#gailen

Sword

           If there had been any lingering doubt in Jamie’s mind of his love for Charlie, it vanished the first time he saw Charlie truly fight.  Charlie was a ferocious hand to hand fighter, and unstoppable beast as unafraid to take blows as he was to land them.  Aboard the Ambush Charlie was a shrewd naval tactician, and when it came to taking ships he was ruthless and efficient in taking down anything that stood in his way.

But this.  This was something else entirely.

The saber that hung always at Charlie’s hip was rarely used, too fine a weapon for the brutish hack and slash combat the crew of the Ambush usually engaged in.  Now the blade sang in Charlie’s hand like a thing alive.  He advanced with absolute precision and without mercy, driving Captain Hernandez back with every clash of their blades.  If not for the keen, calculating light in his eyes and the iron set of his mouth, Charlie would almost seem to be dancing rather than fighting for his life.  Though in truth, it was no contest.  Hernandez may have been his match in size and strength, but Charlie’s sword work was impeccable.  Never a step out of place, every attack the perfect balance of grace and economy of movement.  Jamie couldn’t tear his eyes away, entirely spellbound.

“This is Charles di Maris as he is truly meant to be,” said a voice at Jamie’s ear, making him jump.  Gailen must have been at his side this whole time, but too entranced in the duel, Jamie hadn’t noticed his presence until he spoke.  With the sun in his red hair like a halo of fire and something dark and intense behind his eyes, the lean ship’s surgeon put Jamie in mind of paintings he’d seen of avenging angels.  But Gailen’s smile was a little too sharp and the light in his eyes a little too cruel to belong to any angel, and the look on Gailen’s face as he watched Charlie run his sword clean through Hernandez’s shoulder could only be described as glee. “He is fierce,” Gailen whispered.  “That is why we follow him.  Why we love him.  He was born for this.”

“Aye,” said Jaime, his gaze drawn back to Charlie as if by a magnet.

Hernandez was on the ground, and Charlie was wiping the blood from his sword with a a fine linen handkerchief he had apparently pulled from his fallen opponent’s pocket.  Charlie’s foot was propped on Hernandez’s stomach to prevent his escape, although the man was bleeding so profusely he did not seem likely to be running off any time soon.  Charlie slid his sword back into its sheath, flicked a dark curl out of his eyes, and addressed Hernandez’s crew in Spanish.

“Your captain is defeated.  As agreed, this ship is now mine.  You will submit your weapons to my first mate, return to your quarters, and await further instruction.”  Charlie flicked his wrist, beckoning Oisín to his side.  “Is that clear?” Charlie barked when the assembled crew gave no answer. The ensuing flood of “Sí, capitán!” was almost deafening.  Charlie gave a grim nod, grabbed the pale and bloodied Hernandez by the collar, and drug him over to Jamie and Gailen.  “Keep this alive,” Charlie said, dropping Hernandez at Gailen’s feet.

“Must I?” Gailen sighed, looking at the unconscious man with all the distaste one might show a particularly unsavory insect.

“I need him to talk,” Charlie growled.

“Very well,” said Gailen, looking very put out, but Charlie’s attention had shifted to Jamie.  The harsh frown left his face, and he spoke Jamie’s name softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Still half awestruck, Jamie said, “I’ve never seen such incredible sword work in all my life,” and kissed Charlie full on the mouth.  Charlie inhaled sharply, wrapped his hands around Jamie’s waist, and crushed him close.