Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ Redemption ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: This is my first time attempting something so AU, so I really must apologize in advance. Words of warning: my historical knowledge is a little rusty so there are quite a few things that are pretty anachronistic. Also, I've anglicized the name to fit the context. Other than that, enjoy!

Upon A Painted Ocean

Chapter 1: Redemption

Santa Domingo, Hispanola, 1596

"How many more, Kit?" Captain Randall Fielding practically screamed to be heard above the overwhelming noise of the bustling marketplace. The midday sun beat mercilessly down on his body, causing his clothes to stick uncomfortably to him like a second skin. This, with the combination of tropical humidity and the smell of sweating bodies from the crowd made Ran fervently wish he could return to the quiet of his own ship. To top it off, the captain could feel the beginnings of a monumental headache just around the corner. He looked at his companion impatiently, hoping and praying the man would say that they were done for the day.

"Just one more, Captain. We still need a cabin boy for you," Kit replied knowingly. "Remember, we lost Tommy in the last raid."

Ran sighed inwardly, attempting to block out the annoying sights and sounds of the market square. Hispanola…this was the hub of commerce in the new Americas, legal or otherwise. You could buy or trade for anything here, from the simplest gadget to human lives, and no one would question you for it. From Spanish, to Portuguese, from French to British, all those who had any ambition or adventurous spirit whatsoever tended to pass through here, contributing to the kaleidoscope of riff raff that made up Hispaniola and its inhabitants. Ran knew this and was grateful for the anonymity it provided. "Well, let's get it over with then. You know what you're doing."

"Of course," Kit smiled as he turned around and squeezed his sizeable bulk into the molasses of people.

Ran smiled slightly at watching his first mate push his way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the slaves up for auction. The Right Honourable Christopher Cummings, of Stratford-upon-Avon, was a man heading into his fifties but still retained the energy and enthusiasm of a person half his age. With his neatly trimmed beard and distinguished grey hair, the man looked like he belonged behind the desk of some counting house back in London. But Ran thanked whatever powers that be the man had decided to stay aboard his ship when he could have easily chosen otherwise. Once an attendant to Ran's father, an admiral in the Royal Navy, Kit had elected to sign on with his employer's son after the older Fielding had died, whether it was done out of loyalty or sheer idiocy, Ran would never know. The older man could have settled down, and perhaps even started a family but instead, he had chosen a life that bordered on the fringes of decent society; after all, Ran was just a step above a common pirate.

'No, not a pirate,' Ran corrected himself as he shoved his way up to join Kit. 'A privateer.'

"Well?"

The older man was a whole head shorter than his red haired captain and had to crane his neck to be heard. "Nothing, Captain. None of them look any good. Not strong enough to cut it at sea."

"Then we might as well get back. I think we've bought enough men to replace the ones we lost in the last skirmish." Ran was eager to return to his ship, the headache that had been threatening before was now making its presence known with a vengeance.

"Wait a little, Captain. I head some Portuguese traders just brought in a new shipment. Maybe we'll find one there."

Ran heard the unspoken word in Kit's comment. Portuguese 'slave' traders … men who seemed to put a price on human life and dealt with the sale of flesh as if it were nothing more than a commodity. Hiding his discomfort, Ran nodded and resigned himself to the torture of the Caribbean heat for a little while longer. As if on cue, the sound of clinking shackles and whips on skin indicated the arrival of human cargo. Ran strained above the crowd of potential buyers to get a better look at the new merchandise. Chained in both hand and feet, the bound men slowly dragged themselves single file toward the auction block, their backs and shoulder slumped in a posture of submission that had probably been beaten into them. Naked flesh exposed to the unrelenting sun, a majority were of African origin, clearly torn from a familiar lifestyle and thrust into a world too divergent from what they had known if the disoriented looks in their eyes were any indication. However, some of the chained men were of other nationalities, although Ran couldn't tell from which. Yet, he could make an educated guess that most were in all likelihood branded as convicts or heretics by their respective countries.

A pathetic lot they were, Ran had to admit, though some showed promise. Youths to grown men alike were all stripped bare for the perusal of the possible purchasers with nothing to adorn their forms but the damning metal shackles, a fact that disturbed the young captain when he considered the loss of dignity these men must be experiencing.

A sudden commotion near the end of the slave procession caused Ran to turn his head. What had caught everyone's attention was a young African boy, who had stumbled to the ground, his feet probably tangled in the restraints as he tried to keep up with his older comrades. Like a vulture swooping down on something half-dead, a man with a whip was immediately on the fallen child, arm raised and ready to mete out a rather cruel punishment. Ran braced himself for the 'thwip' of the whip contacting young, tender flesh but it never came. As if out of nowhere, chained hands came up and grabbed the offending weapon. Enraged, the slave master shook off the bold arms and stared venomously at the shackled young man who had been following the boy. Defiant brown eyes met the man's gaze, eyes that neither wavered nor flinched as the captor brought the lash down on the young man's exposed skin instead.

Ran was entranced. The boy's saviour couldn't have been older than twenty-one years. With his sleekly muscled body, smooth lightly sun-kissed skin, and shock of dark brown hair, the young slave was … beautiful.

'A sculptor's dream,' thought Ran, the metaphor appearing from nowhere. But it wasn't this that intrigued the redhead. No, it was the story written in the brunette's breathtaking face that drew Ran to him: a man who had seen and known darkness, despair, and defeat, but somehow, had managed to retain an unbroken spirit. The young captain counted ten lashes as they were harshly given, and through it all, the brunette didn't move, his posture erect and his face expressionless as he took the punishment originally meant for the boy.

"I want him," Ran told Kit.

The first mate looked up at his captain in confusion. "Who, the kid?"

"No, the saviour," was the reply. "I want him and I don't care about the price."

"But Captain … we need a cabin boy, not another deckhand …" Kit's protests fell on deaf ears as Ran turned away.

"I'm going back to the ship, Kit. And I want to see him report for duty in my cabin when you bring our purchases back." With that, Ran walked away, moving as deftly as he could through the crush of bodies that comprised the place of commerce.

Kit shook his head in disbelief. For as long as he'd known Ran, the redhead had rarely wanted anything, much less spoke those desires out loud. That quick display of emotion in seeing the slave piqued the first mate's curiosity.

At any price, the captain had said. He turned his attention back to the auction block and searched for the brunette who had captured his captain's fancy. To be honest, Kit couldn't see why Ran had been so taken with him. Granted, the young man was well built and looked much healthier than the rest of the lot, but he certainly didn't fit the profile Kit had had in mind for a cabin boy.

The first mate sighed. Nevertheless, Ran had said that he wanted him, and from his limited experience, Kit had learned that whatever the captain wanted, the captain got.

(***)

The sound of brass slamming against polished wood sliced through the silence of the cabin. Ran cursed, looking down hatefully at his discarded compass, and the charts that lay before him on the desk. Soon, the navigational instrument blurred, along with the lines and calculations on the maps he'd been working on. He leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the unbearable headache to go away. Yet the constant throbbing only continued to mock him, a rhythmic pounding inside his head that refused to abate. The muffled shouts of his crewmen fought their way into the secluded cabin but instead of upsetting his much valued quiet, he found the sounds almost comforting. He definitely preferred this semi-silence to the constant hustle and bustle of the marketplace.

Ah, yes, the marketplace … at the recollection, he wondered if Kit had managed to obtain the young slave he had seen just hours ago. Reflecting back, he didn't know why he had impulsively ordered his first mate to buy him. In fact, he had never made an impulsive purchase in his life. But that man had somehow managed to truly and fully captivate his senses, momentarily stealing his breath and his reason away without ever knowing it. And in that one brief moment, when rational thought had deserted him and the busy world had faded into the background, he knew he had to have him, to possess every part of that beautiful chained creature. It made him wonder who had really been the slave at that point in time because honestly, he wouldn't have been able to act of his own free will even if he wanted to. In retrospect, Ran almost laughed at his sheer lack of forethought. What had he been thinking to actually want something so badly? He had striven hard not to let his wants and desires dictate any of his decisions. Wanting was a weakness and weaknesses eventually led to one's downfall.

<Ran, what were you doing?> He berated himself, chagrin at this afternoon's actions weaving its way into his thoughts. <I hope Kit didn't get him. I have a feeling he wouldn't have been any good for my sanity or my …>

A knock interrupted his thoughts, causing him to open his eyes and straighten his relaxed position.

"Enter." His voice came out clear, authoritative, and forceful, all befitting a ship's captain.

As if hearing his ruminations, the very subject of his thoughts walked into the cabin, his movements slow but confident. The slave paused to close the door and then turned to take in the ship's captain. For one blinding moment, their eyes met, intense violet colliding with soul-piercing brown and Ran felt the air suddenly leave his lungs. The doubts he had been dwelling on moments ago in purchasing this young man quickly dissolved, leaving an inexplicable reverence and uncertain awe in the object standing just a few steps away. All too soon, those dark eyes lowered themselves and Ran nearly cried out in protest. Slowly moving further into the cabin, the brunette positioned himself in front of the desk, waiting for orders from the man behind it.

Shaking off the trance that gripped him took no small amount of will but Ran forced himself to do so, remembering his rank and then objectively assessing his most recent purchase. The new arrival was slightly taller than average but not tall enough to top the young captain. His body was nicely muscled, yet not overly so, allowing him to move with the stealthy panther-like grace that Ran had witnessed just moments ago upon his entrance. Kit must have found him a pair of pants because he was now definitely more clothed than he had been back at the auction. The worn fabric seemed a little too large, riding low on his hips and providing excellent emphasis for his alluring torso. But other than the pants, he wore nothing else; his lightly tanned skin and sculpted body openly exposed to curious and appreciative eyes.

Finally managing to re-gather what still remained of his wits, Ran rose and made his way around the desk. The other man neither moved nor made a sound, standing impossibly still and unreadable as the redhead approached. For reasons he couldn't fathom, Ran wanted this man to look at him again, to flash that brief spark of life and fire he had seen when the door first opened.

"What's your name?" Ran asked instead as he slowly began to circle the object of his fascination.

<He's … perfect.> The thought popped into the captain's mind unbidden, but the word seemed apt in describing this supposedly submissive man.

Ran paused, waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, a small, amused smile played on his lips. "If you don't tell me, I'll just have to give you one."

"Ken," came a murmured response.

"Ken," Ran repeated, playing with the name on his tongue. It suited him, subtle, simple, … strong. Satisfied that he'd finally gotten the brunette to speak, he continued to circle his new purchase. "You're part of my crew now, Ken. I bought you and therefore, I own you, which means …" Ran stopped, his speech catching in his throat when his eyes fell on the angry, red welts that liberally marred the smooth skin of the younger man's back. Some were still oozing blood, and some were just brutal discolorations on unbroken skin, but whichever it was, it must have hurt like hell. Suddenly, Ran felt an almost uncontrollable urge to find the slave master who had done this and turn that offending whip on him, just to let him experience the pain he inflicted so freely. He didn't know where it came from, but the fury that had consumed him at the sight of Ken's injuries was overwhelming.

Clenching his fists and trying to retain his renowned self-control, he picked up where he'd left off. "Which means my orders are to be followed to the letter."

Ran watched Ken's posture for a reaction, perhaps a stiffening of the spine or a squaring of the shoulders. Nothing.

And so he continued. "Your position is as my attendant. You will help out on deck when possible but your primary duty is to see to my needs. Is that understood?"

Since Ran was still standing behind his new crewman, he barely noticed the small nod that Ken gave. The redhead was slightly disappointed; he had hoped to see more of a response from the younger man, like a little hint of the audacity and spirit he'd been exposed to at the auction or when the brunette had first entered the cabin.

Suppressing an uncharacteristic sigh, Ran started to turn away when something caught his eye. A scar, a simple vertical line healed white and hardly noticeable if one wasn't looking, branded the base on the back of Ken's neck. Intrigued, Ran moved closer to examine it and didn't even realize his fingers had lightly skimmed over the puckered skin.

As if touched by a red-hot poker, Ken jerked away and whipped around, retreating until the back of his legs hit the desk. Ran watched with a combination of surprise and curiosity as the brunette finally showed some life, his dark eyes meeting the captain's again with defiance and … distaste?

Ran remained rooted in his spot, somehow sensing that the brunette would attack if he moved any closer. "Go. Report to Kit." The captain then took a step back, giving the younger man a clear path out of the cabin.

Ken moved, slowly and warily, toward the door, refusing to turn his back on Ran and eyes holding the look of a cornered animal ready to fight.

"And get those wounds dressed," the captain added as the door was opened.

Ken gave Ran one last accusing gaze before he closed the door, leaving the young captain alone in his cabin with a head full of unanswered questions and a body full of rioting emotions.

(***)

Ken shut the door behind him and let out a relieved breath. So that was the captain of the ship. He had seemed so young … too young in fact to command this magnificent vessel. But then again, Ken thought wryly, he really wasn't in any position to judge. Behind the captain's youthful façade lurked a keen intelligence that had undoubtedly enabled him to maintain command of the ship despite his age. In fact, he had seen it firsthand, that cunning mind, in the brief moment when their eyes had met - a gaze that saw deep into a person's psyche, illuminated by that ethereal violet light. He had felt that man's scrutiny pierce deep into his core, searching and probing at the secrets he would rather leave buried. And in that one instant, Ken had felt unadulterated fear, unbearably afraid of what the captain would find should he dig any deeper. Thus, he had looked away, unwilling to surrender any part of himself to a complete stranger.

Brushing off the invasive thoughts of his new captain, Ken shifted his attention to his new surroundings. He took a few steps forward, and turned around slowly, taking in the fine-crafted architecture of the ship. His eyes fell onto the main mast and followed its length up to the crow's nest. The sails hadn't been fully hoisted yet, but he could see the heavy canvas set and ready to go on the captain's orders. Ken breathed in a lungful of fresh, ocean air, a familiar sense of excitement stirring in his veins. Strange but he felt like he had finally come home. But that thought aside, it was just nice to be aboard the deck of a ship again, and not the dank hold he'd been cooped up in during his tenure as a slave.

"Hey, Kid!"

Turning towards the shout, Ken saw the portly man who had bought him from the auction approach. Kit, the captain had called him.

Seeing that he had gotten Ken's attention, Kit tossed him the clothing he'd been carrying. "That's yours."

The younger man caught it easily and looked down at the worn fabric in his hands. They were probably secondhand but he couldn't complain, since he owned nothing when he had come aboard.

"Talk to the captain yet?" At Ken's nod, the first mate continued. "Good, then I'll quickly explain the rules to you." Kit watched the silent man, attempting to read Ken's expression. If there was one thing Kit had perfected in his years at sea, it was accurately judging a person's character … and the young man before him was no exception. This one had secrets, he knew, but also strength of spirit that perhaps rivaled even Ran's. Kit smiled inwardly at that thought. Maybe this boy would be good for the usually aloof captain after all.

"You were a slave and therefore, are indebted to the captain. His rules are simple, and fairer than any other captain out there. You belong to him until all your debts are paid off, at which point, you have the option of leaving or staying on. From my experience, most slaves tend to stay, seeing as how they won't be treated so well anywhere else. We make legitimate runs, carrying cargo back and forth for paying clients but that's not to say we're above plundering a few ships now and then … especially if they're Spanish." Kit smiled wickedly. "Of course, in both cases, each crewman gets a share of the spoils."

"So he's nothing more than a common pirate," Ken noted, a small hint of disgust in his tone.

The first mate chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that, Kid. The captain likes to call himself a privateer. In fact, he has letter of marque from Queen Elizabeth herself."

"They're all the same," Ken muttered, unimpressed with Ran's royal recommendation.

Kit ignored the brunette's comment. "Well, you'll be attending him most of the time but if you're not, report to me, understand?"

Ken nodded.

"That's it for now. We set sail tomorrow. Until then, learn the ship. She's a fine specimen if there ever was one." Kit practically beamed. "Any questions?"

When Ken said nothing, the first mate began to walk away.

"No, wait. I do have one." Kit turned, waiting. "What's the name of the ship?"

The older man smiled, pride reflected clearly in his tone. "This ship? The Redemption." And with that, he walked away, heading towards the forecastle to check on some pre-departure preparations.

"The Redemption," Ken repeated quietly. How ironic, he thought to himself. He unconsciously touched his wrists, partly expecting to feel the cold bands still encircling them. Although the metal cuffs had been removed, he couldn't help but feel that he remained chained by phantom shackles to a past he could never escape. Redemption and freedom …he smiled emptily at the cruel jest Fate had played on him. They were nothing but mere illusions, dangled tauntingly beyond his reach … entities he sought but would never become reality … not for him at least … never for him.