A Pirate's Love

Refining Character

Jake's POV:

As soon as they left my field of vision, I turned back into my quarters and sat strenuously on the bed, my ribs still aching. I looked to the spread of the bed, picked up my shirt that was tossed to the side, and slipped it over my head. I inhaled deeply, my thoughts clouding over at the sweet lingering scent of her skin woven into the fabric. I relished in it, wanting nothing more than to lay there and dream of her. My thoughts drifted to what Smith might have to say about this. 'Yer smote, Cap'n,' I pictured him saying with his all-knowing eye, making me smile at the thought. The comforting thought slowly burned into grief and guilt, missing the old seadog I had called my friend. He had guided me in more ways than one, keeping me emotionally stable and clear of mind. I sighed, holding my ribs in support, realizing all he had prepared me for had led to this exact moment. Suddenly feeling anxious at the thought, I stood and grasped the sheathed sword that was given to me to prepare for Dan Deranged. Turning toward the drawers on the other side of the room, I fiddled through them, finding everything I needed to sharpen and refine my tool.

Setting everything out in an organized manner, I drew the sword and inspected its small deformities, damaged from cutting through bones and clashing against metal. She wasn't a very well-formed sword; she would need some work. I leaned the point of the blade against the cabinet and picked up the filing stone, carefully running it against the blade at a thirty-degree angle. Small shavings of metal broke away as the stone scraped across its impurities. Alternating sides, rough edges formed on each side of the blade, cultivating a foundation for sharpening. Inspecting the edge once more, I ran my calloused fingertips over the chips, making precise notes of their locations. Obtaining a coarse stone, I made it stationary on the countertop and gently poured oil over it to allow the metal to glide against it easily. I set the blade on top of it and let it slide against the stone, pushing down on it at a meticulous angle. Alternating sides and observing with a careful eye, all divots of character in the edge were purified. Switching to a smoother stone, I repeated the same process of oiling and grinding, this time sharpening the metal to a perfect edge. Satisfied with my work, I took up a rag and sat back on the bed, the sword still in hand. I gently wiped the oil from the blade, polishing it until the metal reflected my image. I looked at the weapon from the guard to the point, making sure I had not accidentally missed a mark. I caught my eyes in the reflection, seeing myself within the sword, character, and blemishes refined.

I let myself sit with the sight for a moment, letting my eyes examine and soak it in. I looked different. I felt different. Self-control and tact shone through, replacing the anger and fear I had lived by all these years. I had learned to trust again. The man I had strived to become was staring back at me, a glimpse of Smith's wisdom shining in my eye. Whether I would be accepted by the governor or not suddenly did not matter as much as I thought it would. As long as Dan Deranged was put to justice and Elenor was returned to safety, somehow I knew I would be okay. I had grieved for Smith, yet his death was not in vain. I had become who he wanted me to be and exactly what he saw in me from the moment I trusted in him. I was finishing what I had started, no longer running away, but running toward.

I stood, sheathed the blade carefully, and attached the belt to my waist, feeling complete. If I was going to retain refinement, I needed to make sure we were still on course. My focus of direction strong, I made my way through the hallway and up the steps to the main deck. Swiftly reaching the quarter-deck, expecting to see the Barbarossa brother, I was met with the helmsman instead. His eyes were focused on the sea, his tanned skin leathery and well-aged by the salty wind. I could see the experience emanating from his presence, earning my utmost respect. 

"Our heading, helmsman?" I asked, trying to catch his attention. His eyes kept looking onward, ignoring my inquisition. I glanced at his sea chart and compass, our position a steady north. He spoke gruffly under his breath, in a language I could not decipher.