A/N: When looking for female characters in legends and fairy-tales I researched Arthurian tales and came across Gwenhwyfach. The short little blurb that Wikipedia and other sites had on her intrigued me, so much so that I just had to include her in my character's back-story. I hope you didn't find it too far-fetched.
As always any and all constrictive criticisms and words of encouragement are welcomed. Enjoy!
Chapter 10:
Names and Deeds
When Tawny began her story, he fully intended to sit there silently and let her get it all off her chest, but he soon realized that she could not be treated like Milah. This was for the obvious reason that she was not Milah and for the less than obvious reason that she had never had someone who she could confide in completely, at least not since her mother died, so at the very least she was out of practice and needed to be coaxed through the process. It was not all that hard to do – ask a few questions here, give a supportive reaction there, and the more freely she shared.
It was an engrossing tale, almost beyond belief, but that in and of itself would have convinced him of its authenticity had it been anybody else but her doing the telling. However, since it was her, he had no doubt of its truthfulness. The lass may have been cagey at times with him, but never had she lied.
It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep his righteous fury on her behalf to a bare minimum of indignation. But with every revelation, he began to wish that they all – Morgana, The Shrew, Guinevere and her lover, and the proud but foolish king – weren't dead or beyond his reach so that he could do to them all the things he wished he could do to the Crocodile. This Lancelot fellow had best not cross his path in the next few days...
He found himself bewildered and peeved that she still seemed to hold her former 'husband' in such high regard. He had rejected her, turned her out and made her the scapegoat for his unfaithful wife's crimes, and chosen Queen Bitch over her, all for the sake of his pride and what he thought was 'right'. She should despise him for the sad, vain little man he was. And let us not forget obtuse. Heaven forbid that he, Killian, ever not see her for the rare gem of a woman she is.
He was both humbled and honored when she revealed her name. He could count on his one good hand when he had ever felt so unworthily privileged – his brother proclaiming his faith in him, Milah maintaining that she thought him good father material, and Emma asserting that she trusted him with Henry's life.
When he was finally able to recover from his speechlessness, he said, "Tanwen? It's a beautiful name, love." With his head cocked to the side, he asked, "In your native tongue, what does it mean?"
"White fire," she replied.
At this, he couldn't help but chuckle.
"And what is so funny?" she asked with reasonable annoyance.
"It's not funny, not really, just – just ironic," he defended, unable to wipe the grin from his face.
"Oh?"
"It's very apropos, as I have often thought of you as 'my fiery lass'."
"Yours, huh?" she archly challenged, for, of course, Miss Independence would fixate on that aspect.
"Pirate," he defended with insolent indifference. "We're possessive of things not in the strictest sense our own."
"And in a looser sense?"
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, or so I have been told."
"Cute." Her tone was full of impatient censure, but her eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.
Not wishing to make light of her revelation, he declared earnestly, "I am truly honored, Tanwen, and I wish to return the favor."
"You don't have to do that." The lass protested. "I think our relationship has gotten beyond the need for quid pro quo…Besides which, I already know your name."
"You don't know my full name or the story behind it," he corrected lightly. "And I do not feel some obligatory compulsion to balance the scales, for you are right – we are beyond that. It's because I want to." Although it was nice to hear her say so.
"Okay…" His normally feisty and confident lass' voice was tinged with uncertainty, so he took pity on her and began his tale.
"I hail from the merchant class as well. To be more precise, my father was in the shipping business. He did fairly well for himself, which made him a suitable match for my mother, who was an heiress of a timber-empire. Not long after my older brother was born, his luck began to change. Ships were lost at sea to storms, privateers of our nation's enemies, or the press-ganging practices of our own naval captains. To my knowledge, it was around the time of my birth that my father began gambling, and by the age of four, we were bankrupt and my mother took the two of us back to live with her family."
"Did you ever see your father again?"
"Oh yes, at my mother's funeral. She was taken by the cholera. Uncanny, the similarities in our stories." Tawny's murmur of agreement had a hint of dissent, causing him to amend, "Hers though, as far as I am aware, was not magically-induced."
After a brief moment of thoughtful silence, he continued, "When she died, my brother had been at sea on his first tour in the royal navy, and so the lonely motherless boy, that I was, thought nothing of leaving with his father and quite enjoyed the secretive game they made of it."
"He kidnapped you?"
Killian shrugged, "In his mind, it was more like 'reacquired', but, essentially, yes, he did. At the time, I didn't mind though, for my mother was dead, my brother was away, and my father was introducing me to a new lifestyle – staying up as late as I wanted, eating whatever I wanted, and learning how to charm women out of their pocket-money. For a while my father had a winning streak at the tables, and I was his 'lucky charm'. But then it ended and we were on the run from his bookie and creditors, and at the age of ten he had signed us up on a ship of … questionable intent."
He struggled to let his own walls down, so that when he met her gaze with his own she could genuinely see the ghost of his pain of being a lost little boy. When he managed it, he shared gruffly, "He lasted a week taking orders from men whom he saw as beneath him, and at the next port of call, he jumped ship and left me behind."
"Why?" Bless her. She looked as if she truly could not imagine why anyone would unburden themselves from a troublesome scamp of a lad.
"I never knew. He didn't leave a note or tell me goodbye. For the longest time, I thought it was because I was no longer 'lucky' so therefore 'not worthy'. And then once discovering that not long after that, he was caught by the law and hanged for his crimes as a swindler, I surmised that I was inconvenient baggage – noticeable and too dependent upon him for my survival.
"Whatever his reason, it worked out in the end, as a few months after he left me on that pirate ship, it was seized and boarded by the crew of the Jewel of the Realm, the naval ship my brother served as a middie on. He pleaded mercy on my behalf to the captain, and I was spared the hangman's noose and instead press-ganged into His Majesty's service."
A wave of nostalgia brought a grin briefly to his face and he boasted proudly, "Reunited, the Jones brothers were a formidable force. Eventually, he became captain of the Jewel, and I, his lieutenant."
Memories of their adventures together – outracing the mother of all hurricanes, the sacking of the Raiding Raja's fleet, the climbing of their very first beanstalk – flooded his mind.
He shared a few of them before he ended with the telling the one of his first adventure in Neverland and his brother's last adventure ever. She listened raptly to it all. When he told of his brother's death, she leaned over and gave his knee a sympathetic squeeze and passed him the last of her whiskey. When he finally explained that his king's dishonorable actions were what led to his life of piracy, she snorted and muttered, "Of course, revenge and honor were your motivations. It would be un-gentlemanly if they were anything less…"
He might have taken offense at her mild mockery if he hadn't been more afraid that she would pat or pinch his cheek in intoxicated affection. The alcohol had obviously finally hit her full force, for she was leaning against the mast, limp as a noodle, and with the silliest of grins plastered on her face and gazing at him with the warmth and tenderness that she reserves for baby Alexandra or the puppies at the shelter.
This look was briefly marred by one of confusion. Her brows knit together as she observed, "You never did 'splain how all this has to do with your name…not that I don't adore and – and value the mutual baring of souls."
"When my mother left my father, she reverted back to her maiden name of Jones, which is what my brother registered under when he joined the navy. So when I signed on the dotted line to be an officer in His Majesty's Navy, I chose to make my full legal name as Killian Seamus Jones."
"Your father's family name was James?" The canny lass quickly pieced that together despite her inebriated state. At his nod, she inexplicably murmured, "Well, that 'splains Barrie's screw up."
He was going to ask her if she was referring to his 'be-permed' fictional counterpart, when she asked softly, "Why did ya want to honor him like that?"
"I wasn't honoring him. I was reminding myself who I was – the son of a good and honorable woman and the son of a man who was far less so." He explained with equal softness, but then more sharply than he intended, he rejoined, "Why are you so bloody grateful to that king of yours, after what he did?"
She didn't seem to mind, as she openly if slowly answered, "I have to be… I have to remind myself of his good traits, or else I will become just as embittered and shrewish as her." The lass' chin jutted out then, and her defiant gaze met his, as she vowed, "But never again will I trust a virtuous man. You canna depend upon them to choose you over the effing 'greater good'."
He considered this thoughtfully. This explained quite a bit as to why she was so comfortable with rogues like him and Conroy. Finally, he quipped knowingly, "Ah. That explains why you like me so much. You can always trust that a selfish man will choose the self-centered thing."
Her eyes shot to him and she opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but then she glanced away and muttered guardedly, "It is a reason…" Before he could ask what the many others were, she threw him a lopsided but pleading grin, "Another is that I know that you have just enough gallantry in you not to take advantage of your verra tipsy friend and help me down from here. If I do it by me lonesome, I'll break my neck or go kersplat."
He chuckled at her wide eyed and nervous glance at the deck below and valiantly resisted all the suggestive remarks he could make in response to any of those statements. Instead, he blandly replied, "You're faith in me is so touching, lass, I'll even chivalrously lend you my cabin for the night."
Shaking her head, she declined, "That's kind of you, but a hammock will do. I can't guarantee that I won't puke all over your sinfully silky sheets in the morning."
He grimaced and agreed, "Aye, in that case, it's a hammock for you."
He then rigged up a rope in which he could lower her down to the deck, did the same for the cake, which she had eaten a third of, and then descended himself.
As soon as she was ensconced in her hammock with a slop bucket at the ready, she was out like a light. He gazed down at her tear-stained but relaxed face and wondered what their relationship would be like come morning. He knew her natural defenses would resurrect themselves, but he hoped the walls between them wouldn't be so high and thick. He hoped there wouldn't be morning-after regrets.
Leaning over, he brushed his lips across her forehead and breathed, "G'night,Tanwen-lass."
~0~
When she awoke the next day, it was late morning or early afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, so noon-ish. Whatever. Her head was pounding. Her eyes did not want to open. Her tongue was fuzzy. But she felt…free.
Who knew that unloading all of that would lift her spirits so? If she had, she might have told someone sooner.
As she tried to relax and let her stomach settle and enjoy the gentle swaying of her hammock, she also attempted to imagine who else she could have confided in.
No one before she met Killian. Anyone trustworthy in the Enchanted Forest was pro-True Love, and therefore, would have been horrified at the idea of her sneaking her way into the king's, her brother-in-law's bed without being in love with him first and thus unsympathetic to her consequences.
And no one after either. They would all have pitied her. She would have no one's pity. She was a survivor.
She was not looking forward to Giselle's grand inquisition. Her friend might understand what it is to be used by a mother-figure – well, Ashley would too – but she wouldn't understand the rest. Ashley might though. Her Ella-half had after all made a deal with Rumplestiltskin, making the unholy bargain of relinquishing her firstborn for a chance of happiness with a prince. But she was still chary of sharing her complete story with her friend as she had with Killian, as in the end Ashley had gotten her prince and their baby.
In that moment, she had an epiphany. She resented her friends and their happy endings. What a right piece of work, she was.
It was only a tiny kernel of resentment, but it was just enough to explain her reluctance to confide in them and her comfortableness with Killian, for he too had not gotten his happy ending in either world.
She may be a royally effed up mess, but she was a practical one. And being thus, she swiftly decided that she would tell Giselle and a select few others that the exiled knight was her wannabe brother-in-law who had treated her ill because he had been blinded by his love for her half-sister and leave it at that. She also decided that it was time to quit hiding from the world. She would get up, relieve herself in the head, and stumble her way to the galley for coffee/tea, pain killers, and breakfast. And if she met the good captain there, she would try to curb the snark and keep it to the minimum of hangover bitching levels rather than the vulnerable-and-wounded-animal-lashing-out extremes.
When she staggered into the galley, Killian was leaning against a counter, drinking from a mug of what smelled like tea, and reading the Mirror. He looked far too good for a pirate of his age – all dressed in tight dark pants and a navy dress shirt with loose billowing sleeves, and while he was scruffily unshaven, his eyes did not have dark rings from their late night.
He took one look at her disheveled glory and smirked, but at her glower merely said, "I just put a pot on."
She grunted her thanks.
After rejuvenating cup of earl grey, painkillers, and toast, she asked, "What are your plans for the day?"
"I have a training session with Ginger this afternoon and that card game that Larue set up tonight."
She perked up at hearing that last bit. Larue was originally known as Le Fou, a man of the same ilk as Smee, a stooge of more powerful and generally less savory characters. He had been a frequent player at the table at Guy's, often hinting that he knew of shady get-rich-quick schemes to puff up his importance. Killian had become a favorite of his, as the astute pirate had proved to be an attentive listener. As a result, the adroitly buttered-up fool had decided to invite Killian to a higher stakes game, where they were hoping to hear more of these schemes.
However, in order to be polite, she asked first, "How is Ginger doing?"
Ginger was Storybrooke's yoga instructor and while cursed had been the town's resident hippie, which was an interesting contrast to her true self – Jinjur, political activist, revolutionary, and general of the all-women's army of Oz. Her lessons with Killian had originally been intended to be a refresher course but the woman had quickly discovered that she had quite a bit to learn from the devious Captain Hook.
"Not bad for someone who has to be broken of honorable habits," he assessed honestly. He shot her a mock reassuring grin, as he goaded, "But don't worry, love. You are still my star beginner pupil."
She ignored the bait and asked, "Where's the game being held?"
He shrugged, "I don't know. The little toady has not messaged me yet." Leaning in with a gleeful smirk, he added, "But I received several from your stylist friend, who gave up on you responding to the ones she left with you."
"And?" she prompted warily.
"You have an appointment with her this afternoon."
She narrowed her eyes at him, "You didn't schedule one for me, did you?"
"No," he denied hastily, looking as if she had gone hatters at the idea for even suggesting it. "I conceded defeat and agreed to ensure that you showed up to the one she scheduled for you."
She sniggered, "The big bad Captain Hook is frightened of sweet petite Rapunzel?"
"Damn straight," he asserted before gloating, "And you get to face that scary lass all on your own in her den, kitten."
Her subsequent groan of misery was almost as loud as the banging of her head on the table.
~0~
Killian had had nothing to worry about concerning his and Tawny's morning-after. Business had carried on as usual. They made plans. They verbally scrapped in good fun. He called her all of his various and a sundry pet names and occasionally 'Tawny' (he did not want to get in the habit of calling her Tanwen and then accidentally slip up and say it in front of others; he respected her privacy), and she had not retreated to her formal fall back of 'captain' for him. The only difference that he could detect was that she had ceased to search his gaze for hidden meaning and had been more free in her responses; the slight hesitancy she was wont to have had been refreshingly absent.
She even made a casual reference to her cruel half-sister. As if there was nothing to it.
When Tawny had learned that the game was to be hosted by none other than Drusilla 'Dee Dee' Boyd while her mother was at her weekly chamber of commerce meeting, she had groused, "Hmph. I knew Ashley's older stepsister was a scheming, conniving li'l twat – not nearly as bad or as shrewd as Guinevere – but not so amoral as to get mixed up with men like Foxworthy."
From what he had observed of the 'lady'-in-question's behavior that night – hair twirling, eyelash batting, high-pitched giggling – she was not eager to metaphorically get in bed with Foxworthy's set, so much as eager to use them as stepping stones to literally get in bed with Gisbourne's. There is no accounting for taste.
That wasn't the only thing he observed that evening. He noted that the serving girls for this little shindig were not any of Tawny's trusted maids, but rather the triplet sisters of Pleasure Island. He could only assume that Ms. Boyd hired them at the behest of a gentleman who was confident in their keeping his secrets. As to why that was he was not sure.
They were not what he would call savvy lasses. They fawned over that Keith Reeves fellow a bit much for his liking, touching him every chance they got as they refilled his or his neighbors' drinks. The man was a lecher, practically drooling at the thought of a foursome, and a cheat at cards. But nevertheless, all of the unsavory sort of Storybrooke who were guests of their hostess felt free to discuss their business in front of them, unlike him.
Judging by the guarded conversation at his table and the sudden switches to this 'football' sport when he passed by others, he was not yet an accepted member into their wretched hive of degenerate scum.
Not that this bothered him much. Tawny-lass would be disappointed, but he was not. He had time, and he knew that one does not need to be trusted to learn valuable information about others. Fawning wenches being a weak link was one example. Another is that little toady Larue has connections to all sorts.
While he tried not to gut the lewd boor for his uncouth remarks about Swan and Tawny, he witnessed Larue talking to a tall, almost sinuous woman. He wouldn't have known who she was until she glanced up and caught his eye – she had one ochre colored eye and one all white eye.
"You sure know how to pick 'em," the former sheriff declared appreciatively, when he saw Killian wink at her. At his questioning look, Reeves chuckled dryly, "But of course a pirate knows treasure when he sees it."
Taking the opening that the man gave him, he smirked and acknowledged roguishly, "That I do. And by any chance do you know the name of that fine gem of a damsel?"
"Oh, yeah, that's Flo," he replied, looking slightly amazed that he didn't know. "Even if this wasn't such a small town, I'd know her by those freaky Samuels twin eyes anywhere. Her brother has the same ones except it's his right eye that is all white."
Killian thought about asking what she and her twin brother had been Before, but decided against it. If he showed too much personal interest, suspicions would be aroused, so he merely said, "A twin brother? Well, that's a pity."
Reeves snorted, "Yeah, it's a fantasy-killer. But who needs twin sister reveries when there are the Triplets?"
He made a noncommittal noise before he laid down his cards and took the lout's money.
~0~
A few weeks later…
"You learned of this – the where, the when, and the who of a drug deal – from the triplets?" she asked Killian incredulously, her voice going all unattractively tinny.
The outrageous man had used the excuse of walking her to her apartment from the gym to relay this improbable discovery.
"Don't look so doubtful, darling." He objected. Whether in defense of his unlikely source or his intellect, it was difficult to tell. The corners of his mouth then twitched mischievously, as he argued, "Wasn't it you who said the maids know everything? I just took it one step further. Rather logical really. No one knows dirty laundry like wenches."
She shot him a skeptical look.
"Touché. Not all of my information came from them," he admitted indifferently. "I extrapolated from various sources – Gisbourne's squire, Starkey, Larue, what you got from Reeve's phone, what Hatter-boy saw through his scope, and what the triplets told me. And I believe that tomorrow night where the town line crosses with the dirt road to the mines there will be an exchange of coin for mind altering substances."
"What time?"
"Eleven," he promptly replied, and then his nonchalant air morphed to something heavy with significance, as he asked, "Would you like to join me?"
Caught off guard, all she could do was parrot back, "Join you?"
With a hint of amused tolerance, he explained patiently, "Yes, in sabotaging the exchange via hijacking the dope and disposing of it and/or apprehending the blackguards. You are ready. You have beaten me not once, not twice, but thrice now, and have helped me take on all of my other students as well as Freddie's young lads."
She had beaten him three times. Her second time had been in her apartment courtyard. When Deputy David Charming, who had been called to break up their 'domestic disturbance,' had come upon the scene of her on top of the pirate's back tugging Killian's head backwards by his unruly hair with one hand and a knife to his throat with the other, he had instructed them to confine their lessons to the ship or to the gym.
The third time had been at the gym; not in the designated boxing/wrestling area though. No, she had led him on a merry chase through the weight machines, and when his hook had gotten tangled up in one of them, she had pounced. Revenge for the firebrand and all of his other dirty tricks since then.
As a reward for her proving that it was her skill and not a one-time fluke in besting him, her rain check party had been immediately arranged. During this shindig she had somehow ended up attempting to teach the rogue how to dance the salsa. Laughable is an understatement – her ability to impart coherent information decreases drastically in proportion to the amount she imbibes... and his hips just don't sway like that.
Not long after their little jamboree, he had switched their lessons from one-on-one to group, stating that she and his other pupils needed to learn how to fend off multiple assailants. Princess Abigail's husband Frederick, whose day job was the P.E. teacher and sports coach at the high school, had volunteered his young athletes to be their 'assailants.' So far she and Killian had been the most successful team against them.
She knew this, for it was an obvious fact. But it was nice to hear it, all the same. It was even more thrilling to be seen as his equal, or near enough for someone has nowhere near or ever can have the experience level that he has.
She reveled in that feeling for a moment before getting down to business and answering, "Of course, I'm in. It's just that since when have you wanted to be more than an information gatherer? Or do you have a favor in mind to call in already?"
"Yes, I suppose I'm going to regret volunteering." He acknowledged with a mild shudder of abhorrence, before disclosing, "No, there is no favor. And truthfully, I offered because I have stuck my neck out one too many times for Milah's grandson just for him and his friends to grow up in a town plagued with that sort of riffraff."
Before she could comment on his fervent and obviously heartfelt disgust, he shifted into his Hook persona, smirking wickedly, "But then again, what makes you think I'm not just trying to clear out the competition?"
Knowing that he was just belatedly deflecting after revealing far more of himself than he was usually comfortable with, she ignored this last comment and blazed on, inquiring briskly, "So what shall it be: sabotage, snatch and ditch, or apprehend?"
"You tell me, lass."
She thought about it a moment, and then stated, "I think sabotage is out. We don't know enough about these suppliers to be adequately prepared to deal with them. And I think that our primary goal should be getting the product before it gets on the street, but if we can arrange a citizen's arrest so Swan can do her own investigation, that would be good too in the long run."
He nodded sagely, saying, "Sounds good, love," and then gesturing at her apartment door, he added, "How about you get all tidied up and then we hammer out the details?"
As she unlocked her door, she crinkled her nose in annoyance, retorting, "Are you saying I smell less than fresh?"
"As fresh as a drooping daisy. Not that I am much better. I should probably take a shower as well," he was quick to note in order to avoid the consequent elbow jab for his insolence. "In fact…" he drawled, "if you want to hurry up the preliminaries and get to strategizing, we could kill two birds with one stone and …"
At his suggestively waggling eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and quipped, "Conserve water and all that tommyrot? No, thank you. But my, you are incorrigible."
"Some say that it should be my middle name." He grinned unrepentantly.
He was still also looking at her expectantly, so she added saucily, "No thank you, again. Besides I prefer a guy who can take his time, and if all you're good for is a quickie…"
For once, the innuendo prone pirate did not have a response. Tawny did not look back to see if he was astonished by her brazen statement or just insulted by her questioning his stamina. Either way she closed her bathroom door with a satisfied click, taking pleasure in besting him in a verbal skirmish as well.
~0~
Swan and Cassidy's apartment
The next night…
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
'What the - ?' Emma asked herself as she woke up groggily from fitful slumber. Peaceful sleep was hard to come by in a town as adventuresome as Storybrooke. Cracking open one eye, she saw her phone light up and nearly vibrate itself off her nightstand as it alerted her to a text message.
Reluctantly rolling over, she slapped her hand down on top of it before it did fall off. She muttered an oath when she saw that it was from an unknown number, and then cursed again when she saw that it was one thirty in the godforsaken morning. There were two perfectly capable deputies – her father and Frederick – on call in the evenings, so there was no reason for anyone to bother her. But knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise, she opened her message…
And immediately shot out of bed.
At this point, Neal woke up, asking with sleepy gruffness, "Emma?"
Hopping into yesterday's pair of pants, she half-explained, "I have to go. Sheriff business. Drug bust…You know, no rest for the weary."
He sat up, concern replacing drowsiness in his eyes. "Do you need me to come with you?"
She shook her head. "No. We have Henry tonight, remember?"
Before she could remind him of all that needed to be done to help Henry get ready for school in the morning, because from those images on her phone she highly doubted she would be back by then, said phone began to buzz again. Picking it up, she answered, "Yeah, David. I got it too. I'll be there in a few minutes."
While he was explaining that he was not only calling in Frederick for back-up but the dwarves as well, she leaned down and lightly kissed Neal on the lips before mouthing 'goodbye'.
As she shut the door behind her and was instructing her father to call the EMTs too, she heard him yell after her, "I'll bring you coffee as soon as Mary Margaret picks Henry up for school."
Oh how she loved that man.
A/N: 'Seamus' is a form of James in Irish, and J.M. Barrie is the author of the original Peter Pan stories. So she, Disney, and the creators of OuaT have my eternal thanks for creating characters that my muse can play with.
Stay tuned for the next chapter: Interludes of the Dark Knights.