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PotC Fest

Prompt #91: An Unwavering Promise

Pirates of the Caribbean Fest

Prompt #91: An Unwavering Promise

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Loki: Passion
Title: An Unwavering Promise, Part I & II
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Barbossa, Pintel and Ragetti
Rating: PG-13 for some gorey situations.
Summary: My response to Prompt #91: Pintel and Ragetti, Barbossa's apples and Ragetti's eye.
A/N: First potcfest post! Very excited! This fic has a combination of emotions in it. But I really loved exploring Barbossa's past, while still leaving a bit of mystery to him. Can't give it all away can I? Oh and writing another Pintel/Ragetti scene again was very fun, as always. :)
A/N 2: There'll be an appearance by an unexpected character in this

An Unwavering Promise

Part I

The shadowy darkness of night overcame the sea with a fiery passion, devouring the very essence of light. Trickles of white, fragmented, shafts danced across the haunting blank canvas of nocturnal bliss, emanating pure radiance in the presence of the unknown.

The whooshing sound of waves filled his delicate ears, crashing forcefully into The Blessed Sin’s narrow hull, causing the ship to endlessly sway. The smell of salt in the breeze revived him, for tonight would be tragically long and restless.

‘Boy!’ A lone voice called out to him through the abyss.

The young man turned his gaze to the worrisome face of the ship’s first mate, letting his right hand gently rest on the smooth, mahogany rail of the forecastle deck, feeling its cool warmth on his throbbing pulse.

‘The Captain wishes ta see you.’ He said, holding his tricorn hat near his chest, gripping its finely contoured edges, and fumbling with its intricate stitching.

He nodded his head, feeling his heart race; this could only mean one thing.

Entering the threshold of his beloved Captain’s cabin was like arriving at an irreconcilable purgatory. The air stank of rotting flesh and vile, festering illness. There was no doubt that his Captain would not be able to survive through the night.

‘Aye, my boy.’ He smiled, trying as best he could to lift himself from the confinement of tangled sheets, successfully propping himself on his elbows, he beckoned his young helmsman to come closer.

He stepped forward, making his way around a series of tables that featured various books, logs, and old parchment maps – pieces of the Captain’s celebrated legacy. One table was adorned with a thick, rich bushel of green Gala apples - his Captain’s favorite fruit. He took one, dropping it down into his pocket before he stepped through the thin curtain of his Captain’s sleeping quarters, slightly hesitating at the sight before him.

Lord Isaac Reinhart, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, once stood tall and proud. A most revered captain and accomplished sailor who was always well-armed with two braces of cocked, polished zinc pistols, various hidden daggers, and one fine cutlass. Isaac was a man like no other: a man who sailed as if the devil himself were after him, a man of incalculably good fortune and fine taste, a man who treated his crew with great honor and respect. He was a man who Hector wished many a time were his own father, and now he was nothing more than a festering corpse, waiting to greet the locker with open arms and open mind. Hector grimaced at the sight, knowing Isaac was stronger than this.

He could not recognize the man that lay before him, battered and broken from the previous week’s battle with an East India Trading Company’s galleon: The Wicked Wench. The crew of The Blessed Sin fought for their lives but The Wicked Wench was strong and relentless, she finally rallied and got back into the battle, ordering storms of ruthless cannonade. It was captained by a very young man of seventeen, adorned with semi-long dark hair and matching chocolate eyes. It was a face Hector would not forget for the rest of his days.

Despite the pirate’s passionate and vigorous combat, the battle was over no sooner than it began, they gave no quarter. The Blessed Sin was secured, only to find their beloved Captain lying still and motionless, legs and parts of his torso were ripped down to the bone, fragments of mortar melted into his flesh causing dark, black residue to overcome his once youthful legs and side. The decks were strewn in his blood.

The ship’s physician did as best he could, stitching the good captain’s fatal wounds yet he couldn’t ease the pain or aid his rising fever.

‘A bit closer, boy. I hope I don’t appear too distasteful.’ He urged; his breath escaped his heaving lungs as he cough viciously.

‘Ye shouldn’t be up, ye know full well of yer condition.’ He said grasping Isaac’s weakened shoulders, noticeably shaking at the sight of blood stained sheets and old bandages.

‘Aye, son. I know full well of my condition, that is why you’re here … Sit down boy! You’re making me nervous!’

He obeyed, pulling up an old, rickety chair to his captain’s bedside.

Isaac extracted a small round object from his pocket, ‘Hector, my son,’ He whispered, ‘You know, I call you that because we are like father and son – you and I.’ He smiled.

‘When you become a father one day, Hector, you’ll find that you often try to leave behind a piece of yourself to those you care for the most … the majority of men have nothing to give but countless words of extraordinary circumstance, and then there are some that seem to have all the silver and gold a man could ever want in this world.’ He began, holding the small sphere in his fingers.

‘I pass this on to you, my son; mind you it's neither silver nor gold. But what I give you is different breed of treasure, and I give it to you in great hopes that you will one day accomplish a feat that will change the course of time.’

He nodded, eyes swelling, sitting steadfast and ready to accept any mission from this man.

‘You must take back the sea, Hector.’ He coaxed, gently taking Hector’s hand and placing the small wooden sphere in his palm, closing it slowly with his thin, sullied fingers.

‘You must bring her back, if you do not bring her back, the sea will no longer be free.’

‘Bring who back?’ He whispered, as if Isaac were telling him a long forgotten fairy tale.

‘Calypso.’ He whispered slowly, each syllable rolling off his tongue like waves on a beach.

He suddenly gripped Hector’s hand, causing his eyes to widen, ‘You must not lose this,’ he added hastily, ‘this is one of the nine pieces of eight. You must keep it safe.’ He nodded, widening his gaze at the young man before him.

‘Promise me.’

He noticed visible hesitation in Hector’s icy, blue eyes.

‘Promise me!’ He urged, ‘You are a Pirate Lord now, Hector. You must promise me.’ His eyes grew wide with anticipation.

‘I … I promise, sir.’ He stammered.


He stood at the helm, head held high, feet planted firmly, unwavering and true; his long, fair hair flowing gracefully in the early morning breeze. He watched the sun smolder over the horizon, bringing forth a new day, sprinkling streams of light on the crest of each wave.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the apple he had taken just a few short hours ago from his former Captain’s cabin, for now it was his cabin and he could take what he liked. He studied its rounded shape for a moment, gripping it tightly to feel its firmness.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, listening to the calm sea around him, feeling at one with the wind and the salty spray of the ocean. He opened his eyes, fixating them on the shimmering, orange horizon.

‘I promise.’ He uttered, biting down hard on the apple’s smooth green surface, letting its sweet juices flow down his chin.

I promise.’ He thought, with more conviction than ever before.

Part II

Fifteen Years Later

Hector Barbossa grazed the smooth pegs of the wheel with his long fingers, feeling the immense power of the Pearl beneath his feet as it commanded the sea. He abandoned the life of an honest sailor many years ago, relying on fortuitous circumstance and a good old bit of pirating for his profits. Just like Isaac, he was always very well armed under his brown, double-breasted waistcoat and made sure to carry all of his valuable items on his person, especially his silver lion’s head ring – a most symbolic item, for it showed his status as a leader among pirates. His face was covered with freckles and scars; his features had greatly aged over time. Yet his mind grew wiser with each passing day.

‘You must keep it safe.’

It was not until now, on the Black Pearl, that Hector Barbossa found his safe haven in a very unsuspecting place.


‘The mooring line! The mooring line, you idiot!’ Pintel screeched from the docks.

‘You know I can’t see!’

‘O’ shut it! Ever since ye lost that infernal eye o’ yours I’ve ‘eard nothin’ but complainin’ from ya!’

‘I’d like to see you loose an eye!’ He contested, ‘Then maybe you’d ‘ave a bit more sympathy fo’ me.’ He sniffed, folding his arms.

‘Oh,’ He raised his brow ‘… a bit mo’ sympathy? Is that what ya want?’ Pintel began rolling up his sleeves, giving Ragetti a devious smile as he gritted his teeth.

‘On second thought…’ Ragetti raised a finger to his angry counterpart, and began to back away slowly.

‘Come ‘ere you good fo’ nothin’ bilge rat!’

‘Masters Pintel and Ragetti!’ A harsh voice interrupted.

Both men stopped in their tracks: Pintel’s left arm lay still in the air with his hand gripped tightly around Ragetti’s lean neck.

‘At ease, gents.’ Barbossa sighed, shaking his head, turning his attention towards Ragetti’s black eye patch, ‘Master Ragetti, I have some matters to discuss with ye in my cabin.’ Barbossa turned, holding his hands behind his back, heading towards the large, black French doors.

‘He started it!’ Ragetti protested, as Barbossa disappeared through the threshold.

Pintel grimaced, ‘Shut yer trap!’ He whispered through his teeth, stubbing Ragetti’s toe.

‘Ow!’ Ragetti yelped, grabbing his foot with his hands as he hopped around on the other.

‘Get in there!’ Pintel pushed Ragetti through the threshold of Barbossa’s cabin.


Ragetti staggered out of Barbossa’s cabin, feverishly rubbing the right side of his face.

‘What did the Captain want?’ Pintel inquired, noticing something strangely different about his scrawny nephew, ‘Oi! Where’d you get that from?’ He said, pointing at Ragetti’s new wooden eye.

‘Can’t tell ya.’


‘Top secret.’ Ragetti retorted, rubbing away at his newly acquired eye, feeling rather good about himself.

‘Since when did you become chums with the Captain?’

‘What’s wrong with bein’ chums with Barbossa? Fine man if ye ask me.’ He straightened his collar, nose lifted high in the air.

‘If my memory serves me righ’ I believe you were chums wit’ me first!’

‘Aye, that’s right. We’d be chummier if you’d stop tryin’ to ring me neck!’ Ragetti confirmed, nodding his head, still unwavering with his secret.

‘Can ye at least see with it?’

He closed his good eye, ‘Not really…’

‘Then what good is it then?’ He said, placing his hands on his hips.

‘I guess the Captain figures that I gotta keep my image.’ He folded his arms.

‘Image? I’ll show you image if ye don’t haul in that godforsaken mooring line!’
  • Really interesting backstory for Jack and Barbossa, and of course for that particular piece of eight. I loved your Ragetti and Pintel, and your image of Barbossa as a young man. Brava ♥
    • Why thank ya, love. I actually wasn't really excited about it to tell you the truth lol. But I'm glad someone liked it! :D
  • Well, that was very good. And very interesting to. :-)
  • Very nice. And you write excellent Pintel&Ragetti.
    • Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed reading it! :) I tend to write a lot of Jack but I think Pintel&Ragetti are my calling, lol.
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