The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly before her, the weight of the sword in her hand slowing her, pulling and sapping her weakened strength. As she reached the door, she stopped, listening intently for signs of movement on the other side. The thick wood of the door gave nothing away, but in the distance she could hear the sounds of rousing guards. Spurred into action, Emma lifted the door handle and peered around the doorframe into an empty corridor, blinking in the sudden sunlight. The castle seemed suspiciously deserted, the usual hustle and frenzied movement of servants totally missing. No guard, or maid, or hurried courtier rushed past her, no sounds of life drifted along the stone flagged floor. Had she not known that this castle was definitely lived in, Emma might have assumed it abandoned. The silence weighed oppressively on her ears, and her eyes watered and squinted as they adjusted to the unaccustomed light.
'Stand here much longer, Swan,' she thought to herself, 'and it's the threat from behind you'll be dealing with. Not a quiet corridor.' Spurred on, Emma forced her leaden feet to move, dragging herself towards a set of stairs leading up. She paused by the small window, feeling the breeze blow across her face, and stared out at the landscape. Mountains and trees greeted her gaze, yet she saw no discernible landmarks with which to locate herself. 'Regina would know where we are,' she thought. Regina. The woman still trapped in the darkness of Rumpelstiltskin's dungeon, caged by the very magic that ran through her veins. Snow White's bitter enemy, scourge of the kingdoms, curser of worlds, and Emma's tentative ally.
Stumbling slightly, limbs weak from imprisonment and hunger, Emma climbed the stairs, sword moving before her protectively. Up and up she climbed, until reaching another door, finer and more sophisticated than the last, and behind this one, she could hear life. Here then was the bustle of servants, the clang of kitchen implements, harried shouts of workers as they called to each other across the busy room. Even in the half-light of the stairs, Emma could see the dirt staining her clothes, feel the way her hair hung lank around her face, and the way her eyes stared, gaunt, out of her sunken cheekbones. Had she not been carrying a sword, she still would have drawn attention. Still, there was nothing for it – if she wanted to leave, to save the kingdom and release Regina, she would have to cross the kitchen.
Squaring her shoulders, and drawing herself as tall and confident as she could, she turned the handle of the door, and stepped through into the bright room. The movement and noise stilled immediately, the silence spreading out from her in a shockwave. No-one moved, and Emma thought it best.
"Stay where you are," she growled, trying to inject as much danger and threat into her voice as possible. What would Regina say, she thought, willing some of the former mayor's icy detachment and impressive intimidation skills to her aid. "Nobody move!" She sounded like a cop from a bad action movie, rather than someone totally in control. It seemed to work however, the servants staring at her wide-eyed and stock still. "That's it nice and softly." She moved slowly towards the only other door in the room, one she assumed led into the main castle and not back down to the dungeon. She grabbed a nearby girl, pulled her close to her face, and watched as the girl squirmed in fright and repugnance. "Just tell me where Rumplestiltskin is, and I'll quietly leave, alright?" The girl's hands came up to lock around Emma's wrist, weakly struggling against her hold. The fear in her eyes made Emma feel guilty for a moment, before shaking the girl loosely. "Where is he?"
"The library," the girl whimpered, and her eyes flicked to the door, indicating Emma's direction. "Along the corridor, on the right." The effort of holding the girl up close had tired Emma's arm, and she dropped the girl faster than she intended. She looked around the kitchen again, sword waving threateningly.
"Send anyone after me, and I will crush you all," she growled, backing out of the door. Now that was definitely more Regina. This corridor was far more finely decorated than the last, with large windows at either end. The light streamed in, the mirrors lining the walls reflecting the sunshine back at her. There was no time to allow her eyes to adjust, not this far into her enemy's castle, so Emma screwed up her eyes and turned right. Before long she found herself in front of large double doors that reached up well above her head, meeting in elaborate swirls.
Taking a breath to steady herself, Emma pushed the handle down and the door open. She burst through the doors, opening into the largest private library she had ever seen. The room seemed empty, so Emma allowed herself a loud whistle of appreciation. There were whole towns that didn't contain this many books; Henry would love it. Moving cautiously through the room, Emma checked each high-backed chair for hidden occupants. Beside one, on a side table, sat a still cooling tea cup. Half-drunk, the liquid had only been placed there recently, and Emma knew that the drinker would likely be back soon. She had to be quick in her search.
Nearby on a wooden plinth sat an old, leather-bound tome, its pages cracked and yellowed with age. Something about it called to Emma, standing out bright in her mind. I'm important, it seemed to say, look at me. As Emma looked at it, the words on the page shifted, slipped, the sentences running away from her grasp. As she turned each page, she had time to read only the title of the spell, before the writing slipped and swirled into nonsense. Leafing quickly through, she stopped as she saw the word 'wards' slide down the page. If Regina knew how the wards keeping her imprisoned were cast, put together, perhaps she could work them in reverse, break them, and escape. She took her hand to the page's corner, tearing it and the leaves beneath right out of the binding, hastily rearranging the book to cover her damage. As she slipped the pages beneath her shirt, the door of the library creaked open, and a woman's laughter drifted into the room.
Emma moved, sitting herself in the high-winged chair, hoping the intruder would pass through, unobserving. But it seemed, instead, that the tea's owner had come to reclaim it, and the footsteps and laughter drew ever closer. Emma hunched further into the chair, adjusting her grip on the sword. What had James taught her? Short stabbing motions – overhand grip, one handed. Although she had no desire to stab anyone, Emma needed to look convincing, threatening, a real danger with the sharpened metal in her hand.
A young woman in a bright blue dress stepped into Emma's view, still glancing over her shoulder. As she turned to pick up her tea, her eyes locked onto the dirty blonde sat crouched in her chair, and she froze. She started to speak, to call out, but Emma gestured for her to be silent, eyes narrowing with bloody intent. The expression must have been quite murderous, for the young woman paled, and shook. From outside the library, a voice called.
"Everything alright, dearie?" The girl paused, and Emma nodded, motioning for her to speak.
"Yes, Rumpel," she called, "just getting my tea". Her voice cracked and wavered, the lie unconvincing, and Emma closed her eyes, knowing she was about to be discovered.
Her eyes were still closed, her hearing sharpened by the artificial darkness, when the sword was pulled roughly from her grasp. She opened them again, serene and calm, resigned, to see the girl holding the sword, tremblingly, at her throat. From behind her, the light footsteps of the deal maker, so different to those of Mr Gold, tripped across the carpet to her hiding point.
"Miss Swan!" he exclaimed, as if she was a guest dropping in for dinner, "how lovely to see you again. It's been some time, I must admit. Were your accommodations not to your taste? Or maybe it was the company." He smiled, coldly, his eyes almost comically wide. He looked her up and down, assessing. "But then again, maybe she was." Unthinkingly Emma started for him, hands stretched into claws, but was held back in the chair by the point of the sword, catching at her throat. The point broke the skin there, and Emma recoiled in pain, feeling the slow trickle of blood begin its way into her shirt collar.
"Now Belle, we mustn't hurt our guest here. Her Mummy and Daddy are very important people." He ran his fingers along the edge of the blade, lightly, flicking the point down and away from Emma. "Why don't you leave us dearie, perhaps find the man who lost his sword so carelessly." The girl, Belle, looked between the two suspiciously, hesitating, before lowering the sword and leaving the room without a word, or backwards glance.
The door closed, and time passed in silence. A clock ticked loudly nearby, and Emma could hear her own weakened pants for breath. The fight, that will beat and not be beaten, so strong all her life, was suddenly gone, and Emma found she had no strength to play the man's games.
"Just send me back there. Or kill me." Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, surprised.
"Send you back? Oh no dearie, you seem to have gotten on with the witch far better than I intended. That won't happen again. And kill you?" He laughed, the sound bouncing from the book lined room and filling Emma's head. "You're far too precious for that, Miss Swan. No, I think it's time I made a little deal."
He leant forward, balancing on his toes, featherweight, and grasped her hand. The world fell away in a sick kaleidoscope of colour, turning on itself, shifting through and through, until it stopped, sharp, and Emma fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The floor underneath her hands was not the polished wood of the library, but hard cobbles, meant for hobnailed boots and donkey carts. The wind carried with it the spicy scent of cooking food, and as Emma looked around, she could see she was in a market, its coloured stalls and stands stretching out into the distance. She made to stand up, wincing at the pain in her knees and hands.
Rumpelstiltskin called out, his voice high above the market day crowd.
"Snow? Are you there? I have something for you!"
Idiot, Emma thought. Even in Storybrooke, Snow White ordered her groceries mostly online, and now that she had servants... Well, this location was about as far from a usual hangout as possible. She was contemplating a clean run for it, planning her line between the stalls, dodging, keeping low and out of sight. Giving one man with a limp the slip shouldn't be all that hard. After all, she'd had experience running from the cops, and of chasing down those running too. Before she could move, however, a hand was at the back of her neck, and a dagger pressed to her throat.
"Snow White," he said, "there you are. You see, I found this," he paused, mulling his words, "Sherriff, sneaking around my castle, sword drawn. She's quite the threat, and I can't have her around any longer. So what do you say we make a deal? Your precious daughter, and in return -". He broke off, his fingers digging tighter into Emma's neck. She frantically signed at Snow to leave her, to back off, not to make a deal that would benefit no-one but the imp.
"Name your price," Snow said, and Emma felt herself again thrown forward by Rumpelstiltskin. Except this time, there was no soft body to land on. As she felt her nose crack as it hit the stone under the fetid puddle a memory surfaced. God, she missed modern medicine. And indoor plumbing.
