A/N: Hello! Yeah, this is yet another multichapter. I'm just as exasperated as you are. This is going to be a really fun fic to write, for me! It's all very fantasy/adventure/etc. themed and I'm just so stoked to be able to delve into it! I would say this is a no!curse AU and it kind of is? Except I just take the characters I want (that the writers have fucked over) and do whatever with them, so probably not. This story is pretty Legend of the Seeker inspired, but it's more of a scent of it (Is this a thing? Am I describing fic or a candle?) than a straight up AU. I'm going to steal a few tropes - because every episode is a fantastic trope - and the general Hero Whose Name Begins With an S Does Heroic Shit to Overthrow A Dictator With Other Hot People theme, but it's certainly nothing that requires background knowledge in the show. You should still watch the show, because it's fantastic. The title comes from a Florence and the Machine song that was on repeat when I wrote this, though the entire Ceremonials album is such a good soundtrack for it.
And yeah, the rating is what you see it is. We'll see what happens, there. It will be quite a few chapters before that rating is even necessary, though. I have no idea how long this is going to be, frankly. I have most of it plotted out and bits and pieces written - as well as the next chapter - but this isn't a situation like with Conversations with Dead People where most of it is already written. This is going to be really flexible, just seeing how many fun adventure tropes I can cram in here. Side characters are going to be loved, banter will be had, and there is definite future angst.
In other words, this is probably never going to end. I am very sorry. But also very excited? I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as I do writing it. All the thanks in the universe go to Amber and Ella. I don't think people realize what a hot mess fics would be without betas. I'm serious. There'd be so many screwed up commas and I used "eyes" in the wrong way NOT ONCE but twice?! How does that even happen? Point is, they suffer through the first drafts of this mess so that what I post is somewhat coherent.
I really hope you like this!
-/-
Killian has gotten himself into quite the mess this time.
The tale of his bloody existence, he's sure, but pissing off a queen armed with dark magic and a palette for human suffering must be one of his least bright decisions.
He'd come back to the Enchanted Forest some three years before, after finally fleeing the pit that is Neverland. The Evil Queen was well past two decades into her reign. The Queen of Hearts, Regina's estranged mother, had apparently lied in wait for most of them to make amends with her daughter once and for all. The Evil Queen was less than eager at the prospect.
It was one thing to agree to kill her approximately equally evil mother in exchange for information on how to hunt the crocodile. Becoming her pet assassin was entirely another. Regina was so impressed with his work with Cora, it was Hook who she selected to do her work when her guards failed. In other words, he was the man meant to kill the particularly evasive lot. The list of her enemies ranged wildly - from the challengers still left over from Snow White's reign to the shop owner who complained about the Evil Queen's draconian methods.
Killian ended up with loose fingers - he only had the one hand, after all - with her targets, letting them slip right through with instructions to never be see again. That way, Regina would be none the wiser that they were in hiding rather than dead. He shouldn't be surprised that, years later, one of the bloody prats made himself found again. It's what he gets for having such a damn bleeding heart. Admittedly, though, some of the ushering potential victims into hiding was a result of pure spite. The queen had yet to help him in the least in his pursuit for vengeance.
It comes as no surprise that Regina immediately sees to it to have him killed when news comes that a man she's sentenced to death by his hook for spreading propaganda against the queen has turned up in another village. That is, before Hook escapes, as he is prone to do.
(If he's anything, he's a survivor.)
Killian has instructed enough people to conceal themselves that he has an idea on how to do it himself. After a dramatic escape from the castle, he manages to duck in at a nearby inn without much detection. Hook swaps his dark, billowing shirt for a lighter variation he finds hanging out to dry - he's a pirate, thieving is second nature - and his leather vest for his red one. He even shaves and takes out his earring, hoping his more boyish look would bode well for disguising himself.
The wonderfully convenient part of being Captain Hook is that his most recognizable feature can easily be traded for a wooden hand. He hides both his namesake and his coat in his satchel when he gets to a village he's selected just for its lack of commotion.
(He's learned, by now, which villages have the most problem residents.)
The innkeepers exchange pleasantries with him as he swaps gold for a place to sleep. Killian spends the rest of the night planning his next move.
-/-
The next morning, he strides into the shop of a blacksmith. The plan Killian has devised is simple: assume a role as a nondescript villager working a menial job until he can come up with something better. He's not foolish enough to think that he can defeat the queen, but perhaps if he can evade her long enough he may have the opportunity to plot and exact his revenge on the Crocodile.
Killian can't outrun a group of guards on his own forever. He can, however, outsmart them.
"Are you looking to get your sword sharpened? Or can I help you find another one to befit your needs?" the owner asks, looking up from his work at the forge to where Killian stands loitering at the entrance.
Killian clears his throat, drawing his sword from his belt reluctantly. He can't go straight to the groveling. He needs to find out more about the damn blacksmith and what makes him tick if he wants a job and, thus, an identity to hide in until he can make his next move. "I think this blade could afford a sharpening, I'm afraid it's grown a bit blunt over the years."
The blacksmith hums. "Names Geppetto, what's yours?"
"Killian Jones," he replies. The queen never knew his real name, so it's a good thing he can afford to use it here.
Geppetto stands as Killian sets his sword on the table. He hears blood thrumming in his ears, feeling horrifically vulnerable as he pushes down his urge to grab it before the blacksmith can run him through with it. He has to sacrifice a bit of his safety, take a little risk, if he wants to evade much worse from the queen.
Geppetto grabs it carefully by the hilt. He analyzes it closely, his eyes scanning down the length of it and his hands feeling the sturdiness of it. "This is quite the blade, you have here. I can see why you're so attached to it."
Hook is about to reply that, no, he's not quite that attached when he notices his hand won't stop twitching. He smiles tightly, enclosing his hand in a fist. "Aye. Family heirloom, you could say. The state of things as they are now, if you don't have a sword you may as well have a death sentence."
"It's quite alright, my boy. My son used to be the same way about his sword. Always had to have it on him, hated when he didn't," he laughs, the sound friendly and wistful.
Used to, Killian picks up on. "What happened to him?"
Geppetto's face hardens, his eyes flickering around the room in the paranoia that has become second-nature to those who have lost loved ones to a queen they can't condemn without losing their own lives.
"Oh," Killian says, frowning. The evasion is explanation enough.
"What brings you here?" Geppetto asks in a valiant attempt to change the subject, taking the sword to the sharpening wheel with a sigh.
"I'm afraid it's the same reason that your son was taken from you," he murmurs, anxiously shifting in his boots to keep up the act. "I used to be a blacksmith, funnily enough, but after..."
Geppetto stills his work. "What did she do to yours?"
"The Evil Queen killed my family, tore apart my village," he hisses out, filling his words with as much passion and emotion as possible. His survival may be riding on his ability to sell this, so he needs to give it everything he has. "I left to get supplies from a nearby market, and when I came back I found their bodies strewn about my shop. There was nothing I could do."
It's a familiar enough story, the kind he'd heard in hushed whispers and that settled in his stomach when he shepherded her next victims instead of killing them. He may be a sad, pitiful excuse for a human - one of the worst around, easily - but there are some things that exceed even his tolerance.
Not that he's showing much respect in stealing their stories after only leaving the queen's aid when she threatened him in a selfish pursuit to keep himself alive, but that's not a moral dilemma he has time to weigh.
Geppetto's face falls, then, and he turns to embrace Killian. Killian is taken by complete surprise, letting out an awkward, stilted noise at the unfamiliar gesture of sympathy. He pats the older man's back, a tad uncomfortably, before Geppetto pulls away.
Geppetto pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Sorry to make you uncomfortable, my boy. It's just we've got to stick together in situations like this, seeing our families slain and our spirits crushed. Have you got any other family you can seek out?"
He shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."
"A job?"
Killian answers in the dissent, again.
"Well, then, you said you were a blacksmith? You can help around here, if you'd like. I'm afraid we don't get as many customers as we used to, but I could always use another hand."
Killian feels a pang of guilt, though this situation worked out just as he had hoped it would. Tugging on a blacksmith's heartstrings to get a job was a perfect method, truthfully, for his skillset. Geppetto's seemingly endless kindness and understanding for a liar and a cheat made him feel worse than he predicted.
Nevertheless, survival is survival.
"Would you really?" he asks in disbelief, and he doesn't have to mask his astonishment at being shown humanity and care when he doesn't deserve an ounce of it. "I'm afraid I could be right useless, after everything that's happened..."
"Nonsense," Geppetto insists, "you'll be perfect."
Truthfully, he hasn't been around a forge or a wheel since he was a gangly lad trying out odds and ends while Liam attempted to find them a job in the navy. He wasn't very good at it, vastly preferring a rocking motion underneath his feet and wind whipping in sails.
Hopefully grief would be enough of an excuse in the event he's terrible at the trade. Killian is - if nothing else - a quick learner.
-/-
There was a reason he became a sailor instead of a blacksmith, he thinks as he grimaces at yet another crooked sword. Geppetto has been patient and understating, citing the recent loss of his family making this so difficult for him. It's not that he doesn't know the basics - Killian has a long memory, long enough to perhaps make it believable he was once a blacksmith - it's just the skill takes much longer to develop.
The swords gradually get straighter, though, and he shouldn't feel so damn accomplished when they do. It's all just an act, after all.
It's a bit of whiplash, going from a life spent carrying out Regina's wishes and warring with his conscience to a life so decidedly ordinarily, so domestic. Killian works, runs errands for Geppetto at the market, and does all the banal, small things that consist of a life for so many.
It's not bad, truly.
-/-
One evening, weeks after he takes the job, he's sharpening a blade when he hears Geppetto's harsh cough. Killian frowns, setting down the sword and turning around to face him.
"Everything alright, mate?" he asks.
He isn't worried, not really. He has no reason to be worried about the man whom he conned into offering him a job.
(The man who offered Killian sympathy and kindness, two things he hasn't seen in too long.)
"Just a tad feverish, is all," Geppetto insists, shaking his head. "Nothing to worry yourself over."
Killian's brow furrows. "Erm, is there anything I can do?"
He waves him off, even as coughs wreck through his body. "Nothing to worry about, son, I've had worse. I'll be in tip top shape in no time."
He sighs, unconvinced, but goes back to working all the same.
-/-
It's the next day that he founds the older man - physically older, at least - passed out on the floor of the shop. He springs to action immediately, moving to kneel next to him in concern. "Geppetto?"
He huffs in frustration when he doesn't receive a reply.
"Geppetto," he repeats his name, just a hint of panic in his tone as he shakes the man in an attempt to get him to be responsive. "Mate?"
"Healer," he rasps out, eyes only opening slightly. "I need a healer."
Healer, he thinks, looking down at the him. Right. He needs a healer.
(Where the bloody hell was the nearest healer, again?)
Geppetto's eyes close again and Killian flounders, at loss for what to do. Healer he knew, but didn't know the first thing about where to find one. They didn't exactly advertise their services, the queen wouldn't let them live for long if they did. Suffering was largely done at her hands, so those who made it their job to end pain were hardly people that had her approval.
He scrubs his face with his hand, moving off his knees and sitting down beside Geppetto as he tries to think. He intentionally chose a village he'd never been sent to before, unwilling to have himself recognized by those who had learned to fear him. He spent hours bent over a map just to find one he'd never set foot in. An idea strikes him, then, and he rummages in Geppetto's drawers. He hopes he'll forgive the invasion of privacy if it's meant to save him.
Killian finds what he's looking for in a map, thankfully labeled and marked with the village healer's cottage. He lets out a sigh of relief as he moves to haul the old man over his shoulder. Killian thinks with derision that he's really acting as nursemaid, now. This is what he gets for masquerading as a good man, he tells himself, even as his stomach starts to twist with worry.
You find few genuinely good men in the world. Even if Killian is manipulating him, he knows that Geppetto is one of those few. Unlike his father, who was the type of sniveling, pathetic -
Look at him, he's grown attached to the blacksmith as a paternal figure in a matter of weeks. He gives up the villain title for that long and this is what he's reduced to.
-/-
Killian, by divine intervention or by the fact that he memorizes the map front and back, finds the cottage within the hour. He knocks on the door with his prosthetic and is met at the other side by a blonde woman who looks around the same age as he does.
(Well, not truthfully, as she hardly looks 200 years old, but it still stands. After all, he only looks in his early thirties.)
She ushers him in quickly as soon as she sees him. He supposes that having a man hanging over his back will have that effect. If he weren't so concerned (and desperately trying to convince himself otherwise), he might have spent more time noticing how striking she was - all jade eyes and soft features.
"Lay him out on the cot," the woman instructs, pointing to the surface in question.
He complies, grateful to relieve the load off of his back. "Thank you, lass."
Another blonde woman, with older and sharper features, walks in at that. "What happened to Geppetto?"
Everyone knows everyone here, it seems. How quaint. Killian is quickly growing anxious, tempted to tell them just to shut up and heal him already.
(He doesn't, because he still has some sort of manners ingrained in him.)
"My name is Ingrid," the older woman introduces herself as she checks Geppetto's vitals - fingers pressing to his neck and his wrists. "This is my daughter, Emma. I'm assuming you already know that I'm the healer, here, or else you wouldn't have brought him."
"Killian Jones," he introduces himself briskly. "Geppetto took me in as a blacksmith a little while ago. He's been feverish, lately, had a bit of a cough. He collapsed this morning and told me to get him to a healer before he fell unconscious."
"Where are you from?" Ingrid asks, not unkindly, as she rests her hand on Geppetto's forehead.
"A nearby village," he answers, words practiced at marketplaces and to customers at the shop. "Had nothing but the clothes on my back, after the queen laid waste to my home. Came here in search of a better life, any sort of life really, and Geppetto enabled me to do just that."
"Sounds like Geppetto," Emma says, wryly. "Hopefully we can get him all fixed up and ready to leave."
"We will get him all fixed up," Ingrid corrects, shooting a look to Emma. The corners of her lips upturn at the other woman's words.
Ingrid sets her hands on Geppetto's chest, inhaling deeply as she lets the magic inside of her transfer to him.
He gasps, opening his eyes. Ingrid beams. Killian lets out a relieved laugh and Emma grins.
Killian moves to set his hand in front of Geppetto in the air, offering it to help him sit up. He takes it.
"How are you feeling, mate?" Killianasks, unable to hide the his grin.
"Much better," Geppetto manages to answer. "Thanks, Ingrid."
"You should have come to me sooner," she chides gently. "Then your poor blacksmith wouldn't have had to lug you in here."
"It was no trouble," Killian insists, but the look Ingrid shoots him leaves no room for argument.
"Visit me more," Ingrid instructs Geppetto firmly.
"Good to see you again, Emma," Geppetto sighs, instead, his eyes going to her. "Ingrid keeping you busy?"
"The busiest," she answers shortly, but the words have no bite. "Don't you normally work solo at the forge? Jones, here, must be pretty special."
He'd be insulted if she didn't send him a wry grin.
"Natural talent, the man is," he insists, lying merrily. He's been getting better, sure, but he's still miserable in comparison to Geppetto's focused craft.
"You're a right liar, you are," Killian says good-naturedly. "Took me in because he felt sorry for me."
Geppetto rolls his eyes. "See if my heart continues to bleed if you refuse to help me advertise, Killian. Besides, Emma is quite good at catching lies."
"Now I'm catching on," Killian shakes his head in amusement. "Were the dramatics an excuse to get these ladies to pick out swords?"
"Too late for that," Emma deadpans. "Geppetto has conned me into buying five of them. If he thinks a pretty face will make me expand that even more, he's got another thing coming."
Killian goes a bit red at the 'pretty face' comment and curses himself for it, wondering if all this time in the village without sharing a bed with a woman has made a bumbling fool out of him.
(He smirks at Emma, an effort to mask his blushing, and she only rolls her eyes. Right. It truly has taken an effect.)
"Conned you?" Geppetto parrots, resting his hand on his heart in mock-offense. "Why, Miss Swan, I see the need for all of them and more, with your sword-fighting abilities."
"Sword fighting abilities?" Killian asks, curiously.
Now it's Emma's turn to to flush red,
-/-
He remembers the flush of her cheeks and the smile on her lips once Geppetto is safely home and Killian has begun to head back to the inn. It's a cool night, brisk, and he can see the puffs of his breath in the evening air. The stars above him twinkle and he stares up at them, for a moment, oblivious to everything else around him. He misses the sea air, the feeling of a ship under his boots. The Jolly Roger is tucked away someplace safe, hidden as much as it can be, and he hopes that the queen won't find it, won't destroy all he has left of the people he's loved and lost.
He can't go back to his ship. Sailing would be obvious, and he's sure the queen has her men posted and on alert for him at sea.
But perhaps he'll be able to live something approximately close to a normal life here. Working with Geppetto and doing work with weapons he's always been fond of. Meeting people - good people - who look at him with compassion instead of revulsion and fear.
(He thinks of the healer's daughter, her easy smile and her sharp wit.)
He'll miss the sea, but land isn't so bad, really. It may be all based on lies, but what part of his life hasn't been since Liam died? Killian can stay in one place and not worry about Regina's next move or his revenge in the comforting cloak of anonymity.
(Revenge still tugs at him, pulling him towards Rumplestiltskin and the ending of his life, but he pushes it down. He has to live to enact it, after all. It can wait.)
Killian isn't a bloodthirsty pirate here, or another weapon of war. He's just Killian - hard working blacksmith.
He isn't as unsatisfied with that as he assumed he'd be.
Killian is considering this when he hears the familiar heavy footsteps of the queen's guards. The sound takes him by surprise; he skulks behind a brick alley and waits to find out what the bloody hell is going on. Hook is a man with many vices, curiosity being one of the more benign.
"The Savior?" one of the guards asks, in disbelief. There's two of them, as far as he can tell. "Here?"
"I swear it's true," the other contests angrily. "I heard some of the villagers talking-"
"Villagers gossiping, you mean? Unconquerable evidence," the first guard sneers, already ready to walk away from the other. "They've been whispering about the Savior for decades. The queen punishes them when they do, but they still just can't keep their damn mouths shut."
"They gave the name of a woman in particular," the second points out. "Emma Swan, they said her name was! The healer here has always been suspicious to us, you know that, her daughter being -"
Killian nearly curses aloud, but stifles his reaction.
"The Savior is a story. One made up by the villagers to cope with their sad, miserable lives."
"Imagine the glory set upon us if we were the ones to kill her. Imagine how we could be rewarded. All the gold in the world could line our pockets, we could don the richest fineries and our families would eat feasts every day," Anticipation and eagerness fill his every word as he continues. "Is your daughter still sick?"
"No," the first says pointedly, "because the healer is the one that cured her ailments."
Silence sits between the two of them.
The second sighs, breaking it. "It's not like you to get sensitive, John. Regina could do so much more for us if we did her this easy favor. It's not like we haven't killed women before."
Their footsteps grow closer and Killian pushes himself further against the wall, trying to keep himself as concealed as possible. The guards' conversation is making his mind whir.
"Do you ever get tired of all the killing?" the second - John, evidently - turns somber. "Don't you just wish we could become shepherds or peddlers instead of this?"
"Now you're complaining about the job, of course. It's kill or be killed. I don't want to be killed because we let the Savior escape. Do you?"
The two of them walk out of earshot before Killian can hear any more of their exchange. He rubs at his forehead as he sags against the wall, still having trouble believing what he's just heard. He - like many - assumed that the Savior was just lore of desperate people, what parents told their children when their bellies ached with hunger and they saw another beggar kicked to death for spitting on the guards.
The Savior of the kingdom - by all accounts - is the daughter of Prince Charming and Snow White. Killian was in Neverland at the time of their reign, but apparently they were quite the love story. Prince Charming was a shepherd and the twin of the prince of King George's kingdom, Snow White was a bandit and a rightful heir to the crown Regina stole by murdering her husband. They met when Snow White tried to rob Prince Charming and fell madly in love, battling dragons and spells and all the rest to take back the kingdom.
They succeeded, for a little while. Until Regina, after her curse to bring them all to the Land Without Magic failed, took over the kingdom by force. The newly crowned king and queen, along with their newborn daughter, were assumed dead. Hook has always thought the explanation of hopeful villagers thrusting the fictional title of Savior - whatever that meant - onto the child they refused to believe was killed made the most sense.
But now, Killian supposes, there's a name. And a face to go with it, for that matter. The Savior is - by this account - the daughter of the bloody healer that he talked to just hours prior. Just his fortune, truly. This is what he gets for choosing a village that's quiet.
Killian has no way of knowing if she's really the Savior or if such a thing even exists. Still, Emma could be his best shot at evading Regina. And there's nothing that would piss the queen off more than seeing the supposed Savior escape with the help of the pirate who used to do - or pretend to do, at least - her dirty work.
He's a man of spite, after all. If spite motivates him to find and save the savior, well, that's hardly a bad thing now, is it?
-/-
Emma is perfectly happy with a simple life, really. After years surviving off of scraps from the streets and being orphaned since she was a baby, having Ingrid take her in was a positive change for the happily stable instead of the recklessly unsteady. She was twelve when Ingrid first found her, hand cut by an encounter with a guard after she stole a piece of bread. Emma was hungry, she swore, but she managed to evade worse damage from the guard when she came to the healer's cottage. After curing her wound, Ingrid never let her go back onto the streets.
She doesn't have room for complaints when it comes to that.
Sometimes, though, Emma feels unbearably alone and useless in ways that seep down to her bones. What use is she in the grand scheme of things other than the street rat Ingrid pitied? Ingrid's destiny is easy. She makes people's lives better every day with her magic, while Emma can hardly make a candle flicker. While people are constantly flooding in and out in thankfulness for Ingrid's generosity, Emma doesn't have many friends. She's just...there.
All she is is the daughter of a healer, someone people pass on their way to much more important things.
And as much as she assures herself this is fine, that this is something much better than the fate of too many under a reign like the Evil Queen's...it leaves her longing.
She considers this after Geppetto and his new blacksmith leave, pondering the younger's words about just being there because Geppetto felt sorry for him.
(Emma can relate, honestly.)
There's something under the surface with the new blacksmith - Killian - and her one useful skill of being able to detect lies comes in handy when he talks about what supposedly happened to his village. He couldn't say the words without twitching. Emma trusts Geppetto, sure, but she isn't sure that he's being taken advantage of by some handsome wanderer with an agenda.
Granted, his worry seemed plenty genuine when he brought him in, so she lets the both of them leave without hinting at her suspicions.
"What's wrong?" Ingrid interrupts her thoughts, wiping her hands and striding back into the room. She's naturally attuned to these things, whether it's because of her magic or the years she's spent with Emma. If Emma is feeling poorly, she's always the first to pick up on it.
"Nothing," Emma says quickly. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
Emma sighs wearily, "Just about how-"
A furious knocking from outside interrupts her. Ingrid and Emma exchange twin looks of surprise before Emma strides to the door.
"Must be a busy day," Emma comments, just as she opens the door to reveal a woman about Ingrid's age draped in a red cloak.
"I need your help," the woman says, her voice rushed.
Emma frowns, looking her up and down. "You don't look hurt."
"You're about to be if you don't let me in," she replies. Emma almost slams the door in her face.
Ingrid's hand stops her, holding open the door. "Are you threatening us?"
Emma knows the warning in her words. Ingrid's magic can do more things than just heal.
"No," the woman retorts, as if she's offended by the thought. "No, no, but the queen's guards could be here in minutes. My name is Red. You have to let me in."
"Shit," Emma curses, shepherding her in immediately. Ingrid looks similarly worried.
"We've been found," Ingrid murmurs, her cool voice masking what must be imminent panic.
They can move to another village, if they're quick. They've had to do it before, though they've been in this village for years. They assumed they had some kind of an understanding with the guards, more compassionate here than in other areas, so long as Ingrid healed their kids along with everyone else's.
"No," Red corrects, quickly, "Emma has been found."
Their faces twist in confusion.
"What do you mean?" Emma questions.
"Emma," Red says her name fiercely, grabbing her by the shoulder. "You need to run."
"I need to run," she repeats in disbelief, her eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds like an answer."
"You don't know who you are," Red insists, cryptic as ever. "You need to be hidden. I swear, I'll explain it all to you when it's-"
They hear shouting outside and Emma's heart drops to her stomach. She's a fighter, yes, having practiced for years. But she doesn't know how she'd measure up against however many men could be out there.
"My magic can keep them out," Ingrid reassures them both. "I just don't know how long they're willing to stand there. We have to come out, eventually."
Emma peers out the window, moving the curtains just enough to see without making herself seen. The looks to be only two men, thankfully. That amount, she can handle.
(She's also a little pissed to see that one of them is a man whose daughter they healed only days ago. Asshole sure knows how to repay free labor.)
"Open the door," Emma says, turning to the two of them.
"What?" Ingrid says, voice disbelieving.
"You're right, we can't just stay here like sitting ducks. There's two of them and three of us. You have magic, I have my sword, and Red…"
She turns to Red, hoping she has something to offer.
"I can turn into a wolf?" she offers, unsure.
Well, okay, then.
"Is that a joke?" Emma asks, unsure of how to respond.
"Nope."
"We should be able to cope with the magic and sword," Ingrid says, not unkindly.
"Got it," Red replies, not sounding offended in the least.
Emma opens the door with one hand on her sword as Ingrid lifts the protection spell on the cottage.
"How can we help you gentlemen tonight?" she asks breezily, as the men approach the stoop.
The man whose daughter Ingrid healed - John - hangs his head. Christopher, one of her least favorite guards, just plasters on a fake grin.
"Are you Emma Swan?" Christopher asks, though she knows he already knows the answer.
Emma has her sword to his throat in a second. Ingrid holds back John with magic, who genuinely looks as if he wouldn't be moving much, anyway.
"So you are the Savior," Christopher cackles, hand moving to his own sword. Emma runs him through before he can say another word, before she can even ask him what he means.
He falls to the floor, and Emma looks to John.
"You want to tell me why the hell you're trying to kill me?" she asks.
He can talk, though he can't move. "I'm sorry, Emma."
Ingrid steps in front of him. "Go home. Go back home to your husband and your daughter, John. You know this isn't who you are."
He nods, then, and when Ingrid lifts the spell, he walks away from the cottage.
Emma lets out a sharp exhale of breath.
"It'll only be a matter of time before more come," Red says, morosely.
Emma steps back inside and turns to face her. "This is the part where you tell me why."
Red sighs, moving to sit down on a nearby chair. "You both should sit for this."
"Didn't you just say we didn't have much time?" Ingrid asks, perplexed.
"We have enough time for me to explain the situation and it's not news you'll want standing up," Red replies bluntly.
They both sit on the couch opposite her.
"Snow White is of my closest friends," she begins, setting her hands in her lap.
"I thought Snow White was dead," Emma replies, a frown on her lips.
"You thought," Red emphasizes, "Just like you probably think your parents left you without a care to where you wound up, but that isn't true, either. Your parents are Snow White and Prince Charming and they only hid you because Regina would have killed you if she ever found out where you were. Just as she'll want to kill you as soon as she catches wind of who you are."
Emma's jaw drops. Ingrid isn't fairing much better.
Emma can only stutter for a few moments, at loss for words. "Is that a joke?"
"No," Red shakes her head, brown curls moving with the motion. "You're the Savior, Emma."
Ingrid just looks contemplative at Red's words.
"You're telling me," Emma spits out, derision clear in her voice as she stands to start pacing around the room, "that I'm the lost princess of Misthaven? The fucking Savior? That's a myth!"
"Well, royalty isn't meant to have that kind of mouth, but, yes," Red answers with a lackadaisical shrug, as if they just didn't dispatch a men trying kill her, "you are Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest."
Emma makes a sound in the back of her throat that's meant to be something like a laugh. It comes out more like a hiccup. Her ability to detect lies in another person's words - a skill she's always been proud of and has always been able to get her a hot meal from poker winnings if nothing else did - tells her that Red genuinely believes this to the be the case.
That she, a girl who survived by skirting around the edges until an understanding fellow outcast took her in, was the person who was supposed to save everyone from this miserable hell that Regina put them through.
It's ridiculous. Her expression hardens as she reminds herself that just because someone believes something doesn't mean it's true.
"I'm sorry," is all Emma can say, though she means it. This isn't the woman's fault. Somewhere along the way, she had to have gotten mixed up. Ingrid just stands there, awestruck. "You must be mistaken."
"No," Red replies, tucking something out of her pocket. "I'm not. When your parents had to send you away, they asked the Blue Fairy how they'd be able to find you, once it was all over. She gave them this."
She shows her an ordinary looking compass, its chain hanging from her hand. Red stands up, circling around Emma to prove her point. The arrow points towards where Emma is standing the entire way.
"What, was their original plan to hide me north?" Emma asks, skeptically eyeing the instrument. "Because I'm pretty sure we're south of the palace."
Red rolls her eyes. "This compass points towards you, wherever you are. So that they could always find you, like they found each other. You're the Savior, Emma."
Emma grimaces, unsure of how to respond. She's not a Savior, she knows, she's just Emma. Emma who points people in the direction of Ingrid, Emma who can outdrink at least three-fourths of the village, Emma the lost little girl who never mattered and didn't think she ever would.
She swallows, turning to Ingrid for guidance like she has so many times before.
Ingrid stands up, framing Emma's face in her hands.
"Oh, honey," she murmurs, as Emma's eyes traitorously start to water. "I always knew you were special, even if you never believed it yourself."
She's the Savior. Emma hardly even knows what that means. All the legends she's overheard have only described the Savior as some mythical entity that was prophesied to bring an end to the Evil Queen's reign on Misthaven. They didn't specify how. Just that, somehow, miraculously, the princess would be the one to end all of their suffering.
It's a hell of a lot of responsibility for someone who has no idea how the hell to accept it.
Emma can't find the words to reply to Ingrid, so she buries her head into the crook of her shoulder and tries to compose herself.
"You have to run," Ingrid murmurs, swaying with her in her arms. "You have to be brave and run away from here."
Emma lifts her tearstreaked face. "What about you?"
"I can take care of myself just fine," she grins, wiping a few of Emma's tears away. "There's a lot of demand for healers, these days. Granted, not as much as there must be for Saviors…"
Ingrid trails off, her tone intentionally light, but Emma is anything but excited at the prospect. She inhales, deeply, trying to clear her head and failing miserably.
(She didn't ask for this. Emma meets Red's eyes for a split second, nearly resentful of the hell she's just brought on to her, but the woman only gives her a sympathetic smile. It's hard to be angry with her.)
Ingrid tucks a lock of Emma's blonde hair behind her ear. "I love you, honey."
"I love you, too," Emma replies, a note of finality in her tone. Emma sags in resignation, exhausted and weary before she's even really begun. "I'm going to see you again, Mom."
She's never called her that, before, in over a decade that she's spent with her. Ingrid's eyes fill with tears as she embraces her once again.
Emma leaves the next day, headed who the hell knows where.
-/-
By the time Killian makes it to the cottage, there's a guard with a sword through his midsection on the stoop. No one appears to be inside, either.
Hook isn't sure if this is a bad sign or a good one. He's leaning towards the 'good enough' answer, given the only person dead is one of Regina's guards and there appear to be no signs of a struggle inside of the house when he opens the door. They likely, wisely fled after being alerted to the jeopardization of their safety.
They were safe, surely. He can't do much more.
When Killian heads back to the shop, Geppetto rises to greet him.
"Hello, Killian, I was just-"
The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "I need to leave the village."
A bloody stupid thing to say, all things considered. He doesn't need to leave. He could stay here for as long as he wanted, so long as he isn't found. What happens to the Savior isn't much of his concern.
(Except it is, given that she could be his one and only chance at seeing Regina defeated once and for all. One day, a guard could recognize him or Regina could put up more signs displaying the price on his head. Then he's out of luck.)
"I understand," Geppetto says, looking as if he perhaps might.
"My family," he murmurs, distracted, "I've news that one of them could still be alive."
Geppetto just wishes him luck, insisting that he take some gold for his journey and telling him that he's always welcome to come back shall he ever find he needs anything. Killian doesn't know what he's done to deserve such kindness, his throat tightening and his grin wobbling, but he accepts it all the same.
(He regrets lying to such a good man, fearful of how he'd look at him if he knew the truth of who Killian really was.)
Hook said he'd stay here until he was able to figure out what to do next. Now, he has some semblance of an idea. Find the Savior, help her in defeating Regina, and move on his merry way to avenge the death of Milah once he lacks a bounty on his head.
Simple, yet effective.
He grabs his coat and hook from his satchel at the inn, with the thought that he may need the two in a fight. His facial hair is starting to grow back as well not that it truly matters.
(It might. He needs to be as devilishly handsome as possible if he's to convince a headstrong Savior to accept his help.)
-/-
It takes days for him to find her.
Which is a good thing, given that it will make her harder to find for Regina's men. When he finds her, that means the guards could.
That becomes all too apparent when Hook first spots her, sparring in the forest with a few of Regina's knights.
She's a hell of a fighter with a sword, he'll admit. Geppetto wasn't lying about her abilities. She's managing to keep two of the guards at bay with just her weapon and sheer force of will, but there's a third and fourth determined to get the title that comes with killing her.
The third is headed towards her while her back is turned. He runs a little faster, just as the guard behind her almost has her.
Killian quickly drives his sword through the distracted guard's back and whirls around to fight the surprised fourth. The sound of clanging swords fills the clearing and the Savior's surprised eyes meet his just as she dispatches one of the guards she's fighting. They're both left with one, backs to each other.
It only takes a few minutes to take care of them, between the two of them.
"What the hell was that?" Emma gasps out, chest heaving with exertion as she turns around to meet his eyes. Her expression turns even more incredulous as she recognizes him. "Killian?"
"Is that any way to thank someone who just saved your life?" he asks, triumphant smirk on his lips. It's been a few weeks since he's been in a proper fight, Killian has to say he's quite missed the feeling.
She isn't impressed. "Who the hell are you really?"
"Killian Jones," he introduces himself for the second time, his blood singing and his hopes high that this woman - the Savior - will be his next path to survival.
Her eyes flicker to the hook at the end of his left arm and the pirate's luck hanging from his neck. "Captain Hook."
It's a correction, one he's only a bit irritated by. "That would be my more colorful moniker, yes."
It only takes her a second to pin him to a tree, sword at his neck and scowl on her face. "You think that I don't know that you're one of Regina's biggest allies? Seriously? I might not have recognized you without the hook, but you're no blacksmith."
Of course, he tries to help this woman and her first instinct is to try to kill him. He groans in exasperation. "Technically-"
"Technically you could be sent here to kill me right now," she finishes, inaccurately, her mouth setting into a hard line.
"If that were the case, do you think I'd be fighting guards to save your neck?"
As much as he'd expected that the Savior would be reluctant to accept his help, he wasn't quite predicting her to try to kill him.
Her eyes narrow. "From what I've heard, mind games aren't new territory for you."
"Because you listen to all that you hear?"
Emma studies him for a moment, still holding her sword in place. "So you don't work for Regina?"
"...Anymore," he finishes reluctantly, "let's just say we didn't see eye to eye on her methods."
"Oh, so you mean that mass slaughter isn't up your alley?" she questions sardonically, not sounding impressed in the slightest with his answer.
"Something like that," he huffs, realizing he's not going to get anywhere trading barbs with her.
Killian sighs dramatically as he considers his next move. He has no intention of hurting the Savior, sure, but that doesn't mean she won't kill him before he has a chance to really pitch his services. Killian ducks out of her grasp once her sword pulls back the slightest bit, nicking himself a bit in the process, and pulls his own blade out.
"I think we need to talk."
-/-
"I don't think we need to do anything," Emma counters, stalking around him in a circle. To say that the past few days have been overwhelming would be the understatement of the century. She's just discovered she was the Savior - whatever that even meant - and has been on the run from the Evil Queen's guards ever since. Now, pretty blacksmith has revealed himself to be Captain Hook, who she has heard plenty about. None of it was positive. That is, unless you consider killing people for Regina positive.
Then, he swoops in to take care of two guards trying to kill her and is trying to tell her he's on her side. Someone who kills Regina's targets - which she is now one of - is claiming he has her best interests at heart.
Yeah, right.
Her hand tightens on her sword.
"Or perhaps," he replies, groaning with exertion when he ducks another swipe of her sword, "and this may be a radical proposition - you could trust me."
"Do you ever shut up?"
"And deprive you of the melodious sound of my voice?" he spars, quickly meeting her sword with his with the sharp sound of clanging metal. "That would bring you such despair."
All of his moves have been defensive, never attacking. Emma frowns. "Why aren't you attacking me?"
"You ever think, love, that I wasn't intending to?" Hook replies shortly, casting his sword aside to prove his point.
Emma gapes at the display, unsure of how to go forward. Her eyes flicker back and forth between his abandoned sword and his eyes, waiting for him to lurch for it. Which is stupid, because if he was intending to use it he wouldn't risk his life by tossing it.
"I didn't think you hero types were the sort to slice a man through when he's defenseless," he ponders aloud, looking at where his sword lies on the grass. "Should have tried that earlier. It may have saved me a few cuts and bruises. Then again, you did have a blade to my neck on that tree, so I suppose-"
"What do you want?" Emma asks, disbelieving and exasperated. She isn't letting go of her sword, but she isn't using it either.
"Darling, I think I made that rather obvious. Your trust."
"It's going to take a lot more than disarming to get me to trust one of Regina's allies, thanks."
"Former allies," he emphasizes with a tilt of his head. "Regina is after me, now that she's discovered I've been letting her targets go into hiding instead of killing them."
"Fine," she says shortly, sword still pointing towards him. "Assume I believe you."
"By some miraculous intervention or another," Hook scoffs.
She glares, lips pursed and countenance unimpressed.
He huffs, opening his hand and hook outward in what appears to be a pleading gesture. "By your benevolent decision to open your heart and mind to a scoundrel."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Who's to say you won't rip my heart out with your hook the second my back is turned? A great trophy for the Evil Queen, I'm sure."
He shrugs. "What alternatives have presented themselves, Highness? Believe me, the last thing I want to do is grovel for the help of royalty,"
"Because that stopped you with Regina," she replies derisively.
Hook sighs dramatically. "Fair point, but mine still remains. You can't run from her forever, not on your own."
"Who says I'm alone?" she challenges, again. Emma hopes he doesn't realize quite how much she's bluffing.
He only offers an over-the-top perusal of their surroundings, complete with standing on the tips of his toes to peer around the nearest trees.
Her mouth sets in a hard line and her knuckles tighten on the hilt of her sword. Hook has a point. She doesn't like it, but it remains there all the same.
"Look at me, love," he insists, finally, striding up until his heart is right under the tip of her sword. "Am I lying to you?"
He must have heard - maybe from Geppetto's big mouth - that she has more powers aside from the magical variation. Not that the Savior's magical powers have really shown themselves in her lack of ability to do anything besides float a feather. Emma frowns, taking him up on the offer regardless. As much as Hook is obviously untrustworthy and the type more likely to bargain for his survival than his dignity, his eyes remain focused on hers and Hook isn't exhibiting any of the usual tics of liars. He seems to be telling the truth.
It's only been a few days, but Emma is getting really tired of running alone.
"Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second," she states, finally. It's a concession, as much as Emma would like to frame it otherwise.
His face splits into a broad grin. "I would despair if you did."