And the Winds of Destiny...
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Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
3,643
Reviews:
39
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9 - King and Country
And the Winds of Destiny, by Hellborne (the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com)
Pirates of the Caribbean – PG-13
Copyright. Characters, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speech/writing in German. * - * - * is used for scene change/elapsed time.
Summary: How do you cheer up a depressed Sparrow?
Beta: The great BetaGoddess Pendragginink. She’s fantastic! And way too modest for her own good!
A/N: Apparently some fangirls went to Greg Ellis and asked him Groves’ first name. I don’t know if it was in reference for fanfics or if he even reads them, but hopefully he doesn’t take offense if he does. Anyway, it’s officially Theodore Groves, so any fics that I had previously done have had the name changed.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This is the sequel to “The Makings of a Pirate”. If you don’t read the first story, you’re missing EVERYTHING, so if you haven’t read it, please go do so and come back or you won’t understand anything.
NOTE: I live for reviews. No reviews, the muses go out gambling (we DO live in Las Vegas, after all) and I can’t get any writing done. Can’t figure out if anyone likes it if they don’t review. So REVIEW! PLEEEEEEZE???
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
May the wind always be at your back
And the sun always upon your face
And the winds of destiny to carry you aloft to dance with the stars.
--Old Irish Blessing as quoted by George Jung (“Blow”)
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 9 – King and Country
As Commodore Gillette strode up the gangplank of the Black Pearl with both anticipation and trepidation, he was met by Will Turner, the tip of his sword pointing directly at Gillette’s throat.
Gillette gulped. “Permission to come aboard the Black Pearl, Sir?”
Will raised his weapon by way of salute and sheathed it with a flourish. “Permission granted, Commodore. You are to report to the helm. Commodore James is waiting.”
Gillette smiled as he mounted the steps where Commodore James was waiting for him, followed closely by Will. “Jonathan Gillette. Your education shall begin as soon as we are out of spyglass range.” He turned to Will. “Take him to the great cabin and make him...‘comfortable’.”
Will took Gillette’s arm gently and led him into the captain’s cabin, fastening manacles from a ring in the floor to his wrists, ankles, and around his neck. “Don’t do anything stupid, Commodore, and it’ll go well for you.” He quickly searched the navy man, finding no weapons. “Well, you’re starting out well enough. Slaves aren’t allowed weapons.”
Gillette’s mouth dropped open. “Slaves? So I’m to be sold into slavery?”
“No, Commodore. You’ll be Commodore James’ personal slave for as long as it takes.” He turned and walked toward the door.
“As long as what takes?”
“Your education. So I’d suggest that you learn quickly if you wish to keep to the original schedule.” He left, grinning.
* - * - *
The sun was high when Gillette was brought back to the helm by Will Turner. Robert stood behind the wheel, waiting while Lizzie steered. “Commodore Gillette, you have been acting like a pompous arse and a fool; moreso even than I when Commodore Sparrow took me under his wing, so to speak. Thus, your education shall be longer and more rigorous than mine. We shall find out if you have any learning ability beyond the exiguous level one is accustomed to encounter among the aristocracy.
“When Commodore Sparrow marked me as his slave, it was with ink. I don’t know why he did not have me branded, but looking back, I would say that the lessons would have been learned more quickly if he had done so. As you have been given to me so that you may be a better servant to Lord Raymond, and thus, to the crown, I shall not be as kind.”
Gillette’s face was one of total astonishment. He’d thought that James would make his trip easier than Raymond implied, but instead, COMMODORE James, the pirate/privateer was talking about branding him as a common slave! He watched in horror as Will brought forth a smoking metal bucket with what Gillette assumed was a branding iron in it. Will set that bucket down and stood back, taking a cat from another bucket filled with water and holding it ready.
Robert stood tall. “You are to be my slave until I deem you ready to return to Lord Raymond. As was once pointed out to me, slaves do not dress like commodores.” He produced a breechcloth. “This is your new uniform.”
Gillette took the rag and examined it. “Surely you jest!”
Crack! Will let fly the cat. Gillette yelped, partly from the pain, but mostly out of surprise.
“I most certainly am not jesting. Remove your clothes and put it on immediately!”
As Gillette complied, he noticed Lizzy had turned around and was watching him, apparently taking in the view. He blushed, and put the breechcloth on as quickly as he could.
Robert took the brand out of the burning bucket and held it up so that Gillette could see the design. Although from the artistry and workmanship put into it, it was obviously a Turner, the design itself was disturbing to Gillette to say the least: a half-sized version of Jack Sparrow’s tattoo, with a strange design in the center. “Where are you going to brand me?”
Crack! Gillette’s face contorted as the cat caressed the bare skin of his back. “You shall call the Commodore ‘Master’, slave!” Will appeared to be enjoying himself entirely too much.
“Where shall you be branding me...Master?”
Robert grinned evilly. “That is entirely up to you, John-boy. Thigh or back, or somewhere it won’t show.”
As the significance of what his erstwhile friend sunk in, Gillette’s eyes widened. “While I don’t wish it to show, I question the usefulness of a slave brand on my bottom.” As Will raised the cat for another blow, Gillette hastily added, “Master.”
Commodore James smiled. “Because YOU would know for the rest of your life to whom you belong and owe your allegiance. The design in the center of the brand is the same design I wore when I was in your position. It is Nipponese for ‘sparrow’.” He motioned at Will, who took hold of Gillette, turned him around, bent him over and bared his bottom, holding him tightly in that position. Lizzy watched with interest as Robert thrust the red-hot brand at Gillette’s freckled arse cheek and held it there long enough to make the pattern very obvious.
Gillette screamed, tears running down his face with agony and humiliation. As soon as the iron was removed, Will took a clean, wet rag soaking in saltwater and patted down the enflamed area, causing Gillette to groan.
Captain James handed the brand and bucket to a crewman, who took them away. He turned to the crew as Will held Gillette up straight, his breechcloth back in place. “This is my personal slave, John-Boy. When he is not doing my bidding, you may feel free to have him do yours. Should he fail to follow your orders to your satisfaction, Will Turner shall dispense punishment.” He turned to Gillette, who was now favoring his left leg due to the pain in his left arse cheek. “You shall be called John-Boy, as Jonathan is much too noble a name for a slave. You shall refer to all the crew as ‘Sir’, and—“
“Uh HMM!” Lizzy was tapping her foot with her arms crossed.
“Oh...yes...er...except for Lizzy, who you shall refer to as ‘Ma’am’. You shall refer to me as Master. Do you understand?”
Gillette opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, his demeanor changing to one of surrender. “Yes, Master.”
Robert beamed. “You see? Even you can learn humility. I knew the brand could teach faster than mere words.” He explained the rest of the rules to Gillette, then sent him off with a bilge crew.
* - * - *
“Robert, I now understand exactly why Jack was going crazy when you went through your training!”
“Yes?”
“I’m not cut out to be the one to discipline John-Boy. And making it appear that I enjoy doing it is insane. Why didn’t you choose Pintel, anyway?”
“Because you have compassion, Will. Since you mentally and emotionally feel every lash you dole out, I need not worry about John-Boy sustaining permanent injury. Were Pintel to discipline him, there are no guarantees. He’s good at what he does, but Pintel sees John-Boy as ‘Commodore Gillette’, not as a slave. Only his loyalty to the Black Pearl and her captain keeps Pintel from killing him. Most of the crew are the same way, which is why you’ve been so busy. I’m only still allowing it because every once in a while I still see Gillette reverting even after all these weeks, and Raymond needs that part of him broken. When he no longer shows those signs, I shall intervene and your job will be far easier.”
“Good. Because it’s tearing up my gut far worse than John-Boy’s back. Or haven’t you noticed Raggetti making a bowl of rice for me at every meal?”
“That bad, eh? I’ll have to try something else. Lord Raymond’s sloop still hasn’t spotted us?”
“No sir. They’ll be docking in London in four days with this wind.”
“Good. When we drop anchor, go see a doctor and get what you need. I’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you, Commodore.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. “Enter!”
One of the crewmen walked in looking angry. “Mr. Turner, that damnable slave hit me with the spar that I was havin’ ‘im move!”
Robert looked at him. “Did he hit you on purpose, or did you put yourself in his way and he didn’t notice you?
“He did a’purpose, sir. I’m sure of it.”
“If you are so sure, perhaps you care to explain how it happened?” There was a soft knock at the door. “Enter!” Robert was starting to get annoyed.
The door opened, and Gillette entered the room, eyes down with a humble demeanor. “My apologies, Master. I was told Mr. Turner was in here, so I’m reporting for punishment.”
Robert drew in a slow, deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between fingers and thumb. “John-Boy, what exactly happened? I expect the whole truth.”
Gillette bowed, keeping his eyes down. “Yes, Master. Mr. Kendall was having me rebalance the hold, and while I was moving an extra spar, I turned with it over my shoulder and struck him on the side of his head. When I apologized, he told me that the job was not to his satisfaction, as I was not supposed to hit him, I was to find Mr. Turner for punishment.”
“You are free to go, John-Boy. Just be more careful next time.”
“Yes Master.” Gillette bowed and left.
“Mr. Kendall, punishment shall be given for deliberate misconduct, not accidents. See that this kind of conduct doesn’t happen again.”
“Yes, Commodore.” Kendall left.
“You see? They want John-Boy punished if he takes a piss when they don’t want him to. I’m not exaggerating, either. It was Phelps who insisted that John-Boy get five lashes for pissing on the job.” Will stood to leave. “I’m honestly looking forward to getting back to Port Royal when we drop John-Boy off. Then I can get back to my REAL duties!” Robert smiled as Will left the cabin.
* - * - *
MacGreggor couldn’t believe he’d been given a room in the castle for the night, let alone when he was called upon at six o’clock in the morning for his audience with His Majesty, King George. He entered the room with bleary eyes and a great deal of trepidation. After bowing, he presented the dispatch satchel to the King, who took it at once and opened it quickly.
King George read through the letter three times before he responded. #You shall have my answer to carry back to Lord Raymond tonight. Return at eight o’clock promptly.#
#Yes, your Majesty.# MacGreggor bowed and left.
At almost eight o’clock that evening, MacGreggor stood outside the throne room, waiting. The doors opened promptly at eight, and what appeared to be a royal page escorted him in, then moved to stand next to the throne after bowing to the king.
King George gave the satchel to MacGreggor. #Deliver this to Lord Smythe-Douglass.# His hand swept to signal the “page” forward. #Also deliver my son Lawrence to him. The message will explain everything to the governor. You shall leave without delay.#
#Yes, Your Majesty.# MacGreggor waited for Lawrence to follow, and headed for his room to pack the few things he’d brought.
When they arrived back at the governor’s sloop, they met with several servants hauling several chests aboard. Lawrence grinned. “The rest will follow with the next regular shipment to Jamaica. These are just a few little personal effects that I’ll need till the rest of my belongings arrive.” He strode aboard the sloop and made himself at home in the main cabin, displacing the captain.
The first thirty-two days went by without incident, and without sight or sound of their passenger. On the evening of the thirty-third day, there was a call of “sail ho!” from the crow’s next. Lawrence strode out of the cabin wearing all black, with a long, curly black wig. He carried a black cane with a silver skull handle. Once Captain Huntington finished with the spyglass, he took it without a word and looked through it in the direction the lookout was pointing. He saw white sails and let his breath out, not realizing he’d been holding it. He kept watching till the ship was close enough to see it in detail through the spyglass. As soon as he saw the figurehead of the ship, he hissed. “Captain, that ship heading our direction is a pirate ship.”
* - * - *
TBC
A/N: Hey, what do you think? Hit that REVIEW button and tell me what's on your mind!
Pirates of the Caribbean – PG-13
Copyright. Characters, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speech/writing in German. * - * - * is used for scene change/elapsed time.
Summary: How do you cheer up a depressed Sparrow?
Beta: The great BetaGoddess Pendragginink. She’s fantastic! And way too modest for her own good!
A/N: Apparently some fangirls went to Greg Ellis and asked him Groves’ first name. I don’t know if it was in reference for fanfics or if he even reads them, but hopefully he doesn’t take offense if he does. Anyway, it’s officially Theodore Groves, so any fics that I had previously done have had the name changed.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This is the sequel to “The Makings of a Pirate”. If you don’t read the first story, you’re missing EVERYTHING, so if you haven’t read it, please go do so and come back or you won’t understand anything.
NOTE: I live for reviews. No reviews, the muses go out gambling (we DO live in Las Vegas, after all) and I can’t get any writing done. Can’t figure out if anyone likes it if they don’t review. So REVIEW! PLEEEEEEZE???
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
May the wind always be at your back
And the sun always upon your face
And the winds of destiny to carry you aloft to dance with the stars.
--Old Irish Blessing as quoted by George Jung (“Blow”)
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 9 – King and Country
As Commodore Gillette strode up the gangplank of the Black Pearl with both anticipation and trepidation, he was met by Will Turner, the tip of his sword pointing directly at Gillette’s throat.
Gillette gulped. “Permission to come aboard the Black Pearl, Sir?”
Will raised his weapon by way of salute and sheathed it with a flourish. “Permission granted, Commodore. You are to report to the helm. Commodore James is waiting.”
Gillette smiled as he mounted the steps where Commodore James was waiting for him, followed closely by Will. “Jonathan Gillette. Your education shall begin as soon as we are out of spyglass range.” He turned to Will. “Take him to the great cabin and make him...‘comfortable’.”
Will took Gillette’s arm gently and led him into the captain’s cabin, fastening manacles from a ring in the floor to his wrists, ankles, and around his neck. “Don’t do anything stupid, Commodore, and it’ll go well for you.” He quickly searched the navy man, finding no weapons. “Well, you’re starting out well enough. Slaves aren’t allowed weapons.”
Gillette’s mouth dropped open. “Slaves? So I’m to be sold into slavery?”
“No, Commodore. You’ll be Commodore James’ personal slave for as long as it takes.” He turned and walked toward the door.
“As long as what takes?”
“Your education. So I’d suggest that you learn quickly if you wish to keep to the original schedule.” He left, grinning.
* - * - *
The sun was high when Gillette was brought back to the helm by Will Turner. Robert stood behind the wheel, waiting while Lizzie steered. “Commodore Gillette, you have been acting like a pompous arse and a fool; moreso even than I when Commodore Sparrow took me under his wing, so to speak. Thus, your education shall be longer and more rigorous than mine. We shall find out if you have any learning ability beyond the exiguous level one is accustomed to encounter among the aristocracy.
“When Commodore Sparrow marked me as his slave, it was with ink. I don’t know why he did not have me branded, but looking back, I would say that the lessons would have been learned more quickly if he had done so. As you have been given to me so that you may be a better servant to Lord Raymond, and thus, to the crown, I shall not be as kind.”
Gillette’s face was one of total astonishment. He’d thought that James would make his trip easier than Raymond implied, but instead, COMMODORE James, the pirate/privateer was talking about branding him as a common slave! He watched in horror as Will brought forth a smoking metal bucket with what Gillette assumed was a branding iron in it. Will set that bucket down and stood back, taking a cat from another bucket filled with water and holding it ready.
Robert stood tall. “You are to be my slave until I deem you ready to return to Lord Raymond. As was once pointed out to me, slaves do not dress like commodores.” He produced a breechcloth. “This is your new uniform.”
Gillette took the rag and examined it. “Surely you jest!”
Crack! Will let fly the cat. Gillette yelped, partly from the pain, but mostly out of surprise.
“I most certainly am not jesting. Remove your clothes and put it on immediately!”
As Gillette complied, he noticed Lizzy had turned around and was watching him, apparently taking in the view. He blushed, and put the breechcloth on as quickly as he could.
Robert took the brand out of the burning bucket and held it up so that Gillette could see the design. Although from the artistry and workmanship put into it, it was obviously a Turner, the design itself was disturbing to Gillette to say the least: a half-sized version of Jack Sparrow’s tattoo, with a strange design in the center. “Where are you going to brand me?”
Crack! Gillette’s face contorted as the cat caressed the bare skin of his back. “You shall call the Commodore ‘Master’, slave!” Will appeared to be enjoying himself entirely too much.
“Where shall you be branding me...Master?”
Robert grinned evilly. “That is entirely up to you, John-boy. Thigh or back, or somewhere it won’t show.”
As the significance of what his erstwhile friend sunk in, Gillette’s eyes widened. “While I don’t wish it to show, I question the usefulness of a slave brand on my bottom.” As Will raised the cat for another blow, Gillette hastily added, “Master.”
Commodore James smiled. “Because YOU would know for the rest of your life to whom you belong and owe your allegiance. The design in the center of the brand is the same design I wore when I was in your position. It is Nipponese for ‘sparrow’.” He motioned at Will, who took hold of Gillette, turned him around, bent him over and bared his bottom, holding him tightly in that position. Lizzy watched with interest as Robert thrust the red-hot brand at Gillette’s freckled arse cheek and held it there long enough to make the pattern very obvious.
Gillette screamed, tears running down his face with agony and humiliation. As soon as the iron was removed, Will took a clean, wet rag soaking in saltwater and patted down the enflamed area, causing Gillette to groan.
Captain James handed the brand and bucket to a crewman, who took them away. He turned to the crew as Will held Gillette up straight, his breechcloth back in place. “This is my personal slave, John-Boy. When he is not doing my bidding, you may feel free to have him do yours. Should he fail to follow your orders to your satisfaction, Will Turner shall dispense punishment.” He turned to Gillette, who was now favoring his left leg due to the pain in his left arse cheek. “You shall be called John-Boy, as Jonathan is much too noble a name for a slave. You shall refer to all the crew as ‘Sir’, and—“
“Uh HMM!” Lizzy was tapping her foot with her arms crossed.
“Oh...yes...er...except for Lizzy, who you shall refer to as ‘Ma’am’. You shall refer to me as Master. Do you understand?”
Gillette opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, his demeanor changing to one of surrender. “Yes, Master.”
Robert beamed. “You see? Even you can learn humility. I knew the brand could teach faster than mere words.” He explained the rest of the rules to Gillette, then sent him off with a bilge crew.
* - * - *
“Robert, I now understand exactly why Jack was going crazy when you went through your training!”
“Yes?”
“I’m not cut out to be the one to discipline John-Boy. And making it appear that I enjoy doing it is insane. Why didn’t you choose Pintel, anyway?”
“Because you have compassion, Will. Since you mentally and emotionally feel every lash you dole out, I need not worry about John-Boy sustaining permanent injury. Were Pintel to discipline him, there are no guarantees. He’s good at what he does, but Pintel sees John-Boy as ‘Commodore Gillette’, not as a slave. Only his loyalty to the Black Pearl and her captain keeps Pintel from killing him. Most of the crew are the same way, which is why you’ve been so busy. I’m only still allowing it because every once in a while I still see Gillette reverting even after all these weeks, and Raymond needs that part of him broken. When he no longer shows those signs, I shall intervene and your job will be far easier.”
“Good. Because it’s tearing up my gut far worse than John-Boy’s back. Or haven’t you noticed Raggetti making a bowl of rice for me at every meal?”
“That bad, eh? I’ll have to try something else. Lord Raymond’s sloop still hasn’t spotted us?”
“No sir. They’ll be docking in London in four days with this wind.”
“Good. When we drop anchor, go see a doctor and get what you need. I’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you, Commodore.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. “Enter!”
One of the crewmen walked in looking angry. “Mr. Turner, that damnable slave hit me with the spar that I was havin’ ‘im move!”
Robert looked at him. “Did he hit you on purpose, or did you put yourself in his way and he didn’t notice you?
“He did a’purpose, sir. I’m sure of it.”
“If you are so sure, perhaps you care to explain how it happened?” There was a soft knock at the door. “Enter!” Robert was starting to get annoyed.
The door opened, and Gillette entered the room, eyes down with a humble demeanor. “My apologies, Master. I was told Mr. Turner was in here, so I’m reporting for punishment.”
Robert drew in a slow, deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between fingers and thumb. “John-Boy, what exactly happened? I expect the whole truth.”
Gillette bowed, keeping his eyes down. “Yes, Master. Mr. Kendall was having me rebalance the hold, and while I was moving an extra spar, I turned with it over my shoulder and struck him on the side of his head. When I apologized, he told me that the job was not to his satisfaction, as I was not supposed to hit him, I was to find Mr. Turner for punishment.”
“You are free to go, John-Boy. Just be more careful next time.”
“Yes Master.” Gillette bowed and left.
“Mr. Kendall, punishment shall be given for deliberate misconduct, not accidents. See that this kind of conduct doesn’t happen again.”
“Yes, Commodore.” Kendall left.
“You see? They want John-Boy punished if he takes a piss when they don’t want him to. I’m not exaggerating, either. It was Phelps who insisted that John-Boy get five lashes for pissing on the job.” Will stood to leave. “I’m honestly looking forward to getting back to Port Royal when we drop John-Boy off. Then I can get back to my REAL duties!” Robert smiled as Will left the cabin.
* - * - *
MacGreggor couldn’t believe he’d been given a room in the castle for the night, let alone when he was called upon at six o’clock in the morning for his audience with His Majesty, King George. He entered the room with bleary eyes and a great deal of trepidation. After bowing, he presented the dispatch satchel to the King, who took it at once and opened it quickly.
King George read through the letter three times before he responded. #You shall have my answer to carry back to Lord Raymond tonight. Return at eight o’clock promptly.#
#Yes, your Majesty.# MacGreggor bowed and left.
At almost eight o’clock that evening, MacGreggor stood outside the throne room, waiting. The doors opened promptly at eight, and what appeared to be a royal page escorted him in, then moved to stand next to the throne after bowing to the king.
King George gave the satchel to MacGreggor. #Deliver this to Lord Smythe-Douglass.# His hand swept to signal the “page” forward. #Also deliver my son Lawrence to him. The message will explain everything to the governor. You shall leave without delay.#
#Yes, Your Majesty.# MacGreggor waited for Lawrence to follow, and headed for his room to pack the few things he’d brought.
When they arrived back at the governor’s sloop, they met with several servants hauling several chests aboard. Lawrence grinned. “The rest will follow with the next regular shipment to Jamaica. These are just a few little personal effects that I’ll need till the rest of my belongings arrive.” He strode aboard the sloop and made himself at home in the main cabin, displacing the captain.
The first thirty-two days went by without incident, and without sight or sound of their passenger. On the evening of the thirty-third day, there was a call of “sail ho!” from the crow’s next. Lawrence strode out of the cabin wearing all black, with a long, curly black wig. He carried a black cane with a silver skull handle. Once Captain Huntington finished with the spyglass, he took it without a word and looked through it in the direction the lookout was pointing. He saw white sails and let his breath out, not realizing he’d been holding it. He kept watching till the ship was close enough to see it in detail through the spyglass. As soon as he saw the figurehead of the ship, he hissed. “Captain, that ship heading our direction is a pirate ship.”
* - * - *
TBC
A/N: Hey, what do you think? Hit that REVIEW button and tell me what's on your mind!