The Bug is cold, her fingers stiff on the wheel.
Neal. Why did they have to call him Neal?
Emma loves her brother, despite what little warning she had that she'd be getting a sibling. He's small and warm and Emma loves her brother – but his name, oh why Mom? Emma breathes in deep and leans her head forwards onto the steering wheel, catching sight of Henry's Book on her passengers seat, that Hook had given to her before she could rush away inside the Bug.
After a moment where she looks to her buzzing phone and denies a call from David, she reaches out for it, tugging the heavy hardcover onto her lap.
Is he in here? Are there any stories in here of him and Rumple, any at all? Emma goes to the index, trying to hazard which stories might have Neal and/or Rumplestiltskin in them. To her surprise, the index is bigger than it was when Henry first showed her. How is that even possible? She questions, in her mind.
Titles like, 'Desperate Souls', 'Dreamy', 'Sympathy for the De Vil', 'Where Bluebirds Fly' and 'The Miller's Daughter' catch her eye – but it's 'The Miller's Daughter' she turns to though, flipping through hundreds of pages until she finds it. Nothing is ever a coincidence in this town, she thinks. I really hope Regina's last name means that she's a miller's daughter. That would be priceless and pretty interesting. Maybe the story's about how she became queen.
Emma finds the story, hand tracing the large, decorative square that holds the first letter of the first word. She can't stop thinking of Neal though – Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, Nealfire. Not her brother, Neal. Not Prince Neal, son of Snow White and Prince Charming. She shuts her eyes briefly, thinking of a dreamcatcher hanging in an abandoned NYC apartment, before forcing herself to look at the Book.
"Once upon a time," she begins, reading about the life of a peasant woman forced to kneel – about Cora and not Regina. Cora, who wishes to marry the prince; Cora, who lies to King Xavier about being able to spin straw to gold; Cora, who meets Rumplestiltskin and – by the sound of it – has a downright steamy affair with him after getting out of her tower.
"Jesus Christ," Emma makes a face at a particular section describing the months that pass between the engagement and the wedding. According to the Book – should Henry even be reading this, god he's only thirteen – Cora learns what it is to be one of the royal family, learning elegant penmanship and how to address other courtiers; meanwhile, fucking Rumplestiltskin. "I do not want to know this."
Seriously, Emma thinks, shutting the Book after Cora describes what she wants to do to King Xavier, Rumplestiltskin agrees to teach her how to take hearts and summarily takes her to bed. I do not want to hear about Gold's sex-life, she grimaces – but the story has her hooked, in any case. She wants to know what happened to this Xavier dude. Also, if Cora and Rumplestiltskin ever did have a child together – then they wouldn't be caught off-guard by yet another evil sibling of Regina's.
That, of course, is when she catches sight of the golden-orange light beaming up into the sky.
"What the hell?" she leans forwards closer to the windshield to see. Alarmed, Emma puts the Bug into gear, Book still on her lap as she drives to what turns out to be Zelena's plot, listening to David's voicemail about Zelena's supposed suicide.
When she arrives, the barn that was supposed to host the spell is a beacon, light escaping the cracks between the wood and the windows as the portal explodes upwards.
"Why is it like that?" Emma mutters to herself, thinking that up-close, the circumference is pretty damn close to how big the carved-out ditches inside were. That, of course, is when the doors blow inwards and Emma is sucked into the portal.
It's like riding a rollercoaster, like she's falling from a great height – except there's nothing to catch her. Emma curls her arms around herself and Henry's Book, thinking of the story she had just read of Cora kneeling to Xavier and Eva, ducking her head as she spins and spins – until it feels like she's being swerved to the right and she's abruptly chucked out, the shock of fresh air hitting her first, but the ground hitting her harder, no matter how wet it is.
"Ugh…" Emma groans, getting to her feet shakily, looking around. A stone falls in her gut, because she recognises where she is, having seen a mosaic-like picture of it earlier, reading Henry's Book. Her head cranes backwards as she looks up at the mill, the large repairs that had been done to the canvas of the many windmill sails easily visible.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" a rough voice bites out from behind her. Emma twirls, facing a dirty, swaying old man with his eyes narrowed and a dagger in hand. He raises it menacingly. "How did you appear like that?"
"I-" Emma starts, but she can't help but stare at this man who she knows is Cora's father – Regina's grandfather. She takes a step back, looking around for Cora herself – but there's a distinct lack of flour cart and there's shattered pottery to her left. "I need to go."
"Go!" The man repeats, shouting, stepping forwards with his knife raised. "Get off my property, witch!"
"I'm going!" Emma exclaims, before skirting around him to the road, looking off into the distance to the castle and immediately turning the other way. I can't change time, she thinks, glancing back at the old man who still looks at her funny as she hurries down the dirt road.
I'm in the Enchanted Forest, she thinks, but in the past – before Regina is even born. That's a long time ago. Regina's what, thirty-five? That, plus the twenty-eight years, she's gotta be something like sixty-two, sixty-three…
"Well, not really, but yeah," Emma muses out loud. She's at least sixty years in the past, then. She could change a lot without meaning to – all that 'butterfly flaps its wings in New Mexico and a hurricane happens in China' stuff. "I've got to get back," she fixes her gloves and coat, tucking the Book under her arm.
How can I get back? Rumplestiltskin could help me, but he's going to be busy tonight. Emma grimaces at the thought of it, if this really is the night Cora will be trapped in the tower. I can't change time. This is the point where any change in direction could result in Regina never being born, the Curse never having been cast – Henry never having existed. Emma shivers at the thought, before something occurs to her. That's what Zelena wanted to happen in the first place. For Regina never to have existed. Good thing she's dead.
Emma sees someone up the road as she walks sedately, no idea where she's going. Content they won't bother her if she doesn't say anything, Emma keeps on walking – as if she does know wherever the hell it is this road leads to. The person gets closer and closer and Emma barely chances a glance at them.
They're male and pretty young, maybe about sixteen, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a leather band. He carries wheat in baskets on his back and looks at her oddly, stopping on the road. Emma picks up the pace, eager to get past him and interact with the least amount of people as possible.
"Strange clothes you wear, lady traveller," he starts, sounding confused and delighted at the same time. Emma catches his eyes glued to her legs and raises an eyebrow, unable to let the action go by without a word.
"It's the newest fashion. Too many princesses tripping over their skirts trying to get away from perverts. Easier to run in trousers and we can catch them more easily when we're able to see them staring," she remarks, watching his reaction carefully.
His expression twists into one of chagrin, his eyes rising and his cheeks turning pink. "Sorry, milady! I shouldn't have stared!"
"You're quick," Emma notes wryly. "Being polite doesn't cost you anything. You should try it, sometime, when you're chatting up girls."
"I will!" he exclaims, suddenly looking excited and strangely like Henry. "Surely, Camila would appreciate decorum in comparison to Raoul's dirty jokes."
Emma smiles, laughing a little, "Probably. What's your name?"
"Micah, milady," he bows courteously, but the action sends the wheat in the baskets on his back flying. Immediately, Micah looks at the wheat, horrified. "Oh no!" He scrambles to collect it and Emma darts over to help him, gathering the dry stalks in a small bundle as he takes the baskets off his back.
"What do you do with the wheat?" she questions, wondering.
"Make flour," he states. "I'm the son of our local miller. My other brothers have left us, two seeking to join the King's Fleet and the other finding love in the town with the butcher's son. My oldest sister, Madelina, runs a tavern in Cáliz – only my other sister, Cora and I remain to help our father."
"Cora?" Emma questions, surprised, Micah pausing at her tone.
"Yes," he replies cautiously, slightly nervous. "You know of her?"
"Well," Emma starts, "a little. I've heard…stories. Rumours."
Micah's expression darkens. "Oh. I see. You've been through the town. You talk of my sisters child out of wedlock, yes? Well, my sister did the good thing and gave my niece to a family that will be able to love and care for her. She was in love and the father left her with child rather than marry her as is good and proper-"
"Woah, woah!" Emma puts the wheat in his baskets quickly, figuring he's talking about Zelena – who, despite Micah's story, did not apparently have a happy home-life in Oz. "I'm not judging! My own kid, he's out of wedlock as well. I gave him up to give him his best chance. Please, I didn't mean to imply anything offensive or rude."
Micah still looks at her hesitantly, but nods, standing slowly. Emma joins him, an awkward silence falling, before Micah swings the baskets onto his back, nodding shortly.
"Good day, milady." He turns to go and Emma feels bad for the boy, reaching out to grab his arm.
"Wait, please. I'm sorry your family has to deal with being the talk of the town. I'm actually lost. My name is Leia. Do you know where this road leads?"
Micah twists his head back, back straight and his face suspiciously blank. "Thank-you for your kind words, Lady Leia. Following this road will lead you away from King Xavier's castle and it's city, through the forest cliffs. Take too many turns to your left will lead you to the high edges. To get to the nearest settlement, Cáliz, follow the road and take a right at the first and second forks and a left at the third. You can buy a horse, there, or passage on a cart to the next-nearest port-town. From there, you can take a boat to King Victor's land."
"Thank-you, Micah," Emma gives a tentative smile. "And good luck with…Camila, was it?"
Micah's blank expression breaks and he can't help the small grin. "Camila. Yes. She is my beloved. Good luck on your travels, Lady Leia."
"Bye."
"Good afternoon," he bows only slightly, so as to not spill his wheat again, before returning to his journey home.
Regina's uncle, Emma thinks, in retrospect not so surprised that he reminds her of Henry. Nurture just won a point, in this round. I wonder what happens to him.
Readjusting her grip on the Book, Emma makes her way along the road, committing Micah's directions to memory and wondering how the hell she's supposed to survive the Enchanted Forest until it's safe to summon Rumplestiltskin.
By the time she reaches 'Cáliz', night has fallen. Not many people are walking about, except a few guards, wandering about with torches, chatting quietly and sipping hot drinks from steaming mugs. Emma's stomach rumbles, but she ignores it out of habit, having gone far longer than a couple of hours without food. She knows she's conspicuous – she's wearing jeans, after all – but when she detours around houses to back gardens, all the washing lines are empty.
I need to blend in, she thinks, though for now, she's happy to remain in her modern-day clothes. Her grey turtle-neck is warm, at least and she has her gloves. Those could probably even stay on, even with a disguise – leather gloves could be common enough in the Enchanted Forest, right?
At one point, she sits down on a handy bench in an alley-way, between what she thinks is a bakery and a pub, dropping the Book onto the bench beside her. Muffled voices and laughter come from behind her and Emma wonders if she should get a job bartending or something – she can't interfere with Cora's story, not unless she wants to endanger everything she's ever known, which means no Rumplestiltskin.
Sighing, Emma looks up as a door into the pub opens, three men stumbling over their own feet as they exit, a fourth being practically thrown out. Emma cranes her neck, looking at the fierce-looking woman in the doorway, glaring at the four.
"And don't come back until you can pay your tab," she seemingly finishes, cheeks red, copper curls escaping her high bun, hands on her hips. She looks remarkably like Zelena, especially in her dark green dress and Emma recalls what Micah said to her earlier that day – his oldest sister runs the tavern in Cáliz.
The woman spies her watching and raises an eyebrow. "What are you loitering for? I don't allow prostitutes this side of my establishment – that's for the other alleyway, by the inn."
"I'm not a prostitute," Emma replies, standing, trying to come up with a plausible story. "I'm not from here. I got attacked by thieves on the road. I'm looking for work, until I can contact an acquaintance of mine to help me out."
The woman raises a disbelieving eyebrow, but eyes her carefully. "You're not dressed like a whore, at least," she mutters, before one of the drunkards jeers.
"She's dressed like a man, though. What are you, lass? One of those fancy lady-bedders, pretending to be a man?" he and his friends snigger, Emma's hands curling into fists as she steps forwards.
"Say that again, I dare you," she challenges. Bisexuality is valid, she thinks darkly, before the woman steps over, grabbing her wrist.
"I can give you room and board, if you can help me out in the tavern. I even have a spare dress, if you'd rather look more local." Emma hesitates, the men – loudly – wondering how many women she's slept with. "Shut your mouths, boys, before I get you put on the blacklist around town."
"Madelina," one of the younger men, the one that had been booted out last, whines at her, "don't do that."
"Apologise to the lady and pay your tab before the week's out and I won't, Byron," Madelina orders. "Don't make me bring your mamas into this, boys."
The four grumble, but offer apologies, quickly leaving the alleyway. Emma glances at Madelina.
"Thank-you. I'm…Leia," Emma belatedly remembers the name she gave Micah, hoping her pause wasn't noticed.
"It's nothing. I'm Madelina. You won't get paid for a couple of days, until I see what you can do," Madelina warns, letting go of her wrist. "Where are you from?"
"A town called Storybrooke," Emma replies, knowing Madelina won't know where that is. The woman, predictably, frowns.
"I've no idea where that is," she admits, "but you speak Common Northern. A lot of this town speaks that, but most mainly speak in Low Southern. Do you speak it, too?"
Emma feels her eyebrows knit together. "What does it sound like?"
Madelina purses her lips, "Esta es mi lengua."
That sounds like Spanish, Emma thinks, eyes widening. "Yes, I know it. I'm fluent – I can read and write it, too."
In New York, with Regina's fake memories, it was strange – in retrospect, rightly so – to her that Emma and Henry spoke Spanish to each other. Emma can remember having trouble, at first, taking over a month to get used to being part of a bilingual household, but then Henry got settled in school and started doing homework, doing essays for Spanish class that Emma helped him out with – that Regina probably helped him out with, before.
Thank-you, Regina, Emma thinks, wondering if her relationship with Henry would have taken a nosedive if 'suddenly', Emma 'didn't speak Spanish'. He grew up speaking that language, Emma remembers, feeling nostalgic and sad, because those are Regina's memories, not hers. My fashion-style even changed, after I got those new memories.
"You write?" Madelina questions, looking surprised as she breaks Emma from her thoughts. "Can you do bookwork? I'm horrible with arithmancy."
"I can do bookwork," Emma confirms. A smile grows on Madelina's face, before she offers a hand to shake. Emma takes it. "Room and board for waitressing and bookwork?"
"Waitressing, bookwork and bar-work," Madelina adds. "And a spare dress."
"Awesome," they shake properly, before Madelina invites Emma inside, directing another of her barmaids by the name of Viola to show Emma upstairs to her wardrobe. The dress that Viola gives her to wear is deep blue, a kind of sleeveless over-shift more than a dress, made to go over a warmer cream dress with sleeves, a braided rope to go around her waist as a belt.
"Miss Madelina is a kind woman," Viola says, chipper and young – maybe nineteen or twenty – with tan skin and dark brown curls pulled back into a thick plait. She does Emma's hair into a bun, using a pretty blue ribbon to hold it in place. "She'll be good to you, however long you're here."
"Nice," Emma notes lightly, thankful she gets to keep her boots, even if Viola insists she wears an apron as well. When they go back downstairs, a fight breaks out that a local pair of guards break up before Emma can barely do more than blink. She catches Madelina chucking the guards a pouch of coin, though, before they chuck the two men out of the pub.
Honestly, it isn't much different from the Land Without Magic, working. There are only a few more hours of business before Madelina loudly declares it's closing time, the last dozen customers who had been loitering vacating the premises. Emma sweeps the floor free of straw to go in the dying fireplace, while Viola mops up behind her, another girl by the name of Reyda cleaning the tabletops and bar, blowing out candles. Madelina, meanwhile, makes up a sink of soapy water and does dishwashing – asking Emma questions as they all work to make the tavern spic and span.
"Do you have any family, Leia?"
"I have a son," Emma admits. "He doesn't live with me."
"Did he leave home? Marry?"
"No, no – he's thirteen, nearly," Emma shakes her head. "He lives with his adoptive mother, mostly. Sometimes, he visits his grandparents and I. His father died, before you ask."
"It was my next question," Madelina says lightly. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Me too," Emma murmurs, thinking again of her brother, Prince Neal. I shouldn't have run. Maybe I wouldn't have been anywhere near that time portal if I hadn't run. "What about you? Do you have family?"
"Not of my own," Madelina shrugs. "I'm Viola's guardian, but other than that, I only have my pathetic excuse for a father and my siblings. I only see two of them regularly. My family was lucky in that six of us survived to adulthood. Cora works here during the day, ofttimes – you will see her tomorrow. Micah works in the market, buying and selling wheat and flour. Dante and Rafael are sailors, invading foreign lands and defending King Xavier's kingdom from sea attacks. My idiot brother Santino married for love and lives in the lap of luxury when he isn't slaughtering pigs and cattle."
"Don't be so hard on Santino, Miss Madelina," Reyda reaches over to poke her boss' arm. "You know he is happy."
Madelina snorts. "I know that his husband is a slut. Matias could never keep it in his pants." Madelina looks to Emma, as if sharing some well-known piece of gossip. "Matias is the butcher in the King's City. Santino married him, ignoring the fact that he has over eight bastards running around."
"Right," Emma grimaces. "Sorry?"
Madelina waves her off, a sud of soap flying onto Reyda's freshly-wiped bar-top, causing the girl to glare at Madelina as she speaks.
"Don't worry over it. Santino made his decision. Last I heard, one of the girls' mothers died – Santino took her in, despite Matias' disagreement. He's not really an idiot, just too in love. It happens and my niece will hopefully grow up to be a lovely young woman."
"With the way you talk about your brother's husband, I'm a little surprised you call her that."
"She is my niece," Madelina says, a sharp edge to her voice, even as she continues to dishwash calmly. "If you can't accept that, then you aren't welcome."
"Wow," Emma raises her eyebrow. "You and Micah are pretty damn similar."
Madelina jerks, looking to her. "You've met Micah?"
"He told me how to get to Cáliz on his way home," Emma gives an assuring smile. Madelina watches her for a moment, before smiling pleasantly.
"Enough about me, then, if you've already had the pleasure of meeting my favourite baby brother. Do you have any siblings?"
"One," Emma says, before putting the last of the dirty straw into the fireplace. "He's only a few weeks old, though. It surprised me as much as you'd think – my parents are old," she jokes, knowing that her parents aren't old and decrepit, despite how old they might actually be, just like everyone else under the Curse.
"Is the babe healthy?" Madelina questions, sounding vaguely worried.
"Perfect," Emma grins, before it falters. "They named him after my sons father, though. I still don't know what to think about it."
"An unusual custom," Reyda notes. "Usually, sons are named after their male relatives – fathers and grandfathers. Not uncles by marriage."
"Neal was a hero," Emma moves out of Viola's way as she mops. "The problem was that he and I were on bad terms for a long time – he abandoned me before I even knew I was pregnant. I wasn't even an adult. When he came back, it…it was just all complicated and shitty and he died. My parents didn't even talk to me about it, before my brother's naming party."
Viola pauses in her mopping to squeeze Emma's shoulder. "I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to talk to this about."
Emma chuckles bitterly. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," the three women say as one, causing Emma to sigh before she once more moves to let Viola mop, going over to the sink to help dry the cutlery, tankards and wooden crockery with a spare piece of cloth. Abruptly, however, she remembers she left Henry's Book outside and she aborts her move to grab a cloth, heading for the back door.
"Leia?" Reyda calls after her as she rushes outside, head whipping around to the bench, which thankfully still has the Book laying on it. Picking it up, Emma flips through it to make sure there aren't any missing pages, only to realise with a start that the majority of the Book is terrifyingly blank.
"What the hell?" she whispers, eyes wide. "What happened?" She finds bare beginnings of stories – 'The Miller's Daughter' barely halfway through Cora's interaction with Rumplestiltskin, in her tower. Even as she watches, more words – conversation – appears.
'What do you want to do to them?' Rumplestiltskin asked the Miller's daughter.
'I want to make them bow,' she said. 'I want their kneecaps to crack and freeze on the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.'
Emma shuts the Book quickly, swallowing sharply. Behind her, the door to the tavern opens.
"Leia?" Madelina questions her in a worried voice, "Are you alright? What's that?"
"Something happened," Emma mutters, turning hesitantly. "I can't show you. There's too much at stake. I think me being here is changing things, already."
Madelina reaches out, taking Emma's arm. "Come inside," she orders and still shaken from the emptied Book, Emma lets her lead her into the tavern, setting her down on a chair by the fire. Madelina crouches in front of her, pulling the Book away from Emma's chest to her knees. "'Once Upon a Time'," she reads the title.
"It's magic," Emma states. "It tells stories-" Emma stops herself, because they aren't stories. The woman in front of her is Madelina, sister to Cora, aunt to a yet-to-be-born Regina. "Histories," she corrects herself. "I need help."
"What's magic about a book like this?" Madelina queries, frowning. "The things you've said today made me question your story of being robbed on the road and I've looked at your clothes – they're nothing like this realm's produce."
"I'm not from this realm," Emma confirms.
But Madelina continues, "and you said your brother had a naming party – in other words, a naming ceremony. You belong to a Royal Line. I thought, when you told us of your son, that maybe your parents were raising him as their heir and that you had hidden, mixed feelings about having a brother to replace him."
"What? No, just…no." Her words leave Emma uneasy, however. My parents wanted to go back to the Enchanted Forest, at one point. Would Henry be king, when they died? What about me? Why couldn't I be…queen? And Henry's a prince twice-over, anyway. "I mean, his other mom's a queen, anyway. But that's really not any of your business."
Madelina raises an eyebrow, before shaking her head in disbelief. "What's wrong of this book of yours?"
"…the histories are disappearing," Emma admits. "It's my fault. I shouldn't be here."
"In this realm?" Madelina asks.
"In this time," Emma corrects gently, gaining a small gasp from Viola. "Cora's not even married yet – her story in here is writing itself right now."
"Married?" Madelina looks baffled at the concept. "To whom?"
"I don't know, I think his name might be Henry?" Emma goes to look in the Book, remembering how she'd seen it before, then remembers the story has disappeared by half. She pauses, then actually thinks about it properly. Henry Daniel Mills, she hums, biting her lips. "Yeah. Prince Henry. Right now, she's trapped in a tower, spinning straw to gold with magic."
The tavern-owner stands, going to the bar. "I need a drink. Reyda? Viola?"
"Yes, please," Reyda agrees, sounding shocked. "Cora is to be a princess by marriage? Does her ambition know no bounds?"
"To be fair," Emma starts, feeling a little more confident in giving away future things, "she does have a daughter who becomes queen. We know each other."
"A niece," Madelina pours four cups of wine, Viola putting away her mop as Reyda gets chairs for them all, seemingly settling in to hear what she has to say. Madelina shakes her head as she brings the cups and the wine bottle over on a tray. "And you are a time traveller. It is all so fantastical – why should we believe you?"
"Your father can corroborate that I appeared out of nowhere," Emma states wryly, watching Madelina pause before she knocks back her wine, pouring another cup. Emma takes her own, sipping it and raising her eyebrow at the vintage. "Regina must inherit your taste in wine. What do you think about apple cider?"
"Depends on the make. I'm not a fan of apples, but a good apple cider can be nice with food," she admits, looking more than a little lost. "My niece is to be queen. Queen of where?"
"…I don't really know. Fairy-tale land geography isn't my thing," Emma shrugs.
"Fairy-tale land?" Viola tentatively questions.
Emma glances at her, tapping the Book. "I grew up thinking magic wasn't real – I lived in the Land Without Magic. My son found me and made me believe. I broke a Curse that trapped people from this land in mine. A lot of stories I grew up were adaptions of real-life events from this world – so, yeah, fairy-tale land. I'm the daughter of fairytale characters."
"Which ones?"
"They haven't been born yet," Emma replies, sipping her wine, opening the Book and flipping to a story that seemingly had an actual ending, recognising it as a new one. 'Desperate Souls', she reads, skimming the intro about a poor weaver-man from hundreds of years before Snow White's war against the Evil Queen, who gave himself a self-inflicted injury to get out of the Ogre Wars. Her eyes lock onto a name that appears halfway down the page, however.
"No fucking way," she breathes at the sight of the name, Rumplestiltskin.
"What is it?" Reyda asks.
"The Dark One's origin story," Emma itches to read it, but thinks it might be rude to do it right then, considering how she has company. The other woman share confused glances. "The Dark One is kind of like a fairy, except he makes deals instead of granting wishes and he uses dark magic. He's lived a fucking long time as well, apparently. I know him. He's a pain in my ass."
"Isn't that a bit impolite?" Viola mumbles. Emma snorts, shutting the Book again, setting it on the table beside her heavily.
"I suppose so, when he's the one I could trust to help me get home." Emma looks to Madelina, "He's the acquaintance I was talking about."
"What would you give to get home?" she asks. "You have nothing."
"Depends what it takes to get home," Emma replies, feeling a little morbid. "He can be petty. Once, he granted Cinderella her wish to dress up for a prince's ball, getting a fancy dress and shoes and carriage – she even married the prince, in the end. His price was her firstborn child."
"And she took the deal?" Madelina revolts, disgusted. "What was she thinking? Stupid girl."
"He did take Alexandra, in the end, but I got her back. Ella was in no position to be taking a baby, not really, but she was willing to put in the effort – and so was her partner, after a kick up the ass. I owed Rumple a favour, though," Emma describes the situation, not going into detail.
Reyda reaches her foot over to tap Emma's leg lightly, "Should you be telling us this, Leia? What if we change the future?"
"I don't know how you could, except if you prevented Regina's birth," Emma shrugs. "Frankly, I've never heard of any of you before – I thought Cora was an only child, yesterday."
"That little bitch," Madelina hisses, suddenly quite vehement, gripping her cup tightly. "Too busy fucking a prince to keep us in her life."
"And the Dark One," Emma can't help but add. "Gotta wonder who Regina's dad is, with what Cora's story suggested, before it all disappeared on me." Emma wriggles her eyebrows, Madelina grimacing.
"She's already had one daughter that she gave up. What would happen if she had a bastard while engaged to a prince?"
"Count back from Regina's birthday and you'll see," Emma advises. "Hopefully, I won't be here long enough to know myself. Too much chance I'll fuck up the timeline. Though, it'll be a close call – apparently he gets it on with her the night before her wedding."
Madelina puts a hand to her forehead, shutting her eyes. "Dioses, Cora. ¿Qué haces?"
"She's fucking two men at once, that's what she's doing, Madelina," Reyda says bluntly, "or, will be doing, rather."
Is this gossiping? Emma asks herself, before leaning back in her chair. "I'm going to see if I can summon my acquaintance tomorrow, when he and your sister aren't so…caught up in each other."
"Ugh, don't even imply what they're doing right now," Madelina rolls her eyes, letting out her bun. Auburn waves fall out and seriously, the resemblance to Zelena is striking. Emma's tempted to mention it, licking her lips, the wine staining a smooth flavour of fermented grapes in her mouth.
"You look like Zelena," Emma eventually decides to tell her. Madelina looks at her with a raised eyebrow that just says, who are you talking about? "Cora's firstborn. We've met, her and I. She caused a lot of trouble actually. She's got hair just like yours."
Soft surprise flickers across the other woman's face, her hand tugging a curl by her ear thoughtfully.
"I wonder if I have any children in the future," Viola marvels, pulling her feet up and under herself, adjusting her skirts, taking off her apron to drape over her chair back. Emma copies her after a moment, along with Reyda. Madelina doesn't bother.
"Maybe, maybe not," Reyda says. "If we adopt, then perhaps."
Emma blinks, looking between the young women, "Wait, you're together?"
"Of course they are," Madelina mumbles into her wine. "Didn't you notice when you went upstairs. There's only two beds, Princess Leia."
Emma chokes slightly on her wine, at that epithet. "My name isn't Leia, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied to you."
"No, keep it," Madelina dismisses. "You've already told us too much about the future, as it is. Though, mayhaps I'll write out a recommendation list of wines and spirits, if Regina really does have my taste. I'll give it to her when she's fifteen and has a bit more freedom – though, mayhaps as a princess, she'll have her first tastes in a palace larder with the scullery maids before then."
"It's weird to talk about her like that," Emma grimaces, at odds with the thought that Regina has yet to grow up yet, even be conceived. "She's just so…distinguished, in the future." And gorgeous, she adds in her head, not wanting to call her that out loud. Emma won't ever deny that she's checked out Mayor Mills' behind as she walked away – it's a good behind that she can't hide in those tight dresses and pencil skirts.
I've not checked her out in a while, Emma muses, thinking it a little admirable of herself. Though, I have definitely had some 'I'm gay' moments around her and Ruby.
"Does she wear fancy dresses with silks and velvets?" Viola asks eagerly, melting in her chair. "I love seeing all the royals in their ballgowns and embroidery."
"Hey," Reyda says in a jokingly offended tone.
"I've not actually seen her in the type of dress you're talking about," Emma interjects, "but I have seen her in a dress from my world. A lot, actually. She usually wears block colours, though – not embroidery or patterns – and red lipstick. Her office is a black and white geometric eyesore," Emma adds.
"You have a lot of opinions on my niece," Madelina notes amusedly.
"I've had to. She adopted my son and wasn't in a good place, when we first met," Emma sips at her wine again, Madelina blinking rapidly.
"She adopted your son?"
"Yeah," Emma shrugs. "She didn't have anyone."
"How did she become Queen, then?" the woman questions, disturbed.
"She was forced to marry my grandfather. She took over his kingdom after he died and banished my mother, or something," Emma shrugs again, scratching behind her ear awkwardly. "She was a bandit for a while. Met my dad around that time and then had a war with Regina. Took back most of her kingdom, from what I heard, though Regina still had her own, or something? I don't really know."
"And she still adopted your son?" Madelina asks, disbelieving. "Nothing you say makes sense, Leia." Emma opens her mouth, ready to rehash the story of her existence, but Madelina puts a hand up to stop her. "No, no more. You've said enough. We should not have all the pieces to the puzzle – we shouldn't know there is a puzzle. Time travel…you need to speak to this Dark One, soon, if you think he can truly help you return to your time."
"And realm," Emma adds.
"And realm," Madelina finishes her second cup of wine, Reyda pouring her a third as she pours her own second. She raises her cup. "To my sister's idiotic plans coming to fruition, so that we all get to meet my niece, one day – daughter of the Dark One or not."
"Hear, hear," Emma leans forwards, tapping their cups together before finishing her cup. Wiping her mouth, Emma licks her lips, pointing to Reyda, Viola and the wine in turn. "Let's finish this bottle while you tell me how you met."
"An excellent idea, Princess," Madelina praises, grinning toothily.
Emma stays with Madelina and the girls at the tavern for another week, laying low, before she tries to call Rumplestiltskin. The key word there is: tries. With no answer the first few times saying Rumplestiltskin three times in a row, Emma worries over how to get home, hoping he's only distracted by Cora rather than an alternate theory she has – that saying his name thrice does not summon him, like in the stories.
Truthfully, the though of seeing Gold again – seeking him out on purpose – makes her uncomfortable, but he really is the only option she can see in this time and place. Cora, at least, is engaged to Prince Henry. Rumours have been flying around about the prince's witch bride who can turn straw into gold, who will bring wealth back to Xavier's Kingdom – and the Book has written in the engagement, paused for now over Cora learning how to be Royal.
However, what really blows Emma away is how Cora sends heavy bags of coins to Madelina and Micah both – the latter of whom she'd met again two days after her new appointment in Madelina's tavern. Cora sent a letter with the gold, too, the riders who'd been ordered by King Xavier to distribute them nearly reading it to Madelina aloud, thinking she couldn't read.
"I can read fine," Madelina had snatched the letter and the gold both, pulling Emma and Micah into the tavern storeroom so neither could be accosted by guards – in Micah's case – or spotted and questioned – in Emma's case.
Cora had sent her permanent farewells, giving them the gold as a goodbye present, entrusting Micah's share to Madelina so their father wouldn't steal and spend it on drink. Emma thought it both kind and heartless – yet, she knows that Cora still has her heart in her chest. The letter, though, said that her siblings should not contact her, for they were below her station and only Dante and Rafael as Fleetmen should seek her out, if they ever returned from the sea.
"I want to know my niece, though," Madelina murmured to Emma later. "Should I try to keep up a correspondence? I feel as if she would send me a reply, only to say not to do it again."
"I don't know, Madelina," Emma says reluctantly. "Maybe ask to see her on local holidays? I don't know if you have any special days or anything, but maybe you could get to see Regina when she's born if you insist upon it. You're still her sister."
"Her older sister, too," Madelina mutters. Emma sees her penning a letter soon after, sealing it with wax in an envelope. The next evening, Micah takes it from her and heads back to the mill, to take it to the palace the next morning with the flour.
Emma decides, regarding her Dark One problem, that it could be because of the woman around her – maybe he only came when you were alone, or in a group and while Madelina and the girls were supportive of her, they would hardly be going back in time with her. She goes out into the woods around the town after sundown on an evening that she gets let off from working by Madelina, going far enough into the trees that the town is barely more than lights in the dark behind her.
"Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestilt-"
"What do you need?" he questions, sounding put-out. Emma twists around, backing up against a tree sharply as she sees his golden skin in the moonlight. He moves his hands about, wrists flicking. "I've been busy. I thought you might give up, but you got…annoying."
"You're actually gold," Emma mutters to herself, staring a little, fascinated. Are those scales?
"Yes, I am," Rumple agrees, sounding peeved. "What do you want?"
"I…I need your help," Emma admits, wincing at her own words. "This is going to be hard to believe, but I'm from the future."
"Yes, that is hard to believe," he agrees. "Time travel can't be done. What proof do you have of your little claim?"
"That code has been cracked. Just- just listen," Emma gets angry, then, at herself and at the world and at Rumplestiltskin. "I have been here in the past for over two weeks. Two weeks without plumbing and coffee and my son- your grandson, is waiting for me!"
"My what now?" Rumple stares at her, frowning, voice quick as he tilts back on his foot. "Who are you, girlie?"
"I'm the product of True Love," Emma says, trying to infuse as much seriousness into her voice as she can. "I break the Dark Curse in the future, when I'm twenty-eight."
"That's impossible. The product of True Love being able to break the Curse is only speculation," Rumple points at her. "Tell me what you mean about being the mother of my grandson. Are you Cora's daughter?" His voice turns vulnerable for a moment, before Emma shakes her head hurriedly.
"What? No," she denies, "god, no. I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming- Prince James. Neither of them have been born yet."
Rumplestiltskin frowns. "Then how did you have my grandson?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Emma asks tiredly, shuffling forwards a bit, off the tree-roots she's standing on awkwardly. "My son is Baelfire's son, too."
"Bae," he breathes, "My Bae?"
"Yes."
A few moments later, he's smiling, stepping closer to her. "I find Bae. How?" He puts his arm out, still grinning. "Don't tell me! If I succeeded, I don't want anything in my head that might throw it off."
Emma tries to keep up her own smile, but she can't stop herself from nearly dropping it a few times. Change the topic, she orders herself, before dismissing her smile.
"Can you help me get back to my own time?"
"How did you get here in the first place?" he questions in turn.
"A portal," she says, wary about telling him too much. "There was…markings, in the floor. Four ingredients. The person who was supposed to cast it died and the pendant holding her magic broke."
"Died? Are you very sure about that, dearie?" Rumple hums in a foreboding way. "Magical receptacles are tricky. If her death triggered the portal, she might very well be here, right now, with you."
Emma's expression twists into one of horror. "Zelena could be here? In this time with me? Oh no, oh- oh no."
"What?" Rumple questions, jerking slightly as his head twists. He leans forwards a touch. "Wait. Why was this Zelena trying to time travel in the first place?"
"She- she wanted to prevent her sister from being born," Emma says, gripping her leather satchel holding Henry's Book and her cloak, which Reyda had given her only yesterday. "Her parents aren't even married yet."
"Well, that's inconvenient," Rumple wrinkles his nose, "You can't leave until you've dealt with her or found her, to bring her with you."
Emma laughs in a hollow manner, thinking of Cora and her magic. "It won't be that hard, if she goes for her mother. The dad, though…" this is bad, but I really hope Regina's dad is Gold right now, if Zelena kills Prince Henry.
"As a product of True Love, you should have magic," Rumple states. "Why not protect them both? Act as a little secret bodyguard and catch her in the act?"
"I-" Emma shakes her head, not knowing what to do. Zelena has had over two weeks to plan something, if she really is here with her. She looks to him. "What do I do?"
"How am I supposed to know?" he shrugs, before looking her up and down. "You said you've been here for two weeks. You've interacted with people. You could have changed something important with a single word- no, less than that, even just being seen."
"I know, but I couldn't just wait around doing nothing while I waited for you to answer," Emma crosses her arms, causing him to roll his eyes and snap his fingers. A second later, they appear in a dark room, lit with candles and a fireplace which roars to life at their entrance. Emma wobbles in place, before regaining her balance. "What was that?"
"I have transported us to my castle," Rumple waves around. "You will not leave and you will not do anything whatsoever outside these walls, while I track down your mysterious Zelena. Is there any information you think prudent to tell me?"
"She- she…" Emma swallows. "She's Cora's firstborn?"
Rumplestiltskin's face shows everything he feels at her words. Worry, horror, fear… "Are you sure?" he whispers.
"Very sure, Mr G- Rumplestiltskin." Emma blinks, hands clenching again as he takes that in. A moment later, he disappears and Emma is left in his castle, alone.
What am I supposed to do now? She thinks, before sighting a chair by the fireplace. Going over to it, Emma sits, not wanting to go exploring like Belle from the movie did and get shouted at for going into a forbidden wing or something. Madelina and the girls will be worried when I don't come back. Then they'll probably think I've been sent back.
Thoughts of Zelena bubble back up. Emma can't believe she might have followed her through. Of course she wasn't dead, though. Seriously, I won't ever believe a villain is dead unless we can bury a body- wait, no. Emma grimaces. Archie had a fake dead body, dammit.
Using the firelight, Emma decides to read out of Henry's Book, missing her son more than ever as she reads about how Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One. At some point, she must have fallen asleep though, because the next thing she knows, she's waking up in a bed with a canopy, the curtains over a window open to let the sun stream in. For a few moments, she's disorientated.
How did I end up here? Wide awake all of a sudden, blinking sleep out of her eyes, Emma gets out of bed, looking at her clothes – which thankfully, are the same from last night, minus her cloak, blue shift, belt and boots. By the window, she sees them hanging over an armchair.
"Rumplestiltskin?" she calls tentatively, flinching when he appears out of nowhere, just past the sun rays. "How did I get here?"
He looks nervous and Emma decides he should be, clenching her fists, "I carried you- because you were asleep! Not for nefarious purposes!"
"You took my clothes off," Emma hisses.
"You're Baelfire's partner!" he exclaims in return, looking panicked. "I was treating you as a guest!"
"I'm not his partner," Emma replies, heart thudding in her chest, "not anymore. We haven't been together for years."
"…oh," Rumplestiltskin cringes. "I see."
"Don't ever do that again," Emma demands, thoroughly creeped out. "God, are you going to remember this when I get back?"
"If I take a memory potion, no," he says. "Good thing for me."
"God," Emma mutters, crossing her arms and realising he'd taken out her hair, too. Reaching up, she blinks at the long braid, held in place by her usual blue ribbon. "Did you do my hair?"
"No!" he says, too quickly, hurrying to deny it. Emma gives him a look, before walking over to her clothes by the window, tugging on the blue over-shift, tying her belt on. "I found your fellow time traveller. She escaped my grasp. You failed to mention how powerful she is."
"I thought that would be obvious, what with the 'inventing time travel' shit," Emma defends herself. "Any chance of food?"
Rumple snaps his fingers and then they're in that hall – Emma, minus her shoes. Hissing at the cold floor, she pads over to stand on the carpet in front of the fireplace, grumbling to herself. Another snap of his fingers has a steaming breakfast buffet appear at the table.
"Take your pick," he says, sitting at the head of the table, serving himself. After a long moment, Emma joins him, tucking her feet up on the wooden strut of her chair. "How powerful are you, dearie? And what should I call you in this time – don't give me your real name."
"I've been calling myself Leia," Emma offers. "Madelina calls me Princess Leia."
"And why does she do that?" he queries good-naturedly, before pausing, taking in her devoid face as she picks out some toast and bacon. "Oh, I see. Yes, of course – you did say that your father was a prince. Princess, now that is an interesting tidbit."
Emma shrugs, letting him assume. Buttering some toast, she ponders Madelina. I'm going to miss her, she thinks wistfully, and Viola, Reyda and Micah. Ian from the bakers next door was decent enough, too. Ian was pretty taken with her from the start – Madelina got her to pick up ten loaves the morning after she arrived and Ian was a little dumbstruck at the sight of her. He made nice pastries, Emma bites into her toast, wondering if she could convince Rumplestiltskin to fetch some for her before she left.
"When can I go?" she asks said Dark One.
"When Zelena is captured for you to take back with you and or dead," he replies cheerfully. "She tried to murder Cora, yesterday. I've taught her some wards to protect herself – she's taken quite well to Elven runes. A genius witch."
His tone is more than a little awed, almost sappy and for a moment, Emma wonders what Belle would think of his behaviour, before remembering, like most of the people she knows from Storybrooke, she hasn't been born yet – or maybe she has. How old is Belle, anyway?
"Keep it in your pants," Emma replies. Rumple glances at her, serpentine eyes catching her off-guard. "Why did the Darkness make you look like that?"
He hesitates, before looking away. "The Darkness doesn't like to be contained. It's a Curse, technically – it has to show itself some way."
"Do all curses do that? Show themselves on the outside?"
"No," he answers. "Other curses have different effects, usually to the detriment of the cursed. Sleeping curses send the mind of the comatose person to a hellish mental plane. Infertility curses are a constant ache that cannot be relieved, according to the women who have taken such punishment, voluntary or not. Why so interested?"
Emma shrugs, helping herself to a strawberry. "I don't know. Zelena took away my magic." Rumplestiltskin is silent for a few moments, before he reaches out, taking her wrist. She exclaims in surprise, "Hey!"
Then she feels a kind of bubbling, before she feels a type of vertigo that has her reeling. Her other hand slams down on the table, sending a shudder and a crack through it, the wood splitting open. All at once, Emma can feel her magic again and it floods her, like a dam breaking open.
"Contained," Rumplestiltskin lets go of her wrist and the dam is shut again. "Not taken. You don't have control, you would have known otherwise. It was an easy barrier to break. She took advantage of your ineptitude. You might have regained control at another time, had the need been great enough for you to unlock it."
Breathing hard, Emma looks at the crack in the table, chair shrieking on the stone floor as she pushes it back, ignoring the sting of cold against her bare feet. The crack goes all the way through the wood, nearly all the way to the other side.
"I didn't mean to do that," she whispers in a hush, scared.
"Is there anyone who could teach you how to control it in your time?" Rumple questions. Emma glances at him.
"Well…yes, but not anyone I'm on good enough terms with."
"Are we on good terms, Princess?" Rumple points at himself, smiling. Emma gives him an unimpressed look. "I'll take that for a negative, but no matter! You're staying until Zelena is caught, in any case and I might as well make use of you."
"How?" Emma asks warily.
"Be my apprentice, full-time," he offers, "Learn from my library, brew potions and tinctures under my supervision and gain control, if not mastery of your magic."
"Your price?"
Rumple tuts. "Free of charge, with the clause that you tell future me of what happened. The memory potion I'll be taking is trickier than the normal kind – it'll erase your image, including conversations and things like that from my memory without also taking my memory of the surrounding events; it'll also nudge me away from trying to figure your absence out, because I will be able to tell. Inform my future self that he's to stop putting off reversing the memory potion he had."
Emma feels sceptical. "That's all?"
"That's all," he promises, giving a winning smile ruined by his pointed teeth, more like a crocodile's than a humans. I get the nickname now, Hook, Emma grimaces.
"Fine. Deal."
"Excellent!" Rumple turns back to his breakfast, slathering a piece of toast with jam. "We'll start immediately after breakfast, learning Elvish script."
"…what have I just signed myself up to?" Emma mutters to herself, sensing a foreboding in his voice.
Emma meets Cora for the first time three months into her stay in the past.
Still trapped in Rumplestiltskin's castle, Emma roams the hallowed halls in the afternoon, mostly, sometimes with a handheld lunch. It's one of the days she's eating lunch on the move when she sees Cora and Rumple in the library through the open door, huddled together with a heavy-bound book in the corner of the larger sofa. Emma watches them for a minute, biting into her chicken and cucumber sandwich every so often.
"Are you going to join us, Princess?" Rumple raises his voice, startling Cora at his side. The woman twists, moving away from the wizard as she looks to Emma, vaguely panicked. Emma swallows her mouthful as he continues. "Staring is unbecoming."
"I'm just surprised. Never thought you'd bring her here."
"Who are you?" Cora herself questions and honestly, even if Emma hadn't memorised the blurred mosaic of her face in the Book, she looks enough like Madelina, Regina and her future self that Emma would have guessed it was her.
"This is my apprentice, the Princess Leia," Rumple says lazily, leaning back in the arm of the sofa, book abandoned on the table. Emma grimaces at the open shirt he sports. "Also, she is a former acquaintance of my son. I'm obliged to care for her, in the interim between the naturally-occurring portals to her realm open."
"I see," Cora raises her chin. "Begone."
Emma raises an eyebrow. "Uh, no, just because you said that. If you want to go fuck Rumple, at least fuck in his room – and I know he has one, I've seen him wearing pyjamas."
"You have not," Rumple denies, an edge of whine to his voice.
"Have too," Emma shoots back. "Seriously, though, if you have sex on that sofa, I'm setting it on fire."
"We'll have to go at it up against the bookcases, then," Cora sneers. Emma can't help the quick twitch of her lip before she enters the library properly, grabbing an Elven-Elvish to Common Northern dictionary and then an Elven-Elvish to Low Southern one, as well when she sees it. "Are you leaving now?"
Emma flips her the bird with her sandwich hand as she juggles the dictionaries under her arm. "Fuck on the sofa, see it burn, Rumple," she reminds him, knowing he likes that sofa set. It reminds her of a flatmate she had when she was twenty-four, who liked to fuck on her bed. Emma broke his PlayStation 2 the morning she moved out.
Psycho bitch, she thinks, remembering the havoc Cora causes in the future – not to mention, traumatising Regina, somewhat, if not a hell of a lot. She's a terrible mother. I'm not going to even think about Zelena.
Focusing on her learning of a new language – one that can't be spoken by human tongues, thankfully – Emma goes to her study, an addition to her room, courtesy of the castle itself. Apparently, it's alive, which isn't creepy in the least.
It really, really is.
But she gets a study and hot baths when she wakes up every few days, so she can't complain. Emma just hopes that the castle doesn't start to dislike her, because that could be troublesome. According to Rumple, magical artefacts with personality – his example being the castle itself – could get pernickety if ignored too long. Too much exposure to magic over a long period of time changes objects, or so he says.
Trying to see if he's right, Emma has been experimenting, using her leather gloves – which he had retrieved from Madelina's tavern along with her other modern-day clothes – as her first test subject. Every morning, she had purposefully imbued magic in them, lifting them up into the air and turning them invisible, sometimes – invisibility didn't always work with her. Rumple says that's because light magic doesn't like to hide and his library corroborates his story, so Emma unfortunately believes him.
Her gloves, she'd noticed over the past couple of months, had gained a kind of…presence. When she shuts her eyes, reaching out with her magic, Emma can sense them in her periphery, cataloguing them as hers before she even manages to assign a magical signature to any other magical artefact around her.
"It's an interesting experiment and a safe one, too, well done – the most damage you could have done was set them on fire," Rumple grins when she shows him. "One of my previous apprentices used a rock. The result wasn't pretty. She died."
"What happened?" Emma frowns.
"The rock…exploded." Rumple demonstrates with his hands, dramatically 'dying' for her benefit. Laughing a little, Emma hums, putting her gloves on. Rumple looks to her, pausing for a moment. "I see. You might want to use those when climbing castle walls, Princess. Or, perhaps alternatively, when you don't want to be noticed picking a lock."
"I want to what now?" Emma questions, amused.
"You've been using magic that has attuned your little mundane gloves to specific actions," he explains, reaching over to take her hands, twisting her gloves around to see the insides. "What did you do with them, to imbue your magic in them?"
"Flew them around the room, turned them invisible, sometimes…"
"'Flew them around the room', you say," he giggles, "This is so much better than having an apprentice who only wants to kill their enemies. You're creative and bored."
Emma can't deny that, at least.
"You attuned your gloves to high heights and to stealth," he says plainly. "Do you understand the logic to that?"
"…yeah," Emma looks at her gloves with a newfound respect. "I do."
"Very good. Now do it again, a different way, to something new," he orders, clapping his hands together and bouncing, so very, very different from his calm, poised future self. Frankly, with how much praise she's getting, Emma doesn't even care anymore.
"On it," she promises, grinning at the infamous Dark One, farthest from worried that she could be.
