What the bloody hell has the woman done? Bodies lay on top of bodies, their hearts conveniently missing. A few minions here and there had suddenly escalated to a small personal guard, no doubt. He hadn't journeyed too far beyond the fort these last few months, but suffice it to say this wouldn't exactly help the realm resume much of a population. Rushing into his work station, he pulls his satchel out and throws on his smithy's smock. Pulling out the stopper of his flask with his teeth, he downs a bit of rum. And now we wait, he tells himself.
Mulan, he's seen around a few times, stoic, laconic. She shares nothing with anyone and left with Prince Philip in the blink of an eye for his princess. If indeed she had led the visitors to the wardrobe, then they had to be aware of Cora. The inevitable next step will be coming back here to alert everyone of the ruse, and try to pinpoint her location.
Snow White he should be able to discern, even though descriptions of royalty do lean towards the generous side. Raven hair, skin white as the snow...compassionate and kindly—perhaps then more gullible than Mulan.
"I don't know if I can do this. I'm not a very good liar," he hears from the brush. Back already. Scrambling out of the work station, he inhales at the dull, lifeless eyes all staring up at him. Hiding in plain sight and in need of aid arouses less suspicion than just randomly running out of one of these tents, he decides. Blessed are those with strong stomachs, he thinks with a resigned bob of the head and wedges himself between two of the heftier corpses, disturbing a couple of flies.
"It's not really a lie, Aurora. Lancelot did die an honorable death and Cora did escape. All true," another voice utters. Maybe he shouldn't have lodged himself in so much as now he'll have to match their voices to their faces.
"Just leave the particulars to us. There's no reason to cause unnecessary panic among your people."
"I'm not so sure it's unnecessary..."
They've quieted. That can only mean they're on the verge of discovering the damage...or that the ogres are returning...and here you are stuck beneath a pile of corpses like an idiot. He can hear one of them explaining this had to be Cora's doing, closer. He wiggles a bit, just bucking his hips an inch or two, an elbow nudge. They walk on top of the debris, the creaks louder and louder. It shouldn't be too much longer before one of them spots him. Letting out a groan and a wave, he hears them coming closer, their voices urgent and alert.
"Please," he utters when he feels hands pulling him out. He feels several degrees cooler now that he's free, being sure to shake a little. "Please help me."
"It's okay. You're safe now. We won't hurt you." Skin white as snow indeed. The quiver slung over clothing styles he's never seen before provides a strange image. Blinking a few times, the sun blaring down, he spies the other one, although the light catches her hair just the right way that keeps her from becoming too clear.
"Thank you..." he rattles off, holding out an arm. The smallest one takes charge, humorous since she is the only one not dressed for trekking through the forest. He can't place too much of his weight on her, for her kind snaps like a twig.
"Can you walk?" Snow White asks, her arms extended outward as if to catch him.
"Yes, thank you." All of him trembles, his voice following right along with his legs. It's not too difficult, given the number of dead all around them. The other one in the odd clothes faces away from him, busy kneeling over the bodies.
"Is anyone else alive?" she asks, looking right up at him just as he was about to look over his shoulder to see everyone else's positions. It forces him to do a double take.
"I don't know."
"Help him over there. He needs to sit down so he doesn't go into shock," Snow White instructs the princess, Aurora. She hustles over to the one that must be her daughter. The eyebrows, the shape of their faces, eyes, mouth—the hair the only highly distinguishable feature. "Emma! Are there any other survivors?" He mouths the name, not sure why.
"Come with me. Sit down." Aurora pulls him to one of the tables, taking a few turns so the bodies are out of sight. Considerate lass, he thinks, nodding at her as he plops into the chair, holding his head down. Snow White returns, but the other two, Mulan and the daughter, Emma, still hang back, probably still hopeful there are others to save.
"They'll be coming back with some water," she says, touching his arm.
"Thank you." Tucking his head into his chest, he cocks his head, attempting to listen to what the other two are saying, a quick "You think he's lying" enough for him to bring his head up. Emma seems to be the only one to notice, immediately lowering her voice until it's well out of his hearing range. A series of phrases and body language runs through his head, allowing him to pick and choose until he believes he has the perfect combination to be nothing less than convincing. That's all that's required for right now. Trust can come later.
"Here you go," she says, placing a cup in front of him which Mulan fills with water. Aurora and Snow take this as a cue to gather around, the former also accepting water.
"I can't thank you enough for your kindness. Fortune, it seems, has seen fit to show me favor." Something's wrong. She's not looking at him; rather, she keeps her eyes focused on what's in front of her, not bothering to glance in his direction until he's finished speaking, gauging his gestures, he supposes. Something must be wrong. She's not smiling, not sitting down to comfort him...sizing him up. Win this one over and you'll win them all over, he tells himself.
"An island full of corpses," she begins. And she's tactful. "You're the only one to escape. How exactly did that happen?"
One thing in his favor, he realizes, is that any regular, innocent victim of a sudden onslaught would of course find it hard to recount every detail, scorched as they might be in his brain. Don't give away more than you need, mate, he warns himself. The more plot lines, the more holes to be found.
"She attacked at night—slaughtered everyone in one fell swoop. When she started ripping out people's hearts, I hid under the bodies of those who had already been killed, pretended to be dead myself." He addresses all of them and all of them look like they are accepting the tale as fact. Except her. Now you need to look right at her, in the eyes. "Mercifully the ruse worked."
"So much for fortune favoring the brave," she mutters. Ah, love, I won't take that bait. It's obvious what tactic she's using, hoping his pride and dignity will demand he alter the story a little more and a little more until he's no longer a coward and nothing he previously said is plausible. He won't take offense. Something tells him this woman wouldn't take much of anything at face value from anyone.
"It was all I could do to survive."
She sits, somewhat, on the bench, leaning forward and sticking her head out so they are eye to eye. Looking away would confirm every suspicion behind that pretty face of hers. Her fingers curl in and out before she opens her mouth.
"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she says, her voice lower, no mistake to be made by her tone. "I'm pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me."
"I'm telling you the truth." He's seen it before, guards and the like questioning a suspect only for the suspect to take an offense at insinuations that had never officially been stated. She doesn't know him. He doesn't know her. She's shrewd, he'll give her that, leery enough about Cora that anything she didn't orchestrate herself could very well be a trap. She smiles at him, and for the first time, he holds his breath. A knowing smile, one trying so hard to mask that she's putting her all into reading him. Unsure if she's placated, he can only go with the flow as she stands back up.
"We should leave here in case Cora decides to come back," Mulan says, ever sober and sensible.
"We should start searching for a new portal back to Storybrooke. I only got about five minutes with my husband...not to mention my grandson," Snow White says. He can feel her eyes on him. Damn. The mother throwing out the most perfect statement to react to, the daughter still watching him and ready to detect a lie in his unavoidable response...he had no choice but to try.
"You have a grandson?" he asks, repeating in his mind over and over that it bloody well is unexpected for a woman her age, her physical age, to have a grandchild.
"Long story," she says with a shrug, and for a moment, he dares to hope he's in the clear. They all prepare for a walk, no one tense.
"Well I know this land well. I can guide you."
His head follows his hair, fingers, talons, yanking it back at the same time the skin of his throat prickles at the sudden realization cold steel is pressed against it. Emma. The blade is held with a steady hand, the tips of her hair brushing the side of his face.
"You're not guiding us anywhere until you tell us who you really are," she snarls at him.
"What are you doing?" he asks, the back of his head hitting her arm as he tries to back away from her knife.
"Mulan, get the rope. You, get up."
He can see himself slithering out of her hold, taking her arms with him before throwing her to the ground, but Snow White has readied her bow, a mother bear not to be tempted, and Mulan has drawn her sword. There are coils of rope all over the fort. It takes no time for Mulan to snatch plenty of it up. Emma shuffles forward, pushing him along out beyond the posts toward the field. She gestures with her head to a nearby tree, painting more of his face with strands of her hair. She's panting, her heaving chest lodged in his back, but the hand with the weapon remains undeterred.
"I already told you. I'm just a blacksmith," he pleads. Surely one of them will second guess this action, will take pity on him. Just a bystander, after all, just a scared man doing what he needed to do to survive. She has to know ogres prowl the field. They won't go near the wooden posts of the fort anymore, leaving the more stubborn ones to stalk the fields in hopes of hearing an animal or something more human-sized swishing through the grass. Stay quiet, he begs her with his mind. There's no reason to involve the ogres in this little altercation...
"Sure you are," she says, then whistles. Shit. Shit and bloody hell and all other expletives in all languages! "You don't want to talk to us? Maybe you'll talk to the ogres while they rip you limb from limb."
Roars belonging to invisible predators pierce his very soul. Even her companions appear anxious. Another roar even has Emma spinning around, backing away from the tree. They're close. Given their size, they can cross the field in seconds and won't leave until they find a morsel, no matter how effectively he silences himself.
"You...you can't just leave me here like this!" he cries. They already have, git. If they run, now, they can just narrowly miss becoming meals themselves.
"What if he's telling the truth?" Aurora asks, her eyes wide with horror. Hanging back, her feet still move.
"He's not."
No, he will not go out like this. Answers, truthful ones, will be the only thing that could bring her back. He'll concede this one if it means he'll stay alive.
"Good for you!" he shouts after her, his voice still quivering. It stops her dead in her tracks. "You bested me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand."
"That supposed to be funny?" No, love, it's supposed to bring your ass back here to untie me and keep me away from the ogres. They march back, all with the same deliberate expressions. "Who are you?"
"Killian Jones, but most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker—Hook." She braces herself. Emma has just braced herself. It bolsters him.
"Hook," Snow White repeats, eyes widening.
"Check my satchel."
"As in Captain Hook?" Emma's face settles on what he'll decide is annoyance for now, a "what next" attitude he finds much less flattering. However, he'll ignore it.
"Ah, so you've heard of me." From the corner of his eye, he notes the horror on Snow White's face when she lifts the hook out of the satchel. The tree grove in this distance...but not so in the distance as he'd like...rustles, irritated growls and rumbles following. They should dispense with the recognition and untie him now that they know his name. He pulls on the ropes, fully aware how pointless said action is.
"You better hurry up. They're getting closer," Emma says. Thank you, love. Hadn't noticed. "So unless you want to be dinner, you better start talking." She's no longer angry, at least not visibly. More matter-of-fact, like it's all up to him now. Not really, he thinks, laughing at himself, not even able to backtrack to a moment where he erred. She just knew. Clever, as Cora had said. Maybe clever enough to outwit the witch.
"Cora wanted me to gain your trust so I could learn everything there is to know about your Storybrooke." It still sounds so ridiculous on his tongue. "She didn't want any surprises when she finally got over there."
"She can't get there. We destroyed the wardrobe," Snow White argues.
"Ah, but the enchantment remains. Cora gathered the ashes. She's going to use them to open up a portal."
They can hear them, the ogres.
"Now if you'll kindly cut me loose," he growls.
"No," Mulan says, pointing her sword in his direction. Yes, gut the man tied to the tree while the ogres are in hot pursuit. He rolls his eyes at her. "We should leave him here to die to pay for all the lives he took." Snow's mouth gapes open at the suggestion, but he knows enough now to look at Emma, whose hardened, cold face leaves precious little room for hope.
"Let's go," she says...but it's a bluff...maybe.
"Wait. Wait!" Abandoning any precaution against the ogres, he yells it anyway, orders it. "You need me alive!" Partners. Equals. Opportunities are meant to be taken.
"Why?"
"Because we both want the same thing—to get back to your land." Ah, that brings her closer. Combative and presumably insulted by his words, but closer. There's a desperation to this Emma he finds familiar, the distrust towards the entire world, probably knowledgeable in all sorts of unsavory ways to get by.
"You would say anything to save yourself. Why are we supposed to believe you now?" she snaps.
"I arranged for transport with Cora, but seeing how resourceful you are, I'll offer you the same deal. I'll help you, if you promise to take me along."
"How are you going to help us get home?" Snow White's bow is at the ready, Aurora jumping at more hunting noises from the ogres. Not much time now.
"The ashes will open a portal, but to find your land, she needs more. There's an enchanted compass. Cora seeks it. I'll help you obtain it before she does." For a second, he wonders if that's enough to be cut loose, or if he's just doomed all five of them. He hadn't told Cora much about the beanstalk, not its location, of course not, but if she chose to track them somehow and is able to see him climb it without her... One thing at a time, mate, he reminds himself.
"So Cora won't make it to Storybrooke and we'll be one step closer to getting home," Emma whispers, mainly to herself. It's the way she glances back at her mother for confirmation, the way her hair swishes with her, that affirms it—she's been alone too long to want to depend on another person's opinion. It's only this, this miraculous, impossible option of returning to her home that makes her seek out consultation.
"Sounds too good to be true," Snow White says, shaking her head.
"There's only one way to find out." They don't want to leave him here, at least not as much as Mulan does, the roars nearby somehow describing precisely what would happen to him if they did so.
Emma brings her knife up again, its tip right into his chin.
"You tell me one thing, and whatever you say, I better believe it—why does Captain Hook want to go to Storybrooke?"
Oh, he will gladly share that information. He turns his head enough to stare right into her eyes...a greenish, hazel hue, flecks of brown.
"To exact revenge on the man who took my hand...Rumpelstiltskin."
She blinks, so he blinks, leaning back into the tree now that she believes him..and she does believe him, an air of surprise in her expression, but one of...understanding? Now he longs to ask if she knows him in her land, if she knows him to be the sort of creature that would incite another man's hatred. Legitimized, she and Mulan reach around for the ropes, slicing and sawing through them with haste, everyone knowing now is the time to keep silent.
"Tie his hands..." Emma trails off, paying heed to his stump for the first time. He grins. "Tie his wrists."
A/N: Hi! As you might have noticed, this story is a combination of what we see on the show plus the little "filling in the gaps" moments essential to any POV story. I know we're already into "The Doctor," but the pace will slow down a little now that we're coming into "Tallahassee" territory. Please review!