A/N: I own this incarnation of Blackbeard and Morgan. Killian belongs to ABC/Disney.

Prologue

A grey, impenetrable fog had settled over the equally dreary, empty sea. It was silent, as even the water that gently lapped at the hull of the Jolly Roger barely made any sound. The wind had died, yet the sheets remained free, and Killian Jones, standing at the helm with his hand on the spoke of the wheel, scanned the thick veil of mist. While such instances of fog were not uncommon at sea, this one carried with it a sense of foreboding, even for him; unlike the rest of his crew, Killian was not a superstitious man, yet he was not one to ignore his instincts.

"Keep your eyes peeled, gents," he told the men on deck, his voice low as if to avoid being overheard.

"For what, Cap'n?" asked a tall, lanky man with sandy, stringy hair.

"For-" Killian's eyes, which had been narrowed, widened, his lips parted slightly. The crew, surprised at their captain's reaction, turned their heads in the direction into which Killian was staring.

The sea was no longer empty; the fog seemed to clear as the Jolly Roger sailed silently forward towards the charred, still-smoldering shadow of a ship's hull. Debris - remnants of sails, driftwood, barrels, and other objects that Killian could barely discern - littered the glassy, dark surface of the water. Bodies of the ship's crew, some of the men still clinging to debris even in death, were naught but shadows against the dying embers of the fire that had consumed the ship. From the stern limply hung a ragged, worn black flag; even from this angle, he could see that it depicted a skeleton with a spear, and beside the skeleton was a blood-red heart, ready to be pierced by the spear. Killian recognized the colors immediately, and he felt his stomach drop deep into his core. He felt sickened, and he knew that the color had drained from his face, leaving it ashen and pale.

"Drop the anchor!" Killian barked.

The crew started at the sudden noise, but went immediately to do as their captain bid them. Once the anchor had been dropped, Killian began shouting more orders for the longboat to be unstowed; only two men were to accompany him, while the others were to investigate the debris field for any signs of life or anything that could possibly be salvaged. It was a fool's errand, Killian knew, as he had seen many shipwrecks during his years - no one survived ones such as this.

Moments later, Killian disembarked from the longboat and climbed aboard the still-smoking wreckage. The men who had accompanied him waited in the boat as he had directed, and immediately he climbed aboard the deck. Through the tendrils of dark smoke, he could see a lone, dark figure lying below the fallen mizzenmast. He moved with the ease of experience and the grace of routine about the deck, climbing and jumping over fallen masts and debris, and pushing the charred wood out of his way as necessity dictated. At length he came to the fallen man who lay upon the deck.

Even in his current state, Edward Teach, known to the common pirate as Blackbeard, was still a large bear of a man, his strength formidable and his appearance - tall, rather muscular, with his face framed with long black hair and a rather thick, long black beard - still intimidating to those who did not know him as Killian did.

But now, for all of his strength, all of his power, Edward lay upon the deck, his face dirty, bruised, and bloodied, blood staining his clothes and the deck that surrounded him. He was laboring to breathe, and Killian knew that at least two ribs were broken. Edward's pale, icy green eyes were glassed over with excruciating pain. Out of the mist, he watched as Killian climbed over a section of fallen mast. The younger man immediately went to his knees beside him, taking up his hand.

"Jimmy," Edward rasped, his throat raw and blood beginning to trickle from the right corner of his lips, "I will not survive-"

"No," Killian interjected, swallowing the lump that was hardening in his throat. "No, you'll be all right. The Jolly Roger is just there."

"You always were a silly boy," Edward countered, trying in vain to smile. His voice was barely audible, and Killian had to dip his head slightly to hear him. "I'm not going to survive this, boy, I know it. Davy Jones will take me soon enough."

An indiscernible emotion flashed in Killian's eyes at the mention of the name, but he said nothing. Now was certainly not the time.

"I want you to find her, Jimmy," Edward continued, his voice raspy and hoarse. "I want you to find her, to protect her, keep her safe."

"Who, sir?" Killian rarely referred to any other man with such a title; however, Edward Teach was one of the few men for whom Killian had any sort of respect.

"My daughter," Edward answered, lifting a slightly trembling hand to his throat. He grasped at a metallic object that glinted against the darkness of his beard, an object to which Killian's eyes flicked before returning to his. "My Morgan. Find her, Jimmy. Protect her. Tell her…"

He paused, as the pain was intensifying and his mind was beginning to cloud with his imminent demise; he was no fool - he knew that any breath could be his last. He was not afraid of death, but he was terrified of leaving his daughter, his beloved child, unprotected against the witch that was her mother.

"Tell her what, sir?" Killian had dipped his head further down, almost leaning over the dying man instead of looming over him. His voice was soft and gentle, a rarity for Killian, but Edward had always been a father to him as well as a mentor, and other than Killian, who else did Edward have in these final moments?

"Tell her I love her, that I'm sorry I failed her." With a sharp jerk of his hand, Edward tore from around his neck a silver necklace. He held it before Killian, who accepted it into an open palm. He inspected it; it was a locket, pure silver and very finely crafted into the likeness of an intricate compass rose. He turned it over in his palm, and engraved on the back in elegant lettering were the words Stay the course, true north; keep your eyes on the horizon.

"Give that to her," Edward continued, his voice beginning to fade. "She has a smaller one just like it."

Killian could do nothing but nod; he felt as if he were watching from a distance, that his body was acting of its own accord. He felt numb, cold, his entrails twisting themselves hopelessly into knots. The backs of his eyes were beginning to prick rather painfully, and he could feel, despite his detachment, a trail of warm liquid making its way down his cheek.

"Promise me this, boy," Edward said desperately, clinging to Killian's hand in which the locket was enclosed. "Promise me you'll find her and keep her safe; promise me you'll give her this locket. Swear to me all of this, and I will die in peace."

Killian did not make promises he could not keep, not even to dying men. This was a promise, however, that needed to be made and that needed to be kept. Edward had taught him all he knew about the sea, about sailing, about piracy. He had taken him under his wing and shown him the realms beyond the veil that separated them. He had raised him from a boy to a man, despite not being his father by blood.

"I promise I'll find Morgan," Killian murmured, squeezing his hand around Edward's. "I promise I'll give her the locket, that I'll keep her safe."

Edward offered one final nod, barely able to move his head, and stilled, his expression calm. Killian allowed the tears to freely fall now, clinging to Edward's hand almost in desperation, as if to try to keep him from slipping away into the void. It was the abyss, however, that was now rising to claim the pirate captain, and Edward had made his peace with Death's arrival. His daughter would be cared for, she would be found, she would be safe - that was all he had wanted. That had been his final wish, and he had wanted no other man but Killian, one of the few men in which he had the strictest confidence and utmost trust, to carry out that wish, to go in his place, to accomplish what he could not.

Edward Teach, Blackbeard, breathed no more.