"You don't look like you're from these parts."
The stranger merely smiled as he received his tankard of ale, laying a few silver coins on the bar. Ignoring the questioning looks from the man who had poured the drink, he pulled his hood tighter around his face before sulking off to a darkened corner of the tavern - avoiding the gazes of the other patrons and keeping his right arm safely hidden beneath his cloak.
The small town was the first he had come across for many days. So far his journey had been tiresome and dangerous - many hidden risks and enemies lurked in this realm he had found.
But this all paled into insignificance now he was here and so close.
As he set down his ale, he reached into the worn leather satchel over his shoulder, pulling out an aged and crumpled piece of parchment. Placing it on the table, he smoothed it out with his hand, pulling the withered candle on the table a little closer so he could see the faint lines of the now ancient drawing.
Milah.
And his heart tightened as he ran his finger along the outline of her face - remembering vividly the way her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed. The feel of her soft, warm skin under his hands.
Milah, he thought, You will be avenged.
A full night's sleep in a real bed gave the stranger a renewed sense of purpose when he arose the next day. Packing his meager belongings, he had asked which road to take - making his enquiries vague enough to not arouse suspicion. To those he met he was a merchant on his way to the castle to peddle his wares, perhaps even make his fortune.
It was be just over a day's hike - ample time to finalize his plans and make the necessary preparations. So long he had waited for this moment, and now it was within his grasp he intended to savor it and not leave a single thing to chance.
The forest path was deserted and silent, save the occasional caw of a crow or galloping stag. Perfect for the festering mind of one hell bent on revenge. Quietly he continued, each step brining him closer to The Crocodile.
It was during a brief rest to fill his water canteen in a small stream that he heard the commotion. Shouting, the clash of metal and galloping hooves. He paused, turning his head in the direction of the noise before dismissing it. Not your fight, he told himself. Quickly closing the canteen, he pushed it back in his satchel, pulling up his hood as he did so.
Then there were screams - a woman's voice. High pitched and harrowing, it rang through the trees and echoed in his mind. He tried to ignore the voice. But then it became clearer.
"Please - someone, help!"
Pausing, he tried to ignore the pleas. Turning down his gaze, he watched his feet take heavy, pounding steps - each one pulsing with the cries of pain and sorrow.
"Please! Somebody!"
The piercing sound shot through his body - making his eyes flash closed and his fist clench tightly.
With a sigh, he pushed down his hood and reached into his satchel - retrieving the gleaming silver instrument he had so far hidden in this realm. Securing it into place at the base of his left arm, he reached to his side and drew his sword before racing in the direction of the commotion.
Heart racing, he soon reached a clearing where it became clear what the problem was. At one end there was a small bridge crossing a fast flowing river, nearby a woman sat astride a white mare - around her, four trolls each welding a mace. Menacingly they circled the woman, making rough swipes with their weapons. She held a sword in one hand and a bow was strung over her back but she was outnumbered, even considering the expert swordsmanship she displayed as she weaved and clashed her blade.
Reaching up, he scratched his stubble with his hook - he couldn't leave this woman to her fate. Despite everything, he still believed in honor. Carefully he made his way down the bank to the clearing, trying carefully not to be noticed. Keeping his back to the trees, he reached the bridge - climbing up on the stone structure before raising his voice, "Hey, hey you!"
The trolls stopped their circling and turned to look in the direction of the bridge.
"Yeah - you ugly beasts! Come and pick on someone your own size!"
With a roaring grunt, the four attackers came trundling towards him - swinging their weapons, their mouths agape. The first troll was dispatched easily - his sword quickly slicing into his chest before he tumbled over the bridge wall. His hook sunk easily into the neck of the next attacker - releasing a stream of orange blood that soaked the dirt road.
Clashing swords with the final two trolls, he spun from one to the other, expertly dancing between the two, playing their blows off against each other in a dizzying display of swordsmanship. A jab here, a slice there. Finally his sword dug into one of them, slicing his chest open. But then his sword became stuck. Frantically he tried to pull is out, using his foot as leverage, whilst the other troll's sword came hurtling towards his head.
Then suddenly his attacker gasped, landing face down - an ivory feathered arrow sticking out of his back.
Yanking out his sword, he wiped the gleaming blood from its blade onto his cloak - replacing it to its mount as he looked across the clearing. The woman - the damsel in distress if you will - now dismounted, was smiling at him as she returned her bow to her back. With rapid steps, she was soon at his side.
"Thank you!" she cried, her pale white skin in stark contrast to her raven hair. Her bright smile extended to her sapphire colored eyes. They were crinkled at the edges, this was no maiden but still a woman of unrivalled beauty. "Kind sir, thank you. How can I ever repay you?"
The stranger gave her a small bow, keeping his hooked arm to one side as he shrugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "No thanks are required, my lady, I'm just happy to be of assistance. There is no love lost between the trolls and I."
The woman stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm, "Please, at least tell me your name."
He glanced at the ground, rubbing at the dirt with his toe. This was not in the plan, he should lie, leave the woman, be on his way.
Finally he looked up, biting his lip slightly, before replying, "Killian, Killian Jones at your service." He gave her another nod of his head as her hand tightened on his arm.
"Snow, Snow White. Good to meet you Mr. Jones."
That name…
"Are you the snow white - the queen?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he spoke.
"Yes," she smiled, "The very same. And as queen I insist you accompany me to the castle so I can thank you properly."
Pulling away a little he stiffened his shoulders, "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm on a journey and time is limited-"
"Please," she asked, a light, melodic tone to her voice, "Surely one day cannot harm your plans?"
Killian knew he should have said no. All these years of waiting and planning… But then a thought occurred. Perhaps being under the benevolence of royalty may bring with it some privileges that could only afford to assist his plans.
Meeting her eyes, he gave her a wide mouthed smile, "Now when you put it like that your highness, how can I say no."
"Good," she smiled, "Come now, you must meet everyone."
And following her back to her horse, his smile became more sinister. He certainly could not wait to meet everyone.
Darkness was falling as they reached the castle. At first the guards drew their swords at the sight of a stranger sharing a horse with their queen - but with a wave of her hand she told them to stand down.
Once inside the gates, he was quickly handed to a courtier who gave found him quarters in one of the castle's spiring towers and afforded an invitation to attend a celebratory dinner that evening. Sinking into the soft feather bed, he removed his belt and boots, allowing himself to rest - knowing perhaps this would be his last chance to sleep for some time.
And soon sleep enveloped him - taking him away, taking him into his dreams…
"Killian, I love you…"
The words echoed again and again as the vision of Milah's heart being crushed haunted his dreams - as it often did. The cackle of the dark one, the evil look on his face, the light as it dies in her eyes…
Then he was on the seas again. It was rough. His ship bowed perilously from side to side - huge waves crashing onto her decks, dousing him in their salty tears. His hands held the wheel steady as his feet slid on the sodden planks, desperately trying to keep his eyes open through the assault of rain and wind.
But he could not see where he was going. It was dark, no moon - no clouds to guide him. Just inky blackness extending into oblivion. And throughout it all a voice; one he did not recognize. Saying the same phrase again and again, "Killian - I know who you are, Killian - I know who you are-"
Sweat soaked, body aching, he awoke with a start - pushing the damp tendrils of hair from his face as he struggled to catch his breath. This dream was different to the others: the voice, the ship. So strange…
But he swept these thoughts to the back of his mind as he rose to dress for dinner. Time to see what benefits his earlier deeds would bestow upon him.
The feast was certainly the finest he had tasted in a long time. Chimera and dwarf rat become quickly tiresome even with liberal lashings of rum on the side. Pewter chargers filled the table - laden with roasted meats and stews. Elaborate collections of exotic fruits were interspersed with towers of fresh vegetables and overstuffed pies.
The queen and her prince had greeted him warmly, insisting he sit at their side as guest of honor. "So Killian, you don't look like you're from these parts," said Snow as she poured the stranger a goblet of red wine.
"No, your highness, I come from far way. I am merely travelling through this realm."
"And what brings you here?" asked her husband, a tall, noble looking man who commanded the instant respect of all at the table.
With a smile, Killian took a small sip from his glass, looking over the drink towards the royal couple, "I am a salesman, dealing in a variety of wares, merely seeking to find new trade routes."
"Well perhaps there may be some items of interest in our kingdom," suggested Snow, "Maybe tomorrow we could show you the village and talk to some of our merchants?"
Filling his plate with a large ladle of rabbit stew, Killian nodded lightly, "Aye, perhaps."
The queen smiled in return.
But he had no intention of staying that long. He would rest, see what he could find to help his journey and be gone before the midday sun.
Vengeance would be his.
Wine was free flowing; the fiddlers were playing a merry jig. And despite himself Killian Jones allowed his body to relax. He let down his guard just a little - allowing himself to play the part of the realm-trotting salesman. Weaving tales of his own escapades into his stories with tantalizing relish. It had been many years since he reveled in the company of others. He happily explained away his missing hand as the result of an escapade with a wily crocodile, trying all the while not to laugh at the irony of his fabricated tale.
A dwarf named Grumpy had become his drinking companion, matching him drink for drink and drawing out a flagon of rum when it became clear both had a taste for something stronger. For a diminutive creature, he certainly enjoyed his alcohol and Killian himself found the company of the sour faced dwarf rather amusing: reminding him in some ways of his old first mate - Mr. Smee.
Perhaps it was the third or fourth dram of rum when he noticed someone new at appear at the table. A woman. She sat at the other end of the table, next to a man named Pinocchio if his memory served correct.
Her golden hair tumbled in soft waves over her deep red dress - as red as blood. It highlighted the soft glow in her cheeks and the creamy alabaster of her skin. Such a beauty was rare to be seen in any realm, but she… She seemed different.
Her eyes lacked the merry enjoyment of the rest of the party, her smiles seemed dishonest and she quietly conversed only with the man to her left. Killian's interest was piqued. He loved an intrigue. Leaning across to Grumpy, he pointed his false hand across the table, "Mate - who may I ask is that exquisite specimen?"
With a throaty laugh the dwarf sank his drink, refilling it as he spoke, "That, Mr. Jones, is our princess - Emma. Surprised she's here, actually - normally out gallivanting in the forest till all hours."
"Doesn't sound like very princess-like behavior," Killian mused as he fingered the rim of his goblet.
"Well, our Emma does not behave in the most princess-like manner," replied Grumpy, reaching over to fill Killain's drink.
"Hmm," Killian groaned, a smile tugging at his lips.
His eyes flickered to her regularly, watching the candle light as it lit her skin, her green eyes as they flashed around the room and her pouty red lips when her tongue darted out to taste the last drop of wine that adorned them.
Intriguing, he thought, very intriguing.
The ground swam and his head spun - a combination that while not totally unpleasant made walking somewhat difficult. His new dwarf friend had helped him to the bottom of the staircase that rose to his quarters and then left him, whistling a tune as he continued on his way.
Slowly, he felt his way up the wall, feeling the cracks and crevices between the stones with his fingers as his feet stumbled over the softly worn stairs. The circular turn of the stairs made him feel even dizzier. His mind was swirling even more; with rum, and fine food and visions of a green eyed blonde with a mysterious smile.
So caught in his thoughts was he that he did not see the approaching blur of red silk.
"Watch where you are going!" she shrieked as his heavy shoulder crashed into her own. With a start he looked up - instantly swimming in those green eyes, an amused smirk rising on his lips as he saw her frown.
"My dearest apologies," he muttered with a sweeping bow.
There was a pause for a second as the two observed each other. He saw her eyes flash to his false hand before skimming over his black leather vest and pants.
"What are you - a pirate?"
His throat dropped at her intuitive dissection of him. This was the first time someone had even been close to revealing his true identity. He shook the thought away, slipping back into smooth indifference as he extended his good arm, "Killian Jones - salesman."
She just stared at his hand, eyeing him suspiciously. "What do you sell - leather hides?"
He grinned at her through gritted teeth - she was a persistent girl, he gave her that.
"I sell anything and everything - Miss-?"
"Emma. Princess Emma to you," she replied, giving him a steely look before continuing, "Well, be on your way Mr-?"
"Jones," he reminded her, giving her a small nod to match his cheeky smile.
"Jones," she nodded, before retreating down the staircase into the darkness.
Finally he reached his room, slumping heavily into his bed as the weight of the alcohol began to drown him in artificial sleep. The last thought slipping through his mind was of her green eyes and blonde hair - and the steely eyed gaze that seemed to hint at so much more.
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