Alright, I definitely owe you all another apology. It's the end of the semester, which means that schoolwork has really picked up. On top of that, I have some major issues with depression... long story short, my medication has been making it hard for me to sleep, so I tried melatonin to help me get through the night. It turns out that causes depression (oops) and was counter-acting my anti-depressants. Then, on top of everything, my grandmother passed away earlier this week, and I've been a bit of a wreck since then. So, long story short, I've had a rough few weeks. I can't promise frequent updates for a while because of exams, but I haven't forgotten you all. Thank you so much for sticking with this story; you're all saints. I appreciate you all so much, and I just wish I could write more quickly so you didn't have to wait so long!
The Past
It was on Killian's sixteenth birthday that he realized that he was completely and hopelessly lost.
It had been stupid, and he only had himself to blame. After the disappointing incident with Lord de Clare, Killian and Ciarra had to decide what to do next. In the end, Killian had decided that he would rather face the unknown further North among the mountains than head back in the direction from which he had come. He knew what lay behind him, and nothing there tempted him to return. The allure of the unknown had won, and Ciarra had happily followed.
On August 18, 1816, the pair stopped early among the rock-scattered plains next to a lone pine tree. By this point, they had been wandering around for almost two weeks without any sign of a village or even any other people at all. Even worse than that was the fact that they hadn't found a water source for over a day now; this section of the mountains seemed close to a desert. Killian collapsed heavily onto the rocks and buried his head in his hands. Ciarra followed suit, but stretched out on a particularly large rock and threw an arm over her eyes. She lay there until she heard quiet laughter. Lifting her head slowly, she stared at her companion in wide-eyed alarm.
"Are... you alright?" She asked hesitantly.
"It's my birthday," Killian confessed between his bubbling laughter. "I just realized."
"I'm impressed that you're keeping track of the days we've spent on this godforsaken road," Ciarra muttered, closing her eyes again. "But happy birthday, all the same."
Killian studied his companion for a moment. Her long braid of dark hair was full of twigs and leaves, her once cream-coloured dress was now grey with dirt, and even her face had a smudge of grey on it from rock-dust. However, what concerned Killian more were the dark circles under her eyes and the amount of weight she'd visibly lost over the past weeks.
"I'm sixteen today, and, for some reason, it took this long for me to realize that I have no idea where I am," Killian continued quietly.
"I've known that for a while," Ciarra stated matter-of-factly, staring hard at the rocks at her feet to avoid meeting his eyes.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this," he added even more quietly, staring at his hands.
"I pretty much forced myself on you, if you recall. I'd much rather be here with you starving to death and lost than having other people forced on me," she replied with a shudder.
Killian smiled a small twisted smile. "I'd have thought that might be more fun."
"Are you insinuating that this isn't fun?" Ciarra chuckled, then groaned. "God, my head hurts."
Her voice was hoarse too, but Killian didn't comment. His own mouth and throat felt like sandpaper, so he couldn't blame her for that.
Without further comment, Killian pulled out his violin and started to play a melancholy tune.
"Bastard," Ciarra muttered, massaging her temples.
Killian reduced the volume of the song significantly and played for a while to distract them both from their discomfort. By the time he had finished, the sun was setting and the wind had picked up. Ciarra was now huddled against her rock, shivering.
"T-that was nice," she offered.
"You're just saying that because it's my birthday," Killian replied with a half-hearted smirk.
"Well, I have to admit that it's rather sad when you have to play tunes for yourself on your birthday, but I'm afraid I don't have anything to give you that's much better." She smiled up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the setting sun.
Killian shrugged. "Having your company is privilege enough. In some ways, this is the most pleasant birthday I've had in years."
"Good lord, that is tragic," Ciarra teased as her friend sat down next to her.
She moved a little bit closer to him, still shivering. "I-I suppose that I could sing for you, but I'd be rather humiliated to sing considering you got to listen to Aunt Christine every day."
"There's no need for that-" Killian said hurriedly, but Ciarra had already opened her mouth:
"Ah poor bird,
Why art thou
Singing in the shadows
At this late Hour?
Ah, poor bird
Take thy flight
High above the shadows
Of this sad night-" *
Ciarra trailed off at Killian's expression. "What?"
"That is one of the most depressing songs I've ever heard," he laughed, readjusting himself against the rock.
Ciarra grumbled for a moment before pausing to think. Killian's eyes had started to drift closed by the time she began to sing again.
"Down yonder green valley, where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading I pensively rove
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander,
Amid the dark shades of the lonely ash grove;
'Twas there, while the blackbird was cheerfully singing,
I first met that dear one, the joy of my heart!
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.
Still glows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain,
Still warbles the blackbird its note from the tree;
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,
But what are the beauties of nature to me?
With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden,
All day I go mourning in search of my love;
Ye echoes, oh, tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
'She sleeps, 'neath the green turf down by the ash grove.'"
Her voice was quiet, hoarse, and airy, almost carried away by the mountain's brisk wind, but somehow that made it even more beautiful. He was fully aware of how painful it was to talk at the moment, never mind sing, and having someone make such a kind gesture for him was something that hadn't happened for a long time.
"Thank you," he whispered, feeling oddly touched.
Ciarra smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. "Any time."
Both teenagers slept very fitfully that night because of the cold, wind, and their general discomfort. By the time the sun had risen, Killian was fully awake and aware of just how closely Ciarra was pressed against him in a futile attempt to stay warm.
"Ciarra," he whispered softly, shaking her.
She didn't answer.
"Ciarra!" He said more urgently, his heart starting to pound in fear.
"Hmm?" She groaned, wiping her eyes clumsily.
"We should go. I don't care whether we go backwards or forwards, but we need to find some water," Killian said quickly, feeling his entire body sag with relief to see her awake.
"Agreed," Ciarra whispered, slowly pulling herself to her feet.
The following day was agony. The sun seemed particularly hot and unyielding, and both Killian and Ciarra stumbled and fell so many times that their knees were covered in scratches and gashes. By mid-afternoon, Ciarra fell and refused to get up.
"I can't walk anymore," she sobbed quietly, although Killian could see very few tears. That seemed like a bad sign.
"Just a little further, Ciarra," Killian urged her, kneeling down beside her.
"I can't. Please, just go," she wailed, voice cracking from dryness and misuse. Her brown eyes were large and frightened, almost like a startled deer before it was hunted down.
Killian bit his lip, frustration coursing through him. On one hand, he was exhausted and felt like laying down next to her and giving up. On another (yes, he still had another hand at this point)-
The Present
-Emma groaned-
The Past
-his self-preservation kicked in and reminded him that dying would be a bad idea, particularly when he'd promised Lyanna to return for her. Yet, he was unable to accept the idea of leaving Ciarra behind; she was his friend, his cousin (if not by blood), and was in this mess because of him.
"Come on," Killian muttered, starting to pull her to her feet in spite of her protests. However, in spite of his resolve, her inability to carry her own weight made the whole process somewhat ineffective.
After a moment to roll his eyes at the sky, Killian hefted his cousin over his shoulders along with his belongings (which had seemed to grow heavier and heavier throughout the day), groaning and stumbling a bit under her weight.
"You're certainly heavy for someone so skinny," he grunted.
She didn't respond. That was enough to spur Killian forward as quickly as he could, which was not very quickly under the circumstances. Each step was agony; carrying his own weight had been difficult enough, but adding his cousin was easily twice as difficult. He stumbled along at a painfully slow pace, only focusing on taking one more step. Still, he had to take multiple breaks; he came close to fainting multiple times and soon decided that it would be wiser to stop and take a break than to lose consciousness. That would be no help for anyone.
Killian would've imagined before that going downhill would be ideal for this situation, but, oddly, it was more difficult. He stumbled and fell more and more from exhaustion and the steep slope. Still, the sight of trees in the distance was enough to keep him going.
When his ears finally detected the sound of running water, he would've cried if he'd had enough water inside of himself to spare on tears. As it was, he just stumbled along as quickly as he could until he saw the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen; a slowly trickling alpine stream.
With a soft cry of relief, Killian slipped Ciarra and their few belongings gently onto the ground and stumbled towards the stream. He drank a few greedy mouthfuls of water, relishing the feel of the cool liquid on his parched throat, before moving to Ciarra and gently carrying her to the stream.
"Ciarra," he rasped, shaking her gently.
When she didn't respond, he frantically felt around for her pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it faintly beating. He carefully tore a corner off of his shirt, wet it, and began to wipe her face and her neck in the hopes of rousing her. As much as he wanted to just pour water down her throat, he was too afraid of her choking and dying.
"Come on, you bloody... if you bloody die after I carried you all this way, I will never forgive you!"
Finally, one of her dark brown eyes fluttered open and focused on him dazedly. As soon as he was satisfied that she was awake, Killian cupped some water between his hands and let her drink; the last thing he wanted was for her to try to move too quickly and just pass out again. Eventually, though, she crawled into the path of the small stream, collapsed, and let the water flow into her mouth. Killian joined her soon afterwards.
They drank until they felt that they might burst before finally just letting the cool water run over them. Killian closed his eyes, feeling absolutely exhausted.
"Thank you," Ciarra whispered.
"You would have done the same," Killian retorted, pushing away her thanks with some discomfort.
"Of course," she agreed. Killian could hear the smile in her voice. "But still, thank you."
"I also got you into this situation. I couldn't very well just let you die," he added.
"Just accept my gratitude, you stupid git," she laughed weakly.
"It's woefully misplaced," Killian insisted.
She turned her head towards him with a disapproving frown. "No, it's not."
"Yes, it-"
"Oh, shut up," she murmured.
Before Killian could react, she had closed the short distance between their faces and pressed her lips firmly against his.
The Present
"Wait. Hold on a second. You're kidding, right?" Emma exclaimed, looking at her companion in shock.
Killian raised his eyebrow.
"Your cousin kissed you?"
The corners of his mouth quirked. "Such a thing was quite common and acceptable when I was a lad. Besides, Swan, as I have attempted to emphasize, we were not actually related. Our mothers were best friends who simply decided to call themselves family."
He smirked even more broadly at her skeptical expression.
"Still, wasn't it weird?"
"Perhaps you would know that by now if you hadn't interrupted," he teased.
The Past
Killian's eyes shot open in shock. Ciarra must have felt him stiffen, because she pulled away.
"Sorry," she muttered, tucking her hair behind her right ear in a gesture of insecurity. "I imagine almost dying does strange things to-"
Killian cut her off by pressing his lips against hers again, hesitantly beginning to explore her mouth. With a sigh, Ciarra relaxed against him.
The Present
"Well, that answers that," Emma muttered.
The Past
After a few minutes of slow, gentle kisses, the two teenagers pulled apart. A small smile played on Ciarra's lips, still pale from her brush with near death. Nevertheless, Killian thought the sight was beautiful.
Shortly afterwards, Ciarra fell asleep, her head gently resting against Killian's shoulder. Water still ran over the two of them, and the quiet gurgling of the stream combined with the gentle breaths of Ciarra against his neck soon lulled Killian into a peaceful sleep of his own.
*English Trad.
**Welsh Trad. The first published version of this song (according to Wikipedia) was written by a Welsh musician named Edward Jones. When I saw that, I just had to throw it in here somewhere!
Sorry that this is short. I just wanted to get something up!