I do not own Twilight or its characters. Stephenie Meyer does.
April and Gabby, thank you for pre-reading, and Fran, thank you for editing. Any mistakes left are my own.
I grew up on the Isle of St. Aro. My mother died in childbirth, and I was raised by my father. Since I was old enough to hold a broom, I have been helping in his tavern. As I grew older, I would serve and cook. I loved meeting new travelers and hearing about their adventures.
One warm summer night when I was eight years of age, there were many men in the tavern. Father ordered me to stay in the kitchen and refused my offer to help. The visitors must be the unsavory type, as I could hear their harsh words and laughter from where I hid.
After preparing a stew and fresh loaves of bread, I scrubbed the floors. I knew I would not be able to sleep with the noise and it would give me spare time in the morning. When I was finished, I grabbed my bucket of water and went out the back door to empty it.
I stopped on the bottom step and put the pail down, it sounded as if someone was crying.
"Hello? Is someone there?" I called into the dark night.
"Go away, and leave me alone." I heard a boy answer from the shadows.
"Why are you crying?" I asked, heading towards the voice.
I found a dirty boy huddled in the dark by the rain barrel. I squinted in the faint moonlight and saw he was only dressed in breeches and a thin linen shirt—nothing on his feet.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothin', go away," he growled.
I noticed he was favoring his right hand. "Are you hurt?"
"Tis only a splinter," he mumbled.
I frowned and grabbed his good hand. "Come with me."
"Where are ye takin' me?" He followed, but appeared to be reluctant—he stopped hard in the kitchen doorway, causing me to nearly fall backward.
"I am trying to help you. Do you want that splinter out or not?" I asked.
"I'm not allowed in there. The captain said," he said.
"Stay here." I let go of his hand and collected my sewing needle from my sampler as well as a candle.
"Hold this." I handed him the candle.
I held the needle over the flame until it was hot. With a steady hand, I pierced his skin to dig out the shard that was wedged deep into his palm. He cursed and tried to take his hand away, the candle dropping at our feet and extinguishing.
"Stop moving, I am almost finished. You should not use words like that," I scolded
"I'm a pirate, I will use any word I choose." He glared at me.
"You are just a boy, how can you be a pirate?" I went back to work on the splinter. I removed it, but his palm started to bleed. I pulled out my handkerchief and wrapped the wound.
"My father is Captain Cullen, he is the most feared pirate of the seven seas. One day, I will take his place." He puffed out his chest proudly.
Before I could respond, I heard voices behind me. One was my father, but I did not recognize the other. The boy froze and started to frantically rub at his red eyes. It took me a moment to figure out why—a boy at school was ridiculed by the teacher for crying—saying a boy his age was too big for that.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed my bucket and doused him with the cold water as he stared at me stunned.
"Bloody hell!" he hollered and glared at me.
"Isabella?" Father appeared in the doorway with the stranger. "What did you do, child?" He glanced at the other man worriedly.
The man, who appeared to be the boy's father, stared at us with an intimidating look.
I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"This boy is a filthy pirate. He needed a good washing before I let him in my clean kitchen for a bite to eat."
The stranger's lips twitched. "Well, lad, I reckon' ye are clean now." He barked out a laugh.
The boy tossed me a scowl and crossed his arms over his chest. "I wasn't filthy. I had a bath a sennight ago. That water was cold, wench."
I flinched back from the harshness of his words. I was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a vile manner. My father cleared his throat and looked unhappy.
"Edward, mind ye manners in front of the lass. Yer mother would be cross with the both of us." His father boxed his ears.
"I apologize," he mumbled, staring at his feet.
"Would you like a bit of stew and some fresh bread," I offered some hospitality.
He looked up at his father, who nodded his head. "Go on with ya, it would be bad-mannered to refuse her kindness."
"Aye, go and fetch it," Edward said rudely.
"The boy means thank ye, Miss Swan, he would love yer stew and bread, it was kind of ye to offer." His father gave him a pointed look.
"Aye." The boy rolled his eyes until his father hardened his glare. "Aye, Captain." He stood up straight.
I went to the pot to ladle a bowl. Behind me I could hear my father and Captain Cullen talking—he did not seem that scary to me.
"Meself would love a clap of thunder." Captain Cullen slapped my father on the back.
Dad cast a wary eye on Edward.
"Come now, old friend, me boy will be on his best behavior, or I'll flog him meself," Captain Cullen promised.
"Aye, Captain," Edward mumbled.
"Very well. Isabella, after he is done, go to your room for the rest of the night and lock your door," Dad ordered.
"Yes, Father." I nodded.
They left the room, and I placed the food on the wooden table. Edward sat on the bench and grabbed the spoon in one hand and the bread in the other. He started cramming food into his mouth as if he had been starved. He looked disappointed when he finished.
"Would you like some more?" I offered.
He glanced at me in surprise. "Aye, thank ye."
I refilled the bowl and grabbed two more slices of bread. I kept one piece for myself and gave him the rest. I sat across and watched him eat. He ate slower this time and kept glancing at me.
"Why did ye do it?" he asked.
"You looked hungry?" I shrugged.
"Not the food. Why'd ye douse me with water?" He scowled.
"Oh…well, you looked worried Captain Cullen was coming and would see you had been crying. My teacher punishes boys for crying, so I figured that was why you were worried. I figured if you were all wet he would not be able to tell," I explained.
He paused for a moment and then continued to eat. "I'm not filthy."
"Not anymore," I mumbled then slapped a hand over my mouth.
His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth as he stared at me, and then his scowl twitched into a smirk. I noticed by the light of the kitchen candle that his eyes were green like the sea and his hair was brown.
"Whatcha starin' at," he growled.
"Nothing." I blushed, embarrassed.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Ten? And ye?" He scrapped his spoon against the bowl.
"Eight. What is it like being a pirate?" I asked.
A broad grin spread on his face. "Tis heaps of fun. I sail all over lookin' for treasure." He pulled a shiny green rock out of his pocket.
"Your stone is pretty," I commented.
"Tis not a stone. This here is an em…emmerod," he corrected me.
"May I touch it?" I reached out my hand.
"Tis mine." He shoved it into his pocket and pulled back out a knife. "I'll cut ye before ye touch it."
"I was only asking 'cause I never saw one before. You needn't be rude, Edward. Where did you get it?" I crossed my arms in front of me.
He puffed out his chest. "I stole it; I had to kill a man …no fifty men for it," he boasted.
"You fib." I shook my head.
"I don't. I also stole this." He dangled a necklace from his hand.
My eyes grew large as I patted my apron pockets frantically. "That's my locket, give it back," I demanded.
"Pirates only take, we don't give back." He smirked and jostled the chain, so the locket bounced.
I reached for it, and he held it out of my grasp. I stood and started to walk around to his side of the table. He leaped to his feet and kept taunting me with my necklace.
"Yer face tis red and funny-lookin'." He snickered.
"Return my mother's necklace, or I will tell on you, you filthy pirate." I felt tears coming to my eyes.
"Go ahead. Me father tis a pirate captain, he won't make me return it. Tis mine now." He brought it close to me then yanked it away as soon as I reached out for it.
"Please," I begged.
"Are ye goin' to cry?" He tilted his head. "Where's yer mother anyways?"
"She died when I was born. That locket is all that I have left of hers." I felt a tear slip down my cheek.
His smirk dropped, and his arm lowered a bit. I took the opportunity to catch him off guard and stomped on his foot as hard as I could. He winced, and I snagged my necklace from his hand. I ran for the stairs without looking back.
Once I was in my room, I locked my door. I stood panting, trying to catch my breath, staring at the crack under the door, hoping he didn't follow me.
After a few minutes, I curled up on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
I awoke with the sunrise. The tavern was quiet when I went down the stairs. I peeked into the kitchen and found it empty. The bowl was on still on the table, and my floors were once again filthy. I was going to have to scrub them again.
I looked around for the bucket, remembering I left it outside after I dumped it over Edward's head. I went to the door to find it sitting on the top step with the lantern next to it. Inside the bucket was a bit of tree bark.
I grabbed the piece of wood first and on it was carved the word, Soree.
Was he trying to say, sorry?
At the bottom of the pail, I found Edward's green emmerod. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands—it was very pretty. Especially when the light hit it, making it sparkle.
Why would he leave me his treasure?
I heard footsteps on the stairs and reentered the kitchen. Father looked tired from last night. He gave me a small smile before checking the kettle for water.
"Morning, Isabella." He stifled a yawn.
"Morning, Father. After we break the fast may we go to the docks?" I asked.
"Why would you need to go the docks? We have plenty of cleaning to do after last night." He seemed distracted as he lit the fireplace.
"That fil…Edward left something here last night. I thought we should return it," I explained.
My father straightened and cast me a wary look. "The Golden Eye left port at daybreak; he will be far out to sea."
"When will they return?" I asked.
"I doubt that they will. There is nothing of any interest for them here. Whatever he left behind either keep or toss." Father grabbed a broom and headed for the main room.
I glanced at the rock once more and held it up to the sun so the rays of light coming through the doorway could shine through it. It was far too beautiful to toss out. I slipped it into my apron pocket for safekeeping.
I never meant for the boy to give up his own treasure, I just wanted mine back.
Perhaps my father would be wrong, and I would get a chance to return it to it that filthy pirate sooner, rather than later.
A/N: This story is starting at the beginning when these two first met (circa early 1700s/ The Golden Age of Piracy). Part of it was from a flashback in the one-shot. A majority of the one-shot will come in later chapters. 'Filthy Pirate' is a nickname doesn't really have anything to do with appearances. As you can see Edward was a bit of a brat when he was young. I will be updating once a week(Fridays) and have a teaser on facebook around Wed.
Me for My is done on purpose. Ye, yer, and tis, are also pirate lingo.
clap of thunder- a strong, alcoholic drink