This was originally a story commissioned to me by one of my CS friends. But alas! I tried to write a beautiful love story, and it just kept writing itself as Swanfire! That, combined with my utter loathing of CS (no offense) and some rather nasty CSers, pushed me to take it down and now, repost the story as it was meant to be: with the epic love that is Swanfire.
Regina glanced up as the great wooden doors burst open and a man flanked by two of her Black Knights strode in. "You better have some good news for me, Huntsman," she said, reaching for the jewel-encrusted box beside her. The Huntsman was her most difficult, resistant servant—he often needed some "outside encouragement" to behave himself.
He inhaled sharply as she pulled out the object inside: she held his red heart in her delicate fingers, tracing her thumb over the dark smudges. He glared at it, his fists clenching at his sides.
"I have news of Snow White," he said, his words marred from his thick, rustic accent. "Her child has been born. A girl."
Regina sat up, fury and elation rising in her chest. "A child," she breathed.
Snow White had a child. That stupid, insipid, insufferable little brat had a child. It was like the universe was mocking her: every attempt Regina made on her life backfired, making the people love her more and more until she had gathered enough loyal followers to drive Regina out of the kingdom. And now, Snow was living the life of luxury with her trophy husband, reclining in Regina's throne—the one she had suffered through a decade of marriage to that old, pathetic excuse for a man the people called "King".
It was Snow's fault that Daniel had been killed, that Regina's heart had been shattered beyond repair, that all her hopes and dreams had been crushed when his heart was—right in front of her. Regina had been working tirelessly to get her revenge ever since, even going so far as to seek Rumplestiltskin's help. He had schooled her in dark magic, offered her advice and wisdom, given her the Dark Curse…all for nothing. The essential ingredient for the Dark Curse was the heart of the thing you loved most: and Regina didn't love. She was ice. She was stone. The only thing in her heart was a dark, festering hatred for Snow White.
That woman would suffer; Regina would use her dying breath to make sure Snow White suffered as deeply as she had.
And now that there was a child…
"Huntsman," Regina said suddenly, her fiery black eyes sparking with inspiration. "You will bring me that child."
The Huntsman glowered at her. "She's innocent," he growled. "I will not harm an innocent child—not even for you, my Queen," he added mockingly.
"I'm not asking you to harm her," Regina said coolly. "Quite the contrary. I want you to bring her to me in perfect health, or this—"she squeezed his heart, smiling cruelly as he cried out in pain, falling to his knees—"will be crushed into dust, dear Huntsman."
She loosened her hold, allowing him to slowly push himself back into a stand, still breathing with difficulty. "Now, go," she said, waving a careless hand. "And don't come back until you have that child in your arms. Do you understand?"
He nodded, wincing as she dug her nails into the heart. "Yes, my Queen."
"Good."
Regina dropped the heart back in the box, and settled back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. Finally. Snow White had ruined her life, all because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. She had ripped away all the light in her life, all the love in her heart, just because she couldn't keep one little secret. She had stolen her life; and now Regina was going to steal hers.
Because when a child is born, she becomes the center of her parent's world: their sun, their stars, their entire life. Snow White didn't realize it, but she had just given birth to Regina's revenge.
She really was a most beautiful little girl, though.
Regina caught her breath as the Huntsman carefully placed the little bundle in her arms. She traced her finger along the soft, plump cheeks, over the rosebud mouth, all the way up the little feathery tufts of blonde hair. The baby let out a soft, mewling cry, squirming in her arms; Regina almost smiled, feeling a spreading warmth in her chest as she gazed down at her.
"What's her name?" she murmured, not taking her eyes off her.
"They called her 'Emma'," the Huntsman said, his voice sounding oddly strained. Regina glanced up, raising her eyebrows.
"Do I detect a hint of compassion in those dead eyes?" she asked, a smile twisting on her face. He didn't answer; he just looked at the baby, swallowing hard. Regina lowered her eyes, softly shhing as Emma let out another little cry.
She would be the daughter Regina would never be able to have. She would learn magic; she would learn strength. She would learn that love is weakness, and power is everything. She would prove that a woman can not only the match the strength and cleverness of a man, but exceed it, just as Regina's mother had taught her.
And one day, she would help Regina storm her own parents' castle, and conquer their kingdom. Snow's own daughter would put the tip of a sword to her neck—and kill her.
Emma was everything Regina hoped for.
She was clever, so very clever. Regina could hand her a book and say, "Learn."; Emma would take the book in her little hands, a slight frown etched on her face as she slowly flipped through the pages. A week later, she would come up to Regina with her hands behind her back, and give her a full report.
She was strong. Most little girls would cry when they found their first wounded baby bird and nursed it back to health, only to have it die a few days later; Emma did not. Instead of grieving, she studied the bird as it died, tilting her head thoughtfully as it feebly flapped its wings. When Regina asked her why, she simply said, "It has to die someday, doesn't it?"
Most of all, she was powerful. Magic had never been so strong in a child, Regina thought in wonderment as she watched Emma craft a perfect fireball between her fingers. It was as though power flowed through her veins, rather than blood. And Emma relished it, Regina could tell. The girl's eyes would light up, a breathless smile on her face, fascinated by her own cleverness. She liked the feeling of strength, of power, of dominance.
But for all that Regina saw of herself in Emma, there were times when she swore that Snow was looking up at her, blinking through curious green eyes. Perhaps it was the way she seemed to endear herself to everyone: the palace guards, otherwise cold and solemn men, would twitch a smile when the little girl pattered barefooted around the castle; the maidservants would tuck her hair behind her ear and tell her what a pretty little girl she was; even the Huntsman's dark gaze would soften when he caught the mischievous glint in her smile.
Perhaps it was her strange flashes of compassion: Regina sometimes caught it out of the corner of her eye. When she took Emma to the dungeons to show her the proper way to deal with those who questioned authority, Emma would avert her eyes and mumble something about, "Yes, Mother, I understand." Regina could see it in her face that she was afraid to admit it to Regina, that was she was afraid to disappoint her, but the grueling punishments turned her stomach.
"It's all right," Regina would tell her, stroking her hair. "Children have weaker souls; you're still far too innocent to the ways of the world to truly understand, but this is necessary."
"Yes, Mother."
As she grew older, Emma grew wiser. She listened to Regina's words, taking them in carefully and dedicating them to memory. She understood that Regina knew better than herself, a naiive young woman. She tried to strengthen her resolve, to force herself to be the blank stone wall Regina had taught her to be: blank stone walls were never hurt, never threatened, never challenged. She still struggled which rather worried Regina: after eighteen years, she'd've hoped Emma would have learned to immunize herself to others' pain, others' weaknesses. "There are two kinds of people in this world," she told her. "Wolves and sheep. People who kill and people who get killed. Choose carefully, Emma."
"I know, Mother."
But in everything else, Emma excelled—particularly her magic. The potential Regina had seen in her as a little girl only grew stronger. She could conjure a fireball faster than you could blink, and her excitement turned to a feverish exhilaration. She loved magic and her power more than anything, and for a brief moment, there wasn't so much as a glimmer of Snow in her.
As far as Emma knew, Queen Snow and King David were sworn enemies of Regina, because of their prejudice against magic and all those with it. They banished Regina because they were afraid of her; and they would have done the same to Emma, had Regina not swept herself and her daughter away from them. If people like Emma and Regina were ever to feel truly safe in the world, they needed to be destroyed—them and all their followers.
