A/N - Because I love writing all this and your wonderful feedback is so inspiring, here's another chapter. J x
Two weeks it had taken to reach land again. Two rain-sodden, storm-ridden torturous weeks. The crew down to basic rations of salted meat and pickled vegetables. Every day the captain standing at the helm, staring off into the distance. At no point did he explain to the crew their destination, nor did they ask - that was not the way aboard a ship. Instead, they obediently toiled through the harsh weather and the strict rule of their commander.
The grey-blue color of the endless water was a fitting representation of the mood that had hung over her since they had left Cranook Cove barely twelve hours after reaching it.
After her discussion with the captain, Emma had slunk back on deck and resumed her earlier task - sleepwalking through the next few days in a daze of confusion and worry. He wasn't who she thought he was. She had foolishly allowed herself to be seduced by his educated tongue and intimate demeanor into forgetting that she barely knew this man. Maybe didn't know him at all.
And that he was a pirate.
And as she scrubbed the mess tables a week later, she decided she was angry: firstly at herself and at him. At her father for being so vacant since her mother had left; for making her feel so alone that she could not turn to him. At her stepmother for trying to push her into marriage and forcing her to flee.
And to her mother. For dying.
Hot salty tears had mixed with the dirty suds as she punished the wood with the coarse bristles of the brush. Each stroke an attack on her weakness. No longer, she decided, would she allow the actions of others to play such a pivotal role in her own feelings. She was a strong, intelligent, capable woman and it was about time she started acting as one.
Fuelled by her newfound anger, she tossed the brush aside and rushed to the ladder that led up to the deck. There were few around. The night was approaching quickly and a fine drizzle hung in the air. He was still there, motionless at the helm, hand on the wheel - standing like a sentry guarding some ancient treasure.
He didn't notice her at first. He seemed lost almost. She moved to stand in front of him.
"Captain."
"What is it," he answered in an irritated tone.
"I demand to know our destination."
He flashed her a quick glance before looking back again across the ocean. "I've told you it is none of your concern."
She stepped closer, grabbing the wheel and tugging it to the right. "And I think the least you owe me is an explanation."
"Owe you?" he laughed and rolled his shoulders back, releasing his grip on the wheel. She was still tugging it tightly and the force or her body weight caused her to tumble to the ground, falling to a heap at his feet.
"Yes," she spat, quickly pushing herself off and brushing away the damp dust of the deck, "I don't recognize you. In fact," she took a step forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, "I'm not sure I've ever known who you are. We had a deal."
His eyes were cold and dark, tinged with steely determination.
"We're headed to Terra. I have a debt to settle."
"But that's near the Enchanted Forest."
"Aye," he replied, a bored expression crossing his face.
"You promised me safe passage away from that realm. You know my situation."
She quickly looked around to make sure no one was overhearing their conversation.
"I'm sorry to inform you - love - but you are not my priority. In fact, your presence has been quite the untimely distraction. So do yourself a favor, go away, keep your head down and be thankful I haven't revealed your secret."
"You wouldn't," she hissed, "It would make you a laughing stock amongst your crew."
"Try me," he whispered, bringing his face inches from hers. She stared at him. His face was a mask. Cold and unmoving, one side of his mouth curved unnaturally.
But his eyes-
For a second, they flickered. Wavered from their coolness, a flame of warmth - that familiar one, the one she had seen just before he kissed her - appeared briefly, and she held her breath. Then it was gone.
She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she made to leave, "Just who are you Killian Jones? Pirate or gentleman? You can't be both." And without waiting for him to reply, she turned on her heels and stalked away.
"How long are we gonna be here, Smee?"
After another long day anchored in the desolate seas just off the coast of Terra, one of the younger crewmen finally asked what had been on the minds of the men for the past week.
"When the captain is finished his business," answered the first mate with a scowl.
Emma watched the scene from her place across the deck.
"But 'e's bin gone for a week."
"And he may be another week still, but this is still his ship and he left me in charge. Hold ya tongue and get on with your graftin'"
The young lad dipped his head and sulked off.
Emma sighed.
Whatever the captain was up to, he was clearly keeping it a secret. He had left alone, early one morning, with instructions for the ship to wait for his return. The men on board had been obedient at first - keeping to their routine as usual. But within a few days an air of tension had risen. The captain's peculiar behavior of the past few week was starting to cause concern. Whispers abound that maybe he had gone mad - finally succumbing the grief that had surrounded him since his brother's passing.
Emma didn't know. But she knew that something had happened and they could only wait for him to return and perhaps provide some answers.
And so he did, three days later.
Emma was aloft the rigging, checking the sails for damage for Dicken when she saw the tender approaching from the coast. The captain was dragging the oars through the waters of the bay. As the small boat came closer, she could see another figure in the boat. Their hands were bound and a burlap sack had been placed over their head - a prisoner.
Soon the ship had reached the hull and the rope ladder was lowered. The captain climbed aboard, ordering Smee to arrange for his passenger to be brought up and placed in the brig.
Curiosity burned as she watched the events unfold. The prisoner was dragged roughly. They were dressed in coarse, leather breeches with a vest made of a patchwork of fur. They seemed to be quite small, but strong enough to tussle with the men who who held each arm as they were dragged below deck. Who was this person who had sparked a race across oceans?
Slipping away, a few hours later, had been surprisingly easy. The crew were preparing again to sail and a happy buzz clung amongst them - desperate as they were for a night in a decent port. She ambled past small groups as they talked of fresh beer, fresh meat and fresh women to occupy them within a few days sail.
The brig was below the waterline in the very bowels of the ship - where the ceilings were low and a permanent dank stench hung in the air. She crept along the narrow pathway through the hold, until the flickering of a lantern and the sound of voices made her pause. Quickly, she hid behind a barrel and listened.
"You can stop lying, I know who you are."
It was the captain.
"I am not," came the curt reply. A woman's voice. Ever more curious, Emma snuck a little closer, positioning herself behind a large trunk which afforded her a view into the brig's compartment. The captain's back was to her, he was pacing in front of the small prison's iron bars.
"Come now, love, this is getting us nowhere. You either give me the answers I seek or I starve them out of you."
"Fine," the prisoner replied, "I've spend 10 years living in Terra. Hunger is second nature to me."
"Well, how do you feel about torture?"
"About the same as I do about pirates. It should be eliminated."
"Oh," hissed the captain, as he sank down on one knee, "Strong words from one in such a vulnerable situation."
Now he was almost sitting, Emma could see into the cell. Though it was dark she could make out a woman with long, wavy black hair.
"I've been in worse spots," she quipped. "Now what do you want with me, pirate? We've never crossed paths so I'm certain you have no quarrel with me."
"Perhaps not," he continued, stretching to stand again, "But I believe you are connected to the death of my brother."
"And why would you think that?" she asked.
"Because of this," he replied, and he opened his clenched fist and a small pendant tumbled down and hung on its chain from his fingers.
"Where did you get that?" the woman snapped.
"From the dying hands of my brother, lass. Or should I say queen."
Queen? Emma thought, craning her neck for a better look.
The woman didn't reply. Killian sighed and tucked the pendant into his pocket. "Come now, let's stop these games." His voice had turned soft - almost conspiratorial. "You are Snow White."
Snow White?
No. Impossible, that was impossible. No…
She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips. Nor the way her body tumbled forward and fell heavily to the floor. Urgently she tried to push herself up and run. But she was too slow.
"Who goes there?"
His boots were by her face and his hand grabbing at the neck of her shirt before she could reply. He tugged her up roughly, his expression becoming confused when he saw who it was.
"Emma?" he hissed.
But her heart was pounding and all she could think about was that name: Snow White. She shook herself free and stumbled the few steps to the dim light of the brig. The prisoner was standing back from the barred door, cloaked in darkness.
"Emma," Killian repeated, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her around. He paused when he saw the fear in her eyes. She saw him again - the man she thought she knew. God she was confused by this never ending parade of masks he wore.
"Please," she whispered, grabbing his hooked arm at the elbow and holding him tight. Not caring that she was vulnerable, not worried what he would do next, just needing to know. "Is it true? Is that Queen White?"
He gave her a queer, questioning look, before answering with a curt now and a whispered, "Aye."
The tears instantly sprang forth from her eyes and she span from his grasp, circling her fingers around the cool iron bars of the cell. "Mother? Mother? Is it really you?"
Silence. Then a few quiet footsteps as the prisoner emerged into the light. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a streak of white weaving down from her crown.
"Emma?"
The voice was soft, not like the woman who had spoken minutes earlier. It was timid, frightened and shaking a little. Then Emma looked at her face. Searching for those familiar lines and curves that had lulled her to sleep, kissed her, whispered words of encouragement as a child.
A sob rose in her throat. Gentle at first. Painfully hard and choking within seconds.
It was her. Her mother. The mother who she thought was dead. But she wasn't, she was alive and Emma didn't know what to think or do-
"Yes mother, it is I," she sniffed, shuddering tears rolling down her cheek as her mother's hands encircled her own.
The reunion was abruptly ended when the captain cried, "What the bloody hell is going on?"
"I don't know," Emma answered honestly, "I thought you were dead," she whispered to her mother. Snow bit her lip and tilted her head.
"I had to leave. It was complicated…"
"You left me," she replied, as though she had only just realised what this meant. She pulled her hands away from the bars and flattened them against her chest, "I thought you died. I mourned you. Father mourned you. He remarried…"
"I'm sorry Emma, I can explain-"
"Please do," interjected an annoyed Killian from behind her.
The room was spinning; she thought she would faint. Her head felt light and dark spots were appearing at the edges of her vision.
"I can't do this - I can't think. I must go," muttered Emma, turning her back on the cell, "I need to think…"
She pushed past the still stunned captain, ignoring her mother's calls to wait and his demands she return.
In a daze, she climbed the ladder to the deck where her cabin was situated.
Her chest suddenly felt incredibly tight. She slammed the door of her room and quickly pulled off her shirt and tugged at the bandage on her chest, sucking in deep gasps of air as the restriction was eased, then flopping face down onto her hammock as her mind raced.
Maybe she had imagined the whole thing. Maybe this was some strange dream and she would awake in the morning and her perception of the last ten years would not have been turned upside down in an instant. Maybe it was a cruel joke. Maybe.
But she knew, in her heart, that this was real. That she'd gone by choice. A tragic tale of a mother lost at sea, was now a sordid one of an abandoned child and all the emotions and feelings that abandonment brings soared through her. She wanted to ask her why. To shake her and beg her to explain what could have possibly induced her mother to leave, to let them think she was dead. It was unforgivable.
But for now she pressed her face against the canvas and let the tears she had so long held inside freely flow.
He had pressed the queen for more information, but when Emma had fled the brig she had refused to talk any more. She seemed dazed and vacant. He knew it was a fruitless endeavour and he was tired after his long search. He would return in the morning and hope she was more forthcoming.
But he needed answers, now, from Emma.
He made his way to the deck, asking for her whereabouts, but none knew. The cabin was his next stop. Not pausing to knock, he barged inside to find her laying on her hammock, bare from the waist up. Immediately he felt a heat rise on his cheeks and an automatic, 'sorry' fell from his lips. He turned away for a moment, listening to her tugging on a shirt.
"What do you want?" she snapped. He looked back over his shoulder and saw her standing with her arms crossed and tear stained cheeks.
"I want answers. I think I deserve them - this is my ship."
She stared at him, jaw set. "Your prisoner, Captain, is my mother."
"I gathered that rather quickly, love. But that now leads me to understand that you have been lying to me."
"I haven't lied," she snapped, "Not about anything important, anyway. The story I told you is true."
"I think omitting the part about being royalty is tantamount to lying."
"Being a woman is dangerous enough. Admitting to being a princess is practically suicide."
He watched her shiver a little.
"I don't like being lied to," he replied cooly.
"Neither do I," she said with a wry smile. "So what now, Captain. Now you know my true identity. Ransom? Or perhaps selling me to the highest bidder is more your style."
Killain's brow crumpled at her suggestions. He hadn't thought what he would do with this information. His annoyance at the hiding of her lineage had clouded his mind and now this mist was clearing he knew not what he felt.
But he could see in her eyes that she feared him. The closeness the two had developed had evaporated and it was clear she now just saw the pirate he ostensibly was. Such a good job he had done of pushing her away, he realized, that now she had closed herself from him - acted the brave lass and tried to hide her true self.
"Is that what you think of me?"
"What else am I supposed to?"
Nodding understanding, he took a step back. "Well love. As things stand, I have more pressing issues to deal with. I'll decide what I will, or will not, be doing with you later. Stay in your cabin. I'll have Dicken bring your meals and tell the men you are sick. I don't need your distractions about me any more."
"What of your prisoner - my mother?"
Killian glanced at her sideways. Her green eyes were wide and tinged with red. She looked weak and broken. Like she had given up almost.
He didn't reply.
She repeated her entreaty as he closed the door.
His chest ached a little as he walked away, the weight of the afternoon's revelations hanging heavy on his heart.
