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The mist that settled across the bow of the Revenge was colder than death.
Anymore it's impossible for Edward to get warm, especially bizarre given their location so close to the equator. He’s used to sweltering nights on the Caribbean sea, peeling off his leathers to let his tan skin dry in salty air. But in the week since he’s learned of the famed Gentleman Pirate’s demise, the weather has turned unseasonably cold.
It seeped into his bones as he stared out the windows of the bare captain chamber. The silk robe around his shoulders is torn and thin and not enough to keep him from shivering.
He was fucking weak. At least, that's what the harsh voice inside his mind scolds him as he walked to the fireplace. Fire is a harbinger of death for fierce pirate captains, not a source of comfort. Still, he can't help reaching into the small box along the mantle for a bit of flint and crouching next to the half burnt wood to make an attempt at warming himself up. If only to watch it and consider setting himself on fire.
It catched easily. It's a kindness he doesn't deserve. The fire slowly crawled to life, licking the timber and catching at a slow, steady pace. His long salt and pepper hair framed his face as he stared at it, forehead against the mantle.
Rage is so much easier than grief.
It was effortless to act the lover scorned and turn back into the monster the moment his feet hit the Revenge without Bonnet at his side. Honestly, there was something of a thrill in it, letting the hurt propel him like a strong breeze caught in sails, cutting down anything in his way. Even Lucius. Even the crew.
Even that voice inside his head telling him to stop.
But then the news came of Bonnet's death. At the hands of a piano, no less. Fittingly a flouncy end for a flouncy man. But as much as his death stung, the circumstances around it were, well, so very Stede. He'd gone home to his family. And Edward, well, he was never going to be a safe harbor for anyone. He knew in his heart Stede would leave him someday. If he was going to lose him, at least it was for something as important as his wife and children. If you care about that sort of thing.
Of course, then he had to go and get himself killed a few short weeks into returning to his honorable husbandly duties. Maybe it's the thought that counts.
Blackbeard's shins were beginning to unthaw, and he crouched to get closer to the fire. He carefully peeled his gloves and tossed them aside, letting the heat seep into his fingertips.
This close to the flames he let his eyes rest in their dance, the white hot blue illuminating the inside of the charred stone. It's blackened with excessive use and over indulgence. Except for a glint of silver. Just to the left.
Frowning, he refocused and there, under a nondescript stone, was a small latch. Unable to ever resist a curiosity, he did the only sane thing. He flicked it.
Above him, the groan of shifting wood shocked him backwards and onto his backside. Fumbling, he stood quickly to see a small compartment alongside the top of the mantle, hidden before as a stone, now obviously a door.
"What the hell…" he muttered, pulling it open to glance inside. Fitting the exact space provided was a terribly ornate wooden box. Filigree and flowers and everything that he'd thrown overboard weeks ago. Somehow he'd missed this damn thing.
The smell of lavender caught his senses as he pulled it free, and he closed his eyes. Weakness, again. He should toss it into the fire. Let the flames devour the last pieces of Bonnet and be done with it.
He doesn’t, of course.
He opens the latch.
It's…well, it's junk, really, to the untrained eye. Bits and bobs. But to Blackbeard….to Edward….it's a dagger to the chest.
Along the bottom of the box lies a thick, neatly folded bit of parchment. Sealed with the emblem of the Gentleman Pirate. With trembling hands, he pops the wax.
It's a letter, written in Stede’s careful script.
And it's addressed to him.
Dearest Edward,
If you are reading this, then I have surely kicked the proverbial bucket. I can only hope it was in the heat of battle. Perhaps a bit of fuckery gone wrong, or run through in a fashion that hit all of the important bits. I might get lucky and be able to trade my life for a steadfast member of my crew - most assuredly un pirate like, but dammit if I haven’t grown fond of them. Let us hope it wasn’t at the end of a hangman’s noose or heaven forbid, a firing squad. They're a dreadful loud thing.
In any event, I hope it was fast and that my corpse will be set to sea. Be a darling and release me to her bosom in my favorite white waistcoat and britches, will you?
Now to the business of this letter - my will, such as it is. Depending on the circumstances of my death, assuming there are any crew left to bequeath such things to, I’d like for them to take of my things what they wish. I suppose my clothes could fetch a fine price, but I do think Lucius would look striking in that blue frock I keep on the left side, next to the summer linens. My cutlery, of course, can go to Roach. (Take care to explain to him the importance of the fish fork!) Please give Buttons the small version of this ship so when Karl brings his children around, they have a ship of their own.
For you, my dear Edward, I leave the contents of this box. It’s not much, but I know you prefer to travel light in any event.
(Edward picks up the items gingerly as he reads each description.)
I hope you don't find it too gauche but I kept the butt of Izzy's sword as a memento from my first pirate stabbing! I suppose you could say the scar itself would remind me but this makes me think of the pride on your face when I'd managed to take a knife to the guts and not die. A remarkable feat indeed!
Some of the remnants of our poor adventure map, charred though they may be. They remind me how game you were that day for a silly adventure. Who would have ever pictured silly rich boy Bonnet out for a treasure hunt with Blackbeard himself? Sometimes I still can't believe my luck in being in your company.
I couldn't get the idea of your Bar and Grill and Fishing Store out of my head, so one night I sketched a bit of a logo for the sign. (It’s quite terrible, Edward thought, turning it over in his hands. A rudimentary fish, stabbed with a spear and yet smiling somehow.) I thought maybe one day when you get to retire you may use it. Perhaps I'll commission one of the crew to carve it for you. In any event, it reminds me of what a dreamer you are, dear Edward.
Lastly, I hope you aren't too cross but I saved those silly purple ribbons from your beard. I'll never forget the look on Izzy's face as he placed them, and I know it's probably not a happy memory for you but oh, how you shone that night like a precious bit of gold. You are finer than ten boats full of aristocrats.
Oh, and a bit of the lavender soap. I thought if you find this and you're a little sad about my demise, you might like to have yourself a soothing bath. Of course, you might not have been sad at all - that's presumptuous! Absolutely fine if you are not! Only, in case you are, I do wish to ease that, if only a little.
There are things I leave you that do not fit within the confines of any vessel. The thrill I feel when your eyes twinkle with adventure. The lovely way you laugh along with the crew - you probably haven't noticed, but I have, that it's your loudest laugh. The rouge your nose turns after too much brandy. All of these bits of you that I treasure most of all. Which I will miss more than I can say.
(This bottom part, the script is different. Less fancy. The letters are hastily written as if in a rush.)
I worry our time together will have sullied your prestigious reputation as the most fearsome pirate of the high seas. Truly, the thought horrifies me. I cannot thank you enough for showing me the ways of piracy but if it's at the expense of your - well, no matter. I'm dead now anyhow, aren't I? Please use this opportunity to claim you'd finally tired of my endless buffunery and murdered me in cold blood in a spectacularly gory way. I should hope that helps rebuild what I may have destroyed.
However, if I may be so bold as to speak some truth here: Blackbeard is only a piece of your heart, Edward. The world has tried to harden you to a brittle edge, but you can be both a fearsome pirate and devoted friend. You deserve finery and softness. No, don't shake your head at me - I can see you now in my mind's eye - it's true. Being dead means I have final authority on the matter. (It's rather liberating.)
I do hope before I die, I had a chance to express my admiration for you, Edward. I feel as if I might not. Whilst I badger the crew to talk through their feelings, I'm a rotten coward when it comes to my own. You only need to look so far as the abandonment of my family to see it. (I do hope Mary can find some comfort in my death.)
But I say this to you now, feverishly hoping my quill is faster than my terrified heart - I love you, Edward Teach. I never want to be apart from you, damn my selfish soul. Know that in death, I’ll find my way to your dreams and wait for you in the lighthouse of your heart.
Forever yours
Stede
The parchment is creased where his bare hand holds it too tightly and Edward thinks it would be better for him to never feel a single thing ever again.
The rage is back, in full force but louder still is the endless gaping of grief. He's not actively crying so much as tears won't stop flowing, mixing with the kohl on his cheeks and landing in his lap in gray splatters.
Stede loved him.
The single thought pulses with the beat of his heart. How is it possible to feel this buoyant and devastated all at once? That means, the kiss….he'd have suspected (in his darker moments) that it was something Stede hadn't really wanted, just went along with it out of kindness, and yet.
And yet that small noise he made against Edward’s mouth. The way his pink lips curled into a smile. His sweet breath whispering, "You make Stede happy".
Stede loved him. Even then.
The fact that Stede hadn't shown up as Edward waited on the docks faded into the background. Didn't even touch his heart. Tomorrow he could be newfound fury over all that.
Tonight, his back ached where it rested against stone, the dying fire seeped the last of the heat from his bones…and he closed his eyes and let the grief sweep him away. He sobbed for hours, until the fog outside seemed to settle in his brain, until he was nothing more than a hollowed out shell, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
He was woken by the sound of shouting, the pound of feet against deck, and a fist slammed against a locked door. His body jolted, head slamming against the floor where he'd slid to his side in his sleep.
"Yeah, yeah. Coming!" he shouted, his throat like sandpaper. He stretched, his entire body feeling like absolute ass. Really getting too old for this grief shit.
More pounding, this time with intent. "Captain!" Izzy calls. "Now!"
It took him ages to reach the door, and the whole time he's clenching his fist in preparation. Hitting Izzy won't bring him much joy, but it might quell a fraction of rage momentarily.
"Fucking WHAT?" he roared, nearly yanking the door off it's hinge.
Izzy is there, sure. Looking like someone pissed in his stew, forced him to eat it, waited until he crapped it out and made him eat that too. A perfectly punchable face. But that's not what Edward is looking at.
Because right behind him, looking tan, windswept and so fucking alive, is Stede Bonnet.