Seven Seas Treasure

~.~.~

The day was piercing. The sun - it blinded him! It reigned down from the heavens like fire on the back of his neck, scorching his skin, causing a harsh turmoil throughout his already worn and weathered skull… Really, had it ever been so bright? Had it ever felt as much a burden upon him before as it did that morning?

Tadase let out a heavy groan despite himself and drew a sweaty palm across his forehead. At this point, he could not tell whether the sun was getting to him out here or not, for he had lain in a relentless state of hot and cold for days now. He leant unsteadily against the rail beside helm, suppressing a particularly violent bout of shivers, yet he refused to admit that he had taken on too much in reemerging from his cabin that day. Even now he had stood beside the helmsman for barely ten minutes and already he could barely wait to retreat - to head back inside and revel in the cool shade of his cabin; to fall comatose against the soft linen of his bed; to soothe and placate the crying protests of his sorry body amongst soft pillows and cushy bedsheets.

But despite all this the Commander was still thoroughly stuck in his state of denial. It had been merely two days - two days - since the unfortunate turn in his health and, as it was, even those two days of bedrest; of the doctor's fussy treatment; of laying feverish in his closed-off cabin, unable to move and at the mercy of the infection that wracked throughout his torso, had not been enough to convince him that he was well and truly unfit for duty, much to the exasperation of his colleagues. They all had the underlying impression that the Commander just did not care. But, Tadase thought, how could he care about anything else? How could he care to turn his attention to anything but the task at hand? Besides, those two days of immobility - such precious, crucial days - had slipped by, disappearing into the tide never to return. Two days had been completely, utterly wasted and at this point Tadase wanted with all his might to tear up that blundering idiot he called a Captain. He had been down and out of action barely even half a week and their mission had more or less ground to a halt! Yes, of course, plenty of naval ships still stalked the waters for the ship and woman they sought, but it seemed that the Captain of the Seraphic Charm was either uneager or unwilling to carry on without the aid of the Commander himself.

What a spineless, pathetic excuse of a man that Captain was, Tadase thought, exasperated beyond belief. A useless man indeed. What of loyalty? What of determination? Of patriotism and camaraderie and soldiering on despite the oncoming tide? Did the man not even think to turn his thoughts to Her Highness who still with every passing second awaited rescue? Did he not consider his duty to the King?

Tadase felt his temperature rising - slow and steady, yet stifling and unbearable. His vision was swaying. He shook his head in defeat. This ire would not help his health, that was for certain. He might have been able to rest easy knowing that this task lay in capable hands - had he enough faith in his men and Captain to continue their search even whilst he lay sore and bedridden… But apparently not. Apparently that was too much to ask. Obviously, he thought, he was required to take matters into his own hands.

He eventually straightened up, switching to lean on his staff. Bent at the waist and shaking, the cut of the fine crystal atop its hilt dug painfully into his palms, but he paid it no attention. The helmsman looked after him hopelessly, watching with a frown as the Commander uneasily staggered off down the companionway, but the man pushed on, heading for the Captain's cabin, for he had every intention of marching in right then and there and reaffirming the imbecile of the true importance of their endeavour. The man needed to be truly reminded of his purpose and pride or else all would be for nothing.

And all might have been already lost…

But Tadase could not allow that to happen. Not for anything. Not even for the raging inferno that crippled his side with every step he took towards the Captain's quarters.

When Tadase reached that cabin door - struck with a gold plaque bearing the Captain's name, intricately carved with depictions of ancient sea battled - it was already inched open. Through the crack in the door, Tadase, even with the pounding in his own head, could make out whispers, hushed and cautious. Something uneasy stirred in his gut, nagging away at the back of his drowsy brain.

For a moment Tadase thought that he was perhaps delusional. He thought that perhaps this infernal ever had wrought such havoc upon his weary mind that he must have been delirious again. He must have been unwell, he thought (for the first time, at last!), for such a sense of danger to spring upon him out of nowhere; for the very walls to be whispering; for the shadows to somehow seem sentient. In fact, Tadase was still battling himself over this notion when the door swung open, the sunlight pouring in through the windows beyond pouring onto his face, the glare painful in his eyes. But when his vision had cleared and the ache had settled, the Commander found himself stood before the ship's doctor - a scrawny, stubborn little man with tiny, round spectacles and the most extravagant powdered wig he had ever seen. He was possibly the most disliked man on this entire ship. He was particularly 'outspoken', as the Captain had once politely put it, and had an unfortunate tendency to poke his beaky nose into places it didn't belong. Tadase looked down upon the man with slight disdain (though he was still too polite to show it) as the doctor strained a smile at him.

"Ah, Commander!" the doctor said, somehow inappropriately chipper. "How are we today, sir?"

The jibe at his health was so plain that Tadase could not find the strength in him to respond. It was only a matter of time before the man decided to launch himself into a lecture over his health, after all, and remind him that, strictly speaking, he was still not permitted to be out of bed. He tried not to lean on his staff too obviously as he replied;

"Good morning."

"Yes," the doctor mused; "yes, it is. But, more to the point, I've been meaning to-"

"I've a word to have with our Captain." Tadase cut in, sensing that a scolding over his ill health was about to come. He stared past the man's shoulder and over at the lavish cabin behind them. "I shall have to talk to you some other time-"

"Oh," the doctor interrupted; "no need, Commander." And he stepped aside, clearing the cabin doorway so that Tadase could see straight through to where the Captain sat behind his grand desk. His expression was unusually stony and resolute. The nagging in Tadase's brain persisted. All of a sudden he felt as though he were nothing more than a fox cornered by hunting dogs. A great unease settled between them.

"We were just about to call for you." the Captain said, his expression unreadable. "Please, Commander," - and he gestured to the seat before him - "do come in."

And, just like that, the doctor was ushering him into the cabin.

Immediately Tadase could tell that something was definitely amiss. It was an additional sense he had picked up through all his years of loyal service; through all the battles he had faced; through each and every voyage he had so boldly undertaken. It was palpable to him by now - he could feel the heaviness in the air; he could feel the tension in the room crackle like the air before a thunderstorm. It was like stepping into the calm of a storm and all he could do was frown, stepping into the lion's den with a great sense of caution and closing the door behind him. The room was deathly silent - the subtle click of the latch as it slid shut felt like the most deafening sound in existence. And now he was trapped. He swallowed thickly, sensing that something with gravity was to come.

"Well," Tadase began with such a false air of non-committance that the men before him shifted uneasily; "it would appear that the two of you have been conspiring." He said. His staff fell muffled on the ornate rug beneath his feet. The doctor swooped in and attempted to help him walk, but he brushed him off. "Tell me, what is the issue?"

There was a pause. The doctor and the Captain exchanged a look that Tadase didn't like one bit. The two of them had never been the thickest of thieves. For heaven's sake, they would have been at each other's throats by now! Neither could stand to be in the same room as the other for more than a few minutes and yet here… Here they shared, as Tadase had suggested, quite conspiratorial glances. There was a silent conversation going on between the two so plain and obvious that the Commander was totally at a loss. He folded his arms across his chest, ignoring the protest of his wounded side, and sat down heavily in the chair across the desk.

"Oh dear," he said. "Something pressing, no doubt?"

"Commander," the doctor began and it was a warning sign if Tadase had ever seen one. When something brusque and brazen needed to be announced then 'look no further than the Seraphic Charm's surgeon', as the Captain himself had once said. "Commander, the Captain here is well aware of your situation." He paused and Tadase raised a questioning eyebrow, but otherwise nodded, prompting him to continue. "Your fever has risen, despite my best efforts, sir. Your strength is weakening… I grow to fear that, unless a proper hospital bed is laid out for you, you may succumb completely to the infection in your wound. This is a life-threatening injury, my man, if ever I've seen one-"

Tadase sighed loudly, effectively cutting off the infuriating flow of words from the doctor's mouth. "Tell me something I don't know," he said drily; "but it is no matter. In fact, I came here to speak with you, Captain, under the impression that I may be on bedrest for some time throughout our voyage. Sir," he said and his voice was so firm and unfaltering that it was almost hard to believe that this was a gravely injured man with such fire behind his gaze; "I urge you - this mission must continue! You have slacked since I've been out of action like nothing I've ever seen! It is unacceptable!"

"What is unacceptable," the Captain began patiently; "is for myself and the rest of our men to sit back and allow you to wither before our very eyes! Commander, for you to ignore our physician's advice is one thing, but-"

"But!" the doctor cut in, ignoring the pointed glare from his superior and leaning in so close that Tadase could smell the dusty powder in his wig and the revolting perfume about his cheeks. "But, Commander, it appears that our Captain here has more intelligence than you do when it comes to your own health! And, as such, he - well, we, with my advice that is - have decided that our best course of action thus far would be to return to Seiyo, sir, until such a time that I deem you fully recovered and fit to journey again."

A silence fell. Tadase's heart missed a beat. He opened his mouth-

"Commander,"

-only to close it again, for words utterly escaped him.

"As it is, sir," the infuriating man continued, blabbering on, completely unaware of the sweat that had broken out across the Commander's forehead or the colour that had drained from his face; "we should be due to head back to shore within the next month or so regardless. Never mind the condition of your health - we risk running low on several stocks of our supplies. I shan't have our men overridden with scurvy now just because someone was too stubborn to-"

And then it hit him - hard and sudden.

"Back?"

The word was faint - but a breath on Tadase's lips. He stared off into the distance, his eyes far-off and clouded.

A delusion it must have been - a fever-fuelled hallucination. He couldn't have been here before them, facing this sudden turn. Yes, he must have been safely tucked back in bed, slowly recovering, his mind running amok with wild nightmares…

"Commander Hotori, please understand. Why, if I were to allow you to die of such a treatable infection under my watch, well, then I-"

A single, piercing glare cut the doctor right off. The man fell silent, his obnoxiously large mouth pursed into a tiny, white line.

Betrayal. That's all the Commander felt as he glowered, burning and furious, at the infernal physician.

Did the man not understand? Did he not realise?

Tadase's mind was reeling now. The weight of all that was happening seemed to crash over his shoulders like the incoming tide, dragging him down as an anchor underwater, drowning him. Images of himself laying helpless and bedridden at home on dry land flashed through his mind and a sudden, blood-chilling fear gripped at his heart. He would be powerless. Utterly useless - unable to do but a single thing whilst Amu was out there, alone and afraid - trapped! The captive of pirates..!

"But I have to find her!"

The words burst from his lips as lead from a gun, but he didn't register saying them. His vision was swimming, his heart pounding, the panic overwhelming; "I need to find her!"

Faintly, Tadase felt the doctor's hands on his shoulders, though he couldn't remember standing. All was a blur - all was dizzying and distant until the Captain finally rose; "Commander!" the stern voice of that useless man barked, but, too caught up in his own deliria, Tadase felt none of its bite. "Will you control yourself!"

"You!" Tadase snarled, whirling to face him, his staff clattering noisily to the floor. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands had found the Captain's collar (though he couldn't exactly recall when the man had appeared beside him) and he had shoved the man back against the surface of the desk, growling, his gaze deadly as ruby red morphed into a morbid, bloody crimson. "Have you no loyalty?" he spat. "Have you no care for her?"

But, as his knuckles turned white and the haze of red clouded all rational thought, only emptiness filled his heart as the man replied, calm and steady;

"I have care for you, Commander." the Captain said and he took Tadase's hands in his and gently released himself from his grasp, sighing; "You are of no use to her here."

Grip loosening, vision fading, Tadase stumbled back into his chair. Defeated as a soldier in battle he fell, unable to regain his balance. He ached again. His forehead was sweaty and feverish. His staff glittered blue on the floorboards beside him, as blue as the sky of a summer's day...

And yet all he saw when he closed his eyes was that shade of pastel pink that so haunted his dreams... That remained forever just out of reach.

~.~.~

When Ikuto found himself faced with the Princess that morning, he was almost worried that she had succumbed to the horrors of scurvy again. And as if that thought didn't frighten him enough - as if that very notion wasn't enough to chill him to the core; to shake his spirit and leave him bare and vulnerable to the shadows that still lurked within his memory - he watched, stricken, as the pink-haired woman hauled herself out of bed, looking as though just the effort of standing was a difficulty, and immediately alarm bells were ringing shrilly in his head.

Amu's face was pale and her eyes dull, remote and dim despite the early morning sunlight that drenched the little cabin. Her lips twitched in what might have been a half-hearted smile as he entered, but it was quickly gone, replaced by only a dull recognition as she made for the pitiful serving of tack he'd placed on the table for her.

His body tense, Ikuto studied the warning signs and frowned; "Amu?"

But at the uncertainty in his voice, the Princess seemed to come back to herself. Something that might have been remorse passed over her face, but it was gone so quickly that Ikuto barely had any time to acknowledge it. Amu just forced a particularly weak smile - one that lacked all the warmth and cheer and optimism that he had grown so used to - and shook her head as lightly as she could.

"I wouldn't worry, Ikuto." she said, already sensing the question at the tip of his tongue. "I'm fine."

And, when it was time for work, she slid so tentatively past him and tip-toed so gently into the corridor that Ikuto had to stop and stare, so taken aback he was at this perplexing behaviour. He regarded her carefully as he locked the cabin door behind them. Her brows just noticeably narrowed and visibly antsy, Amu glanced fleetingly down the corridor. When it was time to get going, she inexplicably summoned up what last of her energy she had left and rushed past him, a mere blur of pastel pink, and was out on deck faster than he could believe.

Stumped, Ikuto was left in the dust for a minute or so before he managed to follow after her. He caught up with her on the aftercastle and stopped her in her tracks.

"Amu," Ikuto tried again. A sense of dread had begun to pool in the pit of his stomach, stirring like the limbs of some restless creature in his gut, for it had been only last night that she had joked with him; smiled at him; even teased him… And yet now she appeared as dull and spent as a burnt-out coal. Faintly he wondered if that was how he had looked, wandering lifelessly, trapped in an endless mist on this ship for the better part of ten, long years.

'Oh God…' Ikuto thought to himself. It couldn't happen to her too.

"Amu are you fit to work today?"

That had her attention. It was a question that had never been asked of Amu before. She had spent long enough aboard this ship now for her to realise that a man worked until he physically fell. No matter what ailment afflicted him, he would continue to rise with the dawn and weather the starless nights until his own body forbade him from rising again. Only the other week one crewmate had been dislodged from the ratlines whilst skirting a particularly fierce storm and had broken his leg in the fall. Yet Amu glanced over her shoulder now and saw that very same man put to work on cleaning duty, sitting awkwardly with his leg spread before him, straining to swab the decks clean. To these men, a dilapidating injury meant no less than a limb being blown off. Hell, even when she herself had been overridden with that dreaded sailor's disease she had emerged from her cabin every single day, forced to grit her teeth and bear the brunt of the pain as her skin bled and sores split.

And so this was a question unexpected enough to draw Amu back to earth, if only for the briefest of seconds. She blinked in surprise, speechless for a moment.

Then her eyes softened and the tiniest hint of warmth lit up her face at his concern. "Of course, Ikuto," she said, smiling as reassuringly as she could, for Ikuto's own troubles were too great for her to add to them. "Don't worry."

Unconvinced, but with nothing to counter her with, Ikuto was forced to cave. He nodded wordlessly and let her go, sneaking cautious glances after her as she went. But, though they were separated for most of the day, that encounter remained fresh in his memory. In the dark of the hold he saw bright flashes of pink; in the sun on the water he saw glorious gold - it was forever nagging in the back of his head. It set his teeth on edge; it drew him from his chores; it irked him throughout the entirety of his long, restless day because there was just something about the look in Amu's eyes that had him in despair.

So, obviously, Ikuto was thoroughly irritated when he found her much the same way when he came to lead her in for the night. And the next morning. And the one after that… And the one after that.

If anything, Amu only grew quieter. There was less bite in her banter. Her smiles grew colder, less genuine and she grew easily distracted, lost in whatever thoughts he had no idea. Ikuto had tried to be patient. He had tried to keep his lips sealed firmly shut - to stay silent and hope that if he allowed Amu to mull over whatever troublesome thoughts were occupying her head, then perhaps she would come out the other side relatively unscathed herself. That was how Utau often worked on her bad patches, after all… But still it was weighing on his mind more heavily than anything else - heavier even than the tension that had settled amongst the crew; heavier than the weight of the Key in his pocket; more pressing than the sudden, disturbing turn in his father's behaviour.

Ikuto didn't know how to deal with it. He had tried to be as considerate as he could. He allowed her extra time in the mornings; he motioned Kukai to work with her during the day, for he knew that he was now a close friend of hers; Ikuto snuck extra fruit into her meagre rations (which, of course, he had increased himself, unbeknownst to the Captain) just in case she was starting to feel the lethargy of that dreaded sailor's ailment again. But by the fourth night of this inexplicable depression (though Ikuto used the word carefully, for he truly hoped it was nothing quite so distressing) he came to the conclusion that he just couldn't take it any longer.

Honestly, Ikuto could have laughed at himself. He knew that Amu had occupied his mind more or less permanently ever since she arrived on this ship… But this was ridiculous.

But, nonetheless, it was that fourth night that Ikuto finally found the courage - that his patience finally wore thin enough for him to stop her outside her cabin door. Night was falling fast and foreboding. The was moon hung obscured by thick cloud. Before now he had planned to retreat down below as fast as possible before Kazuomi's henchmen could begin to stalk the decks for the night watch… But right now Ikuto wasn't sure he cared anymore. One look at the Princess' jaded expression was enough for him and it was then that he intercepted her just before she could disappear into her cabin, blocking the doorway with his own body and leaning down, blue eyes gazing intently into misty gold.

"I-Ikuto?" It was perhaps the clearest thing Amu had said all day as she finally snapped out of whatever had taken ahold of her, narrowing her pretty eyes at him. "W-What are you doing?"

Ikuto just raised a finger and effectively shushed her. He thought for a moment, considering carefully how best to bring up the topic on his mind. After a short while, he swallowed;

"I told you everything, Amu."

Amu looked perplexed. "W-What?"

"I know you're trying to act as if nothing's wrong," Ikuto said. He shifted somewhat uneasily in the doorway, but his gaze was as steady and all-knowing as ever. "Don't think I didn't notice." At this, Amu's eyes widened a fraction. She shrunk visibly, looking torn. Ikuto resigned himself, smiling faintly. "I told you everything that was on my mind that night." He said. "This works both ways, Amu."

For some reason she couldn't understand, Amu felt wracked with guilt. Her gaze fell to the floor.

"Amu…"

Amu only caught his eye briefly, but it was enough to make her heart plummet. Amu felt as though she could barely look him in the eyes - as though she somehow didn't have the right.

Oh, what a fool she had been. How naïve of her to disregard that concern in his eyes - a concern that had saved her skin on this ship more times than she could count. If not for that concern she would have been long dead by now, wrought by disease, bleeding out on the floor of her cabin. For a moment, Amu found herself once more back in the light of that drowsy morning - back in her bed, lulled by that earnest tone, entranced by the feel of careful fingertips grazing her skin…

"I…" Amu bit her lip. She thought for a moment and Ikuto waited patiently, for the curiosity was unbearable now. Eventually, Amu sighed and, averting her gaze to the side, admitted quietly; "I… I just haven't been sleeping."

Ikuto frowned. "Not sleeping?" he repeated. Amu nodded meekly and he folded his arms across his chest. Well, true enough to her, it made sense. She had been wandering in a sort of stupor and she did look as exhausted as he'd ever seen her… But Ikuto was not to be deceived so easily. He would have smirked had he not been so engrossed in the moment. He could read her like an open book and this whole excuse just didn't sit right at all.

"Why?"

That was the more pressing question. The look on Amu's face only confirmed it. Ikuto leaned in, perhaps a little too eager to catch every word, but she was hesitating again, intertwining her fingers, biting the edge of her lip. He sighed;

"Amu," he breathed and that one word was so full of frustration that he surprised himself.

Amu sighed heavily. Her shoulders sagged, her very body deflating. "It's just…" And she shook her head, her cheeks turning pink, feeling like a child that had been caught doing something particularly cheeky. "I-It's just hard to hear Utau cry every night…"

There was a pause. A heavy, stifling, swift silence during which Amu was unsure whether to apologise or flee into the darkness of her cabin. The seconds ticked by, settling in to the quiet. Amu braced herself, terrified that she would be scolded for her bout of late night eavesdropping.

Though it would have served her right, she thought. This was no business of hers.

But Ikuto just blinked. "Utau?"

Amu barely noticed the confusion that overcame his face. She barely even caught the bewilderment that crept into his tone, for she was fast growing self-conscious under his gaze. She wrapped her arms around her waist, shifting from foot to foot, just waiting to be chastised. "It's been getting louder lately," she admitted timidly. "And I-I don't mean to hear!" She insisted; "But I just… I can't help but hear it. And I can't imagine what she must be going through…"

Ikuto cocked his head in the darkness, but his expression was unreadable. "Utau?" Ikuto repeated dumbly. "When has Utau-"

"Every night!" Amu cut in, suddenly feeling far braver than she had all day. "Every night her cries reach me in my cabin and every night my loathing for that tyrant grows!" She spat. Her voice was breaking, tears were threatening to prick at the corners of her eyes, but she shoved them back, too fuelled on by fury to succumb to sadness now. "And it's despicable, Ikuto! It's disgusting! And I can't bear it any longer because that- that man you call a Captain has no right!" And, as the momentum of her little outburst ground to a slow halt, she drew a shaky breath, averting her gaze and whispering; "He… H-He has no right…"

And, as the young pirate looked on, Amu finally fell silent, her gaze piercing and furious in the direction of Kazuomi's cabin. But when he followed her line of sight, he did not spare a single glance at that ominous, padlocked door at the end of the corridor. Ikuto's eyes fell on the cabin beside it, down from his sister's…

And then it hit him.

Something tugged deep within his chest. In an instant, the quiet of the corridor was suffocating. His façade faltered. Yes… Yes, Ikuto thought, he had heard it too. Not for some nights now, but earlier that week…

Ikuto's eyes lit up in a dim recognition, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly slotting perfectly into place in his brain. He opened his mouth, but just as quickly closed it again.

Amu thought she understood. But Ikuto understood better. He closed his eyes, his lips twitching into what might have been the ghost of a smile, and slowly stepped away from the cabin door. He held out a hand, beckoning her inside.

"I see." He said, the light in his blue eyes dimming by the slightest fraction as she entered. Amu cast him a confused look, but he paid it no attention. "I wouldn't worry, Princess. I'll talk to her."

Yes, Ikuto understood. But, purely due to Amu's concern, he would let it slide... Because she didn't need to know.

She didn't need to understand anything that would only upset her further.

"Ikuto,"

Amu's voice was small and timid as he turned to close her cabin door. He paused, waiting patiently.

"Ikuto," Amu whispered, tentative and tiny in the endless, dark shadows beyond the doorframe that seemed to swallow every sound; every footstep; every muffled whisper. "Ikuto, I'm sorry." She said. "I-I don't want you to think that- W-Well..."

Unexpectedly, Ikuto was overcome with the overpowering urge to flee, but he could not bring himself to do it.

"Amu-"

"I don't want to make you feel pitied," Amu interjected, hardly pausing for breath; "not when you have it hard enough here on this ship. But... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what has happened to you both…"

And Ikuto, suddenly and inexplicably struck to the core, barely heard his own voice respond in the darkness;

"It's fine."

In fact, so struck was he that he didn't even hear the slam of the door behind him. And so strong was his wish to retreat... That he didn't even realise his keys were still half-wedged in the door.

~.~.~

When darkness fell, Amu's world became a blur.

When the inescapable veil of night washed over the world; when the seas stilled and all was lost to the tricksy shadows that lurked in the corners of her cabin, Amu could sometimes no longer tell whether she was immersed in dreams or trapped in reality.

Amu could not recall ever falling asleep that night, nor could she ever remember making her way into her bed, for the past few nights she had spent either sat idle at her table or else slumped up against the hard, grainy wood of the door, unable to tear herself away, gripped by the cold, icy hands of despair. And so, drowsy and disorientated by the gentle rock of the ship, the Princess found herself altogether lost in a sort of haze - an indefinable plane between worlds. Around her, the darkness was creeping in. The shadows - come to life and writhing as malevolent spirits in the night - closed in on her, drowning out all vision, whispering mockingly all around her. Amu's ears hearkened to their voices - unintelligible, yet so teasing, so tempting, high and shrill like the chatter of a hundred nameless creatures.

She must have been dreaming, Amu thought. She must have finally succumbed to the exhaustion that had plagued her body those past few nights as she knew in that rational part of her brain that such things could have only existed in campfire stories - in the dark tales and grim legends and ghostly happenings that she had grown up on, sat at her mother's feet in the library and immersed in age-old fantasies.

But, in the quiet of that cabin, something definitely stirred. Amu, sighing (because whether this was truly a dream or not didn't matter anymore - she did not have the energy to do much about it) shut her eyes, revelling in the sweet escape, and tried to calm her frantic pulse. It was as if the nightmare she had been living in was finally starting to weed its way into her heart, for even here in her unconscious state she thought she could hear it.

Perhaps it was the wind moaning outside, whistling over the waves. Perhaps it was the creaking of the furniture or the beams of the ship. Maybe it was the shadows - something from one of her mother's stories stirring in the back of her memory - but, as she listened now, Amu could definitely still hear it.

Out on the wind beyond her cabin window, someone was screaming.

Out on the sea there came a screeching - a never-ending, blood-chilling wail - that conjured up all sorts of long-forgotten fairy stories in her head. Images came flooding back to her, one by one until her mind was spinning, all faint and faded with time, but still definitely there…

"They only exist on the farthest shores, darling," her mother said. Her cheeks were rosy in the light of the fire. Her reading glasses were perched, glowing orange, on the end of her nose and a heavy tome held open in her lap. Her voice was soft and hushed and as comforting as an old lullaby as she drew her eyes across the page and read aloud;

"They sit way up here upon the rocks and face the setting sun and when the night falls they sing and shout and cry out across the waters until their call is answered."

And with such bright and inquisitive eyes, the child before her peered over at the dusty, fragile pages and traced the open map of the known world with a tiny finger, her mind running wild with dreams of foreign shores and starry skies and of all the creatures that lurked at the blank edges of the earth. Serpents and worms dwelt there, these drawings said, and all about the faded edge there lay rocky islands and distant outcrops, ravaged by the newborn waves.

"And they live there, mama?"

"They do, dear," Midori said as she turned the page. There was drawn the outer reaches of the globe itself where the ancient 'Here Be Dragons' still obscured the unsolved riddles of unknown lands. And there, on those very islands, cloaked in the mist, there sat those sirens who still screamed as banshees across the seas.

"Men hear them in the dead of night, for their cries are heard to them most easily," her mother went on, her voice a hush - dropping to a low whisper of awe. "But, as of yet… None have seen them and still lived to tell the tale."

And when her mother had closed the book that night, Amu had thought that she could hear them even from her high home in the palace, their voices echoing across the sky, piercing the night until the early hours…

Amu had almost forgotten them. Amu had almost failed to recall those women that wailed at the end of the world, luring in those unsuspecting sailors - appearing before them as spirits in the seaspray, forming from the foam and dragging them from their ships, taking them from the map itself and into the unforgiving, unknown abyss beyond.

The Princess gasped, unaware of herself. There it was again. There - somewhere out there! - the ghostly figures screamed, their shrill voices nearing, rattling her brain-

"GET UP!"

BANG!

Amu's eyes snapped open. It was as if someone had drenched her in cold water - as if she had been thrust without warning into the reality of her deluded nightmares. She sat bolt upright in bed, now undoubtedly awake and frowning. She cast a glance at her window, but she knew instantly that the sea was still and the air calm.

No, it was not the wind. There were no sirens beyond the sea. And that voice - that disembodied cry…

'Oh God,' Amu gripped at her messy hair and curled up on her bed, burying her face in her knees. 'Not again-'

Another bang rent the night. That wavering, female voice was weeping again, louder and more desperate than ever before. Amu's heart wrenched, her chest tightening, she found it hard to breathe-

"I said GET UP!"

The shout made Amu jump beneath her sheets. She heard the sound of something shattering in one of the cabins across the hall - resounding as the crack of gunfire - and the cries continued. She grit her teeth, snarling despite herself.

'Kazuomi.'

She heard him now - clear as day. She heard his boots thunder upon the floorboards; heard his voice - low and deadly - as thunderous and forceful as a whirling hurricane; and Amu could barely breathe as she heard him holler and swear and cast dreadful oaths at that poor woman who faced his wrath. Her cries were rising fast. They were as high as the squeaking of strings and hysterical as a woman faced with whatever horrors Amu could not bear to guess.

"Please! Kaz-"

The next shatter of glass might as well have been a deadly explosion. Amu nearly fell from her bed. There was a single oath, a half-strangled gasp of breath…

And then silence.

Shocked and shaken, Amu could do nothing more than sit, frozen in place, and count the seconds tick by.

She had gotten to twenty before all strength returned to her. It all happened at once - the beating of her heart restarted; the terror gripped at her senses; adrenaline rushed through her veins;

"Utau..!"

Particularly disturbing images leapt forth in her mind, all of which involved that fiery, yet melancholy blonde girl lying unconscious and bleeding (at the very least) on the floor of the Captain's cabin, the man himself stood above her with a deadly weapon - the hilt of his sword or an empty bottle of rum perhaps - in his hand, still poised for that fatal strike. Amu scrambled out of bed, half-racing to her cabin door and pressed her ear against it, breathing unsteadily, her pulse pounding in her ears drowning out all other sound. Cursing under her breath, Amu leant forward another inch, flattening herself against the door, praying to make out something - anything! - amidst the quiet.

And, immediately, she was overwhelmed with déjà-vu… Because the door inched open.

It took a moment to process. Amu heard a crunching sort of sound followed by the click of the latch and the heavy thud of metal hitting the floor. In fact, she found she could do not much more than stare dumbly at the gap in the doorframe for some time before snapping out of it and peering out into the gloom of the corridor. At her feet were Ikuto's keys. She snatched them up quickly. He'd be killed if the Captain saw them.

And a good thing too because at that moment she heard footsteps growing louder and louder opposite her cabin. Petrified, Amu whipped her door shut just in time. She grasped the doorknob in her hand until her fingers grew numb, holding her breath as light flooded the little passageway and the heavy, unsteady feet of the Captain ambled down the corridor. He sounded like he was staggering. With every step his breath shuddered in his throat, low and raspy like a man on his deathbed. A few seconds passed before the Princess heard the clinking of chains and the bang of the door as Kazuomi retreated into his master cabin for the night. Amu stood there practically panting for a good few minutes before she was brave enough to peek her head into the corridor again.

But, though it took a great deal of courage to dare a glance back down that dark, oppressive passageway, Amu was glad that she did. Faintly, as her eyes began to adjust to the dark, she could just make out the glow of two bright, piercing eyes in the light of a single candle.

Instantly, Utau's door inched shut, but the creak of the hinges gave her away. Amu almost sighed. Finally, something seemed to click in her mind.

'Of course...' she thought as she looked back into the darkness. 'That wasn't Utau's cabin.'

This time, Amu really did sigh - light and breathy, but audible nonetheless. Or, at least, Utau certainly heard it. When she reluctantly pushed open her door, hanging her head like she had resigned herself to some terrible fate, her face was expressionless, but pale and ashen in the candlelight. Instantly, Amu was hit with a pang of sympathy. She had only had to listen to such torment for the past four nights, she realised. But Utau had lived with it for a decade.

"Awake as well?" Amu said, but it wasn't a question. Utau didn't answer. "Or were you woken up?"

Utau said nothing, but something in her jawline twitched. It was the same sort of hard, irrepressible tic that she had recognised in Ikuto - that she knew was the only thing that could belie his seemingly immovable, aloof façade. Her words had hit close to home. And Amu saw no need to inch around it.

"It's usually like this," she uttered; "isn't it?"

Utau's lilac eyes came up to meet hers then. Something unreadable passed across her face, if only for a second, but her gaze had hardened now and there was an edge in her voice as she hissed;

"You don't-"

"He takes his anger out on those who least deserve it." Amu cut in, her voice thick, but far stronger and clearer than it had been for days. "I honestly thought it was you behind that door," she admitted, exhaling lightly. "The acoustics on this ship… Well, I'm not really used to them still. Not when there's such a commotion, anyway. I thought it was you I was hearing every night - crying until the early hours. But it's not, is it? After all..." and, without even registering her own movements, she began to wander into the cold, dank darkness of the corridor, stepping into the feeble light of that lone candle; "You've been listening too."

In the pause that followed, the night was still again. The distant footsteps in the Captain's cabin had died and all candle glow from the crack beneath the door extinguished. Amu could barely hear the wash of the waves or the hiss of the sea foam outside. Utau's candle flickered. Then, quietly, she drew a long, weak breath.

"Well," when she spoke her voice was as faint as a dying breeze. Her long, blonde hair had fallen into her face, but it was of no use. There was no denying the tension nor the restlessness that had set itself in her shoulders; no hiding the defeated slump of her body against the door; nor the misery in her tone as she whispered; "It's no use. You've heard her now… But I don't want to talk here." And she looked darkly at the Captain's cabin. "Not here…"

Amu thoroughly understood that. But, more so, she thought she understood the situation far better than she had those past few nights.

In her mind's eye, even amidst the darkness, Amu thought she could see the shadows of a murky past. She thought she could see flames dancing in the dark spaces of the corridor; she thought she could just make out the silhouettes of many figures - young and old, weak and forceful alike - and, just barely, she saw in her head the structure of a stately home, yet the building was blackened and the walls crumbling in…

And, in her head, she remembered;

"My mother and Utau had been caught. I didn't see them - not until I came here..."

Amu lowered her eyes to the ground. Really, when she thought about it… It all made sense.

"I'm sorry, Utau," the Princess mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. She inched closer, eyeing Utau's cabin warily. In that moment she was thoroughly torn. It was as if that threshold was some moral boundary - some distinct line cut across the deck that she should never dare to cross, for she had overstepped her place already these past few nights, lying awake and unknowingly eavesdropping on the misery of some poor woman she did not know. Suddenly feeling aghast and very obnoxious, Amu shook her head fiercely. "You know, Utau, you don't have to tell me!" she said, her blush brightening, switching quickly from embarrassment to shame. "You don't have to tell me anything - not if you don't want to. You and Ikuto… You're protective of her, aren't you?"

When she finally met the other woman's eye again, there was a hesitance. What sounded like a sigh of exasperation echoed throughout the space; "He told you?"

"N-No…"

Utau scoffed, rolling her eyes with as much disdain as she could manage, yet it was weak. It was flimsy and uncertain and lacked all the bite that Amu had come to associate with this stubborn, quick-tempered enigma of a woman. "I can't believe him. Everyone on this ship knows! You might as well! I can't believe he never told you…" And, just like that, Amu was being pulled by the arm into the relative safety of Utau's cabin. She stood awkwardly beside the little table whilst Utau slid all the bolts behind her door firmly shut.

"We can't keep everything from you," she went on haughtily. She came to sit at the table and cast Amu such a commanding look that she didn't even need to be told to follow suit. She settled into one of the rickety chairs and listened as Utau huffed; "Besides, if Ikuto won't say, then I will-"

"Utau, really, you don't-"

"It's our mother, okay?"

Amu had already guessed this, yet still all words died upon her lips - all coherent thought slipping from her brain. Utau seemed unsatisfied with the silence. "It's our mother," she said again; "and every now and then our pig of a stepfather goes through a… 'Rough patch' that can only be placated by, well…"

If the Princess had wanted to say anything to this, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to.

"Yeah." Utau said harshly, drawing her back to their cold reality. "That's what I thought."

The inner workings Amu's brain were frightfully slow as she sat there in this most impossible of situations - across from Utau of all people, being trusted with such things that weren't hers to be trusted with…

Yet it was not the information that had shocked her. It was the brusque touch to Utau's words. She sat across from her, her arms still firmly folded, her eyes focused firmly on the table… The blonde's tone was so cutting - so very cool, yet callous - that it was almost hard to believe. Amu wanted to sigh. The girl was a force to be reckoned with, but her nonchalance was feeble and unworthy of such an impassioned spirit.

"Your… Your mother…"

Quite quickly, Amu almost wished that Utau had never confirmed what she'd already suspected. The thought of a third Tsukiyomi captive aboard this ship - the thought of yet another of them secured under Kazuomi's rule… It made her feel ill.

"He captured mother and I," Utau was saying, all false annoyance gone, replaced only by a sort of dull recollection. Amu wondered how many times the story had played over in her head over the years as she went on numbly; "He captured us… Our father was gone. Our home was gone. All he had was us."

"Utau-"

"He married mother." she said through gritted teeth, looking as though she could not bear to let the words go unspoken - like the flow would only cause her yet more pain and anguish if she kept them behind closed lips. Amu fell into silence, staring at her hands in her lap. "Presumably so as to secure whatever was left of our father's fortune, though I still doubt it sometimes. Their marriage is not entirely legal - no documents or anything as such, you understand, Your Highness. Mostly though," she sneered; "mostly I suspect he just wanted to ensure that we would be kept under his watch."

That sounded like the sort of callous treatment that could only be dealt by Kazuomi Ichinomiya, sure enough, but still it was frightfully unsettling. Amu shivered unknowingly. Utau was subconsciously raking her nails along her skin as she folded her arms. "Ikuto was brought to us some weeks later. It started then… The beatings." she said and she looked over at Her Highness with such a knowing air - with such a piercing, steady stare - that Amu was just about ready to quail under her gaze. "Though he doesn't tell me."

"I-I know…" she admitted nervously, though why that stammer left her lips she couldn't say. There was just something about the way that Utau could look at you. There was just something inexplicable beneath those purple irises that could make a person feel small; that could make you feel as though no secret was safe; as though she could delve into your every thought and see your heart laid bare before her. "T-Though he wouldn't tell me outright either…"

"Neither." Utau said. "But it sounds like he's told you more than I have."

It was all Amu could do to look guiltily down at her interlocked hands again, nervously twiddling the frayed hem of her sleeve between the tips of her fingers. Her head was overcome by some shame that she could not place, but inside her heart was breaking. Just one look at Utau's eyes would be enough to set her off at this point. She avoided her gaze fiercely, just wishing to disappear and retreat quietly back to the dark of her cabin…

Utau heaved an almighty sigh.

"I wish it would end, Amu... "

Amu's head shot up, her eyes wide. Had this woman ever addressed her so casually before? She couldn't remember, but she had no time to dwell on it as Utau shook her head, blonde pigtails bouncing, and leaned forward into the light; "If not for me, but for him."

"I… I understand that." Amu said faintly and, whether by some fond memory or the growing light of the candle beside them, something soft and warm overcame her features. "The Captain takes his anger out on those who least deserve it… Ikuto just wants you and your mother to be let go. At whatever cost - even at the expense of himself."

In the dim light across from her, Utau looked light she wanted to speak, but something caught in her throat and no more than a weak breath came out. The Princess face hardened, a newfound sense of bravery coursing through her veins.

"Utau," Amu said. "I think your brother is the most selfless, courageous man I've ever met." And she smiled before she could stop herself; "He does it all for you - all that work! He takes all that pain and torment at the hands of the Captain just so you don't have to. Even I have figured that out, Utau."

And she watched carefully as Utau nodded stiffly, but the dejected woman said nothing more. Amu saw her swallow thickly. There was definitely something shimmering in the corner of her eyes and, for once, Amu decided to take her own leave. She stood, rising silently from her chair and bowed lowly.

"I'm sorry, Utau. But thank you for inviting me in. I really didn't-"

"No." Utau cut in. When she rose to her feet, those glassy, unshed tears were gone and her face was warm and tranquil in the light of the candle. "Don't mention it."

And, for once, she actually sounded welcoming. Amu couldn't help it, but a brilliant grin broke out across her face. Any tension that had settled in that room throughout their little conversation was shattered - crumbling to dust about them. Amu laughed, light and free;

"We should do this in the daylight next time."

Utau blinked slowly.

"Yes…" she said faintly. She watched as Amu smiled brightly, her face alight in the glow of the little fire, and swept across to the door.

"Goodnight, Utau!"

Utau hummed in response, for words were beginning to fail her. Yet, in her mind, she managed but a single sentence;

'Well I'll be damned...' she thought as one in awe; 'I think I understand you now, brother...'

~.~.~

A/N: You can file this chapter under 'list of things I didn't want to do to Tadase'. That boy is too precious to harm, but hey, so long as it's necessary to the plot, right? It's not my fault that angst is the best way to explore his character!

It's been a little longer since the last update, though for some reason this chapter was ridiculously hard to write this time? Plus it ended up super long - I really don't know what happened. I'm not really happy with it, but I suppose that I can let it slide. This is the last proper filler chapter I'd planned, so I'll be picking up the pace in the next couple of updates.

As ever, thank you for your kind reviews! Comments are greatly appreciated ^^