A/N: This is the THIRD edit/repost of chapter one! -sigh- I am invested in this story, however the beginning proved very difficult to write. Feel free to leave a review. Thanks for reading!
I'd like to explain a bit of our premise here. We are starting far before COTBP takes place- in fact it's my intention to bring Barbossa in around his early-mid thirties. This is right around the time that he transitioned to piracy in his backstory. I'd like to venture into his time at sea before piracy and maybe give some fan insight as to why he chose to follow that path. This means his personality will be generally the same, just not as harsh right away. He will also look rather different in the beginning.
In short, the story will start before COTBP and will run through each of the movies with slight alterations here and there.
Later on in the work, I'd like to do a poll or something to decide between Jack or Barbossa as the romantic partner. You'll see why as time goes on. If no one participates, I'll just go by my own judgement of who is best suited.
This is rated M for really dark themes and scenes. I don't intend to write smut of any sort, not really comfortable with the idea. Doesn't mean I won't have romance and the implication of such things. Feel free to fill in those sort of explicit scenes with your own writing ( you can post it even) as long as you ask permission first.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters or plots from the POTC-verse. Any original storylines and characters are of my own creation.
mamaidh= mother in gaelic.
Chapter One- Isolated
The morning mist hung heavy in the air, held down by an overcast Cornish sky. The horizon stretched on endlessly, tempting the sleepy town of St. Ive's with the rumbling bellows of the sea. A thunderous storm brewed over the ocean waves, crawling closer and closer to the shoreline. Soon, the port town would be suffocated by the chaotic rumblings of the Celtic Sea. The storm, however, could not compare to the perfect pandemonium in the young girl's mind. She spent much of her morning contemplating the words 'possession' and 'suffocation' while peering out of the oblong tower window. Her heart ached to step outside, to dance in the soft grass, to let the wind billow out her fine gown. Many mornings, she sat in this exact window and stared off into the same mysterious ocean beyond. She'd think of her wild beginnings and the love she felt on the Isle of Skye- her true home. The girl reveled in the vivid remembrances of her mother's ethereal, serene nature and the undeniable call of the sea she felt even at such a young age. Other times, her mind buzzed with dreams in which she whisked away into the night, leaving to uncover the wonders of the world beyond Magnus Manor.
Yet, dreams, however thrilling they may be, were simply dreams. The young girl did not think it likely that she would ever wander free- the man who took her in would not allow it. 'And why should I want to leave? I have everything I need here.' she pondered, as if repeating the very same phrase she told herself several months ago would convince her. In some ways, she did have everything she needed in the grand abode. A very caring governess looked after her education and her every need; she had a large bed-chamber to slumber, a personal hearth to warm her and an expansive, luxurious dwelling she shared with the generous and auspicious Lord Walter Magnus. He'd given her everything and yet he denied her of her freedom, of companionship and experience. A restless and dreadful premonition stirred within her every time the window called to her, as if something terrible lurked just beyond every corner of the estate and the only safety was beyond its cold stone walls. The desire to escape grew within the pit of her belly like a serpent offering her forbidden fruit. She felt like a possession of the Lord and of this manor, a trinket left to be forgotten. He had ownership of all manner of things in the estate, including her.
"It's time to get ready for breakfast, Miss Moira." The tender voice of her governess filled her thoughts, grounding her back into her oppressive life. "Coming, Charlotte." The dark-haired sixteen-year-old turned to the maid, smiling softly and sliding out of the red velvet chair in front of the window. Charlotte closed the door quietly behind her as she entered, making her way to Moira's unmade bedding. The governess had the subtle and squeaky voice of a mouse. She held herself in the same capacity, with hunched shoulders and sweet brown eyes cast downwards most often than not. Charlotte had been with her since Magnus claimed Moira as his ward ten years prior, acting as a friend, teacher, and mother.
"Let me help." Moira smiled kindly at the woman, moving to the opposite side of the large bed and pulling the linen sheets up with Charlotte.
"Oh. Miss, you really mustn't. Don't you worry about me now."
"I insist."
Moira's gaze met Charlotte's with an empathetic look, her brows soft and quirked upward. Charlotte's hands shook with nerves and pain, both severely bruised and oozing from open wounds. She did not see it happen, but Moira knew in the way Charlotte trembled whenever the Lord entered the room that she'd met his wrath and his switch. The two labeled his ire as his 'black moods', a state of being the old nobleman was in more often than not as of late. The man spent much of his time dwelling in his own shadows and secrets, making arrangements for and the East India Trading Company and training his blade. His black moods came over him instantaneously and seemingly unprovoked- though no one truly knew what the man's dealings were nor the true state of his mind.
Moira eyed Charlotte's wounded hands, wishing with all her might that they would vanish and the incident would erase itself. He punished his servants many times prior, although Moira had never seen it and would only hear brief moments of violence. Moira found it odd that she'd only ever heard these outbursts but never see it, nor would she see any other face other than his or Charlotte's in the entirety of the lonely estate. This was the first time she witnessed the aftermath of his angry outbursts. Unbeknownst to her, it would not be the last.
"You did not deserve what he did to you."
Charlotte's lips quivered at Moira's statement as she tried to bite back the tears pricking her eyes.
"It will only be so long until he does the same to you, Miss… and perhaps worse."
" What do you mean by worse?"
"It's not my place to say…"
Moira blinked at Charlotte with a mixture of indignation and confusion. She stomped around the bed and clapped her hands on Charlotte's shoulders. Settling onto the edge of the bed, Moira pulled Charlotte down next to her.
"If you know something, you have to tell me." Moira stared at the governess with pleading eyes and a soft frown.
The brunette maid blinked away her tears and her submissive, doe-like orbs fixated on the cold floor. The ward could sense something terribly heavy weighing on Charlotte's mind.
"It'll be okay, Charlotte. Tell me." She wrapped an arm around the governess comfortingly and waited intently for a response.
"All I can tell you is to leave, my girl. Leave and never look back. You don't have much time left and he is becoming angrier by the day." The seriousness in her tone caused Moira's stomach to drop with dread, a hollow sensation whittling away at her insides.
"Why? What is going to happen?"
"He intends to keep you here, pure and untouched… for a time." Charlotte shrugged off Moira's arm and stood up, hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I really cannot say anything else. I'm sorry, Miss." Her governess walked solemnly to the changing area in the far left corner of the room and waited for Moira to follow. To have a secret truth dangled in front of her face only to have it hidden away again felt like a cruel fate Moira would have to resign to.
"Maybe you should leave too. He's left you in ruins." The young ward met her governess behind the privacy screen, letting the woman begin to strip her of her nightclothes. She felt dejected by the words Charlotte riddled out. 'What does she mean he will keep me pure for only a time? What's to become of me?'
The governess spared a mirthless laugh, a weary smile spreading on her small doll-like mouth, never to reach her eyes.
"Ruins is the word for it, Miss Moira. He'd be certain I'd never find employment again in this simple port town… not that it would be challenging for him to manage that anyhow. There's nowhere else for me to go."
"Perhaps if I were to leave, he'd dismiss you without repercussion."
"Perhaps.." Charlotte trailed off, wincing at the pain in her hands while she laced the elegant shift to fit Moira's feminine frame.
Charlotte prepared Moira for the day, neither sharing another word. The poor maid looked particularly desolate and fearful after the conversation. Each time Moira glanced her way, she felt a pang of guilt for coaxing the information out of her. After a time, Moira took to staring into the dressing mirror instead, avoiding the maid's distressed eyes. In the reflection, she remembered her mother's wild, tangled hair and expressive eyes- the very same green sheen as hers. Her heart ached terribly at the thought of the woman, yet Moira refused to stop seeing her in her own features. Her features would be the only souvenir she kept of her mother and her origins. She wore them with pride, knowing that one day she would bestow her own child with these simple souvenirs. Except, Moira swore she would never leave her child behind, no matter the circumstance. Once donned in a crimson gown, her hands neatly wrapped to hide the secret beneath, Moira looked to Charlotte once more.
"Would you allow me to wrap your hands as well, Charlotte?"
The governess looked taken aback, not expecting such a request from the young girl. "You don't need to worry about me, Miss. I'll be right as rain soon enough. I'll wrap them myself once you get down to breakfast."
"I'm sorry for pressing you." she whispered, wrapping her arms around the impossibly tiny woman. They remained in an embrace for a few long moments before Charlotte broke away and forced another smile.
"Be brave, love. Don't allow him to make your choices for you."
Moira shared her first meal with Walter as usual, bidding each other a good morning. He seemed unnaturally chipper in their meeting as if he had heard some excellent news. Moira couldn't put her finger on why he was in high spirits, but she could sense he did not want her to know the circumstances. Too intimidated by his explosive propensity, Moira did not prod him about his unusual mood.
"What do you have planned for the day, sire?" she asked, hoping to make some semblance of normal conversation.
Magnus hummed in acknowledgment, silent whilst mid-drink of his morning tea. Settling the cup onto its plate, Magnus gazed at the young girl.
"A few meetings later in the day...I expect you'll stay in the West Wing and continue your studies. I'll come to collect you when I'd like your company."
Moira looked down at the hardboiled egg on her plate, slightly dejected by the fact that she would be quarantined in the West Wing yet again. He reached over to her, placing a large hand on hers comfortingly. Moira tensed and stared at the gesture- at the hand that left Charlotte's fingers bloody and knuckles bruised.
"It won't be long today, Moira. Perhaps in the evening, you and I could spend some time together in the study."
"I-I don't mean to seem ungrateful, sire. It gets rather lonely up there. Can't I stay with you today? I could help you with whatever you need." A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat and he lifted her chin to meet his eyes. Moira shivered, conflicted by the softness of his touch and the fear she held for him.
"You've grown into such a fine woman, Moira. I can see that you're trying, but you need a little more time before you can make an appearance to my colleagues. You don't seem to take to your lessons as well as I'd hoped."
"I do try to please you, sire. I often think of what I should do and how I should act... I'm just not accustomed to such manners."
"Yes, well, I am sure some more time will be fruitful for you then." His attempts at encouragement sounded more like an order and Moira felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Magnus made sure to be careful of his next words, although it seemed silly to Moira for him to sugarcoat the truth.
"After some… discussion with the governess, I've decided to give you till your eighteenth birthday. All will reveal itself in due time."
'By discussion, do you mean torture?' She wished she'd been brave enough to say it but relented to simply think it.
"What more do I need to learn?" She dare not look at him for fear that he may see the thoughts dancing around her head.
"Your manners, for starters. That wandering imagination of yours proves to be more troublesome than its worth. Your mouth, you must learn to bite your tongue. It's not a high-class lady's place to decide what is good for the house, especially that of a lord." He scolded, his firm demeanor returning as he relinquished his hold on her chin.
"And what will happen when I'm eighteen?"
" I will extend more privileges to you once you become a proper lady."
Moira blinked with an expression of presumed hopefulness, though her insides felt as if they'd twisted into a ball. His words didn't ring as true as she wanted to believe. Something was off and the answer was dancing just outside of her line of sight.
"Thank you, sire. I shall try my best to please you."
Magnus leaned back and offered her a wry smile.
"I am sure you will make an obedient wife one day."
At that moment, the blooming woman felt the connotation of his compliment was all too intimate for someone she wanted to consider a father-figure.
The remainder of the day whiled away as many others, with the same monotonous activities keeping her stuck in the large estate. Her time was taken up by the lessons Charlotte taught daily. Needlework, arithmetic, and the movements of a classic woman seemed extraordinarily dull to Moira. She did find a keen interest in music lessons and the written language, spending much of her time writing stories of grandiose adventures. Moira would often beg Charlotte to spend the day with her reading instead of the usual curriculum, which Charlotte sometimes indulged. Charlotte worked tenderly and deliberately with Moira, yet much of the aspects of womanhood did not seem to suit the young ward. The poised and aristocratic way of life proved stifling and boring to the young woman, who lived wildly up until the age of six on the shorelines of Skye. Her mind often trailed back to the days of her unbridled, nature-oriented childhood throughout the day, especially when practicing arithmetic.
She recalled the whipping, salty winds tangling her hair so badly her mother would spend nearly two hours trying to brush it out. The stories her mother told her in these quiet moments together bewitched Moira. She spoke of Calypso's ever-changing, untamable waters and her fickle love of Davy Jones: Ferrier of the Dead. Her mother always ended the story with the whispers of a heart-shaped music box the Goddess and the Ferrier each held tenderly. Every time they thought of each other, the music box would play a sweet-nothing of a lullaby. If Moira stayed very quiet, she swore she could hear the tune tinkling on the waves- a sign of Davey's lament. Something about the passion her mother held for the Goddess pulled Moira to the ocean so fiercely; it seemed nearly irresistible. It was certainly irresistible to her mother.
'The sea so entranced mamaidh that she allowed it to take her from me. If I had made her happy enough, maybe she would've stayed with me forever.' Moira thought to herself, looking down at her bandaged hands. Beneath the wrappings lie her past, present and future- a mystery even she could not decipher or understand with such a limited scope of the world—another question to be left unanswered in the slew of many, many others. In Moira's mind, her mother left her because the pain of living without her husband and the burden of motherhood was simply too much to bear. 'How different would life be if she stayed?'
"Moira, are you listening?"
Charlotte's voice interrupted her wandering mind, bringing her back to the moment.
"Get out of your dreams, silly girl. We have work to do."
Fresh parchment lay sullied by a blot of ink dripping out of the quill held in her hand. "I'm sorry, could you show me again?"
No matter how hard she tried to focus, Moira could not shake Charlotte's warning from her thoughts. It grew the seed of fear within her and became a constant reminder of some impending doom. No matter how hard she pried, Charlotte dared not breathe another word to Moira about the conversation in her bed-chambers. Anytime the young budding girl asked, Charlotte's mouth would form a tight, terse line and her brows would arch high onto her forehead. "I'm not entirely sure what you are talking about." The maid claimed multiple occasions, prompting a perplexed expression to mar her student's young visage. Moira eventually let it drop, surrendering to the idea that she alone may have to put the pieces together.
Moira found her gaze transfixed on Lord Magnus during the afternoon break they shared between the lulls of his private meetings. She felt that if she stared at him long enough, he would begin to unravel his secrets without breathing a single word. He spent their afternoon tea time boring holes into a globe with his silvery orbs and scribbling down coordinates. His large, thoroughly groomed hand spun the spherical map over and over, stopping here and there to study it further. She closed her eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of rain and imagining it to be the tears of God. Tears meant for Charlotte. 'What man would do such a thing to such a kindly woman?' She thought with a feeling of deep sorrow, opening her eyes again when all she could see was Charlotte's wounded hands behind her lids. 'What man would lock his daughter away from the world like this?'
"What are you thinking?" His voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the tension she felt whenever she shared space with Magnus.
'Why would God let you do such terrible things?'
"I'm listening to the rain, doesn't it sound lovely, sire?"
A small smile graced his thin mouth and he nodded in agreement. "Why yes, I suppose it does."
"Would you ever let me feel the rain on my skin?"
He glanced at her with a brow quirked in annoyance.
"Well, you'd get wet and catch a cold, dear."
Moira hummed and looked down at her hands before closing her eyes once more.
"I shall dream of it instead, then."
Moira could feel the man's greedy eyes flicking to her form and back to the map.
Some nights were sanctified by his retreat to his bed-chamber quite early. If she were lucky, he would drift to sleep with no issue. Only then could Moira breathe fully and without fear. Those nights she would wait until near midnight to begin writing fantastical stories of faraway lands and sailing the seas. It was these moments that made her feel free- though freedom only lasted as far as her mind could stretch. She longed for a day that would taste of real freedom.
She did not fully comprehend that the very dark secret about Lord Walter Magnus was Moira herself. The man kept her so close; most did not know she ever existed. He refused her every request to walk about the courtyard alone or explore the blooming town of St. Ives, with or without him. Most did not know that he adopted a child, nor did those who knew dare question his possessive nature- except for Moira.