So, as promised, not dead, just a sort of frozen in carbonite type situation. Sorry about the two years and all. Life and jobs and muses and new works in progress and ... life have a habit of getting in the way sometimes. I hope you enjoy!
He couldn't help but stare at the lad, shock filling him as he cataloged the boy's face more closely. Now that he was looking for it, he could see her in his chin, nose, and ears. But it was the lad's eyes that really captured his attention. Eyes that he had not seen in centuries.
But that wasn't possible.
"Wait lad- the princess never had a son."
Henry sighed, flopping back down onto the rock he was perched on. "Yeah, see, my mom had only just found out she was pregnant when she got word that my father had died in the Ogre Wars. So Grandma and Grandpa decided it would be safest to keep me a secret. As the lone heir to the throne, I'd have been a target to anyone who might want to try and marry my mom. So they told everyone that Mom was going on a retreat so she could stay at the Winter Palace while she was pregnant. Then once she returned, they said that I was a ward of the state so that I could stay with her. Nobody ever really figured it out." The boy shrugged.
As the darkness reared up with excitement at this revelation, Killian ignored it in favor of asking, "But if that's true lad, why are you telling me?"
Henry shrugged again, "The Evil Qu-Regina, I'm supposed to call her Regina- since Regina took over, my title doesn't matter all that much. And she doesn't know who I am beyond the favored child at court. And since my whole family is dead…I guess I just wanted someone to know who I was. That I had a family, that I was loved….." his voice grew thick and he petered off.
As Henry's voice caught, he looked more closely at the boy and saw dried tear tracks on his face. Killian realized that he must have come out here to mourn in peace. He could not imagine what the boy was going through. No hope of any family left, and forced to live under the same roof as the woman who had killed them.
"Lad- your fam-" he cut himself off, despite the urge to comfort the boy. He had no idea if Henry's grandparents still lived, and his mother was essentially imprisoned on his ship, enslaved to his will. He felt a roiling wash of horrified disgust. How could he tell he tell her boy that even though she lived, he would never see her again? That she had sold her life to save her family's? Her desperate pleading suddenly made sense. It was not just her parents and her kingdom that she had begged him to save, but her only son.
He recalled that she had never specified which who she was asking him to protect, just "her family."
The darkness growled as it realized that for once, someone had managed to slip their own desires into a contract, instead of the other way around. But Killian had to admire her tenacity- even as frail and trembling as she had been, she still managed to outmaneuver him.
He realized that the boy was still looking at him with an earnest and slightly desperate expression on his face as he waited for the ending of the sentence. The darkness writhed up towards his lips, desperate to break the small light in the boy's eyes, somehow still lingering despite all he'd lost. It whispered all that he owed it to the boy to tell him the truth, that to do anything else would simply be cruel.
He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, summoning what strength he had within himself. He refused to make another suffer for the choices he'd made.
But people will always suffer around you. They always have. It's not me, dearie. Just think about it- the suffering started long before me. Your mother only died after you were born. And your father only abandoned your brother because you were too much work. And just think, if you hadn't goaded him on, your brother would still be alive.
And so would Milah.
He felt guilt and fury in equal measure swell up within him as the darkness goaded him onward. He felt it coiling tightly around his mind, using every moment of self loathing he possessed to cripple his will. He could almost feel the darkness beginning to coalesce into bis predecessor.
Milah's face began to swim behind his lids, and the tell tale waves of vertigo washed over him, creeping along his limbs.
"Are you ok?"
Henry's worried voice broke through the dark spiral in his mind, forcing his eyes open.
The boy's eyes, so clear and untainted, looked over his face with concern, an expression heavy on his brows, the likes of which no child should wear.
He was going to answer when the darkness reared up again, choking off his words. He refused to let the demon speak with his mouth, and he dropped his eyes to keep the boy from seeing whatever demon lurked within him.
Then he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. His head snapped up to see a knowing look on Henry's face, but not an ounce of fear.
"Henry, lad," he gasped out in warning, trying to urge the boy away from him because he could not risk moving himself, but again the darkness kept him from speaking. But where Henry's hand rested seemed to emanate warmth that was seeping into his very muscles and bones. Filling him with light.
"You know," Henry continued, casually, "there was another part of the story that my mom always refused to tell me, but I heard some chambermaids talking about it while they finished the feasting wine after a ball. Supposedly, the reason that there were so few guards at the Dark One's cell that night was because they were all guarding my grandmother in case Regina should try to cast her Dark Curse while she was giving birth to my mom."
And suddenly, the princess's influence over him became clear. Her birth coincided with his own. Where there was great darkness in the world, fate would always provide balance. The moment darkness had been set loose and reborn, so too had light and salvation. She was born to be his bane, to be the light in the darkness.
And this boy was of her bloodline, so it made sense that he carried some of her fate-granted grace.
The darkness hissed, and swelled up with such violence that his fingers twitched at his side, and his heart stuttered in his chest. But the boy wasn't finished.
"But my… my mom always finished the story the same way, any time I'd ask her to tell it. She always said that it must have taken a truly good man to kill darkness itself for love."
And it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds and bathed him in its rays. The darkness fell by the wayside with a strangled sound and then was still, unable to twist the warmth in his belly that came with the deepest memories of Milah and his brother, where their faces and smiles were intrinsically tied to his heart. He looked back up at the boy and was shocked to see an easy, if sad, smile on his face.
"And now that I've met you, it just proves that she was right."
He actually trembled slightly at the boy's words, shocked that the boy had known that he bore the title of the Dark One, and still chose to speak to him as a friend. "How can you think well of me, knowing the sort of monster that I am?"
Henry tilted his head slightly, before he shrugged, "Well the family of a slain deer would think the hunter is a monster, but the hunter's family loves him because he ensured they could keep living. But the wolf who killed the hunter to feed its own family is now a monster to those who remain. Guess the monster depends on what side you are looking from."
"Henry," he let out a shaky sigh, "lad it's not that simple."
Henry just pulled his hand back with a shrug, flopping back down onto the rock next to him, "Eh adults always say that. It's always when they don't want to admit that it is."
Killian gave a quiet laugh, still shaken from the absolute acceptance that he'd been offered. As he did, he heard something wood rolling down the stone and falling with a tiny plunk into the lake.
"Awww," whined Henry, turning towards the sound of the splash, "I wasn't finished with my drawing yet."
Killian looked over at him, "Was that your pencil, lad?"
Henry nodded, "I was trying to see if I could…." the lad's voice falter as emotion welled up. He gallantly tried to clear his throat, "Ahem, I was trying to see if I could sketch my mom's face from memory. I thought that if I could do it every once in a while, I won't…. forget what she looks like." His voice faded away into a sharp breath.
The violent urge swelled up within him again- not to break or hurt him, but to protect and soothe, to find some way to comfort this grieving boy before him, thrust into his fate by the decisions of his elders.
"Henry, lad," he said softly, waiting for the boy to bring his watery eyes up to meet his own. "Give me your hand."
Henry offered his palm without hesitation, the absolute trust so freely offered to him making his stomach flutter.
He gently took Henry's hand, putting his own underneath it, finding a small comfort in his heart that he could at least help the boy hold up this small weight.
Then he said quietly, "Close your eyes lad and picture your mother. Her voice, her laugh, her smile, the things you loved most about her. See it in your mind and hold onto it with all your concentration."
As he described the memories to Henry, Liam's twinkling eye and Milah's coy smile surfaced in is mind, the firm clap of his brother's hand on his shoulder and Milah's delighted laugh on the wind. And the warmth of the Princess's body as he carried her to his bunk.
He released the magic almost without realizing it. But abruptly a small plume of black smoke curled around Henry's hand and dissipated to reveal a rolled up piece of parchment.
Henry gasped and for a moment, Killian was concerned that he'd frightened the boy, but Henry's delighted, "That's amazing!" soothed his worry.
Henry pulled his hand back, seeming eager to look at what he'd summoned. But when he'd unrolled the parchment he let out a second gasp, this one strangled with emotion, as the young lad went absolutely still. Killian wasn't sure what the image on the parchment was, but he knew what he had summoned it to do.
It was his turn to put his hand on Henry's shoulder, "Lad, whenever you feel you need to be reminded of her, open this scroll and whisper 'I want to remember' and it will ensure that you do."
Henry looked at him, before rolling it up and tucking it carefully into his tunic. And then he did something that caught him completely off guard.
Henry threw his arms around his shoulders, forcing his weight off the rock, and he only just managed to keep himself upright as he slid from the top of the stone. He heard Henry give a quiet, watery laugh as he clung to his shoulders, the weight and warmth chasing away any vestiges of lingering darkness from his mind, for the moment.
As he held the small form to his body, he looked up at the sky in an attempt to keep his composure, the wash of emotions rolling through him unexpected, and not entirely unwelcome, making his eyes burn. But when he tipped his head upward, he noticed that the sun had sunk much farther towards the distant horizon that he had thought.
He gave Henry one last squeeze, trying to engrave the sensation into his mind, before he slowly pulled back.
"Come lad, let's get you back to the castle. Apparently there's going to be a grand feast that the Evil Queen intends to torture us with."
He winced, hoping his words didn't provoke another bought of mourning within the lad, but Henry merely whined, "NNNNNNNNoooooooooooooooooo," before burying his face into Killain's chest as if to hide from the reality of the passage of time.
The sound was so reminiscent of his reactions when Liam used to drag him to briefings that his brother's words slipped from his mouth without his permission.
"Fear not- for I'll always be there to protect you from the boredom."
At those words, Henry let go, landing on his feet just in front of him, looking up into his face with an expression he could not read.
"Do you promise?"
The darkness stirred.
"Aye lad, I promise."
The moment felt heavy, and he could feel the darkness rising in him as the words of his oath lay out in the open air. When he heard Dilis wicker from nearby, they broke their strange connection to look at the horse.
"Come young highness, for your noble steed awaits."
The horse whinnied in surprise when Killian stepped aside, revealing the young prince to him.
He could not believe that his liege lady's boy was here, and with the monster no less. The boy smelled of grief and anguish, but there was also a newly restored lightness, and he looked with a curious eye towards the demon, flicking his tail in approval. Perhaps this tainted man was truly nothing more than that, and not the demon he appeared to be.
Killian noticed the horse's approval, and smiled slightly, ignoring the rising tide of darkness, before offering Henry his hand and hook to use as a step, bending over to put his hand at knee level. Henry braced himself on Killian's shoulder and with grace born of his upbringing, easily swung up into the saddle. As he settled himself in, he looked down at the horse with a sigh.
"My mom was always terrified of horses." Killian looked up at him in shock. Henry misinterpreted his look. "Yeah I know. She always said she didn't like surrendering her fate to something she wasn't sure she could control. Dilis was specially trained for her, from when he was a foal, to be my mother's mount." He brushed his hand over the horse's coat. "She never was able to get over her fear. She only ever rode him if someone held the reigns and guided him around the paddock."
Killian fell into shocked silence, pacing silently next to Dilis and Henry, considering what the boy had just revealed to him. He knew that the great Keep of Misthaven was almost a full day's ride inward from the sea, nestled on the Saifir River, and the ride from the castle to where she'd ended up summoning him was not an easy one, a sizable mountain range shielding the Keep from any attack by sea.
She had ridden across an entire mountain, on a beast she feared, prepared to surrender her freedom to something she fear even more, for the sake of her kingdom and her family. And he had enslaved her for it.
That's right. She's yours. All yours. All you need to do is go to her and take her. You have every bargaining chip. You have a secret that the false queen does not know. You have the trust of the heir apparent. The usurper is a weak fool. She is ruled by her fickle emotions. She would be easy to defeat, with the power you hold. You could kill her, and with the boy in your power, you could take the throne. It would be an easy start to invading other lands.
Despite Henry's proximity, he could not seem to quell the whispers. He started to see a figure moving as if through smoke from the corner of his eye, knowing full well what he would see if his eyes slid sideways. Dilis's head whipped around, the horse's intelligent blue eyes surveying him with a certain wariness that left him in no doubt that the horse could sense the upwelling of the darkness in him.
He tried to tamp it down. He did not want to rule anyone.
But you so willingly took command of the princess now didn't you dearie?
He grit his teeth. She had come to him willingly, it was different.
She came to you to help her people. To make peace. Can you think of a better way to ensure there is peace in the world that by uniting it under the same hand? No more border conflicts, no more fugitives finding asylum in another kingdom. It would be so easy to conquer it all. You could bring peace to every one then, couldn't you dearie?
Each whispered word was more compelling than the one before it and he lost all sense of awareness as he tried to find a way to refute the irrefutable logic of the whispers in his mind. The Crocodile was now easy to make out against the backdrop of the forest.
Just think. You could outlaw slavery in every land. Make the cruelty of captains punishable by death. Disloyalty by hanging. You could hunt down every murderer and rapist with impunity. All it takes is stretching out your hand and taking what is rightfully yours. You suffered over many lifetimes. You deserve to be the ruler of all. You would have the experience, the wisdom of ages to guide these people. And there would never be the instability that comes with mortal rule. You could join all the kingdoms together under a single, eternal hand of justice.
You could be a god to the people you conquer.
"Killian?"
Henry's tiny voice managed to draw his focus away from the darkness' voice in his ear and the figure appearing in his line of sight. He tilted his head to shoot a look at the boy.
"You're hurting me."
Suddenly he became aware of his crushing grip around Henry's leg and jerked free from the grip he had. He couldn't look at the boy, even as the darkness laughed gleefully.
"Henry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to. Please I'm sorry-"
"I know that it wasn't you."
He blinked, his surprise lending him the strength to look the boy in the eye, the confusion written plainly across his face.
Henry gave an awkward shrug, clearing his throat.
"I can see it." Then he fell silent, as if that explained anything.
"See what, lad?" he managed to rasp out, the darkness still thick in his mind.
Henry gave a half gesture towards Killian's form, "The weird shadow snake that's wrapped around you."
Both he and the darkness were so shocked that each fell silent. It took him several moments to fully comprehend Henry's words.
"You can see it?"
Henry nodded. "I've been able to see it since you walked up. It's how I knew who you were. It gets thicker whenever you seem to stop seeing the world. Does it speak to you?"
All he could do was give a shaky nod.
END HIM. HE KNOWS TOO MUCH. HE COULD RUIN EVERYTHING. END HIM NOW!
The screaming in his mind was so strong that he had to stop walking, swaying on his feet as he gripped at his head, trying to find some way to lessen the searing force of wrath and will.
"HENRY!"
The call rang on the wind, drawing the attention of both of them. "HENRY!"
As the call came again, Henry slumped in his seat, several choice curses coming from the young prince's mouth. He couldn't help the amusement that washed over him, his lips tilting up and eyebrow raising in an expression he thought his face no longer remembered how to make.
Another call of the boy's name rang out, proceeding a figure on horseback emerging from the woods in front of him. He recognized the man as the hunter who had accompanied the queen when she'd come to fetch him riding towards them at a fast clip. Henry grumbled a bit more as the rider closed the distance to them.
The man yanked his horse to a harsh stop, and Dilis flicked his ears at the soft squeal the creature made as the bit tore at the corners of his mouth.
"Henry, what do you think you are doing? You've been told not to wander!" The huntsman's voice seemed to carry a stranger sort of worry with it, despite the near expressionlessness of his face. "And you," the huntsman focused on him, "What are you doing here?"
It was the sneer in the words, the vehemence of the question, that told him what he needed to know.
He raised an eyebrow, "I go where I please, Your Majesty." The huntsman's face flickered with surprise before falling back into neutrality. "Aye, I know well enough what it looks like when a person's heart has been removed from their chest."
Henry sucked in a sharp breath beside him. He flicked his eyes over to the boy, noting the pallor that had overtaken his rosy cheeks, and the effort the boy was putting into concealing the fear in his expression.
You could use that you know. It's clear that the heir apparent fears the petty queen. It would take nothing to do it. He might even come to…. love you for freeing him from her grip.
The words coiled around the base of his spine, creeping upward under his skin, unable to deny the desire that the darkness was whispering to him. And it knew.
He heard the huntsman scoff, "Well good for you," his voice sneered. "Now, why don't you go polish your hook or something. Henry, come with me. You aren't safe around that… pirate."
The huntsman turned his horse back towards the keep, and Henry had little choice but to follow, both he and Dilis throwing a look back at him as they moved away.
Just take him. Kill the huntsman- you're really freeing him anyway. Having your heart ripped out….a fate worse than death isn't it?
He watched as they vanished into the tree line, before he gave a growl at the whispers. Forcing himself to ignore them, and his swirling thoughts about the implications of Henry being able to perceive the darkness, he focused on his room at the keep, feeling the pull low in his belly before the wash of magic flowed over him, withdrawing as the stone walls came into focus.
His magic still churned within him, reflecting the tumult of his thoughts, pressing outwards as the darkness swelled, urging him to act, the desire to rid the world forever of the usurper making his fingertips prickle.
You made a deal, remember dearie? That's why you are here after all. To ensure the safety of the Royal Family right? Rid the world of the 'Evil Queen' and her family will be safe.
"And the you can guiltlessly keep the boy by your side."
He jerked back, the vision of the Crocodile now fully coalesced, as if Henry's presence had somehow been keeping the full vision of his predecessor at bay.
The visage gave him a wicked smile and a cloying laugh
"After all, that's what you seem to want now, isn't it dearie?"
He growled at the spector, trying not to acknowledge it. But he could feel his rage boiling up under his skin. At the situation. At his life. At the demon that stood before him once again.
He could feel it's cold caress slithering up his spine, and his ears began to ring as he felt the horrible haze begin to creep over him. He was drowning in his own hatred.
He needed something to keep him afloat.
He gasped out a desperate plea to the air, hoping against hope that it would be heard.
"Old girl, help me."
"Oh you have to turn to a bundle of sticks for help now do you? The great and mighty Dark One reduced to speaking to twigs. Pathetic. No wonder it took you so long to kill me. Milah must have enjoyed being around you because you were so easy to leave behind."
The scorning words burned in his ears.
Just welcome the power you have. Then you won't be weak anymore. You would be unstoppable.
The darkness was coiling more and more tightly around him, his limbs starting to ache with the need to wield the power within him.
He almost sobbed in relief when he felt something begin to drape across his soul, understanding the sensation enough to know that the Jolly was utilizing the power of the dagger.
He remembered the day he had returned from finally finding his vengeance. When his ship refused to speak to him before he even got on board, he spent the remainder of the day seeing to the lines and sheets, a simmering resentment burning in him as he attended to chores he hadn't ever needed to before while aboard the Jolly. But when the night crept across the sky, his anger diminished and the voices got louder. He remembered filling out a last entry in his Captain's log before desperately trying to fall asleep. Only to realize that the magic bubbling within him would not allow it. He'd paced around his cabin, staring at the dagger, until he decided to hide it in the small compartment in the siding above his bed. In the long nights of the following years, he'd developed the habit of rubbing the wall behind which the dagger was stored with his hook, constantly trying to fight the temptation of removing the dagger and keeping it permanently on his person.
As he felt the weight of the dagger's power wash over him, it seemed as though the sensation passing over him was different than before. The pressure felt less intense, almost foreign, but in no way less compelling. He did not feel any compulsion, so there was no command being given to the dagger, but he could not help the unsettling feeling that there was something amiss about the comfort that crept across his mind.
He could feel the darkness trying to creep in to his doubts, attempting to twist the sensation into something else. But the pressure continued unfalteringly, despite the difference he could detect, allowing him to force his focus into the present, ignoring the shadow of the monster who still lurked in the corner of his eye.
It took several minutes for his thoughts to catch up to where they had left off before the Crocodile had appeared. Henry, and the fact that the boy could see the darkness. How could that be possible? Did the boy possess some kind of magic? Was it from his mother?
He knew the Crocodile assumed that the Princess had power within her as the product of True Love. And that she had been foretold to be the Savior, the great light within the world that was intended to protect the balance of fate itself. But the Great Curse that he had once planned on having the False Queen enact was never unleashed, a mystery that he had never been able to solve. And now she had what she wanted, without needing to destroy the realm.
If there was no fate to fulfill, how could the Princess have any kind of power? Though the Crocodile, and many others, adhered to the belief that true love created magic, he himself was not so sure.
Perhaps, once he's yours, you could use it. Who knows how much power the son of the princess could possess. You can use him. He would be so grateful that-
The slithering voice in his mind came to an abrupt halt as something began to slide across his soul. He recognized it as the compelling power of the dagger. But where before, when the slide of wielder's essence felt as deep and compelling as the very depths of the sea, this time, it was as if the sea had been replaced with a cool forest pond, dappled in shadow, a cool breeze stirring its surface, refreshing and still, but much deeper than it appeared.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation, trying to understand why the dagger's power felt different. He allowed his awareness to crawl back along the connection, as if he was slowly dipping his feet into the forest pool, travelling further and further into the pond and back along the bond. Right as he felt that he might uncover something, the darkness swelling in anticipation of its newest master, he was struck with a brilliance he could not describe.
He knew his eyes opened, but his mind was awash with a flurry of iridescent shadows, shimmering across his thoughts like secrets on a summer's breeze. It was what he imagined gazing into the heart of the star might be like, before it burns up the beholder, soul and all.
He could only stand the brilliance, the intensity of it for a moment, before the great well of blackness within him screamed out in agony, thrashing wildly within the confines of his mind and forcing the connection to break, jarring him back to the present and breaking the connection he had with the dagger, and the source of brilliance that seemed to possess it.
But as his own mind was forced back into himself, it was as if suddenly, the connection had been reversed. Where before it was as if his mind had been trying to push into a deep pool, it was now as if the water contained within had been released in a great and mighty cascade. The force of it washed the darkness away as despair and love, fury and understanding, hatred and pity, confusion and compassion swelled within him.
It burned.
He pressed a palm to the side of his head, trying to brace his thoughts from the onslaught, and noticed, in the corner of his eye, the specter of the demon writhing in agony alongside him.
Like the aftermath of a monumental flood, the flow of the emotions within him slowly began to run dry, until at last, the flow ceased. Despite his relief at the ending of such an overwhelming experience, he could not help but feel bereft, as if the cascade had swept a deep crevice within him.
It was a void that the darkness immediately tried to fill, a chaotic backlash of black intent, like pouring wine too quickly into an empty goblet. The demon visage, that had only moments before been cowering was now laughing hysterically in his ears while blood pounded through him.
His vision began to narrow as his ears started to ring, too many intense sensations in too short a time, after far too long of nothing but absolute .
Something is wrong. The dagger is in danger. You must reclaim it for yourself. Your freedom is threatened. Take the power back. TAKE IT.
The darkness screamed ferociously within him, his breaths getting shorter as the evil coiled about his heart. It was too much. He could feel his reality sliding away again, as it had on the ship and again in the presence of the young prince.
Henry.
The warmth that the boy's smile had conjured within him suddenly sparked to life within him, the tiniest speck of sanity amidst the darkness. He reached for it, seeking the light for the first time in centuries.
Yes, reach for it. Snuff it out. Destroy it permanently.
Even as the darkness sought to twist the desire within him, the small light of affection and protectiveness that the boy had created within him gave him the strength to try and regather his presence of mind.
Desperate to use the spark, he wildly sought something within the room to help center him and allow him to focus on fostering that ember within him. The darkness was clawing at his insides and it took several sweeps of the room for him to notice the fully stocked writing desk. Once he had understood what he was looking at, he was struck with a sudden inspiration.
He straightened from where he'd been hunched over, braced against the footboard, feeling as if every muscle in his belly protested the action, pulling at his lungs, abdomen, and loins. With a hiss, he managed to straighten his back, and he allowed the heavy coat to slide off his shoulders, followed quickly by his unbuckled vest. Then he stepped on the back of his heel and pulled his foot free of his boot, repeating the motion before using his toes to push his socks off, leaving his feet bare.
Once he pulled his suspenders straps off his shoulders, he made his way over to the writing desk, savoring the icy flagstones beneath his feet, the intense sensory input drowning out all else in his mind. Once he was seated, he unrolled a piece of vellum, smoothing it flat with the small carved weights that had been provided to him. He took a moment to marvel the craftsmanship of even such a small item, rolling the detailed swan back and forth in his hand, examining the fine lines of the feathers and the strange liveliness of the inset emeralds that denoted its eyes.
Shaking his head, he pulled the vellum tight, and as he took in the blank canvass before him, he felt his mind slow and focus. With deliberate movements, he used his hook to push up his shirt sleeve as he reached for the quill. A brief dip in the ink pot and a momentary pause as the dark stain dripped back into its container allowed his thoughts to center. Then, after a steadying breath, he brought the raven-feather quill above the page and allowed his instinct to take over.
The stark lines that had offered him relief in the dead of night, when the coiling darkness kept him from the rest he so desperately craved once again drew him into a trace of calm creation. The dark stain of the ink seemed to siphon the very blackness of his soul onto the page and out from his veins, as if he was curing himself of the poison within him with every pass of the nib upon the vellum.
As the ink sank into the page, the lines appeared smooth, but he knew that if he looked more closely, he would be able to make out the tiny patterns, a webbing of darkness, that followed the indents in the vellum, creating minute masterpieces of chance and pressure. Almost like fate could not help but be beautiful in its accidental outcome with even something as insignificant as lines on a page.
Did the tiny tributaries of ink that his hand created know that, though it appeared as if their existence was random and chaotic, that if they could just see all their fellows together with them, that the hand that create them was guiding them into a masterpiece?
Was the vision he was forcing upon the ink and page worthy of such consideration?
As he carefully pressed the next mark onto the page, a memory suddenly surfaced. One he had no idea he still possessed within his blackened heart.
In the early years of his captaincy, it had always amused Killian that Liam could never find things to occupy his mind. It was a frequent lament his brother shared with him when the two of them dined in the privacy of the Captain's Cabin.
So Killian was surprised when one evening, when he was due to dine with his brother to review the route that Killian had laid out for their latest voyage, that Liam did not immediately answer his door when Killian knocked. Liam usually stood by the door to chastise Killian on his tardiness, whether he was actually late to dinner or not.
It took a long pause, a second knock, an oath, and a thud for an extremely flustered Liam to open the door to allow Killian into the cabin. He could tell by Liam's posture that he was waiting for Killian to say something about both his inattentiveness and his dishevelment, but he could not find it in himself to poke the bear that evening.
However, Killian could not suppress his curiosity at what would have so suitably distracted his brother that he had forgotten their standing meal arrangements. It took most of the meal, several subtle inquiries and several more less than subtle needling comments before Liam finally gave in.
With a bashfulness that Killian had not seen in Liam since he had danced with the King's daughter, Liam stood and retrieved several pages of handwritten notes from the shelf above his bunk. He paused before offering them over, clearing his throat several times but seemingly unable to find any words.
Killian took the pages with an eyebrow raised in question, but Liam's explanation was not forthcoming, so he dropped his eyes to read the pages in his hand.
The sea keeps you from running
for there's nowhere you can go
an eternity before you
with forever left in tow
The horizon crooks its finger
in call you can't deny
that seduces the soul of sailors
until in its embrace they chose to die
Lead me to the ocean
guide me to the shore
for never was home nearer to me
than when the sea asked me to soar
And when you hear the sirens
with their voices in the breeze
and the waves that kiss with mermaid's lips
to bring a sailor to their knees
And it's in its foaming tempest
that your truest soul is found
with the wind and hail and hurricane gale
you stand up or you'll drown
Lead me to the ocean
guide me to the shore
for never was home nearer to me
than when the sea asked me to soar
And when the sky is silent
and the surf is made of stone
you find the peace in company
of the emptiness alone
Under the lash of sun and spray
and the caress of wind and sky
I find myself and lose my way
and it feels like I can fly
And as I stand here in the quiet
and the horizon calls to roam
I know the sea was born inside me
and I will never find my home
Lead me to the ocean
guide me to the shore
for its in her arms and in her waves
I'll wander out once more
He raised his eyes back to his brother once he'd finished reading the pages, even more surprised when his brother refused to meet his eye.
"Brother, did you write this?"
Liam's shoulders straightened, and a bitter expression crossed his face, "And what if I did?"
Killian stood, offering the pages back with one hand, while he put the other on his brother's shoulder. "If you had, I'd tell you that it's wonderful. May I ask what inspired you to write it?"
Liam's face softened as he took the pages, turning to place them back on the shelf, pausing to lookout the window as he answered.
"I'm not really sure. You know I have often lamented not having anything to occupy myself with, and while I was looking over the few books that Commander Reighl left, I came across a book of poetry and thought that perhaps I might try my hand at it."
Killian smiled widely at his brother, "That is a wonderful idea! I am sure that you will find plenty to put to the page." He paused and thought about it, his shoulders dropping as the thought crossed his mind, his hand sliding off his brother's shoulder. "I would say I'd try it too, but let's be honest, I think there is little I have to say worth wasting a page on."
At his words, Liam's eyes warmed, and after a moment's consideration, he spoke, a quiet laughter lacing through his first words.
"It's true, little brother-"
"Younger."
"Little brother, you probably would not have many words to put to a page." He paused and Killian's heart sank. But Liam continued in a more serious tone, "You may not have the words, but brother, I know the fantastic visions that you see behind your closed eyes. I've seen your small little illustrations on the scraps of paper when we spend a few nights in port. So sure, you may not have the words, but I do not think that the images you have in your mind are any less worth of putting to a page than mine."
Killian could not help the wash of pride, but he still wasn't convinced. "But those are just scraps. I'm no good at proper illustrations, Liam. It's probably best if I just don't-"
"Brother." Killian snapped to attention as his Captain spoke, rather than his brother. But once Liam had his attention, his brother softened his tone again. "The only way you can get better is to practice. Perhaps you can show me some illustrations during our voyage? It would be my honor."
Killian basked in his brother smile and decided that if Liam thought that his drawings were worthy of a page and practice, then they must be. So he gave his brother a beaming smile and nodded, "As you say then, brother."
Liam studied his face for a moment, a shadow seeming to pass over his face, before he broke out into another wide grin and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come now, enough about all that. We have a route to plot and glory to be won. Sit brother and tell me how you plan to have us go." The two settled at his desk and the strange start to their meal was forgotten in their plotting and discussion.
He barely noticed the time passing as he worked, the state of focused calm that he had once treasured when he was drawing finally returning, after many years of not being able to find it. By the time he sat back from where he'd been bent over the desk, the sky had darkened to twilight and the candles had magically lit themselves.
As he sucked in a deep breath, his awareness slowly refocused upon the world around him, and he was surprised to feel the tingling of magic under his skin. He rubbed his ink stained fingertips together for a moment, trying to understand the sensation that ran under his flesh. But after a few moments of consideration, he felt the swell of power begin to fade, and he refocused on the now completed image on the page before him.
A portrait of a smiling young boy with a light about his face, understanding lining his impossible eyes and the slightest grief in the smile of a slave.
Henry.
He studied the illustration, taking in what his mind had chosen to capture upon the page. The boy's wit and intelligence were clear in the sharp sparkle in his eyes, and yet there was a childish innocence in the smooth lines of his face. There was however, one small wrinkle between his brows, where if studied closely, the weight of his grief could be seen. But despite the tremendous misfortune his subject had faced, right in the corner of his lips, sitting there like a forgotten kiss, was belief and hope for a better tomorrow.
As his eyes traced the lines his hand had made, he again felt that deep well of warmth and protectiveness flare within him. He studied the eyes of the portrait, circling back to the question that had brought him to this. How was it that those impossible eyes could see?
He was abruptly brought out of his pondering by a knock at the door. Irritation flashed through him as he stood to answer it, a scowl twisting his features as he yanked the door open.
"What?" he snarled.
He immediately regretted his foul temper, when, instead of one of Regina's lackies, he was faced with a young girl, who, when he had opened the door, been standing just beyond the threshold but had jumped backward with a yelp of terror, cowering slightly in the face of his anger.
Her face was white, and her eyes were blown wide in fear, her mouth moving feebly, but whatever message she was supposed to be delivering could not make its way past her lips.
His ill temper vanished as quickly as it came, a bubbling well of guilt taking its place even as he attempted to ignore the wash of pleasure the darkness created within him in the face of her fear.
He sucked in a breath, trying to relax his posture and soften his scowl, before he spoke in a much softer tone, "Apologies lass, I didn't mean to frighten you. I was expecting… I was not expecting you." At his much gentler tone, he was able to see her frail body relax, and it was much easier to ignore the sour taste in his mouth as the darkness hissed its displeasure when she straightened up with a tentative smile on her face.
She still seemed shaken though and it took her several moments to compose herself. During the brief pause, he studied her features, a familiarity about them that had him looking more closely. It only took him a moment to place the face.
"Uh, he- her highn-her majesty, Q-Queen Regina, would like to invite you-" her voice faded for a moment, despair settling across her face, before she blinked and cleared her throat, "Would like to invite you to join her presently for this evening's coronation celebration."
He considered her words for a moment, "Aye, lass, I'll be there."
Her relief at his acceptance was visible. He wondered what sort of threat Her Royal Snottiness had issued to have the girl so frightened of his refusal. But his consideration was cut short when she gave a false smile and a short curtsy and took off down the hallway.
"Lass?" he called. She froze, and he could see the fear crawl up her spine, and he grit his teeth against the dark cooing in his thoughts. She slowly turned, a falsely obliging expression on her face and apprehension resting across his shoulders.
"Y-yes sir?"
He paused, fighting the unbidden smile at the formality. It had been a long time since he had been given that title with any sort of deference. He refused to consider the amusement that bubbled in him at the fear the title had been said in.
"Is your name, perchance, Wendy?"
Her whole body froze, a completely different type of fear overtaking her features. But it was in the blazing fire in her eyes that bespoke of her true character. Sharp and focused, the flames were cold and hard. It was clear that she understood the implication of his knowledge of her name, and she took that as threat to her family. It was no wonder her brother held her in such high esteem.
She refused to answer him, waiting with her hands clenched, her features twitching as she tried to mask the emotions that flitted as clearly as written words across her face. He felt the darkness stirring as endless possibilities for a soul like hers played out in his mind. All the ways he could use her.
It would be so easy. So easy to give her that push into darkness.
But he refused to acknowledge those thoughts, pressing through the darkness to continue casually. "Because if it indeed was Wendy, I happened to have met a most delightful and helpful lad called Michael in the stables who asked me to convey his love to her. But if you are not she, perhaps you might pass it on to her?"
"YOU'VE SEEN MICHAEL?" she cried, her facade completely crumbling as she ran back to him, closing the distance so quickly that he did not have a chance to react before her small hands were tightly gripping his linen shirt. "Is he alright? Have you seen John too?"
Again her desperation and eagerness for answers stirred the darkness, the shadows whispering to him to use it, to bind her to him, to bargain for the information. But the thoughts of Michael's face help re-conjure the fierce protectiveness that had been kindled in the stable, and he was able to shove thoughts of deals and debts aside.
"Aye, I have seen Michael, though I have not encountered your other brother as of yet. Michael misses you terribly and was terrified for you both. But we were able to talk a bit when I went to fetch my horse for a ride this morning. He's well, though he's tired, and of course, misses you both."
He was surprised that she had allowed him to speak uninterrupted, and he was even more surprised when she released her stranglehold on his shirt in favor of throwing her arms around his waist with a sob to bury her face in his chest, a litany of "thank you so muchs" mumbled into his shirt.
Unable to think of anything else to do, he awkwardly lowered his arms from where he raised them in shock to carefully press them to the young girl's back and cradle the back of her head. After a few moments though, his muscle memory kicked in, and he more firmly pulled the girl against him, brushing his hand along her hair.
Just hold on to her tightly, just like that. Never let her leave. Trap her and use her. She right there in your arms.
"Easy lass, easy. Just breathe." Desperately pushing aside the whispers, he kept up a low litany of encouragements until he felt her sobs slow and her cries quieted. Finally, after one last deep breath and a tight squeeze, she stepped back from him, her eyes red rimmed but her smile bright.
"Thank you so much sir," she murmured, sketching an awkward curtsy. He couldn't help the small smile at how clear it was that she was not familiar with the etiquette of the royal house.
In response, and in an eerily familiar gesture, he gave the girl his most gallant bow. "A pleasure to be at your service my lady."
She gave a quiet little giggle before turning to run down the corridor. As he watched her leave, the darkness stirred violently.
Don't let her leave. She owes you a debt that she must repay. Take it. TAKE IT.
He shook his head, trying to jar himself out of the darkness's whispers, quickly turning back into his chamber. He closed the door softly, taking a moment to lean against it, noticing as he did that the Crocodile was again standing in the corner. He refused to acknowledge the demon, making his way back towards the desk. The demon gave a little laugh at his attempt to ignore it.
Once he reached the desk, he gazed back down at the portrait, studying the lines, doing his best to keep his thoughts from wandering towards the phantom in the corner. As he continued to consider the image, a sudden swell of magic buffeted the room, instantly setting him on guard.
He whirled around, hook raised at the ready and even the specter seemed on guard. But the next instant, he felt the familiarity of the magic as the red tinted smoke appeared. When it cleared, an empty dish, piled with clothes and bearing a small piece of parchment sat on the edge of the bed. Instantly, he relaxed, realizing that the delayed summoning spell had brought the Princess's breakfast plates and her used clothes from the day prior.
He knew the Usurper was awaiting his presence, but before he left he wanted to make sure that the Princess would have what she needed. He had decided that morning that to keep Regina from becoming suspicious, he would have to cut off contact with his ship and her passenger for the time being, if he wanted to be able to keep his end of their deal.
He walked over to the newly arrived items, and looked over her note. Of all the things he thought a secluded princess would ask for, a bath had not occurred to him.
"Ah yes, how dare the loyal servant and lapdog not anticipate its master's desires." The Crocodile spoke from across the room. "What is the purpose of having all that power, of being in the very heart of authority in a mighty kingdom if you are too afraid to use it? But you see, I have been giving it some thought. And I have figured it out. YOU once accused me of it but I can see now that you were just deflecting away from yourself. YOU are a coward. Every decision you've ever made was dictated by someone else because you were to afraid to tell them otherwise. Even now, you bow to a weak child, and allow her to order you around. YOU might as well still be a slave."
He gave a low growl, feeling the anger wash away his ability to defend his mind from the darkness. It started to swell up and his world began to slip.
But again, the strange presence washed over him, a mighty torrent that swept away the taint for the moment. He savored the feeling for a long moment before he brought himself back to his task. His time was short.
He looked around the room, considering, when his eyes lighted upon a small soap dish that stood next to his wash basin. He picked it up and, allowing his emotions and desires guide him, placed a spell upon the dish that would have it expand and fill with hot water as well as shrink and empty.
Then, with a wave of his hand, he cleared the dirt and debris from both the dishes and the small pile of clothing that remained. A second moment of focus had the dishes enchanted to fill with whatever was desired upon command, and third had the clothing waterproofed and made resistant to daily wear and tear.
There was not much else he could give her, and he was readying himself to send the items back when he realized he should explain both the items and the situation. So he made his way back to the writing desk, placing the boy's portrait aside in favor of detailing the use of the items and the severing of contact for now.
Once he had finished, he rose. In turning away, the portrait caught his eye, and he considered it. Knowing how much she would appreciate having, he returned to the other items. Placing the letter and the portrait underneath the newly restored clothing, he sucked in a breath and allowed himself to once more trace his connection back to the ship.
It felt like trying to move upriver in a violent flow, but he soldiered through it and with one last burst of magic, sent these final gifts on their way.
That was the last contact he would have with the Princess for some time. He hoped that she would not be left wanting.
Oh yes how horrible that the baby Princess not be handed with gilded gloves and satin cushions.
He bit back the retort on his lips, but the smirk on the demon's face told him that he needn't say his thoughts out loud for the darkness to hear them. He simply ignored it as best he could as he slid his suspenders into place, then pulled the rest of his discarded clothing back on.
Once he was fully dressed, he made his way to the door, casting one last glance back and seeing the phantom practically cackling with delight. The demon's words passed through his mind, the unstomachable accusation of cowardice. He wasn't. He wasn't.
Are you sure about that dearie?
Disturbed and angered, he slammed the door shut behind him and made his way, with unhurried steps, down to the throne room of the palace, and the farce that waited within.
As he walked though, he could not shake the feeling of impending fate, and it was with a shiver of apprehension that he continued on his way.
It wasn't until Killian had returned to his own quarters after his meal with Liam and began to ready himself for sleep that he noticed a small piece of paper among the maps and calculations he had brought with him to Liam's cabin. Curious, he lifted the page.
Written in shaky handwriting, with smears and droplets scattered across the page, the words seemed as if they had been frantically written in the dead of night, horror-sweat dripping from a form hunched above the page.
As he read his brother's frantic words, he could not help but feel as if a cold shadow had passed over his soul, chilling the still air of his cabin, save for one small stirring that blew across his face, sending a shiver of foreboding down his spine at what felt like the breath of fate blew down his neck.
Do you feel that darkness deeply
when it creeps in with the wind?
Do you know that chill within me
condemning me to sin?
The shadow in the darkness
and the silence in the night
It's the flicker in the corner
it's the shiver in the light
It takes the life within you
but it leaves you still alive
rather than your life or soul
it takes the hope that you'll survive
It's as thick as morning mist
all pervasive in the air
it'll creep up and caress you
and you'll never know it's there
It's not a demon nor an angel
not a sprite nor goblin too
not a virus nor contagion
it's more evil through and through
This specter that roams freely
on the fringes of the night
this phantom of destruction
that haunts freely in the light
You can't escape this wraith
for you don't know if it's there
and even if you're ready
it'll catch you unaware
This creature of despair
takes that which you love most
for it feeds on the will inside you
The Grim Reaper's Ghost