Author's Notes: As per usual, I'd like to start of by thanking everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. You guys are the best! Second, this is where we finally get some answers as to WTF is going on and setting the stage for our first big (big, big, big) adventure for our favorite couple!
So, without further ado . . .
Disclaimer: I own nothing OUAT. Pinky swear. I'm just having a bit of fun.
Chapter 4
"You're awfully quiet, Swan."
Emma had no clue how long they'd been riding. All she knew was that her thighs burned fiercely from sitting for hours in a saddle, and she couldn't shift to try to alleviate even some of the tension because the smallest of movements caused her to press closer to Killian. It was maddening. She felt trapped.
Every time he spoke, his lips were right at her ear, his breath teasing her hair. It had made her shiver more than once, which only made him hold her closer, which in actuality only made her desire to escape grow exponentially. She'd never been so immediately drawn to anyone. Even Neal.
And look how that had ended.
"Swan?"
Emma cleared her throat. "I'm fine."
Killian didn't believe her. His brows furrowed. "I don't believe that," he said.
"You hardly know me well enough to judge." When he didn't reply, she asked, "How much further will we go today?"
"Not long." Killian looked up at the sky. "There's enough light yet to make it to that far ridge."
Emma felt more than saw him nod toward the ridge in the distance. She silently contained her groan at the thought of being in the saddle for what she judged to be at least another couple of hours. "We could stop for a rest, if you'd like," Killian said suddenly.
"No." She shook her head. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go home."
"And just what is it that you're so anxious to get back to?" he asked. "Or should I say who?"
Emma scowled. "There's no one."
"You seem vexed."
"That's because I'm with you."
"And here I thought we were getting on quite well."
"Yeah, well, you thought wrong."
Killian said nothing in response. In fact, he did not say a word until three hours later when they finally made it to the ridge and dismounted. Killian swung onto the ground with ease. He offered her a hand to help her down, but Emma ignored it. She'd been forced to be far too close to him all day. She needed her space.
Unfortunately, she seriously underestimated the soreness in her legs, and as soon as she had both feet planted on the ground, her knees buckled. Killian was quick to catch her, his hands warm on her waist. "Easy, love," he said, although the usual playfulness attached to the endearment was absent.
Emma hated the guilt she felt. She met his eyes, and her guilt intensified when she noticed he seemed to have closed himself off. She knew the look well enough. She saw it every day in the mirror. "Thanks," she muttered.
The apology did nothing to assuage her guilt. It sounded too insincere, even if she meant it.
"Why don't you go collect wood for a fire?" he said. "Night will be upon us before you know it."
She gladly took the excuse to leave, and as soon as she had ventured far enough so that Killian was invisible, she collapsed at the foot of a tree. Her legs ached. Her ass ached. Her back ached. She hated horses. Why did she have to deal with horses? We couldn't she just be back in Tallahassee, where people traveled by cars and trucks and hell, she'd even take a scooter or a pair of rollerblades at this point.
But none of that existed in this realm.
God, she was in another realm, wasn't she?
The thought continued to baffle her. This stuff wasn't supposed to be real. She was in the Enchanted Forest. Wasn't that something out of Snow White? Fairytales weren't real. They just weren't.
But here she was, in the Enchanted Forest with a pirate captain, travelling to see a sorcerer.
Because, obviously, that's what you did when you were in fairytale land.
On a whim, she pinched her arm. Hard.
Yep. Real.
"Crap," she muttered.
She glanced back to where Killian was making camp. She didn't want to go back, but she knew she couldn't linger. He would come after her. She knew he would.
It disturbed her to know that he would look for her. No one had ever looked for her. When she ran away from countless foster homes, no one looked. Even the police gave up after a day or two. After all, she was just another runaway.
But Killian would look, and she had a horrible feeling that he'd find her.
Emma didn't know how to process that. It was like this morning when they were on the Jolly Roger. He had nearly killed a man in her defense. He would have if she hadn't stopped him. No one had ever done that for her before. She was against murder, of course. She never wanted anyone to die because of her, even if it was in her defense, but no one had ever shown her even half as much concern. That absolutely terrified her. He didn't even know her.
Emma hauled herself to her feet and began to collect wood. She picked up as much as she could carry, including one thin, fallen limb that she managed to drag behind her with one hand. There was no need for Killian to come look for her. She made more than enough noise.
Killian's lips twitched and his eyebrows rose when she dramatically dropped her gathered wood next to his recently made fire pit. "Excellent work, Swan," he praised.
"Ha, ha," she snipped as she wiped bits of bark from her sweater. "And what have you done?"
"Aside from enjoying a bit of peace?" he quipped. "There's a stream a few yards south of us. I refilled our canteens."
He offered her one, and she took it with a muttered, "Thanks."
Killian got a fire started while she unloaded the bags from the horse. One was full of food like dried meat and fruit that reminded Emma of trail mix. The other bag held a spare change of clothes for Killian, a compass, a map, and small purse full of gold. Emma rubbed her thumb over the face of a coin.
It reminded her of the watches she'd retrieved for Neal. She had never been someone who wanted flashy or shiny things. The other girls in her foster homes had always talked about fancy jewelry and riches, as if something shiny would make them important or worth noticing. Emma had thought of the bigger picture. She'd wanted parents. She'd wanted someone to want her, and if someone, by a stroke of luck, did want her, she needed to know that it was because of her. Emma.
She dropped the coin back into the bag.
Killian had a small fire going when she sat on the ground next to him with the bag of food. "I would've slipped a least one coin," he said as he took a handful of the trail mix.
"Pirate."
He smiled, unrepentant. "Aye, love. That I am."
She rolled her eyes and stared at the crackling fire. "I don't steal," she said. "Not anymore."
Killian's brows rose. His first instinct was to laugh. The idea that Emma had wild past delighted him. He knew there was a bit of pirate in her, after all. Yet her declaration wasn't made in jest. She spoke softly but firmly, her eyes darting to the ground briefly, as if ashamed.
He didn't like it at all.
"Tell me about your realm," he said, noting how her shoulders relaxed slightly. "I imagine it must be quite different to the Enchanted Forest."
Emma let out a very unladylike snort that made him grin. She glanced at him, a small smirk on her lips. "This is like something of a fairytale," she said. "I used to read stories like this as a kid. Pirates and knights and princesses." She shook her head.
"Does that make you the princess in this tale, then?"
"I'm no princess."
"Pity. You certainly have the beauty of one."
She looked at him appraisingly, as if she wasn't sure he was teasing or serious, and Killian only smirked in response. "So, your realm," he said. "What's so grand about it that makes you so desperate to return?"
"Cars," she answered immediately. "And take-out."
"You mentioned that before," he said. "Car. What the bloody hell is a car?"
"It's a mode of transportation," Emma explained, shaking her head slightly at the thought of explaining something as commonplace as a car. "It can go very fast. You can travel hundreds of miles in just a few hours."
Killian blinked in astonishment. "Really?" he asked. "That sounds . . . well, bloody magnificent, if I'm honest. You must find our progress terribly slow."
Emma shrugged, trying and failing not to look sheepish. "Look, I'm not ungrateful for what you're doing, Killian," she said. "Thank you, for helping me."
He smiled, and she felt her cheeks warm. His grin in response was an innuendo in itself, and she spoke before he could make her blush darken. "So, we have these things called movies . . ." she began.
Emma spent the next hour talking about everything that she could think of about her world. She tried to explain televisions and phones and the Internet. Killian didn't understand hardly a word, but he enjoyed hearing her talk about "Florida" and "Thai food" and something called a "DeLorean."
When Emma finally paused after attempting to describe a wizard named Marty McFly, she huffed cutely, embarrassed, and Killian said, "Quite the magical realm you're from, Swan."
"Magic?" She shook her head. "No, there's no magic. Magic isn't real."
"Perhaps not in your world, love. But here, I assure you, it is very real."
Emma looked away, turning to stare worriedly into the fire. "I guess I need that to be true," she said. "I am going to see a sorcerer, after all."
"There are great rumors of his skill and power," Killian said. "Tales far older than myself. I am sure that he will have the answers that you seek. If not, then I suppose we shall just have to find another way."
"You'd do that?"
"Aye."
"Why?"
Truthfully, Killian did not know. He considered her question seriously while he hid behind his favorite smirk. Why would he go so far out of his way to help one woman? She was lovely, this Swan, certainly. She was entirely unlike any woman he had ever met. Naturally. Yet women came and went. He knew that, preferred it, even. His home was the sea.
"Perhaps I'm hoping that if you stay with me long enough, you won't want to leave at all," he flirted.
Green eyes rolled. "You're terrible."
"You know, most men would be put off by your disparaging comments, but I love a challenge."
Emma shook her head, fighting a smile. She couldn't give him the satisfaction that she did, in fact, find him charming. "I'm going to bed," she said as she moved over to her blanket.
"If you want company, just let me know, love."
"Goodnight, pirate."
"Sweet dreams, princess."
The following days fell into a pattern much like their first. They would rise with the sun and ride until midday, where they would stop to allow the horse to rest while they had lunch. Then it was back on the horse until an hour or so before sunset, where they would make camp for the night. Emma gathered the firewood, Killian stoked the fire, and they both exchanged stories for little reason other than to pass the time.
Emma explained her job as a bail bonds person, a job that Killian found interesting and, silently, quite telling. She regaled him with stories of her funnier jobs. A man spending stolen money at a place called Las Vegas. A "soccer mom" who tried to run while at her son's game only to be hit in the head by a ball kicked by none other than her child. His favorite was a man who dressed as a woman in an attempt throw off suspicion. Emma caught him at his preferred lingerie store, but not before he tried to flee in nothing but his knickers.
Killian returned the favor by offering a few tales of his own. He wove great stories full of adventure. There were sword fights to the death, battles on the high seas, and races to treasure long-forgotten. He mentioned his long-running rivalry with Blackbeard, which led Emma to question his actual existence, as he was a legend in her world, an assertion that only caused Killian to exclaim, "And I'm not? That's bloody ridiculous. He's not half the pirate I am!"
But Emma had laughed in response, and so he hadn't minded so much then.
On their sixth day, however, things took a turn, and Killian wasn't certain as to why. He'd told Emma that they should reach the sorcerer by midafternoon, and she had hardly spoken a word to him since. She retreated into herself, and he felt as though he was scaling a wall just to glean even the slightest of glances. He hated the way she was stiff in the saddle like she had been the first day of their journey. It was as though he had done something wrong, but Killian was positive that he had done nothing to incur Emma's cold silence.
The result left him in a foul mood.
When the trees finally parted to reveal a small cabin tucked in a meadow, he abruptly swung onto the ground, suddenly feeling the need for space as well. Emma watched him with confused eyes and a slight frown. "This is it?" she asked.
"Aye," he said simply. He tugged on the reins and the horse came to a stop. Wordlessly, he offered her a hand, which she accepted. However, as soon as she was on the ground, he dropped her hand like he hadn't spent the past week gallantly kissing her knuckles or teasingly tugging her to him.
"Hey," she said as she followed him toward the cabin. She eyed the small corral filled with sheep and the smoke twirling into the sky from the chimney. "Are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly alright, Swan. Now, I'm not exactly sure just what it is that we're walking into, so let me do the talking, hmm?"
Just as he raised his hand to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal an old, grey-haired man. He wore plain clothes under a long red cloak that had faded with age but was no less elegant. Sharp but kind eyes lit up in pleasant surprise at the sight of them. "Ah," he greeted. "I wasn't expecting you until later this evening." He looked at Killian. "You're just as adept at navigating on land as you are at sea, Captain."
Killian's hand drifted toward his sword. "How do you know me, sorcerer?"
"Oh, I know a great many things." He glanced pointedly at Killian's straying hand. "There will be no need of that," he said. "I assure you, I mean you and lady no harm." Shuffling out of the doorframe, he motioned inside his cabin. "Won't you come in?"
He didn't wait for them to answer. The sorcerer moved toward the fireplace, grabbing a thick cloth on his way from the table. He lifted a kettle from the flames. "I was just making some tea," he called over his shoulder. "Would you like a cup?"
Emma cautiously walked into the cabin. "Sure," she said. "Thanks."
"There are biscuits on the table. Help yourself."
Killian eyed the one-room cabin warily. There was no aspect about the dwelling that seemed in any way magical. There was a very plain bed tucked into a corner to match the equally plain, if sturdy table and chairs in the middle of the room. Bits of straw decorated the floor. A discarded broom leaned next to the door.
"You're a sorcerer?" he asked.
The sorcerer looked up from the table where he carefully poured tea into three cups. "I apologize if I do not measure up to your expectations, Captain," he said. "I have never been one to desire much. It surprises most to learn that we actually require very little to be happy."
He offered a cup to Emma. "Please, have a seat, Miss Swan."
"How do you know my name?"
"Oh, I've been told a great deal about you, m'dear," he said as he settled noisily into a chair with a huff. "You're quite important."
Emma scoffed and set down her tea without taking a sip. Silently, Killian was glad. Who knows what the man might have slipped into it. "I don't have time to listen to this," Emma said. She stood sharply, shoulders tense. "I'm not—"
"Important?" the sorcerer repeated. "You know, in all my years, in all the many realms I've traveled, I've never met anyone who wasn't important."
Emma scoffed. "Listen, Dumbledore, I came here for help, not pretty words to make me feel better about my shit life. Rumor is that you can get me back to my realm. Are you going to help me or not?"
The sorcerer leaned back in his chair. He studied her patiently as if he was a parent waiting out a tantrum. Emma scowled, refusing to cower despite the faint flicker of guilt that she felt. Killian finally broke the silence, his boots thudding heavily on the hard-packed dirt floor as he came to stand next to Emma. "You heard the lady, mate," he said. "Do you have an answer to our problem, or shall we seek a solution elsewhere?"
The sorcerer eyed them before he sighed and withdrew a wand from his cloak. "Very well," he said simply. He flourished the wand with a slight wave, and an ornate door suddenly appeared in front of the fireplace. Emma stiffened at the sight, staring wide-eyed at the very solid door. She felt Killian's hand clamp tightly onto her shoulder as if he thought she might vanish on the spot.
She ignored the comfort she felt at his touch.
"What the bloody hell is that?" Killian demanded.
"It is a portal to her realm," the sorcerer said. "The Land Without Magic."
"Sounds about right," Emma mumbled as she stared at the door. It was an elegant piece of artwork. That's what it looked like to her, art. It wasn't an ordinary door. The wood itself seemed to shine. The frame was intricately carved with markings that were too uniform not to be a language yet it all looked like nothing but pretty chips and patterns in the wood. The top of the door held a bright blue mantle woven with gold that glowed faintly with unquestionable power.
She took a tentative step toward the door.
"Swan," Killian warned.
Emma kept her eyes on the door. "I just walk through?" she asked, dubiously. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"Swan, think about this." Killian took her arm that reached out to grasp the knob. "You only have his word where that leads."
"He's not lying."
"How would you know?"
"I always know when someone's lying to me," she said. "Call it a superpower." She glanced at the sorcerer. "He's telling the truth."
Killian let her arm slip from his grasp as she reached once again for the door. Emma wrapped her hand around the knob. It was real. It felt real. God, all of this was real. She thought that she had come to this very realization too many times in the past week. Yet it was only now, with her hand on a door that had appeared from nothing, that she well and truly believed the life she'd lived recently was real. The Enchanted Forest was real. Magic was real. Killian was real.
All of this . . . it was real and it was happening and Emma abruptly felt terrified of opening the door. What would happen? Would she suddenly blink into existence back in Maine? And for the love of God, why couldn't she remember that damn town?
She was missing something. There was more to this.
But did it matter if she could go home?
Emma jerked the door open before she could hesitate a second longer. She gasped, prepared for some sort of reaction, yet nothing changed. She still stood in the sorcerer's cabin. Killian was still at her side. She could smell the tea the sorcerer had made and hear him munching on a biscuit.
But through the door, there was movement, and the scene looked unmistakably like Victorian London.
Horses pulled carriages on cobblestone streets. Men wore suits while women were covered neck to toe in thick frocks and lace. The scene was positively bustling if silent. She saw mouths moving and kids banging on buckets like drums but not a sound reached her ears.
Emma shut the door in shock, and it disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. "What the hell was that?" she demanded as she spun to look at the sorcerer. "That's not where I'm from."
"I assure you, it is."
"Yeah, like a hundred years ago."
"Three hundred, to be exact."
"Well, fix it!"
"I'm sorry, but even I can only do so much."
"What do you mean?"
"It is not simply a matter of you being in a different realm, Miss Swan. You are also out of your time."
Emma felt her stomach drop as she remembered the strange, terrifying eyeless girl she'd met at the Queen's Port. Perhaps not the right time, but yes, in the right place. He's waiting for you.
She looked at the sorcerer. "You're saying I traveled in time? That's impossible."
"Yes," the sorcerer agreed. "Quite."
"Then how the hell am I here?"
"I don't know."
Whelp, there it is. More explanations to come! But at least Emma's finally accepted she's in the Enchanted Forest! (Took her long enough, right?) The denial is strong in this one.
Okay, chapter preview award goes to . . . Killian! - "You've got me."
Yeah, she does.
See you next Friday!
-AC
