There is a knock on the door just as Blaine finishes dressing.
It's Myron, the cabin boy.
"The captain invites you to break your fast with him," he says, salutes, and leaves.
Blaine is surprised, but glad. He had feared that with the lies that the captain had obviously seen through, he wouldn't want any more to do with him than whatever are necessary relations between the captain of a vessel and his passenger. And he had found he liked the captain; at the very least, he is well-traveled and would know many a story to tell.
He steps in front of the tiny mirror to make sure his jacket is straight and all the buttons done correctly. The captain had been impeccably dressed yesterday, and Blaine doesn't want to appear slovenly in comparison.
"Ah, Mr, Anderson," the captain greets him. "Please sit down. I hope you don't mind I started eating already; I must confess I was rather hungry."
"Please, call me Blaine," Blaine says, blushing. Mr. Anderson isn't his name, he has never been called anything but Blaine or your highness. Everything else seems strange.
"I suppose it would be strange to be so formal with each other since we'll be traveling together for some time," the captain says. "Then you must call me Kurt. Only when we're alone, though, please."
"Of course," Blaine says. He understands the captain must keep his authority in front of the crew at all times. And Blaine...he likes the implication that there might be other breakfasts, other times he might be alone with the captain—with Kurt.
When they've eaten, Kurt shows him a map—a chart, he says the ones that show the sea are called—and shows him where they are and where they will be going. Then, his finger taps a spot on the chart:
"That's the Moon Isle," he says. "When you've finished there, we'll take the long way -", his finger swipes across the chart in a wide arc, "- back home."
Blaine nods, but his good mood is gone. He won't be taking the long way home, he won't be taking any way home, and suddenly, the way to the Moon Isle seems way to short. He can see it on the chart, it's a space barely two hands wide, and who knows how much of that they've already gone?
He wants to suggest taking the long way to the Moon Isle instead, but it would be suspicious: he is supposed to travel on business for his master who would surely not be glad if it took too long. And there is another thing:
"I need to be on the Isle at full moon," he says. "Some of the herbs only bloom then."
The captain narrows his eyes again, but nods. "We'll do our best...if we miss it, you can camp on the island and we'll pick you up again later."
Blaine leaves soon after, embarrassed that once again, he was discovered lying, though again, fortunately not called out on it.
He discovers early that he loves sea life. He continues playing the lute to an appreciative audience, and in time finds the courage to sing, as well. The sailors teach him new songs, and sometimes they sing with him. Very rarely, the captain does, too. His voice is like a bell, high and clear.
When he isn't playing music, he is learning all kinds of seafaring tasks from those sailors who aren't too busy to talk to him. He loves sitting cross-legged on the deck, practicing knots or doing some other task that renders his hands sore and sometimes bleeding, but his mind clear. He is able to forget, sometimes for hours, why he is here and how his journey will end, and in the tiny space of his room or the ship itself that he can cross in a few steps, with nothing but the endless sea around them, he feels as free as he never had before.
The captain continues to invite him for breakfast, and after only a week, he makes it a standing invitation so Myron won't have to fetch him every morning. They come to a sort of silent agreement concerning his story: both of them know he's lying, but they don't talk about it and don't let it come between them. It seems the captain has accepted there are things Blaine can't be truthful about. He's not happy about it; sometimes Blaine can see him looking at him with narrowed eyes, on the verge of speaking, but he lets it slide when he remains silent and looks away.
They talk about everything and nothing, often spending time after the end of their meal just talking until the captain must hurry to his duties. After a while, Blaine notices that neither of them ever talks about their families or their past. The closest he gets is when he confesses that he wishes he was born to a seafaring family; he knows a lot of sailors start out as cabin boys or girls on their parents' ship, and work their way up through the ranks. The captain just shrugs, so Blaine asks him how he came to captain the New Direction.
"Some years back," Kurt says, "I found myself with nothing to do, so I acquired a ship and hired a crew, and sailed. I found it suits me, so I stuck to it."
"You...acquired...a ship? And you captained it, without knowing anything about captaining, or..navigation...?" He knows more about sailing now that he did when he first came on board, but he has no idea what knowledge is required to captain a ship.
Kurt shrugs again. "I'm a fast learner, and I have many talents."
Blaine feels that he'll say nothing more about it, and senses that maybe Kurt has his secrets, too.
But Kurt grins at him, and says. "I know what you're thinking, and I did not."
"Did not what?"
"Steal that ship. I'm not a pirate, you know."
Blaine keeps wondering about that, more than he probably should have, and even more time he spends imagining Kurt as a pirate. It's not a big stretch of the imagination, as little as he knows about pirating and sea fare in general. He gives him a rapier and a dagger, and once an eye patch which he removes quickly because it would be a shame to cover up even one of those stunning blue eyes. He's dashing, and brave, and only steals from those who deserve it. Once, in a particularly embarrassing daydream, the victims are his own family, and pirate Captain Hummel rescues young, handsome Prince Blaine from the grasp of his scheming parents. He blushes and looks around even though no one knows he just imagined himself as a damsel in distress, and quickly goes to join Santana at the wheel. He's trying to learn navigation, and she will mock him enough for his failures in that to make up for that dream.
It fits his other dreams, though. Every night in his bunk, he stares at his amulet, discovering more details in the light of his only lamp. And every night, as he sinks into sleep, he sinks into the cold, dark waters of the moon lake, and he sees the captain's face in the water, and strong arms enclose him and pull him down, deep, deeper into the lake. Only it doesn't feel like drowning. It feels like he is being saved.
Towards the end of his second week on board, when he has found his sea legs and has even ventured into the rigging once or twice, he is sitting in the galley with Puck, the second mate, drinking thin coffee and playing a game of cards. Puck is at the end of his watch, but not quite tired enough to sleep; Blaine is looking for some sort of occupation that will keep him out of the wind and the ceaseless rain, but also out of his cabin where he'd only be brooding.
The rain is the only thing he'd mind if he were a sailor, he thinks. He'd cope with little sleep and less privacy, a lot of work and boring and repetitive tasks. But being outside in the rain when it is like this, not strong, but persistent and seemingly unending, drenching everything until he feels like he might never be warm and dry again, only cold, cold like the waters of the Moon Lake...
He wonders what it is that will kill him: the blood flowing from his slit wrists, the cold seeping into his very being, or the water, stealing the air from his lungs.
He shivers, clutches his coffee harder, lets the thin heat warm his fingers as they tremble from imagined cold.
The ship lurches, but he doesn't know if it's real.
Then a bell rings, sharp and loud, followed by the piercing shout,
"All hands on deck! All hands on deck!"
Puck puts his mug away and claps him on the shoulder: "All hands means you, too, buddy."
Blaine nods, and rises. He knows he has paled, and his legs feel like jelly under him as he climbs the steep steps to the deck. But he is determined to do what he can to help the situation, whatever it is – or at the very least, not be in the way too much.
When he comes up, he doesn't believe his eyes. It's late afternoon, he knows that, but it's so dark it could as well be midnight. The wind is howling, and the ship moves so that he's amazed he hasn't felt it more below. The sea...doesn't look like the sea anymore. It has become a howling, snarling beast that attacks them with waves so high they threaten to crash down on them with a force destroying everything.
"Sails down!" a voice yells, and Blaine jumps to help or at least scramble out of the way as the crew rushes to do what must be done so they might at least have some chance of survival.
The next hours pass in a daze. He goes where he's bid, does as he's told, and goes on and on, rarely feeling how bone-deep tired he is, or his hands that are sore and bleeding and burning from salt.
He holds fast to the railing when he walks and does most of the work one handed while clinging to a rope or a beam to avoid being swept overboard. After a while, he notices the others tying themselves to wherever they're working, and he does the same, although he doesn't really trust his knots yet. But the work is easier, and he feels a little more safe. Still, his heart beats so loud he seems to hear it even over the howling of the wind, the crashing of the waves, and the orders being shouted across the ship. Then there's another sound: a mighty crack, and unbelieving, he sees the main mast break and fall. It crashes on the deck, and Blaine is nearly thrown overboard from the rocking of the ship.
That's it, he thinks. He won't have to go to the Moon Isle to drown, he can do it right here, he will go down with the ship and everyone on it. He feels sad at the thought of the crew and their gentle captain perishing like that, but at least, he won't die amulet will be gone, too, into the depths of the ocean, but there will be no blood, there will be no full moon to ease the passing, to maybe renew the magic long enough so Cooper can be king and make everything right.
But, miraculously, the ship holds. There's no hole in the deck, they're not taking water, and though they are rudderless without mast and sails, they're still alive when, at nightfall, the storm eases and then stops. The great, gray clouds dissolve, and he can see the stars, and then the moon, smiling down on them.