. “So what if he does? Save the damn ocean the trouble, and the quartermaster, and you for that matter."
“But then who would mop the deck for us?” Kidd chuckled beofre his expression darkened, “You have to forfeit-"
“And be labeled a coward?"
“Better a live coward than a dead fool. There will be much better ways to kill yourself once we reach the Carribean. Drink, sunstroke, syphillis…” Kidd paused, gauging Edward’s silence. “‘Less you got yourself a pretty little wife at home. Tha's something to make it back ta."
Edward didn’t speak, the memory of his brash departure leaving a cold feeling in his chest. He felt a hand on top of his, thin and bony, offering his own delicate warmth. The same warmth he had missed on these long weeks at sea where there was only the harsh touch of the elements to find comfort in.
“Edward.”
And then there was a knife embedded in the railing inches from his hand, having caught the sleeve of his shirt as he tried to jerk himself away from the blade.
“Take it. If Blaney tries to jump you before the duel, you’ll need it."
The action seemed unusually familiar to Edward.
Kidd scowled as they stormed back to the deckhand's quarters. James had grown restless- sleeping in a room full of men had been more difficult than they remembered and so they had confronted Kenway, the man who irked the edges of their consiousness since they had met those few short weeks ago. Kenway, the idiot, Kidd thought petulantly, rummaging in the many folds of their undershirt for the pipe they kept stored there - a luxury item, easily stolen if not kept safe alongside many other things Kidd considered their “luxury." James settled between a few scattered trunks and held the pipe between their teeth as they lit a spill on a conveniently hung latern.
They took a deep draw of the pipe, carefully loosening their bindings and allowing themself to breath more freely. James finally relaxed a bit then, leaning against one of the trunks and letting out a long held sigh. It had all gotten harder than they remembered. At age fourteen there had been much less to hide, espeacially in a navy willing to take all the volunteers they could get. Still, Kidd was begining to get the hang of the sea-faring life once again. James had missed the smell of salt, the sweet burn of muscles as they pulled and dragged the sails into place, the brush of trousers between legs. Despite Kidd’s respite from the sea, they had never let go of the brawn and steel gained while fighting. But presently, this wasn’t their concern.
Kenway was a dead man. Nothing they could do. And yet there was a painful twist in their belly at the thought. At twenty six years James Kidd had watched enough men die that it should no longer hurt.
Another deep inhale of smoke. James was decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. There was something about Edward, he’d appeared the night of their embarkment, bloodied and docile. The only thing that had ultimately changed was his demeanor. The man had risen the next morning with an arrogant stride and a certain breed of determination that still hadn’t been quelled by his constant seasickness. He’d been brazen, loud, but had a quiet sadness that was kept close to his chest. It was ever-present in those eyes, the color of the clear sea - the sea they would reach in that far-off land.
And he most certainly wasn’t Kidd’s type. Not at all. But Edward held a beauty in those eyes that could rival the bright sapphires sewn into Parisian gowns. Kidd couldn’t deny their lust for pretty things.
There was a scuffling in the corner of the room as Edward entered and collapsed onto one fo the few empty hammocks, not giving Kidd a single glance before he surrendered to sleep. Still, James could feel the bitter looks the man would spare him if only he’d had the energy. It would be luck if anyone was able to rouse him at sunrise.
That gave James Kidd a rather good idea.
Edward awoke slowly the next morning, becoming aware of each individual pain and ache that plagued his body. He let out a soft groan at the youth of the new day. As possibly his last day on earth, he had at least hoped to sleep in a bit. The quarters were nearly abandoned around him, in what looked like had been a hurry. Then he heard the noise that had roused him, a great din overhead- shouting, and what sounded like steel clashing against steel. He didn’t bother with his shirt as he rolled stiffly from the hammock. Clambering up the ladder that led to the upper decks, he threw open the latch, and finally he was able to recognize that jeering voice.
James Kidd, chuckling, cutlass drawn, had sliced a clean mark across Blaney’s nose.
“Bollocks man, now I know yer all talk. Show us some ah that brawn mate, goodness knows ya might even be all blubber."
Blaney let out a low roar and advanced towards Kidd, allowing a few parries before striking with all his mass. Kidd merely redirected the force of the blow, darting out of the way before a quick jab from Blaney could pierce his chest.
Edward gaped, just beginning to comprehend the scene before him. The pair was equally matched, Blaney had sheer strength on his side where Kidd had agility. James fought with one arm tucked behind his back and quick jabbing sword strokes that could force even Blaney backwards. However, the power behind Blaney’s slashes was unmatchable. Their swords met again in a series of quick parries. Blaney pulled back ever so slightly and a small opening appeared. Edward could see Kidd’s eyes flash as the boy slashed forward towards the other man’s hulking neck. Blaney’s meaty fist grasped James’ thin wrist before the blade could reach its mark and pulled the boy closer.
“Perhaps ya shoul’ stop fightin’ like some posh git wit’ not’ing between ‘is legs,” he snarled. Proper stance forgotten, Kidd clawed at the hand that held him and Blaney tossed him backwards. James landed with a thud on the planks, small body curled on the deck.
The bulkier man sheathed his sword but continued to advance. “Twisted yer wrist eh? Maybe a fracture? Funny ‘ow that shite ‘appens on a ship. Can’t fight with one ‘and, can ya boy? It’s over."
Edward was between them, Kidd’s knife clasped in his hand. He wasn’t sure when he had started moving, bare feet sprinting across the splintered boards of the ship, but he had stopped Blaney’s advance if only for a moment.
“Fancy a schedule change?” he queried cockily, grin plastered on his face. He could see Blaney’s eyes skirt over the bruises that had blossomed on his arms and down his sides. He must look a right mess, face still colorless from sickness and the weak Welsh sun, skin blotched in red and black. Still, Edward knew this was what he must do, just as he had all those months ago when he’d been thrown in the mud by Tom Cobeleigh and company, trying to release that drunken maid from their clutches.
The hilt of a sword collided with Edward’s cheek, making the bone there reverberate as he let out a grunt of pain. The heel of a boot ground into the top of his bare foot and he fell backwards, barely able to catch himself. Kidd had risen, sword firmly grasped in his left hand, a few drops of Edward’s blood falling from the tang. The boy panted through his teeth.
“Get yer natty arse out ah this mate,” James muttered defiantly before slashing wildly towards Blaney. The larger man dodged and had the audacity to laugh.
“Ah, I see now, ya little skinny faggot. Kenway let ya stick yer cock up ‘is arse and ya thought it meant somethin’. Tried to save the shite sack-“
Edward was taken aback, and gazed at the rage blossoming in Kidd’s face. He remembered the warning the boy had given him the night before. Surely this hadn’t been for him.
Blaney kept laughing and dodging Kidd's blows, taunting him all the while. His strategy was obvious- tire James out before cutting him down in a few short strokes. Blaney leaned against the ship’s railing arrogantly, Kidd panting out forceful breaths.
Edward stared at James, but his eyes were firmly locked on Blaney's. The blond advanced cautiously, ready to intervene again if the fight began to look fatal. This was his battle after all, he thought with displeasure, it hadn’t even been Kidd’s right to-
There was a sword pointing at him now, and a cruel grin on the other end of it. He attempted to quickly divert the strength behind the blow as he had watch Kidd do time and time again, but the knife was too short as was his experience, and the tip of Blaney’s cutlass sank into his shoulder.
Kidd hadn’t expected much of a fight from Blaney. From what they had seen the man was oafish, lobcocked, and dull. Having a few years fighting experience in London and France had given Kidd the trained swordsman’s edge. Their strokes were crisp, clever even. Still, they had underestimated the scheming man before them. James realized a second too late that Blaney had switched targets. The roar which emanated low in their belly verged on a scream, the screams Kidd had been suppressing all their life rolled into one. They’d kept quiet, mocking, reserved, keeping their identity and secrets close to their chest, hidden beneath layers of fabric and fabrications. It was the scream of twenty six years of loss, of rejecting destiny, and being abandoned in the world by one person after another. James Kidd deserved nothing, but especially not this.
James knocked Blaney’s arm off its mark, from the sounds behind them, no doubt ripping a larger wound in Kenway’s shoulder. Kidd drew back their cutlass and in one last underhanded blow impaled Blaney on the sword.
The stream of crimson warmth spilled over their hand, making their grip slippery. Kidd realized just what they had done. As they began to withdraw their blade, Blaney's blood flowed all the more liberally. Blaney met James' eyes, a terrified animalistic wetness to the larger man’s gaze now. There was more red flooding behind his teeth. Blaney bellowed and lifted his cutlass once again and, Kidd was too slow to fend it off this time, their own sword still stuck in the other man’s innards. A searing pain raced across James’ face and blood obscured their vision, flowing freely into their right eye. Blindly, Kidd shoved the larger man backward with all their remaining strength, toppling him over the side of the ship.
The crew had gone silent and Kidd heard the splash above the pounding in their ears and the screams that followed as the dying man was dragged under the ship by the currents. James Kidd smirked.
A blow across the side of their head deafened them once more and they opened their left eye to see the captain’s blood-drained face staring back at him. They held the gaze a moment before he turned away and shouted for the crew to disperse. The captain threw Kenway a rabid look but didn’t strike him as he walked by.
After a moment, the crew obeyed, averting their eyes from the blood stains that now marred the deck of the ship. Someone went to grab a bucket. The screams from the water below had finally begun to quiet. James winced as they tried to open their right eye. It wouldn’t do to lose it yet, they thought miserably and brought their hand up to the wound on their face. Edward approached, moving slowly to take in the full extent of his injuries.
“You’d do well ta back off lad,” Kidd spat out and began walking with as much dignity as possible towards the still-open hatch leading to the cabins below. They could hear Kenway follow behind at a short distance like a gruesome, sanguine, dog.
Once below deck, James began rummaging in their trunks, looking for something to quell the bleeding and reassure themselves of the functionality of their right eye.
“Here, let me just-“ Edward tilted James' head with a surprisingly gentle caress and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the remaining blood away from the closed eye. James opened it cautiously, ignoring the sting the movement caused. From the feel of it, the blade had been stopped from cutting into the actual eye by the brow bone. It had reconnected with the skin just under the socket and continued down where it cut nearly to the bone over the cheek, but thankfully the wound grew more shallow as it headed towards the jaw line. The red bandana tied around James’ head had protected their scalp from injury for the most part, but the first layer was nearly sliced in two.
Their eyes met with Edwards and held them, fear and hatred slowly beginning to ebb away from their glare. Edward coughed and looked down after a moment.
“I’ve got a needle and thread, if you can stomach being stitched up."
“Fetch a bottle too,” Kidd called as Edward moved away to retrieve the required materials for the procedure. They let out a sigh of relief when they saw that the wound in Edward’s shoulder had stopped just before tearing the muscle.
In theory Edward knew how to doctor a wound, but his stitches were more clumsy than Kidd would have liked. Half a bottle of rum in and they were still trying not to jerk away from the needle. James couldn’t bear to imagine what their face looked like now. It wasn’t as if it had been unmarred by blemishes before, but Blaney’s final act seemed to finally rob Kidd of feminine beauty. Mary Read knew then that she would never again be able to settle down comfortably as a woman, that the dream she had held only a few years before of a few children, a country home, and the bustle of a lively inn had died with her Flemish husband. The only thing ahead now was James Kidd and their search for a life in the new world - girls and glory and a chance at equality free from the whims of kings and rich men.
The needle dug into the delicate flesh just beneath their eye and Kidd’s teeth clenched again.
“Sorry,” Edward muttered as he continued his work with calloused hands.
“Won’t ya ask me why I did it?” Kidd asked, patience already fully exerted and growing irritated with the amount of time the man was taking in his work.
“I know why.” There was a shite-eating smile on Kenway’s face.
“Enlighten us then."
“You’re an arrogant self-rightous pillock.”
Kidd frowned. “And yer an idiotic shite-sa- FECKING HELL.”
Kenway tugged on the ruptured skin as he made the final knot. “What was that?”
“Yer a sadistic bastard,” Kidd spat and leaned away from the intimacy that had enveloped them, watching with satisfaction as blood oozed from the bruise growing on Edward’s cheek. “Aren’t ya gonna thank me?"
Edward snorted and moved back to widen the distance between them, falling into his usual snide discourse. “You should be thanking me. Saw you laid on the deck like that, couldn’t help but show some pity."
Kidd laughed, sheer relief drowning out the ache in their limbs.
In one last show of companionship, Edward pulled Kidd to their feet. “Got anymore wounds there? Anything need attending while ya got the Great Edward Kenway at yer service?” There was a devilish gleam in his eyes and he began patting Kidd down, presumably checking for injuries. It took a moment for Kidd to realize hands had landed on their half-bound breasts, the fabric having slipped somewhat in the battle.
“You have a surprisingly… muscular chest…” Edward noted haltingly and Kidd moved away, tense once again.
“Ay,” they stated, face kept blank. “A lot ‘ah women 'ave told me as much.” Kidd chuckled humorlessly but there was a bitter note as Kidd added, “M’sure yer lovely lass back ‘ome would agree.”
Edward gave them one last quizzical glance before shaking his head and turning around, glancing down at his hands. He had to have been mistaken…