Again, at this point, I'm not sure if I need to issue warning, but there is some extremely mature stuff in this chapter. I won't go into too much detail (nothing will be graphic), but there is a reference to a very mature situation in this chapter. If that will bother you, read with caution.
The Past
Two years passed. Of course, in that amount of time, things changed. Members of his crew died and new pirates joined. Ships were sunk, battles were fought, treasures were stolen, and the notoriety of the young captain rose. It wasn't the only thing that rose, of course; soon the king's price on his head grew to an unimaginable sum, which only filled Killian with a great deal of satisfaction. After all, if the king wanted him dead, that had to mean that he was doing something right.
He met Milah when he was just barely twenty-three.
The Present
"You had no girlfriends between Ciarra and Milah?" Emma asked. She couldn't help but be somewhat skeptical about this considering what a flirt her companion was nowadays.
"I had a few," Killian conceded with a smirk.
"And?"
If possible, his smirk widened even further. "Curious about my romantic history, Swan? Never fear; they're all long dead and buried."
Emma shot him a poisonous look. "You wish. I just think it's cheating to skip two years of your life like that."
"If the lady says so," he said with a wink that made Emma want to shove him into a particularly thorny bush.
The Past
Over those two years, Killian spent very little time in any relationship of any length. Mostly, any romantic encounters were brief ventures that ended amicably with the dawn.
The Present
It didn't take much stretch of the imagination for Emma to understand the implication. Trust Killian to make sleeping with prostitutes sound so romantic.
The Past
However, one of those nightly ventures led to something more sustained in the form of a dark-haired beauty named Esmeralda. It was a brief and passionate romance that could have amounted to something bigger in a different time or circumstance. However, both were simply trying to fill a hole left by a painful past through physical intimacy, which worked for a time but fulfilled neither person in the long term. In addition, Esmeralda had managed to maintain a sense of optimism that made Killian feel positively nauseated when he was exposed to it in large doses. The relationship ended quite amicably and mutually several months after its birth, and the two remained friends for years afterward.
Next came a feisty red-haired pirate aboard Killian's ship by the name of Jill. She joined along with her sister after being disowned by her parents. It took a long time to discover why, but eventually Jill confessed that she and her sister had been falsely accused of robbing a man in their town.
"I figured that if everyone thought we were robbers, we might as well just become them," she said with a nonchalant shrug contradicted by the angry glint in her eyes.
"Angry" was really the perfect way to describe Jill. She often appeared to be calm, and her voice rarely raised to a shout, but waves of anger radiated off of her constantly. It made her a ferocious, ruthless pirate and an ardent lover, but Killian ultimately became a bit disillusioned with her views of the world, which often clashed with his own. Above all, Killian aimed to maintain some sense of honour and justice; Jill's view seemed to be that the world was devoid of both, and thus deserved neither from her. Things ended a bit less pleasantly between them, but they were eventually able to make peace with each other, mostly because Jill's twin was unwilling to find a new ship and captain to work under. Allowing Jill to beat him at sparring seemed to help as well; there's nothing like giving your ex-lover a few bruises to take away your resentment.
However, Killian felt from the start that Milah was special, in a way that even Ciarra hadn't been. It wasn't something that he could fully explain, but simply something that he knew. It was a feeling that came on so slowly that by the time Killian could pinpoint that it was there, he couldn't name its beginning. Perhaps it had began as young children in a snowy alleyway. Perhaps it started as adolescents in a theatre, or the first time he saw her again as an adult, or any of the other countless moments at the start of their relationship that had now burned their way into his memory.
Meeting Milah again was an accident, and if fate ever had a hand in anything, Killian imagined it must have been their reacquaintance. He didn't mean to see her again, no more than she meant to see him. He never would have docked at that port if there hadn't been a huge storm coming, but he simply didn't have time to take his ship somewhere other than that small, Northern farming town. As for that particular street, who could say why he chose it? He was feeling particularly morose that evening, perhaps because Liam's birthday was approaching or simply because the heavens had opened up to piss on him. Either way, he ended up leaving the town's one tavern early that evening, leaving his friends amongst his crew to enjoy their alcohol without a moody companion.
It was dark, so at first he didn't even notice that anything was amiss. Then he heard some scuffling, some pleading before it was quickly muffled, and then the sound of fabric ripping.
Killian froze, shivering slightly in the rain. Part of him wanted to just go to bed and ignore whatever was going on, but the pleading had been from a woman. Whoever she was, something was happening that was hurting her in some way. While he had no particular desire to get into a fight this evening, he knew that he couldn't just stand by and let what he suspected was happening happen.
He set his jaw and started off towards the noise. The scrambling was now becoming more frantic. He heard a curse, a "would you hold her still?", and then, making his blood boil, a laugh.
As he got closer, the shadows turned into the form of a man holding a struggling woman from behind while another was in front of her, clearly with less than honourable intentions. Even in the dark, Killian could tell that the woman had put up quite a fight; her hair was a mess, her dress was ripped to reveal more of her than was socially acceptable, and he could swear that he saw scratches bleeding down her captor's face.
Angrily, Killian shoved the first man in the shoulder, making him stumble away. "It's very bad form to mistreat a woman, mate," he said icily.
"Stay out of this and you won't get hurt," the man bit back.
"Coincidentally, I was going to give you the same warning," Killian shrugged, drawing his knife slowly so that he could appreciate the way the man flinched at the hiss of the metal against its scabbard.
The men were nothing more than farmers, he thought with some satisfaction as he watched their eyes widen. They were big thugs who were used to getting their way due to their size, but likely the most fighting experience either would have would be a tavern brawl.
The man holding the poor woman, who was breathing hard against the hand over her mouth, looked nervously towards his companion.
"You're bluffing. You won't get away with murder in our streets," he stammered.
"He just wants her for himself," the other man sneered. "He's a pirate."
"If I wanted a woman for the night, I would go to the brothel and buy one. I'm a pirate, not dishonourable, uneducated scum. I know better than to just pick a woman off the streets for my pleasure," he replied easily.
In fact, on his ship, Killian had a strict policy on rape; do it, and be keel-hauled. He knew he was unusual in that way for a pirate captain, but there was simply no way that he could believe in good form and still allow something so base and pathetic. Besides, after hearing about Lord Alasdair and his mother, the thought of anyone being forced into anything of the kind against his or her will repulsed him.
At this point, the woman's attacker seemed to realize that he'd been insulted. He rushed at Killian, who sidestepped easily and tripped the man, sending him crashing to his knees. Before he could even begin to get up again, Killian's dagger was it the man's throat.
"Release the lady or I'll skewer your friend," he told the man who held her.
The man stepped away from her as though he'd been burned.
"Now," Killian continued softly, "perhaps I ought to teach you two a lesson."
The man at the end of his knife whimpered, filling Killian with even more disgust.
Carefully, he repositioned his knife to the man's forehead and created a deep gash. The man howled, even though it would do no permanent damage except to scar.
"You're nothing," he hissed in his ear, before releasing him. The other man had already started running.
As soon as both of the men had disappeared into the shadows, Killian turned to the woman, who was eyeing him warily in the dark and attempting to keep herself covered. Killian approached her slowly, but she still flinched away and stayed hidden in the shadows. He had the feeling from her nervous, jerky movements that she was trying to decide whether to run, attack him, or accept his help.
"I won't hurt you," he promised, shrugging out of his heavy coat. "Here."
"Thank you," she muttered in a shaky but lilting voice, avoiding his eyes. She still accepted his coat, though. "So you aren't planning to molest me?"
"If I'd wanted to, giving you my coat would have been a poor choice. Besides, it's far too cold here. I'd take you somewhere warm before I molested you."
Killian could clearly hear the frown in her voice. "Oh, of course. That's very comforting."
"Don't worry, love, I was only joking," he told her. "Thought maybe you could use a laugh."
His words ended up having the opposite effect that he'd planned. Instead of laughing or rolling her eyes, the woman sat down on the puddle-and-mud-filled street and started sobbing. They were quiet sobs, but that didn't make them less alarming.
In a rare turn of events, Killian found himself lost for words. After several awkward minutes of watching the woman cry in the puddle, Killian finally approached her again nervously.
"Look, lass, why don't I take you home?" He offered gently.
The woman shook her head tiredly. "No."
Killian tried not to be offended. "I told you, love, I won't hurt you. I'll just make sure you get home without any further incident." And get my coat back, he added as an afterthought in his head.
"I would rather drown myself than go home," the woman declared, almost unintelligibly through her sobs.
Killian privately thought that drowning herself in the puddle would be a difficult feat, but he decided to keep that opinion to himself.
"I can take you somewhere else," he tried, scratching nervously behind his ear.
"No." She shook her head again, tangled and loose hair flopping around her face like a protective curtain.
"Well, you can't just stay in a mud puddle," Killian threw his hands up in annoyance.
The woman didn't even bother to answer. She just buried her sodden head further into his coat.
For a moment, there was no sound but the rain and the woman's quiet cries. Killian wracked his brains for a solution, trying to remember what strategies he'd used to get Lyanna to do something that she didn't want to do (in the rare situations that she disobeyed). In the end, though, it wasn't deep thought that spurred his next idea, but rather simply annoyance with the rain. All he wanted to do was go back to his ship.
"Why don't you come with me back to my ship?" He suggested. "There should be a spare dress for you to borrow."
The woman froze. "From another woman you've taken 'somewhere warm' to molest?"
Killian sighed, rubbing his temples where a stress-headache was starting to form. "I told you, lass, that was only a jest. There are female members of my crew."
The woman hesitated for a moment. Then, just as Killian was considering picking her up and carrying her to his ship, she stood stiffly and nodded at him to lead the way. Really, in spite of the situation and crying only moments before, Killian thought that she showed a remarkable sense of dignity.
They picked their way through the wet and dirty streets. No stars in the sky lit their way, and the few lanterns outside of homes and shops did little to lift the oppressive darkness. Killian offered his arm more than once to the woman, but she flinched away each time. More than once, he was afraid he'd lost her in the dark, but he'd always find her again from the sound of her wet footfalls or quiet breaths, or even a slight shadow against a wall. When they reached his ship, he led her into his quarters and busied himself lighting some candles. The woman stayed with her back to him, rain trailing its way through soaked curls and onto the wooden floor. He wondered if she was too ashamed to meet his eyes, or if she was too afraid.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes," he said gruffly. "I'll be back in a moment."
He picked out the first dress of Jill's that he could find, hoping that she wouldn't be too upset so long as he bought her a new one. He came back to find the woman in exactly the same position as before, with the only difference being the size of the puddle at her feet. Somehow, she'd managed to lose a single shoe, and the other was certainly ruined from the rain. With a sigh, Killian draped the dress over his chair, before leaving once again to find stockings.
When he returned with stockings, rum, and some food in hand, he paused at the door. He imagined that it would be a very bad idea to intrude on the woman while she was changing by accident, particularly considering why she was on his ship in the first place. He would call out her name to check if she was finished, but he didn't know it.
"Are you decent?" He asked finally.
Much to his annoyance, she didn't answer. Carefully, he placed his ear against the door to see if he could hear any rustling.
Instead, he heard humming. The woman was tearily humming in a light, airy voice. Her voice was quite nice, but that wasn't what surprised him.
He knew that tune, and there was only one other person who knew it: Milah, the woman he had written it for.
Killian knocked abruptly before entering, about to demand where the woman had heard the song. Surely, she must have learned it from Milah, which meant that she had to be close by. Was it possible that his childhood friend was still alive? It had been years since he'd thought of her, but the song brought back an abundance of memories and an ache for times long past.
The woman turned to face in surprise, and, for the first time, the two saw each other face to face.
"Killian?" The woman asked in amazement, grey eyes wide.
"Milah," Killian breathed, equally surprised.
She looked different than she had nearly a decade ago, but he recognized her nonetheless. Certainly, she had aged. Lines had appeared on her face where before there was only smooth skin. A mouth that had been a bit more prone to smiling fit more naturally into a frown, and eyes that used to sparkle with mischief were now tired. Still, much was the same, from wild hair to sharp features to eyes that always seemed to see much more than the rest of the world did. In spite of everything, Killian thought she had grown more beautiful with time; she had been pretty before, he supposed, but now she was beautiful.
Killian couldn't help but wonder what Milah saw. He was surprised that she had recognized him, except perhaps from that telltale scar on his cheek.
For a moment, the two stared, as though afraid that the other would disappear if they even blinked. Then, a tear started to trace its way down Milah's face.
"I didn't think I'd see you again, and certainly not like this," she whispered, hugging her arms around herself.
New anger flooded Killian's heart. "Why were-"
"And you're a pirate now. I certainly didn't see that coming," Milah chuckled, a genuine smile flitting briefly across her face.
"Nor did I," Killian admitted.
Milah shook her head. "Remember when I asked you what you wanted to do when you grew up? I don't recall pirate being the answer." Then she laughed fully. "My God, what would Liam say?"
Killian didn't blame her for saying that. Of course, she had last seen Liam when they had been very small, and he had been the voice of disapproval to their thieving ways. At that age, it had seemed as though he were just trying to spoil their game, because survival really had just been a game back then. At least, it had been a game compared to the difficulty of survival as adults. Milah didn't know that Killian and Liam had ever even met again, and she certainly had no way of knowing that Liam was dead.
As a result, even though a twinge of pain flitted through Killian's chest, he didn't lash out at Milah the way he would've at someone else.
"He never had the chance to say anything about it; he's dead," he said instead.
Milah looked stricken. "No."
Killian nodded in a quick, painful jerk.
She gripped the back of the desk chair and pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "I never... I can't believe... it sounds foolish to say, but he was fine the last time I saw him and I never imagined..."
Killian could easily understand what she was getting at; she never imagined that she would never see him again. Oddly, Milah was the one person that it didn't hurt to talk about Liam with. In fact, it almost brought him a sense of comfort to talk to one person who he had been close to and who really knew Liam. He imagined she was probably the only living person who fully understood what a monumental loss to the world Liam's death was. As a result, even after not seeing each other for nearly a decade, Killian found himself divulging the details around Liam's death to Milah without any prompting. She was a good listener with an expressive face that projected her thoughts like a drama on the stage. By the end, her jaw was tight and her eyes glistened with tears in the candlelight.
"I'm so sorry, Killian. I know that doesn't help, but I am. He didn't deserve to die, and you didn't deserve to lose him," she said fiercely.
She must have seen in his face that he didn't believe her, because she leaned forward and yanked his chin up firmly. Milah was never one for subtlety. "It's true."
After a moment, Killian nodded. Whether or not he believed it, it was a wonderful thing for him to hear those words. So far, the only people who'd placed any blame in regards to the situation were himself, Pan, and Giselle. For all of them, it had been easy to pin the blame on Killian. After all, he had been the one who pushed Liam to the point of poisoning himself. Milah was the first person to offer him the hope that he hadn't killed his brother after all.
The Present
"You didn't," agreed Emma. "It was a set up."
Part of her doubted that anyone had offered him any similar reassurance since Milah's death. It only seemed fair to correct his skewed point of view.
Nonetheless, he simply smiled a sad, half-smile, and continued.
The Past
Of course, Milah asked about Lyanna next. With a sigh, Killian accepted the inevitable; he was going to have to revisit many painful memories this evening to catch up his old friend. Finally, once he had answered all of her questions to her satisfaction, Killian changed the subject to what he had really wanted to ask about the second he recognized his old friend.
"Tell me, Milah, what's happened to you?" He asked quietly, searching her face intently.
At this point, Milah became somewhat uncomfortable, closing off her more relaxed posture once again and tugging at her slightly ill-fitting dress.
"Many things," she said with a shrug. She was shaking.
Killian sighed and reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Tell me so that I can help you, for old times' sake."
Milah shook her head, beginning to cry again. The cries slowly escalating into deep, gut-wrenching sobs, and Killian ended up hugging her for some time, until she was calm enough to speak again.
"Oh, Killian, you have no idea how miserable I am." Now that the tears stopped, she sounded almost expressionless
He hesitated. "Was what I saw today a regular occurrence?"
She pressed her lips together tightly before forcing out her next words. "Many similar things have been going on for years."
"Why?" Killian growled.
Milah started playing with her hair, a habit from childhood that Killian remembered her doing whenever she was too embarrassed or scared to meet someone's eyes. It was strange to see something so familiar on a woman who was so familiar and yet so unfamiliar.
"Do you recall the man I told you about? The one my uncle planned for me to marry? Well, I married him and we had a child seven years ago. About that time, ogres started attacking the Northern kingdoms, if you recall, and my husband was called to war. Instead of fighting, he broke his own leg to return home in an act of unforgivable cowardice by all."
Rage filled Killian's own being. He had lost many friends, who were mere children at the time, to the violence of war. They had been terrified, but they had fought bravely nonetheless and met their fates with dignity. The thought of a grown man being unable to do the same made Killian sick. What if Owen had deserted? Then Killian would have died as a child himself. One man deserting could have made the difference to multiple lives. What sort of man left people - who were just as frightened - to their fate? That was beyond cowardice. It was a monstrous selfishness to believe that one's life was more important than every other man's, and to abandon everyone to his fate.
"He claimed it was for our child, of course. Still, can you imagine? What sort of child wants a coward for a father? Baelfire is too young to know any better than to love him, but once he grows, what shame will follow him? It already does, in truth, just as it follows me. That's why they attack me, you know. They harass me, insult me, throw things at me... all because they know that my husband is too cowardly to do anything about it. Most of them lost family in that war, which is why they're so vindictive, and I can hardly blame them. He left them to die."
Bitterness dripped from every word, and, even in the dim light, Killian could see Milah's pale eyes flashing with hurt and anger. He imagined his own were a mirror image.
"I tried so hard to be a good wife, at first. I didn't love him, but I thought I could learn to. I thought that it could be like those stories I heard from my parents before they died, when a couple changed each other for the better. I encouraged him to be brave. I bore his child. And he repaid me by destroying every hope I could have. My life is hell now, Killian. Hell. I keep thinking about killing myself so that I don't have to look upon his face anymore and deal with the torment of the neighbours. Just the sight of my husband disgusts me; you should see the way he limps and trembles! The only thing that stops me from killing myself is Baelfire; how much worse would his reputation be if he had a coward for a father and a suicidal mother?"
"You love him very much," Killian observed, noticing the change in her tone whenever she mentioned her son.
Milah lifted her hands helplessly. "I do, but sometimes I have difficulty with it. Isn't it foolish that a mother should struggle to love her own child? But sometimes I see bits of his father in him, and then I can't help but wonder if he'll grow up to be the same: a cowardly shadow of a man. When I feel that way, I feel ill, if only because I know I shouldn't have thoughts like that about my own child. Still, I can't bear to look at him for some time after that. And then I wonder if he wouldn't be better off without me. I'm so miserable that I don't give him nearly what a child deserves. I want to, but then loathing for his father fills my soul, and I can't do it. Isn't it terrible? Still, underneath everything, I still love him, somehow... I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense."
Killian shook his head after a moment's hesitation. He could understand complicated family relationships perhaps better than anyone. "Is there anything you've tried to do to change things?"
"I've asked him to leave, Killian, so we can start over. I thought that maybe I could love him after all, or at least focus on loving my child, so long as I was away from this cursed village. Still, he's too cowardly to leave. That's the irony," she laughed wetly at this. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm terribly foolish."
After a moment's silence, Killian asked another question that was on his mind. "And what of you being an artist, Milah? Surely you must find joy in your drawings. Doesn't that at least make things bearable?"
"I don't draw anymore," Milah confessed, rubbing at her face. Wordlessly, Killian passed her a handkerchief. "I can't bring myself to do it. Everything around me is so ugly that I feel that anything I create will only be just as ugly, and why fill the world with more ugly things?"
"Nothing you make could be ugly," Killian replied quietly. His heart ached from hearing her news. He was so used to cheerful, blunt, optimistic Milah. She had been the one with the dreams, daring, and hope when they'd been children. Now she sounded almost dead. It was like whatever spark burned within her that made her different and special and alive was starting to go out.
Milah sighed dramatically, putting a brave, if unpleasant smile on her face. "I've had enough of this dreary talk, though, Killian. Tell me something else about you! Tell me about any beautiful things you've seen in your travels. I would give most anything to even just imagine something outside of sheep and muck."
And so Killian changed the subject to tropical oceans, colourful birds, daring sword fights, sparkling sand, and the smell of salt and freedom.
By the time his voice died away, the sun was starting to tinge the ocean pink and orange with the dawn, and Milah's head was resting comfortably on his shoulder as though it belonged there.
"Oh, Killian, I so wish I could go with you." She sighed.
And with those few words, Milah sparked the fire that would determine her fate.