Authors Note: Hello, lovely readers. First of all thank you for taking the time to glance at this little fic. My cousin, xbballbolin came up with a spectacular concept of a dystopian future ruled by HADES and decided to not continue their fic because they have too many art commissions and I begged to take this story. I adore the concept and can't wait to run with it!
STOP! NEED TO KNOW BEFORE CONTINUING:
-I usually do multiple scenes but this is a turning point and a lengthy one at that.
-It is hella-hard to write a character as layered and impressive as Regina so I'd appreciate feedback.
-Enjoy and review, please and thank you :]
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xTieOnWings
presents
Writing Future Wrongs
A Once Upon A Time Fan-Fiction
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Summary: The descent to Hades is much the same from whatever place we start. –Anaxagoras How did the villains starting to search for happy endings bring about the rule of Hades? And, in Storybrooke, who is the Author that left the book depicting it? Read to find out. Captain Swan, Snow Charming, Outlaw Queen, Hades/Maleficent. Eventual Elsa/OC
{(Storybrooke, Maine)}
(Present day, the Next Morning)
Regina isn't entirely sure when the luminescence of her desk lamp became unnecessary because of the natural light of morning rays filtering through the window but it has. The sun has snuck up high into the sky where the moon had resided when she started reading through the massive leather-bound book. Page after page she poured over looking for any discrepancies that would dub the so-called author a fraud. But she didn't find any. Every page illustration, his handwriting, and even the dialect used to convey the story matched the Once Upon A Time storybook with an uncanny perfection that no forger could mimic. But what it held within was absolutely appalling.
How one mere book could capture such a monumental expanse of horror and dread she wasn't entirely certain but it had. Page after page she watched the end of the world unfold with such imagery she swore she was there. With every sentence she read, every turn of the page, and each horridly catastrophic event that left the world in shambles, her heart broke a little more. They stabbed painfully somewhere deep in her chest, messier and more painful than any torture she'd ever endured or handed out. Hurt crept through her bloodstream nastier than any curse she'd ever encountered. She not only witnessed her demise but every last person she cared about; even people she didn't care about yet but would with an immensity so great, so powerful that she could already feel it.
Henry. Her mind is still reeling from her son's fate. She had to witness the heroes fall- herself included- while the next generation grew and became heroes themselves. Unfortunately, their fates weren't much better. She'd endured the tragedy of watching her children- yes, children as in plural- grow and attempt to flourish in broken world… and in a sense Henry had. He was hope for the hopeless, stood for what he believed in, and protected and cared for the people he loved. He was brave, kind, and everything a mother could possibly dream their child would be. But it isn't a world she wants for her son and certainly not the fate.
No mother wants their child to die cold and alone on a battlefield.
The picture of her son lying up against the remnants of a car - his hand barely able to keep his intestines inside his abdomen - is seared into her brain, etched into her eyelids and present with every blink.
Events that haven't even come to pass yet haunt the Queen more than anything she'd ever done or endured. And not only does she understand why he doesn't want what will happen to come to pass, but she understands him more as well. She'd spent more time wrapped around his words and the bravado of his act that she didn't see past the smoke and mirrors. She now recalls his eyes: the silent storm of trepidation, horror, and hopelessness. Pieces of him have been pried from him, wiped away by knowing a burden greater than Atlas's weighs on his shoulders. Yes, she understands him, but that doesn't mean she likes him.
Almost as if he can sense she's thinking about him, he returns.
This time she is all too familiar with the change in the air, the way the hairs on her arms stand on end when he transports into the room but she can't bring herself to look up at him. She is exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. He can feel it. She is defeated in a way nobody can understand… nobody but him.
"Miss Mills," he starts, reaching forward and putting his hand on the book to pull it and her attention to him. And the moment their eyes lock, Regina swears she sees something moving deep in his deep charcoal eyes that is sympathy. He articulately recites, "'To know one's fate can be a terrible thing… That freedom is a gift but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains...' This is what I live with. I look at you and I see your sealed fate. It haunts me and becomes all I can see. And if I could, I'd of spared you from knowing what I know but I can't stop it on my own. I needed someone who can truly appreciate what's to be lost and help me save everyone."
His words spark a fight within Regina but it isn't quite what he expected. He can see it in her eyes, the lightning strike that will spark the fire and the ripple effects are instantaneous. It was always the eyes that told him what he needed to know, the windows to the soul. Sure she thinks herself to be a master of completely closing the window and drawing the black-out blinds but he can see it as clear as day. The metaphorical chamber within was open and the beast within is busting out of its cage and has its sights set on him. Within seconds frustration lashes out. Leaping out of her chair with such force that the lavish office chair flips back with a thud, the infuriated queen reaches out and takes the author by his neck.
Despite his muscle adorned form and height, he feels brittle beneath her fingertips. She uses her anger and adrenaline as fuel pulling him up and onto the desk with ease. Miscellaneous papers and décor go crashing onto the floor but the book isn't among the casualties. Instead, he's sprawled out across it and the desk like a martyr on his cross. He doesn't even try to break free causing her to hesitate enough for him to find his voice.
"Go ahead," he chokes out sounding somehow articulate. He's a man far too intimate with the possibility of death. He thrives beneath it and owns it in a way only a man who's no stranger to death and almost dying can. "But if this is my last moment I need you to hear me. If you kill me right now, it's not your fault. I did this to us. I gave you Pandora's Box knowing you could want me dead for it. And I accept that. I just needed you to know."
That's when it hits her, the way he emphasizes the word you. What he is looking for is someone to help him save the world. So, why wouldn't he choose a hero? Curiosity gets the best of Regina and she relinquishes her hold on his throat. The unfettered access to air should cause relief in Lucien but it doesn't. He keeps his eyes trained on her, not moving a muscle, simply waiting for her to make the next move. Her poise comes back. Taking a page from his book, she turns her back to him and looks out the window at the city filled with people she's grown fond of to gain composure. And once it's there, she speaks.
"Why show me? Why not Swan or the rest of the Justice League?"
A slight chuckle escapes his lips, the genuineness detectable without even looking at him. Henry and his comic books have really taken her snark up to a new level and remind him of the woman from his book, the true hero in his eyes. The world will try to break her and she will constantly adapt by piecing herself back into a mosaic of strength and heart. She walks with the weight of worlds on her shoulders and makes it look like a pair of wings. That's how he knows she can handle the burden of the knowledge he had given her.
"Let's just say I can't drink the team Charming kool-aid like the rest of Storybrooke knowing what I know. I mean, you saw what Emma becomes. Some people get lost in the flames while others are built from them and you Miss Mills are fire… fire stronger than the flames of hell itself. And it's about time I try fighting fire with fire."
At some point, he climbed off the table and now stood behind her, his lithe movements going undetected until she sees his mirrored reflection in the glass. And in that reflection, she sees what she finally believes is his true self. Lucien isn't the eloquent use of words he hides behind or the noble cause of fighting to save the world. No in his reflection, when he thinks she can't see, she sees him. He's a scared little boy that doesn't want to fight alone anymore. She knows if she says no, he'll shatter.
"Okay," she finally says, shattering the silence that hung suffocating in the air.
"Okay?" he breathes, the words too good to be true.
"I'll help you."
As a writer he's slaved over the use of words, tediously articulated to bring life to them. Yet, he never wrote anything or would write anything as life-changing as the common words of a simple phrase signifying commitment she just uttered.
End of Chapter Two.
Author's note: I really appreciate all those who took the time to fav and subscribe to alerts for this fic, and I absolutely appreciate xbballbolin and Raven1019 for reviewing! It's really motivating knowing that people are interested and I'm not just slaving away on a story that nobody's reading. Ya'll are the best!