Title: The Forest is Strange
Summary: At the end of 3A, Emma and Henry came to the Enchanted Forest instead.
Note: Prompted from (you guessed it) Tumblr. Keeping Gremma in the filter.
The forest is strange.
Everything feels strange. Of course, she's been here before. But back then, it had been a wild fight to return, an unending battle, no time to breathe let alone explore.
Now, she has to learn to be a princess in this land, something she has never been. Her head aches from pinned styles, her chest from being cinched tight. But at least in the forest she has better style options, things that felt more like her and she can pretend for a while.
Henry is adapting well. He loves the realm, the magic, the changes. He lights up every time he sees something he recalls from the book, beaming with the wonder of it all. He loves being a prince even more, and loves being doted on by so many people.
She's happy for him; she knows getting this kind of attention is everything she ever wished for him.
But she can't help feeling stifled by it all. Having a family with her son is one thing, but factoring in a King and Queen as her parents, a kingdom to one day rule, and a population watching her every move is a completely different thing. Not that she regrets any of it; she loves her parents and really tries to find ways to make this odd situation work. Lately, though, she has felt like she's trying to make it work for them instead of herself.
Which is why exploring the forest seemed a lot less scary than a lesson in entertaining foreign kingdoms.
She steps over a root, bouncing on her toes. The air feels different, here. Warm, spicy … both heavier and clearer, in a way. It's different from the humidity of Florida, or the freshness of a Maine forest.
She rests for a moment, turning her face to the sun and spreading her arms wide, breathing deep.
She missed just being alone.
A twig cracks behind her, and she sighs, dropping her arms with a thud against her side. So much for that.
She turns, only to have the wind knocked out of her lungs.
"Emma?" he asks, his voice crackling along the edges, his dark blue eyes wide with disbelief.
She backs up a step, the heels of her boots sinking into freshly disturbed earth. "Who are you?"
He smiles, gently, hesitantly, and she can see the restraint as he plants his feet, neither backing away nor coming forward. "I didn't think you came with them."
Emma shakes her head. He's right, they weren't supposed to. It was a strange, last-minute remedy from the depths of Gold's shop that allowed it. "You're dead."
He looks into her eyes, and they are so clear, so open, that she can't look away. "I was."
She swallows. "This is a trick."
He frowns slightly, pulling at the furs around his body before his hand rests on his chest. "I don't have any bearclaws or dental programs to persuade you this time. But I have my heart."
She fists her hair at the scalp, tugging. Anyone else, it would be a cheesy line, but the literal statement slams into her. "She did. She took it," she murmurs, finally feeling the weight of the realization, a year later.
He presses his lips together before shaking his head. "It's back now."
She hesitates, stepping one foot forward. He stays still. A tug on her own heart pulls and aches with the memory of the last time they were in this position. She doesn't even notice as she closes the distance, her hand finding its way past leather and cloth to find the warm skin of his chest.
"Oh, God," she whispers hoarsely, feeling the beats beneath her palm. He moves gently, pressing one hand over hers, and the other reaches to cup her face. His thumb sweeps to catch a tear she didn't even realize she had let escape.
"It's okay," he responds, gently, so gently, that she almost believes.
She looks up, catching his eye. "Graham."
End