Chapter Text
Before you could read books, you could read wanted posters. Before you could spell out your name, you could write down ‘pirate’ and ‘wanted dead or alive.’ Before you could write, you throw a mean punch. Before you knew how to play, you knew how to fight. And before you knew how to count your fingers, you could tie knots. Before you knew what a Marine was, you already were one. And before you knew what ‘love’ means, you knew what hate was and who to hate: pirates. Hatred towards them coursed alongside your blood through your veins.
Pirates are the scum of the seas, raiders from the depths of the oceans that have come to pillage towns and wreak havoc over the prospering empires. They’re sick people who only know how to steal and how to kill. They rob lives without an ounce of hesitance, ignorant to the misery and suffering they force upon people because of their actions. The world would be better off without them. That way, all people can live in peace without worry from murderers and pillagers like them. Pirates are everything you should hate and you swear that you're going to make it so not one person has to be afraid of their shores–they'll never have to look at the horizon wondering if they see pirate ships in the distance cruising towards them.
If there is one thing that your family has instilled into you, it would be that a world free of suffering is a world free of pirates. Like every other family member before you, you've been set on the path of greatness that is to eradicate every one of those vermin since birth. The only aspiration you could have is rising the ranks of the Marines. Generations of your family served in the Marine, holding the highest positions. Being anything short of one of the admiral positions, (the lowest of which ranking fourth highest in authority) is a disgrace, a stain on your one of the most prominent Marine families.
Rising towards the ranks was no difficulty for you. It's only about two years since you've joined the Marines, and you've already risen to a commander position. For reference, even the best of soldiers take four to five years to be promoted to that level. And you know you're about to be promoted–you just need one big case. Just capture one famous pirate, and you know that the Captain rank is yours. One more step closer to cementing your place among the greats of your family.
–
Water pelts across your face and the strong sea breeze whips around you. Over your own thumping heart, you can hear the roaring of raging waves paired with the wild flapping of the sails and the creaking of wood. Thudding footsteps rushes all around you, and the clouded sky flashes, thundering.
“Lower the sails!” You scream at the men as they wrestle with the ropes. Seeing one of the men fumble, you grumble under your breath and shove him away to take over.
“Get a bucket, and keep getting rid of the water. We need as little water to get into the hull as possible,” you command him, and that's enough to make him useful.
“Pirate ship spotted!” One of the crew members states and you groan in frustration. A pirate ship at this time? You're only just barely ensuring the vessel does not capsize! Not only is the Marine ship struggling, but no doubt the pirate ship would be too. You release the ropes, seeking out the captain.
“Captain!” You yell as you head towards him. The cranky man shoots you a snooty glare before turning to a Marine soldier besides him.
“Hurry up! What flag is it?! Huh? Huh?! Give me a damn answer before I throw you overboard!” Your captain gruffly exclaims at the poor Marine who was holding a spyglass, pointing it towards the oncoming ship. You cringe at the Captain's voice, silently giving sentiments to the other Marine.
“It's a… um… it.. um…” The Marine stutters, unsure of what to make of the flag. You grind your teeth before wrenching it out of his hands and examining the flag yourself with squinted eyes. In between heavy rain and dark surroundings, you can just barely recognize the flag: a hand grasping a candle.
Damn it! At this time?!
“It's the Hearth pirates!” You announce, tossing the scope to your Captain to see.
“The Hearth? You mean one of the Harbinger crews?!” The old man grunts before seeing for himself. His facial features morph into one of disbelief before hardening.
“I want every cannon manned now! Get your weapons ready and drawn! All hands on deck!” The Captain demands. The confusion and disbelief was practically palpable among the Marines, and felt through their second of hesitation before the soldiers’ replied with a ‘yes Captain.’
Is he crazy? What the hell is wrong with him? As much as you would love to capture the notorious Hearth pirates, you knew now was nothing but an imprudent time. Even if the Hearth was among the less deadly of the Harbinger crews, that did not make them any less powerful. You have heard from other Marines’ hushed whispers that it takes at least a large fleet (5 Marine ships) to take down one entire Harbinger ship, and even that was theoretical. The Fatui pirates as a whole are damn near unstoppable, but the Harbingers themselves are monsters ripped from hell. As much as you hate to admit, you’re not strong enough to defeat a Harbinger, and you have similar doubts for your Captain. Where does he get this pomposity from?
The other men are struggling enough to keep this piece of wood afloat, and now they have to worry about battling pirates? You doubt even the Hearth is eager for a fight. Fighting in this storm would only lead to early graves for both sides. Winning against and capturing the Hearth pirates is unfavorable, but surviving past this storm is indisputable.
“Wait, Captain!” You call out to him. An annoyed click of his tongue comes from him, as if you were the bother, and it only makes you clench your hands into fists. He turns his back towards you, irritation written all over his expression.
“What are you standing around for? Get ready already!” He demands with a scrunched face.
“We can't engage in battle with them yet! We don’t have enough men, and we're already struggling with the storm!” You protest. “We're in no condition to try and fight them!”
Silence. Around you, you hear whispers from the other crewmates, sounds of agreement coming from them. Evidently, this increases the captain's indignation.
“Quiet!” He screams. “If we're struggling, just think about how they could be faring! They don't have nearly enough resources as us marines do to survive! This is our chance to capture one of the Harbinger crews!
“After all,” he pauses to give you a pointed, haughty look. “We have one of the members of the greatest family? We won't lose with you on our side, right? We're in your hands.”
You bristle, your nails digging into your palm as your lips twitch into a deeper frown. To think he would use your family name against you. What is he even trying to do? You're too stunned to respond and he brushes past you.
You're absolutely powerless to do anything, and so are the other soldiers on this ship. No one here outranks the Captain. No matter how correct you may be, you would be punished for disobeying a superior's order. If only you could have been promoted earlier, then you wouldn't have to listen to this fool. Had it been you, you would have this ship steered towards the closest Marine base and report what direction the Hearth pirates are going. But you can't do that. You nod pathetically, and the rest of the men disperse.
You can only watch as the smaller ship approaches closer and closer. As soon as Hearth pirates enter within the firing range, chaos ensues with your Captain's bellowed “FIRE!”
A cacophony of screams and cannon fire sound through the air, deafening you, and the overpowering smell of gunpowder and brine swarm your nostrils. Like all naval battles, it’s always a blur–just a flash of colors and movements. At some point, the pirate ship approached close enough for them to board onto the Marine ship. You are not aware of this until you find yourself face to face with one of the Hearth pirates. By then, all rationale has been thrown out in favor of instinct–the most precise, miniscule reaction is what keeps you alive the most when it comes to battling pirates. Your surroundings fade from your awareness, your only attention on the figure before you.
She’s a young pirate, that you can tell, but her skills are no less admirable. She has an ever passive, unreadable face that makes predicting her movements hard to discern and even harder to catch off guard. You narrowly dodge another slash of her saber, and your cutlass swishes through the air, only shallowly cutting her sleeve. Despite this, she is far from deterred, and you have to parry another swing. The steel of the blades screeches as your blades clash against each other. Now at a temporary standstill, the both of you exchange eye contact for a brief moment. Lilac eyes, brimming with determination, skirts away from yours. She pulls away only to lunge again, a thrust of her blade heading towards you abdomen but you dodge, side-stepping it. The blade skims just past you, embedding into the wood of one of the masts. Realizing the given opportunity, you give a swift kick to the pirate’s stomach, disconnecting her hand from the handle of her sword. She tumbles onto the ground with a grunt, and you use no time to close the distance.
Just as you are about to deliver another blow, a loud gunshot sounds through, making you flinch. A sharp pain erupts from your left shoulder and you stumble back from the young pirate. You cock your head, peering behind you. This action allows you to narrowly miss two oncoming daggers, though your cheek and neck get nicked. Spinning on your heel, you face the dagger wielding pirate fully. He’s a young boy, with a top hat and matching eyes of the saber user. Siblings, perhaps? The fierceness in his eyes confirms your suspicions.
You charge at the boy, but before reaching him, a large wave crashes into the boat, water spilling overboard and throwing you off balance. The sudden impact makes you lose your balance, and you’re hurtled towards the railings of the ship, your back slamming into it. An audible crack emits from the collision and your spine screams out in agony. Lifting yourself into a crawling position, you glance up at the havoc over the deck.
A bit close to you is your captain, fighting against a white-haired woman. Given the striking polearm she wields, that must be the Knave, one of the eleven Harbingers of the Fatui pirates. Her movements are graceful, every thrust and slash calculated and precise. In contrast, your captain’s movements are botched, desperate. Every output of effort from him is just for another instance of him scraping by with his life. Each parry with his saber leaves his arms trembling. He is a bumbling mess compared to the Knave. Easily, you can tell it’s a losing battle for your captain. He’s outclassed.
You’re about to rise when a flicker of bright light catches your gaze. Your eyes widen as you turn your head to spot a bright orange mass covering a part of the deck, and it only grows the longer you gaze at it. The flames stalk towards you with a terrifying space. Despite your body’s protest, you beckon your body to stand. When you have both feet on the wooden planks, you head towards your captain to assist him in his battle. Abruptly, the Marine ship shakes, another current assaulting its side. Swept off your feet, your body is flung, your lower abdomen hitting the top of the railings while you roll off of the ship. It’s only by sheer luck that your hand catches the base of the railing, holding onto it with all the strength you could muster in your left arm. The rest of your body hangs over the ever-swallowing sea.
Your grasp is slipping because of the rain. You grunt as you try to lift yourself with just one arm. Opening your mouth, you clench your teeth onto the spine of your cutlass, freeing up your right arm to grip onto the base of another fence. With much effort, you’re able to heave your head up so that your eyesight is just over the floor. You can spot the familiar boots of the captain. Every muscle in your arm is straining, burning painfully. Holding on for much longer is impossible.
The cutlass has to go. You let the weapon fall from your mouth, and it plunges into the waters below.
“Captain! Captain!” The guttural outcry comes from your lips. There’s the groaning of wood breaking. A large shadow looms over you, and you lift your gaze. The mast above tilts down, forewarning its collapse on top of you.
“CAPTAIN!” You scream out, no longer having the strength to lift your head above the deck. You dangle helplessly, your grip slacking with each second.
You hear thumping footsteps towards you, and you have never been more grateful to see the unsightliness of your captain’s face peering over the railings.
For a moment, he does nothing, viewing your vulnerable state. His lips twitch, a small smile stretches over his face. He turns away briefly, glancing in both the right and left direction, before focusing on you again.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that they know you fought honorably,” he says, venom in his voice. “So go ahead and let go.”
Your blood freezes, and his face disappears. Your arms can no longer continue and you let up.
You fall, plunging into the icy cold waters. The iciness does not just seep into your blood, but your muscles and tendons too, making your body heavy. Air is stolen away from you and you flail and kick to the surface for air. Everything hurts. As you sputter for oxygen, coughing out the saltwater, your vision catches the glimpse of a long brown mass toppling down onto you. It’s the last thing you see when something hits the back of your head, and everything fades into an inky abyss.
—
Everything hurts. It's the first thing that comes to you when you are able to grasp even a bit of consciousness. You feel it in your limbs, your back, your abdomen, essentially anything above your waist has a stabbing sensation in it. A groan, followed by a deep suction of air, emerges from you, and you lift your head up. Your eyes flutter open, bright light stabbing into your eyes. You let out a pained groan, rolling your neck to ease its discomfort but find it unhelpful.
Your eyes adjust to the orange glow of your surroundings. You blink several times to relieve the blurriness in your vision, able to see more clearly. Given the rocking motion and the familiar sound of waves crashing, you would reckon you're on a ship. Looking down at yourself, you're seated on a chair. You attempt to sit up, only to find yourself unable to. Rope digs into the skin of your bound wrists, and you let out a string of expletives in a single defeated sigh.
“Did you learn that tongue from the Marines?” A cutthroat voice resounds through the room.
You dip your head, turning towards the figure. A tall woman leans against the wall in the corner, a good bit of distance away. White and black strands, charcoal hands, crimson crossed-pupils, and the epitome of beauty and refinement that marks the appearance of the Knave. Strange to find that among pirates, of all brutish people. Your hazy mind clears in an instant, and you sit up straighter. The pirate captain's presence brings about your most recent memories onto the forefront of your mind in short bursts. With a forceful swallow, you recognize that you have been captured by the Hearth pirates. If you're alive rather than dead, that means they have some use for you. Whatever it is, you need to escape from this. You can only do that when you fish for enough information.
Taking in your surroundings, you'd have to guess you're in some storage room. Stacked barrels make up the majority of the room. Perhaps if you're able to access the contents of the barrels, you can use them to escape. If not, you could easily ruin their supplies, including food and water.
“I just thought communicating would be easier in your language,” you snark back, observing the Harbinger's reaction. Expectedly, she remains inexpressive, revealing nothing. She leans away from the wall, stalking towards you. Heels click against the floorboards. Only pirates would have the audacity to be wearing such compromising shoes out on the sea.
She stands before you, unmoving, her piercing gaze smiliarly fixated on your form. When nothing comes from her lips, you make conversation first.
“Admiring me?”
This earns a humorless chuckle. “There's nothing to admire.”
Ow.
A frown comes across your face. Acting coy does not work on pirates like the Knave. The Knave seems like someone who only responds to directness. No use in stalling.
“What happened to my crew?”
“They were alive when we left them.”
“And are they still alive?”
“Presumably.”
You grit your teeth, lunging at her in anger. Your bounds don't allow for much movement, and it only makes your chair screech across the floor boards towards the pirate. “You left them in the middle of the storm with a ruined ship! You killed them!”
“You were the fools that decided to attack us.”
“You would have attacked us first! You scum aren't above anything! How can I even trust your word? How do I not know you're not lying to my face?! How do I know you haven't slaughtered them all?!” You scream, thrashing against the ropes wildly.
“I doubt any persuasion could relieve your distrust. I see that any sort of conversation with you will be futile,” the pirate remarks. She spins on her heel, heading towards the door. You're almost tempted to let her if it means the chance of never seeing her face again, until another thought crosses your mind.
Why did she want some sort of conversation with you?
“Wait.”
The Knave stops in her tracks. “Are you choosing to be civil for once?”
You scrunch your nose. “Never mind. I can't bear seeing your face again.”
An audible huff comes from the pirate before she does face back towards.
“Why did you… why did you keep me alive? Why did you spare me? Why did you…” You pause, recalling back to your last memories. You were knocked unconscious by falling debris, that you were sure of. You should have drowned by all accounts. You doubt your crewmates have saved you–you hate to admit it, but you would have sunk to the seabed before one of them had noticed. Your crewmates would have been too focused on the pirates to have. If it wasn't any one from your party, then that only leaves the opposing party. However, there is no logical reason for them to. You'd sooner accept divine intervention rather than pirates having rescued you.
The voice in your head, the voice that has been fostered since your childhood, tells you that it is neither of those two, just a sick sense of karma. Pirates aren't capable of any good doing. If they've kept you alive, it's because they intend to hurt you even more. They're inhuman monsters who only know how to steal and steal, until nothing of you is left. Wretched people that shouldn't even have the luxury of being labeled as ‘humans.’
“Why am I here?” You finally settle on those words.
Silence stretches for a single moment before she begins. “You encountered two of my children, yes?”
You raise your eyebrows at the mention of ‘children.’ You're aware that some captains likened themselves to a parental figure of their crew–it seems like the Knave is one of those cases. You think back to the young ash blond pirates you briefly fought.
“The swordswoman and the dagger thrower,” you reply.
“Correct. I found Lyney as a child, when I was wandering the alleys of a shoretown. He bumped into me because he was in a hurry to save his sister from being sold to a high ranking Marine.”
Shock envelopes your face as you process those words. A Marine? Someone whose duty is to protect citizens? A high ranking Marine? Someone whose performance and power is praiseworthy and yet they would do something like that? The thought sickens you. That kind of behavior… that can only pertain to a pirate right? It is not possible for a Marine to act that way. Other Marine officials would have never allowed it. She must be feeding falsehoods to trick you, to get you to betray your family and duty. There's no way this would happen.
Despite your inner turmoil, Arlecchino continues. “When I took them in, fed them and gave them somewhere to sleep, it took several months for Lyney to sleep in his own quarters. He couldn't be torn away from his sister's quarters. Any chore assigned to him, Lynette had to be beside him. You would have to possess a superhuman strength to separate him from her.”
You could imagine why. Your stomach churns uncomfortably, hating the fact that with every word, her story seems more and more plausible. Why were you even considering this fabricated story? Why were you being swayed by a pirate's tongue?
“Why are you telling me this? You didn't take me to tell your kids’ sob story,” you remark.
“Every single person on this ship has been dealt an unfortunate hand by the Marines. My children,” she speaks with a hint of indignation, her voice chillingly sincere, “have suffered and wept because of a Marine. Not one of them has ever had a good history with a Marine.”
She gives you a pointed look, one that makes your blood boil. You hate it, you want to gauge her eyes out because you can see the glint of sympathy in them. “I see now that it's not just people having been harmed by the Marines. But their own people too.”
“I am not some pitiful stray you found on the street!” You scream, having heard enough of this. “I have not been wronged by-”
“Your captain abandoned you.” That is all it takes to silence you, and your outburst dies the instant it comes. Any protests on your lips is pummeled away by the heaviness in your chest that forms whenever you think back to that moment. Arms aching, helpless and dangling, and the man you relied upon to lead you and guide you, turns away. He left you, simple as that, to die. Why? You couldn't even fathom a reason. How could a captain do that? After all your service, after all you've done for him, he leaves you.
“You would have died because of a self-serving captain.”
And you still have the audacity to try and defend him. The Marines are all you know. He was just one man. That did not mean all the Marines were like that. “He was just one man.”
“One man is all it takes. One man is one too many. And if that were true, no one else would be on my ship. I do not believe that all Marines are as revolting as him. Quite the opposite. But there is enough and that's the problem.
“You may find it hard to believe, but we want to welcome you. If you choose to so stubbornly reject our hospitality and company, we will drop you off at the nearest island so you may return to your duty. But here, we at least know of loyalty and family, I assure you that.”
The Knave approaches you. You hear the unsheathing of a blade and you feel your wrists relieved from their bounds. You gape at her.
“Welcome to the House of the Hearth.”