AN: And here is Chapter 4. EPIC FAIL!

I'm so sorry. A very happy belated New Year to all of you. I wanted this to be done a long time ago, but the holidays were far too hectic and I let it slip from my grasp. I still intend to finish it, so don't lose heart. I hope this lives up to the wait.

Thanks again for all the amazing reviews and for all your supported. It's greatly appreciated. And continuing…


Chapter Four:

The dwarves did not take well to the appearance of Prince Charming. In fact, upon seeing him walking alongside Snow, they initiated a charge that—had Snow not chosen to intervene—would have resulted in a brawl with Charming horribly outmatched. As it was, seeing the fire in their eyes, Snow took the precaution of placing herself in front of the prince to protect him from her irrationally emotional friends.

"It's okay," she insisted as they came to a jarring halt, fists raised in readiness. "He's a friend."

"He's a prince," Grumpy growled at the front of the pack.

"He's a blue blood," Doc agreed. Usually the more intellectual of the group, he too seemed rather enraged to see the man. "He's no good."

"No good," the six others chanted in unison, refusing to stand down.

Behind her, Charming squirmed uneasily. "If anyone here should feel injustice…"

Snow rounded on him warningly, her eyes flaring. "Don't. Make. It. Worse." Satisfied by his silence, she turned back to face the others. "Why do you say that?"

All eyes flew to Doc who sighed heavily. "His father's a tyrant. And he's no better. They live by their rules and leave us to rot on the side. We've suffered enough under their reign to have gained the right to fight back."

Snow said nothing, considering Doc's words. Joining this band of workers/thieves, she'd only known that they held some injury with the crown that ruled over them. The depth of their injustice still remained to be seen. Glancing warily at Charming, she gathered all she knew about him. It wasn't much—he was engaged, he was a prince, he saved her once, but there was something else, a feeling that he was good, that he was better. To say her friends were wrong, though. She looked back to the seven gathered.

"I understand, but he's my guest tonight, so don't hurt him. You don't have to talk to him, you don't have to like him. Just leave him be, and I'll also have to ask that you give him back his horse and satchel."

A chorus of protestations rang from their mouths, but they held no real power. They had taken her in, and they knew her well enough, and liked her well enough, to stand against her in any capacity.

"Fine, then," Doc said finally. "We'll leave him be. Let me fetch his things and he can be on his way."

"I think it's rather late to be sending him off on his own. He'll stay the night," Snow said gently, though even as she stated it, the dwarves knew that she was asking their permission in a most subtle way.

Doc stared hard at Charming, his eyebrows bent forward over his forehead as he pondered her request. "There'll be room with the horses."

"Thank you." Snow's gratitude was sincere as the seven walked off then, grumbling amongst themselves.

Charming was silent behind her, but as they moved out of earshot, he stepped forward to face her. "I should be the one thanking you. They looked ready to take off my head."

"I wouldn't have put it past them," Snow agreed, though her voice had suddenly lost the luster of before.

Charming noticed it and frowned. "What is it?"

Snow hesitated to reply. With everything that had happened to her, she'd forgotten what it meant to sit above others, ruling lands and peoples with only a wave of a hand. Her father had been a just man, a trait he'd taught her—among others. She should never forget that not all were the same. "You'll stay the night and in the morning you'll be off. That's the best I can do right now. And when all this is done, you will have to do two things for me."

"Anything, of course." Charming was eager to abide by her wishes, sensing that he'd caused her some injury—though he was not quite sure how.

Snow's eyes were dark with gravity when she spoke next. "First, you must tell no one this place or that you have seen me here."

"I would never," Charming swore.

She sighed. "And second, you must never try to find me again."

1 2 D A Y S O F S N O W F A L L

Only three days now remained till Christmas. Mary Margaret stood in her apartment window, watching as rain fell steadily across the pane of glass. It no longer looked like the winter season it should. All the despair of the past month seemed aggravated now with this dismal weather disturbing the true nature of the holiday season.

Absent-mindedly she twisted at the ring around her finger, wishing for snow more than anything else. Christmas had always been a special time, but it would be meaningless without the magic of a fresh snowfall. Behind her, Emma was busy rifling through papers, settling some unfinished business. In the background, Christmas tunes played on like soft, bothersome insects that refused to leave them in peace.

Merry Christmas, darling. We're apart, that's true…

Of course this song would be playing.

Mary Margaret inclined her head slightly to glance at Emma. She was focused intently on the sheets before her, but in her concentration, Mary Margaret could see the lines of distress breaking through her expression.

Hurrying discreetly to the radio, she changed the channel, allowing the sharp, joyful tunes of Joy to the World to permeate the room. Perhaps too joyful.

She flipped the knob again.

still waiting for the snow to fall, it doesn't really feel like Christmas at all…

Oh, good Lord no.

Once more she tried, but when this resulted in the heartbreaking The Christmas Shoes, she quickly turned the contraption off completely.

What was wrong with her? She was a Christmas baby, a winter child. This was her time to flourish, but she could hardly bring herself to embrace the joy and hope of the holidays, not with all the bad of recent days, and all the despair she had a feeling would follow.

"When did the holidays become so depressing?" she mused aloud, turning to face Emma.

She had finally lifted her head from her work, watching Mary Margaret in her attempt to find a proper song with a mixed air of amusement and disappointment. "When were they ever not depressing?" she responded dishearteningly.

Mary Margaret frowned as she took a seat opposite the young woman. They were close in age, but at times she felt that Emma was older than herself, with all her sorrows borrowed deep within her soul, aging in her outside and within. "They're meant to be a time for joy and happiness. Not despair and misery."

"You obviously didn't grow up in foster homes," Emma retorted, suddenly sounding bitter. Her eyes shone with regret. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound so…"

"Hostile?" Mary Margaret suggested.

"Bitchy," Emma returned.

The two women shared a long look, and then laughter filled the room as they allowed themselves to take pleasure in a small moment where their issues seemed far, far away.

All too soon, though, the moment was over.

"I'm thinking of leaving."

The confession, unexpected and sudden, bade Mary Margaret pause before coming up with a reply. "Why?"

Emma's gaze was stern. "Because I can't do this anymore. I thought it would do me good to try to be a part of Henry's life, but I can't…I'm not made for this."

"But Henry…"

"He'll be better off without me. I don't need a kid in my life, not now, not ever. It's too much pain. I can't handle it. Attachment is a cage, and I don't want it to hold me prisoner anymore."

"But he needs you," Mary Margaret insisted, unable to comprehend this sudden defeatist attitude the usually vibrant woman was displaying. "You can't be selfish. Life is about making attachments, and loving people and needing people, and sure losing people and the moments they bring you hurts, but it's a part of life too. You can't escape it. No one can." Her words sounded preachy, and as she spoke them, they awoke thoughts within her own brain. Talk about needing a good dose of your own medicine. She sighed, shaking her head. "Believe me, I know."

Emma paused to reflect. "I wasn't made for this, Mary Margaret. I wasn't born to be a mother. I've lived my life on my own. All this love stuff…it's taking a toll on me."

"So let me help you," Mary Margaret offered gently, reaching for Emma's hand and taking it tenderly on her own. "Henry deserves more than what he has. It's not my place to say…but it's the truth. I recognize that now." She paused, pondering her next words. "I know with Graham…"

"I don't…"

"I know," Mary Margaret persisted, her grip tightening. "Just listen. He meant something to you, and it hurts that he's not here anymore. But you can't let that take you over. Henry's important, and you can't just admit defeat now. Some things are just worth fighting for. Some people are worth hurting for."

Emma nodded silently, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Thank you," she whispered, tightening her own grip on Mary Margaret's hand as if afraid that letting go would mean losing herself to the open sea of sorrow.

Together they sat in union, just sitting, just waiting. For what? Mary Margaret could not say. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw them.

Beyond the window, snow was beginning to fall in slow synchronicity; large, fluffy flakes of new hope. And in her mind, she knew what she had to do next.

1 2 D A Y S O F S N O W F A L L

Snow sat in the little cottage, in the small room the dwarves had willingly given to her for her own purposes. The window to the outside was coated in dust, but even with the small obstacle, she could tell that the sky was devoid of clouds, the velvety night speckled with sparkling stars. There would be no snowfall tonight either.

Lowering her gaze, she could see the prince gently petting his white steed, feeding it oats with his other hand. His lips were moving, though she could not make out what he was saying from such a distance. The only thing she could comprehend was the great ease with which he dealt with the creature before him, as if he'd grown up dealing with them, a fact that had to be fiction.

His head turned suddenly, as if he could sense her eyes regarding him with great observation. She moved away swiftly from the window, hopeful he had not caught a glimpse of her. A moment she let pass before she moved back to her spot.

He had changed positions, sitting on a bale of hay, a book open on his lap. She could not see what it was, and as her curiosity grew, she could no longer fight the need to go investigate.

The dwarves were seated around their dining table when she crept down the stairs, most on the brink of inebriation. They were giggling while Happy sang a rather derogatory tune about a plump maiden and an ugly prince.

Sneaking past them without any difficulty, she emerged into the chill of the moonlit eve, shivering slightly beyond the safety of the firelit cottage.

Charming seemed impervious to her approach, even when she came to stand only a foot from where he sat. Waiting patiently for him to come to the realization, she soon realized it was not to be and finally broke the silence.

"What are you reading?"

Charming's head snapped up, his eyes wide in alarm. The book fell to the grassy floor below, it's mahogany cover turned up. Across the front, emblazoned in ebony script was the title: Le Morte D'Arthur.

She'd never heard of it before, which was surprising, considering how well-read her father was and how he had passed on such a love for the written word to her. "Is a good one?"

Charming seemed caught in a stunned stupor, one that took him a few more seconds to break out of. "It's an interesting one," he replied, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. "About a great man. And a great king."

"Don't tell me you feel connected to this great king," she scoffed, gingerly picking up the book to leaf through its pages. "That would be all too arrogant of you."

A tiny laugh escaped Charming's lips. "I am certainly no Arthur. As pompous as you may believe me to be…"

"Is what they say true?" she interrupted him quickly.

He stared at her curiously. "Your friends?"

She nodded. "Are you a caring royal? Or a good liar?" Her words and tones were sharp, but she was frustrated with herself, frustrated for thinking allowing her to fall for his charm when he had obviously caused injury to the land. Still…her angered was swayed as she watched him. There was something sincere about him, something that could not be easily faked.

His reply came after a small pause. He seemed hesitant, pensive, as if approaching her question with an air of seriousness. "I'm a good liar." He was not joking, his eyes held no amusement in their gaze, just sheer coolness, and the smallest hint of regret.

"So, you're a tyrant?" She took a step back, her guard raised.

He shook his head, a gentleness returning to his features. "No. I'm just…not exactly what people think I am."

"Meaning what?" she questioned coolly, doubt and confusion running through her as she stared at the ambiguous man before her, unable to discern the truth from the lie.

Charming sighed deeply, and then took a deep breath. "You've shared a secret with me, so let me share one with you." He motioned towards the bale of hay he'd previously occupied. "It might take a while," he added as her eyes watched him suspiciously.

She sat slowly, and watched as he lowered himself to sit together. There was a short pause in which Charming was preparing himself for the next reveal, a secret he would not trust with just anyone. "I'm not a royal," he admitted gently. "I wasn't born to this life like you were."

"What?" Her eyes held curiosity and questions.

A tiny smile, one of sadness and regret, claimed his lips. "I was born to mother and father in a rural part of the kingdom. They were shepherds. That was the life I was born to." He paused, waiting for her to interrupt. She didn't. "A few months ago, not long before our first meeting," his smile grew as he remembered that moment, "I was visited by a man who told me that I had had a twin brother. He'd been killed only a few days before, but all his life, he'd grown, thinking he was a prince. Born to poverty, he'd been given to the king to be his heir, and I'd been left to be nothing more than a shepherd. Not that I'm complaining," he added hastily. "I would give anything to be back on my farm."

Snow was pensive as she listened to Charming's story. She could not doubt his words, not when his voice was pained with honesty. "Why did the king want you?"

"To take my brother's place," Charming replied. There was no real mourning there—he had never known his brother. Even if twins, he had never felt a connection, nor had he felt it severed. "The king needed me to slay a dragon to secure an alliance with King Midas."

Snow nodded. She knew the king in question, had met him on many occasions. The King with the Golden Touch, they called him. "You succeeded?"

"Surprisingly so," Charming mused. "I only ever did it because he'd promised to save our farm. I never realized he would want more."

"Princess Abigail," Snow spoke up, already seeing the pattern. "A union of their heirs would guarantee a union of their kingdoms."

Charming nodded. "This week, I went to visit my mother. I've been forbidden to see her, threatened to destroy the farm and kill my mother should the truth be known, so that the king…my father…might gain the treasures he deserves." There was bitterness in his tone as he continued. "I hold no hostility for the princess. She's kind, but…it matters not."

"It matters to me." Snow reached for his hand, claiming it tenderly in hers. She squeezed it with reassuring sympathy. The man before her seemed even greater than before. To have sacrificed everything for the love of his mother, for duty to a kingdom he had no real attachment to. "I'm so sorry."

His deep eyes met hers, their gazes caught together, neither wanting to turn away first. One hand reached for her cheek, cupping it gently.

She shivered at the feel of his hand against her skin, but did not pull away. Leaning in, she yearned for the distance between them to be gone, so that they might embrace…

The door of the cottage banged open behind them, the sound resounding with a loud crash through the silence.

Torn apart, they turned to look. Seven dwarves stood there, their gazes turned towards the pair seated in the hay.

"Everything okay, Snow?"

"Yes Doc," she replied, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Do you need some defending?"

Snow shook her head. "I'm fine, Grumpy."

"I'll take this as my leave," Charming said, standing suddenly behind her. He moved to his horse, before Snow could protest and began to lead him into the stable.

All Snow could do was watch.


AN: Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you all enjoyed it. Let me know my clicking the review button and leaving a comment, constructive criticism, suggestion, or question. Anything and everything is welcomed.

Next chapter will see the end of this story. Holiday cheer, new beginnings and farewells wait in the future.

Love,

Faith