The widow Ruth brings the two babies home with her, to a secluded cottage in the forest. Since her husband passed some years ago, she's lived alone, taking care of the few animals that provide sustenance for her with infrequent trips to the nearest village for the rest of her necessities. With the milk from her goats and the instinct of a mother, she cares for these lost children as her own.
She names the boy Killian, a cherished name in her family. The young woman had told her the girl had been called Emma. She hadn't wanted to give her own name – for the protection of the children, she'd said.
Ruth, though not often amongst people, is observant, made wise from her life experiences and time in the old forest. She could see that all three of them did not have family resemblance. She could sense the fear and the fierce protectiveness the girl had for these two. Besides asking that she take the children on, the raven-haired woman tells her that the babes cannot be separated, that a bond exists between the two that seems difficult to sunder. Ruth, having been familiar with the old ways, respects this direction. She doesn't know why they are in the care of this girl, but she understands that this was probably the only path for them.
And so the children find a home. They may never know their origins, they may be found by Cora, but for the tender years of their life, they have a place where they are loved and nourished and can grow into themselves.
::
"Killian! Killian!" The girl sounds hysterical, barely waiting for Mama Ruth to stop the cart before jumping over the wooden side. She ignores the elder woman's admonishment as she runs past their cottage and into the trees surrounding. She's crashing through branches and unheeding of the way her long blonde hair gets caught in the brambles she passes. Her panic only abates when she senses that he's nearby. Turning, she catches sight of a pale arm behind a tree and runs toward him.
"Killian, I'm sorry! I'm sorry," she says, her voice pleading as she kneels beside him, taking him in her arms. He remains stiff for a moment before bending towards her. Her fingers run a comforting motion through his black hair and he finally returns her hug, breathing in her familiar scent. His shaking ceases. The only thing in the world for the both of them right now is each other.
Ruth stops at the edge of the trees, hands wringing in concern though she knows that she needn't worry. As long as the two were together, they would be safe. She had done what she thought would be best for them today. She sees now that she was wrong.
As the young woman had told her more than a decade ago, the two have a bond that existed outside her ken. Ruth has watched her children (for all that they were not born of her body, she loves them as such) grow. She has seen the way the two rely on each other, how in tune they seem. When one is happy, the other is happy. When one is sad, the other is sad until they manage to bring a smile to the other's face. She has worried about this dependency.
Normally on market days, Ruth brought both Killian and Emma with her. However, with this growing concern she'd had, she'd assigned Killian to looking after the goats in the meadow before bringing Emma along with her. They had protested, but Ruth had sternly overridden them. Not used to her being so with them, they'd relented.
For a very short time while Ruth had strolled the stalls with Emma, the girl had been distracted enough by the cloths to touch and the fruit to smell, her green eyes taking in the musician on one corner with his lute. But shortly after lunch, Emma had grown quieter and less focused on what was happening around her, until she'd grabbed onto Ruth's arm and begged her to take her back to the cottage. Unable to ignore the desperation in her surrogate daughter's voice, Ruth had agreed. The girl had spent most of the trip beside Ruth on the bench, body bent forward as if she could will herself to Killian.
Ruth doesn't know how Emma knew where Killian was, but she knows that the two have a way of communicating without words. She feels bad at the distress she'd caused in their lives and hopes that they can forgive her. She'd only thought it practical to at least see what could happen. She worries that one day they will be separated and not know how to handle it. She doesn't want them to be unprepared.
With a heavy heart, she turns to start preparing dinner. They will come home when they are ready.
Hours later, they appear in the doorway, hand in hand. Killian has started to shoot up in height, already half a head taller than Emma and growing. His black hair is ruffled, deep blue eyes somewhat dim, jaw set in that stubborn way Ruth has come to know. Emma's elfin face has a similar cast to it. She knows that they have come to tell her something about what she tried to do, and though she is the adult, the only mother they have known, she can't deny the otherworldliness that they seem to have, a sense of never belonging with her. So she sets herself to listen.
Emma glances up at Killian, seeming to ask something. His face softens a little as he nods and she steps away from him to meet Ruth in a tight hug. Ruth cannot help the tears that appear in her eyes, fearing that they may have decided to leave her. Though she has never told them, nor have they brought it up, they are aware that she is not truly their mother and that they are not brother and sister.
"Mama Ruth, we don't want you to worry." Emma's voice is muffled by Ruth's shoulder. She pulls back to meet warm brown eyes. "We know that you were just trying to help us. It may do us good later, but right now, we don't see a need."
Killian's come to where Ruth is sitting near the table, the warm glow of the fire next to him highlighting the planes of his face that are slowly revealing themselves. He places a hand on her shoulder and one on Emma's, making a circle of the three of them. "We'll practice it, but it just hurts if it's too long," he adds.
Ruth sniffles and pulls her boy into her embrace. "That's fine, sweethearts. I'll not force it on you again."
::
Spring brings with it the sense of new beginnings and a time of change. The bareness of the trees bear leaves and flowers, the tilled ground brings forth vegetation, the traveling caravans arrive laden with colorful cloths and exotic wares.
For Killian, it's his favorite time of the year where he can spend his days outdoors, exploring the woodland, and learning to hunt with the village boys. While he won't ever say it aloud, it's also his favorite because the sun seems softer with the greenery growing in, catching on Emma's hair and making her glow. He's not sure if it's because she herself is so happy to be out in the sun or what, but he just likes seeing her like that – ethereal.
She glances up from the bolt of red silk she's got in her hands, mainly just to feel it more than really having an intention to buy it. There wasn't much use for silk in the country existence they lived. Her green eyes are sparkling and she's got that half-smile that sets his heart pounding.
He'd watched as over the winter her body had changed. She'd grown curves where there had been none. She had grown into the long limbs and her walk had become a graceful sway that transfixed him at the oddest times.
Emma had a constant all his life. While Mama Ruth doesn't know where they're from and won't talk about how they came to be with her, he knows that Emma has always been there. She's his playmate, his best friend, his closest confidante.
But the thoughts that come to him now, the feelings he has about her, the way she looks—everything—have only recently started. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he'll wake from a dream of hot skin and warm mouths, his blood pounding and his skin feeling too tight. He'll look at her on the pallet next to his and take his hard length in hand, bringing himself to satisfaction while staring at her sleeping face. He wants to talk about it but is confused and doesn't want to offend her, so doesn't say anything.
He frowns as another village boy approaches Emma, a swagger in his step as he tosses his brown curls back. Neal: a boy familiar with his effect on girls. Emma turns to him, a polite smile on her face as she answers whatever question he brings up to her.
Killian's hands clench and he stalks over to where the two are, not liking at all how the other boy is leaning towards Emma. Though they are both of sixteen years, Emma's petite frame seems to have stopped growing at Killian's chin. Whereas she's gained curves, Killian has gained strength and muscle. He uses this to his advantage when he tugs on Emma's elbow, bringing her behind him as he comes to a stop in front of the older, but slightly shorter boy.
"Wha—" Emma's exclamation is cut off by the village boy's laughter.
"I was just having a bit of fun with Emma, Killian! I know she's yours." One of Neal's hands, which had been up in the gesture of surrender, came down to clap him on the shoulder. Killian felt his initial anger simmer into annoyance as he shrugged Neal's hand off. Though the mention of Emma being his did bring a pleased expression to his face.
He realizes that Emma is storming away from him and turns to follow her. She makes it to a small copse of trees before he finally catches her. His hand on Emma's arm is enough to have her turning on him, anger clear on her face. He's bewildered by this.
"I'm not yours," she shouts. "I'm my own person! I don't belong to you or to Mama Ruth or to anyone!" Her small hands are in fists and his own have come up in front of him, either to hold her off or protect himself, he isn't sure. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparking.
"I know that," he states, because it's true and also because he thinks this will help calm her. It does and her fists loosen, her breathing still hard, remnants of her initial anger. "You know Neal, saying foolish things often." He laughs.
He can see a smile growing on her face. He steps closer to her, her eyes widening as he backs her up next to a tree, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. "It's really more that I am yours, you know," he whispers, seeing the darkening of her eyes and feels that maybe she's been having similar thoughts to those that have haunted him in the night.
"Killian," she whispers, uncertainty in her gaze.
He's not so sure of himself either. He just knows that being this close to her, while familiar, is also not. He's used to the comfort of her presence, the assurance that she'll always be there. The heat between their bodies, the need to touch bare skin with his hands and mouth, this is different. Emma will probably do anything he asks, but, just as she'd just told him, she is her own person, and she means too much to him for him to treat her like he's seen Neal and the other boys do to local girls. He can see that the uncertainty in her green eyes isn't just about him, but about herself and he curses himself for each time he's teased her about the lankiness of her arms and legs and the straightness of her chest.
He pulls her closer into his arms, her soft body against the hardness of his. Again, familiar, but this time different. She gasps as the contact and he captures her mouth with his own, lips gliding in an unfamiliar motion until something just fits about them, the sweet taste of Emma more than he'd imagined. Her breaths are short and he wants to catch each one. He wants more and as she opens her mouth at the delicate asking of his tongue he groans. He can't get enough of her, his hands running down her back and clutching the shapely curve of her behind. Her arms wind up into his black hair and he's pushing her against the tree, wanting to feel her.
It's awkward and new, but it's also right and feels so good. His hands wander to her front, to hold her small but soft breasts through her dress and she moans against his mouth. He can feel her nipples hard with his thumbs and he wants to see what they feel like without her dress—
The jarring sound of horses' hooves and men's laughter cut through the pleasant haze of his thoughts and he separates from Emma, remembering where they are and how this probably wasn't the best place to explore this promising area. She doesn't seem to be aware of the sounds, her arms tightening around his neck. "Emma, love," he speaks, keeping his voice low as he peeks around the tree, finding horses and soldiers in view. "We've got company."
::
Emma wants to stamp her feet as she sees the horses and men in their armor, just around the copse of trees that she and Killian are barely hidden in. She'd just gotten a taste of what she'd been dreaming of for months now and she was being interrupted by swords and animals. She may be being a little blinded by thwarted desire, but she doesn't care. He doesn't seem to notice her frustration as he moves toward the small group that's gathered.
One man in particular stands out with his great fur-collared cape, a deep red, denoting noble bearing. His posture is different than that of the local villagers, men who'd spent their entire lives bent over their grains or their anvil and hammer. No, this man had the stature of someone who'd held authority all his life and had been bred to maintaining that. His light hair had flecks of silver, his eyes and set of his jaw of a more serious mood than that of his guards.
The soldiers greet Killian's curiosity with friendliness, slapping him on the shoulder when he politely introduces himself. Soon, they're letting him approach their horses cautiously, giving him tips on making friends. He looks back at where Emma is, a happy smile on his face, more boyish than the other smile he'd given her before he kissed her.
She can't help her own answering smile, nor her eye roll as she steps out of the trees to follow Killian, having known that he wanted to make sure it was safe before she showed herself.
Because her eyes are on Killian as she walks back out into the sun, the late afternoon's rays catching the edges of her blonde braids, she doesn't see the noble freeze when he sees her.
::
The village Lord David and his men stop at isn't one that they've been to in the several years they've spent looking for his lost daughter. He can't recall why they've never made this one a part of their circuit. The distance isn't too great, nor are there roads that are unsafe to travel. He makes a note to himself to ask Regina about it when he gets back to the manor, another fruitless search.
He sighs as he dismounts from his steed. He's tried not to let the hopelessness of never finding a trace of Emma get to him. But it's hard, especially when he's not by Snow where he has to at least pretend to be optimistic, if only to keep his wife going on in life. Snow, in the past sixteen years, since the night of the fire, has wasted away into just a ghost of the woman he'd married.
Even with the arrival of Regina a few years ago, with the news that their daughter still lived, probably just extended her will to live, rather than her want to die that he'd suspected she was harboring.
When Regina came back to the manor, he'd welcomed her with anger as she and her witch-mother Cora had disappeared the same night as the death of his child and the other boy born of the unnamed girl. It'd only been the vouching by the newly reinstated Lord Robin that had stayed David's hand (that and the arrow notched at his face). He'd listened to Regina's tale of learning of her mother's treacherous plan and her way of protecting Emma and the baby boy. He'd let his instinct lead him, sensing that she was speaking the truth. Regina had been different from her mother, in the times that he'd met her prior to that godforsaken night, and she seemed to still be. She'd said that she'd had a long journey and had confronted her mother, with the help of Robin. Her face had become shadowed at this and David understood that she'd had to kill her. There was probably more than what she was saying, but David chose to let the small seed of hope take root in his heart and accepted what she'd said.
Eventually David had let Regina speak to Snow, which had brought some animation to his wife's face, something which had been missing for over a decade. Since then, David had made it his mission to scour the lands. He'd been led on many a merry chase, following the hint of a blonde girl here and a girl with royal bearing there, but none of them had revealed themselves as his lost daughter. Regina had said that there might be some magic protecting Emma, especially if the boy was with her. He remembered that night they were born, there was some otherworldly magic at work.
And so his search continued and had led him here. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a village boy approach his men who indulge the young man's curiosity, treating him with the courtesy and conduct that David expects of anyone in his service. His eyes wander over the market that seems to be wrapping up their day, vendors closing last minute bargains as they pack up their stalls. A movement in the trees to his left catches his attention and, when he sees who it is, catches his breath.
Her hair is long and golden, a girlish braid that falls over one shoulder. She looks to be about sixteen years, the same as the boy with his soldiers. She's small in stature, still growing into her womanhood. Her face—her face is a replica of his wife's, but the smile she has right now, the one directed at the boy and the soldiers, is entirely his. He can feel something tighten in his chest. His eyes dart back to the boy, only remembering black hair, nothing more to go on for a babe he'd barely noted. But now, in looking closer, he can see remnants of what he remembers from that rough seaman, John, in the blue gaze and the way he holds himself.
David can't keep his eyes away from her though, he's so sure she's who he's been looking for and before he can actually control himself, he's stepped forward and said her name, "Emma."
Even if it isn't said loudly, it's still enough to bring those around him to a standstill. His men know who they've been looking for, they've watched their lord and commander take disappointment after disappointment in not being able to find his daughter. Their eyes cut to the girl who's suddenly paused, just shy of meeting the group. The boy immediately moves to her side, taking her hand and pulling her behind him. While he doesn't understand what may be happening, he's willing to do what he needs to protect her.
Her eyes are large as she stares at him unblinkingly. David stops himself, just barely, from moving closer to her, hand outstretched to touch her or show her he's unarmed, he's not sure, he just wants to make her stay. He doesn't know if he's seeing what is truly there, or what he's hoping for. But she recognized her name.
The girl puts a gentle hand on the boy's arm, moving him slightly away from her view. "Who are you?"
David takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he must look strange to her, reacting as he is to her face, a stranger, a noble, a man at that. "I'm Lord David of the North Forest, and I've been looking for my daughter, lost to me many years ago. Her name was Emma."
The girl stumbles back in surprise, her green eyes widening even more. The boy catches her arm and sends him an icy glare.
Now that he's started though, he isn't able to stop. "It was a little over sixteen years past. There was another baby with my daughter, a black-haired boy."
It's the boy's turn to stare at him with wide eyes. "Are you just saying this to make us feel safe with you?" The boy is quick to accuse.
David shakes his head, one hand digging into the pocket at his breast as he pulls out a rendering of his lady wife. "No, the woman who saved you from a witch said she left you both with a widow. A widow by the name of Ruth."
By this time, the two had stopped backing away from him and he was able to finish unfolding the picture in his hand, showing them the likeness within. Emma, for she cannot be anyone other than his daughter, gasps as she sees how alike her face is to that of the lady. The boy's shoulders relax, accepting the truth as it faced him. "This is my wife…your mother, Emma."
Her eyes are bright, as she looks up at him, mouth trembling. "Father?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
His own eyes have tears and he doesn't care that this is before all his men. He's found her, his daughter! "Yes!" he answers, arms opening wide as she takes the last steps to meet his embrace. She's alive and she's here and he thanks whatever greater power there is that led him to this moment.
Long moments pass while father and daughter reunite in tears and in joy before David pulls away to see the boy hanging back, looking like he feels out of place. "What is your name?" he asks.
"Killian," the boy diffidently answers.
"Well, Killian and Emma, I think I should take you back home."
