This is my VERY FIRST Once Upon a Time fic...
This is set when Zelena kidnaps baby Neal... Hook is sure about his feelings for Emma, but has yet to say the actually words. You know our Pirate: he's IS all about his words, except when it comes to Emma. When it comes to Emma, he's all about the 'showing how he feels' rather than 'saying how he feels' - innuendos excluded, of course!
The Summer Place, Enchanted Forest…
Three long days…
Three even longer nights…
Not Charming's persistent pursuit of affection and sexual distractions deterred her from dwelling on the fact that three days ago her hard-earned peace and happiness had been shattered… Not she was any better about keeping her hands off her husband's body. The image of him, cast in stone in the wake of Medusa's glare, made her reach for him. Time and again she caused his blood to surge as to remind herself that her husband, her best friend, her True Love, was still flesh and warm. The man himself lay sleeping. The beautifully embroidered coverlet, a bridal gift from Red, did little to hide his lean hips and muscled thighs. Bared to the early morning light, his strong arms and powerful chest proudly displayed the marks she'd made not two hours ago.
Her hand stretched downward, smoothing out the folds of the silver satin dressing gown she'd donned. Her fingers gripped the sash harder than necessary as she cinched the knot tightly to her waist.
Three days ago, she'd packed this wrapper as part of her honeymoon wardrobe on what was once one of the happiest days of her life.
In front of those she considered near-and-dear, she'd pledged her life, her love, her loyalty, her kingdom, her people, and her body to the only man who'd she'd ever even consider giving such gifts; the only man who knew all her faults, all her strengths; what kept her up at night, what made her smile; someone who knew how to love her without trying, or wanting, to own her.
Three minutes later, the ring on her finger still cool to the touch as her body had yet to warm the metal band, Regina happened.
Regal. Beautiful. Cold. Calculating. Merciless.
The Evil Queen honored her moniker in promise and deed.
In mere months, Snow's entire kingdom would perish. All who held her responsible for care and protection had no recourse from Regina's wrath.
All because of a mistake made by a ten year-old girl who only wanted her new stepmother to be loved and to love her.
In the hours after Regina's grand exit, she'd sat in-session with her trusted advisors. Each and every one had thoughts and insights as to how to counter the promise of such a devastating curse.
She knew that all their discussions would have no bearing on what was to come. Not when it came to Regina. Her step-mother was too smart, too powerful, and too ambitious to have overlooked a single, mitigating, detail.
The sands in the hourglass on the collective happiness of every man, woman, and child within the Enchanted Forest matched the number of minutes until the child in her womb drew her first breath.
A girl. The child she carried was a girl. David's mother's pendant had revealed as much. A girl, one certain to have her father wrapped around her finger as much as Charming would certainly lock his daughter away in a tower guarded by a company of female knights trained-and-captained by a crossbow carrying Granny.
Three days ago, Regina reached out her hand and snatched away all of their futures with spiteful words and vindictive decree.
Snow White walked out on to the patio of the marital chambers. Ankle-high slippers protected her feet from the beautifully laid slate and muffled her steps as she blindly crossed the ruggedly ornate space.
Helplessness was something she'd felt several times in her life. Frequency did not offer suitable buffer when she tilted her head to the sky and the realization that there was no hope for any of them pushed her tear-blurred gaze to her feet.
The light breeze lifted the ends of her long hair and brought a hint of color to her pale cheeks. The morning dew did nothing to soften the frown lines around her eyes and mouth. The rising sun offered no sudden insights and only made her more mindful of the fact that everyone's days were numbered.
She stood there, amid beauty, grandeur, and strength – the towering mountains in the distance and the green and fertile vales in between, the palaces from which she ruled, the scope of the resiliency of her people as they rebuilt their lives after years of Regina's abject subjugation - her birthright, by royal succession and by skill of bow, sword and strategy, and silently wept.
Not the shoulder-shaking sobbing she'd witnessed in others in the wake of tragedy. This was a rising tide of despair that flowed from her heart and out her eyes. Her arms crossed her body; she sank down onto the nearest stone bench. Thick, wide, tears slipped downward as the sky continued to lighten. If only she could drown the sunrise she could prevent her and her people from being one day closer to the fulfillment of the Curse.
Through a veil of haziness, the form of short, stout, kindly-looking faerie transformed into a short, stout, kindly, middle-aged woman. Her long pointed wimple and matching kirtle were blue and draped to her toes, but cornflower blue instead of the multi-hued blues worn by the Blue Faerie. The wings at her back were shaped differently from the other Faeries in Blue's sisterhood.
Unabashed, her tears continued when a feather light touch cupped the underside of her chin. Nor did the tears stop when that same touch lifted her face and dried her cheeks with a froth of delicate cornflower-blue lace.
"You have every reason to cry, Princess. For you are correct – there is no diverting the Evil Queen from her chosen path."
The voice was soothing as it was authoritative.
"There is truly nothing we can do." There was no tremor in Snow's voice as she spoke the words her heart knew to be true.
The faerie remained still, regret etched into her every feature. She gave Snow a quiet moment in which to draw several deep, albeit shaky, breaths.
"Your reign will end. You and your husband and all of your people will be Cursed, Your Highness. The hope you carry, that your daughter will save them all, is not in vain. She will save you, one and all." The faerie looked grimly disgusted as she confirmed her daughter's fate. "What you have not been told, Snow White, is that your daughter – Savior though she'll be – will fall."
Fresh tears welled along Snow's lower lashes and once again wetted her cheeks. Lifting her gaze, she blinked several times in an attempt to see the faerie more clearly. "Who are you? What is your name? Why have you come to me?"
The woman did not smile. Her expression remained gently serious as she answered Snow's questions.
"I have been known by the same name for many generations, Dear One. Your mother, bless her soul, was a woman I'd never had the opportunity to meet. I only know of your mother through the stories Briar Rose shared with me, as my sisters and I attended her when she carried Aurora." The older woman was clearly fond of Queen Rose. "It is because of the friendship that existed between my Rose and your mother that I am here today."
The older woman pulled a petite wand from inside her left sleeve. A few sharp flicks, each followed by a bursts of shimmering blue faerie dust, and a tea service for two materialized in the air and settled gently on a conjured side-table. The tea-pot doled amber liquid into to cups. The sugar bowl dropped one lump into Snow's cup and two lumps into the other. A serving spoon stirred clockwise three times before extracting itself and vanishing. A fan of cookies spanned a doily covered plate
Passing Snow her cup, the faerie took one for herself. Over the rim of the fluted porcelain, she smiled gently as she blew carefully to cool the hot tea. "My name, Child, is Merryweather."
Snow's confusion furrowed her brow. Before she should speak, Merryweather stopped her with a wave of her hand – the same one that held a cookie pinched between her fingers.
"Daughter of Ava – tell me. What do you know of The Three Princes?"
"That the story is nothing but a myth. A fairy tale whispered when those who have been wronged want tales of justice when they themselves have been denied." She should know. She'd pursued every avenue, every fable, every myth, in an attempt to avenge her father and unseat Regina.
"The Three Princes is no story, Princess. It is no myth. It is no fairy tale, Snow White. Just because The Three have not come to ride for many, many, years doesn't make their accomplishments any less true."
Merryweather's less than gentle scolding brought a flush of shame to Snow White's cheeks and her eyes drifted downwards once again.
"Lift your chin, Princess. Life is best lived with every day filled with love and learning." Merryweather's gaze slid sideways, towards where David still lay sleeping, before giving Snow White an all-too-knowing grin. "Your day has already begun with love – and loving – and now you've had a bit of learning."
The hint of teasing mirth in her voice and face vanished as completely as the tea service.
"Listen well, Child." Merryweather's earnest tone called for Snow's complete attention. "What I'm about to tell you is no prophesy. It is a promise made by Magic for those who carry Magic's burdens."
"Because Magic always comes with a price," Snow muttered bitterly. This was a lesson Snow White, David, and so many others had learned at the hands – and semantics – of Rumpelstiltskin.
Merryweather's lack of agreement carried more affirmation than a realms-worth of 'Ayes!'.
"Your child will fall, Snow White. Nothing can be done to stop that from happening to your first-born. She will not, though, die in vain. She will die with love in her heart and unshakeable conviction on her lips."
Reflexively, Snow White hunched forward, her arm braced protectively over her lower stomach. In the space between where she and Merryweather sat opposite each other, Snow could almost see the clang of crossed swords and hear the battle-cries of mortal combat that would claim her daughter's life.
"When I say she will not die in vain, it will be because she will be avenged. The Three Princes will rise, united. In her name, your daughter's name, your daughter's enemies will become their enemies. In the wake of their victory –"
"Tell me about the Princes. Who are they?" The words rushed out of her mouth, her mind already formulating a plan. Snow White didn't care that she'd interrupted the faerie in mid-sentence. If she could find out more about the Princes, then perhaps her daughter's fate could be averted!
"Three princes: rulers of their realms by deed and by might, not by birth or by right. Each beholden to a Princess chosen by True Love and not by man. United in cause; fathers, lovers, warriors each. Brothers selected by Fate, not by Blood." Grim empathy radiated off of the faerie. "A day will come, in your darkest hour, Snow White, when the Three Swords will swing as one. You will know the Princes by their blades, Your Highness: Broadsword, Longsword and Cutlass. Each wielded by the three who epitomize Loyalty, Cleverness, and Bravery. Justice and Vengence and Retribution shall call them to Arms and Arms will avenge the evil deeds committed against your daughter."
Merryweather stood with a grace that belied her stout form and no-nonsense nature. Wand in hand, wimple once again reaching into the sky, her wings once again in-place, she made ready to depart.
"As a faerie, I am permitted to present you with one gift. For my Rose, I converted a Killing Curse into a Sleeping Curse. For your child, she is not Cursed – never can Magic be considered a curse. What I bring to you this day is my wedding gift to you and to your husband, Snow White. I give you the gift of truth, a truth that those who know of it refuse to speak of it with you. And if they learn of what I have told you, won't hesitate to take this knowledge from you." She next words rang with an absolute expectation of obedience. "Do not attempt to seek out the Princes. The Three Princes rise because of your daughter, Snow White, and your daughter is yet to be born."
A sweep of her wand, from feet to brow, transformed the faerie into a small ball of blue light. Her words, though, hung heavy in the still morning air.
Nothing will stop your child from falling. She will not, though, die in vain.