To begin, I just wanted to apologize for the delay. With midterms, illness, and various busy things, I haven't had as much time to write. I also had an unusually difficult time writing this chapter! Anyway, enough excuses... here it is! As always, thank you everyone who is continuing to read this. :)
The Past
The following years living with his aunt and uncle were marked by various vivid memories: aching fingers from playing violin for hours outside in the cold, the sting of his uncle's hand and belt, harsh words from his aunt, but, mostly, the strange feeling that comes from feeling solely responsible for another human being.
Lyanna loved to babble. Aunt Helena would complain about it ceaselessly and yell at Lyanna until her daughter burst into frightened tears. Killian, however, would speak back to her as though her nonsense syllables actually made sense.
"You little wretch. How dare you speak to me in that tone! You're a very bad child, Killian," Helena snapped as Killian dodged her swat after mentioning that Lyanna may cry less if she was fed more frequently.
"Babababababa," Lyanna tasted the sound with relish.
"That's right, Lyanna," Killian encouraged with a grin. "Bad!"
"Connor will hear about this and, mark my words, you won't be able to walk for a week," she warned, eyes ablaze.
Killian shrugged. He imagined that his uncle would find a reason to hurt him with or without Helena's unfavourable report. Besides, he imagined that someone needed to take care of Lyanna, since neither of her parents seemed interested in it.
After that particular conversation, he started a new routine. He discovered that if he saved a few coins each day, he could buy some milk for Lyanna to drink. If his uncle was sober enough to notice the slight difference in income, it would often mean a few more bruises, but Killian decided it was worth it when Lyanna did, in fact, cry less.
Lyanna spoke her first and her last word on the same day, when a dripping Killian came inside along with enough rainwater to flood the doorway.
"Killian!" Helena barked, glaring at the puddle rapidly forming at his feet.
"Kill!" Shrieked Lyanna happily, eyes alight.
Both Helena and Killian turned to look at her in shock.
"Kill?" Asked Helena, her face starting to harden into an expression that Killian was beginning to associate with imminent pain.
Connor snorted from his usual corner in the living room. "Kill. Of course my child would say that as her first word."
"She doesn't know what it means!" Helena hissed. "She was trying to say his name."
Killian flinched. "At least she's learning to speak. You're a very clever girl, Lyanna," he added.
"Connor!" Helena snapped. "Do something. She should be saying 'mama' or 'papa' or something of the sort. Not 'kill'!"
"What am I supposed to do about it?" Connor asked moodily. "If you weren't such an atrocious mother, perhaps she'd have had a different first word."
Helena turned towards Lyanna with angry tears in her eyes. "I'm her mother. She's supposed to love me."
"I think that you might actually need to show her some affection first," suggested Killian pointedly, crossing his arms in an attempt to look more powerful than he felt.
"I think that perhaps she just needs a good spanking," snapped Helena, moving threateningly towards where Lyanna was sitting on the floor.
"No!" Shouted Killian, running to stop her. "She doesn't know any better! She's too young!"
At this, Connor seemed to come to life, jumping to his feet angrily. He shot Killian an extremely dirty look, but what scared him the most was the fact that it wasn't clouded by alcohol or some sort of a mental episode. No, Connor was definitely there, and he saw something in Killian that he didn't like.
"Actually, Helena, the boy is absolutely right," he said softly. "Why hurt the young one when the elder is so clearly to blame?"
Killian wasn't able to play violin for a month after that.
The Present
"You can't just do that," Emma snapped.
Killian raised an eyebrow. "Can't I?"
Emma shook her head angrily. "What did he do?"
"Let us just leave it at the damage was sufficient enough to scare Lyanna into a permanent vow of silence," her companion replied expressionlessly.
At that, Emma was too angry to reply for a moment.
"I can certainly move to a less traumatic part of the narrative, or cease recounting it altogether if you-"
"And this was all because of what happened to him when he was a child?" She interrupted.
Killian sighed. "I've assumed so. After all, I was often told that I resembled my mother to a degree, and there was no one that my uncle hated - or loved - more than her."
The Past
"Your blasted mother broke his last thread of sanity with her death, you know," Helena told him darkly a few weeks later.
"Did she?" Asked Killian dully from his usual 'bed' on the floor of the living room. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe that murder is the choice of the victim."
Helena scowled. "He never stopped talking about her and her beautiful voice, or how much she'd done for him-"
"I thought he blamed her for everything," Killian interrupted in surprise.
His aunt snorted. "He did blame her, but only because he needed someone to blame. I swear, if he could've married her, he would've."
Killian rolled his eyes. It had taken very little time for him to uncover the full extent of his aunt's jealousy towards his mother. It was just his luck to look like the one person both his aunt and uncle loathed beyond anyone else. Although, Killian suspected that Helena was beginning to like him to at least a degree if only as a scapegoat. When he'd first moved in, he'd noticed the faint bruises mottling her skin. Now, she had discovered that she could easily redirect her husband's anger to her nephew. Even if she had no affection for him, Killian suspected that she was grateful for his existence, and perhaps that was the closest thing to love that Helena could manage.
It was one thing to begin to understand the feelings Helena had towards him, but Killian couldn't for the life of him understand what there was to dislike about Lyanna. She was napping as they spoke, and Killian thought she resembled a little cherubim with her round cheeks and white-blonde hair. Her eyes were the same blue as his own, but they still retained an openness that he knew his had lost long ago. It scared him, sometimes, to see how trusting she was; she still reached out to her mother and father when they couldn't spare her a glance and were as likely to strike out at her as to look at her.
"What happened to your parents, Helena?" The question popped into his head and out of his mouth before he could even think of reining it back in.
For once, she didn't scowl. Instead, she sat down at the table with a sad, distant look on her face.
"I don't know who my father was. I only knew my mother, and she sold me into prostitution when I was barely older than you."
Killian looked at her in surprise. "Honestly?"
His aunt turned to face him with a thoughtful expression. "Lyanna doesn't have it as badly as you like to think. Just remember that."
"I thought your parents were dead," Killian blurted.
Helena sighed, although there was something steely behind her gaze. "I wish they were, Killian. I really do. If I saw them dying on the side of the road and I had the chance to save them, I wouldn't do it. I would spit on them and then maybe stand and watch as they died."
Killian nodded thoughtfully. He didn't think he'd do that for his father, even though he'd left him. Maybe he would hate himself for his moment of weakness, but he would save him.
"Anyway, that's enough chatter. What do you think Connor will want for dinner? Usually I'd cook us meat tonight, but of course we can't afford it now that you're busy lying around," she said brusquely, as though him being injured was his fault.
When he was able to play again, it was a great relief. He wrote a song for Helena as soon as he was better, although he didn't tell her it was for her. He knew she'd hate it immediately if she knew. As it was, he caught her tapping her foot and swaying more than once as he played it.
After that, Killian also secretly tried to coach Lyanna to say "mama". Of course, Lyanna had decided not to speak, so he eventually had to give up on an audible form of the word. However, he was still determined to teach her how to communicate. Now, he was actually grateful for the hours of his earlier childhood spent hiding from soldiers. He still remembered most of the sign language he and the family he had created, and suddenly it seemed like the perfect solution.
"This is the sign for 'baby'," he murmured, making a rocking motion with his arms.
Lyanna mimicked it with her clumsy, chubby toddler arms and Killian grinned.
"And this is the sign for 'mama'." He made the motion. Lyanna looked confused at the word.
"You know, Mama," he nodded his head toward Helena, who was busy aggressively chopping vegetables.
Lyanna copied it finally, looking slightly less confused. Killian couldn't help suspecting that the word was fairly meaningless to her, though. Yes, Lyanna understood that it applied to Helena, but he didn't think she understood the concept of motherhood. When Killian had made up the sign, it had been with memories of love, music, and nurturing. It had been with thoughts of warm hugs, faded aprons, and even Christine's favourite black boots that she'd worn for as long as Killian could remember. To Lyanna, the word "mother" had none of those connotations, and how could it? Still, he liked to dream that one day that would change.
When Lyanna had finally mastered the sign, Killian called Helena over.
"What?" She said wearily.
"Look!" Killian nodded to Lyanna. "Can you show me the sign for 'mama'?"
Lyanna smiled a huge, toothy smile with her few, sparse, newly-grown teeth and made the gesture. Helena looked confused.
"What the bloody hell is that?" She said harshly, crossing her arms with a scowl.
"She's calling you 'mama' with hand gestures," Killian explained proudly.
Helena looked taken aback. "Oh." Then she did something very rare; she smiled her pained smile. Then she patted Lyanna awkwardly on the head and moved back to her chores. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The Present
"Just to clarify, I think that I had trouble understanding that not everyone was meant to be a mother, simply because my own mother was so exceptional. I wasn't quite as idiotic as I sound, but rather quite naive," Killian interrupted himself to explain.
"So she never loved Lyanna?" Asked Emma, feeling strangely disappointed. It wasn't as though she knew that little girl, for goodness sake. However, at the same time, she could understand always yearning for the love of a parent, even if she'd never had one to reject her when she was a child. Still, wouldn't it have been worse to have a parent and be that much closer to love, only to be rejected?
At her question, Killian's expression twisted from one of derision to thoughtfulness. "Oh, I suspect that she always loved Lyanna in her own strange way. However, whether or not she ever became a good mother... that is a question that is somewhat harder to answer."
The Past
Several more years passed, and Lyanna grew some more. Killian was the one who taught her to walk, to begin to read, and enough signs to communicate fairly effectively. He did his best to keep her from the wrath of her father, although he couldn't always. Nevertheless, when he came home to a little girl covered in bruises or cuts, he was always the one to kiss them better.
At night, he sometimes played her to sleep with his violin. When he didn't, he would sing her soft lullabies or tell wild, whispered stories of adventure or real stories of his old family.
"Mama would have loved you," he promised her. "She only had sons, you understand, and I imagine that she'd've loved having a little girl around, if only because it would be different. She wouldn't make you dress up in those awful dresses and ribbons or anything, but she could teach you how to fight with a knife in a dress and a corset. I don't really understand how that was even possible, but if anyone could teach you, it would be her."
Lyanna looked excited at the prospect. "Will you teach me?" She mouthed as she signed the words in her small hands.
"Maybe when you're older, but I don't know if you really need to learn while you have me. I can just stab anyone who bothers you, hmm?" He offered with a smirk.
Lyanna considered the prospect as seriously as a little girl could and then nodded.
On Lyanna's fifth birthday, Killian took her to the marketplace. He technically didn't have the permission of his aunt and uncle, but Connor was drunk and Helena was still lying in bed, so Killian figured that it was fine.
He hoisted her up on his shoulders so that she wouldn't get pushed around in the crowd of people and maneuvered the pair of them to one of the busiest parts of the market. Once there among the stalls with numerous and varied goods, he put her down and played his violin long enough to earn enough money to buy something.
"What do you want for your birthday, Lyanna?" Killian questioned with a grin.
Lyanna looked at him in shock, as though she'd misheard him.
"I'm buying you a present," he clarified.
He imagined that the market must have been overwhelming for the little girl with all of its sights and smells. Even now that he was almost thirteen, he was still enchanted by the marketplace and its exotic wares.
Lyanna grabbed his hand and started to pull him around to various stalls with her childlike exuberance. Killian knew the moment she had found what she wanted without her even having to point or tell him, simply because her eyes widened and her whole face fell slack with wonder. He followed her gaze to a stall of toys, where a small fabric doll sat daintily in a patchwork dress and apron.
"That one?" He inquired, pointing to the doll.
Lyanna nodded eagerly, gripping his hand more tightly. She only let go once he'd bought the doll and placed it into her arms. She hugged it to her tightly and lovingly, crushing the soft doll against her chest and her cheek.
"I love her," she mouthed with a wide smile.
"Good," Killian replied.
They bought a pastry to split on the way home, and Lyanna held tightly to her doll the entire time, carefully wiping sticky fingers on her own dress rather than her doll. Killian had brought her small things before, but he knew that she'd never had a real toy before. The sight of her with her doll brought him a great feeling of satisfaction, regardless of what he could guess would come later that evening.
Of course, he was correct. He gently ushered Lyanna into the corner when they arrived home and instructed her to hide the doll. Connor had been known to destroy things when he was angry, and how would he be able to resist the new doll that clearly meant so much to his daughter?
Killian dropped the few coins left over from the day onto the table without remorse as his aunt and uncle watched, stoney faced.
"That's it?" Connor asked, his voice the usual quiet mutter it was when he was seconds away from boiling point.
"Yes, sir," Killian shrugged.
"Where is the rest?" Helena demanded icily. "Are you stealing it from us so that you can run away? Because, trust me, we will know, we will find you, and you will regret it."
"It was Lyanna's birthday," he explained levelly, staring down his aunt. She had the decency to look slightly ashamed, her eyes flickering momentarily to her daughter who was sitting tensely across the room.
"People are born every day. It's hardly worth celebrating; it's just another year of misery," Connor mused. "And do you know what makes it more miserable? Not having enough money to live on." He accentuated each word of the last sentence with a slap to Killian's face.
"Alright," Killian said. "I'll get more tomorrow."
"You'd better," Helena snapped, before disappearing into her bedroom.
In the end, it was a funny twist of fate that Killian was beaten so badly that night. If he hadn't bought Lyanna a birthday present or taken her out, he never would have been beaten. However, he'd decided weeks in advance that it would be worth it to make her happy. It was his love for her that made the pain worthwhile, and it was the pain that caused him to lie awake with his jaw clenched into the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning.
Oddly enough, it was also love for Lyanna that made his insomnia so important that night. If he hadn't been awake, Helena wouldn't have survived the night.
Her door creaked open so softly that Killian almost didn't hear it. He did, though, and he turned his head gently to watch as his aunt's shadowy silhouette moved briskly to the front door and threw it open to run outside into a pool of moonlight.
Killian deeply considered just ignoring whatever weird thing his aunt may be doing, but something about the whole situation made him uneasy. Helena slept more than anyone he'd ever met. He imagined that she would spend the whole day in bed if she could, so why was she rushing out in her nightdress in the middle of the night?
With a groan, Killian painfully pulled himself to his feet and followed after her. He got outside just in time to see his Aunt disappear around the corner at a dead sprint. Even more confused, Killian sprinted after her. As he followed her, it became more and more clear to him that she was heading towards the ocean, and not even the busy parts where the ships docked.
It was only when she reached a secluded section of harbour that she stopped running, hesitating only for a moment before beginning to wade into the water. He reached the edge of the water just as she reached about neck level, but she didn't stop.
"What the hell are you doing?" Asked Killian, his heart pounding.
His aunt didn't even look at him. She just continued wading in until the water was over her head.
Swearing under his breath, Killian ran into the water after her. He was fairly certain that she wasn't going in for a midnight swim, but he, at least, had learned how to move through the water without drowning. It took a terrifying amount of time for him to find his aunt, and, when he did, she struggled against him at first. Finally, though, she began to weaken and Killian was able to pull her back to shore where she collapsed coughing. The second she had expelled all water from her lungs, she began to sob.
"You little bastard," she screamed. She hit him angrily, but then seemed to decide it wasn't worth it and buried her face in her hands to continue to cry.
Killian just stared at her for a moment. She looked almost childlike with her damp hair clinging to her face, for once out of whatever messy bun she had attempted to restrain it in. She looked small and wet and pathetic, and Killian almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
"Do you mind telling me why you just tried to drown yourself?" He asked, surprising himself with how steady his voice was.
Helena glared daggers at him. "I don't owe you an explanation. In fact, I would say that you owe me-"
"For saving your life?" Killian interrupted angrily.
"In case it wasn't clear to you, I didn't want you to!" She snarled, collapsing into sobs once again.
"You may not owe me an explanation for my sake, but you certainly do for Lyanna's," Killian began to reason, although his temper was already dangerously compromised by pain and exhaustion.
"Lyanna is the reason that I was doing it!" Helena shrieked, her eyes popping in her anger. "Don't you understand? There's no point to my existence. I'm a terrible mother and I'm miserable; it's not as though she needs me when she has you! I can't even protect the bloody stupid child or remember her damned birthday!"
Killian stared at her, feeling slightly sick. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? She needs her mother, especially with Uncle Connor around-"
"Apparently I'm incapable of providing for her needs, and, in any case, she has you!" Hissed Helena, jabbing a finger violently into her nephew's chest.
"I didn't give birth to her. You did, and she's your responsibility. She didn't ask to be conceived. One day, you're going to have to realize that you're an adult and you need to be her mother," Killian shouted. "Do you have any idea how selfish and irresponsible this is?"
"There were no more options," Helena sobbed. "And it was my choice. How dare you take that away from me!"
"She would love you if you gave her even the slightest hint that you were willing to try to be her mother. It's time for you to grow up!"
"I've been grown up since I was a child," Helena retorted angrily. "Perhaps that's why I'm so incapable of nurturing anyone. Has that ever occurred to you?"
"The only thing that has occurred to me is that there is a little girl who relies on you and dreams of nothing but your approval and love," Killian said.
By that point, Helena grew too upset to even speak. Killian felt some of his anger melt away at the sight, and awkwardly patted her back in an attempt at comfort. To his surprise, she leaned into his shoulder and continued to sob, holding onto her nephew for dear life.
When some of her sobs had subsided into hiccups, Killian helped her to her feet.
"Shall we go home?" He asked.
Helena nodded, wiping her face clean of emotion once again, and joined her limping nephew in his walk back to the small house hidden among the shadows of the city.