Title: Seashell
Rated: T
Summary: Regina looks for survivors of her mother's wrath, while at the same time trying to find clues that might help destroy Cora and allow her to set foot on land again. But she's been hardened by the sea, and distrust comes easily.
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to Hannah (writenndust)! Writing this has been (and continues to be) an exciting experience for me given how I have NEVER ventured towards 'adventorous' fics. But you love pirates, and Regina and Robin and then Bea threw in an idea and I just had to do it. Anyways! Here's part 1 of your Valentine's Day gift! I hope you enjoy it!
P.S: Thank you Bea, without your help I'm sure I'd be dying right now! Thank you so much. I love you.
Enjoy!
Regina doesn't cry anymore.
Not as she sails swiftly through eerily still waters, cadavers floating amongst the rubble of yet another destroyed ship.
She tells others she doesn't keep count, tells them she's forgotten every single detail of the ships they've encountered. But deep down, deep down she knows. This is the twenty-third ship destroyed on her name.
She doesn't cry anymore, she used to, though, a long time ago. Used to look desperately through the remains for one person, just one survivor who could ease the guilt she felt. But it always ended the same, with her crying softly behind the ship's wheel.
But not anymore. It's been months since the last time she cried, instead Regina soldiers on, gaze moving everywhere at once because even though she's mastered almost all of her emotions, desperation still slips into her whenever she finds herself in this position.
"Regina?" John Little, her most trusted ally, asks from her side, breaking her out of her reverie and for a moment Regina just stays still, stares at the destruction around them, the scent of burnt skin pulling slightly at her stomach, and just ignores for a second the implications behind his call. The same tone he's used on her for twenty three times. The tone that confirms once again that there's nothing to see, no one to save.
With a sigh, Regina shakes her head before she swallows hard. "Turn around," she commands simply, loud enough for him to hear and the big man follows suit, yells a command to the small crew of eight. It takes them all a minute to snap back into reality, to forget about the scene all around them and obey the Captain's command, but once they do, the ship begins turning back around to the same direction they'd come.
She doesn't cry, yet the knowledge that they're moving farther away from the remains, from death, from loss, on empty hands brings on a heaviness to her soul, so she moves to her left until she reaches the edge and her body slumps against the wood, resting on her elbows.
She would've retched, before, at the sight of a man floating with heavy burns on his face, but as they pass yet another carcass, Regina simply eyes the details of his burnt marks, the clean cut of a sword.
"It's not your fault," John says from behind her, a repeated mantra that she deep down appreciates even though it does nothing to alleviate her guilt. And how odd is it that the same man she has seen slay men with one arm manages to give her comfort at times like this?
Regina nods, swallowing even though her mouth feels dry before answering. "We all know that it is," is what she says, because she's tired of this, oh so tired of traveling across the seventh sea looking for ways to destroy her mother, clues left behind by her father, and non-existing survivors.
And just when John is about to reply, a frown deeply imprinted on his face, there are rushed words from the crew, murmurs growing louder and louder until someone, she guesses Will, yells her name from the main mast and points to the right. Frowning and squinting her eyes as she tries to look at the object with the sun quickly falling, Regina nods and the ship moves closer and closer to a small boat, everyone rushing to the right just in time to glance at the man lying still inside.
A man severely hurt.
.::.
There are whispers on her ship amongst her men, whispers about the man's identity, posters they've seen, tales they'd heard back when they were in land. Some of them share the stories in awe, others in shock at having found him at that state, and then there's John, a suspicious look on his face as he just stares at him. Because even though he's heard the tales of this man, of his achievements, he's still a thief, a very good one at that, and still a stranger, therefore a threat.
But the stranger doesn't wake.
Instead remains unconscious on her cot as she tries to treat his wounds as best as she can, focused, only smirking when Little John complains that his rum is being spent on idiotic things. And even though the whispers continue, even though Little John remains suspicious, there's a slight happiness in her ship for it's still the first time someone survives her mother's wrath.
On the second night, the man awakens, grabs her instantly by the neck and sits up the moment the alcohol touches the slightly large wound on his belly, eyes wild and lost, but as quickly as he'd grabbed her by the neck, Little John and Will are yelling at the man, their swords pressing against the man's chest. One wrong move and the swords go in, Regina knows it, knows there won't be hesitation on her men's actions if he attempts to even tighten his fingers around her neck. But he's not hurting her, not at all, instead he's just holding her in place. But as her men's words reach his still clouded brain, Robin, as the men call him, drops his hands from her neck. Blue eyes meets hers for a moment before he looks down to the weapons held firmly against him.
Yet, it's almost as if the movement has been too much because he's groaning and collapsing against the cot again, grimacing as the swords move now to his neck.
"I'm trying to help you," is what Regina says after a moment, her heart falling for a moment because her mother put that haunted look on him, her mother made that, all because of her.
Robin attempts to nod, swallows before even that action seems too much for he's closing his eyes, dozing off again.
Regina sighs and just continues working, ignoring the slight look John and Will throw her way as they slip their swords into their scabbard.
"He could've killed you," John says, his face pulled into one of anger as he leans down and grabs Robin's hands, chaining them together above his head to the iron bars at the window, tightly, Regina grimacing at it.
"He was in shock, that's all," she huffs.
"Regina," Will begins, but Regina just shakes her head and turns to face them.
"You guys want to help me?" She interrupts Will's train of thoughts.
Both men nod after a second.
"Then you start by helping me save him. He's the only survivor in all of our journeys. He might have a clue or something, anything, I don't know, just, help me save him. I owe him that much."
She doesn't cry anymore, but still she feels her throat closing up.
Will is the first nod followed by John, before they're kneeling next to her and helping her clean his wounds.
She has to help him. Because in the end it doesn't matter if Little John thinks it's not her fault, in her mind, in her heart, Regina knows that if she had done her mother's wishes, if she hadn't heard he's father's words, this man wouldn't be in this position right now, and the nearly two-hundredth men and women wouldn't have been killed by her mother's blind rage.
.::.
"Where am I?" The voice calls softly, brokenly from her right and for a moment she's startled, her ears catching the sound of John reaching for his pocket knife before she raises her hand and shakes her head at him. To which John rolls his eyes and just lets his hand rest over the knife's handle. He can't help it though, she knows he worries about her safety more than he should, so she comprehends him understands the need he has of feeling the handle of his knife, assuring himself that it's there, if something were to happen. And even though she'd rather he trust her with this, Regina lets the slight annoyance pass, focuses instead on the ill man.
"We're crossing the seven seas," Regina says as she turns to face him, biting the inside of her cheek when she hears John mutter something under his breath. Probably annoyed at her telling this man the exactitude of their location. Paying him no mind, Regina just stares at the man, Robin, his brow still swollen by the nasty cut there.
"Do you remember anything?" Regina asks softly, moving closer to him.
The man swallows hard and nods. "It all happened so quickly," is what he says, eyes getting teary and Regina just clears her throat and nods.
"I'm sorry," she says, feeling that guilt settle heavy in her stomach once again.
The man is far gone, lost in memory as he recalls the events, of how that family had rescued him. And at that Regina recalls the whispers amongst her men, remembering how they'd mentioned that he'd been captured by King Midas' guards. But the man is still talking, talking about this family. Of how he tried to save Luka, the youngest one, but couldn't reach him.
Regina just listens on, hard face set in place as he goes on to explain, as best as his clouded brain and tired self can, how the savages had wrecked their ship.
"And yet here you are," John interrupts and Regina turns to him, angry for a second before she turns to face Robin again.
"It's okay, you can rest now," she murmurs softly, her heart going for this man. "Can I get you anything? Perhaps some water?"
"No," is all he says before his heavy eyelids fall, almonst instantly falling into a deep slumber.
They remain in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the survivor's small snores before she's shaking her head and scoffing, having had enough of John's mistreatment for the man.
"I understand it's hard for you to trust people, John. But for now, I trust him, can you trust that?" She asks, staring at him intently.
"Regina, a lone survivor just sounds too good to be true."
Regina scoffs and shakes her head. "A lone survivor is what we've been hoping for since this whole ordeal begun." And on that note she turns to leave, rolling her eyes at Will's more than obvious form pressed tightly against the bars on the small window of the wooden door, trying to get even the smallest bit of information from their conversation.
"Will," she says as soon as she opens the door, the man instantly straightening up and turning to face her.
"Yes m'am."
"Try not to be so obvious the next time?"
He just grins and shrugs. "You know," he calls out when she walks past him. "We all just care a lot about you."
"I know," she nods graciously before scoffing and shaking her head. "But sometimes I need you to care a little bit less."
Will's smile falls slightly. "We made a promise to your father, Regina, and every man on this ship doesn't take a promise lightly. Like it or not, Robin Hood is a stranger on this ship, a stranger to you, and he might as well be a pawn of your mother. You know that. Don't let your guilt cloud over your judgment."
Regina bites the inside of her cheek, keeps her back straight as she just leaves without a reply.
But she feels the doubt settling over her, yet before her mind can fuel it anymore she comes to the conclusion that tomorrow she'll send Tuck to tend the ill man.
There's a scorching heat around his arm, a deep throbbing pain across his middle and he just groans for a second, frowns as he tries moving his left arm to no avail. Quickly, he opens his eyes, grimacing when the action has the pain on his head worsening, his temple throbbing so he closes them again, blinks one, two, and on the third time his eyes get acostummed to the slight light that comes from the small window above.
He knows he's travelling the seven seas still, trusts entirely the woman that spoke to him a few hours prior, and feels the sway of the ship that, combined with the headache he's feeling, makes him queasy, so he swallows hard, trying to keep down the bile.
"Rest," a deep voice calls from his right and he turns to it slightly, finding a bald man instead of the woman he was, unconsciously, expecting.
Yet he needs answers, needs to do something that will keep his soul at his, will alleviate his guilt. Luka. Luka. He still sees him, drowning, drowning, just an eight year old and he couldn't, he couldn't reach him.
"I need to—"
"Rest," the man says again, firmly this time, pushing him back to the bed.
Robin just stares at the man. "Are the chains necessary?" He asks, trying to muster as much bite as he can, but it falls short for his voice cracks, his mouth feels dry and, water, water, he needs some water now. Needs to wash away the metallic taste of blood and seawater and the fucking taste of vomit that he has on the back of his throat.
"For safety," the bald man replies, not taking his eyes off him, facial features hard and focused, not backing down.
He's about to reply, but suddenly his throat is closing up and he finds himself coughing instead. Wrong move, because his head throbs again and that burning sensation on his arm and around his middle intensifies and he's grimacing.
"Water," his guardian, (is it a guardian?) says, pushing a wineskin close to his face.
He takes one, two deep gulps, coughs in between before he takes another gulp, angry at himself, at his body for failing him, for the tiredness he's feeling, for the need he has to sleep.
"Rest," the man says for the third and last time, and Robin obeys.
.::.
She's there the next time he wakes later that day, a cloth pressing over his forehead, the same thing that awoke him.
"You're burning," is what she says, still pressing the cloth to his forehead, avoiding the cut he can feel healing over his brow. She ignores him, focuses on her task while he, he can't help it but stare at her. Finds himself studying the slope of her nose, the frown on her face, the cut on her lip, the leather trousers, the soft short hair. He's pretty sure he's never seen her before, yet she seems familiar, somehow.
"Never seen a woman before?" She asks, still focused on her task and Robin averts his eyes to meet hers.
"Not one that travels the seas," is his reply.
The woman simply dumps the washcloth on the cot and straightens up, not replying as she leans forward to check his chained hands. Seeing no damage whatsoever, she visibly relaxes.
"Did you know the ship you traveled on would get attacked?" She asks, out of nowhere.
And Robin finds himself just tensing, biting his cheek as he tries to come to terms with the implications.
"No," he replies simply, though something tells him whatever he has to say won't be believed by her.
"Yet you seem to be the only survivor. Why's that?"
"My guess would be, bad luck."
The brunette doesn't reply, remains with her back to him, obviously thinking.
"If I could switch right now with one of the boys who lay at the bottom of the sea, I would. You have to trust me on that."
The woman turns around, stares at him for a moment before she nods. Hands him the wineskin, bread and a small piece of cheese.
"Eat," and with that she leaves, closing the door behind her with a loud bang, leaving him more confused than when he'd woken up.
The next day his chains are gone, and he's surprised to find yet another stranger in the small room with him. The one that he, briefly, recalls pressing a blade against his neck.
"I don't trust you," the big man says simply. "You try something, anything, and you'll have everyone aboard this ship ready to slit your throat. Got it?"
Robin simply stares back at the man, neither nodding nor acknowledging his words.
The big man simply turns and leaves the room.
Sighing, Robin takes his time sitting up, the slight pull on his middle causing him to grimace but he still tries. Even though he feels anger at the pain, anger at the fact that he gets to live while Luka and his family died. It's not fair, not at all so he curses internally at his wounds, why couldn't they be deeper? Why couldn't he be the one at the bottom of the sea instead of on this ship?
"John mentioned your were up and looking better," the soft velvety voice of the brunette calls from the door, and he turns to it, to her, finding himself feeling grateful for she has been the only one to show him the closest thing to kindness on this ship. "I figure you'd need this," she finishes as she hands him some breeches and a linen shirt.
"Thank you," Robin replies as he settles the clothes besides him on the small cot.
"Water?" She asks, to which he simply shakes his head. The woman's lip turn slightly upwards as she nods at him. "We're on our way to Arendelle. There's a possibility that a ship there could take you home… wherever that is," she finishes, meeting his eyes, looking for answers.
"Enchanted Forest," he says simply, frowning at the way her body tenses, for a second, a short second before he sees her swallowing hard.
"Very well," she mentions sharply, clearing her throat before continuing. "I'll have someone come get you when we arrive."
He frowns for the umpteenth time that day, almost scoffing. "If, it's no burden, I would like to leave this room." And why is he asking for permission, when he knows he can easily escape their clutches now that he's feeling better? Yet he knows there's something here he isn't quite grasping.
"I don't know if that's a wise choice."
"I don't understand," he replies.
"You see, I'm the only one standing between you and my men, who are quite untrusting of you. So I'm not sure that you roaming around is the best idea. Perhaps you should consider just staying here, resting."
"I don't know if that's a wise choice," he replies using throwing her words back at her.
"Well," she begins, voice firmer. "You don't have one," is all she says before she's walking out, locking the door behind her.
Robin just groans and curses inwardly. And to think he'd thought she was the closest thing to kind.
Forcing himself to ignore the rage that's beginning to build, Robin stands on a grimace and slowly changes himself into the worn down breeches and soft linen shirt, scoffing all the while.
.::.
Regina can't stop sparring glances at the wooden door that leads to her cabin, where he is. Partially because she can't get those eyes out of her mind (the torment and guilt expressed on them a look she knows too well), and because her crew keep looking at her, Will keeps sharing a look with John, both men taking turns in glancing her way, and she refuses to meet their gaze.
She wishes they'd say something, though, just get on with it, yet at the same time, a part of her is grateful that they've decided to finally shut up, to let it just be for the remaining time. Mostly because she'd told them he'll be on his way home when he gets to Arendelle, gives them instructions of just taking him straight to Captain Hook, who, she knows, will be more than willing to take the man home for a pint at the tavern.
And just when she can't handle the weight of their eyes on her back anymore, she sees it. The big island on the horizon.
"Scarlet," Regina calls out slowly, and Will turns to her. "Please let our… guest know we'll be arriving shortly."
He nods and walks down the steps from the forecastle deck into the main deck.
.::.
It's… odd, to say the least. He feels her gaze on him as he's being escorted out of the ship, and when Scarlet (he's overheard his name) stops and tells him to wait for a man named John, he turns to face her, frowning when he's met by the back of her as she moves further into the ship, where he cannot see her. And several questions arise. Because he's overheard them talking, knows that all the members of the crew are going to freshen up for a bit, grab a pint or two and pack on supplies for their next trip. Everyone except her.
"She's not coming down?" Robin finds himself asking Will before he has the chance to stop himself.
But Will is slightly more talkative than the rest of the men, so the man simply shrugs and says, "She isn't too fond of the land."
Robin doesn't seem convinced, questions after questions arising with every passing second he spends there, on that port, with night falling quickly.
"Let's go," the big man with long curly hair says, not sparing him a glance. And ah yes, of course he's being granted the pleasure of having John escort him to the tavern.
Yet Robin follows the men, because every step he takes is a step closer to the Enchanted Forest and though he has nothing awaiting him home, he'd rather spend his days stealing than being held captive on the sea.
He follows them, all the way across the town, the wound on his stomach starting to throb painfully with the exertion, but he sighs in relief when they stop in front of a tavern.
"Here we'll find your man," Will says with a slight chuckle as he pushes the wooden door open, and instantly lets out a loud "Missed me!" that has everyone facing him. It all happens too quickly for Robin, there are cheers and several men raising their half drunk jars to Will and the rest of the crew. Quickly he's being led to a table, is handed a jar of ale and Robin almost chuckles as he sees the men downing the ale simultaneously, before asking for another. But he can barely stomach ale at the moment, his body begging for something a bit more solid, so he pushes the drink to the middle of the table and just waits for them to finish, all the while ignoring the glances John throws his way. Suddenly Will's speaking to him, nodding with a grin towards the corner of the room where a man, wearing a red vest and black leather pants, is downing ale.
"That's your man," Will says, before turning to focus back on the red haired woman that's very obviously leaning forward to take the empty glasses from the table, her breasts lined up with Will's sightline.
Ready to finally put an end to this… nightmare, Robin gets up slowly, groaning at the pull on her wound, and walks slowly towards the man in leather. But suddenly, and out of nowhere, he hears loud angry voices from behind him and he turns to face the noise just as John seems to scream something at Will. And then the men start bickering, one with the other until it all becomes a mess of words and screams that Robin wants no part of.
Hook.
Yes. Captain Hook is the one that will get him out of this. So he turns back, but just a he does, something catches his attention on the corner of his eye, and he stops dead on his track. Frowns slightly as he moves closer, and closer towards the object, eyes bulging when he sees the Wanted poster, the face of none other than the crew's apparent Captain on it.
Quickly, he looks around, sees the crew still fighting, no one seemingly noticing where he'd gone off to, and he grabs the poster instantly, tucks it into the back of his breeches as he expertly slips out of the tavern without being noticed.
.::.
Regina doesn't cry, yet when she stares at this damned seashell she wishes she could.
Wishes she could scream into the dark at the unfairness of it all. Of her life.
Yet she remains quiet, her throat closing up, her middle hurting, as she wishes she were brave enough to end this already.
But it's too soon.
As much as she longs to throw this to the ocean and never think about it again, Regina knows it's not time. Not yet. So she sighs, reminiscing on a time when life wasn't so complicated. When she could simply join her father for some sailing lessons. For lessons about the sea, about the creatures she could encounter, about the islands he'd visited. Back when she'd thought it'd been just for her knowledge. Just for pleasure.
But her life has never been fair. And what she'd thought had been simple teachings turned out to be yet another plan for her future kept from her.
"I'm sorry," her father had said, because even though he'd criticized her mother in all her wrongdoings, it turned out that he was doing the same. Choosing a path for her of his own without her knowledge or her acceptance.
And now here she is.
Shaking her head and swallowing hard, Regina tucks the oddly looking seashell back into her vest.
"I thought you looked familiar."
Regina's startled by the voice, turns quickly to face the man and relaxes a little bit when she sees that it's him.
"What? What are you doing here?"
"I just saw something on a tavern and it got me thinking. A thousand gold coins seems like not such a good deal for a Princess, don't you think?"
She feels her stomach falling. Anger starting to simmer. There's no way. He was supposed to be on the way to the Enchanted Forrest. "What?"
"I'd have to say, the picture doesn't do you justice," he mentions as he pulls something from behind him and reveals it to her.
Fury.
Pure blind rage fuels her veins, disappointment too because she wanted, God, she wished to believe he was good. She wanted to believe he truly was a survivor. But no. No. John was right.
"Did she send you?" She asks, softly, voice miraculously even through the turmoil she feels inside.
He gives her a confused look and that's it, she can't control it anymore. Immediately unsheathes her sword, murder written on her eyes as she quickly pulls up on him, sword pressing tightly to his neck, him being pressed against the border of the ship.
"Answer me!" She yells, not wanting to waste any more time.
.::.
He's too shocked by her reaction to utter a quick reply, misjudged her earlier and for that he'll pay. Oh how he'll pay.
"Did she send you?" Regina asks, loudly again.
She?, Robin asks himself. But then she's pulling back the sword, no mercy.
"Hey hey! Whoa, nobody sent me!" He's yelling back but suddenly the voices belonging to John and Will and the rest of the crew are being heard as they jump into the deck, swords and pistols already at hand. John rushes towards him first, pure anger written all over his face as he grabs him by the collar and Gods, the man is stronger than he would've pegged him for so even though he tries to fight him, even though he tries to escape John's hold, Robin isn't able to. Instead feels himself being pushed over the edge of the deck, the only thing preventing him from falling down several feet on the port is John's firm hold of him.
"Speak!" The captain demands again, voice loud and firm spitting venom even with one simple word.
"Regina," he says, utters her name, the same name he'd heard countless of times at the Enchanted Forest.
The missing Princess.
Regina Mills.
"I simply found this at the tavern and I—"
"Seize him," Regina interrupts him, eyes wild with anger.
And instantly, his world goes black.
TBC