Sailing to Glory (Black Sails SI/OC)

[MiyazakiFan18]

Chapter One: Seville

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I was technically born named David, I was raised in Southern California becoming a business administrator for local tech companies in a middle upper class household of Argentinean immigrants.

The day I turned 25, I was on the verge of starting to make a lot more money, live on my own, and make my name respected.

I was on the verge of greatness.

Then, I died.

Or rather, I'm not sure what happened, I believe I got into a car accident, didn't even feel that fatal, and debris was stuck into my head and upper body. Enough that I didn't wake up.

But I did.

I woke up as a young boy, of the age of six, one with a foreign name, in a foreign country, in a foreign city in a foreign time.

It was the year 1701, and I was living in a manor or mansion in the central parts of Seville, Spain.

I wasn't too out of place already, I spoke Spanish.

I did karate for several years, was fluent in both Spanish and English, and could read and write, and knew business math well enough to make a living off of it with a college degree in it.

What was strange was that the city was certainly beautiful, with religious festivals, bustling commerce, and a deep respect for the law, culture, and Spanish tradition, is that this Spain didn't resemble the Spain I knew.

I wasn't an expert on Spanish history by any means, but Spain was not as stable as it was during this period of history.

Instead of being embroiled in a continent gripping conflict, Europe had been at peace for almost a few years. Not that any of the kingdoms here really liked each other that much.

Colonies had been spread to in the Americas, I knew that much yes when I went down for dinner at a very illustrious and luxurious table to sit with people I otherwise didn't know, but I began to learn a whole lot.

This night, and the several that followed.

I was named Michael or Miguel, Bartholomew Castillos.

My father was part of a great and legendary line of warrior lords, at least, governors or overseers of all the territory run by the city of Seville who claimed to have successive military history running as far back as the Reconquista. When Spanish nobles rebelled and drove the Moors out of Europe and into Morocco.

I was the middle child of three boys under my father Don Ignacio Castillos, whose position of royalty was settled in the Spanish court when he supported Phillip V's claim to the Spanish crown.

The War of Spanish Succession didn't actually occur, meaning, Spain was in a significantly more unified and stable position than it would've been otherwise. Rather, Europe seemed to have been on the verge of war, when enough nobility and kings in Europe came to an agreement to have Phillip ascend the throne in exchange for fairer trade rights and smaller concessions in a treaty.

How much did this affect my life?

Well, I had no idea. All I knew was that I was living an alternate version of history, but at least, a slightly alternate one.

Seville otherwise appeared to be exactly how I would've imagined at the turn of the 18th century.

Everyone, and I mean everyone I knew worshipped God through Catholicism. Myself, my two brothers, our staff, my father and mother, and most of our household guard.

By the time I was approaching the halfway point between my sixth and seventh birthdays, I could recite passages from memory from the New and Old Testament. Not that I wanted to, but children at this time were punished harshly for disobedience.

The entire city viewed Phillip as chosen by God, his authority and rule, in otherwise archaic ways of thinking from the time I was actually born, given to him by God.

I held no loyalty to him, but my parents certainly did.

In the months that followed, I tried to build as many skills as possible.

Try to understand Spanish culture better, read and write and learn math for this era of history, speak as little as possible, because my version of Spanish, the vaguely Argentinean dialect, Porteño, was from a country that technically didn't exist yet.

On that note, the Spanish colonies in the New World weren't unsuccessful but weren't absurdly bountiful either.

Nearing my seventh birthday, my life changed forever. Er-Again.

My father grumbled around the breakfast table, dressed as any Spanish nobleman in the 1700s would. About how annoying pirates were.

He mentioned names that I otherwise thought were fictional, at least one.

"An absolute tragedy," Don Ignacio said in fluent Spanish, throwing away the paper angrily. "All it takes is one bloody Englishman and I lose money in the colonies."

He threw it across the wood of the dining room table as I sipped my heated porridge with bits honey.

"Who is he?" Wondered my mother, Doña Fernanda Veracruz Castillos.

"James McGraw, he led a mutiny amongst a few English sailors and is now harassing trade fleets of all sorts coming out of Havanna, Charleston, stealing cargo, raiding small trade ports, as a pirate." he scoffed. "Due to our treaties with the English, it seems he'll be everyone's problem. The Royal navy already put a bounty on him."

Really?

He went on for a bit, but between all his complaints, I got some distinct information.

James McGraw, who I knew would eventually become Captain Flint, basically, the greatest pirate of all time in the stories of Treasure Island, wasn't a disgraced British nobleman seeking both vengeance as well as his dream. No, he was someone who must've had other reasons.

Maybe the same but occurring earlier.

I also understood that the Caribbean had experienced instability for years. Even with Europe's relatively stable state now without the War of Spanish Succession, piracy was still a major issue.

From what I gathered, because pirates were smarter, more viscous, and treatment of some sailors or men in the English court of the Royal Navy was worse for some.

I then realized that if I had a story of my own in all this, I'd have to earn it. Either by book-keeping at a level of some goddamned importance to the Spanish crown, or as a military advisor or governor of Spanish colonies.

I had seen Treasure Island as a play when I was a very young boy in my previous life, and had even done a field trip to a sailing ship during my 7th grade.

But I never would've imagined either of those experiences could become my entire life one day.

From the age of seven to nine I sparred with my brothers, with sticks, with fists, I had an edge having done karate, but even my younger brother of six, was a bit bigger than me.

But I didn't care, older brother, younger, whoever I could find who was a boy of my father's family I fought. I won, I lost, I got hurt, they got hurt, didn't matter.

I was just doing it to improve, over and over, it was what I enjoyed.

In the courtyard of the manor, in the hallways, anywhere.

…

The years only brought worse news from the Americas.

I had been taking horseback riding lessons since I was reborn almost, and as soon as I was old enough to hold a spoon, I was taught how to use a sword. Very strictly as my father was a man who wouldn't even smile no matter how many sons my mother brought him, nor how obediently the peasantry and nobility paid their taxes harvest after harvest.

He never beat me, but he did slap my brothers if they ever whined too much. About church, about my other brothers, about anything.

These were the ways of this time period. I learned that just from the way he treated my mother, and in a way, myself.

By the time my fourth brother Emiliano was born, Don Ignacio took me out towards the plains, or, La Mancha on our own. Where Don Quixote was written, at least fictionally.

He made me dismount my pony overlooking Spanish territory for miles. There was plains, grass, farms, a few villages, as far as the eye could see.

"You see those rivers over there, past those villages?" he asked me, lightly holding the reigns for his own horse.

"Yes father."

"And those villages over there?"

"Yes."

"The governors of Toledo hold those lands past the eastern edge of that forest. But the rest?" He tapped his chest with pride, looking down at me. "Mine."

I was surprised he was telling me this, seemed like the kind of speech my older brother Fernando should be told. I knew my place well enough not to question this.

"The founder of our house battled the Moors during the final years of the Reconquest," he said in his low, calm, deep voice. "He fought alongside the first real kings of Spain and Aragon and crushed the last Emirate. For generations, we've defended these lands."

Possibly local legend to add legitimacy to our family's claim over Seville but it could be true for all I knew.

"We didn't win it through trade, through tricks, nor luck. Do you want to know how we won it, how we kept it?"

I nodded silently.

He unsheathed his sword from his hip with a quiet ring, showing it to me.

"With this." he held it with both hands.

I looked at the blade. A classic Spanish rapier, designed to be a bit thicker than just a flashy sidepiece, a real weapon meant to parry and clash, and strike with someone holding a real sword. For such a weapon, I could see my own reflection along the blade, as if it were a mirror the steel was so well-kept and forged.

"This is the only way any man holds onto anything he owns. How he gains more. Through skill, strength, and valor. Steel wins gold, not the other way around. Never."

I nodded, appreciating his assessment even if it was a bit crude.

"You will never be my heir. But I see how much you enjoy fighting, more than any of my sons. You like it so much, that it has become your talent." said the Don. "And for that, I tell you this."

"Thank you, father."

"When you're old enough, you can use that talent. You can become who you were meant to be by serving our King in the army, or perhaps the Navy."

Navy sounded a bit better.

"I will, I'll do it."

The Spanish lord didn't nod, rather, nodded with pride that I understood the lesson.

…

It seemed Don Ignacio had more than just words to pass on as lessons.

At a cotillion, or rather, a much more vague Spanish formal party between young lords, my older brother, Fernando accidentally disgraced a lady in the courts with lords and ladies from Toledo, Barcelona, Madrid, and others. I believe his girl was from Valencia or something.

He accidentally spilled a drink and some food right on her, ruining her dress.

Her father became enraged, but instead of just passing it aside as an accident he saw it as a personal affront, and insulted him. A boy of thirteen.

My father stepped in and politely asked for the other local lord to calm down. What proceeded was an absolute bashing of our family name, claiming that we were no true warrior house at all.

Rather we were 'in the right place at the right time.'

The King himself, Phillip V, was not at this event, but no one was allowed to talk like this anyway. My father gave the man what he wanted, but not yet.

Don Ignacio saw how every single person there was watching, and gave the man a chance to retract his statement. Understanding how he was upset.

He refused, and my father then said they could duel to prove his statement however they chose. Fighting with pistols, sabers, knives, fists, kitchen forks, his choosing. No one in the ballroom could stop them, not Fernando, my mother, nor the lord's daughter.

They went outside, and Ignacio proceeded to beat the man within an inch of his life following the joke that was their sword duel. His arm was in tatters, it was unlikely that the other lord would properly recover the use of the bones in his forearm and bicep ever again.

As the nobility of most of the court of King Phillip watched in awe and horror, he walked over to myself and my mother wiping blood of his blade, the disgraced lord's family shocked and trying to help the man.

"That's how it's done."

As I watched him put the handkerchief away in his pocket and began to leave, I looked after him.

That was the moment I realized my story wasn't here to follow in his footsteps or in those of my new ancestor, or, less new, but not my original family regardless.

It was to be that kind of warrior, in the New World.

The stuffy, hyper conservative, repressive, and ultimately boring world of the courts of royal Spain didn't interest me at all. I wanted to go to the New World for one true desire:

Power.

For every Spanish real I made here, even as a wealthy man, my administrators under the King made far more. There was only place where I had the freedom for my own competence, my own skills and strengths would equal the actual wealth, land, respect, and economic and military power I knew I could accrue:

The New World, technically, my old one.

…

From ten to thirteen I kept up my regular training routine, fighting and sparring, riding, reading, writing, and studying.

I was permitted entrance at the junior academy of Toledo's Spanish Military School for Cadets, meant to serve as a post for Spanish nobles to be funneled into posts as officers, governors of forts and major settlements overseas, and other stations.

During this time period, as needed but ultimately old by our current standards as the military was, the army and navy weren't exactly the same thing, but constituted similar commanders at the highest levels. Meaning, they weren't different branches, the administrators in charge of posts considered you 'at home' meaning you were stationed in Europe meant to defend Spain itself on land.

Or you sailed on a boat and followed your commanding officer regardless if it was a naval mission or army or what have you.

While distinctions were made, there were several overlapping roles and responsibilities. Especially because Spanish nobility was largely in charge of all the money required to send troops anywhere, and that was a massive bureaucracy of favors, politics, and money to sort it out precisely.

As long as Phillip V was happy things got settled orderly, he didn't need to busy himself with the details.

In just two years I had become the top of my class.

I had experienced some form of jealousy from my peers, but ultimately none of them said anything. My resolve and skill during training alone was enough to remind people of Don Ignacio did to someone who refused to back down.

Unlike what I was expecting, basically everyone I met more or less acted like NPCs.

They loved the king, wanted to support their family name, or were poor in a few cases and just wanted to earn a living of any sort. The only reason I was doing it was because I wanted something I had been considering for a long time:

To carve out my own kingdom in the Caribbean.

Except for one boy, named Antonio or Anthony.

He didn't view what Spain did to the New World as civilized by any matter, but understood the need for conquest. He was actually a bit disgusted when I told him of the reality I had 'researched' of what had happened, but still said that there was ultimately nothing he could do as a lowly soldier.

Antonio Vargas de Uribe, was the son of a poor but ultimately still on their feet family of merchants from a port town on the Meditteranean north of Barcelona. He was seventeen and was nearing graduation from the academy.

No one liked him. He wasn't particularly rich or particularly skilled at anything, he wasn't even all that cut out for military duties. But, he had a mind of his own, and he was the only person I'd met so far with any sense.

Someone who I felt matched my ideals as someone from over 300 years into the future. At least, enough, as much as one could from his background.

Again, no one liked him that much. No one but me, I decided to make him my friend the day I met him around the barracks table nearing my own graduation.

I was sixteen, awaiting approval from a governor's office in Madrid to formally accept me into regular service. I couldn't be allowed front line combat too soon, but I would still be permitted a junior officer's role in Havana based on my test scores.

Havana. Havana!

Finally, the new world.

…

At the age of sixteen, I felt the only people who could beat me with a sword would probably be my own father or others who had practiced swordfighting for years.

When I was younger, around the age I went on that field trip to visit a sailing ship, I wasn't particularly good at sword fighting when some fencing instructors came. I wasn't good at fighting, I wasn't really that good at anything.

But now, I was literally reborn.

I was skilled at mathematics, military procedures, stations, and rules of all kinds for the Spanish Royal Army and Navy. There wasn't a person I had fought, in training, with sword or fists or otherwise that could beat me.

I just loved fighting that much, I just trained that hard, and had been for nearly a decade by someone like Ignacio and the top tier military instructors in the entire country.

Antonio de Uribe followed me when I told him I was going to Havana.

We were finally going to the New World, I would finally begin to carve a name for myself.

Shortly after my sixteenth birthday and the approval letter came down, there wasn't even a ceremony.

A small oval shaped badge with the Royal crest of the Spanish Empire was pinned to the chest of my yellow military uniform showing completion of the Royal Academy's highest level of training possible. Top of the class, honors, all of it.

I had expected no less from how hard, and how long I worked for this.

I saluted my fellow officers in return, and allowed to mount a horse near the fort entrance just a few dozen miles southwest of Madrid itself.

Antonio and I rode for Cadiz, where we had official transfer papers letting us board and begin regular service in Havana, in the Spanish colony of Cuba.

As we began to ride, talking of the future and the New World, I wondered back to why I started this.

Why I believed I wanted to carve out my own empire for myself. And the reason was simple. It wasn't just a matter of believing that staying in Spain and getting a cushy spot as a governor, administrator or some such was good enough.

I wasn't afraid of the high seas. I wasn't afraid of what the islands of the Caribbean or any of the surrounding port cities in what would today be Florida or Venezuela could hold.
Today, I was finally feeling like I could fulfill my destiny.

The now famed pirate Captain Flint, and many other pirates were there, lurking. Would they be enemies? Friends one day if it suited me?

All I knew is I desired power, respect, prestige. Spain was just my springboard into greatness, and all my knowledge of the future, of true history, modern technology, all of it, would begin when I reached Havana.

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Author's Note:

Important. While tagged for Assassin's Creed, I still am not sure if I will be including characters and or any elements from Black Flag. However, the setting of Havana, the culture there, and the degree of crime, corruption, and military rule there will be very similar to what we saw in the series.

The only reason I didn't make this a full on crossover between Black Sails, badass series highly recommend it, and Pirates of the Caribbean and AC 4: Black Flag, is because technically there are bits of magic. Like there are supernatural elements, mermaids, relics of extreme power that can control humanity's fate and can spy and control anyone no matter where they are, I think even the Fountain of Youth or forms of immortality are relevant in those worlds. And even stuff like curses that turn people in skeletons.

Nothing bad, but I'm still not sure if I want to include that directly yet. Either way, Black Sails was technically one of, if not my first series ever I wrote an SI or an OC for, like 8 years ago I wrote a similar character in a similar situation but with far less prose and explanation.

Thank you all for reading and stay safe.