At World's Beginning

On the Cusp

Ona's rise from sleep was a slow, languid one, lulled by the gentle rocking of the ship and the soft fragrance of the sea. She was so comfortable and warm that she didn't want to leave her bed, but she didn't want to miss breakfast with Franklin. It was her favorite time of day, filled with food and discussion of charts and ports and navigation routes. Franklin always double-checked with her to make sure their course was the safest to travel.

She pulled the covers tighter around her, smiling and stretching out her toes. The smile was cut short as her back twinged in intense pain.

Ona went completely still. Something was wrong. The creaking of the ship was unfamiliar. The bed was too soft. And the material wrapped around her was too heavy to be a sheet.

She sat bolt upright, heart hammering in her chest as she looked frantically around the strange, sunlit bedroom. On the edge of panic, she tried to force her sleep-laden mind to remember how she'd gotten there.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked down to find Norrington's coat had dislodged from her shoulder and fallen into her lap. She stared at the object for a moment, uncomprehendingly, but at the sight of that dark navy color, everything came rushing back.

This was not the Mariner's Lament. Franklin was dead. And she was alone in the world.

Ona allowed herself two minutes. She buried her face in her hands, her breath coming out in ragged bursts. She thought she might scream, or cry, or simply explode like an ignited powder keg, but something stopped her. It was that scent again. The soothing scent of the sea, lingering on the material in her hands.

Ona pulled Norrington's coat to her chest and buried her face in it, her broken gasps muffled by the thick fabric. Almost immediately, her heart slowed to a more reasonable rate, and she no longer felt the weight on her chest that had threatened to crush her.

She breathed. And breathed. She focused on the feel of the soft sheets against her skin, the sound of the hull creaking, and the buttery texture of the afternoon light as it fell through the windows. And most of all, she breathed in the scent of the sea. Of her world. It smelled like home.

Finally, when the wave of wild emotions that had threatened to overtake her had subsided, Ona took a deep breath and rose from the bed. Her bare feet were cold against the dark wood floor, and it helped to further sharpen her mind, forcing her to stay in the present and not dwell on the darkness that was never far from her thoughts.

She looked around for her dress and belatedly remembered it had been taken for cleaning and mending. Padding to the door, she opened it with slow cautiousness, half-expecting an alarm to be raised for her daring to leave her quarters. But she wasn't leaving—she spotted her dress, folded and neat on a side table next to the door, and she grabbed it and quickly pulled back inside.

After shutting the door, she unfolded the dress and found it sparkling clean and almost good as new, the back of the shirt sewn in tight, crisp lines. Glad to be rid of the flimsy nightgown, she tugged it off, wincing as it scraped against the dried bandages on her back.

Knowing it was going to hurt like the devil but having no other choice, Ona awkwardly peeled the soiled bandages from her back. It was like tearing off strips of her actual skin from how they stuck to the wounds, but once they were free, the pain began to subside. She had always been a quick healer, and with no need to worry about the wounds becoming festered, she didn't bother to call on the ship's surgeon. The less she had to interact with Beckett's people, the better.

Once that unpleasant task was complete, Ona quickly put on her dress, smoothing the material with a satisfied motion of her hands. It wasn't close to making things right, but she felt steadier, more prepared to face what was to come.