A/N:

Welsh Translations:

-Basderddyn = 'little bastard'

-Basdarddes = 'female bastard'

Disclaimer: Eddy and Adam own and are the creative geniuses; I, in comparison, do not own and am only an inspired village idiot. Enjoy my humble contributions...

Chapter 9:

Origin Story

Storybrooke Docks

A few weeks later…

She was in the zone. She had yet to let Killian past her defenses. She parried and counter-parried, attacked and counter-attacked, riposted and counter-riposted, and dodged his hook all over the ship's deck, from stern to bow and even occasionally entangled in the rigging. Their bout had made its way down the gangplank, up the pier, past Leroy's boat, and was presently at the very edge of the pier.

She was so in the zone that it took her a moment to realize that her blade had successfully whipped over his, disarming him, and was now pointed at his throat.

With his arms in the air in the universal gesture of surrender, he quipped, "Well, lass, shall I be walking the plank or will ye be accepting my surrender?"

She shot him a suspicious look, asking him doubtfully, "You yield?"

"Aye, I yield. I gave it my all, and you got me, love," he sighed ruefully. His chagrined expression was somewhat marred by the proud grin that was threatening to spread across his face.

She lowered her blade and backed away. When he made no move to go on the offensive, she relaxed and returned her sword to its sheath, and then began her victory dance, chanting triumphantly, "I did it! I did it! I bested the great Captain Hook!" And if that wasn't childish enough, she threw herself at him and hugged him, exclaiming, "Thank you!"

The defeated captain awkwardly patted her back, but graciously declared, "It was all you, kitten. Shall we celebrate?"

Pulling away and checking her watch, she grimaced. "I can't now. I'm already late for work. How about tomorrow?"

"That's fine. It will give me time to have that cake of yours made."

At the word cake, all thoughts of triumph or tardiness disappeared, and her mouth began to water, as she dreamily murmured, "Mm. Chocolate…"

Killian laughed, cautioning teasingly, "Careful there, kitten. You're beginning to drool."

She opened mouth but then quickly closed it, as she was unable to muster up a suitable retort. Grinning (for she couldn't stop), she admitted, "Right now I'm in too good of a mood to tell you off."

Unsurprisingly, his supply of droll retorts was seemingly endless, as he leered roguishly, "Hmm, more's the pity. I get all aquiver and tingly when you're in a chastising mood."

"I'm sure you do," she snorted before leaning up and kissing his cheek, "But you're going to have to be unstimulated today."

"Your friend was right – " he called out after her as she walks away. "Draw a little blood and you get positively… affectionate!"

Tawny's only reply was to give him a jaunty farewell wave.

~0~

Main Street, outside of Granny's

The next evening…

Ever since she had bested Killian the day before, she had been riding a high. For once, she was purely content. The town villains had done nothing to rain on her parade. Her friends were safe and coming to celebrate her achievement at the Rabbit Hole. Fitz had even promised her a drink on the house. Alexandra had called her 'Auntie Wen' and given her a kiss when she saw her at her grandpa's. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Killian was buying her cake and attempting to smother his smirk at her gleeful childlike joy. Not succeeding, but attempting. It was the thought that counted though.

"Do you care to come in with me or would you prefer to wait outside?" he asked her solicitously.

"Puh-lease, I have braved the Evil Queen's fortified lair for your vengeance. I can brave Granny's diner for my cake."

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but then merely grinned and shrugged.

She stepped inside and was blasted with the smells of diners everywhere – stomach-turning grease, heavenly fresh-baked bread, and freshly brewed java. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and just take in that one scent like the junky she was, and instead did a quick cursory glance of her surroundings to do a threat assessment.

And that was when she saw him.

Tall, dark, and handsome. The Knight of the bloody Cart.

She had forgotten that he was here. She had forgotten that this 'saintly' man had come to Storybrooke along with Emma Swan's baby-daddy from the Forest. In her euphoria, she had forgotten that the 'Heroes' congregated at the diner.

But she remembered everything else. She remembered the pain of humiliation, of betrayal, of abandonment, of scorn and derision, of rejection. She could feel her palms begin to sweat and her heart begin to race. It didn't help that everyone there – the dwarves, the giant, the Charmings, Swan and Cassidy and Henry, Archie, Gepetto and Pinocchio – and had begun to look at her, noticing her halted entrance.

He noticed too. His dark eyes met hers, hope lit his face for a brief moment, and then fell as true recognition dawned. That hurt. That hurt so much that when he opened his mouth and greeted, "Gwe – ", she lost it. The anger rising up so fast that she wanted to choke him with it.

Within two strides, she grabbed a steak knife off of Sleepy's plate, and within another, she had it up against his throat, hissing, "Don't. Call. Me. That. Ever. It has never been my true name." Confusion flickered in his eyes, and she could see him struggling to remember…

"Oh my god, you don't even know the name my father christened me with?" Her hysterical laughter made everyone in the diner jump.

She shoved him away from her as she tried to regain control of herself. Two deep breaths were all it took, and then she straightened, meeting his pitying gaze head-on. She cursed his unwanted pity silently, coldly decreeing, "If you ever do recall it, you are to keep it to yourself."

He nodded.

"Swear it!" She spat.

"I swear on the blood of my Savior, your name will never grace my lips."

She accepted his oath, for she knew that the saintly knight held nothing more sacred; although she wondered where his devotion was when he was breaking the Seventh Commandment with his liege-lord's wife no less.

At her curt nod and even further lowering of knife, he dared to ask, "And what shall I call you instead, M'lady?"

She coldly stared him down, biting out, "Just that. You owe me that much, Sir Knight."

Biting his tongue against the rising tide of burning questions she knew he had, he bowed his dark shaven head in acquiescence. At which, she spun on her heel and marched to the counter, placing the knife gently down before asking with forced calmness, "May I have my usual, Granny?"

The formidable woman glanced over her head as if seeking permission from someone behind Tawny. She seemed to have received it, because she reached down and handed her a bottle of cinnamon whiskey. Tawny handed the tender for twice it was worth, instructing, "Keep the change."

To Killian who had his hand on his sword hilt and his menacing glare on everyone else in the diner, protecting her back like the best mate he is, she whispered, "Get the cake. I'm going to call Fitz."

"You sure, lass?" he murmured. And though she hadn't said it, he seemed to know that she was going to cancel the party.

A bitter laugh escaped her clogged throat as she slipped past him with a nod and exited the diner.

~0~

Granny's

A few minutes earlier…

Tawny was practically skipping her way into the diner. Normally he would have teased her about this, but today was her Achievement Day and she was grinning from ear-to-ear, a sight he would never grow tired of seeing as he suspected it was too rare for this winsome lass; so he would do nothing to spoil it. And to be honest, his well-developed sense of self-preservation knew better. She could hold her own against him now.

He was half a step behind Tawny when she entered the diner, and he proudly noted that she it was second instinct for her to scout the land before proceeding.

He was halfway to the counter, signaling to the admirable matron for the dessert, when he noticed that Tawny had not moved and that she was fixated on Baelfire's new friend, that famous gallant chap of a knight, the one whom the ladies of Pleasure Island wanted to know if the rumors of him being a 'Leviathan' were true.

By the look on Tawny's face, his being a Leviathan had nothing to do with the size of his manhood and had more to do with him being a monster.

When the man started to move towards her, he made to scar the beast's pretty face but Tawny was quicker. He nearly cheered when he saw the knife at the man's throat, but instead he put his hand on his sword in his best intimidating manner to keep everyone else in their seats. Most didn't even notice, as they were as fixated on the tableau before them as he was coming to be.

It was a good thing that he had done so, because as soon as the wounded fiery lass turned her back to acquire whiskey of all things, Charming and that belligerent dwarf attempted to make a move. He stood his ground, and Emma for once respected his wishes and backed him up.

After Tawny left, the disquieting spell of silence was broken and nearly everyone erupted. The loudest of all was the dwarf, who pathetically attempted to get in his face, barking like the little pug-faced terrier he was, "Keep your girlfriend on a leash, Hook. There are children in here."

Before 'the Captain' could reply in true Hook fashion, Emma placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder to silence him and with her other turned Killian back towards the counter, asking softly, "What the hell was that all about?"

He shrugged her hand off and growled, "I have no more of an idea than you, but if that 'gallant knight' wishes to live to maintain his reputation, he will keep it between the two of them, as clearly she is the wounded party and as a lady it is her wishes that should be respected, if I recall the code of the Round Table correctly." He said this last part loud enough for the noble lordling to hear.

Their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by Granny bringing out the cake. He paid for it quickly, nodded curtly to its baker in gratitude, and swiftly made his exit, deftly but guiltily avoiding Henry's no doubt concerned and imploring look.

She was a little ways down the street, away from prying eyes at the window. Her head was down so that her blond hair covered her face, but her back was to the wall so no one could sneak up on her and her grip on the bottle of whiskey allowed her to swing it like a club if they tried. Atta girl.

As he drew nearer, he could hear her say: "No, Fitz, there is no use asking me why right now… Yeah, you'll get your answers after Giselle weasels or hounds it out of me later…Take care."

She tucked her phone in her pocket and fixed him with an apologetic gaze, explaining morosely, "It's just a rain-check. Until I feel in a far more festive mood."

"Aye, lass," he agreed sympathetically, and then, because he couldn't help himself, "What's a 'rain-check'?"

This startled a short watery hiccup of a laugh out of the poor lass, before she gamely attempted to explain, "It's a – "

He cut her off with a bump to the shoulder, stating, "Never mind, kitten. What I really want to know is if you are not in a festive mood, what sort of mood are you in?"

Holding up the bottle of whiskey, she confessed dryly, "Well, me hearty, I plan to drink up, yo ho, and then drown in tears, and then somewhere in between stuff my face with chocolate cake."

Under different circumstances he might have taken umbrage at her poor imitation of pirate speech, but he recognizes dangerous waters when he sees them. When Milah was feeling morose, usually around Baelfire's birthday or name-day, she would isolate herself in their cabin with several bottles of their finest and cry her ocean of tears, and woe to anyone who disturbed her. He had also learned that she didn't always want to be alone, that sometimes she wanted him there with her, to be the one person who could sit there and listen to her without judgment, or to just sit there and be. He had been honored to be her person.

And he would be Tawny's person, if she would just let him.

But like Emma, she had these walls that went sky high. And like Emma, she forgets that he is a great climber.

"And where shall we be doing this?" Before she could protest, he declared, "For you don't think that I'm going to let you wallow alone, do you? I have invested too much into this partnership for you to cut me out now."

She hesitated a moment and then her shoulders slumped in resignation. A quick learner, this lass is.

After a moment of careful consideration – he could see the great debate between her warm inviting bed and his bonnie ship, the epitome of freedom – when she finally declared, "The Roger." And just as he was turning them to guide them to the docks, she muttered with some acerbity, "Something has to be jolly about this evening."

"Oh, lass, bad form." He groaned in protest.

At his pained expression, she laughed, and he reveled in it, for he suspected that it would be the last pure sound of amusement he would hear from her the rest of the evening.

~0~

The Jolly Roger

Once her feet touched the deck, she realized that she did not want to barricade herself below, but nor did she want to have their inevitable conversation in which she bared her soul out on the open deck. She found herself wishing for her oak tree, the one she used to climb when she was a little girl, and that was when she thought of the crow's nest.

Killian was obliging, fully into his gentleman-captain mode, and without complaint creatively rigged up a way to hoist the cake up there as well. While she was admiring the cake and trying not to cry over it – for Ruby had added her mark to a corner of it, a wolf paw print of red icing – he was gathering utensils, cups, and handkerchiefs; all of which he pulled out of his pockets as soon as he settled next to her.

After a shot or two of whiskey and a very large slice of her cake, she finally broke their silence, beginning with the safe generalities. "What do you know of Camelot?"

Killian shrugged casually as he replied, "It was an isle kingdom beyond the Forest, ruled by King Arthur and his chivalrous Knights of the Round Table. It fell to barbarians a few years before my return from Neverland due to infighting."

She nodded and then sighed, "My father was one of the King's men, loyal to the end, but not a knight of that 'egalitarian' table because of his continued affair with a local merchant's daughter, my mother."

She stopped and waited with baited breath for his reaction to her revelation. She expected there to be a shout of doubt or awe at her being a native of Camelot, but instead, he homed in on the detail that mattered the most to her, asking softly, "And what was the end?"

This grief was old, but her matter-of-fact answer was still tinged with sorrow. "The King sent him to defend against northern invaders, but it was an ambush. Morgana's supporters attacked them while they were in route. He managed to get his men out, but not before he was fatally wounded."

"And this Morgana was?"

"Morgana le Fey, the king's half-sister who dabbled in dark magic and who believed because she was the legitimate child of their shared father, that she was the rightful heir to the throne." Scoffing she added, "Rightful heir to his chiefdom, but not the kingdom. That was forged by Arthur and his uniting of the clans; something she couldn't have done with all her dark powers."

"Your parents were killed by the same witch? This 'Fey' witch?"

She downed another shot of whiskey, before replying bitterly, "My antipathy for the vile breed makes much more sense, doesn't it?"

Killian let out a low whistle, adding, "I'd wish all of them dead too, love."

She started to feel all maudlin that he remembered such an offhand comment, but before she could get sidetracked by this sentimental rabbit trail, he prompted kindly, "What happened to you after that, Tawny-lass?"

She sighed and then picked up her tragic tale, "By that time I was already established in The Shrew's household. My father had taken me in upon my mother's death, and after his, she and their daughter, my older half-sister, made my life miserable. Most of the time, they ignored and shunned me, leaving me to be looked after by the servants and tutors; which I didn't mind, because when Guinevere did notice me she was spiteful and vindictive."

This time, he was stupefied with awe, barely able to get out a flabbergasted: "Guinevere? As in…?"

"Yes, as in the Queen. She was fair to look upon, which the King noticed at my father's funeral; and she was in need of a protector from all the greedy suitors who wanted my father's wealth, and he loved to fulfill the role of the hero." She couldn't help the resentful sneer that slipped past her carefully controlled demeanor.

Killian snorted cynically, "Not to mention, he would get the revenue from her lands and the support of her vassals."

"Yes, and The Shrew and The Bitch got the prestige and power of being leaders of the Court," was her contemptuous agreement. She took secret satisfaction in the knowledge that her half-sister had quickly become disillusioned. With the power and prestige came a cage. The constant eyes that followed her every move by guards, servants, and backstabbing courtiers; the expectations of the role; the false friends who only sought favors – all of it created a prison of loneliness. Not to mention, Arthur's frequent absences to fight this battle or that in defense of the kingdom. She should know.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she continued, "At first, they left me behind, wanting to keep the reminder of their shame safely tucked away in anonymity. But Arthur wouldn't have it. He sympathized with me, being a bastard himself, and insisted that I be brought to court as one of her ladies-in-waiting."

The only difference between her and her majesty's handmaiden was that she was curtsied to by the laundry maids when she delivered The Bitch's gowns to be washed or mended.

"What he did not know was that by doing so, he had doomed his marriage. In her mind, I think, he was just like her father – choosing 'my side' over hers, and so when the handsomest and best of all knights gazed upon her with adoration and devotion and listened to her and took 'her side' against me, she succumbed and eventually ran away with him."

She had reached the point in her tale, in which would explain her actions back in the diner, but she could not do it, not just yet. So she cut herself another piece of cake and watched the sky darken as the setting sun sunk behind the mountains.

The kick in the pants that she needed to continue came by way of Killian, who murmured understandingly, "Lass, you need not tell me anymore, if you don't wish it."

"No, no, I do need to. It's been festering for so long…" Her gaze flickered to his briefly, before she continued her narration, "When my dear sister brought me to court, she introduced me to all as Gwenhwyfach, which was a cruel play on words. For you see, in our tongue, Guinevere's true name is Gwenhwyfawr, which can be interpreted as 'Gwenhwy the Great', so my new moniker meant 'Gwenhwy the Lesser'. And by a cruel twist of fate, Regina's Curse decided that in this world I should be called Gwen."

"Why – ?"

"Why keep it?" She shrugged, then confessed, "Partly because I don't want people to know my true name, partly because I don't want to be boxed in by my Forest persona, partly because I'm a bit of a masochist, but also because it's nice to hear it said with affection from my friends who know me by that name."

She munched on a piece of cake and tracked the rising moon's path as its light flickered over the inky black waters, before asking thoughtfully, "Do you know what one of the saddest things is about all of this is?" Before he could venture a guess, she snorted derisively, "Because The Shrew didn't treat me as badly as her daughter did, I held out the faintest of hopes that she held a smidgen of concern for me. So when she came to me and begged me to help her with a plan to save the last shred of the family's good name, the poor orphan girl who longed for a mother's love, foolishly agreed to commit treason."

"Treason?" He asked as if he hadn't heard her correctly.

"Oh yes, treason," She confirmed. "You see when Lancelot and the queen ran away, they left while visiting our home, and The Shrew was afraid that she would be accused of helping them, so until her daughter came to her senses, she needed a stand in. And who better than the half-sister who looks as if she could be her twin?"

Killian's face was priceless. His blue eyes were wide, his expressive eyebrows fully raised, and his mouth hanging agape, all in astonishment.

She grinned mirthlessly, "Yes, there were a few differences. She was slightly taller and more fully endowed. Heels and padding easily took care of that. I had to decline any requests to play the harp, which was her musical gift, and I had to drink the horrid sweet wines that she favored. But those were the easy parts."

"Pray tell, what was the hardest part?"

There was no hint of mockery. He genuinely seemed interested in her story. This and the fact that he seemed to believe her outlandish tale bolstered her.

"It was difficult to remember not to show a sign of gratitude to the servants, to just take their work for granted. It was difficult to remember to snub the courtiers who did not obsequiously flatter and fawn over me."

"But you managed them all with the skill and ease that you employ upon me and your vigilante army."

Rolling her eyes, she protested, "I don't manage you, but yes, I found that I had the talent for the 'game of power', and was greatly helped by my former outsider-looking-in perspective." More thoughtfully, she divulged, "All the secrets that I had overheard because I had been a nobody… but the secret that terrified me the most was my own. The fear that I would be discovered, that someone would see…It was petrifying…And then there was Arthur."

After another fortifying sip of her whiskey, she elaborated, "The most difficult part of it all was lying to him, the man who I held in such high regard. To make up for it, I was more attentive to him than grudge-bearing Guinevere had been, more supportive and less demanding – which should have tipped him off."

At Killian's snort of amusement, she rolled her eyes again, "My inexperience in 'wifely duties' was, I imagine, attributed to his frequent absences, and the usual indicative barrier was taken care of by my un-lady-like habit of riding astride."

"He was your first, and he didn't even know it?" His eyes narrowed in disapproval as he muttered through pursed lips, "That's not how it should be, lass."

Trying not to picture how her pirate friend imagined it should be, she waved her hand dismissively, "That's neither, here nor there. What is important is that the King began to fall in love with the False Guinevere, and when the real one heard that her husband was becoming besotted with his 'wife', she went bat shit crazy. For she knew it could only be me who could pull it off."

"She returned and exposed her own infidelity? Abandoned her love…Why?"

She wasn't so mired in her own misery that she couldn't wonder at the pirate who had held a grudge for centuries not understanding the caustic insanity of hatred. That it was inconceivable to him that anyone would choose vengeance over love was… moving.

Smiling softly, she explained. "Like I said, she went bat shit crazy. For her, history was repeating itself. The man who was supposed to love her, first her father and then her husband, favored her bastard half-sister. And so she returned and declared that I had used witchcraft to usurp her rightful place, poisoning her and Lancelot with a love potion so that they would betray their king and, she 'suspected', that when Arthur began to grow suspicious I poisoned him so that love's blindness would keep him from seeing the truth."

"And Arthur believed this poppycock?"

"No, he didn't. But he went with it." She admitted, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to squash the swell of sadness that was threatening to overwhelm her.

In her nightmares, she was haunted by his dark eyes – filled with the pain of betrayal and anger, such righteous fury…

~ C* A * M * E * L * O * T ~

~Many years ago~

As soon as her king entered her tiny cell, she cried, "I'm not a witch, I swear, Arthur!"

"I know." He acknowledged, his shoulders slumping in resignation. Her relief was short-lived, for he added regretfully, "But it does not matter, your part in this farce has tied my hands."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," He snapped harshly, "that I cannot look like a cuckolded fool who can't even tell he is bedding the wrong woman!" His eyes then pierced her accusation and his voice rasped with agony, "How could you? If you loved me at all, how could you do this to me?"

She wanted to touch him, to soothe him, to ease his suffering and let him know that she never thought him a fool, but he was so stiff and distant, holding himself beyond her reach. And it was not her place. So in between sniffs of remorseful tears, she pleaded for understanding, "At first it was to avoid the family's disgrace, and then it was to protect you, to shield you and then – and then I began to care for you, as if you were mine."

"It would have been better for all if you had not – "

She didn't want to hear his rejection; she couldn't, so she let the anger and bitterness that she was holding in rise up, snapping, "It would have been better if Lancelot had kept control of his woman."

"It would have been better if Lancelot had kept away from mine!" he retorted furiously.

She couldn't deny that, so she retreated and waited for his wrath to cool before asking, "So shall I be burned at the stake for my wicked sorcerous ways or will I be beheaded for treason?"

"Neither," he sighed. "You'll be exiled, banished for impersonating the queen."

~ S* T * O * R * Y * B * R * O * O * K * E ~

The tears were free flowing at this point, several handkerchiefs soiled, and so in order to create emotional distance, she asked, "Did you know that in this world, I am only known by Guinevere's pet name for me? And that both times that I am mentioned it is to attribute the slap I gave her as the cause for the disastrous Battle of Camlann?"

Killian shook his head patiently, for of course, he didn't, but then a slow grin spread across his face as he asked, "You slapped her that good, huh?"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, returning his grin with malicious glee. "When she stormed into the hall to dramatically make her accusation, I slapped her to shut her up and to take out all my fury for her mistreatment of me, of Arthur, and most of all for not staying away. She couldn't speak for a whole minute."

She chose to revel in the satisfaction that tiny act of violence had given her and to squash the terror that still clawed at her throat at the memory of her humiliation and of having to face the accusing stares of a crowd full of self-righteous nobles.

Shrugging dismissively, she noted, "The slap didn't result in Arthur's downfall. His court fractured over his decision to accept Guinevere back. His nephew, Mordred, didn't think a man who would let his wife get away with such behavior was fit to be king, and too many knights agreed with him."

"What happened to The Shrew?"

~ C* A * M * E * L * O * T ~

She was awoken by the sound of stomping boots just outside of her cell. But it was not her cell door that was opened but the one across from hers. She was about to roll over and go back to sleep, too exhausted by her latest crying jag to feel curious, when a horribly familiar voice hissed, "Basderddyn, I know you're there, and I know you're listening, and I want you to know that I curse you. I curse the day you were born. This is all your fault."

Her despondent lethargy was not so much that she couldn't summon up the energy to object curtly, "As I recall, it was your idea and it was your daughter that was the adulteress."

"Do not speak to me of adultery, Basdarddes. You had to go and make him love you. Just like your whore mother. My greatest regret is that I didn't bargain with Morgana to strike you down with The Pestilence as well."

~ S* T * O * R * Y * B * R * O * O * K * E ~

As the excruciating memory faded, she answered, "She was locked away under house arrest. I assume Guinevere was able to sway Arthur from his desire to have her executed for her part in the conspiracy."

How she had prayed for the woman's death – by rope, by axe, by pneumonia from her dank cell, and then…her wish had come true, in the most horrific of ways. "And then Camelot was overrun. She was treated like all women were by the barbarians – as a spoil of war until she died from their…maltreatment of her."

She shuddered in horror. As much as she despised her mother's murderer, no woman deserved such a fate.

"In retrospect, Arthur saved me twice by his sentence – sparing me from an execution and from that." Killian poured her another shot, which she gratefully drank, before resuming, "His injured pride may have killed the nascent love we had, but it did not kill his chivalry. He had one of my father's former vassals escort me to the docks and arranged for one of my grandfather's former merchant captains to sail me across the channel to the Forest, where this man had his sister, a tavern keeper, take me in. Without all that, I wouldn't have survived – I would have been burned or beaten by the commoners who rightfully loved their king or would have died of starvation in a land of uncaring strangers."

Leaning her head back against the mast, she closed her eyes and concluded her tale, "I stayed there until I heard of the fall of Camelot and Arthur's fate, and then I fled deeper into the Forest, bouncing from one tavern to the next, picking up survival skills and honing all the ones that I had learned sneaking about my father's keep." Smiling softly, she dryly remarked, "Skills such as lock-picking and sneaking into homes is what led me to you. Aren't you lucky?"

For a moment, he didn't respond, causing her eyes to flash open, which is when she saw him awkwardly reach across his body with his good hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and then trail down her arm flooding it with warmth, before saying softly, "Aye, I am."

In the faint glow of the moonlight, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. She nearly drowned in those damn blue eyes. Even at her most vulnerable, he made her feel safe. He made her feel strong.

In that moment, she knew it was time. She knew that if she ever revealed this to another soul, it would be him.

"Killian?" she whispered softly.

"Yes, lass?"

"My name is Tanwen."