UNCHARTED: Drake's Demise

Greetings, readers. This story is set in the universe of the Uncharted video game series. Though it does not feature the characters of those games, it does tell of the events leading up to the first game, Uncharted: Drake's Fortune. However, a familiarity with the video game is not at all needed to fully enjoy and appreciate this story, though fans of the game will find some Easter Eggs hidden within the text. I had a lot of fun writing this story, and I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback and comments are welcome and appreciated, positive, negative, or otherwise. Thanks for reading!

UNCHARTED: Drake's Demise

"Keep on 'em, men! Do not let those Spanish dogs escape!"

Standing at the helm of his beloved ship, Sir Francis Drake sailed with the skills and determination befitting the most seasoned veteran of the British Navy. The Spanish galleon he now trailed was fast, faster than most, but was still no match for the legendary Golden Hind. As the winds remained in his favor, Drake was easily able to keep his ship directly on course, constantly gaining ground on the Spaniards. All the while, his men fired their cannons, peppering the water around the opposing ship with gunfire.

"Mr. Hawkins, report!" Drake called out, seeing their target slow.

"Direct hit, Captain!" John Hawkins replied. "Their rudder has been disabled. It shall not be long now!"

"Well done, First Mate!" Drake said with a smile. "I'll bring us alongside; prepare the boarding party!"

"Aye sir!"

Now closing the distance between the two ships, Drake could now make out the name of the ship they pursued: Esperanza. He barked out orders to his crew, ensuring the broadside gunners were ready for the chaos that would certainly ensue in mere moments. Still, he was not worried; these were strong, intelligent men, and this was far from their first plunder. It was the primary means of employment for a privateer crew, after all. Now approaching the Esperanza, Drake prepared for the impact of their retaliation.

"FIRE!!!" he shouted to his men.

Almost simultaneously, the two ships fired upon each other, inflicting heavy damage with their broadside shots. Still, it became immediately clear that the Golden Hind possessed the superior firepower. As the Spaniards struggled to defend against the assault of gunfire, Drake's elite men assembled on deck, grappling hooks at the ready. In near unison, the twelve sailors latched their hooks onto the opposing ship and swung over, taking the Spanish crew completely by surprise. While ten of the men began tearing into the sailors spread across the deck, two of Drake's men made immediately for the Esperanza's mast, beginning to slice into it with a two-person saw. After a minute or two, the structure began to creak and splinter, finally toppling down and landing partly on the Golden Hind, creating a bridge for Drake and the rest of his crew. The English poured onto the ship, restraining the downed Spaniards in record time. Finally, Sir Francis Drake himself boarded, approaching their prisoners.

"Greetings! I am Sir Francis Drake, loyal servant of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. Who among you is captain?"

"I. Captain Alejandro Montoya," said a man of about thirty.

The man and his crew seemed petrified with terror, as Drake's reputation was feared throughout the oceans of the world. After fifty-four years, he was easily the most successful privateer Queen Elizabeth had ever employed, which came as no surprise, considering the trouble he gave her navy in his days as a pirate. Still, Drake was not without a soul, and always prided himself on granting mercy to his beaten opponents.

"Greetings, Captain Montoya. I thank you for graciously allowing me permission to come aboard," Drake said jovially, his crew laughing all the while.

"Cease your taunting, English scum," Montoya seethed. "You are here to kill us, so be done with it. We go into the hands of God." Montoya and most of his crew bowed their heads and traced the cross with their hands.

"Very well. Gentlemen, give 'em the usual treatment!" Drake said to his crew. Before they could react, Alejandro Montoya and his men found themselves bound and their faces blinded by burlap sacks.

*****

"Welcome to the Golden Hind, and my grand feast!" Drake said, removing the sack from Captain Montoya's face.

"I... do not understand?" the man stammered. He suddenly found himself cut free of his bonds and seated at a grand dining table with his top officers, a spread of succulent food adorning the table.

"Oh, my dear Captain Montoya, I may be a privateer bent on looting you of your treasure store, but we English remain civilized gentlemen, even to the Spanish," Drake replied, taking a seat at the head of the table. "After all, I have no desire to murder my fellow Christians in cold blood, even if you are Catholic." This elicited a murmur of laughter from Drake's men guarding the room.

Smiling, Montoya replied, "That is exceedingly generous of you, El Draque." Raising a glass, Montoya indicated to his men to do the same, which they reluctantly did. "I suppose I should thank you for granting my officers the courtesy of life, though I must also confirm the safety of the rest of my crew."

"They are perfectly safe," Drake answered. "They got a bit rowdy, so we had to lock them in the brig, but they are all unharmed... well, at least the ones who survived our boarding, you understand."

"Of course, of course. Occupational hazard." Taking a sip of the delectable wine in front of him, Montoya realized now that Drake was indeed a man of exquisite taste. "Sir Francis Drake, what will you do now?" he asked. "We were followed not even a day prior by another of my countrymen's ships. You know they will find us, sooner or later."

"And that is our full intent, Captain Montoya," Drake replied. "Once our feast has concluded, you and your crew shall be escorted back to the Esperanza. Obviously, you will be unable to travel anywhere, what with that unfortunate accident involving your mast, but your countrymen should easily find you before long. We shall leave you a week's worth of food and supplies, just to be certain. Now, as for your treasure, it shall be returning to England with me, for it is being loaded onto my ship as we speak."

"Once a pirate, always a pirate," Montoya mused.

"Privateer, if you please," Drake corrected him. "I am, of course, fully sanctioned by Her Majesty." Standing from his chair, Drake slowly walked the length of the table towards his honored guest, seated at the foot. "Still, in all my years of sailing, I have long learned that, if a treasure is truly of the utmost importance... it is to be kept on one's person, not in some treasure vault. This, for instance."

As Drake withdrew a piece of paper from his coat pocket, Montoya suddenly stood in anger. "Where did you get that?!"

"From your coat pocket, of course. Fascinating document, I must say."

"Give it back! That is for King Phillip's eyes only!" Montoya's officers rose to back him, but were quickly silenced by the sound of Drake's guards drawing their swords.

"Not anymore," Drake replied calmly with a grin. Placing the paper on the table and taking a seat next to Montoya, Drake began to inspect it, showing it to be a map of a portion of Brazil. "I do not pretend to be an expert in translating your Spanish language, but I have picked up just enough over the years. Of course, some words translate across all manner of tongues... such as this." Pointing at a spot on the map, it was accompanied by only two words.

El Dorado.

"You know not of which you speak," Montoya sneered defiantly. "I believe you are too confident in your translation capabilities."

"Really? Because, if I am not mistaken, this appears to be a map of the wilds of Brazil, leading to perhaps the greatest treasure the world has ever known: the mythical City of Gold."

"Filthy English pig!" Montoya spat. "You are unworthy of El Dorado! We shall find it, for we are destined to rule this world! God Himself has decreed it!"

"Ah... so you are saying that you have not yet found it?" Drake asked knowingly.

Montoya's eyes went wide, his mouth wordlessly moving. He knew he had given away their secret mission, not just to an Englishman, but also to the best sailor in the entire world.

"You needn't say anything more, my good boy," Drake assured him. "It is now time for you and your crew to depart back to your ship. My first mate, John Hawkins, shall escort you."

*****

Sitting alone in his cabin, Francis excitedly worked in his journal, a small, leather-bound book. Though unassuming, he had carried it throughout all of his journeys and noted all of his most incredible discoveries within it. In truth, that book likely contained information on all of the most valuable secrets the world over, and it now included a map to the legendary El Dorado, sketched by Sir Francis Drake himself. As he continued to study the map, a knock came at his door.

"Come."

As the door opened, a man near Drake's age entered, similar in appearance, though more balding. "Good evening, Sir Francis."

"Good evening, John. Are we away?"

"Indeed we are, the Spaniards are safely back on their ship... or what's left of it, anyway. Damn, we did a number on it!"

"Splendid! Now then, I think we should focus on this incredible discovery we have unearthed from Captain Montoya, don't you?" Drake replied.

"Sir... as much as I would love to, we have been given strict orders from Her Majesty. We are to return to England within a week's time from now. I have already instructed the helmsman as such," John replied tentatively.

"Are you daft, man?! We are on the verge of the discovery of a lifetime!" Drake replied, showing him the map. "It is all laid out for us!"

"Be that as it may, Francis, we are short on supplies, and a mission of this sort would certainly require Her Majesty's permission. I wish to find El Dorado just as much as you do, but we must first return to England."

"Meanwhile, those damned Spaniards remain one step ahead of us... but you are correct. We will need Queen Elizabeth's funding for an expedition of this magnitude. Very well, keep our heading the same."

"Aye, sir. Goodnight, Francis," John said, closing the door behind him as he left.

Alone once more, Francis sat alone with his thoughts, reminiscing to himself of his friend and cousin John Hawkins, likely the only man on Earth who could get away with speaking to Sir Francis Drake in such a manner without reproach. They had been friends for almost their entire lives, both growing up in Devon, England, and had started their first pirate crew together, Drake as Captain and Hawkins as First Mate. Since then, they had been inseparable. As he thought, Francis twirled his favorite silver ring between his fingers, as he frequently did. Though simple in appearance, it was one of his most treasured possessions, a gift from Her Majesty when he had returned from his circumnavigation of the globe in 1581, over fourteen years ago. On that great day, he had been knighted, and Queen Elizabeth had presented him with the ring, inscribed with his life's motto: Sic Parvis Magna.

"Greatness from small beginnings," Francis said with a grin. "Perhaps... that greatness is finally within my grasp."

*****

"Certainly not, it is out of the question, Sir Francis!"

"Your Highness, do you realize what this is? What we are so close to uncovering?"

"Realize what?" Queen Elizabeth replied. "What true proof do you have other than a tiny map? For all we know, the Spaniards are playing us for fools, tempting us with the legend of El Dorado, hoping we shall spend our time and resources chasing that which does not exist."

"El Dorado does exist," Francis insisted. "I saw it in Captain Montoya's eyes."

"Which brings me to my second reason for denying your request. The Spanish fleet is in disarray, thanks in no small part to your efforts, Sir Francis. The Crown is eternally grateful to you for this. As such, King Philip is exceedingly close to acquiescing to our demands of territory and trade, in the hopes of forming a peace treaty. Such a peace would truly be the crowning achievement of my reign, forcing the Spanish to admit our superiority. I'll not squander that legacy on the phantoms you would have me chase. This matter is closed, Sir Francis Drake."

"I... understand, Your Majesty."

"I am glad," Queen Elizabeth said, her tone softening. "I know we have had our differences through the years, and even still today. However, know that there is not a sailor in the world I trust more than you. I do have a mission for you, one of vital importance. You must sail to the New World, and assail the Spanish fortress of San Juan de Puerto Rico. It is one of their few remaining strongholds with ease of access to our burgeoning colonies, and driving them from that island would certainly back King Philip into a corner, forcing him to heed our demands. Attack them there, and push their ships southward. When you reach the coast of Panama, you will surely find a damaged ship that my spies have gotten word of. Plunder it if you can, but most importantly of all, send those Spaniards scurrying back to their holes like rats. Sir Francis Drake, the people of England are depending on you."

"Yes, Your Highness. I shall not fail."

*****

One week later, Drake had arrived at his home in Plymouth, England. As his primary port to the Atlantic, it was the natural place for him to lay his head during the times he was not at sea. Those days would be spent rather quietly, reading books and spending time with his wife, Elizabeth. She was an exceedingly kind woman, and very quiet, though this conservative exterior belied the sharp intellect contained within. She was highly adept at debating all manner of philosophical topics with Francis, and though she was not as verbose as he typically was, she was no less successful in her assertions.

"You are leaving again soon, are you not?" she asked quietly, picking at the chicken on her plate.

With a small sigh, Francis replied, "Indeed."

"Where are you off to this time?"

"The New World, once more. Her Majesty believes it is time to drive the Spanish from San Juan once and for all."

Eying her husband longingly, Elizabeth asked, "And what does Sir Francis Drake believe?"

With a laugh, he answered, "Officially? I am her Majesty's loyal servant."

"And unofficially?"

"Her Majesty... has denied my request of the true mission I must embark on."

"What mission is that, Francis?"

"I cannot say," he replied. "My entire crew and I have been sworn to silence, on pain of death, and all our records on the matter confiscated. Still, I must say that I am... disappointed... by her inflexibility."

"Dear, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, staring into Francis' eyes. "You appear as though you have watched a loved one die."

"I might as well have. As a reminder not to disagree so forcefully, Her Majesty has... stripped the Golden Hind from me."

"Can she do that?!"

"She is my queen, and my benefactor. It is her right. She will, of course, spare me the public shame, and state that my ship is to be moored at a place of honor in Deptford. Still, I have sailed on my beloved Golden Hind for the last time."

"I am so very sorry, Francis," Elizabeth said softly.

After momentarily choking back a tear, Francis brightened up. "But enough talk of unpleasantness. I depart tomorrow for the New World, and I should like very much to spend one last pleasant evening in the arms of my true love."

"I will love that very much too. But please, Francis, you need not lie to me. I know very well that your true love... shall always be your first love."

Mary, Francis thought.

Elizabeth stood and walked over to her husband's chair. Kissing his forehead sweetly, she said, "Forgive me, I did not mean to bring up more painful memories. I simply wish you to always know that I bear you no ill will for loving her so."

"Thank you, my dear," Francis replied, kissing her lips tenderly.

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs to their bedchambers, dimly lit by a pair of candles in the windows. Elizabeth excused herself to her wardrobe, while Francis began to disrobe, tossing off his shirt, pants, and undergarments. As he waited for his wife, no doubt prettying herself up, Francis stood next to his mirror inspecting what he saw. For a man of fifty-four, he was still in excellent shape, thanks in no small part to his active life at sea. His body was quite muscular, primarily in the legs and arms, and his light brown hair had begun to show some streaks of grey around his temples. This, combined with his authoritative-looking beard gave him a look that could only be described as "commanding."

Francis soon felt the presence of his wife approaching behind him. Elizabeth slid her arms around his waist, massaging his skin with her soft, supple hands. He turned as she did so, facing his wife and wrapping her in his arms. After several long moments, he stepped back to admire her lovely naked form. Though short, Elizabeth was wonderfully shaped, with curvy hips and beautifully firm breasts highlighting her petite frame. Her skin was white as snow, and her lips a natural shade of pink, even with no makeup. Kissing her tenderly, Francis gazed into her soft, brown eyes, framed by her raven hair, and could hardly believe that a woman of such beauty could be thirty-three years of age.

Elizabeth grinned at her husband's admirations, kissing his hand sweetly as he took her in. Turning her back to him, she threw a sweet smile over her shoulder as she walked towards their bed, her glorious posterior jiggling with every step she took. Francis followed her, cupping her ass cheek playfully as she hopped onto the bed. As she rolled onto her back, Francis was right behind her, gently placing his weight on top of her, his hardening member pressing against her thigh.

"Why, Sir Francis, are you becoming aroused by me?" she asked in mock surprise.

"It is a symptom of life on the seas, my dear lady," he played along. "I do not see beautiful women all that often, so opportunity must be taken when presented."

"Oh, my! You think I am beautiful?"

Kissing her longingly, Francis finally replied, "No." Seeing her confusion, he continued, "I know you to be... divine."

Elizabeth felt the familiar swooning her husband managed to send through her heart once more. "Ah... my mother always warned me to be wary of silver-tongued sailors. But then, she also wanted me to become a nun, so what does that old girl know, God rest her soul."

"I shall show you a silver tongue," Francis said with a chuckle.

He immediately began to attack her neck, coating Elizabeth's soft skin with his kisses. Beginning high, around her jawline, he slowly worked his way down to her shoulders, her upper chest, and finally to her breasts. She began to squirm as Francis began to tweak her hard nipples with his tongue, resulting in him gently pinning her arms to the bed by the wrists. This, in turn, only heightened her sensations and moans of pleasure. As Francis could begin to smell the delightful aroma of her womanhood becoming ready for him, he finally released her and aligned his face with hers once more.

"Ohhhhhh yesssss..." Francis hissed as he slipped his length into her beckoning tunnel.

Elizabeth gasped in genuine surprise; with her husband often away at sea, she sometimes forgot just how much she loved feeling him inside of her. Spreading her legs a bit more, she gave him the room he needed to fully engulf his appendage within her. As he began to slowly thrust, her juices squished and seeped out of her entrance, filling the room with their scent.