Prompt from melzaon on tumblr. Robin leaves Regina a flower.
It begins with a flower.
A weed, to be more precise.
The child runs on unsteady legs, heedless of the roots and rabbit holes sprinkled in his path, a clutch of yellow sowthistles swinging from his hand. He's panting by the time he reaches her, thin shoulders heaving, lifting his green cloak off the forest floor with every breath. He bends at the waist, more to catch his breath than in deference, she thinks, one hand planted on a knobby knee and the other thrusting the rustic bouquet toward her.
"Majesty," he says. "For you."
Regina glances at Snow, Charming, and the thief. The former two wear identical smirks, and the latter regards her with a wary curiosity as his son looks up at her through sweaty brown curls flopping onto his forehead. She glares at them all, and then flicks her cape aside to crouch before the boy.
"What is your name?" she asks, pitching her voice low to keep their conversation semi-private.
The boy straightens, head held high, flowers still outstretched. "Roland of Locksley." He announces his name with pride blooming from the tips of his toes to the ends of his ears, a wide gap-toothed smile completing his proclamation.
Henry's face flickers over the boy's, and she swallows thickly as a pain lances through her chest. "Well, Roland of Locksley, I thank you for your kind gift." Sowthistle wreaks havoc on her sinuses, the one allergy she has, but she accepts his token with a grave expression and tucks them away in the folds of her cloak, For safe keeping, she says.
Roland grins and pulls the edges of his cloak around him, looking for all the world like a dimpled green been, swaying side to side, overcome by a fit of bashfulness in her presence, and then he shrieks with laughter as strong hands lift him into the air.
"That was very thoughtful of you, m'boy," the thief says, tossing his son into the air as Regina stands. "But we have work to do. We must show Snow White and her prince the way to Sherwood Forest."
"What about the queen?"
Regina opens her mouth to answer the boy, but her eyes water and her nose buzzes as the thistle pollen hits her, and she chokes off her reply, raising her hand to press a finger delicately below her nose.
"Ah," Robin says, glancing at Regina with a small frown. "The queen is going on ahead to make sure the castle is safe for everyone."
"Oh," Roland says. He wriggles in his father's arms until the thief sets him down. He walks over to Snow and considers her with tilted head. "Are you really Princess Snow?"
Charming's laugh makes an abrupt shift to a coughing fit as his wife elbows him, and the thief scolds his son for his impropriety.
"It's all right," Snow assures the thief, and nods her head at the small boy. "I am Snow White, and you were very brave when that flying monkey attacked us."
Roland gives her a solemn nod before holding out his hand. "I'll show you the way to our home."
Snow raises her brows at Charming and Regina as the boy leads her away, chattering about the river that runs near their camp, the fat gray squirrel living in the large oak near his papa's tent, and cautioning her against running across the Knotted Bridge lest she fall into to the bottomless ravine.
Charming chuckles and and braces his hand on the pommel of his sword. "He's precocious."
"You've no idea," the thief says, shaking his head. "Your majesties."
Regina watches the thief trail after Snow and his son, leaving her alone with Charming, her finger still pressed to her nose.
The prince steps closer and folds his arms across his chest. "You're allergic to those flowers, aren't you?" he asks, leaning toward her but keeping his face trained on his wife as she nods at something the boy says.
Regina lowers her hand. "Shut up," she says, but frowns as the tingling builds again. She can't hold it back any longer. She sneezes. Explosively. And then scowls as Charming digs in his overcoat and pulls out a handkerchief. She waves him off, conjuring her own in a flash of purple smoke.
"You're sure you don't need assistance inside the castle?"
"Just make sure you're ready when I bring the shield down," she snaps, turning away to march through the forest, and if half of her consonants sound like d's when she speaks, the prince is wise enough to keep his silence.
It ends with a flower.
A rugosa rose tied to the shaft of an arrow buried between the stones framing her balcony.
She stalks over to the projectile and yanks it free, frowning as the mortar crumbles and falls to the floor. Not just a flower, she sees, but a scrap of parchment as well, wrapped around the stem and shaft, secured with a length of twine. Three words mark the paper, and she sits down hard on the bed as she reads.
Damn the Charmings for telling him, for who else would have remembered, and damn him for his incessant concern.
She crushes the paper into a ball and throws it aside, watches it skip across the floor until it collides with the hearth. She could burn it to ash, erase the evidence of his thoughtfulness, but she won't. Conjuring flame seems too much effort to expend.
For your boy.
She twirls the rose between her thumb and forefinger, touches the soft petals to her lips for a moment, and allows herself a moment of grief amidst the pressures facing her today. A knock on the door echoes through the room. Snow and Charming come to discuss the niceties of casting the Dark Curse. She's going to decimate an entire population again to save them from another form of destruction.
In the darkest crevices of her heart, in her loneliest moments, she wonders if Henry prefers his life with Emma, a life without magic and its dangers, its hidden costs. A life with a mother who creates instead of destroys. Will he even want her back in his life once they return to Storybrooke?
Another knock at the door, this time louder and accompanied by Snow's voice. "Regina? You in there?"
She sighs, slides her finger under her lashes to catch the moisture collecting (she must be allergic to roses, too) and rises from the bed.
The rose she deposits in a small vase on her vanity, nestled within a cluster of dandelions that had been presented to her over breakfast this morning. She opens the door for Snow and Charming, and if they notice the gold tipped arrow forgotten on her pillow, neither says a word.
Before they get down to business, Regina rubs her fingers across the petals of the rose once more, and whispers, Happy birthday, my Little Prince.