Four months at sea

He dreamed.

Sometimes it was about her, sometimes it was about the other ways that the talk between himself and Roberts could've turned out. He dreamed he once said no.

He woke up in the middle of the night, in a coldsweat, with the sound of steel being freed from a scabbard and the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

Mostly, though, it was just the sea he dreamed about. The lulling waves, the calming effect it had on him as he gently skimmed the waters top, close enough to feel its coolness but not enough for it to touch. The way it sounded against rock and boat, or gently lapping sand. The way it was the exact same shade as her eyes. When he dreamed of beautiful blue sea, he felt... at peace.

He felt home.

And when Roberts asked him what he did in his spare time, he honestly hadn't meant to blurt out, 'Dream. I dream.'

It just sort of... happened.

And then Roberts laughed.

"Ah, hell, boy!" He chortled, and Westley could feel the flush work its way up his throat. "Yer out on t'great open sea! Tis what dreams err made'ov!"

Roberts was sitting on the railing, a crisp, half eaten red apple in one hand and the other keeping himself balanced on the wooden rail. He was on the deck, a rusted old pail beside him, almost covered in sea water and suds. The day was hot, nearly unbearably so, but Westley was both used to heat and work-so although the scenery had changed, some things did not.

"Not mine," He murmured, scrubbing hard.

Roberts shook his head, and though he couldn't be sure, he thought he saw the pirates lips twitch. "Boy, e'ery mans dream is t'come out t'open water like here." He waved the hand currently occupied by the apple. "T'be free, lad. Tis e'ery mans dream."

He couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped, and immedietely ducked his head; Roberts had taken a liking to smacking the back of his skull whenever he was 'out of line'. Westley was sure that was only an excuse, since he did it so often, even if Westley was simply standing there and Roberts happened to be walking by.

The pirate, however, merely cocked his head to the side curiously. "Wots that sound fer, lad?"

Unwilling to have his ears once again ringing, he kept silent.

And got an applecore to the crown of his head for his efforts.

"Ow!" A sudsy hand rose and clutched blonde locks. "What was-?"

"Ya din't answer." Roberts shrugged. He thought about grumbling, but really, what would be the point? He'd always been more of a do-er than a say-er, and though Roberts had managed to get him to say more than one-syllable words at times, complaining would only get him another blow to the head.

And, well, maybe he did want to elaborate. A little. Just a smidge.

"I have seen freedom," Westley began slowly. "I have seen freedom in the shape of fire and steel-in the eyes of children looking for bits of bread to soothe the worst of hunger pangs. Freedom is death, Captain. I am not prepared to be free just yet."

The man looked nonplussed by this quiet declaration, and did not take long to form a reply. "Tis a fine, fanciful thought, lad. But do yeh not feel t'spray o'the sea on yer face? T'wind in yer hair? Does this," His arms widened, gesturing widely both to the ship and to the open sea. "Not count as freedom?"

Raising and settling himself on his haunches, Westley surveyed the crisp blue water that was just a few shades off from his dream-waves. "Water can, as well, be a freedom, yes."

Roberts rolled his eyes. "Boy, tis t'most free ye'll ever be!"

Westley shrugged. "Perhaps I don't want to be free," He challenged quietly. "Perhaps I want to be smothered, and told what to do, and have another there who would hinder upon any freedom that would beckon for me."

"Ah," Roberts nodded in understanding. "Tis yer lass ye speak'o, I presume."

"Quite."

"Ah, lad," the pirate sighed in mock exasperation. "I canna' see t'what be more appealin' then tis' here sea. Ye dream'o hungry babes and demandin' wives, son. Ye'd yearn fer that o'er this?" Some of his thoughts must've shown on his face, for it wasn't long until Roberts had hopped on the deck and was nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Aye!" He half chuckled, half groaned. "Aye, you do, I can see it."

With an embarassed huff, Westley went back to scrubbing the deck. Even with Roberts amused laughter ringing in the air, he refused to look up.

I can already tell 'Roberts' is going to be my favorite.