Author's Note: I apologize this chapter was so long in coming. Thanks to Ellie for her assistance with this chapter.

Trigger warning: child abuse

Only characters that do not appear in the canon belong to me. Everyone else © ABC/Disney

Chapter 1

At the end of a long causeway stood a lonely castle, carved from the very cliff upon which it perched. For centuries, the dark, weather-worn stone had kept watch over the endless sea that lay far below, a foreboding sentinel that, even on a clear day, looked shadowed.

It was in the courtyard of this castle that a child, porcelain-skinned and dusky-haired, walked demurely, her tiny slippers barely audible under the skirt of her pale blue gown. She had removed her matching gloves, which, upon further reflection, proved to be an ill-advised move, as her small hands were now almost numb with the cold wind being siphoned through the great archways. At ten years old, she was small for her age, though not frail. The grace with which she moved was becoming of that of a young lady of her station, the etiquette of which had been drilled - and often beaten - into her by her mother Cora. Yet her eyes, an icy green reminiscent of the Winter Sea, were that of a girl who felt trapped by the imposing stone walls, suffocated by the cold and dark labyrinth of the castle corridors. In her eyes was a certain sadness that no child of her age should bear, a mist of fear with which no young girl should ever become acquainted.

Morgan Teach, at ten years old, longed to escape from the castle and to go to the sea, which always beckoned to her with the soft whispers of the breeze or the faint crashing of the waves. Her father was there beyond that horizon. He was coming for her. He had told her in his last letter that he would, and why should she disbelieve him?

She had no proof such letters' existence, as Cora had taken them upon her discovery of them and cast them into the fireplace. Yet Morgan had had the good fortune of being able to memorize them before they were taken from her. All that she had left of her father's was a small silver locket, an intricately-carved compass rose, that now hung at her throat. Cora had been gracious enough to allow her to keep the locket, though Morgan doubted, even at her young age, that Cora's motives in the affair were benevolent.

Sitting down at the base of the lonely fountain in the center of the courtyard, Morgan arranged her skirt and cloak so as to keep her shoulders and legs warm. She opened the cover of the locket to reveal a small compass; its needle spun until it steadied in the north. Written in elegant lettering on the face of the compass were the words, stay the course. She missed him dearly, and her little heart wrenched at reading those words.

'How am I to stay the course if I don't even know what it is?' she thought, tears beginning to blur her vision. 'Help me, Papa!'

The wind had died, and with it the whistling noises it made as it passed through the archways and ancient masonry. Yet the silence was broken by the distinctive click of heels on cobblestone. She looked up, and upon seeing who it was, she felt her heart freeze and her stomach plummet. She shut the cover of the locket promptly, as if in fear of it being taken away.

"What are you doing out here, Morgan?" asked Cora from beneath the hood of her dark emerald cloak. "You know you are not to be outside of the castle."

"But I was doing nothing wrong," Morgan protested. "I wanted some fresh air and-"

"You disobeyed me yet again," Cora interjected, her voice calm but still cold. "Can you do nothing right?"

"But-"

"Silence!" Cora barked. "I want no more of your excuses. You will go inside and wait for me in my apartments."

Morgan's eyes widened in fear, and her countenance took on the almost sickly pallor associated with such an emotion. "No! No, please, I won't do it again-"

"Do as I tell you! Go right now!"

With great reluctance, Morgan obeyed.

It was with great trepidation that Morgan awaited Cora in the latter's apartments, an expanse of room in the western wing of the castle. Morgan did not venture there of her own accord, but had a great revulsion for this wing of the castle. Despite the plush furnishings of the chamber and the open curtains, she felt cold, even more so inside the room than without. The silence was unnerving to her, and she found herself straining to hear even the slightest click of her mother's heels on the stone floor in the hall. Had one entered while she was in this state, one would have supposed she was a life-sized doll, as she made no movements and her face was frozen into one of fear and wariness.

Much to her dismay, Morgan's ears began to pick up on the clicking of her mother's heels in the hall beyond the door. They grew louder with every purposeful stride, coinciding with the pounding of the child's heart. She clenched the coverlet on which she sat in her tiny fists, trying in vain to swallow the lump in her throat. With a soft creak the door opened, and Cora, having removed her cloak, entered the room and shut it behind her.

"Get the poker, Morgan." The words were calm, an order spoken with the tone of one telling a child to bring one a book. Yet to Morgan, who was by now well-accustomed to this order, very few words succeeded at inspiring as much terror in her as these words did.

Frozen in horror, Morgan gaped at Cora, who was growing impatient and made no move to conceal it. She repeated the order, her tone this time biting and icy.

"Get the poker, Morgan," she repeated. "If I must get it myself, I will heat it first."

With that, Morgan scurried to the fireplace in which a freshly-made fire was roaring. Her small, trembling hand reached forward, and her fingers brushed the cold iron of the fire poker. They curled around it, almost of their own accord, for Morgan did not recall giving her extremities permission to perform the action. She drew it from its holder beneath the mantle with a soft, metallic scrape. She turned slowly, and with the same speed, almost shuffling her feet as she went in an effort to delay the inevitable, she came to stand before Cora.

Cora took the poker smoothly from her daughter's hand. "Make no sound lest you incur even more of my wrath, you wretched brat."

Morgan did not have to be told, as she never made any sort of sound during these moments of "discipline." She never made any more outcry than any child was allowed to make, which meant none at all.

The poker came down upon her body with almost blinding swiftness, striking first at her shoulders, then her arms, and her back once Cora had turned her round. The resulting noise was a dull thud with each blow. Morgan did not dare keep count of the number of blows, but every one left her body wracked with pain. She knew she would bruise, but Cora had had enough gowns made for her in long-sleeved styles to ensure that the marks would not be seen; Morgan was forced to wear these gowns even in high summer. The resounding thuds were the only noise in the room; any outcry Morgan may have made had begun manifest in the tears pooling at her lashes and the outer corners of her eyes.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Cora ceased the beating, her lips pursed and white. Morgan had collapsed to the cold floor, shaking but in too much pain to stand.

"You will have no dinner for your impudence," Cora told her, her voice slightly hoarse from the exertion. "Go to your chambers and stay there for the remainder of the evening."

Morgan, her body protesting, slowly raised herself from the floor. Her knees threatened to buckle and give way, but she somehow managed to remain standing upright. Without a word, her eyes hidden behind a veil of tears, she went immediately from the room.

Morgan's chambers were located in the eastern wing of the castle, which suited her as she was afforded a grand view of the ocean, that infinite stretch of blue which, unpredictable as it was, gave her comfort in hours such as these, when she would lay alone on her bed, aching and frightened with no company but that of the sea.

Gingerly she climbed into her bed, but no matter how gentle and cautious she was in her movements, she found her body still wracked with pain. She collapsed finally on her bed, allowing the tears to freely fall. She missed her father dearly and knew he would never allow Cora to get away with what she had done, and she anxiously awaited the day he would come for her. Without the sea - without that promise of freedom and safety, without the promise of her father Edward coming to take her away - she had nothing.

Her heart ached as much as her body did, if not more so, for emotional turmoil can be just as painful as physical turmoil. She wanted her father, she needed him. He was all she had left in this world, and she knew that Cora would do all in her power to prevent his arrival. Raising a hand to her throat, she gripped her locket in her small fist, the tears flowing freely now from her eyes and down her now-bruised porcelain cheeks.

'Save me, Papa,' she inwardly pleaded. 'I don't want to be hurt anymore.'

The Three Brides tavern in Tortuga was one of the larger, more rowdy establishments on the notorious island. More men, it was said, died in brawls in this tavern than they did in pirate battles, yet Killian Jones seemed unfazed by the altercations of his fellow brigands as he entered the establishment. He scanned the boisterous crowd for a particular man, an old acquaintance of his, who had given his word to meet him here. It took only a few moments to spot the older man, who lingered in a far corner, away from the brawls. The tavern was smoky and smelled strongly of alcohol, sweat, and whatever happened to be on the menu for that evening, and anyone unaccustomed to such smells would have considered the place to be downright pungent. Yet Killian was not bothered by this at all.

He made his way through the crowd, expertly dodging flying bottles, daggers, and even men. He weaved his way gracefully through the tables that crowded the floor and at length made his way to the back corner. Stede Bonnet, known as the Gentleman Pirate due to his wealth before he threw in his lot with the pirates, was an older man, his hair gray and his face weathered. He had little sailing experience compared to his fellow pirates, and had had an unsuccessful stint before joining Blackbeard's crew a couple years before Killian. Unlike Killian, however, Stede had not gone on to start his own successful enterprise.

"So you did come," Killian remarked as he sat down in front of the man.

"A gentleman always keeps his word, pirate or not," Stede answered as he took a swig of rum from the tankard before him. "You said you wanted to see me."

"You were on friendly terms with Blackbeard, were you not?"

Stede thought about this. "Not friendly per se, but certainly civil, or as civil as one could be with the likes of him. Why?"

"He's dead."

Stede, who had brought his tankard to his lips, paused in this action and stared at Killian in shock. "Dead?"

"Aye. I don't know who attacked him; I hazard a guess that it was one of the royal navies, as no pirate in his right mind - or any other mind for that matter - would dare launch an attack against the Pirate King."

Stede made no move to conceal his shock or alarm. "So what does that mean, then?"

"It means that until his heir is found, I'm acting as King in his place."

"His heir?"

Killian nodded and reached into the pocket of his red and black damask waistcoat, withdrawing from it a metallic object that glinted in the candlelight. He held it before Stede's face for inspection; the silver compass rose locket swayed gently in Killian's grasp. "I'm to give this to her. His daughter, Morgan."

Stede eyed the locket greedily, but Killian quickly tucked it back into his pocket. Stede cleared his throat and replied smoothly, "It's a fool's errand, Jones."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that Morgan Teach's mother is a witch. She's no pushover and she's not going to let Morgan leave anytime soon. Blackbeard himself tried for years to break through the magical barrier that surrounds the castle. You know as well as I do the number of times he'd launched attacks to try to break through it."

"How do I find her, then?"

Stede shrugged. "You don't," he replied as-a-matter-of-factly.

Killian, enraged by this, reached swiftly across the table and grabbed Stede by the collar of his shirt, yanking the older man towards him. Killian's sea-blue eyes were flashing angrily as he hissed, "I promised him that I would find her and keep her safe. Tell me where to find her."

Stede's eyes had widened, and though he tried to remain calm, he knew that he could offer Killian very little by way of information. "I don't know. I don't know where she is; the castle's shielded by magic. No map will show its existence, Cora made damn sure of that. You can't find the place unless you already know where it is, and charts are useless."

Killian's eyes bored into Stede's, searching for any hint of falsehood. When he found none, he released him. "If you're lying to me, Stede Bonnet, I will hang you by your entrails from the nearest gallows."

"No lies here, Jones, just facts," Stede blurted out.

Killian heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hand. He was not going to break his promise to Edward, yet he would have to employ other means of discovering this castle. He did not know the details of Morgan's existence there, but Edward made allusions to Morgan being very unhappy, if not trapped by her mother. He wondered whether the magic that resided in the enchanted wood from which the Jolly Roger was constructed could be of any use to him. To his knowledge, Edward's ship had not been constructed of magical wood, and this gave him a small sliver of hope.

He would find her and he would keep her safe. Nothing else mattered now but his promise to Edward.

And he would be damned before he allowed even a witch to interfere with it.