The Pirate Queen's Daughter
A Fan Fiction by IceOfWaterflock
"No hull could cut through the waves with the same speed and agility as one carved by Griffonian talons."
That was the saying amongst the sailors. And no one would prove it false, for the coast of Griffonia was evident. Teeming with hundreds upon hundreds of docks, unloading and loading various goods and various types of crew as well, not many countries in the world could challenge the might and ferocity of a Griffionian ship and her crew.
The most dangerous of them all, as any seafaring creature would claim, were the Griffionian pirates.
Amid the chopping waves off the coast of Griffonia, the sleek black hull of the Cast Shadows surged onward across the sea. Her gold-plated seapony figurehead leaned perilously over the waves, her mouth open and fins spread in silent song. Behind the figurehead, the deck seemed alive as the griffon crew busied themselves with guiding their ship towards their newest goal. Griffons climbed up the ropes hanging from the yardarm, adjusting the sails and scanning the water for any other ships. The double-sails billowed, black curtains upon the sky's blue stage, and each one was marked in the center with the Cast Shadows's insignia; a pair of white feathers, crossed, with blood-red tips. Above the sails, the flag flapped wildly in the wind, a smaller version of the sails held proudly above the waves. The back half of the deck was raised, and held nothing but empty space and the steering wheel of the mighty ship. The captain, a red bandanna tied around her head to hold back her red-tipped feathers and front talons wrapped around the spokes of the wheel as she stood on her hind legs, squinted towards their distant goal; the dark stripe of land on the horizon.
Equestria.
Her eyes stung slightly as she remembered the reason for her new goal, but she did not linger on it with the crew in full sight. She had been steering up the coast of Griffonia, sticking close to the seaside to allow other ships to pass and to keep from being attacked. Every night, she had piloted the large ship into small caves and inlets with a precise ease that could only be gained from charting the waters yourself; and she stayed up through the night, on guard, waiting for the sun to rise so she could set off again. Her nerves were frayed with exhaustion, and the glaring sun above did little to aid her wavering vision. Her belt seemed to weigh tons on her shoulder; the silver blade hidden in it's scabbard magically turned into lead.
A second griffon, a male with grey feathers and brown fur, landed on the deck beside her. His green eyes spoke volumes of his pity for the weary captain. "Greda? We'll be close enough to our goal to cross the ocean in a few days if the wind keeps up and the markets stay cheap. You've been up through two nights, now. You need rest."
Captain Greda's black talons clicked along the wooden deck as she dropped back to all fours, her head hanging slightly. "She's so close, Gareach, you don't understand! If I stop, they'll figure out where we are and they'll take her away again!"
"They won't be able to find us in time, and they won't move her," her companion replied, placing a claw on her feathered shoulder. "She's safe within Equestria's borders. We'll make it there, and we'll find her."
He took a step back, looking her over. "You should really get yourself cleaned up, though. You look like you fell in Tartarus and were dragged out by your tail. Not exactly ship-shape for a captain of such a notorious vessel."
"You look like you took a fish to the face and it got stuck," she replied bitterly. "I can't sleep while I know she's so close."
"We're much closer to Griffonia than Equestria, Greda. If you won't sleep, at least take a break. Go below deck and get Guis to make you a snack, or go sit up in the crow's nest with Ghaimor. The way you're swaying, you'll plow us into a sandbar before the crew can as much as blink." Gareach reared up on his hind legs, his powerful talons holding the wheel steady as the wind picked up. The yellow feathers on his forehead blew over his eyes as the gust passed.
“They did tell you they were keeping her well, right?”
Greda nodded, sitting back on her haunches to quickly preen her scarlet feathers into some semblance of cleanliness. “If we can come up with the payment in time…”
“Which we will,” Gareach replied quickly. “The Equestrian coast isn’t far away, as you know, and the city she’s being kept in isn’t too far inland. I believe it may have a delta leading right up to the outskirts, if I remember the maps correctly.”
Greda ran her talons through the knots in her feathery scruff, sifting out debris. Gareach glanced down at her, green eyes bright. “I thought I told you to go get a snack and rest.”
“I am the captain of this ship, and I don’t take orders from my crew.”
“Not even your first mate? Oh, woe is me!” Gareach swayed on his hind paws, a claw pressed against his forehead as he swooned. He stilled suddenly, the fur along his back bristling.
Greda felt it too, a sudden tingle down her spine that set her newly groomed pelt on edge. She withheld a kit-like mewl as she looked up, easily seeing the mass of dark clouds surging across the pale blue sky. The storm was a strong one, born of the water-rich sea air, and was gaining growth fast. Huge masses of roiling black clouds had begun expanding in every direction, speckled with flashes of light as lightning leaped around the particles inside. A bolt of lightning struck the sea, sending a plume of water up towards the clouds. A loud rumble followed shortly after, setting Greda's feathers on edge and making her ears ring.
A white-feathered, grey-furred griffon swung down from the masts, a coil of ropes holding him a few feet off the ground. He stretched out his wings, slowing his swing until he could safely hop out of the ropes and onto the wooden paneling of the deck. Pushing his green feathers away from his one purple eye with one claw, he quickly cut through the ropes holding his net to the towering masts.
“The storm only jus’ star’ed forming, cap’n. The crew will be safe in the hold, since we dropped all of our cargo in Griffonia. Lotsa space down there.” The griffon gave Greda the once-over, tying the fallen ropes around his shoulders to keep from losing them. “You look like death walkin’!”
“I feel like you sea scum judge me too much on my appearance,” she replied. “After all, if it wasn’t for me, Ghaimor, you’d still be sitting in the brig of that Zebrican vessel for trying to off one of their shamans.”
“The pay for getting him was good! Who am I to resist a job, eh?”
“Perhaps you should have resisted, seeing as it cost you an eye and a boatload of dignity.”
“For what, being rescued by a fair maiden? I assure you, cap’n, a scout does not judge his savior by their gender.” He bowed mockingly, the wind weaving circles in his feathers as he did.
“We should get inside,” Gareach reminded them. He had tied the wheel to the stand, forcing it to remain forward. “The rope rats have already started closing the sails. Where is Ghayroth? We need to drop anchor.”
“Did I hear my name?” A deep voice growled from above.
A yellow griffon, his feathers speckled with brown and his blue eyes dark, lay across a lower mast. His tail unwrapped from the wood, and he dropped to the deck with a heavy thud. Unlike the others, he was heavily built; meant for running and power instead of the common builds for agility and airborne speed.
He stretched, his thick claws scraping grooves into the deck. “Dropping anchor in a storm like this? We’ll all be seasick before the first rain falls.”
“And what do you propose we do?” Gareach snapped, “let the happy towering clouds of death throw us all into the ocean?”
“We’re not far from the coast. We should turn back, dock in one of the coves and ride out the storm there.” His dark eyes turned icy for a moment as a streak of lightning flashed across the sea.
Greda flinched. “But my daughter-”
“Will much prefer her mother to be alive rather than rocked to death.” Ghayroth finished for her. “You’ve been awake for too long, captain. You must remember that there are griffons on this boat besides you. Your rank means you must protect them, and sailing out into the middle of what appears to be a hurricane will get you nowhere.”
“We double the speed tomorrow. Man the oars as well as the sails,” Greda compromised.
Her second mate nodded. “Gareach, turn the ship around. “Ghaimor, tell the rope rats to rig the sails again. Greda,” he paused, his gaze softening for a moment, “go get some rest. You’re worrying yourself sick.”
“I won’t get any rest until I’ve found my daughter,” she growled.
Gareach sighed, his talons clenching around the wooden struts of the wheel. "By the feathers of Ra, woman! If you don't get some sleep soon, I'll have to bathe you in that watered-down apple juice ponies call cider." He tilted his head, his feathers drifting over one eye. "Or did we drop that off at port? Nah, I'll just dunk you in the ballast tank."
"If I go down, I'm pulling you in with me. You know how much I hate being wet." Greda shook out her wings, her fur prickling again as another bolt of lightning struck the sea. "Fine, fine, I'll get below. Don't get hypothermia."
"I wouldn't dare! You'd have to cuddle me to warm me up," he teased, the lean muscles under his leathery forelegs bulging as he hauled the wheel to the side, turning the ship as a gust caught the reopened sails. "But do get inside. No weather fit for man or beast out here."
"Well, it's fitting you're out here, then," Greda laughed, flicking his shoulder with her tail as she walked by. Ghayroth hunched down on the upper deck beside Gareach, his purple eyes glinting in the distant lightning, his fur strangely still despite the raising winds.
His eyes met hers, and without a word he hauled himself onto his claws. He seemed to be a statue alive, with the howling gale moving his short fur in nothing but the slightest way. "Come along, captain. I'm sure the rest of the crew is waiting down below."
"I shouldn't leave Gareach out here alone. What if something was to happen?"
Ghayroth slowly looked behind him, frowning slightly as the smaller griffon struggled against the wind. "I... suppose I could help him. You'll be alright below without a companion?"
"Guis will be there. He's probably made up fish filet or something already." She opened the door to the stairway, looking up at her two closest companions on board. "Don't be afraid to come down and let us drift if it gets too bad."
"I won't," Gareach promised.
Ghayroth shrugged, casually draping a wing over Gareach's shoulders. "If we blow away, I'll find my way back. You wouldn't even know I was gone."
Gareach looked at Ghayroth's wing quizzically. "Why are you... hugging me?"
"You were cold," Ghayroth stated. "Hard to steer a ship when your beak is tapping so hard so can't see straight."
"Your wing is on my shoulder," Gareach stated, shifting slightly as if to persuade him to remove it.
"Consider it a compliment," Ghayroth growled, shaking his wing slightly. "Most days I wouldn't want to touch you. You always reek of fish."
Gareach rolled his eyes. "Don't go all vegetarian on me again!"
"Quit it, you two. The storm is coming in, and I'd hate to lose you both to some lightning strike because you're fighting over dietary habits. Good luck steering the ship, and don't die!" Greda laughed, stepping through the doorway. Her tail pulled the door shut, the scarlet feathers on the tip nearly getting caught in the frame. The warmth from below hit her instantly, and she realized just how cold it had been outside. With the warmth came the irresistible aroma of Guis's cooking, wafting up from the room below.
She reached the bottom of the stairwell, entering a wide, well-lit room. The wooden floor reached about halfway through the inner hull, ended with a chest-high guardrail, and then turned into the water-filled ballast tank. The far end of the hull was hidden in shadows; the lanterns that lit the traverse-able area extended only to the barrier, and their feeble light couldn't parse the shadows beyond. A few tables were scattered around the floored area, surrounded by griffons of many colors and breeds. She took pride in the fact that she was the only Feathertip - a Jeweled Feathertip no less, if her heritage proved true - and her feather-tipped tail twitched slightly.
A well-rounded griffon with brown fur and reddish-grey feathers hunched over a cooking fire, lit on a wide stone platform. He turned around as he heard her claws on the wood, and his brown eyes lit up; his voice was thick with a foreign accent, Griffonese distorted but recognizable. "Everybody, the captain is-a here. We do a roll call and then-a we eat, yes?"
A chorus of cheers went up around the tables, and there was a loud pop as a tan-and-brown griffon flipped the top off of a large barrel with the edge of a guitar. "I got the cider open!"
Amid laughter, someone called out, "Gerald, I swear, you're the only one who likes that watered-down pony juice!"
"I can't play if I can't hear my notes, Grant," the griffon retorted, hopping up onto the edge of the barrel. He wrapped his tail around his glass, dipping it into the barrel of cider as he sat up on the rim. He propped the guitar up, strumming one claw across the strings. "Gerald the bard is present, my lady."
"Thank you, Gerald. And the rest of you? All absent?"
"Gallus, Gerri, Galma and Grant - the rope rats - are all here!" A griffon yelled out, waving a claw from a table of four. A male griffon with red feathers and yellow hide sat between two identical males; both with tan feathers and white hide. The only female in the group had bright blue feathers and a white hide; it was not difficult to figure out that the twins Gallus and Grant, along with Galma, were related; Gerri was the odd one out, and the one who had yelled.
"Glorian, Gwence and Gala the maids are here too!" Another griffon called, her table all female. The three all had rather dove-shaped faces, inside of that of birds of prey; Gala's feathers were while while her hide was pink, Glorian had peachy feathers and a lavender pelt, and Gwence had grey feathers tipped with blue and a grey pelt.
A sole griffon, spinning a small dagger on her tabletop, looked up. Her feathers and fur were both jet-black, while her head feathers were tipped with grey. Her eyes shone gold and she nodded, not needing to call out her presence.
"Gareach and Ghayroth are safe on the deck. Did anyone see Ghaimor come in?" Greda scanned the faces, looking for her scout.
There was an uncharacteristic spray from off the edge of the wooden area. A few of the griffons around the area moved away, grimacing as the water came closer. "He's swimming again," one of them growled disdainfully.
A dripping white head poked up over the side, followed by two pale hands that hauled up the rest of Ghairmor's sopping wet body. He stretched out his back before plodding over to Guis's fire. He flicked his tail in greeting to Greda before curling up beside the warm flames.
She could hear the cook muttering, "I don't-a understand how you can do that. Isn't it cold?"
"Mm-hm," came his dreary reply, "but it's better than being dirty or getting my own filth in my mouth."
Guis sighed heavily before lifting the cooking pot off the fire, muscles rippling under his glossy fur. "The fish is done! If you don't like it this way, feel free to catch your own!"
He started setting the small portions of meat onto plates, which were then carried away by the assorted crew. He personally put one down in front of the black griffon, who didn't seem to react other than to pull the plate closer to her. Gerald started playing out a soft melody, filling the tight, warm space with a calming air. Greda wove through the tables, grabbing a plate of whatever Guis had whipped up on her way by.
Cautiously, she sat down across from the black griffon. The female looked up at her with one golden eye, her grey feathers drifting aside to reveal the other one was purely white. A pink scar ran over the blind eye, one that carried over the eyelid whenever she blinked. Her attitude, at this range, was more defensive and anxious than mysterious and nonchalant.
"Gloss."
"Greda." The blank griffon removed her dagger's tip from the table, instead using it to slice her meal into smaller portions. "The problem you told me about has been solved."
"Ah." Greda looked down at her meal briefly. It really is fish filet. "And the boat itself?"
"Moved into Backwater Cove, made to look like a ghost ship. I hid it behind some rocks, in a small cave. We'll loot it when we get there." Greda must have let out a small gasp, because the black griffon's eyes danced merrily for a moment. "If you left the wheel, we'd have to be docking somewhere because of the storm."
"Ah. Any sign of...?"
Gloss shook her head. "Hide nor hair. I'm sorry, Greda, but I think you have to accept that he's-"
"I will not accept a lie," Greda growled under her breath. "We have a daughter, Gloss. A daughter who I'm getting closer and closer to finding."
"He disappeared from the same boat your daughter was on. Equestria may glorify its' prison system, but the fact is, he's probably-"
"I said I wasn't accepting a lie. I would know if he was gone, Gloss. I would feel it." Greda's voice faltered and she looked down at her food. "I would know."
Gloss slowly picked up a cube of fish on the tip of her dagger. "Just think about moving on."
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. However, as Greda got up to leave, Gerald picked up his guitar again. He strummed once, testing the strings, and the pure notes rang out through the cavern-like area. "We are very lucky to have such a talented crew. Not many captains would feel confident leaving their first and second mates alone to steer a ship. Most would probably turn tail and fly away, or drive the ship into a sandbar, leave the crew to starve, and loot the ship later. I assure you, Gareach and Ghayroth would never do such a thing.
"Tell us-a something we don't know!" Guis yelled.
Gerald laughed, plucking the strings of his guitar as if testing a melody. "Well, there are many things you do not know about song, mere cook!" The bard reared up on his hind legs, balancing on the rim of the cider barrel. His tail and wings moved occasionally, keeping him upright.
"Oh, you-a think you can outperform-a me?" Guis teased. "If you get to play-a de instrument, than I'm sure you will."
"What a lucky day! I happened to find a lute last time we raided a ship. Gerri, could you retrieve it for me?"
A red-feathered, yellow-furred griffon nodded, darting through one of the doors lining the main area. Gerald sighed happily, strumming out a sweet melody. As he waited for the other griffon to return, he settled back on his haunches and began to sing softly along to his playing.
"I'm sure that the old man's mistaken,
if her thinks he can take on a bard.
For my talented talons know many a song,
so beating him won't be that hard."
"Oh, put a sock-a in it," Guis growled, rolling his eyes. "Gerri, you sea-a scum, what'sa taking you so long?"
The griffon Gerald had set off slipped back out of the room, his body sleek and lean with muscle, He held the neck of the instrument in his beak. He carefully set it down in front of the cook and slunk back off to his table.
Without another word, the two began to play. At first, it started out slow; despite Gerald's taunts, Guis did have some skill; he certainly met all of Gerald's notes in good time. It was just as Guis had started catching up that Gerald strummed into a series of quick, short melodies, filling the room with a rich noise. Guis, instead of matching him, went on a different tangent; he started up the rhythm to some other song, matching it to the beats of Gerald's notes.
The younger griffon's eyes gleamed, and he set his pace to match Guis's notes. Suddenly, the music took on a whole new tone. Gerald's notes rang of triumph and pride, of battles won and enemies vanquished; Guis's tone dropped to a cold night and a small fire, of stale food and bitter sadness. Somehow, the two were so de-synchronized that they were in sync.
The two were staring at each other, lost in concentration. The two melodies rose in power until it seemed like the inside of the hull was going to burst with noise.
Guis's claw slipped.
The lute let out an ugly twang, and Gerald immediately stopped, his last note still ringing in the air. A smirk slowly pulled at the edges of Gerald's beak, accompanied by Guis's dramatic sigh. "I-a suppose de bard can beat de cook at-a de music playing."
"You admit defeat?" Gerald teased, pointing the neck of his guitar towards the other griffon.
"I admit-a defeat," he laughed, "but-a next time you feed de entire crew, yes?"
"The challenge will be happily accepted," Gerald replied. "I do think, however, we should get off to bed soon. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."
In the center of a tumultuous storm, a small cove rested along the sea-line. It was hunched over, a small ceiling of stone overhead that could have been glorified to cave status had it not been named a cove first. At the moment, the waves from the ocean did little but bump the two vessels lying within.
One was a grey ship, the flag and sail torn too much to be recognizable. The hull was speckled with algae and barnacles, and the sails seemed to have been recently rolled up. It had been floating in the cove when the second vessel arrived, abandoned but new. Cheerful looting had started immediately after the second vessel was anchored; griffons flew back and forth across the cave, transferring goods from food to gemstones to weapons, all still intact and fresh.
The second vessel, and the recipient of the looter's bounty, was the Cast Shadow; the jet-black pirate ship of the Griffonian seas, and the only pirate vessel to be captained by a female of any species.
The boat rocked gently, the anchor line pulled taut. Gareach and Ghayroth had successfully reached the cover before being blown away, and both came back inside sopping wet from the rain but still well. Ghayroth had chosen to sleep on the deck for the night in case any other ships sought refuge in the same place, his sword clasped in his beak as he stood guard. Greda had heard Gareach's grumbling about him through the thin wooden walls, but it had slowly faded until it was replaced by faint snoring.
Greda lay awake, staring across her pillow at the picture between her claws. The corner had been torn off a long time ago, and the paper was faded and spotted with age. The original image had not been very detailed, she remembered, but even with the old sepia-stained photographs the image had been clear. This one would most likely fade within the year, especially if another flooding incident like the one that ripped it's corner occurred.
The image, however faded, still sparked a warmth in her that nothing else did. She was on the far left, much younger, a few maps pinned under one arm as she smiled tiredly. How long ago was it, she wondered, that I thought I was to be a cartographer of the islands off the coast. Ah, well. A pirate's life for me. Around her younger self's left-claw pinkie, a slim golden band reflected the light from the camera's bulb. The ring had long since left her own finger, locked away with the photograph on most occasions.
Most of the griffon on the right had been torn away. All that remained was a single grey claw and a glimpse of grey-blue fur between her and the tear. She ran a claw up the torn griffon's inked spine, following it up to where his head would have been. "I've found her," she whispered to the photograph. "I'm getting our Gilda back."
Tears stung at her eyes as she tried to remember the photograph's missing corner and couldn't. Has it been so long that I can't even remember him any more? She sighed, looking down at the final, central figure.
A young griffon, no more than five months old at least, sat on her haunches. Her small brown wings were outstretched happily, the tips of her feathers brushing Greda's folded wings. Her short, tufted tail was wrapped around Greda's, and she was leaning back slightly on the torn figure's leg. Her white feathers and brown fur nearly matched her mothers', while the faint purple markings on her eyes and crown-feathers had just started to appear.
Greda ran a claw over the griffon kit's forehead, nearly feeling the feathers fold under her claw.
"Momma, momma, can I go with daddy on his ship tomorrow?"
Greda looked down at her daughter, smiling faintly. "You have to sit still for the picture first."
"She doesn't want to sit still," her husband purred, nudging his daughter's head with his beak. "She wants to see the world, just like her parents."
The griffon behind the camera called out a brief 'say cheese' before the bulb went off. Greda knew she had been looking at the bulb, but was nearly positive her companions had been looking at her.
"Should we take another?"
Her husband nuzzled her neck. "I'm sure no other picture would demonstrate us better."
"Momma, can I please go with daddy on the ship? I'm really good at swimming and flying now, so I won't fall into the water!"
"I'll protect her," he promised, "even if it costs me my life."
"It shouldn't have to," Greda muttered, looking down at her maps. She couldn't see them, but she knew there was still miles upon miles of ocean left uncharted. Who knew what perils lay in that empty space?
"No harm will come to the Pirate Princess or her Kingly father," he replied gently. "So don't spend all of your time fretting about us. Go out and explore. We'll be here when you return."
"Alright. Promise me one thing, though, Grazi."
"Hm?"
"Don't leave me alone."
"Don't leave me alone," she repeated quietly. The boat was silent in response, save for the occasional creak as the water shifted.
Dimly, Greda was aware she was crying before she fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep.
