Let me just begin with a sincere apology for the delay. Not to give excuses, but I've been having some health issues in addition to a large workload. Anyway, here this is (finally) and I will make a sincere effort to get the next one up much sooner!

Thanks again to all of you who have stuck with this story. I appreciate all of you very much!

The Past

Killian first tried running away only a month later.

Helena noticed his missing belongings and her missing daughter within minutes. In total, his escape attempt lasted ten minutes, after which Killian was dragged back into the house and severely punished by Connor while Helena grimly overlooked the process.

He tried again a few nights later. Unfortunately, he discovered that Helena was not, in fact, a heavy sleeper. Apparently, the long hours she slept were entirely by choice rather than nature. It was a foolish mistake to make, but Killian could at least partially blame his failure on the fact that he was moving considerably slower after his latest beating.

After that, Killian decided that he needed to spend some more time planning before his next attempt. Of course, he also needed to wait until he would be physically capable of running again.

With all of his setbacks, it wasn't until two months later that he finally managed to escape, and only then with careful calculation.

The first decision he made was that he had to go alone. Unfortunately, Lyanna slowed him down considerably, and it was impossible to take Lyanna anywhere without Helena noticing. With any luck, her possessiveness would keep her daughter out of harm's way while Killian earned enough money to support her on his own. Then, of course, he would come back and take her away when neither his aunt nor his uncle expected it.

When Killian told Lyanna, she did not take it well.

Immediately, her eyes filled with tears and she started shaking her head rapidly.

"I want to go with you," she mouthed, throwing her arms around him and latching on.

"I'll come back as soon as I can, I promise," he murmured, gently extracting himself from the little girl's grip and holding her hands in his own.

She continued to shake her head and stare at the floor. A pang of guilt ran through Killian at the sight.

"Look, love... we can't stay here forever," he said tiredly. "Your father gets worse all the time. We have to do whatever is going to give us our best chance in the long run, even if it means that we might be apart for a while."

Lyanna threw her arms around Killian and, as silent as ever, let out all the grief and frustration that a child of her age could possibly have within her. Killian had no doubts that she had a great deal more than most children her age.

In the following days, Lyanna clung to him more than ever, which had Helena constantly glaring at him suspiciously. Connor was rarely home lately for reasons that remained his own, which meant that there was nothing to distract the three remaining family members from the tension between them.

The night before Killian left the house for good, Helena summoned him over to the stove to stir the latest vile creation that she deemed fit to describe as "dinner". As he stirred, she just studied his face unashamedly.

"I know you're thinking of running again," she began finally in a hard voice.

Killian didn't even acknowledge the fact that she had spoken.

"Lovely. Now I have a representative of both the dumb and the deaf in my household," she snapped, throwing her hands up in disgust. "Well, I know you can hear me, so listen well. I am not letting you leave this house, understood? If you leave, we will hunt you down. If I have to tell Connor to break your legs into tiny pieces to keep you here, so be it, but I will keep you here."

Killian finally spared his aunt a glance. Her eyes were narrowed to tiny slits and her cheeks were flushed. Killian wondered vaguely if she'd lost her mind, not that he could blame her if she had. He could see faint bruising around her neck in the shape of fingers. Still, he was finding it harder and harder to pity her when she redirected Connor's anger so skillfully to her nephew at every available opportunity.

"Yes, I imagine it would be difficult for you to actually have to earn money yourself, or take care of your child, or to-"

A sharp slap silenced Killian. He shot his aunt a murderous look but didn't say anything else. Lyanna watched with huge eyes from the corner.

That night, after Helena went to bed, Lyanna clung to her cousin desperately, knowing of his plan to leave in the early morning.

"She won't hurt you," Killian whispered, stroking her hair gently. "She loves you, even if she doesn't say so."

Lyanna didn't reply.

Neither of them slept that night.

The next morning, Lyanna clung to his shirt as he put his few belongings into his violin case. Once he was done, he knelt down so that he was at Lyanna's eye level. She stared at him with large, watery blue eyes. Her lower lip started to tremble.

With a sigh, Killian pulled her gently into a hug, wondering for the hundredth time if he was doing the right thing. His gut twisted at the thought of her feeling alone and unloved. Still, Uncle Connor had been growing more and more violent. Killian wouldn't have left if he wasn't concerned enough that Lyanna would be left alone with her parents even if he stayed. As it was, it was no stretch of the imagination to believe that his uncle was capable of murder, whether it was accidental or on purpose. This way, at least Killian and Lyanna stood a chance of survival.

"I'll be gone for a couple of months at most, I promise," Killian whispered, wiping away Lyanna's tears tenderly. "I swear on my life, Lyanna, I will come back for you."

Lyanna nodded. "I love you," she mouthed.

"And I you."

With a last look at his cousin, Killian took a deep breath and sprinted out the door.

Developing a plan had been easy, really. With this time of year came the inevitable bout of plague that hit the poorest communities hardest. Early each Monday morning, the wagon came to collect the bodies that had died that week. Killian had timed it so that he could catch it just as it was leaving.

"Stop!" Came Helena's shrill voice from his door as he chased after the wagon, already picking up speed. He wasn't surprised that she'd heard him; based on yesterday's speech, he imagined that she'd been on alert for any sign of him running off. She caught his arm halfway down the street, but he elbowed her hard in the ribs until she let go and then kept running. He climbed on the wagon carefully, leaving his aunt to try to catch up. Finally, when she realized she couldn't, she collapsed helplessly in the dusty road, her blonde hair in disarray.

"Auntie loves you, Killian," she called after him, her voice choked with emotion.

Killian shot her a look of disgust before clambering more securely onto the pile of bodies.

That was the last time he saw both his aunt and his cousin, and both images would be burned in his mind forever. While he'd have thought that the image of Lyanna would torture him most, it ended up being the image of his aunt. She had looked as young and fragile as her daughter, and utterly defeated. When the wagon turned the corner, she was still huddled in a ball in the street, her head bowed as though in mourning, tears watering the dry road.

The Present

"I should have asked her to come with me," Killian admitted. "Perhaps if I'd given her another chance-" his voice cracked slightly and he trailed off. His face had regained the faraway, sad expression that Emma was beginning to grow used to.

"You didn't know."

"She definitely wanted to escape from my uncle, but I doubted that she wanted the responsibility of two children," Killian said, eyes darting around in torment. "Still, perhaps she did. I never gave her the chance-"

"You did when she tried to kill herself," reasoned Emma, trying hard to push away the pity flooding her. She knew that Killian wouldn't appreciate it.

"She was little more than a child herself; of course she didn't know what to do. I think I woefully misjudged her," he confessed.

"Well, you were a kid too," Emma said gently.

Killian laughed unhappily. "Yes, I was, wasn't I?"

The Past

Killian extricated himself from the bodies as soon as he was out of the city. After that, he kept off of the road and ran to his next destination. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but fear kept him moving quickly until he reached the prison.

He stared up at it in awe. His mother had never really spoken about her time in prison, which meant that Killian hadn't been able to fully picture it. It was much bigger than he had anticipated and far more secure. He felt an odd chill run up and down his spine as he looked at the fortress of stone. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought that the air felt chillier the closer he got to the building, as if it were sucking the life out of the air around it.

Fortunately, it took very little time for Ciarra to venture outside.

It had been perhaps a year since the war had ended, but she had shot up at least several inches. Nevertheless, Killian recognized her instantly.

"Killian?!" Ciarra gasped in surprise when she took in the boy sitting just off of the road.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite sort-of cousin," Killian said, plastering a grin onto his face.

With a quick, nervous glance over her shoulder, Ciarra ran up to him and threw her arms around him in a warm hug.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, pulling away.

Killian swallowed. Here was the difficult part. "Well..." he hesitated, scratching nervously behind his ear. "I knew that you still lived with your... um... father. And I was sort of wondering if he might possibly need an assistant. Or... another one, I suppose," he nodded towards his friend.

Really, it had been the perfect idea. This way, he could stay close to the city while still being out of his uncle's reach (unless Connor decided to try to break into a prison, which he highly doubted would happen). He could earn money and be back with Lyanna in no time.

Unfortunately, as was to become a recurring theme, his idea that was perfect in theory ended up being less perfect in practice.

Ciarra paled. "Oh, Killian... I don't think so."

She looked around nervously, as if afraid she was being watched, before pulling Killian into the shadows.

"Look. I'd really love to help you, but something's happened-"

"What's wrong?" Killian interrupted with barely suppressed panic. "Are you alright?"

Ciarra nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm fine, mostly. But there's a slight problem. He sort of, well... quit drinking long enough to realize that perhaps my story was a little bit flawed. He was never very fond of me in the first place, but it's gotten worse and worse ever since I returned here from the war. He doesn't like to let me leave, even if I'm running errands for him. I heard him talking to one of his colleagues the other night, and I think he's planning to get rid of me."

"To throw you out?" Killian clarified, eyebrows knitting together.

Ciarra shuddered. "Worse. I think he wants to sell me into prostitution."

A heavy silence fell over the two friends. Killian's mind immediately flashed to Helena and his aunt's own bitter words about her past. Even though he knew it was illogical, Killian had a feeling that Ciarra becoming a whore would somehow turn her into an identical copy of his aunt. He looked at her thoughtfully, his insides twisting painfully. She looked incredibly young and innocent, but how would she look in a decade? He had to force himself to clear his mind and stop imagining her as a bitter woman incapable of loving her own child.

"I've been thinking of running away," Ciarra admitted finally in a hushed tone. "Is that what you're doing?"

Killian rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Well, yes. I was sort of planning on running to here, but I suppose I have to change my plan now."

"To what?" Ciarra prompted, hugging herself in a way that made her look very small.

"I don't know. I... suppose I might go North. My mother's family is still there. Perhaps they'll be able to help me," Killian thought out loud.

Ciarra bit her lip worriedly. "We'd best hope they're like our grandfather."

Her cousin raised his eyebrows. "We?"

"Yes, I'm coming along," Ciarra clarified, shooting him a look that left no room for argument. "Unless you want to sentence me to a life of prostitution. But, even then, I'd still follow you. You came here, and now you'll be hard pressed to get rid of me."

"Good," Killian grinned. "Traveling alone could be frightfully dull."

Ciarra dropped her hard demeanour for one of relief. "Let's go now, then, before that idiot jailer comes searching for me."

Killian nodded, and the two turned towards the road without sparing the prison or the now distant city a single glance.

"Oh, God, I'm knackered," muttered Ciarra several weeks of walking later. "You know what I want? A bath. I lovely bath. Filled with lavender-"

Killian rolled his eyes up to the heavens for a moment, seriously wondering what the odds were that she would pick that scent over every other possibility.

"And a hot meal. And blankets filled with feathers that are warm enough that I could burrow into them and die and be perfectly content forever-" Ciarra continued to rattle on, oblivious to Killian's reactions.

"We must be at least somewhat close," Killian interrupted, staring at the mountain peaks looming larger and larger on the horizon.

"Yes, we just need to climb a bloody mountain, isn't that right?" Ciarra complained.

"You know, it's a good thing you came with me. I bet that you'd be a bloody awful prostitute if you complained this much. They'd probably throw you out within days," Killian teased with a smirk.

"Clearly that's the only reason I came along."

"Clearly."

The pair fell into a cheerful silence.

"The beds might be more comfortable, though, wouldn't you think?" Ciarra suggested some time later.

"I've no idea," scoffed Killian.

Eventually, Killian regretted teasing his friend about her lack of suitability for prostitution, because that was just the start of her musings about her former career possibility. Several days later, once they had actually reached the mountains and were partway up, Ciarra was still bringing up the subject.

"Do you not think I'm pretty? Is that why you think I'd be an awful prostitute?"

"Shh," Killian hissed. "I think I heard something."

Immediately, all teasing was forgotten as Ciarra moved subconsciously closer to Killian. After a few seconds of listening, the two exchanged a nervous glance. Those were definitely footsteps.

The two waited nervously until several soldiers rounded the bend in the road. The soldiers looked more surprised to see the teenagers than they were to see them.

"What brings you up this road?" Asked the one in the front gruffly.

"We're on our way to the de Clare castle," Killian explained, attempting to look taller than he actually was. "Are we close?"

The guard nodded. "Indeed. We're a patrol from the castle. You're an hour away on foot at most."

Killian nodded his thanks, stepping to the side of the path and pulling Ciarra with him by her elbow.

As soon as they were gone, she groaned. "Uphill?"

Killian nodded. His heart was beating too quickly for him to concentrate on speaking. This was it. This was perhaps where he should have gone years ago when his father had abandoned him. These were family members he could trust, he was certain.

When he first saw the castle, Killian was speechlessly in awe of its beauty. It had been carved into the mountain spectacularly, so that it looked almost as if it were something grown out of the stone rather than made by man.

It took hours of waiting to be allowed to see the lord of the castle, but, finally, Killian was allowed into the main hall.

Seated in a tall, stone throne was a man who was perhaps in his mid-forties, although his greying dark hair made him look much older. His eyes were dark and intense, narrowing in on the children immediately with curiosity. Killian suddenly became very conscious of every particle of road dust on his body and his slightly ragged clothes.

"My Lord," Killian said with a respectful bow. Ciarra made to copy his movement before remembering that she was supposed to curtsy. The man raised an eyebrow in amusement as she fought to regain her balance.

"What can I do for you, lad?" He asked in a lilting accent that reminded Killian achingly of his mother's.

"I was hoping to seek your help. You may have heard of my mother, Christine Crewe-"

Before Killian could continue, the man had stood up with a deep frown.

"And you've come for my assistance, no doubt?" Asked the man coldly, changing his persona so completely that Killian was almost certain that the welcoming man he had first seen on the throne had been replaced.

Killian nodded. "Yes, my lord. You see, my parents are both dead and now my cousin, the granddaughter of Jonathan Crewe, is in danger. As for my brother, I've no idea where he is, but we all live under the threat-"

"Of the Larkins," Lord de Clare said angrily. "Yes, I know of them. They are no friends of ours."

"Or ours," Killian agreed.

The lord raised his eyebrow again. "No? If my spies can be believed, you are half-Larkin, are you not?"

Killian felt his heart sink, but he nodded. "Not by choice, my lord," he added boldly.

"Still, no Larkin is welcome here," Lord de Clare said dismissively. "I'm afraid I cannot give you what you seek."

Killian stared at the man - his last hope - in disbelief. "You can't? But we're your family! We share the same blood-"

"The blood of a bastard diluted further by Larkin blood is hardly comparable to the blood a de Clare," the lord said coolly, waving his hand at them in a gesture that clearly wished to hurry along their retreat.

"So you would condemn us to death? For all I know, my brother could be in prison right now because of the Larkins. Can't you see that we're on your side?" Shouted Killian, attempting to jerk his arm free from the soldiers now pulling him and Ciarra out the door.

Lord de Clare's eyes flashed dangerously. "From what I hear, your brother is now working for the Southern king's navy. It is quite clear where your loyalties lie, bastard."

The doors shut with a crash, but the guards didn't release the children until they had escorted them out of the castle entirely. Ciarra tentatively put her hand on Killian's shoulder in an attempt at comfort, but Killian shrugged her off and instead threw stones off of the mountain until his arms were sore and his fingers were bleeding.

"How can he do this to us?" He finally demanded, wheeling around to face an exhausted looking Ciarra.

"Because he has money and a title," Ciarra said with a shrug, seeming - to Killian - ridiculously calm and accepting of the fact.

"And Liam is working for the king now?"

"You knew he was in the navy. What did you think he would be doing?" Ciarra pointed out.

Killian shook his head. He had no idea. He'd always known what joining the navy would mean, but it was as if his mind had refused to accept the idea until it was forcefully shoved down his throat.

"It's just not fair," Killian muttered, finally collapsing onto the rocks off of the path.

Ciarra nodded in agreement. "No, but nothing has ever been fair. Why should that change now?"

Killian could think of plenty of reasons why it should change. Unfortunately, destiny seemed determined to ignore his logic.

Of course, destiny had proved time and time again that she was no friend of Killian Jones, and, ironically enough, would continue to do so for hundreds of years. As a result, having fate kick him down once again was not a significant event for him. However, there was one aspect of this event that marked it as unusual.

This particular rejection marked the beginning of the slow decline of Killian's hope.