#ftbf

The wind curled around the tops of the masts, whistling and wailing like so many voices, plantive cries to the heavens or perhaps the faint echoes of the gods whipping up a storm in their fury. Aelin glanced up at the pirates in the rigging, waving her hat in a broad loop. 

The man up on the mainmast waved his knife back at her, signaling that they were all prepared. 

Good. 

Let the Navy come, then. 

~

Captain Abraham Graves, Commander of HMS Champion, had been out on a mundane patrol, every day just like the one before it, with hope only for next month’s refreshment of the squadron so he could go home to his mistress and his bed. Every morning, he woke up grumpier and grumpier, grouching at his men to do their goddamned duty so they could all go home faster. But could you blame him? Six months on patrol was a damn while, especially for a man as accustomed to worldly pleasures as Captain Graves. 

So when the lookout brought him an intercepted message of some sort, he was very, very interested. 

Even more so when it turned out that message was from Rolfe himself, the notorious pirate king’s own hand signing the bottom of the page. The message wasn’t addressed to anyone--damn shame, he would’ve liked to know which of Rolfe’s filthy horde of scoundrels was coming their way--but it was very clear. The pirate was calling an assembly. 

Which meant that Captain Abraham Graves himself had a very fucking good chance of intercepting whichever fool pirate came his way. 

Now that, he called good business. 

Of course, he’d nearly had a heart attack when, a couple of weeks later, his First Lieutenant informed him that the pirates they’d sighted were a certain green-painted ship sailing in tandem with a certain black-trimmed one, the pair of pirate captains two of the names one never, ever wanted to hear while at sea. 

Captain Ash Galathynius of the Terrasen, and Captain Rowan Whitethorn of the Doranelle. And their crews of highly trained and even more bloodthirsty pirate scoundrels. 

He’d been hoping the squadron could snag a random pirate or two, or if they were lucky, maybe even a ship and a batch of captives to haul into the city and present to the Queen, but this? Finding two of the ocean’s most infamous pirate lords? Together?

As the wind picked up and the rain beat steadily down, Captain Graves strolled across his quarterdeck nodding and grinning in anticipation, readying himself to meet the two pirate bastards and kick the shit out of them. 

He was going to be promoted to admiral for damn sure. 

~

“Guess the rat bastard’s sending out the big guns,” Elide snickered, joining Aelin on the quarterdeck. “Too bad it won’t do him any good.” 

Aelin snorted. “Thinks he’s so smart, sending in gun shallop, hmm?” She threw her second a lewd wink. “Such a man thing, overcompensation.” 

Elide wheezed. “Fuckin’ gods, Cap!”

“I’m not wrong!” 

“Hell no.” Elide snickered. “I could tell you all about overcompensation, I could…” 

“Fuck, no!” Aelin yelped, smacking Elide’s shoulder. “No!” 

“Serves ya right,” Elide giggled. “You and Whitethorn keepin’ us up all night.”

“Oh, Ells,” Aelin smirked, regaining her swagger. “I do believe you and Salvaterre do a plenty fine job keepin’ yourselves up all night, yes I do.” 

Elide grumbled something crass that Aelin chose not to hear and whipped one of her pistols out of its holster. “Let’s go obliterate some Navy, eh?” 

“Cheers to that!” Drawing her own pistol, Aelin knocked it into Elide’s in a darkly piratical imitation of a toast. “Take what you can!” 

“Leave nothing behind!” 

Elide swung herself over the quarterdeck railing and dropped down to the main deck, careful not to slip on the rain-slick planks, hollering at the gun crews to get their bloodthirsty asses off the ground. “We’ve got ships to blow up!” she yelled, waving her pistol.

As the gun shallop approached, the voices of the small crew rowing it rose into the air in chorus. 

Gods save the glooooooorious Queeeeeen!

“Fuck me,” Elide snorted. “They singin’ their goddamn anthem?” 

“Gotta give themselves something to look forward to,” Manon snorted, the taller pirate appearing from the lower gun deck. “Too bad they can’t sing for shit.” 

Elide scoffed. “I’ll make ‘em sing.” 

“Mhmm,” Manon agreed, grinning viciously. “Sing themselves down to hell.” 

Smirking, Elide knocked the butt of her pistol into Manon’s fist. “Don’t get shot, Blackbeak.” 

Manon winked. “Don’t get knifed, Lochan.” And she headed back down to her station, yelling at the lower-deck pirates to move, godsdammit, and make it today!

The shallop drew closer and closer to the Terrasen, the figures of the Royal Navy men in the small boat becoming clearer. And their damned song becoming louder, unfortunately. 

Send her victooooooooorious! Her reign be gloooooooorious!

Gods saaaaaaaaaaaaave the Queeeeeeeen!

“OR,” Aelin bellowed, waving her sword in a broad circle, “YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

CRASH!

The Terrasen’s guns roared out a blaze of fire and cannonballs, most of them only skimming the sides of the small gun shallop and crashing into the waves, but one or two took out pieces of the boat. 

That got the bastards’ fucking attention. 

“FIRE!” came the cry from the small boat, and the massive gun fixed into the sturdy hull belched out a great boom and a thirty-two-pound cannonball, which whistled through the air and arced over the Terrasen’s deck, slicing a few ropes but otherwise not doing much damage. 

“Came to play, did you?” Aelin called. “Fine. We’ll play.” Sheathing her sword in one smooth motion, she drew one of her pistols and leveled it down towards the Navy boat. 

Crack!

“AHHH!” A wordless shriek sounded from one of the Navy men, who windmilled his arms and topped over the side, blood blooming on his previously fine jacket. 

“PIRATE BITCH!” another of the Navy men hollered, aiming his gun at her and taking the shot. She ducked, letting the bullet whizz harmlessly over her head, and took the opportunity to fling a throwing knife down at the idiot who’d taken a shot at her. He yelped in fear and pain as the blade sliced across his upper arm. “I’ll fucking kill you!” 

“You can try!” Aelin cackled, stomping her booted foot against her deck. 

“FIRE!” roared the Navy man. 

“FIRE!” Manon yelled from the lower deck. 

Both the huge Navy gun and the full broadside of the Terrasen roared out fire and fury, smoke billowing out into the stormy winds. The massive cannonball from the Navy gunboat tore a neat hole in the Terrasen’s sails as it passed, but once again, it splashed into the ocean without doing any grand damage to the ship. 

The shallop, though, was not so lucky. 

Nearly all of the Terrasen’s cannon hit home, tearing through the shallop’s wood with the vengeance of every blood-hungry pirate on the ship. The Navy men screamed as their little boat rapidly filled with water, the churning ocean opening up her jaws and sucking them eagerly down. 

“One down,” Aelin yelled, flourishing her sword. “Only a few more to go!” 

The gleeful howls of her crew nearly drowned out the rapidly increasing howling of the wind. 

As the pirates turned towards the Navy squadron now charging towards them as fast as the stormy seas would allow, the heavens opened up, and the torrential rain came pouring down.

~

Rowan trained his gaze on the approaching Navy squadron, plotting how best to take them down. There were five of them, now that the gun shallop rested at the bottom of the sea, two of them twenty-four-gun frigates, two more with forty-four cannon, and the last one clearly the captain’s man-o’-war, with fifty-two cannon total. 

“Awful lot o’ firepower for a bunch of dead men,” Lorcan smirked, wiping his soaking-wet hair from his face. “Shit, this rain!” 

“Aye,” Rowan agreed, tapping the handles of the pair of axes dangling from his belt. “See how well they do in a storm, eh?” 

“Little fuckers prob’ly haven’t been in a storm like this one,” Lorcan grunted. “All the better for us, yeah, Cap?” 

“Hell yeah.” Rowan grinned like the completely mad pirate lord he was. “Let’s go make the storm a little more fun for them.” He fired one pistol out over the ocean, his signal to his crew. 

Fire at will. 

Boom!

Half the Doranelle’s  guns spat fire at the approaching Navy, who rather abruptly drew back into something resembling a proper Royal Navy battle formation--or as proper as they could get against the howling winds and the pounding rain and the seething waves. Across the writhing storm, Rowan heard the Navy comamnders yelling orders at their men. Seconds later, the squadron’s guns boomed out, sending fire and smoke and charges. 

“DUCK!” Rowan hollered, him and a few others hitting the deck as a rogue cannonball whistled by just above their heads. “Fuckin’ bastards,” he snarled, leaping back up and stomping, calling for another round. 

BOOM! 

The Doranelle’s guns roared again, this time joined by the smaller but no less deadly firepower of the Orynth to his left flank. He spared a brief glance down to find Aedion Ashryver and--

What the fuck?

Aedion Ashryver and Fenrys Moonbeam led the Orynth, the two blondes running around with the small handful of others on the deck, firing shots at random towards the Navy and generally wreaking havoc in the minds of the overly orderly Royal Navy men who thought that all battles should be a politely ordered exchange of fire. 

“Evening, Cap!” Fen hollered, grinning like a fiend as he pulled the firing cord. Crack! The cannon launched a shot out across the churning ocean, landing a hit on one of the smaller Navy frigates. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Rowan chuckled, shaking his head at the antics. 

The two wildest men, let loose on their own. Gods. 

“Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?” Rowan yelled. 

Aedion smirked. “Ask your lady love, Whitethorn.”

“Fuck off,” Rowan grumbled, laughing. Of course, of course Aelin would pull some shit like that. 

CRASH!

Speaking of Aelin, that was her yelp that rose, followed rather quickly by her scream of vengeance. Seconds later, the Terrasen’s guns spat out a bright blaze of fire, the shots whirling through the pouring rain to crash into the frigate that had hit her deck. 

“Move in!” Rowan called, blood singing in anticipation. 

It had been far too long since they got into a nice close, hot, dirty battle. 

~

Three of the five Navy ships were down, the fourth locked far too close to the Doranelle for comfort, the fifth--the Captain’s, of course, that dirty bugger--hanging back from the action but still firing into the fray. Damn bastard probably hoped to wait until the pirates were exhausted and then swoop in and take them. 

Too bad he didn’t realize which pirates he was dealing with. 

Sword in one hand and pistol in the other, Aelin battled her way through the tangled mess of fights on her deck and the Navy ship’s deck. With all of them so close together, they had, of course, leapt from deck to deck to engage each other, the pirates whooping and hollering and generally doing their very best to strike terror into as many Navy pansies as possible. 

“Pirate whore!” yelled a Navy man, charging at Aelin with his sword raised and murder in his eyes. 

“That’s a rather mean word,” she said lightly, casually firing her pistol into his chest. 

He gurgled blood and slumped to the deck. Sneering, she kicked his body as she passed, swiping the sword from his hand and promptly hurling it like a javelin straight through the shoulder of the next man foolish enough to rush her. 

“Nobody speaks to my Cap that way,” Elide growled, steel singing as she cut through the chaos. 

Aelin wasn’t the only one who noticed Lorcan Salvaterre blatantly staring at Elide as both of them dispatched the Navy men like a training exercise. 

“Quit that--oof!” Her teasing yell cut off into a grunt as someone thwacked the butt of their gun into her ribs. She whirled around, whipping her sword sideways, to find--

“Hullo, Galathynius.” 

“Well hello there, Farran,” she returned, sneaking low with her dagger to slice across Rourke Farran’s thigh. The Navy officer grunted, crashing his sword into hers hard enough to send sparks flaring. 

Aelin had had the absolutely joy of meeting Rourke Farran, a Royal Navy lieutenant with a particular thirst for pirate blood, when she was sixteen and newly off on her own. He’d gotten into a skirmish with the ship she was on and had taken the pirates prisoner. 

Her, being a woman, he’d originally left lightly bound, something he regretted within seconds as she sprang free and shoved the point of her hidden knife up against his throat. 

Guess he still carried a grudge for that. 

“You’re even fuckin’ uglier than before, and I didn’t think that was possible,” she goaded him, using her lithe grace and lightness to keep Farran constantly moving, chasing her and her rapid-fire blows.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he snarled, lunging for her, the point of his sword just barely scraping her left bicep, enough to draw blood but not to wound. 

“Eight years and you still haven’t learned better vocabulary,” she sighed. “Pity.” Steel crashed as the two crossed swords, Aelin moving low with her dagger and Farran nudging the blow aside so it glanced across his knife. 

“Eight years an’ you’re still a snarky little slut,” he growled, panting as she increased the speed of her attack. “Fuck!” 

Aelin grinned viciously, kicking him in the thigh, right where she’d cut him earlier. “Getting a little tired, old man?” 

“Bitch,” Farran hissed, lunging low and thrusting both sword and knife at her. 

She dodged, narrowly scraping his knife, and almost before he could blink, she’d swapped her dagger for a pistol. “Pity that was your last word.” 

Crack.

The shot went clean through Rourke Farran’s throat. 

His sword clanged against the slick, rain-and-worse-soaked deck as he collapsed, hands pressed to his throat as if he could stop the flow of his lifeblood pouring out of him. 

“Burn in hell,” Aelin hissed, ripping a strip from the bottom of her shirt and tying it around the cut on her upper arm. It would do until she was done kicking the shit out of the Navy and could get to Lys. 

Seeing their lieutenant dead, a group of battered Navy shrieked in fury and charged Aelin, yelling incoherently about damned pirate bitches!

“You men and your pathetic vocabularies,” she sighed, firing three quick shots to dispatch most of them. The fourth kept charging, sword and gun up. 

Unfortunately for his gun, he failed to remember that raising a gun up into pouring rain rendered the gunpowder sopping wet and therefore useless. 

Dropping the pistol, he picked up a random sword off the deck and stormed toward Aelin with a blade in each hand and rage in his eyes. 

“Come and get me,” she taunted, swapping her pistol for the long knife strapped to her thigh. 

One of Rowan’s favorite knives, coincidentally, but that wasn’t particularly important at the moment. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” the Navy man growled, rushing at her with all the brute force in his somewhat bruised and beat-up self. Aelin dodged his clumsy strike and clashed her sword into his, slamming her knife into the blade in his left hand--his weaker hand--and knocking it to the deck. He grunted in pain and refocused his efforts on his sword and his fists and feet, managing to land a few punches. 

Aelin grunted as he managed to somehow land a hit to her ribs, swung back her knife hand, and backhanded him in the face. Hard. Blood and a tooth or three sprayed from his mouth, his head turning sideways with the force of the blow. “Slimy bastard,” she growled, rooting her feet to the slippery planks of the deck to brace herself against his sloppy, rage-fuelled lunge. 

Which opened his entire left side to her attack. 

“Still haven’t got any brains,” Aelin sighed. Quick and harsh as the maelstrom winds whipping around them, she slid her blade into the gap in his defenses, piercing cloth and flesh and sinew. 

The navy man gasped as she withdrew her blade, crumpling to the deck. 

“Don’t taint my deck,” she hummed, noting that he was close enough to the gap blown in the railing for her to kick neatly off the side of the ship. 

Easy cleanup. 

Sword lifted, she turned in a slow pivot, taking in the chaos of the battle raging across her and the Doranelle’s decks. Since her crew was doing such a fine job on their own, she decided to go over and join Rowan for a little bit of…fun. Of course, he’d probably say something very different, but Captain Aelin Galathynius loved herself a good raging battle. 

Nothing like killing Navy attackers in a howling storm next to the one you loved, no there was not. 

Another blue-jacketed man ran towards her, loosing a high-pitched yowl. Pathetic. She left him for her crew and leapt up into the rigging, grasping a loose line and glancing across the gap between the Terrasen and the Doranelle. Hmm…oh, fuck it, she could make it work. 

So Captain Aelin Galathynius took a firm hold of the line and leapt off the rigging of the Terrasen, swinging through the air with her sword in her free hand and a blood-chilling cry on her lips, descending to the Doranelle like every nightmare of the angels of hell. 

~

Her boots struck the deck with a wet thud, sliding a little bit on the soaking wet wood. She whipped her sopping braid out of her face, shaking the water from her jacket, cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and raised her sword to the iron-gray, stormy skies. “Come get me, fuckers!” she crowed, grinning madly as a handful of Navy men whirled around and charged the pirate captain. 

Towards the other end of the deck, Rowan half-turned at the sound of her yell, laughing as he watched her take on the group of Navy. That’s my fucking Captain, he thought, internally incredibly proud of her. 

Aelin’s pistol cracked out a series of shots in rapid succession, sending several more Navy howling to the deck. “So a woman can’t fight, can she?” she smirked, swiping forwards with her long knife and backwards with her sword, dispatching two at once. 

Rowan unabashedly goggled at her, captivated. Fucking hell, he wanted to marry her. 

What better time than now?

“GALATHYNIUS!” he yelled, battling his way across the deck. 

She half turned, striding towards him, steel flashing, pistol blazing, and fists flying as she fought towards him, meeting him in the middle. “What?” 

Back to back in front of the mainmast, Rowan and Aelin struck in tandem, swords cutting through the chaos of the battle, the thuds of cannon fire echoing around them, mingling with the crashing waves and pounding rain and howling wind, the battle symphony so glorious to their pirate ears. As one, they pivoted around, finding none but each other. 

Rowan clasped Aelin’s hand, fire blazing in those dark pine eyes she loved so much. “Will you marry me?” he shouted over the clamor of the storm, grinning. 

Her jaw dropped open. “I don’t think now’s the best time for that!” she yelled. 

His sword whistled over her shoulder, batting off a Navy officer. “Now may be the only time!” There was a certain edge of grimness in his tone, amplified by the surging storm and the slow, slow approach of the captain’s ship, which until now had seemed content to stick to the edge of the fray and fire an occasional shot in. 

She swore viciously, whipping a throwing knife off her belt and launching it at another Navy behind Rowan. “Still--” she broke away, turning to kick an approaching seaman in the stomach so hard he tumbled off the edge of the ship. “Definitely not the time, Ro!” 

His sword bloodied, his face and body sporting more bruises than Aelin cared to count, he grasped her hand again, wildness and passion gleaming in his gaze. “Now may be the only time!” Briefly as he dared, he stole a kiss, both tasting each other’s sweat and blood. “Marry me, Fireheart.” 

Aelin looked from the face of the pirate she loved to the raging storm and battle and back, catching a brief glimpse of Elide up on the Doranelle’s quarterdeck, the petite woman dispatching Navy men with alarming speed and grace. “LOCHAN!” she bellowed, flashing a bright, wicked grin at Rowan. 

Elide turned and glanced down, finding the couple standing in the middle of the chaos, their sword arms moving in tandem as they battled off attackers. “The fuck d’you need?” 

“MARRY US!” Aelin shouted, beaming like an absolute madwoman. 

“All the fucking gods above,” Elide yelled, kicking a seaman off her deck. “I’M A LITTLE FUCKIN’ BUSY AT THE MOMENT!” 

Aelin’s laugh crackled like lightning as she turned, ducking under Rowan’s arm to slip her knife across the stomach of a naval man, who gurgled as he collapsed. She flashed Rowan a bright, wicked smile, one that he matched in fervor as they whirled back around to find only each other, no enemies separating them. 

“Lochan, NOW!” Rowan cried, spotting the brief reprieve of battle. 

“FINE, THEN!” Elide cleared her throat and struck a grand pose. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the midst of this massive godsdamned storm to knock your goddamn carcass off my deck!” she howled, breaking from her dramatic wedding performance to kick an approaching seaman off the quarterdeck. 

Rowan released a great bellow of laughter, clasping Aelin’s forearm, her soaked shirt clinging to her skin, strands of wet hair whipping in the gale. “Aelin Galathynius!” Not releasing her, he clashed swords with a man behind him, the engagement over in a moment. “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

The smile on her face could have lit up the whole damn world. “I do!” she crowed, punctuating her words with a ferocious sideways lunge to take out another attacker. 

“Great!” Rowan had no fucking idea where that came from. Blame his damn overwhelmed brain. 

She beamed. “Rowan Whitethorn! Do you take me--” a brief pause to skewer one particularly unfortunate blue-coated lieutenant-- “to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Hell yeah I do!” His broad grin split his face with joy. 

“I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU--” Once again, Elide’s officiating was cut off by an attack. She grunted, leaning sideways and whipping her foot up in a roundhouse kick. Even Aelin, down on the main deck, heard the seaman’s jaw crack. 

“Gods,” Rowan panted, wiping his sword off on a random blue jacket. “I see what Lorcan loves.” 

Aelin grinned. “A woman and her knives, what’s not to love?” 

“YOU MAY KISS THE--” Elide whirled around. “Motherfucker, I’m trying to marry my best friend, get the fuck off my damn deck!” She cleared her throat. “YOU MAY KISS--” Her voice dropped into wicked laughter as she ducked down and whipped her knee up into the attacker’s crotch, sending him collapsing into a pile of howling man. She rolled her eyes, waving her sword at Aelin and Rowan. “JUST KISS!” 

Grinning, Rowan pulled Aelin close, his free arm slipping from her forearm to her waist, and pressed his rain-slick lips to hers, kissing her deeply. She wound her free hand into his ruined ponytail, tilting his head down to her, opening her lips up to his kiss. 

When they broke apart, the rain had finally begun to lessen. 

But the battle definitely had not. 

~

“FUCKIN’ FIRE!” Aelin yelled, waving her sword at the Terrasen. “He’s right there for the takin’!” 

Indeed, the Navy ship they’d been battering listed close to her ship, close enough that the boom of the Terrasen’s broadside struck the lethal blow. 

The Doranelle’s guns cracked out seconds later, blasting through the already-sinking Navy ship. Drawing upon all the reserves of strength he had left, Rowan let his hand slip from Aelin’s as he lunged back into combat, cutting through the last Navy men still on his deck. She yelled out her battle cry as she turned the opposite way, fighting through the last vestiges of the chaos. 

As the clamor faded, Aelin and Rowan turned back towards each other, both of them bruised and a little battered and bloody, locking eyes across the carnage that lay across their ships. 

It only took a few strides before she was back in his arms, their swords abandoned on the deck as he claimed her with his kiss, fisting her braid in one hand and pulling her into his chest with the other. She responded just as eagerly, throwing his hat off to the side and burying one hand in his hair and the other in his sopping wet jacket. She kissed him--her pirate, her Rowan, her husband--fiercely, the chaos of battle forgotten in his arms. 

“Good gods above!” Fenrys howled, dramatically covering his eyes as he stepped onto the Doranelle’s deck. “Get a fuckin’ room!” 

Aelin tipped her head back and cackled. Of course it would be Fenrys who interrupted them. 

“Piss off,” Rowan shot back, grinning at Fen. 

“CAPTAIN!” Elide and Lorcan and Aedion’s voices all together. 

“What?” Rowan and Aelin turned sharply, facing the direction their close lieutenants were pointing. 

Where the man-o’-war that had lingered back from the battle now loomed on the horizon, drawing closer with every passing second. 

Fuck.

~

Captain Abraham Graves could barely refrain from clapping his hands in glee as he watched his brilliant plan unfold without a hitch. The ships--the rest of his squadron--that he’d sent into battle with the pirates had been, well, a necessary sacrifice. 

He had to admit he hadn’t expected the pirate scum to dispatch of his entire squadron. 

But once again, he reminded himself that he wasn’t dealing with any petty little pirate underlings here. Those were two of the pirate lords, and oh, how great his reward was going to be! 

He took a solid stance on his quarterdeck, beaming as his ship sailed forwards. Thankfully, the storm had begin to abate, the violent winds and lashing rain calming and giving way to smoother seas and a sky that, although still gray, had lightened and promised sunshine soon. The closer he drew to the pirates, the more his smile grew, all of his life plans coming together before his very eyes. Everything he’d ever wanted, he was so so close to having. With his certainly impending victory over the pirates, he’d be heralded has a hero, no doubt, and he’d finally be granted the title of admiral he’d been striving for all his life. 

As he drew close enough to clearly see the pirates aboard the ships, though, his brow furrowed. There were two of them, which he’d expected, but…they were a short distance apart, sitting parallel to each other, sails limp as if they were…surrendering? 

Impossible. 

Graves sailed onward, pressing forth through the waves until he was a bare breath away from the pirates, until he was so close to the ships and the capture of the pirates and the great grand reward he could practically taste. 

And then his dream exploded. 

“FIRE!”

In a maneuver he would never have been able to anticipate, the two pirates flanked him, forcing him to pass between the two ferocious bloodthirsty machines, and just as he was about to give the order to open fire, the pirates’ broadsides crashed into his ship in a raging roaring storm of fire and fury. Screams arose from all four decks of his ship as it exploded into fire and splinters, the second broadsides from the pirates ripping down the masts and breaking massive holes in the ship. 

Oddly serene despite the certainty of his death, Captain Abraham Graves delicately rested his hand on the polished rail of the quarterdeck stairs and descended slowly, as if in a trance, unbothered by the cloud of flying splinters that surrounded him. 

He did not even feel the one that speared through his heart. 

~

Hand in hand with her pirate husband, Aelin watched the last ship descend into the depths in a blaze of fire and shattered splinters, forever silenced by the ocean. 

“Not bad for a day,” Rowan murmured, winking slyly at her. 

She snorted, then winced, the motion causing her ribs to ache sharply. “Shit!” 

“Ae!” His eyes widened with concern. “You’re hurt!” 

“No shit,” she deadpanned. “We’ve just been in a battle, love, of course I’m a little banged up.” 

He huffed a dry laugh. “All right, fine. Still.” He tilted up her chin with his fingertips. “Please go see Lys and get properly bandaged.” 

“Only if you do,” she returned, eyeing the slashes in his jacket sleeves and pants and the bruising on his face knowingly. 

“Fine.” 

Back on the Terrasen, Lys had set up multiple quick healing stations, with the surgery being where any seriously injured person was taken. With the five or six other pirates who knew medicine well enough to serve as battlefield healers, she worked through the injured pirates, performing operations on anyone who seriously needed it, calming the ones in their last moments, and binding up the smaller wounds. 

By the time Aelin and Rowan came to her, she was exhausted, her already-wet clothing sweaty, sorrow in her gaze. The surgery was clean and empty, though, the words already said over the bodies of those lost in battle. 

“How many?” Aelin asked gently, seating herself by her friend’s side. 

Lys sighed heavily. “Twenty or so in total. As many more wounded, a few lost limbs.” She swallowed. “Gods, I hate amputations.” 

Aelin squeezed the brunette’s hand. “I’m sorry, Lys.” 

Lysandra leaned into the captain’s comfort. “Right, enough of that. What brings you here?” 

A little sheepishly, Aelin displayed the blood-stained strip of cloth tied around her bicep. 

Lys sighed, rolling her eyes playfully, and grabbed her medical bag. “Can’t you ever stay out of harm’s way?” she teased. “Let’s hope whoever got you didn’t have a dirty blade, Cap.” She untied the crude bandage and cleaned Aelin’s wound with a warm cloth, humming in satisfaction. “Looks clean to me, but you can’t be too certain.” She dipped a fresh cloth in her pan of alcohol solution. “Brace, Cap.”

Aelin hissed through her teeth at the sting, relieved when Lys told her she didn’t need it stitched up and simply applied a smear of healing salve and bandaged her up. “Thanks, Lys.” She flashed Rowan a little grin. “Your turn, love.” 

He grumbled a protest but complied, especially when she whispered into his ear. 

Lys blinked. “Should I--no, hell no, I’m not even going to ask.” 

Aelin smirked. “It is our wedding night…”

“You two horny idiots better take it to the Orynth,” Lys threatened teasingly as she bandaged Rowan up, “or we’ll dump you on some island.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Aelin crooned. “We don’t want anyone interrupting us, of course we’re going to the Orynth. Besides,” she winked wickedly, “you and Aeds and Elide and Lorcan will make enough noise as it is.” 

“Shut it, you,” Lys laughed. “Right, don’t injure yourselves.” She blew them a kiss as they left and sat back down, exhaling slowly. 

A moment later, there was another knock on the doorframe. 

She looked up to see Aedion’s familiar face watching her with a measure of worry. He’d already been taken care of, patched and bandaged up. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” she murmured. 

He walked in, closing the door behind him, and sat down atop the clean table, pulling his wife into his lap, stroking his hands up and down her back. “I’m here, Lys.” 

She sniffled quietly. “I hate everything that happens after a battle,” she whispered, grief clouding her lovely face. “It’s--gods, Aeds, it’s so fucking hard to watch the light leave.” 

Aedion said nothing, he just held Lysandra close and let her grieve the lost, offering as much comfort as he possibly could. 

~

Finally dressed in dry clothes, Aelin and Rowan steered the Orynth a short distance away from the Terrasen and the Doranelle, needing the bit of privacy for the night. They’d agreed to set anchor alongside a nearby island, the land providing harbor and cover for the pirates for the night. 

With the small ship settled, Aelin released the helm, strolling down to meet Rowan on the main deck. He smiled at her, folding her into his arms, both of them looking out over the smooth sea, the clear, star-filled night. 

She winked up at him. “So we’re back, aren’t we, Captain?” 

“Right back where we started,” he agreed, winking back at her. “This time, let’s not get interrupted, hmm?” 

Aelin snickered. “Oh, love, I don’t intend to be interrupted for at least a week.” Hands in his long, loose hair, she pulled his lips down to hers, claiming him with her kiss. 

And they stumbled down to the cabin in a hazy, panting blur of limbs and discarded clothes, barely even making it into the cozy bedroom before Rowan was down on his knees and Aelin was gasping in pure pleasure. 

“Only the best for my wife,” he rumbled, eyes glinting darkly up at her. 

Only the best indeed.

~~~

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