Thanks to Addicted1, my resident muse-stoker and lovely beta :)
Based on a post on Tumblr (you can find me there at how-wonderful-lifeis).
"I generally avoid temptation, unless I can't resist it."
- Mae West
Robin has been in the woods for hours when he spots the clearing in the distance. He has been walking all day, in search of the last ingredient the Queen needs to re-cast her protection spell over the castle, and quite fancies the notion of a brief sit down on a warm stone and a chance to refill his water skin.
He reaches the last line of trees and takes in the scene before him. A deep, satisfied smile spreads over his face. There, growing around the edge of a large boulder near a small lake is a whole cluster of straight, single-stemmed plants, with large leaves and tiny purple flowers, just like the Queen described. Sentinel root. At last.
Robin scans the clearing out of habit before stepping out of the cover of the trees, a precautionary arrow notched in his bow. He approaches the boulder slowly, his eyes darting all around the clearing, and he is convinced now, he is alone.
He kneels to inspect the plants, remembering what the Queen said about the large leaves hiding long, needle-sharp thorns. She had also lectured them about the importance of pulling the single stout root whole from the ground. "Or it will be of absolutely no use to me."
He rolls his eyes at the memory, feeling a flare of annoyance even now at the way she'd pointedly directed her warnings at him. Like he was bound to botch the simple task of finding a plant and bringing it back in one piece. Even hours of walking through the woods had been insufficient to calm the tension he always felt after being around the Queen.
Oh, she hadn't been happy about his inclusion in the little foraging party – despite him being easily the most experienced forager of them all. And honestly, he hadn't been thrilled about taking orders from the haughty Queen, either. But Snow White had enlisted his help, with her sweet round face and imploring eyes, before he'd known who needed the plant or why. And once he'd agreed, it became more about one-upping the Queen than the indignity of being her errand boy.
And it seemed the Queen had passed on at least a little of her stubbornness during her stint as the Princess' stepmother. So Snow White got her way, and the four of them – Snow, her Prince, Red, and himself – had set off after breakfast.
They had split up in order to cover more ground and agreed to return to the castle once they had three of the roots in their possession, or by sundown. The sun is low in the sky already, so Robin is delighted to have come across this bounty. He takes pride in his work, even if it is only hunting and gathering, and he would have hated to return empty-handed. Not to mention the insufferable smirk he would've been met with when the Queen realised he'd proven himself useless.
He smiles at the group of plants standing to attention around the boulder. Looks like he'd be proving otherwise. And as a matter of fact, he rather enjoys seeing the Queen's face when she's on the receiving end of an insufferable smirk – namely his.
He sets his bow down and removes his knife from its sheath, gingerly slicing through the stem of the first sentinel flower. He wagers he has at least an hour of daylight left, plenty of time to (carefully) dig out three roots and be back at the castle before sundown. He might even be there to have dinner with Roland before the boy goes to bed, a thought that makes him smile.
He has successfully removed one whole root from the ground when he notices the silence. Where before there was the sounds of birds, the hum of insects, the rustling of leaves, the gentle lapping of the lake in the stony shallows, now there is not a single sound. The air seems unnaturally hushed, like every living thing in the nearby vicinity has either made itself scarce or is holding its breath.
Robin stills in his work, uneasy, listening. Total silence. He looks around him. Nothing has changed from the scene he first came upon, but something feels decidedly different. He glances down towards his bow.
He spots movement out of the corner of his eye and straightens, looking towards the lake. He sees nothing but smooth water and motionless trees, not even a breath of wind to disturb the branches. But – no, the water is not so smooth after all. He sees ripples on the surface now where it was previously glassy and still. The edge of the lake swells ever so slightly higher up the beach, as though encouraged by some invisible undercurrent. Probably just a fish jumping, or a change in the tides, Robin tells himself, attempting to shake off the eerie feeling that has come upon him. But the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end and gooseflesh is rising along his shoulders, and even though he turns his eyes down, his senses are on full alert. Life in the woods and as an outlaw has taught him never to ignore his instincts, and when his neck prickles like that, it's a pretty damn strong one.
He's bending down, working his knife back into the dirt, and, yes, that time he definitely saw something. Definitely not a fish.
He gazes out at the lake for a moment without rising from his crouch, seeing nothing. Clearly whatever is out there prefers to approach unseen. Well, Robin is no stranger to a little game of Grandma's Footsteps, never failing to make Roland shriek with laughter when he whirls around and catches the boy inches before his little hands reach Robin's back. It just so happens that Robin is quite adept at pretending to be unaware when in truth he is anything but.
Once more he looks down at his work, swivelling slightly on the balls of his feet and turning one shoulder so his back is mostly to the lake. He keeps his body relaxed and his stance casual, but is listening hard, waiting for any subtle sound that will alert him of the other's presence. And he hears it then, the distinct slosh of something moving in the water. In one movement, he is standing facing the lake with his bow taut and an arrow aimed.
He is so surprised by what he sees that his breath stutters in his throat and for a moment all he can do is gape.
The Queen is standing in the middle of the lake, submerged up to her waist and staring directly at him with those dark, dark eyes. Her hair is wet and loose about her shoulders, topped with a strange crystal headpiece. She is clad in a bejewelled white dress that clings to her like a second skin. The saturated fabric lends nothing to decency, and he is only half aware of his gaze roaming over her torso, taking in her firm, full breasts, the outline of a nipple…
He catches himself, snaps his eyes back to her face. A small smile plays about her lips.
He lowers his bow.
"Your Majesty?" he questions, his voice coming out hoarse. He is perplexed. When had she got here, and why? She was supposed to be back at the castle with everybody else, for her safety, and she had been when he left, wearing leather trousers, a heavy, feathered cape and a scowl; nothing like this delicate, ethereal vision in front of him now.
"Hello," she smiles, and her voice is like music. He takes a step forward without really meaning to.
"M'lady, what – what are you doing here?"
"Waiting," she replies.
His heart pounds. His bow is by his side now.
"Waiting for what, your Majesty?"
She simply smiles at him, bends slightly and scoops up some water, tips her head back and pours it over her face and hair, more water than she should have been able to hold, rivulets of it running down her chest. She sighs, stretching her neck languidly, gathering her dripping hair over one shoulder.
Robin is transfixed. She is bewitching, utterly gorgeous. He has never really looked at her like this; objectively he could see she was beautiful, but now, he can't take his eyes off her.
He is at the water's edge and he doesn't remember taking those steps, but he doesn't care because she is coming closer now too. He drinks her in, every extra inch of her that is revealed as the water shallows out, her hips, her legs; he is enthralled by her.
"Regina," he breathes when she is an arm's reach in front of him. He doesn't think he has ever called her by her name before, except perhaps in his dreams.
She is still smiling, that beguiling little smile that he has never seen her wear before, and maybe that should give him pause, but he can't find that anything gives him pause in this moment except the idea that he might not be allowed to touch her. Because he suddenly wants to, desperately.
"Yes, Robin," she says, soft and soothing and seductive all at once. She has never called him that either. She reaches out a hand and caresses his cheek. He closes his eyes, his mind foggy, his entire being focused on that gentle touch. He doesn't notice the splash as he lets his bow fall into the water.
"I've been waiting for you," she whispers. She's threading her fingers through his hair now and the feeling pulses through him. He watches his own hand move towards her face as if from outside his own body. He's terribly afraid she'll stop him, doesn't know what he'll do if she does (the Regina he's coming to know would never let him get this close, he knows, would have pushed him away by now, something in him knows this, maybe this is another dream because somewhere deep down he can feel she's different, not real), but can't stop himself from reaching out anyway.
His fingers make contact with her skin and he is lost to her. He traces her jaw, cups her cheek, weaves his fingers through her luscious hair and grasps the back of her neck. All his breath leaves him in a shuddering sigh. She is a drug and he has had his first fatal taste.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, just wanting to please her; he'll do anything to please her.
"Kiss me," she says, and even though it is he who has her in his grip, somehow it is he who is pulled forward to her lips.
He kisses her. It is intoxicating, blinding, there is nothing else but the glorious feel of her lips. Soft and determined against his, he always thought she'd be fierce and demanding in bed, but he's never thought of her that way, but maybe that's because he wouldn't allow himself tolisten to his own thoughts. She's all he can think of now, she's all there is, the taste of her mouth, her tongue against his, her hands clawing his chest; her waist, hips, back, backside under his eager hands. He is drowning in her.
She pulls away and he moans in longing, already reaching for her again, can't bear to be apart from her. She must have walked them backwards at some point because water laps at his hips as he tries to get closer. Her hands are still at his chest and she stops him.
"Do you want me?" she asks.
"Yes," he gasps, because God, yes, he does, he wants her, and this is the first time he's realising it but he knows he's felt it before.
"Good," she says, and then they are kissing again, and he is drowning.
He is drowning.
He can't breathe, there is water everywhere, in his nose and mouth and throat and her lips are no longer on his but her hands are digging in to his shoulders, tight, painful and he can't shake her off. He opens his eyes. They are underwater, and she is looking at him, but her face is suddenly terrifying, vicious and hungry, like she's a shark and he's a helpless herring. Something is terribly wrong, he's realising too late, he tries to break free but her fingers are cutting into his flesh, drawing blood. He cries out and sucks in even more water. It hurts, he's panicking now, he has to do something or he's going to drown, he kicks out at her, smacks hard at the arms holding him down. It works, she lets go, and he's weak, but he can swim, he can make it to the surface. He's in pain, his shoulders are stinging and his lungs are burning, his head feels like stone and wool all at once, but he kicks upwards, how did they get so deep, he doesn't know, he kicks upwards until something snags at his foot, her hand, or a weed, he can't get loose, he's going to die, he's going to die…
Somewhere in the distance he is aware of a pulling sensation at his clothing. He is too weak to fight, he's thinking of Roland, but then his head breaks the surface and air rushes excruciatingly into his lungs. He is hauled out of the water by some unseen force, spluttering and hacking, his chest on fire. For a couple of minutes he just rolls on the ground, clutching his chest, groaning in pain through his uncontrollable coughing. His vision is dark. Maybe his eyes are screwed shut. He's not entirely sure.
Slowly, he comes back to awareness. Starts to feel the stones he's lying on, the chill of his wet clothing. He blinks, looking around cautiously.
Prince David is standing there, looking down on him with concern. He is wet too, fully dressed and soaked through just like Robin. His sword is in his hand. His bloodied sword.
Robin sits up suddenly, wincing as the movement pulls the wounds on his shoulders. He looks around almost frantically, and his heart lurches when he sees the figure in the white dress floating in the shallows, the cloud of red in the water around her visible even from where he sits.
"Robin," David says, coaxing but firm.
Robin looks at him again, then back at the woman in the water. He looks closer. Her hair, fanning out around her head, is not the dark hair of the Queen. It's a pale blonde, almost white. Robin closes his eyes, shakes his head. He's bewildered, he feels like he's been yanked from sleep mid-dream and is still trying to work out which reality is the real one.
"Are you all right?" David's voice again.
Robin opens his eyes. Once more, he looks at the dead woman in the water. She is not Regina, he is sure of it now. The fog in his brain is slowly clearing. He looks back to David.
"What happened?" he croaks, the words like gravel in his raw throat.
"A siren," David says.
"A siren?" Robin repeats, struggling to order the memories in his head. He remembers coming across the lake, digging out a root, a strange feeling in the air. The Queen in the water.
"They are occasionally found in the lakes and oceans of these parts," David says, sitting himself down next to Robin. "Dangerous creatures. You don't know you're in their thrall until it's too late."
"So they lure you to the water to drown you?"
"Yes. They are shapeshifters, and they have the power to see inside your mind, see the person you truly desire, so they can use that to draw you in. Their voices carry hypnotic qualities, and once they touch you, well… They become very, very hard to resist."
"You sound as though you speak from experience," Robin says. His heart is pounding, the siren took Regina's form, it chose Regina to lure him in, and it worked, he can still remember the way she looked in the water and the memory sends a jolt to his groin.
"I do," the Prince says grimly. "I came across one years ago, before Snow and I were together. It transformed itself into her. I remember fighting against the pull, but it still almost killed me."
"How did you know I was here?" Robin asks. When did he get here, is what he wants to ask, did he see the siren wearing the Queen's face before he pulled Robin from the depths? He's pretty sure the fastest way for such information to get back to Regina would be through David's wife, whom the Prince is sure to tell everything.
"I didn't," David answers. "I was on my way back to the castle when I saw the light reflecting off the lake in the distance, and I was thirsty."
"Rather impeccable timing then."
"So it would seem."
"Where is the Princess?" Robin asks, trying both to distract David and work up the courage to ask him how much he saw.
"I walked her back to the castle a few hours ago," David replies. "She gets tired more easily now, with the baby. I tried to tell her she didn't have to come, but she wanted to, for Regina –"
Robin stiffens at the mention of her name, then immediately checks David's face for any sign that he noticed. The Prince is watching him, smiling slightly, his eyes kind, but Robin can't decipher the extent of his knowledge. Frustrated and shaky with adrenaline, he heaves himself to his feet. The claw wounds in his shoulders throb. He touches his fingers to them, finding them tacky with blood.
"Do you want to…" David begins, then trails off awkwardly. Robin looks at him.
"Uh, wash yourself off?" he finishes, waving a hand half-heartedly in the direction of the lake. Robin gives him a hard look, met with a sheepish smile.
"Fair enough."
He starts walking ahead of Robin, then stops at the boulder when he spots the sentinel flowers.
"Oh good!" he exclaims. "I haven't been able to find any."
He crouches down, taking the handle of Robin's knife still sticking out of the ground. Robin scowls and hopes David doesn't think he's going to take all the credit. Robin may have required saving from a deadly siren, but he did find the flowers first.
It is dark by the time they return to the castle, and although there are still a handful of people sharing food and drink in the dining hall, Robin is exhausted, his day of walking, forced hypnosis and near-drowning having taken its toll. He leaves David and Snow to a reunion worthy of several days' separation and goes directly to his chambers.
He is hoping to clean and dress his wounds before anyone sees them – to avoid any awkward questions – but when he enters his room, Roland is there, waiting to fling himself into his father's arms. Friar Tuck too rises from his chair by the fire in greeting, and frowns when Roland says,
"Papa, you're bleeding!"
"A small scrape or two, my boy, not to worry. I just need a bath and I'll be good as new."
"What was it, Papa?" Roland asks, eyes lighting up at the prospect of hearing about his father's adventures. "Were you in a battle? Did a beast get you?"
"It was a – creature – yes," Robin says.
"A big one, with sharp teeth?" Roland prompts eagerly. "Was it scary?"
"A smart one," Robin says, carrying the boy, already in his nightshirt, over to his bed. "With sharp claws. It tried to trick me, lure me in to a trap. I was a little scared." And then, because David is not there to refute it, and because he likes being the hero in his son's eyes, "But I defeated it."
"How, Papa? Tell me how!"
Robin smiles, pulling the covers up to Roland's chin and carefully settling in beside him for what promises to be a largely fictional bedtime story.
"All right, but first say good night to Tuck."
Roland obeys, and for a moment Tuck looks like he might protest his dismissal, eyeing Robin's shoulders with concern. But Robin fixes him with a look, hoping to convince him not to worry his son, and it works. The Friar bids them both good night and departs without any questions.
Once Roland is asleep, Robin undresses gingerly, peeling his shirt away from the wounds, leaving his trousers – the pouch full of roots still attached to his belt – in a heap on the floor. He bathes himself, wincing as he washes his shoulders. He doesn't have any bandages to hand, so he sleeps shirtless, hoping the gashes are shallow enough to heal in the open air.
He sleeps fitfully, despite his exhaustion, his dreams full of dark hair, soft lips and sharp claws.
It is at breakfast the next morning that David and Snow White find him. Roland is holding court at the table of Merry Men, in full dramatic monologue about what he would do if he were attacked by a bunyip (which is what he's decided got the best of his father), and Robin is heading to the kitchen for more porridge.
"Robin," David greets once they've intercepted him. "Are you all right? You didn't stay to eat with us last night."
No, he didn't, which was why he was on his way to get more breakfast.
"It had been a long day," he says instead. "I was tired. And I wanted to see my son into bed. I hope you'll excuse me," this he directs to Snow.
"Of course, as long as you're well," she replies. She doesn't look entirely convinced of that, however, particularly when she notices his shoulders. He can feel his shirt sticking once more to the open lacerations, and he's sure spots of blood are starting to show through. He will have to ask someone to bandage them after breakfast.
"And what of the Queen?" David asks.
Robin tenses, meets David's eyes carefully, tries to keep his expression neutral. He still doesn't know what the man saw, what he may or may not have shared with his wife.
"What of her?"
"Well, I believe you are still in possession of the sentinel roots," David says, gesturing to the pouch on his belt. Robin had dressed on autopilot that morning, hadn't even remembered it was there until now. "And Regina is not exactly known for her patience."
Snow is trying and failing to hide a smile.
"Oh. Yes. Wouldn't want to keep Her Majesty waiting. Where do you suppose I might find her?"
But they don't have to answer, because he sees them both start guiltily at the sight of something behind him (and the looks they exchange make him both nervous and suspicious). He feels a pleasant tingle on the back of his neck that leaves him in no doubt as to who just entered the hall. Slowly, he looks over his shoulder.
Sure enough, Regina stands just inside the doors, her chin raised, looking for all the world as though she's preparing for battle. She meets every distrustful and unfriendly look she gets head on, glaring every one of them down, radiating disdain and, Robin thinks, defensiveness. Snow excuses herself and goes across to meet her, David following behind, leaving Robin free to observe the Queen as the three of them converse.
She is wearing a figure-hugging, deep blue dress, long sleeved but off the shoulder and devastatingly low-cut, her cleavage on spectacular display. Her hair is twisted and pinned elegantly at the nape of her neck.
He's always thought her beautiful, he realises. He just never allowed himself to dwell on it before. But he's dwelling on it now, and she is stunning. His eyes rake over her body, letting himself appreciate her fully for the first time – the real Regina in any case. The siren was a poor substitute indeed, and this dress isn't nearly as see-through.
And unlike his encounter with the siren, right now his mind is all too clear. He notices every detail of her, not just her beauty but the protective way she carries herself, the glare on her face she tries not to let soften around Snow, the bold way she puts herself on display to ensure it's on her terms, not others'. The great pain she is making such an effort to hide. Each observation sends a lurch to his stomach. How long has he been subconsciously logging details about this woman?
He is interested, intrigued by her, finally recognises that he has been for a while. He wants to know her, wants to see the side of her again that he glimpsed when they broke into her castle, wants the real her in every sense of the word. She infuriates and fascinates him and he can't get her out of his head, and the siren has made conscious a realisation that he can't force back into subconsciousness.
He wants her. He wants the Queen, wants Regina. He wants her beyond her barbed defences and walled-up misery, wants her open and honest and unrestrained, wants to kiss her and touch her, run his hands and mouth all over her body, make her gasp and shout and writhe for him, he wants her.
And now Charming is waving a hand in his direction and she looks over, sees him staring at her like a feeble-minded fool and heads straight for him, annoyance clear in her countenance.
"Were you attacked?" she demands abruptly.
That he was not expecting. He fumbles for words, noting with exasperation that Snow and Charming are hovering in the background, watching him and Regina in a maddeningly obvious manner.
"Were you lost in the woods you claim to know so well?" Regina continues, clearly growing impatient with his stuttering. "Or was digging up a few roots a more monumental task than I had anticipated?"
Robin is confused, unsure how much she knows or what she's chewing him out for, and is also finding her lips very distracting, so the best he can think to say is,
"M'lady?"
"I was unaware that it took an entire day and night for four people to find one plant. If I had known you would find it so taxing, I would have gone myself."
Her glare moves to Snow White at this, clearly still resentful at being told what she could and could not do, even if she is a personal quarry of the band of flying monkeys. Snow looks startled and immediately tries to pretend she wasn't looking.
"Apologies, m'lady," Robin says. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."
He removes the pouch from his belt and hands it to her.
"I hope these are sufficient."
She opens the pouch and looks inside, seeing more than enough roots for her spell. She looks back at him, considering.
"I thought I made it clear that time was of the essence when it came to casting this spell," she says, less bite in her tone now, almost curious.
"You certainly did," Robin concedes with a nod. "But I confess I was weary on my return last night, and I had a little boy demanding a bedtime story, after which I was quite worn out."
He swears he sees the corner of her mouth turn up, and it makes him want to draw a bigger smile out of her, a real smile.
"Your bedtime stories must be quite melodramatic if they drain your energy so quickly," she says, scornful, but with a teasing quirk of her eyebrow that draws him in like a helpless moth. He can't resist the small step he takes towards her.
"I'm always sure to pace myself when it comes to storytelling," he assures her seriously. "Perhaps the pressure of completing a successful mission for Her Majesty was simply too much for me."
His dips his head gallantly to lighten the sarcasm of his words. She is watching him shrewdly, searching for any signs of mockery or malice.
"Good," Regina says finally, drawing herself up. "Then I need not concern myself with you the next time I actually require something done in a timely fashion."
She looks him over one more time, and he notices her eyes lingering over the blood spots. He is determined to be casual.
"Were you attacked?" she asks again, less forceful this time.
He smirks at her.
"Just a scratch."
Their eyes lock for a moment, two, and he feels a low down throb at the intensity of it. Then she is throwing a glare at Snow and Charming, turning on her heel and stalking away.
He feels out of breath.
Yes, he is certain he prefers the real thing.