Chapter Text
It had been weeks already, tossed unrelentingly across the unforgiving sea of the Grand Line, veering off course—if they’d been on one at all—and slowly but steadily running out of what had been lovingly packed into their storeroom barrels when they’d left the docks of Loguetown.
So when the sea finally calmed and the ship stopped its rocking, her crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. And then intermittently retched amidst the sound of rumbling bellies and set about returning to some semblance of their loosely assigned positions.
Her captain was sitting on the deck, hands flexing absently to work out the strain they’d taken from acting as the crew’s only defense against the worst parts of the storm. His face was no less pallid than his crewmates’, his long legs no less unsteady when he managed to stand, and though he hid it well, he’d been taking less of his own share to make sure that his crew was still fed and it was beginning to take its toll.
Still, it’s what he liked to think Luffy-senpai would have done, and so it’s what he did, weakening body be damned.
“Cap’n!” His head snapped up at the call to attention, relief already rushing in to replace that bone-deep weariness at the sound of excitement in the shouted exclamation. “I—I think there’s an island!”
For a crew with no navigator and not a single member who could reliably act as a lookout without the occasional bout of seasickness, that level of certainty was really the best that the Barto Club could manage. But it was enough, because by his admittedly rough calculations, they had only one day’s worth of food left, and even on the Grand Line, virtually any island would mean that they could steal something of use.
Bartolomeo made his way up to the crow’s nest, taking the offered spyglass and squinting through it.
Sure enough, there was an island visible on the horizon. Beyond a forested shore, it looked like there were high white towers reaching toward the sky, a sign of not only some sort of civilization, but what was very likely a rich civilization. Perfect for a pirate crew looking to do a bit of…pirating.
“Let’s go then!” Barto grinned, jaw smacking around a thick mouthful of chewing gum, and then leaned his elbows on the crow’s nest rail to look down at his crew. “Prepare to anchor, and get ready for a fight!”
Cavendish could still hear the pounding of hoofbeats on the path behind him, but he wasn’t particularly worried about it. Farul was better and faster than any of the guards’ horses and this was hardly the first time that they’d run away from the palace and taken refuge in the woods.
Court proceedings had been as boring as ever. Just one person after another trying to offer whatever they had to earn his parents’ favor, or his own.
Did he appreciate the attention? Of course! What wasn't there to love? People fainted at the sight of him, men turned red to their roots at a flirtatious glance, he'd even heard that there were ladies in the kingdom refusing to marry if they couldn't have him.
It was thrilling. He was enamored with their devotion.
And he was utterly and profoundly bored.
There wasn't anyone in the whole of the kingdom who had managed to keep his attention for any longer than the duration of some—very—brief dalliance. And to make matters worse, he knew that his ardent fans would fawn over anyone in his position, so there was hardly any point in being beautiful and talented and desirable, except that he was, and they would still never care in the way that they would if he were anything but a prince, which was, to be quite frank, both pathetic and droll.
He rode without thinking, trusting Farul to take him to where they usually spent their time away from the kingdom, and it took longer than it should’ve for him to notice when Farul’s ears flicked back and he slowed with a soft snort of warning. They stopped at the edge of the forest and Cavendish stared at the nearby shore in open disbelief.
There was…a ship. Anchored just beyond the beach.
A ship that…
He frowned and raised a hand to his brow to squint at it a little more intently.
He’d certainly never seen his likeness carved from dyed wood and mounted as a figurehead, but, nonetheless, Cavendish was looking at the easily distinguishable face of one Straw Hat Luffy. There was at least one copy of his wanted poster somewhere in the kingdom, as well as a few of the other Straw Hat pirates’, but this was not how Cavendish had pictured their ship. Not that he’d really spared much thought for them. He wasn’t a pirate, or a bounty hunter, and they had very little influence over his current state of affairs.
And yet, he didn’t see any familiar faces on the beach or still on the deck of the ship. He cut his eyes away with a grimace when one of the pirates aboard leaned over the deck railing to retch noisily into the ocean and his gaze fell instead to one of the men already standing in the sand.
He looked tall, even from this distance, and broad, and…stupid.
Cavendish watched him pull his finger from his nose and uncaringly flick whatever had managed to cling to the end of it onto the beach before moving his hands to his hips and barking some unintelligible order to one of the other men alongside him.
The captain then, presumably, which meant that these were not the Straw Hat pirates.
So…who the hell were they?
Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Cavendish loosened Durandal from its scabbard and then nudged Farul forward. A few heads turned when they appeared from the tree line and suddenly Cavendish was staring into a pair of wide, surprised red eyes that narrowed immediately in suspicion as they clocked the hand at his hip.
“Who are you?” he called out, pulling Farul to a stop again and shifting his weight in his saddle in case he needed to dismount.
The captain’s thin lips pulled back in a snarl and he sized Cavendish up with a pointed glare. “Who are we? Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Cavendish,” he answered. “I’m the Prince of this kingdom.”
The word ‘prince’ shifted the other man’s sneer into a grin and he elbowed the gangly blond man beside him, earning a nod in return.
“Well, your highness...” He swept down into a low, mocking bow, and Cavendish felt a familiar prickle of irritation. “Ya have the pleasure of meetin’ the Barto Club and its captain himself. We’re pirates, and we’re here to take a few things from this kingdom of yours.”
Perfect. Just as expected, honestly, but, Cavendish would be lying if he said that his abysmal morning at court didn’t have him itching for a good fight.
He swung down off of Farul’s back and pulled Durandal free in one smooth motion.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“Oh, no?” The pirate—Barto?—crossed his arms over his chest and then made brief eye contact with one of his crew members and nodded. “And who’s gonna stop us?” Cavendish watched the other man’s eyes make a slow, calculating arc from his face to his feet and then back up to meet his gaze with a grin wide enough to bare the rest of his shockingly sharp teeth. “You?”
“Yes. And I suggest you don’t take that lightly.”
Tossing his head back with a loud laugh, one of Barto’s arms suddenly shot out to catch the sword tossed in his direction and he tipped it cheekily toward Cavendish.
“I’d like to see ya try.”
To his credit, the pirate was actually able to block Cavendish’s first strike. Cavendish laughed at the shocked widening of his eyes and he took a step back as a few of his crew members stepped forward, only to be waved away.
A moment later, he lunged forward again, and Cavendish easily deflected before landing a shallow cut across his cheek.
“Not bad, Cabbage.”
“Cavendish,” he answered, parrying another strike and offering a mocking tut of reproach. “But I’ve fought children in the kingdom with better swordsmanship than you, pirate.”
“Bartolomeo,” the other man corrected. He shrugged uncaringly and struck out again, their swords colliding with a clang. “Stop goin’ easy on me then.”
He’d barely finished his sentence before Cavendish swept Durandal in a smooth downward arc, splintering Bartolomeo’s borrowed sword cleanly in two and slashing a wide gash through the fabric of his coat. He stepped back long enough to enjoy the look of abject astonishment on Bartolomeo’s sharp features and then lunged toward him again. Barto only just managed to sidestep the strike, stumbling a little in the sand as he fumbled for the knife at his belt.
“You don’t recognize this sword, do you?”
Barto crossed both arms hastily over his chest, the juncture of his two blades barely keeping Cavendish’s at bay. He squinted at the sword in the prince’s grip, watching curiously as it bent slightly beneath the pressure of his block and then rebounded swiftly when Cavendish withdrew it.
“Nah. Should I?”
“It’s one of the Meito,” Cavendish answered, pride evident in his tone. “Durandal. And you’re expecting to be able to win in a fight against it with those?” He grinned and Bartolomeo faltered a little at the manic shine behind his big, blue eyes. “You’re a dead man, Bartolomeo.”
“Oh,” Barto pivoted sharply on his heel and managed to land a cut through one of the sleeves of Cavendish’s coat. “You’re hardly the first man who’s wanted me dead, Cabbage.”
“Mm, but surely the most important?”
Cavendish caught back up to him quickly, and took a moment to size up the larger man when he ended up scant inches away. This close, he could see the unnatural pallor of his skin, the way that his features seemed too sunken for the already sharp jut of his bone structure, the dull exhaustion behind the twinkling amusement of his eyes. Cavendish felt a momentary pang of sympathy, and then forgot it when the pirate spoke.
“Yeah, first prince. What, think I should be honored? I don’t give a shit who ya are, Cabbage, prince or not makes no difference to me. Whatcha are is a pain in my ass, one of many, but,” He made a rolling gesture with the hand holding the broken sword and somehow still blocked Cavendish’s retaliating strike. “Still standin’ here, ain’t I?”
Barely, Cavendish thought. But his heart was hammering behind his ribs, and not only from adrenaline. He’d never had someone so thoroughly and dismissively spit on his title. The rush he felt knowing Bartolomeo would fight him the same way he’d fight any man was…unexpected.
Cavendish grinned. “Not for long.”
He slowed his next strike, eyes narrowing as he watched Bartolomeo’s clumsy attempt at a block. It was clear that he wasn’t a swordsman, and Cavendish was beginning to realize that there was something else at play in this fight. He should’ve long since landed a hit to put Bartolomeo firmly out of their combat, and yet…as he’d said, he was still standing.
Barto laughed, shifting the grip of the hand around his knife to hide his crossed fingers from Cavendish’s probing gaze. “How d’ya want me then, Prince? On my back in the sand? Wasn’t expectin’ ya to be so forward.”
Cavendish’s next strike fell wrong and the sudden flush of his cheeks only darkened beneath Bartolomeo’s knowing grin.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?” Barto cocked his head. “Prince? It’s how ya introduced yourself, Cabbage.”
“Yes, but it’s not—”
“Who ya are?” Bartolomeo finished. He watched as the other man’s blush deepened. The little prince was easy to read, at least, and Barto wasn’t so dead on his feet that he hadn’t noticed the way that his breath had quickened when he denounced his title, out of rhythm with the motions of their fight. The implication was a curious notion to consider, and if he wasn’t trying so hard to see Bartolomeo to his grave, the pirate might have considered just asking for enough supplies to be on their way. He had a feeling Prince Cavendish wouldn’t hate the idea of lightening the kingdom’s coffers.
Still, this was much more fun.
“Has anyone ever told you how horrid you are?”
Cavendish swung low, meeting more barrier than swords as Bartolomeo’s exhaustion started to wear him down. He’d landed with his face just a few inches away, upturned to meet Barto’s answering smirk with his blue eyes blown wide, pale skin flushed, wind-whipped, beaded with sweat, his teeth bared in a snarl of ferocity that few people had been able to match in Bartolomeo’s nature.
“Mm. Many times.” If he’d had a free hand, Barto would’ve used it to brush aside the section of Cavendish’s bangs that skewed down over his left eye, if only to see the way that his lips would part around a gasp. “But never someone quite as pretty as you.”
Cavendish lunged forward, landing one blow after the other and when whatever defense that Bartolomeo was maintaining dropped just enough for him to break through, Cavendish shoved Durandal’s pommel into his chest, hard, and sent Bartolomeo tumbling into the sand.
He landed heavily on his back with a grunt of surprise and Cavendish was on top of him in an instant, slamming his knees down onto his wrists when he tried to make a desperate grab for either of his weapons.
“Just give up.”
Bartolomeo looked up at Cavendish, the ridge of one of his brows quirking up as he smirked. “Nah. Don’t think I will.”
“Do you want me to kill you then?”
“I’d still like to see ya try.”
For having a sword mere inches from his heart, Bartolomeo looked utterly nonplussed. Cavendish didn’t really want to kill him, but he wouldn’t be the first person to die by his sword, nor the last, and Cavendish really didn’t enjoy being mocked.
He raised Durandal and then plunged it downward, a startled sound of disbelief passing his lips when just before it reached Bartolomeo’s skin, it bent, flexed, and then sprang away. Not so much as a speck of blood welled from Bartolomeo’s chest and when Cavendish looked back toward his face, he saw him grinning.
“C’mon, Cabbage. ‘s common knowledge that you can make a barrier just by crossin’ your fingers. Bet even all those little swordfightin' kids in your kingdom know that.”
Cavendish’s incredulous gaze shifted when he felt one of Bartolomeo’s hands wiggle beneath the press of his knee and he found his fingers crossed in the sand. By the time he looked back toward Bartolomeo’s face, he’d opted to make the barrier visible and it shimmered mockingly in the space between them.
“You’ve eaten a devil fruit.”
It came out more petulant than accusatory and Bartolomeo’s grin sharpened behind the glossy pane of his barrier.
“Sure have.”
“Then I’ll just—” Cavendish jerked to his feet, returning Durandal to its sheath before angrily, stupidly grabbing Bartolomeo by his ankles and beginning to haul him toward the sea. “Let you drown!”
Bartolomeo laughed, loud and grating and fucking infuriating. It took little effort for him to kick his way free and he got back to his feet, moving close enough that Cavendish was forced to crane his neck to look up at him. He felt the blush rising to the tips of his ears as he glared up at him and tried to push aside the twisting in his stomach. Cavendish was not a small man, but he felt dwarfed by Bartolomeo’s massive frame and he couldn’t deny the heat that settled in his gut at the realization of their size difference. Couldn’t deny it, no, but he could ignore it for the time being, and pretend that it wouldn’t still be plaguing his thoughts once the sun went down.
“You’re feisty, ain’t ya? Never met a prince before, but, this sure wasn’t what I was expectin’. Ya put up a good fight, Cabbage. I’m impressed.”
“I wasn’t trying to impress you,” Cavendish hissed. He heard Farul offer a soft huff from behind them and felt a hot flash of indignation at the fact that he was being very easily read and judged by his own horse. “I want you all to leave.”
“And ya couldn’t beat me, so ya thought that just askin’ politely would work? Still haven’t heard ya say please, Prince.” Bartolomeo reached out and Cavendish was too flabbergasted to swat his hand away when he crooked a finger and tucked it beneath his chin to tilt his gaze up. “Ya gonna beg, Cabbage?”
“You wish you could get me on my knees so easily.”
“Oh!” Bartolomeo laughed again and broke their eye contact to cast an amused glance at the blond man still hovering nearby. “D’ya hear that, Gambia? I think he’s flirtin’ with me.”
“Sure sounds like it, Cap’n.”
“I’m not—” Cavendish stomped on the toe of Bartolomeo’s boot and wrenched himself away when Barto grimaced. “Flirting,” he finished, seething through the harsh clench of his teeth. “I hate you, and your stupid crew and your stupid ship and your stupid hair and I did beat you, you just cheated, which I should have expected from a coward like you.”
Bartolomeo looked amused by his outburst and it only made the anger and embarrassment filling Cavendish’s chest begin to bubble past their confines and bleed across his features.
“Take your ship and turn around. If I ever see your face here again, any of you, I’ll finish what I started and make sure that none of you leave this island alive.”
Without waiting for a reply, Cavendish turned on his heel, swung up into Farul’s saddle and then kicked him into motion.
For a few long moments, the beach was quiet and still. It was rare for Bartolomeo to meet anyone who could land a strike on him and his crew was eyeing the cut on his cheek warily. The prince’s obvious talent for battle aside, his threat hadn’t sounded empty despite the dark flush of his cheeks, and there wasn’t a single member of the Barto Club keen on getting killed because their captain had pissed someone off again.
Before anyone had the chance to speak, there was a flash of movement at the tree line and they all looked up to see Cavendish turning momentarily back in their direction, a clear expression of fury on his handsome features.
“There’s plenty of game in the forest,” he called out. “And a citrus grove to the south with a river just east of it.”
Barto heard an excited murmur ripple through his crew at the prospect of food and fresh water, but he was too fixated on the finger pointed accusingly in his direction to share in the revelry quite yet.
“Take whatever your ship can hold,” Cavendish added stiffly. “But then...” He nudged Farul back in the direction of the kingdom and only looked away when the motion forcefully broke their eye contact. “Get the hell out of my kingdom.”