Let me just start this with a brief apology... sorry that this took so long! I had a busy midterm week and a few extra things that threw me for a loop. Anyway, I'll try to update more frequently now.
I hope everyone enjoyed the start of the second half of the season as much as I did! :)
The Past
The war started without any warning.
Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true; to Killian, it had always felt as though his world was standing on a knife point. It would take very little to upset the balance once again, but the constant weight of some unnamed threat made it feel as though the threat would never occur and his world would be stuck in some strange, uncomfortable stasis forever.
Oddly enough, the threat was not one that Killian would have expected. From the various snatches of discussion he caught, it seemed likely that there would be a civil war, a revolutionary war, or a war with their Northern neighbours. In the end, the threat came from the Eastern king, who had grown greedy and wanted to take his chance at conquering the kingdom to the west.
Adults were recruited first, but soon the whispers started; the king wanted children.
"Nonsense," Helena muttered derisively as a neighbour stopped by to gossip.
"It's the truth, on my life. Children are small enough to spy or sneak into enemy camps on sabotage missions. They're also expendable because we can always have more of them - God knows there's enough of them on the streets - and, perhaps if the soldiers are soft-hearted, it will reduce the casualties," added the old woman at the door gravely. She showed up frequently for the sole purpose of gossiping; Helena often complained that they had no need of a town crier with her around.
Helena shrugged. "Well, I suppose that would be rather clever of the king, then, if it were actually true." She said the last part with her usual disdain.
The woman glanced around nervously, as though waiting for someone to jump out and arrest her. "If I were you, I might hide any children old enough to be of use," she nodded pointedly at Killian, who was currently scrubbing the floor a few meters away but still pretending not to listen.
His aunt snorted. "Over a foolish rumour?"
Connor spoke up then from his usual chair. "Would we be paid for any child we provide?"
"I believe so," the woman replied. "It's work, no matter who does it."
"Then I don't see any problem," Connor grunted.
And that was the end of any discussion around any preventative measures. While Killian occasionally caught Helena looking at him thoughtfully, he saw no other sign that the issue was on anyone's mind.
When he was actually ordered to join the king's army, Killian didn't mind very much. In fact, part of him was quite happy because he imagined that he'd probably be beaten less in the army than he would be at home. He wouldn't have to deal with his mad uncle or his confusing aunt. However, his one concern was Lyanna; the thought of leaving twisted his gut unpleasantly with guilt, but, in the end, what choice did he have?
"I'll write you as often as I can. You have to swear to continue practicing your letters," Killian told her sternly that night.
She'd been crying ever since the soldiers came and clung to her cousin like a burr. Currently, she had her arms wrapped around his middle and her head buried in his stomach so that all he could see was a mass of blonde hair. Helena was knitting quietly by the fire, and Connor... well, he was wherever he went at this time of night, perhaps to run his theatre or to nurse a bottle.
Lyanna shook her head. "Promise to come back?" She mouthed, eyes teary.
"Of course. I'll always come back for you," Killian promised, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.
When he left the next morning after carefully extracting himself from a sleeping Lyanna, Helena was the only one awake. She was staring moodily into a cup of tea and looked so tired that Killian wondered if she'd slept at all.
"Swear that you'll take care of Lyanna?" Killian requested quietly.
Helena shook her head, her face tight as though she were eating something sour. "You have no right to say that to me. I'm her mother, not you."
Killian just raised an eyebrow.
"I'll ensure that she makes it through your absence in one piece," Helena conceded finally, still staring into her cracked teacup.
Killian knew that this was the best promise that she would give him, and so he only nodded. As he left, he realized that Helena actually seemed upset to see him go. He suspected that it was only because she would receive the brunt of her husband's anger for the time that he was away. Then again, she'd become even more confusing since her suicide attempt, so it was hard to tell. Killian was secretly terrified that Helena herself would be the one to not make it through his absence in one piece, but surely, if her suicide attempt had been in Lyanna's best interests according to whatever twisted logic she followed, that meant that she would stay alive. There was perhaps nothing that Killian feared as much as Lyanna being alone with Connor.
The war lasted just under a year, with the result being a reluctant stalemate between the two sides.
The Present
"Seriously? Killian, you can't just skip all of the details," Emma said in exasperation.
Her companion shrugged. "Certainly, I can. There's not much to say about the war. I did what I was ordered, made friends, lost them to our foe, got several minor injuries, but survived, obviously. The rest is just unpleasant details of strategy and wasted lives ended prematurely." He closed his eyes at that, as if hoping that by looking like he was napping he could get out of further explanations.
Emma frowned. "All of your friends died?"
"All but three," Killian acknowledged with a crooked smile, eyes still closed.
"And? Who were they?"
"One I never saw again, but learned that he passed short years later due to illness."
"And the other two?" Emma prompted.
The Past
Screams cut through the air as sharply as the sword Killian attempted to swing. The battle could have lasted for minutes, hours, or days, and Killian wouldn't have known; it seemed that his mind had shut out everything unrelated to the small area around him. In the back of his mind, he processed the screams, the cries, the clashing of metal, the tangy scent of blood, and the sweat running down his face, but most of his energy was focused on keeping anything sharp from piercing his skin. He'd never anticipated just how heavy a sword was, but he was almost numb to it now that he'd survived multiple battles, even if some of them had been only by the skin of his teeth. His body had fallen into a thoughtless rhythm of deflecting and jabbing.
The hardest part of anything, though, was getting his sword out again if he managed to stick it into someone.
The Present
Killian smirked at Emma's alarmed expression. "You asked for details, Swan."
The Past
In this particular battle, that issue left him suddenly and sadly sword-less.
Killian swore under his breath as a man rushed at him. Of all times for his weapon to get stuck!
At the last moment, his enemy's sword was deflected by another, and an extra hand helped him to pull out his trapped sword.
"Thank you," Killian said sincerely, glancing at the stranger. He had little time for anything else before his concentration was pulled away once more by another attacker.
After the battle ended, Killian went in search of the stranger. After wandering past several campfires and tents, he finally found him in a tent set up for quick medical work, although little could truly be done for most injuries. Fortunately, this stranger only needed a few stitches to his arm.
Killian observed him for a moment. The boy was a few years older than he was, with light brown messy hair and brown eyes. He had a friendly face with smile lines etched into it, even if it was currently contorted with discomfort, and was compactly but sturdily built. Eventually, the boy seemed to sense Killian's eyes on him and glanced over. After a moment, recognition passed over his face.
"I came to thank you-" Killian began once he realized that the boy had seen him.
The boy smiled faintly. "That's not necessary. Anyone would have done the same if given the opportunity."
Killian nodded but privately disagreed. His mother would have, and he imagined that Liam would have as well. Perhaps Sari and Gavin would have. No one else came to mind.
"I'm Owen Mallory," the boy introduced himself.
"Killian Jones," he replied, offering his hand.
The boy shook it firmly. "I'd say we won this one," he said cheerfully.
"Did we?" Killian remarked with disinterest.
"Well, we aren't dead, are we?" Owen pointed out.
"That doesn't prove anything," Killian said with a shrug.
"It proves everything," Owen retorted.
Killian raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. Finally, he thanked the boy again and left.
Two nights later, he was sitting by the fire with paper and pencil when he met Owen again.
"What's that?"
Killian turned in surprise to see Owen hovering over his shoulder. "I beg your pardon?"
Owen squinted at the paper in confusion. "Those aren't letters, are they?"
"I'm composing," Killian said shortly, turning back to his page.
"Composing?" Echoed Owen in confusion.
Killian sighed. "Writing music."
"But you don't have an instrument," Owen commented, sitting next to Killian without invitation.
"I don't need one. I hear it in my head," Killian explained briskly, hoping to be left alone again.
"That's amazing," Owen said in awe, looking at the paper more closely as though physical contact would allow him to hear it.
Killian looked up to the stars in despair, knowing that the likelihood of composing further that night was decreasing by the minute.
"Does it have a title?" Asked Owen curiously.
"There," Killian muttered, pointing at the neatly written words.
Owen looked at the letters in confusion.
"You're illiterate," Killian observed.
Pink crept into Owen's cheeks. "Well, I'm from a farm, you see, and neither of my parents know how nor saw much point in learning. You don't need letters to grow crops."
Killian couldn't imagine being unable to read. Suddenly, he was immensely grateful that his parents had been so strict about their children educating themselves. Still, perhaps there was something to be said about being an uneducated farm boy if it meant that his parents were still alive.
"What does it sound like?" Owen asked curiously.
Killian hummed quietly under his breath and Owen listened raptly, his mouth slightly open.
"And you just made that up?" He demanded, his eyes wide.
"Yes," Killian said shortly, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "But it's not very difficult."
"If you say so," Owen muttered skeptically.
Killian turned back to continue writing, now with the heat of Owen's gaze on the page, following each scratch of the pencil.
"What does the title say?" Owen interrupted after only a few bars.
"The Last Night."
Owen considered for a minute. "That's a little depressing, isn't it?"
Killian closed his eyes for a moment in irritation. "Perhaps."
His companion lay on his back and stared up at the sky. "How about 'The Last Star'? Stars seem more cheerful."
"I don't want something cheerful," Killian replied with a frown.
"I do," Owen admitted softly, staring at the sky. Although he was older than Killian, the admission made him seem almost childlike. For a moment, Killian could almost picture Lyanna laying there instead, begging him for a lullaby about whatever little girls liked to be sung to about. Sometimes she wanted lullabies about knife fights, sometimes she wanted lullabies about princesses, but she always had that same breakable look that Owen was wearing.
With a slight huff of defeat, Killian turned to another page. "A song about stars?"
"You'll take suggestions?" Owen sat up so quickly that Killian was surprised he didn't become dizzy and fall back down again.
"Yes, yes, fine," Killian muttered.
Owen took a deep breath before reciting solemnly:
"The fountains mingle with the River
And the Rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle.
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?"
Killian stared.
"I'm quite a fan of verse," Owen admitted. "I like to go to the city to hear recitations."
"Well... um... alright, I can compose something for that," Killian agreed, scratching behind his ear awkwardly.
The Present
"So you've done that since you were a kid," Emma observed.
Her present-day Killian right hand moved to its usual spot in embarrassment, but Killian caught it and pretended to brush something off of his shoulder. "Um, aye. It's a childhood habit that I'm afraid no one had the foresight to correct."
The Past
Killian taught Owen his tune once he had perfected it, and Owen soon hummed it idly throughout most of the day. After several days of hearing it everywhere, Killian demanded that Owen give him more words, just so that he could get that damned tune out of his head. The two soon fell into a rhythm of writing, and Killian only feared that his friend the poetry book would end up bleeding out on the battlefield and Killian would be without a challenge once again.
He was busy composing one night with Owen by his side when his second surviving friend appeared.
"Killian?!"
Killian turned his head to see a girl around his age with dark skin and expressive dark eyes.
"Ciarra?" He said in amazement, staring at his childhood friend.
"Oh my God!" Ciarra gasped, throwing her arms around him. "I thought you were dead!"
"Not yet," Killian replied with a grin. "And neither are you, it seems."
Ciarra laughed. "No. It's a bit of a long story, I'm afraid."
Killian quickly introduced his friends, and then Ciarra settled down closely beside Killian, so that their shoulders were touching, to tell her tale.
"Mama made me hide under the bed when the soldiers came. After they died, I went to your house, but I saw that there were soldiers there too so I assumed the worst. Then I didn't really know what to do, until I had a sort of horrible idea," Ciarra trailed off looking slightly guilty.
"Yes?" Prompted Owen, leaning forward in interest.
"Well, my mother was married once before to some sort of a drunken jailer from what I understand. I went to the old prison and found him. It was easy enough to convince him that I was his-"
"Easy? You'd have to be twice your age!" Killian exclaimed.
"I believe that mathematics may not be his strong point," Ciarra suggested delicately. "I added on a few years to my age and I think he was too drunk to remember exactly how long it had been since Mama left him. Then, the next morning, he woke up and didn't remember the details too well, so I just sort of ended up staying."
Owen had collapsed laughing, while Killian just sat looking impressed.
"It helped that he was too drunk to even remember the year," Ciarra added in an attempt at modesty.
"Is he kind to you at least?" Killian questioned.
Ciarra shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "He's not all that bad. And you?"
"I'm living with Uncle Connor," Killian admitted.
Ciarra was aghast. "Uncle Connor? Him?!"
Killian sighed and quickly caught her up on the finer details of why he'd been forced into living with their notoriously mad and violent uncle. Ciarra gave him a tight hug afterwards.
"I've missed you," she whispered. "Do you remember how much fun we used to have?"
Killian nodded with a smile. "Yes. We were pretty lucky for a time."
Owen threw his arms around the pair of them. "Well, now we're here together, so I'd say we're all pretty lucky."
The Present
"He sounds like Mary Margaret," Emma commented drily.
Killian chuckled. "He did have quite an optimistic outlook on life, but the similarities end there, I assure you."
The Past
In the end, Owen brought many of the teenagers in camp under his wing. Soon, many of them developed a camaraderie that Killian had never experienced before, except perhaps within his family or briefly with Milah and Liam. The group would exchange stories and fears, or sing Killian's songs by the campfire. At times, Killian could almost forget that a war was occurring and that any of them could die. Of course, most of them did. Faces came and went, but Ciarra and Owen somehow managed to stay by Killian's side.
When the war finished, Killian almost felt some regret. However, the knowledge that his friends would likely survive now that the war was over helped to repress most of it, as did the weight of new losses Killian had to carry.
"Good luck, Owen," Killian said when it came time to say goodbye.
Owen pulled him into a hug. "You too. Farewell for now, my friend."
It was easier to say goodbye to Ciarra.
"Promise you'll come meet Lyanna," Killian said to her as they went their separate ways in the city.
"Of course." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then ran off.
Killian arrived at his uncle's home almost a year older, slightly sadder, and with far more combat skills. However, the house he remembered had barely changed at all. A faint trail of smoke still wafted from the chimney and his aunt and uncle's voices still echoed angrily out the door.
With a sigh, Killian walked in only to be greeted by silence. He only had time to see his aunt's stunned face and his uncle's irritated one before a small form with blonde hair threw herself at him. Killian pulled Lyanna into his arms and stroked her hair as she cried quiet tears of relief.
"Good afternoon," Killian said awkwardly to his silent aunt and uncle.
"Good lord, your voice has changed," Helena muttered. "How long have you been away?!"
"Long enough," Connor interrupted irritably. "The bloody army didn't pay us nearly enough for you. You must have been slacking."
"Yes, sir," Killian replied automatically.
"At least you've learned some manners," Connor added with a snort of disgust, turning back to his ale.
Lyanna pulled him over to their usual corner of blankets and pillows, since neither their aunt nor their uncle had yet bothered to buy them beds. She pulled out her doll and hugged it tightly.
"Ah, Emily kept you safe, I see," Killian murmured, gesturing at the doll.
Lyanna nodded, before grabbing his hand and dragging him to his violin. With a wary glance at his aunt and uncle, Killian picked it up and played a soft waltz for Lyanna, which she danced to with Emily in the corner. Helena watched from across the room with a small smile that quickly turned into a scowl when she noticed Killian watching her.
"Enough noise," barked Connor, shooting a venomous look at his nephew.
However, in spite of everything, Killian managed to keep from receiving a beating that night, and once Helena and Connor went to sleep, Killian finally got to catch up with Lyanna properly.
With a teasing smile, he pulled out the letter he had written her several months before for her birthday. Her face lit up in excitement as he passed it back to her and softly sang the song he had written for her. She buried her head in his lap and fell asleep soon afterwards, but Killian stayed awake for most of the night, too happy to be back with Lyanna to find any rest. She was alive, and that was all that mattered for the moment.
*This one belongs to Shelley.