Is it worth dying for?

The pressure across his neck was all but unbreakable as he fought against the man drowning him. His eyes were stinging from the salt water and his lungs were burning. Fury struggled in vain, feeling his vision start to fade and the pangs of regret almost choke him: he would break his word and abandon Arild. And then he recalled those trusting green eyes in the thin white face and his hand snaked to his leather vambrace and the little knife sheathed amid the leather that his son had given him. He drew the knife, prayed and stabbed hard into the arm compressing his throat.

A cloud of thick viscid fluid billowed in front of his fading vision but the pressure vanished and he kicked out backwards and swung desperately to the surface, his head flinging back as he hungrily gasped down air into his burning lungs. Gasping, wheezing, he tossed his sodden auburn hair off his face as he swam away. The other man broke surface, his eyes fell and bleeding arm swinging at the pirate. Fury urgently kicked away from Eret, realising the man was bigger, stronger and more dangerous than he could handle right now. He flapped backwards, the tug of the satchel over his shoulder weighing him down.

"Don't you ever give up?" Fury hissed. Determinedly, Eret swum at him, his powerful arms cutting through the waves. Fury backed up, treading water with Arild's little knife clamped in his hand.

"No-because you humiliated me!" Eret hissed with hatred.

"Hmm-didn't take much effort 'coz you did all the heavy lifting for me!" Fury shot back, his eyes seeing the outline of the man against the lamps of the Outcast ships. He heard the thuds of the cannon and saw the flashes of the impacts and prayed his crew were safe. Then Eret threw himself forward and Fury felt a sharp pain across his left arm as a knife flashed. He lurched back and dived into the sea, escaping but hearing rather than seeing the man follow. Eret was still after him.

Lungs still burning, he kicked away, a foot slamming out and hitting the man in the face. Fingers slid over his arm and he winced, kicking up to break the surface. The cut in his arm was stinging and he kicked backwards. A pair of hands closed on his leg and he was tugged under again. His other foot slammed into the man again but Eret hung on. It took another three kicks before he was released and managed to snatch some more air. His throat was burning and he was coughing from inhaling salt water.

He yelped as the knife sliced his left arm close to the shoulder. Unseen, Eret had come up behind him, swinging at him with rage and determination. He kicked away, Arild's tiny knife scant defence against the gutting knife Eret was slicing with. He kicked backwards, his eyes staring at the outline of the man, knowing he was consumed with rage and jealousy.

"Why are you here, Eret?" he rasped hoarsely. "I never knew that courage and single combat were your style! I thought you'd be at home with your wife!"

"That faithless bitch!" the General shouted, slashing again. Fury just evaded him. "I think she'd rather be with you!" Fury coughed and swum backwards warily. This was unexpected...though Astrid deserved her unhappy marriage.

"That makes one of us," he said slowly. Believe me, you are welcome to Lady Astrid!"

"LIAR!" Ere accused, lunging at him again. Ready this time, Fury kicked out and pushed him back, turning and swimming further away. Eret wasn't following him...and he realised a vessel was speeding at him. He desperately thrashed away and dived, felling the hull slam into his side and hip, almost knocking the breath from him. He desperately thrashed away further and grimaced as the vessel swept past, the sounds of shouts calling down to the General in the water.

"Where is he?"

"He was over there!"

"Get the lamps!"

And I am so dead... Fury realised, casting a glance over his shoulder and swimming swiftly away from the Outcast ship. The crack of muskets and flintlocks sounded and he saw a line of muzzle flashes before shot zinged around him. Eret knew he had guns-though he would use them only as a last resort because they were pretty inaccurate. The risk was that one of them would hit him more or less by accident...and a ball zinged just past his face. The density of shot was increasing and he ducked and tried to glide away backwards. But then he heard the thud of guns and saw the remaining mast of the Outcast ship shatter into splinters. The gunmen were shocked from their assault, diving away as the mast crashed down, scattering. Odin bless you, twins, he added silently as he swum steadily away from the circling ships. He saw the sliver of moonlight outline his ship and he sighed, but a cannon ball landed too close and he swam further away into the enclosing night, until finally he was alone.

He was treading water for hours, his arm stinging and throat hurting. His entire side felt bruised and stiff from where he had been sideswiped by the Outcast ship. His arms were feeling numb but he was determined not to die. The battle had moved away and he guessed his crew would never find him in the darkness...but the downed ship would possibly leave wreckage...and that meant something that could help him float before he drowned. Wearily, he swam slowly back where he had come, unsure where he was and whether he could find anything that could save his life...and then something bumped into him. It was the yard from a mast, the rigging and shreds of sail still hanging to the wood. Panting in exhaustion and feeling the cold seeping into his body, he half-pulled his body onto the wreckage and locked his arm across the wood before he closed his eyes. All he could so was hold on.

Morning found him still hugging the wooden yard, exhausted and cold. The sky was clear and visibility was good but there was no chance his crew would pick him out. He was far too low in the water-and he was too sodden to look like anything other than an anonymous piece of wreckage. He grimaced, pulling himself up and swinging a leg over the yard, sitting upright. He unfastened his armour, the leather tunic and straps eased off over his tired and bruised body. Wearily, he stripped the sodden red tunic off his body, uncaring about the sudden chill in his torso and the flash of pain in his wounds. With a grimace, he pulled the leather armour back on against the breeze and checked the little knife was still nestled in his vambrace. And he smiled.

He was still alive...and he would get back to his son. He knew the crew would look after Arild, that they would comfort the small boy and care for him when he was scared for his Dad. He rested the satchel on the yard and fastened it safely, laying his hand shakily on the sodden leather. The inside was lined with oilskin and he had wrapped the logbook and papers securely. After all, he had literally risked his life for them.

He closed his eyes. He had paid a man for information as himself, the skinny red-haired sailor with a wry smile and an ability to chat amiably over an ale. What he had learned had given him hope: Magne Jorgensen was already in trouble, mortgaged to the hilt and struggling to replace the ships Fury had sunk. The logs from the Princess would guide him where to strike next to further cripple Magne. And once he had done that, once he had made the man feel as helpless and wretched as he did...

And then he paused and stared at the sea, guilt crashing around him like a wave. Thor, he was getting utterly obsessed. He was no longer alone, no longer a man with nothing but vengeance in his life: he had the boy to care for and he knew how scared Arild had been. Though Fury had given him food and warmth and love, he had also brought pain and fear and injury to the little boy. Arild had been kidnapped, hit and almost killed...and it was all Fury's fault. When he closed his eyes, he could see the thin body fly limply against the hull of Drago's ship...or Eret's knife pressed cruelly into the boy's neck, the terrified green eyes staring pleadingly at Fury. That was all down to Fury. And if he carried on, he would probably get himself and his son killed.

Was his vengeance worth that? Worth harming the boy who loved and trusted him?

Is it worth dying for?

He closed his eyes and gave a shuddering sigh. He had clung to the plan, to plotting the destruction of his betrayers for so long, through so much pain and despair that considering it wasn't the most important thing in his life was unthinkable. But there was something more real, more tangible than a vengeance that would probably get him killed as well. And that was the small, warm body, fidgeting in his arms, snuggled against him, the green eyes trusting. The voice calling him 'Dad'.

And the truth was...it wasn't.

But really, despite his epiphany, the only truth that mattered right now was that if he wasn't found before he finally passed out from exhaustion, he would drown. He lifted his arm and waved the red tunic which flapped wetly. Red would stand out: it was his only hope.

He waved for hours, his lips cracked with thirst and the persistent wind and skin scratchy with salt. His hair was matted and felt like a bird's nest. and everything ached He wondered if his crew were even looking for him but in his heart, no matter how crazy he acted, he knew they would come...

oOo

Fishlegs stood at the prow, his spyglass sweeping the horizon. They had taken out the Outcasts and driven them off...but they had become turned round and knew they couldn't find the Captain in the dark. So they anchored and waited until the dawn warmed the eastern sky, the turned back and started looking.

The husky first mate swept his blue eyes across the deck and sighed. The little shape of Arild had remained at the prow, even when the rest of the crew swung back without his father, when the Princess had sunk and when the had fought the Outcasts for their lives. It was only at dawn when he had been taken back to his cabin by Tuff, the male twin gently carrying the drooping boy, trying to reassure him that the Captain would be back.

Ruff and Sven were by him, also scanning the horizon...and it was Sven who blinked and peered through his spyglass again. He had seen a flash of red. And then again-something flapping. He looked up, his deep voice almost breaking with excitement.

"There!" he shouted excitedly. The others zoomed their spyglasses in the direction and saw a lanky arm flapping a battered red tunic amid the swell of the waves.

"Oh, thank Thor!" Fishlegs exclaimed with a sigh. "Tuff...thataway!" The male twin grinned and flung the wheel round, spinning the Night Fury in the direction of their Captain. "Mulch, Bucket-can you be ready with the lines for the Captain?"

"Aye, aye, Mr Mate!" the crew shouted as they sailed directly at the shape. As they closed, the could see Fury wearily waving his red tunic, a satchel slung over his shoulder and leather armour dark with water. He looked gaunt and exhausted but his face lit with relief and his green eyes sparkled as he waved and his shoulders slumped in relief.

"What took you so long?" he shouted as the lines swung down. He wound his arms around them and was urgently hauled up by the crew, his lean shape stumbling onto the deck and landing on his knees. He looked up, a grin of triumph and relief on his face as he dumped his tunic and satchel onto the deck, then threw himself into a hug around Fishlegs. His friend gave him a big hug back, astonished at the gesture. "Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Fishlegs said gently, feeling the lean shape trembling. Fury hugged the twins, Sven, Mulch and Bucket as well, his gratitude genuine, though he did have to remind Bucket to let him go. Then his friend paused. "Fury," he said, helping the man back to his cabin, "there is one problem. Arild is gone."

Fury paused and felt his heart stop. "When?" he asked faintly. "When did you last see him?"

"I took the little dude to your cabin just before dawn," Tuff admitted. "He fell asleep before I left him."

"He'll be hiding," Fury said tiredly. "I'll go..." Fishlegs caught his arm and shook his head.

"Get into some dry clothes," he said. "Or you'll catch your death!" Fury nodded and dragged his exhausted shape into the cabin. Wearily, he dragged his armour and vambraces off, carefully laying the little dagger on his desk. He dumped the satchel on the floor, dropped his tunic in the corner and tossed his boots and leggings into the corner with a loud squelch.

And then the door opened. He gave a shocked scream and dived to the bed, snatching up the blanket and covering himself as Fishlegs and Bucket ambled in, carrying buckets of warm water and a tub. He backed away, shocked. "Er...what are you doing?" he asked faintly. Bucket grinned as Fishlegs laid the tub down and Bucket filled it with warm water.

"Bath!" the simple man said cheerily. "That will warm you up, Cap'n!" Fish stared and saw the deep gash in his arm.

"Cap'n..." he began but Fury's eyes narrowed, the blanket pulled up higher. He shook his head.

"OUT!" he snapped. "Not that I'm not grateful but...OUT!" They left and he slammed the bolt closed, sighing. He dropped the blanket and stared at the ugly brand on his lean chest: it was the one thing he wouldn't share with them. But they had been right: he was chilled to the marrow and he achingly sank into the warm water with a sigh, closing his eyes and lying back until he could feel warmth seep into his body. Then, finally, he washed his body and hair, teasing the salty clumps free. Eventually, he clambered out, drying himself and pulling on a fresh red tunic, dark brown leggings and an old battered pair of boots.

He stared longingly at the bed but he knew he had to find Arild first...and he knew where the boy would be hiding. He paused, then ran his mind back to the little list of hiding places Arild had eagerly told him about. Wearily, he unbolted the door and emerged, seeing a sea of eager eyes that instantly looked away.

"Yeah, thanks," he said honestly. "And thank you, Fish, Bucket. That was exactly what I needed." He sighed. "Now give me some space, okay? I'll find Arild, get some sleep-and then, I promise I will explain what we're doing and what next, okay?"

"You got it, dude!" Tuff piped up. Fury nodded and slowly clambered down the ladder into the hold, seeking his son. He grabbed a lamp and slowly moved through the hold, methodically inspecting every single nook and cranny until he had exhausted the list he had been given by the boy. And then he paused: there was one last place, a tiny little gap right at the stern, behind the old crates of spare bits and bobs they kept in case the ship was damaged. It was musty and damp and cold...a perfect place for a small boy to hide. Almost doubled up, he crawled right to the back of the hold and lifted his lamp. And then he heard the small whimper and a soft sob...

"Arild?" Fury murmured gently, scooching closer. He craned his neck and just about could see the thin limbs curled around a hunched body. "Son?" There was another sniff...

"D-dad?" he whimpered.

"Yeah," Fury sighed. "I'm here, bud. And I'm so sorry..."

There was a sniff and a long pause. "I-I thought you were dead..." a little voice said. Fury sighed. He had known what to do because he had been that small, bullied and isolated boy. He knew Arild would find somewhere small and secret and safe. The difference was that Fury was here to fetch him and comfort him as he had never been comforted. The best that had happened when he had hidden from it all for a while was a cuff around the head and a hard scolding by his unsympathetic father for leaving his chores undone. The worst...he unconsciously rolled his shoulders. His father was always very handy with his belt...

"I know," he admitted. "I nearly was."

"You...you l-left me..." Arild accused in his little cubbyhole. Fury sighed and levered his aching shape to sit against the side of the hull. This may take a while and he needed the boy to come to him. There was no doubt he could grab the boy and drag him out...but that would scare and traumatise an already very vulnerable child.

"I never meant to...but I needed that information," he admitted.

"So much you were willing to die to get it?" Arild asked. Fury sighed. There were a few scuffling noises and the boy slowly clambered out of his niche, standing very close to the seated man. Fury's eyes widened as he saw him: his grimy face was streaked with tears, his skin still wet. His eyes were red and swollen and his green tunic was grubby with the hem torn. He looked utterly desolate.

"Yes," Fury admitted. "I-I...have dreamed of it for so long...and I am so close..." Arild flinched. His thin shoulders hunched and he stared at the floor.

"Why is your revenge so much more important than I am?" he asked quietly.

Fury flinched. The words are so soft be almost missed them but they were like a knife straight to the heart. He bowed his head as he heard the boy shuffle closer. "Dad...?" Arild asked softly. "Are-are you okay?" He took a slow, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry," Fury said in a low voice.

"I...understand..." the boy whispered in a crushed voice. Fury shook his head.

"No, bud-you don't understand," he sighed.

"I'm just some stupid orphaned kid you found on Dragon Island," Arild said softly. "And you're Captain Fury. You have your crew and your ship and your revenge and I don't count or matter. I'm just something you picked up and when you get killed, I'll just be dropped off somewhere else to be beaten or starved and sold and I...I...I should just learn that I am worthless..." His thin throat worked and tears welled from his eyes. Fury moved suddenly, his hands grabbing the thin arms and pulling the shaking body into his grasp.

Arild fought, struggling and crying and begging him to let him go. But Fury caught the desperate face in his hands and stared into the wide green eyes, reading his broken heart in the desperate gaze.

"No, you're not," the pirate said sternly. "But I am." Arild just stared at him, stunned to silence.

"B-but..."

"Arild...I have no family, no one who cares...I lost everything when Magne Jorgensen, the man who owns Jorgensen Shipping, betrayed me. I was thrown out of my family, rejected by everyone who knew me, cast off my island and utterly heartbroken by the girl I loved. I barely survived-and only because I ended on a pirate ship. But how they treated me was...horrible. I was skinny and weak, Arild-a skinny runt. And look at me now! I'm hardly anything special-just a scrawny fishbone with a sarcastic mouth. All I have is my disguise and lies. My revenge was literally the only thing that gave me the strength to survive..."

And for a brief moment, the boy saw it: utter pain and despair, the eyes of a man who completely believed he was without any value. The green depths were so sad, so wretched that Arild felt his heart break again-in sympathy-and he did the only thing he could: he threw his arms round Fury's neck and gave him the strongest hug he could. And he felt the lanky arms wrap around his back, felt the head burrow into his neck, felt shuddering breaths against his skin.

"Dad...I'm here," the boy said suddenly. Fury gave a small nod, taking a moment to compose himself.

"I am a useless Dad," he sighed with obvious self-loathing. "My own Dad was terrible. He was always disappointed at me and I felt so ashamed that I could never please him. He always put his work before me and I knew he never really cared, that I never figured in any of his priorities. I-I feel so ashamed because I never wanted you to feel sad or alone or unwanted. I never wanted you to feel second to my other missions. But...I wanted my revenge and I forgot that I was hurting you..."

"I...didn't know..." Arild said slowly. "I don't want you to die, Dad. Why is revenge worth dying for? What does it achieve? If you die, he wins, right?" Fury gave a shamed nod.

"When I was sitting there, lost at sea and praying to be rescued, all I could think of was that I had let you down," he said softly. "I saw your face and I thought I would never see it again. And I realised I was completely obsessed. I was so focussed on harming Magne I forgot I was harming you..."

"Dad...you didn't harm me..." The green eyes were staring into the pirate's shamed face and the boy was looking worried.

"Yes, I did," Fury sighed. "You nearly got killed when you saved my life, Arild. You stabbed a guard pretty much in the ass for me! You got kidnapped by Gunnar and sold to Heather for me. And I heard you defying her and defending me. I really don't deserve you..."

"Gunnar was the only sorta father I had," Arild murmured, burying his head in Fury's neck. "And the few weeks I have been with your are far better than the years I had with him... You are the only father I ever want, Dad." Fury gently raised his head and stared at the boy, seeing the hope and trust still in his eyes. He suddenly felt humbled.

"I'm a useless father," he repeated, "but you are the only family I have, Arild. I don't think I could go on now without you. My revenge was everything when all I had was revenge. But now...I have a son. And that changes...everything. Because I finally have something to live for...you. I can't risk my life on my vengeance any more...and I forgot that because I was so obsessed with my revenge. Until I nearly lost you, nearly died...And though I desperately want him to pay...because what they put me through was Hel...I won't do it at the risk of leaving you alone. I won't put you in danger again..."

"I wanna help," Arild said softly. "D-dad...sometimes when you're angry, you're scary...and I know it's because you were hurt really badly. I know you won't hurt me. I trust you. So can you trust me to let me help you? Can you trust the crew to as well? They love you as well, Dad. And we can get him if we all help. Just please...don't leave me alone..."

"I promise I won't ever deliberately leave you," he said. Arild sighed and hugged him tightly. He could feel his Dad's lean shape slowly stop trembling.

"I'm here, Dad," he promised. "I won't leave you or ever betray you." Unsteadily, Fury rose, the boy in his arms. He banged his head on the low roof and whined in pain. Arild giggled.

"Hmm. Some son you are," Fury grumbled, though he was smiling. The boy hugged him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Now let's go talk to the crew..."