---Nassau---
The Old Avery tavern was a symphony of chaos, its air was filled with the smell of stale rum, sweat, and the faint, ever-present tang of desperation that clung to Nassau like a shroud.
It was five in the afternoon, and the place was already packed. Pirates, their faces weathered and scarred from a hundred skirmishes, slammed their tankards down on the rough-hewn tables, their laughter was a series of loud, guttural barks.
At a table near the back, away from the worst of the brawling but still in the thick of the noise, sat some of the most notorious figures in the Caribbean.
Edward Thatch, already cultivating the fearsome black beard that would become his legend, was roaring with laughter at something Benjamin Hornigold had said.
Hornigold, ever the more composed of the two, simply smiled, a shrewd, calculating glint in his eyes. Edward Kenway sat with them, a half-smile on his own face as he nursed a mug of rum, listening to their tales of plunder and politics.
Across the place, Abel Bramah, the captain of the Jacobite, had his arms wrapped around two tavern wenches, his own laughter a high, unpleasant sound.
"And then," Hornigold bellowed, finishing his story, "the Spanish governor says, 'But that's the royal seal!' And I says to him, 'Well, you can tell your king he can seal my arse!'"
Blackbeard howled with laughter again, but Hornigold turned his attention to the younger man at their table, letting out a loud, rum-soaked burp. "Kenway! I didn't get to talk to ya 'bout it... but have you heard the news?"
"...News?" Edward's eyebrows rose as he took a long drink from his mug. "News about what?"
Hornigold grinned, a predator's smile. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a slightly crumpled, sea-stained newspaper, sliding it across the sticky table. "The Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "A fledgling independent sovereign."
"Bah, Bramah's at it again," Blackbeard sneered, his gaze flicking contemptuously towards his rival captain. "Pathetic fool."
Edward ignored them, his eyes scanning the printed words. As he read, Hornigold continued, his tone turning serious. "War's brewin', lad. Weeks from now, British ships… brigs and frigates… will be everywhere in these parts. The sea's about to get a whole lot more crowded, and a whole lot more dangerous."
'...' Edward's gaze dulled, his mind a million miles away. He saw the name "William Penn," a name he hadn't heard in years, a name tied to his family's strange, sudden prosperity. He saw the name "Kenway" in the whispers of the Bristol massacre.
'Sire William Penn has made his move,' he thought, a cold dread mixing with a strange sense of pride. 'First, Alaric's massacre in Bristol. Now, this... damn, this is one hell of a situation.'
"-way..."
"Kenway!"
"Huh?" Edward's head snapped up, his eyes wide as he looked at Hornigold. "...Yes?"
"...Ye must be drunk, lad," Hornigold sighed, though he knew it wasn't just the rum that had the young pirate so distracted. He fished a few coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the table. "Here. Go look for a place to stay for the night. Clear your head."
Edward looked down at the handful of reales, then back at Hornigold. He took them without a word, his mind still reeling. He needed to think. He needed to be alone. He pushed himself up from the table and walked towards the stairs leading out of the tavern. "Haaa... I need a break."
---
Instead of finding a room, Edward found himself on the quiet shore of Nassau, far from the raucous noise of the town. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and purple, and the evening wind was beginning to pick up, carrying a cool, salty bite. He stood at the water's edge, the waves washing over the toes of his worn boots, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.
His family. A new nation. A war with the British Empire. And Alaric… always Alaric, a ghost at the center of it all, a force of nature he couldn't begin to comprehend.
Speaking of the devil…
"Why're you sulking over here, cousin?"
The voice was calm, familiar, and utterly impossible.
Edward's eyes widened. He spun around, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his cutlass. Leaning against a small, wind-bent palm tree, as if he had been there all along, was the tall, platinum-blonde figure of his cousin.
"D-Damn, 'Laric!" Edward gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You surprised me, you bastard."
"Good evening, Edward," Alaric smirked, pushing himself off the tree. He walked over and sat down on a large, chopped tree trunk that had washed ashore, the crimson of his coat a stark contrast to the pale sand.
[System Currency Updated]
[Pound Sterling Converted To Reales...]
[£709,747,891 3s. 6d. = 22,711,932,517 R]
[Conversion Fee: 18R]
[Current Balance: 22,711,932,499 R]
"How did you get here?" Edward demanded, his shock giving way to a new wave of anxiety. "W-What are you doing here!? Didn't I tell you this place is dangerous!?"
"Haa... calm down, will you?" Alaric pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it with a snap of his fingers, and took a long, leisurely drag. "I've been here before. Treated the whole community to liquor, in fact."
"..." Edward fell silent. He remembered now. The stories Blackbeard and the others had told, of the impossibly wealthy, impossibly powerful "cousin" who had appeared out of nowhere.
"And I am here," Alaric continued, his voice losing its teasing edge, "because Auntie wants you back." He sighed, crossing his long legs and running a hand through his platinum hair.
"..."
"Caroline, too," Alaric added softly. "She might not say it, but it's been years, Edward."
"…"
"…"
"...I haven't got anything yet, 'Laric," Edward finally said, his voice a low, frustrated murmur. He rubbed his temples. "Not yet. I promised her I'd return with a fortu-"
"You promised her 'two years', cousin," Alaric cut him off, his voice firm but not unkind. He shook his head, taking another drag from his cigar. "Look, I'm not here to force you into doing anything you don't like. You have your own ambition to fulfill. Just..."
He paused, tapping the ash from his cigar. "Three days," he said, his gaze steady. "Just for three days. Come see them. Talk to them."
"That's impossible," Edward scoffed, shaking his head at the absurdity of the request. "Philadelphia's nine days away by the fastest ship, and that's with a fair wind the whole way."
"Ah, ye of little faith," Alaric smirked. "Just trust me, yeah?"
"...Sure, let's say I agree," Edward said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "How would you sway Bramah to agree? He won't let his best man take a leave of absence for no reason."
Alaric's other eyebrow shot up. "Damn, you a pussy or somethin'? He's so strict you can't ask for a three-day vacation?"
"..."
"Fine," Alaric sighed dramatically. "A hundred reales should do the job."
[Money Withdrawal: 100 R]
[Current Balance: 22,711,932,399 R]
The last light of dusk had left the sky, leaving the Nassau shoreline bathed in the soft, silvery glow of a rising moon. The wind coming off the water was cooler now.
Edward stood on the sand, the hundred-reales coin Alaric had produced from nowhere feeling heavy and unreal in his palm. He looked from the coin to his cousin, a thousand questions warring in his mind.
"A hundred reales?" he finally managed, shaking his head. "Bramah's a greedy bastard, 'Laric, but even he's not that greedy. He'll take the coin, sure, but he'll ask questions. He won't like me taking leave for no good reason."
Alaric just smirked, the expression maddeningly calm. He took a final, leisurely drag from his cigar and tossed the smoldering nub into the waves, where it hissed and died. "Don't worry about Bramah," he said, his voice laced with an amusement that did little to soothe Edward's nerves.
"I'll handle him. You just stand there and try to look... piratical."
With that, he turned and started walking back towards the town, his crimson coat a distinct slash of color against the dark sand. Edward hesitated for only a second before sighing and following, tucking the coin into his pouch. Trying to argue with Alaric, he was quickly learning, was like trying to argue with a hurricane.
They re-entered the Old Avery tavern to a fresh wave of noise and heat. The place was even more crowded now, the air thick with the fug of cheap rum, sweat, and unwashed bodies. Pirates were singing a crude, off-key sea shanty, their voices a drunken roar that was punctuated by the slamming of tankards and the occasional crash of a dropped plate.
At their table, Blackbeard and Hornigold were now locked in a loud, boisterous argument with another captain over some forgotten slight, while Abel Bramah had managed to corner a different tavern wench, his hands roaming freely over her as he whispered slurred promises into her ear.
Edward felt a familiar knot of unease tighten in his stomach. This was his world now, this grimy, dangerous, chaotic mess. Seeing Alaric stride into it, so clean, so composed,and so… utterly out of place, was jarring.
Alaric didn't seem to notice. He walked directly to Bramah's table, his boots making soft sounds on the sawdust-strewn floor. He stopped, looking down at the portly captain and the uncomfortable-looking woman, his expression unreadable.
"Captain Bramah," Alaric said, his voice calm but cutting through the surrounding noise with an effortless authority. "A word, if you please."
Bramah looked up, his eyes bleary with drink. He scowled when he saw Alaric. "You again?" he grumbled, his hand tightening on the wench's arm. "What d'ye want now, fancy-coat? Can't ye see I'm... occupied?"
Alaric's gaze flickered to the woman, and his smile, which had been neutral, turned to ice. "Let her go," he said, his voice was still quiet, but it held a chilling command that made the hair on Edward's arms stand up.
Bramah hesitated, a flicker of drunken defiance in his eyes. But then he met Alaric's gaze, and whatever he saw there made him flinch. He grumbled under his breath and released the woman, who scurried away with a grateful glance at Alaric.
"Now then," Alaric said, his pleasant demeanor returning as if nothing had happened. He pulled the heavy pouch of one hundred reales from his coat and dropped it onto the table with a solid, satisfying thud. The coins clinked together, a sound that cut through the tavern's din more effectively than a gunshot. Every pirate within earshot stopped talking, their eyes fixing on the money.
"My cousin, Edward," Alaric began, gesturing towards his cousin who was hovering awkwardly nearby, "requires a three-day leave of absence. Family matters. That," he tapped the pouch, "is your compensation for his lost services."
Bramah stared at the pouch, his greedy eyes widening. One hundred reales. For three days of one crewman's time? It was an absurdly generous offer. He looked from the money to Alaric, then to Edward, a suspicious, calculating look on his face.
"Three days, ye say?" Bramah drawled, picking up the pouch and testing its weight. "And what sort of 'family matters' could be so important that he needs to leave his post?"
"The kind that are none of your concern," Alaric replied smoothly. "He will be back on your ship in three days, ready to work. You have my word. And your payment."
Bramah looked like he was about to argue, to push for more information, to assert his authority. But then he looked at the pouch of silver in his hand, and his greed won out. A slow, oily smile spread across his face.
"Aye," he said, tucking the pouch securely into his belt. "Three days it is. Don't be late, Kenway, or this cousin of yours will be payin' a much steeper price."
"He won't be late," Alaric assured him. He then turned, his gaze sweeping over the entire tavern, at the dozens of pirates who were now openly staring at them, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and avarice.
Alaric's smile widened. He reached into his coat again and produced another pouch. And another. And another. He began tossing them onto the tables around the room, the heavy clinking of coins echoing as they landed.
"And to celebrate this... successful negotiation," Alaric announced, his voice ringing with a cheerful authority, "the drinks tonight are on me! For everyone!"
A stunned silence fell for a second, then the tavern erupted.
"HUZZAH!"
"BLESS YE, MASTER KENWAY!"
"MORE RUM!"
The pirates surged towards the bar, a chaotic, joyous mob. The tavern keeper's eyes were as wide as saucers as he was suddenly inundated with a sea of empty mugs and shouted orders.
[Money Withdrawal: - 4,500 R]
[Current Balance: 22,711,927,899 R]
Alaric just laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. He walked to the bar, placing another, significantly larger pouch on the counter. "Keep 'em coming," he said to the overwhelmed keeper. "Serve them your best stock. And when they can't drink anymore, serve them again. No one leaves this tavern sober tonight."
He turned back to the room, raising his own newly filled mug of rum in a toast. "To family!" he shouted over the din.
The pirates roared their approval, raising their own mugs in a chaotic salute before descending into a frenzy of drinking, singing, and drunken camaraderie.
Edward watched it all, there was a dazed and almost surreal expression on his face. He saw Blackbeard and Hornigold, their earlier suspicions seemingly forgotten, laughing and clapping him on the back, praising his cousin's incredible generosity. He saw Bramah, his own captain, already ordering his third round, the hundred reales he'd just received likely already earmarked for the tavern keeper's till.
Alaric had not just bought his leave; he had bought the entire tavern's silence and goodwill. He had neutralized any potential threat, any curious followers, by simply drowning them in alcohol. It was a strategy of such audacious, overwhelming simplicity that it was, in its own way, brilliant.
Edward took a long drink of his rum, the strong liquor doing little to clear his spinning head. He looked at his cousin, who was now engaged in a friendly arm-wrestling match with a giant of a pirate, laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world.
He had thought he understood the world of pirates, the game of gold and steel. But Alaric… Alaric was playing a different game entirely, with rules Edward couldn't even begin to comprehend. And for the first time in a long time, Edward Kenway felt completely and utterly out of his depth.
.
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