Chapter 11.

"You are welcome, Your Majesty."

He closed the door behind him as he started back up to the helm, completely unaware of where he was going. He was too lost in his thoughts.

The little bit of a woman who had invaded his life was leaving him very unsettled. He recalled when he had first seen her cry on the beach- he had felt something clench deep in his belly. He had immediately felt that he did not like to see this woman, this stranger, in tears. And every moment after that seemed to had further pulled the rug from beneath him.

She feared him, and yet she had willingly given herself up to him. She was weak, and yet had strength enough to find a way to save her family and her people. She was afraid of being alone, and yet willingly consigned herself to a future bereft of her family.

She had thanked him, despite how he had treated and mocked her. She was grateful. He didn't understand her thoughts and that intrigued him. Most people were simple. She wasn't. She was a challenge. He loved a challenge.

But there were still some aspects he couldn't quite shake that disturbed him. Since that strange moment on the beach, when he seemed to feel the strings of fate alter around them, something had been creeping under his skin. It was worse the closer she was to him. It felt as if she was emitting something into the air he was breathing that tamped down the darkness in his veins and let the old habits, his old life, surface. He didn't quite like the way he had felt when his magic had interacted with her directly.

When she had mentioned the saddle sores on her thighs, every fiber within his being demanded that he alleviate her pain. He had a strange thought that the darkness was separate from him, because it was the only thing within him that wasn't screaming at him to return to her.

It was strange, for with the exception of his own injuries, he had never used his power to help another heal. If he had to deal with mending another through the course of one of his deals, he used potions or other sacred relics to provide the magic that was needed. He didn't even know his magic could be used for such things. He had vehemently refused to try and understand his power beyond what his emotion desired.

But at the knowledge of her pain, every aspect of him, from slave to soldier to shipmaster, demanded he take action. So he instinctively allowed the magic to flow out of him to her. And as the power extended across her skin, the strangest thing had happened. He had felt as if something had crept back along the connection, interacting with his soul as his magic interacted with her body. And he knew the moment she felt true relief from her pain because within himself, he felt silence. His mind was not clamoring. His soul was not in anguish. The darkness was not spitting its demands. His whole being was quiet.

And then she had let out that damn little moan as she had shifted in his arms. It seemed like whatever silence had found him was what allowed his body to react so strongly to her. He tried to put out the soft warmth of her skin and the way she had clung to him out of his mind.

It was almost without thinking he had brought her to his own chambers, some ancient part of him demanding better for her. Demanding that if he was to be her task master, that she not fear a raised hand like he had. That she not fear the darkness of the interior of the ship because she did not know if something was coming to offer abuse.

She had bound herself to his ship, but it would be his actions that would dictate whether or not she was a slave.

And once he had released her to the bed, the silence disappeared and the cacophony began again. It was drowned out when his girl had practically giggled with joy at his offer to the woman to use his quarters. But he did feel a lingering presence within him, like the memory of thought. His body had cried out at the loss of contact. Suddenly, he had needed to remove himself from her. To get away from what she was doing to him. To hide from her light.

Then she had to go and offer the most sincere thanks he had heard in centuries. As he had stood there at the door, he felt as if a war was going on inside him. He also felt as if something were gently holding him, wrapping him in comfort. It was like a siren song inside him, urging him to return to the woman and bask in her presence, to allow her purity to wash his soul clean. The princess's gratitude seemed to have lit an ember in his cold heart that flushed his entire being with safety and light.

But at the same time, the darkness had thrashed wildly, biting deeply into him and dredging up memories he would rather forget. It wrapped itself around his soul and squeezed tightly, trying to drag him down into it. Trying to pull him further away. And when he almost gave into the lullaby that was whispering in his mind. He had almost turned around, the darkness laughed at him.

You think that she would take you back? After all you have done to those like her? Your presence will destroy her. There is no redemption for you. She cannot save someone who damns themselves.

And with that thought, with the memories that the darkness conjured up for his consideration, his strength wavered and his fear set in. He was afraid she would indeed see only the demon. And it was that fear that made up his mind, driving him from the cabin. But the spark within him refused to die.

He was so lost within his mind that he didn't realize he had made it up to the helm until the wood hummed under his fingers. And just like that, he was snapped back to the present. He stared down at the wheel in his hand, amazed that his ship was singing under his hands again.

That was another thing. The Jolly had been acting peculiar ever since that woman had first summoned him. It was as if she could sense something in the dainty little thing that he could not yet see.

It is funny, dear one, for all your power, you can sometime fail to see what is right in front of you.

He raised an eyebrow, "Aye, is that so?"

You no longer find beauty in the sunrises and can no longer hear the secrets the wind whispers to you.

He was silent as he considered her words, thumbing the wood under his hands. "Perhaps that is through no fault of my own, old girl. The curse doesn't let me appreciate what I once did." This was a fact he had been sure of since the day he had watched the light leave The Crocodile's eyes through the bars of his subterranean cage.

Oh dear one. It is not the darkness that prevents you from seeing. It is the fact that once you found what you were looking for, you closed your eyes.

Anger bubbled up at the rebuke in her words, "I never asked for what I became. I did what I had to for Milah's memory to find rest." He felt her sigh.

And this is what she wanted for you. For you to give up your own peace so that her memory might find it?

"SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED REVENGE ON THE MAN WHO MURDERED HER!" he screamed. The darkness reared up and pushed at his mind, craving release. He could feel the power bubbling beneath his skin, begging to be released.

But would she have wanted you to die in the process?

And at her words, his fury died. He didn't know how to respond. He wasn't sure there was anything to be said. He felt the wind caress his face, stirring his hair and swirling around him, tracing the memory of a warm hand on his face, a memory of a dream he couldn't place.

My dear little one, I have loved you since the moment you stepped foot on my decks. I have watched over you through every trial and every joy. I have rocked you to sleep and danced with you in the storms.

"Then why did you leave me for so long?" he whispered. He didn't notice the broken tone with which it came out.

I have not held my silence because I was angry. I was grieving. I was mourning the great man you had been. I was sad that what you had with me, the joy you always found in being on the open waters with nothing but me, your crew, and a horizon to chase, wasn't enough for you anymore. You knew what it was to love with your whole heart, and to ask nothing more from your life that the blessings you chose to take from it. I longed for that man to return. The man whose touch was as reverent across my grains as that first night you saw me under the stars. The man who chose to sail with me, not on me.

His head bowed in shame at her words. Her gentle rebuke had affected him more deeply than any of the barbed accusations thrown at him from any person who had some ill will toward the Dark One. And he thought he knew why. They hated the creature that lived within him, and so he could disregard their comments because they were not speaking to him. But her words were directed to him. The man. The one who had chosen this fate. The one who had given up his life to appease a ghost.

As he considered this, the warmth within him rekindled, that small ember that had been drowned in his anger and darkness. He was able to, for the first time, review everything he had done to satisfy the shadow he thought had haunted him objectively. And his knees grew weak as he finally began to fully comprehend the monster he had become in pursuit of his revenge.

You see, dear one. You became a monster to kill one.

And suddenly, all the years he had lived became too much and he crumpled to his knees before the helm, finally giving into a grief he had buried for so long. For Liam. For Milah. For the untold number he had damned by his actions. For himself. For the man he should have been. Tears poured down his face as he brought his hand to cover it, trying to shield it from the memories that haunted the decks.

Heaving sobs wracked his body as three centuries of life finally poured forth, unleashed from the vault in which he had locked and buried them. And as he knelt before his ship, he felt , for some strange reason, as if there was a presence there with him, not his ship, something warmer, lighter. He felt it behind him, pressed against his back and laying across his shoulders. He didn't feel so alone.

I will always be with you dear one. To the ends of the sea and the failing of the tides.

He smiled down at the wood beneath him, even as tears continued to roll down his face. He could practically feel the ghosts of Milah and Liam finally leaving his soul. He felt a warmth and a lightness within him.

Finally, after some time had passed, though he couldn't tell how long, his tears slowed and his breathing grew deeper. He felt the softest of caresses across his neck, like someone was toying with the hair there. He straightened and cast a look around, and though he was alone, he could swear he felt something press a kiss to his forehead. Then the presence slowly faded, until he was panting on the deck, by himself again.

Come dear one. We have work to do.

He sucked in a breath before pushing himself to his feet, reaching for the wheel again, feeling the awe that he thought had long deserted him. This magnificent vessel had given him the honor of her captaincy. His protector. His guide. His companion. His friend.

He stared out at the horizon, marveling at the colors of the post dawn light. "Aye, that we do, my beautiful girl." He heard her soft laugh. "That we do."