The Past
It started with whispers in the marketplace.
"I hear the Queen is infertile-"
"How long before she loses her head?"
"Miscarriage after miscarriage, I hear-"
"The king is furious-"
"They won't execute a Larkin-"
"Well, there's no child yet, and they've been married for years. No wonder his patience is running thin-"
"Hates her now, apparently-"
Killian frowned and pulled Milah away from the fish stand, where she was currently pushing several salmon up her sleeve while pretending to admire the cod. He ignored her protests as he led her towards the docks, where Liam was still attempting to find work with no success.
"What's 'infertile' Liam? And what is a 'miscarriage'?" Killian questioned as Milah extracted a fish from her dress and bit into the tail.
His brother bit back a faintly amused smile. "Why do you ask?"
"There were people in the market speaking about Aunt Jayne and using those words," Killian explained.
Lines of worry worked their way onto Liam's forehead. "Well, miscarriage is when a pregnant woman loses the baby-"
"Loses?"
"When it dies before it can be born. And infertile means unable to bear children," Liam said.
Killian sat and thought for a moment. "So Aunt Jayne can't become pregnant?"
"Well, those are just rumours," Liam dismissed, but Killian thought he was too pale to truly believe that.
"And what if they aren't?" Killian prodded.
"Then the king won't have any use for her. He'll need a new queen who can give him an heir," his brother told him solemnly.
Killian felt himself go pale. He didn't want to lose another family member.
That night, he looked up to the stars overhead and muttered, "Please don't let Aunt Jayne be executed."
A few weeks later towards the end of September, he joined the crowd outside of the palace to watch her die.
She looked just as he remembered her, if a bit smaller and paler. Nevertheless, while she was shaking, she walked up to the executioner without hesitation and gave him a polite nod.
"I would say 'God save the king', but I feel that he is beyond redemption. Instead, I say, God save the people of this kingdom, particularly the innocent, for the king would destroy them all."
"Can't we do something?" Killian begged Liam as their aunt lowered her neck onto the block. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving very quickly and inaudibly, likely in a quiet prayer. Killian thought she was wasting her breath.
Liam shook his head. "Not without dying ourselves. Besides, we'd never make it in time."
He was right. Just as he finished speaking, the axe fell. Killian winced.
"That's disgusting," Milah commented, looking towards what was left of their aunt distastefully.
"Let's go," Liam muttered, steering his two younger companions away from the scene.
Killian lingered behind to say a quiet goodbye to his aunt. As he turned to leave, he crashed into someone. He looked up to apologize when he realized that something about the man was extremely familiar, from his grey hair to his handkerchief to his disgusting scent.
"You!" He blurted, glaring at the dog-man.
The man looked at him in confusion until recognition registered in his granite eyes. As soon as it did, a small, cold smile spread across his face.
"Ah, if it isn't my grandson," he purred. "We do seem to have an unfortunate habit of running into one another."
Killian's jaw dropped. As soon as the dog-man said the words, he felt ridiculously stupid for not guessing who he was earlier. Of course this was his grandfather.
"Maybe if you were less fat, it would be less habitual," Killian suggested.
The dog-man - his grandfather - grimaced, but his eyes were amused. "Charming. I see that your tongue is as filthy as you are. Not to worry, though; I can overlook your impudence because I imagine that everyone must look obese when one is as pathetically tiny as you."
"My size and cleanliness can't be helped, but you could just eat less or take your head out of your arse and look where you're going. I'm only eight and I can still insult people better than you," Killian retorted, sticking his tongue out.
The man didn't react, but just continued to scrutinize him as if he were a particularly interesting animal in a menagerie. "You certainly take after your mother, don't you?"
"None of your business," Killian said petulantly, although he was secretly proud. His mother could have a scathing tongue when she wanted to.
"Where's your father?" Asked Lord Alasdair, clearly tiring of their banter.
"Who?" His grandson replied innocently.
"My son. Edward Larkin," Lord Alasdair said slowly as if dealing with someone particularly dim-witted.
"Oh, him. My mother mentioned him once." Killian screwed up his face in thought. "Was he the one who you locked up for sleeping around?"
Lord Alasdair sighed and gripped Killian's forearm so hard that it made him wince.
"We can make this simple, or we can make this painful," Lord Alasdair hissed in Killian's ear, his disgustingly smooth face rubbing against his grandson's. "You can either tell me now, or I can take you to some men in prison who can tear you to pieces until you tell me every miserable detail about everything I wish to know. Understood?"
"I don't think so," cut in a deep voice quietly.
Lord Alasdair paused and slowly raised his head. Killian looked up and realized it was because someone was pushing a knife lightly into his grandfather's back. The man looked exhausted and thinner than Killian remembered, and he now had a beard, but he recognized him nonetheless.
"Papa!" He breathed.
Edward barely looked at him before turning back to his own father.
"Hello, father. Since we last met, you've had me locked away and tortured, murdered my mother, made my life and my family's a living hell, allowed my sister to be murdered, and, on top of everything else, I understand that you've murdered my wife while I've been away. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here," Edward growled, his whole body shaking with fury.
"Well, Edward, I can give you several," Lord Alasdair said calmly, a small smirk on his face. "First of all, I could call for any of the soldiers around the area and have you and your son murdered-"
"Not if I kill you first," Edward snarled.
"Or, if you let me live, we could work together to overthrow Julian and sit you on the throne. That was my plan before you ran off with that woman, you know. Now that she's gone-"
Edward laughed without humour. "You honestly believe that I would choose to side with you?"
"Not to mention that patricide and murder would be a terrible example for your son-"
"How dare you talk to me about my son," Edward snarled.
"And I believe you're far too gutless to commit murder in public. Especially when it would likely leave your child fatherless."
"It would?" Killian looked to his father worriedly for confirmation.
"If he was caught," agreed Lord Alasdair smugly. "And he would be. Right now there are multiple guards in the vicinity with the sole aim of keeping any members of the nobility safe."
"Papa...?" Killian started nervously.
"He's bluffing, Killian," Edward replied firmly, pressing the knife a little bit further into his father's skin.
"Am I?" Asked Lord Alasdair mildly.
"Papa!" Killian said more urgently. "Please. Liam and I already lost Mama. We don't want to lose you too."
Edward paused and really looked at his son for the first time. Killian held his gaze pleadingly. He wanted his grandfather dead as much as the next person, but now that his father was back again, he wanted nothing less than to disappear with him and never come back.
The pause seemed to drag on for some time, but, finally, with a flash of anger, Edward lowered the knife.
"He's right. You're not worth it."
Killian was about to hug his father when he saw Alasdair open his mouth, take a deep breath and-
With a scowl, Killian jammed his knee up between his grandfather's legs and watched him collapse. Both Edward and Alasdair looked shocked, although the latter soon let out a groan and dropped to his knees.
"Can we go now?" Killian begged, glancing around at the dwindling number of people nervously. Was it his imagination, or were some of them moving towards his father determinedly?
Edward nodded with a faint smile, and Killian led him to what had become the children's alleyway of choice. There was a brief and tearful reunion, which Milah watched unhappily from the sidelines.
"And who are you?" Edward finally asked with a frown.
She jutted her chin out defiantly. "Milah."
"And where's your family?"
Milah's eyes lit up as they always did when she got to recount the gruesome story. "My parents burned alive. My only remaining uncle is up North, and I'm waiting for him to die too."
For a moment, Edward just looked at her strangely. Then he shook his head. "We can talk more once we get inside. I rented a room not far from here."
It turned out that "talking more" meant deciding what to do with the three children. Edward briefly explained that he had to leave the city very soon. He would probably have to travel around a lot and sometimes even run away very quickly, which meant that it might be difficult to have three children with him. In the end, the decision was quite easy. Liam solemnly told his father that he still wished to train for the navy. He insisted that there would be no danger, since his parentage was unclear through his last name and he'd never even met their grandfather. It took very little time to convince Edward, who gave him most of the money he had to cover his schooling.
From there, it was decided that Edward would pay someone to take Milah north to her uncle, and Killian would go with him. Milah was certainly unhappy with that, but Edward refused to listen to her complaints and gently assured her that being with her family was what would be best for her.
The next day, the four split up. Milah gave her two companions a firm handshake.
"I'll miss robbing people with you," she told Killian sadly.
Then she was gone, leaving both Jones brothers feeling a little bit put out.
Saying goodbye to Liam was by far the hardest part of the day, though. Killian blinked back tears as his brother wrapped him in a tight hug. It was going to be strange spending each day away from Liam. Over the last year, he had seemed like the one constant in his life. As much as he hated to admit it, he thought he'd even miss Liam's nagging and bossiness. At least the lectures and fussing had reminded him that he still had someone who cared about him.
Finally, it was just Killian and Edward.
"To the ships?" Edward suggested, ruffling his son's hair half-heartedly.
Killian nodded sadly.
"Cheer up, lad. You and I are going to travel the world. Maybe we'll even travel to new ones," he whispered conspiratorially.
"Do those exist?" Killian asked, perking up slightly.
"Some would say so," agreed his father.
"That isn't a real answer," Killian muttered, but his father was no longer listening.
Seagulls were screaming as they climbed onto their ship of choice, which was going to stop at several Southern ports along the way before going along its trading route. Killian couldn't help being a little bit excited; he'd heard about ships and watched them from the shore for most of his childhood, but he'd never actually been on one. Even tied to the docks, it bucked and skittered on the waves like something alive.
Edward went to their cabin when they cast off, but Killian watched until the shore disappeared into the distance. When he happily went down to join his father, he was surprised to see him staring vacantly at the wall with moist eyes.
That night, his father cried. At first Killian thought he was imagining it, but as it crescendoed, it became harder and harder to ignore.
"It's alright, Papa," he said, wrapping his arms around his father.
His father gave no sign of actually hearing him, but simply continued to cry into his hands. After at least an hour of trying to get a response, Killian simply gave up and went back to sleep.
The next morning, Edward acted as if nothing had happened.
"What do you think of the ship?" He broke the silence conversationally as they shared a small breakfast.
Killian lifted one eyebrow skeptically. "Are you alright, Papa?"
Edward winced and rubbed his eyes. "Please don't do that."
His son blinked in confusion. "Do what?"
"Make that face," he snapped.
Shock and hurt ran over Killian's face. His father had never used that tone with him before in his life.
"Alright," he said quietly.
He ate the rest of his breakfast very quickly and scampered up to the deck. At least up there, he didn't have to deal with this strange man who seemed to have replaced his father.
His father cried again that night: loud, wracking sobs that shook the bed. With a sigh, Killian sat up.
"Papa?"
Edward turned around so abruptly that Killian jumped, his eyes wild even in the dim light.
"What?!" He hissed angrily, fists clenched.
His son recoiled. "I miss her too," Killian finally muttered timidly.
Then, Edward gently pulled his son into his arms and continued crying. Killian felt very stifled, but he didn't want to upset his father any further by pulling away.
"I'm so sorry," Edward was sobbing over and over again.
"For what?" Killian asked, baffled.
"You look so much like her," he finally whimpered.
Killian didn't really know what to say to that, so he just let his father continue his noisy grief ritual.
He managed to avoid his father for the entirety of the next day, but the next night was even worse.
"Why did you keep me from killing him?" He whispered brokenly.
"Who?" Killian mumbled, half-asleep and doubly exhausted from the past two sleepless nights.
His father shook him awake angrily. "My father. Why did you have to look at me with her eyes and tell me that I was doing the wrong thing? He'll come after us now, and it's entirely your fault. Think of all the people I could have saved if you'd just let me!"
"I-I'm sorry," Killian stammered in response.
"It was like with my mother all over again," he muttered. "All about doing what's best for the children or for the most people. Well, dammit, that man deserved to die. Why didn't you let me do it? How is it that, inevitably, whatever I try to do for the good of my family is selfish?! Why wasn't it selfish for your mother to choose our family over my mother, or for you to choose my life over my father's?"
His voice rose to a shout by the end, and then he just collapsed into silent sobs again. Killian just stared at him, trying to calculate whether or not he would be able to make it out the door without his father catching him if he went while Edward was distracted.
"Killian, I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?" He cried, staring at his son intently through his tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Sure, father," Killian mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
"You've never called me that before," Edward snapped, rage flashing back into his eyes again.
"Papa," Killian corrected with a small wince.
"I need to go for a walk," his father muttered, standing and leaving abruptly.
Killian breathed a sigh of relief as soon as his father was out of sight.
The next morning, though, all relief dissipated when he awoke to a sword pressed lightly against his throat.
"Where's your father gone, boy?" The guard grunted.
Killian blinked in confusion. "I'm... not sure."
Another guard entered, panting heavily. "He's not on the ship, sir. We've searched everywhere."
He felt his heart sink and his eyes fill with tears. Surely they'd missed somewhere?
"Where would he have gone? We're in the middle of the ocean," Killian blurted frantically.
The guard with the sword at his throat lowered it with a sigh. "No, lad, you docked this morning."
"You mean...?" Killian trailed off uncertainly, feeling as if he'd just been dropped into some sort of a bad dream.
"He's fled," the guard said. "The man was a fugitive."
"From Lord Alasdair?" Killian finished, heart pounding.
The man looked at him in confusion. "No. Well, partially. He assaulted him, but, before that, he stole a lot of money. He fled the city a few days later with you. Do you have any idea where the money would be now?"
Killian's heart sunk. He knew exactly where it was: with Liam, paying for him to go to school. Before that, maybe paying to rent a room. Before that, who knows?
"No, sir," he replied dully, hugging his knees in a small, desperate attempt at comfort.
The Present
Emma looked at her companion sadly. "Maybe he saw the guards and had to run, but planned on coming back later?"
Killian shook his head. "No. I thought of that as well, but all of his belongings were gone. They were there the night before, which meant that he definitely made a conscious decision to leave without me."
"I'm sorry," Emma said quietly.
Killian shrugged. "At least he died painfully."
Emma just looked at him, shocked.
"Hung, drawn, and quartered just over a year later. I attended the execution, in fact; it seemed like the right thing to do, even though it was rather gruesome. However, I've always taken comfort in the knowledge that my father died long before that man did," he finished bitterly.
The Past
It took several months for Killian to work his way back to his hometown on that ship. It was an unpleasant time in which he grieved the loss of his father and brother and was generally treated unkindly.
With one thing and another, Killian found himself standing outside of his uncle's house exactly a year after the death of his mother. It was snowing gently on the house, and he could hear the wailing of an infant from inside. It was small, but it looked warm, and he could smell the scent of something cooking.
He knew that he could've gone to Liam, but the thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Liam would give up his naval dreams in a heartbeat if it meant taking care of his younger brother. Killian couldn't bear the thought of Liam growing to resent him the way his father had. That left only one option.
With a sigh, Killian hefted his worn bag over his shoulder more securely and knocked on the door.
It took a full two minutes for someone to open it. When the door did slam open, it was to reveal a very grumpy Helena holding a screaming infant.
"What the hell do you want?" She snapped.
"Is Uncle Connor there?" Killian asked nervously.
"No. He's passed out in a corner, drunk as usual," Helena said venomously.
"Oh."
She glared at him for a moment, before speaking again. "Well, what do you want? I'm not standing out here all day." She glanced at the still screaming infant. "Oh, shut up."
"I need a place to stay," Killian blurted.
Helena snorted. "If you can't tell, my hands are already full. Do you have a job?"
Killian stared at his feet. One of his shoes had a hole in it now. "No."
His aunt raised her eyebrows. "No? Then what use are you to me?"
She slammed the door before he could even reply.
Killian blinked back tears and sat on the snowy ground. What now? He could try again the next day once Connor was awake. Maybe his uncle would want to take him in. Until then, he really just had to pass the time.
With a sigh, he pulled his violin out of his bag. He hadn't played it since his mother's death, but now he had a strange urge to play it again. He had hauled it all over the world at this point, so he might as well use it. It was something familiar, and it reminded him of happier times before everything went wrong. More importantly, it was an emotional instrument, and he was tired of crying. Maybe the violin could do that for him.
He tuned the instrument quickly and then began to play. The music danced through the air like a memory. He thought of his family, back when he'd really had one, and then he painted the picture with notes. He was unaware of several spectators who began to stop and listen on their way home after a long day's work.
It was only when he finished that he became aware of the coins that had been thrown his way and the group of people milling around. He stared at them and the coins, perplexed.
"Another!" Someone requested.
Killian looked at them blankly for a moment, before he started a lively fiddling tune. When he finished that one, he became aware of Helena hovering at his shoulder and staring at the coins at his feet.
"Come to think of it, I could use another hand around the house. God knows that Lyanna is the fussiest baby that was ever born," she told him sharply, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him towards the door. She stayed to gather his coins before giving him a final shove into the living area.
It was smaller than his old house and smelled of babies, but at least it was warm. Just as Helena had said, Connor was passed out on the table. Lyanna was still screaming, but now from her cradle.
"You shut her up, and I'll get you something to eat," Helena ordered irritably, shoving the baby into his unsuspecting arms.
Killian recoiled as she started to squirm.
"Shh," he murmured, bouncing her up and down lightly. She only screamed more loudly.
"Am I doing something wrong?" He asked Helena nervously.
She snorted. "I imagine from the look of you that you're always doing something wrong. But, in this case, no, she's just the most irritable creature you ever laid eyes on."
Killian continued to hush her and rock her. Eventually, he shifted her and began to pat her on the back gently. At least he had a better grip of her that way.
She let out a horrible noise and simultaneously the back of his shirt felt wet.
"Ugh," Killian exclaimed, shifting Lyanna again. She now had spit around her lips as well as tears on her face. In short, she was absolutely disgusting. However, she seemed much calmer now that she'd destroyed his only shirt.
"Little wanton," he muttered, but he felt his heart soften slightly when her eyes started to shut. "Of course, you pretend to be innocent now."
He gently placed her in her crib and assessed the damage on his shirt. It was absolutely disgusting.
"Yea, babies apparently tend to do that. Wish someone had told me," Helena complained, dropping stew and bread on the table none too gently.
Killian ate gratefully and then washed his shirt. He slept on the floor next to the crib with orders to take care of Lyanna if she woke during the night. Aunt Helena failed to inform him of the likelihood of that (since she was only approximately half a year old). As a result, he only half-slept that night, and the sleep he did get was without a shirt and subsequently full of shivering. At around four in the morning, he wondered if the reason that Lyanna woke so frequently was because she was hungry. Regardless, Helena showed no sign of getting up to feed her.
Connor was the first to wake, and he looked at Killian with confusion.
"What are you doing here?" He growled.
"Aunt Helena said that I could live with you," Killian explained nervously.
His uncle groaned. "Helena!"
She appeared frazzled and as grumpy as the night before. "What?"
"Why is this boy in my house and weaving some idiotic tale about you telling him he could live here?" He said in a low, dangerous voice.
"Because he plays the violin and coins roll into his lap," she said matter-of-factly. "If he doesn't make enough, we can throw him out."
Lyanna started screaming and Connor scowled. "Someone shut up that baby, for the love of God. And make me some tea."
"Killian, deal with the child," Helena ordered loudly over the screaming.
With a sigh, he turned back to his cousin and began rocking her again as Uncle Connor continued to complain about the horrible noise and his headache.
The Present
"So... that's Lyanna."
Killian looked at her with a distant smile. "Yes. That was Lyanna."
And Emma was honestly surprised because, for just a moment, she saw an expression that she'd rarely seen on Killian's face, except occasionally when he looked at Emma herself: one of absolute adoration.
Alright, I just wanted to quickly apologize if this chapter is a bit disjunct or full of mistakes. I'm a little bit sick right now and I'm finding it a little tough to concentrate. As a result, I may not end up posting one tomorrow. I just wanted to apologize in advance. Thanks to everyone who is still reading this! :)