All Roads lead to Eoropaidh

He was leaning out from the railing of the Black Pearl, peering out across the empty blue waters, lost in memories as he’d been ever since he’d returned here. He’d sailed across the Caribbean, from one location to another, making port outside Tortuga and Port Royale in the midst of the night. His ship had been seen though, by those sitting down by the docks late at night, staring at the horizon, lost in gloomy thoughts and despair, thinking they’d caught a glimpse of the Flying Dutchman.

It was in grave moments like these that Jack’s thoughts always returned to Will Turner. Will had been his beacon of light in the dark, though it hadn’t always been easy to maintain a friendship with the ex-blacksmith. Watching Will go through ten years as the captain of the Flying Dutchman, had been nothing comparing to sitting at the blacksmith’s deathbed many a year later. Will had as always, despite his old age and encumbered breathing, made a point about Jack looking like he was not quite dry behind his ears. It was a joke Jack had gladly endured throughout their friendship following the endgame on the Dutchman with Davey Jones. Aye, the magnificent Will Turner had died of old age, with Elisabeth holding his hand, surrounded by sons, daughters and grandchildren, and Jack and John. His death was a severe blow to Jack, harder to bear than he’d ever imagined. Will had been standing by him through the terrors and the demon childbirths, advising Jack, talking to him, calmed him and restoring his faith so many times. Jack’s love to Will, a love which had sprung from desperation and need for companionship, had produced a secret, a grail so holy the growing Sparrow clan chose to keep a lid on it, burying the secret deep among them. And Will and Jack pretended it had never existed, and Will took it with him to his grave, though not without regret. A child of his own was precious, no matter how unholy it seemed to the church. But that was a whole different story. Will Turner had passed from the world of the living with his faith in Jesus Christ, over to the realm of the dead where all souls must go to receive their final judgment. There, Will had a long chat with John about the state of things, but John always refused to tell Jack the details on what they spoke about.
Jack undid his necklace and dropped it into the deep blue of the Caribbean. “It’s all right, love” he told the Pearl. He felt it in the old woodwork. She was preparing for the unknown, bracing herself for another battle. Good old Pearl. He could always rely on his lady.

Eoropaidh, one hour later:

Peter woke with a strange sensation in his abdomen. He got up, and wandered out into the bathroom to pee. Coming out again, he stopped. There it was again. A contraction, this kind of inexplicable pull of abdominal muscles which are quite incomparable to anything else. Peter knew something was happening, but chose to stay quiet about it, not quite knowing what to do. He went back into bed, trying to find his sleep again. But then he thought of something. What if these be his last waking moments of life? How much time would he have? How many hours? Minutes?
Another hour passed by, and lying down was getting uncomfortable. Peter decided to get up on his knees. There. Better. He fished out his hidden diary, and leafed through the pages. Had he forgotten something? Something the child might take interest in knowing? Ouch! There it was again, a heavier contraction. He had to take a break to breathe through it. Peter then found his pen, opened the next blank page in his journal, and wrote the date in the top right corner like he’d done on all the other pages. Peter wrote:

‘May God have mercy on my soul. I am now going to die.’

Peter put the pen down, as his head began to swim. He looked over to the wall against the bed, and watched in disbelief as it began to obliterate, to vanish into thin air until he saw the dark courtyard below, the lighthouse and the dark ocean beyond. There were demons in the sky, riding the sour winds. He heard them chuckle. Another contraction came, this one heavier than the one before and it felt like he was going to split open. He heard the door to his bedroom being torn open, and Andrea, Christopher and Jacob calling for him. But his surroundings dimmed, and his safe haven of mattresses and pillows was all he could cling to as it began to slide downwards. The Sparrows threw themselves after him, and Peter watched great white wings grow from their shoulder blades as they fell downwards to him. Their clothes were torn from their bodies, and their skin shone dimly with what could only be heavenly light.

They followed him down into the great abyss, and Peter watched in terror as they fended off other demons, lizard like creatures and bony monsters. Then came great, ghostly beasts – soul eaters - but they too were fended off. Peter began to understand he was descending into Hell, but the Sparrows, they protected him! It was beyond anything he dared hope for. But the pain was becoming so great, he could focus on little else, and as the contraction let go, he closed his eyes and tried to think of Malachi. He landed softly among withered stones, sand and dusty ruins. He looked up, catching a slight glimpse of the new world around as another contraction seized him, and he realized blood was trickling from between his legs.

A heavy thump would have attracted his attention had he not been caught up in the contraction. Someone landed beside him, and that someone was less fortunate with his landing. It led to a series of huffs and puffs and restrained curses from said person, and Peter did not have to think twice to understand it was indeed Malachi. He could also hear John’s upset voice, and soon father and son had made their way over to Peter, asking him how he felt and if he knew how far between the contractions it was. Peter could not answer any of their questions, but groaned in pain as the contraction shifted into something else. John asked Peter if he felt inclined to push, and to this Peter was relieved to find he could nod in agreement, not feeling all too guilty about appearing completely imprudent. John told him to go with the flow, and push in time with the contractions. But then John said he must take a look between Peter’s legs, and represented quite an obstacle. No one but Malachi had ever seen between his legs. It would be equal to adultery to have someone else do that as well! Peter shook his head with great effort as another contraction came. John pleaded, telling Peter it was for the sake of both Peter and the child. Peter wanted to look up into Malachi’s face and find an answer there, to whether he should allow such an act. But he dared not to. Instead, he began to pull away, slowly making his retreat among sharp rocks and sand. Peter had to stop again, and he squatted against a ruin as he followed his instincts and pushed hard. His knees quivered from the effort. Something inside broke, and Peter gasped as water came pouring down his legs. Another contraction followed. He heard John order Malachi to fetch blankets from Peter’s bed.
What would they need blankets for? Were they going to strangle him? Or have him suffocate under blankets in the middle of the birth? In his mind, Peter found the time to die twice, each in a scenario prompted by the command from Malachi’s father. In a glance, he saw Malachi return with the blankets.

“Keep those ready and wrap the child in one when it comes out” John instructed his son before turning his attention to Peter, saying: “Peter, I know we haven’t really spoken much, and I know I have done very little to make you trust me, and I know I may have appeared stern and angry, but that was directed all towards Malachi, not you” John said. But parts of his words was drowned out by the seizures of pain Peter had as the contractions intensified. Peter tried to keep from screaming, but the throes were becoming so intense, so painful he had to gasp when they were through, and he could not stop some sobs escaping his lips now and then. Malachi would be displeased with him making a noise, wouldn’t he? Malachi never liked Peter’s voice, never liked the sound of his voice, never...never....! Peter thought to himself over and over again, focusing on the memory of why his tongue had been sliced open. He lost himself completely, and focused on nothing but pushing and keeping still out of fear of being a nuisance.
John boldly moved up behind Peter, laying down flat on the rocks to have a view at things without upsetting Peter.

“This is going extremely well, Peter, you’re doing a great job. The head is out” he said. The pain was so exceedingly strong at this point, that Peter could not stop himself from wailing. Then came another contraction, and timing it, John thrust a hand forward between Peter’s legs, and skilfully helped loosen the baby’s shoulder just enough for it to slide out of Peter and into John’s waiting hands. Malachi came rushing over, and they placed the baby on a blanket. Peter felt his knees buckle, and his heart beat fast in terror as he realized that the baby was in the hands of the demons and not in his own. He wailed loudly, wanting to tell them to give him his child, anxious to have the boy in his arms, but he did not dare to speak.

John took charge, and helped Peter into a more comfortable position where he could lay on his back. Peter was told it wasn’t over, that the placenta was still inside and had to be expunged. Peter saw Malachi kneeling in the sand next to them, staring at the infant in his arms, but Peter dared not gaze directly at the small bundle which made squeaky noises. It was probably best not to look at all, Peter decided. It was for the best not to form an attachment. Once the placenta was out of his body, Peter sighed heavily. There. It was done. He was cold, shivering with fatigue and he felt parched from head to toe. Only absentmindedly did he register that John was putting a heavy load of blankets between his legs. Not understanding why, Peter looked away, into the brittle stonewall next to the slope he was lying on. Adultery flared up into his mind like a big red warning sign, but then again, he argued with himself, why bother with worrying about that now when his mission in life was over? He felt tired.

A tiny, complaining noise emerged from the bundle in Malachi’s arms now and then, and the sound was like a knife in Peter’s heart. He could not hold back the tears, wishing he would not have to endure the noises for much longer. John and Malachi still lingered next to him. Why? What were they waiting for? Could they not go away so Peter could die all by himself? He did not wish to go into the blackness with that inexplicably beautiful noise of a newborn’s voice in his head. More than anything he wanted to see the baby! But now it was no longer his to bear. He had no right. He had no longer a purpose. Peter closed his eyes while tears streamed down uncontrollably. He should not be crying. It was a sign of weakness, Malachi had told him so sternly once.

Above their heads, the demons of light, which were quite out of place down on the Seventh Plane of Hell, sang with high pitched tones. It was calming, and their angelic voices reached far out into the corners of the abandoned plane, filling it with light and hope heard for the first time on four thousand years. Their song woke one in particular. A giant who had been life guard to the prince consort of the king of the now abandoned realm. He stood tall, gazing in silence and nodded solemnly and silently in salute as he met the gaze of John Sparrow, the heir.

Had he but looked up, Peter would have seen the earnest and naked face of Malachi staring back at him. Malachi could not phantom how or why Peter would not look at that which he’d chosen to love but which he’d never laid eyes on. He wanted nothing more but to put the baby into Peter’s arms, to give him what was rightfully his. Malachi had done nothing to deserve such a gift, he knew that to the bottom of his heart.

“Give him time, Malachi” John whispered tenderly, patting his son’s shoulder affectionately.

“No!” Malachi exclaimed, looking at his father with tears in his eyes. “I can bear it no longer. Peter, you must look at me. At us! Look at your son!” Malachi only earned louder sobs from Peter.

“If I may” the giant’s ghost suddenly interrupted with a deep voice, “I believe the young consort wonders why he must look at something which will only cause him more grief, because the grief of having to part with it and his life is already weighing him down to such a level that he cannot bear it, and this he has already lamented through the entire length of the pregnancy.”

“Uh...!” Malachi began, dumbfounded at the giant’s speech, “who are you?!”

“Hephaisthos, my lord. I believe—“

“—listen, Peter, you must understand one thing” Malachi said, raking through his hair with his left hand in a distressed manner, “I’ve said and done a great number of stupid things—“

“—just give him the baby” John cut him short.

Malachi swallowed hard, and moved closer to Peter until his knee bumped into Peter’s right hip. He placed the bundle onto Peter’s lap, expecting Peter to accept the child into his arms. There was no hiding Peter’s distress over this action, and for some minutes, the child lay like a log across his lap. Peter fought with every will power in him not to pick the child up. He could not understand why he had to undergo this torture – for in his mind it was truly torture not to be able to acknowledge the infant. How could he acknowledge? Why? He was dying now anyway, right? Malachi said so! He could still feel the contempt by which those words of doom had been spoken. This could be, and was probably one last evil act from Malachi. To have to die and spend eternity in Hell knowing what the child was like, how it sounded, how it smelled.... and never again to be able to touch it! Always longing, never having!
Peter watched Malachi being tugged away by John. They remained at a distance, talking to the ghost of Hephaisthos. But Malachi could not help but to listen with only half an ear. He often gazed over to Peter and the child.

The baby was getting impatient, and was beginning to make a lot of noises. The noises melted into a sore infant’s cry, and Peter felt his chest area tingle with something. It ached in each nipple, and very soon, he found himself cradling the baby in his arms. Would it bite him if he tried to feed it? He couldn’t see any apparent teeth. There were no sharp claws, except that the fingernails were black.

“Hey” Peter whispered between sobs, “hey little you. I...I suppose you’re hungry” Peter whispered, but found himself unable to go on. He imagined putting the baby to one nipple, only to have it turn into an ugly little bloodsucking monster with vampire teeth. Its wails were growing louder, and the fear of being punished by Malachi won over the fear of being bitten. Peter decided to lift up the hem of his shirt, but as he displayed the jutting nipple and the aching breast beneath, he realized he could be on the brink of doing something wrong. What if Malachi did not approve of such – such contact? Would it be adultery to have someone else suck one’s nipple? Even if it meant feeding only? Peter decided to wait, though every gut feeling told him to give himself to the baby. It was a despairing situation. Peter was nearly overcome with fatigue and had no idea how to calm down an infant that screamed from the top of its lungs. Maybe it was him? Maybe the baby didn’t like Peter? Yes, better leave it on the ground. It was probably Peter it didn’t like, Peter decided. He was being told he wasn’t appreciated.

Upon seeing Peter suddenly putting the baby down on the cold sand, Malachi started. He was speechless, and he felt anger rise as he saw Peter inch away from the screaming child, obviously abandoning it. He was over at Peter’s in one leap, and lashed out at him before he could stop himself. Just as the blow struck Peter’s cheek, Malachi realized his mistake, feeling shame and regret wash over him. The situation was out of control, and Malachi hid his face in his palms while he was still standing over Peter who lay motionless, immobilized with fear and shock while the infant's cries pierced his ears and heart.The family disaster seemed complete, and Malachi found he was unable to deal with the situation. He had failed only to realize he hadn’t changed a bit.
John came on over, and had Malachi sit on the stones and pebbles nearby, telling Malachi with unexpected calm: “I understand why you did that, but what you did was inexcusable.” Then he turned his attention to Peter. Peter had a nosebleed, and was quite shaky but otherwise fine. John said: “Listen, Peter—“John began quite sternly.

“—he did not want to commit adultery, my liege” Hephaisthos interrupted anxiously.

“Adultery?!” John looked confusedly from Peter to Malachi and then back again. “It is not adultery to breastfeed a baby. How else is it gonna eat?" John nearly shouted angrily at Peter as well as at Malachi. He turned his head to his son, exclaiming: “What kind of stupidity is this?! Did you actually tell Peter he would be committing adultery if he fed the baby?!” John shouted.

“No I did not!” Malachi replied, staring into the ground, “I never thought it would come to this. I thought..! I thought...”
“—thought what?!!” John shouted angrily.

“I never thought he would survive. I didn’t, I mean I—“

“—you told him the old tale of demons reborn through humans. Did you neglect to mention that it works differently with Sparrow demons around?!”

“—I can't remember what I did or didn't tell him!" Malachi wailed in despair.

“Well, Peter, the wailing of your son is driving me crazy, so put an end to it and give the darn thing some food!” John told him sternly. He watched the boy pick up the baby and then relifting the hem of his shirt. John caught glimpse of a full but small breast, and the nipple glistened with leaking milk. The baby immediately latched on, the cries came to an end. The baby suckled away like it had done nothing else.

“Ah finally! Silence!” John exclaimed with a sigh, rubbing his forehead in his palms. ”So here we are, sitting on a pile of rocks. What you see about you are the remains of my father’s once great kingdom. But he was an idiot. The kind of idiot my son Malachi here, is” John said sarcastically, motioning at Malachi. “He was destroyed along with his kingdom because he failed to appreciate the undying love of his prince consort who bore him three warlords. Now newborn warlords were a rare thing to be had back then, something which put their relationship on a constant trial because of intrigues and scheming all around by other suitors who more than anything wanted to be up the Prince Consort’s arse in hope of making themselves a warlord or two. You could say that in the end the empire crumbled due to communication problems between the Prince Consort and the King”. John looked over Malachi. “You, my son, shall spend eternity down here. And you shall rebuild the castle, brick by brick until it is a home worthy of a king. Hephaisthos here will help you, along with any other benevolent ghost from the past which may still linger. But you shall not be king, Malachi. You will learn to harness your anger in solitude, and you’ll learn to pray for the day when your son finds it in his heart to revisit these grounds and possess the throne as the rightful heir to the Seventh Plane of Hell.”

When the last words fell from John’s lips, Peter could not help but to glance up at Malachi. Their eyes met for a brief second, and there it was again! That slim hope of happiness together despite the difficulties between them.

“And you, Peter Drinkwater—“John turned towards Peter, his voice softening several notches in the process, “you and your child shall go back to the land of the living, and there you will raise the boy until he comes of age. You will find that these so-called ‘truths’ Malachi has infested your mind with, will be put to test more than once” John stated, sighing heavily again. Something made him look up, and down sifted a medallion on a necklace as if it was a speck of pure snow from the heavens above. John Sparrow reached out his hand, and the necklace settled softly in his palm. He stared at it wide-eyed and in terror, whispering his father’s name.


Peter’s head was still spinning from the swift change of worlds, and he held on to the bundle with weakening arms. John helped him inside the captain’s cabin of the Black Pearl, put him gently into the spare bed with fresh sheets, and Peter felt truly thankful for this act of benevolence from someone so intimidating. But what was more frightening than his supposed father-in-law, was the piercing shriek which all of the sudden ripped through the air and increased in strength as it seemed to move in closer. It came from outside the cabin, somewhere over their heads. John looked anxious, and told Peter hastily that he would return, before he bolted out the door, shutting it with a bang.

One hundred and eighty-eight offspring later, the demon Thyrion, or Saieros whom he’d been as an adolescent, who was also John’s bigger brother, had learned that he couldn’t get to Captain Jack Sparrow without first fighting through the demons he’d helped spawn. It was a constant source feeding his anger, for he was drawn between the nearly all encompassing urge to thrust his manhood deep into the insides of Jack Sparrow, and the need to keep from hurting his spawn. They put obstacles in his way instead of helping him into getting another of their brethren in the making. But when they charged at him, clad in full battle armour, showing him no mercy, hurtling energy bolts, lightning blasts and other very harmful weapons at him, he could not help but to become quite annoyed, and he had to focus not to hurt them too bad. He’d learned some tricks on how to avoid them over the past three hundred and fifty years, and he prided himself on having become quite cunning and creative when it came to getting his prize which was the still very enjoyable arse of Jack Sparrow.

Most of the Sparrow demons were airborn. They lived high in the airy realms of the Above, usually referred to as Heaven, servicing the Rex Mundi, or God, as the ignorant humans called it. A good third of the Sparrows had chosen that way of life. They acknowledged that ‘Rex Mundi’ was a term for the host of demons of Light who’d created a separate community in a dimension known as The Above. They served humanity, wishing it to thrive and to do good deeds. Long ago they planted the idea of one God into the minds of men, hoping it would unite them. When that didn’t work, they gave one of their followers the Ten Commandments, hoping some simple rules would clear the confusion. Nope. Then they decided to make one offspring which could talk some sense into their heads. But when that offspring went astray and came in contact with John Sparrow, The Treasure Childe himself, they decided to give their man the boot. On the cross. Looking back, they realized they should have made this offspring two thousand years later when man had invented mass communication. Their man would have become a superstar. Now, they were a little lost at how to salvage humanity from their own undoing, since sin, sin and more sin seemed to be the only way for them. And another important factor was: There were now more of Men than there were Demons of Light. They’d lost control but did not admit it.

Another third of the Sparrows, usually those born with black wings and a little less moral conscience than their white-winged brothers (a trait they’d inherited which lay slumbering deep inside Jack Sparrow) tended to veer to the Abyss, otherwise known as Hell. It usually meant that they worked as guardsmen to the Gates of Hell. Like the Pearl Gate in the Above, also Hell had its splendid gate, though quite more gothic and sombre. The general rule for those who died was so: We all go to Hell. There we have to stand trial, answering to all of our crimes and misdeeds which we did in the lifetime. Those who are innocent (nearly no one are) get to go to the Above where they serve the Demons of Light on puffy clouds. Those who have done really bad things receive a punishment in Hell which is proportional to their crime. Souls manage to escape, for with so many people waiting in line, there’s bound to be confusion. These souls are usually what the black-winged Sparrows go hunting for. It’s the mean ones, the ones without conscience or regret – the multiple murderers, the rapists, and those ones responsible for genocide, slaughters of innocent women and children, the paedophiles, the wife beaters and those who commit the act of incest upon their children – oh the list is endless. Then there’s the really bad demons of Hell who are looking for a little escapade among humans. Aye, the black-winged Sparrows are in truth hunters, hunting in packs or alone, with their work cut out for them.

Then there’s the Sparrows who stay among the human race, living as humans, dressing, talking and behaving like humans. They are wingless, and are powerful witches. They study archeology, have doctorates in literature and ancient languages, are businessmen and creative individuals with exceeding knowledge of boatmanship and historic facts of the days sails. They are the official Sparrows – though they hide their relations well, cloaking their backgrounds with imaginary mothers and sisters and nieces. These Sparrows are responsible for a countless number of fake birth certificates, driver’s licenses and social security number world wide - and, together they run the different divisions of what once was The Sparrow Shipping Company. They use their witchcraft to protect Jack and themselves and to promote Jack’s business.
When Jack calls – those who can come running. In common they had Jack – and as long as he was happy, they were happy. Their stability depended on his stability.

So where would the Thyrion go if they were all around, in both the skies and earthbound, shutting him out with magic spells and missiles? The Thyrion had still access to Hell, and it worked perfectly as a tunnel upwards, past the spells weaved by the witches. Dark spell coming into contact with the matter of darkness simply zeroed itself out. He’d learned that by accident, and took care not to use it too many times lest his sons also discovered this secret. This way, he managed to get enough of his sons by surprise as he shot out of the water next to the hull of the Black Pearl. The Thyrion found that Jack Sparrow was already waiting for him, but their offspring were not intending on giving up Jack without a fight.

John reached Jack in time to topple him over and take cover by the railing. The Black Pearl cringed heavily as the Thyrion came to a halt, squatting on the railing directly above their heads. No sooner had he done that before a blast of lightning hit him in the back. Some Sparrow demons from The Above was charging in with a fury, all encompassed in shimmering white heavenly light. The air crackled with sickening green as another Sparrow, one from the netherworld, took his aim at The Thyrion. But the mighty demon dodged the blast elegantly, only burning some black feathers. He looped and dove in among the black sails of the Pearl, determined to pin Jack directly and grasp him away from his brother’s arms as swift as he could. It didn’t matter if Jack broke some ribs in the process. He would tear the human away no matter the cost. He failed to see the energy shield John created between him and his brother, and it worked as he was hoping it would. The demon bounced right off like a fly on a window. The other Sparrows moved in, their great wings whistling through the nocturnal air, charging it with electricity. The fiercer ones hit him straight on, clawing and snarling, stabbing again and again. The Thyrion hit after his offspring, and those he struck, were hurled powerfully backwards, stooping headlong into the Caribbean water. This usually broke the Sparrows into two divisions; Those fighting, and those in need of being rescued. An unconscious Sparrow weighed down by great feathered wings and armour soon goes under. And very soon, Jack was on his feet, telling them all to break off, and pleading with the demon to let his offspring be. John told him no, that it must not happen again. Raising triumphantly in the air, readying himself to collect his prize, the Thyrion spread out his wings, displaying him in all his magnificence. Having no intention of letting his brother whisk off Jack without a fight, John braced himself. But little did he expect the roof of the cabin of the Pearl to suddenly explode into a multitude of shards. A breathtaking, blinding golden light appeared and from the hole lifted itself a creature which only grew in size as it came to hover in the air above them. It opened its jaws and roared at the Thyrion, spreading its leathery golden wings and opening its fangs wide.

“Dragon!” John exclaimed wildly and surprisedly, pointing with a shivering index finger at the creature shimmering golden in the humid nocturnal air. In the flash of a second, all of the Sparrows scrambled away, like moths startled away from their centre of attention. John and Jack ran to the other end of the ship, hurtling themselves behind the coil of rope holding the anchor while they felt the air being moved by gigantic wings.

The dragon shot straight at the Thyrion, and tackled him dead on. They both tumbled to the floor, and Jack could but watch with his heart in his throat as the dragon twisted the demon about as if it were a rag doll until it had him lying on his belly. The Sparrows drew nearer again, awed by the ferocity and baffled by the ease the dragon manhandled the dragon. They all shuddered as they saw the dragon dig his teeth into the bone of the Thyrion’s right wing, and very soon, the dragon slung the maimed wing away on the deck. He had pulled the bone right out of the socket, and the Thyrion’s scream echoed for miles. Jack could not help but to stand, drawing nearer. He was as bewitched, as he for the first time finally saw the demon subdued and thoroughly hurt. Indeed something broke inside Jack that night, perhaps it was to finally gain perspective of a possible future without the demon hunting him. This future only became more real, as the dragon bit down on the Thyrion’s last remaining wing, separating it from the backbone. Then, the dragon stopped, and withdrew away from the beaten demon’s back. John remained in the background along with his peers, sensing that this was it, this was the turning point they’d all been dreading. Every Sparrow still conscious held their breaths as they heard the demon cough and wail. He seemed to grow a rosy sort of complexion, losing his scull white colour of flesh, and he seemed to diminish in size. His haircolour faded from jet black to brownish. The claws disappeared, melting away into ordinary fingernails, and soon the Thyrion was reduced to nothing more than a man, who lay very still, but gasping for air. The seas of the Caribbean lay in dead calm. There was not a breath of wind, not a sound to be heard. It was as if the worlds beneath, in the middle and in Hell held their breaths as the curse of the Demon King of the Seventh Plane* which floated in the veins of his son Saieros, came to a close.

John felt all of the sudden a motion next to him. It was as if a fabric swept by his arm. He had been concerned with Peter lying all alone in the remains in the cabin, and whether he was hurt. But now, John instinctively reached out and grabbed the entity next to him in one swift move. One of John’s abilities were such, that he could seize any ghost and materialize it for as long as he was in physical contact with it. No one but the Prince Consort himself appeared before the already awed bystanders of Sparrow demons. It shocked even John to find he was holding on to the Prince’s arm. The four thousand year old man whom still looked young and handsome as he’d done in his power days as the Prince Consort of the Seventh King of Hell, looked up at him pleadingly, twisting and bending his arm to get out of John’s grip. John’s jaw was practically on his knees. This was the least they’d expected to find, and it was adrenaline-kicking to go from one discovery to the next. The Prince Consort wanted to attend his son. He tried to move towards Saieros, reaching out for him, yet not saying a word. He reminded John of Peter and the silent ways Peter had adopted to communicate and still survive. The difference was, The Prince Consort had an air of royalty about him, something extra in his posture like an elegance only those with nobility can display. The brown curls of his almost shoulder long hair curled and caressed his slender neck. He was clad in an ancient cloak of white and blue billowy material, and his chocolate brown eyes were breathtakingly enchanting. He made himself heavy, sitting down on the deck in an attempt to get closer to his collapsed and wounded son.

John exchanged a glance with the golden dragon, and it seemed they had the identical thought. John motioned for his peers to draw near, and they soon formed a circle with the eldest and most powerful of the Sparrow offspring; Daniel and Nathaniel, Jacob and Israel and many more. The dragon chose to stay outside the circle, raising himself up on his hind legs, overlooking the circle which closed around Saieros and his father, the Prince Consort. The nobleman eagerly crept inside the circle, not caring, having eyes only for his firstborn whom was bleeding heavily. Jack too, did not participate in the circle. Somehow, this included only those with demon blood in their veins, and the feeling of being on the outside of the family of demons he’d helped create, embraced him more than ever. He had complete trust in them though, all though he knew that this meant make it or break it for his existence as well as theirs. Whatever they were about to perform, the ancient powers they now called upon could eradicate them all, and that was discomforting. Oh, where was the rum when he needed it? This could be his end, and there was no rum! He decided to leave them alone, remembering that John had hastened inside the cabin with Peter Drinkwater. He opened the door, finding a mess on the floor with bits and pieces from the deck above. He found Peter fast asleep in the guest bed, the bed sheet covering his body was covered in dust and speckles of wood. The young man’s breaths were regular and deep, and Jack had to smile. The baby was a devious one, clever and wise in his decision about making sure Peter fell into a deep slumber before he transformed into the dragon. Peter would be rested, and hopefully better suited to face the changes going down this very moment. Jack felt the Pearl tremor in her wood.

There was a pull of gravity, and Jack felt as if they were being sucked downwards into the sea. Jack’s own little children he’d put in the care of trusted affiliates. It prevented them from seeing the mayhem going on outside, to hear the noise of war and demons snarling, and should they have transformed permanently into grown demons, as habit were with Sparrow offspring, then he wouldn’t have to go through the pain of watching their painful metamorphosis. He heard the ancient song sung outside. The Pearl creaked and complained again at being at the mercy of such heavy and profound powers. Jack went to a shelf, where he found a candle. He made his way back through the debris on the floor, and sat down by Peter’s bed again. He took out a match from the matchbox he’d brought along, and lighted the solitary candle.

“For the likes of ye and me, Peter Turner. Had I but two flasks of rum ‘ere, I’d make a toast. To us, the losers. I don’t know wha’ ye’ve been through, lad, and I sure as hell don’t wanna know ‘cause it’s bound to be nasty. But do know this; I sympathize. Personally, I have to say, if I were to be given the chance to do it all again, knowing wha’ I know today? Not a chance. I should never have stepped with a single toe inside tha’ smithy in Port Royale. I should have chosen any other place! I should never have gone after tha’ stinkin’ fountain, let alone have conceived even the possibility on tha’ map of fortune. And I certainly should have become the captain of the Flying Dutchman instead of Will Turner, may he rest in peace. No doubt about it, just look at the trouble I would have saved meself from! But no, I had to go and do the noble thing! I had tha’ screw it up. Oh well, no use weepin’ over spilled beans now, ey?!”

The Pearl shivered once more. Jack sensed her concern for their future just as much as he did. She did on no way want to be destroyed, lest she returned as a ghost to haunt the seven seas and spend eternity frightening sailors to death! Aye, that sounded like something she could live, uhm, die with. Jack could but chuckle to himself upon hearing her thoughts, aye, they were just what Captain Jack Sparrow the pirate would have thought back in the good old pirating days. Outside, the song came to a stop. The energy ebbed out, and the night faded into oblivious black. A thousand demon predators whom had been preying on the souls of the living, had gathered, sensing there was a change in the balance. They all could smell Jack Sparrow. His skin, his soul, the prospect of his still empty belly – empty of offspring, all smelled like the sweetest perfume of lotuses, jasmine, roses and honey. With the Thyrion defeated, they all saw a chance for a swift overtake. United now, they could break through the magical barriers, perhaps the Sparrows were weakened by the energy spent on summoning such ancient powers? They could fight over Jack Sparrow over the dead bodies of his sons later.
Fortunately, most things that concerned demons, were of such nature that John sensed it immediately. They had gathered behind his back, but the massiveness of their evil united was like a red lantern in the night. Still bristling with fading essence of the ancient powers, he turned, grinning devilishly and pinned them with molten eyes, hissing: “Bring it on!”

The Sparrow demons of light/dark were up in the air in a flash, ascending to meet the diving army of rough neck evil head on. It was their way of battle, quickly eliminating the inner core of demons which didn’t have time to dodge or elope before they realized what had hit them. They quickly realized they were practically naked against the Sparrows who conjured their armour of faith from nothing but air. Soon, dying demons rained from the sky, evaporating into thin air as they obliterated, being involuntarily drawn back to Hell. John’s energy bolts, bristling with lightning and burning energy conjured from a unique mixture of faith and love in Jack as well as Jesus Christ combined with a strong sadistic sense of being the being over all beings (otherwise known as illusions of grandeur) soon burned through most of the remaining third who’d managed to dodge to the right in the nick of time. They were now facing his undeadly missiles in a direct front assault while the Sparrows of Light were stabbing their behinds with their lightning spears.

The nocturnal air was packed with Sparrows chasing rebel demons, and rebel demons chasing Sparrows. It soon narrowed down to hand-to-hand combat where only the best and most cunning of the demon rebels now survived. In their midst, on the now bloody deck of the Black Pearl stood John Sparrow tall, swinging his golden cutlass from right to left and back again, stabbing, laughing, cutting, biting and snarling while he had the time of his life.
Just as the battle had commenced, the now fully restored in body Prince Consort and his son who was slowly coming round, had been escorted inside the broken cabin of the Pearl. The door was then shut and barred from the outside, and several of the wingless Sparrows took battle positions on what was left of the roof, drawing a protective witch’s circle at all four corners. The Dragon, void of his powers, reduced itself to a wisp of golden dusk which made its way back into the cabin with them. It materialized itself in Peter’s arms as the infant, immediately grunting and then wailing with the voice of a baby, screaming for attention. Peter awoke with a jerk, finding much commotion as many a strange man was brought inside. One weeping, one seemingly lifeless, and then there was Jack, The Origin sitting next to his bed. There was obvious tension in the air inside the cabin, and Peter noticed how a Sparrow guarding the door kept looking from one to the other as if he anticipated an argument. The limp man suddenly jerked and coughed heavily, before returning to his repose upon the strangely clad man’s lap. That man looked so familiar, though Peter couldn’t place him. He decided it was best not to stare, as the other who sat with the immobilized, bleeding one, kept staring at Peter and the baby, then shifting his gaze occasionally to Jack, obviously thinking hard about something. Peter felt like he was being silently accused, remembering how often he’d been met with that stare every time he’d ventured to gaze into the beautiful eyes of Malachi. He had been made painfully aware he was worth nothing, and had inflicted great misery on the local community, who knows perhaps he had committed murder?! Peter ventured to feed the baby, and gasped at the sensation as the infant greedily latched on and suckled. This situation was going nowhere near how Peter expected it would be in the first place. The sound of battle, missiles and cries outside scared him, and he was still very much alive.

“It’s all right” Jack told him, “Hell has broken loose out there. But never you mind, Peter. My children will protect us.”

“Is..., is this...it?” Peter found the courage to ask.

“I believe so” Jack told him with a heavy sigh. “This is when we find out if we all perish or we linger”. There was a pressing silence for a long time. Only the pleasant noises of the baby feeding, could be heard. Peter had to endure the gaze of Prince Paris upon him the entire time, and when he ventured to look up occasionally, he saw that the man was still crying. Again, Peter felt as if he was to blame, not realizing that him feeding the baby awoke many dormant memories with the Prince. There were heavy thuds on the roof of the cabin, and several splashes in the water outside. Jack got out of his chair, obviously distressed and restless. Peter watched him march a few steps back and forth before he resolutely turned towards the couple on the floor, directing his speech at the one resting in the arms of the other: “Saieros?! Those better not be my children who are falling into the water! For every Sparrow who loses his life today – for every Sparrow I helped nurture into yer grand warriors, I will hold ye accountable! Fer three hundred and fifty years ye’ve abused me cold-heartedly and never cared an ounce about yer offspring save they should be anythin’ but cold-blooded killing machines! In this wretched, miserable world which is no longer my own but which ye’ve forced me to live in all the same, I had to fight every day to make decent men out them! Ye’ve robbed me of me friends, me women, me rum and me own bloody body!” Jack was going to say something more. He was pointing at Saieros with one quivering index finger, holding the ex-demon’s attention, but no sound escaped Jack’s lips. He was fuming now. Literally fuming with anger.

Peter understood that they were enemies. And he realized that he and Jack, on some points had something in common. But Peter had brought it upon himself. He did not know Jack’s story, so he would not judge. Peter watched Saieros rise from the ground with great difficulty. The other man kept urging him not to on a foreign language, but Saireos rose despite the obvious complaints. He shoved the prince away from him, then took some steps towards Jack, who was pacing back and forth. Then, without warning, Jack placed a well-aimed heavy punch right in Saieros nose. Blood spattered and the ex-demon fell to his knees while the prince gasped, calling out something resembling to ‘no!’

“Dank you for raising my chillden” Saieros said, still crouched to the floor, holding his bleeding nose and tasting his own blood. His breathing was heavy and obviously difficult.

“Ye’re fucking welcome, ye piece of stinkin’ shite!” Jack responded with restrained anger, nearly shouting.


The baby seemed pleased with the milk he’d taken, and was snoring softly next to Peter’s naked breast, seemingly oblivious to the tension inside the captain’s cabin and the battle raging outside. They all watched in silence as Saieros made his way back to the comfort of his father’s arms. Peter watched the father wipe his son’s nose with the hem of his coat while caressing his face with his fingers. Then Saieros looked up at his father in wonder and asked him a question. Had Peter understood ancient Trojan, he would have heard these words:

“You continue to stand by me?”

“Should I not? I devoted my body to my family, putting aside all thoughts of regency. A son has been given back to me.”

“And I a father!”

“My son, the man you chose to take as slave has given you much. More than I ever could give thy father the king. He should be rewarded.”

To this, Saieros gave no reply. Outside, the battle was fading.

“Open the door” Jack ordered his son who stood guard. The door was opened, and Peter watched the former pirate peer outside. He was immediately told by someone to stay inside the circle still, and Jack was happily shutting the door again, relieved to find there were no dead Sparrows though many were injured. They weren’t finished yet with disposing of the last rebel demons, and the most persistent and strongest ones were still attempting to bolt towards the door. As Jack had shown himself in the doorway, they’d gained an extra motivation to make that final attempt.
At last, they could finally break the circle and step outside. The air was filled with abominable smells, of sulphur and tar and sea, of burnt flesh and smoke. The last of the captured demons had been banished back to Hell, and the Sparrows were taking care of their wounded. Some were heavily burnt, and some had lost a great deal of feathers on their wings. There were wounds and blood, and Peter watched Jack immediately go to work, taking charge, finding bandages, cooking water and making beds for the ones with the most injuries. Peter felt like he should be making himself useful, though he was feeling very sleepy. The baby slept soundly in his arms. The bustle about Peter made him anxious though, and he would have done much better if he could just have been moving about, helping out. Now, he got the feeling everybody disliked him, for he was occupying a delightfully soft bed while their people lay on the floor bleeding. He resolved to move, and made it halfway up to a sort of sitting position. Saieros had risen. He was looking anxiously at his wounded son. Peter placed the child on the bed next to him, and resolved to move his own out of the bed to see if he could stand. It actually worked, and by supporting himself to the bed, Peter found he could stand next to it, and move parallel to it. A fear suddenly seized him. His backside and his entire abdomen felt sore, yet he was exposed. If anyone were to come and seize him and have him from behind, it would be an extremely painful experience. He needed to get away. To flee. But where could he hide? They were on a boat. Perhaps he could hide in the bowels of the ship, find himself a dark corner where no one would notice him. Yes, that would be the right thing to do, his panic-stricken mind told him. But the baby began to wail, drawing attention. Just then, John came into the door, and said: “Ah, Peter, you’re up! Do you need anything?”
Peter only shook his head, unable to come with a reply. Jack came storming through the door and left some items on the floor before he turned to Peter and said: “You’ll find diapers in the cabinet over there under the sink. John, would you take a moment and show him?”
John was immediately on the task, and picked up the baby. “I’ll just carry him over there for you” he told Peter, before he took the young father by the arm, supporting him. Feeling uncomfortable to be so near another man, Peter did his best to seem unaffected. He watched anxiously as John placed the baby boy on the Bathinette. He placed close attention to John’s explanation. Then, as John had watched Peter change the diaper and put clothes on the newborn, John said: “I want you to think about the future now, Peter. About where you want to live, and what kind of life you want to lead. You must not feel bound by Malachi no more. I know he loves you and the child, but his anger is dangerous and damaging to the both of you. The only way the two of you could be together is if he learns to harness it, and you must learn to harness Malachi. You hold immense power over him, you know” John spoke softly and placed a friendly hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I consider you very much as my son-in-law. What other choice to I have? You have shown such courage and you’re well on your way to become a Child Bearer just like Jack. Within all of us half demons there are great powers, and sometimes not even we manage to harness them ourselves. We need ‘walls’ to bang our heads against, someone who will set our minds straight and drag our feet back down to earth and tell us what it’s all about. Jack had been pretty much alone about that job for the past three hundred and fifty years. He handles the main vein of the family, and now it is your task to manage the side branch of the family which you and Malachi together” John emphasized the last word, “have created. Raise your children to be strong, independent, loyal, courageous and wise. And above all, you must teach them to love. Really love. If you resign yourself and let your offspring run loose on the world without guidance the way I allowed Malachi and his brothers to do, then you’ll just end up creating another ill-tempered version of him. Though much of the future already is set for your son, there is also much about him which isn’t fixed just yet, and it is your task to shape him into a decent man.”
Peter did not find the strength to reply. He was overcome with tears of gratitude. This was beyond anything he’d dared hope for. To be spoken to so directly, with such soft a countenance was a soothing balm to his chaotic emotions. Ever since the birth had progressed, and nothing had commenced as Peter had pictured it would do, he now sensed that everything had fallen in place. There was a sense of direction, a task at hand which he alone could perform.
“What is it Peter? Why are you crying?” John asked him softly.

“I—“Peter whispered, wiping away his tears, trying to be practical about it, “I...I have no resources to give him a good h...home. I have no money.”

“Take my advice and settle down at the Lighthouse farm outside Eoropaidh. The people there are very well acquainted with the Sparrows, and someone there will give you a job. In the meanwhile, I will make sure that Malachi’s assets will be at your disposal.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to steal...and I don’t want any debt” Peter spoke quietly while John guided him back to bed. “Please, good sir” Peter suddenly stopped by the bed, “I— I need not lay down. Let one of the injured, I mean, they need it more than me. Perhaps you would permit me” Peter ventured with his heart caught in his throat, “to find accommodation down below? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the others nor yourself.”

“Nonsense, it’s my bed, I choose who will sleep in it. You need to be comfortable.”

Peter glanced over to Saieros and his father, before he asked John: “Sir..., I, uhm, I very much would like to move below, for I feel that I am inconveniencing the others in this room.” John turned his head to see who Peter was looking at, immediately understanding.

“They make you nervous, ey? Well, I quite understand that. Saieros and his father, prince Paris of Troy are well over four thousand years old. From quite a different era. We, uh, don’t quite know what to do with them yet. But they’re both banished from Hell, so we can’t send them back just yet. Malachi is now rebuilding their home, you know. They used to reside there, on the seventh plane. And there was a time, when that fortress among whose very ruins you gave birth, was the hub of power in Hell. I must discuss with Jack on what to do. I fear he just wants to have them walk the plank and be rid of ‘em for good” John intended a soft laugh, but it only proved that he was about as insecure of the newcomers as Peter was. But his golden eyes revealed no fear, and he once again placed a comforting hand on Peter’s right shoulder. Peter couldn’t help but to like John more and more. He had called him his son-in-law and boasted of him.

“Tell you what, I’ll go find accommodation for them downstairs while you stay up here. I know that Jack would prefer your company up here rather than theirs. And so would I.” Having reached a decision, John raised himself from the floor where he’d been kneeling next to the bed, and went outside. Peter remained in the bed to watch Saieros and his father leave the room, and he unconsciously sighed relieved to be rid of their presence. Now he could breathe a little, though he was not alone. Three sparrows – two on the floor and one in Jack’s bed lay quietly, resting and recovering from their wounds. Peter did not know them, and he took little notice as he was caught up in his own thoughts concerning the speech John had given him at the Bathinette.

Peter was later on helped downstairs along with the wounded, and the smell of cooked food made his mouth water. Would he be given something to eat? Or would he be left to sit at a chair by the wall, gazing at those happily eating while he felt his stomach burning with the desire for food? He felt like a leech, living off the others. He was very aware that it was the diapers and clothes belonging to Jack’s children, and that he slept in John’s bed and drank their water. He wore Jack’s clothes, and John nursed his post-birth wound and helped him to the bathroom. Everything belonged to someone else. And hopefully yet regrettably Peter would have to prey upon their food to survive as well. It had been like that ever since his days with Malachi at the Windy Whistle Farm. It was Malachi’s money he’d spent, and the scraps of food he’d stolen during moments alone, had been leftovers from Malachi. Everything at the Butt of Lewis Lighthouse save his journal had also been theirs. And Peter felt like he’d not given anything at all back. He was an expense. A parasite! If he resettled in Eoropie, and someone there gave him a job because of his connections to the Sparrow family, wouldn’t that also be an abuse of their resources? Of their good name?

He was directed to a seat at a long table. Unknown to him, it was the same spot where more than three hundred years ago, pirates had been sitting having supper, telling tales and drinking rum merrily while planning the next big raid with Captain Jack Sparrow at the helm. It had of course been less sanitary back then, and with another less clean table and a lot more rubble and a lot less eatable food in casseroles on it. Instead of eating from dirty and bulked tinplates Jack now served steamy hot food on proper china plates, beverages in crystal glasses and set the table with steel knives and forks. There were those who put their heads together and whispered as they saw Peter with the child. Whether it was because he was seated next to John, in a place he did not deserve, or perhaps because he did not belong at the table all together, Peter couldn’t tell. He did hear Malachi’s name mentioned. He wondered why that prince and his son weren’t seated as well. They had ventured below as well, but had retired to a chamber nearby, and watched them through an opening in the doorway. It tasted wonderfully with stew and rice, and Peter sent a warming thought to Malachi as he tasted the delicious food.

“You know” John interrupted his thoughts, “as with nearly everything Jack cooks, it tastes delightful. But did you know that when he started his career as a Child Bearer, he only knew how to roast fish and rats on a stick over a fire? Look how far he has come?!”

“There was nothing’ wrong with me cookin’ back then. I just drenched everythin’ in rum and it tastes like heaven. Nothin’ to it!” Jack ironically parried John’s comment.

“To Jack and his rum!” One of the sparrows exclaimed, raising his glass in a toast. The gesture was answered from everyone who raised their glasses as well and said: “To Jack!”

The salute made Peter aware of the kind of patron Jack Sparrow must be to these half demons since they thought him worthy to be tribute in a toast. And it also spoke volumes of the self-esteem and attitude Jack had, since he managed to come up with such an answer to the golden eyed demon sitting shoulder to shoulder with both of them. He caught Jack staring intently at him, and Peter wondered if Jack expected a reply about the food. The baby was fast asleep, nuzzling its little nose against Peter’s left tit which was covered with the fabric of a billowy shirt. He jumped in his seat as Jack suddenly spoke:

“I wonder where the Turner in ye are at the moment, Peter, for a Turner doesn’t normally act anything like you do. Turners are proud and respectable. They walk around with their noses in the air and they stare people directly in the eye when addressed—“

“—not now father” John interrupted, “give him some time. He wasn’t raised like a Turner, so you can’t expect him—“

“—a Turner always knows his own mind. Had it been William Turner who had to face yer son, John, then I’m sure he’d given that boy a solid piece of his mind and a good beatin’. A Turner doesn’t let people push him around.” Peter watched in silence as Jack interrupted himself to eat some more, before the old pirate continued: “We’ll need to do somethin’ about yer father.”

“Aye” John said turning to Peter, “he’s in prison, doing time for a triple murder he didn’t commit. A high security facility outside Manchester. Conjuring him away would be easy, but you see, Peter, it doesn’t clear his name. We don’t know why the Turner family are reluctant to find proof and have his case reopened.”

“There’s somethin’ fishy goin’ on with the Turners these days. They’re not...quite themselves.” Jack frowned at his plate.

“But as I said to you earlier, Peter, your main concern now is to build yourself a home. What’s his name, by the way?” John gestured towards the sleeping infant.

“N-name?” Peter answered, quite taken by surprise. He had for some time been so astonished at being addressed by both of the most influential Sparrows, so flattered that they were actually discussing him and his connections – he, a worthless thief from Midsomer Mallows who’d never done anything big in his life – like it was a matter of importance. And they spoke with such benevolence and interest that he could hardly believe his own ears. They seemed sincere. Peter could pick up no sarcasm hidden in the words they spoke, and it almost made him fall of the very chair he sat on. And now they asked about the baby’s name. Good God what would he answer? Peter had never really thought about a proper name for the child. It had been his resolve to live as long as necessary and then die as he gave birth. He had spent so many months reconciling with the thought of dying he’d never even conceived there’d be a chance of continuation of his existence alongside his own baby. Now that future was actually taking place. And most of all; At the time he had thought it would be extremely imprudent of him to decide a name for the baby since Peter had no right, no say in the matter anyway.

“Surely you must have considered a name for the child?” Jack asked, eying Peter curiously.

“I, uhm, well, no” Peter replied, feeling embarrassed not to have a proper answer to Jack.

“Give it some time, and I’m sure it will come around” John said to his defense.

With supper finished, it was time to have a nap. It was in the middle of the day, yet it had been a long and tiring night. Peter was escorted back to the Captain’s cabin, where John instructed him how to sleep with a baby in the same bed as himself. The other sparrows were recovered and Jack was engaged with mending the ship. John reluctantly went off to the Crimson Lotus for a little while, and before he left he complained to Peter about having to leave Jack and Peter. He then took his leave, promising to return soon. Lying there in the half dark, Peter was for the first time left alone with his child. The boy was awake, and lay looking at him, blinking sleepily and once more happily full in his stomach. The eye contact was something wonderful, and it brought Peter to tears. He felt happy, and proud and his heart was bursting with love and tenderness for this fantastic little creature who’d been alive inside him for all those long months. And Peter never thought he’d live to see this moment. If he were to die now, Peter thought to himself, then he would die a happy man. He blinked the tears away, watching the boy move his little arms. The fingers were soft and tiny, and each movement was a joy to watch. Those dark orbs kept staring at him and everything else in range, and suddenly a name popped up in Peter’s head.
Alexander.

It would suit the boy well. And if Malachi did not accept it, or if John or Jack vetoed it, then Peter would keep it to himself and only call the boy by that name in private moments like this. He wanted to write it all down in his journal, but remembered it had been lost somewhere. Perhaps it was still to be found at the Lighthouse Farm? He dismissed the thought of the journal, and decided he would whisper to the child.
He said: “I name you Alexander. And since I don’t know whether or not Malachi would allow it, I suppose your full name would be Alexander Drinkwater. It is unclear to me whether or not he accepts you as his own, so I suppose we just stick to the Drinkwater name, shall we? It means nothing, I know, but it’s at least a surname for you. Of course, needless to say, if I could have given you the last name of Turner, then I would, for judging by the esteem Jack hold that family in, then it would provide you with some honour and respect as well. More than I would ever be able to give...” Peter’s voice was choking in tears. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. Perhaps now the boy would dislike him because of the flow of nonsense coming from his lips. It was good to talk, however. Peter missed talking openly to people. But every time he had the opportunity, his courage failed him and he withdrew. The baby made a content sound, and fell to sleep. Peter lay for the longest time in silence, just observing his infant son. Then sleep overcame him as well, and he closed his eyes and assumed a restless dream about falling into the black abyss.


*More info is to be found in the story about the The rise of the Demon King's Consort, published under the Troy section.