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Blackbeard doesn’t make rash decisions. It might seem that way to other people, but he’s always gone through every option in his head multiple times by the time he determines the best course of action. This decision is no different. He thinks about it deeply for half a day. Or at least he ponders it for several hours over a decent amount of rum.
He sees the sign shortly after getting off the ship while on his way to the tavern, but he doesn’t linger long. He simply takes note of it and gets on with what he came to do – get drunk alone and far away from his crew. As far away as you can get here anyway.
By the time he’s comfortably sloshed, what was originally a throw-away thought starts to take form, morphing into an increasingly solid plan. He has no reason not to do it, after all. Stede Bonnet is dead, good riddance, and Blackbeard shouldn’t be forced to remember that no-good ponce or how close he got to destroying everything Blackbeard had spent years building – an irrefutable reputation as the scourge of the sea and a loyal crew that will follow him straight to hell.
So why not just get rid of that part of his life? Poof, gone, like it never happened and he never teetered on the edge of complete ruin. Just the thought causes bile to rise in his throat, but that can luckily be washed down with more rum.
He has every faith it’ll work, because the witch is clearly the real deal, all legit-like. It says so on the sign and everything: “Licensed witch – results guaranteed – no refunds!” And if she turns out to be another disappointment, he hasn’t really lost anything. No one knows what he’s planning. They all think he’s out whoring or murdering or at least doing a bit of mutilation. It’s what he wants them to think – it gets Izzy off his back for a little bit.
Part of him wants to celebrate this decision with a glass of brandy. For old time’s sake. To revel in the memories one more time, to poke at the wound that so annoyingly refuses to heal. But the only bottle they have in this crappy joint is looking decidedly dodgy, and he can just imagine Bonnet’s stupid, disapproving face, that deep frown he tried to hide whenever he realized he was doing it, which was obviously always about five seconds too late.
They don’t have any arrack, and Blackbeard doesn’t much care for gin or whiskey, so in the end he just settles for one last rum, which is fine anyway. Rum never failed him before. The taste and smell of it doesn’t remind him of rosy cheeks in a candlelight-lit room, sitting in a comfortable chair and gazing like some molly. Rum helps him forget. It’s his only true friend these days.
Blackbeard is a professional when it comes to being inebriated, and he’s very good at hiding just how drunk he is – at least in public with strangers around. Being wasted means being vulnerable, and if there’s something Blackbeard doesn’t want to be, it’s that. Vulnerable. Soft. An easy target. No thanks. So he is surprisingly sure on his feet when he leaves the crummy tavern and heads back towards the docks via the same route he travelled this morning. Which just so happens to be the route that’ll take him past a certain sign hanging next to an inconspicuous door.
He dodges down the side of the building, just to make sure no one is following him. But he’s blissfully alone in the dark, urine-soaked alley. All the windows are shuttered, which he is also pleased about, so he decides in that moment to go through with it.
The witch opens the door before he’s even finished knocking, which seems like a good sign. Foresight would indeed be the sign of a proper witch. She ushers him inside without a word, firmly shutting the door behind him before turning back to him with dark, knowing eyes.
She’s not a young woman but she’s also not as old as he’d expected. Sturdy build, auburn hair turning grey at the temples. She makes him feel weirdly at ease – there’s something familiar and calming about her quiet, stoic demeanor.
“I’m… I’m here to forget,” he finally explains. The witch just keeps looking at him for another couple of seconds before briefly taking his hands in hers. He realizes his palms are clammy with sweat.
“I see. Come with me.” And then she leads him deeper into the house to a room lit mostly by the fire burning on the open fireplace. The air is heavy and smells spicy but in a slightly unpleasant way, like something is just about to go off somewhere in some of the jars and pots littered around the room.
She gestures for him to sit in a chair that once would’ve been lovely but now is starting to look pretty damn ragged. For a split second he thinks of the lovely furniture in Stede’s cabin and how he would feel knowing it’s rotting in the ocean now. Not that he cares about what Bonnet might’ve felt about anything from the second he decided to leave Blackbeard sitting on that godforsaken dock.
“What’s your name?” He’s startled back to reality by her question. It’s a dumb question, though. Everyone knows who he is.
“I’m Blackbeard.” He can’t help the slightly insulted look on his face, but she doesn’t react at all. Just keeps staring at him with those calm, dark eyes.
“Your real name, I mean.” Oh. He kind of wants to tell her off, but before he can come up with some sort of clever response, his tongue is betraying him.
“Ed…ward. Teach.” Born on a beach rings like a faint echo in his head, but at least he doesn’t say it.
“Welcome, Mr. Teach. And who will you be forgetting today?” She seems very sure of herself, which is reassuring. And a little bit annoying, for some reason, if Ed is being totally honest with himself. He suddenly doesn’t want to tell her. Sure, she pretended not to know who he is, but what if she knows everything? What if she’s heard all the rumors and now she’s going to laugh at him? The Republic of Pirates is a tiny place, and Bonnet certainly made his presence known when he visited.
Even so. He’s here now – a man on a mission. There’s a plan to follow. So, with a deep breath, he finally speaks the name out loud, admitting their association for the first time in months.
“Stede Bonnet.” The name sticks in his mouth like sickly sweet molasses. “He’s dead now,” he adds. He doesn’t know why he says it – maybe he just needs to remind himself. The witch just nods softly, and a heavy silence falls over them again while she keeps looking at him like she’s trying to see right through him.
Finally, she gets up from her chair and starts rummaging around the room, picking out jars and bits of bone and what he’s pretty sure is the dried head of some weird-looking lizard. When she returns to her seat, the table between them is covered in strange paraphernalia.
“Do you have something of his?” Ed’s hand automatically reaches for his throat, his fingertips brushing against the increasingly worn black silk cravat. It’s all he has left, the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to destroy or sell or throw overboard. It’s his. But he’s here to let go and move the fuck on. So if this is what it takes, he’ll just have to get over it. With a determined nod, he unties the silk and holds it out towards the witch in a scrunched up ball.
“Very well. We will burn this at the end of the ritual.” It feels like someone is squeezing his heart at the very thought of watching that stupid piece of fabric curl up and turn to ash before his eyes. He almost withdraws his hand, almost gets up and runs away like a scared little boy. But when he looks into the witch’s eyes, he feels comforted once again. She knows this is a sacrifice, and she’s not taking it lightly. So he finally unfurls his fingers and lets her take the cravat, feeling the softness of the skin-warmed fabric rush across his calloused palm one last time.
“I need you to remember as much as you can about Mr. Bonnet. Start with your last memory.” She’s pouring ingredients into a large bronze bowl, and Ed just watches her skilled hands at their familiar work. All his memories of Stede. He’s spent months trying to drink them all away, but it feels like they’re right there under the surface anyway, like some lurking monster you can never outrun.
“Like the last time I saw him or…?” She looks up from her work for a moment, those busy hands suddenly stilled.
“How about the moment you learned of his death?” For all she knows, he could’ve been there when Stede died. Ed could’ve caused his death. But somehow she does apparently know that this isn’t the case.
The memory won’t be difficult to bring forth. He still has nightmares about it. He was in the cabin – his cabin – sitting in that damned windowsill once again, trying to drink himself into oblivion with the help of a new stash of rum they’d just picked up in port. Izzy had knocked twice before coming into the room, his limp just about gone by then. The mere look on his face had told Ed something was up. He’d looked positively gleeful but somehow also apprehensive. Nervous. Like he didn’t know how Blackbeard would react, and that fact absolutely thrilled him.
“Just heard some news, Captain.” Izzy shifted around uncomfortably, trying to get the words out, but Blackbeard just looked at him, too drunk to even feel annoyed.
“It’s Bonnet. He’s dead. Something about an accident – Fang didn’t get any of the details.” It was like a deep, black whirlpool opened under Edward, and he was swallowed up as soon as the words sunk in. Part of him thought he should be happy, that this was what Stede deserved for leaving him. But mostly he just felt like his heart was breaking all over again at the realization that he’d never get to see Stede again. It was truly over then.
“That’s very good.” He hasn’t said a word out loud, he’s absolutely sure of that. But when he looks up, the witch has her eyes closed, her fingertips submerged in a dark liquid in the bowl, unknown plants and bits and bobs floating on the surface. His face feels wet, so he quickly wipes at his cheeks. Luckily she doesn’t open her eyes.
“How about the last time you saw Mr. Bonnet?” That fucking privateering academy. The thrill of plotting and scheming and the warm hope of a future with Stede spreading through his chest as he snuck through the dormitory. Stede’s stupid, golden curls looking somehow immaculate. The doubt and trepidation in his voice that Ed had somehow missed or chosen to ignore. Stede’s face in the darkness, looking worried but beautiful.
“Go on. What happened before that?” The witch’s voice is calm guide, gently nudging him on, making him walk back through all those moments he normally can’t stand to think about.
The beach. Their confessions to each other. The kiss. His plan. He’s scared to even think about it, especially if this complete stranger is somehow inside his damned head now. But it feels like it’s too late to back out now, so he closes his eyes again and remembers Stede’s hands in his, soft and pale, like two doves. The sand under them was still retaining the heat of the sunshine, and he wanted to stay there forever. He remembers pressing his lips so gently against Stede’s and the thrill of Stede kissing him back, his hand resting tentatively on Ed’s thigh. It was the best moment of his life.
He aggressively wipes at the tears in his eyes this time, but the witch doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look at him. She just moves her fingers minutely in the water, keeping the surface moving, and waits for him to continue.
And continue he does, through every little moment he can remember. Their time together in the brig on the way to the academy, the sad look on Stede’s face every time he looked at Ed. Much like the look he gave him when Ed put his mark on that damned paper, signing away his freedom for someone who didn’t deserve his love or sacrifice.
The firing squad. The mind-numbing fear he felt in the moment at the idea of seeing his friend murdered in front of him like that. The memory of removing the blindfold and staring into Stede’s confused eyes and somehow still seeing joy there. Maybe joy at just seeing Ed in that situation. But apparently whatever Stede was feeling in that moment wasn’t enough.
He already feels exhausted, but the witch keeps telling him to continue. She needs more, needs all of the memories. Nights spent in Stede’s cabin drinking fine brandy and regaling his friend with scandalous stories about his adventures – nothing too violent, though. He learned early on that Stede didn’t really have an appetite for it.
Ed remembers sleeping on Stede’s fancy, embroidered divan instead of going back to his own ship. He claimed to be too drunk and too tired, but in actuality he just wanted to stay. Wanted to be close to Stede as much as possible, wanted to know if he talked in his sleep even when he wasn’t being ravished by fever. He discovered that Stede is actually pretty quiet when he sleeps, mostly just snoring lightly once in a while. He found the sound incredibly endearing in that moment.
He remembers the whole debacle with Jack, the sting of Stede’s disapproval. He wishes he’d never looked over his shoulder one last time before leaving the Revenge that night, because now he has to live with knowing what a heartbroken Stede Bonnet looks like. Looked like. At least he won’t remember it for long.
At one point he sneakily cracks open one eye, just to check what the witch is doing, and he’s surprised to see tears streaming down her face. When he touches his own cheeks, he realizes he is also crying again. Maybe he never stopped. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in this room, but it feels like days. His body is heavy and tired, and the witch is also looking fairly exhausted, her body hunched over the bowl on the table.
“Remember him to forget,” she mumbles, still not opening her eyes. Edward powers on. Teaching piracy and the art of fuckery. Pathetically sobbing and confessing to Stede in that damn bathtub, that beautiful robe clutched between his clumsy fingers. His friend’s calming, comforting hand on his shoulder. He almost doesn’t want to let go of that moment. He doesn’t remember ever being as vulnerable with another human being as he was that night. Having a friend felt so special then, so magical. He didn’t know that even friends can betray you.
In the end, Ed remembers seeing Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate, dangling from a noose onboard a Spanish ship, looking absolutely wrecked and somehow still managing to be the most interesting person Ed had ever seen. And the way he’d looked up at Ed, smiling though barely conscious when he realized the great Blackbeard knew about him. That smile sparked something deep and a bit shameful in Ed’s chest. A pride different from what he’d felt before. More dangerous. Like he wanted Stede to keep looking at him like that no matter what it took.
He finally sinks deeper into the chair, rubbing his hands over his face with a deep groan. The witch’s fingers are wrinkly now and stained black from whatever concoction she has in that bowl.
“Very good. You were thorough. That’ll help the spell take root.” Ed just nods, unsure what to do or say now. He feels empty just from going through it all, even though the memories are still there, now fresher than ever.
“I will burn this,” she says, placing her hand on the black cravat, “and once the ashes are mixed with the potion, the spell will be complete and you’ll be free.” He just watches her, trying not to think about how he can still stop this, he can snatch back his last physical memory of Stede and leave. His heart will still be heavy but at least he knew, although briefly, what it was to have a friend. She’s going to take that away from him.
But then the bitter bile of betrayal rises in his throat again, and he thinks wearing that damn necktie would feel like wearing a fucking noose around his throat. So he stays where he is, his fingers curling around the armrests of the chair instead of reaching out. The witch watches him carefully, and when she is satisfied that he’s made his choice, she puts fire to the black tie.
The silk is difficult to burn, and she has to keep the flaming taper against it, but she is patient, and slowly but surely, the silk disintegrates before their eyes, finally turning into a soft, delicate ash. Edward is almost afraid to breathe lest he scatter the ashes and ruin everything.
“I am going to ask you to leave now. You will forget about our meeting as well, and it is best if that doesn’t happen while you’re here.” He can see the logic in that. Not everyone will react nicely to suddenly being in a witch’s house with no recollection of what they’re going there.
So he pays her in gold coins and leaves without another word. It’s dark outside when he closes the door behind him, and the air feels cool against his clammy skin. It’s a relief after spending what must’ve been hours in that dark, claustrophobic room. The street is mostly deserted, and no one seems to be paying him any heed. He’s just about to head back to the tavern for another round when an overwhelming dizziness hits him, and Ed stumbles against the side of the building, his hands clutching his head as a piercing headache comes on.
Blackbeard has clearly been drinking more heavily than he thought. Normally his hangovers don’t start until the sun rises, but maybe he’s just getting old. He also feels a bit unsteady on his feet as he staggers back towards his ship.
Once back in his cabin, he throws himself in his little alcove bed, but the room keeps spinning, so he gives up on lying down. He’s feeling incredibly groggy, but he manages to drag himself over to the large desk, throwing himself unceremoniously down in the one chair he has. He feels like he must’ve been on the rum all day, which he knows isn’t unlike him, but he’s struggling to remember why he would be drinking so heavily.
Izzy knocks twice before entering, looking all timid and annoying, but he lingers in the doorway. Blackbeard just raises his eyebrows at him, pondering exactly what’s making his first mate look so constipated today. But there’s certainly something unusual going on with Izzy’s face.
“What is it?” He can hear Izzy’s boots shuffling as he takes a couple of hesitant steps towards the desk. Everything about his attitude is putting Blackbeard on edge, and he really can’t cope with British fuckers or Spanish bastards right now – not when his eyeballs are trying to burrow backwards into his skull.
“We’ve had news, Captain. It’s about… It’s Bonnet. It seems he’s actually alive. And he’s here. On the island. Looking for you.” Izzy is working himself up as he stutters through what is apparently supposed to be an explanation, his jaw so tight in the end that Blackbeard is surprised he can get any words out.
Blackbeard is also very confused.
“Who’s this Bonnet then?”