If this story looks familiar, it's because it is. I've decided to re-write it because I wasn't happy with the original outcome. This was originally just posted over on ao3 and tumblr, but is now over here as well. Obviously.

Prompt and inspiration by tinypixy and her gifset on tumblr.

Giant trees span out as far as he can see, and yet the distinct scent of the ocean reaches him as if he stands right on its beach. As he turns, he catches sight of a clearing he must've missed before. Moving towards it, the outline of some grand building slowly appears, until all of a sudden he stands directly in front of a massive castle, almost fully surrounded by a large lake.

He blinks and finds himself inside a massive room. The room he's standing in is enormous. Ornate. Old fashioned. He turns, eyes sweeping across the architecture and to the pair of thrones perched atop a dais. He's standing in the middle of a throne room. Of the castle he must've seen seconds earlier back in the forest. Confusion takes hold as he tries to find answers to his unasked questions by taking another look at his surroundings.

A woman materializes in front of him, making him jump. Before he can question who she is—pale, almost glowing skin, brilliantly golden hair and bright jade eyes. Whoever she is, she's beautiful. Gorgeous. There was no denying it.—, or where she came from, she calls out to him.

"Killian."

"Who-"

"Save me, Killian." Her voice is a whisper, yet rings loudly in the otherwise quiet air.

Save her? "From what?"

"From him," she answers, a slight hint of panic in her voice.

Just as he opens his mouth to ask for clarification, the sky darkens and lightning strikes down around them. With the second flash of light, the woman disappears.

"Save me, Killian…"

Clutching the pillow beneath him, Killian attempted to control the rapid beating of his heart, realizing quickly how useless it was. Sitting up, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand, groaning upon seeing the 3:17 am glowing back at him. Of all the days for him to wake up early, it had to be his day off. A grunt escaped him as he fell back onto his bed, eyes shutting again in hopes of willing himself back to sleep.

Instead, his mind wandered to his dream and the woman. Normally he didn't pay much attention to his dreams, but for some reason he couldn't shake this one. There was something familiar about her, which was insane. He'd never seen that woman before in his life; there's no way he could possible forget her or her strikingly green eyes.

Her eyes.

His hand stilled, his brain just now registering that his fingers had been toying with the chain around his neck and the ring that hung from it. Lifting the ring, he stared at it in the dark. The gold band and bright green stone set in it; the same shade of green as the blonde's eyes. But why would he dream of a woman whose eyes matched his ring? The only memento he had left of his mother?

Wrapping his hand around the ring, Killian shook his head, silencing any further thoughts about the dream or his mother.

It took nearly another full hour for him to fall back asleep, waking up a few hours later, closer to his preferred sleep-in time.

By the time he woke up the next morning, he was no less understanding of his dream and rather exhausted all in thanks to that stupid dream. And that stupidly beautiful woman.

Killian Jones was a New Yorker. Well okay, a transplant to New York from England, but that was beside the point. New York had been his home for most of his adult life, and Port Washington more specifically. He spent most of his time out on the water, either teaching people how to sail, sailing himself, or captaining a boat for some fancy party out on the ocean with his best friend. There was nothing he loved more than the sea. Ever since he could remember people were insisting the sea ran in his blood, that he was meant to be out in its waves.

And he agreed wholeheartedly with them. Growing up, his parents always supported his need to be near the water, moving to Swansea, Wales when he was just a lad to let him be closer to his obsession.

But now there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind. That perhaps there was more to his life than the ocean and his need to be near it. The familiarity of that woman refused to lessen despite the fact Killian had never met her in his life. It would be impossible for him to forget a woman that stunning.

It wasn't only the woman that felt so achingly familiar. The room and the thrones and the uniform. They all felt so real and right. In his dream and when he thought back to them. The uniform, which looked like some old colonial-era naval uniform, could be explained away with his obsession and love for the sea. Not that he ever served in the military. That was really the only thing about the dream that made even a miniscule amount of sense.

Giving up on trying to figure anything else out, Killian succumbed to the fact he probably wouldn't be able to answer any of his questions about the bloody dream, and that it most likely didn't matter. Reoccurring dreams never happened for him and there was no point in him getting worked up over something he'd forget about in a month.

A week later, the dream returned, almost exactly the same as before.

And again four days after that.

And who days after that.

Then nightly for nearly a full week.

Every night he woke with her voice in his ear, his hand clutched around his mother's ring.

He was considering going to see someone about the dreams when they suddenly stopped. Although that didn't stop him from bringing them up with his best friend one morning while they prepped their boat for that afternoon's bachelor's party their event company was hosting.

"It was the exact same dream for nearly a month," he explained, exasperated because Walsh didn't seem to care all that much about it.

"So you said. Three times. It's just a dream, dude. Nothing to get all twisted up about," Walsh explained, his words almost drowned out by the clanking of the liquor bottles he was stocking.

"You're bloody useless, mate," he grumbled.

"If I stopped working with you, you'd disagree with that statement."

"Shove it and get back to stocking the bar."

"Aye, aye Captain."

Three weeks later, the woman returned. Except the dream was different this time.

He stands on deck of a ship. A ship he's never seen before—and looks like something out of the civil war era or earlier-, men he assumes make up the crew bustle about around him.

"Lieutenant," one man greets him with a nod of his head as he passes, making him look down to see what looks like some old Navy uniform—cream-colored trousers and waistcoat, and a deep blue jacket.

But, like the previous dreams, before he can question what's happening, the ship disappears and he is now standing inside what he assumes was the palace from before. Instead of a pair of thrones, he's in some large, open room, almost like a foyer.

The blonde woman appears at the top of the staircase he hadn't noticed before.

"Save us, Killian," she whispers, just as the lightning comes.

"Us?" he questions, the change in dialogue catches him by surprise.

A flash of lightning. A young, faceless girl appears next to the woman, disappearing again with the next strike. The third sends Killian into darkness.

What the hell did these dreams want with him?